Tim Binding - Island Madness

“Yes. Poor Isobel.”

“She visited you yesterday morning, I believe.”

“For coffee. If you can call what we drink now coffee.”

“Was that a regular thing?”

“She popped in from time to time.”

“I had the impression that you had asked her specially. Your telephone call that morning.”

Mrs Hallivand looked surprised that Ned was so well informed.

“I spoke to her most days. She said she might call round, that was all.”

“And she did?”

Mrs Hallivand nodded.

“I didn’t realize that the two of you saw so much of each other.”

“Since her mother died I felt responsible for her.”

“More than her father?”

“Her father is a man. Not the easiest of men at that. I felt for her, all alone in that house. She had lots of spirit, did Isobel, lively, undisciplined.”

“But you weren’t close.”

“No, we weren’t. She needed someone to keep her in check. She was young. Too young for this war at any rate. This business with the Major.”

“What about it?”

She wiped the corner of her mouth with a little white handkerchief pulled from her sleeve. As she patted her lips her eyes moved to the painting on the wall.

“His head was turned. Not just by her. By the war, by the island, by their fairy-tale life. It quite upset his equilibrium. God knows what will happen to him now.”

“You and the Major get on rather well, don’t you? Uncle Albert often used to remark about your dinners.”

“Used to is the operative term. The Major has other guests on his invitation list now. No time for his older friends. I wouldn’t have minded if she’d been…”

“Yes?”

“A little more worthy of him.”

“Did you think so little of her, then?”

“No, no. She was a lovely girl. Bright, vivacious, kind.” She handed him the plate. He wavered for a moment, then chose the Bourbon. It was soft, slightly stale. He was disappointed. Mrs Hallivand continued. “But she had no capacity for self-improvement, no sense of place or duty. It was, ‘this is what I am’ and ‘this is what I want’. I had always hoped that she might develop, might mature. As it was she remained what she wanted to be, a naive young woman, blessed with good looks but unwilling or unable to face up to the realities of life.”

“Forgive me for saying so, Mrs Hallivand, but you don’t seem terribly upset.”

“Of course I’m upset. But I fear she brought this on herself, riding about the island without a care in the world. They all do it, those girls. They think it all such fun. And so it probably is. What they don’t realize is that the islanders will put up with just so much and then…”

“So you think she was killed by one of us.”

“It was bound to happen to one of them one day. And no German would have killed her. She was a popular girl.”

Ned felt himself blush.

“Do you mean she had men friends other than the Major?”

“She had a good many suitors, I know that. Before the Major she was always out riding with some captain or other. I don’t believe there was anything serious between any of them, but nor did she turn them away. She liked the attention, did Isobel. It was fun to have handsome young men hanging on to her every word, bowing when she came through the door, telling her father what a charming daughter he had.”

“No angry lover, then?”

“I doubt it. She was no femme fatale, just an ordinary English girl who unfortunately saw no difference between a German uniform and a Henley boating blazer. The anger directed at her will be traced to our hearts not theirs.”

It was true. Ned had seen her only last month, riding in the back of Lentsch’s staffcar late one afternoon. “Hide me, Bernie, for God’s sake,” he said, stepping back, and Bernie had stood on the kerb as insolently as the law permitted and stared while the car rewed its engine, impatient for the horse-drawn bus that was blocking its path to move out of the way.

“Look at her, sitting in my car, like she owned it,” Bernie muttered, as they passed. “Just you wait, mademoiselle,” he called out. “We’ll give you a ride to remember when this is all over!”

Ned pulled him back into the safety of a shop doorway. “Do you want to get us both deported?” he said, shaking him angrily. “What’s it to you what she does? I’m the one who should be angry.”

He returned to Mrs Hallivand.

“Now, yesterday morning. Nothing was said that might make you think that she was worried?”

“Why should she be worried? She was excited about the Major coming back. She was planning a surprise party.”

“Yes, I know. But you didn’t call her over about that, did you?”

“No.”

“Well, why, then?”

“It was all happening too fast between them. Too many heads in the clouds and not enough feet on the ground. While he’d been away she’d been talking about their life together. She still didn’t appreciate the implications. It could never have lasted.”

“Like me, you mean.”

Mrs Hallivand brushed the crumbs from her lap.

“That never bothered me at all. Every woman should have a little adventure somewhere along the way, if for nothing more than to be able to look back on it when your husband is snoring in the bed next to yours. But this was different. I was worried that she might do something she might regret. With her father’s position, it wouldn’t have been impossible for the two of them to get married here, engaged at least. I tried to dissuade her.”

“And what did she say?”

“What she always said. She told me to mind my own business.”

“And then?”

“We had a little row. I went to the kitchen to get some more hot water for the pot. By the time I got back she had gone. She must have been angrier than I thought. She forgot her bicycle.”

“A bicycle? I didn’t know she had a bicycle.”

“My old thing. She use to ride it back and forth, you know, on her visits. I don’t think her father approved. She used to hide it in the bushes at the back of their garden.”

“She told you?”

“Albert did. He came across it while he was weeding there once. She swore him to secrecy, but you know Albert. Can’t resist a good gossip.”

Ned walked up to the house. He’d never been inside the main rooms. He was hoping that his uncle might show him round. The front door stood half open. Uncle Albert was standing on a chair in the hall, dusting the picture frames.

“If you’ve come for our house guests, they’ve all done a bunk,” he said. He stood down. “She all right, then?”

“Less upset than me, I think.” Ned looked around. At the far end he could see the drawing room. A tray of dirty glasses and coffee cups stood on the floor. Albert nodded in its direction.

“Haven’t finished clearing up yet,” he said. “They were in and out of here last night like ferrets down a rabbit hole.”

“Who was?”

“The Captain, the Major, the ugly one, Ernst. I was packed off upstairs. No one was allowed out until seven. We weren’t told until then.”

“They were here all night?”

“I’ll say. Telephone ringing, cars and motorcycles racing up and down the drive. I thought it was the invasion or summat, the way they were carrying on. Then the Major came up and told me. Near to tears he was. Her father was here by then.”

“Oh?”

“Wedel brought him over, about half five. I saw him from my window.” He pushed the duster in his pocket. “Any idea who?”

Ned shook his head. “Someone who hated the van Dielens? A way of getting back at him?”

“Someone who wanted to teach these girls a lesson, more like.”

“Perhaps.” Ned paused. “Isobel came up here yesterday, so Mrs Hallivand tells me.”