Gull Island (38 page)

‘My brother has a lot to answer for. I was glad to see him gone from the business. He treats Kate so badly I can’t bear to look at him. Something happened that gave me the reason to tell him to leave.’

Rosita quirked an eyebrow, silently asking him what had happened.

‘Three hundred pounds went missing. He said he hadn’t taken it, that it must have been stolen when he removed his jacket to deal with a puncture on the van, but I didn’t believe him.’

Rosita spoke at last. ‘Funny, I’d never have thought Idris was a thief. Unreliable, workshy, a womanizer, but never a thief.’

‘You think I was wrong?’ He took a deep breath to begin convincing her but she fed him a piece of cake; his turn to be silent.

‘You know him better than I do, but weren’t you grasping at the
opportunity
to get rid of him?’

He nodded and chewed then said, ‘It was a heaven-sent opportunity, that money going missing. He’s worse than useless, he’s a liability.’

She reached for another piece of cake but he held her hand. ‘Why are we talking about my brother? I want to talk about us getting back together.’

‘So do I,’ she said. ‘Oh, Richard, so do I.’

After that evening, when they talked and talked, and laughed and ended the day sharing their happiness with Mrs Carey, everything seemed set to work out between them. Even the frequent appearances of Idris, who was trying to persuade Kate to talk to him, wasn’t enough to spoil those few joyous days.

Kate was cool and indifferent to her wayward husband’s entreaties while Mrs Carey hovered anxiously trying to translate what they said to each other and explain away any misunderstandings. Rosita and Richard were oblivious to it all; they were rekindling their precious love for each other.

Christmas 1951 was a magical occasion, although there were a few sad moments as Mrs Carey remembered other Christmases with Henry always beside her. Ada, now forty-eight, surprised them with a flying visit. She was still housekeeper to the family she and Dilys had originally left home to live with so long ago. Messages came from the boys, all with regret at not being able to see her, all claiming a life too full to spare a few days or even hours.

The family gatherings, walks in the cold, crisp winter air and making plans for their future filled the time contentedly for Rosita and Richard. It seemed that at last their troubles were behind them and they could look forward with hope. They were so happy, it seemed the world shared their joy.

On New Year’s Eve, when the shops had closed, Rosita waited for Richard and he arrived with a basket packed with chicken pies made by his mother, and two flasks of hot soup. He drove the two miles to Gull Island and there, on the freezing cold beach, the wind beginning to howl, offered her an engagement ring.

‘Let’s marry as soon as we can,’ he said. ‘We’ve wasted too much time already. I want us to have children, so you’ll have to make arrangements for your shops to be run without you.’

‘I already have. There’s nothing to hold us back from a happy life together.’

They found kissing an odd experience in the biting cold, with their lips blue and their noses threatening to snap. The island looked uninviting with an Arctic wind lifting dead vegetation and throwing it about in wild
whirlwinds
of ferocious power. The wind cut through the layers of clothes they wore and chilled them the moment they left the protection of the van.
Romantic it might be to propose marriage on their special beach, but the impracticalities soon made them lose their enthusiasm for solitude.

After attempting to warm themselves by drinking the hot soup Mrs Carey had supplied, they went to see if Luke was at the cottage and were relieved to see smoke issuing from the chimney.

‘We’ve got news,’ Richard said as Luke opened the door and invited them to sit by his huge wood fire.

‘And about time too!’ Luke hugged Rosita and kissed her cold cheek. ‘You two should have married years ago.’ He looked at them with slight embarrassment on his face. ‘That
was
what you were about to tell me, wasn’t it?’ Behind the large horn-rimmed glasses his eyes wrinkled with relief when Richard nodded.

After congratulations and when details of their plans had been discussed, Luke smiled and said, ‘I have news too. I’ve finally traced Martine. She’s coming here.’

‘Wonderful news!’

‘I’m so glad,’ Rosita added. ‘Shall we make it a double wedding?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Luke said, a shadow of sadness on his face. ‘Too much time has passed.’

Rosita and Richard left soon after, having thoroughly warmed
themselves
. As Richard ran off to bring the van closer, Luke said, ‘Now would be a good time to go and see Barbara, Rosita. Time to let some sunshine into dark corners.’

‘One day, when I’m ready,’ she replied.

‘Soon,’ he insisted. ‘If you leave it until it’s too late, that will be more guilt and regret, more burdens for you to carry.’

But Rosita was too happy to worry overmuch about a mother who had almost faded from her memory and become a stranger. Now, when she thought of Barbara, she saw a picture of Hattie in her mind, a greedy,
self-centred
Hattie, grasping everything she wanted without a thought for others, indifferent to the unhappiness she caused.

The only one not to offer congratulations and good wishes as news of the engagement spread was Idris. He tried to ruin things by putting in little jibes when Richard and Rosita talked of their plans, reminding them of their age and the unlikeliness of having a child – a subject that, with Hattie’s situation common knowledge, seemed not to embarrass him at all but which seemed to give him added pleasure.

He wished something would happen to prevent the marriage but could think of nothing he could do to cause further trouble. In a fantasy, he began to imagine planning Rosita’s death. A trickle of fear spread into a torrent
as the idea filled his many idle moments. If only he dare – such a pity she hadn’t died on that island. If only she could be persuaded to go there again, and this time with Luke too far away to help….

‘It isn’t fair, Mam!’ Idris was marching up and down in his mother’s living room. Weeks had passed since Richard had last helped out with money. ‘Ruined my chances of getting another job, he has. He accused me of stealing, he did! If that isn’t hypocritical, considering how he got started, tell me what is!’

‘Richard didn’t say you stole that money,’ Mrs Carey said firmly. ‘He said you were careless in losing it.’

‘He thinks I pocketed it, I know he does, he as good as admitted it too, only he made sure no one heard him say so! But where is it? If I stole it then what am I supposed to have done with it? Damn it all, Mam, I haven’t got the money to buy a packet of fags!’

Mrs Carey opened her purse and gave him half a crown.

‘If he didn’t think me guilty why did he sack me?’ He put on his
hurt-little
-boy expression.

‘He was upset with you and that wicked Hattie for – you know – the way you two carried on. Her fault, mind, I know that. But you shouldn’t have done what you did. Richard’s fond of Kate and was upset at the way you treated her. Perhaps that was the real reason, I don’t know.’

‘Self-righteous bugger! And him no better than the rest of us.’

Since Kate and Idris had separated, Kate had been in the habit of bringing any letters for her husband to the shop with her and arranging for someone to deliver them to Mrs Carey. In the rush and muddles of spring cleaning, and arranging the stock for the new season, the post became mixed up and a letter from Luke, addressed to Rosita and Richard, found its way into a pile addressed to Idris.

Idris pushed it to one side, intending to give it to Richard when he saw him, but then he became curious. It would be easy to explain that he opened it by mistake. He was interested to learn that it was an invitation for Richard and Rosita to visit Luke at the cottage and meet Martine. Martine was coming to England and intended to visit Wales after a short tour of the London sights. They intended to be away for five days, returning the day before the day of the invitation. Idris made a careful note of the dates.

Idris read and reread the letter. A plan that seemed to have been hovering in his mind, just waiting for the final ingredient, was now complete.

Copying Luke’s rather large handwriting was easier than he’d imagined.
The new, forged letter was brief and worded in similar style, asking Rosita only to meet Luke and Martine on the island on Sunday, a week before Luke’s original invitation. Luke’s cottage would be empty and he would be 200 miles away. It was, he had written, to plan a surprise for Richard and had to be kept a secret.

Something happened a few days after he had handed the letter to Rosita with apologies for having opened it in error, an event which threw the whole country into turmoil and grief. King George VI died in his sleep.

All entertainments closed down. The radio played only serious and sombre music and everywhere windows were dressed in the purple and black of mourning at the passing of a much-loved monarch – a man who could have left the capital for a safe refuge during the terrifying bombing of London but had chosen to stay and share his subjects’ danger. Like many others, Rosita felt the loss of a figure who had been steadfast and strong during those awful years.

Rosita immediately changed her window displays for something fitting the occasion and found pictures of the King and his Queen with which to decorate the displays, together with pictures of the young Elizabeth. The newspapers she sold all bore boldly black-rimmed messages of sympathy to the Queen Mother and Queen Elizabeth II.

So great was the shock and sadness that Rosita almost forgot the arrangement to meet Luke and Martine. She had already made her excuses to Richard and in a sudden rush she picked up the scarf she had bought as a gift for the Frenchwoman and drove to the beach where the island stood isolated and still, half-hidden in a chill sea fret.

There was no one at the cottage and the tide had not yet cleared the causeway. Surprised that Luke had made a mistake about the tide, she sat in the car and waited for the water to recede so she could get across. That would be at midday according to the tide table she had consulted.

She was nervous, every inch of her wanting to stay away from the island. She shuddered involuntarily, remembering her previous experience when she had been in danger of dying of hypothermia. Only Luke could have persuaded her to cross the slippery causeway again. Perhaps that had been his idea, she mused. Perhaps he had asked her to go there to live down any residual fear she had of the place. She looked across, hoping for a glimpse of him to reassure her. She had a strong urge to abandon the plan and go home, but she couldn’t show Luke she was afraid, could she?

Luke and Martine must already be there, having reached the island by boat. She stood and stared, even waved in case they were watching and waiting for her, hoping for a sight of them, before beginning to cross the wet, dangerous path. It wasn’t a cheering prospect to walk over the slippery
rock alone. And draped in mist, the island looked far from enticing. She shivered as vivid memories of the last time she had been there returned to frighten her. Perhaps, knowing how Luke loved a bonfire, they were
gathering
wood and preparing to light a friendly beacon for her. But although she looked across repeatedly, no smoke issued up into the cold, misty air. It seemed that her guess had been wrong and they hadn’t gone out to wait for her. So, where could they be?

She turned and walked back to the cottage, half-hoping that they had changed the plan and were waiting for her in the comfortable living room, the thought of one of his huge log fires increasing the dread of crossing to the cold mist-wrapped island. But the cottage was still as silent and empty as before. She looked for a note to tell her the plans had changed but again she was disappointed.

She found the key which Luke allowed her to use and went in to wait. By the look of the tide there was another half-hour or longer before she could begin to cross. There wouldn’t be much time out there and back before dark.

Much as she dreaded to walk to the now eerie island, she knew she had to go. She trusted Luke and didn’t want to let him down if he was planning something special. She stood and looked out of windows that were encrusted with salt. Although not yet midday, it was gloomy and winter clouds hung low over the sea. Really, this seemed less and less like a plan prepared by the careful and sensible Luke.

Luke had met Martine at Dover and although they ran and hugged each other like loving friends, they both sensed almost at once that things were not the same as when they had shared the running of Café de Jacques. Martine looked the same as he imagined her – older, of course but still with the wide and wicked grin that had always cheered him.

‘Luke! You have lost your beard! Have you framed it to hang on the wall to show your grandchildren?’ she teased. ‘And your spectacles, they are enormous! Like the ears of Mickey Mouse!’

He responded to her teasing with a smile and for a moment hoped their meeting would recover from the initial numbness.

She was dressed more smartly than before and it surprised him a little. She had always shown little regard to her appearance and the neat check suit and matching coat and hat looked odd. For a while they pretended, laughing and exchanging news of their separate lives, but the magic had gone.

They hugged and kissed but time had played one of its cruel tricks and made loving friends into strangers. There was stiff formality where there
had always been relaxed camaraderie. There was excessive politeness in their conversations. Martine spoke less English, her lapses into French adding to the separation. They spoke of past friends and each had to think deeply before remembering. Worse, Luke pretended to remember when the name meant nothing and he suspected the person was known to Martine after he had left her. Words dried up and others were left hanging in the air unanswered, unanswerable.