Sea Gem (17 page)

‘You are?’ he questioned, amazed and touched as he sank down gently on her side of the bed.

Mary inched over invitingly and smiled daintily at him. ‘Of course I am!’ she told him stoutly. What a liar she was becoming! She felt a stab of conscience as she saw the pleasure in
Duret’s soft, brown eyes and felt her heart ache for him. He looked like the Duret of old again. ‘I bet there aren’t many wives on this island who have husbands who are
poets—and published ones to boot! I think you are so clever, Duret,’ she praised lavishly and crossed her fingers under the sheet. Dear God, what if he were more obtuse than usual.

Duret preened. He unfastened his shirt buttons and enjoyed the flow of admiration in his wife’s eyes. For many months now, Mary had been unavailable for one reason or the other. Dare he
hope she would be amenable to him tonight because her gesture had aroused a rare sexual passion.

Switching off the light, Duret slid into bed and lay still a moment, almost shaking with trepidation then he let one hand explore. He felt Mary stretch like a contented cat and unrebuffed, he
became bolder. It was going to be all right and his chest swelled with fresh pride.

Mary blessed the darkness. For a few seconds, she felt sick at heart as he touched her. She had a flashing vision of Victor’s handsome face then she forced this away. Duret was her
husband. It was up to her to regain what they had known on Sark. She studied his eyes and saw a fleeting anxiety mirrored then he moved over her and suddenly, she knew it was going to work and
affection rose for him.

For the next few weeks Mary waited, calculating the time. Duret turned to her only infrequently, never more than once every ten days, for which she was grateful and also sad. There were days
when she felt sorry for him. Was this a latent result of his war experience compounded by the pills which she insisted he still take? Gradually her old affection for him returned but it was with
relief, when two months had passed, that she told him she thought she was pregnant again.

Duret promptly removed himself from her bed as any gentleman would and he resumed his habit of coming in late again, being extra quiet so as not to disturb his wife. He was solicitous when he
was home during the day, which made Mary’s conscience twang and her guilt swell.

Mary found it a struggle to hide unexpected morning sickness from Emily and only managed this by staying in her room an hour longer than normal, pleading excess fatigue from all the
bookwork.

Victor was rarely far from her mind. She ached to see him but never mentioned his name, even to Sam. The older man could be as prescient as Tante and Mary was acutely aware her conduct would not
sit well on Sam’s shoulders. He was of the same generation as Tante, whose standards and morals were rigid and old-fashioned.

When she was three and a half month’s pregnant she walked down to see Tante because now she could safely say she had missed two periods. The sooner Tante knew the better.

* * *

Tante Louise was quietly worried and had been so for many weeks. She had little housework to do as the cottage ran itself with Gwen’s help. Thinking back, considering and
debating, had started to fill her days, which she felt were horribly empty. She yearned to be up at the big house. At the same time, she often wondered what was going on there.

Mary seemed to have turned fickle and, working it all out, Louise was able to pinpoint exactly when this had started. It had begun on the day she had made Mary get out in the fresh air. Sam had
told her later that Mary had returned, rather dishevelled with a torn skirt. It appeared she had come off her cycle when the front wheel hit a stone on rounding a bend too fast.

This had surprised the old lady. Mary was an expert at whizzing around their lanes on her cycle. To come off meant she must have been day-dreaming badly. She had been lucky not to break her
neck. Certainly from that moment she had changed.

The girl’s mood oscillated like a quick moving pendulum. Some days when she saw her, Tante Louise had almost fancied Mary hugged some secret to herself. Then on the next day she would be
sunk low and too depressed to talk. This had gone on for a few weeks until it seemed as if Mary was carrying the worries of the island on her shoulders.

There was also the matter of Mary’s marriage. Exactly how bad was it? Louise would never countenance divorce. It was such a sordid affair and would bring total disgrace upon the family. It
crossed her mind to wonder if Victor le Page was at the bottom of everything but no gossip had reached her. Always, when arriving at this point, her confused, frustrated thoughts would simply go
back to the start again.

‘Hello! Tante! It’s me!’

‘Mary! Come in! I was just thinking about you,’ Louise said, then wished she’d not. What was the matter with her to blurt out something like a child? Guile was always better
than frankness.

Mary entered the room and sat down, grinning at her. ‘I’ve some news for you,’ she started then paused.

Louise studied her and a tiny frown creased her forehead. She knew what a blossoming female indicated from years of experience.

‘You’re pregnant,’ she said quietly.

Mary was astounded then fear shot through her. ‘How on earth did you know? I thought I was going to surprise you,’ she made herself complain. ‘I’ve missed twice,’
she added carefully.

Now it was Louise’s turn to be puzzled. From one sharp, raking look she would have estimated Mary was more advanced than that. The glow on the young wife’s cheeks gave her an
ethereal shine and surely there was something hidden in her eyes? They sparkled and Mary carried herself differently. If Louise hadn’t known better, she would have sworn Mary had some
incredible secret.

‘Have you told Duret?’ she asked quietly.

Mary nodded. ‘He’s moved into the spare room again. He is very good at times like this,’ she replied and meant it. Mary suddenly felt ill at ease. Tante’s eyes were
narrow and penetrating and it took an effort of will for Mary to appear genuinely unconcerned. Inside she bubbled at the thought of Victor’s child but she could only pray the baby would
resemble her. It would be catastrophic if the baby took after his father. She might fool Duret but never Tante Louise. There was still the time difference to explain when the baby came but she had
already made that decision. She would have a stumble on the stairs and just hope no one would realise the baby was a full-term one.

Tante was troubled. Her instinct told her something was not quite right but she was unable to put a finger on what it was. She took a deep breath. She would think it all out later.

‘I’m pleased,’ she said in a soft voice. ‘Do you want a boy or a girl?’

‘I don’t care as long as the baby is healthy with all its bits and pieces,’ Mary told her truthfully.

How she would love this child. Her very own love child! Her precious secret kept from the whole world. It flashed through her mind that perhaps Victor would also do his sums but as long as she
denied his questions, there was nothing he could do as long as he did not catch her alone. That, Mary knew, would be fatal. Victor was astute enough to see through the lies she could use
successfully on Duret and hopefully, on Tante.

‘Congratulations, my dear!’ Tante told her. ‘I’m so glad it’s all worked out again with you and Duret,’ she paused. ‘The trouble is, it’s usually
the woman who has to wheedle the man around. To a sharp woman, that’s something easily arranged with careful planning and you, my dear girl, are clever as well as sharp.’

Mary gave a tine twitch of one hand. What on earth did Tante mean by that? Surely she could not suspect anything? While she kept an even smile on her face, Mary’s mind raced. Was Tante
making an educated guess which she did not dare to put into words? She kept her mouth shut tight and refused to rise to any potential lure.

‘Now I’ve told you, I’ll be getting back,’ she said smoothly as she stood. ‘I’ve left the children with Gwen but Margaret’s so mischievous I don’t
know how long her patience will last.’

‘What about William?’

Mary stilled and gave Louise a steady stare. ‘William is as good as gold,’ she replied. ‘He’s never in any mischief even allowing for the fact he’s younger than
Margaret. William seems to keep himself to himself,’ she challenged calmly.

Tante gave a grunt that could have meant anything. ‘Long may it stay that way.’

Louise went outside with Mary and they both studied the garden filled with summer flowers.

‘What on earth is that dreadful noise?’ Tante asked suddenly.

Mary turned as her heart started to thud. Oh no, she thought, surely not? The car turned the lane’s corner and stopped. ‘Hello there, Catherine!’

Damn him, Mary told herself while her heart flipped a somersault and throbbed painfully.

‘What do you want?’ she called ungraciously.

‘I want a word with Raoul, if you must know,’ Victor replied and threw a look at the old lady who stood, back ramrod straight, pretending to ignore him.

‘What for?’ Mary continued.

Victor strode from his car and up the path like a conqueror. ‘It’s not really your business but to satisfy your impossible feminine curiosity, it’s to let him know his mainland
friend’s parents can have the room. I’ve had a cancellation through illness. Satisfied, Mary?’ he mocked.

Mary knew she had gone scarlet with mortification and wished for a quick retort but her mind had gone blank.

Victor turned his gaze and locked eyes with Louise. ‘So,’ he said slowly, ‘we meet at last, Grandmère. How do I compare?’

‘I’m not—!’ Tante began when her words dried up. ‘I don’t believe it!’ she murmured to herself. ‘It’s uncanny! Are you flesh and blood or a
ghost?’

Mary failed to understand but Victor did. He stepped forward and grasped both of Louise’s hands in his large ones.

‘I’m real, Grandmère! Not a ghost, simply a family extension.’

Louise Noyen was so shaken that her cheeks paled. Long ago she had considered life had nothing left to throw at her that would quiver her foundations. To be found wrong appalled her and she felt
a shiver chase down her back.

‘You are the spitting image of my father Dan. Your height, your looks, the way you walk—you even
sound
like him. I’d not have believed it possible. You wear the same
cheeky expression with a don’t-give-a-damn attitude. An identical chin thrust at the world. It’s incredible!’

Mary stood quietly, watching the by-play, not fully aware of any implications, She simply let her eyes rest on this man whom she adored but from whom conventions barred her.

‘I am—!’ Louise halted, floundering for words.

‘You are my grandmère,’ Victor told her gently. ‘Words cannot deny what the flesh has produced,’ he said kindly. ‘Your daughter Christine had an affair with
a Jerseyman and produced me, albeit dying in the process. I am your flesh and blood grandson!’

‘You’re a bastard!’ Louise retorted.

‘
That
is not my fault!’

Both of them ignored Mary who was taken aback at the scene. From Tante, sparks flew as, with compressed lips, the old lady glowered. Victor was quite unabashed. He stood with his hands on his
hips and laughed, almost mocking the old lady.

‘I’ve not the time to bandy words with you now,’ he told her quickly. ‘Some of us have work to do but, mark me,’ he said and halted. ‘I’m your flesh and
blood and I’ll match you, temper for temper, all the way down the line. When I have some time to spare, I’ll be coming in your home for tea and gauche.’

‘You’ll do no such thing!’ Louise snorted. ‘It’s my cottage and I say who comes in. Not an upstart like you!’

‘You try and keep me out and I’ll hammer your door down. If one grandson can enter then so can the other.’

‘I’ll call the parish constable!’

‘And make yourself the laughing stock of Guernsey!’ Victor taunted with a wide grin. ‘It’s no good, Grandmère, you’ve met your match in me,’ he
challenged wolfishly. ‘And I’ll tell you something else while I’m here,’ he confided, lowering his voice and leaning towards her.

‘What’s that?’ Louise asked suspiciously, seething with him.

‘You know it too!’ Victor chortled then, spinning on his heels, he turned and strode back to his huge car.

‘Well!’ Louise grated. ‘The impudent nerve of him!’

Mary eyed her then threw a last, sad look at Victor as the engine bellowed into life and he drove off, cheekily waving at them.

Mary kept a prudent silence, secretly highly amused now. It was the first time she had seen Tante both angry and disconcerted. Then it hit her and she swallowed thankfully. Now Tante had
something else to think about instead of her pregnancy because, with a deep, gut feeling, Mary had an awful suspicion that Tante carried a question mark in her head about the child she was
expecting.

‘What did he mean?’ Tante asked suddenly.

Mary nearly jumped, her thoughts engrossed.

‘Mean?’

‘He called you Catherine?’ Tante snorted. ‘What nonsense is that?’

Mary floundered, not ready for such a question. ‘Oh!’ she shrugged striving to be noncommittal. ‘He liked the name and called me that instead of Mary all those years ago. It
means nothing,’ she ended lamely.

Tante stared back at her uncertainly. Mary’s answer was just a shade too pat and why had her cheeks gone such a fiery red? Surely to God the girl still didn’t carry a torch for that
wild bastard? She snorted. If there was any hanky-panky, she would soon sort it out. Nothing was ever going to happen to besmirch the honourable family name of Noyen.

The child was a boy and Mary called him Edwin. She had another of her easy confinements attended only by a nurse and Emily. Duret lingered downstairs getting under
everyone’s feet until shooed away by Emily back to his work.

For Mary, it was the end of a long, worrying road. A week before she calculated the child was due, she allowed herself to slip on the stairs. She was hastily put to bed, glad to be able to think
in solitude because Tante’s eyes, on her swelling body, the past month, had been calculating. As luck would have it, this child was not in too much fluid so she was not as gross as with her
previous babies but Mary imagined Tante working through a variety of questions.