Sea Gem (47 page)

Raoul eyed her dubiously as they went downstairs so she could let him out.

‘Mary,’ he said urgently, ‘you look like death warmed up. Try and do something with your eyes and cheeks. Don’t come back home looking shattered. Remember the Germans
have sharp eyes!’

She nodded, saw him out, relocked up then climbed the stairs. She was still dressed in her shabby trousers and decided it might be prudent to be in a nightdress for Alice’s arrival. It
would lend more colour to her story. Once the two bodies were discovered all hell would break loose and she gritted her teeth. At the same time, she examined her heart regarding her dead son but
there was no feeling of remorse. She had only administered a belated justice even though she had been forced to act as both judge and jury. The knowledge William would trouble her no more was a
great weight from her shoulders. No longer would she worry if he was peering over her shoulders but she wondered how long he had been watching her and whether he had confided in anyone. However,
knowing William’s devious mind and deep nature, she doubted he would have told anyone until he could produce a positive result. All she could do was pray the Germans believed her set scene.
It did not bear thinking about if they should query it. The only flaw she could think of was what would a German soldier be doing with a derringer? Then she shook her head. The die was cast. She
must wait and pray.

She lay in bed, waiting for Alice to arrive. When at last she heard fumbling with the lock and the bell’s delicate warning ping, she quietly got up and flashed a glance in the mirror. Her
eyes were ringed by a dark shadow but she had a tiny bit of cream left which hopefully could disguise these marks.

‘Don’t jump, Alice!’ she called down the stairs. ‘I worked so late last night I forgot the time and had to stay the night because of the curfew!’

Alice did jump and peered up the stairs where she could see her employer in a nightgown with uncombed hair and a sleepy face.

‘Oh Madam! You did give me a start!’ but Alice accepted what she saw. It would have taken a far more astute mind than hers to question. ‘I’ll make a cup of tea for
you.’

Mary grimaced but said nothing. The tea Alice would make would come from a dubious mixture of dried herbs and ground up plants. Then, she told herself, she’d better get used to it. Her
precious real tea had gone and even their leaves would not brew up a fifth time.

By the time Mary was washed, dressed and ready to walk back to Cobo, yet again she felt considerably better, even in a light frame of mind. She had disguised the shadows on her face and was
prepared for anything. Well, almost anything, she told herself.

She set off and decided to stick to the roads. It would never do to cross the fields on this particular morning. Her legs were tired and she felt weak and a little light-headed but she plodded
on grimly. Two German staff cars passed her but she stoically ignored them.

Then from a side lane appeared a sight which made her heart drum with hope as the cart turned left.

‘Hey!’ she yelled frantically. ‘Are you going towards Cobo?’

The cart halted and a man whom she knew very slightly looked down at her. ‘A lift, missus?’

‘Oh please!’ Mary gasped, scrambling up beside him. ‘I worked late in town last night and had to stay there because of the confounded curfew and my cycle gave up the ghost long
ago,’ she explained in a little rush of words.

He nodded, clucked to the horse and it broke into a shambling trot. Mary eyed him. He had lived only half a mile from them in a cottage on the front, which had been ruthlessly requisitioned by
the enemy. He and his wife had been thrown out of their little home and were now forced to double up with other cottagers.

‘It’s all nice and quiet this morning,’ she said casually and waited with apprehension.

He grunted then turned to her. ‘Maybe ’tis here but when I came along earlier there seemed to be a bit of activity around your way,’ he offered.

‘Oh!’ Mary murmured as her heart rate increased. ‘I wonder why?’

He shrugged and gave another grunt. ‘Who’s to say with the Boche?’

Mary turned and watched the scenery dawdle past while her mind worked rapidly. The soldier must have been reported missing. Now there would be a search for him because the Germans, always
hypersensitive, would think of murder or revenge by an islander and very soon the balloon would go up. She wanted to be in the familiarity of her home when it did.

It was still raw-cold though the sun shone weakly. She looked at the fields and was relieved to see that though areas still held wet grass, in others it was going. With luck their multiple
tracks should have vanished if only they did not find the bodies too soon.

The driver was incommunicative for which she was thankful as it allowed her to think and plot her lines. How she acted in the next few hours would determine whether she lived or died. The stakes
were exceedingly high. He let her off not far from her home and with a cheery wave and false smile, Mary watched him go down another narrow lane.

Taking a deep breath, lifting her head high and ramming her spine straight, Mary walked briskly towards her home and up the drive. She felt exhausted but moved with false sprightliness.

Amelia saw her first. ‘You’re back!’ she said, beaming her usual, placid welcome.

‘I worked late and had to stay the night because of the curfew,’ Mary said, knowing perfectly well some German would be bound to be listening somewhere near to hand.

‘One of the officers came back from leave last night and he brought some real coffee!’

Mary’s mouth watered. ‘Is there any for us, do you think?’

She had to admit that her billeted officers were not mean. To date they had always shared whatever they brought back off leave and, in her turn, Mary had allowed herself to be a little more
friendly.

‘It’s brewing now and we can all share. Raoul has had his one cup, so have I. There is one left kept specially for you!’

‘Marvellous!’ Mary exclaimed. The very thought of a rare cup of real coffee brightened her spirits enormously.

She went up to her top-floor room and only then let her eyes close and shoulders sag a trifle before Amelia came up with a mug of coffee. Its tantalising fragrance drifted all over the top floor
and Mary sat down, hands around the mug, just looking at the rich, dark drink. She sipped delicately and memories flooded back. It was just like old Tante had made it. It poured new life into her,
thrusting down to her vitals. Oh now for some real food; white bread without sawdust in it, real cows’ butter, fresh eggs with bacon, red meat and lovely greens, a proper pudding with
Guernsey cream. Her mouth drooled. One day she promised. Yes! One day.

Later she changed into clean slacks and shirt, eyeing them with a sigh. She did not have any clothes left which were not patched, frayed or shiny. Even her shirts had collars and cuffs turned.
Her wardrobe was a disgrace but they were all alike so no one looked too much like a tramp. Compared to the TODT slaves she was the height of fashion.

It was later that morning that Amelia tapped on her door, her face white and worried.

‘There’s a strange German officer downstairs to see you and Inspector le Norman’s with him.’

Mary started her act. She blinked, looked suitably surprised and nodded. ‘Five minutes.’

Amelia trotted away and Mary took a huge breath to steady her nerves. This was it. She felt a sharp, desperate yearning to lay her head against Victor’s broad chest and, closing her eyes
for a second, she tried to visualise his presence with her.

She took her time going downstairs, walking with dignity and as much grace as she could muster in her shabby clothes.

‘Gentlemen,’ she said softly, ‘can I help you?’

The Hauptmann was unknown, as Amelia had warned her, middle-aged with a stern face that was now set in a cold mask. Emil stood one pace behind him, his usual imperturbable self from which
nothing could be read or deduced.

Mary led them into a room used as a general lounge by the billeted officers. One was present. He leaped to his feet, clicked his heels and tactfully made himself scarce.

‘I’m afraid I’ve no refreshment to offer you,’ Mary told them politely.

Emil removed his police cap and studied the room, which he hadn’t seen before. Finally he stood, feet apart and let the Hauptmann talk. Mary gave him her full attention. Her heart was
beating far too quickly but she was sure they could not know this.

The German fidgeted for a few seconds as if reluctant to speak, then he cleared his throat and drew himself to attention. ‘Frau Noyen, we have bad news for you.’

Mary’s eyebrows rose but she still waited, looking mildly curious. ‘Yes?’

‘Frau—your son is dead!’

Mary put on the best performance of her life. Her eyes opened wide with alarm, one hand flew to her throat and her jaw opened a little. She fixed a blank look in her eyes, letting them move to
each man in turn.

‘Dead?’ she asked tremulously.

The German nodded, his embarrassment growing. He wished the inspector would help him out but all these islanders were awkward.

‘He was shot!’

‘Good God!’ Mary cried, swaying just one inch on her feet. ‘Shot—dead? How? Why? Who?’ she croaked with a wild sob of distress.

The German stepped forward to catch her arm in support. ‘Sit, Frau!’ he said gently, sweating more than a little. Emil stood like an unhelpful statue and the German cursed him under
his breath. He reached in his tunic pocket and extracted a minute flask. Unscrewing it he carefully poured a small measure of Schnapps. ‘Drink this,’ he said kindly.

Mary hated the stuff but obeyed him, letting her eyes close while a look of horror etched her features. Then she opened them and looked up at him through her tears.

‘Frau, when did you last see your son?’

Mary frowned, waiting before she replied. ‘Not this week, nor the one before. He works for you so we’ve not met much because he had lodgings in St Peter Port somewhere.’

‘Your son was murdered!’

Mary closed her eyes, licked her lips, which were very dry indeed, and gazed back at the German, horrified and frozen. ‘I don’t understand!’

There was a pregnant silence for a few moments during which Mary made herself act as if struggling for self-control but when she spoke, her words quavered a little.

‘I have a feeling you’ve not told me all,’ she whispered. ‘What else is there for a mother to know?’

This was the bit the Hauptmann had been afraid of. He flashed a look at le Norman for help but he was carefully studying his polished shoes. The German licked his lips, then plucked up
courage.

‘It is not nice, Frau,’ he began hesitantly. ‘Your son did excellent translation work for us. We thought highly of him, he was a clever young man. For some reason he was out
late last night. Why we don’t know or,’ he paused trying to frame the next sentence delicately, ‘we may know. Your son was obviously shot trying to defend himself. There was a
violent struggle in which your son managed to wrestle a pistol off his attacker and shoot him in turn.’

‘Good God!’ Mary gasped, eyes wide with disbelief. ‘Who was his attacker and why, for heaven’s sake? William was a quiet boy!’

‘The attacker was, I regret to say this, one of our soldiers and it seems, from the evidence and position of the bodies, that our man was—homosexual!’

‘Oh no!’

‘Yes!’ the Hauptmann growled, humiliated. ‘We think he fancied your son, an advance was made and a small pistol produced though where a soldier obtained this is something we
yet have to clear up. Anyhow that’s how your son was shot. He did not die right away. There would only have been seconds in it but long enough for him to grapple the pistol from our soldier
and shoot him between the eyes in revenge!’

Mary leaned back, eyes shut then lowered her head as tears flowed again; this time there was no faking. As the German had told the tale Mary had suddenly relived the horror again. She cried with
genuine distress not for herself but for the unfortunate German soldier who would, she hoped, save her bacon.

She lifted weary eyes to the officer. ‘But soldiers have pistols, don’t they?’ she asked knowing perfectly well only officers did.

‘No, Frau, only our officers have them and certainly not Derringers.’

Mary frowned. ‘Derringer? What’s that?’

He hastened to explain. This was going better than he had thought possible. The mother was distressed and sickened as he had expected but she was displaying remarkable fortitude under these
harrowing circumstances.

‘It’s a very small American pistol, extremely rare nowadays. It only has two shots with a very limited range but effective when close to. In the last century it was highly popular in
America with women and gamblers.’

‘But—?’

‘Don’t worry, Frau. We will investigate,’ the Hauptmann promised, though he doubted he would learn much. The rest of the man’s troop would automatically close ranks and
the soldier had stunk of drink even when they found his body. He intended to recommend that this group of men be transferred instantly to another field of operations. If a German soldier was to
blame, as he feared, once the news was known God only knew what these stubborn islanders would do.

‘Where is my son?’ Mary asked, with a catch in her voice.

‘His body has been taken to a civilian mortuary,’ he told her, glad the worst was over in one way but not liking what he would have to report to his senior officer. He threw a glance
at the policeman, tried to catch his eye for help but Emil remained blank of expression and silent of words. The German’s lips tightened. He could imagine the inspector’s thoughts
which, though these would not be aired, would do little to help German/Islander relations.

‘There is a car outside for you, Frau. We will take you there now,’ the German told her, anxious to do anything to help.

Mary slowly stood. The Schnapps had gone to her head. ‘I will see my housekeeper first. If you will wait—?’

Mary found Amelia talking with Raoul who stood at the back door of the kitchen with muddy boots, not daring to enter while wearing them.