Daughter of Riches

by Janet Tanner

  For a girl of barely twenty in the year of 1939 Vivienne was surprisingly knowledgeable. She had begun her education very young when she had discovered a paper-covered handbook on the ‘ intimate side of marriage’ in her mother’s dressing-table drawer and she had been fascinated by eroticism and the gentle arts of seduction ever since, never missing an opportunity to add to her store of information. She had spent a good deal of time practising sultry looks and provocative poses (which she copied from her collection of film star pin-ups) and much enjoyed trying them out on the boys she met. She had lost her virginity long ago and somewhat disappointingly to a friend of her brother’s, but since then she had discovered the power and enjoyment to be had from promising a great deal and delivering almost nothing.

  Nicky, on the other hand, was virtually inexperienced – but he had not the slightest intention of letting Vivienne know it. When she tried to initiate petting he was quick to take over, working partly on instinct and partly by turning her own tactics to his advantage, with the result that Vivienne only wanted him more. For the first time in her life she had met a man she could not control and manipulate – and he fascinated her.

  ‘Shall I tell you something, Nicky?’ she said to him one afternoon towards the end of August.

  They were lying beside the swimming pool, all alone for once. Viv’s father, as usual, was in London for the week, her mother and brother were out and none of ‘the crowd’ had been invited to join them. Viv was lying on a sunbed, shaded by a brightly coloured umbrella because her fair skin freckled and burned if she was not careful. One hand trailed over the edge in a careless pose. She looked lovelier than ever, Nicky thought, and he wondered if he could make love to her here without anyone seeing.

  ‘Tell me what?’ he asked lazily.

  ‘Oh – I can’t shout. You’ll have to come here.’

  ‘If I do will you make it worth my while?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  It was one of the games they played with one another, cat and mouse. Nicky felt the rush of desire making his shorts uncomfortably tight and quickly before she could notice and perhaps use the knowledge to her own advantage he rolled off his own sunbed, grabbed her trailing arm and pulled her down on top of him.

  ‘Nicky!’ she protested, but he held her fast, the sun-warmed patio stones hot beneath his bare back, the delicious softness of her body moulding to the hardness of his.

  ‘Now – tell me!’

  ‘No! You’re a bully!’

  ‘And you love every moment of it.’

  He forced her face down to his, holding the back of her neck with one hand and untying the bow of her halter top with the other. She squirmed with pleasure, parting her legs a little to accommodate him and loving the feel of his downy-haired chest against her now-bared nipples. His hands moved to the waist of her shorts, easing them down over her hips so that she lay there on top of him naked, desire for him driving her wild. How could he do this to her, she who had always initiated the action, teased the boys and then held back.

  ‘Nicky …’ She moved against him and the movement only twisted her desire another notch higher. ‘ Please …’ she groaned, trying to loosen the tie waist of his shorts without relinquishing the body contact for even a moment.

  ‘Ah-hah! Not until you tell me!’ He was sweating with desire himself, the pressure of her upon his body was almost more than flesh and blood could stand. But with Viv it was vital to keep the upper hand. He eased his fingers between her buttocks and felt her arching towards him, her desire almost at screaming pitch. ‘Tell me – tell me!’

  ‘All right,’ she sobbed, ‘ but you don’t deserve it.’

  ‘Don’t deserve what?’

  She nuzzled her face into his neck, her tongue found his ear and curved inside, slowly circling before withdrawing to nibble the lobe and whisper: ‘ I think I’m in love with you.’

  ‘What?’ He was so surprised he held her away for a moment and she sobbed again.

  ‘Horrible beast! You promised … you promised to do it to me if I told you. I think I’m in love with you! Isn’t that good enough for you?’

  Shock turned to joy. She loved him, this goddess who played with the emotions of other men! Suddenly he was not just playing at being in control, he was in control. He was king of all he surveyed; he could take what he wanted – and he wanted Viv.

  With a swift movement he lifted her bodily so that it was she who was lying on the sunwarmed patio and rolled on top of her, pulling down his shorts as he did so. She was moist and open and he thrust into her again and again. Soon, very soon, it was over. Their bodies trembled and clung, moist and heaving for a few moments more, then Nicky sat up abruptly pulling up his shorts.

  ‘Nicky – don’t leave me!’ she wheedled.

  He looked down at her, lying there naked. ‘ Hadn’t you better put some clothes on? Someone might come.’

  ‘I don’t care! Don’t leave me, please!’

  ‘I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘I don’t mean just now. I mean … if there’s a war … I don’t want you to go away and leave me. But then …’, silkily, cat-like almost, ‘you might not be able to anyway.’

  He felt a stirring of alarm. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Oh Nicky, don’t be so dense! We just went all the way, didn’t we? I could be going to have a baby. And if I was Daddy would kill you if you went away and left me.’

  The alarm escalated to panic as Nicky felt the tentacles of the age-old trap closing in on him.

  ‘You’re not pregnant.’

  ‘I might be.’

  Her beautiful body, gleaming in the sun, did not stir him now. He felt nothing but a flash of that same anger that had assailed him on the night it had all begun – the night of her party. She had thought she could manipulate him then and she thought she could manipulate him now. Well, he’d see about that.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Viv, cover yourself up!’ He reached for her towel, lying on the sunbed, and tossed it down across her. ‘If there’s a war I shall have to go. There won’t be any choice.’

  ‘There won’t be a war.’ She was almost in tears. He had never seen her this way before.

  He tied his shorts and sat down beside her, relenting a little.

  ‘I’ll tell you what, Viv. If I promise to come back to you will you promise to wait for me?’

  ‘Oh Nicky, you know I will!’

  ‘Well you had better.’ He kissed her again and as they clung together with less urgency but a great deal more tenderness neither of them had any real notion of the horror that they were dismissing so lightly.

  On the evening of September 5th, 1939, Sophia walked down to the harbour. The darkness there was complete – no sprinkling of starry lights now from the buoys that bobbed on the inky water, no comforting blink from the lighthouse – and the only sound was the lap of the waves as the stiff breeze drove them against the pier and the seawall. How different it was to the scene this morning when the harbour had been a hive of activity!

  It had begun at first light – crowds of people gathering to queue for a boat – holidaymakers, anxious to return home now that war had actually been declared, French reservists responding to their ordres d’appel and young Jerseymen who were volunteering to fight for King and country.

  Nicky had been amongst them. He had been one of the first in the queue at the recruiting office and they had wasted no time in posting him to a regiment. The whole family had gone down to the pier to see him off and there they had been joined by Vivienne Moran – ‘ Nicky’s girlfriend!’ Catherine whispered excitedly to Sophia.

  Though she scarcely knew her, Sophia did not like Vivienne much and she knew that Lola did not approve of her either. She was too sure of herself by half, a bit of a show-off and probably spoiled into the bargain. But Sophia had felt sorry for her this morning standing all alone as she watched the ship sail away. Her chin was held high but Sophia knew she would be wondering when, or even if,
she would ever see him again and she could identify all too well with what Viv must be feeling.

  I felt that way when Dieter left, Sophia thought, and the emptiness in her yawned and spread as the memory of his departure was refreshed. But at least then she had truly believed he was sad about leaving her too. Now she was no longer certain of anything. Even worse, England and Germany were at war. She and Dieter were on opposing sides. For all she knew he, like Nicky, was joining the armed forces – two one-time friends preparing to fight one another.

  Sophia stared out over the dark water. Her face was wet and salty. Sophia was not sure whether the wetness was seaspray or tears.

  Chapter ten

  Jersey and Dunkirk, 1939–1940

  Vivienne swung her legs down from the examination couch in Dr Bodell’s consulting room and smoothed her skirt with apparent insouciance.

  ‘Well?’

  The doctor turned from the small hand basin, drying his hands on a clean towel, and his stern expression made her heart sink. All very well to have thrown caution to the winds in the heat of passion, all very well to have imagined that getting pregnant was a very daring, very avant-garde thing to do. The reality, in the cold light of day, was quite different. With Nicky away, God alone knew where, it was decidedly scary and for the first time in her life Viv had lain awake night after night worrying just what she had got herself into. It was also embarrassing, since Francis Bodell was a friend of her father’s.

  ‘Well, Vivienne, I think you already know what I am going to tell you. You are pregnant – about three months, I should say.’

  Twin high spots of colour rose in Viv’s creamy cheeks. ‘Damn.’

  ‘A little more than ‘‘damn’’, I should say.’ The doctor replaced the towel on its rail and turned to face her. ‘Have you confided in your parents about this?’

  Viv shook her head. ‘I wanted to be sure first. No point advertising the fact I’ve been a naughty girl if there was no need.’

  ‘Hmm. Well I am afraid there is need. You’re going to have to discuss this with them – and soon. And who is the father? Does he know?’

  ‘No, he doesn’t know, and I don’t want him to. I don’t want anyone to know. Can’t you do something for me, Dr Bodell?’

  The doctor’s eyes narrowed a shade. ‘‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Oh for goodness’ sake, do I have to spell it out?’

  ‘Vivienne, I have to remind you abortion is illegal,’ he said sternly.

  ‘I know that. I also know that it’s done – and that I wouldn’t be the first to ask you to arrange it for me.’

  ‘Vivienne …’

  ‘Diane Frayne,’ Viv said meaningfully.

  The doctor stiffened slightly and she knew he had understood her. Diane Frayne was a friend – and one of Dr Bodell’s patients – who had disappeared conveniently for a few days earlier in the year for what had supposedly been an operation for grumbling appendix. Viv, who had heard whispers in their circle, had preferred the unofficial explanation – Diane had been ‘ in trouble’ and Dr Bodell had got her out of it.

  Looking now at his face, gone suddenly blank and expressionless, she knew she had been right.

  ‘Well?’ she pressed him.

  Dr Bodell sighed.

  ‘Vivienne – as you so rightly say operations that would be in the patient’s interest are arranged from time to time. However, I think you need to be aware what you are asking me. This is not just some inconvenient illness. It is the beginning of a human life. You may not see it that way at the moment but I have known young women haunted by guilt to the end of their days because they felt they were responsible for murdering their own child.’

  ‘I’d never feel like that. I’m much too sensible.’

  ‘I’m not sure being sensible has anything to do with it, Vivienne.’

  ‘It has everything to do with it!’ she exclaimed passionately. ‘The world is at war – anything could happen. My boyfriend is away fighting – he might never come back. And besides …’ she laughed shortly, ‘my father would kill me.’

  ‘He is going to have to be told,’ Francis Bodell said. ‘You are not yet twenty-one, Vivienne. You haven’t reached the age when you can be responsible for yourself.’

  ‘How pathetic! But anyway, I don’t suppose Daddy will mind half as much as long as nobody else has to know. He’ll back me up over this, you need not worry – and he’ll pay the bill.’

  ‘It’s likely to be hefty.’

  ‘That won’t worry Daddy. He doesn’t mind how many cheques he signs as long as that is all he’s expected to do.’

  Francis Bodell said nothing. Though he was a friend of Adrian Moran he thought the assessment was not an unjust one.

  ‘There is one other thing, Vivienne. Sometimes – just sometimes – there might be complications. It is possible this sort of operation could leave you unable to have any more children.’

  Viv slid down from the couch. ‘That’s all right, Doctor. I guess it’s a highly unlikely scenario and in any case it’s a risk I’m prepared to take. I want an abortion and I’m quite sure my father will pay for it. So please, don’t lecture me any more. Just arrange it – as soon as possible.’

  By the time Vivienne Moran was admitted to a private hospital as an appendicitis patient in need of surgery the war had been going on for a little under four months and in many ways it seemed hardly to have begun at all. But the black-out and the host of regulations and the wondering if and when anything was going to happen was beginning to get on people’s nerves and planning was almost impossible in this strange atmosphere that was neither war nor peace.

  Only the Jersey Tourist Committee remained optimistic. The island would be an ideal resort for wartime holidays, they proclaimed – ‘far removed from the theatre of war with eternal sands, sea and sunshine’ and just the place for war-weary main-landers to refresh themselves to carry on with the national war effort.

  For this, Lola was grateful. Nicky had completed his period of training now and was somewhere in Belgium. Anything that would keep her busy was welcome – and there was nothing like a full guest house to occupy her mind and send her to bed too exhausted to lie awake worrying about where he was and the danger he might be in.

  Paul Carteret had a wireless set. He had seen it in the window of Mollett’s shop and by pooling the money he had been given for his birthday and Christmas along with every other penny he had been able to earn or scrounge he had managed to buy it. Now it had pride of place in his bedroom and he spent many happy hours fiddling with the dial to pick up different stations and broadcasts in various foreign languages.

  On the second Friday in May he was at home suffering from a bad cold – and bored to tears. He had no one but himself to blame, he knew, for he had exaggerated his symptoms to get a few days’ reprieve from his lessons, and Lola had insisted he stay in his room so as not to spread germs through the guest house. Deprived of his liberty and his friends he had read his Beano and Dandy comics and even his beloved wireless was beginning to bore him. But since he had nothing else to do he went on playing about with it and so it was that he was first to hear the news of the new German offensive. He rushed downstairs so fast that he almost tripped over his own feet and across to the main hotel building where Lola was working in her office.

  She looked up in surprise as he came tearing in. ‘ Paul! What on earth is wrong?’

  ‘Mama – the Germans have attacked Holland and Belgium.’

  A nerve jumped in Lola’s throat. Suddenly she felt very sick.

  ‘Attacked? How do you mean, attacked?’

  ‘Bombed. ‘‘ Widespread raids’’, it said on the wireless.’

  ‘I see,’ Lola said quietly. In that instant she had reverted to being the daughter of a Russian Army Officer, proud, brave and perhaps blinkered too. ‘ Well, they can bomb all they like but they have the Allies to reckon with. I don’t think they will get very far.’

  Paul stared at her. ‘But what abou
t Nicky?’

  Her eyes narrowed and her fingers tightened convulsively on her pen but her voice was still quite level.

  ‘There is nothing we can do but pray it will be over quickly and Nicky will come home safely,’ she said. ‘ Now, I have work to do, Paul. But why don’t you go on listening to your wireless and let me know if there are any more developments.’

  Over the next weeks Paul listened to his wireless whenever he could but the news he heard brought nothing but increasing gloom. Against all the odds Hitler’s armies were thrusting their way across Europe in a seemingly unstoppable tide. By the middle of May they were occupying The Hague and six days later they had reached the Aisne River and Anviers on the Somme, just sixty miles away from Paris. Then at the end of the month came the worst news yet – King Leopold of the Belgians had surrendered and the British troops, with their backs to the sea, could do nothing but hold the line as long as possible to enable an evacuation to take place.

  Paul’s wireless was scarcely turned off during those anxious days and it was over the crackling air waves that Charles first heard the appeal for an armada of small boats to ferry the men from the beaches to the deeper water where the troop ships would be waiting.