One of the day’s highlights for Sue was finding herself face to face with Andrew’s and Maureen’s daughter; she squealed with excitement and flung her arms round the statuesque blonde beauty. “Sybil! No one told me you were coming! How wonderful. Jonathan, darling, this is my gorgeous cousin I told you about. My childhood idol.”
“A child of sweet innocence!” Sybil’s laugh was a low gurgle. “Hallo, Jonathan. I see my little cousin has done very nicely for herself!”
The bridegroom bowed over her hand. “Madam, you are too kind.”
“Ah! Do I note the touch of His Majesty’s Royal Navy?” Sybil arched an exquisite eyebrow.
“Indeed. The senior service,” was his prompt reaction to recognising an army type. “Where were you stationed?”
“Wherever the action was. Meanwhile would I be correct in assuming that you were still in your rompers at the time?”
“Yes, indeed. So much easier to swim ashore when the Krauts removed the deck from under one.”
Sue loved the repartee but thought she should chip in. “Sybil was driving a general during the war.”
“To distraction?” Jonathan enquired, straightfaced.
“Absolutely. But via the altar. Gordon! Come and meet the happy pair.”
A man with a white moustache and red face, his immaculate uniform stretched to the limit over his middle, bounced up to the group, grinning. “Hello. So you are Sue. I’ve heard so much about you!”
“General Banks! Super to meet you, at last.”
“Now look here, young lady. None of this damned formality if you don’t mind. The name’s Gordon. And you, Jonathan, are to be congratulated on landing such a splendid catch.”
“Thank you, sir.” The groom clicked his heels and bent his neck slightly.
The general scowled. “Remember, we are both members of the family, now. Gordon, please. Tell me, do you play cricket?”
“Yes, si . . . Gordon. Or rather I did, before the war.”
“Got a job?”
“Sue and I are preparing to start up in the hotel business . . .”
“Good. Let us know when you open and we’ll risk coming over to try you out.”
“You’d better bring a jar of Maclean’s with you, just to be on the safe side.”
The general eyed him from under lowered lids. “Remind us when we book, right?”
“What a great pair they are,” Jonathan commented when they had moved away.
“Daddy says he fields quite a good army cricket team. If you could get a team together we might invite them over for some matches. Now I suppose we should circulate.”
Greg had invited George Schmit, who had been a family friend forever, to propose the toast to the bride and groom. The amusing speech was received with cheers and clapping, but this was nothing to the noisy acclamation in response to Jonathan’s reply which even the loquacious raconteur, Norton, could not cap when he spoke on behalf of the bridesmaids.
The three-tiered cake was cut up and served by waiters and waitresses, together with even more champagne.
A simple yellow cotton dress formed the basis of the bride’s going-away outfit, worn with a white straw hat and sandals. They had not told anyone except their parents where they were going for fear of dreadful practical jokes, so after Sue had tossed her bouquet to Anne and the wedding car was driven away in a cloud of confetti, they went only as far as the Regal car park where they jumped into the anonymous, waiting taxi, and were driven back down St Julian’s Avenue to the White Rock where they boarded the Sark boat.
“Satisfied with your wedding, my darling?” Jonathan asked as they leaned over the gunwale watching gulls swooping and screaming after the scraps thrown overboard by a crewman.
“Super. I thought it all went off very well, apart from one or two minor matters. Like Uncle Andrew getting plastered.”
“And your dear little brother stuffing himself with sausages before the meal even began.”
“Mmm. It has been marvellous but exhausting.” Sue leaned her head against his shoulder. “I’m glad it’s all over.”
“Over! As far as I’m concerned the best part hasn’t even started.”
“You lecherous beast, you!”
*
If Sue had had her way during the preceding weeks, she would not have been a virgin on her honeymoon. Jonathan’s bachelorhood had been by no means virtuous but he was adamant: “I have always vowed I would marry a woman virgo intacta and I’m not breaking that vow for want of a few weeks waiting.”
And at breakfast on the first morning she admitted she was glad they had waited. “I might have been put off marriage for life, otherwise!”
“It will get better, my love. We do have ten days in which to practice.”
They had borrowed the Schmit’s holiday cottage, tucked away at the top of a valley, with wonderful views across to Jersey. It smelled of musty wood and creosote, but when the big French windows were opened onto the verandah, the salt-laden breeze fluttering the curtains, there was a sweet scent from the surrounding trees and from the roses which were determined to climb up to the verandah roof.
“Won’t you want to continue practicing when we get home?”
“That won’t be necessary. We’ll be perfect by then.”
Sue laughed. “Poor Mummy. If only she realised how inadequate her ‘little chat’ on the subject has proved. Do you know, she told me it took her and Daddy weeks and weeks before they managed to make love properly.”
“Her mother’s ‘little chat’ must have been even worse!”
“Grandma has always boasted that Grandpa never saw her without clothes, or at least a nightdress on.”
“All I can say is that you are bloody marvellous, considering your background!”
*
It only rained once while they were in Sark. They walked up to the main ‘street’ to buy provisions, rambled on the cliffs, ate, drank, made love and slept, adoring every minute, but before the ten days were up they were itching to get home and start work.
Jonathan’s mother had moved into the Old Cottage on the property, not far from the farmhouse which stood a few hundred yards inland from Port Grat. Though she appeared at first to be rather fragile, she was in fact tough as nails having survived five years of nursing in a military hospital in England during the war. The couple arrived home to find their dower wing windows open, flowers on the table and a casserole in the oven. “Shan’t make a practice of this, mind,” Jessica warned from the back door. “But do remember that if you can find anything practical for me to do when you start renovating the house, I’d love to help.” Then she disappeared in her neat little slacks and floppy hat.
“Hope you don’t mind her coming in as soon as we are back.” Jonathan was a little sceptical. “But she’s not a bad old stick. She knows jolly well that if she starts interfering I’ll tick her off.”
“Heavens no! I think she’s awfully sweet. And very kind to fix our first meal here.”
The builders had finished work on Jessica’s cottage in record time, then completed the lesser tasks on the dower wing ahead of the wedding date. Now they started on the alterations in the main house, moving non-load-bearing walls to make four bedrooms into six with an extension into the reroofed barn for two more bedrooms and two extra bathrooms.
“Well have to tap the bank manager for a loan, I’m afraid,” Jonathan said, “I hate asking, but it makes more sense to do the job properly from the start.”
“Why don’t we get the carpenters to make built-in wardrobes? It would save on buying all the furniture.”
“Good idea. I’ll get them to quote. Would you like to draw up some ideas for them to work on?”
So one wall in each bedroom became a continuous unit with a dressing table set between two cupboards. Sue prowled round auctions and second-hand shops to pick up little antique tables for the bedsides, and a variety of chairs, many of which she renovated and covered herself with the help of Aunt Filly, leaving only the beds to b
e bought new. They stitched curtains and bedspreads and scatter cushions, and Sue also bought miscellaneous old ornaments and pictures to lend the rooms individual character. The woodwork in all the rooms was white, and the cabbage roses on the curtains and covers matched the pinks and greens of the lightly patterned carpets. “We cannot have plain carpets,” Sue insisted, “They’ll show every mark.”
Meanwhile, life was sweet. First of their group of friends to be married, their home immediately became a focal point for gatherings. Jonathan soon drummed up enthusiasm amongst them to form a cricket team for the following season, and arrangements were made for use of a pitch. Jessica was very popular with the group and was secretly chuffed to be included in several of their parties. The young couple joined a badminton club and played once a week throughout the winter on the courts above the Market Halls.
Having obtained the necessary permission, the lower floor of the barn was turned into a cocktail bar, with store rooms behind. It was duly stocked and officially opened on Sue’s nineteenth birthday, 31 January 1949. Filled to bursting with family, friends and licensed traders, it was a fantastic party which a hardened nucleus continued for two days and nights in the dower wing, with fierce liar dice sessions interrupted only by forays into the stores for more beer, and into the kitchen for cans of baked beans, scrambled eggs, bacon and coffee.
*
Sarah gazed out at her drenched garden through a haze of rain. It had rained steadily for over a week, lowering even further her already depressed state of mind. Greg’s additional business with tomato pots kept him busier than ever through the winter months, months during which they had spent most time together in the past. Richard was at school all day and busy with homework in the evenings. Sue was married.
The rift between Sarah and her mother and sister had never healed; Ethel and her family had returned to New Zealand; William and his family were back in Cornwall and John and Edna, at the other end of the island, were busy preparing for next season. And of course her youngest brother, Bertie, had been killed in the war. Their wonderful, big happy family had disintegrated.
Dear God, why? Why did it have to happen? Wasn’t war said to unite people against a common enemy? On the other hand, had she even hesitated before marrying and coming to live as far from Val du Douit as was possible in Guernsey, to become part of the Gaudion family? If they could be called a family. Alice was now nutty as a fruit cake, and Andrew regularly drank himself stupid, with poor Maureen haggard with worry and desperately pretending it wasn’t happening.
The phone interrupted the inventory of her miseries. She jumped up, eager to talk to someone, anyone. Maybe it was Sue?
It was a wrong number. She paused to look in the hall mirror, recoiling with shock from the grey, wrinkled image of a woman she scarcely recognised; a creature with drooping shoulders and a sour expression.
“Hello Mum. What’s for tea?” Richard came through the kitchen grinning, soaked to the skin.
“Don’t stand there dripping all over the hall floor! Go and take your things off by the back door. The trouble with you is you don’t think! Don’t you realise someone has to mop up all the mess?”
Richard backed away, disappointed. “I’ll do it.”
“No you won’t. I know you, you’ll just spread it over the floor. Like you do with the clothes in your room. It took me half the morning to get it sorted out, so just make sure you don’t go and mess it up again.”
The lad, who looked so like his mother with his dark hair and amber eyes, retreated, mentally and physically.
His mother watched him go, hating herself. Why had she turned into such a bitter old hag? “Richard, darling,” she called after him.
His bedroom door slammed.
*
“I’m off to the bank. Want anything from the Bridge while I’m there?” Greg shrugged into his mac.
Andrew looked up from his desk, scowling. “Have you finished replacing the stakes in number four?”
“The boy is doing that. So if there’s nothing you want I’ll be off.”
“‘Bye,” his brother grunted. Always going off to the bank, running round selling those damned pots. He’d love to know just how much Greg was making off them; there had to be a fair profit for Greg to afford to employ a boy to do the greenhouse chores. When he heard the car go down past the side of the house, he opened a drawer and pulled out a flask of gin. Damn, it was nearly empty.
*
In fact Greg was making a very substantial profit. Hundreds. Thousands. But it wasn’t bringing him much joy. There were three fat cheques in his paying-in book to swell their private account even more, but for what? He wanted to take Sarah away on holiday, to see parts of the world he had only dreamed of till now. But he couldn’t see any joy in taking her while she was in such a gloomy, nagging state of mind. It didn’t seem to take anything noticable, logical, to set her off; he had only to set foot in the house and she started. And Richard was becoming so withdrawn, argumentative, even belligerent, one had to wonder if she was having a go at the boy when he himself wasn’t around.
He sighed, and pulled into a parking space. There wasn’t much he could do about it, anyway.
*
“There you are, Sue, still working! I’ve been hunting for you. Here,” Jessica handed her daughter-in-law a steaming mug, “thought you might like a shot of cocoa.”
Sue left her brush on the top of the paint tin and pushed a strand of hair off her face, leaving a streak of white across her cheek. “So kind of you,” she took the mug and sipped cautiously, “Oh, super. I needed this.”
“I honestly don’t know how you two keep up the pace. I never would have believed you’d be finished in time for the beginning of the season, but it seems you’ll make it easily, with time to spare.” Jessica strolled across bare boards from one end of the new bedroom to the other, remembering how the place used to be before the war, when Jonathan was growing up.
“There is still an awful lot to do, yet. Carpets to lay, curtains to hang, furniture to bring in. I just pray everything fits.”
“I bet it will. But it’s the catering that would daunt me. Thank heavens you have had some experience at your aunt and uncle’s place.”
“Mmm.” Sue grimaced. “I’m hoping it will be sufficient for me to cope. It’s one thing following someone else’s instructions, but quite different when you have to make all the decisions yourself.” She handed the mug back to Jessica. “Thank you. Now I’d better get this room finished by tonight if I can.”
Jonathan’s mother hurried back to her cottage through the icy March wind, smiling. She was well satisfied with her son’s choice of bride. She only hoped that all the hard work the young couple had put into La Rocque Hotel would earn the success they needed.
*
None of them need have worried. Every room in the hotel was ready in time to receive the first visitors, who were full of praise for the attractive comforts like ample, big fluffy towels, details like fresh flowers in each room.
Edna had helped Sue draw up a month of menus, to be repeated throughout the season. “Judging by the ratio of criticism to praise, you two seem to have chosen very successfully,” Jonathan remarked in early June.
“I’d rather not have any criticism at all!”
“Well it certainly hasn’t been worth recording; only three people have registered disapproval and all were obviously professional complainers.”
“I hope Gordon’s cricket team will be satisfied. Have you ordered a bus to fetch them from the boat tomorrow?”
“Indeed, and to take us all to the field for our matches.”
The Bluebird coach just managed to squeeze through the granite gate pillars next morning, with a cricket team of mixed ages from twenty-five to over seventy, all ex-army ‘types’. Jonathan’s local team were waiting with a big welcome and a hugely successful weekend followed. There were pavilion teas organised by local wives, cocktail parties in homes of host team members and, on the last night the
re was a gala dinner at the Royal hotel.
“We want to reserve our rooms in advance, now, for next year,” Gordon declared as they checked out at the reception desk. “May not be all the same names, but the number will remain at roughly twelve. Now you lot will have to come and visit us. I’ll be in touch. But I have to warn you there is no way we can compete with this weekend. It has been truly stunning!”
*
It was a windless afternoon of blue skies, open windows and doors and the sound of bees humming in the flower beds. Lunch was long finished and cleared, the visitors had dispersed to the beach with buckets and spades, or to nap away the midday heat in their rooms, while Jonathan and Sue kicked their shoes off on their sitting room carpet and lounged back with the token newspapers which never got read.
Sue smiled. “You have always been a severe critic of restaurant food. What do you think of our fare?”
“The cricketers certainly enjoyed it! Plain, simple and good, just like we planned. In fact, I thought the stuffed mackerel today was first rate.”
“Did you? I’m glad. I wondered if it might be too strongly flavoured for most people’s taste.”
“Emmy said the dirty plates came into the kitchen with all the bones picked clean.” Emmy, who had worked for Sue’s grandmother Ozanne at Val du Douit before the war, was first to apply for the job of kitchenmaid when it was advertised in the Guernsey Press. Sue thought she might be unwilling to take on some of the heavy work involved but Emmy had smiled at her indulgently and said, “Try me.” And after the first day there was never any question of her not staying.
Jonathan fanned himself with an old menu card. “Feel like a dip?”
Sue yawned. “Yes, but I’m not sure I can raise the energy.”
He stood up and grabbed her arm. “Come on, Mrs Martel, you’re getting lazy in your old age!”
The Guernsey Saga Box Set Page 38