It was dark by the time Joss arrived back at St Meriadoc. She was later than usual, having fitted in an appointment at the end of her surgery hours: a farmer complaining of a low backache. He’d never been to an osteopath before and, as she’d welcomed him in, he’d looked faintly sheepish and rather wary. She’d sat him down beside the little desk, talking to him so as to put him at ease and, very gradually, in fits and starts, the facts had begun to emerge.
‘… Did it ten days ago or thereabouts, diving for an old ewe … felt it go but couldn’t stop … had a hot bath, not a bad night, bit uncomfortable … got a bit better but it never went away, then, yesterday, turned round in the Land Rover to grab my coat and, hey, the whole thing’s worse again.’
She’d listened carefully to his story, asked a few questions: low backache on the right side, no pins and needles, no numbness, no radiation of pain down the leg, so probably not a disc problem. He hadn’t been too happy about stripping down to his underwear and she’d gently explained that she needed to see his spinal movements but that he could put his shirt back on afterwards. She was able to work with one layer of clothing – no more – and, feeling happier, he’d soon relaxed enough to allow her to check the state of his soft tissue and joint mobility. As she worked it became clear that, as he’d lunged to the right to catch the sheep, he’d strained the lower lumbar segments and the muscles had gone into spasm to protect the area from further damage. At last, after massage, passive articulation to release the joint restriction, and then some manipulation, he’d felt a great deal easier.
His shyness had evaporated during this treatment. Joss had learned to talk as she worked, finding out more about her patients so that she could take a holistic approach to their healing. She liked to build up a picture of what kind of people they were, how they related to their environment, and so, if necessary, gently helping them towards a realization and acceptance of the need to bring their lives into balance.
This holistic approach was what had drawn her most powerfully to the work; that and seeing a young friend, almost crippled by a fall from a horse, restored gradually to health by an osteopath in Maidenhead. Joss’s training – and now her practice – continued to confirm this belief and vitalize her; in her own way she was putting back into society what her father had taken from it in his lifelong meannesses and petty behaviour.
Now, driving down the narrow lane towards St Meriadoc, she chuckled as she remembered the farmer’s reaction to the manipulation. He’d first looked alarmed and then laughed almost gleefully at the sound of the clicks, and he’d been very ready to make another appointment. He might need several more visits over the next two weeks but, if it had resolved itself by the next appointment, then all well and good. Joss often reminded herself of a phrase frequently used during her training: find it, fix it and leave it alone.
She parked the car and remembered with a shock that George was here. Anxiety replaced her sense of satisfaction with a good day’s work and she slid silently from the car, closing the door as quietly as she could, lest Rafe or Pamela should appear. As she crossed the road and climbed the track to The Lookout, she told herself that it was foolish – that whatever might happen between George and Penny, she had done nothing of which to be ashamed – nevertheless, unease dogged her and she was glad to see the light shining out like a beacon from the great outflung window.
Bruno poured her a glass of wine and she sat down in the bentwood rocker, suddenly at ease, feeling exactly as she did in Mutt’s bedroom: that they were cut off and freed from the day-to-day anxieties. She fetched a great sigh and stretched a foot to Nellie, who was lying on her back in front of the fire, looking as fluid and boneless as a bendy toy.
‘Good day?’ asked Bruno. ‘Getting the hang of it now?’
She smiled up at him gratefully; he knew how anxious she’d been because, to begin with, she’d worked so slowly. Even after nearly two years, in her own practice she still booked an hour for each appointment, which allowed her the time to build up her picture of the patient – general health, occupation, family ties – to get down all the details before she began the examination and this way she didn’t have to rush. As an assistant she was obliged to work more quickly so she felt that, at present, she was having the best of both worlds.
‘I’m getting better,’ she told him. ‘Working a half-hour list at the practice in Bodmin is giving me confidence. One of the things I’m learning is the ability to shut down on the details of one patient before picking up on the next one. I think I’m getting a bit more efficient. I’m beginning to get a few referrals so I must be getting something right.’
Bruno sat down on the sofa and Nellie immediately leaped up gracefully beside him, curling against his side. Joss rocked herself, sipping with pleasure at the chilled Sancerre.
‘You look content,’ Bruno observed, raising his glass to her.
Joss thought about it. ‘I am,’ she agreed, sounding rather surprised at this discovery. ‘I just love my work, I suppose – why are you smiling?’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing, really. Just a conversation I was having earlier with Em about the benefits of honest toil.’
‘Mum didn’t have much chance, really,’ said Joss quickly, as if defending her mother. ‘Married so young and Dad wanting her to be there all the time. There’s always quite a lot of entertaining in London. Actually, I think Mum enjoys that bit.’
‘I was remembering,’ he said mildly, ‘not criticizing.’
‘I’m sure you weren’t but there have been times when she’s been … well, restless probably describes it best. And then I’ve wondered if it would have been better for her if she’d other things to think about apart from Dad and me.’
They sat for a while in companionable silence, watching the flames flaring and dying, whilst, in the background, Billie Holiday’s husky voice singing ‘No More’ created an atmosphere of bittersweet melancholy. Bruno had a vast CD collection of female blues singers: Bessie Smith, Ella Fitzgerald, Lena Horne, Dinah Shore – he loved them all, playing them as he sat after supper, thinking about his characters and the worlds they inhabited, losing himself in their company.
Joss, listening to the gravelly, sexy voice, wondered why it was that, once you fell in love, it seemed that every love song might have been written for you personally.
‘Since your supper plans have been cancelled,’ said Bruno at last, ‘can I offer you something or will you go up to the house and join Em and Mousie?’
‘Oh, yes, I think so or Mum will wonder where I am.’ Her face clouded. ‘Sorry about that message, Bruno. You must have wondered what’s been going on.’
He shrugged. ‘Just a tad. Rafe sounded the least bit harassed. I gather that George has a problem. I imagine it’s to do with Penny.’
Joss stared into the fire whilst he watched her consideringly: she made a rather charming picture, rather off-beat but very much her own person. From childhood her style had been eclectic: a blend of countrified bohemianism that appealed to Bruno. On anyone else the mole-coloured needlecord overshirt worn with a long charcoal-striped flannel skirt, embroidered at the hem, and the whole outfit finished off with leather ankle boots might have looked strange but Joss carried it off with her usual air of casual elegance and managed to look different and special.
‘The thing is,’ she said suddenly, ‘that Penny wants to go back to New Zealand. She misses her family terribly and having the baby, instead of bringing her and George closer, has made that longing worse. She’s been terribly depressed since she had Tasha and she just wants to be back at home amongst all the old familiar things. I can understand that, can’t you?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Bruno answered readily. ‘Home is always best when we’re miserable or hurt. I suppose she and George haven’t been together long enough for her to feel that that place is with him?’
‘Well, he’s been at sea quite a lot and they’ve only known each other for two years, anyway.’ A pause. ‘And then there’s something else,’ she added.
‘Ah yes,’ he said. ‘I had a feeling there might be.’
She looked at him quickly. ‘You guessed, didn’t you? I wondered after that day you saw us up in the valley at the well but it’s not like you might think it is.’
‘I don’t think it’s like anything particularly.’ Bruno emptied his glass. ‘You and George have always been very close. Like we said just now, at times like these we turn to old friends, people we trust.’
‘Mm.’ She wasn’t looking at him now and her voice was rather non-committal. Bruno waited, turning the empty glass between his fingers, feeling Nellie’s warm weight comfortingly heavy against him. ‘It’s a bit more than that, though.’
Bruno smiled to himself, guessing that Joss’s inherent honesty wouldn’t allow her to dissemble. ‘You don’t have to tell me,’ he told her gently. ‘It’s between you and George.’
‘The thing is,’ she said again, ‘I love him. I do love him. I’ve tried not to but there it is. But I’ve never tried to influence him, if you see what I mean. I’ve just listened.’ She looked at him anxiously. ‘There’s nothing wrong in that, is there?’
He grinned at her, quirking an eyebrow. ‘Depends how you listened,’ he said.
She laughed, as he’d meant her to, toeing off her boots, tucking her legs up on the seat and folding the soft material of her skirt round her ankles. Bruno recognized the gesture: he’d seen it so many times with Emma and with Zoë. It meant that it was confession time.
‘You’re utterly right,’ she was admitting, combing her fingers through her shiny brown hair, her body relaxed by the wine, encouraged by the warmth and the compassion she sensed was flowing from him towards her. ‘I tried to be absolutely fair but I admit that I was always on his side. We agreed that things are hard for Penny, that she needs time to adjust, that she’s lonely when George is away but, underneath, I kept wanting to say, “If she really loves you, George, then she’ll manage it somehow.” I never actually spoke the words but it was implicit in my response to him.’
‘And do you suspect George of transferring his attentions from Penny to you?’
She shook her head and then paused. ‘I think George loves me,’ she replied honestly, ‘but he wouldn’t have let it make a difference if Brett hadn’t come back into the frame.’
Bruno got up, threw two logs on the fire, fetched the bottle from the table and refilled their glasses.
‘You’ve lost me now,’ he said, sitting down again. ‘Who’s Brett?’
Joss explained. ‘And now Penny wants out. It’s awful, really. Deep down inside me a tiny voice is shouting “Yes! Yes!” and punching the air because it means we can be together, but it’s so complicated. What happens about Tasha? And Rafe and Pamela will be absolutely gutted. George is in a terrible position. He’s told Penny that he’s ready to move to New Zealand and try a new start but Penny is adamant. How can he let his baby go? But how can he keep her here?’ She sighed. ‘I suspect that Penny has finally pulled the plug and that’s why George is here. Can you imagine anything more terrible than telling your parents this kind of news?’
She glanced at Bruno after a moment, saw that he was looking particularly sombre, and looked at her watch.
‘Hell!’ she said. ‘Mum will be having fits. I’d better go. You won’t say anything to anyone, will you, Bruno?’
‘Don’t be daft,’ he answered impatiently, getting up to go out with her. ‘Do you want me to come up to the house with you?’
‘No, I’m fine. It’s a fine, bright night, not properly dark at all. And thanks.’
She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek and he watched her walk away, swallowed up by the shadows, before he turned back into the house. Sitting down again, leaning forward to reach for the poker, it seemed that he heard other voices echoing in the shadows.
‘I might as well tell you that I’m pregnant.’
‘I’m going to have a baby, isn’t it wonderful?’
The same news but oh, the different ways of telling it. Bruno stabbed so savagely at the logs that showers of sparks burst and exploded against the smoke-blackened stone of the wide chimney. Dropping the poker, leaning back into the sofa, he picked up his glass again and closed his eyes.