‘Nothing. I think he just wanted to share his misery.’ Jill gave her a sharp look. ‘You OK?’

‘Fine … Just thought I was going to sneeze.’

Connie laughed silently at herself. As if Jared would turn up in a muddy field at a food festival in the Forest of Dean! I’m going senile as well as getting doddery. But during the drive home she sat in silence, her thoughts unwillingly returning to the times they’d shared in the various locations around Europe. As she slumped in her old blue anorak and jeans, her face gaunt and pale, her limbs weak from ill health, she wondered if those nights had really happened. Now she was back in the slow, rhythmic flow of home life, it seemed almost impossible that she was that woman … that she had allowed herself to be.

Do I regret it? she’d asked herself over and over. And the answer was both yes and no. She was ashamed of – and deeply regretted – the breach of faith in their marriage, which she could never recover now. Some people thrived on the thrill of the lie. Not her. The guilt had made her physically ill.

But on the no side, however wrong she knew it to be, and however much she felt regret for those nights, she was aware that she would not have missed them. As she crept into her seventh decade, a man celebrating her body in the way Jared had – especially at a time when Devan had seemed not to find her the least bit attractive any more – had been nothing short of a miracle. If he could see me now, she thought tiredly, and almost smiled.

Devan had cooked supper. He’d been practising while she was ill, having no choice unless they were to exist entirely on supermarket ready meals. Tonight, it was grilled lamb chops, flageolet beans, baked tomatoes and a green salad. Connie helped herself to mint sauce, then handed the jar to him.

‘Thank you. This looks lovely,’ she said.

As they ate, Connie regaled him with her day at the fair: an English wine she’d tasted, the goat’s cheese she’d almost bought, and a demonstration of knife skills. ‘Jill forced me to try one of those slithery rollmops and I thought I was going to throw up.’

Devan smiled, but she could tell he wasn’t really concentrating on what she was saying. ‘OK,’ he began, widening his eyes at her, ‘so something happened today, which I’m rather excited about.’

She nodded but didn’t interrupt him.

‘You know Sylvie Masters, the doctor who did locum work for the surgery for a while?’

‘Vaguely.’

‘Well, she rang this morning. Apparently she’s setting up this hospice in Weston … and she wanted to discuss me joining the team part-time.’

She sat up straighter. ‘Wow, Devan. That would be great, wouldn’t it?’