Unknown

pringing out of bed the next morning Jeanne ran a bath – a slow process thanks to the rusty pipes – while she went downstairs to make a cup of tea. Back upstairs she perched on the bath sipping slowly as the water reached a suitable depth for immersion. The addition of exotic smelling bath gel made it more inviting, the foam hiding the cracks in the enamel. She enjoyed a good soak as her mind raced in different directions, inspired by Wilhelm’s letter, which she now re-read in the bath. It had been a love letter and stirred her romantic soul. Now she was desperate to know what had happened between the two lovers. She read:

Mein Leibling Jeanne!

It was good so to see you last night at the movie theatre. Was the film good, it not was? It was shamed one, that we were not able to seat us together and Griffhande, however it another pleasure was always to be in the same room. I love to see and know your smiling face that you want to be also with me. I have this week the duty at the Gewehreinbettung on the bunker and to see you soon hope. Were we able to meet at 8 o’clock on Friday in the wood near of the bunker, yes? For the walk? I want that my English it improves and is that why I at the writing to you. Bitte, write back to me!

Ich liebe dich!

Wilhelm

Ah! They must have known each other a while if Wilhelm’s already expressing his love for Gran. If only she knew what Gran had thought about Wilhelm. Oh, it’s so frustrating reading a one-sided correspondence.

The recipes she had read through the previous day had spurred her to invite Peter and Molly for dinner on Friday. After her bath she made a quick call to Molly who was happy to accept the invitation to a French supper adding, ‘As long as you’re sure you’ve translated the French correctly.’

Jeanne laughed. ‘Don’t worry. It’s very straightforward. I’m not likely to get my pommes de terres mixed up with my pamplemousse.’

Excited at the thought of cooking and entertaining, she wrote out her shopping list for the ingredients and added candles and candleholders.

They would eat in the kitchen where it was cosy. Jeanne wanted to create a welcoming ambience. As she looked at the room critically she decided that the table might benefit from a crisp white tablecloth to set off her new cutlery and glassware. Gran’s blue and yellow china would add the finishing touch. She checked the linen in the airing cupboard and underneath a pile of decidedly threadbare sheets, spotted an Irish linen tablecloth with elaborate cutwork. She shook it out and it was perfect – no stains or holes and still white. Jeanne stroked the cloth, thinking how wonderful it was to use such lovely things. Gran had owned it for years, but it looked rarely used. Digging around again she unearthed matching napkins, also in good condition, though everything needed airing and ironing.

Deciding to have a quick look in the attic for anything that could throw more light on her grandmother’s relationship with ‘Wilhelm’, Jeanne climbed up the ladder, shining the torch ahead of her. She gave the trunk lid a big shove and looked inside. It seemed to be full of old men’s clothes. Searching through them she couldn’t see anything else except a battered hip flask and a pair of binoculars. Probably Granpa’s, she thought.

Closing the trunk, she moved over to the boxes she had glanced at the previous day. The one containing the photo albums looked promising and Jeanne put it aside to take down. Another box contained what seemed to be Gran’s clothes. They looked very dated and slim-fitting whereas Gran had been decidedly cuddly in later life. Wondering if they went back to the forties she began to sift through the dresses, skirts and blouses with a reverence befitting such old and personal items.

She was particularly anxious to find anything with pockets and searched right to the bottom of the box. Just as she was admitting defeat, she pulled out one last item, a pretty cream cotton tea dress packed carefully in old wafer-thin tissue paper. As Jeanne shook it free something fell out of the pocket. Picking up the torch she saw it was a small black and white photo of a man in uniform. It wasn’t very clear in the torch light so Jeanne re-packed all the clothes and, popping the photo in the box of albums, went back downstairs.

Sitting at the kitchen table she picked up the photo for a closer look. The man was bareheaded with fair hair and wore a soldier’s uniform with knee-high leather boots. Jeanne couldn’t distinguish any insignia on the uniform but it looked like the ones she had seen as a girl at the German Occupation Museum. Her grandfather had been in the Navy and had had dark hair when young, so she knew it wasn’t him. I can’t believe it! I think I’ve found Wilhelm. She jumped up and down with excitement.

Calming down, she remembered seeing a magnifying glass in her grandfather’s desk. Peering through the glass she could now quite clearly see the German eagle on the sleeve. Jeanne then looked more closely at the man smiling cheerfully at the camera. He had an open, intelligent face and looked young, probably in his early twenties. Mm, he’s certainly attractive, she mused. She could see why Gran was drawn to him. He looked anything but a fighting machine and if not for the war, perhaps he would have gone to university and become who knows what. Turning over the photo she saw in small neat writing – ‘30th May 1943’. No name. Pity. Jeanne was still sure it was Wilhelm as the date fitted in with the letter and hoped to find out more as she read his letters, placing the photo and envelopes in a protective polythene binder.

Jeanne then opened the box of photo albums. Even though there weren’t likely to be more photos of Wilhelm, she still wanted to browse through those of her family. The very earliest ones, in sepia, were neatly arranged in an album with white hand-written descriptions beneath each photo, standing out clearly against the charcoal coloured card. The first one was labelled ‘Marie-France Dupres and Edward Bougourd, married 12th April 1900’. Mm, this must have been my French great-great-Grandmother, the granddaughter of the Parisian restaurateurs. How exciting! The couple looked stiff and ill at ease in their wedding clothes, a high-necked, wasp-waisted dress adorned with lace for her and a heavy wool suit with stiff collar and tie for him. The following photos showed the family of the bride and groom gathered around them, all staring sombrely at the camera.

Next were photos of the new parents with their first child, a boy named Alfred, in long christening robes, and others showing them with their next, and apparently last child, a girl called Jeanette, born in 1902. This would have been her grandmother’s mother, who went on to marry, according to the photos, a certain Raymond Ozanne in 1923. This is great, my family history in pictures. My roots – where I belong. Jeanne couldn’t remember having seen the photos as a girl, making the find that more exciting.

The album was solely devoted to her grandmother’s family and right at the back was the wedding photo of her own parents, which gave her a jolt. She picked up another album, not as well organised, with the photos only labelled sporadically, and seeming to follow the male side of the family, from the Bougourds to the Le Pages. As she flicked through the album Jeanne could see why people wanted to trace their family trees and fill in all the missing details.

Judging by the clothes worn and the backgrounds depicted in the photos, Jeanne guessed that her family had been neither poor nor rich but fairly comfortable by the standards of the times. She knew there was a tradition of fishing on her grandfather’s side and a mixture of farming and fishing on her grandmother’s.

Island life had precluded university for all but the more wealthy islanders and her father had been the first member of the family to study in England for a degree. It was now very common for youngsters to go away to study and, unfortunately for the islands, many did not want to return after a taste of mainland life and the opportunities available to bright, ambitious graduates. Phil and Natalie Ogier being a case in point. Jeanne bit her lip as she considered her own defection. She’d had pressing reasons to leave (in her mind anyway) and had never contemplated returning to live here but she could see that there might be compensations. The pace of life was still slower than in the UK but the island had become far more cosmopolitan with the dramatic influx of the finance industry. And it was easy to fly to London for the bright lights. She had no real ties to the mainland – apart from her Aunt Kate – and she could work here as well as anywhere else.

She allowed herself to think about what it would really mean to stay, reclaiming her newly discovered roots. Well, I could write a cookery book as Molly suggested and perhaps I could write an article on the transformation of island life…and a…Hey, at this rate I could keep busy writing articles and books on my family and Guernsey for ages!

‘From Mr Ogier. I wanted to invite you to the barbecue I mentioned the other day. We’re planning on going to Portelet Harbour on Saturday, about four o’clock. Please say you’ll come.’ His voice was warm and persuasive.

‘Yes, I’d love to. Do I have to bring anything?’ Jeanne’s heart was racing and she was glad that Marcus couldn’t see her pink face.

‘No, I’ll provide the food etc. We’re all chipping in with supplies and you’ll be pleased to know the men are in charge of the cooking, so you girls can just relax,’ he chuckled.

‘About eight, I think. There may be some you remember from school.’ He paused. ‘How’s your cottage?’

Jeanne brought him up to date, then he said, ‘Well, best get going, got a few people to call now. I’m really looking forward to seeing you on Saturday. Pick you up about a quarter to four, if that’s okay?’

After Marcus had checked her address and said goodbye Jeanne sat for a moment deep in thought. She knew she needed to get out and make friends and she was still attracted to Marcus, but she was also scared about re-joining the human race and particularly meeting people she knew from school. Ah well, I’ll just have to be a big brave girl, I guess. At least they can’t eat me. Amused at the thought she settled down with Maeve Binchy and Robbie Williams for the evening.

Friday dawned bright and clear and as the sun shone through the thin curtains Jeanne slowly came to. A feeling of well-being flowed through her as she stretched and opened her eyes. The usual mental review of the previous day brought a smile to her face as she recalled the phone call from Marcus. She also remembered that tonight she was due to be the “hostess with the mostest” and the thought propelled her out of bed to run her bath, humming ‘Angels’ to herself.

After giving the cottage a good clean Jeanne went for a walk before lunch. As she headed up the beach she heard bursts of laughter from groups of children making sandcastles, playing with a Frisbee or a bat and ball. Their laughter was infectious and when a Frisbee headed in her direction she caught it and laughing, spun it back to the grinning boy who had sent it winging towards her. ‘Well caught!’ he shouted before throwing it back again.

Jeanne played with him for a few more minutes before spotting what looked like the boy’s mother coming to check on him and, after a quick wave, she set off back down the beach. Groups of parents had settled themselves against the granite walls edging the sand, sheltered from any wind yet still able to keep track of their offspring. It looked as if some families had grouped together. Typically, she thought, the women were chatting happily with each other, while the men were less sociable, their noses buried in newspapers or books, with an occasional glance to check little Johnny wasn’t too close to the water.

Jeanne sighed, wishing she was nine years old again playing on the beach with her own family. Still, she could be a child again on the inside and she ran back along the beach, arms aloft as if she were flying a kite. Catching the eyes of bemused children she laughed, encouraging them to join in. She arrived home feeling exhilarated and ready for anything.

After a quick lunch Jeanne headed up the coast to the Bridge to buy the food and other necessities for her small dinner party. She decided that if she did put in a new kitchen she’d definitely buy the biggest fridge and freezer she could afford. Then she wouldn’t need to go shopping more than once a week. Bliss! Her smile was broad as she drove along the coast, enjoying the sense of belonging, of “coming home”. Then, as the unwelcome memory of why she had left Guernsey popped into her head, her smile disappeared. If only the truth behind the fatal accident would emerge she could move on and make a new life for herself. She sighed. Perhaps I should consider Molly’s suggestion of using hypnosis to recover my memory. But that’ll have to wait until I’ve made a decision about the building work and whether or not to stay on the island.

Before shopping she decided to take a quick stroll round by the harbour and have a look at the new marina which had just been completed. It had always been a busy little port with small boats moored at random but had looked messy at low tide, with the boats balancing precariously on the mud. Now the same small craft were neatly lined up against new pontoons stretching out from the harbour walls. Jeanne admired the ranks of boats buoyant on the high tide. Breathing in the fresh sea air, she passed the warehouses where the marine engineers and boat-builders were based. Mm, wonder if that’s where Muscles hangs out?

The day was still sunny, with a few scattered clouds, and Jeanne felt good as she drove along, Island FM blaring out of the radio. Even being caught in a tailback behind a small car being driven at exactly 20 mph didn’t dent her mood. She was nevertheless relieved when the car turned left at Albecq, allowing her to increase her speed to a dizzy 35 mph.

After unloading her shopping into the kitchen, her first concern was keeping the white wine chilled. This would not have been a problem less than a week ago as the whole house had been freezing. Now the only cold places were the pantry with its marble shelves and the small bedroom which only seemed cold to her. She put the Chablis in an old terracotta pot on the lowest shelf and hoped for the best.

She prepared her starter which also needed to be chilled before serving, placing the stuffed grapefruit shells on another pantry shelf. The wine still felt cold to the touch and Jeanne settled down at the kitchen table to prepare the vegetables for the main course.

Having checked that the range was still going strong, she set the table, twisting the napkins into a stylish shape and setting candles either side of the vase of freesias down the centre of the table. Jeanne smiled with pleasure, hoping that the food would live up to the table setting.

While the casserole was simmering on the hob she went upstairs to freshen up and changed into a more dressy long black linen skirt and red T-shirt. Fishing around in the small jewellery box she’d brought with her, she found some pretty gold hoop earrings and a plain gold chain. She peered into the small bedroom mirror to admire the effect.

After uncorking the Bordeaux, giving it time to breathe, she set out a selection of cheese on a plate in the pantry. As she went into the sitting room and switched on the stereo the doorbell rang.

‘Hi, welcome to my humble abode!’ Jeanne smiled at them, giving them each a hug.

The meal was a success and Jeanne was happy to receive compliments on both the food and the way the cottage had improved. She had served Pamplemousse au Crabe as the starter and Agneau Champvallon for the main course. The lamb so tender it fell off the bone.

Molly said that Mrs Le Maitre would be happy to do the translations for her but would like to keep copies and Jeanne was happy to agree. She lived near Portelet Harbour so Jeanne could pop them round the next day.

As her guests were leaving, Molly asked, ‘Would you like to come round for dinner on Sunday? There’s a good drama on TV so you can catch up with some culture.’

‘Thanks, I’d love to. And, er, would you mind if I bring my washing round as well?’

They left, laughing. Jeanne went into the kitchen and filled the sink with hot, soapy water and, Marigolds to the fore, she waded through the pots as Dido sang out from the CD player.

In bed by eleven o’clock she was ready for a few pages of Joanna Trollope, having finished the Maeve Binchy. She was pleased with her first attempt at entertaining and the success of her food. Good on yer, Great-great-grandma, she thought, with a grin. Obviously, old recipes (and cooks) never die. Even though she’d enjoyed the evening, she would really like to have friends her own age, to talk about the more youthful topics of films, the latest fashions and music, rather than builders and cooking. Fond of Molly and Peter as she was, Jeanne was glad that the next day she would be spending time with people her own age.

Thinking about the barbecue reminded her that she would be seeing Marcus again and she started to think about why he had invited her. I got the impression he didn’t have a girlfriend. Was he attracted to me? Or just needed someone to tag along with? After all, he thinks I’m only here for a little while so I wouldn’t be looking for a relationship. Perhaps he just thinks I’d like to meet old friends? If he is looking for a relationship would I be interested? No way! It’s too soon…Not sure I even like men much at the moment and I don’t even know what to do about the cottage. And I haven't decided if I want to live here – it’ll mean facing those blasted demons if I do!