Chapter fourteen

A

s she read Charlotte became excited, convinced it was significant. “I was in the kitchen and looking out of the window – saw Edmund and Harold arguing – was bad as Edmund’s face was red – shook his fists at Harold who laughed at him. Edmund looked even angrier – thought he’d explode, wondered if I should go – calm things down. But Harold walked away – my husband stood there, his head in his hands. I felt sick to see him so. That bastard, Harold! He has to spoil things. Edmund – usually so calm – looked up and must have seen my face – gave me a quick smile before walking off in opposite direction. When he came back later I asked – what was he arguing about – said it was a difference of opinion. But he – strange mood the rest of day and the days following – struggling with something weighty. Not like to pry…”

Could it be relevant to Edmund’s death only four days later? For the first time she pondered the idea Harold might have had something to do with what happened to his brother. But what? She continued reading, dreading Madeleine’s reaction to her husband’s death. A couple of days after the argument, she told of her puzzlement when her normally friendly neighbours don’t return her greeting and turn their backs on her. When she told Edmund, he admits the same thing happened to him. Neither of them could explain it and she wrote how worried they both were and Edmund’s mood grew darker. The neat, tiny writing changes for the entry on the 10th became more of a scrawl, blotted with splashes of ink and what could only have been tears.

“Dead! He’s dead. I know – I saw his body. It’s horrible, I feel sick. Can’t stop crying. Me – a widow! At twenty! It makes no sense. Only yesterday he was in my arms. And they say he was an informer! I cannot believe that. I know for sure my wonderful husband is dead, but he was no traitor! He did not come home last night after going to his father’s. I did not know until this morning. While I slept he…Oh, God. Oh, God! What am I to do? I feel so ill. Edmund never arrived at his father’s. I went to see. The local constable started a search. With the neighbours. Said something about an escaped POW. We all live not far from the cliffs at Jerbourg. They headed there first. I had to stop to be sick. Rushed to catch them up. Someone was pointing down at Van Bêtes bay. The rocks! The constable tried to stop me. But I ran past and looked down. Sprawled on the rocks was his twisted body. I can’t stop seeing it. Oh, Edmund! My dear, dear Edmund! How will I live without you.”

Charlotte found herself wiping away a tear as she read and grabbed a tissue to blow her nose. The poor, poor girl! Even though she had already known what happened, somehow reading Madeleine’s account made it more personal, more real. Getting up, she made herself another cup of tea, deciding she had read enough for the day. As she stood by the sink nursing her mug, visualising the horror of finding Edmund’s body, Louisa burst in, cheeks flushed with excitement.

‘Dad’s home! Or at least he’s arrived in London and will be flying over tomorrow. Oh, I can’t wait to see him,’ she said, flinging her bag onto the worktop.

Charlotte slowly took in her words. ‘How…brilliant. I thought he wasn’t due back until the end of the week.’

‘That was the plan, but apparently he decided he couldn’t stay away any longer and Glenn found him a couple of last minute tickets. First class, of course.’ She grinned at Charlotte, who gave her a hug, trying to shake off the horror of what she had read to share Louisa’s joy.

‘So, you’ll be meeting the mysterious Gillian. I assume she’s coming too?’

‘Yes, so I’ll not have him to myself, which is a shame. But she’s only staying for a few days before returning to England to see her son. Guess she needs to tell him about my father.’ Louisa looked thoughtful as she made herself a cup of tea. ‘I remember, on the odd occasion Mum brought home a man, how chippy I was with them. Poor Mum. I turned from a well-behaved, pleasant girl into a rude whirling dervish. She must have been so embarrassed!’

‘Do you plan on resurrecting the dervish when you meet Gillian?’ Charlotte asked, smiling.

‘I don’t think it would go down too well, would it?’ Louisa chewed her lip. ‘I admit I do have mixed feelings about meeting her. But, as you and Paul said, it’s natural Dad wants to have a partner of his own. God knows, he deserves some happiness after working so hard all his life. And as nothing will bring Mum back…’ She sipped her tea and Charlotte noticed the moistened eyes.

‘Hey, it’s okay to be maudlin. Whatever Malcolm feels for Gillian, it won’t take away what he felt for your mother,’ Charlotte said, stroking her arm. She could identify with what Louisa felt. If her mother were to start seeing someone, what would she feel? Refusing to dwell on it and aware it wasn’t likely to happen while her mother was sick, she changed the subject. ‘I’ve been reading more of Madeleine’s diary and it’s so sad…’ She described the events of the last few days of Edmund’s life and Louisa was all ears.

‘I see what you mean about Harold. He sounds fishy to me. And he had more than one motive for killing Edmund. Not only would he become the heir, but there’d be no repercussions from trying to force himself on Madeleine. But it’s a bit extreme, isn’t it? As well as risky. He would have hanged if caught,’ Louisa said, with a shiver.

‘Yes, but from what Madeleine writes and Andy’s told me, Harold was greedy and ambitious as well as hot-tempered and may have seized the chance when he could. People do strange things when there’s a war on and Madeleine writes how on edge everyone was that winter. Perhaps cold and hunger turned their brains.’ She paused as another thought struck her. ‘And there’s the bit about Edmund being an informer. Where did that come from? He doesn’t sound the type, yet he and his wife were being shunned so someone must have thought he was. I wonder if Harold had a part in it, too.’

‘Possibly. It may have suited him to blacken his brother’s name and it’s a bit suspicious coming so close to his death. But without proper evidence I can’t see how anything could be proved.’

‘That’s the problem. Which reminds me, I saw the rector of St Martins yesterday and he’s agreed to pass the word around among his elderly parishioners I’d like to talk to them about the occupation. You never know, someone might know something.’

‘Sounds promising. And Madeleine’s diary might give you more clues,’ Louisa replied, pulling food out of the fridge for supper. ‘Right, can you give me a hand with the veg? You’re beginning to make a half decent sous chef under my expert guidance,’ she said, chuckling.

Charlotte aimed a mock blow at her before picking up the paring knife to start work on the beans and carrots Louisa piled in front of her. Secretly, she was pleased to be involved in the preparation, knowing how useless she was on the domestic front. If, heaven forbid, she no longer had a housekeeper to take care of such things, she would be hard pushed to make much more than a slice of toast. She really did need to be more self-sufficient, she admonished herself, recalling what the islanders had endured. Particularly poor Madeleine.

***

The next morning Louisa was like the proverbial cat on a hot tin roof. Malcolm’s flight was due in at eleven and she had swapped her appointments with Trevor, the other physio, so she could meet him at the airport. After saying goodbye to a client at ten o’clock, she nipped along to Paul’s office. When she opened the door he looked up from a pile of paperwork and smiled.

‘Morning, darling. How are you feeling? Excited or nervous?’ He came round the desk to kiss her and she relaxed into his arms. No matter how things went with Malcolm, more than anything she wanted to make it work with this lovely man. All they needed was to have more time together… ‘A bit of both. If things work out between Dad and Gillian, she could end up as my step-mother! It’s a weird thought considering until a few months ago I didn’t even have a father,’ she said, frowning.

Paul wrapped his arms around her. ‘Must be, but if she’s as nice as he says then that could be a bonus, so there’s no point worrying about it, is there? And the good news is he’s agreed to keep an eye on La Folie this weekend so we can have a couple of nights in Jersey. Assuming you still want to go away with me,’ he said, pulling back, his head on one side.

Her heart leapt at the thought of a whole weekend away. Just the two of them…she imagined long walks on a beach, strolling around shops and bars and the nights in each other’s arms…

‘You bet I do! Are you asking Nicole if we can stay in her family’s flat?’

He grinned. ‘It’s all arranged and she says you can pick up the key any time.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Huh! You assumed I’d say yes and still asked me.’ She couldn’t be cross and stayed locked in his arms a moment longer. ‘I saw Nicole the other day and she looked exhausted. Young Eve’s teething and no-one’s getting much sleep. I’ll pop round tomorrow.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Better go, the flight’s due in a few minutes. Can I have the car keys please?’

Paul handed them over and after another quick kiss she left, a broad smile plastered over her face. Things were looking up. The centre’s courtesy car – actually an upmarket people carrier – was parked by the front door and in minutes Louisa was heading towards the airport. Excitement at the thought of the weekend vied with her nervousness about meeting Gillian. And it was hard not to be jealous of this ‘other woman’ who had stolen her father’s heart. As she pulled into the airport she told herself to behave like a grown up and be welcoming.

‘Dad!’ she called out as Malcolm appeared through the arrival doors pushing a laden trolley, closely followed by the woman she assumed was Gillian. Her father strode forward, blue eyes shining in his tanned face and looking ten years younger, and threw his arms around her.

‘Louisa, darling, it’s so good to see you. And thanks for picking us up.’ He turned to motion Gillian forward. ‘And here’s the lady I want you to meet. Gillian, my daughter, Louisa.’

For a moment the two women eyed each other up and then, as if choreographed, they smiled in unison. Louisa liked what she saw. A slim, fair-haired woman whose eyes sparkled with humour and intelligence in her suntanned face. And oh, so like her mother! Feeling a tug at her heart, she offered a tentative hug and received a resounding kiss on both cheeks.

‘Louisa, I’m so pleased to meet you at last. Your father hasn’t stopped talking about you since we arrived back in England,’ Gillian said, nudging a beaming Malcolm.

‘And I’m happy to meet you, too. I’m sure we’ll have lots to talk about!’ She turned towards her father. ‘Do you want to go to La Folie or your apartment, Dad?’ she asked, aware they were attracting some attention from onlookers.

‘The apartment, please. Are you free to join us for lunch later?’

She shook her head. ‘No, sorry, I’ve got a full schedule so I’ll have to love you and leave you. But I’m free tonight.’

Malcolm continued pushing the trolley, a lady on each arm looking, Louisa thought, the epitome of the proud family man. Experiencing a pang that by rights this happy group should have encompassed her mother and not Gillian, Louisa had to fight hard to continue smiling. Had her father been attracted to Gillian because she reminded him of her mother?

‘Tonight will do fine. I’ll book a table at Le Fregate and do ask Paul to join us,’ Malcolm said, as they arrived outside. Louisa agreed and went over to unlock the car, relieved the initial encounter had gone well.

***

While Louisa was busy meeting Malcolm, Charlotte sat at home absorbed in Madeleine’s diary. The aftermath of Edmund’s death was worsened for the girl by the family’s apparent acceptance that Edmund had been an informer, responsible for at least one neighbour’s arrest.

Madeleine’s grief permeated her writing: “I cannot believe no-one seems to mourn Edmund as they should. His father and brother say he is no longer part of the family and I must organise, and pay for, the funeral. Harold even seems happy my husband is dead! He strides around as if he owns the farm and cottages. Which he will, one day. Oh, I can hardly bear it! Edmund! Please come back to me! Don’t let you be dead! It must be a horrible dream. Yet I know it’s not. It’s real. The police say they are looking for the killer, interviewing our neighbours. But no-one saw or heard anything. He had been beaten before being pushed over the cliff, the constable said, his eyes avoiding mine when he told me. Even he must believe those terrible rumours! My neighbours avoid me as if I have the plague! This hurts the most. Edmund was a good man and a good friend to everyone. How can they now turn their back on him when he can no longer speak for himself? And I feel so ill! I’m sick to my stomach and can keep little down, not that there’s much to eat. At least the vicar is kind, helping me organise a decent burial for my beloved…”

Charlotte felt waves of anger flow through her, anger at Madeleine’s betrayal by family and friends. It was painful to read the pages describing the funeral, with Madeleine the sole mourner apart from the paid coffin bearers. Having seen the grave, Charlotte found it all too easy to imagine the scene: the lonely widow swathed in black standing almost alone at the graveside as she threw soil onto her husband’s makeshift coffin, followed by a small bunch of bluebells.

In need of air, Charlotte rushed into the garden, taking several gulps before she was able to shake off the heart-breaking picture. Pacing up and down the garden, her mind sifted through what Madeleine had said and she became convinced Harold had been behind Edmund’s death. Everything pointed to him, but at the time it seemed no-one suspected him of fratricide. The escaped Polish POW was captured and questioned and protested his innocence, but, according to the diary, he was shot regardless by the Germans. Madeleine noted the investigation was quietly dropped. Within four weeks the war was over and everyone had more pressing things to consider. The Liberating forces arrived on 9th May aboard the HMS Bulldog and the Germans surrendered before the Union Jack was raised on the Royal Court. Madeleine describes how she hitched a lift into St Peter Port to join in the celebrations, although “heartsick my beloved Edmund wasn’t there to celebrate with me”.

Charlotte had realised Madeleine must have been pregnant by this time, although it seemed she had yet to find out. She returned, almost reluctantly, to read what happened over the following months. The pages of sprawling, blotched writing described Madeleine’s decision to leave Guernsey where she felt betrayed and unwelcome, and go to live in France with her late mother’s family in Normandy. The move was arranged via a series of telegrams in the weeks following the Liberation. Once she had ordered a memorial for Edmund’s grave, using her meagre savings, she left. By the end of June Madeleine was reunited with her French cousins. It was not until then she realised she was pregnant, but this at least was good news.