Page 19 of 2 Books in One Bundle

The quizzical look had changed into something different, less easy to interpret. It had annoyed Dante even more.

‘Raf, apart from my grandfather’s lawyers, you’re the only person who knows about Connie...knows that I’m married. And I want to keep it that way. There’s no reason not to. Connie’s a lovely girl and I’ve got used to her...to the fact she’s in my life for the reasons she is. I’m fond of her, even. She’s been through a lot, and I’m glad I’ve been of help to her, that she had me to turn to. But—’

He’d broken off, still not liking Raf’s expression. Anyway, Connie and his relationship with her, such as it was, was none of Raf’s business! It wasn’t anyone’s business but his and Connie’s.

He’d drawn a sharp breath and said,‘Our marriage still has more than six months to run—Raf, you told me yourself that was the minimum length to fulfil the terms of that benighted will! As to how those months are going to pan out now... Well, I’ll work something out with Connie.’

Yes, but what? He hadn’t come up with an answer for Raf, and he hadn’t come up with an answer for himself either. But something had to be done—that was the thing.

His brows drew together in a frown. So what would Connie do now? Whatshouldshe do? They’d been able to live almost completely separate lives from each other, just as he’d intended from the off, because her circumstances had been such that she’d had good reason to live in a different country from him. But now that reason was gone.

Raf’s question rang in his ears again.

‘What’s going to happen now?’

He was still not getting an answer.

Connie stared at herself in the mirror set into the old-fashioned wardrobe in her grandmother’s bedroom, hating the way she looked.

It was a familiar feeling. Had been for a long time.

When she’d been a student she’d thought she looked OK, even though she’d always had the kind of figure that could end up a little plump if she wasn’t careful, but when she’d had to start looking after Gran her social life had disappeared, and she’d had neither the time, nor the inclination, nor any purpose in caring what she looked like. It just hadn’t seemed important.

And also, she thought depressingly, the more she’d let herself go, the worse it had got. Once she’d piled on the pounds with her comfort eating, it had seemed pointless to pay any attention to her hair, or her complexion, let alone to what she wore. It had all gone swiftly downhill from there.

She gave a defeated sigh. The irony now was that in the stress of the final weeks of her grandmother’s life she’d totally lost her appetite, and she’d shed most of those extra pounds. But she was still untoned and unfit...

She turned away, not wanting to look at herself a moment longer, reaching for a baggy tee shirt to pull over her bra and pants and hoisting herself into a pair of loose cotton trousers. Camouflage clothing. She had a lot to camouflage.

That sense of depression washed over her. Looking after her grandmother had been her life—but now Gran was gone. So what came now? She knew she must make an effort, must not let herself sink any deeper, but it was so hard to find any sense of purpose right now. She tried to think back to what her hopes and dreams had been before she’d set them aside to devote herself to Gran. She’d been undecided, she remembered, torn between continuing her studies, getting her Master’s, or starting a career—maybe in publishing...something like that? Or perhaps she’d just take off...go travelling for a while before settling down?

The trouble was it all seemed so daunting now—and it was impossible to focus her mind on anything at all, as fuzzy as it was. Everything seemed like a major effort...just getting all the paperwork after a death completed had been hard for her.

She stomped downstairs, closing in on herself. What would Gran want for her? She paused as she went into the living room, ready to pass the time dully watching TV programmes she paid no attention to. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the fireplace. Her hair was pulled back off her face, as it always was, plain and unlovely.

You should get your hair done, Connie, dear.

She stilled. It was almost as if she could hear her Gran’s familiar voice from long ago, before dementia had gripped her so tightly.

You’ve let yourself go—and that’s such a shame. It’s time you spoilt yourself a little!

It came again—and though she knew she was imagining it Connie felt a trickle of warmth go through her. Had dementia not clouded Gran’s mind she would have deplored the way Connie had given up on herself. She felt herself take a breath—a deep one.

Maybe that was what she should do. Not try to think too far ahead but focus instead on something more immediate. Something to make her feel better both in herself and for herself. Stop letting herself go—start getting herself back again.

It could be done...

But I don’t want it to take for ever. I don’t want to do it little by little, or I’ll slip back into bad old ways. It would be all too easy to go back to comfort eating—especially here, with so much pulling me down, missing Gran so much. I want something to stop me backsliding...to make me keep at it intensively, productively. Something like a boot camp or a health spa, maybe?

Almost without realising it, she picked up her laptop, plonking herself down on the sofa. Could she really do this? Places where they licked you into shape did not come cheap...

But I’ve spent almost nothing of all that money Dante kept paying into my account—there’s pots and pots of it, just sitting there!

She clicked on to the Internet, keying in her search terms. For the first time in a long time the blanketing fog of grief and depression seemed to lift as she searched for what she needed...

Dante was reading another email from Connie—a surprising one this time. It was telling him she was heading to the Lake District, of all places. She’d booked herself into a wellness resort. For a month.

He read it again, as if to convince himself it was actually what she’d said. The very idea was totally unlike the Connie he knew. She was a home girl...unhappy if she was away from her beloved cottage.

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