Chapter fifteen

A

ndy was pottering in the kitchen on Wednesday evening when the phone rang. Hoping it wasn’t another call from the extremely fussy client he’d been on the phone to earlier, he picked it up gingerly.

‘Andy, it’s me. I’ve read more of the diary and there’s a lot to tell you…’ He listened with increasing feelings of anger towards Harold, Neville and all those who had deserted Madeleine when she needed them most. By the time Charlotte had finished he was ashamed of being a Batiste.

‘What happened to my grandmother was inexcusable, no wonder she never talked about it much to Dad. I always wished I’d met her but she died when I was a baby. She sounds very brave.’ He remembered a photo of Madeleine, taken by his father when she was in her forties, and now kept on show in his parents’ sitting room. What struck Andy, apart from her beauty, was the air of sadness around her. Madeleine’s soft brown eyes gazed into the distance and a barely formed smile hovered around her mouth, as if she was afraid or unwilling to smile properly. Andy had often wondered what had been going through her mind. Perhaps now he knew…

‘She was brave. To be forced to leave her home when she’d lost her husband…what reading the diary has done, Andy, is to make me even more determined to find out what really happened to Edmund,’ Charlotte said, finding it hard to let go of the imagined picture of Edmund’s body lying shattered on the rocks. She cleared her throat. ‘By the way, I visited the cemetery yesterday and noticed someone still leaves flowers on his grave.’

‘I take some every once in a while. For some reason, Dad says he doesn’t like going, and it’s the least I can do.’

‘That’s kind of you. Not everyone can cope with cemeteries.’

Andy was silent, unsure whether to mention the proposed lunch on Saturday, when Charlotte said, ‘Still on for Saturday, are we? I’m looking forward to seeing your home as I don’t think I’ve seen inside an architect’s house before. I always imagine they’re terribly up to date and full of gizmos. Very avant-garde.’

He laughed. ‘Well, you’ll be disappointed with mine! It’s an old cottage which I’ve renovated but kept the original features. And Guernsey doesn’t really do avant-garde, the planners prefer the cosy cottage look. Of course it’s still on for lunch. I thought about one o’clock, if that’s okay?’

‘Perfect. I’ll see you then, but will phone if I learn anything I simply have to share. Goodnight, Andy.’

‘Night.’ He poured himself a glass of wine while mulling over what Charlotte had told him. He’d dearly love to grab hold of Harold and shake him until he admitted what had really happened in ’45. But he began to feel a glimmer of hope they were getting closer to the truth and he thanked heaven for sending Charlotte to him. Until she started searching the archives he’d completely forgotten about his grandmother’s diary. And as well as her gift for research, she was one hot lady and he wanted to take her to bed. If she’d let him – although he was dubious about becoming involved with an upper class lady like Charlotte. And he did not see her as someone happy to enjoy one-night stands. Groaning, he finished his wine.

***

When Charlotte walked into the kitchen on Thursday morning she found Louisa had already prepared breakfast for them both and was dancing around to Guernsey FM on the radio.

‘Morning. You look happy. How did the meal go last night?’ Charlotte said, smiling at Louisa’s impromptu dance. She sat down at the table and Louisa sashayed towards her with the coffee pot.

‘Fine. I like Gillian, she’s fun and I can see why Dad fell for her as she’s so warm and friendly. As well as pretty attractive for a woman in her sixties. They’re both coming to La Folie today and Dad will no doubt be giving her the grand tour. He’s out to impress her, all right.’ Louisa sat down, looking pensive. ‘I think he wants Gillian to fall in love with Guernsey and consider moving here. He was in full sales pitch mode last night.’

‘How would you feel about that?’

‘Oh, okay. I’d rather she came here instead of Dad going to England. But her son Matthew’s there and she’s bound to have friends and family so…’ Louisa shrugged.

‘Well, I look forward to meeting the lovely Gillian. Are you inviting her round here before she leaves?’

‘Hadn’t thought about it but sounds a good idea. I’d like you to meet her, see what you think as you’re more impartial.’ Louisa buttered her toast before continuing, ‘I finish early this afternoon so could invite them round for supper tonight if you’re free.’

‘Perfect. And I’ll give you a hand with the preparation.’

‘Thanks. I’ll give Dad a call in a minute. What are your plans for today?’

Charlotte leaned back in the chair. ‘Nothing much. I’ll read the rest of Madeleine’s diary but as she’s now settled in France I’m not sure I’ll learn much of importance. Still,’ she yawned, ‘could be interesting. She’ll have given birth to Jim before the diary finishes and I’d like to know how she coped. Must be terrible to have a baby after losing your husband.’ She took a bite of toast before going on, ‘Which reminds me, how’s the therapy going with Jim? Andy’s said how much his dad misses his fishing.’

Louisa frowned. ‘I can imagine, but he has to watch it or he’ll continue to have pain. My aim is to wean him off the prescribed painkillers, which aren’t good for him anyway, and I will ask Paul about a herbal alternative. He’s a whizz with his concoctions and helped Dad when they met in India. If he wasn’t so busy, I’d suggest he set aside more time for his herbal treatments.’

‘Can his herbs help with life-threatening illnesses like…cancer?’ Charlotte asked, thinking of her mother. If the test results weren’t good then perhaps…

‘He hasn’t said so, but maybe. Why? Do you know someone with cancer?’ Louisa gave her a searching look.

‘My mother was diagnosed with…with breast cancer and had chemo and radiation more than a year ago. It was horrible and if she were to, to get sick again I wondered–’ she dug her nails into her hand.

Louisa gasped. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry! You told me she’d been ill, but not what it was. You poor thing. And your mother! You should have told me before.’ Louisa gripped her hand. ‘If the cancer came back I’m sure Paul would help in any way he could. Does your mother agree with alternative therapy?’

She frowned. ‘That’s the problem, I doubt it. She’s one of those people who think doctors are omnipotent. Still, if the cancer has spread and the doctors can only offer limited treatment, Mother might be persuaded to try an alternative.’ Charlotte hoped it wouldn’t come to it, but her stomach still knotted up every time she thought about it. The first time it was diagnosed she was sure her mother would die, from the treatment if not the cancer. She had been so ill…but it felt good to know there might be another option. La Folie’s team of therapists had given her such care and support, she felt sure her mother would also benefit from a stay.

‘Are you okay?’ She heard the concern in Louisa’s voice.

Lifting her head, she smiled at her friend. ‘I’m fine, thanks,’ she said, knowing she was anything but. The spectre was ever present. ‘The problem is, as I mentioned that day in Sark, Mother and I have a tricky relationship. She never listens to me and can’t abide being told what she should do, so…’ She spread out her hands. Not wanting to say more, she added briskly, ‘Now, weren’t you going to phone Malcolm about tonight? If they’re coming round I’ll tidy up.’

Louisa, looking as if she wanted to say something but changing her mind, reached for the phone while Charlotte cleared away the breakfast things. She loaded the dishwasher in silence while Louisa chatted to Malcolm. Coming off the phone, Louisa said, ‘It’s all arranged. They’ll be here at seven and as I know Dad loves fish, I think I’ll cook some wild salmon and steamed veg. Gillian’s into healthy eating so I can’t go wrong with that.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘Right, I’d better get a move on. See you later.’

Charlotte called goodbye as Louisa shot out of the kitchen and headed for the front door. Satisfied the room was clean and tidy she walked through to the dining room and picked up the diary. Her mind was full of all the things unsaid to Louisa but hoped the diary would prove a distraction. The last entry she had read was when Madeleine had discovered her pregnancy and was experiencing a mix of hormonally-charged emotions.

“I came back from the doctor’s and hid myself in my room. Such a shock! We had so wanted to have children but dare not. Now Edmund’s baby is growing inside me but he has gone. Oh, my darling, I’m so happy to have your child but so sad you can’t be here. I know you would be so proud to be a father! And a wonderful father. Oh, how am I going to manage without you, my love? Our child will be fatherless…”

The entry was blotched with what Charlotte assumed were tears. Madeleine continued to pour her heart out onto the page, writing as if she were talking directly to Edmund. Charlotte began to find it too painful to read and skimmed through to see if there was any mention of Guernsey or the Batiste family. But on that subject Madeleine was silent. Once she had shared the news of her pregnancy to her aunt and cousins, Madeleine was swept up in a wave of congratulations and excited plans. Her family were farmers and provided her with a small cottage on their land which had lain derelict for years. In return for her help on the farm, for which she was amply qualified, her family asked for no rent and paid her a small wage. Her gratitude shone through her words: “My own little home! For myself and my child – I could not be more content except if Edmund were to walk through the door! Such generosity I had never met until now. And Aunt Therese has promised to help when baby arrives, reckoned to be in late November. In the meantime there’s much to do to make the cottage habitable…”

Charlotte was about to continue reading when the phone rang. It was the rector of St Martins.

‘Morning, Charlotte. I’ve been chatting to some of my parishioners and one dear old lady, a Mrs Vaudin, said she’d be happy to talk to you about the occupation. Here’s her number…’

‘Thanks, Martin. I’ll give her a ring. Do you think there might be others willing to see me?’

‘I’m sure there will. Give me a few more days and I’ll have made some house calls. It’s usually the ones who can’t get out who are the most willing to talk to anyone,’ he said, chuckling. ‘Good luck.’

She wasted no time and was soon talking to Mrs Vaudin and they agreed for Charlotte to call round on Friday morning. She checked the address in the Perry’s guide and saw it was located near the shops in St Martins and easy to find. Pleased someone was willing to talk, Charlotte settled down with the diary. She flipped through the pages and found no reference to Madeleine’s past life, all was centred on the upcoming birth. James Batiste arrived on 19th November 1945 and according to his mother was “the most beautiful baby boy, with a thatch of dark hair”. From this point on it appeared James was the centre of Madeleine’s life and her diary recorded his progress over the next few months, with the occasional reference to his sorely missed, dead father. The diary finished later in 1946, the last page of the book now filled.

As she closed the diary, Charlotte pondered on the life of the woman she had come to know so intimately. If she walked into the room now, as a young woman, she felt she would have recognised her. The essence of Madeleine, more than the physical body. Although her life in France looked to be peaceful and without drama, she had suffered much so young and Charlotte shed a tear for her. And, unbidden, came the unwelcome thought of how was she going to find out the rest of the Batiste story.

Early that evening Charlotte and Louisa were busy in the kitchen preparing the evening meal.

‘It’s a pity Paul can’t come, too, but he’s so busy making sure all is up to date before we fly to Jersey tomorrow evening. He and Dad had a long discussion about staffing today so I’m hoping he’ll agree to take on more therapists,’ Louisa said, preparing the fresh salmon steaks for the oven.

‘That’s good. Then you’ll be able to take more breaks together. What did Gillian think of the centre?’

‘Oh, she loved it. Said she wouldn’t mind a stay some time so, of course, Dad offered her a room whenever she wanted. But with him living so near it would be a waste for her to stay there. I think it’d make more sense if she popped in for a few treatments next time she’s over.’ Louisa turned to Charlotte, laughing. ‘They’re like kids, they can barely keep their hands off each other. You’d think they’d be past it at their age.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Falling in love at any age can be quite heady, so I’m told.’ Immediately an image of Andy’s face popped into her mind and her pulse quickened. But it wasn’t as if she was falling in love, was it? Clearing her throat she went on, ‘And Malcolm is young for his age and from what you’ve said, so is Gillian. Do you think they’ll want to leave early tonight?’ she asked, eyebrows raised.

‘Possibly. They’ve only got two more nights together before Gillian returns to England on Saturday. I don’t know when they’ll next meet.’ Louisa slid the fish into the oven and Charlotte popped the vegetables into the steamer. ‘Right, that’s done. They should be here soon, time to open some wine.’ Louisa retrieved a bottle of wine from the fridge and poured out two glasses and they made themselves comfortable in the sitting room. Ten minutes later the doorbell rang and Louisa jumped up to let them in.

‘Hi, Dad. Gillian. Please come in and meet my friend Charlotte.’

‘Charlotte my dear, it’s great to see you again. How are you? Had a good stay at La Folie?’ Malcolm beamed at her, before giving her a warm hug. Charlotte agreed with Louisa, he looked both younger and happier. Jubilant even.

‘I’m very well, thank you, Malcolm. And yes, I enjoyed my stay at your wonderful centre.’ She turned to Gillian, hovering beside him. ‘Hello, Gillian. Pleased to meet you.’ She surveyed the fair-haired lady whose eyes sparkled with fun and intelligence and shook hands.

‘And I’m pleased to meet you, too. I’ve heard so much about you from both Malcolm and Louisa I feel I know you already.’ Gillian smiled warmly, her blue eyes surveying her.

‘Now I’m worried.’

‘You needn’t be, it was all good, I assure you. And I was fascinated to hear you own a publishing company. I’d love to know more,’ Gillian said, as Louisa ushered everyone into the dining room.

‘And I’d love to hear more about your work as a naturopathic doctor. I’m becoming more and more fascinated by alternative medicine.’

Charlotte and Gillian were soon lost in deep conversation and the evening sped by. It was approaching eleven when Malcolm suggested they leave and a taxi was ordered.

‘What a wonderful evening, my dear. I think it’s fair to say Gillian and Charlotte hit it off, don’t you agree?’ Malcolm said, giving Louisa a hug as they said their goodbyes.

She grinned at Charlotte who could only nod her agreement. She and Gillian exchanged a quick hug, promising to keep in touch.

Once the guests had left the two women retreated to the kitchen to clear away.

‘Well, that went well and I’m pleased you liked Gillian, though I thought you would. As she lives in Richmond you’re not too far from each other. Assuming she stays there and doesn’t move here.’ Louisa, loading the dishwasher, turned to face her. ‘Do you think they make a great couple? As in permanent?’

Charlotte, washing the glasses in the sink, looked up and smiled. ‘Absolutely. You can see how much in love they are. Even when they were talking to someone else, their eyes kept glancing towards each other. I think it’s very sweet and I’m pleased for them both. Gillian’s a lovely woman and too young to stay a widow forever. Has Malcolm said anything to you re his plans?’

Louisa shook her head. ‘Not exactly. But the fact he’s keen for my approval speaks volumes, doesn’t it? But it’s early days, so…’ she shrugged, yawning. ‘I must get to bed or I’ll be fit for nothing tomorrow night. I think Paul’s planning to take me out to a nightclub he’s heard of so it could be a late one.’

Once Charlotte was in bed her thoughts turned to the loved-up couple and their obvious happiness. Genuinely pleased for them, she could not help feeling a twinge of envy. They had been given a second chance at love and she hoped it could be true for herself. Her face warming, she recalled the passionate kisses she had shared with Andy. There was definitely a spark between them. But was it lust – or love? And what about the big divide socially? She didn’t give a fig for class, she told herself, but deep down she knew it would be hard to relinquish the trappings of wealth. And it was clear Andy wasn’t comfortable about her background – and his. So, where did that leave them?