Interlude

Their life echoed their last night together, perfect in its ordinariness to the great part, topped by a special dinner in celebration of nothing but a happy union. Afterwards, they pushed away the velvet chairs and miner's couch, rolled back the heirloom floor rugs and danced until breathless in their drawing room, especially ardent when he placed

That's My Desire under the needle.

It wasn't a case of wearing rose-coloured glasses. Oh no, they'd fought - about things worth arguing over and those that weren't.

And they'd experienced their share of misfortune. What farmers didn't taste fire, drought, flood or infestation over the years, along with pressure from banks? They'd overcome illness, dealt with the heartbreak of remaining childless and lost loved ones. But they'd done it together and that's what made the difference.
He said they had the trifecta: lover, best friend and business partner. They had somebody to share everything, good and bad. Warts and all, a permanent fixture, rather like meat and three veg, the essence of a simple but good life.

He'd lifted his glass that last evening and toasted, 'To us. To the woman who is still the most beautiful girl in the room.

'To the best being yet to come.'