‘The population have removed themselves, yes. But there are others who are there now. Germans defending the island and … others,’ he’d said vaguely. ‘I hope I will not be there long.’
‘So do I,’ she’d said and then wished she’d not said it. ‘I didn’t mean … I’m sorry, I have no idea why I said …’ She’d looked away, unable to meet his intense gaze.
‘Persephone …’ he’d started and then paused.
He’d always used her full name, never shortening it to Persey. Old habits, she supposed.
‘Yes?’ she’d prompted.
He’d shaken his head. ‘There is always an issue of timing,’ he muttered. ‘I leave in the morning.’
He had a habit of doing this, toying with her heart, leaving shortly after. Perhaps whatever he was going to say was better left unsaid.
‘Will you allow me to take you for dinner tonight?’
Her breath had been short and sharp, the question shocking her, thrilling her. If they’d had dinner out together, where would they have gone? Who would have seen them? ‘I can’t,’ she’d said in a strained voice.
‘You do not wish to be seen with me? Or you do not want to have dinner with me?’
‘I …’ She’d collected herself, avoiding answering the question with the truth. ‘I’m having dinner with some friends tonight,’ she’d said. ‘The doctor and his wife. I haven’t seen them properly in some weeks and I promised I’d go.’
He’d looked away, around the garden, at the orchard, its blossoms falling to the grass like snow, the grass underneath green and lush – what remained of the lawn that hadn’t been given over to the now-increased vegetable patch.
‘Then I do not know when I will see you next,’ he’d replied.
‘No.’ Why had tears formed in her eyes? She’d looked up at him, longing to ask him to write to her. But he hadn’t written when they’d been younger. Why would he do so all these years later? Instead she’d remained silent, unwilling to put her heart on the line by saying anything else.
He’d turned away. ‘Then it’s goodbye, Persephone.’
‘Stefan?’ she’d called, although she didn’t know what she’d intended to say. Moments passed when neither spoke. ‘Good luck,’ she’d said eventually. ‘With whatever it is you are doing on Alderney. Please stay safe.’
‘Thank you. I will be away from the house first thing in the morning.’ He’d raised his hand to her and walked away.
He had packed his few belongings, so he had nothing to return to Deux Tourelles for, then he had gone. He had left her a note, slipping it silently under her bedroom door. When she’d woken and seen it she’d stopped breathing and then had rushed towards it, wanting to both rip it open at once and read his words within and also to delay opening it entirely.
But the note had contained only fact and nothing extraneous:
I hope to return to Deux Tourelles soon. Please stay safe, Persephone.
Your friend, Stefan
She had not expected his departure to hurt so much more than before. After all, this time there had been no kiss. Only words. Before, there had been no words and only a kiss. This was harder. Was it because she was older now, more in tune with her own desires? She’d waited five whole days after he’d left until she’dentered his room and she’d only done that when she’d been confident that no one else was in the house. She couldn’t risk anyone seeing her.
It had been excruciating, waiting that long. But by then Mrs Grant had changed his sheets for laundry day on Monday as usual and there was nothing left of him there, no part of him for her to feel close to. Before it had been her mother’s room, but already she thought of it as Stefan’s. Now it was empty. Like her.
The fact they had not had another German billeted with them throughout his absence gave Persey hope that the room was marked as Stefan’s and that he would be returning soon. But every week that passed without him present at Deux Tourelles had hurt Persey just that little bit more.
As 1941 gave way to 1942, she suspected it was no longer true that it was a temporary posting. It felt as if he had inadvertently wrenched her heart out a second time by leaving again for so long. A part of her hated him for doing it. But mostly she hated herself for feeling this way. She wondered if he had returned to Guernsey at all during that time. Had he been staying elsewhere without making his return known to her? Or was he still on Alderney? And what on earth was he doing there? What was there for a translator to do on an island with no one but Germans. It made no sense.
Persephone read the note that Stefan had left a year earlier, folded it up and placed it inside the novel she was currently reading. She told herself it was a useful bookmark, but she opened the note and read it far too many times to know it was not simply serving a function. She read it more than she read the pages of her novel these days.
Two lines of text and then, ‘Your friend, Stefan’. She traced the final flourish of his name.
‘What’s that?’ Dido asked from the doorway, making Persey jump.
‘Nothing,’ she replied, hastily folding Stefan’s note and insertingit into her book. ‘Edgar Allan Poe,’ Persey replied, referring to the novel. ‘One of Father’s. I’m not enjoying it.’
Dido made a face. ‘I’m not surprised. You’ve missed a telephone call. Doctor Durand. Asked you for supper tomorrow evening. Was very keen to make it clear it was just you invited, which I thought was rude considering he’s known us both the same amount of time.’
