CHAPTER TWENTY ONE REMEMBRANCE

The Characters, places and situations of Doc Martin are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story makes no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.

Thank you for reading. Your reviews and comments are most appreciated.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

It was quite dark when we arrived in Bruges. Taking a taxi from the station it was almost eight o'clock when we found Number Three Verversdijk. It was a tall narrow house on a canal, visible only because a street lamp reflected in the dark water.

Emily's grandparents were effusive in greeting us. I was cautious and shook hands with her grandfather. Her Mémé would not settle for that and gave me three kisses on the cheek. I awkwardly returned the greeting. "So you are James. We are so pleased you have come. Luk has been speaking of you for some time. Welcome. Welcome.

Please, let's go to the dining room. We have supper prepared."

We left our bags in the entry hall along with our coats and entered a very cozy warm house. Thankfully Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs spoke English very well. We enjoyed a lovely supper of waterzooi, a rich stew of chicken, cream and vegetables. Now our insides felt the warmth of this wonderful home.

It was toward the end of the meal when Mr. Jacobs offered me a beer. "James, I have some St. Bernardus 12. Would you like a glass?"

"Of course, thank you. I don't believe I have ever drunk that one."

"You are in for a rare treat. People think we are known for our chocolate in Belgium and the Manneken Pis in Brussels. Nothing compares with Belgium beer. We have more varieties per capita than any other country. A minor point of pride I suppose, but one we are proud of nonetheless. With St. Bernardus 12 I believe I can convert the ardent non drinker. I will bring four glasses."

Enjoying this wonderful brew I had to comment. "I do enjoy the Belgiums when it comes to beer, but this is special. You have a convert in me!"

Mrs. Jacobs interrupted, "Florian, enough talk of beer. I want to know what is going on with you two. Tell us about life in England."

It was Emily who chimed in, "Wet and cold. And then more went and cold. Mom suggested we get away and I have to say it is cold here but not like the southern coast where we live."

We spent the evening in the sitting room telling them about our life and work in Plymouth. We did not even hint at the difficulties of the past few days. Emily's Mémé wanted to know of wedding plans.

Emily was the one to answer this, "Oh, Mémé, we have been so busy. Hardly time to think. It will be in summer after we are out of school in July. It will be in Portwenn and of course Dad will perform the ceremony. I know Mom and Louisa have been talking some but Mom and I haven't really discussed the specifics yet. I am sure that will happen soon. You and Pépé will come for the wedding, won't you?"

"Of course we will my child. Of course we will! And you and James must come to Bruges and make this your home away from all your activities. I will ask you in return, You will come and visit, won't you?

James was the one to answer her. "Yes, Mrs. Jacobs, we will. You are the closest family Emily has here. We will look forward to being here, frequently I hope."

"James I know we have only just met, but if we are family, would you please call me Mémé? I would like that."

"That is most kind. Thank you Mémé. Of course I will."

"You know I am sorry you cannot spend more time this visit. You must return in the spring. It is beautiful here then. I would like to show you the art museums but they are closed tomorrow. I am a volunteer docent at the Groeningemuseum. But one thing I must insist. I will call my good friend Mrs. DeVolder. She makes chocolate and also does beautiful lace work. Most of the shops are closed, it being winter, but I told her of your coming and she wants to meet you. You will see that our chocolate rivals our beer."

It was Mr. Jacob's who broke in, "Hanne, it is a bit late and these two have to be weary from their travels."

"Of course. We will talk more tomorrow. Let me show you your room, James. You will be glad for a goose down duvet tonight."

I was not aware of the import of that comment until I realized my room was the loft, an unheated room.

The next morning I quickly went down into the warmth. We spent a leisurely morning visiting with the Jacobs. We decided to take a walk. There was a chill in the air but it was tolerable and Emily wanted me to see this town that she had known growing up in her visits here. It is an enchanting place with the old houses and canals. In the summer it is a tourist mecca but this morning it is very quiet and shops are all closed.

We passed The Church of our Lady and decide to enter and sit for awhile. It was a beautiful and peaceful atmosphere and it was perfect for sitting and letting the place have its way with you. Mass was being celebrated but we simply sat at the back and did not participate. It reminds one that in all of the busyness with which we are occupied, some invisible means of support hopefully underpins what we are about.

We made our way to a place where there were three ancient windmills in front of us. The nearness of the canal made it colder, but we cuddled on a bench and talked for a bit.

I began, "Emily, I love you more than you can imagine. I have to tell you that our problems are not the ones that flooded over us last week. We will face problems bigger than those. We will take care of each other and deal with whatever comes our way."

"James, something is really troubling me. I feel terrible about the rubbish comment I made about your mother. You know I didn't mean it. I have so much respect for her."

"Emily, don't worry about it. You were very emotional and feeling very insecure Friday night. We're all vulnerable when we have those feelings. I know Mum loves you like a daughter. She would always be there to help if you need her, but I don't think she would be pushy."

"Need her? I should say I need her. She has already been a great help. You know I will be on the phone with her next week."

"Why don't we find a week-end when we can invite them to come to Plymouth?

I don't see how we can get away to Portwenn. Dad and I can always have conversation and you and Mum can talk of teaching and wedding. I would like Joan to come but she is so wrapped up in finishing her final year before veterinary school that I doubt she could find the time."

"Well James, our moms have been talking about our wedding. Mom and Dad want to spend a month in Portwenn. You know how much they love being there and they are so close to your parents. But speaking of our wedding I have an idea. I think we should get married on your birthday. I cannot think of a better gift, can you?"

"My dad said when it comes to the wedding I should listen and not speak. But I will say this. It would be the perfect gift. And I do look forward to the unwrapping."

"Oh, you naughty boy. Won't that be fun?" And with that she kissed me like she meant it. And she did, I do believe."

And then she said, "But James there is now something that must be dealt with."

"What Emily? What is wrong?"

"I am really cold. My bum may be frozen to this bench. Can we go visit Mémé's friend now? A cup of coffee would really taste good."

With that we walked briskly to Mrs. DeVolder's. It was quite a distance, probably over a mile.

We tapped on the shop door. A lovely smile greeted us and we felt instantly welcome. "Henne said you would be coming. I am so pleased. My Niels died in October and it gets lonely here. I know you would like something hot to drink."

Mrs. DeVolder let us through the shop with its display cases full of her handmade chocolates. We entered her small sitting room and were seated on a love seat in front of a table with what had to be pictures of her family on it. She excused herself and soon entered with a coffee service on a beautiful wooden tray.

Beside it was a plate of chocolates.

"Emily, I remember when you would visit your grandmother as a young child.

You are so beautiful now and you are to be married. But, let me pour and we can talk of such things. How do you take your coffee?"

As we sat comfortably and drank the delicious coffee, we shared something of our lives with Mrs. DeVolder, and of course as much of wedding plans as we had. Actually all we had was a possible date. She told us of her husband, who had died suddenly in the autumn, and her two married children. She proudly told us of her three grandchildren. It was obvious she longed for company and we were enjoying being with her. It had the comfort of spending time with a favorite aunt although we had just met.

"Alright, James I know you have been looking at the chocolates. I want you to try them and tell me what you think you are tasting. Here, share this one...What do you think."

"I'm not sure. I know the flavor but..."

"It is tarragon. There can be many fillings for pralines. Try this."

"Wow, that is hot. Is it wasabi?"

"Yes it is. Here, Emily you will like this one, it is blueberry."

"Oh, Mrs. DeVolder, they are so wonderful. Thank you."

With that she brought out a small flat package wrapped in white tissue and handed it to Emily. "I would like to be the first to give you a gift for your new home together."

Emily thanked her and opened the gift. It was an exquisite lace creation probably 24 inches across. We were both taken aback that she would give us something this exquisite.

"I don't know what to say. I have never held anything this fine in my hands. James, look closely at this and hold it. It is simply beautiful. Mrs. DeVolder, I do not think words can express how I feel."

"I am pleased that you like it. My mother and my grandmother were lacemakers and they taught me. Thankfully my youngest daughter allowed me to teach her so perhaps the family tradition will continue. Have you ever seen lace being made?"

"When I was a little girl visiting Mémé we would see ladies at tables on the pavement in front of their houses making lace, but I never paid much attention."

"I am working on a new piece. Would you like to see how it is made?"

Naturally we were interested and she showed us to a smaller room where there was her work table. She sat behind it and began moving small pegs attached to threads. She explained they are called bobbins and there must have been thirty or forty of them. Her hands moved very methodically and quickly as the bobbins were lifted and moved, lifted and moved. It was a smooth and almost poetic motion as her hands moved the bobbins. If practice makes perfect it seems we were watching perfection in movement and creation.

"There are so many strands and bobbins," Emily noted. "How can you ever do this without making mistakes?"

"I make mistakes. If you attempted to go back and undo every misthrow of a bobbin you would never make progress. When you see the whole piece, mistakes are never visible. I will never forget teaching a class of Japanese ladies at The Lace Museum. There is something in their culture that won't allow them a mistake in creating something like this. They were constantly wanting to move a thrown bobbin to its original position and correct it. I could never convince them that it was not necessary and that it was counterproductive. It was a frustrating day for all concerned.

"So, that is how it is done. Why don't we go back to the sitting room?"

Emily politely said that we should be returning soon. We did sit for a few minutes with coffee and chocolates. I could not keep my hands off of the chocolates. Mrs. DeVolder would have it no other way than that we would take a box of pralines back with us.

"Before you leave, I want to tell you something, James and Emily. Niels and I had a very good marriage. We had our problems but we made a good home. Please remember this." She pointed to a quite large framed lace creation. "It does not have to be perfect to be beautiful."

As we donned our coats and held our gifts she touched our hands and said,

"Please remember what I have told you. And when you are in Bruges again I would be so pleased if you will come and see me."

"Oh yes, Mrs. DeVolder, we will. You can be certain, we will."

As we walked back we were quiet, each with our own thoughts which had to be the same. It does not have to be perfect to be beautiful.