Free The Girl in the Yellow Vest by Loretta Hill

coming short and shallow. Sweat beading on his brow as images of her collided in his head. He shut his eyes against the tears.
    I was just starting to get it together. I was fine.
    And then you had come along and do this.
    What business is it of yours how I grieve anyway? I told you not to worry about me. Why is it that you never listen to anything I say?
    He threw the remote across the room and walked out, straight to the bedroom, where he shed his clothes, wrenched at the taps and entered the shower. Hot steam infused the room. The water scalded his skin but he didn’t turn the hot down. He wanted to burn her imprint off. How could he recover if she was back in his life interfering? He’d been doing just great – excellent, in fact, recovering beautifully.
    Really? Who are you kidding?
    He hadn’t lived in Perth since her death. When he went home on R and R he stayed in a hotel because he couldn’t bear to sleep in the bed they’d once shared. The calls from her family had stopped coming because he’d refused to take them. His friends had given up ages back too, when they realised his anger wasn’t going away.
    There was not a single person in his life who hadn’t been burned by the dark mood that wouldn’t release him.
    And now here, at Hay Point, the place he thought he’d escape to, his subordinates hated and feared him. At first he’d found it amusing because he liked to be feared. But perhaps being considered cruel and unforgiving wasn’t something to be proud of, or at least not something that Kathryn would be proud of.
    The fact that he didn’t give a damn seemed to pale in comparison.
    He twisted the water off, and stepped out of the shower, furiously wrapping a towel around his waist and knotting it. His fingers clenched and unclenched as he started to pace the floor. Finally he stalked out of the bedroom and back to the kitchen; snatching the blue envelope off the dining table, he tore it open. It fluttered to the ground like an autumn leaf as he unfolded the paper that had been inside. The words on the page were handwritten. A lump formed in his throat at the sight of Kathryn’s familiar lettering. He could just imagine her writing this, sitting at her desk, chewing on the end of her pen. All at once the note became the most precious thing in his possession. Teeth clenched, he pulled his thoughts together and read:
    To Do (in this order):
    1.   Pay someone a compliment
    2.   Do someone a favour
    3.   Get a pet
    4.   Bake a cake
    5.   Ask someone you wouldn’t normally ask for advice
    6.   Go diving again: it’s been too long
    7.   Visit an old friend
    8.   Give all my stuff to the Salvos
    9.   Buy yourself some new clothes, especially underwear
    10.   Read a book
    11.   Go on a date
    12.   Go on a holiday
    13.   Talk to someone about me – the good memories
    This
was the list that was going to change his life? He read it again, turning it over, searching for something more from a message that seemed woefully inadequate.
    That’s all you’re giving me?
    His eyes flew back to his ‘supposed’ first task.
    Pay someone a compliment.
    ‘Come on, Kathryn,’ he looked up at the ceiling, ‘this will change nothing. You can’t brow-beat me into being a nice person.’
    At first he thought the sudden banging was his wife’s wrath being sent down from heaven and he dropped the list on the table with a start. Then reason set in and his gaze swung to the door.
    What now?
    A muffled voice sounded through the wooden pane. ‘Mr Crawford, are you in there?’
    For the love of God.
    He strode down the short hall and yanked open the front door. Charlotte Templeton practically fell through the threshold as her hand, still in the knocking position, followed the disappearing door. On her other arm she was balancing a tray. His salmon, he presumed. He’d forgotten he’d ordered room service. Funny, the resort manager didn’t usually bring his tray around. Was she