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TESS GAZED THROUGH the plane window at the island of her birth and which she hadn’t seen in over twenty years. From this height she couldn’t be sure what changes had occurred, but had seen photos on Facebook from old school friends showing places she had not recognised. A fluttering in her stomach bore witness to her excitement, with a mix of trepidation. And sadness. It seemed an unhappy way for her to return, to be the only relative at her aunt’s funeral and to meet with the advocate before seeing the house. Her inheritance. Tess frowned at the memory of her mother’s flat refusal to come with her.
‘Why should I bother? It would be hypocritical of me to go. Doris knew I didn’t really care for her, she was an embarrassment to the family, she was, living in that mess of a house as if she hadn’t a penny to her name.’ Elaine stomped around her immaculate sitting room and Tess, who had come round to try and make her change her mind, realised it was a lost cause. She had never understood why her mother hadn’t liked Doris, her grandmother’s elder spinster sister. Maybe it was to do with the fact that Doris had inherited the house in Hauteville, and not her grandmother. It would then have passed to Elaine, an only child. And as it turned out, her father, Ken, had risen up the ranks of the police, retiring as a Chief Superintendent, so her parents weren’t short of money. And Elaine’s late parents had left her a decent sum, as well as a bequest to Tess and her brother, Clive. Her share had helped to buy the flat.
Elaine came to a halt, her chest heaving with emotion.
‘And I expect you’ll sell the house and make a pretty penny. Although it’s not been looked after, it’s in a good area and must be worth a bit.’ Her eyes flashed at Tess who wished she’d never come. She didn’t like confrontations but her mother thrived on them and not for the first time, Tess questioned why she lived in the same city as her mother. But the answer was simple. She adored her father who, she thought, was a saint to put up with her mother’s constant bitching.
‘Actually, Mum, I might keep the house and move back to Guernsey.’ There, she’d said it! Saying it out loud made it seem more real, somehow. She had been mulling it over since hearing about the house, but only in a fanciful kind of way. Like a daydream when life isn’t going according to plan. She had finished with Steve and she was growing tired of city living and – and it was a big and – the shock of young Gary’s death had rattled her. As an A & E doctor she’d seen plenty of people lose their lives over the years, but his had touched her in a different way. Possibly his resemblance to her brother. Whatever it was, Tess knew you had to grasp life and live it and if that meant a major change, then so be it.
‘You’re what? You must be mad! That house is cursed, or haunted, or both. Apart from Doris, who always was an obstinate fool and wanted to live forever, no-one who’s lived there has achieved much of an age.’ Elaine’s face was flushed and Tess worried about her blood pressure.
‘That’s just a load of nonsense, Mum. You know what Guernsey’s like for superstition. And as you say, Doris lived into her nineties, which disproves that theory.’ Tess took deep, calming breaths, not wanting to get into an argument. Her father had disappeared to his study soon after she arrived. He referred to it as his ‘strategic withdrawal’.
‘And what about your job and your flat? And Steve? Just going to chuck them all up, are you?’ Her mother’s face was heading for beetroot.
‘Well, if I do decide to move back to Guernsey, then yes, I’ll give my notice in at the hospital and look for a job on the island. And I’ve already chucked Steve.’ Tess pushed her hair back behind her ear, wishing she hadn’t said anything about moving yet. Anything might stop it happening and in the meantime she had riled her mother. With an inward sigh, she stood, saying, ‘Look, Mum, let’s leave it shall we? I only came to ask you to come to the funeral with me next week. I have to go now and I’ll ring you later.’ Quickly kissing her mother before she could say anything, Tess left, not even saying a proper goodbye to her father, something she was sorry about but wanted to avoid a full-blown row with her mother. Not for the first time Tess thought Clive had emigrated to Canada for more reasons than he’d offered at the time. She missed him, but could hardly blame him. Growing up he’d been the proverbial blue-eyed boy who could do no wrong in their mother’s eyes. Tess should have been jealous, but he had realised what was happening and made a point of spending time with his big sister and was genuinely proud of her when she qualified as a doctor. He worked in IT and considered it no more than a means to earn mega bucks, nothing compared to saving lives, as he had said, hugging her as he left for his new life.
The plane circled its descent and Tess peered out of the window looking for familiar landmarks. They came in over the west coast and she recognised the unmistakeable white top of Fort Grey, set between long golden beaches. Then over fields surrounded with more houses than she remembered and soon they were bumping gently onto the runway. The airport building was much bigger and more contemporary than the one she remembered. Nevertheless, an inner voice whispered, ‘home’ and Tess smiled. Whether or not she came back, this would always be home.
It was eight o’clock in the morning and most passengers seemed to be businessmen on a day flight and Tess only waited a few minutes for her case to appear on the carousel. She had come over for a long weekend, Friday to Monday, using a couple of holiday days to lengthen the trip. The funeral was mid-afternoon and she had plenty of time to settle in to her hotel and have breakfast before seeing the advocate. As she walked to the exit through revolving doors, Tess experienced a moment of doubt. The concourse was big and airy with a curved flight of stairs in the middle and windows filled one wall. If the airport had undergone such a transformation, what may have happened to the rest of the island? Would it no longer be as beautiful? Would the islanders, her friends, have changed beyond recognition? Hoping other changes would not be as dramatic as the airport’s, Tess wheeled her case to the waiting line of taxis. A smiling driver hopped out and grabbed her case.
‘Been away, have you, eh?’
‘You could say that. Can you take me to Hotel Pandora, in Hauteville, please?’ Tess grinned, pleased the driver assumed she was a local rather than a tourist. Although locals didn’t need to stay in hotels, so that’s probably confused him, she thought. He was chatty and she gave him a brief version of her reason for leaving Guernsey and her return. When she admitted to not having been back for over twenty years he took it upon himself to tell her of the most notable changes.
‘Town has changed the most, and not for the better neither, in my opinion. Too much emphasis on trying to make money, that’s the problem nowadays.’ He shook his head and sighed. ‘Us older ones preferred things as they was, but younger ones like you want progress and lots of modern stuff so perhaps you’ll like what you see. Anyways, we can’t do much about it, can we, eh?’
Tess agreed, wishing he would stop talking and let her concentrate on what she was seeing through the window. So far, apart from the airport, she hadn’t seen much change. They went from St Peters towards St Martin and only the occasional new building marked the passage of time. More changes were visible in the centre of St Martin, with the addition of a new M&S food store and other buildings she didn’t remember. Tess recognised some shops from her childhood but a number had changed. It was inevitable in over twenty years, but part of her wanted to see it as it had been. As they drove past the fancy iron gates of Saumarez Manor, she was pleased to see that at least looked unchanged. By the time they reached the top of Le Val des Terres, Tess was more relaxed and she caught her breath at the glimpse of the harbour and its iconic castle down below. The steep winding road down into the western side of Town took them through a wooded area on both sides, and she spotted a hint of early bluebells amongst the grass. The driver was silent as he concentrated on negotiating the bends and Tess was drawn back to the past, a waving and noisy spectator with her father at the motorcycle races which took place every year on the steep road in to Town. Happy times.
All looked as she remembered as they drove past the bus terminal on the left and the road on the right leading up to the model yacht pond and on to Castle Cornet. The streets were busy with early morning traffic and the taxi edged slowly forward as they approached the Albert Memorial forming a mini-roundabout. Then it was up narrow Cornet Street and into Hauteville. Tess had a fleeting glimpse of her aunt’s house and it looked shabbier than she remembered, surrounded as it was by other Georgian houses in tip-top condition. A few yards further up, Tess recognised the large house flying a French flag as the one owned by Victor Hugo. For a moment, Tess thought about the old family legend concerning the great man, but was distracted by their arrival at the hotel at the top of Hauteville.
‘Here you are, miss, hope you have a good weekend and here’s my number for your pick-up on Monday,’ the driver said, handing her a card. After paying him, he took her case up the steps to the entrance. Once checked in, Tess, hungry after an early start, was directed to the restaurant to join other residents for breakfast. She found an empty table by the window and gazed out at a view very similar to that from her aunt’s house. While she ate, Tess felt a tremor of excitement at the possibility of living here and enjoying the amazing view of St Peter Port harbour, Castle Cornet and the islands of Herm, Jethou and Sark on the horizon. A big contrast to her view from the flat in Exeter, namely a boring block of flats. A lot would depend on the condition of the house. Too dilapidated and she might have to reconsider. Sighing, she concentrated on her food, keen to go to her room and hang up the navy suit she’d brought for the funeral.
Half an hour later Tess left the hotel to walk into Town. Her appointment with the advocate was for eleven, and it was now nine thirty, so she had time for a quick recce and a cup of coffee beforehand. The early April weather was mild, with a soft breeze and she wore her favourite leather jacket and jeans tucked into boots. As she walked past Hauteville House Tess paused, remembering what Aunt Doris had told her so many years ago.
‘Has your mother mentioned the family legend, Tess? About Victor Hugo?’ Doris, a sprightly seventy-year-old, was perched on the sofa in a sitting room hardly worthy of the name, any chairs or sofas piled high with newspapers, magazines and books. Tess was curled on the floor in front of the sofa, cuddling Doris’ cat, Spook. Well-named, thanks to his black fur and green eyes which shone in the dark, spooking Tess when she was about six and had entered a room before the lights were switched on. Now, at eleven, she was used to him.
‘What legend, Aunt? Wasn’t he the Frenchman who lived up the street from here about a hundred years ago. The writer?’
Doris sniffed.
‘I don’t think your mother believes it, but I do and think you should be told.’
Tess was all ears.
‘Told what?’
‘You know this house has been handed down through the family since the 1860s?’ Tess nodded. For some reason, her mother was upset about this when she told her.
‘Well, it originally belonged to a direct ancestor of ours, your great-great-great-grandmother, Eugénie. She had inherited it from her first husband, Arnaud, who died young. Some years later she remarried and had a son and the line has carried on through each generation.’ Doris paused to take a sip of her tea and Tess, wide-eyed, waited impatiently for her to continue.
‘Nothing unusual in that, you may think, young Tess, but what makes our story more interesting is that Eugénie, recently widowed, started working for Victor Hugo as his copyist. And carried on for several years until she remarried.’
‘Ooh! You mean she copied out his books and poems before they were published? Did she work in his house?’ Tess waved her hand in the direction of Hauteville House, yards up the street. How exciting to have an ancestor who knew such a famous man!
‘Yes, I believe she did work in his house, but there’s more to the story. Even more exciting,’ her aunt said, eyes sparkling. ‘Legend has it Eugénie had an affair with Victor and her son, born less than nine months after she remarried, was actually Victor’s child.’