Survivor (27 page)

It was a lovely spring day. Crocuses had
opened up in the sunshine, and there were masses of daffodils. Looking out at the
garden, she was reminded that they never did get the chickens Mariette had suggested
when they were on holiday in Arundel, but they had grown some vegetables last year.
She wondered what would become of the beautiful garden Lisette had loved so much and
on which she had lavished so much care. Mariette couldn’t imagine
Jean-Philippe continuing to take care of it.

St Mark’s was packed, and many
people had to stand. Mariette glanced at Jean-Philippe, who was standing next to her
singing the first hymn, and wondered if he was suffering pangs of guilt now that it
was obvious to everyone how well loved his family had been. Alice, his wife,
hadn’t come with him. When Mariette asked where she was, he said she was
unwell. That
sounded like a lie, and
Mariette wondered if their marriage had broken up. That might account for him
wanting to move into the old family home in such a hurry.

Mariette found the service extremely
painful. She had attended services here many times with Noah, Lisette and Rose, and,
although they weren’t the kind of family who went every single week, they knew
the vicar quite well, and she had expected him to say something personal, at least
about Noah. But he didn’t, and she wondered if Jean-Philippe had told him not
to. At the point when the whole congregation had to follow the men carrying the
three coffins out into the graveyard for the interment, she heard a couple of
whispers that suggested many others were surprised by the bleak impersonal nature of
the service too.

When Johnny had called Jean-Philippe a
snake, it had sounded like a very general insult. But after the coffins were in the
ground, and the vicar had said the last words, Mariette noted the cautious way
people approached him, most avoiding him altogether, so perhaps they too saw him as
a snake that could possible spit venom at them.

Mariette kept her distance from
Jean-Philippe, but she was touched that so many people came up to her to offer their
condolences. Some she had met before at the house, some were neighbours, and many
more were complete strangers, yet they all seemed to know who she was.

The biggest surprise was that Mr and Mrs
Hayes, Peter’s parents, had come. She had wondered who the
aristocratic-looking couple were, sitting right behind her and Jean-Philippe in the
church, but when they introduced themselves to her, she wondered why she
hadn’t guessed their identity. They fitted perfectly with what Rose had said
about them. Mr Hayes was a big man in his sixties, with thick white hair and
piercing blue eyes. His wife was slender, with high cheekbones, and the little hair
showing under her wide-brimmed black hat was still blonde. Mariette thought they
would make a handsome couple under happier circumstances. But today, in black
mourning clothes and with faces etched with grief at losing their son, they looked
old.

Mrs Hayes’s eyes were damp, and
earlier tears had left track marks through her face powder. ‘We felt we had to
come,’ she said, her lower lip trembling. ‘We knew from Edwin how
terrible this has been for you, and we were so fond of Rose. We hoped she would
become our daughter-in-law.’

‘I wish I could have met you in
happier times,’ Mariette said, taking the woman’s two hands in hers.
‘I am so very sorry you lost your Peter, and I find it even more touching that
you still came today, despite how you must be feeling.’

‘The hardest thing is the way
we’ve been made to feel
unwelcome
by him,’ Mr Hayes said, nodding towards Jean-Philippe. ‘It was bad
enough that we had to learn the date and time of the funeral from the newspaper,
instead of a telephone call, but we put that down to his grief. But when we told
him, just now, who we were, he barely acknowledged us. Not one word of consolation
at losing our son.’

Mariette was shocked, she had thought
Jean-Philippe’s unpleasantness was only directed at her. ‘I am so
sorry,’ she said. ‘I can only suppose he is wrapped up in his own loss.
I would’ve telephoned you myself, I certainly wanted to, but Jean-Philippe
took Rose’s address book and said he would see to contacting
everyone.’

‘He doesn’t appear to have
spoken to any of Rose’s friends,’ Mrs Hayes said with some indignation.
‘We spoke to some of them we knew when we arrived at the church, and none of
them had been contacted. Except that man …’ She pointed to a small,
rotund middle-aged man with a goatee beard who was talking to Jean-Philippe.
‘I believe he is the man Rose worked for.’

‘Sir Ralph Hastings,’
Mariette said. She’d met him just once, when he had given Rose a lift home for
the weekend.

‘Rose would never have thought a
man with a title was more important than her friends and future in-laws,’ Mrs
Hayes said pointedly.

‘No, she wouldn’t,’
Mariette agreed. ‘And neither would Noah or Lisette. I have to admit,
Jean-Philippe has been very unpleasant to me. I have to leave the house after the
wake.’

‘Oh, my dear!’ Mrs Hayes
exclaimed. ‘You mean, he is making you leave?’

Mariette nodded. ‘If you should
see Edwin, will you tell him? I will drop him a line at Biggin Hill, when I’m
settled.’

‘We’ll be seeing him on
Monday, when we bury Peter,’ Mr Hayes said. ‘He’s been a tower of
strength to us this last
week, as have
many of Peter’s pilot friends. Gerald’s parents came to see us too, such
nice people. They asked after you, Mariette. They had high hopes for you
two.’

A sudden sharp memory came back to
Mariette of being in Peter’s car, Rose beside him, with her and Gerald sitting
in the back, all singing at the tops of their voices. Some of the best times
she’d had in London had been with them, and her eyes filled with tears at the
memory.

‘He was a lovely, lovely man, and
I miss him,’ she said sadly.

Later, back at the house, Mariette
busied herself pouring tea, offering people cake and sandwiches. She didn’t
know any of these people Jean-Philippe had invited, other than Sir Ralph Hastings,
and even that had been only one brief meeting. She noted that there was only one
real common denominator amongst the people Jean-Philippe had invited back here, and
that was wealth and position. Not one of them was a close friend of the family; they
were lawyers, bankers and the like. Presumably just people he’d found through
Noah’s correspondence and thought might be useful to him. That made her
despise him even more, and she was tempted to fetch her case and get out now,
leaving him to clear up.

A small man with gold-rimmed spectacles
approached her. ‘You must be Mariette?’ he said.

‘Yes, I am,’ she said,
wondering if she should know him. ‘I’m sorry, but have we met
before?’ she asked.

‘No, my dear, but I knew your
mother many years ago. I’m Henry Fortesque, a retired lawyer. Noah and I were
close friends when we were young, but we drifted apart, as people do. I met Belle
when she was staying in his apartment prior to leaving for New Zealand, and I liked
her very much. When she asked Noah to be your godfather, he was very touched.
The last time I spoke to him on the
telephone, about a year ago, he said you were staying with him.’

Just to find someone who knew her mother
and cared about Noah was like being given a comforting hug. ‘Then you’ll
know Belle loves New Zealand, and I have two younger brothers, Alexis and
Noel,’ she said with a smile.

‘I have kept abreast of her happy
ending,’ he said with a smile. ‘I helped Noah a little in tracking down
your father in France. By all accounts, he is a very charismatic man along with
being a true war hero. There are few things more satisfying in life than seeing two
people who deserve happiness finding it together. You have your mother’s
beauty and, I suspect, all of your father’s charm.’

Mariette laughed softly. ‘You
aren’t short in the charm department either,’ she said. ‘Gosh, it
is so nice to meet someone here today who has a link with my family back home. I
thought of Noah, Lisette and Rose as a second family, and to lose them all is very
hard.’

He put his hand on her elbow, and drew
her out of the drawing room and into the kitchen. ‘Forgive me for manhandling
you, my dear,’ he said. ‘But I had noticed a certain frostiness between
you and Lisette’s son. As so few of Noah and Lisette’s real friends have
come back here today, I formed my own opinion as to why. I suspect he only invited
me because he thought I might be useful.’

‘I am really mortified about how
he’s been behaving towards people,’ she whispered. ‘But he’s
been even worse to me. This has been my home for two years, but Noah and Lisette
were barely cold before he ordered me to leave here. I’m going the minute this
wake is over.’

The small man’s eyebrows shot up
in horror. ‘My dear, that is appalling,’ he agreed. ‘I know Noah
had come to think of you as another daughter, he told me this himself. He
hoped that, when the war ended, he and
Lisette could travel back with you to New Zealand to see Belle and Etienne. But we
can’t really talk now, walls have ears and all that. If I give you my card,
will you come and see me? I’m only in Hampstead.’

There was such kindness in his
tawny-coloured eyes. ‘I’d like that, Mr Fortesque. It would be wonderful
to be able to speak to someone who knew and cared about Noah and his
family.’

‘Call me Henry, please,’ he
said. ‘Now, where are you intending to move to?’

‘Bow, where a friend said she
could put me up till I find something else. It might not be much but it’s more
welcoming than here.’

He took out a card from a silver holder
and handed it to her. ‘Could you make it to my house on Sunday, for lunch? My
wife misses not having any of our children close by, she’d be pleased to feed
you up.’

‘That would be lovely,’ she
said. ‘Thank you so much, Henry, you’ve made me feel a lot
better.’

‘About one o’clock,’
he said. ‘We usually eat before two.’

The guests ate everything, down to the
last sandwich and sausage roll, and then began to leave.

Mariette went up to her bedroom, packed
the last of her things, and took one last fond look at the room which Lisette had
said was inspired by Belle’s hat shop. She hoped that Jean-Philippe would
never have a moment’s happiness in this house, or anywhere else.

As she got to the bottom of the stairs,
with her coat on and suitcase in hand, Jean-Philippe came out of the drawing
room.

‘There’s clearing up to be
done,’ he said curtly.

‘Yes, by
you,’ she said sharply. ‘I’m off now, and I hope I never have the
misfortune to see you again. I also hope you never have a moment’s happiness
in this house.’

‘You little guttersnipe,’ he
said, and took a threatening step towards her.

‘You lay one hand on me, and you
won’t know what’s hit you,’ she warned him. ‘If your mother
wasn’t already dead, she would have died of shame at how you’ve behaved.
Toadying around rich, influential people that she barely knew, but ignoring all
those she cared about. All I can say is that your father must have been an evil man,
because you sure as hell didn’t learn it from your mother.’

She wrenched the front door open and
left without looking back.

But she couldn’t hold back the
tears that had been barely contained all day, they spilled over and ran down her
face. ‘I’ll think of something to hurt you, Jean-bloody-Philippe,’
she muttered. ‘Just you wait.’

Joan had clearly made a huge effort to
make her shabby little home in Soame Street welcoming for Mariette. There was just
one room downstairs, and a tiny scullery, but she’d cleaned, dusted and
scrubbed the stone floor in readiness.

‘I know it ain’t what
you’re used to, love,’ Joan said as she hugged her. ‘But I’m
really glad to have you ’ere. And I ’ope we can ’ave some laughs
together to ’elp you put aside all yer sadness.’

Joan was twenty-eight, small and wiry.
And although she was plain, with mousey hair, her personality made up for her lack
of looks. Her smile could light up a room, she had energy and fire, and she made
people laugh with ribald jokes and irreverent comments about everything, from
religion to Winston Churchill.

‘’E’s a fat little bastard an’ a toff, but next time
’e comes down this way I’m gonna offer ’im a fuck,’ she had
said about Churchill the first time Mariette met her. ‘See, a man like
’im probably ain’t never ’ad a good ’un. ’Is missis
looks to me like she’s too posh fer such things.’

Her philosophy on life was a simple one:
you had to search for the funny side of everything, no matter how serious the
problem might seem. Mariette was intending to embrace that philosophy herself.

‘So ’ow was the
funeral?’ Joan asked.

‘About as comforting as Christmas
in a workhouse,’ Mariette replied. ‘I’d like to get a red-hot
poker and stick it up Jean-Philippe’s backside. But I’ve brought gifts
from him! Of course, he doesn’t know he’s given them to us, but that
will make them all the better.’

She opened her suitcase and brought out
a full bottle of gin, wrapped up in a cardigan. She had noted the way his guests
were knocking back spirits and thought Jean-Philippe would think they’d
polished off the full bottle too. Then she dug out the tea, sugar, a tin of salmon,
some fish paste and a large chunk of fruit cake.

Joan’s pale-brown eyes widened.
‘Bloody ’ell, Mari, you’ve done us proud. Don’t think
I’ve ever ’ad me ’ands on a full bottle of gin. Salmon an’
all! Flippin’ marvellous.’

‘And I nicked this for you,’
Mari said, taking a lipstick from her pocket. ‘It was one of Rose’s, I
didn’t think Jean-Philippe would want to wear it.’

‘From what you’ve said about
that little maggot, I wouldn’t put it past him to dress up in women’s
clothes,’ Joan laughed. She went over to the mirror above the mantelpiece and
put on the coral-coloured lipstick. ‘You should’ve nicked more stuff,
Mari, it would’ve made you feel better.’