The Folly of Ursula Grasso

This is the first 1000 words of my novel.

I hope you like it. Please let me know what you think.

The day after she buried her husband, Ursula Grasso decided that it was time to let herself go. She locked the mews house, tied a silk scarf over her coiffed blond hair, dark green to match her simple shift dress and shoes, put on dark glasses and walked to the garage. She smiled as the door opened; the little red sports car seemed to wink at her as the sun caught its headlamps.

‘Hello darling,’ she said. Her soothing voice, familiar to thousands had new warmth. ‘It’s been a while.’ She ran her hand over the bonnet of the car as she walked to the driver’s door. The engine started first time, as she knew it would. The car wasn’t used often, but it was kept serviced and running to perfection. Carefully, she pulled out into the small side street. With a flick of the remote control, the garage door closed and locked. Ursula caught sight of her scarlet lips in the mirror, as they curved into a smile.

‘Goodbye, Lionel, dear.’ She said, and made her way into the early morning London traffic.

‘Driving in a convertible is never quite as glamorous as it looks’, thought Ursula, as she tucked stray blond strands under her headscarf. She knew that she was striking; she had spent all of her adult life making sure that she turned heads; it was what the business had been all about. But not now.

Ursula made good speed down the M2, as most of the traffic was heading the other way. By ten-thirty the little red car was crunching over the gravel at L’Ardasse Manor, the favourite of her houses. By the time Ursula had switched of the ignition, she could see the housekeeper. Ursula got out of the car, swung her jacket over her shoulder, and half ran up the steps to the door.

‘Mrs Grasso, I’m glad you’ve arrived safely. I am so sorry about Mr Grasso.’ The housekeeper clasped her hands and lowered her eyes.

‘Thank you Mrs Scott, but we had been expecting his passing.’

‘Indeed, madam.’ They walked into the grand entrance hall, the click of Ursula’s stilettos beating a counterpoint to the clump of Mrs Scott’s sensible, comfortable shoes on the black and white marble floor.

‘A blessed relief in the end, Mrs Scott. I know that the world expects me to weep and beat my chest, but I lost my husband months ago. His vitality and spirit left at Easter; I’ve been living with his shell since then.’ Ursula sniffed back a genuine tear. She had missed Lionel so much in the last three months; the Lionel she had loved, the Lionel who’d built the business around her. Of course, it hadn’t been a perfect marriage; there had been times when she’d felt stifled by him, desperate to break away from the image he made her maintain, but they had loved each other, and now he was gone. Ursula untied the headscarf as she walked to the vast gilt-edged mirror above the console table. Her hair hadn’t suffered too badly from the journey; a good cut will cope with such trials. She smoothed down her dress; her red nails bright against its darkness.

‘Did you receive my email, Mrs Scott?’ she asked, as hunger gnawed at her. In her hurry to get away from London, Ursula had, for the first time in twenty years, skipped breakfast.

‘Yes, Mrs Grasso.’ The waver in the housekeeper’s voice displayed her uncertainty. Ursula put her hand over her mouth to hide her smile as Mrs Scott continued. ‘Jim’s gone into Canterbury to buy the items on your list. The village baker’s very good, but I don’t think he has the … range of items you mentioned. We have got your usual fruits in of course, and the pantry’s full of pulses and seeds.’

‘Thank you,’ said Ursula, wondering what to do with all of the seeds, as it was unlikely that another would ever pass her lips. Her thoughts drifted to the “starving children in Africa” her mother had always talked of. Perhaps they could have the seeds; they could grow their own pumpkins. ‘I’m going to shower. Once Jim’s back, could you prepare a late breakfast for me?’

‘Certainly madam. Anything in particular?’

‘I feel a French influence today, Mrs Scott. I’d like hot chocolate and croissants, please. Thank you.’ Stifling a giggle at Mrs Scott’s look of astonishment, and subsequent attempt at professionalism, Ursula ran up the sweeping staircase, her fingers enjoying the coolness of the brass banister on this warm June day.

Her bedroom felt like a cocoon as she shut the door behind her. Ursula threw herself onto the bed, and bounced on it, like a lottery winner in a good hotel for the first time. She lay back and looked up at the soft folds of the canopy above her. The pale blue silk made her think of the skies of her childhood; cloudless and worry-free.

Her stomach growled. Ursula looked at her body, its flat hardness had been achieved through her own careful diet and fitness programme, the regime that so many tried to copy, but few succeeded. The same could be said of the business. Few had attained their level of success, but no other company had Lionel, with his drive, ambition, and ability to use the skills of others, including her. Ursula yawned, and resisted the urge to pull the bedclothes over her and go to sleep. Instead, she thought about the body she’d maintained for so long, and was now prepared to change.

‘Soon you’ll be soft and round,’ she said, stroking the hollow where her tummy should be. “I wonder what you’ll be like” She couldn’t imagine not having a “hardbody” but it was time to become less like a boiled sweet, and more like a marshmallow. Yes, it was definitely time to let herself go.