Sea Gem (20 page)

She was dressed in those simple clothes which only money and a good cut can provide. Her dress was bright red, which should have appeared garish but which, with white hat, gloves and shoes, made
her extremely elegant. He was puzzled why her husband was not present. Surely this was man’s work? Much as he considered himself modern, he admitted he found it disconcerting to do business
of this nature with a young woman, particularly one so charming. He had not missed her square jaw, nor the way she looked him boldly eye to eye. From what he had heard of Madam Noyen senior, this
young lady came from the same bolt of cloth. She looked tough and determined.

He cleared his throat. This must be settled but would she be honest? ‘May I ask, madam, why you have come to me?’

Mary threw him a conspiratorial grin. She had guessed his doubts. ‘Because no one would think you would be buying cottages for us,’ she said bluntly.

Le Canu flushed, then was forced to smile. He had wanted the truth and been given it. He was highly intrigued.

‘So the work would be keeping an eye out for a cottage, then conveyancing?’ he asked, wanting clarification in case of later doubt.

Mary crossed one leg over the other to display a sheer silk stocking. ‘Who knows what might not develop in the future?’ she parried neatly. Her tactics had been plotted with Tante
the previous evening. ‘Are you interested?’

Le Canu was indeed. He asked a number of questions regarding finance in general, which was, he assured, no problem and Mary discreetly kept crossed fingers out of his sight. He discussed
possible mortgages, the tax situation and financial investments but Tante had primed Mary carefully. He took copious notes, one lock of hair falling across his forehead to be swept back impatiently
now and again.

Mary studied him carefully. He looked so absurdly young but she realised he was about her own age after all. She wondered what he would say if he knew about the diamonds which had been lost and
those about to be sold. Tante had decided though it would be more prudent to keep this information from him initially.

Le Canu finished writing, checked his facts, asked a couple more questions for verification, then saw his new client out. After she had gone he sank back in his chair, steepled his hands
together and started to think deeply.

Madam was but a Noyen by marriage so who was she and from where had she come initially? He was impressed by her. Although young, he had a shrewd ability to assess character and young Madam Noyen
had impressed him enormously. He was sure that, at one stage in their talk, he had seen a flash of ruthlessness in her eyes. Where was her husband?

His thoughts drifted back to a recent, long weekend on the mainland. He had spent it in an expensive country house, filled with flapper girls. They were fluffy, giggly and without a sensible
thought in their heads; concerned only with personal pleasure and country house parties.

This young lady would scorn such behaviour. She would always cut through to the quick of a situation, no matter what the cost. He was deeply interested.

He went back over a particular conversation held with his uncle at that weekend’s party. Whether he agreed with his uncle’s opinions was neither here nor there. What was certain was
that his motives were of the highest, his integrity without question and his loyalty identical to that of himself. He decided it would be of great interest to conduct a most discreet investigation
into the past of young Madam Noyen. It would do no harm and there was no telling what good might not arise in the end.

* * *

Duret had decided. Enough was more than enough. For as long as he could remember, he had been subject to petticoat rule. The one time he had enjoyed sole, masculine
companionship all day and night was during the war. He had hoped his marriage would change matters at home but instead they had gone from bad to worse.

Grandmère was still around behaving in her normal, dictatorial way and Duret knew he was as terrified of her now as when a boy. What made matters worse though was the fact that Mary
appeared to be turning into another version of Grandmère.

Where had the pliant gentle English girl gone? He tried to pinpoint this and, frowning heavily, worked out it had happened after Edwin’s conception.

He grumbled to himself with disgust when he reviewed his home life. Grandmère was in her cottage but her aura still lingered in the house. Mary ruled like a queen and Emily and Gwen were
her dutiful attendants. He reviewed his children. Why did the first born also have to be female? It was not that he disliked Margaret. Far from it but because she was yet another female, he knew he
had nothing in common with her.

William was different. Not only was he so obviously male in physical parts but in characteristics which Duret felt he could understand. William did not coo or shout for attention like Margaret.
William could lapse into a long, thoughtful silence of which Duret thoroughly approved. When William became old enough, Duret knew he would make him an ideal companion. Perhaps he might even like
poetry.

Certainly few did now. His original little circle of artistic friends had dwindled over the years as they moved from the island for work elsewhere or married and went under female thumbs. Duret
was grateful for his new friends whom he had discovered quite by chance. Thank God he had his escape to them. It was true this meant being away from the home every evening and coming back late but
Mary did not care, so why should he?

He liked Raoul but, here again, there was a subtle barrier. As workmates they pulled well together except that Raoul would insist upon his own planting ideas when Duret, as the sole male Noyen,
knew he should be running the business. What with Raoul saying plant this and that and Mary doing the accounts, Duret had gradually realised his position was but that of a sinecure. Gradually he
had started to spend less and less time in the glasshouses. He wondered if Raoul would complain to Mary or Grandmère but no sword had descended upon his neck, so he realised Raoul had
covered for him.

This did make him feel guilty and he always swore he would make it up to Raoul one day. That day did not seem to appear though and now Duret had an additional heavy worry, which was enough to
drive a man to distraction.

He wished he could discuss it with Mary or Grandmère but this he dared not do. They would castigate him; tear him to shreds and he quailed at the thought of their joint tempers. Duret
knew he was not a very brave man. Nature had given him a girl’s timidity and, taken all around, he felt miserable. Only his evenings made up for his daytime worries.

Last evening, though, he had dared to murmur his fears and his mates had spoken up. Petticoat rule? They had chortled and made ribald comments at what they would do under such circumstances. It
was all very well for them to shower him with well meaning advice, Duret told himself dismally. It would be he who had to make the move.

He spent a sleepless night, fretting at the problem and awoke with unusual determination. Something must be done and—now.

Mary had gone somewhere into town. Why, no one could or would tell him which also added fuel to the little fire burning in his heart. How dare she go off out and about without informing him? He
was the man; not her. He would go down to Grandmère and have it out with her too.

As he strode down the lane towards Tante’s cottage a number of things happened at once. To start with, his limited courage began to evaporate rapidly the nearer he approached. Then Mary
turned the corner driving the cob and the trap. At that identical moment, Grandmère appeared in her garden and waved to Mary and shouted something. While behind Mary one of those horrible
modern motor cars appeared.

Duret halted, wondering whether to continue with his plan. As he did so the car drew to a stop behind the cob and trap and Mary actually turned and waved to the driver. Then she turned to
Grandmère and gave a thumbs-up sign while the driver got out of his car and strode up to Mary.

Duret quickened his pace, his expression bleak. Now he knew who the driver was. Someone with whom he had never exchanged a word but about whom he knew plenty. How dared he come here and
what
on earth were Mary and Grandmère doing talking to him?

‘Mary!’ he bellowed as he strode up.

Mary jumped and was shocked to see her husband one yard away with a thundercloud on his face. Tante was startled too. She had been so engrossed in listening to Mary’s whispered message of
affirmation. Victor le Page realised something was going on, but had sense enough not to ask questions.

‘Duret!’ Mary exclaimed. ‘I didn’t know you were not at work?’

‘Yes,’ Louise said swiftly. One raking look had seen something in Duret’s eyes she did not like. ‘Are you and Raoul finished for the day?’

Victor said nothing but felt himself tense up. He stood next to Mary, his instinct warning him of trouble to come.

Duret jumped forward, snatched Mary’s arm and hauled her away from le Page.

‘Duret! What do you think you are doing?’ Mary cried.

Duret turned a red face to Mary. ‘You are my wife,’ he growled, ‘and I’ll not have you associate with a bastard like him!’

Mary was shocked, then exploded with wrath. She flung Duret aside. ‘Don’t you ever manhandle me like that again and just remember I’m one of those too!’

Duret turned glowing eyes on her. ‘So—you rush to his defence,’ he jeered before turning back to face Victor.

All of Victor’s recent frustrations rose at once. He didn’t mind being denounced a bastard because facts were facts, but what had upset him was the possessive, almost cruel way,
Noyen treated Mary.

‘Brave man,’ he snarled dangerously. ‘Why don’t you try and manhandle me?’

Duret jumped forward and lashed out with a right. It was so unexpected and out of character that Mary and Louise froze with shock. Victor swayed his head two inches to the left and the blow
whistled past. He readjusted his balance and slammed a straight right. It hit Duret in the middle, driving the air from his lungs with a whoosh. Then a left and a right to his face followed, Duret
brought up his forearms defensively but far too late. The blows landed and his senses reeled, blood spurted, then he was down and sprawling ungainly. Victor stood, feet slightly apart, one knuckle
grazed and looked down contemptuously.

Duret lay still and Mary gasped. ‘He’s not—?’

‘No such luck,’ Victor growled. He hoped Noyen would get up again to continue but Duret had more sense.

Victor turned slowly to Tante. ‘So,’ he drawled, head held high. ‘Who is the better grandson now? Me—or that!’ he paused. ‘Who has been true to their
bloodlines? Who is the man now?’ he demanded hotly. ‘Me or that rubbish?’ Then his voice softened. ‘So when am I coming into your cottage for tea and gauche? When do I
experience the right of heritage? They tell me you fear nothing, old lady so show your mettle now, once and for all!’ he challenged.

Louise stood still then her eyes travelled slowly to Mary who, she could see, was wild with anger. Then she regarded Duret who sprawled inelegantly, his legs twitching a little as he rubbed his
jaw and looked at Mary with bleary eyes. Finally, they settled on the handsome male who faced her with a cold, set face and hard, boring eyes. She examined him in great detail. He had matured and
she held her breath with awe. It was incredible and even frightening to see another Danny Penford in the flesh.

Tante quivered, acutely conscious of her age, aware also of what a resounding series of mistakes she had made in the past. She had been wearing blinkers and she had allowed herself to be swayed
by the stupid prejudices of her generation.

She had two grandsons and there was no doubt who was the better. She lowered her proud head as chagrin masked her features before slowly lifting her eyes to hold those facing her. Tentatively
she extended one thin arm to him.

‘Take me in, grandson,’ she said gently.

Victor’s chest swelled with pride as he stepped forward and slipped the thin arm beneath his.

‘With pleasure, Grandmère but oh, what an interfering old woman you’ve been, now isn’t that so?’ he teased.

Mary watched them disappear and the front door shut firmly. She turned back to Duret who scowled up at her, trying to be hard and not succeeding. There was something implacable in his
wife’s eyes.

‘What’s he to you?’ he managed to get out jealously, as he struggled to his feet. He felt light-headed and unsteady.

Mary glowered at him. This was the end. It had to be.

‘I asked you a question!’ Duret shouted at her. ‘I’ve heard about that bastard and the way he goes around in that rich car of his. He’s nothing and never will
be!’

‘Careful,’ Mary warned. ‘He’s just thrashed you.’

‘Only because he caught me unawares!’

‘Oh, Duret! Don’t lie any more,’ Mary retorted wearily. Her anger had abated to be replaced with something difficult to describe. The thought of Duret touching her now was
nauseating. Her facial expression showed this and Duret flinched.

‘You disgust me!’ she told him. ‘Our marriage is over. You will never touch me again. I’m moving into the sewing room and you come near me or bother me and, I swear by
God, I’ll slip a knife between your ribs.’

‘I’m your husband!’ he cried in panic, afraid of her. She had never looked at him before like that. He lifted a hand against her but all she did was stand there, proud and
unafraid.

‘Go on! Try it!’ Mary hissed.

Duret felt sharp terror then. He turned and staggered away while Mary watched with tight lips and cold rage. She went down the lane, feeling emotionally exhausted. Who would have thought at this
day’s sunrise so much would have happened by sunset? Yet she felt a great relief in her heart. It was as if she had been moving slowly to this point for a long time. Now she had arrived and
was glad.

She studied the sky. It would be a typical, balmy Guernsey evening. She glanced at her watch. The tide would be on the make. On a sudden impulse she started to run. Already the rocks were
starting to cover and way ahead was Grandes Rocques. Taking deep breaths she increased her pace.