'Welcome to my exceedingly humble home' Ric commented as he let them in, deciding to pre-empt Connie's inevitable amazement that anyone could earn what she knew he did and still live in a bed sit in the nasty side of town. It would save them both a great deal of awkwardness that they could entirely do without.

'It's fine' Connie told him, feeling surprisingly at home in the small, slightly dingy flat 'at least its clean'

'Yes, I allowed myself the extravagance of a cleaner once before I came back to make the place habitable' he nodded 'I haven't had a chance to mess it up yet'

'Fair enough' Connie nodded, not moving from her position of standing awkwardly in the hall, clutching her handbag, unsure what the etiquette for this particular situation was. At some point on the short drive between the pub and Ric's flat, it had occurred to her that Ric Griffin might be the man to provide her with the comfort she so badly needed. She knew with utter certainty that Michael wouldn't want to know – his reaction to advances made by his wife had long been "Sex? Wouldn't you rather have another zero on your budget and I'll go and see my secretary?" – and from what she recalled, Ric was much better in bed than Michael could ever hope to be anyway. As soon as the idea entered her mind, she became tense, nervous about where it would lead, wanting him and not wanting him at the same time, and now, standing in the living room of his frankly unimpressive flat, her discomfort had reached whole new heights. She was caught between jumping him then and there and running like hell in the opposite direction.

'Drink?' Ric asked eventually, stepping beyond her and into the small kitchen in one corner of the room

'Please' she nodded, deciding that the third option of having the drink as intended was certainly the safest

'Sit down' Ric gestured at the lumpy sofa and grimaced 'its more comfortable than it looks'

'Mmm' she murmured, not wanting to comment one way or the other as a spring dug viciously into her back

'Well drink this – it tastes like paint stripper but I guarantee you'll forget whatever it is that's worrying you' Ric raised his glass and downed the drink, letting out a raspy breath as the liquid flowed through his system.

'Jesus' Connie gasped as she drink hit her system and she felt instantly light headed 'what on earth is that?'

'Meths' Ric laughed quietly 'but you feel better, don't you?'

'A little' she admitted cautiously as he poured her another

'So, do you want to talk about it?' he enquired so casually he may as well have been asking if she took milk in her tea

'Talk about what?' she avoided the question expertly, a skill gleaned from years of dodging thorny issues within her marriage

'Whatever it is that's getting to you…' he paused for a moment 'is it Michael?'

'Not entirely. I admit he has been less than cooperative lately' she paused to collect her thoughts 'he wasn't the cause of what happened earlier…'

'So what was the cause?' Ric asked, not considering that she might not appreciate the question – he knew he was prying but also knew she would probably feel better for sharing whatever it was that was eating her

'It's complicated' she replied 'I don't want to talk about it'

'I think you need to talk to someone' Ric told her firmly 'I don't care one way or the other if its me or someone else but you must talk to someone – I don't know what's going on but I know if something's getting to you and you keep it bottled up, it will send you mad. I think it was not talking about my problems during my marriage to my first wife that started me gambling'

'I feel no desire whatsoever to bet a months mortgage on a horse in the three thirty' she retorted cagily

'No, but you'll happily drink yourself into a stupor before your first hangover has lifted' he remarked 'mid-afternoon drinking is not the sign of a person who is content'

'Nor is bankrupting yourself in the vain pursuit of a high that doesn't last longer than a single race' she retorted angrily but he simply smiled

'I didn't say it was' he shrugged 'come on Connie, talk to me and I promise you faithfully that it will go no further than these four walls'

'Do you have any wine?' she asked slowly 'because it's a really long story. I don't think I'll get through it without significant quantities of alcohol, and before you say it, I'm not an alcoholic, I'm just stressed, but I think if we drink this for much longer, we'll both have passed out before I've told you much' she realised she was waffling and firmly shut her mouth, watching as Ric wordlessly got up and produced a bottle of surprisingly good quality red wine from a bag by the door and placed it in front of her with two glasses

'Duty free' he said by way of explanation 'help yourself'

'Thanks' she nodded and poured a large glass 'I don't really know where to start'

'How about the beginning' Ric suggested gently and she nodded in agreement

'I don't really know where the beginning is any more' she said quietly, nibbling her lip thoughtfully for a moment 'I suppose this little episode started last night…' she took a deep breath and prepared to tell Ric the story of her life

Two hours later, Ric held Connie in his arms as she finally slipped into a restless sleep, exhausted from consuming too much alcohol and crying too many tears. In his heart, Ric had known that there was more to Connie Beauchamp than merely the brittle exterior that she displayed, but he had to admit he could never have imagined what she'd told him between mouthfuls of wine and, when she reached the critical but most painful part, sobs that wracked her whole body.

She told him about her childhood. Her mother had died when she was very small, although of what, the details were sketchy – Connie was far too young to remember and her family weren't great talkers. He had to admit that when Connie had told him about her mother he hadn't been surprised that as a child, she lacked female influence. To watch her strut through the wards and deal with people, there was something very masculine about her manner. He'd always thought it was simply her attitude but now he saw – Connie had been one of the boys for her entire life. She was never allowed to be just a little girl. Furthermore, at a young age, she had become expert at manipulating her father and brothers, not to obtain things but to avoid taking the brunt of their anger. It was a talent that had grown rather than diminished in her adult life.

As a teenager, Connie was bullied by virtually the whole school. She was as far as everyone else was concerned, the gawky looking girl with no mother and more brains than she knew what to do with. She came top of every class and was effortlessly the best hockey player the school had ever seen but instead of admiring her talent, the other children felt threatened by her and made her suffer for their inadequacies. As soon as she'd told him, Ric understood why she behaved as she did, especially with Zubin. As far as she was concerned, Zubin felt threatened by her because she was better at her job than he was at his, and that made him just like the playground bullies in her eyes. Except this time, she was the one holding all the cards.

It was only when she was sixteen that life started to look up for Connie. She started sixth form with a crop of A's under her belt, finally got rid of her braces and convinced her father, a man who thought his daughter unworthy of his attention, to allow her the luxury of replacing the glasses that her mother had bought before she died, that had been held together by a plaster since she was ten. Walking into the classroom on her first day in sixth form, she seemed to have grown three inches over the summer and for the first time, her classmates saw her as a person not a punch bag. Two great things happened to Connie that day – her classmates started to acknowledge her with something resembling friendliness and she met Phil Harding.

It was at this point in the story that she'd grown tearful and told him she didn't think she could go on but gently he had coaxed the events of the following two years from her, just as stunned by what she told him as she had predicted he would be.

For the first time in her life, when Phil had walked into the classroom that day, Connie had been noticed. He was different to all the other boys in the town purely by virtue of the fact that he harboured ambitions greater than simply joining his father on the boats and didn't carry his brains around in his trousers. As Connie looked at him, with jeans and a black leather jacket, much smarter versions of her brothers' shared "pulling" outfit, she thought she'd found her kindred spirit. She wanted to get out, he wanted to get out, and together, they might just succeed.

For nine months, it was perfect. For the first, and possibly last time in her life, Connie was truly happy. They did absolutely everything together, from the moment she arrived at his house in the morning for breakfast, choosing to leave the house with her brothers at the crack of dawn over waiting in with her father, to the moment she crept in, far later than her father or brothers would have approved of, and went to bed, longing for the moment she could wake up and see him again.

It was at Easter that two things happened to threaten their happiness. Number one; Phil got offered the chance to pursue his dream of moving to London and completing an apprenticeship in plastering. Number two; Rosie Lambert moved to town. Connie and Rosie had hated each other on sight. Rosie was the one thing that Connie was threatened by. She was beautiful and she knew it. The moment she strolled into the pub with her long dyed blonde hair, endless legs and clothes that left nothing to the imagination, she shot a fatal bullet into the heart of their relationship. Phil hadn't been able to take his eyes off her that evening and for the next couple of months, it was abundantly clear that given the option, Phil would happily trade in his plain but fiercely intelligent girlfriend for the eye-catching barmaid. Connie thought she was losing him when he elected to go to the pub alone rather than stay in with her while she studied in a desperate attempt to obtain the A grades she needed. Connie knew she was losing him when he suggested that she dye her hair blonde and bought a pink mini-skirt and tight top for her birthday, despite her hatred for such garments and the heavy hints she had dropped for the knock off Doc Martin boots they had seen on the market in town. Connie knew she had lost him when she saw him and Rosie Lambert getting to know each other better than they should have behind the pub one night when she abandoned her studies in favour of surprising him.

At that point in the story, she had began to mumble, a mixture of shame and alcohol making her barely comprehensible, but Ric had encouraged her to persevere, straining to hear every word she uttered. He had removed the wine from her, both of them knowing that she had drunk quite enough, and he had taken her in his arms, holding her and whispering soothing reassurances to her as she continued.

She told him how where a thirty-seven year old Connie would have absorbed the sight of her boyfriend kissing the local bike and used the information to make his life immeasurably miserable, seventeen year old Connie had neither the sophistication nor the desire to be so cunning. Instead, she confronted him outright, telling him with a quiet rage that she wanted nothing more to do with him. Then she left and for the next two months, she waited, feeling certain that he would realise his terrible mistake and beg her to take him back. He didn't. Instead, word returned via the school grapevine that Phil had accepted his place on the apprenticeship and would be taking Rosie to London with him. At that point, it was Connie's turn to beg. She promised him that she'd change, that she would abandon her studies to come to London and even dyed her hair blonde, but no joy. He and Rosie had gone to London three weeks later leaving Connie stranded in Scotland and heartbroken.

She had thrown herself into her studies, despite her father's assertion that she was going to University over his dead body. She had applied to medical school regardless, deciding she would tackle her father if and when the need arose. In the end, a heavy storm had taken the discussion from both their hands. Her brothers had been out on the boat alone when a fierce storm whipped up and her father, panicked at the mere thought of losing his sons and being left with only his nonentity of a daughter, took the second boat and went to find them. Her brothers returned cold, wet and unscathed the next morning. Her father wasn't so lucky. On the same day as they gave up the search for her father, Connie received her offer for medical school in London and accepted it without question. The grades were the easy part of getting to University, broaching the issue with her father was the part she was dreading and now she didn't have to. That September, she told her brothers she was going and went and she hadn't been back since.

After a couple of hours on the sofa with Connie dozing lightly in his arms, Ric decided his back could take no more. Slowly he slid out from beneath her, desperate not to disturb the sleep she so badly needed. Leaving her asleep on the sofa, he went to the bathroom and quickly performed his bedtime routine, having a quick blast under the shower to remove the grime of a morning spent on a plane, an afternoon spent having various disagreements and an evening comforting a distraught woman, brushing his teeth and pulling on a t-shirt and boxers. Only then did he return to the living room, listening to her alcohol fuelled sleep with a small smile on his face. It occurred to him briefly as he watched her sleep that if someone had told him twenty four hours ago that he would be feeling affection towards Connie Beauchamp, he would have called them insane, but now he thought he probably understood her better than anyone else. She freely admitted that Michael knew nothing of her childhood and without that information, it was all to easy to dislike Connie Beauchamp and write her off as one of life's unpleasant people. He had been guilty of that himself but now he saw that he was wrong – she wasn't bad, she had been dealt a rough hand in her early life and it had left its mark on her adult self.

Gently he slid his arms around her sleeping form, one under her neck, one under her knees and she wrapped her arms around his neck, allowing him to carry her gently into the bedroom and lie her on the bed where she fell immediately back into a deep sleep. For a few moments, he stood, watching the little movements she made, obviously in the midst of a dream. She was, he had to admit, beautifully peaceful when she slept. Looking at her now, you would think that butter wouldn't melt. He was certainly having difficulty reconciling her sleeping form with Holby's great leader, a woman who would use you soon as look at you and was known for expertly manipulating even the strongest men until they crumbled.

Eventually he climbed in beside her, wrapping his arms around her, and she responded to his touch, moulding her body to his and gripping his hands tightly in her own, an unconscious bid to keep him close to her. Gently, he leaned his head on her shoulder, breathing her unique smell of cigarettes, exotic perfume and a hint of antiseptic that lingered from the hours she spent in theatre. This was the Connie he had met on his first day, the woman who disappeared without trace the moment they finished sleeping together. When he met this Connie for a brief time in his office the previous June, he thought that he had finally met his match. When she changed beyond recognition, he knew that he hadn't; as Zubin said, she was out of his league. But tonight as she lay beside him, having revealed to him things she had never told even her husband, it suddenly seemed like a much more level playing field.

When she stirred the next morning, Ric was already awake on his third coffee of the day, the jetlag beginning to take its toll on him. At first, he didn't realise she was waking, assuming the quiet mumbles that Michael would have recognised as her gently coming round were simply her making noises in her sleep. It was only when she murmured morning in a voice thick with sleep and hangover did he realise that she was back in the land of the living.

'Morning' he stroked her hair affectionately as she dragged herself up the bed to face him 'sleep well?'

'Mmm' she nodded and then winced at him, as if she'd only just noticed that he wasn't Michael 'what am I doing here?'

'We bumped into each other' he shrugged 'the pub was a dump'

'Right' she nodded, wincing as her head remembered that it existed and started to pound slowly. Lately she had forgotten what it was to wake up without a hangover.

'Tea?' he gestured towards the kettle and busied himself with mugs and tea bags, anticipating her answer

'Worth a try' she agreed, gingerly attempting to stand up 'don't suppose you have any alka seltzer in the house…'

'Bathroom cupboard, second shelf' he grinned, handing her a glass of water as she padded past in search of painkillers and something to settle her stomach. He listened to two dull 'plops' as the tablets fell into the water followed by a fizzing noise and then Connie shudder as the drink hit her system and she struggled to keep it down.

'Better?' he enquired as she padded out again, her face already a healthier colour

'A little' she nodded and slumped down on one of the hard metal chairs in the kitchen, tentatively sipping her tea and finding to her relief that she was able to keep it down 'what did I tell you last night?'

'You don't remember?' he asked gently as she winced slightly

'I was rather hoping I was wrong' she told him slowly 'I told you everything, didn't I?'

'I think so' Ric nodded 'but I promise you, I won't tell a soul and I'll never mention it again'

'Thank you' she gave a small smile 'it does feel a little better to get it off my chest'

'That's good' he smiled, not about to insult her by saying anything has childish as "I told you so"

'I should get going' she peered at her watch 'Michael will be going spare as it is. The later it gets, the more pissed off he becomes'

'Here' Ric pulled the keys to her car from his pocket and handed them to her 'I didn't want you doing a moonlight flit on me, especially as you were in no condition to drive'

'Thanks Ric' she him another smile, brighter this time 'if you want… I mean I doubt you can realistically afford to be not working for any length of time and I'm a general surgeon down at the hospital. If you're interested, come in and see me'

'I'll bear that in mind' he nodded, knowing that he would be there before the day was out. If she required a general surgeon, it suggested she intended on having a general surgery ward.

'Do' she nodded as she padded slowly off and returned, two minutes later, fully clothed 'thanks for last night'

'Any time' he said sincerely 'I'm always at the other end of the phone'

'Thanks' she nodded and then leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek, gently prising him away as he attempted to kiss her mouth

'Don't spoil things Ric' she whispered 'I need you too much as a friend to risk it for a kiss'

'Fair enough' Ric nodded as she squeezed his hand and let herself out, leaving him wondering when his flat started feeling so empty without her.