Chapter 13

S

unday morning dawned bright and clear, with just enough breeze to satisfy the surfers. Jeanne parked at the rear of the pub in Cobo and spotted the familiar faces outside at the front.

‘Hi, Jeanne, glad you could come. What would you like to drink?’ called Marcus as he waved her over to them.

‘A lager, please. How are you?’ In reply Marcus gave her a kiss before going indoors to buy her a drink. She sat down next to Rachel saying hello to her, Tim, Scott, Sue and Nick. Scott explained that Colette had to work.

Marcus returned with her drink and they all carried on talking, enjoying the warm spring sunshine and watching the waves turn into white surf on the golden sands.

‘So, how did it go on Friday?’ Rachel asked when Marcus was deep in conversation with Scott.

‘Okay, thanks. It’s a lovely restaurant, isn’t it? And the company wasn’t bad either!’

‘Seeing each other again, are we?’ Rachel asked, eyebrows raised.

‘Yes, this week sometime. You and Tim been out lately?’

‘We went to the local Chinese last night, which was a nice change. We’re restricting ourselves on eating out ’cos we’re saving up for the wedding. Still, all work and no play!’ She laughed.

Sue leaned over to ask what they were laughing at and Rachel said that it was just about the need to go out and enjoy themselves.

‘God, you’re so right! Apart from going out with you girls and the barbecue, I haven’t been out for ages. Anyone fancy the cinema this week?’

Jeanne nodded. ‘Sure. What about you, Rachel?’

‘The cinema, yes. But I can’t manage a meal as well – cost-cutting exercise as I was saying earlier.’ She turned round. ‘Scott – is Colette free one evening this week, do you know?’

‘Think she’s off on Thursday, when I’ll be working.’

Rachel agreed to ring Colette later and would get back to the others. Marcus sat down next to Jeanne, putting his arm round her shoulders.

‘How about Wednesday evening for a meal? Fancy the Indian at L’Eree?’

‘I’d like that, thanks. Fan of Indian food are you?’

‘I like all kinds – Indian, Italian, French, Greek, Chinese, whatever. And you can get them all here, without a passport and having to fly.’ Marcus grinned at her, giving her arm a squeeze. ‘Pick you up at eight o’clock, okay?’

Jeanne nodded and he went off to buy a round of drinks. She found herself next to Nick.

‘Do you get out much, Nick?’

‘Not a lot. Much too busy at work.’

‘Oh, right. What exactly is it that you do?’

Nick’s bored expression changed and there was a light in his eyes as he replied, ‘I’m a boat builder by profession but these days I do mostly renovation and re-fitting.’

‘That must be interesting. So you’re your own boss?’

‘Yep. Which means the buck stops with me. And I’ve a big job on at the moment which is giving me a few headaches, I can tell you,’ he sighed.

‘Burning the midnight oil and all that,’ Jeanne smiled.

‘Unfortunately. Colette’s always trying to get me to chill out and have fun but it’s been difficult.’

‘I take it you’re a surfer?’

‘Sure am. I love anything to do with the water – surfboarding, windsurfing, boating and fishing. The sea’s in my blood, I guess. My father was in the boat business and his father was a fisherman.’

‘My grandfather was a fisherman, too. They probably knew each other. Is your father still in the business?’

His face clouded. ‘No, he died a few years ago, just after he’d retired. And Mum died while I was still a boy. Cancer.’

‘Oh, that’s awful! I know what it’s like to lose your parents too soon,’ Jeanne’s face creased with sympathy.

Nick nodded. Then, after looking at her closely he said, ‘You know, there’s something familiar about you…’

He was interrupted as Marcus arrived with the drinks, sitting down between them. The conversation turned to surfing and Jeanne was left to her thoughts for a few moments.

She was warming a little to Nick, in spite of his detachment and abruptness. She could empathise with the loss of his parents and it provided a sort of link. Even his seriousness was admirable given that he had a business to run and ‘horrible’ clients like Mr Evans to deal with, she decided. It didn’t look like his main motivation was money either, given the state of his battered jeep parked next to Marcus’s swish sports car. Perhaps he wasn’t hung up on material possessions in the way Marcus was. She didn’t admire the fact that Marcus’s only ambition seemed to be to make as much money as possible. Maybe that’s why she was finding it so hard to feel close to him?

‘Hey, Jeanne! Where were you? Miles away by the look on your face.’ Marcus punched her arm playfully.

‘Sorry. Was just thinking about…something. Did I miss anything?’

‘Only us surfers saying it was time to hit the waves. What’re your plans?’

‘I don’t know. Haven’t thought about it.’

Rachel chipped in. ‘Why don’t you come round to our place? I’ll be on my own while Tim’s surfing and we can have a snack.’

‘Love to, thanks.’

Sue was surfing with the men and they said their goodbyes to go and collect their boards and wetsuits.

After a pleasant lunch with Rachel Jeanne drove out of Cobo. She could see the group surfing the waves and wondered if she should try it sometime. But she needed to feel safe in the sea, difficult since her near drowning. Since the accident she had only swum in calm, tropical waters and never out of her depth. If she stayed in Guernsey she needed to conquer her fear or miss out on a lot of island activities, including boating. She sighed. There was still so much to resolve. Reminding herself that she had become stronger over the past two weeks, Jeanne cheered up. Anything was possible.

On Monday morning Jeanne was immersed in brochures collected from a bathroom specialist recommended by Martin, when the phone rang. It was Mrs Le Maitre, advising her that the translations were ready.

Jeanne drove down the coast to Rocquaine with a sense of anticipation. The ingredients of the book were coming together and she would soon be able to complete the outline for the publisher. She rang the doorbell and a smartly dressed, elderly lady opened the door and shook her hand.

‘You must be Jeanne. Please do come in and I will fetch the recipes.’

Jeanne stepped into the hall of the cottage and was admiring the paintings of local scenes on the walls when Mrs Le Maitre returned, bearing the notebook and a sheaf of papers.

‘What wonderful pictures you have. Is that a Caparne?’

‘Yes, it is and we are lucky to have both a Toplis and a Naftel,’ she pointed to two watercolours. ‘My husband and I added to our collection over the years when funds allowed. I’m rather obsessed with anything to do with the islands – the history, art, language and, of course, food. Do you share my obsession, Jeanne?’

She laughed. ‘I don’t think I’m obsessed, no. But I do find it fascinating and intend to learn more now that I’m back. I’m ashamed by my lack of knowledge to be honest. Writing this book is a good start and I hope to be a much better cook as well by the time it’s finished.’

Smiling at her, Mrs Le Maitre handed over the bundle. ‘I’ve typed up the translations on my late husband’s typewriter and made a carbon copy for myself. Hope they’re legible enough for you?’

‘They look fine. Thanks again. Hope you enjoy trying them out.’

‘I certainly will. And if you need any further assistance in the future, please do not hesitate to ask me. I look forward to reading your book.’

‘I’ll make sure you get a copy if it’s published, don’t worry.’

They shook hands and Jeanne gave a final wave as she drove off. The old lady had been charming and Jeanne really appreciated the work she had done for her. She decided to spend the rest of the afternoon working on the book, leaving the bathrooms for another day.

By Tuesday morning Jeanne had a visual picture of her book and the final pieces of the jigsaw would be photos and images from the past. Mrs Le Maitre had been right. The old Guernsey dishes were unusual and could still be re-created today as all of the ingredients were available locally, although some were now more scarce and expensive than they had been when the recipes were written. Crab, lobster and oysters had been relatively cheap in the 1800s but were now considered luxury foods. This was in contrast to the French haute cuisine dishes which had been based on the then more expensive ingredients such as beef, wine, foie gras, duck and cream.

Jeanne had also researched what food had been available to the islanders during the Occupation. She thought that a section on the privations endured at that time would add an extra dimension to a book which was essentially about food, but also forbidden love. With this in mind she set out her findings:

Initially there had been a glut of tomatoes as they could no longer be exported and the poor housewives must have been demented trying to think of different ways of serving them. The excess were dried and used as cattle feed.

Early on there was also a good supply of eggs but this diminished over the years as chickens were killed, while potatoes remained a staple part of the diet. Islanders who grew their own vegetables occasionally had to fight off others trying to steal them. There was a case where a German soldier stole some potatoes from an islander’s garden and the grower was so determined to stop any more being taken that he dug up the rest of his crop and buried them under his kitchen floor. He then reported the theft of all his potatoes to the local authorities who in turn complained to the Commanding Officer. Theft was severely punished. Although soldiers were not allowed to steal food from the locals, bartering did take place, usually in the form of swapping food for tobacco.

Any excess food not needed by the grower had to be sold to the Controlling Committee which set up food distribution and communal kitchens around the island. Bread rationing began in 1941 and meat had been rationed even earlier. By the end of the war the islanders’ diet was severely restricted to a few vegetables, occasional fish, rabbit or eggs and bramble tea instead of the real thing.

Jeanne had never fully comprehended how difficult it must have been for her grandmother and all islanders at that time. It was a real eye opener reading first-hand accounts and she was humbled by what she learnt. Thoughtful, she polished up her outline and typed a covering letter to her agent before walking up the road to the post box. Right, she thought, on the way back, better get on with planning new bathrooms and a kitchen. Everything took so long to arrive on the island that the sooner she ordered the sanitary fittings and tiles, the better.

But when she added up the total cost of the fittings Jeanne’s stomach lurched. It was more than she had budgeted, but knew it was important not to skimp if she wanted to get a good price for the cottage if obliged to sell. She really hoped that wouldn’t happen but…And she still had to choose tiles and a kitchen! Martin had given her the names of tile companies and a kitchen supplier and Jeanne drove off on the next part of her quest.

Her first port of call was a tile merchant in town and Jeanne fell in love with some limestone and marble look-alike tiles in ceramic which were both beautiful and inexpensive. As she browsed for ideas for the kitchen she spotted some hand-glazed tiles in gorgeous colours which were stunning but expensive. Mm, she’d better wait until she saw what the kitchen costs, as at this rate she’d be broke before she started.

The kitchen showroom was at The Bridge and Jeanne drove up from the town, along Les Banques. Herm came into view and initially Jeanne was fine but when she stopped at traffic lights and glanced at the island she was suddenly overwhelmed by such a strong feeling of panic that she had to grip the steering wheel hard.

She struggled to breathe. Closing her eyes she had a blurred vision of something white – a speedboat? – heading towards her parents’ boat at speed. It was night with a clear sky and she could see the full moon guiding their boat back to St Peter Port from Herm. Odd images flashed in and out of her mind – her father seemed to be shouting at someone in the other boat – her mother knocked off her feet as their boat was hit broadside on – her father calling to Jeanne. Then – nothing, just blackness.