We'll Meet Again (36 page)

By the end of March the Allies had crossed the Rhine and it seemed as if the whole world had
declared war on Germany. As Meg had hoped, being sequestered in the one room had brought Charles and Gerald together as nothing else could have done. They read books that she smuggled in from the shelves that still lined the upper landings and had been ignored by the Germans as being of little use and no interest to them. They played chess, dominoes and card games and sometimes, as the evenings drew out, Meg joined them. Gerald might fume and fret outwardly at being virtually imprisoned, but Meg could see that the two of them had formed a bond. They had developed a mutual understanding that would not have been possible in any other circumstances, and she was glad. Charles grew stronger, spending longer periods of time out of bed as the spring days grew warmer, but the fiction that he was a helpless invalid offered some protection to Gerald. Meg was careful to keep her father’s slow recovery a secret from the rest of the household.

She walked into St Peter Port once a week, ostensibly to visit Pearl and make a fuss of Buster, but it was the desire to learn something of Rayner’s fate that really motivated her. Not being able to see him and talk to him was the worst kind of torture, but she bore it as she had borne everything else during the long years of the occupation. If she could have disguised herself as a German soldier and walked into Fort Hommet, she would have done so, but the stronghold was on the far side of the island,
and she had no means of getting there. She had not even the comfort of being able to stand outside the walls and imagine that he was only feet away from her.

Listening to the BBC on Pip’s crystal set revealed the hideous secrets of the Nazi concentration camps, making Meg physically sick. The news of the death of Mussolini and the surrender of Italy was followed two days later by the fall of Berlin and the suicide of Hitler and his mistress, Eva Braun. While the family secretly rejoiced, von Eschenberg and Hauptmann Dressler huddled in their office apparently awaiting orders, and the soldiers quartered in the stables were unusually quiet.

At the beginning of May, rumours of liberation flew round the island, and, on the eighth, Meg gathered the whole family, including Marie, in her father’s bedroom. Their astonishment on discovering that Gerald was very much alive was soon replaced by exclamations of delight, followed by the inevitable flood of questions. How had he escaped death? Who had saved him? And who was the unfortunate man they had buried in his stead? Everyone was talking at once until Pip raised his hand. ‘Shut up, I’ve got London on the radio. Churchill’s going to speak.’

Everyone was silent, hanging on to the great man’s words. ‘Hostilities will end officially, at one minute past midnight tonight, Tuesday the eighth of May, but in the interest of saving lives the cease-fire began
yesterday, to be sounded all along the fronts – and our dear Channel Islands are also to be freed today.’

There was a moment of absolute quiet, and then everyone, even Charles, cheered loudly. Pip grabbed his mother round the waist and danced her round the room, Maud and Bertie clapped their hands and Marie hugged Gerald with tears running down her cheeks.

Meg took her father’s hand and squeezed his fingers. She forced her lips into a smile. The war might be over for the Channel Islands, but her own personal battle was far from ended.

The soldiers had left in a hurry, marched off by the British troops. Everything had happened so quickly that it was hard to grasp the fact that they had really gone. Meg recalled the fast-moving events as if they had occurred in a dream. Just a short time ago she had stood beside her father as Hauptmann Dressler and Major von Eschenberg left the house under armed escort. Beside the healthy, comparatively well-fed British troops, the Germans looked thin and gaunt; mere shadows of the men who had first invaded their home. Dressler had stopped and drawn himself up to his full height to look Charles in the eye. Meg knew that she would always remember the mixed emotions that had flitted across his face. He had held his hand out to her father with a ghost of a smile. ‘Goodbye, Herr Colivet. This is not how I expected it to end but it has been a privilege knowing you.’

For a moment Meg had thought her father would ignore the unspoken apology for five years of intimidation and virtual house arrest, but he had smiled and shaken the Hauptmann’s hand. ‘You will be as glad to return to your homeland as we are to have our island free again.’

It was all over now, and Meg made her way to the stables. She had only one thought and that was to find Rayner before he was transported back to Germany. She picked her way across piles of debris in the tack room and discovered her bicycle propped up against the wall. She breathed a sigh of relief on finding that it was in a reasonable condition, and she wheeled it out into the stable yard. It was almost impossible to believe that she was free to go anywhere she liked.

A constant stream of military vehicles clogged the narrow roads and lanes leading to town, but now they were filled with British troops. The soldiers leaned out to wave at Meg as she edged her bike between the trucks. Wolf whistles and teasing remarks accompanied her on her way and she acknowledged them with a smile, but she had only one thing on her mind as she free-wheeled down Le Val des Terres at breakneck speed. She arrived breathless and amazingly in one piece at the jetty. Abandoning her bicycle she pushed and shoved her way through the crowd. People had gathered to watch the dispirited men in grey uniforms as they prepared to board the vessels that would take them away from the island.

Meg waited all day without sight of Rayner. She returned the following morning, again without success. On the third day, when she had almost given up hope, she stood on the White Rock straining her eyes as a column of soldiers approached. The
crowd pressed forward, some of them jeering and shaking their fists, other simply watching in grim silence. She recognised Rayner instantly as he brought up the rear in a group of officers from Fort Hommet. She had begun to elbow her way through the crowd when a scuffle broke out as a young girl flung herself at a young man at the head of the column, weeping and throwing her arms around his neck.

There was a brief hush, broken by a shout of ‘Jerrybag’ which was taken up in a chant. A woman rushed forward and grabbed the girl by her hair, and it took the British soldiers a few minutes to break up the fight that ensued. A burly sergeant hoisted the kicking, hysterical girl over his shoulder and carried her to safety. Undaunted, Meg pressed forward as Rayner drew nearer. She called his name, waving frantically, and he turned his head. He had seen her, of that she was certain. She had but one thought in her mind and that was to get close enough to speak to him, but before she had a chance to move she was held back by a young private. ‘I wouldn’t do that, miss. You’ve seen what can happen.’

She opened her mouth to cry out to Rayner but the soldier raised his finger to his lips. ‘Best be quiet, miss.’ He jerked his head in the direction of the women screaming insults as they surrounded the army lorry where the girl had been taken for her own safety. Meg could do nothing but watch helplessly as Rayner marched past her. Their eyes
met for a few precious seconds and then he was gone.

The soldier let her go with an apologetic grin. ‘You all right, miss?’

She nodded wordlessly.

‘He’s not worth it, love. Find yourself a nice local chap.’ He ambled off to help disperse the crowd.

Meg walked blindly to where she had left her bike and found it had been stolen. She was too numb to feel shocked or angry that someone could have taken her only means of transport. She cared for nothing at that moment. She felt that her life was drifting out on the tide with the ship as it weighed anchor and sailed away. The sun beat down on her bare head and the hot pavements burned the soles of her feet but she felt nothing except the dull ache of despair as she trudged past the Albert Statue, making her way home.

She had reached the entrance to Castle Cornet when a painful stitch in her side caused her to stop and lean against the sea wall. Just as she was recovering, a car screeched to a halt at the edge of the pavement and Simone stuck her head out of the window, beckoning furiously. ‘Get in.’

‘What’s the matter?’

Simone leapt out of the car and bundled Meg unceremoniously into the back seat before throwing herself in beside the driver. The driver put his foot down on the accelerator and the car shot forward.

Meg stared at the back of his sleek, dark head and realised slowly that it must be Simone’s new man,
Derek Lussac. ‘What’s going on?’ she demanded. ‘Why the hurry?’

Simone twisted round to face her. ‘We’re getting out on the next boat. We’re not too popular round here, are we, sweetie-pie?’

Derek glanced at her and grinned. ‘You can say that again, Toots.’

Meg lay back against the leather squabs and ran her hand over her eyes. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘A Jerrybag and a black marketeer,’ Simone said with an expressive wave of her hands. ‘Come on, Meg, use your imagination. You saw what happened just now and it’s going on all the time. Any girl who’s consorted with the Germans is a Jerrybag, and black marketeers might have been popular when people were desperate, but now they’re public enemy number one.’

‘Yes. People who were pleased enough to fork out for black market food have now turned self-righteous and want my blood,’ Derek said, changing gears as the car struggled up the steep incline of Le Val des Terres. ‘Ironic, isn’t it? But that’s life. Toots just wanted to say goodbye to her folks and the kid, and then we’re off to London and the big time.’

‘And you’d better keep quiet about your German,’ Simone said. ‘Or you’ll end up the same as me.’

Meg laid her hand on Simone’s shoulder. ‘But you were helping the saboteurs and passing on information. You saved Gerald’s life.’

‘Try telling that to the mob. We’re off to the
mainland and we won’t be coming back. That’ll be best for everyone.’

There was almost a party atmosphere back at the manor. Meg found everyone congregated in the drawing room drinking the gin that Charles explained had been given to him by one of the British officers. Meg noted wryly that no one seemed bothered now about Derek’s shady dealings. She doubted whether Rayner would be as welcome in the family. No matter what he had done, Derek was an islander and therefore one of them. His misdeeds were as nothing when compared to Rayner’s misfortune of being born a foreigner and a German.

Simone held her arms out to Jeremy, but he turned his head away and buried his face in Jane’s shoulder.

‘He doesn’t understand,’ Marie said sympathetically. ‘He’s too young.’

‘You will tell him about me, won’t you, Mum?’ Simone’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I’ll come back one day and see him. I’ll send him presents on his birthday and at Christmas.’

‘Oh, Simone, I wish you weren’t going,’ Marie said, mopping her eyes with a crumpled hanky. ‘I’ll miss you so much.’

Simone’s mouth drooped at the corners. ‘I haven’t been a good daughter, Mum. I’m so sorry.’

Gerald wrapped his arms around both of them. ‘Stop it, the pair of you. You’ll have me crying next.’ He turned to Derek. ‘You take good care of her or you’ll have me to deal with.’

Meg slipped from the room and went outside, taking deep breaths of air filled with the perfume of roses and the salty tang of the sea borne on a gentle breeze. However much her heart was aching, she knew she had no choice but to go on. She had taken responsibility for the running of the estate during the occupation and her father’s recurrent bouts of illness. She could not abandon it now, and for the moment she was not needed in the house. She had said her goodbyes to Simone, and she was glad that they were parting as friends. She walked around the farm, assessing the damage with a fresh eye now that there was a chance of reclaiming the land that the Germans had laid to waste. It would take time, money and a huge effort, but there was nothing that could not be mended, except, she thought, the gaping hole in her heart. She had reached the north field when a gentle whinnying and the sound of horse’s hooves on the baked earth made her turn to see Conker trotting towards her swishing his tail and whickering softly. She rubbed her cheek against his soft muzzle. Things might never be quite as they were before the occupation, but Mother would come home soon. She would take over the running of the house and restore order to chaos. Meg slipped her hand through Conker’s halter and led him back towards the stables.

Muriel arrived home looking sleekly plump and vaguely disbelieving as Maud and Jane tried to explain what life had been like during the occupation.

‘At least you weren’t bombed,’ Muriel said, gazing around the shabby drawing room with her lips pursed. ‘You have no idea what it was like going to bed at night never knowing if a V-1 or a V-2 was going to fall out of the sky and kill you.’

‘And we all thought that you, Adele and the twins were safe in the heart of Devon,’ Charles said, smiling. ‘It just goes to show how little we knew of the outside world when we were under the benevolent care of the Third Reich.’

Muriel shot him a suspicious glance. ‘If that is meant to be sarcasm, Charles, then it’s not funny.’

Meg stifled a giggle. Mother was back and on good form.

Maud and Bertrand huddled together in a corner, holding hands. ‘I suppose you’ll want us to move out directly?’ Maud said, her bottom lip trembling.

Muriel eyed them thoughtfully and then, to Meg’s amazement, she smiled. ‘No need to worry about that yet. We’ll see, shall we?’

Jane sniffed and scooped Jeremy up in her arms. ‘It’s time for your tea, my little man.’ She carried him out of the room.

‘I made a crystal set,’ Pip said, breaking the awkward silence. ‘We listened to the BBC news every night.’

‘Are you an electrician?’ Muriel eyed him with sudden interest.

He nodded. ‘I’m good with my hands.’

‘Then we will need you to help fix this place up. It
all looks so dreadfully dilapidated and old-fashioned. You should see the Bartons’ houses in London, the Home Counties and Devon. Mr Barton has had a lovely villa built for Frank and Adele close to their main home in Hampshire.’