Ruth Dawson prided herself on being organised and focused, meticulous and precise in everything she did. Indeed, these traits had made her decision to branch out on her own so much easier to plan.
She sat at the kitchen table, poised and filled with inner calm, on the brink. Finally, there was nothing to stop her, no interruptions. No meals to be cooked, no confusing phone messages to be taken, remembered and passed on, no sports kits to be washed and ironed, no suits to be collected from the dry-cleaners. No more fitting in with everyone else’s plans at the expense of her own.
This was it. She was about to become a liberated woman at last. But it hadn’t been easy.
It’s funny, Ruth mused, it wasn’t until they had shared that romantic weekend in Paris together that she realised she needed to make the change – if only to stop herself being completely consumed by her family’s demands and losing herself totally.
Three blissful days of strolling along avenues lined with boutiques,
