Vanessa

By G.J. Saunders

Heros and villains emerge as a heart rending mystery for the Baptiste family Unfolds. Vanessa Harland is drawn into the intrigue as she finds love across two hemispheres. Life may not always bring a happy ending, there are tears to shed as Vanessa finds her destiny on a windswept New Zealand beach.

• Language: English
• Publisher: G.J. Saunders
• Release date: Mar 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393869870

Book preview

Vanessa

Chapter 1

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It was the start of a long hot summer, Vanessa Harland was gazing inattentively through the window of her school classroom. Across the valley the dry heat had turned the landscape brown and brittle as a warm wind drew the last traces of moisture from the land. In the distance was the roll of thunder; ominous but holding the optimistic promise of relief.

At seventeen Vanessa could feel the pull of adulthood tantalisingly close and she yearned for a future free of petty classroom constraints. Mr Fallow was talking animatedly about the long dead poet Rupert Brooke. Vanessa adored Mr Fallow with the unrequited passion that only a schoolgirl can know; the sound of his voice captivated her but his words floated over her distracted attention.

"The poet Brooke had written about the Great War that had sadly conspired to end his short life. His famous work The Soldier contains the well known and poignant line:

If I should die, think only this of me: That there's some corner of a foreign field that is forever England."

Richard Fallow caught Vanessa's eye over the rim of his reading glasses and Vanessa could feel her cheeks flush. He continued as the girl studied the folds of his tweed jacket; watched the sunlight dance across his tousled dark hair. The teacher continued:

A French hospital ship was moored in a bay off the island of Skyros in the Aegean. Brooke had been on his way to the landing at Gallipoli when he fell ill.

Vanessa took Fallow's words as if they were meant just for her. He was a reserved quietly handsome man in his late thirties with a passion for the literature that he taught.

I sat with Rupert. He read. At 4 o'clock he became weaker, and at 4:46 he died, with the sun shining all round his cabin, and the cool sea-breeze blowing through the door and the shaded windows. No one could have wished for a quieter or a calmer end than in that lovely bay, shielded by the mountains and fragrant with sage and thyme.

Vanessa suddenly felt the poignancy of Rupert Brook's death as if she could imagine being there with the poet as his life ebbed away. The heat had made her eyes heavy and she struggled against the desire to let her soft eyelids close, for just an instant. The sunlight reflected drowsily from the sheen of her hair and the thoughts of the long ago war brought images of scarlet poppies nodding in the warm breeze before Vanessa's half closed eyes.

Suddenly a feeling from nowhere sent a shiver down her back and Vanessa was wakened from her reverie by a feeling that someone might have just walked over her grave.

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Poppies grow in profusion in Afghanistan. Those delicate flowers with petals as translucent as tissue paper in the sun, have a special association for the British Commonwealth. Seared into our collective psyche since the Great War and worn with sadness on our lapels. You might think that there might have been a warning there in those blossoming opium fields, but no one seemed to notice as they sent a new generation of innocent youth to do battle on a different poppied foreign field.

Alexander Blake of the New Zealand SAS was walking, crouched with a rifle cradled in his arms. He strode under the baking sun, lost in thought as he approached the entry to a towering rocky canyon. It was an obvious place for an ambush and Alexander was scouting on foot ahead of the lone reconnaissance vehicle that followed slowly some distance behind. He stopped and wiped away a stream of sweat that was flooding into his eyes. A scorpion danced away and scuttled into the crevice of a dusty sun-baked rock. He stood and listened; it was hushed and quiet, filled with a peace that was almost ominous in its intensity.

As Alexander's foot fell there was a tell-tale sound; the metallic click of a waiting switch that sent a chill of dread through his body. He stood for a moment, still safe, as if the danger was unreal; just an illusion. His mind drifted to the green hills of his childhood, the scent of manuka, the sway of ponga ferns caught in a cool breeze...

Jack Dylan had been his mate since they had joined up together as little more than kids. They were brothers in every sense of the word except the shared blood line. Jack stood transfixed. It all seemed unreal, so peaceful in the long drawn out instant. Then a little cascade of small rocks tumbled from the top of the canyon leaving a trace of dust that drifted up orange against the azure sky.

Jack called out to Alexander, he told him that everything would be fine. Alexander just looked back and smiled the sad smile of resignation. He did not want this; he was still young still had a life to live. He looked around at the barren landscape and for the first time saw that it had its own haunting beauty; he was reluctant to move; he clung on... Just a few more precious seconds.

Alexander finally leaped backwards as far and as fast as he could. As his foot came off the primed switch, the circuit was closed and the land mine exploded just as it had been designed to do. Exploding shrapnel travels faster than any man's courageous leap.

Jack ran forward screaming. He grabbed his comrade by his blood splattered shoulders and dragged him back towards their vehicle. Up ahead a group of Taliban appeared as if conjured up from the barren landscape by an act of demonic witchcraft. Through the curling red dust they opened fire with their Kalashnikovs and Jack was hit in the shoulder. He continued to drag his mate away from the gunfire, oblivious to the pain; the blood pounding in his ears; a red mist across his eyes. What remained of Alexander's leg was no longer attached to his body and was left behind in the hot sun with only the bitter taste of red dust and the scorpions for company.

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ooOoo

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Vanessa had now watched another six birthdays pass her by. It was a hundred years since the start of the Great War; the war to end all wars they had said. She sat at the breakfast table in her mother's home. Yesterday had been her graduation and Vanessa still had no idea what she was going to do with her future. Her laptop was open bathing her face with a bluish light. Beside her was a bowl of cornflakes that she occasionally dipped into between reading her emails and sipping at her black coffee. An abandoned Granny Smith sat cut in half on the table spilling a few dark seeds as the exposed flesh started to oxidise brown.

I wish you wouldn't bring your computer to the table Vanessa. Her mother June scolded as she swept the unwanted apple away. Vanessa looked up to her mother's face; she was unwilling to take the bait. Yesterday had been perfect, her mother was on her best behaviour; the pride in her daughter's graduation shone from her rosy cheeks.

OK, OK I get the message Mum. I'll be out of your hair soon anyway.

No, I didn't mean that, there's no need to rush off back to your dreary flat Vanessa... Stay a few more days at least. She patted her daughters arm in a gesture of conciliation; there was a need for her daughter's company that she could not quite admit to. Despite the years of divorce, June still did not find living alone easy.

Vanessa was hardly listening, there was an email from New Zealand and she knew no one who lived in that far away and possibly exotic land.

Do we know anyone called Sophie Baptiste in New Zealand? Vanessa asked skilfully deflecting the conversation with an ease that came from much practise. Her mother looked pensive for a moment, searching the white ceiling tiles for inspiration. Then a memory drifted back to her from some dusty recess in the folds of her grey matter.

I seem to remember there was a second cousin, called Sophie Barnes. I don't think you ever met her... From your father's side of the family. She added with the unconscious distaste of a divorced woman. I think your Aunt Christine might have kept in touch with her. The last I heard Sophie had married a rich New Zealander... Farmer, I think he was; it must be her. What on Earth does she want?

Wait, let me read it... It seems she's somehow heard that I'm on the point of graduating and would like to make contact with her English family again... Wow she's invited me out to stay for a while.

Really... What else does she say?

Hold on... Yes you're right, Aunt Christine gave her my email address... Well... She suggests that I could treat it as a working holiday, go over in their spring and spend six months or so in New Zealand and play at being a sort of nanny for their two young children.

Can you afford the airfare Vanessa?

No Mum, I'm pretty much scraping the bottom of my meagre financial barrel; you already know that. But fear not... Here's the good part; Sophie says that she'll buy me a return ticket and even pay me a little to take care of her kids while she gets to grips with some business course she'd like to complete... Sounds like a great opportunity.

Yes... Especially as you have no real plans. Vanessa detected the hint of admonishment for not having her future sorted yet but chose to let the slightly barbed maternal concern wash over her with barely a ripple.

Do you think you are really equipped to look after young children Vanessa?

And you ask that because?

Oh nothing dear.

The implication that Vanessa was somehow deficient in maternal instinct rather stung Vanessa who had always thought of herself to be a caring person. She let it drop but not before forming the unspoken reply that if the assertion were true then the deficiency was clearly hereditary.

I should speak to Catherine; do you have her number? Vanessa said.

I've rather lost touch with your father's side of the family since the divorce but she'll be in the book. Or Henry will have it I imagine.

Mm... You'd think Dad might have turned up for my graduation.

You might have expected that Vanessa; I've long since given up expecting anything from the man.

I know, I know... Sorry.

June continued clearing the table.

Have you finished with this? She asked as she took Vanessa's half abandoned cornflakes and emptied the bowl into the waste bin without waiting for a reply.

Looks like I have now. Vanessa sighed under her breath.

I'll give Dad a call, see if he can fill me in a little on Sophie.

––––––––

Father and daughter agreed to meet for lunch; it had been a while since Vanessa had seen her father and as his dapper figure appeared round the corner of the restaurant she thought how much he had aged.

Poppet how are you?

Vanessa leaned up to his tall frame and kissed his cheek. His arms still felt warm and strong like they always had.

Hello Henry; I wish you wouldn't call me Poppet. It makes me feel like a five year old again.

Ah you'll always be a five year old to me Vanessa; come in I've booked a table.

He held the door open for his daughter and guided her in with his hand on her shoulder. The restaurant was attractively unpretentious; entirely welcoming with its undemanding muted décor. There were framed prints of some of the major world cities on the walls; Paris, New York, Madrid and so on. They shone from their glass covered frames and gave a slightly exotic feel as if the restaurant was somehow connected with the romance of the distant locations. Vanessa could see no images from New Zealand. So far away, the country seemed to cloak itself in obscurity; self-consciously modest. The restaurant served decent food without asking for a ransom in exchange. A little soft guitar music played through hidden speakers quietly enough not to disturb an intimate conversation. Henry used the restaurant often although this was the first time he had brought his only daughter to share its ambience.

Vanessa's father was one of those men who managed to live well while always teetering on the precipice of debt. The reason that he never quite fell over the edge was a complete mystery to him but the next salary cheque was often looked to with increasing urgency. He still managed to frequent expensive restaurants, dress well and appear modestly affluent despite the ever looming penury. As a journalist he made skilful use of his modest expense account; despite the raised eyebrows that it often engendered when he casually presented his monthly expenses for approval. He had long ago given up running a car; in truth there was no need for one in London.

Henry ordered gin and tonics and a bottle of red wine. He scanned the menu with interest. And then looked across the table with a measure of astonishment at his grown-up daughter. He wondered how he and June could ever have created such a lovely young woman.

I've ordered a New Zealand wine; a Baptiste Wines Syrah; thought it might be appropriate.

Oh Sounds French. Vanessa observed.

Mm... Yes it does rather... Probably take the fillet steak. He muttered with apparent satisfaction as his eyes lifted from the menu.

So what happened yesterday? Vanessa asked as her bright eyes searched her father's face.

Henry looked up and pulled off his reading glasses so that he could more easily scan his daughter's expression.

Yesterday?

My graduation, your only child's one and only university graduation.

Oh my God! Was that yesterday? I'm sure I had it pencilled in somewhere.

He rested his chin in his hands, elbows on the table and smiled innocently. A soft chuckle bubbled from his throat.

Sorry Poppet, what can I say? There was an irreverent sparkle from his steel-blue eyes.

Vanessa looked exasperated but in the end smiled back with a shrug. It was impossible for her to be angry with the man.

The waiter came over; Henry was clearly a familiar face.

Hello Rolland; I'll take the fillet steak... Extra potatoes, he winked and those mushrooms in creamy sauce. Rolland made a few swift swipes of his pencil and then looked to Henry's attractive companion.

And for madam?

I'll try the sea bass please.

Henry looked up.

Oh sea bass, yes, can I been a total pain in the arse Rolland and change my order? Henry smiled.

Of course sir. The waiter disappeared with a professional smile. In less time than it took Henry to quite finish his second gin and tonic, the waiter had returned with the food.

So Poppet... Err, Vanessa, what was it exactly you wanted to discuss with me?

Like I said Henry, I've been invited to go to New Zealand to stay with someone called Sophie; Mum thinks she might be a Barnes. I've never met her; never even knew she existed until this morning. I wondered if you could fill me in a little.

Sophie... Yes from my side of the family; your mother will have told you that of course. But don't hold that against Sophie; I'm the only black sheep in the Harland pedigree. He gave another little self-effacing chuckle. As far as I can remember she was Heather's daughter. That's Heather my cousin; I think you met her at Craig's wedding.

Oh yes I remember Heather... Big hat, protruding teeth, slight limp from a crumbling hip. Could talk for England I seem to remember.

Henry laughed a little between mouthfuls of his sea bass.

Mm this is rather good... You know Vanessa, with your powers of observation you should join your old dad in the journalism game; I could probably get you a cadetship if you wanted.

Mm... Sounds like a dream come true Dad.

The irony did not escape Henry's attention.

No I mean it; with your talent you'd go straight to the top. You should see my editor, she drives round in an Audi R8 and lives in a four million quid apartment on Canary Wharf... Still only forty... so she says.

Henry, Tell me about Sophie.

Yes, OK. Well she seemed a perfectly normal sort of girl as far as I remember... Tall for her age nice cheek bones... If you care about such things. Henry rested his cutlery on the plate and took a sip of his wine. A powerful red with fish was perhaps not ideal he thought but it somehow seemed to match quite well. Now, Sophie's my cousin's daughter which makes her your second cousin, at least I think that's how it works. Sophie must have been ten or twelve when you were born and then left for New Zealand when she was still quite young; under twenty anyway. After that we lost touch.

So what made her go all the way to New Zealand on her own?

Not exactly on her own. Usual thing; there was a boy involved; well a young man I suppose. He was over visiting the old country I imagine. He spent some time in France I seem to remember; there may well be a French connection. They met by chance and... Well you know; Cupid's arrows are fired with more profusion than accuracy.

You are such a cynic Dad... So she married this New Zealand man and settled down?

It does happen you know... Sometimes it even ends happily; or so I'm reliably informed. Henry sniffed again at his wine and smiled. Vanessa was unsure whether the smile referenced his humour or his choice of wine.

Vanessa nodded and smiled back innocently; she had no intention of dabbling her clean fingers in the can of worms that was her parents' unravelled marriage.

So, you think I'd be perfectly safe in taking her invitation?

Oh yes; I think that you'd be perfectly safe taking an invitation from Jack the Ripper!

What on earth is that supposed to mean? She laughed.

Well maybe not quite the Ripper... It's just that you seem more than capable of taking care of yourself under any circumstances. You have lived with your mother all these years after all... and come away mostly unscathed as far as I can judge.

Vanessa shook her head and then couldn't help the little conspiratorial giggle that lit up her face.

Thanks for the vote of confidence; I suppose. She said.

Henry joined in the laugh; it was his natural state; good humour. It was partly why his marriage hadn't lasted. June took life far too seriously and could not come to terms with a man who was constantly able to find humour in the darkest of situations.

You should giggle more often, it suits you rather well. He said encouraged that the acorn had not fallen too far from his tree.

He then looked more seriously at his daughter.

You know I really am proud of you... Beautiful, clever... If you do go to the distant ends of the Earth you won't forget your old dad will you?

In the same way that you don't forget my birthdays and... what was that other thing? Oh yes... my graduation?

She punctuated her statement with a prodding index finger to Henry's chest.

Touché. He said with a twinkle in his blue eyes.

He looked up and caught the waiter's attention.

We'll take coffee and brandy in the garden bar.

Certainly sir.

They wandered out and found a seat in a corner by a rose bush that was in full scented bloom. Velvety red petals had fallen across the table and Vanessa picked one up and let the perfume fill her nostrils as she took her seat. The scent was of a long past summer afternoon, her mother in a white dress with her father hovering over them attentively; her parents still happy together. She watched Henry take his seat as the sound of the distant traffic floated on the warm afternoon air like a familiar friend.

Henry took a sip of his coffee and then took out his silver cigarette case.

Your mother bought this for me on our tenth wedding anniversary... You were just two; we had almost given up hope of having children.

He offered the case to Vanessa.

A father's supposed to keep his daughter safe from harm not lead her into wicked temptation. She laughed.

I know terrible isn't it? He chuckled as he lit Vanessa's cigarette, a rare and guilty indulgence for her these days.

So what do you know about New Zealand? He asked.

Not much; sort of a greener version of Australia; lots of sheep.

Mm... That pretty much sums it up. Oh and rugby don't they play that?

Vanessa shrugged.

Didn't they win the world cup or something? Henry added.

Now I know you're joking Henry; it's just been all over the TV and there was no sign of New Zealand in Brazil. As far as I remember...Wasn't it Germany who won?

No Vanessa the rugby world cup.

Are you sure there is such a thing Henry? I think you just made that up.

Oh you'll fit in just great in New Zealand Vanessa. Henry laughed, not quite sure if his daughter was being entirely serious or not.

So Dad... What's your advice; should I take the offer?

Henry glanced down at his watch; a Rolex that was way out of his price range but had somehow managed to fall into his possession.

God is that the time!

Henry gulped down his brandy in one hit and stood.

I have to go. He said. Paper to shuffle... You know. Stay and finish your drink, I'll settle the bill.

He leaned across the table and gave his daughter a parting kiss on her forehead.

Grab it with both hands Poppet. Gift horses don't come along that often.

Chapter 2

Vanessa had four months to spend before her trip to New Zealand. She took advantage of the time to accumulate a little money and put her affairs, such as they were, into a semblance of order. Despite the irritation that the arrangement would bring to her, Vanessa finally accepted her mother's persistent offer and moved back in with her for the duration. It allowed her to dispose of her small rented flat which, she had to admit, was a financial burden; the saved money was eagerly squirrelled into her New Zealand adventure fund.

Many emails were transferred between Vanessa and Sophie and they became resolute friends long before they had actually met in person. Even so, quite what she would find when arriving at Baptiste Wines was unknown; still an exciting prospect like a gift waiting to be unwrapped.

Vanessa had taken advantage of her father's contacts and got a temporary position working at his paper. The job, assistant to the sub-editor, sounded sufficiently important to impress Vanessa's mother but amounted to little more than office girl in practise. She spent her days fetching coffee and running around at everyone's beck and call. Even so she found the frantic activity to be exhilarating and was even given an occasional opportunity to write a little copy for the paper. Her pay hung at the lower end of modest but she could expect little else being an inexperienced recent graduate with few real world skills to offer.

By late October Vanessa had a few thousand saved and was in delighted possession of a return economy flight to the mysterious Down Under. She waved goodbye to her temporary job, to her small group of friends and to her parents who, she was pleased to see, arrived together to see her off at Heathrow. She knew there was no realistic chance of her parents ever getting back together but neither of them had shown any interest in developing meaningful relationships with anyone else. She knew at heart that they were better apart, their united whole being substantially less than the sum of their parts. It was however, nice for her to see them standing together and waving her off on her little adventure. They were two people she loved and were still inextricably bonded together by just one remaining thing: herself.

The flight to New Zealand was via Los Angeles. The first leg was eleven and a quarter hours which Vanessa mostly managed to doze through. The four hour stop over allowed no time for her to see any of L.A. however. The passengers were confined to the rather Spartan and uncomfortable transit lounge until the connecting flight was due.

The second leg was even longer at nearly thirteen interminable hours. Vanessa could not sleep and spent her time watching the in-flight movies and reading the paperback she had brought for the purpose. Vanessa felt relief tempered by a touch of excitement when the 747 curved down across the Mangere mangroves and the tyres finally made their smoky kiss on the Auckland International runway.

Vanessa had left London in a murky grey late autumn and had arrived on the other side of the planet into the green of a bursting spring. She found it a little odd that a day or so on plane could result in such a shift of the seasons. Instead of travelling up to Auckland to meet her newly arrived cousin, Sophie had arranged for a rental car to be waiting for her. Vanessa took this as a, possibly good humoured, test of her resilience and probably not an intentional torture. By the time she had passed through customs and collected her luggage it was eight in the morning local time but by Vanessa's internal clock it was without question the middle of the night. Despite the excitement of discovering the wonders of an unknown country all she really wanted was to find a comfortable bed and sleep. What lay ahead of her was a 420 km drive which she estimated would take the best part of five hours. The thought of driving that distance on unfamiliar roads was daunting, even if New Zealanders drove on the correct side of the road unlike the irksome French who chose to drive on the right. She toyed with the idea of booking into a motel until the following morning. In the end