Sea Gem (14 page)

‘Oh!’ she stuttered back at him. ‘Do as you like, Sam!’

‘Yes, I intend to!’ he told her evenly. ‘And I’ll have no more bullying or wheedling of young Mary. She’s a fine girl so just you let her alone and stop trying to
manipulate everyone’s lives to suit your own ends. When you make a mistake—and make them you certainly do—it’s other people who have to clear up your messes. Sometimes you
are the most pigheaded old woman on this island and you deserve a good slap. The trouble with you, Mistress, is that Danny spoiled you and let you have your own way too much!’

‘He did no such thing!’ Louise protested hotly, stung with indignation.

‘I mean what I say!’ Sam warned her coldly.

‘You put one toe nail over the line and I’m off!’

Louise glowered at him. She would love to tell him to go but did not quite dare. If Sam went so would Emily and, she thought uneasily, there would be trouble from Mary too who adored her island
‘grandfather’.

Sam waited for a riposte, then when one did not come, knowing he had won a victory, he turned on his heels and strode away, grimly satisfied in one sense but deeply uneasy in another. It was
unnatural for her to yield and Sam knew, only too well, the depth and scope of her scheming mind.

There was an uneasy lull for exactly two weeks. For Mary they were hard days. Fortunately Duret was not highly perceptive and as long as she gave him comfort, in and out of bed, her husband was
calm. With the regular medication, the horrendous nightmares did not recur and Mary hoped he would eventually grow out of them.

Two weeks later Mary and Duret strolled down to the cottage to admire Tante’s new garden. The weeds and rubble had been ruthlessly removed by Duret and Sam, and already the small front
plot gave evidence of being capable of producing a mass of summer bedding plants. The war news was getting better, day by day, and slow hopes were rising that, this year of 1918, the appalling
slaughter would end.

Between Sam and Louise there was a truce. They were perfectly civil to each other though slightly stand-offish. Mary wondered why they had quarrelled but had no intention of asking while Duret
had no idea there was an atmosphere. Sometimes at night, before she fell asleep, Mary could not help but wonder about Victor. Was he still on the island? What was he going to do with his life? She
suspected Sam would eventually bring news to her and she was uncertain whether she wanted to learn anything more.

Sam arrived with the trap after a trip to town. He came up the path to where the three of them stood discussing which flowers should go where. Sam handed over one lot of groceries and fish he
had bought in the market. Those for the house he would take back with the trap when he stabled the cob.

‘I’ve a couple of bits of news,’ he said to no one in particular.

Three heads turned to him. Sam flashed a hard look at Louise who, in turn, shot one at Duret. It really was providential Duret could be slow on the uptake because Louise’s senses flared at
what was coming.

‘I’ve heard young le Page was married yesterday,’ Sam stated flatly, carefully not looking at Mary.

‘Who’s he?’ Duret asked curiously.

Mary winced, took a deep breath and gazed at Sam. Louise threw her a look then asked the question for both of them.

‘Who is the girl?’

‘She’s from Alderney. Nicole Oselton,’ Sam replied evenly. ‘Seems he met her when he was there on some working assignment.’

‘Bit quick, wasn’t it?’ Louise asked shrewdly.

Sam lifted his eyebrows, flashing a look at Mary and Louise had the grace to blush.

‘The other news is that le Page was at the Greffe yesterday morning.’

‘What!’ Louise gasped.

Mary looked at Duret not understanding. ‘What’s that?’ she hissed at him but Sam answered for her.

‘It’s our Land Registry Office,’ he explained. ‘The registrar himself is called the Greffier.’

‘For what purpose, do you know, Sam?’ Louise shot at him.

‘Rumour has it, he’s bought himself a small hotel.’

‘Good God!’ Louise exclaimed, genuinely astonished. ‘With what?’ she wanted to know next.

‘With a very considerable inheritance from his mother’s estate. Young le Page is now a man of consequence on this island and some say he’s going a long way too because
he’s also bought some land down in the south for tomatoes.’

‘Has he indeed!’ Louise said, taken aback for once. She knew nothing of the Jersey side of young le Page; it had certainly never entered her head there was money there. She pursed
her lips. Thank God this had not all come to light before Duret’s wounding. If Mary had known, her bait of the Noyen wealth would have fallen on very stony ground. Her mind hunted for any
trouble this news could make. She did not make the mistake of looking at Mary though she could feel her eyes on her, hot and challenging. Louise had been wrong. So had Mary. The only person to
benefit was Duret and he stood quietly, baffled by the conversation but not particularly bothered at trying to understand it all. Somewhere two lines of poetry kept clashing in his mind and he
itched to retire to the study, to put the words on paper and examine them.

‘Why tomatoes as well as an hotel?’ Louise asked at last.

That puzzled Mary too. Sam looked at them in turn and shrugged. It was obvious to him.

‘Alderney people farm, don’t they?’ he asked. ‘I guess it’s to give his wife an independent interest until the children arrive on the scene. Anyhow, tomatoes give a
good income and the market will expand once the war ends.’

Louise nodded sagely to herself. She too had been thinking along those lines. Not only was there a market in England but there would be a second in France. With all the land churned up by war,
it would take a considerable time for the French farmers to re-establish themselves. Ever an opportunist, she had decided now was a good time to sell her quarry half share and, with the Noyen land,
establish glasshouses.

Mary was quietly staggered with what Sam had related. She was also uneasy. Somewhere deep in her heart, she had hoped that Victor would leave the island and return to Jersey. Why hadn’t
he? She knew it was because of her.
She
was the magnet who kept him on Guernsey and suddenly the future looked worrisome.

Mary finished turning up the hem and stopped to run her hand lovingly over the treadle sewing machine. She was no seamstress but she enjoyed simple sewing jobs. Her fingers
slid under the machine and she felt the comforting strip of tape with its indentations. The diamonds were safely hidden and she wondered if a day would come when they must be exchanged for hard
cash.

She pushed her chair back and stood to look out of the window. She had two children now and should be deliriously happy but she was not. In the five years she had been on the island, she had
integrated well and knew many people. England was only a memory and Mary considered herself an islander first and English very much second.

If only her life could have been with Victor because Duret had become a dreadful disappointment. Victor’s prophecy had turned out accurate. Duret was not just a dreamer, he was also weak
without an original thought in his head. His sole interest appeared to be the poetry he wrote which was still beyond Mary’s understanding. Sometimes she wondered if Duret was two men in one.
He ate the meals provided and shared her bed. He took some interest in their children but, without warning or apparent reason, he would wander off with notebook and pencil. Where he went, Mary
neither knew not cared. Her initial liking for her husband had slowly changed to boredom and indifference. Even his sexual advances had declined since her last pregnancy.

That was a point on which she resolved to do something. Two children were enough especially if she added a husband as a potential third. If Tante would not advise her, Mary knew women in St
Peter Port who would. She was fluent in patois now, which knowledge had opened many humble doors to her.

These days Victor was often in her thoughts with bittersweet memories. He had done well for himself displaying a business flair which, Mary knew, impressed Tante. His hotel was not large but its
site was excellent and Victor was energetic and persuasive. He travelled regularly to England and she knew it was there he advertised his hotel. Certainly his clientele gave him customers nearly
all year.

His wife handled their small tomato business which provided another income and Mary realised they were quite affluent. It was Sam who kept them informed as Tante, now starting to show her age,
rarely went far. Sam admired Victor le Page but Tante Louise still retained her hostility though Mary was amused to note that she always listened intently when Sam returned with his gossip.

There were times when Mary guessed Tante would like to get to know this grandson better but was too proud to admit it.

The Noyen glasshouses were reasonably extensive and the cows had long gone so the fields could be utilised. Ostensibly, Duret worked there with Raoul Ozanne who, with his wife Amelia, had moved
into an empty fisherman’s cottage in their parish. Raoul’s sister Gwen assisted Emily in the home now and again trotting down to Tante’s when extra help was needed.

Mary concentrated upon domestic duties but also kept a watchful eye upon their books and accounts. Her natural flair for this work meant the purse strings had moved into her hands. She consulted
Tante now and again on small matters and knew she would never take a large decision without getting Louise’s shrewd opinion.

Although the years had advanced on Louise ruthlessly, there was nothing wrong with her mind. She was still bright with a sharp tongue, quite capable of being caustic when the situation
warranted. True to her word though, she never interfered with the big house. Sometimes Mary guessed she itched to manipulate, order and instruct and it amused Mary to see in what check Tante had to
hold her tongue.

Mary liked Tante now but her real affection was for Sam Mahy. This was reciprocated until she felt like his blood grandchild. Many a summer evening she and Sam would sit in companionable
silence, contemplating the glasshouses. Mary had an affinity with Sam, impossible to have with Duret. There were days when Mary wondered uneasily if she and Duret were heading inexorably towards
some dreadful showdown.

Victor le Page appeared to be happily married to his Alderney wife who had given him twins, a boy and a girl. Mary had seen her a few times in the market but they had never spoken. Nicole
appeared like a timid waif who lacked a will of her own but Mary told herself this had to be impossible. Victor would want a companion who was his equal, not a doormat, so she often wondered if
there were depths to Nicole unknown to her.

Mary knew she still carried a torch for Victor but equally knew that there was nothing she could do about it. Not that that stopped her heart from pounding whenever she happened to spot him in
town.

She heard Margaret’s voice and looked to one side. This was the credit side of marriage with Duret. This first child had come within ten months of their wedding and Mary had sailed through
her pregnancy and confinement with what Tante called indecent ease for a first child. There was the same strong will without nerves or fear. Margaret had fair, curly hair and blue eyes that were as
light as a summer cornflower. She was a sturdy child, sure of herself, able to wind Sam and Tante around her fingers, though more in awe of her mother.

Mary could not work out how Margaret viewed her father. It was true he only spoke kindly to her but Mary sometimes wondered if Duret really knew he had offspring. When her husband retreated into
a brown study he was unreachable.

William was another matter entirely and her face stiffened because her son she did not like one jot. He had entered the world in a screaming rush of temper, red-faced with anger at being hurled
from his comfortable nest in the womb. He had brown eyes and a dark mop of hair and when Mary put him to her breast that first day, she had felt a peculiar wave of something distasteful. Her
instinct had been to thrust the child back at the midwife and deny him. His frantic howls of anger and writhing squeals of temper seemed aimed at her alone.

William bore no resemblance to anyone she knew. Many a time Mary stared at him and wondered at her dislike. Even Tante, despite her longing for a male great grandson, had looked long and hard at
him, thrown an odd look at Mary and made no attempt to pick him up and cuddle him as she had done with Margaret.

‘Mary?’ a voice called and she turned as Tante entered the sewing room.

‘You shouldn’t have climbed all these stairs!’

Tante grunted and sat down on the nearest chair. ‘I know, I know, I’m getting old but I had to come and see you. I wanted some exercise,’ she explained.

Mary eyed her thoughtfully. She couldn’t last remember when Tante had invited herself along. She looked at her dubiously. Old Louise had a set expression to her face that bordered on
grimness.

Mary pulled up a chair to face her. ‘What is it?’ she asked gently.

Louise grunted and looked deep into Mary’s questioning eyes. ‘Can you now read me so well? I don’t think I like that,’ she complained.

Mary sensed she was playing for time or hunting for the correct words. She sat back in her chair and waited patiently.

‘It’s William!’ Tante said suddenly. ‘I don’t like that child!’

Mary’s eyebrows shot up. ‘That makes two of us then,’ she replied softly.

Now it was Tante’s turn to be surprised. The old lady frowned heavily, bit her bottom lip, shook her head minutely and muttered.

‘It’s my fault, I should have spoken to you long ago but no one likes to display their dirty washing in public.’

Mary had to show a tiny smile. ‘I’m family, not public,’ she chided.

Tante gave a deep sigh and reached out one age spotted hand to touch Mary’s.

‘It’s odd really. You know about my daughter Christine. What a wild, impossible child she was but she was not evil. She was though unlike all the other Penford females. In the past,
they’ve been the ones to hold the family together through thick or thin with no quarter asked or given. The men, though, that’s been another story. Somewhere Christine became an
impossible mix.’