They walked in silence for a while, Connie finally beginning to calm down from the shock of the morning delivery. The Carpaccio, however well meant, felt like an invasion into her real life. Jared had been thoughtful enough not to leave any sign on the documents that it was from him – in case Devan had opened it, she supposed. But it implied a connection with her that was way too intimate. And pricked the bubble in which Connie had carefully placed him.

As they stopped at the top of the rise, looking out across to the Mendips, Connie realized Jill was eyeing her with a frown. ‘Is everything all right, Connie? You seem preoccupied.’

Connie shook herself. ‘Do I? Sorry. It’s always tricky, settling back after a trip.’ Although in the past, before things had gone so wrong with Devan, she had always loved coming home.

Jill didn’t reply at once. Then she said quietly, ‘I gather things aren’t so good between you two at the moment.’

Connie raised an eyebrow. ‘Has Devan said something?’

‘Not to me. But he admitted to Bill he’s struggling with retirement, and finds it tough you’re still working. Said it was driving a wedge between you.’

She was stung, hearing Devan’s neat, one-sided assessment on her friend’s lips. Especially as Bill was acknowledged by all as a blatant, unrepentant gossip. It wasn’t malicious, he just couldn’t help himself. And if he’d told his wife, that was probably just the tip of the iceberg. The whole village would know by now that she and Devan were having problems and that Connie was the cause. She could just hear the twittering: That dear Dr Mac, such a lovely man and a wonderful doctor. And her away all year. It’s not right.

‘You don’t have to tell me,’ Jill said.

They walked down the hill in silence. The late-morning sun was hot and Connie wished she’d brought a hat. But she’d been in such a tizz about the delivery before she left home.

Jill said, ‘Seems he really misses you when you’re away.’

Words fizzed and boiled in Connie’s mouth. She stopped so she could face her friend and swallowed hard. Her words, when they finally emerged, were pinched, as if she were squashing them in her fist. But she didn’t want to rant to Jill, who would tell Bill, who would tell the whole county. ‘Devan was so overstretched before he retired that we never had the chance to put together a plan for what came next,’ she said carefully. ‘I think we both made the assumption he wouldn’t have any trouble finding new things to do … and that hasn’t happened. Not yet, anyway.’

Jill rubbed her arm sympathetically, clearly concerned.

‘I hate him going around telling everyone I’m a rubbish wife.’