AJ helps the man rise, then hands him back the notebook, unable to forget the angst in the face depicted within. “I do believe you’ve captured a universal truth in that picture.”
He laughs. “No more than you have in yours. Oh, don’t look so surprised. I’ve seen your paintings, Mr. Rupert Covington.”
AJ jolts at the name—and that it’s fitted to him.
“You’ve painted your wife too, and it is stunning. I spotted it hanging in the gallery, and it enchanted me from the first. One can see your deep love for her. You’ve done a remarkable job.”
AJ stands on the rock, knees bent, legs braced. The lightest wave could knock him down. He cannot speak, cannot correct the man’s error, and the writer misinterprets AJ’s wretched silence.
“Yes, I’ve met your wife. Lovely creature, that Merryn of the sea. Oh, by the by, give her this for me, will you? Tell her it’s from old Thom.” The man slides a book into AJ’s hand and limps away up the walk, around the rocks.
And AJ is alone with his thoughts.
He’s still staring at Thom’s book as the candle in Dunn Cottage begins to flicker, and a knock sounds at the door. He ignores it and rereads the inscription inside the front cover.
To Merryn of the sea, who has opened my eyes. Precious few can do that anymore.
I leave you with one of my personal favorites. Although it is not my most recent work, it contains one of the happiest endings I’ve ever given a love story, which is what I wish for you. May you receive Bathsheba’s sort of ending, dearest Merryn.
Yours most gratefully, Mr. Thomas Hardy.
AJ runs his fingertips over the penned name. Thomas Hardy.Thomas Hardy!So AJ has met the writer of marital chaos and confusion. So has Merryn, apparently. What could they possiblyhave spoken about? What had Merryn told him of their marriage that made him write such a thing? Give such a book?
A more fitting choice might beJude the Obscurein which the characters trade spouses, embark in bigamy, and generally chase down happiness with anyone who fills the hole in their hearts. Love stories seldom end happily in real life. Either they fail over time, or like his parents, life fails the lovers. Their love never diminished, but Mum’s body did. Her mind.
That.Thatwas the parallel to this love story. Not the strong, resilient Bathsheba and her shepherd who eventually won her heart, but his parents, whose circumstances had completely changed the shape of their love. And he, like his father, was doomed to love a woman who didn’t remember him sufficiently to return his affection.
But…what did she tell the man?
The knock comes again. “Hello? Open up!”
He blinks. Closes the book and attempts to reorient himself. “Nigel?”
“In the flesh.” The door bangs open and Nigel Brooks bursts in. “You haven’t rung in days.”
“Life has been—”
“You disappeared.” He props a chair backward and sits, leaning over its back.
“I’ve been occupied.”
“Pray, do tell. What’s come of everything?”
He sighs. “One giant mess, that’s what. I’m plucking flower petals—she loves me, she loves me not—with an endless supply.” He tells his friend about the newest challenge—Rupert Covington the Newlyn artist, and the second accident he didn’t know about.
“Shemarriedsomeone?”
“It would seem that way. When you found her in Cheltenham last year, did she tell you anything about her accident? How long she’d been there?”
“Not a word. I barely spoke to her. I was so spitting mad, thinking she put on a show to slip away.”
AJ rakes his hair back with both hands. “I have to get her back. I have to.” He looks into the face of the friend who’s known him the longest and sees trouble there. “What is it?”
“I can’t let you do that, Ansel. I’ve watched you climb too high, then fall too far.” He crosses his arms and leans forward in the chair. “It’ll break you when she does it again.”
“I can’t simply walk away from her, Nigel. I can’t.”
“Why not?”
