chapter 9

The two women sat in silence for a while, lost in thought, while Hélène dabbed at her eyes.

Nicole tried to imagine what it would have been like being brought up by a single mother struggling to cope on her own in England. Very different from her own comfortable upbringing in Jersey. And she had the advantage of Hélène as she’d been loved. Loved not only by her adoptive parents but by Tom, in spite of his transgressions. Whereas Hélène had lost not only her lover but her daughter. She began to feel less angry about Hélène’s rejection of her.

‘Hélène? Are you all right?’ Nicole touched her arm.

She had started crying again and retrieved a tissue from her bag.

‘Sorry. I…I was miles away.’ She looked pale.

‘I understand. It must be very painful for you to go over it all again. May I ask what happened with…Adrian?’

‘Of course. When I told him about my pregnancy he…he made it clear he couldn’t be with me, which is what I’d half expected, so I…we agreed not to see each other again. Not easy as we still worked together! But it was only for a term, before I left for Jersey. We lost touch after that.’

Nicole heard the pain in her voice.

‘So he doesn’t know I’m here? That we’re meeting?’ Nicole wasn’t sure whether to be relieved that he was still alive or sad that he didn’t know she was on the island.

Hélène shook her head.

‘No. I haven’t spoken to him for years. Did you…want to meet him?’

‘Well, I guess so. But I don’t want to cause any problems, for you or him, or his, er, wife.’ Nicole saw the fear in Hélène’s eyes. She obviously didn’t want to see Adrian again.

‘It won’t be a problem for his wife. She died three years ago. Cancer.’ Her mouth became a tight thin line.

Mmm, so that’s why she’s bitter. Why hadn’t Adrian contacted her? Bastard! Perhaps I shouldn’t bother meeting him after all. She could feel her own anger beginning to rise as it occurred to her that he might not want to meet her either!

Hélène looked around.

‘Would it be better if we left here? I think we’ve been attracting some attention with all these tears. Do you feel up to meeting my mother?’

Nicole wasn’t sure if she did. But how could she say no? ‘Oh…okay. Then she knows I’m here?’

Hélène looked sheepish.

‘I told her about you after our first telephone call.’ She hesitated, her hands twisting her handkerchief. ‘I’d never told her I’d had a child.’

‘Oh, my God! That must have been quite a shock. Why didn’t you tell her when you were pregnant?’

‘I don’t really know. Shame, partly. And I thought that the fewer who knew, the better. I could then pretend it had never happened.’ They had stood up to leave and Hélène must have seen the hurt on Nicole’s face, as she enveloped her in a warm hug, whispering, ‘But now I’m very glad it did happen. I have a beautiful daughter!’

 

They drove in silence as Hélène negotiated the winding road to the family home in Torteval, one of the remotest parts of the island. Nicole’s thoughts were jumbled as she noted the open fields and dotted granite houses, so reminiscent of Jersey. She could quite happily have hopped on the next plane home, but part of her was intrigued to see the family home and meet her grandmother. They drove along the winding Route de Pleinmont before Hélène turned left onto a narrow lane leading apparently nowhere.

‘The house is a bit remote but it has a lot of land which my parents wanted for their business. You can still see where the old greenhouses stood.’

Sure enough Nicole noticed small brick walls forming the outlines of what had been quite large buildings but there was no sign of the glass frameworks.

‘Why has no-one used the greenhouses?’

‘The bottom’s fallen out of the growing business. In my father’s day they had a big export trade in tomatoes. But they couldn’t compete with other countries with lower overheads. So we switched to flowers which was great for some years until we were overtaken by Holland. There’s only a few growers left now.’

As they turned a corner a large grey granite house emerged

Nicole gasped. ‘Why, it looks like a castle!’

‘The towers do give that impression, don’t they?’ Hélène grinned. ‘It was built as a rich man’s folly in the nineteenth century. Apparently he built it here for the views, which to my mind are its only saving grace. I always thought the house ugly, but it was a magical place to grow up in. Now our money’s running out, it’s cold and shabby. And I do miss my own little house.’ She sighed.

‘I can see it would be fun for children.’ Nicole surveyed the house with its round towers at either end joined by parapets decorated with gargoyles. Stone mullioned windows and a huge old oak door complete with portico completed the gothic effect.

Just as they were about to enter the house, Hélène turned to Nicole, saying ‘My mother spends most of her time in a wheelchair as she can’t walk at the moment. Being more or less house-bound has made her a bit… difficult. She can be a bit sharp,’ she pulled a face.

‘Okay, thanks for warning me!’

They entered a gloomy, large stone flagged hall, lit by a window on the landing. A heavily carved oak staircase wound its way up in the middle. Panelled oak walls were enlivened with seascapes in ornate gilded frames. Doors led off in all directions.

Hélène led the way to a door on the far left-hand side, calling out ‘Mother, it’s me. And I’ve brought someone to meet you!’