Cooking up an Adventure in France

By Caroline Letts

Having discovered new love, it was time for a new adventure…and what an adventure. Selling up and joining the many people who chose to relocate abroad, Miles and Bryony move to rural France and embark on the renovation of a cottage and barn. They strive to develop an unusual but creative and inspirational business in these pastures new. This book tells their story, it’s punctuated with delicious food and musical memories. An unexpected bittersweet historic story is uncovered early into their adventure. It's a feel-good read that sees the couple embrace the many challenges of day-to-day life, forge new strong and lasting friendships; together they strive forward with laughter and wonder throughout the seasons of their first year.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jan 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9781528977036

Caroline Letts

Having brought up her family and professionally running several small businesses, Caroline Letts retired early. She then embarked on another adventure, living abroad in France. She indulged in her love of cookery and animals, running a hobby farm. She loves being creative with the abundance of fresh produce available. Caroline loves to travel and has since explored many of the other beautiful areas in Europe. ‘You should always make the most of everyday and opportunity’ is her mantra.

Book preview

About the Author

Having brought up her family and professionally running several small businesses, Caroline Letts retired early. She then embarked on another adventure, living abroad in France. She indulged in her love of cookery and animals, running a hobby farm. She loves being creative with the abundance of fresh produce available. Caroline loves to travel and has since explored many of the other beautiful areas in Europe. ‘You should always make the most of everyday and opportunity’ is her mantra.

Dedication

This is dedicated to some special people who fill my heart with love, affection, devotion, and adoration.

For Mum and Dad, now two shining stars. Your love and inspiration lives on.

And to my fabulous five who are a constant joy and so precious to me.

Copyright Information ©

Caroline Letts 2022

The right of Caroline Letts to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

All of the events in this memoir are true to the best of the author’s memory. The views expressed in this memoir are solely those of the author.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528977005 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781528977012 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781528977036 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2022

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

I would like to acknowledge the time. Do we have a little, or do we have a lot? We can only surmise. I was encouraged and supported to use quite a lot of mine on creating this story. A journey that took me away from the day-to-day routine; an indulgence, a delight.

So, to all the people, some still with time and some who have run out with theirs,

thank you for the reassurance, understanding, and consideration.

Everyone, make the very best of your time.

Introduction

Oh my, I whispered to myself, as I gazed around what used to be my living room. How come the removal of furniture and everyday clutter changes the scene so much? Walls, only recently redecorated, are worryingly scuffed from where the sofas had touched, and there was definitely a ghosting from where my favourite, large, framed prints used to hang.

Not to worry, the new owners will be too excited to notice. I glance on the floor; deep indentations from the feet of the sofas stare back at me. I know, ice cubes, I’ve heard they work miracles. I’d turned the tall fridge-freezer off only an hour ago, so I go and find the ice cube tray. Damn, only seven cubes left. Each already in their own little pools of water. They’ll do, I say under my breath. I pop one in each of the indentations leaving the one furthest away in the corner.

This day had been a long time coming. Months, if not over a year, in the planning. My small, but smart barn conversion, bought after my marriage had come to its end, had been sold. Today, the very kind lenders would get their money returned to them, and the small, but not insignificant profit would be coming with me to pastures new.

The roller coaster of a ride had seen my life change in so many ways. I think of the changes and can’t help but smile. My new man, busy at present, loading boxes and the final bits of furniture into the lorry, fills me with not only love and excitement, but also makes me feel safe, secure, and content. It is because of this that this new venture is entered into without trepidation. It’s good to always look forward.

My children, a son and daughter, one who has finished and one soon to finish university, will be striding out into their independent lives which gives me the freedom to explore and embrace life.

A scan of the scribbles on the clipboard and a rummage in my very big handbag to double-check the travel documents, leaves me with only the cats to coax into their carrier. It’s a large one that they share, they are mother and daughter and prefer travelling snuggled together. This went easier than anticipated, but as I pull the door of the living room, I wonder if the incoming family would think my moggies were incontinent, as I look at the seven damp patches on the peachy beige twist pile carpet.

Miles and I carefully place the cat box in the only small space remaining in the car. The lorry has now long gone. We jump into the front seats, close the doors, turn and give one another a hug and an extra-long squeeze that says it all. We both give a quick glance back with affection at the home that we’ve shared for the last eighteen months. It had been a happy day when Miles had moved in, hopefully to be out trumped by today.

As Miles started the engine, the CD player awoke and the old favourite Ain’t no stopping us now, we’re on the move by McFadden and Whitehead played. The beam on my face couldn’t have been broader, he’d queued that up. So sweet, that’s one of the reasons I love him.

The journey from Clophill in Bedford to the ferry port in Portsmouth would take about two and half hours, we would hopefully be on the 1:30 ferry, the time now was 9:30 on a very crisp mid-January morning, we were on track. With a crunch on the gravel, our 4x4 started its journey. Our voices surely could be heard from inside the car as we sang out load. I allowed myself a little dance in the seat to accompany the vocals. Our mood and spirits were high.

Chapter 1

The sat nav indicated 27 minutes until ‘you’ve reached your destination’.

Weary, but excited and full of anticipation, Bryony and Miles scanned the landscape for familiar landmarks. The set of big chunky keys had been retrieved from Bryony’s large handbag and in readiness for their arrival were held tightly in her hand. It was dark, very dark; there was not a lot of light pollution in this area. The time was well after 11 o’clock, it was somehow important that they arrived before midnight, so they were paying careful attention to the gadgetry and road signs, not wanting to make an error.

They were in rural France, aiming for a little cottage that formally was, no doubt, the home of a peasant farmworker. Miles had bought it when they were holidaying in this beautiful area nearly three years ago. Although they had visited it many times since then, now in the dark and with the changes the seasons had made to the landscape, they were still a little unsure of their bearings. Some streetlights came into view in the distance, a rare sight during the last half an hour’s drive. Bryony experienced a flip in her tummy because as they got closer, she recognised the elaborate lanterns painted in a smart burgundy. They were almost there. Through this village and down the familiar track to a collection of farm buildings.

A warm, orange glow acted as a beacon as the car pulled up in front of what was going to be their permanent home. The elderly French neighbours who lived across the paddock from them must have been in and turned it on for them. Bryony had told them when they last left the date of their return and move. Or more correctly, had circled it on the calendar, pointed to herself and added an approximate time. She was pleased now that the gestures and smiles all around had apparently been understood; she still hoped that the French language would come in time. She had given her neighbours a key for emergencies.

A little stiff from their journey, they got out of the car, Bryony reaching immediately for the cat basket. Miles with a torch in hand was selecting the correct key. On opening the door, a magical cloak escaped from the living room and enveloped them. Entering, they closed the door quickly as the realisation that the room was warm hit them…the wood, burning stove was alight. There was also an unfamiliar pot that sat on the top.

Bryony opened the door of the cat basket and two stretchy cats took their time to exit and explore the new surroundings. A pair of big, strong arms encircled Bryony, Miles stood behind Bryony as together they took in the site before them. A baguette was on the side to go with the hot food, Bryony felt an unbelievable surge of emotion bubbling up, her chin quivered.

How perfect, how thoughtful, she almost whispered to Miles.

Their new neighbours, realising a late arrival would mean that they would not be able to welcome them personally, had prepared this alternative welcome. The silence was broken by Miles releasing his hold and tenderly kissing Bryony, whispering in her ear, Welcome home, my gorgeous one.

She replied, "I love you so much, Miles, this is one of the first memorable experiences at La petit Mezerais." She pressed his hand against her cheek and kissed his fingertips.

Come on, let’s unpack a few things before peeping in that pot to see what smells so good. Practicalities kicked in. Miles went and collected the tray and cat litter and found a discrete place to put it. Over their several previous visits to the cottage, it had been equipped with the basic essentials, so a second trip to the car was for the cool box, a hot water bottle (one of Bryony’s Christmas gifts) and the handbag containing passports, phones, money and far too much more to mention.

The kettle was filled and then the hot water bottle, it was hidden under the duvet in the bedroom upstairs. Thankfully, the bed had been left freshly made up and covered in a dustsheet when they left last time.

Miles reached for the bottle of bubbles that had been saved from the New Year celebrations for this occasion. The cork was teased gently, then escaped with a loud pop sending the cats scampering upstairs. In a flash, glasses were held over the neck of the bottle, the champagne was lively, probably from the motion of the journey, but not a drop was spilt. They toasted, first each other, then France, French neighbours, well-behaved cats and finally the time of togetherness they were going to enjoy.

Now for a simple supper, the time was five to twelve. Bryony collected bowls from the kitchen area, spoons and a ladle. She lifted the lid of the enamelled cast iron pot to release the most wonderful smell. Oh yes, a thick creamy soup, full of perfectly chopped winter vegetables and a hint of garlic, all had been simmered in chicken stock. She could see the chopped fresh herbs which were boosting the fragrance.

How was it that they were so hungry, after all, they had eaten the obligatory packaged sandwiches on route and bought a pasta salad in a plastic bowl, was it that this was a superior feast, well yes, a feast it was. They tore at the baguette and dipped and dunked into their bowls, they ate greedily, going back for seconds, finally mopping up both of their bowls and the serving dish with the remaining bread. Bryony had the dullest tones of Barry White going around in her head…sultry, soulful and sexy…what was this short circuit in her brain that always made her connect food with music and emotions.

That was amazing, Bryony sang, elongating the word amazing in her best Barry White impersonation. The Lanson a perfect accompaniment, she giggled.

Returning from taking the dishes to the sink, Miles added extra logs to the stove. Taking Bryony’s hand, he led her to the stairs. As they made their way up, the chorus still played in Bryony’s head of ‘Can’t get enough of your love, babe’ and ‘You’re the first, my last, my everything’.

Having only just switched the hot water heater on, a shower was going to have to wait until the morning. They delighted in the cosiness that had been created by the hot water bottle. Snuggling down, it was decided rest was needed, the lorry would be arriving in the morning, quickly they dropped to sleep, Bryony’s final thoughts and promise to herself was, that plastic wrapped convenience foods would no longer have a place in their lives.

Morning peeped around the curtains and sunshine stirred the sleeping couple. Waking with a start, Miles fumbled trying to find a watch to check the time. A quick glance showed it was 9.15 am.

No panic, it’s only just past nine. He turned to Bryony tracing her lips with his fingers. She kissed them, then suddenly stopped abruptly, she sat up straight.

No panic, I think if we convert to French time, the lorry will be here in about fifteen minutes.

The covers flew off the bed, Miles jumped out and turned the shower on, Bryony collected clean work clothes from the drawer, lay them on the end of the bed and followed him in. Clean, refreshed, still with damp hair, they ran downstairs, lit the gas and fired up the kettle.

The wood burner was still warm, opening the doors, she saw a few embers had survived so while Miles made the coffee, she set to coaxing them into life.

Success, she announced with a smug smile and humming ‘Re lite my fire’.

While sipping the coffee and fussing some happy cats, Miles glanced at the mobile (it stood on the little window sill, the only place it got a signal, probably because of the metal fixings) all good, no one had been trying to get them.

It was precisely ten minutes later that they heard the toot of a horn…opening the door, the blast of cold air shocked them. Grabbing their coats and carefully closing the door, they waved as the lorry slowly lumbered up the drive. It turned, air brakes hissed and it reversed towards the door…the ‘caution, vehicle reversing’ message made Bryony smile. She wondered what the French equivalent was.

Husband and wife team, Tom and Gemma jumped out of the cab, they looked remarkably fresh. Their journey had taken longer with its compulsory stops so as not to run over the taco restrictions. They lived in France and financed themselves moving expats ‘from’ and sometimes ‘back’ to the UK.

Coffee all around was decided on before the work began. Bryony opened the door of the cottage cautiously before the others came in. Placing the cats in their secure basket, she spoke to them softly, No exploring for you two today, having made it all this way, I don’t want to lose you now.

She went to the fridge and took out a couple of packets of bacon that had been in the cool box.

Returning outside, she called to Miles, Miles, you’re in charge of coffee, I’m going to pop to the boulangerie and get some baguettes. She grabbed the car keys and set off, grateful that it was only about a three-minute drive.

Bryony returned with two sticks, heating the large frying pan, she got to work arranging the rashers. Back to the fridge for the butter and she began to cut and spread the bread. Within ten minutes, she called from the door, Sustenance for the workers. Miles could be seen showing Tom and Gemma around the outbuildings and was enthusiastically explaining their plans. All had steaming mugs of coffee in their hands.

Coming, they answered. They sat around the little metal garden table that was used indoors during the winter. There was an assortment of chairs; all inherited with the cottage, two ornate typically French ones, a green plastic one and a wooden one.

Tom and Gemma welcomed the bacon rolls; they’d had an early start from their overnight stop and had only shared a KitKat on route to Miles and Bryony’s.

Chatting away as they ate the crisp bread, they managed to scatter crumbs everywhere. The bacon was smoked and full of flavour, it had melted the butter so as you bit into the roll, it wanted to dribble down your chin.

Delicious, said Gemma, the others nodding in agreement, now what’s the plan?

Can you use the barn for everything except what has a big red sticker on it? Those things are to come into the cottage, please. We’ve put some pallets on the soil floor to stack onto, this will keep things clean and dry, said Bryony.

The men smiled at one another seeing the women take charge.

The cottage was small, very simply furnished and equipped from boot fairs, markets and Brocantes. Bryony’s furniture would transform it, but in time. There was work to be done first. The adjoining barn would hopefully become and kitchen breakfast room. In the roof, a master bedroom with en suite. This would leave their original little bedroom and shower room as a spare room for their visitors, who they hoped would be many and frequent.

Remarkably, the unloading only took an hour and a half. It had taken a full half day to pack and load up and a further hour the following morning for the last bits and pieces.

All too soon, they were saying goodbye to Tom and Gemma, the couple were smiling and waving their handful of Euros as they pulled away. Miles had offered them a stopover whenever they needed and promised to circulate their details to anyone needing a man (and lady) with a van.

Miles and Bryony, arm in arm, walked back to the cottage. No need now for the coats, the day was bright and the sun had a watery warmth. Certainly, with the exercise, a ‘glow’ had been built up.

Time now to reflect on what had already been a busy day.

Keen to free the cats, a plan was made to start on the boxes inside. It was then that they noticed the bowl of eggs and a small bunch of herbs on the veranda. They had been placed safely to the left of the door at the base of a large terracotta planter. How had they not noticed them earlier?

Their neighbours again, a sweet, genuine gesture. A symbol of a wholesome lifestyle. Bryony felt humble as she gathered up the produce. Life was good.

Surrounded by empty boxes, newspaper and bubble wrap, Bryony and Miles sat on the floor admiring their work. Shelves were up, pictures hung, the cupboards in the corner that constituted as a kitchen bulged with paraphernalia. The saucepans now hung from a wrought iron pole secured to a couple of beams.

Upstairs, the bedroom appeared considerably smaller; it now housed a wardrobe and a chunky chest of draws. At the end of the bed was an oak blanket box and hung by the door a beautiful mirror.

What a day, baby, said Miles, I can’t believe how much like home this little cottage has become. Bryony smiled, wrapping her arms around his waist,

Life is what we choose to make it now.

Ummmm, Miles responded, nuzzling his face into her hair. He kissed the top of her ear at which Bryony dissolved into giggles and showed him the goose bumps that had appeared on her arm.

She kissed him back, full and hard, a kiss with a promise for later.

Jumping up, Bryony went and peered in the fridge, apart from the fresh milk, butter and eggs, the only other contents was what had been left in the fridge in the UK, this had been hurriedly packed in the cool box. She took out an opened packet of smoked salmon, the butter and eggs. The mixed herbs that included some dill and chives.

She set about supper. A bottle of red had been sitting by the wood burner, she lay the table and lit the ring beneath the large pan. Butter sizzled in the pan, Bryony added the beaten eggs, gently moving them around. She added the chopped dill and seasoned. The timing had to be perfect, having cut up what remained of the smoked salmon she arranged this over the eggs and spooned small dollops of creame freish in the gaps. Popping what was left of the baguette in a little basket, she slipped the pan under the grill. Calling Miles to come and sit down, she now held the pan at forty-five degrees delicately folding the omelette in half. Sharing it between two plates, Bryony took it to the table, she had simply dressed a green salad with olive oil and chopped chives to accompany it.

They ate in silence reflecting on their day, the wine washing down delicious mouthfuls of this very special light and fluffy salmon omelette. Retiring to the comfy chairs near the wood burner, they finished the bottle of wine and planned for tomorrow.

Chapter 2

Shortly after Bryony had bought her little barn conversion, she had an opportunity presented to her. A busy local art gallery, who in addition to exhibiting pictures and pottery, had started up workshops. They had the space and wanted to offer the public and participants refreshments. They wanted a coffee shop that could provide morning coffee, light lunches and afternoon teas. The owner had approached Bryony one evening in the gastro pub she helped out at. She had a reputation of being a very capable chef and covered holidays, those occasions they had been left in the lurch, or where unexpectedly busy. She had always been grateful of this, as in addition to her regular job as National events coordinator, it helped fund those extras needed when supporting two teenagers at university.

This opportunity was, however, a bit scary. The gallery’s owner only wanted a small rent for the area that would become the coffee shop. The profits and income it generated would be hers but also her responsibility. A few sleepless nights followed but eventually, having weighed up all the pros and cons and realising she could always get a couple of lodgers, Bryony took the plunge and used the little nest egg she had squirrelled away after buying the barn conversion to equip and furnish the coffee shop.

It was ‘shabby chic’ almost before shabby chic had become fashionable. She had always had a very good eye for colour, style and design. She created somewhere inviting, comfy and more to the point practical. Colourful chalkboards tempted visitors in. Students participating in the workshops arrived regularly at twelve fifteen on the dot. She enjoyed the challenge of creating interesting daily specials that had to be both enjoyable, satisfying and quick to serve. She loved to hear them enthuse about their classes and the pieces of work they were producing. The chattering and laughter mixed with the background music linked the atmosphere together.

Bryony named the café ‘Smile’ prompted by her customers reactions to the marshmallows bobbing in tall mugs of hot chocolate and the various stencilled chocolate powder designs that graced the top of her cappuccinos.

So, she had become her own boss. It was after a particularly busy Friday lunch that she noticed a man outside in the foyer and communal area. He was closely studying the paintings that hung on display, returning to one in particular. It was a favourite of hers, painted by a local lady in acrylics. It was bright, vibrant, full of the colours of the sea and sand. Bryony had always felt it was very uplifting, a simple picture of little fishing boats but probably, she guessed, not from the English coast.

Now back to this man, his hair, very dark, wavy and mid length was combed back off his face. He had what looked like his ‘comfy jacket’ on, faded jeans and well-worn timberland boots. At that moment, he looked up at her. Bryony jumped, embarrassed that she had been caught staring. She started to fiddle and fuss with some cups and saucers, knocking a teaspoon onto the floor. He seemed to allow her a few minutes to compose herself, then came over to the café and sat at the nearest table to where Bryony was preparing Bacon, Brie and Cranberry Paninis

I would like a cappuccino, please, he asked with a smile.

Of course, I’ll bring it over, she answered, giving a little cough, how come her mouth had gone so dry?

Bryony busied herself foaming milk as the espresso trickled into the cup. She spooned the creamy foam onto it and topped it up with the piping hot milk. After sprinkling the cocoa powder on the top, she added an amaretto biscuit and a spoon to the saucer.

Bryony walked over to the table and placed the coffee down, she glanced at it and noticed the heart shaped design she had obviously subconsciously chosen to decorate the top with. A quick blush rushed to her cheeks, feeling flustered now and like some sort of teenager, she returned to her paninis and Mr ‘oh he must so be Italian’ started to read the theatre guide he had picked up. He left shortly afterwards, flashing her a warm smile, she collected his cup and the payment he had left on the table, which incidentally was far too much. A generous tip indeed, she thought to herself. What lovely (and too sexy for his own good) customers she had.

Later that month, Bryony and Cydney, Bryony’s daughter, were attending, as they had done many times before, a rugby match in which Bryony’s son was playing. He wore number ten and was considered a very competent fly half. His quick and intelligent play had seen many scouts approach him in the past for junior league teams. He still played for Bedford and this day, the match was with an eminent team from North London…it was set to be a corker.

Mother and daughter chose their viewpoint and settled themselves down to watch the game. From experience, a small flask of mulled wine and a good supply of chocolate was the best thing to keep you warm and energy levels up.

Bryony was proud of her son; he had grown up so much and was now quite the dashing man. His shoulders had broadened and he must stand at just shy of six feet tall. She had learnt to control her maternal instincts, not shouting abuse to the opponents when the play got aggressive and not to run onto the pitch when a tackle brought him down.

Her concentration wavered momentarily; she was looking across the playing field to where the opposing spectators stood. A familiar frame stood watching the play. A hand running through a shock of dark almost black hair. He had the same look of concentration on his face as when he was admiring the paintings the other week. Oh my, it’s Mr, oh he’s so gotta be Italian. What fun, she wondered who he was here to watch. She scanned the players and spotted a younger version, currently he was running down the far side of the pitch, hair flowing out behind him, his head down. Strong arms were gripping the all hard against his chest as he was powering up the field. With a clever dodge and final dive, he was over the touchline, his fist beating his chest.

The crowd cheered and Bryony burst into applause. A confused Cydney looked at her mum saying, Mum, that’s the other side!

Bryony giggled like a teenager and added, Oh, I realise that, I don’t know what came over me…he did work hard though, it was brilliant play.

Mr Oh So was looking their way and she knew, just knew he would come over. Even with her bulky coat on, a scarf wrapped around her neck and a hat suitable for a polar expedition, her auburn hair still escaped. He must have recognised her.

Sure enough, at the end of the game, the players going off for a well-deserved hot bath, he made his way over. The smile flashed again before he said, Hello, I don’t suppose that’s some of your delicious coffee in that flask?

Well, actually, bumbled Bryony, (Cydney at this point was shuffling away towards the clubhouse), it’s not, it’s this.

She opened the flask and popped it under his nose; he breathed deeply and was momentarily taken aback. Aromas of cinnamon, cloves, orange zest and a rich, velvety, full-bodied red rushed at his senses.

Wow, I didn’t expect that, they both laughed and with more ease, this time started to chat…about the weather, the game and their sons’ contribution to it. By the time they had reached the carpark, ‘Mr Oh’ had a name, it was Miles. He opened the door for her to get into her car and said, I would very much like to take you to the theatre next Friday. I know a small Italian restaurant where we could have a meal first…would you like that? Oh would I, she thought to herself but then answered.

I would, that sounds perfect, she accepted the little card with his phone number on, as she pulled the car door shut.

Bryony’s appearance had been likened to a grown up Pippi Longstockings. This was created by her love of bright colours, patterned tights in the winter and dungarees when she was lazing about at home. She was not at all perturbed that they had gone out of fashion several decades ago. She was very individual and had a personality to match her style, warm intelligent, funny and loving, much loved by the people who knew her and worked with her.

Friday night approached. Thankfully, Miles and Bryony had spoken on the phone several times, Bryony having built up the conference to call Miles on the number he’d given. Tonight was going to be special, this man knew a thing or two, there was a strange familiarity about their conversations, almost as if they’d been partners in a previous life, or were they just soulmates.

I shall go for elegant, she thought to herself. Bryony chose a figure-hugging black dress, one of several she owned. It had been required for her to attend many of the black-tie events and fundraisers she had organised, so she had a wardrobe for such occasions.

Bryony accessorised her favourite one with some colour, a turquoise bangle and necklace deciding against the fuchsia pink bower that had tumbled out of her wardrobe. She applied some subtle makeup, dark brown mascara to her already brown lashes that framed her blue-green eyes. Earlier, her trusty friend, who was a hairdresser, had tamed her normally wild and bouncy hair. She had confided in her about the evening ahead, her friend generously offered her services. Her friend, realising it must be important as it had been over two years since Bryony had accepted a date. She had stroked her full, soft, titian coloured hair into a French twist that hung over Bryony’s left shoulder. Bryony added a small glass bobble to the end, finishing the outfit off with black, patent heels.

A final glance in the mirror, her smile grinned back at her.

The gravel announced the arrival of a car. Grabbing a gold pashmina and a clutch bag, she went to the door, opened it and joined Miles at the car. A gent, how sweet, he stood with the car door open for her. She got in and they started their journey, not only a journey into town and the fun evening ahead but a journey that was going to continue through life. The road was twisty at time, both unsure of their destination sometimes; it was going to be a journey full of happiness, emotions and adventure.

You look radiant, said Miles. They sat in a small Italian restaurant waiting for their order to arrive. The starter of antipasti had been mouth-watering, now they were eager to sample the mushroom risotto that would be arriving next. This was to be followed by grilled turbot, served simply with a butter and caper sauce. A side order of a watercress and spinach salad finished their meal. They had eaten as the Italians do. The bottle of Franciacorta, a perfect match.

Bubbles make me giggle, said Bryony.

Good, said Miles, squeezing her hand gently.

However, this evening was not about the meal, or the play, it was about the connection they both felt to each other. After the coffee had been served, they were almost frustrated to move onto the theatre. It meant they would have to sit in silence, concentrating on something other than each other.

Amazingly, the play did capture their attention. They sat gently stroking each other’s hands and even stealing a small kiss. Their knees touched, the energy flowed instantly between them. They had laughed out loud at the same points, jumped at the staged surprises, tapped their feet and very discretely swayed at the musical interludes.

During the journey home, they chatted easily about the evening. Miles pulled onto the drive and turned to Bryony. With a smile she said, I’m going to say goodnight to you now. Noticing the smile had disappeared from his face, she told him that she wanted a little time to process not only the night, but her emotions. The time had gone so quickly, a closeness had developed within moments. Inside, she felt a little scared. He