‘You are so kind in the way you have welcomed us to your little island,’ Arabella gushed. ‘Yes indeed, we intend to spend Christmas here.’ When she stood up to leave she towered over Marie, who’s eye was level with the fob watch on her guest’s bosom.
Marie rang the little siver bell on the tea tray, summoning Emmy. ‘Tell Mrs Laurence’s chauffeur she is about to leave, Emily. Then bring the ladies’ coats from the cloakroom.’
Ethel and Emmy were enormously impressed: Emmy, because she’d never heard the missus call her Emily before, and Ethel because she had never realised her mother was such an accomplished actress. She was dying to tell Sarah all about it.
*
The Laurences were taking coffee in the morning-room when Littlejohn bore in the post on a salver. An invitation card was amongst the letters.
‘Here we are, I warned you those people were going to ask us to their Christmas party,’ said Arabella.
‘Great Scott! Surely we don’t need to go?’ Peregrine was not amused. ‘I put our names down on the Government House guest list, surely that is sufficient?’
Arabella studied the invitation. ‘Apparently it is white tie and tails.’
Peregrine’s mouth dropped open. ‘Well!’ he said. ‘In that case we had better be there.’
*
‘You’re mad!’ Hubert said to Marie. ‘White tie? We’ve never put that on our invitations before.’
‘I’m not having those English people thinking we peasants don’t know how to dress. What’s more I’m getting on to Mrs Tostevin straight away to make up a pattern I’ve had in my sewing drawer for years, just waiting an opportunity like this.’
*
Sarah eased her swollen stomach into a more comfortable position as the bus lurched round the corner at the King’s Mills. It was a wearying journey, first into town on the tram, and then on this old bus out to St Saviour’s, but the atmosphere at Val du Douit was much brighter than down at Bordeaux. Greg had wanted to drive her up in the car, but she knew how busy he was preparing for the boiler to arrive to steam the soil in the greenhouses. In the end they had agreed he would come up to fetch her home after dark.
Rain had fallen solidly for the past week confining her indoors but at last the sky had cleared, so she elected to leave the bus a few stops early and take a walk through the lanes to join the cart track up to the Val du Douit farmyard. The wind was cold and brisk, but she was warm with the effort of carrying her extra load.
She sighed, as she wended her way down to the farmhouse. It seemed that only here at Val du Douit, on the farm, up in the fields or in her old home, could she really relax.
*
Having made the obligatory complaint about the disruption of her sitting-room, Florence Ozanne was prepared to enjoy herself thoroughly. She had always loved entertaining. This evening she had put aside her black in favour of the outfit she had had made for Sarah’s wedding, with a dainty cream lace cap pinned to her hair. Through the door from her sitting-room, wedged wide open to reveal the Christmas decorations Ethel had put up with young Emmy’s help, she passed into the breakfast room where the fully extended mahogany table was set for dinner and decorated with tiny bowls of Christmas roses. Lighted candles in the twin silver candelabras were reflected in the etched wine goblets, silver cutlery and polished wood, a myriad multicoloured stars dancing through the room each time the front door opened to admit more guests and gusts of cold air. A secret smile of approval twitched the corners of the old lady’s mouth. Across the hallway, she knew the dining-room table was similarly set: thirty diners would take their places in the Val du Douit tonight.
Guests were greeted with labels to pin on their backs, and fruit punch served on silver salvers by waiters hired for the evening from the Royal Hotel. Music drifted through the house from the dining-room. By examination of each others; labels, guests found their intended partners for the treasure hunt which was planned and organised by the younger Ozannes every year. Clues, all taken from Shakespearean plays, were hidden in every part of the house.
William glanced enviously at George Schmit who was partnered with Filly; his own companion, Victoria Harcourt-Waites, drew elegantly on her long cigarette holder and was utterly useless. Sarah, enveloped decorously in a vast taffeta tent, found herself with Aubrey Laurence, an extraordinarily effeminate Guards officer over on leave, while his brother Piers gushed over Aline who adored every minute. Arabella towered over John Ozanne and made every decision in their partnership, not always correctly, and Ethel met her handsome partner Paul Laurence, for the first time. The winners were Peregrine Laurence and Kiff Drew, the more academic of Sarah’s three special friends.
After prizes were awarded, Jean Quevatre sounded the dinner gong, and Hubert, from the stairs, invited everyone to find their named places at table. Consommé was followed by scallops in cream and wine sauce served in their shells; then great crowns of pork were carried round the tables before being carved on the sideboards. Cheeseboards and saladings came next, then trolleys loaded with desserts. And finally the savoury course consisted of stuffed mushrooms, hot fingers of paté toast and cheese straws before the tables were cleared for coffee, liqueurs and petit fours.
Marie pushed back her chair. ‘Shall we retire, ladies?’
Beaded purses were collected and the older ladies followed their hostess while the younger ones were led by the Ozanne sisters to the bedroom Ethel had shared with Sarah.
Victoria enjoyed being the novelty and centre of attention.
‘Your hair is cut so beautifully,’ Filly gushed. ‘Where do you have it done?’
‘Ugo’s.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Up in Half Moon Street. So conveniently close to the Ritz.’ Victoria dampened a finger with the tip of her tongue, leaned closer to the dressing-table mirror and carefully brushed the moisture onto her lashes.
‘What do your younger brothers do for a living?’ Kiff wanted to know.
Victoria smiled at her through the mirror. ‘Not a lot. Paul is the family failure. Failed to be a doctor; failed to be a banker and now he wants to try farming, but Daddy’s not awfully keen on the idea.’
‘And Piers?’ Aline prompted.
‘Oh he’s the successful one. Never attempt to do anything, is his motto, then you cannot possibly fail.’
‘Oh, how clever!’ Aline cooed.
Ethel accidently caught Sarah’s eye and quickly turned away as the corners of her mouth began to twitch.
While the ladies were upstairs all the men converged on the dining-room, leaving the breakfast-room to be cleared hastily to make way for dancing.
Sarah, in her vast taffeta tent, wisely refused all offers to take to the floor, preferring to watch as William led Filly in a foxtrot and Colonel Laurence towered over her mother with his monocle bouncing against her nose as they danced. Paul and Ethel looked very happy in each other’s company and as for Aline, her feet scarcely touched the floor as Piers swept her through the breakfast-room door, dancing into the hallway, dazzling her with his bewitching smile while she gazed adoringly into his eyes.
‘Make a handsome couple, don’t you think?’ the Guards officer remarked.
‘Which ones?’ Sarah asked, then realised he was looking at his sister and Greg.
‘Vicky and that dark-haired fellow. Who is he, do you know?’
‘Yes,’ Sarah couldn’t suppress a giggle. ‘That’s my husband.’
Aubrey turned to stare at her. ‘Well that’s no laughing matter, me dear. Details like that never deter my little sister.’
Fortunately neither Victoria nor her brother were able to read Gregory’s mind, nor did they seem aware that his eyes were seldom far from the vast taffeta tent.
The last car disappeared up the lane at a quarter to two; Marie, Hubert and their children stood in the hallway, weary but satisfied, congratulating each other on a very good party.
*
But Marie’s comments next morning over a late breakfast
were not without criticism. ‘Can’t say I liked that Aubrey fellow much, for all his fancy get-up.’
Aline bridled immediately. ‘I thought he was charming. He danced beautifully. Didn’t you think he looked stunning, Ethel, in his dress uniform?’
‘I thought you were more taken with his brother. What was his name?’
‘Piers. Well, yes. He was very nice.’ She had no intention of revealing to her family just how nice . . . how devastatingly handsome she thought him. ‘What did you think of the lovely-but-languishing Victoria, William?’
‘Wet. The most limp and boring female I think I’ve ever met.’
*
Up the hill at Les Blanches Pierres, the limp and boring female was making equally derogatory remarks about William. ‘I never could bear the company of little men. It was so tedious being obliged to talk down to him. It might not have been quite so bad if he hadn’t spent the entire evening making eyes at that giggling little fat girl called Filly, with hair curled up into sausages.’
Peregrine looked up from yesterday’s newspaper. ‘Personally, I thought for a bunch of yokels they put on quite a good show. What did you think, old girl?’
Since first visiting the Ozannes at Val du Douit, Arabella had realised they did not fulfil the bucolic role in which she had originally cast them; therefore she had attended their party intent on demonstrating the relative standing of the two families in the class structure of local society. Wearing a magnificent gown of watered silk, the Laurence family suite of emeralds and a huge snow-fox cape, she had not doubted she looked every inch a duchess. Unfortunately, by half-way through the evening, she had felt more like an over-decorated Christmas tree. So, how to answer her husband’s question? For the first time her family could remember, Arabella Laurence was unable to voice an opinion.
*
‘Hey! You there! What the devil’s goin’ on?’ Jean Quevatre shouted as he headed across the field towards the team of men working on the far side. ‘Stop it! Leave those trees alone!’
The men stared at each other, shrugged, and ignored him.
Panting with exertion, Jean came up to them, red in the face. ‘You’re making a big mistake. I don’t know what you think you’re up to but them trees is Mr Ozanne’s and he’s not given instructions for them to be felled. Not to my knowledge.’
‘We’re working on orders from Colonel Laurence,’ one of the strangers replied.
‘But this isn’t his land! Them’s not his trees.’
‘’Fraid you’re wrong there. Colonel showed me the boundary on his map.’
Jean removed his cap to scratch his head. ‘Well, I don’t know where he got his map from, but it couldn’t of been from the Greffe. I’m going for Mr Ozanne straight away. He’ll sort it out. Meanwhile,’ he called over his shoulder as he got on his bike, ‘don’t you go touching any more of them trees, or there’ll be trouble.’
*
Making sure that Alice was out of sight, Sarah carried the tea tray from the kitchen to her sitting-room. If the old lady got an inkling that a visitor was coming, she would be with them in the room all afternoon and Sarah did want to have Ethel all to herself. There was so much to talk about. Greg had only accepted George’s invitation to go fishing on the understanding that she was not left alone with the old folk, knowing the baby was due within a couple of weeks.
When she heard the car come up the drive Sarah hurried back to the kitchen to greet her sister and smuggle her in. ‘Here, let me put your coat over this chair; the old girl will see it if we put it on the hall stand.’
‘How are you?’ Ethel asked as they settled down beside the fire.
‘Fit as a flea. Never better! I’ve turned out the bedroom this morning and got the crib all made up, ready. Want to come upstairs and see?’
‘Won’t your mother-in-law hear us?’
‘Funny joke! But she might see us if she’s creeping about. We’ll have to be careful!’
The crib was in the corner of their bedroom, the white valance and curtains edged with primrose-tipped lace and the tiny eiderdown embroidered in the same colour.
‘It’s beautiful!’ Ethel exclaimed. ‘Where did you get it?’
‘Greg made the framework and I covered it. And embroidered the eiderdown to match.’ Sarah was extremely pleased with herself: she was not noted in the family for her needlework.
Back in the sitting-room she poured the tea and offered Ethel a fresh Guernsey biscuit. ‘Come and sit down and tell me about your first Christmas as a married woman,’ Ethel ordered.
Sarah obediently sat, and devoured two Guernsey biscuits in quick succession. ‘Very nice, thank you.’ Then seeing Ethel raise an eyebrow admitted, ‘Well, reasonable. Mina cooked a lovely Christmas lunch.’
‘What did Greg give you?’
‘Lots of things! He was madly extravagant so we had a private parcels session in here before joining the others. Otherwise there would have been endless recriminations.’ Sarah grinned.
‘Nice tea. Where did you get it?’
‘A little shop on the Bridge. I got these there, too.’ She passed a plate of fancy biscuits. ‘What’s the latest in the boundary dispute?’
‘Father is being very reticent about the whole thing, leaving it all to Advocate Mahy to sort out. But Ma! Well you know what she is! She’s furious. Doesn’t want to hear the name Laurence mentioned.’
Sarah grimaced. ‘You’re quite friendly with Paul. Doesn’t that make things a bit difficult?’
‘Yes.’ Ethel applied herself to her teacup, but her sister could see she was not happy.
‘Have you discussed it with him?’
‘No. We’ve studiously avoided the subject.’
Sarah replaced her cup in the saucer and stretched, frowning.
‘What’s up?’
‘Maybe I shouldn’t have had two Guernsey biscuits. Just feeling uncomfortable.’
Ethel watched as Sarah began rocking, to and fro, but the moment passed and they moved on to other topics.
It was later, when her visitor was about to leave, that Sarah suddenly winced and clutched her stomach. ‘Whew! I think I need to go to the lav.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Ethel insisted.
Sarah made a token protest but was glad, a little later, when she had another attack. ‘Funny. I don’t really need to go. I just feel . . .’ She stared at her sister. ‘You don’t think . . .? But it’s not due yet!’
‘Only according to your reckoning. That child in there has a mind of its own! Come and sit down and relax and we’ll time the next bout.’
Fifteen minutes. And the one after that. ‘Right,’ said Ethel, ‘we’ll ring the Maternity Home and see what they say.’
‘But you’re wanting to get home . . .’ Sarah began.
‘What, and leave you with your capable in-laws?’
Sarah thanked heaven Greg had had a phone installed in their room, as Ethel spoke to a nurse at the Lady Ozanne Maternity Home, and agreed to bring in the mother-to-be.
It took a few minutes to write a note for Greg and load Sarah’s suitcase into the car. Ethel was beginning to worry about getting her sister to the Home in time; Sarah was worrying that Greg would be upset she hadn’t waited for him to return.
Both worries were unfounded. Greg had paced the waiting room for hours before a nurse came in at nearly midnight to say he could come and see his wife.
In strong contrast to her husband, Sarah was sitting up in bed looking quite perky, clutching a bundle of woolly shawl. ‘Hello, darling. Sorry to keep you waiting so long,’ she grinned. ‘Come and meet your daughter.’
Chapter Three – SINNERS
Hats again. It seemed the only time Sarah was able to see the entire family assembled under one roof, nowadays, was in church . . . all female heads encased in hats. She allowed her gaze to wander over the familiar millinery: most were wedding hats worn little more than a year ago when she and Greg had been here speaking their marriage vows. A year, a whole year during w
hich so much had happened. A long year, dragging tediously through the problems of living at Les Marettes . . . with Alice, deaf as a post, and Greg’s father. And nosy Mina . . . Thank God for Greg himself; without his calm good humour she would have gone round the bend! She smiled up at him, received his warm response and together they gazed adoringly at the babe in her arms.
‘Are we ready?’ the rector joined the party, surplice billowing in the breeze from the open door. ‘You all have the Order of Baptism in your prayer books.’ He laid his book on the edge of the font. ‘Now, where are the godparents?’
Filly Carre released William’s arm and stepped forward to stand between Ethel and George Schmit, saying a bright, ‘Here we are.’ She felt terribly flattered to have been asked: it wasn’t as though she was one of the family . . . yet, though of course it was only a matter of time before she became a genuine aunt . . . like Ethel. She studied the rector’s face very seriously as he listed the duties of a godparent, vowing to follow his instructions to the letter. It was a great responsibility and she wanted to make William proud of her diligence.
Suzanne Marie behaved beautifully throughout the ritual, held in the crook of the rector’s arm, gurgling as water was splashed over her head. The grandparents, Hubert, Marie and Alice, nodded approvingly, and with the assembled friends and relatives repeated the familiar lines of the prayers and promises, Alice leaning forward to get the end of her ear-trumpet as near to the rector as possible, blocking everyone else’s view of the proceedings.
Afterwards, Aline frowned impatiently from the porch at the delay, while everyone was shaking hands and gooing over the babe. She was wearing the same shoes she’d worn at the wedding, forgetting how tight they were. ‘It’s starting to rain,’ she announced, hoping to hurry them.
‘Oh no!’ Sarah groaned. ‘I thought we’d be safe, leaving the christening until May.’ It had been a long, hard winter with snow and icy winds, followed by a cold, wet spring. Cowering under inverting brollies they raced to the cars to drive through a virtual river down to the farm. Blazing fires were waiting to dry damp clothes and spirits, along with a huge glass bowl of fruit punch . . . and a bottle of warm milk for Suzanne.
The Guernsey Saga Box Set Page 5