Page 68 of The Golden Girls’ Road Trip

She throws her head back and laughs loudly.

‘Of course not! I wouldn’t have let something as silly as a man stand in my way. No, I had unfinished business and now I don’t. I am sorry about the note though; I was a bit hungover and being dramatic. I hope you’ll forgive me.’

She lifts her glass to her lips and eyes me over the rim.

‘Aren’t you going to open your present?’ she says.

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘I haven’t got anything for you, because I didn’t know you were coming.’

‘Your hospitality is present enough,’ she says, lifting her glass again.

Getting up from the chair I pick up the package, pull the tape from the sides and tear the paper away to reveal a painting. Sitter One.

‘It was always for you,’ she says. ‘I painted it not long after you left.’

I look at it for a long time and then hang it on the wall where my other painting used to be.

‘I like to call it, Lady Constance Fitzgerald,’ she says, and I slap her playfully on her arm.

‘So what happened to the other painting? Did you have to sell them together?’

‘No, I thought I was going to have to do that, but I didn’t in the end. The exhibition made more money than anticipated and I got a few commissions from it too.’

‘So, you still have the paintings then? You know I was going to give it back to you anyway; you didn’t have to just take it.’

‘Yes, I have them both. Sorry, Con. My head was all over the place. I do have a plan though and want your permission to sell them. I have a mad idea for a road trip.’

‘Another one?’

‘Yes, but this one would be quite epic and I need to fund it.’

She gets up, opens her bag and drags out a map, which she proceeds to lay across the coffee table. I watch her finger as she traces a line along the paper. She pulls out a red-felt tip and grins at me.

‘I think the best time would be in the late spring, early summer. Everyone usually says autumn, but apparently there’s an explosion of wild flowers across the mountains in June and they’re not to be missed. The whole trip would take a few weeks, ideally, hence the idea for selling the paintings, with your permission of course,’ she adds.

I feel as if there’s a sudden urgency in me to try and keep hold of her.

‘Will you stay tonight?’ I ask her and she looks up from the map.

‘I just got off the train and I doubt I can get a room anywhere so, unless you want me to sleep in the van, I would like to stay, yes.’

‘And we’re going to Simon and Diana’s for lunch tomorrow,’ I continue, wanting to pin her down.

‘I know,’ she says.

‘How do you know?’ I ask her, surprised.

‘Because Diana got in contact with me,’ she says ruefully. ‘I didn’t just turn up, Con. I needed to know you’d want to see me.’

‘Well, you would have to ask me that, surely,’ I say, a little annoyed by Diana’s interference and Alex’s assumptions.

‘To be honest, she said you were miserable without me and it would be great if I could come.’ She smiles broadly and smugly.

‘For goodness’ sake,’ I say, shaking my head.

‘Connie,’ she says, taking my hand. ‘We don’t work properly without each other; I think we’ve established this. No more second-guessing. We love each other and I’m happy to be honest with myself, you and anyone else about that fact. It turns out that Lady Constance Fitzgerald is the love of my life and there’s nothing to separate us now.’

I’m moved by the honesty of her words and they fill me with an intense relief, even though they’re not quite true.