George could smell the lamb chops cooking before he reached the back door. Gelly looked round as he came in and quickly pulled the pan off the stove. George held open his jacket and she immediately slid her arms round him, underneath.
He was not a very religious man, but to be so very well blessed George reckoned there had to be a God in His heaven.
*
Richard’s mind was working along similar lines as hugged his baby son while Anne turned the mackeral in the frying pan.
“There’s a letter from Geoff on the table,” she told him. “He and Rosemary intend coming over this summer with the children. They’ve booked into the Royal Hotel.”
Richard put Derek onto the floor to leave his arms free for his wife. He nuzzled her neck and said, “Don’t you wish you’d married him instead and could afford to stay at the Royal?”
Anne continued to tend the fish. “Well, I must admit I did find him rather attractive when we were playing the front and back ends of a horse in the GADOC pantomime one Christmas some years ago.”
“Oh yes? And who was which end?”
“He was the head because he was taller. I had the enchanting job of clutching his rear every night. Quite exhilarating . . . Oh Richard, stop it! No, I can’t bear it,” she squealed as his fingers tickled her ribs.
He took the pan from her hand, put it onto the back of the stove and propelled her round so he could kiss her, thoroughly.
“Let’s camp in Herm again this year,” she suggested when he had finished.
“In our Royal Canvas Hotel?”
“Far more fun! Who wants to be all tarted up and breakfasting in a mausoleum when one can be sitting on Belvoir Bay watching the sunrise?”
“Did I ever tell you that I love you?”
“Not since you got out of bed this morning. You’re slipping!”
*
Stephen yawned and looked at the little gilt carriage clock on the mantelpiece. “Ten thirty-five. What time did Richard and Anne say they’d be home?”
“About quarter to eleven. As soon as the film ends,” Sue replied, adding, “I wish you’d stop yawning. It’s so catching.” She stretched her feet out towards the dying embers of the fire.
“I suppose Roddy will still be burning the midnight oil when we get back.”
“Yes, and Debbie will be asleep. At least they won’t be disturbed by Step’s pop records tonight.”
“True. Did she say she was staying tomorrow night with Caroline, as well as tonight?”
“Yes. One has to suppose that the Pattersons are reasonably responsible and won’t allow the girls out till all hours.” Sue had felt an inner reluctance about Stephanie accepting Caroline’s invitation, but the girls were sixteen; you couldn’t go on playing the fussing parent forever.
The noise of the front door opening heralded Richard’s and Anne’s return from their evening out. “Hello.” Anne stuck her head round the door as she removed her coat. “Derek didn’t wake up, did he?”
“Not a sound,” Sue smiled. “I went in about half an hour after you’d gone and made sure the covers were over him. And Stephen peeped in an hour later and he’d hardly moved.”
The two women talked babies for a few minutes while the men veered on to more masculine topics.
“Busy at the yard?” Stephen asked.
Richard laughed. “There are never enough hours in the day. I’m working on three boat at the same time right now. One is ours, which I’m fitting out to sell. There are some beautiful marine varnishes on the market at the moment,” and he went into some detail on the different finishes to be achieved.
“What type are the other craft?”
“One is what Uncle George describes as a gin palace. A great tub of a thing belonging to some chap who plans to settle over here when he finds a suitable open market house.” The island housing market was split into two groups: occupation of properties under a certain rateable value was restricted to people with local residential qualifications, and over that value was open to anyone, thus protecting the true Guernseymen from being outbid by wealthy English tax avoiders.
“And the other?”
“Another very upmarket job belonging to some people called Patterson who live in St Martin’s. They’re away at the moment, skiing, and they want a lot of extra electrical work doing before they get back next week. Why, what’s the matter?”
Stephen was frowning. “Patterson? Have they got a daughter called Caroline?”
“Dunno. He is Simon and her name is . . . Millicent I believe. Why?”
“Nothing. Just that I believe they have a girl at school with Stephanie.”
As soon as the car swung onto the road home Stephen asked Sue, “Do you know Caroline’s parents’ names?”
“Simon and Millicent. Why?”
“Richard is doing something to their boat. He says they’re away till next week.”
Sue swallowed hard. “Oh hell. And I suppose there is no chance that Steps didn’t know that?”
“None, I imagine.” He decelerated. “Want to go out there and see what’s happening?”
“Tricky. Steps is touchy enough as it is. I mean, if it’s just the two of them sitting up late watching telly I’m not too worried. Should we try telephoning first?”
“To be told what fairy story?” Stephen was trying to be realistic.
“But what possible excuse do we have for going out there at this time of night?”
“The truth. That we have just heard that Caroline’s parents are away and we wanted to be sure everything was okay.”
“We could just drive up and see if the lights are still on. Couldn’t we?”
“We’re not likely to sleep if we don’t do something.”
“Oh, darling. I am sorry. But you did insist on marrying me warts and all.”
“Your children are not warts! At least, not all the time!” He grinned at her in the darkness as he turned the car and set off in the direction of St Martin’s.
“Do you think I give Steps too much licence?” Sue asked, watching the reflection of the lights of Town dancing on the water. “Roddy’s always accusing me of being too soft with her. And Daddy gave me a roasting awhile back because I let her wear mini skirts. He said Mummy would be horrified if she was alive today.”
“It’s all very well for others to criticise, they don’t have to deal with the problem on a daily basis. Come down too hard on the girl, try to make her into some fantasy dream of your own creation and you’ll wind up alienating her completely. She has the need to conform to the current standard norm, whatever that might be.”
“Whatever, indeed,” Sue acknowledged.
They were left in no doubt that the Pattersons must certainly be out or away, and that no one had yet gone to bed: the heavy beat of pop music met them as they turned into the drive. The forecourt contained several cars and motorbikes, plus a young man with jeans and long hair depositing his supper and a good deal of alcohol in a flowerbed. The front door stood open so Sue and Stephen walked in to find a dimly lit scene. It took a few moments for their eyes to adjust, and Sue suppressed an instant urge to cough as she breathed in smoke from cigarettes and joss sticks. The noise emanated from a corner where a clutch of boys squabbled over a pile of records; some couples were gyrating opposite each other, others were gently swaying, draped round each others’ necks. Round the sides of the sitting room the serious necking was under way on floor and sofas.
But it was none of this that really worried Sue. After all, she had considered herself seriously in love at the age of fifteen; it was the presence of alcohol which was her main concern. That, plus the drunken brawl going on in the kitchen.
And Caroline was undoubtedly the worse for drink. She had hiccups, which impaired her summoning of Stephanie. “Stepsanie! Hic! You’d better come up for air. It’s your parents!”
Two pairs of legs disentangled on a settee and Stephanie’s head emerged from under a black leather arm. “Mum? Mum! What are you doing here?�
��
“I was about to ask you the same question!” Sue found it difficult to keep her face straight; the whole situation was nigh in flagrante delecto and her daughter’s expression was a picture. But to reveal her amusement would be to give the girl an open ticket. So she lowered her voice to a growl. “You’d better find your coat and come home with us.”
*
Stephen and Suzanne were getting ready to go out; they were invited to the Banks for dinner.
“Any idea who will be there tonight?” Stephen asked, standing patiently while Sue threaded his cufflinks through the starched cuffs of his dress shirt.
“Just family, apparently. Gordon said he wanted to break away from the younger members, sometimes. They tend to make him feel far too old.”
“He never strikes one as being old, he’s so vigorous and full of fun. Any idea how old he really is?”
“There,” Sue said, checking the nails on boths hands, “I’ve managed to get those beastly links in without breaking a fingernail, for once,” adding, “Yes, let me think. Sybil must be fifty this year, which makes him seventy-one.”
“Really! No one would ever believe it. But then it’s hard to imagine that Sybil is fifty. She is so youthful.”
“Yes. A wonderful head of hair, still, and her skin is perfect. I don’t know how she does it.”
“Want your zip done up yet?”
“If you can manage it. I’m putting on weight at the rate of knots.” It was a currently popular Victorian-style full length dinner dress, high-necked and long-sleeved in a printed, stiffened muslin with lace edging on the neck and cuffs. Sue was facing the mirror, watching Stephen grimace as he fought to bring the two sides of material together.
“I hope this denotes your joy and contentment, my love. At least it would make it worth this effort. Whew, got it!” He staged a gesture of wiping sweat from his brow. “But I suggest you stick to water and lettuce leaves tonight to avoid any embarrassing exposures.”
“I guess I’ll be safe so long as I don’t breathe.”
Maureen, Sybil’s mother, and Greg, who both lived close by, were installed behind sherries when Sue and Stephen coincided on the doorstep with his parents, Ted and Julia Martel. Everyone stood round a charming antique rosewood cabinet, latest addition to the household, which Gordon now used to dispense drinks.
“Where did you get it?” Julia wanted to know, “It’s beautiful.”
“In a little shop up Mill Street,” Sybil said, handing her a glass of Tio Pepe.
“Ah!” Ted nodded. “One can sometimes find a nice piece up in the old quarter of Town.” As an architect he appreciated interior decor and furnishing, equally as much as exterior design.
Maureen caressed with one finger the smooth finish of an open door. Since her husband Andrew, Greg’s brother, died, she had found more time to indulge her artistic inclinations and attended pottery and art classes. “Need a hand, dear?” she offered, seeing Sybil head towards the kitchen.
“No thanks. I have Mrs Marquis in the kitchen helping me out this evening.” Sybil was wearing a simple long, black wool dress which set off the blonde, pageboy bob and diamond pendant earrings to perfection.
“How on earth does she manage to keep her figure?” Sue sighed enviously. It was more a statement than a question.
“Amazing,” Maureen agreed, “Considering the number of dinner parties she gives or attends.”
“Nothing amazing about it!” Gordon laughed. “Burns it all up as fast as she eats. Always on the go. Never stops.”
They were finishing their second round of sherries when they were summoned to the dining room. It was a deep crimson room; crimson patterned carpet, crimson walls and crimson and white curtains set off against white paintwork, picture lights illuminating gilt framed portraits and landscapes and gilt sconces either side of the mirror over the mantlepiece. Flames from the log fire and the table candlesticks were reflected in the crystal goblets on the white damask cloth and early hothouse flowers formed a centrepiece.
“I do love to see a reasonable degree of dignity maintained at dinner parties,” Julia observed to her host on her left. “There is a sad trend nowadays to wear lounge suits or even blazers.”
Sue, seated opposite on Gordon’s left, glanced down the table at the other men all in dinner jackets and black ties. “I do agree, if for no other reason than it enhances a man’s looks.”
“You mean we look even more handsome and alluring?” Gordon grinned, though he noted her eyes were fixed appreciatively on Stephen.
She flashed him a flirtatious glance under lowered lashes. “Yes, if that were possible.”
“Tut tut,” Julia murmured with feigned disapproval, adding, “But seriously, I do think there is a steady decline in standards, generally. I mean, it’s quite rare now for a schoolboy to remove his cap when speaking to a lady, or give up his seat on the bus.”
“Really?” Gordon looked surprised.
“Well you wouldn’t notice, would you. You never use a bus,” Sue smiled. “And anyway, the class distinction and military etiquette you have lived with all these years has probably cocooned you against all that has been happening in society in the real world.”
A pair of bristling eyebrows shot up under his white thatch. “Good grief! Do you think so?”
“Oh Lord! I hope I’m not blowing my welcome this early in the evening!” Sue grimaced.
“No, no. Not at all. In fact I’m sure you are absolutely right. One sees it so much on television. Decent manners and respect for other people has become infra dig. Everyone wants to be independent of everyone else.”
“I agree,” Julia nodded. “I think the nineteen sixties will go down in history as the decade of so-called independence.”
“Yes,” Sue said with feeling. “Children want independence from their parents . . .”
“The colonies want independence from the colonists . . .” from the General.
“This Labour Government encourages the workers to demand independence from their employers,” Julia added.
“And the blacks want independence from the whites,” Stephen joined in, “with which I wholly concur.”
“They have certainly been grossly exploited,” Greg chipped in from the far end of the table, “Particularly in South Africa.”
“That’s all very well and one accepts that,” Maureen said sternly, “But aren’t we drifting away from Julia’s original point? I mean, the standard of speech and behaviour on television nowadays is quite appalling. What is it teaching the young?”
“That sex, nudity and foul language are in!” declared Sybil.
“Which leaves parents like ourselves with one hell of a problem,” Sue groaned.
“Did you know this blasted Labour Government is planning to abolish stage censorship?” Stephen looked round the faces of his fellow diners. “You know, perhaps, that girls at the Windmill Theatre are allowed to pose nude providing they don’t move a muscle? Well now some character is intending to stage a show called “Hair”, providing the censorship is lifted. There will be men in the show displaying full frontals.”
“No!” his mother gasped.
Maureen closed her eyes with a deep sigh, shaking her head.
“Well,” Sybil shrugged, “I don’t see the point in paying for the view of a male full frontal. Gordon wanders round the house starkers every morning.”
Gordon cast a baleful eye in her direction. “I hope you are not offering to sell tickets, my love.”
“Don’t worry, Gordon old man,” Ted announced with mock seriousness. “I shan’t buy one.”
“Frankly I wouldn’t worry if you did. It’s the ladies I don’t wish to disillusion.”
Greg smiled. World morality was busily moving the goalposts, but it was hard to believe that the sense of values on the island would change; not in little Guernsey, so well protected from the unpleasant influences of the English Labour Government, their attendant social workers and misguided do-gooders, by the sea.
“Weren’t we lucky with the weather, yesterday?” Sue wrinkled her nose at the heavy drizzle running down the kitchen window. “Not much good for sunbathing today!”
“Just as well, I imagine,” Stephen responded. “We all had a heavy ration of suntan on the boat.”
Uncle George had invited Greg and all his family to join him and Gelly for a day-trip over to Herm – Sue’s most favourite spot on the globe. The sun had shone all day, one of those brilliant, clear August days when the coast of France stands plainly visible on the horizon. Apart from the centre of the Little Russel, the main waterway between Herm and Guernsey where all the shipping sails to and from England, and where the tide surges in and out of the Bay of St Malo twice daily, the sea had been as smooth as a pane of glass. The separate households had converged at St Sampson’s Harbour to load up their respective picnics into the ageing but immaculate craft, which George tended so lovingly every year. And once under way, Greg and George were easily persuaded to recount their adventure in this same boat when, in May 1940, they had dared to cross over to Dilette on the French coast to rescue Sue’s Uncle William Ozanne and his wife and three small children, barely an hour ahead of the Nazi advance. Roddy and his sisters never tired of the tale, and Bobbie had peppered the elderly men with numerous questions. They had pottered round The Humps, rocks north-east of the island, with mackerel lines over the stern. The catch was limited, but fun for Bobbie, and when George dropped the hook in Belvoir they had all swum together before lunch on the beach.
Away from her friends, even Stephanie had enjoyed ball games and bathing with her brothers and sister, and went so far as to take Bobbie off on to the rocks with his bucket, fishing for cabous. Aware that she needed to earn some Brownie points to counter-balance the debacle of Caroline’s party, she continued to make a big effort. Much of the trouble at that party had been caused by gate-crashers who raided the Patterson’s cocktail cabinet, broke glasses and succeeded in wrecking the sitting-room carpet. The Patterson’s themselves were livid on their return, blamed the poor maid, who had been powerless to stop the invasion, and bought Caroline a splendid new large-screen TV to encourage her into more peaceful entertainment.
The Guernsey Saga Box Set Page 55