Chapter 3

T

he narrow, arched entrance to the Ogier’s cottage was a challenge to drive through and Jeanne was anxious to avoid scratching her car. However, most cars in Guernsey sported dents and scratches as the granite walls bordering the narrow lanes often seemed to jump out and hit the unwary motorist.

As she switched off the engine Peter and Molly appeared at their front door and with broad smiles reached out and hugged and kissed her in turn.

‘At last! You’re here! Peter and I’ve been so excited since you phoned.’ Molly beamed at Jeanne.

‘I’m so happy to see you both again, it’s been too long–’

‘But you’re here now and looking so grown up!' Peter said

‘And I’d have recognised you anywhere. Come in, come in,’ Molly cried.

‘Thanks. Mm, what a wonderful smell.’

‘Yes, dinner’s ready to serve and I’m sure you’re starving.’

‘Sure am, ready to do justice to your renowned cooking!’

Molly gave Jeanne a quick squeeze as they headed for the dining room. This opened through to the kitchen so that anyone cooking could still talk to those eating and as Molly ushered Jeanne into a chair at the polished oak table Peter went into the kitchen to open the wine.

‘Red or white?’

‘Red, please, Peter,’ Jeanne called, breathing in the heady aroma of what she felt sure was beef cooked in wine.

Molly and Peter brought the food through and soon the table was covered in dishes heaped with steaming potatoes, mixed vegetables and the pièce de la resistance, Molly’s famous Daube de Boeuf Provencale. Jeanne began to relax properly for the first time that day, soothed by the warmth of her welcome. The Ogiers had, from childhood, been like a surrogate family.

‘Santè! And welcome back,’ Peter said as they clinked glasses.

‘Mm, delicious, Molly. Haven’t tasted anything as good for ages.’ Jeanne smiled her appreciation.

‘Thanks. The recipe was Janet’s, passed down by your grandmother. So it’s rightfully yours now.’

‘I’ll be looking out for Gran’s recipes when I go through the cottage. Might encourage me to improve my cooking skills.’

Mentioning her gran reminded her of why she was there.

‘I…I’d like to thank you both for what you did for Gran. And after–’

Molly squeezed her hand.

‘It was nothing, we were happy to help. You know how much we cared about her.’

Silence reigned for a few moments as they focused on their food and Peter topped up their glasses.

‘So, how’re Phil and Natalie these days? We seem to have lost touch with each other.’

Peter smiled wryly. ‘Even we, the parents, don’t hear much from them. Both pretty independent, aren’t they, Molly?’

‘You can say that again! But we do know they’re both well and happy, that’s the main thing. Phil’s in London now and Natalie’s just moved to Oxford. Last time we heard they were both seeing someone but I gathered that neither was serious. So, how’s your Aunt Kate? Keeping well?

‘She’s fine, thanks. Been a rock these last few months. I don’t expect she thought I’d end up on her doorstep again.’

Molly frowned. ‘We were so sorry to hear about you and Andy. You must have been together for what, four years? Quite a while.’

Peter took himself off to the kitchen to find some more wine.

Jeanne realised she was twisting her hair round her fingers, something she did when upset or stressed, and stopped.

‘Yes, we were. But these things happen, don’t they?’

‘You’ll meet someone else one day, I’m sure. When you’re ready.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Could even be someone here.’

‘Not sure about that! Just being here – it all seems to come flooding back.’ Jeanne sighed. ‘All of it.’

‘That’s not really surprising,’ Molly said gently, ‘and if you wished, I might be able to help you?’

Jeanne looked at Molly with affection and knew that if anyone could help, it would be her. Not only had she been like a fond aunt over the years but she was a psychotherapist, well versed in dealing with problems such as hers.

‘Thanks, Molly. I’ll bear that in mind.’

Peter arrived back after taking an inordinately long time opening more wine.

‘More food, anyone?’

‘No thanks. That was plenty. And absolutely delicious.’

Molly also refused any more and she and Peter started clearing away the debris before serving the dessert. Jeanne was not allowed to help and was left with her thoughts.

She watched Molly bustling about in the kitchen. She must be in her fifties now, just as her mum would have been. The thought provoked the familiar ache in her solar plexus. Molly was so different to her mother – cheerfully plump with a broad, smiling face and fair, now greying, curly hair – whereas her mother had been slim and dark and more serious, though still loving. Wonder what she’d look like now? Ah, don’t go there! Just don’t.

Jeanne pushed down the unsettling thoughts and forced a smile as she watched her hosts bustling in the kitchen. Peter had also aged, but still had a good head of hair and his boyish grin.

The pan containing the dessert, Crêpes Suzette smothered with flaming liqueur, was borne in by a red-faced Peter while Molly carried a jug of cream. Obviously no-one worries about diets here, thought Jeanne.

‘Now, coffee everyone?’ asked Peter after the crêpes had disappeared. Molly made a pot and they went through to the sitting room.

The cottage was similar in design to Le Petit Chêne and Jeanne remembered how hard the Ogiers had worked to transform it into the warm, bright and comfortable home it now was. They had done a lot of the work themselves and could be proud of the result, she thought, noticing even more improvements since she’d last been there. Compared with the cold, damp and shabby cottage she had inherited it was a veritable palace.

‘This is lovely, Molly. You’ve done wonders with this room,’ she exclaimed as she gazed around the sitting room. The walls, a warm peach colour, were covered in bookshelves and paintings and the main focus of the room was a large restored inglenook fireplace. Jeanne gave a little sigh – oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a home like this!

‘Thanks, we love it. So cosy, particularly in the evenings,’ replied Molly.

Peter fetched a bottle of Calvados and poured out three generous measures.

‘Have you considered renovating your cottage, Jeanne? You could achieve what we’ve done here, no problem. And the garden was always stunning,’ he said, handing Jeanne a glass.

‘Thanks. It’s a thought, I suppose. But it would be such a huge project and cost a fortune to get it like this,’ she said, waving her arms around the room. ‘And I don’t have a fortune. To be honest, I wasn’t planning to stay long. Just tidy up the cottage ready for sale and then go back to England.’ She twisted her hair, noting Peter and Molly glance at each other.

‘I know it must be difficult for you, my dear. Coming back after so long and after losing your gran, but wouldn’t you like to try and settle here again? After all, you must still have friends from school and we’re here to support you in any way we can.’

Jeanne sighed. ‘I don’t know, Molly. It would be a big step and I’m not sure…I have to admit there’s not much for me in England at the moment. Feel I’m between the devil and the deep blue sea!’

‘Perhaps you need to sleep on it.’

‘Mm.’

‘You could always get some builders’ quotes. If the figures stack up and you do still sell, you might make a tidy profit.’

‘Typical man! Thinking of money, as usual.’ Molly laughed.

Peter took a sip of the fiery liquid before saying, ‘I’m sure Jeanne’s not averse to making some money, are you?’

‘No, not at all. But it does depend on what’s involved.’ Suppose it might make sense if she could make a profit, she thought, swirling the amber liquid round her glass. And she really hadn’t anything to go back for.

Peter nodded. ‘Well. How about us going round the cottage with you tomorrow? We could jot down a few ideas.’

‘You’re obviously keen for me to stay! I guess it won’t hurt and you’ll be more objective than me.’ She thought for a moment and then added, ‘By the way, I know you’ve both been round the cottage a number of times. Have you ever felt anything a bit odd about the small bedroom?’

They looked at each other, puzzled.

‘No, not really. What sort of ‘odd’?’

‘It’s probably just me then, but I’ve always felt a real chill in that room and hated going in there.’ Jeanne shivered at the thought.

‘Can’t say I’ve noticed. Have you, Molly?’

‘No, I haven’t. Perhaps it’s just your vivid writer’s imagination!’ Molly smiled at Jeanne. ‘Which reminds me, I meant to tell you how much I enjoyed that story of yours in last month’s Woman and Home. Are you writing anything at the moment?’

‘No. Thought I’d give myself time off to come here, although I’ve brought my laptop with me just in case. But I do have various stories and articles being published over the next few months.’

‘Good – I shall look forward to reading them. Even Peter likes to read your stories despite the fact that they’re aimed more at us females.’ Molly grinned at her husband.

He looked slightly embarrassed as he turned to Jeanne.

‘Well, I don’t see why men can’t read them. We can cope with a bit of romance if there’s also some suspense. Particularly if there’s a sting in the tail, which you’re so good at. Where on earth do you get your ideas from?’

Jeanne shrugged.

‘I don’t know. They just sort of pop into my head and I write them down as the story develops. I’m glad you enjoy the stories, Peter, as I’m not at all sexist.’

They finished the Calvados in companionable silence and as first Jeanne and then Molly started yawning it was decided to call it a day. After loading up the dishwasher they headed upstairs and Molly went with Jeanne to the pretty guest room complete with a tiny en suite shower.

Jeanne turned to Molly and gave her a hug. ‘Thanks, Molly, for letting me stay. It’s just what I need at the moment.’

‘You’re welcome, my dear. It’s lovely to have you here after all this time. And I think you need mothering just now.’

Jeanne’s face crumpled.

Molly looked mortified.

‘Oh, Jeanne! How tactless of me!’

Jeanne shook her head and gave Molly a hug.

‘No, don’t be silly. It’s just me feeling a bit maudlin, that’s all. Coming back…’

‘Of course. I understand. And so soon after Andy as well…’

Jeanne sniffed. ‘Yes, it’s not been a great few months. And I had what I’m sure was a panic attack on the ferry, just as we neared Herm.’

‘Oh no! Did you remember anything?’

She shook her head. ‘No. Just a terrible fear gripped me – as if I was going to die!’ She shuddered.

‘Oh, my dear, how awful for you. After all these years it’s still affecting you.’

‘It’s bound to, isn’t it?’ Jeanne said sharply. ‘It was bad enough to lose my parents but not to know what happened…’

‘I know, I know,’ Molly soothed her. ‘Would you like me to help? Perhaps we could use hypnosis to recover your memory?’

Jeanne was twisting her hair round her fingers.

‘Perhaps. If it stopped the awful nightmares…’ She sighed and gazed at Molly.

‘I’m not sure I’m quite ready to face it all just yet. Too scared about what I’ll learn. Even the police aren’t really sure what happened. After all, initially it was thought that Dad had misjudged his bearings and landed on the rocks by mistake, even though he knew those waters like the back of his hand.’ She took a deep breath and the hair twirling intensified.

‘Then when they found that dent on the starboard side it pointed to us being hit by something. So the police decided that some drunk in another boat had caused the accident and we’d been forced onto the rocks.’

She stared at Molly, white faced. ‘What really upsets me and has always puzzled me, is why didn’t the other boat stop and help us? Why didn’t they rescue Mum and Dad before it was too late? Before they died?’