It was about a fortnight since Connie had returned to England. It wasn't just her tan that people had noticed about her having been away, because it wasn't just her appearance that had changed. At a glance, Connie Beauchamp was the same as she ever had been, but should anyone choose to look that little bit closer, they would catch a glimpse of a wistfulness, a longing deep in her eyes to be somewhere else. This desire to be anywhere other than where she actually was, only surfaced when she thought nobody was looking, when her thoughts would stray back to that house by the beach where she'd been able to leave her life behind. She and Michael had lived a vaguely polite existence since her return from Ghana, only speaking to each other when absolutely necessary, and sleeping on the very edges of their bed at night, almost as though they were afraid of touching each other. Michael knew precisely where she'd been, because he had only needed to ask a couple of pertinent questions to find out. He could also sense her persistent longing to be back there, which didn't improve his mood in the slightest.
So, this state of half awareness had gone on for just over two weeks, with Connie doing her job and nothing more. If Michael were otherwise engaged in the evenings, which were becoming more and more common these days, she would either find herself staying at work, or sitting at home, listening to the soppiest music imaginable. She knew she was being stupid, but she simply couldn't help it. Every night in her dreams she was back on that beach, or in that house, or in that bed, and it was always a bitter disappointment to wake up and find that she was really back in England. She was sitting at her desk on this particular Friday afternoon, going through the day's post with very little real enthusiasm. So much for a hot summer, she thought to herself, hearing the pattering of rain on the window. But as she reached for the next envelope in the stack, she was immediately flooded with the feelings of contentment that being in Ghana had produced in her. This letter, though it felt thicker than a letter, was from Ric, giving the return address of his little house on the beach where he'd briefly made her so happy.
"Connie,
It's Thursday evening, and I'm sitting out on the porch, writing to you, and to Jess. It's funny, but this place has almost felt empty without you the last few days, even the snake keeps coming back to look for you. God knows what you talked to her about, but she must have found it comforting.
Connie, I'm writing to you because I want to know that you're still alive, and though it might be a tall order, I would like to know that you're happy. You were extremely unhappy when you came out here to me, and I hadn't seen you so bewildered or thrown off course since Will died. I think you went away a little more together than you were when you arrived, though I'm also willing to bet that some things were made worse, not better. I don't regret a single minute of your time here, and I don't want you to either. Above all, Connie, I want you to know that should you need it in the future, your retreat is always here, in its entirety. We all need some form of retreat from time to time, and should you find further use for it, yours is here.
The little reminder that you left for me is very much appreciated. The smell of a woman's perfume can conjure up so many memories, and this is no less so because of the unusual nature of your visit. I suspect you will read this, and want to tell me to grow up and stop being so adolescent, in fact I can hear you saying it, but my bed feels unsatisfactorily empty without you. I can remember every delicious thing I did to you while you were here, and I think the taste of every inch of your body is indelibly printed in my mind. Every time I swim out to the rock, I want to tell you about my day, and have you tell me about yours.
I'm sorry, when I start to wax lyrical, I do get a bit carried away. To perhaps give you a fond reminder of your stay, I have enclosed some photographs, though if I were you, I wouldn't get them out at work. I can't do what you did, I can't capture the smell of the sea or the feel of the spray in a bottle, so I hope these will suffice.
Connie, please take care of yourself,
Ric."
Only when the tap came on her office door, did Connie realise that she was crying. Flattening one hand over the letter and reaching for a tissue with the other, she bade the person to enter. It was Tricia who, on seeing Connie in such an unexpected state, came in and closed the door. "Connie, are you all right?" She asked, laying the patient files she'd brought with her on the desk. "Fine," Connie replied stonily, scrubbing at her face and not meeting Tricia's eyes. "Oh, and I'm still twenty-five," Tricia said disbelievingly. "What's happened?" "Tricia, do you ever wish that you were somewhere else?" Connie asked. "That you'd give absolutely anything to be anywhere but here?" "In this job, frequently," Tricia said with a smile. "Why, do you wish you were back in wherever you got that suntan?" "Stupid, isn't it," Connie said disgustedly, hardly unable to believe she was confiding in one of her staff. "No, it's not," Tricia said seriously. "We all need a dream, something we can work towards. If we didn't, I think we'd all give up." "I felt so different when I was out there," Connie said thoughtfully. "As though all the bad had miraculously gone out of me." "You went to see Ric, didn't you," Tricia said, quickly glancing at the envelope the letter had come in. "Yes," Connie replied, not remotely ashamed of it. "And it was the best few days I think I've ever had." "Can I read it?" Tricia asked, gesturing at the letter. Thinking that she'd probably already burned all her boats of respect from her subordinates, Connie handed it over. Sitting down in the chair in front of Connie's desk, Tricia read it in silence.
"Ric always did have a way with words," Tricia said after reading it. "And he's right, we all do need a retreat, even if it's only in here," She added, gesturing to Connie's forehead. "Somewhere you can go when everything gets a bit much. When I was going through Chemo, I'd have gone insane if I hadn't had my own form of retreat to think about." "Oh, god, Tricia, I'm sorry," Connie said in abject contrition. "All I'm going through is an identity crisis, nothing compared to what you went through last year." "Everything's relative, Connie," Tricia told her gently. "Everyone finds different things easier to handle. You might be quite matter-of-fact over something like breast cancer, yet finding your husband in bed with my daughter, seems to have sent you right off the rails." "Did she tell you?" Connie asked ruefully, thinking that this was why she had always liked Tricia, her absolutely no nonsense approach to everything that came her way. "She didn't have to," Tricia replied with a sardonic smile. "I always know with Chrissie. She's just like her mother in some respects. Only it isn't just that, is it," She added kindly. "If I know anything about you, Connie, Chrissie's probably got very little to do with this. It's more about realising just how much Michael is prepared to use your position here, isn't it." "You're very perceptive," Connie said in surprise. "It's not exactly difficult to work it out," Tricia said gently. "You can see it a mile off." Connie was quiet, not really knowing what to say. Confiding in anyone, least of all another woman, was a completely new experience for her. God, just what had Ric reduced her to?
Seeing that Connie obviously didn't want to talk about Michael, Tricia reached for the envelope. "What pictures did he send you?" "I haven't looked," Connie said with a slight smile, grateful for the change in conversation. Removing the photographs from the envelope, Tricia first found a couple of shots of Ric's house. "I can definitely see why you didn't want to come back," She said, gazing at the house and a snapshot of the view out to sea. "All you can hear at night is the waves," Connie said almost dreamily. "It's almost as though you're on a desert island." The next picture Tricia drew out of the envelope brought a laugh from her. Swiftly taking it from her, Connie inwardly cursed Ric when she saw what it was. It was one of the ones he'd taken of her when she'd been sunbathing naked. Privately thinking that she looked incredible, sprawled so languidly on the sand, Connie turned it face down on the desk. The last picture was one of the snake, basking in the heat, and completely unaware that its image was being captured. "That snake adopted Ric because he gives her water," Connie explained. "It frightened the bloody life out of me the first time I saw it." "Trust Ric to live with something that could finish him off with just one bite," Tricia said ruefully. Then, turning serious again, she said, "Keep these pictures safe," She said, putting them and the letter back into the envelope. "Then, whenever everything gets too hard to cope with, take them out, and remember what it felt like to really be happy." Briefly touching Connie's hand, Tricia got up and left, privately thinking that Mr. Michael Beauchamp could certainly do with such stiff competition as Connie's retreat could obviously provide.
A good while later when Connie left her office, she felt altogether more sorted out. She had to get on with her life, not continually lament what she didn't have. Besides, nothing was stopping her from taking Ric up on his offer any time in the future, and nothing was stopping her from sorting things out with Michael, one way or the other. As she walked down the corridor towards the lift, she was approached by Zubin. "Jess received a letter from Ric today," He said by way of a greeting. "I was wondering if she was the only one." "Trying to goad me, Professor Khan?" She asked him, seeing that he was clearly trying to make her feel left out. "Because you must admit, this is a pretty pathetic attempt at it. Yes, I did hear from Mr. Griffin today, and utterly enchanting photographs they were too." "Photographs of what?" Zubin asked, his curiosity outweighing his sense of forthcoming humiliation. "Well, now, wouldn't that be telling," She teased him, giving him a lazy wink to further fuel his inquisitive nature. But as she walked passed him, clearly meaning the conversation to be over, his voice accosted her. "Keep his bed warm out there, did you?" Glancing at him over her shoulder, she countered back with, "Everything is warm out there, Professor Khan. Beds, rocks, sandy beaches, even the sea itself feels like taking a bath. It's amazing the things you can do in the open air. You might almost say that it makes a bed in a Paris hotel bedroom seem really rather stayed." Leaving Zubin mouthing in fruitless antipathy, she strode away from him, inwardly vowing that from now on, her life belonged to her and her alone. Not Michael, not the board, but her. She didn't know how she would go about achieving such a monumental state of affairs, but she knew that Ric's long distance friendship would be there, to pick her up if ever she should fall.