Chapter 12

B

y mid-morning on Thursday Jeanne had arranged an appointment at the St Peter Port branch of her bank for that afternoon. She then spent time preparing figures of income and expenditure on her laptop. Although it appeared she had a valuable asset in the cottage, she wasn’t sure if her irregular income would be considered sufficient for a loan.

After downing a quick cup of coffee Jeanne set out to buy herbs at a nursery recommended by Jim, wanting to fill the gaps in the revived beds. She also bought a couple of potted geraniums for the kitchen which could go outside once the builders arrived, together with books on herbs and basic gardening. She was now fully equipped to put the finishing touches to her gran’s legacy. A quick lunch and she made a start on planting out, managing to finish the herb garden before going in to clean up and change.

Wearing a long black skirt, T-shirt and linen jacket, Jeanne drove into town and found a long-term parking space. She had reasoned that she might want to do some shopping after visiting the bank.

The appointment went smoothly and the young woman assured Jeanne that it should be possible to have a short-term loan or even a mortgage. The cottage was considered to be excellent security for the comparatively small loan required. She came out bearing a folder full of forms and figures and the need to make a decision.

Right, I need a coffee. With this in mind she headed up Smith Street to the leather chaired café which had offered her much needed sustenance on her return to the island.

The same cheerful waitress was on duty and Jeanne again succumbed to the sales pitch of ‘non-fattening’ scrummy chocolate cake. Why not, surely working in the garden will burn off ooh, say, at least one mouthful!

It was restful to sit and do nothing for a few minutes and Jeanne’s mind went back to the last time she had been there, nearly two weeks earlier. Mm, guess I’ve moved on quite a bit. Certainly not as lonely and there’s so much I can do now. Create a beautiful home, continue to earn an income from writing and perhaps even see my book published. Carry on building up a circle of friends. Maybe even find love – eventually. Nice! Then maybe have children to complete the happy family. A shadow crossed her face. Perhaps one day…

She left the café and headed for the shops. Time for a little retail therapy. She wanted something really nice for Nello’s and explored the High Street until she came to a small boutique. It wasn’t long before she found exactly what she wanted; a short, silky skirt and a sleeveless top with just enough sparkly decoration to add some glamour. As she came out of the shop she thought – shoes! She remembered the shoe shop near the harbour selling shoes to die for at a reasonable price and set off in search of the perfect glitzy sandals.

It was nearly six o’clock by the time she arrived home and, after dumping everything on the kitchen table, she called the Ogiers to ask if she could pop round for a chat later. Molly said that was fine.

After supper Jeanne collected up the papers she needed and walked round to her friends.

‘Hi, Molly. Thanks for letting me come round. Hope I’m not intruding?’

‘No, of course not. Glad to be of help. Come into the sitting room where Peter’s been buried in the papers long enough. Would you like a drink?’

When they were all comfortable and nursing glasses of wine, Jeanne explained why she was there.

‘I really need help to decide what to do about a bank loan and hoped that you’ll be able to offer some guidance.’

She explained about the valuation and the bank proposals.

‘I need to be sure that it’s cost effective to carry out the renovation as I’ll need to borrow some of the money, at least in the short term. I’ve already had the quote from the builder.’ She handed over all the papers from the bank and builder and added, grinning, ‘Oh, and by the way, I may have a publisher interested in my book proposal so, with a bit of luck, I might be earning a nice advance!’

Peter and Molly looked at each other for a moment.

‘You’ve been busy this week, haven’t you? I admire your enterprise! I think Molly and I had better look through the figures before we say any more, all right?’

Jeanne sat quietly sipping her wine while the others, heads together, pored over the paperwork.

Finally Molly looked up and said, ‘I think the crucial question is, do you want to stay in the cottage once the work’s completed?’

Jeanne hesitated for a moment before answering.

‘Yes, I do want to stay there. I’ve begun to realise how much I love Guernsey and there’s nothing for me in England, apart from Kate, bless her. But it’s quite a large house and I can’t help wondering if I should buy something smaller and cheaper to run, like a modern flat,’ she replied, pulling a face.

‘I see. Don’t worry about running the cottage just now. You know you could always sell at a good price. You need to be where your heart is, Jeanne. And from what Peter and I have seen, that’s the cottage.’

Jeanne’s shoulders dropped in relief. It was as if she’d received permission to follow what her heart was telling her to do.

‘Okay. So if I stay in the cottage, which is the better loan?’

Peter replied, ‘If you can afford the mortgage payments for at least the next year, then that would be the better choice as the interest and monthly payments are much lower. Remember you can claim tax relief which also helps. You might even be able to pay off a chunk if your book’s a bestseller!’ He laughed. ‘I take it you’re not going to apply for planning permission for the orchard?’

She shook her head. ‘No, I’d have Gran turning in her grave! I’m sure I can manage without that.’

‘On paper, at least, that’s right. And in the future if you do go back to England, you’ll be quite a wealthy young woman.’

Jeanne laughed. ‘Never thought I’d ever hear that! Right, a mortgage it is, then.’

Just before Molly topped up their glasses she fetched the French recipes and handed them to Jeanne.

‘Only one or two errors. You did a good job and they’re such interesting dishes, aren’t they? They’ll look wonderful in your book.’

Jeanne mentioned that she was off to Nello’s on Friday and Molly admitted that it was one of her favourites, giving Peter a meaningful look which he seemed not to notice.

Back home Jeanne went up to bed with her book. After switching off the light she lay still until she realised, with a jolt, just how much it did mean to her to stay in the cottage on this special island. Though the boat accident and her parents’ terrible deaths had been traumatic for her, it had happened a long time ago. At sixteen she had been little more than a child. It had been a child’s response to the pain to run away and perhaps she’d been wrong, she conceded. Although she had been very lucky with Kate and her unstinting support, she realised how much she had missed by not being at her grandmother’s side all those years. They had both suffered as a result. I’ve been so immature! Poor Gran. To have lost all her family in one fell swoop. And she didn’t try to stop me, just wished me well, telling me to work hard at school and follow my parents to university. Oh, Gran! Tears pricked her eyes. I’m so, so sorry.

Jeanne brushed away the tears as the thoughts whirled through her mind. In spite of her sorrow over her past mistakes, she felt more peaceful as sleep finally claimed her.

On Friday morning she rang Martin Brehaut and told him she was happy to accept his quote, asking when he’d be free to start and how long the work would take.

Martin was quiet for a while before answering. ‘Should be able to start by late June and I reckon it’s about two months’ work, unless we hit any snags.’

‘Fine. Can you book me in, please, and keep me posted as to a definite start date? I’ll be getting rid of most of the furniture which will make life easier for you.’

‘That’ll help, thanks. I’ll be in touch.’

Another decision made. Jeanne then filled in the mortgage application ready for posting later. Needing a break from mental activity, she went into the garden to start planting the beds with the bulbs rescued by the gardeners. The sun had returned after a couple of days’ absence and she enjoyed the fresh air and getting her hands dirty with soil. It was therapeutic and calming and the rest of the morning flashed by.

After lunch she settled down to work on the outline of the book before typing up the translated French recipes. By late afternoon she was glad to break off to go and run a bath.

The new clothes slid on with a delicious whisper and the make-up worked its magic once again. A spray of perfume, earrings and a delicate little necklace and she was ready. Jeanne picked up a pretty faded velvet jacket to slip over the top and went down to the kitchen to wait. She poured a glass of water and paced around the kitchen, taking small sips, nervous at the thought of her first date for some years. Come on, girl! You’re a grown woman and he’s only a man, for heaven’s sake! She had just managed to calm her breathing when, exactly at seven thirty Marcus’s car crunched over the gravel. Jeanne went out to meet him.

‘Hi! I’ll just lock the door.’

Marcus climbed out of the car and, after giving her a lingering kiss, held open the passenger door. She carefully sat on the seat and, as she’d seen it done in films, swung her legs into the car in a reasonably smooth movement.

Marcus slipped into his seat and turning to her, said, ‘You look great. Très chic!’

‘Merci, monsieur! You don’t look so bad yourself.’

He wore dark cotton chinos and a crisp blue open-neck shirt with the cuffs turned back. The car was soon filled with the heady mix of Calvin Klein and Armani.

The walk from the Crown Pier to Nello’s in the Lower Pollet took just a few minutes and Jeanne was soon ushered into a seat in the bar by an attentive Marcus. He told the waiter he had a table booked in the name of Davidson while Jeanne gazed around, admiring the marble floor tiles, elegant tables and seating, set against an expanse of exposed stone walls. She felt as if she’d been wafted off to Italy, particularly when a charming wine waiter asked what the Signorina wanted to drink.

‘A Bellini, please.’

Marcus ordered a lager and they studied their menus while they waited.

‘There’s always great fresh fish here. And I’d suggest you save some space for a pudding as they’re all delicious,’ Marcus said, stroking her arm.

Their drinks arrived and they clinked glasses in a salute. Mm, heavenly, Jeanne thought as she sipped the chilled cocktail and the Maitre D’ bustled off with their order.

‘Now, tell me what you’ve been up to.’

She told him about the garden and that she had chosen a builder. She didn’t mention the book or the mortgage, feeling it was too soon to share such personal matters with him.

‘It’s going to be quite a busy and noisy few months for you, with builders crashing about. Think you’ll cope?’

‘I’ll have to. But it will be worth it, I’m sure. With the garden looking great I’m spurred on to do the same with the cottage. Now, that’s enough of me, what have you been doing?’

Marcus shrugged off the week as just the usual work-dominated days with the occasional evening out for a drink with mates. Apparently he worked very long hours but this was par for the course if he wanted to rise through the ranks in finance.

‘But now it’s the weekend and I can relax for a few days. So let’s start by enjoying our first evening together,’ he said warmly, squeezing her hand.

The waiter arrived to show them through the restaurant to a corner table. He pulled out the table for Jeanne and Marcus took the facing chair. She glanced around, admiring the conservatory reached by a flight of stairs and the tasteful décor of the main room. The candlelit tables were slowly filling up.

‘This is so lovely. An Italian grotto tucked away from the hustle and bustle of Town. It’s even better than I expected. Of course, when I lived here I was too young to appreciate good restaurants and was more into fast food. I’m a little more sophisticated these days.’

‘I still like fast food occasionally myself but it certainly doesn’t compare to this,’ he replied as their starters arrived, presented with a typical Italian flourish – the waving of a giant peppermill.

‘Right, now I want to know everything about you since you left. Where did you go to university?’

‘Bristol, where I read English. I then went on to do a journalism course before getting a job in a local newspaper as a trainee reporter. I lived in a shared house until I met Andy. About that time I also started submitting stories to magazines and, wonder of wonders, some were published!’ She smiled at the memory. ‘It was so exciting to see my name in print as my reports in the local paper were never attributed to me, I was far too junior. Eventually I decided to bite the bullet and become a full-time freelance and although it’s been a bit scary at times, I’ve no regrets.’

‘What happened with this Andy?’

Jeanne’s stomach tightened as she remembered. ‘Oh, we just drifted apart. You know how it is. And I went back to stay with my aunt before coming here. Now, it’s your turn, what have you been doing over the years?’

‘Well, I went to the LSE and studied Accounting and Finance. Then I took a gap year and travelled around Australia and the Far East before coming back to work for my father in his accountancy firm. I found working with him a bit, er, restricting,’ he grinned ruefully. ‘So I applied to a trust company who were more than ready to appreciate my talents.’ He finished with a big smile.

‘Mm, didn’t your family come over here when you were quite young?’

‘Yes, Dad was offered the chance to join a practice here so we came over when I was ten. He was originally here on a housing licence but now we’re all counted as local. Although not as local as you, naturally.’ He reached out and touched her arm as his pale blue eyes swept over her.

Jeanne flushed slightly under his gaze and said, ‘I can’t remember whether or not you have any brothers or sisters.’

‘Just one brother, Dan, who’s a few years older than me. He runs a successful antiques business in town and has fingers in various pies,’ he frowned, as if the thought of his brother was distasteful in some way.

Jeanne noticed and asked, ‘Don’t you two get on?’

‘Not really. We just have different lifestyles, I guess. But let’s not talk about my brother. How’s your monkfish?’

‘Delicious. As is everything. It’ll be a struggle to keep space for a dessert.’

‘You’ll just have to do your best.’

After a break while they chatted about the changes on the island, they decided to order desserts and when they arrived Marcus said, ‘A few of us are meeting up for a drink on Sunday morning at Cobo and the more energetic of us will go surfing later. Would you like to join us? You’d be welcome to come surfing too, if you’d like.’

Jeanne had not swum out of her depth since the accident and the thought of surfing made her heart beat faster.

‘I’d love to join you all for a drink but not the surfing. I’ve never tried it but I’m not sure it would be for me. At least not yet. What time?’

‘About eleven thirty, at the Rockmount. Good. Now, how about some coffee?’

As they were drinking it, Marcus reached out and put his hand over hers.

‘I really like you, Jeanne. I’ve enjoyed this evening and would love to see you again. How about you?’

His eyes focussed intently on hers and she heard herself say, ‘Yes, I’d like to see you again, too,’ smiling at him as she took in his fair hair flopping over his forehead Hugh Grant style and his sexy smile.

‘Great! Perhaps one night next week? If you’re not too busy with the girls, that is.’ Jeanne had told him about their fun night out.

She shook her head. ‘Nothing’s planned at the moment. So that would be fine.’

They agreed that he would let her know on Sunday which evening would be best for him. He settled the bill, brushing aside Jeanne’s offer to pay her share and as they left Jeanne was presented with a red rose by the Maitre D’ – a well-established ritual at Da Nello’s, Marcus said. Jeanne appreciated the romantic touch and Marcus laid his arm possessively around her shoulders as he guided her back to the car.

As he was unlocking the car door Jeanne caught sight of Herm, a dark shape dotted with twinkling lights on the horizon. Suddenly she began to shake and her breathing quickened. She had to fight hard to clamp down the rising feeling of panic.

‘You cold, Jeanne? You’re shaking!’

Making a supreme effort, not wanting Marcus to know the truth, she took a deep breath.

‘Yes, I…I did feel cold for a minute. But I’ll be fine. Can we have the heater on?’

‘Sure. We’ll soon have you warmed up, no problem.’

The moon was a full pale yellow disc in the dark sky and the stars became more visible as they left the lights of Town behind. With the roof down and the heater on full blast Jeanne felt calmer as they drove across the island. She was thankful that Marcus hadn’t realised what was happening. If this carries on she’d have to do something about it, she decided.

Marcus pulled into her drive and switched off the engine. Undoing their seat belts he turned towards her and, pulling her close, kissed her firmly on the lips. The kiss seemed to go on forever, until he eventually pulled back and, stroking her hair away from her face, murmured, ‘Any chance of a coffee?’

She hesitated before replying, guessing it wasn’t only coffee he wanted. ‘Perhaps another time. I…I’m not sure.’ It was just too soon…

For a moment he looked sulky, then seemed to rally and smiling, replied, ‘Okay, got the message. See you on Sunday, then.’

Jeanne smiled uncertainly and got out of the car unaided and waved as he drove off. She let herself in and went straight upstairs, suddenly feeling very tired. It had been a lovely evening, and if Marcus didn’t rush her, she would enjoy being with him. Though there were still no fireworks when he kissed her. Mm, maybe it’ll take time. The ol’ hormones are still all over the place and my life’s been turned upside down. And getting panic attacks doesn’t help! Just have to wait and see. There’s no rush, no rush at all.