Chapter 11
ELEVEN
‘I wish you hadn’t said that,’ she muttered to Carrie once the others had gone.
‘Sorry, it just slipped out. But it’s nothing to be ashamed of, Jules. Loads of people have to take a break from work. Life is just too stressful for a lot of people these days.’
‘I do love my job.’
‘I know you do.’
‘I don’t want to give it up.’
‘Whoa! Who said anything about giving it up?’
‘I’m not sure I can cope with the responsibility of it going forwards.’
Carrie reached out and touched her arm.
‘You’re only thinking that because you need a break. Give it a bit of time and you’ll be back to your mums and babies and as good a midwife as you ever were, maybe even better because you’ve let yourself be vulnerable.’
They sat in the sun while Carrie ate her cake and Jules had a third cup of tea. Gradually people drifted away and they were there alone, the little café shut up, and all the tables cleared.
‘Imagine living in a place like this,’ Jules said, throwing a glance back at the house. ‘All the fun you could have as a child. Hide and seek would go on all day.’
Carrie gathered up the tray and took it to the table nearest to the closed hatch.
‘Do you want a wander around? It’s lovely and peaceful once all the visitors have gone.’
They walked across the gravel and up the steps at the side of the house on to a grassy area flanked by two long herbaceous borders. Catmint spilled over the edges, spires of delphiniums reached up past the top of the clipped hedge to the rear, the blue popping out against the dark green yew.
As they passed through a rose-enveloped archway at the end of the path, Wilbur came bounding up, ball in mouth.
He dropped it at Jules’ feet, tongue lolling out, tail wagging.
She stooped to pick it up and threw it just as an elderly man emerged from behind the trees to the left.
The ball knocked the Panama hat backwards on his head.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she called as he stopped and shielded his eyes to look at them.
‘Do I need a trip to my optician or are there two interlopers now?’ he asked in a gruff voice. ‘And is one of them trying to kill me?’
Carrie laughed and quickly moved to his side, her arm hovering next to him as he strode across the uneven ground.
‘I don’t need any help,’ he said, brushing her away even though she hadn’t even touched him. ‘I’m not senile and I’m not concussed.’
‘This is my friend, Jules,’ she said. ‘You remember I told you about her.’
‘Of course I remember,’ he retorted. ‘The knee might be dodgy, but the mind is still pukka, and we have already met.’
‘The Major’s bark is worse than his bite,’ Carrie said affectionately.
‘Hmph!’ he said, lifting the hat from his head and examining it.
‘This came from a rather special shop in Seville. My wife bought it for me before she died. Tiny little place on a corner which we discovered by chance, with tall, curved windows and fitted inside with mahogany framed glass-fronted cupboards that stretched from waist height right up to the ceiling, brimming, if you’ll pardon the pun, with Panama hats of every size. ’
‘Oh, my goodness, I do hope I haven’t damaged it,’ Jules said, ‘or you, sir.’
‘You don’t need to worry about that,’ Carrie said. ‘The Major is indestructible.’
Jules spotted the ghost of a smile twitching his lips.
‘And the hat?’
Vivid blue eyes met hers.
‘I’m pleased to report that it appears unscathed.’
She exchanged a glance with Carrie.
‘Phew! That’s a relief.’
‘Or we’d all have had to hop on a plane to Seville,’ Carrie chuckled. ‘What a hardship that would have been.’
‘I doubt that shop is still there,’ The Major said. ‘Progress has probably taken its toll.’
‘Well, South America then,’ Carrie added.
‘You do know that Panama hats don’t come from Panama, don’t you?’
Jules opened her mouth to reply, but The Major continued before she could get her words out.
‘They actually come from Ecuador. Toquilla straw, they’re made from. Most people don’t realise that. A good hat is one of life’s pleasures when one gets older. The classics are often the best, don’t you think?’
Again, Jules opened her mouth to reply, but…
‘Like a piece of Victoria sponge cake at teatime. Most important meal of the day, tea. Have you tried the Victoria sponge? No? So many fancy cakes these days, but mark my words, a good Victoria sandwich can beat them all.’
‘I’ll remember that.’
‘Has Carrie been showing you around?’
‘We’ve just started.’
‘Don’t let me stop you. All and sundry walk around these gardens now.’
‘Andrew,’ Carrie said, a hint of a scold in her voice, ‘remember what we agreed.’
‘Hmph! Thinks I should be grateful, this one. What do you think?’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, you. You look like the sort of person who has opinions.’
‘Andrew, Jules has come here to get away from thinking for a while.’
He threw Carrie a cursory glance.
‘Nonsense! That’s impossible. The brain is never still. It needs to think.’
He dug his stick into the ground and fixed his stare on Jules as if he could see right into her head, which was suddenly empty of everything except panic.
‘I-I…’ she stuttered, looking desperately towards Carrie who gave an almost imperceptible shrug of helplessness.
‘No need to give me an answer now,’ he said after what seemed like the longest pause in a conversation she had ever had to endure. ‘Mull it over. I’m sure we’ll meet again.’
And with a tip of his hat and a flourish of his stick he was off, striding back towards the house, Wilbur glancing apologetically back at Carrie as he followed The Major close at heel.
‘Wow, I’m tired,’ Jules said, rubbing her eyes.
‘It’s probably the stress coming out,’ Carrie said. ‘I slept for days when I first came here. Sleep is very healing, and I haven’t let you do that. Sorry. Maybe I’ve been a bit selfish.’
‘You haven’t been selfish at all, but I could do with going back to the cottage now and putting my feet up.’
‘I’ll let you out of the front gate,’ Carrie said, ‘and I’ll stop by and pick the car up later if that’s okay. Although I suppose if I grab a ride back with Guy, I could leave it there until tomorrow. That’s if you’re okay on your own tonight?’
Jules followed Carrie back across the gravel courtyard past the front of the house with its imposing oak front door and shimmering old glass windows. Even though it was high summer there was smoke coming out of one of the chimneys and Jules guessed that the house would be dark and cold inside.
‘Look at these,’ Carrie said, peering through the window into the shop. ‘Aren’t they beautiful?’
Some of Lance’s pots were arranged on the windowsill, their glaze catching the golden droplets of evening sunshine.
‘You ought to go back and glaze your bowl, Jules. Finish it yourself. Erin will make a good job of it, but it won’t be totally yours.’
Jules gazed at the blues and greens, silken as the sea and the island landscape. She wanted to touch them, to hold them in her hands, to feel their weight, their gloss, the love that had gone into them.
Complete what you’ve started, her granny used to say when she was little.
Maybe this bowl, which was waiting to be finished, could be a symbol of a new approach to life, of a commitment to herself as much as to other people, to her patients, to her mother and her sister.
Jules could envisage her finished bowl, deep blue and jade green glazes allowed to spill over one another, finding their own definition of beauty.
She would place it on the windowsill above the sink back in the Manchester kitchen and fill it with yellow and red Isle of Wight tomatoes.
She was determined that bowl would remind her not of Gavin, but of a positive turning point in her life.
Jules slept better than she had in a long time.
The room was the perfect temperature, her bath had relaxed her, and she had picked up a book of poetry from the little pile on the table next to her bed.
She woke briefly just before four to hear the birds begin to sing, but after that she had slept on until nine.
She was just finishing her breakfast eggs when there was a knock at the door.
There was a very old Mercedes estate parked outside the cottage. Jules paused briefly by the mirror in the hall, wiped a crumb of toast from her cheek and pulled her dressing gown more tightly around her. Through the bulls-eye glass panel she could see the back of a man’s head.
‘Oh!’ she said, opening the door.
‘Bad time?’ Lance asked, turning to face her.
‘I slept in.’
‘You’re allowed to. You’re on holiday.’
‘Mmm, I suppose so.’
He held out a box.
‘We’re on our way to collect Tasha. I thought you might like your bowl.’
‘Thank you.’
She took the box from him and he turned to leave. Suddenly the passenger door of the Mercedes opened, and Erin swung her legs out.
‘Hi, Jules,’ she called.
‘Hi, Erin.’
The girl strolled up the path, trailing her fingers over the lavender flowers and cosmos.
‘This is really beautiful. Like something out of a picture book.’
‘Come on, sweetheart, we’d better get going,’ Lance said, placing a hand at the small of Erin’s back as she peered past Jules into the hallway.
‘Dad’s always wanted to take a look inside,’ she said. ‘Guy kept telling him to come over when he was doing it up, but you never got around to it, did you, Dad?’
‘No, but now isn’t the time. Jules isn’t even dressed.’
‘She’s decent. You wouldn’t mind, would you, Jules?’
Erin threw her a winning smile.
‘Umm…’
‘We’ve got to go and get Tasha,’ Lance protested.
‘She won’t be ready,’ Erin said. ‘You know she’s always late. Tell you what, I’ll wander around to the farm and chivvy her along while Jules shows you around. We’ll meet you back here, then you won’t have to come to the farm and can avoid you know who.’
And before either of them could say anything she had turned on her heel and was skipping back up the path and heading out on to the lane.
Lance shrugged and shook his head.
‘I’m so sorry. She likes to organise me.’