Little Kiosk By The Sea (12 page)

‘OK. I’ll take a couple of the smaller ones down to him and tell him we’ll take the rest down tomorrow morning early. What time?’

‘Casting off at 7 so about 6.30. Thanks, you’re a life-saver. See you later.’

Early evening and after taking three of the smaller pictures into Tristan at the gallery and promising the rest for the morning, Sabine walked on towards the quay and
Daughter of the River
.

It wasn’t often Owen asked her to help out with on-board functions, but when he did she quite enjoyed it. The party atmosphere of tonight’s do promised a few hours of fun and mind-numbing disco music to help her forget how stupid she still felt over Reid. All those wasted years yearning for someone who proved to be unobtainable in the end.

Daughter of the River
was dressed overall, its coloured lights casting pools of shimmering reflections the length of the boat in the river water. As she walked up the gangplank, Sabine could hear the muted sounds of disco music pulsating down in the saloon as the night’s DJ ran a sound check.

She was kept busy for the next couple of hours, handing champagne to guests as they arrived, helping keep the buffet tables topped up with food and then, as guests drifted up to the main deck to watch the sun set over Dartmouth, giving a hand with the clearing up. It was ten o’clock before the woman in charge turned to her and said, ‘Thanks, Sabine. Any time you want to leave that old kiosk, let me know. I’ll give you a job any time.’

Sabine smiled, but before she could say anything, Owen’s voice behind her said, ‘Hands off my staff, missus. Find your own.’

She turned to face him as he said, ‘I’ve left Peter in charge in the wheelhouse, join me on deck for a drink?’ and he waved a bottle of wine and two glasses at her.

Sabine took a deep breath of the cool night air as she followed Owen outside, the deck beneath their feet vibrating with the loud music.

‘Lively party,’ she said, leaning against the rail. ‘Remember when we were twenty-one? Our whole lives still before us. Everything still possible.’

Owen poured the wine as he answered her. ‘All those wrong decisions still waiting to be made.’ He handed her a glass. ‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers,’ Sabine echoed as they clinked glasses. ‘Come on, Owen. Your life hasn’t turned out that badly, has it?’ Fleetingly she thought of her own life. Giving up her art college place was top of her ‘mistakes I have made in life’ list, but that was a decision life itself had taken for her. She’d never have forgiven herself if she hadn’t been there for Mum. And then there was Reid. Best not think about that particular mistake.

‘No, it’s not bad at all but …’ Owen sighed. ‘I don’t know. Sometimes I feel I should have been more assertive over certain things. Rebelled a bit. Stood up to Dad.’ He took a large drink of wine. ‘Had a bit more backbone and fought for my dreams instead of always taking the easy option and drifting into things. I might even have got married and had a family then.’

‘Is this what your six months travelling is really all about?’ Sabine asked quietly.

Owen nodded. ‘Yes. Something just for me. You thought any more about coming?’

‘Depends. I’d really like to see places like Mexico, America, China, India, you know places like that as well as just Europe.’

‘We can do that,’ Owen said instantly. ‘Go to the far-flung places first and work our way back to Europe. Sorted!’

Sabine laughed. ‘When exactly did I say yes to coming with you?’

‘Oh come on, Sabine, stop teasing,’ Owen said, putting his arm around her shoulders and squeezing her. ‘You know you want to come. We’ll have a ball. Just say yes.’

CHAPTER NINETEEN

BB

Standing in the bow of the
Dartmouth Princess
passenger ferry as it left the Kingswear pontoon and made its way across the river, BB closed his eyes momentarily, enjoying the feel of the wind against his face and the smell of the tangy salt air. After a day spent in Exeter library researching papers he’d been unable to access on the Internet, it was good to stand out in the fresh air. It was good too, to feel the movement of a boat under his feet. He really must start some serious yacht hunting soon or the summer would disappear and he’d have literally missed the boat. The only boats he’d been offered so far hadn’t been ideal. Next time he saw Johnnie, he’d ask if he’d heard about anything suitable on his travels.

As the ferry’s warning hooter sounded, BB opened his eyes and, looking up river, he saw a sailing yacht urgently changing tack to get out of the path of the advancing ferry. The Naval College high on the bank, its red bricks illuminated in the evening sunlight, brought Grandpa Randy and Uncle Lance to mind. He knew now they would both have set foot there while it was the wartime HQ for the US Navy.

He also knew from the several black and white photographs he’d seen in the museum that the river then had been full of various naval vessels and landing-craft, all involved in Operation Overlord; preparing for the D-day assault across the channel. Other photos had shown the town itself had been extra busy too, with every available space taken up. Coronation Park, out of bounds to the locals, had been covered with a multitude of Nissan huts, workshops and tanks – all the paraphernalia of a world war.

Standing on the ferry watching all the peaceful modern-day activity on the river, it was hard to conjure up a picture of the grimness of the earlier era. It was a sobering thought to think Randy and Lance had travelled three thousand miles to this place when it had been the nerve centre of a war campaign. Strangers in a country who would forever be a part of the history of this place, particularly Lance who’d never made it back home. Killed in the E-boat debacle out at Torcross, April l944.

Leaving the ferry, he walked into town to buy an early takeaway supper of fish and chips before taking a short cut up Browns Hill Steps to Rachel’s cottage. Five minutes later, he was out on the small terrace, enjoying his supper with a glass of red wine and looking forward to spending the evening doing yet more research on the Internet.

Today he’d learnt even more about the Holdsworth and the Seale families historically, but still hadn’t uncovered much information about any twentieth century families with those surnames. Tonight he planned to log onto a site the librarian at Exeter had given him the details of that apparently had the birth, marriages and death records from the three Dartmouth churches. Surely he’d find Grandma Mary’s baptism details recorded there and possible links to her family?

An hour later, the dining room table was covered with papers and notebooks as he attempted to make some sense out of the things both his library and Internet research had discovered. This genealogy business sure was complicated. It didn’t help matters either that so many sons were named after their fathers – whole generations of similar names. BB had lost count of the number of Johns in the Seale family records. Holdsworth records were as bad with the name Arthur. Now though, he was sure of one thing, both these families had been the kingpins of Dartmouth a couple of centuries ago. The fact that he’d discovered a long-running feud had existed between them was beginning to add even more interest to his research.

He couldn’t resist triumphantly waving his fist in the air when he found Grandma Mary Seale’s christening date in St. Saviour’s church – Sunday 19
^th
April l925. At last he was getting somewhere.

Intriguingly Mary’s mother had been one Amelia Holdsworth before she married William Seale. Given the rivalry he now knew had existed between the two families, he’d guess that particular union hadn’t been greeted with delight.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. As fascinating as these old records were, he’d had enough for the evening and he bookmarked the last page ready for the next day before he closed the site down. Before he could shut down the laptop completely, the Skype connection began buzzing.

‘Hi, Jess, how’s things?’

‘Great. You?’ Without waiting for an answer, Jess continued. ‘You know that box of old stuff from Grandma Mary I’ve been going through with Mom? Turns out most of the stuff is Uncle Lance’s that Grandpa Randy couldn’t bear to throw away.’

‘Anything interesting?’

‘There’s a photo of him and a woman and a half-written letter to someone he calls ‘My Darling Florrie’ whom I presume is the woman in the photo. They look very happy together. There’s a few other papers all in an official army envelope – guess its stuff they returned when he was killed. Haven’t had time to look at those properly yet.’

‘Sure sounds like it. I don’t suppose there’s an address on the half-finished letter for this Florrie, is there?’

‘Sorry, no. Want me to post it and the photo over to you?’

‘Be quicker if you scan them first, plus anything else interesting you find, and email them to me. I can print out copies then. Show the picture around – see if any of the older generation recognise her.’

‘Okay, will do.’

‘Mom okay?’

‘Yeah. Missing the golden boy though! You might try ringing her sometime! She’d prefer that to your emails.’

BB sighed. ‘I do think about ringing and then realise it’s in the middle of the night with the time difference. Is she there now? You could put her on.’

‘Nope, she’s gone to a seniors’ tea party. I’ll give her your love. Got to go.’

BB opened up his laptop early the next morning, hoping Jessie had scanned the photo and the letter, but was disappointed to find his mailbox folder empty. He opened the website he’d bookmarked the previous evening and started to scroll down through the pages of records relating to St Saviours.

He was becoming more and more convinced that Grandma Mary’s Dartmouth family had simply died out and there were no long-lost cousins waiting to be discovered. Five minutes later, he found himself staring at the screen, trying to make sense of an entry he was reading on a page dated Sunday 28
^th
January l945.

CHAPTER TWENTY

JOHNNIE

Johnnie was still staring at Martha, waiting for her to answer when the conservatory door was pushed open.

‘Hello, Johnnie,’ a soft voice said. ‘Martha’s right. Carla is yours.’

Johnnie spun round. ‘Josette?’

Josette, a slender woman in her mid-thirties, had always reminded him of a younger Annie with her big brown eyes and a determined attitude to life from the day they’d met. Even though he knew she was much too young for him, at a time when he’d been in desperate need of someone to love him, it hadn’t seemed to matter. Had even been a part of the attraction.

‘I’ll take Carla for a walk in the park,’ Martha said. ‘You two can talk in private.’ She began to push the buggy and Carla out of the room.

‘Martha, wait a moment, please,’ Josette said, before bending over to gently kiss Carla. ‘Enjoy the park, sweetie. Be a good girl. Mama loves you.’ Straightening up, she blinked rapidly as Martha wheeled the buggy out of the room.

‘You absolutely sure she’s mine?’ Johnnie winced at the look Josette gave him. ‘Sorry. Insensitive.’ Hell, he’d already seen the resemblance for himself. The LeRoy traits were all there on the baby’s face – from the dimple in the chin, the set of the eyes, to the mole high on the left cheek like his.

‘So is this about maintenance? Fine. How much?’

Josette shook her head. ‘No. I’ve been managing quite well on my own, thank you. Besides, it’s too late for that.’ She took a deep breath before saying, ‘I’m giving her to you.’

Stunned, Johnnie felt his mouth drop open. ‘You what?’

‘I’ve met someone. He wants me to marry him and move to Paris but …’ She stopped, her voice cracking. ‘He refuses to take Carla as well.’ She looked at him pleadingly.

‘Johnnie, please take her and give her a good life. I know you’ll be a wonderful father. I’ve finally got the chance to leave here and have a proper life of my own. If you don’t take her I’m stuck for ever – or at least until she’s grown up and then it will be too late anyway.’ She brushed a tear away. ‘You told me how much you and your wife wanted a child, well now you’ve got one.’

‘
Merde
. I don’t believe this is happening. How old is she?’ Johnnie said, distractedly rubbing the back of his neck.

‘Nine months.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?’

‘Remember the last time we saw each other?’ she said quietly.

Johnnie nodded. ‘Of course.’ They’d had a lovely evening, ending up at her small apartment where he’d plucked up the courage to gently tell her that it was the last time. There could be no future in their relationship. He was too old for her.

That was what? Seventeen months ago? He’d only seen her once since then in the distance when she’d waved a hand at him in acknowledgement and hurried away before he could catch up with her.

‘I was going to tell you then but instead you told me it was over. That you were too old for me. I did think about telling you then anyway, but couldn’t face the thought you might accuse me of lying about being on the pill. Of trying to trap you.’

Josette pulled a tissue out of her jacket pocket, struggling to keep her tears in check. ‘If it’s any consolation, I had decided I’d tell you on her first birthday. I wanted you to at least know you had a daughter. But meeting Herve has changed things for me.’

Johnnie stayed silent, waiting.

‘I’ve gone over and over in my mind what is the best thing to do – for her, for me. I can’t stay living here when the alternative is out there for me to take. If that makes me selfish …’ Josette shrugged, but the next moment she turned on him. ‘Don’t ever think I don’t love her because I do, and don’t even for one minute think I’m taking the easy route by handing her over to you. I’m not.’

Johnnie regarded her steadily. ‘I don’t think that. Even if I start paying maintenance and make regular visits, you won’t stay, will you?’

Josette shook her head. ‘No. You’ll grow to love your daughter, but you don’t love me. Herve, on the other hand, does love me and is waiting for me in Paris.

‘Will you please talk to her about me? I can’t bear the thought of her not knowing about me. Tell her how much I love her. I’ll keep in touch with you and Martha so you can send me photos and things. I’ll send her presents too, if that’s okay with you? Perhaps I can visit occasionally?’