by Jane Odiwe
A tear rolled down my cheek to collect in the corner of my mouth. I licked the salt away and brushed at my cheek.
‘You look as if someone just broke your heart.’
He was being so lovely it was impossible to stop the floodgates from opening. The tears really flowed then. I couldn’t do anything to stop them. Josh jumped up from his side of the bench and came rushing over to mine, fetching out a tissue to dab softly at my damp face.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
I shook my head and willed myself to stop. I certainly didn’t want to talk about it and I didn’t want to think about it any more. Besides, however I was feeling, it was a little ungracious of me to accept Josh’s invitation to lunch and then cry all over him. If it wasn’t too late, I knew I’d have to do something about that. He proffered the tissue, which I took, blowing my nose as discreetly as I could before donning my sunglasses so that no one could see how red my eyes were. I felt his arm steal round my shoulders pulling me gently towards him and it was such a natural, empathetic gesture, that I found myself leaning into him, nestling my head just against the base of his neck where it met his collar bone in a pillow of firm, smooth flesh. I shut my eyes and felt the tender touch of his arm about me, his chin resting lightly on the top of my head with those corkscrew curls flickering in the breeze like stolen kisses about my cheek. I felt the pulse in his neck like a tiny heartbeat. His striped tee shirt smelt freshly laundered, a hint of something tropical, creamy coconut meeting a touch of citrus on his skin like chocolate melting with lime.
I might have known that Lara would choose that moment to bring out our lunch. I sat up promptly, like a teenager who’s just been discovered by her mother in the act of kissing her boyfriend.
‘Two Caesar salads with chips to share,’ she said. I knew she was looking at me, but I couldn’t raise my eyes from the table. ‘Can I get you anything else?’
I couldn’t speak, Josh answered for us both in the negative and as soon as she’d gone we picked up our knives and forks. Sensing an air of awkwardness between us, I wished I hadn’t broken down or let myself lie all over Josh. He’d really think I was throwing myself at him now. And, I also knew I would have to start a conversation if I was going to get this whole outing back on any sort of comfortable footing. I contemplated a chip on my fork and put it down again.
‘So, what happens now with your work?’
‘Well, I’ve got a few weeks to finalize the exhibition, but then after the launch I’ll be a free agent. I suppose I shall have to start looking around for another job.’
‘Will you be wanting more exhibitions to do?’
‘I’ll take whatever interests me, to be honest. Something usually turns up. Though lately, I must admit, I’m getting a bit fed up with this nomadic lifestyle. I sometimes think how nice it would be to have a permanent job, nine to five. To wake up in the same bed, in the same flat for more than six months together would be something of a luxury.’
‘But, it must be exciting being able to travel around and see new places all the time.’
‘I have enjoyed it very much but lately, I’ve felt it’s not really taking me where I want to go. I don’t know … it’s just at the moment, I feel as if I’m not living in the real world.’
You and me both, I thought.
Josh paused again. ‘How about you, Sophie? Is the writing going well?’
I could have lied, but for once decided to tell the truth. ‘No. I can’t say it is going that well at the moment. There are too many distractions for one thing and I still haven’t got past feeling that I’m on holiday. I do find Bath very inspiring; I just need to be a bit more disciplined about my work, I suppose.’
‘Yes, nigh on impossible, if you’re in holiday mode.’ Josh put down his fork to squeeze my hand. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll find your muse. I know you will, Sophie, just keep the faith. I think you’re probably still soaking up lots of stuff that you’re going to bring to your novel. Being here in Bath is surely all part of your research. You’ve got to give it a chance. I’m sure it will write itself when the time is right.’
It was lovely to feel I had a friend, someone who believed in me. ‘That’s exactly how I feel. Thank you, Josh, it is nice to have someone who thinks I might be able to have a go. I do want to be a writer so much though I’m not sure I’m going to achieve all my goals. The chances of being able to live off my writing are very slim, I know. Sometimes I think I should just go and find a proper job so that my Dad doesn’t have to help support me any more. I long to be free, to be independent.’
‘You can understand how frustrating it must have been for a woman like Jane Austen, can’t you?’
I thought about Jane and her sister both tied to their parents because they didn’t even have the option of getting a job. ‘At least, Jane was beginning to learn that she could make money from her writing. The true tragedy is that she never knew how much her books would be loved, or how independent she might have been had she been able to live in another time. Oh, it’s too sad to think about.’
‘And even more reason why you shouldn’t give up! What would Jane think if she thought you were going to fall at the first hurdle? If you can’t do it for yourself, you’ve got to do it for her because all her opportunities to write as many books as she wanted were taken away. You’ve got to keep going for Jane and Captain Wentworth, for all the chances that she missed and the love she was denied.’
That last statement had my eyes smarting once again. ‘Oh Josh, you’re right.’ And I would add one more person to that list, I thought to myself. My own, dear mum who sacrificed so much of her own career to bring up her daughter and who never got the chance to fulfill her dreams of becoming an artist. It was time to think about how I was going to start.
‘Come on. Let’s go for a walk. I think we’re in need of inspiration.’
‘Where shall we go?’
‘Do you really need to ask, Sophie? Where might the power of conversation make the present hour a blessing indeed?’
Of course, a stroll along the Gravel Walk only reminded me more than ever of that other gallant man in my life, Charles. Not that we had ever strolled along there together heedless of every group around us, seeing neither sauntering politicians, bustling house-keepers, flirting girls, nor nurserymaids and children, like Anne and her Captain at the end of Persuasion. I wondered if Jane had snatched a turn along the Gravel Walk with the man she’d loved. But just thinking of Jane and her novel kept a certain gentleman of the Navy in my mind. Though Josh was funny and he kept making me laugh despite my low spirits, I couldn’t help be reminded of the walk to Beechen Cliff that had never taken place and wondered for the millionth time what it was that had caused the Austens to change their mind about calling.
Josh and I walked side by side. Sunshine fell through the leaves of tall trees in dappled spots of gold, like coins of light, on the cool path as we passed the higgledy piggledy backs of the houses in Gay Street. Josh talked about his dreams and then listened to mine. By the time we’d walked to the Royal Crescent and then back down again to the flat, I realized a whole afternoon had passed by.
I was feeling much happier as I let myself into the flat. Josh had really cheered me up and I was able to think about things much more clearly. One fact was indisputable. Everything I’d experienced as Sophia had already taken place a long time ago. It was probably the case that I was feeling her emotions, seeing her memories. My senses had tricked me into believing that I was attracted to nothing more than a whisper, a veil of an apparition, a shade. The feeling of ghosts in the house was such a strong one that the idea couldn’t be dismissed, even though I would normally have said that I’m a fairly level-headed person. I felt them all around me, which you’d think would be enough to send you running, but the connection with them was so intense, that I knew they meant me no harm. The house was full of my family, those who had known and loved me, as well as those who had lived before me. Yet, Charles was as real to me as Josh had
been today. For a moment, they fused in my mind. Both living and breathing, both physically resplendent in youth and manliness, I could summon them both in my mind’s eye, vital, thriving, alive, despite the two hundred years that separated them.
Chapter Eighteen
I was feeling so much happier and had really enjoyed Josh’s company, but I was glad to get home. I knew that the time was right, that I must face whatever would be found in the pages of the book I’d bought and with a second sense knew that it was not likely to be easy reading. The afternoon sun had disappeared. It felt decidedly cold in the flat, reminding me that although summer was on its way, it definitely hadn’t arrived just yet. I lit a fire, pulled up my chair in front to toast my toes in the hearth and fetched out the book. I started to read a page at a time determined to read every one. But, it was a weighty book and I knew it would take more than one evening to read. Not only that, I knew I was avoiding the truth. The fire roared in the grate, the heat of the flames warming the star- like petals of the lilac bough Josh had picked for me, scenting the air with their fragrance. Skimming the pages impatiently trying to find any mention of Charles’s name, as soon as I turned over the correct leaf, it immediately jumped out at me in black print burning itself into my brain. And I knew despite the cheerful fire, why I instantly felt chilled to the bone.
During these years, Charles Austen was long engaged in the unpleasant and unprofitable duty of enforcing the right of search on Atlantic seaboard of America. Hardly anything is said in the extant letters of his marriage to Fanny Palmer, daughter of the Attorney-General of Bermuda, which took place in 1807.
Written there was all I needed to know. I’d guessed all along that something must have happened to prevent Sophia and Charles becoming more than just friends. My sensible head told me that if their friendship had been anything else, I would have known something about it and that there would have been some history in the family. The truth was that Charles had found the love of his life and married. That didn’t stop the immediate questions about what had happened and I couldn’t help wondering why Charles’s wife or his marriage were not mentioned in the letters, giving rise to other feelings. Had Jane been disappointed by his choice, I wondered? In any case, I now knew that Sophia must have been disappointed because in my heart, I recognized that she must have fallen in love with him.
A week passed by during which I started to write again. I wasn’t quite sure where to start, but having equipped myself with a new notebook and a vast file of paper, the ideas started to flow. I knew straight away that the experiences I’d had were going to be recorded. I wanted to write about meeting Jane and Charles even if no one else would ever read about what was to me such personal knowledge. The only problem was that although I’d decided that I couldn’t see them again, the very act of writing it down made me long to do so.
I didn’t see anything more of Josh. He was out early in the morning working long days and sometimes didn’t seem to be around at all. I knew he was working hard on the exhibition and in any case, I was so busy now I was caught up with my own writing and research that I didn’t really have much time to give him a thought.
Monday dawned with a formidable purple sky and rain sheeting down as it only seems to in Bath, the perfect day for staying inside and writing. I’d just settled down with a steaming mug of Earl Grey tea, books and papers to hand on every surface including the sitting room floor, when there was a knock at the door.
I knew it could only be Josh, and was slightly disconcerted by the thumping of my heart as I opened the door and the fact that I was altogether a little too bothered about what he might think of my scruffiest trackie bottoms and a baggy jumper with more holes than the colander on the draining board in the kitchen.
‘I’m having a break and giving myself a day off,’ he said. ‘Are you busy?’
‘Erm … not really, come in and have a cup of tea,’ I said, knowing that he’d instantly see my work strewn all over the floor.
‘So, you’ve started the book, then?’ he asked immediately, in his typically direct way. ‘Sorry, Sophie, I’ve completely interrupted you, haven’t I?’
‘Well, I’m very happy to be interrupted,’ I said, grabbing armfuls of paper, picking up books three at a time off the sofa and chairs to put out of the way so he could sit down. To be honest, I didn’t want him to be looking at it and even though I’d not known Josh for long, I knew he was going to be really curious.
‘When can I read it?’ he said immediately and when I turned from thrusting it all up high in the cupboard in the alcove, managing to simultaneously drop half of it at the same time, I could see him grinning at me.
‘Maybe, never.’ Suddenly, I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone reading it, least of all Josh.
‘I knew you’d feel like that,’ he said, helping to pick up the papers. ‘I haven’t done much writing myself, but I’m reliably informed that it’s a bit like baring your soul or standing naked in the high street before asking everyone if they like what they see.’
I laughed out loud partly because of the ridiculous and hideous picture of myself, trotting around without clothes in the middle of Bath, that I conjured up in my all too lively imagination and partly because he was so right. Watching him shuffle the papers together like a news presenter, I hoped he hadn’t been able to glimpse a word.
‘I just came to ask if you’ve seen the Jane Austen display at the Fashion Museum yet and to see if you’d like to come with me,’ he continued. ‘They’ve got the film costumes from every adaptation ever made, and I thought if you hadn’t already seen where Jane danced, you’d like to see that too. The Fashion Museum is in the Assembly Rooms. I know you’ll love it because they filmed so much of Persuasion there.’
‘No, I haven’t been to see the display,’ I said, quite able to look truthfully into his eyes. ‘I’d love to go. Can you give me a minute to change?’
We agreed to meet downstairs when I was ready. I felt suddenly excited about going though I knew seeing the Assembly Rooms would be strange without carriages rolling before the doors depositing muslin-clad dancers and frock-coated gentlemen bent on the card room. Pulling on jeans, a jumper and a belted trench coat as defence against the weather, I was ready for anything, but I felt some of my timidity returning as I knocked on Josh’s door.
He thrust an umbrella towards me with a grin as he opened the door. ‘I’ve equipped myself for Bath, you see. I wish you’d make use of it.’
‘I certainly will, Captain Wentworth,’ I answered, recognizing the quote immediately and grinning back. ‘Anne Elliot might be my heroine, but I’m not about to decline the offer of a good umbrella like she did.’
I did wonder if that sounded like I’d paired us up as a couple, but thankfully, Josh didn’t seem to take much notice. He insisted on holding the umbrella for both of us and grabbing my arm in his, pulled me closely to his side as the rain thundered down above our heads. He was in great spirits and by the time we were walking up Bond Street, he’d pointed out everything of interest from the shop they’d used in my favourite film version of Persuasion, representing Molland’s coffee shop, to the faded paintwork that still exists on the building of what used to be the old circulating library in Milsom Street, which Jane herself must have visited.
Taking a turn into Quiet Street and rounding the corner onto Gay Street, we climbed ever higher, unable to pass the Jane Austen Centre without visiting the giftshop where Josh treated me to a book. I chose Cooking with Jane Austen and Friends, a sumptuous volume, which had my mouth watering at the fantastic recipes. Josh suggested we break our fast by sampling some hot buttered Crawford’s Crumpets, washed down with a cup of Peking tea in the Regency tearoom upstairs, and in such surroundings we felt we’d escaped from the hustle and bustle of town life below. At last, much refreshed and rejuvenated, we set off up the steep incline and on reaching the Circus at the top, we marvelled at the beautiful curves of the buildings, the hand-chiselled frieze running around the Doric columns w
ith decorative emblems, every one depicting something different. A short walk along Bennett Street and we reached the Assembly Rooms. Although recognizable, the additions of modern life made the past seem remote and so far away that it was almost like I’d never been there before.
The display of costumes was fantastic. Original gowns of satin, silk and muslin were displayed side by side with the film costumes, the light dimmed to preserve the fragile fabrics, and every case offered a treat. I recognized many as worn by my favourite actors and actresses. The first case showed costumes from Sense and Sensibility.
‘So, who do you identify with most? Are you Elinor or Marianne?’ asked Josh. He was looking at me quite intently and I felt myself blush, as I admitted what I’d not vocalized to anyone before. I was glad the place was empty so no one could hear.
‘Marianne,’ I said without hesitation. ‘I’d love to be more like Elinor, but I admit, I am far too much of a romantic to be as sensible.’
‘Your heart rules your head, then?’
I stared at Marianne’s bonnet, a wonderful straw confection with peach ribbon and a feather to match, and knew that I longed to wear such a frivolous item. ‘I suppose it does. I know that I don’t always think before I act, a fault that Marianne had too. And, I’m sure most people who know me would say I’m a bit of a drama queen.’
‘You’re being a little unfair to yourself – that’s just your own opinion. I haven’t known you for long, but from what I’ve seen, I’d say that you combine the best qualities of both Elinor and Marianne. I’m convinced Jane Austen was writing about dual aspects of her own personality and don’t we all share that to some extent? We have a ‘sensible’ head that regulates our behaviour and one that makes us act impulsively, rashly. In any case, I always prefer people who are open myself. Jane made a point of saying that often enough in her books. Even Mr Darcy said that disguise of every sort was his abhorrence. A personality who is not afraid to say how they feel is ultimately a warmer person and far more real. There’s an honesty about someone who says what they think.’
