As Connie negotiated her way through Accra airport, she wondered, not for the first time, precisely what she was doing here. It was mid July, and Ric had been gone from Holby for about a month, and yet now here she was, on her way to find him. She didn't really know what had propelled her in his direction, it was simply a spur of the moment decision that she would either come to appreciate or to regret. She tried not to dwell on the exact circumstances of her making such a decision, as Ric would no doubt drag that out of her in due course. Collecting the one bag she'd brought with her, she made her way outside to look for something resembling a cab. As she was driven towards the hospital where she knew he now worked, she began to pray that he wouldn't be too shocked to see her. It was incredibly presumptuous of her to assume that he would give her somewhere to stay while she was here, but when did Connie Beauchamp ever do anything without a little bit of risk taking.
As Ric emerged from his last operation of the day, he felt tired but happy. These last few weeks, ever since he'd come back to Ghana, had been the best he'd had in a long time. He was finally able to do the job he'd been trained for, without all the necessary politics that had been part and parcel of it back in England. As he strode down the corridor to his cluttered office, one of the male nurses called out to him. "Mr. Griffin, there's a lady waiting for you in your office. She's, er, very pretty." Breaking into a broad smile as the prospect of a beautiful female, Ric thanked him and flung open the door. "You're not wrong," He said, in response to the nurse's assertion that this lady was very pretty. Sitting in the chair behind his desk, offering him a slightly tentative smile, was Connie. Blinking just to make sure he wasn't dreaming, Ric moved into the room and closed the door. "This is a nice surprise," He said, as she rose from his chair and moved towards him. "Is it?" She asked, now unsure as to whether she should have come here. "Yes," He assured her. "Though I suppose that does depend on why you're here. It's a long way from Holby after all." "I was hoping you might give me a bed for a few days, preferably yours," She said with the barest hint of a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "Though if your answer's no, I'm sure I could find somewhere to stay." "Of course you can stay with me," He replied, seeing something different in her face, something uncertain, something that told him that everything wasn't as it should be with her. "Are you all right?" He asked, briefly laying a hand on her shoulder. "Fine," She said very unconvincingly. "Just tired. It was a long flight." "Can you wait here," He asked her. "Just while I check up on a couple of patients, and then we can go home. One of the nicest things about this place is that I can actually leave at the end of a working day and forget about it." Connie smiled, seeing the first signs of genuine contentment in his face, something she hadn't ever seen in him back in Holby.
After seeing the patients he needed to see, Ric returned to his office to collect Connie, and they walked out to his car. "Is that all you brought with you?" He asked in astonishment, glancing at the one, solitary bag, containing nothing more than a few hurriedly chosen clothes and other bare essentials. "A woman who goes away with less than the kitchen sink, I'm impressed." "Well, as I left in something of a hurry, clothes didn't really seem important." Then, when she caught sight of the smirk he couldn't quite suppress at the thought of Connie going completely without clothes, she added, "and get your mind out of the gutter." "You were the one who said you wanted my bed for a few days," He quipped back as they reached his car. "All I'm doing is living up to your wish." The soft laugh that emanated from her seemed to make them both relax, breaking the tension that had existed until now, and putting them back on the flirtatious, argumentative footing that was vaguely familiar to both of them. Ric didn't attempt to persuade her to tell him why she was here, because he knew this would come out when she was ready and not before. But he could see that something big had happened, something that had seriously upset her, which in itself was worrying, because not much usually managed to pierce that toughened exterior of hers. They were silent for a while as they drove through the capital city of Ghana, with all the windows open to let in what little air there was, the hot, humid weather being almost dense enough to touch. "The other wonderful thing about being out here," Ric said, breaking their contented silence. "Is that apart from the usual taxes, I get to keep my entire salary." "Ah yes," Connie said in languid appreciation. "The avoidance of one's creditors must seem a blessed relief." "You're not kidding," Ric said ruefully, thinking that it would be an enormous pleasure to take a beautiful woman out for dinner, and actually be in a position to pay for it.
When they reached his house, Connie just stared in open-mouthed astonishment. They were on the outskirts of the city, and in front of them was a very pretty, one-story dwelling made almost entirely of wood, raised up a little from ground level. The road they were on led to the back of the small property, where there was room for just one car. Leading the way, Ric walked round to the other side of the little house, where wooden steps led up to a porch that contained a long, comfortable-looking wicker seat. But what almost took Connie's breath away, was the small stretch of very sparse grass that led down to the endless golden sand of the beach that began literally feet from his front door. Turning to look out to sea, Connie thought she could get lost in a view like that, with the early evening sun making jewels in the spray that drifted up on the air. "Incredible, isn't it," Ric said quietly, breaking in on her reverie and moving to join her, placing a gentle arm around her shoulders. "Yes," She said in wonder. "It's beautiful." "Nothing brings more peace to the soul, than the sound of the gently lapping waves," He said softly, the words flowing over her just as the waves were caressing the sand. "Maybe that's what I need," Connie said equally quietly, still not looking at him, and thinking that she had definitely made the right decision in coming here.
He took her that evening to a little restaurant about ten minutes drive down the coast, where they ate beautifully cooked fish with sweet potatoes and salad. Connie was on her second glass of chilled white wine, when she finally decided to raise the subject of why she was there. Ric had been immensely patient with her, and it had paid off. Whether as a result of his simple acceptance of her being here, or the wine she had consumed, she was beginning to relax, to feel the tension gradually seeping out of her. "I suppose you're wondering why I'm here," She said, taking a sip from her glass. "I knew if I waited long enough you'd tell me," Ric said quietly, having been quite content to let her do this in her own time. "I needed to get out of Holby, just for a while," She said evasively. "You could say that I needed to step off life, if that doesn't sound too melodramatic." "I think we all need to do that from time to time," Ric said thoughtfully, wondering what had given her such an urge. "I think if I'd stayed there, I would be doing time for the odd murder by now." "That bad?" Ric asked, spearing a piece of sweet potato, before munching on it as he waited for her answer. "I caught Michael in bed with Chrissie," She said eventually, feeling a little stupid at how pathetic her reason for flying really sounded. "Ouch," Ric said in heartfelt sympathy. "She certainly gets around." "Well, I can't exactly talk, can I," Connie said disgustedly. Then, at Ric's slightly uncomfortable expression, she said, "Oh, don't look like that, I'm not stupid. I am well aware that my numerous exploits with various registrars are fairly common gossip by now." "That doesn't mean that you don't have the right to feel hurt over Chrissie," Ric said quietly, knowing that something like this was always different when it happened to oneself. "I shouldn't though, should I," Connie said bitterly. "I know that Michael strays, and he knows I do, that's just the way we've always been. On a particularly good day, you'll even find us talking about it afterwards." "I do hope you didn't do that after your little tryst with me," Ric said with a slight frown. "No, though the urge to do so was almost unbearably tempting," She said with a wicked little smirk. "But I didn't want to make him feel in any way inferior." Ric couldn't help laughing, the backhanded compliment giving his tattered ego an enormous boost. Connie smiled, finding the sound of his full-bodied laugh intoxicating. "The point is," She said, the serious expression returning to her face. "He broke one of our rules. We don't have many, but they're all important: Don't get involved with anyone who could cause any unwanted hassle; Certainly don't bring home anything resembling a dodgy disease; Don't bring someone home when the other is likely to appear unannounced; and do not fraternise with each other's staff." "It sounds almost too good to be true," Ric observed mildly. "That's the point, it worked, up until this, because we both liked it like that. I could have just about dealt with coming home to find him with someone I didn't know, but not Chrissie, not someone I see and work with every day. That just felt as though he was purposefully trying to humiliate me." She'd said this last part a little more quietly, as if this revelation had only just occurred to her. "Do you think that's really why he did it?" Ric asked gently, thinking that there was probably no doubt on this point. "Yes, more than likely," Connie admitted gloomily. "Because it would put me firmly back in my place, and keep me well and truly under his thumb." She finished this statement in a tone of such bitterness, that Ric laid a gentle hand over one of hers, where it rested on the tablecloth.
"Connie, what did you really come here for?" He asked her seriously. "Other than to take a long overdue break?" "To tell you that you were right," She said miserably, her eyes finally rising to meet his. "And to tell you that I hate you for it," She added with a wan smile, giving his hand a tentative squeeze to show she didn't really mean it. "There's got to be a first time for everything, I suppose," Ric said with widening eyes, never having expected any such protestation from her. If there was one thing he would never have thought Connie Beauchamp capable of, it was abandoning her pride and admitting she'd been wrong. "Why, Ric," She asked him in despair, feeling pitifully small as the tears rose unbidden to her eyes. "Why did you have to be right about him? I've been married to him for nearly eighteen years, yet even though he's done this to me before, I still couldn't see it. Manipulating people is the one thing that gives him an even bigger kick than sex, so you could say I learned from the best. It's what he does, waits for me to achieve recognition in some new hospital, lets me get settled, with the people I manage doing things my way, and then he crawls his way onto the board, making me think he can influence decisions right and left. He'll even let me think I was behind a few of them. He'll build me up time and time again, and then he'll pull the rug out from under me, and make me look as stupid and ineffectual as possible, until the hospital can't wait to pass me onto somewhere else. Every single time I fall for it, and all I'm ever left with is Michael, because he's the only one who can ever save my professional bacon, and keep my reputation vaguely in tact." Seeming to run out of steam, she stopped, wondering just where all that had come from. Ric surely didn't want to know all this, and all it would have done was to give him a hold over her, a weakness whose existence he would never let her forget.
Ric simply sat and watched her, none of what she'd said having surprised him in the least. He had wondered just how far Michael's influence went with Connie, and it didn't shock him in the least that he managed to maintain such a successful control on his wife. He could also see how much Connie had needed to say all this, perhaps for longer than he had even known her. But she hadn't entirely given way. He could see the tears shining in those enormous, violet eyes, but she was almost pathologically determined not to let them fall. Obviously wanting to avoid his scrutiny, she dug in her handbag, and emerged with a lighter and a packet of cigarettes. "Can I smoke in here?" She asked, her eyes straying around them looking for something telling her no. "Yes, I should think so," He said, leaning over to the empty table beside them and removing its ashtray, putting it down where her plate had been. Funny, but they'd been so engrossed in their conversation that they hadn't even noticed their plates being removed. She didn't ask if he minded, simply expecting him to tell her if he did, which he didn't. "Tom Campbell-Gore would have my head for saying this to a heart surgeon," He said, as she lit up and took a long drag. "But it suits you." "I'll remember that, the next time I'm doing a triple bypass," She said, letting out a short laugh with the exhalation of smoke. "You know," She said, continuing from where they'd left off. "Whenever we get someone in who's been beaten up by their husband, part of me usually despises them if they don't want to leave, because I like to think that I wouldn't put up with anything like that in a million years. But Michael's just as bad in some respects, except that he goes about it in a far more devious and calculating way. Michael wouldn't demean himself by being systematically violent to me, but that doesn't make him any less lethal. I'm sorry," She said, flicking the ash off her cigarette. "You really don't want to hear all this." "It's all right," He said, topping up her glass. "You obviously need to say it."