Daughter of Riches (15 page)

As the disturbing stirrings began to subside a little Sophia opened her eyes a fraction, squinting at Dieter and thinking how lucky she was to have a boyfriend like him and how careful she must be not to spoil things. She was the envy of all her friends, she knew, for their boyfriends – if they had them at all – were mostly spotty schoolboys whom they had known all their lives, whilst Dieter was seventeen years old (four years her senior), so good-looking it took your breath away, and with all the added glamour that came from being foreign. He was a waiter at the guest house Sophia's parents kept in St Helier and when he had arrived to take up his post at the beginning of the season Sophia had fallen instantly in love with him.

As a rule of thumb Lola Carteret, Sophia's mother, discouraged friendships between her children and the hired staff and she also harboured a deep suspicion – of which she was slightly ashamed – of the Germans as a race. But she had soon been won over by Dieter's charming manners and his conscientious attitude to his work. Another point in his favour was the fact that his own father was in the hotel business at home in the Black Forest and had insisted Dieter should gain experience from the bottom up in other establishments in other countries, whilst also improving his already admirable fluency in English and French.

‘He is certainly a cut above the Italian boy we had last year,' Lola had pronounced. ‘I must say I wasn't keen to have a foreigner again, especially a German. That horrid little Adolf Hitler is enough to put anyone off them and after fighting them in the war I didn't like the idea of having one under my roof. But I have to admit I was wrong. Dieter is a very nice boy and if you children want to show him around the island when he is not working, you can.'

The ‘children' she had in mind were, of course, Sophia's brothers. Nick at seventeen and Paul, who was fourteen, were much of an age with Dieter. But they were a wild pair who had little time for his serious ways and the restrictive hours he had to work and it was not long before they were leaving him out of their plans. It was then that Sophia had seized her opportunity. School had broken up for the long summer holiday and she had persuaded Paul to lend Dieter his bicycle – ‘So that I can show him around the island,' she had explained.

A little doubtful about the wisdom of the proposal Lola had suggested that Catherine, the youngest of the four Carteret children, should go along too, but Sophia had bought her sister off with a supply of her favourite sherbet lemons and a promise that she would take her swimming every morning (when Dieter was working) as long as she would make herself scarce in the afternoons (when he was not). Catherine had kept to her side of the bargain, more or less, and Sophia had explained to Lola that she and Dieter would never cover all the lanes of Jersey if they had to do it at the pace of a rather plump eight-year-old.

Even when she had engineered all this, however, Sophia had not been confident in her ability to interest Dieter. For one thing she was afraid she was not nearly attractive enough, even though her long brown hair had a permanent wave in it from being braided into plaits for school at Mama's insistence and her eyes were a highly unusual shade of violet that was invariably commented upon by visitors to the guest house. But like Catherine she tended towards plumpness (because they so often finished up the left-overs in the guest house kitchen, she expected!) and the roundness of her face swamped her neat features – a small straight nose and pretty mouth. Besides this she found herself painfully shy in Dieter's presence and as they cycled out she was ashamed that she could not think of a single clever or amusing thing to say.

But to her relief Dieter seemed not to notice her silence. He was so genuinely interested in everything around him that she was able to relax, telling him the names of the flowers and the birds and the trees and relating the history of the island and the legends that had been handed down concerning the places they visited. And somehow, almost magically, love had blossomed. One day, stopping to rest on one of the wooden seats that dotted the cliff paths, Sophia had turned unexpectedly to see Dieter looking at her, and that look had been like a reflection of the way she felt – happy for no reason except that he was there, excited, as if she stood on the brink of something unknown, but very wonderful, and strangely tender, all at the same time. Her stomach had contracted and she had looked away quickly, feeling the colour rush to her cheeks, but after a minute Dieter had reached for her hand.

‘May I?'

Sophia had nodded, unable to speak, and she was afraid to take her hand from his in case he was offended or thought she did not like it, even when her fingers prickled with pins-and-needles from remaining still for too long.

Mama, of course, had no idea that Dieter had progressed from being ‘a friend' to being her ‘boyfriend'. Sophia knew without being told that if Lola suspected for one instant she would put a stop to the outings. She had very strict views on what was proper and Sophia knew she would consider thirteen to be much too young to have a relationship – she had heard her say as much plenty of times when discussing other girls.

‘Going out with boys at her age – it's asking for trouble!' she would say severely, her huge violet eyes, a shade darker than Sophia's, flashing dangerously. ‘Sixteen is quite young enough, don't you think, Charles?' And Papa, who never argued because he liked the quiet life and knew only too well how volatile Mama could be if aroused, would nod and agree.

Dieter too seemed to realise that any relationship with his employers' daughter would be frowned upon and Sophia felt that in a strange way he felt responsible for her, although of course it could simply be that he was exactly what he seemed – the perfect gentleman. Whichever, both of them behaved with the utmost discretion, never giving Lola the slightest cause for suspicion. But inside Sophia glowed with the wonderful excitement that came from being in love – and somehow she knew that Dieter did too.

Only one shadow lay over the magic world they shared, and as she lay in the scratchy murmuring grass it crept up again on the edges of Sophia's mind like a cloud drifting over the sun. She reached out for a tall grass, snapping the stem, then running her fingers up the length of it to scatter the seeds burgeoning at the top while the unspoken fear nagged her.

At last she could keep silent no longer. She tossed the denuded grass aside.

‘Dieter … you don't think …?'

He turned his head, looking along at her lazily.

‘What?'

‘You don't think … there's going to be a war?'

She felt him stiffen.

‘What are you talking about?'

‘A war. Between Germany and France. And perhaps England too.'

‘Certainly not.' His tone was cold and she felt uncomfortable suddenly and almost guilty for spoiling the idyllic atmosphere.

‘But I heard Mama say …' She broke off, realising she would only make things worse if she repeated what Lola, with her scornful attitude towards Hitler and the Nazi party had said. ‘Well, if Germany invades Czechoslovakia there's bound to be trouble,' she finished lamely.

‘Why?' Dieter demanded. ‘It's no one else's business, is it? Besides France wouldn't take on Germany, and neither would England. They know they would never win.'

Sophia was silent. In spite of the warmth of the sun she was cold suddenly. It wasn't just the threat of war. Dieter was probably right when he said they wouldn't fight – after all, hadn't Austria allowed Germany to move in and take them over and even seemed quite pleased about it if the newspapers were to be believed, cheering Adolf Hitler as he drove into Vienna and ringing the church bells? No, it was the change in Dieter that frightened her. If he had leaped up and punched the air in a Nazi salute he could scarcely have made his feelings more obvious.

Desperate to rekindle the happy mood of a few minutes earlier she picked another grass and tickled his ear with it.

‘Hey, Dieter, don't be a crosspatch! Smile!'

There was still a small frown tucking between his eyebrows, narrowing those very blue eyes, but after a moment his features relaxed and he made a grab for her wrist, pinning her to the ground.

‘Now, Miss Carteret, we shall see who is the victor!' he taunted playfully and as he bent his head to kiss her once more Sophia thought that in all honesty she really did not care very much.

She was in love with Dieter – that was all that mattered.

‘I think it is high time Dieter went home to Germany.'

Lola Carteret peeled off her stockings, rolled them neatly together into a ball and glanced at Charles, her husband, who was already in bed and hunched comfortably into the pillows.

‘What? Are you mad?' He shifted himself a little grumpily – he was tired and more than ready to go to sleep. A late night discussion with Lola, who always seemed to come to life in the small hours no matter how long her day had been, was the last thing he wanted. But he could hardly let a statement such as she had just made go unchallenged.

‘No, I don't think so,' Lola argued. ‘I know what you are going to say, Charles – that the season won't be over for another month or more and we are still booked solidly, but I can't help that. The way things are I am not happy about having the boy here any longer. In fact I very much wish I had gone along with my instincts when he applied for the job and not had him here in the first place.'

She stood up, slithering out of her petticoat and into an ivory silk wrap that had seen better days, and Charles thought irrelevantly what an attractive woman she still was. Although she had borne four children her breasts were still firm and voluptuous and her hair, though etched with silver at the temples, fell thick and luxuriant to her shoulders now that she had released it from the neat elongated bun at the nape of her neck which was her habitual daytime style. In the soft lamplight her face too looked smooth and unlined, the ivory skin taut and unblemished over her beautiful high cheekbones, and Charles thought that in some ways she looked younger now than she had done ten years ago when the children were all small and demanding her attention and they had been struggling to make the guest house pay without any help except for an old woman who came in to wash the dinner dishes. Then there had been hollows in her cheeks and dark smudges of tiredness beneath her violet eyes, and he had worried sometimes that it was all too much for her and he would lose her to consumption or pneumonia or one of the other killer diseases that struck down those who worked such long hours with too little rest.

He need not have worried. Lola was made of sterner stuff and he should have realised that, he thought with a wry smile. What else would one expect of a White Russian, daughter of an army officer who had supported Tsar Nicholas and then fought with General Denikin in a desperate attempt to thwart the Bolsheviks? When he had realised the hopelessness of his cause, Lola's father had smuggled her out of Russia, and it was then that Charles had met her. He was a petty officer on the ship that brought her to England and he had fallen madly in love with the beautiful and spirited Russian girl. Before the ship docked he had asked her to marry him – and to his amazement been accepted. For years he was to wonder in his mild way how he had managed to be so lucky, never grasping the truth that Lola was as much attracted by his steady solid strength as he was by her volatile nature. Secretly afraid she had accepted his proposal only as a way of providing herself with a home and a British passport and terrified that once she knew she was safe she would leave him, he had left the Navy as soon as he could and taken Lola home to Jersey. But how to support her? Charles had joined the Navy straight from school; he knew no other life.

To begin with he had found himself a job in the docks in St Helier, but the hours were long and unaccountably Charles felt ashamed of himself. There was nothing wrong with what he was doing, he told himself, but somehow he failed to be convinced. As a petty officer he had had a standing he now lacked and besides Sophia was too good to be the wife of a dock labourer. With her proud, almost haughty, bearing she was out of place amongst the other wives, and Charles resolved to find something better for her.

Their first son, Nicholas, was a year old, however, before the opportunity presented itself. Charles' grandfather died at the ripe old age of ninety-one and his will left everything to Charles – his cottage, a small leaky rowing boat and more money than Charles, or anyone, had ever guessed he had, all hidden beneath the mattress and in jars scattered around the cottage.

‘Knowing Grandpa it all came from smuggling, more than likely,' Charles told Lola, almost too stunned by his good fortune to be able to believe it. ‘Well, at least it means we shall have a place of our own to live instead of having to share with my parents.'

Lola's eyes narrowed thoughtfully and he hurried on: ‘ I know it's not much of a place but at least you'll have your own kitchen … and I can make love to you at night without thinking they can hear every sound. And besides, it's not fair on them when the baby cries. At their time of life they don't want that.'

‘Is true, but all the same I do not think is what I want,' Lola said carefully.

‘Oh sweetheart!' He put his arm around her. ‘ I know I haven't been able to give you much of a life – certainly not what you were used to in Russia. But at least now I have Grandpa's money I shall be able to buy you a few little extras … and Nicky too. You know that rocking horse you always wanted for him? I don't see why he shouldn't have it now.'

‘No,' Lola said. Her voice was very firm and her shoulders were rigid beneath his touch.

‘No? But why?' he asked, puzzled.

‘We must not …' she paused to think of the right word, ‘we must not fritter this money away. Maybe it's the only chance you will ever have to get out of the docks. I think, Charles, that we should use your Grandpa's money to set us up in business.'