their culinary efforts. Focused on that task, and with Eric out for the count, she snatched up her bag and keys, jumped into her car and headed over to the outskirts of Cirencester, home to – she’d been reliably informed by Anna – the biggest supermarket in the area.
Congratulating herself on finding her destination with only one wrong turn, Connie parked the car, wrestled out a trolley from the bay, and was on the verge of entering the shop when she noticed a black Porsche with red wheels parked up – almost certainly the same Porsche that had come close to flattening her and Eric earlier. It looked to be empty. A fortunate circumstance for the driver, because the mere sight of the vehicle had reignited her rage. Had he been present, all the anger she’d held back for Eric’s sake that morning would have been unleashed with interest.
Inside the supermarket, intent on her shopping, Connie threw her required items into the trolley, tossed in a few treats for Eric, added three bottles of Italian wine and three cartons of juice – to cover any “I don’t drink” eventualities – duly paid for her purchases, and was trundling back to the car when, a little way ahead, she noticed the Porsche gliding up one of the lanes, before stopping to allow an old lady to totter across. The ageing shopper safely at her destination, the vehicle continued on its route, passing Connie on the way. On the off-chance the driver might recognise her, she hastily arranged her features into a haughty expression for the split second it was driving by. Whether her efforts were in vain or not, she had no idea, because, along with the vulgar red wheels, the car also sported tinted windows – perfectly topping off the picture of pretention.
At six-fifty-two that evening, the doorbell chimed, causing Eric to vault two feet out of his basket – as usual – and Connie to vault two feet off her stool. In the ensuing hours since returning from the supermarket she’d worked herself into a tizzy, conjuring up all manner of depressing scenarios, like what if she burned something? Or what if she burned everything? Including Anna’s gorgeous house? And Anna had forgotten to take out insurance? And the fire engine couldn’t get through because of a herd of marauding cows on the road?
As soon as she answered the door, though, to find Melody beaming at her, a wave of calmness washed over her.
Connie’s first encounter with Melody had been in the newsagent’s, when she’d been out with Eric and had popped in to buy an ice cream.
‘Ah, here she is,’ Eleanor had declared from behind the counter. ‘What perfect timing. I was just telling Melody here about the cookery club and she’s very interested.’
Connie’s initial thought, as Melody had whipped around to her, had been one of astonishment. With her razor-sharp cheekbones, mane of shiny blonde hair and huge turquoise eyes, the woman was so stunning, she’d literally taken Connie’s breath away. And despite her lack of make-up, and her casual outfit of khaki combats and white T-shirt, she’d made Connie feel like something that had crawled out from under a mouldy stone. But the moment she’d smiled, Connie had warmed to her.
‘The club sounds great,’ she’d gushed, a west country lilt to her voice. ‘I’m not much of a cook, but I’m determined to get better.’
‘I’ve told her it’s all about learning,’ Eleanor had chipped in. ‘I’m no expert myself, but I enjoy a dabble. And at least you have someone to cook for, Melody.’ She turned to Connie. ‘Melody got married a few months ago.’
‘Oh. Right. Congratulations,’ Connie had offered.
Melody’s smooth velvety cheeks had flushed pink. ‘Thanks,’ she’d muttered, smile wavering somewhat.
‘So, I think she’d be a perfect candidate for the club,’ Eleanor had concluded. ‘What do you think, Connie?’
With Melody’s huge eyes gazing at her hopefully, Connie had been left with little option but to agree. Thankfully, though, all her instincts had told her Melody would be a welcome addition to the club. A sentiment reinforced by the woman’s evident excitement this evening – and the lovely bunch of cerise germinis and bottle of merlot she handed over.
‘Not very original. But I had no idea what to bring.’
‘You didn’t have to bring anything,’ Connie replied, accepting the gifts. ‘But thank you. The flowers are gorgeous. And I’m sure we can make good use of the wine. Come on in and I’ll pour us both a glass.’
‘Goodness, this all looks very professional,’ gasped Melody, upon reaching the kitchen and spotting all the measured-out ingredients in glass bowls, and the basket of veg waiting to be chopped. ‘It’s like something off the telly. And it’s doing nothing for my poor nerves. I’m really worried I’m going to be the dunce of the class.’
Connie laughed, gesturing to her guest to sit down on a stool at the island. ‘Don’t worry. It’s not a competition. It’s all about enjoying good food with like-minded people. To be honest, I’m a bit nervous myself. I’ve never done anything like this before.’
‘Really? You must be a pretty good cook, though.’
‘I don’t know about that.’ Connie set down the flowers and wine on the granite bench and began rooting around in the cupboards for a vase. ‘I’m a complete amateur but I love it. It’s been a passion of mine since I was a child.’
‘You’re lucky,’ puffed Melody. ‘I’m twenty-seven and I still haven’t found my passion.’
Mid rummage, Connie cocked an enquiring eyebrow at the obvious regret in her guest’s tone. By the time she turned back to her, though, Eric had made his presence known, peeping out from behind the sofa where he’d taken refuge immediately after the trauma of the chiming doorbell.
‘Hello, gorgeous,’ gushed Melody, sliding off her stool and scurrying over to him. ‘What’s your name?’
She was deprived of the chance to find out as the bell rang again, and Eric once again took refuge.
‘Evening, Melody,’ exclaimed Eleanor, marching into the room behind Connie a few seconds later. ‘Good to see you.’
‘And you,’ said Melody, returning to her stool. ‘Have you had a busy day in the shop?’
‘Busy doesn’t cover it,’ puffed Eleanor, placing the bottle of wine she’d been carrying onto the island top before tugging off her cardigan. ‘Up until ten minutes ago, it was looking increasingly likely that I wouldn’t be able to make it tonight. Problem with the ice-cream supplier. I’ve only just finished a fifty-minute call to them. Honestly, it’s times like this when I wonder if I’m not too old for this newsagent malarkey. If I shouldn’t just sell up and retire to Benidorm.’
‘Don’t you dare,’ protested Melody. ‘Yours is one of the few friendly faces I’ve seen in almost a year of living here. In fact, when Malcolm’s away on business, yours is sometimes the only friendly face I see all day.’
‘Don’t tell me that. How can I go and collapse on a sunlounger and sip pina coladas all day now, knowing no one is talking to you here?’
‘You can’t,’ giggled Melody. ‘Which is why you have to stay.’
‘Ah. Not necessarily. Connie’s here now. And she has a very friendly face.’
‘But she’s not staying. The lucky thing is only here temporarily.’
Connie laughed as, having located a vase and filled it from the tap, she began arranging the flowers. ‘Surely it’s not that bad here.’
Melody gave a contemptuous snort. ‘Obviously you haven’t encountered the Residents’ Committee yet.’
‘No. I haven’t.’ Pleased with the arrangement of blooms, Connie placed the vase on the windowsill before moving back to the island and cracking open the bottle of merlot Melody had brought.
‘You’d know if you had,’ said Eleanor. ‘They’re like Rottweilers, ready to pounce on anyone who disobeys the screeds of rules they conjure up from nowhere. Wait until you read