chapter twenty-nine

 

Guernsey 2011

 

Fiona had barely said hello to Louisa when her phone rang. It was the funeral directors, saying they had the vicar booked for the funeral service at Le Foulon Chapel, followed by the internment, at twelve-thirty on Monday 6th June. She and the vicar now had to meet to confirm the Order of Service and could she do that at the earliest opportunity? Fiona noted the vicar’s number and said she would. The excitement induced by the plan to trap Duncan drained away as Fiona once again faced the reality of the funeral. With a sigh, she followed Louisa into the kitchen.

‘Sorry about that. The funeral’s set for a week on Monday and I’m dreading it.’ She slumped into a chair, with her head in her hands, tears leaking from her eyes.

‘Oh, you poor thing, I understand how you feel.’ Louisa threw her arms around her and squeezed. ‘When Mum died, I left everything to my aunt to sort, and I’ve regretted not being more involved ever since. It was me being in denial that Mum was actually dead. Could that be true for you?’ Louisa stroked Fiona’s hair, soothing as you would a child in distress.

She reached for a tissue. After blowing her nose, she considered what Louisa had said, seeing the truth in it. One part of her did know Nigel was dead, the logical, grown-up part, after all, she’d found his body. But another more fanciful, wishful part of her wanted to deny it to the heavens.

‘Could be. The funeral’s always considered the definitive moment after a death, isn’t it? Not for the benefit of the deceased, but for those left to mourn. It’s supposed to help us finally let go and move on. But we don’t want to, do we?’ She looked at Louisa, whose face was etched with concern.

‘Do you need help with the planning, choosing hymns and things? I’d be happy to help.’

‘Would you? It’s something I was dreading. I have to see the vicar soon and need to decide on what I want first.’

‘Right, why don’t we make a start before Paul gets home? We can get inspiration from the internet if necessary. Okay?’ Louisa squeezed her hand.

‘Okay. Let’s do it.’

Two hours and several cups of coffee later, they had produced a rough draft of the service, incorporating what Fiona remembered as Nigel’s favourite hymns from their childhood and quotes from poems she loved. One which made them both cry were the lines from Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet, describing death –

‘Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.

And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.

And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.’

 

The hardest part was deciding about the eulogy. Fiona knew it had to come from her, no question. But would she able to stand up in the chapel and read it to the congregation? Louisa suggested someone else who knew Nigel could read it if necessary, and Fiona said she’d think about it.

Louisa stood and stretched. ‘I think we deserve a glass of wine, don’t you? To help us relax before this evening.’ She grabbed a bottle from the fridge and brought it over with two glasses. ‘Want some?’

Fiona nodded. ‘A small one, please, I’m fetching Michael later. Thanks,’ she added, as Louisa handed her half a glass.

‘Let’s go outside, soak up some vitamin D.’

They sat looking out to sea, watching a group of white-sailed boats making slow progress across the bay. ‘Too little wind,’ Louisa observed, ‘that race is going to take forever.’

They watched in silence, sipping their wine and Fiona began to unwind. It had been quite a day, and there was still dinner to get through. With Michael. Hmm.

‘Paul suggested we had a barbecue tomorrow, so I phoned around this morning, and we’ve got three couples coming; Jeanne and Nick, Charlotte and Andy, and Natalie and Stuart. Should be fun. If a little noisy with the children running around,’ Louisa chuckled and took a sip of wine. She gave Fiona an oblique look. ‘Should we invite Michael to join us? Would he mix with the others?’

‘Don’t see why not. He’s bright, good conversationalist, creative. Why don’t you wait and see for yourself this evening? I doubt if he has much else to do, you know how little happens here on Sundays.’ Fiona kept her eyes down in case her face gave anything away. Too much had happened since Wednesday. From thinking she’d never meet the man again, she was being forced to spend hours with him and then spending nights together under her roof. At this point, she remembered what they’d planned that morning, pushed to the back of her mind by the funeral, and wondered whether to tell her friend. Might be better to wait and ask Michael’s opinion, she thought. Although she’d have to come up with a darn good reason for moving home on Monday.

‘Will do. I’ve stocked up with so much food; we could invite the street,’ Louisa said, smiling.

 

♦♦♦

 

Michael chose to walk down George Road and Hauteville to reach the centre. The mainly Georgian houses reminded him of parts of London, but with the bonus of the wonderful sea views he caught sight of in the gaps of houses. Even while admiring the architecture, his mind strayed to the morning’s meeting with John and Fiona. He was happy to put himself at risk to catch Nigel’s killer, but he wasn’t comfortable with Fiona being involved, in spite of appearing to agree. Being brought up in a female-dominated household after the divorce, he’d learnt to respect women and admire their toughness, but still felt it was his duty to protect them. He adored his grandmother, although he knew she gave his mother a hard time for marrying his waste of space father. It wasn’t fair, in his book, to be judged for who you loved. His mother didn’t have the strength of character to cope with disaster, and Michael dreaded to think what would have become of them without Teresa’s intervention.

His thoughts were interrupted when he spotted Hauteville House, the onetime home of Victor Hugo, and was surprised to see a French flag flying. Drawing closer, he saw the noticeboard indicated France owned the building. Explained the flag. Deciding he must make time to visit the house while on the island, he carried on down the street, his thoughts once more on the reason for his visit. If all went according to plan, the suspect would be caught by Thursday, and he would no longer have a reason to stay. Except for Fiona. And that was a bit one-sided. He sensed she liked him, seemed to find him attractive, but he couldn’t ask for more, yet. Michael grinned to himself. He could wait.

 

At ten minutes to seven, Fiona sent Michael a text to say she was on her way and he checked around the house before setting the alarm and leaving. He looked forward to meeting her friends and had made an effort to look suitably smart casual, which for him was clean black jeans teamed with an open-neck crisp cotton shirt. A light splash of aftershave and he was ready. The evening was warm, and he breathed in the scent of freshly cut grass, having mowed the lawn. More brownie points, he hoped.

He was standing in the street a few yards from the house when she arrived and quickly jumped in. He leaned over to kiss her briefly on the cheek, inhaling her light perfume.

‘Hi, did you have a good day?’ she asked, giving him a brief smile.

‘Yes, thanks, had a wander around the town and harbour before coming back to mow the lawn. Think I’ve earned my supper,’ he said, grinning.

‘You have, I’m grateful.’

Michael sneaked a look at her profile. Something had changed since this morning when she had shown real interest in the plan they had proposed. Now, there was a detachment about her, a quietness. Was it him? Only one way to find out.

‘Is everything okay? You don’t seem too happy.’

She was gripping the steering wheel as if to help her hold something in.

‘I’m sorry, it’s…it’s the funeral and…the inquest and I feel a bit overwhelmed. Ignore me; I’ll be fine later.’

‘I don’t know what to say; I guess I thought they had already happened. Must be tough for you. When are they?’ He was out of his depth, not having had to deal with grief and the awfulness of funerals and genuinely couldn’t imagine what Fiona was going through.

She cleared her throat.

‘The inquest’s on Friday and the funeral the following Monday. With all the other stuff going on, the timing’s not great.’ She bit her lip, staring straight ahead.

‘Ah, a bummer. Anything I can do to help, please ask.’

‘Won’t you be returning home, assuming we’ve caught Duncan?’ Fiona turned to face him, her eyes pools of utter sadness.

‘Haven’t thought that far ahead. I don’t have to rush back, but if you want me out…’ Irrationally, he couldn’t bear to think of leaving so soon. Their lives had become entangled and he didn’t want an abrupt parting of the ways.

‘That’s not an issue; I can stay with my friends. And we’ve arrived,’ she added, pulling to a stop at a gated entrance to a white property set in what Michael could see was a large, well-kept garden. He’d been partly conscious of their surroundings as she drove, going along a main road before turning into a narrow road signposted ‘Icart’, and then along winding lanes towards the coast, the sea shimmering in the distance. Some view, he thought, as Fiona pressed a button to open the gates and drove in, parking in front of a detached garage away from the house.

‘This is quite a place,’ he said, climbing out of the car. ‘Are your friends millionaires?’

She shook her head, a glimmer of a smile appearing.

‘No, they’re a hard-working couple, but Louisa’s father’s wealthy and I think he helped them buy it. Come and say hello.’ Instead of entering the front door she headed to the side of the house and followed a path around to the back and a patio area, enjoying one of the most beautiful views he’d ever seen.

‘Wow! This is amazing!’ Michael cried, taking in the deep blue sea, dappled with pale evening sun, and rugged cliffs spread out to either side. Gulls swooped overhead, looking for their supper.

‘It is, isn’t it? We’re very lucky,’ came a voice behind him.

He turned to see a fair-haired woman, with a smiling, freckled face, walking towards him. ‘Michael, I presume? I’m Louisa; I’m so glad you could come for supper.’ She reached out, and they shook hands.

‘The pleasure’s mine.’ He handed her a bottle of wine and a small bouquet of roses.

‘That’s kind of you, thanks. Let me put these in water while Fiona shows you the garden. We thought drinks on the terrace before supper inside,’ Louisa smiled and went through what appeared to be a sun lounge.

‘Your friend seems nice,’ he said, as they walked towards the edge of the garden, close to the cliff path.

‘She is and so is Paul. They make a great couple. You’ll meet him shortly, he only arrived home from work a few minutes ago and needed to shower and change. They’ve been brilliant since…Nigel died.’

Michael squeezed her arm, not knowing what to say. Fiona seemed to make an effort to cast off her sadness and pointed out Jersey in the distance and Moulin Huet Bay to their left. He stood lost in thought, staring at the view so beloved by Renoir, inspiring, among others, the painting responsible for his presence here.

‘Shall we walk further? There’s a fruit and vegetable area over there,’ she pointed to their right, ‘and a large terrace they use for parties further round. They have a gardener to help them as they’re both so busy at La Folie.’

He asked what it was, and she explained it was the natural health centre Louisa’s father owned and Paul managed. Michael was intrigued; this small island was full of surprises. As they walked and talked Fiona appeared to relax, and by the time Louisa caught up with them, she was smiling.

‘You have the most wonderful place here, Louisa, I’m quite jealous.’ He smiled, spreading his arms.

‘Thanks, we love it. Come and meet my husband and have a drink.’

A tall, slim man with fair hair and deep blue eyes stood watching them, looking relaxed in chinos and a polo neck shirt to match his eyes.

‘Hi, Michael, good to meet you. At last I’m not outnumbered by women!’ he laughed as they shook hands. ‘What can I get you? Beer, cider, wine, gin or vodka? We have local versions of all but the wine and vodka.’

‘Impressive. I’ll try a local beer, please.’ Michael sat at the table set with small dishes of nuts and crisps. Paul hugged Fiona before taking her order for a glass of white wine, dittoed by Louisa, who sat next to Michael.

‘I understand you live in London, Michael. It was my home until I met Paul, so tell me where you’re based.’

They began a discussion about London, their favourite places and pet hates, occasionally joined by Fiona. Paul returned with a tray of drinks and also added his opinions, having spent some years working in London himself. Michael relaxed, enjoying the unexpected bonus of a common connection. At some point Louisa disappeared to the kitchen, returning fifteen minutes later to ask Paul to give her a hand. Alone with Fiona, Michael asked her how she was feeling.

‘Better, thanks. But there’s one thing bugging me. I haven’t told them of our plans for next week and wondered what you thought?’

‘Having met them, I’m sure they’re not the sort to blab, so I think we need to tell them. They’ll know something’s up anyway when you move back home with me in situ. We don’t want them to get the wrong idea, do we?’ he said, mischievously.

Fiona blushed.

‘Oh! No, we don’t. Will you tell them? Think it might come better from you.’

‘Sure, but I’ll wait until after the meal.’

Paul called them in, and Michael followed Fiona inside to find a round table groaning with food set to one side of the full-width sun lounge.

‘This looks marvellous, Louisa, as does your house,’ he said, looking around admiringly.

‘Thanks. Now tuck in everyone and enjoy,’ Louisa beamed, taking a seat between Paul and Michael. Wine was handed round as they helped themselves to colourful dishes of vegetables, salads and a whole poached salmon. Michael picked up the scent of herbs scattered on the food and his mouth filled with saliva. Lunch seemed a long time ago.

‘What do you think of Guernsey so far?’ asked Paul, after they’d filled their plates.

‘I love what I’ve seen today, your town and coast are amazing.’ He went on to describe in more detail what he’d seen, and the conversation rolled around to various topics, including history and the arts and finally to the work Paul and Louise did at La Folie. While they talked, Michael’s attention kept drifting to Fiona. He watched her mouth as she talked, even occasionally laughed. Listened to the sound of her voice, light and warm. It was clear she was well liked by her friends and continuously kept pushing the attention away from herself. He liked that about her; not one who wanted to be the centre of attention. Being here with her friends helped him to see a different side of her. And it increased his attraction towards her.

Once the dessert of strawberries and cream was eaten, they drifted back to the sofas in the sun lounge, facing the blackness of the evening sky. Michael spotted a web of light around the garden, formed, he guessed, by small LED lights. The effect was magical. Certainly beat the view from his ground floor flat, overlooking a yard full of scrub grass and strategically placed pots hiding uncleared rubbish. He must do something about that, he thought, taking a proffered glass of whisky from Paul. When everyone was settled, Michael raised his eyebrow at Fiona, and she nodded.

‘As you know, Fiona’s keen to catch whoever tried to steal my family’s painting and ended up killing Nigel. Well, there’s been a breakthrough, and we’re setting a trap to catch him…’ he went on to explain the plan, causing Paul and Louisa to look at each other, and then Fiona, with worried frowns.

Before they could comment, Fiona said, ‘I know what you’re thinking, and believe me, I wasn’t too keen at first, but the police are involved and can track Duncan, so I feel a lot safer.’ She drew a deep breath, watching their faces. ‘I’m doing this for Nigel, and I’m sure he’ll be by my side, watching out for me.’

Paul, sitting next to her, squeezed her hand.

‘You’re very brave and, you’re right, you’ll have a good backup, including Michael, who looks more than capable of protecting you,’ he said, smiling at him.

Louisa, not looking as convinced, said nothing.

‘I won’t let him touch her. As I told Fiona, I’m a black belt in karate, so…’ he shrugged, returning Paul’s smile.

Her face brightening, Louisa said, ‘Okay, you’re on your honour to keep her safe. Now, on a brighter note, would you like to join us tomorrow afternoon for a barbecue? We’ve a few friends coming, and it should be fun.’

‘Love to, thanks. Can I bring anything?’

‘No, just yourself, we’ve heaps of food and drink. Say about three?’

Michael nodded, glad he wasn’t in disgrace for appearing to put Fiona at risk. Suddenly aware it was growing late, he asked for the number of a taxi firm, and Paul offered to ring for him. While waiting for it to arrive, Paul made coffee for everyone, and the conversation turned to the forthcoming Wimbledon Tournament, and what Andy Murray’s chances were of getting to the finals for the first time. The fact of his winning the Australian Open the year before, 2010, didn’t seem to cut any ice with the pessimists. The somewhat heated debate ended when the taxi arrived and Michael, who didn’t rate Murray’s chances, was glad to escape.

Goodnights were exchanged; the men shaking hands and Michael kissing the women on the cheek, received with smiles. Fiona offered to pick him up the next day, waving him off at the door. He sank into the back of the cab, his mind full of the day’s events. Guernsey was proving to be pretty full on, both socially as well as dramatically. As the taxi approached Colborne Road, he asked to be set down at the top. He walked the rest of the way, keeping an eye open for anyone lurking in the shadows, but he met no-one. The drive was empty, and no lights were visible, and when he entered the house, the alarm was still on. With a sigh of relief, he switched it off and headed upstairs. So far, so good.

 

Michael woke with a start. Where the hell was he? And what was that noise? It took him a minute to realise it was a phone, not his mobile as he’d switched it off, but a landline. Bleary-eyed and half asleep, he stumbled onto the landing, realising the sound was coming from Fiona’s bedroom and echoed downstairs. He pushed open the door and picked up the phone by the bedside, trying to avert his eyes from the bed, displaying crisp white linen and a multicoloured throw.

‘Hello?’

‘Thank goodness! It’s Fiona, just checking you were all right and when your phone didn’t pick up I…’ He heard the fear in her voice.

‘Sorry, my fault. I always switch my phone off at night. Force of habit.’ He moved onto the landing, feeling uncomfortable talking to her while in her bedroom. ‘But I’m fine, thanks, no sign of an attempted break-in.’

‘Good. I shall feel better when the police get onboard tomorrow. It’s a bit nerve-wracking.’ He heard a deep sigh.

‘Yeh, well stay strong, with luck it’ll be over soon. And I promise not to switch my phone off again.’ He walked into his bedroom and, picking up his phone, clicked it on. ‘It’s on now.’

‘Right. Any plans for this morning?’

‘There’s this Seafront Sunday on in Town, so I’m going to mooch around for a bit. Then maybe take a bus trip around the island, I’d like to see more of it.’

‘Good idea, the bus takes you right around the coast so you’ll get a real feel for Guernsey. See you later, okay?’

‘Bye.’

Minutes later Michael was standing under a hot shower, the last vestiges of sleep draining away. One more night alone here, then Fiona would be back. And then the fun would begin.

 

♦♦♦

 

Fiona clicked off her phone, glad all was well but annoyed with herself for being so uptight about everything. She had spent the night tossing from side to side, and the odd times she slept the dreams had been unsettling, full of mysterious figures appearing out of the darkness and disappearing before she could see who – or what – they were. It was like being under siege. When she finally woke to bright sunlight pouring through the slats of the blinds, she was a wreck, and immediately phoned Michael, needing reassurance. When he failed to answer, she was convinced something awful had happened to him, completely overreacting. He’d sounded so laid-back, adding to her sense of foolishness. By the time she’d showered and dressed she was calmer, and the prospect of a fun afternoon with friends made her feel better.

‘Morning, lazy bones. We’ve had breakfast so you’ll have to help yourself,’ Louisa greeted her as she entered the kitchen. Fiona spotted Paul outside giving the barbecue a thorough clean while Louisa was busy preparing kebabs.

‘Didn’t sleep well, I’ll give you a hand after I’ve had something to eat.’ Fiona slotted bread into the toaster and switched on the coffee machine before giving her friend a quick hug.

‘No problem, I can manage.’ Louisa brushed her hair back and grinned, adding, ‘By the way, I thought Michael was more than “nice”. Not only attractive but intelligent. And he obviously likes you.’

Fiona, spreading butter on her toast, paused the knife in the air.

‘Well, I like him, too. Doesn’t mean anything, so don’t get carried away. Once this…business is sorted, he’ll hot foot it back to London, and that will be that. And I’m not in the right space for a relationship, as you know,’ she said, sharply, focusing on the toast, not meeting her friend’s eyes. Why did happily loved-up couples try to play matchmaker with their single friends?

‘Sorry, didn’t mean to upset you. I won’t say anything again, promise.’ Louisa’s voice was contrite, and Fiona was ashamed of her sharpness. She managed a faint smile, and Louisa smiled back. Swallowing her coffee, Fiona told herself to chill if she didn’t want to upset her friends. At that moment her mobile rang. John.

‘Hi, John, anything up?’

‘No, but I’ve been thinking about Duncan and what he might get up to, so have decided to stake him out tonight, in case he surprises us and makes a move on your house. Thought I’d let you know and you can tell Michael.’

‘Right, but are you sure? I hate to think of you losing a night’s sleep.’

He chuckled.

‘I’m used to it and anyway we’ve got my daughter and her baby staying over, so no-one’s getting much sleep at the moment. I’ll keep you posted. Enjoy your day.’

Fiona was relieved, at least she wouldn’t have to worry about Michael that night. She could put her fears to the back of her mind until Monday night at least. And then she would need every ounce of courage to face her brother’s killer.