by Allen, Anne
desire to cook a meal and, once he was over the shock, he confirmed her choice was a good one and suggested
she bought a ready-stuffed, basted chicken to make it easier. And a ready-made gravy. Heartened by this advice,
she completed her shopping list and set off for the M&S Food Hall in St Martins.
After her groceries were packed away, Charlotte settled back to her writing, losing herself in the story as it
appeared as if by magic on her laptop screen. Such a contrast to how it had been a few months ago. She took a
brief break for lunch, a homemade tuna salad, and continued tapping away through the afternoon until, with a
shock, she realised Andy would be home in little more than an hour. Within twenty minutes the chicken was in
the oven and the potatoes were ready to follow shortly. She had bought ready prepared vegetables to save time
and was planning to steam them later. Pleased with her efforts, she opened a bottle of wine ready to greet Andy
on his return. It was the weekend and they could relax.
He arrived minutes later, sniffing the air as he entered the hall.
‘Something smells good. All under control?’ he asked, pulling her into his arms. She let her head fall onto his
chest, her hands settling on his lower back. Andy seemed to enjoy it.
‘Of course,’ she replied at last. ‘Dinner will be served in about thirty minutes and the kitchen’s out of bounds
till then. You’ll find wine and glasses in the sitting room and I’ll be with you in a minute.’ A quick check all was
well and Charlotte joined him on the sofa. Andy had poured two glasses of wine and raised his saying, ‘To your
first meal!’ She laughed and touched glasses before taking a well-deserved sip.
‘Lovely. How was your day?’ she asked, curled up beside him.
His face clouded. ‘That no-good cousin of mine has really done it this time. He’d only been out of prison for a
few days after the last punch up, when he got high on booze and drugs and got into a fight with a guy a lot
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smaller than him. Upshot was, the other man ended up seriously hurt and is in hospital with a fractured skull
and smashed up face. He might even lose the sight in one eye,’ he said, sighing.
‘Oh, how awful! The poor man! And what about Dave? What’s happening to him?’
‘He was arrested and charged with GBH and has been sent to Les Nicolles, our local prison, for two years. In
the past he’s got away with heavy fines or a few weeks banged up. It makes me embarrassed to be a Batiste.’
‘It’s not your fault, Andy. Perhaps it’s a good thing your side of the family is not accepted by Harold’s side,
means you can remain distant to what happens with them.’ She thought back to her meeting with Maud. ‘I bet
his grandmother will be upset. Despite her being married to Harold, she came across as quite a decent old lady.
What’s his mother like?’
‘Cath? I don’t know her that well. I occasionally see her out shopping and we nod, but don’t speak. Looks like
someone beaten down by life, in spite of being fairly well off. I understand Harold settled something on her
when Uncle Gregory died. Explains why Dave’s turned out as he has. His mother bails him out when he’s in
trouble and he still lives at home – at twenty-nine!’ He shook his head in disbelief.
‘Cheer up, don’t let it stop us enjoying ourselves. I’ll finish the cooking and will give you a shout when it’s
ready,’ she said, dropping a kiss on his head as she stood up. Taking her glass with her she disappeared in to the
kitchen. The vegetables were arranged in the steamer and the chicken taken out to rest. All looked – and smelled
– good, and Charlotte sipped her wine while wondering how to carve a chicken. Thinking it might be a man’s job,
she asked Andy if he would mind doing it while she served up the accompaniments.
‘This looks wonderful. And you’ve done it all yourself? I’m impressed,’ he said, grabbing the carving knife and
fork. Minutes later the food was set out on the dining table and Charlotte beamed with pleasure, her face flushed
from the heat of the kitchen. She held her breath as Andy took his first bite.
‘Delicious!’ he cried, leaning over to kiss her. ‘For someone who’d never even boiled an egg, you’ve cooked a
great meal. My first attempt was spag bol, and I used a ready-made sauce.’
Her face grew hotter as she basked in his praise, sending silent thanks to Chef Chris for his useful advice.
Perhaps this cooking lark was not as difficult as she had imagined – although this early success wasn’t likely to
induce her to spend too many hours in the kitchen. She much preferred to write now it was flowing at last.
Later, as they sat together on the sofa, Andy said, ‘Work was good today. Not only did I finally win the
planners round about the old farm redevelopment which has been dragging on, but I also managed to convince
them my design for a big house extension’s in keeping with the area. They’re such dinosaurs! It’s taken months
to get permission even for the extension and I was worried my client would go elsewhere. Still,’ he said, kissing
her nose, ‘it’s sorted now and he’s over the moon.’
‘Well done, so we have something else to celebrate. To your extension!’ she said, giggling.
He wasn’t able to resist her deep laugh and it wasn’t long before they were rolling about on the sofa in
helpless laughter, having placed the glasses out of harm’s way. Charlotte was pleased they could forget about his
family problems for a while, knowing Andy was still upset with Jim over his reluctance to explain why he hadn’t
claimed his inheritance.
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After a lazy day on Saturday, Charlotte and Andy joined Malcolm, Gillian, Louisa and Paul at Le Fregate as
Malcolm’s dinner guests. Gillian had phoned during the week to invite them and Charlotte was delighted to
accept as part of an acknowledged couple. The conversation and wine flowed freely and, together with excellent
food, made for an enjoyable evening. It looked to her as if Gillian and Malcolm were as loved up as ever and
wondered how long it would be before he popped the question. Which would mean Gillian facing the same
choices as she was over Andy. Life was never simple, she thought, as they said their goodbyes.
Andy was keen to go for a long cliff walk on Sunday and they started out from Petit Bôt Bay planning to walk
to Jerbourg before having lunch at L’Auberge restaurant, a few metres inland. He had said he wanted to show
her something after lunch. Charlotte was intrigued and when she asked what it was about, he refused to say. As
they walked along the exposed cliff tops a strong, chill wind buffeted them, trying to force its way through the
layers of jackets, sweaters and scarves. Once around Icart Point and dropping towards Saint’s Bay they enjoyed
much needed shelter until they hit Moulin Huet Bay when again they did battle with the wind. It was only when
they reached the wooded valley did it became still and they stopped for a break, looking down at the bay with its
sprinkling of rocks. The tide was out, exposing a patch of golden sand.
‘Pretty, isn’t it? Louisa and I walked along here in the spring but I haven’t been around in the summer to see it
at its best.’
Andy cupped her face in his hands. ‘I hope you’ll be here next summer, and the next and the next…’ he said,
dropping kisses on her lips, cheeks and forehead. She let out a long breath.
‘It’s what I hope too,’ she murmured, licking off the salt from his kisses.
‘Good, and in the meantime we’ve still nearly a week to enjoy together. And I, for one, mean to enjoy every
moment I can. Are you ready to press on? My stomach’s telling me it’s lunchtime,’ he said, accompanied by an
audible rumble.
‘Let’s go.’
The walk up and along the cliffs overlooking Moulin Huet was hard work, but rewarded by the views back
along the coast to Saint’s Bay and Icart. As they stood for a moment to catch their breath, Charlotte said, ‘I can
understand what attracted Renoir to this bay. It’s got craggy rocks of all shapes and sizes and lovely stretches of
golden sand. No wonder he painted it so much!’ She spotted a distinctive crocodile shape of rocks seeming to
swim out to sea. Pointing, she asked, ‘Do those rocks have a name?’
He followed the line of her finger. ‘Yes, the Pea Stacks, although I’ve no idea how they got it. There’s so many
rocks around here, making it pretty treacherous for boats. You have to keep your distance when sailing round
from Jerbourg. Dad sometimes fishes here but he knows the waters like the back of his hand. Come on,’ he said,
grabbing her hand, ‘you can have a good look on the way back. I’m hungry!’
Andy led the way from the cliff path, heading inland towards, among other places, L’Auberge restaurant on
the other side of La Route de Jerbourg. Charlotte was glad of the chance to refuel and rest. Her legs ached and
they still had to walk back to the car at Petit Bôt. With a grateful sigh she slid into a chair, her eyes drawn to the
outline of Herm, partly hidden in cloud.
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‘I’ve been to Jerbourg before, with Louisa, and we thought the views were fantastic. It was such a clear, sunny
day we even saw Jersey.’
‘Yep, it’s one of the best spots for island watching. When we’ve finished our meal we’ll walk down to the
Point,’ Andy said, picking up the menu.
‘Sure, anything, as long as I can rest my legs for a while,’ she said, smiling at him.
Forty-five minutes later, after a filling Sunday roast and a glass of wine, they headed outside, walking along
the narrow road past the Jerbourg Hotel and through the car park. Andy caught her hand and walked carefully
towards the edge of the small bay, stopping above a natural finger-shaped causeway pointing out to sea. A white
squat building perched at its tip. Some kind of lighthouse, she guessed.
Andy flung out his arm. ‘Here’s where it happened. Where my grandfather was killed.’
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chapter twenty-eight
‘Oh! I knew it must be in the area around Jerbourg from reading Madeleine’s diary and the police report but…’
Charlotte said, giving him a hug. She gazed down at the rocks and shuddered, remembering Madeleine’s words
“I’ve seen his poor battered body with my own eyes” .
‘Seeing the actual spot brings home the awfulness of what happened,’ she whispered. The sea, whipped up by
the wind, crashed angrily against the rocks which had once held Edmund’s broken body.
Andy’s jaw tightened and she could sense the anger below the surface. They simply had to find out what
happened if he was to let it go. Turning, he pulled her away from the edge and said, ‘You might think it strange,
but ever since I was a boy, I’ve known it was up to me to solve this mystery. It’s gnawed away at me for years,
getting worse since I’ve seen Mum and Dad struggling to survive. But now, thanks to you,’ he said, a smile
playing around his mouth, ‘I think I’m nearly there. This puzzle will be solved, and soon.’
Charlotte nodded, a lump forming in her throat as she wondered how it could be achieved.
The walk back along the cliffs restored the earlier happy mood and they arrived back at the cottage looking
forward to a quiet evening in, eating supper in front of the television.
The next morning Charlotte woke late, to find Andy sitting on the bed fully dressed and with a mug of coffee
in his hand. For her. ‘Oh, you should have woken me. I was going to make breakfast…’
‘No problem. You looked so peaceful, I hadn’t the heart to wake you. Any plans for the day?’
‘I’ll ring Mother to make sure she’s okay and then crack on with my writing. But I might be glad of a break so
could we meet for lunch?’ she asked, sitting up to relieve Andy of the mug.
‘Yeh, I’d like to, but it will have to be a quick sandwich in Town, as I have a deadline to meet.’ They agreed a
time and place before Andy kissed her and left. Charlotte sipped her coffee, trying not to dwell on the fact she
had only a few days left to spend with him. They had talked about the future again last night, agreeing they
wanted to continue their relationship, even if it was long-distance for the foreseeable future. So much depended
on her mother…Thinking of her now prompted Charlotte to finish her coffee before heading for the shower. She
could have phoned her mother while still in bed, but it jarred. You did not phone someone such as Lady Annette
Townsend, a stickler for proprieties, while sitting naked in a man’s bed. Even more so if he wasn’t your husband.
Half an hour later Charlotte cleared away the remains of breakfast before picking up her phone.
‘Good morning, Mother. How are you?’
‘I’m quite well, thank you. I made an appointment to see Dr Rowlands last Friday and told him about my new
treatments. He seemed surprised and, I think, shocked about this, and still wanted me to undergo further
chemotherapy as originally agreed.’
Charlotte bit her lip. This had been expected but Paul and Gillian had been adamant chemo could do more
harm than good. ‘So, what did you say to him?’
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‘That I didn’t see any reason to have more chemo, which would undoubtedly make me feel worse, if it can’t
cure the cancer. He did, in all fairness, admit he could not guarantee any further treatment would prolong my
life.’
‘Well said, Mother! Does it mean you’re continuing with the natural alternatives prescribed by Paul and
Gillian?’
There was a silence on the line and Charlotte waited impatiently for her mother’s answer.
‘For the moment, yes. I do admit I’ve been feeling a little better since taking the herbs and supplements, so it
would be foolish to stop. And Mrs Combe has been zealous at providing fresh, organic food without animal
protein, as prescribed by Gillian. However, Dr Rowlands wasn’t happy about my decision and we did not part on
good terms.’
Relief flooded through Charlotte and she went on to say she would be back in London on the coming
Saturday, and again invited Annette to come and stay if she wished. Her mother thanked her and said she might
do so as Gillian wanted to see her about a new treatment and would be back in London for a few days. Charlotte
finished the call feeling she had at last made a breakthrough with her mother. This was the first time she had
ever taken notice of something she, Charlotte, had suggested. Definitely a result! And with her relationship with
Andy growing stronger, life was looking up.
Cheered, she settled down with her laptop to add a few thousand words to her opus magnus. The quick
sandwich with Andy turned into a slightly longer and much tastier moules frites, accompanied by a small glass
; of wine and followed by coffee. They had reassured each other they needed quality time together, asking what
difference would half an hour extra make. Back home, Charlotte happily wrote another thousand words before
the warbling of her phone broke the flow. Annoyed, she picked it up meaning to switch it off, but saw it was
Martin Kite’s number. The thought he might have another parishioner eager to talk changed her mind.
‘Hello, Charlotte. You haven’t left Guernsey yet, have you? Only I remember you saying you might be leaving
soon.’
‘No, still here for a few more days. Is something the matter?’ she asked, picking up a note of anxiety in his
voice.
‘I’m not entirely sure. I called in on Maud Batiste at the weekend, as usual, and she was quite distressed. She
wanted me to ask if you could visit her again, saying it was important. Do you know what it could be about?’
Charlotte thought back to their meeting. Maud had become upset when she mentioned Edmund’s death, but
surely, two weeks later, she wouldn’t still be distraught? Pangs of guilt knotted her stomach at the unwelcome
thought.
‘Not really. I can only think she’s remembered something she thinks would be useful for Jeanne’s book.
Although why this would distress her…’
‘Perhaps I shouldn’t say this, but under the circumstances I think you should know Mrs Batiste may not have
long to live. You must have seen how frail she is and her doctor’s confided in me it could be anytime. I believe
she knows this, but I agree it seems strange she needs to see you urgently.’ He sighed and Charlotte wondered
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again how someone like Martin coped with the dying. She knew she would be utterly hopeless. ‘It might not be
anything after all, but if you could spare the time to see her I’d be grateful, Charlotte.’
‘Of course I’ll see her. Has she said when?’
‘Yes, Wednesday afternoon, at three. Again she wants it to be when her husband is out. You know,’ he added,
reflectively, ‘I do wonder if she’s afraid of him, which is sad.’