Survivor Page 7

  5

  Mariette was very aware that people thought she was cold because she didn’t show emotion. She felt indignant that just because she didn’t weep and wail, or say soppy things, they thought that meant she didn’t feel anything.

  The whole business with Sam had been the most hideous and hurtful thing she’d ever known. He’d not only made her feel dirty, ashamed and stupid, but her actions had made her parents and Mog feel horrified and let down. She so much wanted to find the words to tell them how bad she was feeling, how sorry she was that she’d hurt them, but she couldn’t. Keeping quiet and out of their way had been her only way of coping with the situation.

  Then, when she found out she wasn’t pregnant after all, she had thought that was the end of it, they could all forget it had ever happened. But just helping more at home, trying to show them all how much she valued them and how sorry she was, didn’t really make it go away. It was still there, like a faint bad smell that refused to leave, whatever she did.

  Outside the house, it was even worse. She sensed that everyone was talking about her; older people were snubbing her, younger ones looking at her with a sneer. One by one, all her friends dropped her; no one came round, and there were no invitations to go anywhere.

  Perhaps other girls in her position would have cried and made a scene, but that wasn’t her style. So she put her nose in the air and made out she didn’t care.

  When her father said that her godfather in England had asked if she would like to visit him, her first reaction was utter joy. The thought of leaving behind the past humiliation and disapproval was enough on its own. And who wouldn’t want the adventure of going to London, and seeing all those amazing sights she’d seen in books and magazines? She loved the idea of being on a big ship for more than six weeks, and she felt excited at the prospect of getting a real job, meeting new people who would have a much broader view of life than those she knew here in Russell.

  But the delight and excitement soon vanished when she realized it was banishment, because she’d shamed her family.

  They didn’t say as much. They talked of there being more opportunities for her, and of giving her the chance to see the world. Yet even though that was what they truly wanted for her, Mariette also knew they felt her past mistakes were affecting her brothers.

  She didn’t know Uncle Noah and Auntie Lisette. They were just names on a Christmas card, the people who sent presents to her and her brothers on their birthdays. Granted, they were always lovely presents – for her eighteenth they’d sent her a beautiful silver bracelet. She knew they lived in a splendid house, that Uncle Noah was an acclaimed journalist and author, and a good friend to both her parents. And yet, to Mariette they were strangers on whom she was being fobbed off.

  She had learned her lesson. Sam was a horrible and worthless man, and she regretted ever having clapped eyes on him. She certainly didn’t intend to make a mistake like that again. But however badly she had behaved, she didn’t understand why the neighbours felt they had a right to judge her. She hadn’t hurt any of them, and she could bet every single one of them had done something shameful in their life too.

  In the past, when she had daydreamed of leaving Russell, Mariette had always imagined her friends and family shedding tears as they waved goodbye to her on the jetty. She’d also thought that if ever she came back, it would be a joyous and triumphal return. But now she felt everyone would be whispering ‘good riddance’ as she left, and hoping that was the last they’d see of her.

  Miss Quigley had always said she was defiant, and that’s what she decided she would be now. She would act like she couldn’t wait to leave because Russell was too small for her. Maybe, if she could put on a good enough act, she’d start to believe it too and stop being scared.

  Alone in her room at night, though, she found herself crying. She was going to miss Noel and Alexis; however much they got on her nerves sometimes, she loved them. As for Mum, Papa and Mog, she couldn’t imagine what life would be like without seeing them every day. Who would she turn to, if she was frightened or lonely? Her confidence had always been remarked on, but what if it left her when she got to England?

  ‘I think you’re being very brave,’ her father said one morning, almost as if he’d read her thoughts. ‘I’m sure you are a bit worried about going to the other side of the world without us, but you are going to love it, Mari. Along with seeing London, I’m sure Noah will take you over to France. He has a place near Marseille which used to be mine. Imagine seeing all the places your mother and I have told you about?’

  Mariette had always wanted her father to be proud of her, and if the only way she could make that happen was to appear brave, then that was what she must do. So she didn’t throw herself into his arms and tell him she couldn’t bear the thought of not going sailing and fishing with him, which was the truth. Instead, she just forced a grin and said how much she wanted to see Buckingham Palace, the Tower of London, the River Seine and the Eiffel Tower, and that she was grateful for the opportunity she’d been given.

  Mog dug out a thick, brown wool coat with a red fox collar, which she’d brought here from England, and began taking it apart with the plan of remodelling it for Mariette. Her mother found some brown felt to make a hat to go with it, and she showed Mariette some beautiful feathers with which she intended to trim it.

  They booked a passage for her on a ship leaving for England from Auckland on 18th December, at the height of summer, but she’d arrive in England in the dead of winter.

  She had always been a bit confused as to why English immigrants moaned that New Zealand was upside down, how they missed big fires and the snow and ice that came at Christmas at home. Her parents didn’t do this – in fact, they had always laughed at people who struggled desperately to keep up European traditions, including a roast dinner and plum pudding, when the temperature was up in the eighties.

  Their family always celebrated with a special Christmas picnic on the beach, where they’d swim and play cricket. And although Mog often told them tales about the mining village in Wales where she grew up, she didn’t make it sound like the views on the Christmas cards that came from England. They had pure white snow, horse-drawn sleighs and tables laden with food. Mog’s were grim tales of eating a meagre rabbit stew, of a town coated in coal dust, of men and women who were old at thirty-five because of poverty and overwork.

  Mog always said it made more sense to celebrate Jesus’s birthday in a warm place, because that’s how Bethlehem was. She loved to collect native wild flowers and greenery to decorate the house, and she would hang up dozens of gaily coloured Chinese paper lanterns on the veranda. When it grew dark, Dad lit candles in them and it was magical to sit out there with the various neighbours who dropped by. Mum said every year that it beat Christmas in England hands down.

  Mariette didn’t mind missing Christmas in Russell – it would probably be just as much fun on the ship – but she was a bit worried that an English winter would be very much colder than it was here in the North Island. Mog and her mother had often, in the past, talked of thick pea-souper fogs back home, of ice on the inside of windows, and although they both went out of their way to tell her now how warm and beautiful Uncle Noah’s house would be, she was still apprehensive.

  To take her mind off all the niggling worries, Mariette buckled down to help with the sewing of the new clothes she would need.

  It was exciting to be making the kind of clothes she would never have the opportunity to wear in Russell. Earlier in the year, Noah had sent Mog some English fashion magazines and now she was in her element, deciding which dresses and costumes she could copy. She found some lovely cream lace in the trunk in which she hoarded fabric. That was going to make an evening dress, and there was some lilac crêpe which draped beautifully. But Mariette was doubtful about the checked wool which Mog planned to use to make a costume: it looked more suitable for Miss Quigley, the schoolteacher.

  ‘I do know about fashion,’ Mog said reprovingly
when she saw Mariette’s disdainful expression. ‘Mrs Simpson wore a costume exactly like the one I’m going to make for you, just before the King abdicated. No one was more elegant than she was, even if none of us approved of her. You will find women in England take a greater pride in their appearance than they do here, and they have rules about dress. It’s not done to go out without a hat, or to go bare-legged, not even in summer. When we go to Auckland to see you off, we’ll have to buy you stockings and gloves. But once you are in England, Lisette will help you get it right; she’s very chic, as you’d expect from a Frenchwoman.’

  On 12th December, two days before Mariette was due to leave Russell, Belle woke in the morning full of misgivings about sending Mariette away.

  They had decided that Mog and Etienne would accompany her on the steamer to Auckland while Belle would stay home with the boys. Once in Auckland, Mog would supervise buying the items Mariette still needed for England. Etienne was far better equipped than Belle to make sure his daughter and her luggage got on the right ship at the right time. Besides, it would be less painful for her to say goodbye here, rather than waving Mariette off in Auckland.

  ‘I feel just the way I did in France, when they packed me into that coach to take me to the ship bound for New York,’ she admitted to Etienne. ‘If I feel like that, how must Mari be feeling?’

  Etienne had got out of bed to dress, but on hearing the anxiety and dejection in Belle’s voice he sat back down on the bed and enveloped his wife in his arms. ‘It isn’t anything like that for Mari. Firstly, you’d been through every kind of hell before that day,’ he said. ‘You also had no idea where you were being taken. And you were much younger than Mari. But Mog and I are seeing her off, and she’s going to people who will love her as we do. She knows a great deal about England too. She’s ready to leave us, Belle. She’s outgrown Russell, and she wants a new start. You must let her go. We can telephone her from the bakery sometimes. She isn’t being sold, as you were; she’s free to make an exciting, fulfilling life for herself.’

  ‘But what if war does break out? She might get trapped there,’ Belle said fearfully.

  A shadow passed over Etienne’s features that told her he was as apprehensive and sad about Mariette leaving as she was. But he was made of sterner stuff than Belle was, and he would never admit it.

  ‘Noah wouldn’t make jokes about the government getting trenches dug in Hyde Park and stockpiling sandbags if he really thought they’d be needed,’ Etienne said firmly. ‘He said Hitler doesn’t want to fight England. Besides, even if he’s wrong, or if things change, he’ll get Mari on the first ship back to us.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Belle asked.

  ‘How can you even ask that, Belle?’ Etienne demanded. ‘Have you forgotten all he did for us in the past? But for him we would never have got together again. Doesn’t that tell you that we are putting our daughter in the safest of hands?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she sighed. ‘But I can’t help worrying.’

  ‘Don’t let Mari see it,’ he warned her. ‘She is all keyed up to go now, and we must send her off joyfully or she will get anxious too. Now let’s make the most of her last two days with us. We’ll prepare a picnic and go out in the boat to give her something good to remember.’

  A few hours later, as Etienne was at the helm in his fishing boat, he glanced sideways at Mariette. As always when she was aboard, she was right at his side, eagerly awaiting the moment when he would let her take the wheel. Alexis and Noel were sitting astern with Belle and Mog. They hadn’t yet developed their elder sister’s passion for the sea. They were sitting quietly, far more enthusiastic about the prospect of reaching the beach for the picnic than about the joy of being out on the water.

  It was days like this he was going to miss the most while Mariette was away. She was the only one in the family who loved to fish, swim and sail as much as he did. Some of the best times they’d had together had been out here in the bay, racing along in the dinghy with the wind in their hair, soaked by sea spray.

  He had an ache in his heart at her leaving. She was so like him as a young man, determined, fierce and often ruthless, all character traits that had served him well but didn’t sit well with femininity. He fervently hoped that Noah and Lisette would be able to encourage her to utilize her keen mind and would influence her to rein in her natural exuberance and wilfulness.

  Belle had been beautiful at Mari’s age, with black curly hair, a soft full mouth and eyes the colour of a summer sky, framed by thick sweeping lashes. She had the kind of devastating beauty that made people turn to look at her.

  Mari was merely pretty in comparison, with hair the colour of new pennies, well-defined cheekbones and a sharp little chin. Her eyes were the same shape and colour as Belle’s, but she had a habit of giving people icy stares, just like Etienne did. Yet he felt that in another couple of years she would become a real stunner. He hoped, by then, she would have learned poise and a sense of her own worth. The thought of another man bending her to his will made Etienne’s blood run cold.

  ‘It’s been the most perfect day,’ Belle said as Etienne helped her climb aboard later that afternoon. Mog came next, her skirt hitched up to save getting it wet.

  They had lit a fire on the beach and fried sausages and bacon. The boys and Mariette had gambolled around in the sea while Mog dozed on a blanket. Belle and Etienne had built an impressive sandcastle which the children then decorated with shells.

  Fourteen- and fifteen-year-old boys are, by their very nature, lacking in sentimentality. They had both tactlessly asked if they could have Mariette’s room once she was gone. Alexis had said a few days ago that he wouldn’t miss his sister sniping at him, or the rows she caused. Noel was more interested in rugby and cricket than considering whether he would miss her.

  But they had both been less boisterous and argumentative all day today, so perhaps they weren’t quite as keen to see her go as their past cutting remarks would suggest.

  ‘This is what I’m going to miss – next to all of you, of course,’ Mariette said, waving her hand at the turquoise sea and the vivid green of the trees which grew right down to the water’s edge. The small sandy beach was a secluded spot which she had always liked to think no one but they knew about or came to.

  ‘There’s sea all around England too,’ Mog said. ‘But, I have to say, it isn’t often blue, mostly it’s grey and perishing cold. That’s why I never learned to swim.’

  ‘But there are lovely things in England that we don’t have here,’ Belle said. ‘There’re castles, palaces and little villages that are far prettier than anything in New Zealand. You are going to see shops in London that are so grand, you’ll think you have to be someone important to go in them. There are trains that run underground too. When Mog and I left London, there were far more horses than cars and lorries, and few people had electricity in their homes, but all that’s changed now. You won’t know yourself, switching on a light as easy as anything, or turning on a tap and hot water coming out. When we stayed at the flat Noah had at the end of the war, every room was warm because there was a big boiler in the basement that heated radiators all over the building. I expect the house he lives in now is just the same. And no more going outside to the lavatory.’

  Etienne started the engine and, as the boat began to move out into deeper water, Mariette asked if everyone in England had homes like Uncle Noah.

  ‘Sadly not,’ Belle said. ‘There are still a great many people living in what they call slums, with a shared tap and privy out in the yard, but you won’t be going anywhere like that. Uncle Noah lives in a lovely part of London.’

  ‘I want to see all of London, not just the bits where the rich people live,’ Mariette said. ‘I want to go to the part where you used to live when you were a girl.’

  ‘I expect Noah will take you to see the Ram’s Head that my Garth used to own,’ Mog said. ‘The house where we lived when your mum was a little girl burned down, but there’s a big market for frui
t, vegetables and flowers called Covent Garden nearby. I don’t suppose that will have changed much since our day; the smell of the flowers almost takes your breath away. It was your mum’s favourite place.’

  Just the thought of Mariette going to Seven Dials made Belle feel anxious. She didn’t want her daughter to stumble upon the darker truths about what life had once been like for her and Mog. Noah knew it all, of course, and she knew he would never reveal it willingly. But what if Mariette kept probing and he let something slip?

  Mog caught her eye. As always, she was quick to pick up on tension, and she was an expert on defusing it. ‘You won’t think much of that part of London, it’s all a bit ramshackle and dirty,’ she said. ‘But you’ll want to see Trafalgar Square and St James’s Park, that’s all nearby. Then there’s the River Thames, that’s a feast for the eye, so wide, so many boats. And the Tower of London, where they used to lock up lords and ladies for treason, that’s just further along.’

  Belle breathed a sigh of relief as Mariette got up and joined Etienne at the wheel. She just hoped Noah was good at diverting conversations away from dangerous ground too.

  Late that night, when Belle and Etienne were in bed, she asked him if he was worried that Mariette would pester Noah for more information about both of their pasts.

  ‘Why should she?’ Etienne seemed surprised at the question. ‘At eighteen you think anyone over forty is ancient and very dull. And even if she did ask him, he wouldn’t say anything more than that he met me in Paris, where you were learning to make hats. Noah’s smart, he’ll be very good at being vague.’

  ‘I do hope so,’ Belle retorted.

  Etienne gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘Maybe one day, when Mari is older and more worldly, we can tell her the whole story, if she wants to hear it.’

  Belle was satisfied that he knew best and nestled into his arms. ‘It was a lovely day today. It was good to see Mari larking about with Alexis and Noel. She seemed very carefree.’