Guernsey Retreat

by Allen, Anne

  The wind buffeted her car, forcing her to grip the steering wheel hard as she negotiated round broken tree branches littering the road. The wintery weather sent a chill through her body and Louisa prayed that spring would soon return. She hated being cold and this winter, since her mother’s death, had seemed to go on for ever. Concentrating on the road, she could only catch glimpses of her surroundings; noting a few cows quietly grazing in the fields and roadside stalls selling flowers and vegetables. It was only a matter of minutes before she took the left turn towards Torteval in the south-west of the island. After passing rows of greenhouses, some clearly disused, Louisa came to a narrow lane on the left, marked by an impressive, new-looking sign: La Folie Retreat and Health Centre. ‘Right, looks like this is it,’ she muttered to herself, steering the car sharply left. As she bumped along the lane Louisa glanced around with interest. Open fields, some sporting the remains of greenhouses, gave way to what looked like newly landscaped gardens and a large glazed building that she guessed was the swimming pool. Turning a tree-bordered bend, Louisa gasped at the gothic structure looming up in front of her. She had seen the photos and knew about the towers, but the reality still took her breath away. Pulling the car to a stop on the gravel, she switched off the engine. She stepped out of the car and gazed at the forbidding grey granite building; the round towers, gargoyle embellished parapets and mullioned windows reminding her of old horror movies. In an obvious attempt to brighten and lighten the effect, giant terracotta urns planted with olive trees, date palms and rhododendrons edged the area in front of the house. Smaller pots brimming with colourful spring flowers helped to create a warmer welcome than the scowls of the gargoyles.

  Taking a deep breath, Louisa headed to the front door, sheltered by a portico. To the side of the panelled oak door was an old-fashioned bell pull, but the door stood ajar and she walked through into the hall. Her eyes were immediately drawn towards the imposing oak staircase, bathed in a thin wintry light filtering through a tall window on the landing.

  ‘Good afternoon. May I help you?’

  Louisa jumped. She hadn’t noticed the desk in a corner and the young woman in white now offering her a bright smile.

  ‘Oh, right. I…I was wondering if it would be possible to see Mr Roget, please?’

  ‘I’m sorry, but Mr Roget isn’t here at the moment. Can I help?’

  Louisa pushed down the feeling of disappointment. Tinged with an edge of relief. Wanting, needing to meet him. But also scared. Scared of rejection. It made for an uncomfortable feeling in her solar plexus, as if her stomach muscles were being squeezed.

  ‘Thank you, but I really only want to see Mr Roget. Is he away?’

  The young woman, glowing with health and in possession of shiny brown curls, looked at her intently.

  ‘I believe he had to fly over to London on business but will be back tomorrow. But Mr Roget isn’t here much, anyway. He leaves everything to Paul, the manager. Is he expecting you?’

  Back tomorrow! So, not long to wait…

  ‘No, he…he isn’t. It’s a…personal matter but I don’t have his home address. Could you let me have it, please?’

  The curls bounced as the girl shook her head.

  ‘I don’t think I should. He might not like that.’ She frowned, as if trying to decide how much she should disclose.

  Louisa thought quickly. ‘Look, I do understand and I don’t want to get you into trouble. Do you know if and when he might call in? Then I could pop in on the off-chance and you won’t be involved. It is very important I speak to him. I…I have a message I can only give to him in person. Please!’

  The receptionist chewed her lip. ‘Well, I don’t see any harm in that. At least you don’t look like a murderer or anything!’ She laughed.

  Louisa felt the blood drain from her face as the image of the man knocking her to the ground filled her mind.

  ‘Are you all right? Have I said something…?’ The receptionist looked at her with concern.

  ‘No, it’s okay. I…I recently lost someone very dear to me.’ Louisa forced a smile, not wanting to scare the poor girl. She needed her help.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry!’ The girl, whose name badge identified her as ‘Nadine’, frowned. ‘I do put my foot in it sometimes. Look, Mr Roget is booked in for a session with our physio tomorrow afternoon at three. If you were to drop in about three thirty you should catch him as he usually stays for a swim afterwards.’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll do that. I, er, understand that you’ve only recently opened.’

  Nadine nodded. ‘Yes, in January and we’ve had quite a few bookings so far. We expect to be busiest in the summer, of course.’ She grinned at Louisa. ‘Do you fancy a few days here? We’re offering weekend packages.’

  Louisa shook her head, laughing. ‘No thanks, I couldn’t afford it! But I’m sure you’ll do well. Will you be on reception tomorrow when I call?’

  The brown curls bobbed up and down. ‘Yes, I’ll look out for you.’

  Louisa said goodbye and returned to her car, lost in thought. So, tomorrow I might finally meet my father! Will I look like him? Mum never said. But her eyes were grey and mine are blue so…Sliding into the car, she glanced back at the front door. With a sigh, she revved the engine and drove off, the tyres squealing on the gravel.

  chapter 6

  Feeling at a loose end, Louisa drove past the hotel and on towards St Peter Port. Glenn’s easy to follow instructions took her through a village-like area called St Martins, which boasted a few shops along the main street. She drove on, passing large, expensive looking properties set back from the road sweeping down to St Peter Port. In the winter light the sea looked grey, melding with the cloud-heavy sky. As she steered carefully down the steep winding hill, she could see marinas separated by breakwaters and parking areas. Small boats and yachts bobbed uneasily at their moorings as, in the distance, white caps signalled the height of the waves. Glad she wasn’t on a boat in this weather, Louisa pulled into the nearest car park. Wrapping a scarf around her neck, she stood for a moment, taking in the sights.

  The waterfront area was composed of shops and restaurants and she smiled when she noted the familiar Marks and Spencer sign. Something English among many French names. Standing with her back to the shops, Louisa looked towards the sea. Blurry outlines of islands peeped through the gloom and a fort-like castle stood guard at the entrance to the port. She could taste and smell the sea in the air. Pushing her hands deep into her pockets, she headed for the shopping area and warmth.

  It didn’t take her long to realise how compact St Peter Port was. Hilly, but small. Narrow streets, lined with tiny shops, wound up from the seafront, jostling with the newer, larger buildings housing familiar UK stores. Louisa felt at ease, seduced by the smallness of the town after the noise and bustle of London. She passed groups of people chatting animatedly in the street; some dressed casually for shopping, others wearing smart suits and carrying briefcases. After mooching around a few shops, Louisa needed a break and nipped into a café. She found an empty table in the window with a clear view of the street and passers-by. Louisa felt alone, but somehow the sight of people nearby, going about their daily business, was of some comfort. She may not be part of their world but at least she was there, finally trying to get her life back on track. As she sipped her coffee, she couldn’t help thinking of what her mother would say, if she were there. “Chin up, Louisa! You’ll get there in the end, I know you will. You’re not my daughter for nothing. Focus on the future and being happy.” Echoes of her mother’s loving voice floated in her head, and for a moment her sense of loss caused her hands to shake and she gripped her cup tightly. Oh, Mum! I wish you were here with me now. Then we could both meet my…father. Perhaps we could have been a proper family at last…

  Her unseeing eyes stared out of the window as a daydream of what might have been played in her mind. With a shake of her head, she pushed the fantasy aside and drained her coffee. Retracing, with
leaden steps, her way back down the high street, Louisa noticed the church at the bottom of the hill and walked towards it. Perhaps I can find some peace of mind in there. Although not religious, she had become more interested in spirituality since her mother’s death, wanting to believe that life had a deeper meaning than the mere physical. One of her fellow physios was a Buddhist and Louisa admired her calm approach to life. Something she needed to cultivate herself. Pushing open the main door to the church she stepped into a space larger than she’d imagined from the outside. White painted walls and granite arches and pillars offered a sense of solitude after the bustle of the street. Louisa tip-toed across the wooden floor, slipping into a pew near the back. Scattered among the pews, a handful of people sat in quiet contemplation of their surroundings or in prayer. The beautiful colours of the main stained glass window behind the altar shone out in spite of the poor daylight. Still feeling heavy-hearted with her profound sense of loss, Louisa took a deep breath, closed her eyes and sat in silent communion with her mother: asking for help. Initially the sadness blotted out everything until she sensed someone sit beside her; opening her eyes she saw the pew remained empty. Mum, are you there? Please let me know! She felt a feather-like touch on her face and smiled. Thanks, Mum! I can be strong knowing you’re beside me. A feeling of peace and warmth flowed through her mind and body as she sat, eyes closed, as if wrapped in her mother’s embrace.

  When she finally opened her eyes, Louisa felt energised as if a burden had been lifted. Gazing around the now empty church she noticed the light fading through the windows. Checking her watch she was shocked to see that more than an hour had passed since she had entered the church. She stood up, squared her shoulders, and strode out towards the car park. Once back in the car she saw the lights of the church emblazoned against its granite walls and smiled, before heading up the hill and back to the hotel.

  The next morning spring returned to the island. As Louisa opened the bedroom curtains the room was flooded with sunlight that reflected off the conservatory windows below. The wind had dropped and as she opened the window, she could hear birdsong from the nearby trees. Breathing in deeply, Louisa noted how much warmer it was than the previous day and decided to go for a walk that morning.

  After the waitress had taken her order for breakfast, Louisa asked about the best places for walking.

  ‘If you’re up for a long walk then you could follow the cliff path from near here and go as far as St Peter Port. It’s about nine miles so if you don’t want to walk back you could get a bus or a taxi. Lots of our guests have done that. Lovely views of the bays and the islands.’ The waitress, her uniform strained tight over her stomach and hips, not looking as if she walked anywhere, gave a big smile.

  ‘Thanks, that sounds just what I need. Where will I find the path?’

  The girl suggested she ask at the reception desk for directions before she went off to the kitchen with Louisa’s order. Left nursing a cup of strong coffee, Louisa felt a spark of enthusiasm for something for the first time in ages. A long walk with sea views would be bound to set her up for the meeting that afternoon. She might even have time for a swim on her return.

  Armed with the directions, Louisa set off towards the cliff path, clearly marked on the local map provided by the hotel. The walk to St Peter Port – or “Town” as known by the locals – would be just right for a stretch, she thought. Access to the path started above a pretty sandy bay, known, according to the map, as Petit Bôt. It boasted an ancient defence tower and café and Louisa thought she’d explore it further another time. The path wound along the jagged cliffs, initially giving her limited views ahead. But she did have a clear view of another island on the horizon, guessing it must be Jersey. The warm spring air brought out the scents of the wild flowers and the damp grass and gorse. Striding along, Louisa met an occasional walker and smiles and hellos were exchanged. It dawned on her how she had cut herself off from humanity these past weeks and vowed to stop living like a hermit. Since being dumped by Jack and then losing her mother, Louisa had become a real loner. Perhaps I can find healing here in Guernsey, she mused, taking deep breaths of the tangy air. It was certainly time.

  Small sandy bays lay below her feet as she headed towards a high cliff point. Taking a breather she gazed in delight at the vista spread out before her. A small harbour held a few leisure boats adjoining the beach, proclaimed by the map as Saint’s Bay. Further around the headland she saw a rocky cove leading to a large sandy bay. A glance at the map told her it was Moulin Huet Bay, made famous by the paintings of Renoir. She sat down for a few moments, drinking it all in. Beautiful! Regardless of what might happen between her and Malcolm, she was glad she had come here. She couldn’t help smiling at the view and felt keen to explore further.

  It was a tired, but happy, Louisa who finally arrived near the hill leading into St Peter Port. Resting on the path, she gazed down at bathing pools filled with sea water and in which, even now, some brave souls were swimming. Rather them than me, she thought, as her gaze moved upwards and out to sea. The islands which had been barely visible in yesterday’s greyness, now appeared clearly before her. Her map named the nearest as Jethou, a tiny off-shoot of neighbouring Herm, then Sark. Louisa realised there was plenty to explore if she stayed for a while, but wasn’t sure. It all depended on her meeting with Malcolm. Her father. A quick glance at her watch prompted her to continue quickly down the hill and on towards the taxi rank. Time to get back.

  By three o’clock, Louisa had lost all the calmness and happy feelings of the morning. Her stomach churned and her palms felt moist. She was awash with mixed emotions, excitement at meeting her father, tempered by feelings of anger on her mother’s behalf for his walking out on her. Wishing she could emulate her Buddhist friend, she closed her eyes and took deep breaths, trying to focus on something cheerful. Unbidden, an image of Moulin Huet Bay popped into her mind. It looked so calm, waves gently lapping against the sand. It helped. Moments later, she opened her eyes and stood up, checking her appearance in the bedroom mirror. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, emphasising her pale, freckled face. Light blue eyes stared back at her and she quickly glanced over her chosen outfit of jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and leather bomber jacket. She preferred casual dress and had driven her mother to distraction with her lack of interest in dressing up. ‘Okay, you’ll do,’ she muttered to herself, before picking up her keys and bag.

  After parking her car, Louisa checked her watch yet again. Three twenty-five. Perfect. She pushed open the front door and was pleased to see Nadine on the desk. They exchanged smiles.

  ‘Hi, again. You’re in luck, Mr Roget will be heading for the pool shortly and has to come past us. If you sit on that sofa you can’t fail to see him,’ Nadine said, nodding towards a black leather designer sofa near the staircase. Her face creased in thought. ‘You do know what he looks like, don’t you?’

  Louisa felt her face redden. ‘Not exactly. I’ve…I’ve not seen him for some years.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll give you a quick nod as soon as I see him.’

  Louisa sat down, willing herself to stay calm as she rehearsed what to say to this man who was a stranger, yet not a stranger. A man, she was convinced, who had been dearly loved by her mother. But had he loved her? She might soon find out. As she waited, several people walked past. Some appeared to be staff, wearing white uniforms like Nadine, walking noiselessly down the corridors. A man and a woman, who she judged to be guests, and wearing white fluffy bathrobes, came laughing down the stairs, giving Nadine a quick nod before disappearing into a nearby room. Just as Louisa was beginning to feel she had wasted her time she noticed a tall man come out of a room, heading in her direction. A glance towards the desk was rewarded with a nod from Nadine, who smiled warmly at the man as he approached.

  ‘Mr Roget? May I speak to you for a moment, please?’ Louisa felt her throat constrict and the words came out in little more than a whisper. She had a brief impression of
a fit-looking man with greying hair, tanned face and light blue eyes.

  He stared at her. ‘Sorry, do I know you? I don’t remember…’

  She shook her head. ‘No, we…we haven’t met.’ At this Nadine’s head swivelled towards her, her mouth open in a large O. Louisa rushed on, ‘I…have a message from someone you do know. Susan Canning.’

  It was as if she had slapped him. He took a step back, his eyes opened wide with surprise and…was it pleasure?

  ‘Susan? A message from Susan? I can hardly believe…’ Malcolm seemed to pull himself together, aware of Nadine’s listening ears. ‘Look, we can’t talk here. Follow me, please.’ He strode off down a corridor, leaving Louisa to follow behind. Giving the wide-eyed Nadine a quick grin, she set off. Malcolm held open the door to what looked like a study, furnished with a large mahogany desk and a pair of armchairs.

  ‘Please, take a seat.’ He gave her a searching look as she sat down.

  ‘Who are you? And how did Susan know I was here? It must be more than thirty years since I last saw her. And what’s her message?’ He looked eager to know more.

  ‘My name’s Louisa Canning and it’s thirty-five years ago to be exact. She…doesn’t know you’re here. Because…because she’s…dead. She died in January.’ Suddenly the dam burst and Louisa felt the hot tears pouring down her face and was powerless to stop them. Through blurred eyes she saw his face registering shock and what looked like sadness. She searched in her bag for a tissue and dabbed at her face, blowing her nose.

  ‘Sorry,’ she muttered, ‘I thought I’d be all right, but saying those words…’

  His face softened. ‘I understand. I presume Susan was your mother?’