Chapter eleven

A

ndy phoned Charlotte the next morning to say he would pick her up at ten. This gave her time to call her mother. Their conversation was brief.

‘Hello, Mother. Have you had the tests?’

‘Oh, it’s you, Charlotte. Yes, and for once I wasn’t kept waiting. I do so hate it when other people are not punctual–’

‘Yes, I know. And when do you get the results? I can fly over and accompany you–’

Her mother gave an exasperated sigh.

‘Don’t be ridiculous! As I’ve said before, I’m perfectly capable of attending an appointment on my own. And, as it happens, I’ve been feeling somewhat better lately and I’m sure it’s all a fuss about nothing. My appointment is in ten days’ time. I assume you’re still on that island – Guernsey, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes, I am.’ Charlotte groaned inwardly. It was like talking to the proverbial brick wall! ‘Look, Mother, will you at least promise to call me when you’ve seen Dr Rowlands? So I know everything is all right.’

‘If you wish. Now, unless you’ve anything else to say, I must be off. Can’t hang around on the phone all day, you know.’

‘Goodbye, Mother, I’ll wait for your call. Take care.’ She clicked off the phone and threw it on the bed in frustration. Determined not to let her mother’s intransigence spoil her day, she pushed down her annoyance –and concern – and forced herself to smile before joining Louisa for breakfast.

‘How did it go last night? Good, er, meal?’ Louisa asked, smiling as she set out muesli and juice.

‘It was lovely, thanks. Lively and good food, just as you said. And Andy proved to be great company.’ She sat down as Louisa placed a mug of coffee in front of her. ‘He’s taking me over to Herm today in his father’s boat and offered to give me the grand tour. Should be fun,’ she said, trying to keep her voice neutral.

Inside, she wasn’t quite as sure. The thought of a day with such an attractive man was both heady and worrying. Where on earth could it lead? Nowhere was the honest answer. But at least it would stop her thinking about her mother.

Louisa’s eyes rounded.

‘My, he hasn’t wasted any time, has he? Paul had said he was shy where women are concerned. Just goes to show men don’t understand each other any more than they do us women.’ She pulled out a chair opposite and took a sip of her own coffee before adding, ‘I think he must fancy you, after all. And you’re keen, too, methinks.’

Charlotte nearly choked on her drink.

‘Well, he is attractive but we’ve only just met and hardly know each other, so…’ she said, waving her free hand. Where had Louisa got that idea from?

‘Would you be interested in a relationship if he was?’

‘It’s too soon to speculate, but I’m definitely over Richard, thank goodness, and would like to think I’d meet someone again one day. But at the moment men are not top of my agenda.’ She found herself growing alternately hot and cold as Louisa stared at her and dropped her eyes, focusing on her muesli.

Louisa appeared to let it go, asking if she would be back for supper. Charlotte assumed so but said she would phone if not. They continued with their breakfast while Louisa chatted about her own plans. Paul was taking Sunday off and they were going out for lunch and a drive.

‘You’d be welcome to join us, of course.’

‘No, you two need some time on your own. I’ll be fine. Might walk into town and have some lunch. It’s a pity the shops are shut though–’

‘Why don’t you borrow my car? We’ll use Paul’s, then you can go wherever you like. Okay?’

‘Thanks, I’d like that. I’m sure there are loads of places I haven’t been yet.’

Louisa made a few suggestions before they cleared away the dishes and Charlotte nipped upstairs for a final freshen up. She was waiting downstairs when Andy arrived, dressed in jeans and a patched Guernsey sweater.

‘Morning.’ He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before scrutinising her outfit of cotton slacks, long sleeved T-shirt and cotton sweater. ‘You’ll need something a bit warmer for the crossing, as it’s chilly on the sea this time of year. Have you got a jacket or something?’

‘Sure. Give me a minute.’ Charlotte ran upstairs to fetch a lightweight padded jacket.

‘That’s better. You can leave it in the cabin when we’re ashore.’ Once in the car he headed down towards St Julian’s Avenue before turning left at the roundabout.

‘Oh, where’s the boat? I’d assumed it would be in the marina,’ Charlotte said, pointing to the QEII marina in front of them.

‘Dad keeps it at Bordeaux. It’s near his house and cheaper to moor there. It’s not far.’

They fell silent and Charlotte gazed out of the window, conscious of his closeness as Andy drove along the coast to The Bridge in St Sampson, circled the harbour and followed the road to Bordeaux. He pulled into the car park and pointed to a white motorboat with a small cabin, dipping gently on the water a few yards from shore.

‘There she is. Can you roll up your trousers to wade out? Or will I have to carry you?’ he asked, a wicked grin splitting his face.

She laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll cope! Not sure you’d manage the weight!’

He shook his head. ‘I could carry you, no problem. But if you can walk, so much the better, as I have to get the fuel on board. Right, let’s go.’

Slinging their trainers round their necks they approached the shore with Andy carrying a jerry can. It was high tide and moments later they reached the boat. Andy hopped aboard first and gave Charlotte a hand. Once the tank was re-fuelled he started the outboard and pointed the boat towards Herm, clearly visible straight ahead of them.

Charlotte settled onto a seat opposite Andy and watched as he steered. She fought down a tinge of unease, feeling vulnerable in such a small craft. She had imagined it would be larger, with proper seats and a steering wheel like the smart boats lined up in the marina. This looked like a toy boat in comparison and was a new experience for a landlubber like her. Not wanting Andy to think she was a wimp, she fixed a bright smile on her face and told herself to relax. He was the son of a fisherman, experienced with boats and clearly knew what he was doing. Turning her head she focused on Herm, its golden beaches topped by green fields and trees. She had agreed to come with him and there could be no turning back, in spite of the chill running down her arms.

‘It looks beautiful, doesn’t it? Will it be packed with people on such a lovely day?’

Andy, keeping one hand on the tiller, pushed his hair back with the other. ‘No, the odd thing about Herm is, no matter how many people pile in for the day or even longer, you only ever find a crowd in the pub. After their pit stop, everyone drifts off to different parts of the island and none of the beaches ever get crowded. Mind you, today isn’t hot enough to lie on a beach for long, so most will be taking long, leisurely walks.’

She let her gaze travel over the fast diminishing stretch of water. ‘Gosh, this is quick. I expected it to take a lot longer.’

‘Takes about fifteen minutes. Much quicker than taking the Trident and I’ll be able to drop you off by the harbour. So you won’t get your feet wet!’ he said, with a grin.

Charlotte smiled, twisting her head round to watch the east coast of Guernsey fall behind. Dotted between the two islands were rocky outcrops which Andy skilfully avoided with quick flicks of the tiller. Beyond Herm the outline of Sark reared up; a reminder of the fun day she and Louisa had enjoyed in the spring. Moments later and the harbour wall was upon them and Andy cut the engine as he manoeuvred close to the steps, taking hold of the rope as he jumped out.

‘Okay, if you get out now, I’ll moor up properly and join you in a minute.’

She climbed to the top and watched as he throttled up and moved a few yards away before dropping anchor and wading the few feet to the beach. As he joined her on the jetty he asked what she wanted to do first.

‘I’d really like a coffee, please. I need warming up,’ she said, rubbing her arms. Although the day was warm, she still felt the chill from the boat ride.

‘Sure. Let’s head to the Mermaid and we’ll soon have you warm again.’

He strode off to the left, passing shops hidden behind brightly coloured displays of remnants of the holiday season. Bargain-hunters chatted happily as they searched the rails and bins for the must-have buys. Charlotte was entranced as she took in white stone cottages covered with flowers and shrubs rubbing shoulders with the little shops. Perhaps Andy was worried she might join the shoppers as he moved on quickly to the adjoining pub. For a moment she wanted to hold back and look at the shops, annoyed with Andy. But admitting to herself she needed a coffee more than shopping she let him lead her on. She could go shopping later.

‘Inside or out?’ he asked, as they walked under the stone arch into the courtyard, filled with benches and tables. Some in the sun were empty and Charlotte said she’d prefer outside, and headed for one of them. Andy went inside to order the coffees while she people-watched. The other customers were in a relaxed mood, sharing jokes as they planned their day, and small children ran around tables under the watchful eyes of their parents. Charlotte found herself unbending in the laid-back atmosphere, in spite of the memory of the conversation with her mother forcing its way to the surface. There was nothing she could do except wait for the phone call. Today she had to let go.

Taking a deep breath of the ozone-laden air, she experienced a frisson of anticipation at the day ahead. It had been so long since she had been on a date – or whatever this was – not since she first met Richard, ten years ago. A lifetime. Or so it felt. Pushing to one side the obvious complications of living across a stretch of water and their different backgrounds, she thought she might as well enjoy any time she spent with Andy. As the thought flittered across her mind, the man in question appeared from the pub bearing two mugs of coffee.

‘You look lost in thought. Everything okay?’ Andy asked as he sat beside her.

‘Absolutely. I was thinking what a lovely day it is and how happy everyone looks. It’s such a shame summer’s officially over. Does the island close down for the winter?’ She had no intention of sharing her real worries with him. It would make her more vulnerable.

‘Not completely. The White House Hotel near the harbour will close next weekend until spring, but the self-catering cottages are rented out through the year. And the Mermaid and the shops open for shorter hours in the winter. So there’s usually someone staying here, along with the inhabitants, naturally.’ He sipped his coffee before adding, ‘You know Jeanne and Nick were married here?’

‘Yes, what a fab place to choose. I expect all you Guerns know the island well.’ She stirred the froth on her drink as, not for the first time, she wondered what it would be like to live on a small island.

‘For many of us growing up in Guernsey, Herm was where we went for holidays. Getting off the island to go abroad was too expensive but it always felt like being in another country coming over here. My parents hired frame tents in the Seagull campsite above Manor Village and friends would join us and we had a whale of a time. Nick was one of them. It’s a children’s paradise, as you’ll see when we go round.’ He rubbed her arm. ‘Warmer now?’

She smiled, enjoying the touch of his hands. ‘Yes, thanks. This place is a real sun trap and the coffee was just what I needed. Shall we go?’

He stood up and offered his hand as she stepped over the bench. ‘We’ll head towards the common first and continue round the coast until lunch time. I’ve booked a table at The White House for one thirty, if that’s okay?’

She nodded and they joined the coastal path outside. A minute later Andy unfolded a map and explained their route, first pointing out Fisherman’s Beach on their left. ‘The island has several great beaches which is why they never get crowded. The best, in my view, is Shell Beach on the east coast.’ He went on to tell Charlotte a little more about Herm and she listened avidly as the island gave itself up to her gaze. A small boy, rushing around a bend, bumped into her and she had to hold onto him to steady them both. His parents caught up and mumbled an apology before grabbing his hand. Charlotte smiled. It was lovely to see children running free, even if they did nearly knock you over.

As they continued on the path the number of walkers thinned until they found themselves alone on the sandy track leading to the common – home, according to Andy, to Neolithic burial grounds. Warming to the theme of Herm’s history, he became more animated, waving his arms in the way of those of Latin blood, and she smiled inwardly, recalling his French ancestry. He was definitely more passionate than she had guessed and wondered idly if the French blood would out in other ways too. She felt her face grow hot at the thought and when he brushed her hand, she pushed it in her pocket, worried he was going to hold it. Looking puzzled he carried on with the story.

Charlotte enjoyed listening to Andy’s tales of Normans, monks, pirates and Prussian princes, all former occupants of Herm. But, for her, the biggest surprise was learning the writer Sir Compton Mackenzie, whose work she admired, had leased the island in the 1920s. At this point in his tale they had reached Shell Beach and the glimmering expanse of sand – actually crushed seashells carried by the Gulf Stream – looked too inviting to resist. Pulling off their trainers they ran along the shore edge, laughing as the sea lapped at their ankles. At one moment they came to a stop to avoid a dog splashing in the shallows and Charlotte lost her balance. Andy grabbed her and she found herself staring into his eyes. He leant down and kissed her. Charlotte closed her eyes and allowed herself to melt into the kiss. Coming up for air, she pulled back slightly and smiled.

‘That was some kiss! What brought that on?’

‘You looked so carefree and happy and…and beautiful. I couldn’t resist. Did you mind?’ he asked stroking tangled hair off her face.

‘Nooo…Although we do appear to have an audience,’ she said, pointing.

He turned round and saw three small faces gaping at him, goggle eyed.

‘Are you two married, then? That was so soppy!’ declared a freckle-faced lad of about seven, building sandcastles with what appeared to be a younger brother and sister. He pulled a face in disgust.

Andy laughed.

‘No, we’re not married, just friends. Don’t you like seeing people kiss each other?’

The boy shook his head.

‘Nah, not in public, anyways. Suppose it’s okay if you’re on your own. My mum and dad never kiss in front of us kids,’ he said, nodding towards a couple sitting fully clothed on a mat about a hundred yards away. Charlotte glanced towards them, noting they appeared to be arguing and felt a pang of sympathy for the boy and his siblings.

‘Well, I’m sorry if we offended you, young man. We’ll move away and let you build your sandcastle undisturbed,’ Andy said solemnly. Charlotte saw his mouth twitching and had to stifle a giggle.

The boy nodded and turned back to his digging while Charlotte and Andy ran a few yards before collapsing into helpless laughter.

‘Well, that told us, didn’t it? Public displays of affection are a no-no if there are kids about,’ Andy spluttered.

Charlotte allowed him to hold her hand as they continued up the beach, away from critical eyes. Coming across a sheltered spot, Andy suggested they sit down and they snuggled up together, feeling the sun’s warmth on their faces. Charlotte was content to sit quietly, every fibre of her being tingling. In spite of her reservations about the wisdom of allowing Andy to get under her skin, his kiss had woken something in her and it felt good. Very good. Like coming out of hibernation after a cold, long winter to find the sun and warmth on your body once more. Even if it was likely to be short-lived.

‘You look as if you haven’t a care in the world. Do you?’ Andy asked, stroking her face.

Instantly she was snapped into reality. Her mother. Groaning inwardly at the thought of what might lay ahead, Charlotte replied sharply, ‘Of course I have cares! Doesn’t everyone? And it’s something I’d rather not talk about.’

He leaned back, frowning. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to pry. Shall we make a move for the restaurant? All this walking is building up my appetite.’

She let him help her to her feet and they walked side by side, but not holding hands, as they retraced their steps to the harbour village and The White House.

The conversation over lunch in the Conservatory Restaurant was initially stilted and Charlotte, aware she had ruffled Andy’s feathers with her sharpness, tried to defuse things by encouraging him to tell her more about his work.

He appeared to regain his earlier humour and they spent the afternoon exploring the rest of the island, or at least a good part of it. Charlotte continued to be enchanted with everything she saw, declaring the tiny Norman chapel of St Tugual to be one of the ‘sweetest chapels I’ve ever seen’.

Andy kept an eye on the time, saying he needed to catch the high tide to float the boat from its temporary mooring. As they made their way from the Manor Village in the centre of Herm he announced there was just time for a quick look round the shops if she wished.

It proved to be an expensive ‘quick look’ as Charlotte ended up buying a couple of tops to see her through the cooler weather and three paperbacks to replace those she had finished reading. Pleased with her purchases, she allowed Andy to hold her hand as they strolled the few yards to the harbour.

He left her on the jetty while he waded out to the boat and brought it back to the steps. Minutes later Charlotte was safely aboard and gazing wistfully at Herm as they sped away.

‘You can always come back, you know,’ Andy said, glancing at her. He frowned, adding, ‘You’re not planning on leaving for a while yet, are you?’

‘No, but I can’t stay forever. Perhaps another two or three weeks tops, depending on whether or not I can discover the answers you need. I…I might have to go home for a while.’ She chewed her lip.

He grunted and appeared lost in thought as he held onto the tiller. Charlotte, reliving the day, could not help wondering where they both stood in terms of a relationship. Were they becoming closer – or not?