The Guernsey Saga Box Set

by Diana Bachmann

  The day after Boxing Day, however, was wet and icy cold, and developed into one of unmitigated disaster.

  The family had dispersed after breakfast, and leaving Suzanne with Emmy, Sarah had gone in search of her sister, Ethel, locating her changing the bed linen in her room. ‘There you are! Let me give you a hand.’

  Ethel grunted, not looking up.

  Sarah noticed Ethel’s red-rimmed eyes and ashen face. ‘What on earth’s the matter, Sis? Aren’t you well?’

  Ethel shook her head, still not looking up, so Sarah circled the bed to put an arm round her. Ethel subsided onto the bed, trembling.

  ‘Shall I go and make a cup of tea?’ It was the universal solution to crisis—which this undoubtedly was. Whatever it might be about.

  ‘No,’ Ethel whispered. ‘Ma might see you and wonder what’s happening.’

  ‘That would be two of us! Come on old girl. Tell!’

  Ethel raised stricken eyes to face her sister. ‘I don’t know how. Where to begin.’ Then her skin turned from white to green and she jumped to her feet. ‘I’m going to be sick again!’ She grabbed a flowered chamber-pot from the bedside cupboard, kneeling over it, urging. But nothing came.

  Sarah frowned, mystified. ‘You seemed all right yesterday afternoon and evening; when did this start?’ She assumed it was a tummy bug.

  ‘About three months ago,’ Ethel sighed, returning the pot to its cupboard.

  ‘Three—’

  ‘Don’t you recognise pregnancy when you see it?’ Ethel demanded savagely. And began to weep.

  ‘Pregnancy?’ the word was scarcely audible. ‘You?’ Sarah sat numb with disbelief. ‘How? I mean—who by?’

  Still on her knees, Ethel leaned her forehead on the side of the bed. ‘Paul.’

  The room was silent as Sarah allowed all the horrendous implications of Ethel’s news to sink into her brain. Eventually she asked, ‘Is he going to marry you?’

  Ethel shrugged. ‘He doesn’t know.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Once. Just once I went mad. We both did. We had had a glorious evening, huge fun and loads of cocktails.’ A small smile lifted the corners of her mouth. ‘I suppose I was in rebellious mood. All the restriction about seeing Paul; having to creep out of the house with all my gear; the need to lie about where I was going, or had been. Dammit!’ she exploded, ‘I’m nearly thirty-three. If I can’t choose my own friends now, when the hell can I?’

  Sarah stroked her hair. ‘Calm down, old thing. Calm down.’ Which was easy enough to say, but . . . ‘Have you and Paul ever discussed marriage?’

  ‘Never.’

  Sarah simply couldn’t assimilate this. Her adored, revered big sister: mentor and surrogate mother, was telling her that she had committed the ultimate transgression. She had slept with a man she wasn’t even engaged to! Gradually amazement gave way to fear and horror. What was the family reaction going to be like—apart from terrible? Trying to remain calm herself, she asked, ‘Have you thought about what you’re going to do?’

  ‘Endlessly. All night, every night since I realised what has happened.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I haven’t the foggiest idea what to do.’

  Sarah got up and crossed to the window to gaze, unseeing, through the sleet. ‘Well, the sooner you pluck up courage to tell Ma and get the whole thing sorted out, the better for everyone, especially you. It’s a terrible burden, keeping the secret.’

  ‘What if Ma and Pa kick me out?’

  ‘You’ll come and stay with me, of course.’

  Ethel’s smile was bleak. ‘You’re very sweet, little Sis, but that could not be a permanent solution.’

  ‘No. But it would put a roof over your head till they cooled off. Anyway, I don’t imagine they’d do that.’

  ‘When do you suggest I drop the bomb?’

  ‘You say you’re about three months? Then the sooner the better.’

  Ethel sighed. ‘Oh hell!’

  Bertie was spending the day with a school friend, and William was at the bank, so when Hubert and Marie settled in their armchairs in the sitting-room after lunch, Sarah put Suzanne down for a nap and she and Ethel went in to join their parents.

  Ethel, who had done a good restoration job on her face, took the bull by the horns and delivered her news. ‘Mother, Father, I have something to tell you.’

  Hubert looked up from his paper, Marie from her knitting. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m expecting a baby.’ She held her breath.

  So did Sarah.

  Marie peered at Ethel over her spectacles and grinned. ‘You’re pulling my leg . . . I hope.’ Then she frowned and took off her spectacles. ‘You are, aren’t you? Leg-pulling, I mean?’

  ‘No.’ Ethel swallowed hard, to ease her dry throat. ‘I’m serious. I am three months pregnant.’

  Marie and Hubert stared at each other, mouths agape. Then back at their eldest daughter. ‘Say that again!’ Marie hissed.

  Ethel’s heart was banging, deafeningly, behind her ribs. ‘I’m going to have a baby.’

  ‘Whose?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Matter?’ Marie shouted. ‘Of course it matters. Where is he? Why isn’t he here? Or is he too yellow to face up to it?’

  Hubert’s face was puce. ‘It’s bad enough getting you into trouble in the first place,’ he roared. ‘But to let you face the music alone . . .’ he ground his teeth, searching for words. ‘The fellow must be a damned scoundrel!’

  ‘He is not!’ Ethel had no intention of revealing his name, but she would not allow Paul to be so maligned. ‘He knows nothing about it.’

  Sarah, too, thought Father’s comments grossly unfair, but not having been adequately warned by her sister, she said, ‘You cannot blame Paul, when he hasn’t any idea what has happened.’

  ‘Sarah!’ Ethel wailed. But it was too late.

  ‘Paul!’ Hubert and Marie exclaimed together.

  Marie’s face was a mask. ‘You don’t mean from up there?’ Her voice was thick with fury as her head tilted towards the top of the hill.

  Realising she had let the cat out of the bag, Sarah gave Ethel an apologetic grimace before covering her face with both hands.

  Feeling quite faint and white as a sheet, Ethel sat swaying on the edge of her chair while her mother ground her teeth, clenching and unclenching her fists. Sarah fished out a handkerchief and blew her nose, waiting.

  It was Hubert who, as head of the household, decided to take control. He smoothed a hand over his bald head and leaned forward. ‘Right. Well, what’s done is done. Now we have to make up our minds what’s best to do next. First of all, Ethel, have you and Paul talked about marriage?’ His voice was calm and gentle.

  Ethel gulped, almost wishing he would shout at her. ‘No, Father.’

  ‘And you say he doesn’t know about the baby?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well then, the first thing is to tell him.’

  ‘No, Father, please. I don’t want a shotgun wedding.’

  Marie opened her mouth to issue a retort, but was stopped by a fierce glare from Hubert.

  ‘Maybe you don’t. But you have to consider other people’s feelings here. Other people’s best interests besides your own.’ He fished in his pocket for a pipe and watched by the three women he slowly filled it from the tobacco pot on the smoking cabinet by his chair. Before lighting it he asked, ‘Do you fancy yourself in love with the boy?’

  ‘Yes,’ his daughter muttered.

  ‘What about him? Do you think he loves you?’

  Ethel thought for a moment before answering. ‘I can’t honestly say. He has never said so. Not in as many words. Which is why I don’t want to force him . . .’

  Again Marie tried to speak, and again Hubert quelled her.

  ‘Nobody’s going to force anyone, but he has to be given the choice. It’s his child and he has the right to give it his name.’ He struck a match and held it over the bowl of his pipe, sucking the flame into
the tobacco until a thick cloud formed over his chair.

  ‘Pa’s right, Ethel,’ Sarah said. ‘You must be fair to Paul.’

  Ethel nodded. ‘I suppose so. And it is only fair to the baby, too.’

  Marie’s initial anger was subsiding, but she remained unable to say anything conciliatory; just sat with pursed lips, tense with the horror and humiliation of it all.

  ‘Then I’ll telephone Laurence immediately for a meeting.’ Hubert got up and walked through to the hall leaving Ethel wide-eyed and dumbstruck. She hadn’t expected the matter to be taken out of her hands with such speed.

  Minutes later Hubert came back into the room looking very businesslike. ‘Get your coats on. They’re waiting for us, now.’

  ‘All of us?’ Sarah asked.

  Ethel looked from one to the other. ‘Yes please. I expect Arabella and Victoria will want to be in on the act. So the more backing I get the better.’

  Marie snorted. The first major crisis in the family for years and she hadn’t been able to utter a word. Yet.

  Chapter Four – THE TRAITOR

  Sitting in the back of the car beside her deathly pale sister, Sarah squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that when she woke up she would be at home in bed with Greg, the whole dreadful nightmare wiped clean with the dawn of a new day; but when her eyes opened again she was still staring at the back of Ma’s rigid head.

  Ethel clutched a handkerchief in her right hand: she hadn’t used it, hadn’t shed a tear—yet. The other hand reached for Sarah’s comforting fingers and she flashed her a brief, half-smile in appreciation of her support.

  Littlejohn opened the Laurences’ front door. ‘Good afternoon, sir . . . ladies. The Colonel and Mrs Laurence are expecting you.’ He took Hubert’s trilby, saying, ‘Would you come this way?’

  Marie resisted the temptation to snort when she saw how the enemy had carefully arranged themselves in their drawing-room, to their best advantage. Seeing Hubert accept the colonel’s proffered hand, she felt obliged to follow suit—which did nothing to improve her temper.

  In contrast to Ethel, Paul was flushed with embarrassment. He hurried forward to take Ethel’s hand and lead her to a brocaded chaise longue near a window.

  ‘So . . .’ Peregrine began, without asking the others to sit down, ‘I gather our two youngsters have created a difficult situation for us.’ He coughed, screwed his monocle into place and stared Hubert in the face. ‘Well, Ozanne, what are we going to do about it? Eh?’

  Marie bridled. ‘There is only one possible thing we can do! Get them married as fast as possible!’

  Arabella, sitting on a large sofa next to her daughter, clicked her tongue, irritably. ‘My dear Mrs Ozanne! Absolutely not! That would be a dreadful mistake!’

  ‘Mater!’ Paul exclaimed, jumping to his feet. ‘I have already told you that I will marry Ethel.’

  ‘And I have told you you will not!’ The fob watch, hanging on a long gold chain round her neck, bounced vigorously on her twin set. ‘You are engaged to Melissa Carrington-Thorpe.’ Adding when she saw him framing the denial, ‘Well, virtually.’

  ‘Not even virtually. I have never been the slightest bit interested in the child, as well you know.’

  ‘Not really the point, old chap,’ his father cut in. ‘Sir David and I have always had you two lined up for each other. Damn good match for you both.’

  ‘Really!’ Marie took two strides to stand glaring up into the colonel’s face, her stocky frame quivering with anger. ‘And what are you proposing should be done about my daughter and your grandchild?’

  Victoria decided to join in. ‘A friend of mine knows an awfully clever little doctor chappie in London, who . . .’

  ‘Shut up, Vicky! I won’t hear of it,’ Paul shouted.

  ‘All right, all right. Don’t get shirty. I was only trying to help!’ The languid blonde settled back on the sofa cushions, pouting, and took a fresh packet of du Maurier cigarettes out of her bag.

  ‘Don’t I get a chance to speak?’ Ethel asked quietly.

  ‘Certainly not,’ her mother said, sharply. ‘We will decide what’s to be done.’

  ‘On the contrary!’ the unhappy girl exclaimed. ‘I will decide my own future. No one else!’ She left the chaise longue and crossed the carpet to confront the two men, eyeball to eyeball. ‘I will not have Paul forced into an unwanted alliance. I would flatly refuse to marry him . . .’

  ‘But Ethel, dear . . .’ Paul put an arm round her.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Paul. What sort of a marriage—’

  ‘At least your gel has a modicum of sense!’ Arabella commented to Marie.

  ‘Which is a lot more than can be said for yours!’ was the rejoinder.

  ‘Oh, isn’t this fun!’ Victoria giggled.

  ‘No it bloody well isn’t,’ Paul fumed.

  Sarah had come to the meeting purely to give Ethel moral support, so had resolved to say nothing. But in the face of this débâcle her resolution cracked. ‘This is crazy!’ she shouted above the uproar. ‘Nothing can be achieved or decided this way. Why don’t Paul and Ethel decide for themselves, in another room, what they want to do?’ She turned to the warring parents. ‘Then perhaps father and the colonel could retire to a study or somewhere to discuss the practicalities of whatever alternatives Paul and Ethel choose.’ She looked from one stony face to the next, hoping for support and getting none. In desperation she smiled nervously at Arabella. ‘Personally, I’d simply love a cup of tea.’

  ‘Excellent idea!’ The colonel immediately tugged the tapestried bell-pull on the chimney breast. ‘Come on Ozanne, let’s leave the womenfolk to their tea, what? I know it’s early but I dare say we could use a small noggin, don’t you think?’ Grasping Hubert’s elbow he headed for the door, saying to Paul over his shoulder, ‘You two can go into the library, I suppose.’

  Unused to having the initiative taken out of her hands, Arabella allowed her pained expression to dwell on Sarah for a long ten seconds, before turning her head towards Marie and saying, ‘I suppose you’d better sit down.’

  *

  ‘No, I admit it. Marriage hadn’t crossed my mind,’ Paul said. ‘Not because I wouldn’t want to marry you, in due course, but simply because I haven’t got a job, a career of any sort, so I’m not in a position to make an offer to anyone.’

  ‘But frankly, Paul, I can’t think of a worse fate for either of us, than being tied into a loveless marriage,’ Ethel added.

  ‘Absolutely! But are you sure it would be loveless? Actually, I had decided ages ago that I was terribly fond of you, you know.’

  Ethel’s heart gave a little flutter of hope. ‘Really?’

  ‘Honestly.’

  She sat, thinking. Wondering. ‘I don’t know . . . What about this Melissa person? Your family reckon your future lies with her.’

  ‘Mater and Pater made this confounded arrangement with old Sir David years ago. I was never consulted! I’ve never wanted to be saddled with the silly, giggling brat. She’s not out of school, yet, for Pete’s sake!’

  Ethel stared at him wide-eyed.

  ‘I think I have a right to participate in the decision-making on my future, don’t you?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s what Sarah said this morning, when I told her about the . . . the baby.’

  ‘Sensible Sarah!’ He put his hand over hers on the library table. ‘I’m being absolutely straight with you, old girl. If I am to get married, I know of no one I would rather be hitched up to than you.’ He smiled into her eyes. ‘Don’t you think you could face it? I mean, do you like me . . . enough?’

  Ethel tried to smile back, accepting that this was the nearest she would ever get to receiving a declaration of love. But she lost control of her lower lip, her throat tightened and finally she subsided onto a leather couch in tears.

  ‘Oh, dear! Ethel, do you dislike me that much?’

  She mopped her face and looked up, sniffing, desperately trying to control herself. His heavenly blue eyes were gazing
at her, anxiously, wavy blond hair falling over his forehead. ‘Oh Paul, you idiot! I’ve . . . adored you ever since you came to that Christmas party . . .’

  ‘Seriously?’ His white teeth flashed at her. ‘Great Scott! Well why the devil didn’t you say so before?’

  ‘Because I didn’t think you . . . felt the same.’

  ‘Silly cuckoo.’ He put his arms round her, kissing her forehead. He didn’t think he did feel quite the same, but she was a jolly good sport, excellent company. And he had enjoyed making love to her . . .

  *

  In his study, Peregrine poured two stiff whiskies and soda. Hubert, who seldom touched spirits and never in the middle of the afternoon, downed his in two gulps and felt much better. His host’s went down in one, and the glasses were immediately refilled. Then the two men sat down either side of the fire saying meaningless things like, ‘Hmm, sticky one, what?’ And, ‘Yes, tricky. Very tricky.’

  Meanwhile, Littlejohn served tea in the drawing-room, his expression studiously impassive as he passed the delicate porcelain cups through an atmosphere he could have cut with a knife. The mistress of the house went through the afternoon tea ritual with icy formality, watched with cynical humour by her daughter; while young Mrs Gaudion kept an anxious eye on her mother, obviously fearing the little woman might explode at any minute.

  *

  Paul gave a brief tap on the study door before marching Ethel into the room by the hand. ‘Right, Pater. Ethel and I have discussed matters and we have decided we wish to be married as soon as possible.’ No point in beating about the bush; better to take the proverbial bull by the horns and present the old man with a fait accompli.

  Peregrine had mellowed with his third whisky, but not sufficiently to like the idea. However, he didn’t wish to appear awkward . . . ‘Hmm. I see. Well, what do you think, Hubert?’

  Hubert, still nursing his second, sighed with relief. ‘Fine. Excellent idea. Better go and tell the ladies don’t you think, old chap?’