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  Naturally, they had had to wait before going away together. They’d met almost a year ago, at one of those dos where a few department staff get together; the sort of affair that the powers-that-be try so hard to discourage. But it was now six months since Jonathan’s death and what she had so fervently hoped for had finally come to pass. After what had seemed like an eternity of whispered phone calls and clandestine hotel rooms they were finally together. They had rented this lovely villa above the bay at Saint Tropez. The weather had been glorious for April and they had spent an idyllic ten days. They had swum, dined and made love as she had dreamed they would.

  That evening she had made a momentous decision. The sybarite life of pleasure and idleness, she had decided, just wasn’t for her. Already their lovemaking had lost some of its intensity. She was certain it was not something she alone was feeling. Was she wrong or had she sensed a certain distraction in him? Had he begun to tire of her? She was sure he had. She still loved him dearly but the fact was, they just weren’t right for each other. She thought about her house and of course her garden and felt a warming glow. The truth, she decided a little sadly, was that more than with anyone or anything, she was in love with her garden. She would tell him tonight. She felt sure he would be relieved. It had been magical while it lasted but it couldn’t last.

  In the meantime she had a wonderful surprise for him. The other day, while he had been sailing, she had uncharacteristically decided on a bit of domesticity, not her thing at all. She had organised his washing and there at the bottom of his laundry bag, painstakingly wrapped, was a most interesting find. Today in Saint Tropez market, she had found another; almost a sequel.  He would be thrilled, she knew he would.


  He came through the door and kissed her, his arms around her waist. She suddenly felt a resurgence of her passion for him and found herself aroused. For a moment she was tempted to take him straight to bed but she remembered her resolve and gently disentangled herself. She noted how easily he let her go.

  “Darling, I have found the most wonderful present for you in the market.” She rushed over to the table and picked up the gift, an antique and lavishly illustrated edition of Pilgrim’s Progress. It ran to some three hundred, big A4 sized pages. “See, it’s just like your Gulliver’s Travels. Same publisher and everything.” She noted his stunned expression. “Frank, Frank darling you look so surprised.”


  He knew right away she wouldn’t after all, be going to Australia with him, in fact she wouldn’t be going anywhere ever again.

                                                                        END

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