CHAPTER 53
Joanna
London
Joanna felt a buzz of excitement as she made her way to Sotheby’s for her appointment. It had been an eventful day already. Martin had texted her earlier to let her know they’d had an offer on the house. It was only just under asking price.
Should we accept? he’d asked.
I think so, she’d replied.
It wasn’t the best time of year to be selling; and suddenly she wanted this sense of limbo to be over with. She had said her goodbyes, now it was time to move on.
And I’ve transferred ￡5,000 to your account, he had messaged back. For the furniture and other things. OK?
That’s fine, she replied.
In fact, it was more than fine. She didn’t want any of that stuff. She wanted to be free to start again. And as for the five thousand pounds, she knew exactly what she was going to do with it. By this evening there was likely to be a big hole in her bank account where that money had been.
Soon after this, she’d received the promised email from Nicholas Tresillion. She opened it, half hoping he was back in London.
I have a confession to make to you, Joanna, she read.
What now? She bit her lip.
I went to Prague.
Her interest was piqued.
And it wasn’t on business either. I was at the airport in Rome and my flight back to the UK was cancelled. I made the decision then and there on a whim. I’m not usually that spontaneous, trust me. I just saw Prague on the departures board and . . .
Joanna smiled. She could identify with that.
When something tugged at you that way, it was an impulse that was hard to resist. And maybe her bridge walks were tugging at Nicholas in the same way that Emmy and her letters had been tugging at Joanna.
It wasn’t easy to explain, but sometimes you simply had to go with it.
Please don’t think I’m stalking you, he added.
She chuckled. If he was stalking her, he would have gone there at the same time.
As it was, they seemed to always be a few steps away from one another.
When she was in Prague, he was in Rome. When she was in London, he was in Prague.
And when he came back to London . . . by that time she would have returned to Mulberry Farm Cottage. Would they ever meet? She hoped so.
But I was curious, he continued. I read your copy of the walk – thank you for that preview, by the way, it meant a lot to me.
‘And what did you see?’ Joanna wondered aloud.
What I saw there had nothing to do with death or suicide, and nothing to do with the man with the red hair or St John – though I saw the statue, of course.
I also saw a woman with some paints. An artist. Not from today, but from a long time ago. A woman . . . Well, it’s had quite an effect on me to tell you the truth. I’ll tell you more when we meet – if we meet. Until then . . .
She stared at the screen. It was impossible. It had to be impossible. But . . . What was going on here? She blinked and read on.
Joanna, I’m fascinated about what you said – that you feel you’ve been ‘led’ on these walks by some family research that you’re doing. Tell me more!
She wasn’t sure that she dared – not now. Nicholas Tresillion had seen the golden ribbon in Venice, he had seen the man with red hair in Lisbon – otherwise known as Rufus – and now he had seen Emmy, he must surely have seen Emmy . . .
I’ve never had an experience like this before, never seen any visions, and never hallucinated, believe me.
Neither had Joanna. It was as if there was a chink in the wall and somehow she and Nicholas were looking straight through.
Maybe there’s something out there that we don’t understand? Some guardian angel who looks out for every single one of us?
Maybe. But if so, was Emmy Joanna’s guardian angel – or was she Nicholas Tresillion’s? Guardian angels didn’t look out for two people at the same time, did they?
Sometimes, I almost feel I believe this, though I should tell you that if my ex-wife could hear me now, she’d split her sides laughing.
Yes, well . . . Joanna was beginning to wonder why Nicholas had stayed with Rachel as long as he had.
Is it arrogant of us to think that our reality is all there is?
Perhaps so, she thought. Perhaps their reality was only one of the truths. Perhaps sometimes those truths collided – like now.
I’ll be back in London the day after tomorrow – let me know if you’re still around and we could meet for that drink and compare notes.
Yours, Nicholas
But by then, of course, Joanna would be gone.