Island of Secrets

by Karen Abbott

  Christi nodded. Much to her surprise, it had been rather pleasant, satisfying. Her throat felt soothed. “Yes, it was good. I could quite take to them.”

  Jean-Claude smiled. “We have the belief that if you have your first oyster here on the island—and enjoy it—then you will always return here. The oysters, the food of love, will draw you back. It seems that you may have your future here, mademoiselle. Does that appeal to you?”

  Christi flung him a searching look. Was he teasing—or did he really want an answer? She laughed lightly.

  “It might … if the weather improves. Who knows?”

  She turned away. The close contact with him unnerved her. The oyster tasting was a sensual act in itself, she decided and the truth was, that deep within her, her presence here felt … right. She couldn’t quite explain it, even to herself but she already felt as if she belonged here.

  And she liked to think of her grandmother doing similar tasks to what she was doing now. Her grandmother had lived on the island for a while – not here, precisely, but somewhere very similar and Christi couldn’t imagine that she wouldn’t have joined in the work. From wartime novels she had read, she knew the catch-phrase in England had been, ‘There’s a war on, you know!’ And most people had pitched in together. It would have been no different here—probably even more so for she knew the French had suffered great deprivations during the German occupation. Growing food would have been high on the priority list on an island such as this.

  She couldn’t help wondering why her grandmother had come to Ile d’Oleron. Why here – out of all the areas of France she might have gone to? What was the purpose of her extended visit? Jean-Claude had mentioned the resistance work that had occurred here. Was her grandmother connected to that in some way? She wished she knew more about it ... but she had promised to wait until the season was over, so wait she must.

  The one blight on scene was Virginie’s constant hostility towards her. It was like living on the edge of a volcano, wondering when the next eruption would be. She knew that the other adults were aware of it … and they made every effort to ward off any rumblings without actually saying so. Oncle Georges’ eyebrows would furrow … or tante Marie would suddenly offer more coffee … or Jean-Claude’s right eyebrow would rise a fraction as he held his cousin in what seemed to be a ‘just you dare’ sort of look that Christi remembered well from her aunt Edith if she had ever dared to contemplate misbehaving in public. But Virginie seemed to delight as much in taunting them as in taunting her—now why should that be?

  Thankfully, the girl generally heeded the warnings, albeit with some defiance and she usually disappeared to her room as soon as the evening meal was over, to study—and play loud music. Even that caused glances to pass from Georges to Marie or to Jean-Claude, whoever was there; glances that seemed to suggest that one or other of them was about to stride up there and demand some peace and quiet … except, whatever it was, held them back.

  On Friday afternoon, the rain ceased. By four o’clock the sun had broken through the clouds and a gentle steam was arising from the lush vegetation. The whole place was suddenly brighter.

  Christi was amazed at the transformation. The cream-washed buildings reflected the brilliance of the sun and the orange roof tiles glowed with warmth against the bright blue of the fast-clearing sky. A number of peacocks emerged from their covered area, the males strutting around dragging their colourful plumage behind them like kings bearing their trains at court, casting disdainful looks at the lesser creatures.

  Even amongst the oyster workers, there was a lighter atmosphere, as if they had shed their cares along with their water-proofs and, on their way back to the farmhouse, Jean-Claude promised, that if the good weather continued, they would be able to work upon the land the following week.

  There was much to be done in the preparation of the camping sites before the influx of visitors who were expected within a few weeks.

  After dinner, Virginie reminded her mother that she was meeting friends at the local discotheque in the nearby town. Marie smiled across at Christi. “Maybe you would like to join them, Christi? I’m sure they will make you very welcome.”

  The scowl on Virginie’s face didn’t back up that hope. “That is not possible,” she swiftly objected. “There’s only room for the six of us in Antoine’s car.”

  “Virginie! Apologise at once!” Georges barked.

  “No, no! It’s all right!” Christi hastily interrupted. The last thing she wanted was another argument with Virginie. “Besides, it has been a busy week. I could do with a quiet evening in,” she finished lamely.

  Jean-Claude laid down his wine glass. “You have worked hard all week.” He grinned across at her. “Cinderella shall go to the ball! I too am meeting some of my friends … and we will be delighted to have your company.”

  Christi realised that everyone’s eyes had swung away from Jean-Claude and were fixed upon her. She could feel her cheeks reddening.

  “I … er …” She caught sight of Virginie’s face. It shocked her; it was so full of hate. Now, why …?

  But Jean-Claude was waiting for an answer. She turned her attention back to him. It would be nice to go out somewhere. So far, she hadn’t left the farm since she arrived four days ago. She nodded. “Yes, that would be nice. Thank you.”

  Jean-Claude pushed back his chair and stood up. “Then that is settled. We’ll leave in …” He consulted his watch. “… three quarters of an hour. I must finish some paper-work in the office first.” He paused. “Dress casually. We meet at a bar.”

  Christi nodded, still too perturbed at the expression on Virginie’s face to speak, and Jean-Claude left the room. Virginie pressed her lips together and dropped her gaze.

  Christi’s eye-brows puckered, as she considered the girl’s reaction. No-one else seemed to have noticed … or else they were ignoring it. The conversation around the table picked up again, leaving only Christi a little subdued.

  By the end of the pleasant evening she had forgotten about it. Jean-Claude had driven the family car into town. The few hours of sunshine had encouraged bar proprietors to unfurl the gaily-coloured awnings over the front of their premises. With his arm resting casually on her shoulders, Jean-Claude introduced her to his friends—Alexis … Matthieu … Claire … Sophie … Caroline … Simon … Joel. She knew she would never remember them all but she smiled and murmured, “Enchantée,” after each introduction. They were of a mixed age-range, she noticed, herself being one of the younger ones. It made her speculate on Jean-Claude’s age. Probably six or seven years older than she was, she conjectured.

  During their casual conversation she had discovered that his parents, too, were no longer living. His mother had died in childbirth, along with his unborn sister and his father had lived until the previous year, when he had died of a heart attack. Maybe that was why he seemed to understand her need to know more about her grandparents.

  At around ten o’clock, she found herself stifling a yawn. After four days of hard manual work, she was feeling the after-effects and, although none of their party was smoking, others were. The smoky atmosphere made her feel hot and uncomfortable. She needed her bed.

  Jean-Claude drained his glass. “It’s time we were off. It’s been a tough week,” he excused himself to the others. Amidst laughter that he was getting weak in his old age, he slipped from his stool and handed Christi her jacket. “It is general site-clearing tomorrow. I can’t have my work-force falling asleep on the job! Bon nuit!”

  In companionable silence they walked back to the car. Christi was conscious of the light touch of his arm about her shoulders. Mmm. It felt … nice. Her lips tingled. She found herself wondering what his lips would feel like upon hers and glanced up at him, finding his eyes smiling down at her. She blushed. Did he know what she was thinking?

  “Are you as tired as you seemed in the bar?”

  “N … no. The fresh air has revived me a little, I think. Why?”

  “I just thought
it would be pleasant to drive around part of the island. That would give you some idea of the place … unless you would rather go straight home, of course.”

  “No. That would be lovely. I’ll enjoy that. Thank you.”

  He smiled warmly. “You’re welcome.”

  He changed gear and took the next right turn. They drove along the edge of a sandy beach. There was a narrow area of grass and a few trees separating the road from the sea but they were no barrier to the view.

  Christi wound down the window and breathed in the tangy air. “It’s beautiful and so peaceful.”

  They drove in silence for a while. Eventually, Jean-Claude slowed down the car, turned right between some trees and parked facing the sea.

  “This is as far as the road will take us before we need to turn inland for while. It is a good place to stop for a few minutes.”

  He switched off the engine and leaned back in his seat, half turned towards her.

  Christi caught her breath. Would he want to kiss her? She knew she wanted him to—but would it be wise? She wasn’t sure. He was nice … and she had enjoyed the evening. But she wasn’t ready for a relationship yet. If she became attached to Jean-Claude and it didn’t work out, it could make it awkward for them. She wanted to be free from entanglements … of every kind.

  She turned to look out of the window. Everything was so still out there … not like her racing heart. Lights twinkled from the mainland across the water.

  “What’s over there?”

  “That is La Rochelle. It is our nearest large town. It is a good place to go for a day out. A cruise ship departs to there from Boyardville most days in the high season.”

  “Boyardville?”

  “One of the island’s ports. It is a few kilometres further on from here. See that large stone edifice out there in the bay ... about halfway between the island and the mainland?”

  A rectangular block was silhouetted against the sky. A bright light twinkled at regular intervals. She knew Jean-Claude was studying her profile but she kept her eyes on the sea.

  “Yes. Is it a sort of lighthouse?”

  “Un phare? In a way. It’s really a fort—Fort Boyard. It was built during the Napoleonic wars, strategically placed between the mainland and the island so that no portion of the inlet was out reach of our guns … to prevent the English invading France!”

  Christi detected the laughter in his voice. “And now you welcome us with open arms.” She turned to face him as she spoke, surprised to see how close Jean-Claude’s face was as he peered forwards to follow her line of vision. Her voice faded away as a feeling of warmth stirred inside her. Her lips tingled. If he was to kiss her, she was sure she would enjoy it. The air felt electric. She held her breath.

  Jean-Claude’s right arm was resting along the back of her seat. He raised his hand and brushed back some wayward wisps of her hair with the back of his fingers. The smooth backs of his fingernails left a burning trail across her cheek. Christi’s eyes opened wider and she couldn’t stop a sharp intake of breath.

  She moved her cheek closer to his touch, enjoying the sensation. For the briefest of moments, his lips brushed hers. A flicker of response swelled within her and her lips parted slightly. A frisson of desire swept over her but before the kiss had chance to flower, Jean-Claude took his lips along the line his fingers had already claimed, just above her jawline. He nibbled slightly at her earlobe, sending waves of tremors down her spine.

  When he pulled away, his face was serious. He didn’t speak immediately and Christi wasn’t sure what he was thinking. She hoped he wasn’t regretting their brief kiss. It had given her a taste for more.

  When he spoke, he continued his previous line of conversation. “This island … indeed my country … has good cause to welcome the English. We would not have a country, certainly not in its present form, but for the help of your country’s men and women in the two great wars. The German soldiers occupied much of the island during the last war. They made the citadel in Le Chateau their Head Quarters. There was much hardship and fear for the locals. Many joined the Resistance—and paid for it with their lives. There is a memorial stone in one of the Parks in Le Chateau and others at various places around the island dedicated to their memory.”

  Christi swallowed hard, both sorry and relieved by the change of direction of the conversation. Did the brief kiss mean nothing to him? Maybe he kissed so many girls that that particular kiss was no importance to him? She thought it best to follow his lead.

  “Yes. I wonder if my grandmother, Angela, helped in the Resistance?” Her voice grew wistful. “It would be nice to know more about her … and the ones she knew here … and fell in love with.”

  Jean-Claude’s face hovered closely to hers. He seemed to about to say something … but didn’t. Instead, he drew back and settled in his seat.

  “As I told you, there will be time to make enquiries later on.”

  His expression has closed in on itself, Christi noted. Now, what had caused that?

  Whatever it was, their close moment had passed and Christi, too, settled back in her seat. It had been a tough week … and tomorrow, Virginie would be at home all day since Saturday sports had been cancelled due to water-logged grounds. Christi had the uncomfortable feeling that the day wouldn’t go as smoothly as it ought.

  Chapter Five

  Saturday dawned as a beautiful day. When Christi drew back her curtains, the sun was already warming the air, making clouds of mist rise up from the rain-drenched earth. The sky was a brilliant blue, with just a few white clouds drifting lazily across the island in the direction of the mainland.

  What a difference it made! Christi hurried through her morning wash routine and joined those already seated at the table with a cheerful, ‘Bonjour.”

  Jean-Claude was busy writing out the day’s work-list, intermittently munching a croissant and sipping a cup of black coffee. He looked up and smiled, responding to her greeting.

  Christi felt a surprising lurch within her as the warmth of his smile rested upon her. Was he remembering their closeness last night? Had their kiss meant something after all? She felt a warm blush suffuse her face and hurriedly helped herself to a bowl of cereal, an oven-warmed croissant and a mug of coffee. A small jug of hot milk was by her place. She wasn’t yet over-keen on drinking her coffee as black and strong as her hosts. She murmured her thanks to Tante Marie as she poured some milk into her coffee.

  “Where did Jean-Claude take you last night?” Virginie enquired.

  Christi glanced at her in surprise. Her eyes flickered towards Jean-Claude but he was engrossed in what he was writing and didn’t look up.

  “To a bar in town—I can’t remember its name,” Christi responded, pleased that Virginie had spoken to her directly. It was the first time she had initiated a conversation. “Did you enjoy yourself with your friends?”

  Virginie shrugged carelessly. “It was all right. Antoine wants me to be his girl friend—but I told him he is too young for me.”

  This assertion surprised Christi. “But, if he is old enough to drive a car, he must be eighteen, mustn’t he?”

  Virginie pulled a face. “He is still too young. I like my men to be more mature.” She rose from the breakfast table and, as if to prove her point, she carelessly draped her arms around Jean-Claude’s shoulders and snuggled her cheek against his … but her eyes were on Christi, gauging her reaction.

  Christi flickered her glance to Jean-Claude.

  As if suddenly sensing her was the focus of attention, Jean-Claude briefly looked up at his cousin with mild interest. “Pardon? What was that?” His attention returned to the list he was writing.

  Determined not to be thwarted, Virginie snuggled her head close to his and pouted her lips. “I was just saying that you are more mature than the boys of my age. They are so silly at times.”

  “All girls are silly,” quipped Luc.

  “Jean-Claude doesn’t think so, do you, Jean-Claude?”

  Jean-Clau
de patted her arm, disengaging himself from her embrace. “I don’t think what?”

  Virginie pouted again. “You’ve not been listening!” she accused him. “You don’t think I’m silly, do you?”

  Jean-Claude leaned back and appraised her pose. Christi could tell that he hadn’t been following the conversation closely but had gathered that there was some dispute going on. He looked from Luc’s derisive expression to Christi’s mild interest in the conversation and back to Virginie.

  “You are growing up nicely, Virginie,” he temporised. As her face fell slightly, he added gallantly, “If I were eight or so years younger, I’d give those lads a run for their money!”

  “But, Jean-Claude, girls mature more quickly than boys,” Virginie pointed out. “I’ll soon be nearly eighteen.”

  Luc snorted again. “You’re not even seventeen yet.”

  “I’m nearly … then next I’ll eighteen.” Her expression shot daggers at Luc, forbidding him to make any more of it.

  Jean-Claude gathered his papers together and stood up. He gently ruffled her hair with his free hand and dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

  “Don’t grow up too quickly, Virginie. You’re just right as you are.” He swept his glance over the others. “Come on. Enough squabbling. There’s work to be done. Luc, feed the birds and help your mother with the dishes, then join the rest of us outside.”

  Virginie looked satisfied with his reply. She flung a glance at Christi that seemed to say, “So there!” and she followed him outside.

  Christi smiled wryly. She decided she had just discovered one of the reasons why Virginie didn’t want her around. She was jealous. But, surely Jean-Claude didn’t regard his cousin as a potential girl-friend, did he? And what did it matter if he did?

  With some reluctance she had to admit that she was beginning to have fond feelings for Jean-Claude. Their closeness last night had shown her that Jean-Claude wasn’t entirely indifferent to her. Not that she wanted to rush into anything, she hastened to assure herself ... but it would be nice to see where their mutual attraction, if it existed, might lead them.