The Little Kiosk By The Sea

by Jennifer Bohnet

  He also knew from the several black and white photographs he’d seen in the museum that the river then had been full of various naval vessels and landing-craft, all involved in Operation Overlord; preparing for the D-day assault across the channel. Other photos had shown the town itself had been extra busy too, with every available space taken up. Coronation Park, out of bounds to the locals, had been covered with a multitude of Nissan huts, workshops and tanks – all the paraphernalia of a world war.

  Standing on the ferry watching all the peaceful modern-day activity on the river, it was hard to conjure up a picture of the grimness of the earlier era. It was a sobering thought to think Randy and Lance had travelled three thousand miles to this place when it had been the nerve centre of a war campaign. Strangers in a country who would forever be a part of the history of this place, particularly Lance who’d never made it back home. Killed in the E-boat debacle out at Torcross, April l944.

  Leaving the ferry, he walked into town to buy an early takeaway supper of fish and chips before taking a short cut up Browns Hill Steps to Rachel’s cottage. Five minutes later, he was out on the small terrace, enjoying his supper with a glass of red wine and looking forward to spending the evening doing yet more research on the Internet.

  Today he’d learnt even more about the Holdsworth and the Seale families historically, but still hadn’t uncovered much information about any twentieth century families with those surnames. Tonight he planned to log onto a site the librarian at Exeter had given him the details of that apparently had the birth, marriages and death records from the three Dartmouth churches. Surely he’d find Grandma Mary’s baptism details recorded there and possible links to her family?

  An hour later, the dining room table was covered with papers and notebooks as he attempted to make some sense out of the things both his library and Internet research had discovered. This genealogy business sure was complicated. It didn’t help matters either that so many sons were named after their fathers – whole generations of similar names. BB had lost count of the number of Johns in the Seale family records. Holdsworth records were as bad with the name Arthur. Now though, he was sure of one thing, both these families had been the kingpins of Dartmouth a couple of centuries ago. The fact that he’d discovered a long-running feud had existed between them was beginning to add even more interest to his research.

  He couldn’t resist triumphantly waving his fist in the air when he found Grandma Mary Seale’s christening date in St. Saviour’s church – Sunday 19th April l925. At last he was getting somewhere.

  Intriguingly Mary’s mother had been one Amelia Holdsworth before she married William Seale. Given the rivalry he now knew had existed between the two families, he’d guess that particular union hadn’t been greeted with delight.

  He sighed and rubbed his eyes. As fascinating as these old records were, he’d had enough for the evening and he bookmarked the last page ready for the next day before he closed the site down. Before he could shut down the laptop completely, the Skype connection began buzzing.

  ‘Hi, Jess, how’s things?’

  ‘Great. You?’ Without waiting for an answer, Jess continued. ‘You know that box of old stuff from Grandma Mary I’ve been going through with Mom? Turns out most of the stuff is Uncle Lance’s that Grandpa Randy couldn’t bear to throw away.’

  ‘Anything interesting?’

  ‘There’s a photo of him and a woman and a half-written letter to someone he calls ‘My Darling Florrie’ whom I presume is the woman in the photo. They look very happy together. There’s a few other papers all in an official army envelope – guess its stuff they returned when he was killed. Haven’t had time to look at those properly yet.’

  ‘Sure sounds like it. I don’t suppose there’s an address on the half-finished letter for this Florrie, is there?’

  ‘Sorry, no. Want me to post it and the photo over to you?’

  ‘Be quicker if you scan them first, plus anything else interesting you find, and email them to me. I can print out copies then. Show the picture around – see if any of the older generation recognise her.’

  ‘Okay, will do.’

  ‘Mom okay?’

  ‘Yeah. Missing the golden boy though! You might try ringing her sometime! She’d prefer that to your emails.’

  BB sighed. ‘I do think about ringing and then realise it’s in the middle of the night with the time difference. Is she there now? You could put her on.’

  ‘Nope, she’s gone to a seniors’ tea party. I’ll give her your love. Got to go.’

  BB opened up his laptop early the next morning, hoping Jessie had scanned the photo and the letter, but was disappointed to find his mailbox folder empty. He opened the website he’d bookmarked the previous evening and started to scroll down through the pages of records relating to St Saviours.

  He was becoming more and more convinced that Grandma Mary’s Dartmouth family had simply died out and there were no long-lost cousins waiting to be discovered. Five minutes later, he found himself staring at the screen, trying to make sense of an entry he was reading on a page dated Sunday 28th January l945.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  JOHNNIE

  Johnnie was still staring at Martha, waiting for her to answer when the conservatory door was pushed open.

  ‘Hello, Johnnie,’ a soft voice said. ‘Martha’s right. Carla is yours.’

  Johnnie spun round. ‘Josette?’

  Josette, a slender woman in her mid-thirties, had always reminded him of a younger Annie with her big brown eyes and a determined attitude to life from the day they’d met. Even though he knew she was much too young for him, at a time when he’d been in desperate need of someone to love him, it hadn’t seemed to matter. Had even been a part of the attraction.

  ‘I’ll take Carla for a walk in the park,’ Martha said. ‘You two can talk in private.’ She began to push the buggy and Carla out of the room.

  ‘Martha, wait a moment, please,’ Josette said, before bending over to gently kiss Carla. ‘Enjoy the park, sweetie. Be a good girl. Mama loves you.’ Straightening up, she blinked rapidly as Martha wheeled the buggy out of the room.

  ‘You absolutely sure she’s mine?’ Johnnie winced at the look Josette gave him. ‘Sorry. Insensitive.’ Hell, he’d already seen the resemblance for himself. The LeRoy traits were all there on the baby’s face – from the dimple in the chin, the set of the eyes, to the mole high on the left cheek like his.

  ‘So is this about maintenance? Fine. How much?’

  Josette shook her head. ‘No. I’ve been managing quite well on my own, thank you. Besides, it’s too late for that.’ She took a deep breath before saying, ‘I’m giving her to you.’

  Stunned, Johnnie felt his mouth drop open. ‘You what?’

  ‘I’ve met someone. He wants me to marry him and move to Paris but …’ She stopped, her voice cracking. ‘He refuses to take Carla as well.’ She looked at him pleadingly.

  ‘Johnnie, please take her and give her a good life. I know you’ll be a wonderful father. I’ve finally got the chance to leave here and have a proper life of my own. If you don’t take her I’m stuck for ever – or at least until she’s grown up and then it will be too late anyway.’ She brushed a tear away. ‘You told me how much you and your wife wanted a child, well now you’ve got one.’

  ‘Merde. I don’t believe this is happening. How old is she?’ Johnnie said, distractedly rubbing the back of his neck.

  ‘Nine months.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?’

  ‘Remember the last time we saw each other?’ she said quietly.

  Johnnie nodded. ‘Of course.’ They’d had a lovely evening, ending up at her small apartment where he’d plucked up the courage to gently tell her that it was the last time. There could be no future in their relationship. He was too old for her.

  That was what? Seventeen months ago? He’d only seen her once since then in the distance when she’d waved a hand at him in acknowledgement
and hurried away before he could catch up with her.

  ‘I was going to tell you then but instead you told me it was over. That you were too old for me. I did think about telling you then anyway, but couldn’t face the thought you might accuse me of lying about being on the pill. Of trying to trap you.’

  Josette pulled a tissue out of her jacket pocket, struggling to keep her tears in check. ‘If it’s any consolation, I had decided I’d tell you on her first birthday. I wanted you to at least know you had a daughter. But meeting Herve has changed things for me.’

  Johnnie stayed silent, waiting.

  ‘I’ve gone over and over in my mind what is the best thing to do – for her, for me. I can’t stay living here when the alternative is out there for me to take. If that makes me selfish …’ Josette shrugged, but the next moment she turned on him. ‘Don’t ever think I don’t love her because I do, and don’t even for one minute think I’m taking the easy route by handing her over to you. I’m not.’

  Johnnie regarded her steadily. ‘I don’t think that. Even if I start paying maintenance and make regular visits, you won’t stay, will you?’

  Josette shook her head. ‘No. You’ll grow to love your daughter, but you don’t love me. Herve, on the other hand, does love me and is waiting for me in Paris.

  ‘Will you please talk to her about me? I can’t bear the thought of her not knowing about me. Tell her how much I love her. I’ll keep in touch with you and Martha so you can send me photos and things. I’ll send her presents too, if that’s okay with you? Perhaps I can visit occasionally?’

  ‘So not a complete break, then?’ Johnnie said. ‘Tell me: what happens if it all goes wrong with Herve and you return? You going to want to take her back? I tell you now, if you leave her with me I shall get official custody to make sure she stays with me. Messing her about is not on. Even I know children require stability in their lives.’

  Josette smiled wanly. ‘I promise I’ll never demand you return her to me. She’s a shared responsibility between the two of us, but you get to do the fun full-on day-to-day stuff for the next eighteen years. Right.’ She took a deep breath. ‘There’s everything you need there,’ she said, pointing to a suitcase and two large bags in the corner of the room Johnnie hadn’t even noticed.

  ‘Nappies, jars of baby food, milk powder, clothes, toys etc., etc.’ She delved into her bag. ‘Better put these somewhere safe.’ And she handed him a passport and a birth certificate.

  ‘I’m leaving for Paris this evening. I’ll go now before Martha gets back with Carla.’

  Seeing the tears glistening in her eyes, Johnnie sighed before pulling her towards him and hugging her. ‘I promise I’ll take good care of her.’

  Josette kissed his cheek. ‘I know you will, otherwise I wouldn’t give her to you. One last thing, don’t ever tell her she was a mistake. We might not ever have been “in love”, but we were lovers for a short time.’

  The door banged behind her and she was gone.

  Left alone, Johnnie swore loudly, ‘Merde!’

  He was still standing there, dazed, trying to make sense of the situation, when Martha returned with Carla asleep in the buggy.

  In that moment, the reality of his situation hit him. Josette had literally left him holding the baby.

  ‘She’s gone then?’ Martha said.

  Johnnie nodded. ‘I wish you’d warned me what I was coming over to.’

  ‘Josette asked me not to. She was afraid you wouldn’t come if you knew what she planned. She’s not done this lightly,’ Martha said. ‘She knows you won’t let Carla or her down.’

  ‘I’m a yacht deliverer, for god’s sake – I’m away for days, weeks sometimes. How the hell am I expected to cope with this … child?’ He gesticulated at the sleeping baby.

  ‘Carla’s a sweetie. You’ll find a way of coping.’

  ‘Any chance you could keep her here if I pay you? No, forget it. I shouldn’t even be thinking like that,’ Johnnie said, running his hands through his hair.

  ‘You and Annie always wanted a child, well, now you’ve got one,’ Martha said gently, echoing Josette’s earlier words.

  ‘I wanted a child with Annie,’ Johnnie said. ‘Not with a woman I barely know.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  RACHEL

  After Johnnie left the cafe to go to his cousin’s, Rachel ordered herself another cup of coffee and sipped it thoughtfully. Over the months since she’d been back in Dartmouth, she’d grown used to being economical with the truth. Used to mixing with incomers rather than the true locals. Used to shopping in the newer shops with their younger assistants. When people asked her about her past, or where she was from originally, she never named anything or anywhere specific. Never gave them any encouragement to ask more questions. Last night she’d broken her golden rule by telling Johnnie where she grew up.

  The wine and the growing intimacy between the two of them had been her downfall, lulling her into forgetting the need to be careful. The need to keep her guilty secret hidden from nosey parkers. Not that Johnnie Le Roy fell into that category. He seemed a genuinely nice man. A sexy one too.

  Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to come on this trip. Being back on board a yacht again though was good. She’d thoroughly enjoyed the sail over and had been looking forward to the journey back. Now she couldn’t wait to get it over with. Their friendship had to stop before it had really begun. There would be no more crewing for him or sharing a coffee in The Royal, that was for sure.

  After paying the breakfast bill and leaving the café, Rachel wandered around the town. She was glad Johnnie had elected to use the old harbour rather than the new marina just outside of town. It did at least give her a chance to explore somewhere she’d never been before. Beautiful granite and historical buildings were everywhere, many decorated with baskets full of red, white and blue flowers.

  Scattered amongst the usual touristy shops with their postcards and souvenir items, there were art galleries, bistros, jewellers, takeaway food shops and boutiques selling nautical-influenced clothes. There was even Celtic music drifting out of an open window to add to the atmosphere.

  From the tabac, Rachel bought a postcard with various views of Roscoff on it, quickly addressed it to Hugo before scrawling across it, ‘Surprise! Sailed across the Channel yesterday! Love, Mum.’

  Slipping the card into the yellow post box on the wall, Rachel glanced at her watch. Nearly twelve o’clock. Better return to Annie in case Johnnie returned and wanted to get down to his cabin. Sitting on deck in the sunshine with her Kindle would pass the time if he wasn’t back yet.

  At one o’clock, when he still hadn’t returned, she made herself a sandwich and a cup of tea and settled herself in the cockpit to eat. Clearly Johnnie’s family business must have been more difficult to deal with than anticipated – he’d been gone for four hours now.

  Eating her lunch, Rachel watched the activity in the harbour, something she’d done many times before in various harbours in the south when Hugo and his father had gone off on some errand or other. Watching a fishing vessel return to its mooring, squawking gull circling above, the smell of fish and diesel mixed together drifting on the wind reminded her more of Dartmouth and its crab boats returning from Start Bay though rather than Antibes in the south of France.

  Unlike Antibes, there wasn’t a single large yacht of the floating gin palace variety in the harbour as far as she could see whereas Antibes with its millionaire quay was a veritable honeypot of international, foreign-registered boats flying the flag of their tax haven registered country.

  A few of the private yachts in the harbour here were flying the English red ensign, but in the main the boats were French registered and flying the French flag. If there were any super-yachts up here in this channel port, they were all probably moored against the pontoons in the new marina with its ‘Capitaine’ and twenty-four-hour security.

  It was mid-afternoon before Rachel saw Johnnie marching along the quay towards her
.

  Carrying two large carrier bags and pulling a suitcase he wasn’t, judging by his body language, in the best of moods. Rachel eyed him warily. And who was the woman pushing a child in a buggy at his side?

  ‘Rachel, meet my Cousin Martha,’ Johnnie said, placing the two bags on Annie’s deck before heaving the suitcase on board.

  ‘We’ve got a passenger for the trip back,’ he said.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Martha,’ Rachel said. ‘Welcome aboard.’

  ‘Martha’s not coming,’ Johnnie said.

  ‘So who is?’ Rachel asked, surprised.

  ‘Carla,’ Johnnie said as Martha unbuckled the safety harness and handed the child to him before folding up the buggy.

  Rachel, stunned into silence, could only watch as he carefully climbed on board holding Carla tightly. She looked at Martha, hoping the woman would give her a clue as to what was going on but only got a shrug in response, followed by a sympathetic smile.

  ‘Johnnie, just think what Annie would want you to do. You’ll cope. Give Sabine my love. See you next trip. Pleasure to meet you, Rachel,’ and she was gone.

  ‘You look a bit shell-shocked,’ Rachel said quietly. ‘Give me Carla. I’ll hold her while you get things down into the cabin.’

  ‘Thanks. Then if it’s okay with you, I think we’ll start back. Going to be a long haul – wind’s not right.’

  Rachel nodded. ‘Fine by me.’ The wind was not the only thing that was not right, that was for sure. Johnnie’s stiff body language as he sorted ropes and prepared to cast off was speaking volumes. He was clearly one unhappy man. Would he talk to her on the way home? Or would he do the British stiff upper lip thing, bottle everything up and pretend everything was under control?