Sea Gem (4 page)

‘You mean she’s after what she can get?’ Sam questioned shrewdly.

There was a pause and Mary held her breath as she waited for Tante’s reply. When the words came they were a measured sentence.

‘It’s possible. On the other hand, you know what Duret is like. He might fancy some kind of mother figure and what can I do? If I become difficult I alienate him; he can be so
obstinate when the mood takes him. The weird thing is I get the impression the girl, though she wears his engagement ring, is not madly in love with Duret. She has hardly mentioned him which is
surely abnormal for a girl in love.’

There was a second, pregnant pause. Mary stood frozen with burning cheeks before Sam spoke methodically.

‘If she is bright and has a temper to match this square jaw, she might prove a handful for you and how will Duret manage if you can’t? From what you’ve said, she sounds more
like the type of girl Charles might have picked.’

Mary distinctly heard Tante’s heavy sigh. ‘Anyhow, I’m going to let her run loose for a week. It will give me the chance to weigh her up. I’ve told her she can have the
spare cycle but make sure she’s warned about the rocks and tides in case I forget. I dare not let anything happen to her while she’s in my care.’

Sam grunted and Mary tensed at another pause in their conversation. She swallowed apprehensively but was surprised when the man spoke.

‘I’ve a bit of news for you which I doubt you’ll like. Young le Page is back on the island. I saw him yesterday.’

‘What?’ Tante gasped with disbelief.

‘I’d have known him without his name too,’ Sam continued slowly. ‘Blood will out all right. He looks just like—!’

‘Stop!’ Tante cried with agitation.

‘It’s no good you getting het up like that, Mistress!’ Sam replied in a flat voice. ‘We’ve known each other for a long time now. Goodness me! How many years is it
since I came to work here? More years than I care to remember. And it is my place to keep you in the picture, now isn’t it? There are some matters which can neither be ignored nor hidden and
surely, what happened long ago, becomes ancient history? Few will remember.’

‘I do!’ Tante stated grimly.

‘Oh! I’m not saying there mightn’t be gossip. You know what this island is for that but it would only be a seven days’ wonder, then the clacking tongues would find
themselves another juicy target.’

‘
Stop
!’ Tante shouted. ‘I told you long ago I
never
wanted to hear that name again. I meant it then and I mean it now!’

‘Le Page is a common enough name here and you can’t stop people from mentioning the matter to you if they feel so inclined,’ Sam pointed out quickly.

‘I can!’ Tante grated. ‘I’ll snub them by walking away.’

‘That will only make tongues wag more,’ Sam retorted quickly. ‘Now look, Mistress, you’re getting yourself all worked up over nothing and you’ll end up with a heart
attack. You’re not a young girl any more.’

‘I don’t need you to tell me my age!’ Tante snapped back acidly and Mary almost winced at the bite of anger in her voice.

Moving very carefully on tiptoes she peeped below. The old man and woman faced each other like combatants. There was deep, genuine concern on the man’s tanned face as one hand gently
touched Tante’s shoulders. Tante stood as if on parade but she burned with fury. Her cheeks were flushed a sharp red and her lips were two tightly compressed bands. Holding her breath, Mary
moved back again and waited for this weird conversation to continue.

‘Silence, Sam! I refuse to listen to any more. I am
not
interested. I do
not
want to know the first thing about him either!’

‘Mistress!’ Sam snorted. ‘You are as stubborn as your grandson when it comes down to it.’

Tante gave a snort, spun on her heel and marched off, her shoes grating on the gravel.

Mary shook her head, bewildered by it all. She knew she must go downstairs so cautiously descended, opened the kitchen door and sighed with relief at the empty kitchen. There was a note propped
against a mug. She was to help herself to whatever she wanted from the larder. With relief Mary hunted out a light breakfast then went outside.

She nearly tripped over the black boot scraper which stood six inches high but guessed she would soon learn to dodge it.

The air was chilly still but her clothes were warm enough. She hurried to the outhouse, found the cycle and mounted it gingerly. She wore her travelling clothes because she only had one other
change which constituted her working clothes.

‘You’ll be Mary, I take it?’

She jumped and turned, then slipped from the saddle seat. Sam appeared unexpectedly from around the corner and Mary eyed him with interest. He was a workman from his grizzled face down to solid,
brown boots. He had grey, questioning eyes and had once been a huge, powerful man but now his shoulders were rounded and stooped. He had large hands, well calloused; tough workmen’s hands,
and he wore a shirt with sleeves rolled up in a businesslike way. His dark grey trousers were the same shade as the shirt and their ends were tucked into boots. In one hand he carried a
pitchfork.

Mary felt suddenly shy, conscious of her eavesdropping. Sam eyed her as a grin slid over his face and his eyes twinkled with amusement.

‘You had your window open and heard, didn’t you?’ he asked softly.

Mary cringed with embarrassment. She hesitated not knowing what on earth to say as those grey eyes held hers unflinchingly. She gulped, nodded and bit her bottom lip, awaiting recrimination.

Sam chuckled. ‘I’d have done the same too in your position,’ he drawled with a rich laugh.

Mary was speechless. The old man’s grin widened into frank humour at her predicament and discomfort.

‘Don’t worry,’ he reassured her quickly. ‘And don’t take too much notice of the Mistress. She has a heart of gold really behind all that barbed wire. You see, she
adores her grandson because Duret is all she has left from her family. She was devastated when Charles was killed. If anything wrong should happen to Duret too—!’ Sam paused suddenly,
aware of what he had said. He continued with a rush of words to hide his gaffe. ‘Not that anything will happen to him because they say lightning never strikes in the same place twice, does
it? But perhaps you can see why the Mistress is tetchy at times. She is worried sick. The family is so very important to her. All this—’ and he gestured with his free hand,
‘—all this goes to Duret now . . . the last of the Noyen line. You are Duret’s intended. She was frightened as to what kind of a girl you would turn out to be because it is you
who will breed the heir and perpetuate the dynasty. Duret’s girl is the most important person alive in her eyes. She was in a real state when she went to meet you yesterday. For all she knew,
Duret could have picked some flighty, little miss and what can the Mistress do? Nothing! So bear with her, please?’ Sam finished evenly.

Mary’s heart warmed to him. With instinctive wisdom she recognised his worth. Sam was solid and reliable, loyal and utterly devoted to the family. He was a cherished retainer the likes of
which the war had changed to a rare, near extinct breed. She knew nothing could ever be hidden from Sam and she itched to question him in turn. What was the real Duret like? Not the young soldier
she had known so briefly. Who was the mysterious le Page and why did Tante hate him so? Questions bubbled but she stifled them. Instinct told her not to be hasty with Sam.

‘Be my friend?’ she pleaded in a whisper. ‘I think there might be times in the days to come when I’ll be lonely and scared,’ she confessed.

He gave her a long, hard look then stepped forward and patted one shoulder. ‘With pleasure,’ he replied warmly. ‘My family are grown up and live in town. I’ve no
grandchild of my own yet, so yes! Bring your worries to me and any doubts you might have. We’ll talk them through and the Mistress will never know. Now you go off and explore. Go to the end
of the lane, turn right and cycle up to the Grandes Rocques, then around to L’Ancresse Bay if you fancy it. The tide is coming in so if you stop off at the Rocques, do not go near the edge.
It’s not unknown for a freak wave to hurtle in and go right over them. We’ve had a few deaths from rock fishermen sitting in what they thought was lofty safety. Never trust the sea.
It’s bigger than you or me. Respect it at all times, and be prepared to yield to it always. If you fancy the other direction, follow the coast road but don’t park the cycle and wander
on the beach with the tide coming in. There are parts around here with slippery rocks.’

Mary nodded as her heart swelled with sudden happiness, her doubts and worries pushed away for the time being. With a relieved smile she straddled the black cycle and set off down the drive.

At the lane’s end she reached the foreshore and stopped to watch the tide bustle in, white frothed and impatient with sudsy spume which started to cover a line of sharp, black rocks. The
wind was stiff as it came from the open sea and a lacy curtain of fine spray filled the air, hurtling over the road and the handful of fishermen’s cottages which huddled together nearby.

Mary turned and pedalled up the road to the right, her eyes fascinated by the incoming tide. Although she had lived near to Weymouth, the opportunities to go on the beach had been rare. This
morning was sheer adventure.

Looking ahead she saw what she guessed were the Grandes Rocques, a buttress of high, grey rock which reared up to the sky. She rode up, then dismounted, parked her cycle by a stunted bush and
ran forward over short, springy turf.

The wind was stronger here and, mindful of Sam’s warning, she climbed up the smoother rocks but stood prudently away from the edge. The sea heaved in a convulsion of fierce activity and,
as Mary stared, one enormous wave began to swell upwards. It gathered itself into a mountain of water then, white crested, tipped over seemingly slowly. The water’s weight gathered momentum
and impetus to thunder down on the lower rocks, sending a fountain of white froth high in the air. The grass underfoot vibrated in tune with the rocks on which she stood as the waves growled and
threatened.

The sea was alive with awesome power backed by the wind, which blew straight from the north-west. The air was filled with spray and Mary’s short hair was soon quite wet. Her cheeks were
whipped a rich red as she stood with feet apart, bracing herself against the wind, revelling in the wonderful crisp air yet also shivering slightly. There was something mesmeric and almost
terrifying about the sea in this mood. It was the first time she had ever witnessed angry water and she was both fascinated and repelled at the same time.

‘You are getting soaked!’ a voice cried behind her.

Mary turned sharply with shock and looked into eyes which were more violet than blue. A young man regarded her with comical amusement as he pointed to her sodden jacket and skirt.

‘You’ll have to wash that out when you get home otherwise the material will rot,’ he advised knowingly.

Mary stared at him. He had finely chiselled features the like of which she had never seen before set in a strong, well proportioned face with a high forehead. His nose was slightly bent in the
middle as if it had been broken in some past fight, with lips which were full without being too thick or sensuous. His hair was straw-coloured, already damp from the spray like hers. He was much
taller than Mary and she guessed he was at least six feet. His shoulders were broad and his open jacket showed narrow hips and a lean frame. His clothing was adequate but both jacket and trousers
were worn indicating they had seen better days while his shoes were a little down at heel. He carried himself with a jaunty air and Mary knew instantly that he was the most handsome, attractive man
she had ever met in her life.

‘I thought it was supposed to be rude to stare?’ he rebuked mildly.

Mary felt herself blush hotly and hastily broke eye contact while her heart pounded in a ridiculous way. There were strange tremors in her thighs and she suddenly wished she could sit down
except the grass was far too wet.

‘My name is Victor,’ he told her, smiling at her confusion, well aware of the devastating effect of his looks on girls but not conceited by it.

‘Oh!’ was all Mary could manage as her tongue tied itself into a knot. She looked down ruefully at her soaking skirt. What a sight she must look—like a half-drowned puppy but
she knew this was but a ploy to avoid his eyes. How could a stranger produce such an uncanny response in her body? Her breathing was short and ragged but slowly, against her will, she lifted her
eyes to drink in this fine-looking man before her.

He had also been examining her carefully. His first impression had been that she lacked beauty but he swiftly amended this. If beauty meant delicate looks, carefully coiffeured hair and a
simpering fragility then she was plain. On the other hand, if beauty meant strength, health, wholesome vigour with red cheeks and tumbling hair and a total disregard for the sea’s power, this
girl had it all. She was like a strong willow tree; she did not so much resist the wind as bend with it and use it to suit her purpose.

Here was a strong character and instinctively he guessed that subtlety would never be this girl’s tool. Ingenuousness would take its place and sharp interest flared through him. He held
his breath, sure he could feel some awesome current pass between them.

‘Who are you, girl?’ he asked in a whisper as he took a step nearer. ‘Are you a wild mermaid from out there?’ His right hand waved at the heaving sea. ‘Have you
just come to join us mortals for a short while before you turn back into Sarnia’s wild sea nymph again?’

‘Sarnia?’ Mary asked, fighting to break some mesmerising spell. ‘Where’s that?’

He gave a low chuckle. ‘That’s Guernsey’s proper name.’

An even larger wave thundered towards them and the wind gusted harder. A heavy shower of spray descended and he grabbed her arm, pulling her down lower and into safety, laughing and flashing
strong, white teeth. The weird spell was broken.

‘Oh goodness!’ Mary gasped. ‘Now I really am soaked.’