The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

I am so grateful to you and Ivor. Please thank him for everything: his keen eyesight, his suspicious mind, and his good sense. Better yet, kiss him for me. He’s wonderful! Shouldn’t Sidney promote him from Sub-Editor to Editor-in-Chief ?

Love,

Juliet

From Susan to Juliet

26th August, 1946

Dear Juliet,

Yes, Ivor is wonderful and I have told him so. I kissed him for you, and then again for myself! Sidney did promote him—not to Editor-in-Chief, but I imagine he’s well on his way.

What did Billee Bee and Gilly plan to do? You and I weren’t in London when the “teapot incident” broke into the headlines—we missed the uproar it caused. Every journalist and publisher who loathes Gilly Gilbert and The London Hue and Cry—and there are plenty—was delighted.

They thought it was hilarious and Sidney’s statement to the press didn’t do much to soothe matters—just whipped them into fresh fits of laughter. Well, neither Gilly nor the LH&C believes in forgiveness. Their motto is get even—be quiet, be patient, and wait for the day of vengeance to come, as it surely will!

Billee Bee, poor besotted booby and Gilly’s mistress, felt the shame even more keenly. Can’t you see Billee Bee and Gilly huddled together, plotting their revenge? Billee Bee was to insinuate herself into Stephens & Stark, and find anything, anything at all, that would hurt you and Sidney, or better yet, turn you into laughingstocks.

You know how rumors run like wildfire around the publishing world. Everyone knows you’re in Guernsey writing a book about the Occupation, and in the last two weeks, people have begun to whisper that you’ve discovered a new Oscar Wilde work there (Sir William may be distinguished, but he’s not discreet).

It was too good for Gilly to resist. Billee Bee was to steal the letters, The London Hue and Cry would publish them, and you and Sidney would be scooped. What fun they’d have! They’d worry about lawsuits later. And of course, never mind what it would do to Isola.

It makes me sick to my stomach to think how close they came to succeeding. Thank God for Ivor and Isola— and Billee Bee’s Duplicitous Bump.

Ivor will fly over to copy the letters on Tuesday. He has found a yellow velvet ferret, with emerald-green feral eyes and ivory fangs, for Kit. I think she’ll want to kiss him for it. You can too—but keep it short. I make no threats, Juliet—but Ivor is mine!

Love,

Susan

Telegram from Sidney to Juliet

26th August, 1946

I’LL NEVER LEAVE TOWN AGAIN. ISOLA AND KIT DESERVE A MEDAL, AND SO DO YOU. LOVE, SIDNEY

From Juliet to Sophie

29th August, 1946

Dear Sophie,

Ivor has come and gone, and Oscar Wilde’s letters are back safe in Isola’s biscuit tin. I’ve settled down as much as I can until Sidney reads them—I’m wild to know what he thinks of them.

I was very calm on the day of our adventure. It was only later, after Kit was in bed, that I started to feel skittish and nervous—and began to pace.

Then there was a knock at the door. I was amazed—and a little flustered—to see Dawsey through the window. I threw the door open to greet him—and found him and Remy on my front step. They had come to see how I was. How kind. How flat.

I wonder if Remy shouldn’t be getting homesick for France by now? I have been reading an article by a woman named Giselle Pelletier, a political prisoner held at Ravensbruck for five years. She writes about how difficult it is for you to get on with your life as a camp survivor. No one in France—not friends, not family—wants to know anything about your life in the camps, and they think that the sooner you put it out of your mind—and out of their hearing— the happier you’ll be.

According to Miss Pelletier, it is not that you want to belabor anyone with details, but it did happen to you and you cannot pretend it didn’t. “Let’s put everything behind us” seems to be France’s cry. “Everything—the war, the Vichy, the Milice, Drancy, the Jews—it’s all over now. After all, everyone suffered, not just you.” In the face of this institutional amnesia, she writes, the only help is talking with fellow survivors. They know what life in the camps was. You speak, and they can speak back. They talk, they rail, they cry, they tell one story after another—some tragic, some absurd. Sometimes they can even laugh together. The relief is enormous, she says.

Perhaps communication with other survivors would be a better cure for Remy’s distress than bucolic island life. She is physically stronger now—she’s not so shockingly thin as she was—but she still seems haunted.

Mr. Dilwyn is back from his holiday, and I must make an appointment to talk to him about Kit soon. I keep putting it off—I’m so dreadfully afraid that he’ll refuse to consider it. I wish I looked more motherly—perhaps I should buy a fichu. If he requests character witnesses, will you be one? Does Dominic know his letters yet? If so, he can print out this: