Sea Gem (37 page)

He was forced to nod reluctantly. ‘It rankles though,’ he had to admit. ‘Especially thinking of how he died. Perhaps it’s as well you’ve only told me now,’ he
ended grimly. ‘Come, let us leave Tante. There are arrangements to be made and we will have a precious hour in which to talk. God knows when there’ll be another opportunity and to hell
with what your workers think either.’

* * *

On the 8th June, the islanders saw a pall of smoke on the horizon which seemed to block out the sun and Mary guessed the French were burning their oil storage tanks before the
Germans came.

Victor came to her that evening and together they strolled up the coast to the Rocques, saying little, content to be with each other, both weighed down by worry. They ambled along for a while in
silence both immersed in their own thoughts.

Mary’s heart was heavy but from force of habit she looked around. There were more cottages here than when she had first come and the little village had spread. It was not often the coast
road was empty nowadays and she knew this was a step forward but somehow, when shared by others, this cherished spot lost its magic.

Victor led her up the grass, past the hotel to the high point where he had first seen her. He studied a woman of forty. She had worn extremely well and still had a remarkable effect upon him. As
she stood solemnly looking out to sea a tiny breeze pressed her blouse against her breasts, outlining them to show their beauty. Her slacks, not quite as neatly pressed as usual, were dark green, a
colour she favoured and her tan sandals were the same shade as her blouse. Her short hair stirred gently and he wanted to run his fingers through it. Her lips were richly full and inviting though
there were shadows under her eyes from grief and lack of sleep.

Mary felt his eyes and, turning to him, smiled wanly giving a tiny shrug to her shoulders. She saw his face was grave though his eyes, violet today, were warm for her. His charisma reached her
heart as always and she marvelled at his looks. There were a few early grey hairs dotted here and there and yet these framed his head in a distinguished way. His well-shaped face had a few maturity
lines around the eye corners yet the crinkle marks around his mouth showed his humour. He wore grey flannels, open necked shirt and unbuttoned jacket with careless nonchalance but carried his
clothes as if they were expensively tailored. His erect, almost military, carriage, often reminded her of old Tante. His back was every bit as straight as hers had been.

He held out his right hand and Mary slipped her left into it. Turning he led the way back. Mary thought how natural it was to have contact with him and when he squeezed she reciprocated.

‘What’s going to happen to all of us?’

He stopped, turned to her and his face became serious. ‘I don’t know,’ he replied honestly, ‘but I do know you will weather whatever is thrown at you.’

‘And you, Victor?’

Again he hesitated as if turning over in his mind news which he was reluctant to impart but which he knew he must despite its effect on her.

‘I’m leaving, very soon,’ he said.

‘You scorned the last war,’ she reminded him gently.

He nodded grimly. ‘This is different and worse. Kaiser Bill was bad enough but Hitler and his gang of thugs are madmen. Last time it was just Belgium and France—look how far Hitler
has spread himself already.’

Mary said nothing. His sombre words only added to her gloom and worry. Her shoulders sagged for a moment, then she straightened resolutely.

‘At least they can’t take our memories away from us,’ she murmured.

He chuckled at that. ‘I wish the memories could be better though,’ he said pointedly.

He took both of her hands in his and slowly shook his head ruefully. ‘It’s no good,’ he told her firmly. ‘My feelings for you have never, never changed. Your heart is
meshed with mine for all time. Ours is a great love even if unfulfilled and there is nothing that will change how I feel. Time, war, Nicole—nothing matters except that I know you are alive
and well, my sweet Catherine.’

‘Oh Victor,’ she cried softly. ‘Please don’t!’

He kissed her, then pushed her away six inches. ‘In all the years we have known each other I’ve told you often what you mean to me but you have never once said you loved me,’
he complained.

Mary kissed him back. ‘Oh, you big, silly thing. I adore you and always have; more is the tragedy of it all because there is nothing we can do about it.’

When he started to kiss her again, Mary knew she must distract him or things would get out of hand. He was doing something to her which made her thighs weak with desire.

‘Come on, let’s walk back,’ she told him, holding his arm tightly, urging them into action. ‘What are you going to do about your hotels?’

He grimaced. ‘What everyone else will have to do if they leave for Britain. Abandon them and pick up the pieces again when it’s all over. I’ve decent managers who are in their
fifties. They’ll stay and hold the fort as best they can but I expect all hotels—indeed many homes—will be requisitioned when the Germans come for billets. You’ll lose your
holiday cottages,’ he warned her.

‘When will you go?’ she asked him, anxious to know how much time they had left.

He thought a moment. ‘Very shortly. Jenny is coming to join up.’

‘Nicole?’

‘She is in a quandary and I feel sorry for her,’ he admitted. ‘She wants to go to Britain with me, Michael and Jenny and also see James in school there, but she cannot bear to
leave her family who are still on Alderney, without knowing what’s going to happen to that island.’ He threw her a glance. ‘You are staying, of course?’

Mary did not bother to reply, merely looked at him. They reached the little cottage and, as if knowing the old lady had gone, it seemed to have changed; to have lost its character. She saw
Margaret up the road and waved, turning to him.

‘Take care,’ she whispered. ‘Try and let me know when you go.’

‘I will and you take care, sweet Catherine. Don’t go shooting Germans with that little pistol of yours either,’ he ended, trying to make a jest for both of their sakes.

Then he was gone, striding off to where he had parked his car and Mary walked up to her home, lost in miserable, apprehensive thoughts.

* * *

On the 19th June an official letter came from Whitehall ordering the Bailiff to stay at his post with all Crown Officers and this news spread in a flash throughout the island,
starting fresh panic.

Margaret came downstairs and hunted for her mother, then ran back up to the sewing room. She found her sitting pensively looking out of the window.

‘Come to Britain with me, to safety,’ she pleaded suddenly.

Mary looked at her daughter who was now her own height and who had a wonderful fresh vitality and loveliness. No wonder Michael adored her.

‘Here I am and here I stay!’ Mary told her firmly.

Margaret set her lip, opened her mouth to argue, then changed her mind. She squatted down so their eyes were level.

‘I don’t like the thought of you being here during an occupation, especially with brother William,’ she said slowly.

Mary eyed her and saw worry. Margaret rarely mentioned William but Mary knew her daughter had not forgotten any more than she had. That dreadful day was as clear as if it had been yesterday.

‘Don’t you worry your head about me and a seventeen year old.’

‘Some seventeen year old,’ Margaret shot back. ‘He’s as big as any man.’

‘I can handle William,’ Mary reassured her. ‘To start with, I never trust him. You see, daughter dear, William gets frustrated and cannot stand his views or attitudes being
dismissed or ignored. He hasn’t worked out why I never said a word to him about Edwin. That got through to him more than a dozen hidings. He waited and waited on thorns and—still does.
So you see, whatever William says or does, if it annoys or conflicts with my wishes, I just dismiss him as an unimportant little boy, which he hates. He then hangs around underfoot, being a
nuisance but—’ Mary grinned wickedly: ‘I know where he is and what he is doing. Sometimes he goes off but I doubt he can cause trouble.’

‘
Yet
!’ Margaret pointed out sharply.

Mary saw her daughter’s worry and leaning forward, hugged her. ‘William is still a minor and if he ever overstepped the line, I would go to the law about him and William would
hate
that,’ she said with a malicious grin.

Margaret knew her mother’s will was as unbendable as her own. She did not like the situation and resolved to have a quiet, private word with Raoul before she left. William had killed once;
Margaret would put nothing past him in the future.

‘When do you go, have you decided?’ Mary asked.

Margaret took a deep breath. ‘It’s tomorrow,’ she whispered.

Mary flinched. ‘So soon?’

‘I’ve just come in from town and it’s hell there,’ Margaret told her slowly. ‘There’s a run on the banks and each person can only have twenty-five pounds. I
saw something else upsetting too,’ she halted, shaking her head. ‘There was a long queue of people taking their pet cats and dogs to the vets to be destroyed. There are parents milling
around crying about their children. They don’t know whether to keep them or let them go to where there might be the danger of air raids. Ambrose Sherwell is staying with his wife and children
and so is Victor Carey and he’s not a young man at all.’

Mary stiffened. ‘What about ships?’

‘Britain is sending all she can spare to take off those who want to leave,’ Margaret told her quickly.

Mary stood up. ‘I think you’d better get down to the quay today,’ she said quickly. ‘And only take hand baggage. If there is a crush of panicky parents, there will be
restrictions. Pack your hand baggage while I get the car out. Draw on your British account for what you need when over there.’

Margaret was alarmed. Although mentally prepared to go, her mother’s abruptness almost unnerved her but she saw the logic. How long would ships be able to get in and out of the harbour?
She nodded and went quickly to repack a bag while Mary went for her car. Margaret then flew outside to see Raoul.

‘I’m going to Britain, Raoul. Please stay and look after Mother and, most of all, watch William. I have an awful feeling here.’

She touched her heart. ‘Never trust him, please,’ she begged and her eyes shone mistily.

‘Trust me, Margaret!’ Raoul promised. ‘Nothing will happen to your mother if I can help it!’

Within far too short a space of time, Mary had the car at the door and Margaret found herself bundled into it with no time for farewells to others. Raoul watched with large grave eyes and lifted
his right hand as Mary drove down the drive. Then he turned and saw Amelia watching him sadly. Their own two sons had already gone to join up as had so many other young men. Now they were just two
alone as it had been in the beginning.

Mary was appalled. Even on the outskirts of St Peter Port there was a crowd and progress was almost impossible.

‘I’ll park here. We’ll have to walk!’ she said, suddenly in a stew of worry at the thought that Margaret might not get a passage.

They walked one behind the other with Mary trying to emulate old Tante and cleave a passage through the crowds but these became thicker and more distraught with every step down the quay. Parents
were weeping hysterically as they said farewell to their children while others dithered, not knowing what to do for the best. Down at the harbour the crowd was enormous and Mary and Margaret found
themselves jammed against a wall. Crush barriers had been erected but by standing on tiptoes, Mary was able to see that embarkation had started on the
Antwerp
and other ships awaited
nearby.

Mary was appalled. The multiple distress around her harrowed her nerves and suddenly she knew she could not stay. She would break down and bawl like a child. It was of desperate importance that
Margaret saw her mother as defiant and clear eyed.

In a clairvoyant flash, Margaret understood. She grasped Mary’s hand. ‘This is as far as you go,’ she said firmly. ‘You go down in that crowd and you’ll be caught
and wedged, taken to Britain whether you want it or not!’

Relief flashed on Mary’s face then it sagged a little. ‘Oh Margaret!’ was all she could whisper, biting her lip savagely.

‘Go!’ Margaret shouted, kissing her fiercely. ‘Go—now!’

Mary felt herself spun around by Margaret’s hands and pushed back up the steps they had struggled down. She moaned as the tears slid down her cheeks, then savagely berated herself as she
took in the human distress around her; the anguish on parents’ faces, the shocked cries of children terrified at what was happening.

Mary saw an opening and shoved in an unladylike manner to get up against a short wall, where she wedged herself. She turned to watch the scene below where somewhere her darling daughter was
inching along to a ship and Britain. She saw batches of children herded together, shepherded on board as priority. There were weeping men and women as their children were hauled back from the steps
of gangways as parents changed their minds. The air was filled with cries, screams, shouts and a great ululating weeping of undiluted distress.

Later Mary knew it was one of the most traumatic days of her life. Ships came, were filled with their human cargo and left while others moved to vacant berths. Mary watched the boys from
Elizabeth College march down to the harbour in an orderly line and embark en bloc. The heat was stifling and many distraught adults fainted, to be dragged to one side where they would not be
trampled on.

She saw Major Sherwell still had some troops with rifles and bayonets fixed in case the crowd got out of control through fear and grief. Finally, unable to stand any more of these distressing
scenes, Mary pushed and jostled her way back to her car. She could not go home yet; the house would be too empty so she drove slowly towards her shop, inching her way along and parked around the
back. It was quiet here but uneasily so. Mary stood for a moment frowning a little. What was different? Then it hit her. There were no children’s voices; only the small, sick and downright
stubborn remained on Guernsey.