Sea Gem (45 page)

‘Nothing for us, Amelia,’ she murmured. Although bartering was officially forbidden, a blind eye was turned when the words ‘where permissive’ were included. At least it
was better than pandering to the black market whose prices were shocking. A quarter-pound packet of tea now cost over seven pounds and, on principle, all three of them refused to deal with
racketeers.

‘I hear an old cycle with rope tyres will now fetch fifty pounds,’ Raoul murmured, then looked at her. ‘I’ve had some enquiries about spares from your old cycle. Shall I
see what I can get for them?’

Mary bit her lip. ‘Not for money. Try and get food or something we could barter for food. When this is all over I’m going to get myself the best car I can afford. I’ll never
cycle nor walk again.’

‘We have no eggs left, Mary!’ Amelia told her.

Mary puffed her cheeks and shook her head. ‘Can’t afford any,’ she said briskly. ‘They cost eight shillings each now, and I heard that a packet of cheap jelly crystals
went for ten shillings last week.’

‘Good God!’ Raoul exploded. ‘Even a top foreman only earns just over two pounds a week! How can poor people manage, let alone survive?’

Mary pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘It’s going to get worse too,’ she said heavily.

Amelia was alarmed. ‘How can you say that?’

Mary faced her squarely. ‘Look!’ she began. ‘When the invasion comes, as we—and the Germans—know it must, can you honestly see the Allies pouring troops in here
against all those guns? They’ll go straight to France and if the Germans here end up being cut off from Germany, who is going to feed them? It’s quite likely we shall all go hungry,
occupiers and occupied!’

Amelia and Raoul gazed at her with horrified looks, then turned to each other as her forecast slowly sank in.

Raoul nodded wearily. ‘You may be right, Mary,’ he agreed heavily.

‘There is not a damned thing we can do to help ourselves that we are not doing already!’ Mary cried with frustration.

Raoul walked a few paces in a little circle. ‘In that case,’ he said firmly, ‘it might be prudent to mount a night guard on the root crops we grow. Starving people won’t
hesitate to steal,’ he pointed out.

Mary went stiff. ‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ she said biting her lip. It was a good idea but none of them were strong now. She flashed Raoul a look of worry and for once he was
quick enough to understand. On the nights Mary sneaked back just before curfew, she would be in no fit state to stand a night guard on their growing produce.

‘I’ll work something out,’ he grunted, aware of his wife’s presence. ‘There is another bit of news I heard and it seems fact, not rumour. The Germans are
constructing a huge underground hospital at La Vassalerie in St Andrews Parish.’

‘Underground?’

‘TODT slave workers are on the job. It’s going to be just about invisible from the surface, except for the ventilation towers and there are even some islanders working on it. The pay
is good.’

Mary was thinking along other lines and she did not like her thoughts either. ‘That means,’ she began carefully, ‘the Germans have a good idea the invasion will be nothing to
do with us. Their wounded will be safe here which all points to the Allies landing somewhere in Northern France. I know one thing; it only reinforces my opinion that when the invasion does come, we
will be left alone—without food or medical supplies.’

‘Surely our Committee will have realised this and started trying to get stocks in?’

Mary knew there had been some frantic arrangements by the Committee in which some men had been allowed by the enemy to go to France with carefully saved money to buy precious foods and medicine.
With an invasion, this would certainly halt.

‘I don’t like this at all,’ she told them both and her shoulders sagged for a moment before she straightened firmly. ‘But we mustn’t let it beat us.’

* * *

May’s new contact now started to come on a regular basis, at least once every two months and she became used to his taciturnity. She worked it out that he must slip over
from France and cringed at the risks he ran. The German sea patrols were fast boats with trained, armed men. This meant that several times she had arrived home only just before the curfew and Raoul
became a bag of nerves.

He protested one evening when they were alone. ‘I don’t like you walking in the dark so late at night, Mary. Remember I’m responsible to your daughter for your safety. I
promised her.’

Mary was touched. ‘I’m quite all right.’

‘What if a late patrol stumbled across you? They’d most likely shoot first and ask questions afterwards,’ he grumbled.

Mary threw him a wicked grin. ‘If there’s any shooting to do, it will be me,’ she said and quietly pulled the derringer from her trouser pockets.

Raoul was shocked. Firearms were forbidden by the Germans and they could inflict ferocious penalties if an islander was caught with one. He opened his mouth to protest, took a look at
Mary’s grim face and snapped it shut again.

‘Now, Raoul, don’t fuss like a mother hen,’ Mary told him gently.

‘Who else knows you have that?’

‘Only Victor now, though Tante did—and approved!’

‘Good God! Did she really!’

‘Sam got it for me—long ago,’ Mary explained to him.

Raoul remembered. ‘It was you who shot Victor le Page!’

Mary threw him a lop-sided grin and nodded. ‘He asked for it and got it!’

The subject was dropped but then they had a fresh worry as deportations to the Continent began, brought about by a proclamation that those not born on Guernsey were to be deported forthwith.
Mary was uncertain where she stood but kept the worry to herself. It was true she had been born on Mainland England and lived there for her first eighteen years, but that was so long ago. Sometimes
it seemed impossible for her to realise she was not Guernsey born and bred. At least her main abode had been on the islands for over two decades and she wondered who really knew about her
birthplace. Did William?

William was now a superb specimen of manhood, tall, broad and with flashing good looks. He was never sick or sorry and she had to admire his brilliant mind. Luckily, she rarely saw him now as he
had lodgings in St Peter Port, arranged by his German employers. Mary knew he called to see Raymond occasionally, usually driving away in a small German car with produce to sell or exchange.
Sometimes Mary thought he was more German than the Germans themselves and she wished he would to go to Germany and get out of her life forever.

She did not speak much to Raymond because everything seemed to be such an effort. She did note though that Raoul and his sister were growing apart and she wondered why. Had they rowed? Or was
Gwen taking more after her husband? Tante’s doubts about Raymond resurfaced yet she could find no fault with his work when she checked. In the end she put it down to the occupation. They were
all under an unbearable strain from the German presence with no sign of hope for the future. They were also eating poorly which affected vitality and health. It was so easy to be tired when there
was no meat to eat and, more than once, Mary found herself casting covetous eyes at the horses the officers rode.

* * *

As the war progressed the tide started to run against the Germans. The occupiers began to take repressive measures against the islanders. All radios had been seized and even the
tiny wireless Mary had in the shop was confiscated. Mary had considered defying this outrageous order by hiding her set but decided against it. She remembered James’ wise words about not
drawing attention to herself. The last thing she wanted was the enemy searching her flat.

However, one or two bold islanders did defy the edict. It was from these brave people that Allied progress was able to infiltrate throughout the island. It was true renegade islanders would not
hesitate to inform the Germans for a reward, so anyone with a radio was extremely careful as to whom he told the latest BBC news.

The old man came again after a long period without a visit and Mary had a thick wad of notes for him. He slipped into the darkened shop and stood at the doorway, poised, on edge, uneasy.

‘People about!’ he growled, holding out his hand. ‘I’m not stopping!’

Mary flew upstairs, collected the notes and ran back down to give them to him. Hastily they were shoved up the ancient sweater.

‘Any letters for me?’ Mary asked hopefully.

‘No!’ he grunted, still standing warily.

‘Come out the back way,’ Mary said, pointing. ‘Don’t go down the track. Go over the next fence, cross the back yard and leave that way.’

The old man shut the shop door, slipping the bolt home. ‘I could have sworn I heard steps following me!’

Mary’s blood chilled. ‘In that case go as quickly as possible,’ she breathed. If he were caught now with her notes they were both finished. It would be deportation and the
Gestapo in France with a vengeance.

She opened the back door, listening carefully but the night was quiet.

‘Are you sure you heard someone?’ she whispered to him.

He glowered at her. ‘I may be old but I’m not deaf!’ he retorted, then was gone and over the fence with a speed which astounded her. Mary stood with ears straining, heart
thumping, but all was still. She glanced at her watch, over an hour to curfew time. She locked up and slipped on a short coat, now threadbare at the cuffs and collar. Her pre-war trousers were
patched at the knees and baggy but new clothes were impossible to obtain. She wore men’s shirts all the time as being more practical and she was on her last pair of lightweight walking shoes.
She had no idea whether Raoul could repair them when the soles went. She always tried to walk on grass to save her precious shoes but she knew the day was soon coming when she would have to wear
makeshift objects on her feet.

Outside there was a slight frost and her breath clouded a little. She shivered then, walking as briskly as her strength allowed, set off for home. She walked silently because Raoul had managed
to obtain some rubber which he had carefully nailed to her shoes. Mary knew it was vital she was well into the countryside before the curfew began. If she arrived home after eleven, she could
always stay the night with Raoul and Amelia. They accepted her without question, though Raoul’s face was a constant mask of lined worry nowadays.

Mary had no idea that two sets of eyes watched her go. One set promptly began to follow her, walking with equal quiet and stealth and the first pursuer had no idea of the second, whose silence
was even more practised.

Once clear of the houses, Mary climbed a five-barred gate and slipped into a field. She looked up. The night sky was relatively clear with only a few clouds but these were high. Where the clouds
were missing, stars twinkled down prettily on her and the moon cast a silver beam over the wet grass and bare hedges.

She started to warm up as she walked, pacing herself carefully with head up and lungs enjoying the cold air. Somewhere she heard an owl hoot twice and she paused once to look around. She felt as
if the island was hers in regal solitude. She slipped through well-known gaps in hedges, climbed gates and smugly congratulated herself on island knowledge. She checked her watch and saw she was
making excellent time. She would be back well before the curfew hour started.

Her cheeks flushed pink from the exercise and cold air and she glowed warm. She was relieved the courier had called and taken her very large collection of notes and she wondered where the old
man was now. It would be raw at sea tonight but the water would be calm.

Mary knew that before her was the lip of a long-abandoned quarry, shrouded with old, well established trees. As she neared she entered gloom and paused momentarily to catch her breath and
listen. Somewhere behind her a twig gave a soft crack and she froze while her heart shot into her mouth. She thought rapidly. Had there been cattle in that field? No, and, even if there had been
any, they would be lying down, chewing their cud,

She shrank back against an old oak tree, sliding slowly behind its ancient trunk. Overhead its bare branches and twigs made a lacy canopy against the sky when suddenly, the clouds moved across
the moon’s face and the field pooled into black.

She heard distinct footsteps. Someone
was
coming after her. Their steps made a soft whooshing sound through the wet grass. Mary’s heart beat increased its tempo but she did not
make the mistake of moving. With slitted eyes she waited, her face a cold mask. She was badly frightened, yet strangely, wildly exhilarated.

No islander would dare to be out on legitimate business here in the fields at night and it did flash through her mind that it had to be Raoul doing a mother-hen act, then changed her mind. It
would have been impossible for him to have reached the shop in time to follow without her knowing.

The steps slowed a little as if the tracker peered ahead to locate whether she had turned left or right at the trees. She saw a shadow loom, tower over the gate then drop down smoothly on her
side. A head bent to examine the damp grass and Mary realised her tracks must show in the wetness. A man’s head came up, looked straight towards her and she guessed she had been located.

At that moment the clouds obliged and the moon shone down. Mary caught her breath then without further preamble stepped into his view.

‘What the hell do you think you are doing following me?’ she barked angrily.

William jumped with shock. He had not realised she was so near. She had been masked by the tree trunk and he had been very confident that his pursuit was silent. His heart lurched but only for a
moment, then he stopped and looked down at her.

Mary stood before him, hands jammed casually into her slacks’ pockets. Her eyes blazed with anger, yet she was at a loss for words as a hundred implications shot in and out of her
head.

William felt cold triumph and frustrated anger. She was a woman and should have been terrified of him; instead, she stood cool, calm and collected, glowering at him. His temper began to
rise.

For a few seconds mother and son glared at each other. Years of carefully controlled hatred from William were out in the open at last. Years of loathing and disgust from Mary glowed in her
narrowed eyes.