Guernsey Retreat

by Allen, Anne

  At breakfast the following morning, Louisa described to Charlotte what had happened.

  ‘Oh dear, that’s made things a tad awkward, hasn’t it? I assume you haven’t spoken to Paul yet?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, I’m planning to corner him after yoga. Malcolm agreed not to speak to him before I had the chance. I’ll have to make light of it, I suppose, as I don’t want him knowing what my true feelings are.’ She let out a groan. ‘Everything would have been fine if he hadn’t offered me the blooming job!’

  Charlotte sipped her tea. ‘That’s not strictly true, is it? With your departure growing more imminent, you two would have had hardly any time to explore your feelings for each other – meaning you could have left without anything being said. I do agree Paul has messed up, but there’s no easy answer is there? If you two are meant to be together, then…’ she waved her arms like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat.

  Louisa could not help but smile. ‘So we leave it up to fate, do we?’

  ‘I didn’t say that exactly. One can always give fate a helping hand,’ Charlotte grinned. ‘Now, come on or we’ll be late. And that would not do, would it?’

  Paul raised his eyebrows when they walked in and asked why she had missed the previous day’s session. Louisa had mumbled something about over-sleeping and moved off quickly. He looked puzzled but before he could say anything, was cornered by another guest asking him a question. Charlotte chose a spot further back than normal, for which Louisa was grateful.

  Once the session was over, Louisa waited until the others had left before approaching Paul.

  ‘Um, Paul, about that offer of a job. I…I’m afraid the answer’s no. Tempting as it is, I really do need to…to be nearer my aunt. But thank you, anyway.’ She turned to go but he held onto her wrist.

  ‘Hey, what’s wrong? You seemed quite keen on the idea the other evening. You said how much you liked it here. Loved it, in fact.’ His eyes bored into hers and she felt a painful lump in her throat. God, it was hard to lie to him!

  ‘I do love it here. But that doesn’t mean it’s the right place for me to live. I…I have another life…family in England. But I’ll be coming over to see Malcolm when I can. I…I appreciate your offer, Paul. Now, I must dash as I have a session booked.’

  She almost ran out of the room before he could reply. But she had time to notice the look of hurt on his face. Biting her lips, she rushed off to find Nadine to ask if any therapist was free. She was in luck, the reflexologist could slot in a half-hour if she hurried. Louisa smiled her thanks and set off. Reflexology, like massage, usually calmed her so it was a fortuitous choice. She didn’t think it would help with a breaking heart, though.

  The next few days leading up to Easter were filled with a mixture of therapy sessions, swimming and walks or drives with Charlotte. Louisa wanted to spend as much time with her friend as possible, dreading her leaving on Easter Monday. It also meant that she was out a great deal, and less likely to bump into Paul. Somehow she managed to get through the yoga sessions, the benefit outweighing the heaviness in her heart. Just. On Thursday morning she and Charlotte set off on another trip to St Peter Port. The sky was a dull slate and the sun was hiding like a sulky child. They had decided a spot of browsing around the shops, followed by a visit to Victor Hugo’s house would be the perfect way to avoid any threatening rain.

  ‘I can hardly spend a few weeks here and not visit Hugo’s house, can I? I’m a publisher, for heaven’s sake! And I’ve heard it’s quite something: it’s been left exactly as he left it. You don’t mind going, do you?’ Charlotte asked as Louisa switched on the engine.

  ‘Not at all. I’d love to see it. Although I haven’t read his books, I loved Les Miserables on the stage. I am not adverse to a spot of culture, you know,’ she said, putting on a plummy accent.

  Charlotte grinned. ‘Touché!’

  The plan was shopping first as Hauteville House, Hugo’s old home, was not open until midday. Nadine had suggested they park near the marina while shopping and then drive up Cornet Street towards Hauteville. It proved good advice, as by the time they had explored previously missed shops and relaxed over a cappuccino, their parking clock had expired. They both agreed that free parking on Guernsey was a welcome change after London. Even if it did mean moving the car.

  They found a spot a reasonable walk from Hauteville House and joined the queue gathered on the front steps of the white stuccoed house. It stood out as being foreign as the French flag flew proudly above the front door. Once inside and having obtained a tour guide, the reason for the flag became clear. The property was preserved by the City of Paris in honour of one of their most famous sons. Even the guide was French, however her English was impeccable.

  Louisa and Charlotte spent most of the tour open-mouthed at the décor and furnishings. The guide informed them that both the house and garden had been designed by Hugo, who had apparently wanted a medieval, slightly Gothic look. Heavy dark oak furniture fought with painted ceilings and damask lined rooms to be noticed.

  ‘Wow! I hadn’t expected anything like this,’ Charlotte whispered to Louisa as they stood in a room lined with red damask and topped with a carved, decorated ceiling. ‘One tends to think of writers living in rather humble abodes, even when they were as successful as Hugo. But he obviously revelled in opulence.’ She threw her arms wide.

  Louisa nodded. ‘Not only that, but according to this guide book, he kept a mistress for fifty years, and she followed him here when he was exiled from France. Even though his wife and children lived here. He sounds quite a character! I might consider reading one of his books. In English, naturally,’ she said, chuckling.

  They continued upstairs, admiring the Crystal Room where Hugo wrote his books, and the glazed conservatory perched up high and offering wonderful views across from Castle Cornet and out to the islands.

  ‘He would have been looking out towards France whenever he was up here. It’s not that far away,’ Charlotte said, gazing out of the window. ‘Must have been strange for Hugo. He was here for fifteen years before he returned to Paris. By all accounts he fell in love with Guernsey and the people and was sad to leave.’

  ‘Mm. I can relate to that and I’ve only been here a few weeks!’ Louisa said, wistfully.

  Charlotte grabbed her arm. ‘Come on, let’s go down to the garden before it rains. It looks nearly as lovely as La Folie’s. And don’t get maudlin! You might not have to leave. Or perhaps only for a little while.’

  Louisa was not convinced but gave in to her friend. She might as well enjoy what the island had to offer while she could. And the garden did look beautiful.

  They were both in reflective mood as they drove back to La Folie. Whenever Louisa glanced across at Charlotte she seemed deep in thought, as if she were miles away.

  ‘Penny for them,’ she said as they neared the airport.

  ‘Mm? Oh, my thoughts! Well, if you must know I was thinking that I’m going to make some changes when I return home. Seeing Victor Hugo’s house, with his wonderful writing room and the views, has reminded me of my old desire to write. And really, there’s no reason why I can’t do it. I could cut back my hours in the office and work more from home, freeing up time to write my own book, not just publish other people’s.’

  ‘That’s a great idea! What would you write? Fiction or non-fiction?’

  ‘Definitely fiction. I’ve been toying with an idea based on real historical characters. My degree was in history so I’m au fait with historical research. I used to love it at uni and considered staying on for my post-graduate degree. But…life got in the way,’ Charlotte said, shrugging.

  ‘Well, at least you could be your own publisher.’

  ‘Actually, I couldn’t. We only publish non-fiction. It’s a small independent publisher, founded by my grandfather. I inherited it from my father and have been fulfilling the role of editor ever since. Interesting work, but not as fulfilling as writing something
myself.’ Charlotte turned to Louisa who glanced across to her. ‘Coming here has given me the chance to re-assess my options. I no longer want to be that woman who inherited a publishing company. I want to achieve something for myself. Something I can be proud of.’

  Louisa smiled. ‘You show ’em, girl! Now, tell me a bit more about your idea for a novel…’

  Easter Friday heralded the arrival of several new guests, bringing the centre up to full capacity. Whenever Louisa passed Nadine in reception she seemed to be either signing in new people or arranging therapy appointments. She still had time to give her a smile and a cheeky wink. Louisa smiled in return before making her way to wherever she was meant to be. In spite of the new arrivals, no part of the house was crowded and she was able to keep up her swimming. It looked as if the age range was reducing: no longer were the majority of guests in their autumn years as thirty-and forty-somethings, sporting the latest fashions and carrying designer-label bags, formed the new intake. Louisa was glad; if she were to be here for a while it would be nice to be around people more her own age. As she ploughed up and down the pool the thought of Charlotte disappearing on Monday left her feeling low. They had so much enjoyed their day together that they planned to take a trip to Sark on Sunday. Charlotte had therapies booked for Saturday and Monday and Louisa planned to spend time with Malcolm. Just as she thought about this, she spotted Charlotte talking to Malcolm outside the pool enclosure. He looked as if he was coming in for a swim when Charlotte must have spotted him. Louisa idly wondered what they were talking about before she pulled herself out of the pool. She wanted a few minutes in the steam room before continuing with her swim.

  Returning, she saw Malcolm was in the pool and Charlotte had disappeared. She slipped in to join him and they paced each other for a few lengths before she left for a hot stone massage. They arranged to see each other for lunch on Saturday, Malcolm offering to pick her up and drive to a restaurant he wanted to try.

  As she was about to turn into the corridor leading to the massage room, Paul appeared by her side.

  ‘Hi, stranger. Have you been avoiding me? Haven’t seen you around much this week.’ He gave her a searching look.

  ‘No, of course not. I’ve…been busy. Charlotte and I have been out and about, making the most of our time together. You know she’s leaving on Monday?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes. You’ve become good friends then. I’m pleased. But I hoped that you and I could go out for a drink sometime. After the weekend, perhaps?’

  ‘Oh, right. Thanks. I’ll let you know. Look, I’ll be late for my massage, can we talk later? Bye.’ She sped off, glad of the excuse to get away. Why on earth did Paul want to go out for a drink? He knew she wasn’t staying on the island, so what was the point? And, more importantly, how was she going to say no?

  chapter 21

  Fortunately for Louisa, Paul was tied up with new guests after yoga and she was able to slip away, accompanied by a grinning Charlotte, without having to talk to him.

  ‘That was lucky! But you’re going to have to speak to him sometime. The man’s asked you out and it’s rude to keep him waiting,’ Charlotte said, trying to sound severe.

  ‘I know, I know. But he did say not until after the weekend so…’ she said, trying to make excuses for herself.

  ‘Okay. I’m off, catch you later, right? Have a nice lunch with your father.’

  Charlotte walked away and Louisa returned to her room to change. She planned to swim then take a cliff walk before lunch. The concentrated exercise was paying off. She was no longer as depressed as when she arrived, although the thought of Paul threatened her peace of mind. Charlotte had agreed to give her a list of health centres to approach once she was back in London. It was time to move on.

  Malcolm took them along winding roads into the hinterland of the west coast. ‘I’ve heard about a quaint old place in St Saviours with a good restaurant that grows a lot of herbs and vegetables. Thought it might be fun to check out. The gardens are lovely, I’m told, and surrounded by woods.’

  ‘Sounds good. Are you working your way around all the island eateries? In the name of research?’

  Malcolm chuckled. ‘It’s a nice idea but might not be approved of by my doctor. But it’s good to see what’s on offer locally, while exploring the island. And it’s a lot more fun with company,’ he said, patting her hand.

  He steered the car around a steep bend and pulled into the car park. Louisa saw that the sign over the front door, Auberge du Val, was nearly obliterated by the foliage covering the facade. Malcolm took the last parking place, commenting that it was lucky he had booked.

  Although tables were set out in the garden, Malcolm admitted that he preferred to eat inside and they were shown to a table in the beamed restaurant. After choosing their food they slipped into an easy conversation and the time passed pleasantly. They both commented on how good the food was and, once they finished, went out to the garden to admire the herbs.

  ‘This is how I see it developing at La Folie,’ Malcolm said as they walked around the garden. ‘As I told you, I want to grow our own herbs as well as vegetables and I’m planning to build a small greenhouse for less hardy specimens. It’ll take time to be as established as this one is, but worth it, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes. The more home-grown produce the better. Particularly as it’s organic. Chef seems pretty dedicated to providing the best ingredients; he told us he won’t use anything that isn’t organic. Probably why the food tastes so fantastic. Charlotte was particularly impressed and plans to spread the word when she’s back home,’ she replied, sneakily rubbing lavender stalks through her hands.

  Malcolm nodded, looking pleased, before continuing his walk.

  After being dropped off at La Folie, Louisa went in search of Paul. She could put it off no longer. She found him in his office and it was hard meeting those smiling blue eyes with her own.

  ‘Louisa! Did you have a good lunch with Malc?’ Paul looked so pleased to see her that her heart sank.

  ‘Yes, thanks. It…was great. Paul, about that offer of a drink. I…I think it’s better if I say no. I’ll be leaving any day now and we might not meet again for ages. If at all, so…’ she trailed off, not sure what more to say.

  He frowned. ‘I see. Are you saying we can’t be friends? I got the impression we hit it off, but if I was wrong–’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t like you, Paul. But it’s clear there can’t be anything between us so…’ she shrugged, knowing she was digging herself into a bigger hole with every word.

  Paul looked as if he was about to reply when the phone rang and his attention shifted. Cowardly, she took the opportunity to mouth ‘sorry’, and left. Right, you’ve burnt your bridges now, girl. He’ll be glad to see the back of you. The thoughts whirled around her head as she sought the safety of her room. Needing a diversion, she rang her aunt for a lengthy chat.

  As the ferry to Sark was at ten on Sunday morning, Louisa and Charlotte were obliged to skip yoga, enabling time for a leisurely breakfast. Louisa was happy not having to face Paul.

  The weather was perfect. Hot for April and it looked set to stay sunny all day. They joined a happy throng of day-trippers queuing for the ferry at White Rock and waited patiently until they were allowed to embark. While most of the passengers went inside, Louisa and Charlotte stayed on deck, keen not to miss anything.

  ‘This is fun! It’s been ages since I took a boat trip and felt the sea breeze on my face. We should finish the day with glowing cheeks,’ Charlotte said, lifting her face towards the sun, eyes closed.

  ‘Good thing we packed the sun-cream then! I’ll have to watch it or my dratted freckles will come out in their thousands,’ Louisa replied, sighing. She reached into her bag for the high-factor sun block.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with freckles. Some of my friends have them and their menfolk think they’re cute, so there.’ Charlotte opened her eyes as the boat moved out of the harbour and pas
t Castle Cornet. ‘Isn’t this view to die for? I do think one gets a different perspective looking back on a place, don’t you? We’ve been up and down those little streets of St Peter Port a few times and thought we knew it. But now we can see the whole picture and it looks so…so much more than streets full of shops. And so steep!’ They both gazed back towards the harbour and the buildings now facing them. A mixture of white, cream and granite, they rose up from the seafront; a mass of windows glinting in the sun.

  ‘It’s as if we’re the ones being observed. All those windows are like eyes!’ exclaimed Charlotte.

  ‘Mm. It’s quite something, seeing the town rising up in tiers towards those towers on the skyline. I wonder what they are? Look, now we’re pulling away, you can see the cliff walk leading to the bluebell woods. And over there…’ Louisa continued pointing out places they had visited, Charlotte vying to compete with her own choices.

  Within moments the town was left behind and, with one accord, they turned to face their destination.

  ‘It looks so far away! No wonder it will take about an hour to reach it. That tiny island of Herm is just a skip and a jump away by comparison. Looks pretty, too. Still, I’m told Sark is also lovely and we’ll be able to cycle around it. Something I wouldn’t consider trying in London, for sure! Mind you, I don’t want to cycle for five hours. We’ll need to find other ways to amuse ourselves that aren’t as energetic,’ Louisa said, taking in the island her Guernsey friends seemed to think was magical. Thinking of them made her wonder if she would bump into Jeanne and Nick in Sark.