Chapter 1

J

eanne stepped out on deck as the spring sun broke through the clouds. A warm glow spread across green and gold jewel-like Herm and its big sister, Guernsey, patchworked with fields and granite buildings.

The salt-laden air enveloped her like an old, trusty coat. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and was a child again, playing on the beach with her parents. The image was so powerful that tears formed and she blundered, unseeing, towards the railings.

As her vision cleared she found herself staring at Herm and, without warning, was overwhelmed by such a strong feeling of fear that she had to hold onto the rail. Jeanne’s heart began to race, blood pounded in her head and her breathing came in short, painful gasps. Oh my God, what’s happening to me? After all this time, please, not again! Struggling to breathe she was on the verge of passing out. Letting go of the rail she stumbled, crashing into a man walking past.

‘Hey, steady on! Look where you’re going!’ he shouted, grabbing hold of her to stop them both falling. ‘Overdid the dutyfrees, did you?’

Stung by his accusation, she took a deep breath before replying. ‘No…no. I just lost my balance.’ His hands gripped her arms so hard that she could already imagine the bruises. ‘Hey, that hurts!’

His grip loosened and he guided her back to the rail. She clung on, filling her lungs with sea air.

‘Sorry, didn’t mean to hurt you. Okay now?’

Jeanne nodded. As the man stepped back she took in, through a still blurred gaze, dark brown hair, deep blue eyes and the muscled arms of a man unlikely to be a pen-pusher. Responding to his warmer tone, she managed a tight smile before straightening up and walking, unsteadily, to the starboard side.

What on earth was that? Is this what I can expect now? Perhaps I shouldn’t have come back. Not that I had a choice…The thoughts whirled around her pounding head and she shuddered as she leant against the railings as Guernsey came into full view. While the ferry headed towards St Peter Port harbour, it seemed as if she were approaching a strange, unknown country rather than the land of her birth. The whole of the northern sea front, from Les Banques into St Peter Port, had been transformed. Towering edifices of granite and glass replaced the remembered old, tired mishmash of warehouses, scruffy hotels and shops. With a gasp, she realised that even the elegant landmark of the Royal Hotel had been supplanted.

Wow! What’s happened? It was as if a natural disaster had occurred, flattening the old front and replacing it by buildings more reminiscent of London than of the parochial island of old. She’d never have thought that Guernsey would move into the twenty-first century with such a bang.

The dramatic transformation which lay before her seemed to Jeanne to be an echo of the change in her own life and she felt a stranger here. She wished she had stayed in the familiar, dull Midlands town which had been her home these past fifteen years. For a moment the urge to remain on the ferry and return to England, without setting foot on the island, was overwhelming. Her face must have mirrored her inner turmoil as a middle-aged lady standing nearby asked, ‘Are you all right, dear? Only you’ve gone very white.’

‘I’m fine, thanks. Just not very good on boats.’

The older lady nodded her sympathy. ‘My Tom gets seasick too, has to fill himself up with beer or the odd whisky or two before he’ll set foot on a boat. Just as well I can drive or we’d be marooned on the ferry till he’s sobered up!’ She laughed.

Jeanne forced a smile.

‘Aren’t these waters supposed to be dangerous?’

‘Yes, they can be, if you don’t know where all the rocks are,’ Jeanne replied. Yet again, her heart hammered against her chest and her breathing quickened. She fought down the feelings of panic to add, ‘but these big boats are perfectly safe,’ wondering who she was really trying to reassure. Jeanne joined the throng of eager passengers heading towards the car deck, found her car and sat there feeling sick and trapped in the echoing bowel of the ship. She would just do what had to be done here and then go back – but where? Her body arched over the steering wheel with the painful memory of her loss. Going back would be as bad as going on, she realised. The sound of car horns blaring behind her brought her back to the present. She started the engine and joined the queue towards the gangway and whatever lay ahead.

Emerging from White Rock, Jeanne followed the steady stream of cars up St Julian’s Avenue and turned left into Ann’s Place. She smiled on seeing that the Old Government House Hotel was still there and was lucky to find a nearby parking space. It was only a short walk to the advocate’s office but she decided she needed a coffee first. Ideally she would have preferred a couple of vodka shots to calm herself, but didn’t think it would be appropriate to meet her lawyer with glazed eyes and a stagger, especially as she’d already been accused of hitting the duty-frees! The thought made her frown as she walked down Smith Street, side-stepping the tourists intent on window shopping.

Jeanne began to feel more at home at the familiar sight of Boots at the bottom of the hill. It was where she and her friends used to meet up before going on the prowl in Town. On her right was a smart and inviting looking café with squashy leather chairs.

She sank, with a contented sigh, into a chair and ordered a cappuccino from the young waitress.

‘Anything to eat with your coffee? We do have some scrummy chocolate cake guaranteed not to put on an ounce.’ The girl grinned.

‘Can’t resist!’ Jeanne smiled back, pleased that at least one of the natives seemed friendly.

Sipping her frothy drink and conscious of the resultant milky moustache flecked with chocolate, Jeanne thought about her impending meeting with the advocate. She had been receiving gentle but persistent reminders from Advocate Marquis that there were important legal issues to discuss, not least that of her grandmother’s cottage. Her mind, unbidden, took her back to that awful day five months ago…

The phone was ringing as she and Andy arrived home, glowing after their holiday.

‘Oh, Jeanne, thank goodness! I’ve been trying to get you for ages and left so many messages…I’m so sorry, but it’s your gran…’ Molly’s voice caught on a sob and Jeanne’s stomach clenched as she anticipated the dreaded news.

‘She died in her sleep, Jeanne. It was peaceful, just as she’d have wanted,’ Molly continued as Jeanne’s eyes filled with tears.

‘The…the funeral?’

‘It was yesterday. I’m so, so sorry. The advocate and I kept trying to contact you but she died over two weeks ago and we didn’t know where you were or when you’d be back. I did try your mobile but it was switched off.’

‘We’ve been in Tenerife for three weeks. It was a bit last minute and I forgot my mobile charger. But Gran had seemed so well! If only I’d known…’ The tears now flowed freely.

‘Jeanne, you couldn’t have foreseen it. None of us did. She slipped away quietly. No pain, no fuss. We weren’t sure what to do for the best, but in the end the advocate, as her executor, thought he’d better organise the funeral. But you’ll be over soon? To sort out the cottage and everything?’ Molly’s voice was calmer, more urgent.

‘Yes…I guess so. I’ll get back to you later. Thanks…Molly.’

She collapsed onto the sofa while Andy made some tea and muttered a few ineffectual words of condolence before he opened the post. As she sipped her drink she remembered the feisty old lady, the last link to her past life in Guernsey. Although her gran had been over a few times to see her, Jeanne had not been tempted to return. It would have been too painful…

But now she was back and without any known living relatives in Guernsey. Apart from the cottage, the only sign of the family’s roots here were the headstones in the graveyards. Jeanne shuddered at the thought of her loved ones lying cold and unvisited in the earth and felt the tears threatening. It wasn’t fair! She gripped the coffee cup tightly, self-pity heightened by her guilt at staying away so long. Catching sight of a young, laughing family walking past the café only made her feel even more sorry for herself. For heaven’s sake girl, get a grip! Stop being maudlin and get on with what you came to do. You owe it to the family. With this thought she straightened up and finished her coffee.

Glancing at her watch, she saw that she’d better get a move on and, after paying the bill and freshening up in the Ladies, walked the few yards to the advocate’s office.

As the receptionist led her down a corridor Jeanne glanced at the watercolours on the walls. With a pang she recognised the local bays with cabin cruisers – oh, just like Dad’s! –bobbing on the waters as families gathered on the beaches. She could almost smell the sea and the pungent tang of seaweed on the rocks. Her thoughts were interrupted by the girl opening a door and announcing, ‘Miss Le Page, Advocate.’

‘Good afternoon. How are you?’ enquired the man who came forward to shake her hand.

‘Well, thank you, Mr Marquis. I’m sorry for the delay in coming over. There’s been a lot happening recently and certain…’ she paused, ‘events have meant that I couldn’t travel. Now I’m ready to settle everything before I go back to…England.’ She had nearly said ‘home’ before remembering she no longer had one.

‘It’s quite straightforward. Your grandmother’s will leaves everything to you as her sole beneficiary. Once we’ve gone through the various papers I’ll need you to sign some forms, then you’ll be the legal owner of Le Petit Chêne as well as the money your grandmother left.’

After much reading and signing Jeanne was presented with the keys to the cottage and Mr Marquis arranged for the monies to be transferred to her bank account. Mm, didn’t realise Gran had as much as that in the bank. But she’d never been a big spender, not bothered by material things. Just her beloved cottage and garden. Especially the garden. A lump formed in her throat as Jeanne realised that Gran’s savings might come in very useful until she sold that beloved cottage.

‘Where are you staying while you’re here? In case I need to contact you.’

‘I’m staying with Molly and Peter Ogier for a few days until the cottage is more habitable.’

‘Good. I believe they were close friends of your family?’

‘Yes, I’ve known them since I was a child.’

Jeanne hesitated and then said, ‘I have to ask, Mr Marquis, have there been any… developments with the investigation? Have the police found anyone yet?’

He shook his head. ‘No, there’s been no progress at all. Technically the case is still open, but I don’t think the police have found any more evidence. It’s difficult without any witnesses and after all this time…Have you remembered any more of what happened?’

‘No, I’ve had nightmares over the years but I’ve never been sure whether they’ve been caused by actual memories. Perhaps coming back will stir things up, memory-wise.’

She bit her lips as she recalled what had happened on the ferry.

‘I don’t really want to remember any more, but if I did, perhaps we would find out who killed my parents and nearly killed me.’