CHAPTER 32
Joanna
Dorset
Joanna heard the car engine, but didn’t think anything of it.
She was back at Mulberry Farm Cottage but still busy thinking bridges.
She’d written the copy for the walk while still in Lisbon, revised the text on the flight home and sent it to Toby the day after she got back.
The next day, she’d continued researching her family tree – the Local History Centre had finally revealed the birth certificate of her grandfather George Shepherd and she now knew that his father, William Shepherd, was a landowner rather than a farmer and that he had been married to Edith.
When she’d found the birth certificate, Joanna had wondered fleetingly if William’s wife Edith could be her Emmy, but it didn’t make sense.
The names weren’t that alike – unless it was a pet name.
But she had a sense that Emmy and Edith weren’t the same woman.
What about William’s sisters then – if he had any?
If she were to continue searching for Emmy, then the trail must go on.
And now, Joanna was researching Prague. She glanced at Emmy’s letter.
As a historian, long fascinated by Charles IV who became King of Bohemia and Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire at the same time – quite a feat, I think you will agree, Rufus – Father is fascinated to learn more about the city in which Charles chose to settle. And I am going to paint his bridge!
The mediaeval Charles Bridge, that was. It would obviously be the focal point of Joanna’s walk. She’d seen pictures and it was quite something.
She heard voices downstairs now, but carried on working. And then she heard Harriet calling. ‘Jo?’
‘Yes?’
Joanna had to admit, she missed the peace and quiet of their house at Crouch End – when Martin was at work and she was writing.
That stillness, that knowing you were alone and wouldn’t be disturbed.
She knew she must look for somewhere else to live, but until she could decide where .
. . And besides, something was keeping her here.
There’s no hurry, Harriet had said. Maybe it was Mother and wanting to help Harriet that was keeping her, maybe it was wanting to get closer again to her sister.
Maybe it was even Emmy holding her here for now.
At any rate, it was easier to research the family tree using Mulberry Farm Cottage as her base.
And there was something calming in this landscape of her girlhood that Joanna seemed to need in her life at the moment.
She started to go downstairs but stopped halfway.
He was standing in the hall. ‘Martin.’
He turned. ‘Hi, Jo.’
He was smiling. Her first thought was that he looked like a stranger.
Then he brushed back his fair hair with his hand in a familiar gesture, and she realised he was nervous, unsure of his welcome.
She was conscious of Harriet standing in the kitchen doorway, arms folded, most definitely in protective mode, bless her.
And Mother in the sitting room, already getting to her feet. ‘Is that you, Martin, dear?’
Joanna took a deep breath. ‘What are you—?’
‘Sorry to turn up unannounced.’
She stemmed her irritation. Why hadn’t he phoned at least? But she knew why – Martin liked to take people by surprise. He thought that if you gave them warning, they’d have too much time to get prepared.
‘I told you I wasn’t giving up,’ he said.
Joanna sighed. Mother was hovering in the doorway of the sitting room now. She took a step forwards and Martin bent to kiss her cheek. As he raised his head Joanna would swear he was shooting her a look of triumph.
‘How are you?’ he asked. He offered a penitent smile.
‘Fine.’ What should she do with him? Joanna glanced at Harriet, who shrugged.
‘Good.’ Martin looked from Harriet to Mother to Joanna. ‘So, can we talk?’
She took his point. ‘Better go out,’ she suggested. ‘A walk maybe?’ It was blowing a gale out there, but at least they’d have some privacy.
She put on her leather jacket, a scarf and the walking boots that she kept in the porch and they went out the back way towards the farmyard and the mulberry tree.
Martin gestured back at the house. ‘I can’t believe you’re still here,’ he said.
‘Me neither. But I’ve been away a lot. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’
He gave her a long look. ‘I was afraid you’d avoid seeing me.’
And perhaps she would have. They began to walk up the hill towards the cliff path. It was only the first week of November, but the chill of winter had already set in. ‘You’re lucky I was here,’ she said.
Martin was wearing his brown brogues. He wasn’t exactly dressed for a walk in muddy Dorset. ‘I’ve been expecting you to at least come back for your stuff,’ he said. ‘It’s been two months, Jo. And you said you were going to fix a date.’
Two months? It seemed longer. In two months, she’d been to Venice and Lisbon.
She’d researched her family tree and she’d done a lot of writing.
‘Sorry.’ She glanced across at Martin. You shouldn’t skip any steps in your family research, the girl at the Local History Centre had told her, you have to be meticulous, otherwise you might miss some vital piece of information.
Was there, she wondered, some vital piece of information about Martin that she had missed?
Was that why they had gone so sadly wrong?
‘It’s OK.’ He shrugged. ‘But I was waiting . . .’
‘You thought I’d change my mind?’ she asked him. The grass underfoot was slick with damp. But although it was breezy, the freshness of the air felt good – on her face, in her lungs.
‘I thought you’d at least come back to talk and that I’d have a chance to persuade you,’ he admitted.
Joanna thought of her indecision in the beginning; all the times she’d been tempted to go back to London, to collect some of her things, to see Martin.
But instead, she’d got caught up with work, with travelling, with finding out about Emmy.
And there was a reason for that, she was sure.
If she’d gone back, maybe Martin could have persuaded her.
But deep inside, she’d known it wasn’t the right pathway.
She shoved her hands deep inside her pockets.
She should have brought gloves. ‘I’m sorry, Martin,’ she said.
‘I will have to come back for some stuff.’ She should have done it before now; her wardrobe was skimpy to say the least and winter was fast approaching.
‘But you should know, I’m not going to change my mind.
’ She didn’t even want to talk about it. It was done.
Martin looked sorrowful. He gazed out towards the Beacon. ‘Fifteen years is a long time to throw away, Jo,’ he said.
‘I know.’ And who had thrown it away exactly?
‘Things could be different. I could be different. Won’t you give me another chance?’
They reached the top of the hill and Joanna looked back as she always did.
At Mulberry Farm Cottage – slate tiles, honey stone – snug in the dip between the hills of the Down, surrounded by the barns and the undulating green fields and darker hedgerows, the pine trees standing tall and proud behind and the church in the distance.
‘I’m not sure that things could be different,’ she said. Not now.
‘And you’re not even willing to try?’
She turned again to face the sea. The cliff here was steep, as if it had been sliced by a knife.
Was she willing to try? Joanna almost wished she could say yes.
But what point would there be? ‘You said you were going to put the house on the market,’ she reminded him.
‘You know I’ll have to find somewhere to live when I leave here. ’
Martin frowned. ‘I don’t get it.’ He shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘Are we breaking up after all this time because of one small indiscretion?’
‘Not really.’ Though she’d hardly call it that. Her reply was caught by the wind, tossed towards the waves where it bounced out to sea. The water was olive green today, heavy and rolling.
‘What then?’
Joanna began to walk down the cliff path. Martin followed her. She turned towards him, felt the wind whip at her hair. ‘Are you still seeing her?’
‘No.’
Should she believe him? Did it even matter?
‘So, what was it then,’ he asked, ‘if it wasn’t Hilary?’
Below the sandstone cliff ran the strip of beach that led to Warren Cove, tucked out of sight.
Beyond that, the cliff rose steeply on the other side, leading to West Bay.
‘I told you before. You said it yourself.’ She remembered his exact words that first afternoon, before she’d left Crouch End.
We have to face it. Maybe we’ve just grown apart.
‘Said what?’ She heard the irritation in his voice. He would be thinking, Why did I bother to come here today? Here she is talking in riddles – as usual.
‘That we’d grown apart. Fallen out of love.’ They continued to walk down towards the shoreline. That’s why Hilary had happened. Why couldn’t he see?
‘I was trying to explain . . .’ He faltered.
‘Exactly.’ And he had. It had taken Joanna a while to acknowledge it but Martin had been right, she knew that now.
‘But, Jo—’
‘We’re not in love with each other anymore,’ she said. ‘And we have to accept that.’ One of them at least had to be honest.
He grabbed her arm. ‘What makes you so sure about how I feel?’ he demanded.
She turned to face him. ‘How do you feel?’ she asked.
‘I still love you, Jo, whatever I said back then. I never stopped loving you. You’re my wife.’
He looked so out of place here in his city brogues and dapper jacket and for a moment her heart went out to him.
Something inside her still wanted to believe him.
Something inside her wanted to be folded in his arms just like before.
But it had taken him a long time to come here and say these things.
It had taken him a long time to fight for her – if that’s what he was doing now.
‘Do you want to make me happy, Martin?’ she asked him.
He looked at her warily as if this was a trick question. ‘Yes, of course I do.’
They passed the little house on the hill, built so close to the cliff edge that she always feared for its life. She thought of Emmy. ‘Have you missed me – every minute of every day?’
There was a look of utter incomprehension on his face now. Joanna almost wanted to laugh.
‘It isn’t all about love,’ Martin said. ‘You and I, we’re a partnership, a team.’
‘We were, yes.’ They began to walk through the grassy car park to the road. The place was deserted. But he was wrong. It had everything to do with love.
‘D’you know what your trouble is, Joanna?’ Martin said.
No, but she was damn sure he was going to tell her. He hadn’t changed after all.
‘You’re a hopeless romantic, an idealist. You go on about love. But love’s got nothing to do with the reality of being together, working together, having a life together. That’s something else. That’s realism and practicality. That’s what life’s really about.’
Joanna was in front of him as they reached the steps that led down to the cove.
‘But, you see, I don’t want that,’ she said.
‘What?’ He followed her down the steps and onto the stones, past the tiny stream and the fishing boats battered by wind, storm and sea.
‘If that’s what our life together was all about.’ She carried on walking down to the water’s edge. ‘Then I don’t want it. I told you.’
‘Ah. But I think I know what the real problem is.’ Once again, he was beside her.
‘What?’ She couldn’t believe that he still didn’t get it.
‘You want a child.’ He said it so quietly that his words were almost lost in the rush of the waves, the soft fizz of foamy water over the pebbles.
Joanna folded her arms around her body. They had first talked about it years ago. She had been keen to start a family and he had urged her to wait. ‘Do we really want to be tied down, Jo?’ he had said. ‘It would change everything.’
‘Not yet,’ she had agreed. She was happy to wait. But ‘not yet’ had meant ‘one day’ for Joanna. One day, when she’d made some money or Martin had been promoted or . . . But time had gone by.
She’d had her thirty-fifth birthday earlier this year and over lunch with Lucy – who had three children already – her friend had asked her if her biological clock had ‘stopped or what’.
‘Huh?’ Joanna’s mind had been a blank.
‘Children, Jo. Aren’t you and Martin going to start a family?’
Oh. She considered. Were they? Would they? ‘Maybe.’ And yet she realised that they hadn’t talked about it – not for ages, anyway. And time, well, she supposed it was running out.
Joanna stared across the water. The waves were wild today, the wind taking the spray and lashing it onto the shore. She did want a child. And yes, she did know her biological clock was ticking. But did she want a child with this man? The thought flickered and died.
Martin took her silence for some sort of agreement. ‘We could do that, Jo,’ he said.
Yes, they could. But was that reason enough to stay together?
Joanna closed her eyes and felt the breeze on her face, smelt the saltiness of the air.
She breathed in deeply. That, she presumed, was his final card.
‘I don’t think that’s the answer, Martin,’ she said.
No one should have a baby in order to mend a relationship that was already broken.
‘Right. I see. That’s it then, I suppose. There’s just no reasoning with you, is there?’ And before Joanna could reply, he had turned around and stomped back up the steps and down the lane. In moments, he was out of sight.
Joanna stayed there at the water’s edge for a while until her fingers were numb with cold. And then she walked back over the Down, towards the cottage, knowing even before she got there that his car would be gone.