Chapter 11

T

he gardeners had made good progress on Monday and the flower beds and vegetable patch looked neat and healthy with freshly-turned rich brown soil and a subdued display of late spring flowers and vegetables. What a difference a day makes – was that from a song? – thought Jeanne as she made her inspection on Tuesday morning.

The palms and bamboo were still majestically in situ and the general outline of the wonderful garden it had always been was slowly emerging. That morning Jim was in charge of weeding and digging over the herb beds. Carl, meanwhile, was happily setting up one of the machines so beloved by those not quite so keen on the effort of digging – a powerful mower.

Grey, heavy clouds hung low over the island and they all hoped that the rain would hold off or possibly move over to Jersey and out of harm’s way. For centuries there had been a semi-friendly rivalry between the two largest islands, illustrated by their pet names for each other – crapauds (toads) for the Jersey islanders and donkeys for those in Guernsey. Interbreeding happened, naturally, and Jeanne couldn’t help feeling sorry for the resultant offspring – fancy being half toad and half donkey!

With the workers set on their day’s path Jeanne settled down in the kitchen with her notebook and folders. She began by setting down ideas for the book which she could expand upon later. Thinking it might be interesting to start with the French side of the family she made a note to research their genealogy, back to the Parisian restaurateurs. The book would then focus on her grandmother’s Guernsey family, leading up to the Second World War and Occupation. However, the core of the book would be the recipes – the lavish dishes from nineteenth century Paris and the bucolic food of nineteenth and early twentieth century Guernsey.

The letters would be pivotal to the story and Jeanne had looked at a few more the previous evening. Keeping them in chronological order, she made notes from the letters so that she could write a précis of their contents. In themselves they were not very exciting – just Wilhelm’s expressions of pleasure at his meetings with her gran and arranging further assignations. She had worked out from various descriptions in the letters that the bunker where he was often on duty must be the one nearby in a large private garden. Known to have had a gun emplacement on top it was quite high up and well placed to fire at enemy (British!) aircraft. The bunker had provided accommodation for the soldiers while off duty.

Wilhelm would have spent a lot of time in the area when he was on watch there but so far it wasn’t clear where he worked at other times. The biggest concentrations of troops had been at the airport and in Town around the harbour. Jeanne made a list of sources she wanted to research, planning to visit the library that afternoon.

By lunch time she had made copious notes and could begin to visualise the form the book would take. The rain had held off and the clouds seemed to be breaking up as she went out to the men with their tea. The herb garden looked much neater but Jim had had to cull some herbs, leaving gaps like missing teeth which Jeanne itched to fill.

After lunch she went off to St Peter Port armed with her list of books needed. It occurred to her that this would be the first time she’d been there since the day of her arrival and she was yet to explore it properly. There wouldn’t be much time today as she wanted to get back before Jim left, but after parking on the Crown Pier, she looked around to see what, if any, changes there had been.

Some of the shops were new and she spotted smart boutiques and wine bars lining the way to the Guille-Alles Library. She gasped when she emerged from Commercial Arcade and turned right into Market Street, shocked by the sight of scaffolding covering the old market opposite the library. The assistant on the library desk informed her that major renovation was in progress and that the old market would not be returning. Upset by the thought, she headed to the Local History section for her books. She loved libraries, at one time considering becoming a librarian, but the desire to write had won and she had never regretted her decision.

After leaving with her pile of books, she popped into Boots for some toiletries and treated herself to some new make-up, guaranteed to make her skin look ‘dewy fresh and youthful’. Got to give nature a helping hand, she thought, splashing out on a lipstick as well.

Driving out of town was slow as The Grange was clogged with traffic and Jeanne had time to admire the Queen Anne and Georgian houses that lined the main road. This elegant part of Town used to house wealthy British and French families, drawn here in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Guernsey’s wealth at that time was built on the legalised piracy sanctioned by the Crown in the seventeenth century. Nowadays the finance industry brought money to the island.

Jeanne arrived home in time to make mid-afternoon tea for everyone and drank her own surrounded by books. She browsed through one about the Occupation, sticking in post-its for reference. Jim popped in to say goodbye, rubbing his hands through his hair – a bad move, as they were thick with soil.

‘Should finish tomorrow, for sure. It’s taking shape, it is,’ he said, looking pleased.

‘Great. But I’m not sure I can manage to keep the grass in the orchard tidy myself. Could Carl come round, say fortnightly, to keep it in order?’

Jim agreed to that and they tidied up their tools and drove off. The phone rang as she shut the door.

‘Hi, Jeanne, it’s me, Marcus. How are you?’

‘Fine. And you?’

‘I’m good. Slaving away over a hot computer, but mustn’t grumble,’ he laughed. ‘I’ve booked us in at eight o’clock at Nello’s on Friday. I’ll pick you up at seven thirty, shall I?’

Jeanne was impressed. Da Nello’s was one of the top restaurants on the island and had been a favourite of her parents although she had never been.

‘Sounds lovely. But are you sure you don’t mind coming out all this way for me? I could get a taxi.’

‘No, of course I’ll fetch you. How are things with you?’

They chatted for a few minutes before ringing off. Jeanne’s first thought was what on earth was she going to wear? Throwing open the wardrobe doors she scanned her meagre supply of clothes hanging forlornly on the rail. Most of her stuff was still at Kate’s and there was nothing here suitable for posh restaurants, far from her mind when she packed. She had planned to stay only a few weeks while the cottage was put up for sale. As she stood by the wardrobe she felt overwhelmed by her loss – her grandmother and her baby – and she let out an involuntary moan. The pain was still there, still raw, even though she was not so conscious of it. But lurking just below the surface, ready to ambush her at any time.

Jeanne was lost in her grief, her fingers twisting her hair when she heard an engine running in the lane and brisk footsteps in the drive. Pushing away the hurtful memories she went downstairs as an envelope was pushed through the letterbox and the footsteps retreated. Opening it she saw the heading ‘Martin Brehaut, General Builder’. Ah, his quote.

She sat in the kitchen to read the figures and as she scanned them was just aware of a sea of numbers and turned to the bottom of the next page to find the total. Oh blow, it’s quite a bit more than I’d hoped. Slumped in the chair doing her sums, Jeanne succumbed to doubts. Perhaps it really wasn’t a good idea, all this renovation business and she should call it quits and sell without any hassle. Reminding herself that she didn’t have any valuations yet, she called the estate agent who had sold her parents’ house and arranged for a Mr Dorey to call round the following afternoon. Feeling that she had done enough that day, Jeanne gave herself a break and after supper settled down with her novel, a glass of wine and Coldplay.

Next morning the clouds still hovered and there was an odd spot of light rain but insufficient to stop Jim and Carl in their tracks. While they pitted their brawn against the hedges and grass, Jeanne pitted her brains against the internet as she searched for ways to trace her family in France. She made less progress than the gardeners but by late morning she had narrowed down the choice of resources. At this stage she only wanted to know that she could obtain all the information needed. The outline for the book was taking shape now and copious notes were filling her notebook.

She continued to work after lunch and just before four o’clock she went to see Jim and Carl as they loaded the pickup.

‘It all looks wonderful, thank you both. You’ve worked so hard. I’m sure Gran will be smiling on you!’

Jim scratched his head and grinned.

‘Well, Jeanne, your gran must’ve worked very hard over the years. You can see how well thought out it all was. Been a pleasure to get it straight for you – and we both appreciated all the tea.’

The men climbed into the pickup and, with cheerful waves, drove off.

Mm, at least the garden’s looking lovely. Should help the estate agent come up with a good figure! She had a few minutes to freshen up and tidy the kitchen before the doorbell rang.

A young man dressed in a sharp suit stood on the step, carrying a clipboard and folders.

‘Miss Le Page? Matthew Dorey. How do you do?’ He gave her a warm smile and they shook hands.

‘Please come in.’

She led the way into the kitchen saying, ‘I need to decide whether or not it’s worth modernising the cottage before selling. I’ve recently inherited it and have talked to a builder about costs based on this list.’

Jeanne passed him a copy and he quickly looked through it.

‘You seem to have covered everything. But the final value would also be affected by the quality of the finish, particularly the kitchen and bathrooms. Are you going for high quality fittings and tiles etc?’

‘Oh, yes, I should think so. Shall I take you round?’

As they walked Matthew made notes and the occasional comment about “original features present”. As they went into the garden his eyes opened wide.

‘This is brilliant! I never expected it to be as big as this! Does that orchard belong to the cottage as well?’

‘Yes and the reason it all looks so good is that the gardeners have just finished working on it.’

‘You do realise that you’ve probably got a potential building plot there, don’t you?’ he said, pointing to the orchard.

‘That may be. But I’m not interested in building there. I’d prefer it to stay with the cottage.’

‘You might not, but if someone else was to buy it they could sell off the orchard as a building plot, getting at least £200,000 for it.’

Jeanne gasped. ‘You’re joking! I had no idea land was so expensive here! Can you give me a valuation with the orchard just as it is?’

‘Sure. Let me have a wander round again.’

Jeanne left him to look around and waited in the kitchen.

Coming back, Matthew said, ‘Basically, it’s got great potential. A good property in a very popular area, there would be no problem selling it, either as it is now or when modernised. In its current state I’d value it at about £350,000 and after modernisation I’d expect to market it for £450,000 or more.’

Jeanne gulped.

‘I…I don’t know what to say! I was thinking about half of that!’

‘I take it that you’ve not been back in Guernsey long?’

‘No, not long. I was away about fifteen years. So I guess I’m a bit out of touch with house prices. Guernsey must be about as expensive as London,’ she stammered.

‘Nearly. It’s the shortage of building land which keeps the prices buoyant, of course. You’re sitting on a little gold mine here, if you don’t mind my saying so,’ he looked around the kitchen as he spoke. ‘And that’s the value without planning permission for building, of course,’ he added.

Jeanne nodded numbly.

‘Well, thanks for coming round, Matthew and for your helpful and, er, illuminating advice. I’ll get back to you when I’ve decided what to do.’

‘Sure, no problem. We’d love to market the property for you whenever you decide to sell. I’ve given you a bit of a shock.’ He grinned as he handed her his card.

‘You could say that! Thanks again, anyway.’ Jeanne closed the door with a deep sigh. I need a drink! She reached for the bottle of wine opened the previous night and poured a small glass, sitting at the kitchen table while she tried to clear her head.

If those figures were accurate she would more than cover her costs if she did the renovation work so it would make financial sense to go ahead if she could raise the money. Looks like a visit to the bank manager is called for. Deep in thought she lost track of time until she suddenly remembered that she was going out with the girls that night and it was now nearly six thirty.

Jeanne dashed upstairs and put on black jeans and a red top. She added some jewellery and applied her new make-up. Mm, not bad. She was barely downstairs when the doorbell rang and Rachel stood on the doorstep, a cheerful smile lighting up her face.

‘Hi! Say, I think your cottage is awesome! Sort of thing Tim and I would love. And the garden looks huge, ideal for barbecues. I’m so jealous! Ready?’

Jeanne nodded, and grabbing her jacket and bag, shut the door behind them.

As they drove off, Jeanne asked Rachel if she knew what cottages like hers would sell for.

Rachel confirmed the agent’s figures adding, ‘Way out of our price range, I’m afraid. Why, you’re not selling are you?’

‘No, just wondering. I hadn’t realised how expensive housing is here.’

‘It’s awful. We’re both earning good money but we only managed to buy a small modern house in Cobo. Ideally, we’d love an old cottage like yours but they’re always much dearer and harder to find. Still, at least we do have our own home and it’s big enough for a family,’ she grinned at Jeanne.

The film, a story of romantic adventures and misadventures, had the girls giggling along with the rest of the audience, and they were in merry mood as they ate their meal afterwards. Later, the farewells were warm, with a promise to repeat the experience soon. Rachel and Jeanne hummed a tune from the movie as they drove home.

‘I really enjoyed this evening. Thanks for inviting me, Rachel. It’s been a long time since I laughed so much.’

‘Glad you came. Can’t have you sitting at home on your own, staring at the walls, can we?’ Rachel smiled. Jeanne had admitted to having no television.

It didn’t take long for Rachel to negotiate the winding roads back to Le Petit Chêne and Jeanne was ready for bed soon after she was dropped off. As she lay, waiting for sleep to overcome her, she recalled the exciting developments of that day. The film had also triggered thoughts of romance. She found herself re-living the early days of her relationship with Andy. She had been so sure that he was The One – they had fitted so well together, sharing much in common, including their love of travel and books. The attraction had been instant and mutual and Andy had asked her to move in within a matter of months. Initially all had been wonderful. Andy had been attentive and only too happy to help with the household chores.

Jeanne remembered their laughter as she had cooked their first disastrous meal, so inedible that Andy had ordered a Chinese takeaway. She sighed. Where had it all gone wrong? Was I so wrapped up in what I wanted that I lost sight of Andy’s needs? My wish for a family wasn’t what he wanted. At least not at that time when I was…Her stomach clenched at the memory. Tears threatened but she brushed them away, determined not to feel maudlin after such a fun evening. The film had reminded her that love and happiness could be found even after the painful end of an affair. At least that’s the way it happened in films! Her thoughts drifted towards Marcus and their imminent date.

Her heart was still fragile and the loss of the baby made it even harder for her to contemplate a speedy recovery. She knew that time would help. The passing of the months and years had eased the gnawing pain of her parents’ deaths. But Gran’s death had brought back some of that pain. Then she had lost Andy and the baby! No, she told herself, it would be a while before her heart would be fully healed but maybe, just maybe, Marcus might be the one to start that healing process. That thought, together with the memory of the great evening with the girls, helped her drift off to sleep.