Letting Go

By Hazel Elizabeth Allen

Beth Montague is a talented, beautiful, young woman who is following in her father’s footsteps by becoming a vascular surgeon. 

Alluring, yet vulnerable, men are drawn to her; however, her life is not as charmed as it may appear. Unable to commit, her decisions lead to unsuitable liaisons that ultimately bring heartache and conflict. Brothers Adam and James clash as they vie for her love, while married consultant Robert Barnaby tries unsuccessfully to separate work from pleasure. 

When tragic events shatter Beth’s life, she is left stunned and wondering if the path she is following is right for her. Set against the beautiful backdrop of Bath’s Royal Crescent and London’s Belgravia, the story takes us from her tentative steps into adulthood, through to professional success and the brink of fulfilling her lifelong ambition. But will Beth manage to overcome her fear of loss and open her heart to love?

Only by letting go of the past will she be able to grasp the future.   

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hazel Elizabeth Allen
• Release date: Feb 10, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386003656

Hazel Elizabeth Allen

About the author Hazel Elizabeth Allen lives on the south coast of England with her husband, BBC Radio presenter David Allen. She was born in London but grew up in Bath. Spending her formative years in this beautiful city, with its historic architecture, has inspired and influenced her writing. Hazel loves walking, especially along the coastal paths of the south coast and north Devon. It is often on these walks that she formulates many of her best story ideas. Her debut novel Summerchester Secrets was named Winner in the ROMANCE category of the 2016 Next Generation Indie Book Awards. If you enjoyed reading any of Hazel’s books please visit her website hazelelizabethallen.com to see what she is planning to publish next and to join her email list. Other titles by Hazel Elizabeth Allen SUMMERCHESTER SECRETS:                             Winner, Best Romance Novel, 2016 Next Generation Indie Book Awards.  Paperback and ebook. RETURN TO SUMMERCHESTER: Novella, available as an ebook and in paperback. SUMMERCHESTER REGRETS: Short story, available as an ebook.

Book preview

About the author

Hazel Elizabeth Allen lives on the south coast of England with her husband, BBC Radio presenter David Allen. She was born in London but grew up in Bath. Spending her formative years in this beautiful city, with its historic architecture, has inspired and influenced her writing. Hazel loves walking, especially along the coastal paths of the south coast and north Devon. It is often on these walks that she formulates many of her best story ideas.

Her debut novel Summerchester Secrets was named Winner in the ROMANCE category of the 2016 Next Generation Indie Book Awards. If you enjoyed reading any of Hazel’s books please visit her website hazelelizabethallen.com to see what she is planning to publish next and to join her email list.

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Other titles by Hazel Elizabeth Allen

SUMMERCHESTER SECRETS

Winner, Best Romance Novel, 2016

Next Generation Indie Book Awards. Paperback and ebook.

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RETURN TO SUMMERCHESTER

Novella, available as an ebook and in paperback.

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SUMMERCHESTER REGRETS

Short story, available as an ebook.

CLICK THE LINK BELOW FOR A FREE COPY OF THE SHORT STORY

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SUMMERCHESTER REGRETS

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Hazel Elizabeth Allen| Author| Contemporary Romantic Fiction

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LETTING GO

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by Hazel Elizabeth Allen

Text copyright © 2018 Hazel Elizabeth Allen

All Rights Reserved

Front cover art work by Charlotte Hubbard

To David

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7: Fifteen Years Later

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 1

Marcus Montague looked up from the Sunday Times and smiled at his daughter as she came bounding into the room with a broad smile on her face. Her brown eyes were bright with excitement and in her hand she held a letter. It had been delivered the day before, when she had been out with some friends, and only now had she remembered to open it.

‘I’ve got a room in the halls that I wanted, aren’t I lucky.’

‘Excellent, well done,’ he replied.

‘I hope you will be free to take me down there in October.’

He smiled at her indulgently, ‘Now Beth, you know full well I wouldn’t miss it for the world. It’s been in my diary ever since you gave me your start date.’

She nodded and smiled again as she took her seat at the breakfast table.

Marcus imagined the forthcoming event with a feeling of parental pride and pleasing anticipation. The day he would take his beloved only child to university, secure in the knowledge that she was to follow in his footsteps and train to be a doctor. Undoubtedly it was their moment, and one he intended to savour, for they had been planning this for as long as he could remember.

Recently returned home, after her gap year in France, Beth had a new found confidence, coupled with a calm serenity which he liked to see. Attractive, young, with a slim figure, she was completely unaware of her fresh-faced beauty, and she was certainly a daughter to be proud of. Working hard at school, she had done exceptionally well in her exams, which meant she had been accepted onto one of the most prestigious medical degree courses available. Marcus could not wait to see her blossom further over the next few years, while attending medical school.

‘At least with you taking a gap year, we know your place is already secured and we don’t have the worry about waiting for exam results,’ he commented, as he watched her reach for a piece of toast.

‘Yes, you’re right, it does make it easier,’ she agreed, as she helped herself to some jam. ‘And it’s great to have the summer to get ready and to see everyone before I go.’

‘And what do you have planned for the next few months?’ he asked with interest.

She shook her head, ‘I haven’t really thought, but it should be fun.’

He envied her youth, for life was there for the taking and he only hoped she was ready to grasp it, explore it and enjoy every moment. He thought back to his own time at university, and recalled with fondness those carefree days when he was enjoying his studies and madly in love with Grace, who was soon to be his wife.

However, the contentment that came with age and experience was also to be commended, for he loved his work, his wife, his daughter and his home. Yes, life was good and he had much to be thankful for. Although he realised that he would miss his daughter once she was ensconced in London, Marcus was also satisfied to know that so far their plans had come to fruition and he hoped that Beth would one day fulfil her ambition of becoming a surgeon.

It was not as easy a path for females as it was for men, and he had made Beth well aware of the fact that she would have to work extra hard to compete and to shine, for surgery was still a male-dominated field, but one thing was certain, Beth could be very determined when she put her mind to something and set herself a goal, and Marcus had no doubt his daughter would make it in the end.

Likewise, he intended to support her through the whole process, in any way he could, because although he realised it was self-indulgent, he loved the idea of his daughter emulating him and building a successful career as a surgeon.

Marcus glanced at Beth once more, but she was gazing out of the window, daydreaming, as was her way, and Marcus guessed that she was thinking about her future and all that lay ahead. He smiled to himself and returned to his paper.

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Beth was at home, in the Georgian city of Bath, and it was one of those rare mornings when her mother was also home. They were in the kitchen together, drinking coffee and catching up when the phone rang. Grace got up from her seat and crossed the room to the phone. Lifting the receiver she answered the call in her usual clear, well-spoken voice.

Beth was annoyed by the intrusion, for she seldom got her mum to herself and, assuming it was one of her mother’s many friends, she sighed with frustration, knowing only too well how long Grace could spend chatting on the phone, once she got started.

Nursing a half empty cup of coffee, Beth observed her mum and wondered who the caller could be and what they might want, but then, all at once, with alarm, she saw the colour drain from her mother’s cheeks and her cheerful smile change to an expression of fear.

Beth held her breath and watched as her mother reached for the kitchen counter to steady herself. ‘How bad is it?’ Grace asked.

It was clear to see that her mother was trying hard to maintain her composure, as she closed her eyes momentarily and nodded a couple of times, listening intently to what she was being told. When she spoke again her voice was a little steadier.

‘We’ll come straight away,’ she told the caller quickly. ‘Beth, yes she’s here with me, yes we’ll both come immediately, thank you Paul, thank you for calling.’

She slowly replaced the receiver and taking a deep steadying breath turned to face her daughter.

Beth felt herself go cold. She was frightened to ask what was wrong, because in her heart she already knew the answer. It was the phone call they’d always dreaded. She realised at once that her mother had been speaking to her father’s work colleague Paul Stevenson, fellow consultant surgeon in vascular surgery at the Royal Alexandra Hospital, and it was clearly bad news.

‘It’s Dad,’ Grace confirmed, her voice brittle. ‘He’s had another heart attack and it sounds serious this time.’

Beth just nodded, a strong feeling of foreboding gripping her. From an early age she’d had a kind of inherent sixth sense, which instinctively told her how to react in alarming situations. She just seemed to know when everything was going to turn out well. On this occasion, however, she had no such positive feelings to comfort her. Deep in her heart she knew something very bad was about to happen.

They drove in silence through the streets of Bath, busy even on a weekday morning in April, with tourist coaches manoeuvring cautiously around the narrow streets. The sun was shining and all around them were signs of spring, with apple blossom on the trees as they passed through Victoria Park.

Arriving at the hospital and seeing her father’s Jaguar parked in its usual spot as they entered the consultant’s car park, made it all seem so unreal. They parked her mother’s four-wheel drive in one of the only remaining spaces and hurried through the hospital to their destination.

As soon as they stepped through the door of the Coronary Care department the ward sister was there to greet them, and they were immediately ushered into the relatives’ room, instantly recognisable from its pastel décor and selection of comfortable chairs and sofa.

On entering they found Paul Stevenson waiting for them, perched on the edge of his seat expectantly. As soon as he saw them he sprang to his feet, offering an awkward polite smile of welcome, but they could see that his expression was grave. Motioning them to take a seat he sat back down directly opposite them.

There was silence for a few seconds as Paul momentarily glanced down at the floor, put his hand to his mouth and coughed nervously. Then, looking up once more, he leant forward and finally met their anxious gaze.

‘I’m sorry,’ he began, shaking his head slowly, but then he faltered, as if the words he was about to utter were too painful to disclose. ‘I’m sorry, but Marcus passed away not long after I called you. We did all we could but his heart was just too weak.’

As he spoke his voice appeared to drift far away. Withdrawing into herself, Beth felt somehow detached from what was happening. She sat motionless, her hands grasped tightly together in her lap. A part of her was screaming, ‘It’s not true, there must be some mistake,’ but in her heart, sadly, she knew it was real. Her beloved father, who she relied upon in so many ways, was gone.

Like a robot Beth automatically followed the small group, led by Paul, onto the ward and into an area signposted, Acute Observation Bay. She could see a number of male patients sitting upright in bed, their bare chests exposed and connected up to heart monitors by numerous wires. One man had his eyes closed and his head pushed back into his pillow, while another was reading the morning paper. It all appeared remarkably quiet and still.

In the corner of the room she noted the ominous area where a bed space had been conspicuously screened off by curtains. Her mother took hold of her hand and gripped it tightly as the nurse parted the brightly patterned material and they stepped inside.

Her father lay on his back on a clearly dishevelled hospital bed, the sheets and pillow under his head were crumpled with some of the pink plastic-covered mattress showing at the corners. He was still wearing his smart dark grey suit trousers, socks but no shoes and his crisp white shirt was secured haphazardly in the middle of his chest by a single button. His eyes were shut and he had a pale, stony pallor with a bluish tinge about the mouth.

Beth was struck by the sheer stillness of him, for he had never been a man who was still for long. She recalled, in an absent-minded way, that it was often said that people can look like they are just sleeping when they have passed away, but he didn’t look like he was asleep, he looked odd, different and she felt almost afraid of his motionless body. The man she was looking at was not recognisable to her as the father she loved so much.

All at once she felt trapped, stifled; those around her were speaking in hushed tones and her mother was wiping away a stray tear and stooping to softly kiss her father’s forehead. Taking a step back against the curtain Beth looked at Paul beseechingly, her expression showing clear discomfort.

‘Is there somewhere I could go?’ she asked.

‘Of course,’ he smiled at her, appearing grateful for an opportunity to be excused such a personal moment. ‘We’ll go to my office, we can wait for your mother there,’ he suggested.

Grace nodded her agreement, but did not look up as she stroked her husband’s hair away from his face tenderly.

As they made their way along the pristine white hospital corridors the sound of their footsteps echoed in Beth’s ears. Two nurses passed by chatting happily together on their way to a break, carrying empty mugs and sandwich boxes. Turning the corner Beth and Paul passed through a set of double doors which led them up to the administration block, where the consultants’ offices were situated.

Climbing the stairs Beth glanced out over the hospital grounds with its neatly cut lawns sprouting clumps of yellow daffodils, their vivid colour contrasting against the lush green grass. A small boy was playing contentedly with a football while his mother sat on a bench next to an elderly man in a wheelchair. Thick white hospital blankets were wrapped around his legs and he appeared to be enjoying the early spring sunshine. It all appeared so ordinary and everyday. Life was quietly carrying on around her as normal and it felt absurd because she knew, from that moment forward, that for her, nothing would ever be the same again.

On reaching his office Paul attempted to clear a space for her to sit down, as all available chairs were piled high with patients’ notes and papers. Standing in the centre of the room she took in what were familiar surroundings, for Paul’s office was adjoining her father’s and identical in its layout.

She recalled, as a young girl, on visits to the hospital, sneaking into Paul’s office, when he wasn’t around, and pretending to talk importantly on the telephone, or twirling round on his swivel chair, while her parents chatted in the next room. Being back there, years later, made the whole situation feel surreal somehow and she half expected someone to come in at any moment and tell her it had all been a terrible mistake and that her father was alive and well. Taking a seat by the door she closed her eyes and bowed her head, as she attempted to shut out the truth from her consciousness.

Observing Beth Montague, Paul Stevenson sat uneasily in his chair. He had comforted hundreds of bereaved relatives in his time, but this was quite different. It was all rather too close to home for his liking. He and Marcus had run the vascular service together at the hospital for well over ten years. They were practically the same age and now Marcus was dead, it was inconceivable; he still couldn’t really take it in. He just didn’t know what to say to this pretty teenage girl who sat before him, pale and silent, looking so young and vulnerable.

He knew how close Beth and Marcus were. She was his only offspring and he doted on her. Paul wondered now how she was going to cope with her father’s death and so close to the time when she was due to go to London to start her training.

He smiled a little to himself when he recalled the Monday morning when Marcus, usually a fairly serious and reserved man, came rushing in with a beaming smile on his face to announce that Beth had secured her place at medical school. What a shame he wouldn’t be around to see her graduate, thought Paul, solemnly.

He was just debating whether he should offer her a drink of some sort when to his relief the door opened and Grace came in. Her eyes were a little red and bloodshot, but she was now restored to her usual composed demeanour.

He offered to drive them home, but Grace reassured him that she could manage. So they said their goodbyes and then, with incredible dignity, she took her daughter by the hand and they went home to face the daunting task of letting everyone know their tragic news.

He did not envy them the task and as soon as they’d gone Paul felt compelled to phone his wife, Diana, straight away. It had been a shock and he just wanted to hear her voice.

Chapter 2

Grace felt weary, but forced herself to maintain a congenial smile, as she accepted the condolences of the people gathered in her home. She was dressed in a smart, pleated black skirt, topped off with a simple but stylish cream blouse. Around her slender neck she wore her favourite pearls, which had once belonged to her mother, and her greying hair was cut short with a slight wave. She looked the epitome of respectability and sophistication.

The funeral had been the respectful, appropriate affair she’d hoped for and the weather had stayed bright and dry, which was a blessing. The Reverend Thomas, vicar of St Mary’s, the family’s parish church, had conducted a pleasant service and she had found the eulogy given by Paul Stevenson particularly touching. He had clearly taken time to compose his tribute, for in just a few brief words he’d managed to sum up the true essence of her late husband, and for this she was eternally grateful.

She had always known Marcus was well liked and respected, but the strength of feeling expressed by his friends and colleagues was heartening, and she felt proud to have been married to a man who had clearly touched so many people’s lives and made a difference with all his hard work and dedication.

Grace was pleased that both she and Beth had managed to keep their composure during the service and later at the graveside, as she was not fond of public displays of grief, having been brought up to believe that tears should be shed in private.

Admittedly, she had cried a little at the hospital, when she’d seen her husband lying there, but she’d managed since to forgive herself this slight lapse, putting it down to the shock of the moment.

Although she approved of Beth putting on a brave face, Grace was concerned that her daughter was growing steadily more withdrawn. Long ago she had realised that Beth was destined to feel the loss of her father very deeply, but no one had expected it to be when she was still so young. It would have been easier if she was more mature, settled and had a family of her own to help cushion the blow.

Over two years had passed since Marcus’s first heart attack and although it had been a fairly severe episode, he had appeared to recover well. However, he had not heeded the cardiologist’s advice to cut back on his gruelling workload and instead he had merely plunged himself back into the thick of it, after only a short period of convalescence, refusing to acknowledge that anything untoward had occurred.

It was probably this positive attitude, and not allowing his heart condition to have any bearing on his lifestyle, which had carried everyone else along and made him appear invincible. They should have foreseen another attack as a distinct possibility, but because Marcus had always been so in control it had come as a complete shock to them all, which was ironic as the majority of the people they knew were in the medical profession.

She suspected that her husband had probably continued to suffer from angina in the preceding period, most likely treating himself and not sharing the problem with others. She was momentarily angered by this possibility and by his apparent stubbornness. If he had admitted that he was experiencing pain, or problems, then perhaps more could have been done to prevent this second fatal attack, but Grace knew that wishing things were different was futile. She also realised that Marcus would never have changed or slowed down, for he lived for his work and would have loathed retirement. She even suspected that he would have thought it fitting, somehow, to die only hours after completing yet another successful operation. This idea made her smile a little to herself as her anger swiftly abated.

Looking down at the half empty glass of sherry, which she held in her hand, Grace attempted to shake herself out of these meandering thoughts and concentrate her mind on getting through the rest of the day, as she realised she was neglecting her guests.

People were beginning to collect coats and say their goodbyes. Diana Stevenson approached, with Paul and her elder son Adam at her side. They were all elegantly dressed and made a handsome family group. Adam, tall and slim, had grown into a good-looking young man. He was much quieter, more thoughtful and definitely the shyer of the two brothers. His younger and much more gregarious sibling, James, had been unable to attend the funeral, as he was away on a sailing weekend.

Diana smiled, looking a little awkward. ‘I’m afraid we’ll have to be going soon, but we were hoping to say goodbye to Beth, however, we can’t seem to find her anywhere.’

‘I’ll go and look for her,’ suggested Grace. ‘I’m sure she’d like to see you before you go.’

‘If you’re sure, we don’t want to disturb her if she’s lying down or something,’ replied Diana, looking concerned.

Grace headed off down the hall in search of her daughter. ‘I won’t be a moment. I think I know where she’ll be,’ she said, over her shoulder.

Beth was in her father’s study, sitting in his leather-bound office chair. She had turned it away from the desk and was looking out through the tall sash windows, when her mother came into the room. Grace went and stood next to her for a moment, resting her arm gently around Beth’s shoulders. They stayed like this for a while, mother and daughter peacefully gazing out over the garden below, just as the man they both now mourned had done so many times before.

Marcus had often said that his study was the only place he found true peace and had time to think. Grace had guessed that this was where she would find Beth, for, in the days since Marcus’s passing, her daughter had spent many long hours sitting in the very same spot.

It was a pleasant room, with a lovely smell of leather and old books. Everything about it reflected her husband’s personality: neat and ordered, yet comfortable and relaxed. Grace could see how Beth might draw comfort from time spent in this haven, and it probably helped her feel closer to him in many ways.

The walls were lined on two sides, floor to ceiling, with mahogany bookcases full of medical tomes and his prized collection of first editions. Grace recalled that once Marcus became engrossed in his career he’d had little time for reading purely for pleasure. Nevertheless, as a young medical student at university, she could remember that he often had his head in a book.

A broad, antique, leather-topped desk dominated the room, adorned with a stylish brass reading lamp, and an ornate set of cut glass ink jars. These were filled with black and blue ink, and set in a polished wood stand, with her husband’s prized, gold-nibbed fountain pen resting within an inlaid narrow groove that ran along its length. Grace recalled how pleased Marcus had been when he’d found the inkwell in the same antique shop where he’d purchased the desk. He still liked to write with a fountain pen, even though most of the time he’d just used it to sign correspondence.

Positioned in the middle of the desk was a leather-bound ink blotter, which had a pristine, new piece of blotting paper at its centre. Grace had inserted this less than a week ago, and she remembered Marcus commenting on her thoughtfulness when he noticed that she’d replaced the previous piece, which had been worn and blackened with numerous ink stains.

The memory gave her pleasure now, as she recalled how her husband had always made a point of acknowledging her home-making skills, ensuring that she knew her contribution to the smooth running of his ordered world didn’t go unnoticed.

The room was completed by two substantial, gilt-framed oil paintings, which hung on the far wall and were illuminated by picture lights. The scenes depicted were of Marcus’s beloved North Devon, showing the Valley of the Rocks, near Lynton, on a stormy, windswept day, and the second depicted Exmoor Forest in autumnal colours. He’d searched for many months to find the ideal pair of canvases to finish off the study, which he’d lovingly restored to its former glory, after purchasing the  Georgian house in Bath’s Royal Crescent.

This had been just prior to them making the permanent move to Bath from London, so Marcus could take up his consultancy at the Royal Alexandra Hospital. Beth had been just six years old when they’d first viewed their new home and Grace could recall her daughter’s delight when she’d spied the large garden, with great plans for tree houses and sand pits eagerly anticipated.

That sweet little girl was now a young woman, but as Grace looked down at her daughter she could see that Beth was still as vulnerable and in need of comfort and reassurance as ever. She gave Beth a gentle squeeze and bent to kiss her softly on the cheek.

‘People are starting to leave darling. Will you come and help me say goodbye?’

Although reluctant to end the peaceful moment, Grace was growing increasingly aware that their guests were patiently waiting to depart and she could imagine their anxious speculation as to the possible cause for the delay.

Beth turned to face her mother. She looked anxious and regretful and Grace’s heart went out to her.

‘Sorry, I was finding it hard facing everyone. I was only planning to sit here for five minutes,’ she explained.

Grace nodded, showing her understanding and as Beth got to her feet she took her daughter instinctively in her arms and held her tight. As she did so, Grace was struck by how insubstantial Beth’s frame felt within her embrace, for it was clear that she had lost quite a bit of weight.

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When all their guests had finally gone home, Beth and Grace decided to go for a walk, to get some fresh air. The Montagues’ home was in the majestic Royal Crescent in the centre of Bath, which looked out over the Royal Victoria Park.

It was a warm afternoon as they shut the substantial shiny, black, panelled front door behind them, with its polished brass knocker and letter box. Walking across the broad pavement they stepped down onto the cobbled road, which had thankfully become much less busy since the ban on coaches and tour buses had been imposed.

They traversed the length of the crescent and from there dropped down into the park. Beth was quiet and seemed to be in a contemplative mood. Aware that her daughter appeared to have something on her mind, Grace was reluctant to distract her with unnecessary conversation. As they walked together in silence, she was content in the knowledge that Beth would speak up when she was ready.

Proceeding through the park they left the main path and strolled down an avenue of mature trees, which formed a line crossing the wide-open expanse of lawns. The mature oaks cast long shadows in the late afternoon spring sunshine.

As the path took them up above an oval-shaped duck pond, an elderly couple could be seen casting a watchful eye over two young children, as they fed the hungry wildfowl with handfuls of bread. The children’s cries of delight drifted through the still air, as more ducks appeared from the shadows to join the feeding frenzy.

Soon they found themselves at the gates of the park’s Botanical Gardens, the usual destination on such family strolls. Following the winding paths they took time to appreciate the sights and fragrances of the garden, with its wide variety of rare species of mature trees and plant life. Formal flower beds packed tightly with tulips, hyacinths, irises and wallflowers lined their route, all neatly arranged to portray a pleasing picture to the eye and filling the air with sweet delicate floral fragrance.

A small bubbling stream flowed through the centre of the garden, tumbling down a succession of miniature waterfalls, which had lush foliage growing up and over the cascading water. Blue tits and starlings could be seen bathing in shallow pools of water, the surfaces of which were dappled with the reflections of the leaves within the protective canopy overhead. This feature meant that wherever you were within the boundaries of the gardens, you could hear running water.

As a child, Beth had been fascinated by the stream and had delighted in peering up through the greenery at the channel the water created, watching the light dance and sparkle on the clear water as it flowed past. She could have spent hours leaning against the stone wall, on the narrow little bridge which spanned the stream, gazing into this tiny magical world.

Beth also liked the name Botanical Gardens. It made her think of the Botanical Gardens at Kew Gardens, which she had visited on a number of occasions on frequent trips to London with her parents. Kew Gardens, with its colourful pagoda and impressive plant houses, which were a sea of shimmering glass when the light caught them and so humid inside to keep the tropical plants in an environment which suited them. Growing up, Beth had felt proud to think that she had her own Botanical Gardens in Bath, in the park her home overlooked.

Beth bit her lower lip as she glanced sideways at her mother. ‘I’ve been thinking about Med school,’ she announced, all at once.

‘And?’ prompted Grace, when her daughter failed to continue.

‘I don’t think I can face going in October,’ she elaborated, pausing nervously, as if she were trying to gauge her mother’s reaction.

When no reply was forthcoming she spoke again. ‘Please don’t be disappointed, but I was thinking I might take another year out.’

‘I see,’ replied Grace patiently.

‘Don’t get me wrong, I still want to study medicine and I know it’ll be tough getting back to studying if I take a longer break, but I just feel my heart wouldn’t be in it.’

Taking a seat on a nearby park bench, Grace indicated for Beth to join her, as she contemplated the implications of her daughter’s announcement. ‘Have you thought this through?’ she asked.

‘I don’t want to leave you so soon after Dad...’ Beth’s voice trailed away as she cast her eyes downwards.

Grace felt that her daughter was wrong to think of deferring her education, especially as she had already had a year out. Nevertheless, she was beginning to realise that her previous concerns were well founded, and that Beth was in need of reassurance and care, rather than lectures on what was right or wrong. She was obviously hurting very deeply and clearly needed a lot more time to grieve fully. Perhaps it was for the best that she stayed close to home for the time being.

She took hold of Beth’s hand. ‘Well it’s your decision, darling, and only you know what’s right for you, but please don’t postpone on my account. I’m going to have to get used to being alone, sooner or later, just as you will have to find a way to carry on, when you’re ready. I would just hate to see you miss out and I know your father would have felt the same.’

Beth continued to study her feet. ‘I just need a bit more time that’s all.’

Grace nodded, ‘I understand, anyway you have the whole summer to decide.’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’ She didn’t sound convinced.

Grace was determined to try and maintain an optimistic outlook. ‘Why don’t we phone the university tomorrow, explain the situation and see how late we can leave it before they need a final decision?’

‘That would be good,’ Beth replied simply. Then, lifting her gaze and looking at her mother once more, she attempted a smile, as an expression of relief spread across her features. ‘Thanks for understanding,’ she added. ‘I do love you so much, Mum,’ she announced, giving her mother’s arm a gentle squeeze.

Grace was moved by this show of heartfelt affection. The emotions of the day, which she’d been trying so hard to suppress, suddenly began to well up inside her and she swallowed hard, making a conscious effort to marshal her feelings.

‘I love you too, darling,’ she replied. ‘It will get better, you know.’

‘I hope so,’ acknowledged Beth.

‘It will, I promise. It just takes time, lots of time.’

A contemplative silence fell between them then, each lost in their own thoughts, until Grace gradually became aware of an increased chill in the air. ‘Shall we carry on?’ she suggested.

‘OK,’ agreed Beth, sounding brighter.

The sun was slowly going down and the sky took on a reddish glow, as they continued around the gardens, passing through a steep-banked rockery area situated at the rear of the plot, which finally led to the back gate. Here, an area of circular lawn was dominated by a dovecote, high up on a tall stake, where doves could be seen bobbing their white heads out through the small arched openings and occasionally flying down to explore the grass below. They stood for a while and watched the comings and goings.

‘Well, now you’re going to be around for a while longer, you can come with me to the Stevensons’ barbecue next month,’ announced Grace.

Beth looked somewhat alarmed by the suggestion and shook her head. ‘Oh no, I don’t think I want to.’

‘One thing’s for certain, I’m not having you moping about the house all the time. You brooding constantly isn’t helping.’ Grace was resolute about staying positive. ‘We must make the most of our time together this summer, and anyway, I don’t fancy going on my own. It would be rude to refuse their invitation, when they have been so kind, helping with the funeral arrangements and everything.’

‘Can I see how I feel nearer the time and decide then?’ Beth ventured.

‘No, I’ve decided, we’re going. It will be something to look forward to.’

Beth shrugged her shoulders, clearly unconvinced. ‘If you say so.’

Grace smiled to herself at her daughter’s predictable reaction, for she’d never been keen on large social gatherings at the best of times. ‘Come on, we’d best be getting back, it will be dark soon and I don’t know about you but I’m getting chilly.’

Chapter 3

Beth stood in front of the free-standing, full-length dress mirror, which was located just to the right of the large sash windows in her bedroom, and looked at her reflection without pleasure. This was the fourth outfit she’d tried on and none were to her liking. Why she had agreed to go to the Stevensons’ barbecue, she just didn’t know. She dreaded the thought of everyone looking at her with expressions of sympathy, or avoiding the subject of her father to save them the embarrassment of not knowing what to say. The last thing she wanted was to be forced to make an effort to socialise at a party. She much preferred staying at home, where she felt closer to her father.

She was feeling fragile and shaken after the night she’d just had, or more specifically a dream she’d had about her dad. Dreaming about him was nothing out of the ordinary, for he occupied her thoughts the majority of the time, awake or asleep. The frightening part had been that in this dream she had found it almost impossible to picture him clearly; his features had been blurred and fuzzy, as if she could no longer remember what he looked like. The harder she’d tried, the less she could see him, until finally she had woken in a cold sweat and with her heart pounding.

It had taken a good hour to drift back into a restless and unpleasant sleep. Waking again just before six, with a splitting headache, had not been a good start to the day.

Over breakfast she’d tried to persuade her mother to spare her the ordeal of going to the barbecue, but Grace had been adamant. ‘You’ll enjoy it when you get there,’ she had insisted and although Beth doubted this wisdom, she had not pressed the point because she knew she was being selfish expecting her mum to go on her own.

Guilt was the overriding emotion when she thought about her mother, for although she wanted to be stronger and more supportive, so far she had failed to be anything other than a burden. Her mum had been wonderfully tolerant and patient, putting up with her dark moods, reclusive behaviour and apparent inability to cope with her loss. Sulking over having to go out for the afternoon was hardly a good way to repay this kindness and care, she thought. You’ll just have to grin and bear it, she told herself firmly.

A light tap on her bedroom door momentarily interrupted Beth’s thoughts.

‘Are you ready, darling?’ enquired her mum in a cheery tone, as she pushed open the door, which had already been standing slightly ajar.

‘Oh, I don’t know, I just can’t decide what to wear,’ explained Beth with a shake of the head.

Grace came to stand behind her. ‘What’s wrong with what you’ve got on? I think you look lovely.’

Beth shrugged. The peach summer dress just hung on her frame and she felt the colour made her look washed out. Dark shadows under her eyes were evidence of the poor night’s sleep she had just had, and gave her a haunted look.

Glancing over her shoulder, Grace thought Beth looked tired and pale. What her daughter needed was some sun on her face, fresh air and the distraction of some company of her own age, she concluded.

A number of Beth’s friends had popped in briefly to see her since the funeral, but they had not stayed long. It did not seem to matter what anyone did or said because little appeared to lift her daughter’s spirits and Grace felt powerless to help while Beth was lost in her grief and clearly hurting profoundly.

With a deep breath and a fixed smile of encouragement on her face Grace decided to take charge. ‘Why don’t you wear those lightweight tan sandals you have and that pretty cream cashmere cardigan, with the three-quarter length sleeves, that you bought for cousin Sally’s wedding last summer,’ she suggested in a positive tone.

Beth looked unconvinced.

However, Grace wasn’t going to be dissuaded, as she busied herself, bustling around finding suitable items, while her daughter watched her impassively.

‘And what about your locket and those delicate gold knot earrings? They would complement the dress nicely. You’ll be turning heads when we get there, you’ll see,’ she cajoled cheerfully, trying her utmost to whip up some enthusiasm from Beth.

‘I doubt that,’ replied her daughter with a cynical laugh.

Eventually, however, Beth joined in and they managed to put together the final touches of the outfit between them. Beth had to admit that her mother’s suggestions were very creative and, carried along by her mum’s eagerness, before she had another opportunity to protest they were on their way.

After a short drive, which took them to the outskirts of Bath, they turned off the main road and headed down the steep hill which led into the heart of the village of Bathampton. A third of the way down a sharp left turn brought them through a stone entrance and into the Stevensons’ drive. Once there, Grace skilfully manoeuvred the car into the last remaining space.

Stepping out onto the gravel, Beth looked up at the pleasing proportions of the sedate Georgian town house, with its lofty slender sash windows, like benevolent unblinking eyes staring out from the Bath stone façade, which glowed in the early June sunshine.

On approaching the steps leading up to the front door, Diana Stevenson appeared. Greeting them with a broad smile, she led the way through the cool interior of the house and out into the garden.

The entrance hall they passed through was spacious with an impressive mahogany staircase sweeping upwards from the centre of the room, where a polished, oval burr walnut hall table was decorated with a large cream porcelain vase full of white lilies and feathery green foliage. The effect was completed by an antique chandelier, suspended from the ceiling, which was framed by the pale yellow walls that made the whole space appear light and airy.

Out in the garden the barbecue was already in full swing. Beth and Grace gladly accepted a glass of chilled elderflower cordial from their host and then managed to find a seat under a parasol at one of the many garden tables set out for guests to enjoy. The Stevensons’ garden began with a flat, well-tended lawn which ran adjacent to the house, but from then onwards the grounds sloped very gradually down to the banks of the Kennet and Avon canal.

Situated on the edge of the picturesque village of Bathampton, it was an idyllic spot, and Beth sat back in her seat, sipped her drink and started to feel a little more relaxed. Everyone was being very friendly and the whole atmosphere was easy and fun. It was not at all what she’d expected.

She tried to remember the last time she’d been to this annual event and was surprised when she realised that it was possibly four or even five years before. Her parents always attended, returning home with accounts of a pleasant afternoon spent catching up with old friends. However, to a teenager, it had all sounded rather dull and this was probably why she’d given it a miss. Weekends, in the early summer of recent years, had been taken up either with studying for exams or on her favourite pastime of horse riding.

Last year she had been away in Paris, on her gap year, staying with a French family, improving her linguistic skills and soaking up the atmosphere of Parisian life. While there she had done some voluntary work in one of Paris’s top class hospitals, organised by her father, which she had really enjoyed.

She smiled a little to herself as she remembered that carefree time, the friends she’d made and the places she’d visited. How differently she felt today, just twelve months on, and somehow her trip to Paris now seemed a lifetime ago. She sighed deeply and looked around for some distraction to help take her mind off these negative thoughts.

On the canal bank, at the water’s edge, she could see a group of young people sprawled out on a large tartan rug, lazing in the sunshine. She recognised the Stevenson boys, both with their heads of golden blond hair. James, at the centre