Chapter 14

14

brOWNSEA ISLAND – JULY 1998

Rebekah finished her rounds of the bird hides that nestled in the woodlands on the edge of the lagoon, checking for any straggler visitors or detritus from the day's activities. She didn't want anything foreign to the natural landscape ending up in the lagoon, or anywhere else on the island for that matter. She recalled again the mantra from the Australian national parks back home: take nothing but memories, leave nothing but footprints. It was simple, but effective. Even something so ordinary and organic as a banana skin didn't belong in this landscape and shouldn't be left to rot among the leaf litter.

The birdwatchers had all left for the little quay to catch the last ferry off the island, except for those who were staying at the campsite or in the castle. The open-air theatre Shakespeare play was due to start in two days' time, so excitement was building, and the campsite was booked to full occupancy. The castle was expected to be heaving with private guests, too. This all made it much more complicated than usual to keep an eye on who was supposed to be on the island, and who should have left by now, and there were dozens of people from the Brownsea Open Air Theatre company, known as BOAT for short, milling about on the Church Field. Rebekah stood for a moment and watched them all buzzing around busily in the afternoon sunshine.

The seating gallery was all set up, and the stage was ready, complete with theatrically roped curtains. Final preparations were being made to the set for As You Like It , and a group of actors was rehearsing a scene off to one side. Rebekah watched as she recognised the character of Rosalind in the act of revealing to Orlando that she was, in fact, the object of his admiration.

Rebekah sighed, and chastised herself for her gloominess over Paul. She was, after all, a confirmed bachelorette who had no intention of being roped into a relationship that might tie her down and hold her back, or worse – leave her black and blue and utterly violated. She still had plans: places to go, things to achieve, books to read. She snorted with mirth at her last thought and headed back towards reception to see off the last ferry and close reception for the day.

It had been almost five days since she had last seen Paul, the man she reluctantly admitted to herself now had become the object of her admiration after the blissful twenty-four hours she had spent with him last weekend.

Their evening out on the Isle of Purbeck had been pure perfection. The late-afternoon sunlight had been glorious and Rebekah had marvelled at the change in the weather from the gloomy rain when they woke up in the morning, to what had morphed into a beautiful summer's evening. They drove through Wareham to the village of Corfe Castle and parked in the National Trust car park, which Rebekah could use free of charge.

‘Just another way to save money with the annual pass,' she had pointed out to Paul, who was already convinced he wanted to come back in the daytime to visit the castle itself.

‘It's absolutely amazing – like something out of a storybook,' he said, gazing up at the perfect grassy mound with the remains of an ancient, fortified castle perched atop.

‘It probably looked a bit better a few hundred years ago, before the roundheads destroyed the place in the civil war.' Rebekah laughed as she led him along the path and away from the castle. ‘This is a circular walk, and it starts with a nice little hill climb up some steps. We'll be able to look back at the castle from the top,' she told him.

As they walked up the steep steps to the top of the hill, they chatted about the lives they each lived when they weren't being entirely spontaneous with a complete stranger in the Dorset countryside.

‘So how often do you actually work in London, Paul, compared to time spent on little jaunts like this one to Poole?' she asked him, noticing how much more out of breath he was than her. An active life of constant walking in the outdoors really did pay off in fitness levels, she thought.

‘It's probably about fifty-fifty,' he puffed. ‘Around half my time, I'm based at home and lots of the jobs are within and around London itself, so there's no need to stay away. But then the other half are jobs that can be anywhere around the country, or sometimes even abroad. I've been to Dorset several times before, but I've never seen so much of Poole as I have this time, thanks to you,' he said, stopping with his hands on his hips to catch his breath.

They had reached the top of the hill and, as promised, had a wonderful view of the castle from above, which looked even more complete from this angle. Rebekah pointed out to him where the original external walls were and the shape of the castle itself from the remaining ruins and foundations.

‘I haven't been out here for ages,' Rebekah said. ‘One of the downsides to not having a car is that I don't do these things as spontaneously as I'd like to. I could get here on the bus, of course, but it's not quite the same.'

‘You drove at home in Brisbane, then?' Paul asked her.

‘Oh yes – Brisbane is an impossible city to get around without a car because the areas are so huge. Public transport all works as if it runs on the spokes of a wheel – everything is fine if you want to get in and out of the city centre, but trying to get across suburbs is just about impossible without a car. The city bounds themselves cover over five hundred square miles, but plenty of my friends from university lived well outside that area and people commute into the city from as far as forty or fifty miles away. In comparison, just to give you an idea, the whole county of Dorset is about a thousand square miles in total. So, yes, I learnt to drive as soon as I could, back home.'

‘I only ever use my car when I leave London. The Tube is so handy, and the traffic so bad, that there's really no point driving anywhere. But a drive in the country with good company? That's precious,' he said with a smile that reflected the warmth of the summer evening sun.

Rebekah felt her skin glowing and knew it was from more than the fresh air and exercise. As they walked on towards Brenscombe Hill, she pointed out the various islands in Poole Harbour, of which they had a virtual bird's eye view from this height.

‘So somewhere across there is Rose Cottage on Brownsea Island, and beyond that, my bed in the Harbour Heights Hotel,' he said thoughtfully, and she briefly let her mind wander to what a night spent in his hotel room could be like.

As the walk route brought them back around into Corfe village, Paul admired the cute little thatched cottages – all made from Purbeck stone, as promised by Rebekah – and each sporting a remarkably small front door. They found their way into the Greyhound Inn, Paul ducking under the low doorframe, and went through the stone-floored and timber-beamed main bar to the beer garden in the back where they could sit and look up into the ruined stone walls of the castle above them. They ordered their meals and drank deliciously cloudy Dorset apple cider while they waited.

‘And when you're not busy doing historical, archival things,' Rebekah said, realising the cider had already affected her grasp on vocabulary somewhat, ‘what else fills your time?'

She was expecting something to do with relationships and part of her was actually expecting the news that he had a wife and family in London. There was no reason why he shouldn't, after all. She was just a ranger whose door he had happened to knock on in the middle of the night, and no more than that. Just a bonus tour guide he'd spent the day with.

She froze as he studied her face and she felt the warmth of his eyes watching her. He picked up his cider and took a long draught before putting it down carefully on the beer mat, straightening it as he did so.

‘I live alone in London. There's no one special in my life,' he said, and watched her to see her response. She smiled a little and nodded. She too lived a solitary life, with no one special. She knew exactly what he was telling her.

‘But that doesn't mean I'm alone in the sad sense,' he went on. ‘I keep pretty busy. Ah – here's something I haven't told you yet: I play violin,' he said with his eyebrows raised, expecting her comment.

‘Really? Now that is something I would never have guessed. I'm not a bit musical myself, although I do love to listen. Do you play in an orchestra?' she asked.

‘Regularly, I'm part of a small one yes: a chamber strings group. I'm one of the four violins. Nobody important,' he said with a wink. ‘But occasionally, I join with others as and when needed, sometimes in a bigger orchestra or sometimes much smaller – just a quartet. So that's what generally fills my weekends and some of my evenings. And I practise several nights a week as well. I live in a detached house, so the noise doesn't bother anyone,' he added with a laugh, turning to thank the waitress who had placed their meals on the table before them.

‘Did you study music as well as history, then?' she asked him.

‘Yes, and no,' he said with a frown. ‘I started a music degree – was accepted into the Royal College of Music in London, which was no mean feat. The audition process is one of the most rigorous in the world. And I studied hard for three years. But,' he said, with a deep sigh, and teasing his temples with his thumbs as if a pain lurked there, ‘but in the summer holidays between my third and fourth years, my mum was diagnosed with cancer. I deferred my final year so I could spend more time with her.' He paused, but Rebekah knew there were no right words with which to fill the space.

‘But she didn't recover. And afterwards, I just seemed to lose the joy, and couldn't find it again. Eventually, I had to choose something that I might make a living from, so I studied history, and here I am,' he said with a bright smile that belied the pain in his eyes.

‘I'm so sorry, Paul. You've lost so much. But you didn't stop playing?'

‘I did stop. For three whole years, I never picked up my violin. But then one day, I had just moved into a new flat, and everything was a mess. I had my violin in my hand, and before I realised what I was doing, I'd taken it out of its case, given it the tuning of its life, and was playing again. I'd grown rusty, naturally, but it all came back soon enough – as did the joy, at long last. But that took years.'

‘You didn't want to go back and finish your music degree?' Rebekah asked, clearing her plate and taking a sip of cider.

‘I did think about it, but by then I needed to concentrate on paying the rent and I just didn't have the time. But I was well enough regarded to wiggle my way into some community players' groups, and eventually into some more highbrow quartets and so on. But it is just for fun – I'm not considered professional, of course, without the degree and the status that comes with it.'

‘And I suppose a violin is easy to carry around London on the Tube?' Rebekah asked.

‘Absolutely. I'm so glad I'm not a double bass player – that's such a weight to heft around. You can't even fit it into a normal car.' He laughed.

‘What's the next thing you'll be performing?' asked Rebekah.

‘I'm doing a concert of the Four Seasons in a couple of weeks, just a smallish affair in some function rooms in Westminster,' he added nonchalantly.

‘Oh wow! That sounds incredible to this little Australian,' she joked. ‘How wonderful. I'm not at all arty but I do enjoy watching and listening to anything that anyone else does in the form of arts. And Westminster!'

‘Yes, I suppose it does all sound a bit romantic to someone from as far away as Australia. But do you know, I was disappointed that my first university experience was only in Kensington? I grew up in Notting Hill and so I didn't even get to leave home to go and study. Most of my schoolfriends went further afield for university, and never lived at home again. I just caught the Tube in!'

‘It all sounds like something from a very romantic movie script to me.' Rebekah laughed. ‘Did you know we have Shakespeare plays on the island? They hold them every summer, and it's As You Like It this year. That's something of a romantic script too, I suppose.'

‘Yes, I did see the set-up for all of that yesterday. Crumbs, was that only yesterday? It seems weeks ago now,' he said, confirming what Rebekah had been thinking all evening.

‘They do a different play every year. Next Saturday night is opening night,' she added, but the moment the words had left her mouth, she regretted it. She felt that it sounded like she was asking him to join her, and she really didn't want to sound that forward. He ate on in silence for a while, catching up with Rebekah, and she would have given a ransom to know what he was thinking.

Eventually, she broke the silence.

‘What time are you heading off to London in the morning?'

‘I have to be out of the hotel room by ten, so the plan is to just drive home in the morning. I have a rehearsal at four in the afternoon, so I need to be back by then,' he said with a look that she took to mean he regretted it and would rather spend the day with her. She only thought for a second before launching out with her hopes.

‘That's a shame. We could have come to see the castle tomorrow if you were free,' she said, wondering how fixed his 4p.m. rehearsal was.

‘So many things to stay here in Dorset for, but I suppose I'll just have to leave them for another time.'

Rebekah nodded, accepting that this was it. He would be travelling home in the morning, and she would likely never see him again.

She noticed a couple who were seated a few tables away. They sat opposite each other and as they ate, they continually but subtly touched each other. One would reach out to stroke the other's hand, or their knees would touch under the table. As they put down their cutlery, they reached across the table, holding hands. She watched Paul finishing up his meal and wondered what it would feel like to hold his hand. To have him reach out to touch her. She sighed. But she didn't want to be in a relationship anyway.

Paul put down his knife and fork and finished his cider. He glanced at his watch.

‘Talking of the time, we should probably go and finish our walk and head back to the car park. How long is the drive home via the ferry?' he asked.

‘Yes, we ought to get going. But the trip back will only take half an hour or so, depending on where the chain ferry is when we arrive.'

They walked through the village and around the base of the castle, then back to the car. The ride through Studland and to the chain ferry was strangely silent, considering the free and easy way they'd been chatting all day. Rebekah was not ready to say goodbye but didn't know how to tell him that. The ferry was waiting for them on the Studland side when they arrived, with plenty of room for them on board, so there was no delay at all. And in no time, they were on the Haven side of the harbour entrance, and Paul had pulled in beside the ferry jetty, with forty minutes to spare before the eleven o'clock ferry was due to leave.

‘I can't leave you here in the dark on your own,' he said, concern in his voice. ‘Will the bar still be open?' He glanced back towards the Haven Hotel. ‘How about a nightcap?'

Even though the summer evening had been fine, the air was cooling fast and so they found soft armchairs in the lounge to relax with a cup of hot chocolate and a brandy each. Rebekah was burning to ask how she might contact him again, but fought with herself to keep quiet. She knew how off-putting she always found it when a guy seemed more keen on her than she was on him, and she did not want to be that girl.

And yet when the time came to walk back to the jetty, she felt his hand touch the small of her back lightly as he held the door open for her. The touch – the first time they had touched since that kiss on her cheek last night – sent a shockwave tingling up her spine that made her gasp. At the jetty, they stood face to face and both spoke at once when it was time to say goodbye.

‘It's been lovely meeting you, Rebekah,' he said as she'd blurted, ‘Time to be off then,' and immediately regretted it. He nodded, curtly, smiled tightly, and held a hand up to wave briefly.

‘Thank you for looking after me so well, for saving me last night and for showing me around. I wish I could stay longer.' And then he was gone.

As Rebekah caught the ferry home to the island, went through the mundane business of collecting her groceries from reception, and trudged back up the hill to Rose Cottage, she couldn't shake the gloomy sense that she'd lost something precious. Lying in bed that night, recalling the last twenty-four hours of her life, she'd even begun to wonder if she could have imagined the whole thing.

And that had been five days ago. Now it was Thursday evening, and the routine of her week had made last weekend almost disappear, except for the sense in her soul there was something she was missing.

Rebekah checked that the last island visitors were ready to board the final ferry back to Poole Quay and watched the Island Maid ferry come into the little island dock, empty of passengers as expected. On Saturday night, this ferry would be full of playgoers on their way to the opening night of As You Like it .

After the last visitor was aboard, she turned back inside and checked the diary for the next day. Friday: Ben would be volunteering. Last Friday, with that unwanted hug, had been so awkward, and now she wondered if there was a way to avoid seeing him tomorrow. What if he started pushing for more? Perhaps he would bring her mussels again, or maybe a crab this time. Full circle , she thought, and found her thoughts drifting again to Paul when she heard a small movement behind her.

She turned and started as the embodiment of her imagination stood before her. Paul was carrying an old, brown, leather satchel, slung across his body, with a small wheelie suitcase at his side, the size you can take on board a plane. Big enough for a weekend away. He wore navy-blue shorts, a loosely buttoned, pale-pink, linen shirt, and tan-brown deck shoes. The whole impression gave off a mixture of tourist, travelling businessman and island hopper. He looked anguished as he waited for her to speak. She couldn't.

‘Hello, Rebekah.' He paused. Still, she stayed mute. ‘I bought two tickets to the play, just in case you might like to join me,' he said, motioning with his head in the direction of the Church Field where he knew the stage to be. ‘And I knew I'd need somewhere to stay, so I've booked the little Custom House cottage here on the island. Apparently, there was a last-minute cancellation, and I was lucky to get in,' he went on, waiting for her response. She still had no words. ‘I didn't want to assume, you see,' he said, now looking for all the world like he'd rather be somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Rebekah watched the Island Maid chug away and looked back to Paul. All the words he'd spoken seemed to come through to her mind at once and she had to unjumble them before she could speak. And then she smiled.

‘I didn't think I would ever see you again,' Rebekah said, beaming. ‘I'm so glad you're here. There's something I forgot to do, the last time I saw you,' she said, and Paul crinkled his brow in confusion.

She took the few steps that separated them and brought her face so close to his that she could hear his breath. She reached up and, before she could change her mind, she took his face in her hands and stood on tiptoes to kiss him firmly on the mouth. His expression changed from anguished confusion, to stunned shock, and to pure joy in a series of exquisitely tiny movements. Rebekah pulled back, just a few inches, and searched his eyes for his response.