“And you … out at this time?” asked Jacques.
“On the watch,” replied Dorabella. “For people like you. No, really, we are looking for Germans.”
“The enemy … you expect … ?”
“Any minute,” said Dorabella. “We are on watch every night.”
“And you find us! I did not expect to see you so soon. I planned to land and wait till morning somewhere along the coast. Then we should throw ourselves on your mercy. We want to work for the overthrow of these tyrants who have taken our country. I shall join General de Gaulle as soon as possible … and there will be some work Simone can do.”
I said: “I think you had better tie up your boat. I’ll go and tell Gordon what has happened.”
“My sister is so practical,” Dorabella told them.
“Ah, yes,” said Jacques. “I remember this Gordon. The good manager, is that not so? You must tell him?”
“Yes. He is in control here and you will understand we have to report to him.”
“Of course, of course.”
I left them and went ahead into the house. My thoughts were in a whirl. What a coincidence! Dorabella’s lover, escaping and coming to our beach! But then, I supposed he had made for it, thinking how much easier it would be to explain himself to those who already knew him than to strangers.
It was all very strange, but then so many strange things were happening now.
DORABELLA
Encounter in Paris
I COULD NOT DESCRIBE my feelings when, waiting with Violetta in the shelter of the rocks, I heard that voice from the past. Jacques in England! And at such a time! Here was the past, which I had hoped was buried forever, come back to confront me. It seems that everything we do remains forever; there is no escaping from it.
I can remember Violetta quoting something like this once:
The moving finger writes
And having writ moves on
Nor all thy piety nor wit
Can lure it back to cancel half a line
Nor all thy tears wash out a word of it.
Violetta always liked poetry and often quotes it to great effect. I thought of this poem now. How true it was. Many a trouble had she covered up for me throughout our childhood, and my affair with Jacques was the biggest of them all. She had helped me to emerge from it with as little discredit as possible.
The war had helped, for I returned just at that time when it was declared and people had other things with which to occupy their minds than the affairs of an erring wife.
Yes, I was indeed impulsive. It was always act first and think afterwards; Violetta would be there to help if need be. But, of course, when I was about to become involved in a mad escapade, I never thought of the consequences until afterwards.
There had been that time in Germany when I first met Dermot. There he was, an Englishman on holiday, as we were. It was all so natural—a holiday romance which ended in wedding bells. Quite an ordinary story, really. I enjoyed every minute of it at the time. Dermot had all the qualities of a romantic hero—handsome, presentable, heir to a large estate, and very much in love with me. Up to that time, I had been a little disappointed in the holiday. All that intense nationalism, all that clicking of heels, the great Hitler and the rise of the new Germany—and then, of course, it became a little sinister. But it was all so far removed from our lives. When the holiday was over, we should go home and what was happening in Germany seemed of little importance to us. I later realized I was wrong about that—as I was about so many things.
We came home and my family visited Dermot’s and everything went smoothly; it seemed the most natural thing in the world that we should marry and live happily ever after.
Perhaps I began to feel a few twinges before the wedding. It is strange how different people can be in certain settings. In Germany Dermot was the romantic hero, rescuing us when we were lost in the forest, defending us during that frightful scene in the schloss when the Hitler Youth tried to break up the place because the owners—our friends—were Jewish. Yes, he was wonderful during that time.
Then, back in Cornwall, he seemed less heroic, seen against the background of Tregarland, the ancestral home. He was in awe of that strange old man, his father, and he was overshadowed by Gordon Lewyth; there was, in truth, something sinister about the entire household. It was not quite as I had imagined it.
I realized then what I had done. It had been like that often during my life. It seems fun to do something until the advantages dwindle away, and one begins to count the costs.
My sister came and I felt better then. She is like a part of myself—the reasoning, sensible part. It never occurred to me until I went away how very important she was to me.
Well, there I was, in the house in which I had never felt entirely comfortable, married to a man with whom I was falling rapidly out of love. I was very fond of my little son, but I am not the maternal type, and a child could never make up for the lack of a satisfactory lover. It was not that Dermot’s affections for me had wandered. He remained devoted to me, but he was no longer exciting. I found Tregarland overpowering; the closeness of the sea disturbed me, and I wanted to get away. There was no one to whom I could explain my feelings—not even Violetta.
And then Jacques arrived.
That silly feud between the houses of Tregarland and Jermyn has played quite a part in our lives. It goes back a hundred years or so when a Jermyn girl and Tregarland boy were lovers—our Cornish Montague and Capulet—and the girl drowned herself on the Tregarland beach after her lover who had tried to elope with her had been caught in a mantrap set by the Jermyns, and was maimed for life. This resulted in years of enmity between the two families.
My dear sister Violetta and the charming Jowan Jermyn decided that the whole thing was ridiculous and they shocked the whole neighborhood by meeting, falling in love, becoming engaged to be married, and making a continuation of the feud a nonsense.
I think the locals shook their heads and said no good would come of it and they might have been right, because Jowan had not returned from Dunkirk. I trembled for Violetta. She was not like I am. She would not love lightly.
There were times when I felt I had been caught. I could picture the years ahead. I had been trapped here. I was married to a man who had ceased to attract me. I had a child who was more fond of Violetta and Nanny Crabtree than of me. I was not meant for the domestic life. I had always wanted excitement and admiration. Kind and gentle as Dermot was, he was not the ardent lover whom I required to give me contentment.
And then I had met Jacques.
It was Christmas. The feud was being thrust aside by Jowan, his grandmother, and Violetta. The grandmother was one of those sensible, down-to-earth women; she lived for her adored grandson in whom she could see no fault. She liked Violetta, which was fortunate—though she might think she was not quite good enough for her wonderful Jowan, but who could be? And everything seemed set fair in that direction. Then came this wretched war and the possibility of Jowan’s being removed from the scene forever.
That was something I dared not contemplate. I feared it would have such an effect on my sister and I could not bear her to change.
It was Christmas time when Jacques was in Cornwall and it was at Jermyn Priory that I first met him. I was feeling particularly disillusioned with my life at that time, deeply aware of the mistake I had made, seeing the dreary years ahead—and there was Jacques.