The Real Josephine

After twenty-five years of living in his shadow, she went to Paris and discovered her true self

- VERONICA HENRY

The hotel was tucked away at the end of a cobbled street, in between chocolate shop and a patisserie with rows and rows of mouth-watering tartlets arranged in the window. Their room was tiny, with pale pink wallpaper and a balcony with just enough room to stand on side by side. If you craned your neck you could glimpse the Eiffel Tower through the blossom on the cherry trees.

"It's perfect," sighed Jo, flopping down on a sumptuous velvet eiderdown two shades of pink deeper than the wallpaper.

"I'll have you know it's very hard to get twin beds in Paris," Kim told her with a grin, opening the complimentary bottle of champagne from the mini bar. "It's geared up for romance, not friendship. However, I managed it.'

Jo raised her glass to her friend. She realised that this was a celebration, of sorts. Kim had insisted on a few days away to celebrate her birthday.

"To make up for all the years that skinflint only took you to Lyme Regis."

Jo remembered the bed and breakfast he always used to book. Three miles away from the town with no sea view. Horrible slippery bedcovers. Poached eggs on toast that always made her slightly queasy.

She'd loved hunting for fossils, though, and would always re-read The French Lieutenant's Woman.

"I love Lyme Regis," Jo protested mildly. Kim just rolled her eyes.

When he left her, Phil had managed to Jo feel it was her fault, and that it was inevitable that he would be "tempted". Phil loved a euphemism and never took the blame for anything.

It was the head of HR who had turned his head. Jo had met Melinda at his Christmas party, a gregarious creature in a tight red sequinned dress who shimmied amidst the staff, urging them to hit the dancefloor. To her surprise, Phil had hit the dancefloor, something he'd never done in all the time they'd been married.