by Allen, Anne
About the Author
Anne Allen lives in Devon, by her beloved sea. She has three children and her daughter and two grandchildren live nearby. Her restless spirit has meant a number of moves, the longest stay being in Guernsey for fourteen years after falling in love with the island and the people. She contrived to leave one son behind to ensure a valid reason for frequent returns. By profession a psychotherapist, Anne has now written three novels, the first being Award-Winning Dangerous Waters.
Visit her website at www.anneallen.co.uk
Praise for Guernsey Retreat
'I enjoyed the descriptive tour while following the lives of strangers as their worlds collide, when the discovery of a body, and the death of a relative draw them into links with the past. A most pleasurable, intriguing read.' Glynis Smy, author of Maggie's Child
Praise for Finding Mother
‘A sensitive, heart-felt novel about family relationships, identity, adoption, second chances at love… With romance, weddings, boat trips, lovely gardens and more, Finding Mother is a dazzle of a book, a perfect holiday read.’ Lindsay Townsend, author of The Snow Bride
Praise for Dangerous Waters
‘A wonderfully crafted story with a perfect balance of intrigue and romance.' The Wishing Shelf Awards, 22 July 2013 – Dangerous Waters
Guernsey
Retreat
Anne Allen
Sarnia Press
London
Two violent deaths. Separated by time, but with a fatal connection…
A man loses his father. A young woman loses her mother. Both in tragic circumstances that lead, when they meet, to surprising revelations from the past.
Louisa needs to find the father she has never known, to warn him of possible danger - for them both. Her search takes her from England to Guernsey. Malcolm's journey is more tortuous: conceived in Guernsey, he travels to Canada as a baby with his bereaved mother.
Many years later he arrives in India, and from here he is led back to Guernsey to open a health centre at La Folie. This was his father's home, where Malcolm was conceived, but never lived and where his father was killed at the start of the Second World War.
At the heart of the two deaths lie stolen jewels. Valuable enough to kill for. Twice.
Finding her father brings Louisa more than she bargains for, and her life is transformed, while Malcolm learns that life is, after all, for sharing…
"Whenever evil befalls us, we ought to ask ourselves,
after the first suffering, how we can turn it into good.
So shall we take occasion, from one bitter root, to raise perhaps many flowers."
Leigh Hunt
Table of Contents
About the Author
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Coming Next
chapter 1
1939 – September – Guernsey
Betty woke with a start. For a moment she wondered what had disturbed her but then the sound of shouting cut across the silence of her bedroom. Groaning, she swung her legs out of bed, and grabbed the old, patched dressing gown that Roland insisted should be thrown out. But she hated throwing things away and pulled the belt tight around her thickening waist before tiptoeing out into the passage.
Darkness enveloped her but as she crept towards the stairs she could see lights in the hall, guiding the way. She trod softly downstairs, knowing that her appearance would only provoke the men further. Roland, her employer and now fiancé, and Archie, his nephew and her one-time lover. She could guess what they were fighting about – her. Their voices echoed around the expanse of the hall as Betty’s bare feet hardly touched the granite-tiled floor as she headed for the library – Roland’s domain and the source of the shouting.
Her heart pounded as she hesitated outside the door. She hated the thought the men were now at loggerheads and, from what she could hear through the slightly ajar oak door, close to blows. Peering through the gap, she could just make out their figures. Roland sat behind the imposing mahogany desk he’d inherited from his grandfather. He glared at Archie, who leaned over the desk, his fists thrust towards his uncle. With his back to the door Betty couldn’t see his face, but guessed it would be red with anger. He’d always had a temper on him.
‘I’ll marry who I like! I won’t be told what I can or can’t do by some young whipper-snapper who doesn’t know when he’s well off.’ Roland thumped the desk before standing up, looking down at Archie. ‘I took you in out of duty after that benighted sister of mine died. And in spite of what you claim, I never promised to adopt you and make you my heir. Why would I, while there was still a chance I’d marry and have children of my own?’ He marched around the desk to stand proud and tall in front of Archie. Betty’s heart swelled with love as she squinted through the crack. You tell him, Roland! Cocky braggart! He can’t hold a candle to you.
‘And now I am marrying and about to become a father and count myself the luckiest of men. But I’ll not see you homeless, boy–’
‘You’re damn right you won’t!’ Archie shouted, causing Betty to jump. ‘You owe me, Uncle. I’ve worked hard for you these past seven years and been paid a pittance. I didn’t complain, thinking I’d inherit one day. But now you tell me I’ll get nothing and it’s not right!’ Archie’s fists were now clenched by his side, his head thrust close up against Roland’s. Betty’s heart beat faster. Oh, dear God! Don’t let them start fighting, I couldn’t bear it.
‘I paid you the going rate for the work you’ve done, such as it was. You’re not exactly the hardest worker I’ve employed, boy. And as we don’t even know who your father was, I’m not legally obliged to provide for you.’ Roland paced around and Betty only caught a glimpse of him now and then.
‘You can stay here at La Folie if you like, after Betty and I are wed and leave for Canada. I want us to be far away now war’s been declared. Stay here as my steward until the fighting’s over and we can return–’
‘No!’ Archie’s voice, harsh and desperate, filled the air. Betty held her breath, her hands placed protectively on her stomach. She caught a glimpse of Archie as he grabbed something from the desk before lunging forward out of sight. A loud cracking sound, followed by a groan, propelled her through the door.
At the sight of her beloved Roland stretched out on the floor, blood pouring from an ugly gash on his head, she felt everything go black and crashed to the floor. The next thing she knew, strong arms lifted her up and sat her down roughly in a chair. As her head cleared, she looked up at Archie’s face a few inches in front of her.
‘Why did you come down, you daft woman! Thought you’d be asleep,’ Archie growled.
‘What have you done? Roland…?’ Betty twisted her head to try and see her fiancé but Archie blocked her vision.
‘I…I didn’t mean to hit him that hard. He hit his head on the corner of the desk as he went down.’ He screwed up his face and gripped Betty’s arms. ‘He’s out cold. I–’
‘Oh, my God! Don’t say you’ve killed him!’ she cried, kneeling beside Roland’s inert form. ‘Here, help me turn him over.’
Archie knelt and rolled Roland onto his back. One look told them both that he was dead.
Tears splashed down as Betty hugged Roland’s battered and bleeding head. She rocked back and forth, a keening sound escaped from her lips.
‘He got me so mad about me not inheriting anything. I’m family! He owed me–’
Betty was hot with rage.
‘He owed you nothing! Like he said. Why couldn’t you have been satisfied with being steward? Thanks to your greed I’ve lost the man I love and my child is fatherless before it’s born. Oh, Roland, Roland!’
She carried on rocking, as sobs racked her body. Roland’s blooded face filled her with horror. They had planned to see the vicar about the banns that very day, wanting to marry at the end of the month. She had been so happy, so looking forward not only to marrying Roland, but to the adventure of sailing off to Canada. Away from the inevitable reality of war. Roland had often said that the Channel Islands were particularly vulnerable, with the islanders not standing a chance if Hitler decided to invade.
But now…Thanks to Archie and that temper of his, she was a widow before she was a wife. And carrying the child that had filled Roland with such joy and pride.
‘We…we have to bury him, Betty. And then get away from here. I’m not going to hang for this…’
Betty looked up sharply. ‘What do you mean "we"? This is all your doing, not mine. I’ve just seen you kill my…my love in cold blood! I’ll have no part in your trying to cover it up. Once I tell the police–’
Archie grabbed her arms and shook her till her teeth rattled.
‘You’re not telling no police nothing! If you so much as start to spill the beans to anyone, I’ll say you did it. A lover’s tiff. It’ll be your word against mine. Either way, you’d be an accessory and would hang as well.’
Betty’s head reeled with grief and anger.
‘You won’t get away with that! Everyone knows how much we loved each other. And I’m carrying his child! Why would I…I kill him?’
‘I wouldn’t say you meant to. It was an accident. Just like it was with me. But they still might find you guilty of murder and you’d hang. So,’ he said, letting go of her bruised arms, ‘we have to get away. And soon.’
Betty tried to focus on what Archie was saying. Was it true? They were alone in the house and there was no-one to support her. The rest of the staff lived out and wouldn’t return until the morning. Her parents were dead and she had no other family. Although considered a bright pupil at the Girls’ School, Betty had found it difficult to get a good job until Roland appointed her his housekeeper. It was Archie who’d got her the position, when they’d been sweet on each other, three years ago. That had not lasted long, not once she discovered his awful temper. And Archie hadn’t reckoned with her falling in love with Roland. And he her.
‘But where can we go? And what’ll we do for money?’ Betty sat dazed on the floor, still cradling Roland’s head. Surely this was all a bad dream and she’d wake up and everything would be as it was. The two of them off to St Phillipe’s to see the vicar…
Archie paced around, tugging at his hair, as if that would give him inspiration.
‘We’ll have to get away from the islands. Get to England somehow.’
‘But I don’t want to go to England! This is my home, where I belong–’
‘Not anymore it isn’t! It’s not safe for either of us now. I just need to think…’ He pulled up short. ‘I know. That Ed Sarre owes me a favour. He can take us in his fishing boat. I’ll make up some story that Roland wants us to leave quickly now that war’s been declared and that he’s flying out to join us once he’s locked up the place. As for money, there’s plenty here worth a bob or two and Roland always kept a wad of cash in the safe, so we’ll be all right. But first we have to bury him. And quick, before it gets light.’
Betty found herself dragged roughly to her feet and forced to find a sheet in which to wrap Roland. She moved around as if in a trance, her mind shutting her off from the reality of what was happening. All she knew was that her life was about to change. And not for the better.
chapter 2
2008 – October – Guernsey
‘Hold it there!’ the foreman shouted to the digger driver, flagging him to stop. The giant arms stopped, poised over the hole in the ground, leaving the serrated metal jaws of the bucket swinging above Bill’s head as he jumped down for a closer look. He’d been right, there was something sticking out of the soil. The driver joined him.
‘What’s up, Bill?’
‘I’m not sure, but I think…Oh, God! It’s an arm!’ Bill had brushed some of the soil away from what had appeared to be a white stick. The skeletal remains of an arm and hand poked up from the surrounding earth.
‘Better call the police, Ted, while I go and have a word with the boss.’
Ted nodded, peering uneasily over Bill’s shoulder before pulling out his mobile phone. Bill strode off into the house, his pale face displayed his feelings of shock.
*
Malcolm Roget looked up from the plans spread over his desk as the foreman knocked on the library door.
‘Sorry to disturb you, Mr Roget, but we’ve got a bit of a problem in the…pool.’ Bill shuffled his feet before blurting out, ‘Looks like there’s a body down there and…’
Malcolm felt his heart pounding. His mother had told him…Could it be…?
‘Right, thank you Bill. I’m coming. Have you called the police?’
They walked out of the back door as Bill confirmed the police had been informed. To their right lay a gate leading to what had been an area littered with defunct glasshouses, now cleared away in preparation for the new swimming pool and changing rooms. The bright orange arms of the unnaturally quiet digger hung over the hole meant for the pool: now apparently a grave. And what a grave! Malcolm thought, shrugging off Bill’s proffered arm.
‘I can manage, thank you. I’m not that old,’ he grunted, not willing to give into his advancing years. But the jump down jarred his knees and he winced slightly, covering it up with a cough. Bill pointed to what looked like a bleached piece of wood.
‘Over there. Lucky I spotted it before Ted reached it.’ Bill nodded towards the digger where Ted sat crouched in the cabin, pulling on a cigarette. ‘Nothing’s been moved but I did brush away some soil so I could be sure…’
Malcolm nodded. ‘You did the right thing. Make sure no-one comes near the area and let me know as soon as the police arrive. I’ll be in the library.’
Fifteen minutes later Bill popped his head round the library door to say that the police were outside and Malcolm followed him to the excavation. Already the dug-out area looked like a crime scene: white-suited forensic officers loaded with bags were converging on the small white object highlighted against the brown soil. As Malcolm arrived, a man giving instructions broke off to meet him.
‘Mr Roget? Inspector Ferguson. I understand that you’re the owner of La Folie?’
‘Yes, have been for some months now. As you can see, the men are digging out for the swimming pool and my foreman spotted the…arm and stopped the work.’ Malcolm pulled the policeman to one side, saying, ‘I may have some information that will be of use, Inspector. If we could talk in private?’
Ferguson, looking surprised, nodded his agreement, and told his men to tape off the area and erect the tent over the body.
Walking towards the house, Malcolm considered the best way of explaining what he knew – or rather, what he thought he knew.
He turned to face the inspector.
‘My mother used to live here before the war. She worked for, and was engaged to, the owner, Roland Blake.’ He pushed his hands in
his pockets, feeling the inspector’s eyes on him. As he continued, he remembered the pain on his mother Betty’s face as she told him, tearfully, of the events of the night that had changed their lives forever. His own anger towards Archie had stayed with him ever since, bursting into the flame now coursing through him with the discovery of a body. His fists clenched as he finished, ‘Apparently Archie buried the body in the adjoining field, not far from the house.’ He pointed to where the digger’s arm could be seen against the sky. ‘Could have been there.’
‘Mm. Right, thanks for that. Might be useful once we’ve got the body out and the forensics come back. Must have been about seventy years ago, then?’
Malcolm nodded. ‘Yes, back in ’39. I was born the following year.’ He gazed at the inspector. ‘Roland was my father, you see. He and my mother were due to be married but…’
Inspector Ferguson let out a long breath.
‘I see. In that case I’m sorry that you’ve had to find him like this. But if it is your father’s body over there, then we can prove it from the DNA. Could be a great help, Mr Roget.’
For a moment both men stood lost in thought as they watched the forensic team erect the tent before disappearing inside.
‘Excuse me for asking, sir, but did you buy this property because it was connected to your family?’
Malcolm smiled.
‘It was part of the reason. It felt right that I should own it as, after all, if my father had lived and married my mother, I would have inherited it anyway.’ Adding softly, ‘And my mother would have had a much easier life and perhaps lived longer.’ Pulling himself upright, he went on, ‘But the main reason I bought La Folie is because it’s an ideal place for a natural health centre, or retreat.’ He waved his arms around the walled garden and to the side where the pool had been dug out. ‘Plenty of land around it and a path straight onto the cliffs. Idyllic, don’t you think, Inspector?’