Sea Gem (43 page)

It was true the Germans brought quite a lot of their own rations but they had commandeered so much that the islanders were already starting to feel the pinch. She and Amelia poured over the
various ad hoc recipes and advice in the censored papers. They studied the adverts carefully as a system of barter began to take place.

‘It says here that rice pudding can be made from potatoes and toothpaste from ground-up cuttlefish,’ Amelia told her one morning as they stood in the Ozanne cottage, trying to learn
about improvisation.

Mary snorted. ‘With all the beaches mined and the Germans grabbing the fish that are caught, we’ve little chance of getting hold of cuttlefish!’

‘Soap can be made from ivy leaves and wood ash,’ Amelia continued reading aloud unabashed.

Mary considered. ‘Well, we can try that at least,’ she agreed. ‘There’s all that ivy at the back here.’

‘I don’t fancy this though,’ Amelia told her pulling a face. ‘Coffee can be made from lupins and chips fried in white vaseline! Ugh!’

Amelia was now a rotund body with bright, twinkling dark eyes and still adored Raoul. She never mentioned the sons who had gone off to war but Mary knew her heart must ache for them. Having no
news was one way to deflate public morale and lower resistance.

‘Now that’s helpful,’ Amelia cried, referring once again to two lists which had been passed on. ‘We can dry cabbage stalks for the fire because one day we are going to
have no proper fuel—and conkers as well.’

‘Right,’ Mary agreed briskly. ‘We’ll save anything which can be burned and Raoul can see to drying it. Then we’ll bring it indoors and lock it up. How are you with
food rations from—them?’ she asked nodding her head up the lane.

Amelia shrugged. ‘I can’t steal so much now,’ she replied, eyes twinkling. ‘I think they have become suspicious of the food that was going.’

‘Don’t run risks!’ Mary told her with alarm.

‘Look!’ Amelia cried with excitement turning to the one sheet newspaper. ‘Someone wants a pair of men’s wellingtons size 9 in exchange for soap powder. I’m sure
there’s a pair in the loft.’

‘Try and get flour or sugar instead but, if not, settle for the soap powder,’ Mary advised.

They had fallen into the habit of storing everything in the loft of the Ozanne cottage and making sure someone was always there in case of theft. Mary had a gut feeling that food and fuel were
soon going to become top priority.

‘Let me know if you see any more items wanted and I’ll go through my goods. God!’ she cried. ‘What a state we are in! We are bartering like tribal savages instead of
civilised people, thanks to be the damned Germans!’

Mary walked home in a thoughtful mood. Her four officers had gone and been replaced by others who were slightly older. So had the fine young men who had initially come to the island. This was
significant, she knew. Now that America was in the war and Hitler had to fight on two fronts, the crack troops were too good to leave on tiny islands in the Channel. Not that the number of the
occupiers decreased. Mary had calculated they had, if anything, increased significantly. The 319 Infantry Division arrived under Major-General Muller plus even more horses. Some were splendid
animals for the officers to ride but, Mary knew, horses ate a lot of food. What would happen to them when the hay and oats had all gone?

Her walking was restricted now as the coves and sands had been laid with mines and patrols were regular. Enormous concrete fortifications were slowly being erected, great grey blots which fouled
the landscape.

The island’s occupation was peaceful because the islanders could do nothing but obey, though they did this in typical Guernsey fashion. Which meant being, awkward, slow, deaf or simply
feeble minded, depending upon the German order in question. A few commando raids took place, which caused fury from the occupiers and apprehension to the islanders. The Controlling Committee worked
hard ensuring that no islander jeopardised his neighbours with acts of sabotage.

William came and went. His glasshouse work was almost non-existent though Mary did see him occasionally discussing matters with Raymond. He had found his niche at last, working with relish as a
translator. Sometimes he was in St Peter Port and, at other times, Mary had no idea where he went. She had always felt it prudent to keep a wary eye on him. With the German work this was
difficult.

It was a time of limbo when German propaganda could have undermined the islanders’ morale except for their sneak listening to the truth of the BBC. Mary wondered when Victor might return.
It was many months now and her collection of papers had become substantial requiring a number of hiding places in the flat.

He came out of the blue the following autumn, again picking a time when Alice had left to go home and Mary was on the verge of locking up. Her heart missed a beat, then resumed with increased
pounding as he pretended to buy something from her. Luckily the autumn evenings were starting to draw in, which meant the blackout was required. While she closed it he went upstairs and Mary felt a
niggle of worry, despite her pleasure at seeing him. Where was his usual bounce, saucy look and exploring hands? He had not even kissed her. She checked both doors were locked, then flew up the
stairs after him.

In the flat she rushed to him and he opened his arms to her but, even as they kissed, Mary sensed something was different. He was again dressed as a fisherman with crumpled smelly clothes, worn
and patched trousers and an old beret on his head.

‘Victor!’ she whispered. ‘What is it?’

He pulled her down to the settee with him, half turning to her, holding one hand.

‘Later,’ he said. ‘Any food? I’m ravenous and here’s another letter for you and, yes, Margaret is thriving and now has two stripes on her arm!’

‘Oh Victor,’ she breathed, then hastened to make a meal from the emergency rations she kept in the flat for the purpose. ‘The food isn’t what it used to be,’ she
told him nervously. ‘No gauche I’m afraid!’

He eyed her. ‘Like that, is it? Anything will do to fill a hole,’ he joked, though this fact registered and would be reported back.

While he ate some very coarse dry bread with a thin, runny jam made from surplus tomatoes, she hastily read Margaret’s letter. It rang full of hope and happiness, though she noted it was a
number of weeks old. She came and sat with him again, taking one of his hands in both of hers, looking at him tenderly.

His face was harsher with tiny crow lines around his eyes. His hair had more frost, yet he was only a little older than herself. He held himself differently and seemed very tense.

‘Tell me,’ she asked in a gentle voice.

‘Jenny is dead!’ he said harshly.

‘Oh no!’ Mary cried, aghast. ‘What happened?’

‘She was on leave and went to Bristol. James had arranged to have a day off school. There was a sneak raid—it was after the Bristol blitz—and she took shelter in a building. It
had a direct hit. We had nothing left to bury!’

‘James?’

He took a deep breath. ‘Somehow they became separated and went into different shelters. James survived in his. Nicole has taken it badly. She’s had a nervous breakdown.’ He
paused. The doctor had held a lengthy discussion with him. In his opinion, the girl’s death had precipitated something in Nicole’s mind which had its roots elsewhere. Victor knew what
that was with a guilty lurch but he kept a neutral expression on his face and the doctor was too harassed to probe too deeply. There could be a cure but it would take time and patience and anything
untoward could inflict a further breakdown. Victor had wondered whether the doctor was telling him, in an oblique way, that Nicole’s mind was now unstable and would remain so. However, he had
no intention of discussing this with his love right now. As usual, his time was limited.

‘That’s not all though,’ he said slowly. This she had to know. ‘Michael is missing in action!’

‘Oh God!’ Mary groaned. ‘Margaret must be going through hell and I cannot help her!’

She was but he had no intention of telling her that either. His heart ached for his wonderful son and this, plus Jenny’s death, made him act decisively.

‘I’ll not be coming again,’ he began slowly. ‘I’m not a young man but neither am I senile. Others can do this courier work in my place. I have more value elsewhere.
I don’t know when I’ll be seeing you again, Catherine.’

Mary’s heart went cold and she closed her eyes, suppressing a sob of fear. Was
this
that dreadful nightmare? She looked at him, her forehead crinkling, her eyes narrow with
anguish but she set her lips firmly. He was going to war the hard way. Her mind worked rapidly. He was going to some theatre of war or to something dangerously clandestine where his skills would be
of more value. More to the point, he was going to some place where he could kill Germans to avenge his twins.

She groaned, lowered her head and battled not to cry. He reached over, reading her so well as always, pulling her against him and she hid herself in the grey folds of the grubby guernsey
sweater. He had been a little uncertain as to her reaction and he was proud of her now. She was so like Grandmère. She did not complain or whine. She faced facts and life, trying to take
what was dished out to her with a bravery of her own.

‘My sweet love,’ he crooned in her ear. He was content simply to hold her. He felt no urge for sex. The fact that she leaned against him for comfort and reassurance was more than
enough to make his heart swell with his own desperate pain.

‘Just keep on with your work,’ he whispered. ‘Someone else will come and use your second code words but take care. I don’t know who it will be or when but we must
continue to know German strength and intentions here.’

Mary sniffed hard and pulled back to look ruefully at him. Now she could understand his change and she shivered. She had a flashing vision of him stalking and killing Germans with a knife in his
hand. He would be extremely dangerous to cross.

‘Just carry on with your excellent work. Remember a woman’s observations can provide a different interpretation to those from a man. Your comments about food improvisations for
example. There have been a number of compliments concerning your work.’

‘Really?’ and she was pleased.

‘Remember Germany now fights on two fronts which is a classic move of military stupidity. One day the Allies will invade. It might not be this year or even next but come they will.
Therefore the more men and machinery tied up here the better for us. Remember only pass your papers on to the person who gives you the correct code word. No one else, no matter what they might say.
You are still being careful?’ he asked anxiously.

Mary nodded. ‘So careful it almost hurts.’

‘Your son?’

‘Working for the Germans just about full-time as a translator!’

‘I see,’ he murmured thoughtfully. ‘Pity he’s out from under your nose but there’s nothing you can do about that. I hate to say this, Catherine, but I will have to
go.’

‘So soon!’

He nodded, checking his watch, his face once again heavy and grave. ‘Give me ten minutes to get clear before you leave!’ and he took her hands, drawing her to him for a final kiss.
‘I’ll survive!’ he grinned knowing he was being over-optimistic. He doubted whether he would but he knew he’d take plenty of Germans with him if his number came up.

Reluctantly they broke apart as Mary repeated the caution of his first visit.

‘All’s clear!’ she hissed, then tiptoed down the track after him, to watch him vanish in the night.

Knowing this might be her last glimpse of him, she was completely unaware of the figure in a doorway higher up the road. A man had stood motionless for a long time and now his patience and
curiosity were being rewarded. His eyebrows rose with interest. Well, he told himself. Is that so! Interesting! Interesting indeed!

Mary counted ten minutes, on tenterhooks for rifle shots or a challenge, but the night was quiet. She was reluctant to move; there was too much on her mind but she had to get home. If she
delayed too long, Raoul would get into a panic and he might break the curfew to come and find her.

Carefully she rechecked there was no traces of his presence then, collecting her cycle, she went on the road, locked up and began to ride back to Cobo. Mary thought carefully. Once again she was
going to be late and a number of ideas were tried then thrown away. Certainly she could not use the flat tyre stunt a second time. Pulling a face she knew she had no alternative though the idea
made her skin crawl with apprehension.

God go with you, Victor, she kept thinking, over and over again, her heart writhing with his news. Poor Margaret. Poor Michael and poor her—but this was what war did. So Jenny had gone.
She had been an empty-headed but harmless girl and how young James must fret to grow and join up. Dear God, don’t let that happen. For Nicole, she had little thought. She carried too much
weight in her own mind now to feel concern for someone she barely knew and who no doubt loathed her guts.

Mary waited until she reached a slope in the lane, which she had been subconsciously noting for days now. The road surface here was in a dreadful state from all the German traffic. She suddenly
caught her breath, closed her eyes and let herself fall from the cycle. She landed awkwardly, slithering on her knees, ripping the skin from them. They started to bleed heavily with little chips
under the skin. She sat up, gritting her teeth but still alert enough to take particular notice of the position. Knowing the methodical Germans they would check back and indeed find a rough road
surface, treacherous for a cyclist not allowed to have proper headlights.

Her knees smarted but a quick glance showed her that although she would be lame for a few days, the damage was only superficial; it looked far worse than it was. Muttering a few choice oaths she
slowly picked up her cycle. The front wheel was bent and she doubted even Raoul’s clever fingers could work a miracle. Mary patted the black saddle, which was twisted askew. The cycle had
given her yeoman service but the tyres were worn and it was impossible to get new ones. Although some people managed to get around on rope tyres, she did not fancy this. From now on, she would walk
and take short cuts over the fields and through the countryside she knew so well.