...here their hearts soared...

Bordeaux

It was during that autumn that the housing market crashed, the first sign of the economic disaster yet to come. Not one person came to view the property, and after six months the agents advised removing it from sale for the time being. Soon after the agent closed down, along with many others. They were of course disappointed, but for Coppelia the fact he had been willing to go this far meant much.

Following further tests H had been diagnosed with unstable angina, and would regularly suffer moderate attacks that were controlled with the use of medication administered swiftly as the attack began. Two or three times the attacks were very serious.

As time passed he told Coppelia he believed H was assured things were over. But they never again enjoyed the freedom to be together as they had back in the spring and early summer. So, they would meet once, somehow, most weeks, even if just for an hour or two in the Drapers Arms, near the station. Dear, dear Peterborough Station!

His regular trips to London for a long lunch with his three brothers continued, as did his London lunches with Ralph. Coppelia would travel down with him, they would have a drink, a walk, then meet after the lunches and spend the rest of the afternoon and evening together before catching the 19.23 train home. She had met his closest brother, Peter, back in March.

Just as it had been, in the beginning. When there is no alternative and all avenues have been exhausted, once we have made our choice, we do find a way to live with that choice - however costly. Coppelia, as the months passed, worked hard to come to terms with her choice to stay with this man.

On Saturday,October 6th she was strolling by Gordon Square in Bloomsbury, on her way to Kings Cross after attending a day conference nearby. The mild early autumn air played around her as the softest of breezes, sending down the first showers of leaves. She wrote in her notebook - ' I walk under the early autumn trees, whose leaves fall over me like confetti - like a blessing. A sign that is telling me it will be alright' ...

Coppelia's financial position had changed in late summer and by November she needed to find part time work, but work which would allow her the space to be with him. As it was almost impossible to be together at the weekends she applied for a job as bar waiter from Friday to Sunday at the same pub where she had found refuge with her sister, that day back in July.

Apart from needing the cash, she wondered if trying something totally new - she had never worked in a bar before, or as a waiter - might be good for her at this time. She would be trained from scratch, meet many people, have to concentrate hard. It involved tiring, physical work, an ideal way to soak up all those insistent painful thoughts, tensions, fears.

Soon after her job started they had wonderful news. How would she like to accompany him to Bordeaux for a few days? The property investment company he helped run with his son was selling a house they had built near Bordeaux, and he needed to spend time there to organise the agent and selling process as his son was too busy, and such a trip would be impossible for H due to her health.

On Monday December 3rd they boarded a flight to that beautiful French city, and returned late on Friday December 7th...what happened in between was more than heaven on earth, more than a dream come true. Because there aren't the words, none will be attempted.

Well, maybe just one.
MAGICAL

A day by the sea

Coppelia recieved a long letter from him, soon after. In it were his thoughts on all that had happened, his regret for causing her such unhappiness, a renewed commitment to her, and the announcement that he had made a decision which he believed may bring her the happiness she deserved.

He had put his house on the market, telling H it might be best to have a bungalow as her mobility was worsening; and he had begun proceedings to hand half of his estate to H now, whilst they were both alive, instead of it only going to her upon his death. He saw this as a way to reassure H that he did indeed mean to provide for her, no matter what happened. If it was all 'in writing' maybe she would feel more secure. She had certainly seemed pleased when he revealed this plan to her.

He told Coppelia that, should the house be sold, he would then offer H a choice. Either they moved into a bungalow together, but this time on the undestanding they were truly independent and he must be free to see Coppelia, or , if H couldn't accept this, he would buy each of them a small flat or house of their own.

Of course, should H choose the second option, he would not actually buy a new home for himself at all, but he and Coppelia would live in his holiday home on the Norfolk coast, as they had planned long ago.

Coppelia was not sure how his idea would change things - surely the fear over H's health would not go away, his sense of duty would stand in the way? - but he told her that the physical act of leaving their familiar home, the reality of his continuing desire to be with Coppelia, the choice before her, her assured material security: all may well serve to make it more likely H would leave, and could come to terms with leaving. As for her health, he would tread carefully and hope that she could adjust over the time this would all take. He believed the material security now in place would make a difference.

Though not convinced of this, Coppelia nonetheless was delighted to see him act so decisively, to be seeing the future in terms of the two of them eventually being together. It mattered to him, he told her, that he showed her he was serious and that he had really learned from all this.

It was a blustery but bright Monday morning when they left early for a day on the Norfolk coast. October lst. He needed to be present at the holiday home whilst some brief utilities work was carried out, and so they took the opportunity to again spend time walking by the sea, by the cliffs, through the lovely old town with its small harbour, fishing boats, and golden sand. How deeply they drank in the joy of that day by the sea!
They had fish and chips in their favourite inn, cosy and welcoming against the chill outside. Whilst he was at the bar she took a picture which came out blurred due to the low light level, but still depicted his snow-white hair in the midst of fuzzy brown and gold. For her the picture spoke of warmth and safety, reflected the reassuring buzz and hum of the place, a place which seemed to say as she sat there ' see? it's ok - you are both here, all will be fine.'

In bed, later, they fell asleep briefly in each others arms and she told him 'one day we will wake up together every day!' Right then, they tried so hard to really believe that. They so needed to find a way for that to happen.

Coppelia was concerned for him, for how gaunt he was still looking! His face reflected all that he had been through. Something had faded, he looked so tired. She prayed the toll of the last months would not have a serious or lasting effect on his health.

A peace descended on her during that day, and she thanked God they were still together. Not together in the way she had dreamed, in fact she understood only too well that in a way they were back where they started. Snatching time when they could, whole days or merely an hour, carefully timed and planned phone calls, a question mark fixed firmly in the centre of their future. Even if he sold the house, Coppelia had been through enough to see the situation continuing to be very difficult...

Their love was a gift of great joy to each of them, still, despite everything. To be without each other was unthinkable. They had learned a great deal about each other that possibly would not have been discovered in any other way.

Lying there, they talked of how the limitations on their relationship had to be faced, they had to accept the way things were, and manage as best they could. Long ago, such limitations had been too difficult for Coppelia to cope with. Could she cope with them now?

One year

One year had passed since they first met and they had a day in London on Thursday September 13th, catching the same train home - the 19.23 to Peterborough. He had booked a table for two in the very same restaurant where they had spent that first magical afternoon, sinking into each other as if they had always been together. This was where he had first mentioned H, and Coppelia had faced that blinding moment of warning deep inside.

Now, a year later, Coppelia pondered all that had happened as she sat with him, and realised she did not regret a thing. This anniversary day in London was a delight to them both, a whole, long day together after all that had happened.

Yet those hours fell short of being the joyous celebration they might have wanted. As H was still quite unwell from time to time, he had to ring her now and then, and Coppelia knew he was troubled.

He still looked unwell, and she took care not to cause him further distress in any way. For the first time Coppelia took account of the fact that he would soon be 79. She wanted to make him happy. Over their drinks during the meal, he took her hand and kissed it, telling her that, for the first time ever, he could now imagine there being a second Mrs D. This was something he had not believed possible, that he should feel able to marry again - but he could see Coppelia as his wife. This stunned her and she asked him to repeat his words. But he would not, saying it hurt too much to know it could never happen...

Coppelia later pondered those words many times. They told her that whatever was thrown at him, and however he reacted at the time, from now on she understood beyond a doubt that his feelings for her would ultimately withstand such pressures. He would always come back.

This quiet certainty came to rest in her battered heart and seeped through her like a balm.

The following weekend he and H stayed with his daughter and her family in their huge rambling farmhouse in Suffolk. Recent events were much discussed, he faced more questions, as Coppelia's letter to his daughter had prompted difficult debate.

On his return he met with Coppelia for just half an hour, to tell her he couldn't cope. Meeting again would be too risky, maybe it was best to just speak on the phone and leave it at that.

His daughter had insisted he couldn't possibly be in love with someone so different to him; he was mistaking lust for love - he must put all this behind him as a big mistake and move on. What would his grandsons think?

She listened but said nothing. He was telling her how much the photo album meant to him, he frequently took it out from its secret hiding place, and would sit in his study and bask in memories. He said it had all been like a 'fairy story' that could not last. Who was he trying to please? This did not convince her. She thought, these are his daughter's words, not his! this will pass. His real feelings will prevail...

Watching his face, Coppelia thought he looked more unwell than ever. His face seemed longer, his mouth drawn down, his spirit greatly diminished, like a man being slowly emptied. Afterwards she realised this was the one time they had not laughed. Even that morning back in July when they had met to say goodbye, some small laughter had punctuated their sadness.

She prayed for him in his utter misery, and part of her hated his family - and H - for not believing, for not appearing to care about his happiness. If their ages had been similar, how differently things might have turned out! How might H, and his family, have behaved towards him, if the woman he loved was not 47 but 77?

Yet, even as she watched him drive away that sad afternoon her heart remained anchored in the certainty that it was not over. They spoke on the phone, the pressure he was under still very real, but all Coppelia could do was keep loving him, listening, being there. He so looked forward to talking with her. 'Twice I have tried to leave you, and twice you have seen the truth,' he said.

Coppelia's faithfulness and compassion were unlike anything he had experienced before. His dearly beloved wife came close, but he said he was not sure if even she would have endured what Coppelia had endured for love of him. He so wanted to make Coppelia happy.

Whenever the hurt of missing him became too much she would take out her photographs, all in small albums, and look again on all those joys, on the reality of their love. Though this often made her cry, somehow she was reassured to see this small tableau of their lives. He came back to her through those pages. A picture of him on a bench by the beach at Scarborough, with the imposing Grand Hotel behind him, made her smile. She had gone for a wander on the empty, misty beach whilst he had a rest to read his paper,and on her return she took the picture whilst still at some distance from him. His legs crossed in that characteristic pose, his head tilted as he studied the page. The man she loved.