HIS CHOICE
Twisting the pepper grinder, a delicious smelling meal was then placed at the dining table.
‘Sour cream and red paprika again?’ I laughed as my boyfriend Tom, then 56, dug into his Hungarian concoction.
Our kitchen was always full of the most extraordinary food.
Sourdough loaves baked to perfection, Hungarian meats and sausage, layered potatoes and of course lashings of paprika for flavour.
And every time I watched Tom clean the mess he had created in the kitchen, I couldn’t help but feel lucky.
Throughout my 20s, I had practice in being a perfectly happy independent woman.
‘I don’t need a man,’ I hushed to my friends.
Only, meeting Tom had changed everything.
Introduced through mutual friends, at the age of 35, I liked him immediately.
He was a geologist, interested in travelling, and a fantastic cook – I mean what wasn’t there to like?
Even though we had a 21-year
