Henry trudged over the moor wondering what on earth he was doing here. What had possessed him to bring Joan down to this God-forsaken spot in cold, foggy November? He should have taken her to their villa in Spain to impart the bad news. Henry smiled wryly to himself, maybe she wouldn't take it as bad news. Perhaps she was as fed up with their marriage as he was but he knew in his heart it wasn't true. She would be lost without him like a fish out of water. He felt a stab of guilt but it had to be done if he was going to live the life he now wanted.

Suddenly, through the veils of mist he saw what looked like figures, crouching...
menacing! The shock stopped him in his tracks. He peered then blew out his breath and grimaced.
'Damn fool!' he muttered, 'Being spooked by an old circle of stones.'
Even so he was aware of his thudding heartbeat and a strange sense of foreboding. Why had he come here? To what purpose? He looked about him at the bleak desolate moor but the thick mist limited his vision. He'd not met a soul on his way to this spot and he certainly hadn't intended to walk this far. The moor was not the best place to be in this weather, he thought, best to get back to the cottage and the snug warm fire.

'Hello, I'm home,' he called as he stamped the wetness from his boots before crossing the threshold.
'Oh, there you are,' his wife emerged from the kitchen, 'I was beginning to think you had got lost.'
She smiled and raised her face for a kiss but Henry bent down to remove his boots
pretending not to notice.
'No need to worry about me,' his voice sounded gruff, 'I can take care of myself.'
'But...in this weather,' Joan shivered, 'Why you wanted to go out in it I don't know. You can't even see the gate from here.'
'You forget, I was raised on this moor.'
'But you haven't been back in years. Why now?'
'Oh, get the coffee on, woman,' he rubbed his hands together, 'I'm frozen.'
Joan turned on her heel and walked off muttering, 'And whose fault is that?'

Henry followed her into the large welcoming kitchen with its old-fashioned dresser set with blue ringed china. There was a deep Belfast sink and an open range which threw out plenty of heat. It had been his parents cottage and had hardly changed since their day. He had been born in a room upstairs.
When he had made his money, Henry had bought them a grand house but he had never been able to part with the old place. In the early years of their marriage he and Joan had used the cottage for their holidays but when his parents died, he had used the money from their house to buy a substantial villa in Spain which had greatly increased in value over the past two decades.

He picked up a couple of logs and thrust them into the fire, then sat and watched the scarlet sparks dancing about in the radiant heat before flying up the huge black chimney. He remembered roasting chestnuts on the little tin plate they used to fix to the top rung of the iron fire basket. It used to get red-hot and he had often burnt his fingers because he couldn't wait for the chestnuts to cool down. He had thrown them from hand to hand, blowing furiously on them while his mother admonished him, in her soft Devon accent, for being too impatient.
'You'll get yorself badly burned one of these days, my son, playing with fire.'

Well, he'd certainly done that. He'd played with fire and got himself burnt with love, lust, whatever they call it these days. Something that he couldn't do without now. Didn't want to do without. Would not do without!
Somehow he must make Joan understand that this wasn't just a middle-aged man having a fling with a twenty-three year old. He knew what she would think, damned old fool caught by a gold-digging youngster who would drain his fortune dry before dropping him for the next sucker who would fall for her whiles. But his affair wasn't like that, he must make Joan understand that this was the genuine thing.
He ignored the little voice inside him that asked who was he trying to convince?

Joan busied herself making a pot of steaming coffee. Its fragrance mingled with the delicious aroma of beef simmering with herbs and wine in the casserole dish. Henry had to admit he would miss her cooking.

Henry stared blankly at the flames leaping and crackling around the dry logs. How
could he tell her? What could he say?

'Here's your coffee, dear.'
'Thanks.'
He spooned sugar into his mug and knew she was staring at him with a puzzled frown but he couldn't meet her eyes.
'Henry, what is the matter?' 
'What do you mean?' he stalled.
'I don't know but...'she sighed, 'you haven't been yourself lately.'
'Really? Who have I been then?' the heavy irony masked the fact that he w3as desperately trying to think of a way to tell her what was on his mind.
Joan gave a tsk of impatience, 'You know perfectly well what I mean,' the exasperation sounded in her voice, 'Take this holiday, for instance.'
Henry took a gulp of the strong sweet coffee, 'What about it?'
'W-e-ell, coming to this isolated spot in the middle of winter. Not letting anyone know where we are. We've always been abroad before and you've always left a contact number for the office.'
'November's not exactly the middle of winter,' he snapped, 'And I don't want the office bothering me. I thought you'd be glad as you're the one who's done the moaning about the interruptions to our holidays before.'
Joan sighed and turned away. He saw the hurt on her face and knew he was behaving badly but he was quite unable to help himself. She'd be a lot more hurt when he asked for a divorce after twenty-six years of marriage.

Joan was a clinging vine unable to stand on her own two feet, always needing to be told what to do. He only had to say the word and it would be done. The only thing she hadn't been able to give him were children. Of course, it was his fault she had lost the first one, he shouldn't have had so much to drink. But for the first twenty years he had been too busy making his pile to bother with it but now...now he had an heir in the making for his considerable fortune and Susie wanted him to have his Father's
name and make him legitimate.

If only Joan had showed some spirit, some will of her own but she like a mindless zombie. So boring! Clinging to him, stifling him! Whereas Susie...a warm tingle surged through him at the thought of Susie's young and exciting body, which now carried his son. She certainly had a mind of her own.
The only fly in the ointment was getting rid of Joan but clinging vines don't take kindly to being detached from their host. They cling on with tight tendrils demanding that you support them in their weakness.

Henry roused himself from his depressing thoughts, determined he would tell her before the end of the week.
'Saw an old stone circle this morning,' he volunteered into the silence.
Joan started violently and dropped a spoon, 'Oh my God, that breaks my dream!' she shuddered, 'It was awful! I was a Bronze Age woman about to be sacrificed to the Gods,' she frowned, 'Yes, it's coming back to me now...hmm, that's odd...'
Henry looked at her troubled face, ' What's odd?'
Joan shook her head, 'The odd thing was...the priest had your hunting knife in his hands. I woke up just as he was about to plunge it into me.' She wiped her hand across her face at the memory, 'It was horrible.'

Henry felt his scalp prickle and a weird despairing thrill sang along his nerves. Now it made sense. Now he knew why he had brought her here and had brought the hunting knife with him. Why he had told the office they would be in the wilds of Scotland for the week.
It all fell into place now, although he had been at a loss to understand his own actions before or rather, if he was completely honest, didn't want to acknowledge that he could harbour such intentions. If they divorced, he would have to give Joan half his fortune and Susie had very expensive tastes. Already she was talking about a pad in Florida and another in Corfu and had got quite stroppy when he said he would let Joan have the villa in Spain. If Susie had her way, Joan would be left with a one-bed flat!

But now, he knew with a compelling sense of realisation that, getting rid of Joan quite lierally, was what he had always intended. It would solve so many problems. A film of perspiration covered his brow.

'That's interesting,' he said,' 'You probably got a glimpse of a previous lifetime,' he drained his mug, 'We'll go along tomorrow and see if you can pick up anything else.'
Joan laughed, 'You and your superstitions', she teased, 'Okay, as long as you don't bring the knife.' She laughed merrily at the very idea.
Henry felt a stab of terror, she couldn't possibly know he had brought it along, couyld she? He managed a casual laugh, 'Didn't think to bring it with me, I'm afraid.' 
'Well, thank goodness for that. I don't fancy being a kebab special.'
'Talking of food,' he said quickly, 'Is dinner ready? I'm starving.'
'Oh, that's all you think about...food!'
Henry gave a grunt, not quite all, he thought. 

The following morning dawned frosty and bright but with dark clouds looming to the west.
Joan busied herself making breakfast. She set a plateful of bacon, two eggs, a sausage and some fried potatoes before Henry. He gazed at it appreciatively. God he was going to miss this. Susie's idea of breakfast was sugar and salt-free museli.
Donkey's food!
He dug into the eggs and spread the yolk over the fried potatoes. Mmmm, just perfect. The home-cured bacon crispy and full of flavour just as he liked it and the sausage packed with pork. Nothing like the pathetic produce from the supermarkets these days. He would have to carry on having the farm goods delivered to his home and Susie would just have to learn how to cook properly. The packaged food she went in for tasted just like cardboard.

Henry stole a glance at Joan, who seemed deep in thought as she spread honey on her toast.
'Well, are we going to try for the stone circle today?' he asked, his heart starting up its familiar tattoo at the thought of it.
Joan glanced out of the window, 'Getting a bit overcast now. Those clouds look like snow.'
Henry leaned back and took a look out, 'No-o-o,' he dismissed the idea, 'It won't snow before Christmas. Anyway, when did a bit of snow do us any harm?'
Joan shrugged, 'I suppose not. Shall we take a picnic?' she laughed at his shocked face, 'I'll take that as a no then, shall I?'
She got up and cleared the dishes away, 'But a good thermos of hot soup is called for, I think. It's going to be so cold out there.'
Henry nodded, 'Good idea, though we'll soon get warmed up, walking.'
Joan put the dishes in the machine and set it going. Then heated the soup for the thermos and when it was full, she wrapped up warm for their hike.

They reached the circle just as the first light snowflakes came floating down.
'I told you so,' Joan said, ' This place is icy, just like a morgue.'
Henry gave an involuntary shudder, 'You're right,' his voice was shaking, 'It's freezing.'
Joan noticed the shivering and reached into her bag for the thermos.
'Here, let's have a hot drink, dear, before we both end up with 'flu,' she tutted, 'You and your previous lifetimes!'
She pored them each a beakerful. Henry gulped his down, hoping it would steady his jangling nerves. He reached into his pocket and his shaking hand tightened around the knife. His thudding heart pounded in his ears. he felt sick and wet with fear. He couldn't, he just could not do it.
Suddenly, his knees buckled and he slumped to the ground.
He stared up at his wife, why wasn't she helping him?
'What...have you...done?' the sweat was pouring off him now and the most excruciating pain was starting up in his stomach. He tried to get up but he couldn't move. he was rigid!

Joan prised the beaker away from his fingers and threw her own soup away. The snow was coming down quite hard now, with any luck they wouldn't find his body until the Spring. This place was well away from the tourist routes, right off the beaten track.

Joan looked down at her husband with contempt, 'Why do men think they are so clever, eh?' she asked bitterly, 'And that wives are so dim? I've known about your little tart for months!' she shook her head, 'Did you think I wouldn't suss out why you wanted this trip and all that secrecy? I knew before you did what you meant to do. I'd heard that girl was a money trap. You weren't the first and you certainly won't be the last. Oh, and did you know she  isn't pregnant, you pathetic old fool? You fell for that age-old trick... huh, I almost feel sorry for you.'

She fixed the beakers to the thermos and put them in the plastic bag she'd brought along.
'If only you'd left the knife at home, this wouldn't have happened. Oh yes, I checked before we came out.'
Joan looked down at her husband as he breathed his last. She felt a momentary pang as she thought of all the years she had danced to his tune, the selfish sod, and this was how he had intended to repay her. Well, the biter was well and truly bitten!

She turned away to trudge back to the cottage. Fortunately, nobody knew where they were. Her husband had thought she was too stupid to fathom out the internet but a visit to his laptop gave her all the information she needed. Supposed to be in Scotland, eh? Well, she would head up there and say her husband was delayed and would be joining her later. She thought she could manage the concerned wife bit quite well, after all, she'd had plenty of practise.

It was a good idea of hers to think up that dream, even if it was just to gauge his reaction. It was a chance for him to turn back, but he had given the game away so many times. She had always known when he was lying.

'Always trust your dreams, Henry,' she called over her shoulder. His figure was already covered in a light layer of snow. 'Fare thee well!'