‘Quarr Abbey ruins,’ Constance directed turning her head toward Rhodri who gave her a salute by way of reply. She batted his hand.
‘Okay, Quarr Abbey ruins it is. I’m glad I brought my painting gear, It’s a great spot to while away a few hours.’ Rhodri turned the ignition key; the engine roared to life.
‘But you already painted the ruins,’ Isabel said.
‘I have a work in progress that I’m painting from memory. It’ll be nice just to sit somewhere peaceful to paint. I always work better outdoors than in the gallery. I think it’s the light.’
‘Oh well, that’s all good then.’ Isabel bounced along in the back watching the green and gold of the countryside speed by as they wound their way in toward Quarr. She glanced toward Rhodri, catching his face in profile as he chatted to Constance about an artwork he’d sold yesterday. She was touched by his sensitivity in not enquiring as to why all the cloak and dagger carry on, on Constance’s part. He was happy just taking the afternoon in his stride.
The drive to the abbey didn’t take long, and Rhodri crunched onto the graveled carpark sliding the Land Rover into a space. As Isabel got out of the car, she paused to admire the beauty and sheer scale of the looming monastery’s brickwork. It was a visual treat in its woodland shrouded grounds. Despite the other cars filling the parking lot signifying fellow day trippers, there was a feeling of tranquil solitude about the place.
Rhodri set about hauling the wheelchair out of the boot and unfolded it deftly. ‘Easy when you know how,’ he said, before signalling to Isabel that he needed a hand. Together, they helped Constance down from the four-wheel drive, the queen alighting from her carriage, and saw her seated comfortably in the chair. ‘Right ladies. It’s my treat in the abbey tea rooms at say,’ Rhodri glanced at his watch, ‘four o’clock. It’s just on two now. Constance, will that be enough time?’
Constance nodded folding her hands in her lap. She’d never get used to being pushed around in a wheelchair, but needs must if she wanted to get to the ruins before nightfall. She knew her limitations! She mumbled her thanks to Rhodri for bringing them, which Isabel reiterated, and then they left him unloading his art gear. Isabel had no clue where it was Constance wanted to head as she pushed her forth. She’d follow her lead, but for now, she figured she couldn’t go wrong by heading to the main grounds.
Constance waved her this way and that until they reached the sign for the Woodland Walk. Isabel hoped she wasn’t expecting her to push her along the looping track, but apparently, she was given the way she turned to ask what they were waiting for.
‘Are you sure you want to follow that trail, Constance? It might get a bit rugged. I don’t think the monks laid it out with wheelchair access in mind.’ Or flimsy but oh-so-pretty new summer sandals either, she thought, with a rueful glance at her footwear. Constance wouldn’t be able to walk it, Isabel contemplated their choices; one false step, and she could break a hip. That was an incident she did not want to have to explain to Nurse Jill or Walter with his obvious soft spot for Constance upon their return to Sea Vistas.
‘Yes, yes. To the ruins, Isabel,’ Constance demanded. She was straining forward in her chair in an agitated manner and Isabel, knowing how stubborn she could be, took the hint and ventured on to the track. It was against her better judgment, and she ignored the strange looks they received from a wholesome family of walkers, the two young children clutching a bug pot each. It was a shame, she thought, that the chair didn’t come with a lap belt as they ventured deeper into the woods. It would not be a good look were she to hit a rogue tree root and send Constance airborne.
The ground at least was dry. Isabel was grateful for small mercies, and the terrain was manageable. She’d be like flipping Popeye with bulging muscles, though from pushing this tank of a chair by the time she got them both to the ruins. Despite her shortness of breath Isabel still found the small talk flowing from her like a babbling brook. She chattered on about how well the monks maintained the grounds of the abbey, and what it must be like to live virtually self-sufficient in the same way the Benedictine Monks resident at Quarr had done for hundreds of years.
She was nervously excited as to what Constance would divulge that afternoon and why she was so insistent on waiting until they got to the ruins. Constance was muttering something, and she paused, grateful to stop for a second. ‘What was that, sorry?’
Constance shook her head not wanting to repeat herself and impatient to get to where she wanted to be.
Isabel frowned, spying a red squirrel who’d heard them coming dart up a tree. She could have sworn Constance had said that perhaps Isabel should think about taking a vow of silence!
It wasn’t long before they veered off the trail and bumped their way over to the clearing where the remains of the old abbey stood. Isabel could see there were a handful of tourists milling around the ancient stone walls which were strewn with threads of green creeper trying to lay claim to the ancient rocks. Just beyond the ruins was a slash of blue where the Solent waters lapped. It was an atmospheric sight, Isabel thought conjuring up images of the brown-robed monks of old setting about their daily tasks, a white-sailed ship idling in the harbour beyond. She flapped away the random image of a swashbuckling pirate straight
