Chapter twenty-five

C

harlotte gasped. ‘What! You mean Harold was the informer, not Edmund? But what made you think so?’

‘Because a few days before the rumours started I saw Harold talking to a German soldier and he was pointing to a house along the lane, belonging to the Ogiers, a couple of good-hearted folk if ever there were. To be honest, I didn’t think much of it at the time, and then shortly after the rumours about Edmund began, he was killed. I didn’t want to stir things up for the Batistes, figuring they had enough to worry about so I kept schtum.’ He twisted his hands together and his face was full of sorrow as he added, ‘Then I heard Mr Ogier had been arrested for hiding an illegal wireless and was sent to prison. Which is when I put two and two together. I’ve often wished the ol’ bugger Harold had got his just deserts instead of lording it over everyone as he has for years.’

Rendered speechless as the full impact of what Mr Sebire said sank in, Charlotte wanted to stand up and do a happy dance. Decorum and caution held her back. As far as the old man was concerned, she was helping Jeanne with her research, not trying to obtain justice for Edmund.

‘How utterly fascinating, Mr Sebire, and I’m sure Jeanne could use this kind of thing in her novel. Add a bit of spice to the story, sort of thing. But naturally, no real names would be used.’

‘More’s the pity! Still, sometimes life has a way of bringing things home to roost, don’t you reckon?’ The old man looked as if he wasn’t too sure if it was true.

‘Absolutely. But in the meantime, please don’t feel bad about what happened all those years ago. You were not to know how things would turn out. Now, I’ve taken up enough of your time,’ Charlotte said, standing up, ‘and I really must go. Thank you again, Mr Sebire,’ she said, shaking his hand.

Once in the car she let out a little whoop of joy before starting the engine and driving to La Bella Luce for a celebratory lunch. Before she went inside she had to make a call.

***

Andy was tearing his hair out, metaphorically speaking. He had promised a client a finished set of drawings by the end of the day and it was a close call whether or not he could do it. When his mobile started beeping he was tempted to ignore it, but when a quick glance told him the caller was Charlotte he changed his mind. Their last conversation on Monday had been a bit strained.

‘Hi, Charlotte. How are you?’

He listened with mounting excitement as she relayed what Mr Sebire had said, her own elation palpable.

‘Brilliant news!’ He sprang out of his chair and paced around his office. ‘I can’t wait to confront Harold with this, show him I know the truth–’

Charlotte cut in, ‘Andy, I’m not sure it’s wise. Think about it. Do you really want to alert Harold to the fact you’re checking up on him? Until we uncover the truth behind Edmund’s death and why your father hasn’t been accepted as the rightful heir, then wouldn’t it be better to keep this to ourselves? I know where you’re coming from, but…’

He knew she was right, but for a minute had enjoyed the thought of seeing Harold’s face as he told him what he knew.

‘Okay. I take your point. But at least now we know Edmund was innocent and I think my father should be told. I don’t know how or why, but it might have something to do with him not pushing for his inheritance. Agreed?’

‘Hmm. Can’t see why it would hurt to tell him, but you’ll have to come up with a good reason for how you found out.’

‘True. Let me think.’ He sat down and idly tapped his fingers on the desk. ‘Right, how’s this? Dad knows about Jeanne’s novel and I can say she has a researcher who’s talking to locals about the occupation and suspected collaboration. And someone from St Martins mentioned suspecting Harold was an informer and why, adding his brother Edmund had been falsely accused. Does that sound okay?’

‘I think so, as long as you don’t mention Mr Sebire by name. He’s our secret weapon against Harold.’

‘Yes, agreed. What I want is for Dad to open up about why he didn’t fight Harold for his inheritance. If he doesn’t, I can’t see a way forward.’ His fingers continued to drum on the desk as he considered calling on his father that evening. Reluctantly, he knew his client took priority. Perhaps tomorrow…

‘Are you still there, Andy? You’ve gone quiet.’

‘Sorry, I was thinking about Dad. I’m afraid I’ve got to crack on, but I’m truly grateful for your help, again. I’ll book somewhere nice for tomorrow night as your reward.’

She laughed. ‘Everywhere we go here is nice. But I look forward to it. Speak soon.’

As he clicked off the phone he made a mental note to ring his father later to ask if he could pop round first thing the next morning. The sooner he knew about Edmund’s innocence, the better.

Andy knocked on the door at nine o’clock, to be greeted by his mother’s bright smile.

‘Bon jour, mon ange. What is it that brings you here? Your father has become intrigued after you called,’ she said, leaning forward for a kiss.

‘Hello, Maman. I’ll tell you both once you’ve made a pot of your excellent coffee. And how is Dad?’ he said as they headed into the kitchen, his father nowhere to be seen.

She frowned. ‘His back has been better since he is not doing so much the fishing, but his temper is not so good. He is missing the boat and I am missing to have him out of the house!’ she said, putting the kettle on. ‘But we both hope he can be soon back to normal.’ She gave Andy a searching look. ‘We both are glad for this help he has received from the centre, but one wonders how long they can be so generous.’ Andy shuffled his feet. ‘I’ve been assured the treatments won’t stop until Dad’s as good as new. So don’t worry, Maman.’

She pursed her lips but kept quiet.

‘Where is the old boy, anyway?’

‘Do not let him hear you speak of him this way! He is in the garden, bringing me some vegetables for our soup. Go to him now and tell him I have made coffee.’

Andy let himself out of the back door and followed the path around to the vegetable patch at the bottom of the garden. He could see his father bent over, pulling up a large head of cauliflower and placing it in a trug containing carrots and leeks.

‘Hi, Dad. Mum’s got the coffee on.’ He looked closely at the rows of vegetables. ‘The crop looks good this year, better than last year’s, I think.’

His father straightened up and nodded. ‘Yes, your mother’s worked hard on it, laying on plenty of vraic as fertiliser. Right, I think that’s enough, we can go in.’ He picked up the trug and they walked back along the path to the kitchen, to be greeted by the aroma of fresh coffee. Once everyone was settled in the living room, two pairs of eyes looked at Andy questioningly.

He cleared his throat. ‘The thing is, Dad, I’ve found out something pretty important…’ he told them about Harold and waited for the reaction. His father was quiet for a moment, as if absorbing the import of what Andy had said. His mother, however, smiled broadly.

‘This is wonderful news, Jim! Your father was innocent, just as your mother always said. Now you may hold your head up high and,’ she clicked her fingers, ‘to Harold and his family.’

‘Dad?’

Jim looked up, a smile hovering around his mouth. ‘It’s good news, son, thanks for telling me. Something I knew in my heart but couldn’t say out loud. Not that it makes much difference. The ol’ devil Harold can’t be brought to book after all these years and he’s still the one with the money.’ He took a sip of his coffee as if it was the end of the matter.

Andy was nonplussed. ‘But Dad, don’t you see? You have every right to the family fortune, always have, regardless of whether or not Edmund was an informer. So if you didn’t pursue your inheritance because you thought he was guilty, then now’s the time to go for it.’

‘Ah, but that wasn’t the reason, son. So, as I said, nothing’s changed,’ Jim replied, not looking Andy in the eye.

‘So what was the reason, Dad? Must have been a good one to turn away from millions!’ Andy was so annoyed his hand shook, spilling a drop of coffee. His mother grabbed a tissue and blotted it, tutting as she did so.

His father lifted his eyes and Andy saw the pain in them.

‘I can’t tell you. It’s not something to be discussed. Just accept there was good reason for me to waive any claim on the property and money.’ He banged his cup on the table, stood up and marched out of the house. Andy and his mother were left staring at each other, wide-eyed with astonishment.

***

Charlotte, using Louisa’s car, picked up her mother from La Folie at 11 am. Annette was waiting in the hall, elaborately dressed in a Chanel suit and Armani coat, topped with a toning bow-trimmed fedora. Charlotte forced herself to smile as she ushered her mother outside. St Peter Port was in for a treat. She knew Guernsey had its fair share of stylish, wealthy women, but had never seen anyone quite so dressed-up for a quick shopping trip and lunch. Thank goodness she had booked a table at La Fregate, highly recommended by Louisa, for their meal. Which at least would be up to Annette’s standard, she hoped. Charlotte herself was immaculately turned out in smart trousers, a leather jacket and neat ankle boots. No hat.

‘How are you, Mother? You have more colour in your cheeks than when I last saw you.’

‘That’s probably the make-up. But I do feel somewhat better, thank you, I’ve been able to go out for walks around the garden and the cliffs. The air’s so bracing by the sea, don’t you think?’

‘Oh, yes, I love it, particularly after being in London.’ She started the car and drove down the lane, while her mother described a woman she had met at dinner the previous evening. Apparently they had attended the same boarding school, although not at the same time, and they had spent a pleasant time comparing notes. Charlotte made appropriate comments as and when required, glad her mother was being sociable with someone.

In spite of her mother’s obsession with designer labels, she did seem to enjoy browsing the small boutiques and the only department store, Creaseys. Charlotte, knowing how much Annette loved shoes, also took her down the front to a pretty shoe shop where she tried on various styles, coming away with three pairs. Her mother, never the easiest customer, was more mellow than usual and actually thanked the staff for their help. Charlotte could only think it was the illness or the treatment which was having this effect.

By the time they returned to the car they were both ready for lunch. Although the restaurant was in Town, it was perched atop a steep hill and Louisa had advised her to drive in case the walk was too much for Annette.

The restaurant had magnificent views, looking down over St Peter Port, the harbour and out to the islands and Annette looked gratifyingly impressed as they were escorted to a window table. The maître d’ bowed deeply as he pulled out their chairs and Annette gave him a gracious smile.

Charlotte ordered drinks and they concentrated on their menus.

‘Louisa tells me her father, Malcolm, who owns La Folie, comes here regularly and says the food is excellent,’ she said, glancing across at her mother.

Annette’s eyelids snapped up.

‘Oh, did I not tell you? I met him the other day when he was at the centre. A charming man I thought, and so devoted to Gillian. He told me about having been a successful hotelier in Canada and how he set up La Folie. Any recommendation from him is not to be ignored.’

‘I hadn’t realised you’d met, I saw quite a bit of him when Louisa and I became friends and liked him from the start,’ Charlotte replied, putting down her menu. ‘Are you ready to order, Mother? I am.’

Their order given, the women focussed once more on the view and silence settled around them. Charlotte’s eyes swept over the harbour and out to Herm, remembering the wonderful day she had spent there with Andy. Only a few weeks ago, but so much had happened since. A mixture of good and bad. The thought caused her to peek at her mother, whose face was a frozen mask as she gazed out of the window. What’s going through her mind? How does anyone told they have a terminal illness deal with such news? As if she knew she was being observed, her mother turned her head.

‘It is beautiful, is it not? I understand why you like coming here, although I would have thought the business would keep you fully occupied. It certainly did with your father. He was rarely home, as I’m sure you remember.’ Her face twitched as if at a painful memory.

Charlotte played with her glass, unsure how to answer. ‘Daddy loved the publishing world and was jolly good at what he did. He enjoyed all the socialising, too. There were always parties going on at one publishing house or another. I…I thought I loved it as much, but came to realise I wanted more from life. It’s why I’ve handed over most of the running to Tony while I write and, and do other things. Find what I truly want, I suppose.’

Her mother’s eyebrows lifted and she stared at Charlotte with the scathing look which used to drain her confidence when a child. And even as a young woman.

‘In my day we did not have the luxury of looking for what we “truly wanted”. Unless we had a particular career in mind, and I did not, then a woman sought a good marriage. In that I was fortunate, although I was not blessed with–’

‘The son you wanted, Mother?’ Charlotte’s voice was sharp.

‘I was going to say long marriage, losing your father when I did. He was only in his sixties, after all. And although I admit I wanted a son, I was not unhappy to have a daughter,’ her mother said, coolly.

Before Charlotte could reply a waiter arrived with their starters, giving both of them time to assess the direction of the conversation. The last thing Charlotte wanted was a fight, aware how inappropriate it was at such a time. And what would be the point? Her mother was hardly likely to admit to being an uncaring parent and metamorphose into the kind of mother she had always longed for. Deciding discretion was the better part of valour, she changed the subject.

‘Have you definitely decided to leave La Folie on Saturday? I understand there’s a room available and the rest would do you good, Mother.’

Annette pursed her lips. ‘I have already said I wish to return home and there’s no point in asking me to change my mind. Not only am I anxious about the garden but I have various…commitments which I cannot ignore. There will be plenty of time for me to rest once I’ve satisfied myself all is as it should be.’

Charlotte was mystified as to the commitments, but thought it best not to pursue it. ‘In which case, would you like me to come back with you so I can be of use in some way?’

‘Oh, there’s no need for you to do that, Charlotte, I can manage.’ She paused for a split second, adding, ‘Thank you for your offer. It was kind of you.’ Annette’s face was touched by the glimmer of a smile and Charlotte nodded in acknowledgement. And guilty relief. ‘Oh, and by the way, this seafood cocktail is one of the best I have ever tasted. Malcolm was absolutely right about this restaurant.’ The smile still hovered.

‘Good, I’m pleased. Would you like another drink? Perhaps some wine?’

The focus returned to the meal and Charlotte did her best to be a considerate hostess, keen to make sure her mother had no complaints. The conversation was a little stilted, with Charlotte talking about her friends in Guernsey and Annette about the WI. By tacit, unspoken agreement, the subject of Annette’s illness was never mentioned. As they returned to the car, her face slightly flushed, Annette said how much she had enjoyed both the shopping and the lunch. Charlotte smiled, saying it had been a pleasure and drove her back to La Folie thinking it had turned out better than expected. But she still felt guilty about letting her mother return home alone.