Sea Gem (48 page)

‘I’m going out for a bit,’ Mary said generally. ‘I’ve had bad news. William is dead and I’m going to the mortuary.’

‘Mary!’ Amelia cried with horror.

Mary nodded, lowered her head but managed to flash a reassuring glance at Raoul who went rigid.

‘What happened?’ Amelia wanted to know, leaning back against the table in shock.

‘I’ll tell you later,’ Mary said gently and turned.

She saw the Hauptmann waiting uneasily by the open front door and it was Emil who held out his arm to escort her. Mary did not know him very well but any friend of Victor and James had to be all
right even if he did wear a police uniform.

As Emil walked slowly with her to the car, letting the German stride ahead, the fingers of his right hand rested on Mary’s upper arm. They moved in little jerks. Mary was disconcerted.
What was the matter with Emil. Anyone would think he had a twitch. Then—her brain snapped into action. Looking ahead, struggling to keep a sad look in her eyes, she understood all in a flash
of lightning. Three quick squeezes and one long one; repeated again and again as they walked very slowly, Emil hindering her progress. The Morse code for V for victory. The sign famous in Britain,
known to the whole world and hated by the Germans. Mary dared not look at him but she felt hope soar wild and free. Emil
knew
. She remembered back to those seconds last night when she had
felt a queer instinctive urge she was not alone. It had been so outrageous she had dismissed it as tension but she had been right. It was Emil who had watched it all, and approved. Exultation
filled her like a fresh, strong tide of power as his fingers continued to give three quick squeezes and a long one.

Emil must have known for some time! She was amazed at her rapid thinking as she entered the rear of the car with Emil sitting mute by her side; the Hauptmann in front with his driver. William
must have been watching the shop and flat for goodness knows how long; thus her son had come to Emil’s attention and
he
, in his turn, had watched William! What else did Emil know?
Had James confided in him? She remembered James had left the keys and safekeeping of his house with Emil so did this mean the police inspector was privy to everything? It was possible, she mused,
thinking more slowly now, oblivious to where the car was driven. It was vital she sort all this out in her mind. That meant Emil had always known she had an illegal firearm going back to when? The
answer hit her like a hammer blow! Back to the time she had shot Victor! So why hadn’t he challenged her for it? With tight lips she gradually worked it all out. Because he knew about James.
He was a secret, albeit passive, ally because of his position and work. He was a true islander, British to the core, fiercely loyal to the crown but, because he
was
a policeman he was
forced to co-operate with the hated enemy. She was
not
alone after all, and never had been! Her heart swelled with relief though she knew no words could pass between them. Emil had to
continue working with the occupiers and she must carry on her secret work.

‘Here we are, Frau,’ the German said as he leapt from the car to open the door for her. ‘Would you like me to—?’

‘No, thank you,’ Mary said firmly. ‘The inspector can take me in.’

The German was heartily glad to see the islander do some work and it neatly let him off any emotional scene.

‘Afterwards, we would like to ask you a few questions.’

‘Of course,’ Mary told him evenly. ‘Anything I can help in this awful matter and—’ She let a few more tears trickle from her screwed-up eyes.

Emil, still holding her arm, led her into the mortuary, nodded briefly to a German attendant, then more doors were opened and they stepped into a sterile, white-tiled room. There were high
tables and on one of these a body decently covered. Mary wondered where the soldier was.

She stepped forward slowly, suddenly feeling panic. How would she react this morning when she saw her son? Emil tactfully pulled down the sheet then stood by her side. Mary looked at William. He
seemed to be asleep. He had been washed. His face was clean and fresh looking, though from somewhere around came the sharp odour of formalin which made her nostrils crinkle.

Mary looked at William and waited. There was nothing. No pain, no remorse, no regrets; simply a void.

She took a deep breath, nodded to Emil who pulled the sheet up again. At the door, Mary stopped, turned and held his eyes. Very slowly, she gave a tiny nod and, resting her right hand on the
wall, she let her fingers tap a silent, delicate, dot, dot, dot, dash in reply. Emil’s expressionless face cracked, his lips twitching into a short grin. His eyes shone with the fire of
respect and admiration. Then, he pulled himself to brisk attention and solemnly bowed his head to her in salute.

He opened the door and the Hauptmann was waiting. Mary fixed a look of misery on her features before turning to the German.

‘It is indeed my son,’ she said heavily, shaking her head, puckering her face to suggest more tears hovered.

Emil solicitously held her arm in support while the German, hating his job at that moment, opened a large notebook.

‘Where were you last night, Frau? he asked with quiet firmness.

‘In St Peter Port,’ Mary replied truthfully, sniffing hard to keep the tears back and Emil’s admiration moved to an even higher peak.

‘Where?’

‘I had to stay the night at my shop,’ Mary explained, using the rehearsed excuse. ‘I have a tiny flat above it and I worked on my accounts and part of a stock check. I simply
never realised the time, then when I looked at my watch, I knew I could not get home before the curfew hour. I have a small bed so I slept the night there. I’m afraid I gave my shop girl a
dreadful shock when she opened up this morning.’

Mary knew perfectly well the story would be checked but she could find no flaw in it. She hoped he would not either.

‘Do you do that often, Frau?’ was the next question.

‘Not often,’ she replied smoothly.

The German nodded and checked the known facts. They tallied. Already enquiries had been made but the Hauptmann decided this distressed mother had little to contribute to the investigation. She
was the sufferer and really had behaved with commendable dignity throughout.

‘Thank you, Frau,’ he said then, closing his notebook with a flourish. ‘If we discover anything you will be the first to know!’ he promised.

Mary decided it would be an opportune moment to display another type of emotion. She stepped forward and offered her right hand.

‘Thank you, Hauptmann. You have done an unpleasant task with tact and delicacy. If I am asked, I shall say so,’ she purred softly.

The German’s expression changed to one of great relief. He clicked his heels meticulously, bowed his head, then bawled at the driver.

‘Take Frau Noyen home with the inspector, then bring the inspector back to my office. You can do your report, inspector and it can go up with mine. I want to get this matter finalised as
quickly as possible.’

Emil nodded his agreement and the German, waiting for a salute then realising he would not get one without making a scene before the bereaved Frau, turned on his heels and strode back to the
mortuary.

Emil flashed a look of triumph at Mary as his lips tightened. He would not salute a German if he could help it. It was such little flea bites of resistance that the Germans loathed but which
were the islanders’ only form of retaliation.

‘Come, Madam,’ he said almost mellifluently at having bested the hated occupier, ‘I’ll take you home!’

They drove in total silence, neither daring to say a word to the other with the German driver only two feet from them. They sat carefully apart, lost in engrossed thoughts. Emil hugged the
episode to himself. How he would love to trumpet it all from the rooftops but he knew not one word must pass his lips.

Mary almost sagged with relief. Her instinct told her she had managed to get away with it. The most dangerous gamble of her whole life.

The car stopped outside her home, taking her by surprise, so deeply engrossed had she been in her thoughts. She turned to Emil.

‘Thank you for everything, Inspector,’ she said heavily, aware of the driver’s ears flapping with interest. ‘I shall arrange a very quiet, strictly private funeral which
I think is best, don’t you? Nothing in the paper but a notice of the day of the funeral and time of the committal. Would it be possible for you to see the editor for me? You see, I
don’t think I am up to getting in touch with him on the telephone, let alone going back into the town again. I also feel I would like to be alone.’

‘Of course, madam!’ Emil promised quickly. Oh how he wanted to give
her
a salute! He yearned to hug her for her bravery, but all he could do was throw her the most casual
nod he could muster, see her to her front door and, slipping back in the car, order the driver away with a brief wave of his right hand.

Mary walked through to the kitchen where Amelia hovered over the stove, not doing anything in particular but seeming to bang saucepans unnecessarily loudly. Tears were in evidence.

‘I’ll tell you in a moment,’ Mary said. ‘Where’s Raoul?’

‘Out the back,’ Amelia said with a heavy sniff.

Mary stepped outside and Raoul straightened from where he was digging a small patch of ground. She walked quickly over to him.

‘It’s all OK,’ Mary told him rapidly, ‘but come in so I can explain to Amelia what she must know!’

‘Right!’ he grunted as relief made his legs turn to jelly. He was getting far too old for this constant tension and he had felt sick with fear as Mary had been driven away.

Amelia gave them a hot concoction of something with an odd taste but they drank it without question as they waited for her to sit down around the table with them.

‘Yes, it was William,’ Mary started. ‘I identified his body!’

Very carefully, selecting each word with precision for Amelia’s benefit, Mary told her story. Neither of them interrupted. Raoul was on edge, holding his breath but Amelia listened
goggle-eyed. She gasped twice as Mary related the more unpleasant details while her cheeks turned bright red with embarrassment. Raoul watched his wife out of the corner of his eyes. It had shot
into his head that his dear, innocent Amelia might not even know what a homosexual was. Obviously she did and he was slightly amused to wonder from whom she had acquired this titbit of
information.

Mary knew all this. She had weighed up Amelia long ago, sometimes wondering how she managed to exist in such a state of blissful ignorance and she was as astonished as Raoul when she realised
Amelia did know what homosexuality meant! It flitted across Mary’s mind that perhaps the occupation had changed Amelia too. Did she hold unsuspected hidden depths and, if she did, how would
these break out?

‘Well!’ Raoul managed, appearing genuinely shocked but inwardly writhing to know all that which had been withheld for the moment. ‘And now?’ he asked tentatively.

‘Life goes on,’ Mary replied stiffly, flashing him a look.

He got her meaning. ‘While you’re here, Mary, there’s some soil I’d like you to look at. It’s land been lying fallow and it doesn’t look all that good to
me.’

‘Right!’ she said forcing a brisk tone that she did not feel. If she wanted anything at all, it was a long, unbroken sleep in her own bed.

They walked out together, leaving Amelia going over the dreadful story, too disturbed at the two deaths to query such an abrupt departure.

‘Thank God,’ Raoul told her. ‘I died a thousand deaths when I saw you drive off in that car!’

Mary wickedly related what had happened, then gave Raoul a queer look. ‘Emil is on our side.’

Raoul was startled. A copper? ‘How do you know that?’

Mary explained Emil’s secret aside. ‘I think,’ she said carefully, ‘when I stay late in town again I shall not have to worry,’ she told him meaningfully.

‘Hah!’ he breathed, feeling better. ‘That’s good!’

‘I’ll go over to the glass houses and tell Raymond,’ Mary said thoughtfully.

Raoul nodded. ‘I’ll be over later to get another spade.’

With a nod Mary turned to walk to where the glass shimmered in the weak sun. Though she knew they were quite unheated, she thought there might be something growing there. She knew she had
neglected this aspect of her income for far too long. Indeed it was weeks since she had paid any close attention to Raymond’s work, she had seemed so busy going to and from the shop. Mary had
a dim idea dawning that perhaps the town days might be numbered. Once the Allies invaded France and the island was cut off, no one would be able to get in or out and work from her would have
reached its useful end.

She turned up the short lane to the glasshouses. She saw Raymond bending down in one of them and, peeping through the glass, she saw him carefully weeding some root crops. Outside they had
others growing but they lacked manure and their seeds were of very poor quality now.

Raymond was surprised to see her. He had been expecting William now for over two weeks and he’d not been near the place, which annoyed him. There were days now when he regretted getting
involved with young Noyen, who had an arrogant, dictatorial side to him that no longer impressed Raymond. It was he, Gwen and Raoul who did the heavy, back-breaking work so why should William have
an automatic share?

Mary entered the glasshouse, eyes everywhere. ‘Hello, Raymond,’ she said, thinking how well he looked. He was certainly fitter and moved more easily than she did and was that her
imagination or had Raymond started a line of fat around his waist? How odd under their circumstances!

The glasshouse had been prepared for the spring sewing of the tomato seed on one side. On the other were parsnip and carrots growing, though Mary saw how stunted these were. Crops quite
unsuitable for growing indoors but at least they could be eaten.

‘Madam?’ Raymond said warily, seeing Gwen move across his line of vision carrying rubbish away. Raymond had thought long ago that he did not really care for her. She could be
abrasive but one had to hand it to her, when she worked here, she placed herself under his orders and obeyed them. For a woman of her age she worked well too, but there was always something about
Madam Noyen that alarmed him. When he thought of the miserable life William had told him about, he could almost hate the woman as a mother.