I couldn’t breathe. My heart was beating too hard; too fast. I felt everyone’s eyes on me but I just couldn’t work out what to say. I hoped they would edit out my embarrassingly long pause, but Stewart filled the gap for me. 

“Look at her,” he said, “she’s speechless.” 

He was smiling broadly and pumping my hand enthusiastically. He never usually held my hand.

“We think its perfect, don’t we darling?” 

Darling? He hadn’t called me darling for at least 20 years.

“Obviously there are things we’d have to do to the house but it’s just décor – nothing structural. I love the beams and the low ceilings. It will be so cozy in winter with the fires lit in every room.”

He turned to me for confirmation but didn’t seem to notice that he didn’t get it. 

“Look at the views. There’s not another house in sight. You could spend all day looking at the loch. But I won’t. I’ll be too busy fishing it.” 

The presenter laughed delightedly at Stewart then turned to me.

“And what will you be doing when he’s fishing all day?”

“I’ll be at work, I guess.” 

Once again, Stewart filled what could have been an awkward pause.

“The location is amazing and they say location is the crucial thing. After all, you can’t pick a house up and put it somewhere else.” 

“That’s a pity. I wish you could”. 

I thought it, but I didn’t say it. There were so many things I thought but didn’t say. Just then I realized that I wouldn’t like that cottage wherever it was. I hated the low ceilings and dark beams. It wasn’t cozy – it was claustrophobic. It was the reason I couldn’t breathe. That – and the mistake my marriage had become. A surge of resentment was threatening to erupt and I turned it into a long coughing fit, which had the desired effect of the Director calling “Cut!”. 

“I’m going to have to go back to the hotel,” I said. “I’ve been trying to keep going today but I’m feeling really unwell. I’m heading for a bad cold or flu or something, I’m so sorry.” 

And I was sorry. I should never have let it all get this far. I had to speak up and sort it out, but not in front of a camera. Stewart was easily persuaded to stay and finish filming and I was happy to accept a lift back to the hotel and the real world. I was grateful to escape the nightmare that was Stewart’s dream. I closed my eyes to discourage any conversation and for the first time in a very long time began to think about myself and what I wanted to do. 

I met Stewart at his 21st birthday party. I was just 17. His sister, Anya, was one of my friends and had persuaded me to come along.

“Stewart’s an idiot,” she said “but he’s got some good-looking friends." 

Well, I ended up with the idiot but I hadn’t allowed myself to see it until recently. At first, I was entranced by Stewart. He was so mature and even had his own car. I still went dancing with my mates on Friday nights but I spent all day Saturday and Sunday with Stewart. We were usually outdoors, walking in all weathers. He taught me to recognise British birds by sight and sound; to name trees just from the shape of the leaves and to enjoy the same picnic sandwiches week in, week out. I didn’t join my mates at university but got a Civil Service job and joined Stewart in saving hard to get married. I didn’t mind the job. My colleagues were friendly, my wage was pretty good and my manager thought I showed potential. Over the years, he encouraged me to add to my qualifications by taking advantage of day release to the local college.

Our families were always asking us when we were going to get around to having kids, but Stewart told them we were happy just the two of us. In fact, kids just never happened for us and we never sought medical advice or intervention. As Stewart said, we were happy just the two of us. When Stewart agreed that I could do Open University and get my degree, I was often doing university work at the weekends. Stewart took up fishing and we were happy spending more and more time on our separate pursuits. When my manager took early retirement, I was the obvious choice to replace him. Everyone knew I was efficient, conscientious and reliable, but I was also clever, tech-savvy and a strategic thinker and I positioned my department for the future changes that I saw coming when nobody else did. Another promotion soon followed and I relished the challenges and responsibilities it brought. At work I stalked the corridors in my high heels, marking my territory. I watched out for my staff like a lion protecting its cubs. On the drive home from work I transitioned from lion to lamb. On arrival, I shed my work clothes, my high heels and my power and entered the domain where Stewart was in charge.

As a couple, we had lots of savings because Stewart was a good money manager and we lived quite frugally. We had walking holidays in the Scottish Highlands, not the Spanish Costas or the Seychelles. I didn’t go dancing anymore. We went to the cinema when a good film came out, but we rarely ate out because Stewart was actually a pretty good cook. He loved his outdoor pursuits of walking, birdwatching and fishing, but I rarely joined him now. I wasn’t there when he twisted his ankle one weekend and he had to hobble back alone. It ended up as a bad sprain requiring a couple of days off work to rest and recuperate. That was when he saw Escape to the Country on afternoon television and took it into his head to apply on our behalf.

“I’ve double checked our financial situation and the cost of houses in the Scottish Highlands,” he said. “We can afford to retire early and have a comfortable life in the fresh air, away from the noise and pollution of the city.”

He was so excited when he told me that I couldn’t respond and burst his bubble. So it was my own fault that I let it get this far. I’d thought it was a passing fancy but I should have known better. Stewart was always serious and never flippant. I couldn’t believe it when we were picked for the show and I visited those remote houses in a dream. When Stewart fell in love with the final offering, the mystery house, I realised that I wasn’t in love with the whole idea of moving to Scotland, and the only mystery was why I hadn’t said so weeks ago. I wanted to shout that I loved the city, to demand to know what the hell he thought I was going to do all day in the middle of nowhere.

When Stewart got back to the hotel after filming was over, he told me he’d made an offer for the mystery house. I took a deep breath, swallowed hard and knew it was now or never. I had to speak up.

“I know I’ll be going alone,” Stewart said, filling the gap for me once again. “I could see when you feigned illness and left this morning that you couldn’t wait to get away. I want to escape to the country and you want to escape from it.”

I looked at him and managed to nod in agreement, but I still couldn’t speak.

“The television people have their happy ending – even if we don’t. So, they’re out of our hair. I’m going to buy that lovely cottage and there’ll be enough left over for you to buy whatever you want, wherever you want. Now, can we be civilised about all this?”

Stewart was the good man he’d always been, ensuring our parting was swift and fair. There was no acrimony and we didn’t bicker over money or possessions. I phoned Stewart in Scotland on the night I moved into my brand-new, sleek, city centre apartment.

“I’ve moved in and will soon be sorted out,” I said. “How are you? Are you happy up there?”

“Oh yes, very happy,” he said. “I’m so glad I escaped.”

It wasn’t until the call was finished that I realised he hadn’t added “to the country”.

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