The Guernsey Saga Box Set

by Diana Bachmann

  Was it really only three years? Three years of lying in the darkness imagining the feel of Jonathan’s arms round her, loving and caressing her . . . the way it used to be. Tonight, for the first time, the mirage was of someone else’s arms, conveying her with passionate urgency towards . . . what? She could feel Stephen’s love wrapping her in a silk cocoon, where her emotions might lie safe for evermore. Yet it must remain only a dream. She could never abandon the children, for of course, as the innocent party, Jonathan would be awarded custody of all three of them by any divorce court. But would she ever think of abandoning Jonathan himself? He was her husband, father of her children, her partner in sickness and in health for the rest of their lives. She must push Stephen away, out of her mind . . . out of her life. If she did not, every time they met from here on, he would be an emotional threat.

  *

  They did meet again. Both Stephen and Sue realised they couldn’t just walk away from their feelings without an explanatory goodbye. The venue was Le Noury’s Restaurant in the Arcade, where they were able to sit over coffee pretending to the world it was an accidental meeting. In fact they were the only customers upstairs, where the tables were already laid for the town’s business people to come in for lunch.

  “This is going to be very difficult,” Sue whispered, not for fear of anyone overhearing, but rather because she didn’t want to hear the words herself.

  Stephen’s eyes focused across the table on her face, unaware of the untamed hair drawn back in a rubber band, the lack of make-up and the dark circles round her eyes, seeing only the young woman he had loved from a distance all his life, whom he had held, for a brief hour in his arms. He nodded. “Yes, very, very difficult.” He glanced across the room to the top of the stairs, but no one had come up since the waitress had delivered their coffees, so he reached for her hand. “But it has to be done. You cannot go on suffering this living hell. I love you, my darling Sue.”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. “You don’t understand. I . . . we cannot . . .”

  His eyebrows drew together in alarm. “What? What are you saying?”

  Sue looked down at the hand clutching hers on the checkered tablecloth; he was squeezing her fingers so tightly his knuckles were white. She bit her lip, trying to hold back the hot tears stinging her eyes. “It is impossible.”

  “Why? You don’t regret what happened the other night?”

  “No. I know I should, but I don’t. The tragedy is that we can’t repeat it. Ever.”

  His mouth opened and closed. “Seriously? Never?”

  She couldn’t speak. Staring out of the window over the heads of the shoppers below, she groped in her bag for a hankie, and blew her nose.

  “I’m sorry. I thought you felt the same way . . .” he began.

  “I do, unfortunately. At least, I think so. But we must be sensible. I mean,” her fingers scratched viciously into her scalp, “Steve darling, nothing can ever come of this but misery.”

  “You mean you still love Jonty. You don’t want to leave him.”

  “No! Yes! I don’t know. But I do know I love my children, dearly. I couldn’t possibly leave them. They need me as much as I need them. And Jonathan needs me, too.”

  He sipped his coffee; it was getting cold and tasted awful. He fondled her hand, turned it over and covered her palm with his own. “We could meet from time to time . . .”

  “No, darling. It would only be to tempt ourselves, mentally and physically. And I don’t know about you, but frankly I don’t think I could bear to go on seeing you, not without cracking up.”

  “I don’t know which would be worse: resisting temptation or facing the fact of never seeing you again.” He gasped at the painful thought. “Oh God, Sue darling.”

  “Sshh! I can hear people on the stairs. Come on, let’s go. The quicker the better. Long drawn-out goodbyes are always painful. You can walk me down to my car on the pier.”

  He followed her down, watched her smiling at the lady behind the counter as he paid for their coffees, and stumbled out to mingle with Christmas shoppers.

  “But Sue, there is so much to talk about!”

  “I know. The discussions could last throughout every day of the rest of our lives. We could make them last forever.”

  “What about the bar? What will you tell Jonty?”

  The gulls were wheeling and screaming overhead as someone emptied a bag of bread scraps on the slipway in front of Woolworths. The December wind cut through Sue’s overcoat, piercing her skin like icicles. She stopped as she reached her car, shivered, and opened the door. “I shan’t say anything. You can telephone him and say you’re sorry, but something has cropped up and you can’t come in any more.”

  “Something like what?”

  She shrugged. “Stephen, I don’t know. You’re an architect, invent something,” she was sobbing. “I love you. I’m trying to be strong. Goodbye.” She got into the car.

  He held the door, about to say he would see her at Christmas . . . but her misery, the pleading look in her reddened eyes stopped him. “Goodbye, my dearest love,” he whispered, and watched her car edge off the pier into the traffic, till it passed the States Offices and out of sight.

  *

  Christmas came and went. Part of it was really good, like watching the children’s faces as they put out a drink and mince pies for Santa Claus and his reindeers, and found sooty footprints next morning on their bedroom floors; and seeing them tear open their presents with squeals of joy. The bar was closed all Christmas and Boxing Day and Sue was happy to build up a good fire in the sitting room and dining room as soon as the turkey was in the oven. The children were awake early and continued noisy all day, so Sue worried that they would get on Jonathan’s nerves, causing an outburst. But he remained quite calm, drank little, and even played snakes and ladders with Roddy.

  When the children were in bed on Boxing evening, Sue produced bowls of soup and a large plateful of turkey and ham sandwiches. She and Jonathan had a glass of sherry each, followed by wine, then port with hot mince pies.

  “Another pie?” Sue offered the plate to Jonathan.

  “Mmm! They’re good. And another drop of port, please.”

  She took one for herself before settling back in her chair with a contented sigh. “What a lovely Christmas it’s been.”

  “You think?”

  “Indeed. Don’t you?”

  He shrugged. “If you like that sort of thing, I suppose. Personally I thought it rather boring.”

  Her heart sank. “Oh. Did you? I thought it was lovely, being in our own home with our little family.”

  “You’ve always had an obsession about home, haven’t you?”

  “It was because of the war and not having a real home for five years.”

  “Nor did I. I was in the navy, remember.” He glanced up at an old ship’s company photograph on the wall, and added, “Wish I’d never left.”

  “I’m glad you did leave. Being a sailor’s wife isn’t much fun, especially when one is shunted around with young children.”

  “Agreed. But then I would never have married.” He looked up at her. “I’m a lousy husband and father. I’d have been much better off living aboard with a steward to look after me.”

  There were a thousand things she might have said, but none that wouldn’t have started a row. So she got up and silently removed the dirty dishes.

  Alone in the kitchen with the washing up, Sue found herself wondering what Stephen was doing.

  *

  Gradually, over the next six months, it became easier for Sue to keep her mind off Stephen. Her moods fluctuated from deep depression when it was difficult to motivate herself into any activity, to frenetic bouts of industry. Despair at the state of the hotel would drive her to stripping out bedrooms and redecorating them herself, whenever Emmy was available to keep an eye on the children, or reorganising the bar to better efficiency and revitalising the menus. All this would work well as long as she continued to sup
ervise it, but the moment she took her eye off the ball everything lapsed again.

  “Can’t you watch what the chef is up to when I’m not around,” she begged Jonathan one hot July day.

  “He works better when he’s left to himself. He hates it when you interfere,” was the only response. “Your trouble is you haven’t enough to keep you occupied and you keep inventing things, upsetting peoples’ routines. I think it’s time I got hold of Steve again to take you out.”

  “No!” she said sharply, and he looked up in surprise.

  “Why not? You are becoming very scratchy and snappy again.”

  “I . . . I’d rather go out with you.”

  “But I don’t wish to take you out.” He shrugged. “Oh well, forget it.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief.

  Roddy’s first end-of-year report arrived from the little preparatory school he attended near L’Islet. ‘Roderick is unco-operative and frequently disrupts the class.’ ‘A pity Roderick is so uninterested in every aspect of school work.’ ‘Roderick often picks fights with the other children.’ ‘Roderick uses very bad language at times. This should be discouraged at home.’

  Jonathan had opened the post in his office. He sent Molly to find Sue and tossed the folded sheet of foolscap across the desk as she came in. “You’d better read that.”

  She scanned through the teachers’ comments, frowning. “I don’t understand it! I’ll have to go and see them. Find out what’s been happening.”

  “I would have thought it was pretty bloody obvious what’s been happening. You are just not being a proper mother, are you?”

  Maybe she had failed in some respects but she was certainly not going to shoulder all the blame. “He never hears me use bad language!”

  “Nor me!” Jonathan retorted. “Not unless you have provoked yet another row. As is your wont.”

  “I never provoke rows. You just develop a foul temper when you’ve been drinking!”

  “Oh! So now you’re saying I’m an alcoholic!”

  “I am saying no such thing! I’ve read that alcoholics cannot help their addiction, but you are not addicted, just moody and bloody bad tempered . . .”

  “There you are, swearing again!”

  “It’s darn difficult not to when trying to hold a reasonable discussion with a fool!” She stormed out and slammed the door, aware she was being very petty, but needing a release for her anger.

  Miss Parkinson agreed to see Sue that afternoon. Afterwards Sue wasn’t sure she had made any headway, but the elderly woman seemed very sympathetic, possibly because she knew of Jonathan’s disability. Sue left in no mood to go straight home, so she drove out to the old German stone-crusher at L’Ancresse. The afternoon was hot and sunny, the sea in L’Ancresse Bay like glass, so she left the car and walked north to the Buttes, out onto the high rocks so popular with the amateur fishing fraternity.

  There were no fishermen there that afternoon, she was entirely alone. Gazing down through the clear water at drifting seaweed and rocks whose colours were enriched as though lacquered by the sea, she longed to dive in, taste the salt, feel the relaxing weightlessness. Tempted, she glanced around, checking no one was in sight, then whipped off her blouse and skirt, kicked her sandals onto the rocks, eased herself down to a ledge near the water and plunged in.

  It was incredibly warm. A slight swell gently rocked her as she lay drifting on her back watching the gulls riding effortlessly on soft currents of air so high above her they were mere specks, like tiny flies. Swimming across a gully, she clambered out onto a hot smooth rock and lay sunning herself, loathe to go home to the noise, problems and discord.

  Sue had no idea how long she had been there when she heard a voice calling. “Hallo! Anyone there?” Sitting up in her bra and panties to peer over the rocky spur which hid her from view, she wondered whether or not to respond. There was a man standing with his back to her, peering across the water.

  “Hallo! Anyone there?” He leapt down onto a lower level, out of sight.

  Damn, she thought. He must have seen my clothes and thinks I’ve drowned. Better let him know I’m here before he calls the rescue services! “Cooee! I’m over here!” she shouted, at the same moment as hearing a loud splash.

  A minute later the man appeared swimming towards her rock.

  Sue tried to shout that she was perfectly okay, but he was doing a fast crawl, ears under water most of the way, and didn’t hear her. She didn’t want to stand up – the water had made her white undies quite transparent – so it wasn’t until her would-be rescuer drew himself up at her feet that she recognised him, and gasped.

  It was Stephen.

  Sue couldn’t stop laughing, almost hysterically. Stephen was chuckling too, sitting beside her in his sodden underpants.

  “Was this meeting fate?” she asked, “or a most amazing coincidence?”

  “I would like to claim the former. But in reality, having heard you repeat how much you used to love this place, I have taken to coming here, just to feel . . . spiritually closer to you.”

  Without thinking, she reached out to touch his hand . . . and then they were kissing, clasping each other. They could not release one another, until she felt his fingers unhook her bra. Then she panicked, pulled away and dived head first into the water, Stephen close behind. The effect of their dives was inevitable: having already lost her bra, the force of the water now dragged her panties down to her ankles, and removed Stephen’s underpants.

  Sue knew as he caught her and felt their naked bodies move against each other, that there was no turning back now. She rolled into his arms, both submerging as they kissed, surfacing with laughter, gasping for breath. “Supposing someone comes and recognises us?” she spluttered.

  “They can’t. We’re cut off by the tide.” He drew her around the rocks, away from the shore, to a submerged shelf on which they could stand, and took her into his arms again, their bodies pressed together.

  Years had passed since Jonathan’s accident had robbed him of any chance of a normal sexual relationship. Sue felt Stephen’s hardness and felt faint with need of him. Far from resisting she could only help his advance, crying, laughing with excitement as she leaned her back against the smooth granite and their bodies melded together.

  *

  “What the devil do you think you’re playing at?” Jonathan roared as she came in the back door. “Haven’t you got a watch? Do you realise it is nearly seven-thirty?”

  “Terribly sorry about that.” Sue smiled apologetically. “Got cut off by the tide out at the Buttes. Terribly silly thing to do.” At least it was the truth, even if only a half of it.

  “What the hell were you doing out there? And what have you done to your hair?”

  “In answer to your first question, I was indulging in an outing, as you would call it, and to your second, there seemed little point in just sitting there waiting for the tide to recede far enough for me to get back, so I had a swim.”

  “You just happened to have your bathing suit in the car when you went to see Miss Parkinson?” he sneered.

  “No. I swam in my undies. Now,” she grinned at the children who were sitting round the kitchen table listening in awe, “What stage are we at?”

  “I’ve given them their supper.”

  “No you didn’t, Daddy!” Roddy exclaimed. “I did! You just told me what to do.” Then for some inexplicable reason he burst into tears and ran out of the room.

  “See what you’ve done,” Jonathan snapped, and wheeled himself off to the sitting room.

  Four-year-old Stephanie was sobbing quietly.

  Sue tried to put her arms round her but the child shrugged her off. “What is it, darling?”

  “I don’t like it when you make Daddy angry,” she replied, and turned up the volume.

  Debbie, sitting in her high chair, watched and listened, eyes widening by the minute. Gradually her bottom lip came out over the top one, quivering in preparation to join in the protest.


  It wasn’t until later that night when everyone was in bed, that Sue realised she hadn’t felt the least bit guilty: not for what she and Stephen had done, not for being late, nor for the children’s distress; if Jonathan hadn’t made such a scene they would have been perfectly happy. Thinking about it, she was convinced God would understand. He knew how hard she had worked both at home and in the hotel, trying to cope with Jonathan’s moods, trying to protect the children from his recurring outbursts of anger. He knew how many times she had walked away from a potential argument leaving Jonathan crowing in triumph, simply to avoid subjecting the children to more discord. Okay, so she had committed adultery, breaking one of His Commandments, but He alone knew how much she had tried to put Stephen out of her mind, and how painful it had been never seeing him. Till their accidental meeting this evening.

  Before parting, they had promised to meet again. Well, God might not approve of that, but having now broken her marriage vows for the first time, did it really matter how many times she repeated it?

  *

  Stephen was at Jessica’s cottage one evening that autumn when Sue dropped in to match some darning wool. “Auntie had run out of catfish so I’ve brought her some,” he explained.

  “It is so kind of him,” Jessica smiled fondly. “You really are such a thoughtful person. Tell me, when are you going to get yourself a wife? It is time you were married. Don’t you agree, Sue?”

  “Definitely,” Sue agreed, avoiding eye contact with him.

  “Well what is stopping you? Can’t you find a girl you could love?”