Page 102 of The Secret House of Honey and Hope

“Oh yes. And he helped out when we had the flood about ten years ago and people by the river had to be rescued out’o’ their houses. He was there for three nights, knee deep in cold water, rescuing people’s belongin’s and loadin’ them on Tyrrell’s caravan.”

“Why?” The question is out before I can stop it.

She gives me a baffled look.

“I mean why did he help when people had been so horrible to him.” I know the houses by the river, the low dip where the river used to flood, and some of them would have been in that lynch mob that marched on our house shouting‘Out Hemingway thieves. Out Hemingway traitors.’

Eileen watches me, no doubt able to read the surprise and anger in my mind. When she speaks finally, her voice is kind but firm. “For the same reason you helped Young Elodie with the honey shop. For the same reason everyone here helps when needed. Because this isn’t England. On the mainland, they have government funding and emergency services, proper resources to help. Here we only have ourselves. It doesn’t matter what or who, when someone’s in need, La Canette people step in to fill the hole. Your da understood that. And you do too.”

Eileen had been busy wrapping something while speaking, now she slips it into a paper bag and thrusts into my hand. “The blue vein and the goat cheese your ma liked.”

Still processing, I reach for my wallet. “Not this time. I always sent your da some on Friday, this is just a little welcome.”

“Thank you. That was very kind of you,” I say lamely. What I really want is to hug her and thank her. Not only for being kind to my father, but for showing me something I never understood. My father’s stubborn determination not to be driven out wasn’t just about the house. He refused to give up who he was. He was a native of La Canette and no matter what people did to him, he held on to his character.

“Just a word of warning.” Eileen lays a hand on my elbow for a second. “Look out for that Tim Morris and his sidekick, Sweeny.”

Instantly, my danger antennae are up. “What have they done?”

“What haven’t they done.” She huffs out a breath. “They worked for the Municipalité back in the days before George Du Montfort took over. They used to be in the finance department and could see when anyone fell on hard times, then they’d slap you with a fine and you either gave them a backhander or you went under. It was why we got into so much trouble a few years ago, it’s only now we’re getting back on our feet.”

I already know they are dodgy characters, but I thank her for sharing her experience with me.

“I’d be careful of them; they’ve got it in for you. Been going round all the old timers, like Old Mr Digby whose father was shot by the Germans and anyone else whose family suffered during the war and trying to stir up bad feeling. They won’t get far because no one cares much anymore, but they’re trying their hardest.”

Another customer comes in which puts an end to the conversation. As I turn to go, Eileen calls after me, “If you speak to your ma, please tell her I said hello.”

Chapter Forty-Four

Elodie

“I’ve decided to close on Tuesdays.” I explain the fact that I’ve got the whole day to lead Gabriel and Pierre to the hidden cottage. “Initially I thought I’d be open every day, but it’s too much, so I’m taking a day off.”

“Why Tuesday?” Pierre asks.

“Because weekends do the best trade and we’re about to have a dozen bank-holiday Mondays where the island will be full of visitors. And Tuesday is a slow day.”

“So, where are you taking us?”

“Wait and see.” Hal says.

“We can’t get to the sea from Catcher Hill, so why did you ask us to bring swimming stuff?” It’s Gabriel asking this time

“If you keep asking questions, I’m going to make you carry one of the bags.” Hal says.

Gabriel, as if noticing for the first time that both Hal and I have bulging packs, reaches towards me, and slips the strap off my shoulder and loops it across his body before hurrying to catch up with Hal.

The place is so well hidden, we almost don’t find it. If it wasn’t for the trail of destruction Hal made chopping twigs and branches when he followed my screams, we’d be wandering around the thorns for days. Spring has really hit the island and all the bushes are now gorgeous with white and pink flowers and green leaves. And every breeze carries on it the heady scent of Hawthorn blossoms. It makes the thorns harder to see and by the end, all of us are covered in scratches and Pierre’s had to braid her hair and tuck it inside her shirt to stop it tangling up on the Hawthorn branches. But it’s all worth it to see her and Gabriel’s faces when we finally emerge into the clearing. It’s a sunny day again and the pond looks like a gem surrounded by grasses and flowers. So beautiful, it takes my breath away.

“So, this is the reall’eau cachéeandl’abri cachée?” Gabriel asks five minutes later.

We’d told them nothing, wanting it to be a surprise.

A surprise that’s followed by even bigger surprises.

We’re at the front door of the cottage – old, weathered wood with peeling paint looks like it was made 300 years ago. Now in the stronger daylight, it looks very old indeed.

“I’m no ironmongery expert,” Hal says, holding the padlock and chain that secured the door. “But if I had to guess, I’d say this is no more than fifty years old.”

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