“Yes, I . . . I’m Alice.” Her hand felt warm. I could feel grains of sand on her palm. Smile lines crinkled at the corners of her eyes, which were the same pale blue as the water behind her. The little boy gave a choking sob and wiped the back of his hand across his nose. “Is he all right?” I asked. “Would you like to bring him inside? Does he like honey? I could give him some—”
Before I could get the words out, the child wrestled himself free of his mother’s arms and went running past me, into the boathouse.
“Ned!” His mother’s hand flew to her mouth. “I’m so sorry—he’s very inquisitive.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I smiled back. “It’s awfully dark in there, though—I’d better open the shutters, or he might trip over something.”
Half an hour later we were all sitting on blankets on the sand. The children were dipping slices of apple into a dish of honey, and Merle and I were sipping tea from tin mugs. She told me that she and the children had been evacuated from the Channel Islands just days before the Germans had invaded, and that they’d been living in Cornwall for nearly three years.
“It doesn’t seem right,” she said, glancing at the boathouse, “you having to sleep in there while we’re in the house.”
“I don’t mind it. It’s very peaceful. After London, I mean.” I felt myself blushing at the lie. I hoped she wouldn’t notice. “It must be hard for you,” I went on, keen to steer the conversation away from myself. “You must miss your home.”
“I miss some things.” Merle turned her head away, toward the estuary. “It seems so long since we left. Danielle has memories of Guernsey, but the others don’t—not really. Louis says he remembers being on the boat and feeling sick. I was sick, too, but I didn’t mind—I was just thankful to get away before the Germans came.”
“It must have been terrifying.”
Merle nodded. “I’d never been off the island before. The day we left it was hot, and I had a heavy suitcase, full of clothes for the children. While we were waiting for the bus to take us down to the harbor, I fainted.” She cradled the tin mug in both hands, staring into it. “I can’t remember getting onto the boat. It was chaos—hundreds of children, babies crying. Women crying, too—for children who were going without them or for husbands they were leaving behind.”
I wondered what had happened to Merle’s husband. She hadn’t mentioned him—and I didn’t like to ask.
“It took a day and a night to get to Cornwall,” she went on. “So many people had come to rescue us. The government had put out an appeal over the radio, and all these boats—big and small—came across from the mainland. We were in His Lordship’s motor yacht, Firefly.”
His Lordship? Who was she talking about? Jack had written the name of that boat in the tide tables: I had assumed it was his. Did it belong to someone else? To a lord? I couldn’t ask. As Jack’s cousin, I would be expected to know such things. Instead I nodded, hoping Merle would carry on with the story of their escape.
“There was a storm on the way back, and the boat hit a rock,” she said. “It was taking on water. We made it here—just—but the yacht was damaged beyond repair.”
“I can’t imagine what it must have been like to make a journey like that with four children.” I glanced at Ned, who had a blob of honey on the end of his nose. “This one must have been a baby still.”
“He was—but he’s not mine.” Merle mouthed the last few words over Ned’s head. Then she turned to the oldest girl and said, “Take them to the rock pools to wash their hands, will you, Danny? We’ll have to be getting off to school soon.”
When the children had gone, she turned back to me. “Ned’s one of the children who left without their parents.” She drained the last of the tea from her mug. “Like I said, it was chaos when we heard the Germans were coming. People had to decide whether to stay on the island and face what was coming or abandon their homes and businesses and go. Children under school age were supposed to be accompanied by their mothers.” She fiddled with the empty mug. “I don’t know who Ned’s parents are. His Lordship came onto the boat with Ned in his arms, saying that a man had come up to him in the harbor and begged him to take his little son. Apparently the mother was ill and in hospital.”
Merle tilted her head, mirroring my puzzled look. “Did he not tell you that he rescued us?” Her expression changed to a wry smile. “He’s very modest, for a viscount, isn’t he? Fancy not telling his own cousin something like that.”