The Book of Ebenezer le Page (70 page)

He said he knew it was hard on me, and he was sorry; but all he could do was advise me which course of action he thought best. If I wished, I could admit now I was in possession of those sovereigns and apply to the Treasury for permission to hold them. It might be granted, or it might not; but it was extremely unlikely I would be given permission to sell any issued after 1837, and certainly not in bulk. He thought the best way out was for me to agree he didn't know I was in possession of those sovereigns. ‘I don't see how I can do that,' I said, ‘I have told you now.' He said that didn't matter. He might know it personally, but that didn't necessarily mean he knew it in law. ‘At that rate,' I said, ‘what is so in solid fact and what the law say is so are entirely different.' ‘Exactly,' he said, ‘Mr Le Page, you would have made quite a good lawyer yourself.' ‘God forbid!' I said.

He had drawn up a provisional will, listing my assets, among which was a cash-box, of which I held the key. As it was mentioned in the will, it would naturally be searched for, and he would drop Neville a hint as to where it was to be found. After that it would be Neville's headache. There would be delays and fees and what-not; but at least there might be some compensation. He promised he would advise Neville, according as to how the wind was blowing at the time; and use what outside influence he could bring to bear, so as much as possible would be realisable in terms of ready cash. In the long run, Neville might do quite well out of it. It would be to his advantage he could in no way be held responsible, as I could, for being in illegal possession of the gold, in view of the fact he was ignorant of the legacy. What did I think? ‘I leave it to you,' I said. I was too miserable to think. Having those golden sovereigns had kept my head up all my life. ‘It seems to me,' I said, ‘there is nothing you can be sure of in this world.' ‘Strictly speaking, that is true,' he said. ‘Money is the measure of our distrust.'

He read the will out loud for me to hear. I could have written it all down on the back of a postcard, but he made pages and pages of it. It sounded all right; and I suppose another lawyer would understand it. ‘There remains the appointing of an executor, or executors,' he said. Well, I knew a will had to have an executor, and I had always meant to ask young Jean Le Boutillier to do it; but now I had my doubts as to how he would feel doing it for Neville's benefit. It was going to be bad enough for him to have Neville Falla for a neighbour. ‘Is it possible for you to do it yourself, Mr de Lisle?' I said. ‘I will pay.' ‘I will do it willingly,' he said, ‘but in my private capacity; and payment will not be necessary.' ‘Thank you very much indeed,' I said. ‘Then consider that done,' he said; and wrote down some more.

I thought it was finished now; but he went on to say it was often the custom in a will to give parting advice to the legatee, or set down a condition, or conditions, under which the legacy was to be enjoyed. Had I any advice, or conditions, I wished to add? ‘None,' I said. ‘Then it is to be completely without strings,' he said. I said ‘Your famous law have tied me up in enough strings, as it is, without me tying up poor Neville in any more.' He said, ‘That will be all then, I think.' I thought for a minute. ‘No, wait,' I said. ‘There is something else. I want you to say I give;' but he stopped me. ‘Bequeath,' he said. ‘I bequeath,' I said, ‘my spirit to my Maker and my sin-rotten body to be buried with my fathers and my forefathers in the graveyard of the Church of the Vale, where the bells ring and the wind blow.' He copied down word for word what I said; and put down his pen and looked at me. He said, ‘I pray to God it will be many a long day yet before that come to pass.'

We parted good friends. He said if I came in the next Friday morning, it would be ready for me to sign. I asked him couldn't I sign it before then? I could come in the next day, if he wanted; or on the Monday. He said he would rush it through and I could sign it on the Tuesday morning. I asked him about paying for it, so as to know how much money to bring; but he said there was no hurry. He would send a bill; and, in any case, the charges could go against the estate. I would rather have paid. He came with me to the front door and the girl said ‘Good-bye, Mr Le Page,' as we passed through her office. I don't know what have come over that girl. When we shook hands, he said it had been a pleasure to do business with me. He only wished all his clients knew their own minds as well as I do mine.

I had been with him for over an hour. I hadn't had time before to go to the States Offices; so I went in and got my money. There was nothing for me to do then but come home. I didn't know how I was going to wait until the Tuesday. A day is a long time to get through when you get to my age. I passed the afternoon somehow. The Saturday went quicker than I thought; but the Sunday was a long day. In the evening I went on with my book; but I didn't have much heart for writing. It was the real thing I wanted. I kept on thinking how Neville had barged in the Sunday before with the frame, and was wishing for it to happen again; but a good thing never happen a second time. The Monday wasn't so bad. I spent most of the day in the greenhouse, trimming the plants. I am going to have a wonderful crop of tomatoes this year.

The will was ready on the Tuesday morning, and I signed it. Mr de Lisle read it to me right through again with the extra bits put on, and then called in two young chaps from the other room to witness me sign it; and they wrote their names under mine. There was also a copy. Mr de Lisle asked me if I wanted to take the original with me, or the copy. I said the original. He could keep the copy; and I would be pleased if he would keep the papers to do with the house. They was only in the way in the drawer. He gave me the will in a long envelope; and I put it in my inside pocket. When I was going, he said, ‘How do you pass your time these days?' I said, ‘Working of course.' He said, ‘I take it you draw the Old Age Pension.' ‘I haven't come to that yet, thank God!' I said. ‘I hope I never will.' ‘A challenge to the Welfare State,' he said. ‘Now that is something I have never understood,' I said; ‘I think a man ought to be allowed to look after himself.' ‘Unfortunately welfare does not mean the same as well-being,' he said, ‘but Guernsey will fall for it. Guernsey, dear Guernsey, where all the tired platitudes come home to roost!'

Well, I walked down Smith Street with the will in my pocket, and I ought to have been dancing for joy; but, to tell you the truth, I felt flat and empty, because there was nothing more for me to do. I turned to go down High Street: and, to my astonishment, who should come out of Le Riche's Stores but Neville and Adèle? I bumped right into them. ‘Good Lord, who let you loose?' said Neville. ‘I thought it was Fridays you came in to rook the States.' ‘I had some very private business of my own to see to,' I said with dignity. ‘More roguery, I bet,' he said. ‘It is nice to see you, anyhow,' said Adèle. I said, ‘How is it you are not in the shop today?' ‘It is Neville's holiday,' she said, ‘and he got round my aunt. He would get round anybody, this bad boy!' They was hand in hand, and she looked up into his face. He was smiling down at her. If ever there was two in love, it was those two.

He said they was going to Moulin Huet for a picnic; and showed the hamper under his arm he had just bought at Le Riche's. Where was I going? ‘Home,' I said. ‘I'll run you back first,' he said. The car was up St Julien's Avenue. It was only a two-seater; but Adèle could look at the shops. ‘I can get myself home quite well on my own, thank you,' I said. ‘Oh, do let Neville take you!' said Adèle: ‘I don't mind waiting, I really don't. I can go to the Library.' ‘No!' I said; and in a way showed I meant it: ‘you go to your picnic!' ‘All right, then,' said Neville, ‘be independent! Some people got cussed children.' I wasn't going to take away one minute: no, not one minute, from what they was having. I looked at them standing there, and they was perfect in my eyes. If I could have my way, they would never change. ‘I will be round to see you soon,' Neville said, as they was going, ‘don't imagine I have done with you yet!' I watched them go down the Pollet; and then went down High Street to the bus.

When I got indoors, I put the envelope with the will in it in the drawer of the dresser. It isn't exactly as I wanted; but it is good to feel it is there. I didn't go out and start work in the afternoon, as I said to Mr de Lisle I would; but went down on the beach. It was lovely weather and there was nobody else on La Petite Grève. A few strangers passed along the top; and some chaps was working in the Chouey quarry, getting out mines the Germans had dumped in it before they went away. I was thinking of my two on the beach at Moulin Huet. I was as worried about them as an old hen; though I was quite sure they wasn't worried about themselves. They was in love, yes: but I know how short and stormy that can be. Will they quarrel? Will they drift apart? Adèle is going to have a full-time job with Neville. He have his eyes on the horizon; but he don't always see the rocks at his feet. It is Adèle who will have to keep the books in that house. What will the big world do to them; and all the millions going to fight? Guernsey got no say in the matter: Guernsey don't count; but oh, what will happen to my darlings, when the big bombs begin to fall?

It was only yesterday I wrote those words, after I had come up from the beach; but so much have happened to me since, I don't know what to think now. Is all one generation can do to set the stage for the comic, sad story of the next? Anyhow, this morning after breakfast, I thought I would put in my twelve hours on the ancient monument until dinner-time. I don't like getting my money from the States for nothing. I raked around. There was the everlasting cigarette packets and ice-cream papers; and two french letters. I thought it was a pill they use nowadays. Anyhow, it is done now for a few weeks. I took my time over my dinner, and had just washed up and got clear, when I heard Neville's voice. ‘Come on out, you!' he was outside shouting: ‘Come on out!' For the minute I thought I was fancying things. ‘Are you about?' he shouted, and came right in. I said, ‘Hullo, where's Adèle?' ‘I haven't brought her,' he said, ‘It's your turn today.' I don't know why, and I was surprised at myself, but I was glad he hadn't brought Adèle.

‘I am taking you for a ride,' he said. ‘What, in the car?' I said. ‘Yes, in the car,' he said. ‘Where would you like to go?' ‘Anywhere you like,' I said, ‘but, if it rests with me, I wouldn't mind going along the west coast.' ‘That will do me fine,' he said. ‘We can go as far as Pleinmont; and then we'll see.' ‘I haven't been to Pleinmont for years and years,' I said. He said I must put on something warmish, as it was an open car, and there was quite a breeze. He was wearing a guernsey and brown corduroy trousers. I went into the little room where I keep my clothes, and changed into a pair of thick blue serge trousers and put on Jean Batiste's guernsey. I was going to wear my hat, but Neville said it would blow off; so I put on an old beret I wear when I go to St Sampson's. ‘I look a boud'lo,' I said. ‘You look just right,' he said. I stacked the grate with coal, so as the fire wouldn't be out when we got back; and we went out the front way. I locked the front door and put the key under the stone, as I used to in the days of Tabitha and have done ever since.

His is a nice little car. I don't know what make, for I never notice, but it is red and low-built, and comfortable to sit in. He got in his side first and undid the door my side for me to get in. It runs very smooth; but he didn't drive fast to begin with. He went by Sandy Hook and through L'Islet and out to Grand Havre; and then along the coast road. Port Grat and Les Pêquéries have never been much to my idea; and, in any case, I had been that way not so long ago. From Gran'-Rock on I began to take notice. Cobo was always ramshackle, but I hardly knew it for all the new houses have been built. Albecq was much the same as I remembered it; but he let the car have its head when we got along Vazon. It is no good me saying I wasn't nervous, because I was; and I was holding tight on to the side. ‘Are you all right?' he said. ‘Yes,' I said. I thought well, if I am going to be killed, I am going to be killed. He slowed up by Perelle; but when we got passed L'Érée, he went hell for leather round Rocquaine. They have made such a mess of L'Érée I was trying to think how it was; but he didn't give me a chance.

He could see I was scared and was laughing at me; but he slowed down when we got by Fort Grey. I saw the great ugly tower on the top of Pleinmont the Germans built I hadn't seen before. He turned down by the Imperial, and drove past the Trinity Houses and along Portelet and round the Vardes and straight on as far as Fort Pezeries. A number of cars was parked where the road ends, and he stopped the car and said, ‘Let's get out and stretch our legs, shall we?' I hadn't brought my stick, like a fool, and when I got out nearly fell over. I had to hang on to the car, until he caught hold of my arm and helped me along. I don't like people helping me; but I had to let him. ‘Let's go across the grass,' he said; and we went along the path past the Table des Peons and stood in the opening between the two big rocks. The sea was roughish and sparkling in the sun and great waves was falling like lace over La Ronde. I saw the Hanois. I thought of Jim and me standing there. I thought of Raymond and Horace; and the blood on the stones. I was drowning in memories and was afraid I was going to cry. I managed to say, ‘America is over there.' ‘It can stay there,' he said, ‘I bet the Yanks got nothing on this.' I said, ‘All the greatest pain and beauty I have known have had to do with round here.'

He led me gently back to the car, and opened the door for me to get in; and then went round and got in his side and sat beside me. I said, ‘I am sorry I got upset.' ‘It is nothing to be sorry for,' he said. He had himself had some of his best times wandering on his own along the cliffs between Pleinmont and La Moye, and had wept at the grandeur of it. He began to tell me about the pictures he was going to paint. He was full of hope and his eyes were shining. There was a view of the Hanois from Fort Pezeries he particularly wanted to do. ‘I haven't dared to try it yet,' he said. I thought how he is like the Hanois himself. He have a light in him. ‘Feeling fit now?' he said. ‘Yes, fine!' I said. ‘Then we'll get,' he said, ‘I'm going to stand you a slap-up lobster tea at the Imperial.' I said, ‘You are going to do nothing of the sort! I am not having you throwing your money away on no lobster tea for me at the Imperial. I know where we can get a better tea for nothing.' ‘Where is that?' he said. ‘It is not far from the Imperial,' I said. ‘I will show you.'