Chapter twelve

A

ndy was in thoughtful mood on Sunday morning as he left his cottage in St Peters. His parents had invited him for Sunday lunch and as he drove up to St Sampson he could not get the thought of Charlotte out of his head.

He was falling for her and he knew he shouldn’t. It was hopeless. She was way out of his league and apart from anything else, lived on the mainland. Hardly conducive to a romantic involvement even if there wasn’t such a social gulf between them. The thought was depressing but at the same time his heart skipped a beat at the memory of their kiss on the beach. And their goodnight kiss when he dropped her off at Louisa’s.

In the heat of the moment Andy had invited Charlotte round for lunch on the following Saturday and now he wondered if it was a mistake. Should he back off before he got in deeper? But he couldn’t withdraw the offer without looking like a complete pillock so…The sound of a blaring horn brought him up sharp and he just managed to stop at a junction as another car drove past. Get a grip, man! Andy told himself, shocked at the near miss. Resolving to forget about Charlotte for the moment, he focused on arriving at his parents’ house in one piece. Twenty minutes later he pulled into the drive of their tiny cottage.

‘Hello, son. Good timing, your mother’s just about to serve up. Fancy a lager with your dinner?’ his father said as he ushered him into the dining cum sitting room. Andy thought Jim looked tired and hoped he’d not been overdoing things again.

‘Thanks. I’ll get them, Dad, you sit down.’ Andy walked through into the kitchen, barely big enough to hold two people, and gave his mother a hug as she stood dishing out portions of vegetables to accompany the meagre amount of roast pork on the three plates. The memory of the meals he had enjoyed with Charlotte in the last two days made Andy feel guilty. As his mother turned to give him a kiss, he slipped a twenty pound note into her apron pocket. ‘Hello, Maman, looks delicious. Hope you made your incomparable apple sauce to go with it?’ he asked, returning her kiss.

Yvette smiled. ‘But of course. Your father would not forgive me if I do not! You take the lagers and wait while I bring in the plates in one little minute.’ She patted her pocket and mouthed “thank you” before turning back to the task in hand. Andy collected a couple of cans from the fridge and returned to the dining room.

‘How are you, Dad? How’s the physio going?’

Jim took the proffered can before replying, ‘Not too bad, son. That girl Louisa’s been making me do lots of exercises at home and it seems to ease the pain. Not as stiff as I was, for sure.’ He took a sip of the lager before adding, ‘The only thing is she wants me to cut down on the fishing for a bit. Said it wasn’t helping. But you know I love going out in the boat and we enjoy the fish I catch. Bit of a bummer, really,’ he said, frowning.

‘It’s a pity, but if your back improves won’t it be worth it in the long run? Did she say you could get back to the fishing one day?’ Andy was concerned. Not only did his parents need the fish themselves, but his father earned good pocket money from the extra he sold.

‘She didn’t say one way or the other. I guess it depends how well the treatments work and I’m not sure how many they’ll let me have.’ Jim stared at Andy. ‘You know I can’t abide charity. I prefer to pay my own way, always have–’

‘But do not go on at the boy, Jim. You should instead be glad one thinks so well of Andy’s work to wish to help you,’ Yvette said, coming into the room with a plate in each hand. Andy stood up and fetched the last plate from the kitchen.

His mother flashed him a smile as they sat down to eat. Jim grunted before tucking into his food. While they ate, Yvette asked Andy about his latest projects and the meal passed off pleasantly as he described a barn conversion he was designing. While they were eating the pudding of French apple tart Andy had an idea.

‘Dad, you remember Nick’s wife is a writer?’ Jim nodded. ‘Well, she’s planning to write a novel set during the occupation and wants to get hold of as many first-hand accounts as she can. As you know, she’s not long had a baby so can’t get out and about much and asked me to pass the word around,’ he said, before taking a final sip of his lager. ‘I remembered you saying once that your mother kept a diary during the war and wondered if you still had it. It’d be just the kind of thing Jeanne’s looking for.’

Jim pursed his lips. ‘I don’t rightly know if we have. It was with some bits and pieces we kept after she died, but could have been thrown out long ago.’

Andy turned to his mother, who looked thoughtful. ‘We kept all the old family photos and various papers, I am sure. If it is there the diary will be in the attic in the box with those other things. Do you want to have a look while you are here?’

He looked at his father, shifting in his chair.

‘Is it all right with you, Dad?’

‘I’m not sure. Don’t like the thought of other people poking about in our private business–’

‘Mais, c’est bete, Jim! After so long a time, it cannot do harm for this nice girl Jeanne to read Madeleine’s old diary. And if it may help with her book, why not? There is nothing to hide, no?’ Yvette laughed.

Andy held his breath. If the diary was in the attic why was his father reluctant for anyone to read it?

Jim seemed to do battle with himself, before finally saying, ‘No, there’s nothing to hide. Suppose you can see if it’s still there.’ He stood up and, rubbing his back, stretched a bit before stomping off to the sofa.

Yvette raised her eyebrows as she shot a glance at Andy, who shrugged. He helped clear the table before going upstairs to check out the attic. Access was easy thanks to the inbuilt ladder attached to the hatch and the attic was both floored and well lit. As a boy he had played in there with a battered train set passed down by friends of his parents. Nick had joined him on occasion and he smiled now at the memory of happy times pretending to run a railway. Shoved towards the shallow part of the eaves he found the boxes his mother had suggested he search first. Kneeling down, he remembered years ago looking idly through old photos stuck in albums and wondering who everyone was. His curiosity at the time had not been strong enough for him to question his parents, which he now regretted. But this was not the right moment to ask, and he concentrated on looking for the diary.

A couple of boxes later he pulled out a likely contender, a thick, brown hardback book bearing the title Journal in faded gold lettering. Andy held his breath as he looked inside. He let out a long sigh. The inscription, To my darling wife, Madeleine, on the occasion of her birthday, was written in heavy script across the page. The original book must have consisted of blank lined pages and Madeleine had filled in the dates of her diary entries. Flicking through he noted the diary spanned the years from 1943 – when Madeleine married Edmund – to 1946. The handwriting was not easy for him to decipher and Andy, not wanting to give his father time to change his mind, decided to leave and look at it later.

***

Charlotte phoned the rector of St Martins first thing Monday morning, eager to begin what she hoped would be a more fruitful line of research. She asked if they could meet and he suggested the following morning. Pleased, she slipped out into the garden to test the temperature. With October only days away, the air was cooling and Charlotte was glad of the warm sweaters she had bought in Herm. Idly dead-heading the roses her thoughts turned to Andy and his excited phone call on Sunday evening.

‘You’ll never guess, but I’ve found my grandmother’s diary from the occupation!’ he cried, as she answered the phone.

‘What! But how…?’

Andy explained how it had happened and she congratulated him on his brainwave. ‘Have you read it? Anything interesting?’ she asked.

‘Well, to be honest I’ve flicked through, but apart from the fact the writing’s hard to read, I…I feel uncomfortable reading it. She was my grandmother, after all and…and newly married–’

‘Oh, that’s so sweet! You don’t want to be a voyeur. Perfectly understandable, but I doubt if there’d be much, ahem, in the way of bedroom secrets in a young woman’s diary during enemy occupation,’ she said, wondering if Andy blushed when embarrassed. ‘Would you prefer me to read it? At least I’m impartial and would only share what was important or relevant.’

She heard his sigh of relief.

‘Would you? If you didn’t mind–’

‘Of course I don’t mind. I absolutely adore reading through old diaries and we do need to know if Madeleine mentions anything about Edmund and collaboration. She, if anyone, would have known, I’m sure. Oh, this is exciting! I think we’re beginning to make progress at last. When can I see the diary?’

‘I can call in at lunchtime tomorrow if you like, I’ll be en route to an appointment.’

They talked for a few minutes more before saying goodbye and Charlotte was left tingling with excitement at the prospect of reading the diary. Surely it had to hold something of significance, she told herself.

The last rose now devoid of dead flowers, Charlotte could only wait impatiently for Andy to arrive; he wasn’t due for another two hours. What to do in the meantime? For a moment she was tempted to call her mother to persuade her to let her accompany her to the doctor’s the following Tuesday. But the thought of another brush-off stopped her. Instead she walked down to Candie Gardens to check out the latest display in the museum before having a coffee in the café and admiring the view over the harbour. Sitting quietly gave the chance to try and make sense of her confused feelings about Andy.

Their goodnight kiss had been as intense as the one on the beach and she had not wanted it to end. Her body was saying yes while her head was saying no, this is not what you want right now. It had caused her a couple of restless nights and she was no clearer as to what to do. And now she was even more entangled, with the chance to read the diary and receive help from the rector! She relieved her frustration by kicking out at the leaves in the gardens before making her way home.

Andy arrived in a rush. ‘Sorry I can’t stop, but I’m running late as usual. Here’s the diary and I hope you can fathom the writing better than I could. I think Madeleine was trying to cram as many words as possible onto the pages!’ he said.

Charlotte glanced through. The writing was tiny, but legible, she thought.

‘I’ll start reading it now and will keep you posted. Oh, and I’m seeing the rector of St Martins tomorrow morning so that’s another potentially useful line of enquiry.’

‘Great. Look, I’d better shoot. Call you later,’ he said, hesitating before kissing her quickly on the cheek.

Charlotte waved him off, not allowing herself to dwell on his hesitation, and carried the diary, a notepad and pen outside. The garden was a suntrap and she was determined to sit out as long as it stayed warm. It took a while to adjust to Madeleine’s handwriting, so it was a slow start.

Most of the earlier entries referred to the increasing lack of food and the distress caused to islanders by harsher and harsher restrictions imposed on them by the Germans. Charlotte began to understand Madeleine was using the diary more as a way of relieving her feelings than as a factual recording of events, although these cropped up occasionally. She described her husband in glowing terms:

“My Edmund’s working so hard to finish the cottage. Not easy with materials being scarce. Particularly paint. But today he went round asking if anyone has any spare and everyone was so kind and he came back with a few tins. They would not be my first choice but I must not complain. It’s good to see how well-liked he is, for sure. Mind, I always knew that – everyone likes Edmund. Everyone except his horrible brother, Harold. But of course, he’s just jealous…”

Charlotte sat up straight. If Edmund was such a nice guy he wasn’t likely to have betrayed his neighbours, was he? She knew it wasn’t proof of his innocence, but it did support Andy’s belief in him. Of course, Madeleine was biased, but…Charlotte carried on reading, skimming through the long passages bemoaning the lack of proper tea and soap until she came to an entry which caused her to feel shocked. Surely he hadn’t dared…She had to tell Andy – now.