TILL THE SUN GROWS COLD

June - September 2016

I love thee, I love but thee,

With a love that shall not die

Till the sun grows cold,

And the stars are old,

And the leaves of the Judgement Book unfold!

Bayard Taylor - BEDOUIN SONG

Outside his window, the sky was a vivid blue and somewhere nearby,a bird sang a merry good-morning song. Charles Chandler yawned andstretched himself into full wakefulness and spent a quiet,introspective moment looking out at that blue sky. As on everymorning of the past year, his first thought was of her.

Elizabeth.

He wondered where she was at this moment. Did she look up into thesunlit summer sky, or did the lovely, tranquil light of the moonshine on her now? Was she well? Most important, was she happy?

Telling himself, as he did each day, that he'd done the rightthing in sending her away, he sighed and rolled to his feet.

The unhurried sounds of Sunday morning - voices, the clink offorks on plates, the rustle of a newspaper - reached him even beforehe entered the dining room. His father looked up when he came in.

"Good morning."

"Good morning, Father." Charles took his customary place at thefar end of the table and reached for one of the fat sections of theNew York Times.

"That you, Charles?" his cousin Carey called from the kitchen.

"Who else?" he countered, and got a muffled chuckle in return.

"Put in your order quick," Carey instructed, coming to the door."I'm about done in here."

Charles glanced at the plate at his father's elbow. "Are thosebanana pancakes?"

"Yeah. Or I can make plain. And I've got some eggs out."

"Banana pancakes sound good. Thanks."

Carey nodded and retreated into the kitchen. Charles pouredhimself a cup of coffee from the pot on the table and opened thepaper. A few minutes later, Carey put a plate of pancakes besideCharles and sat down with his own breakfast and section of paper.

The table seemed spacious with only three occupants. Charles'smother habitually rose later on Sundays when she could, and even ifEvan hadn't been away, he wouldn't be up this early. Vicky was stillin England, and Jacob, of course, had been absent since his marriagelast year.

Charles finished his pancakes and two sections of the paper andwas lingering over his second cup of coffee when his mother came in.She greeted them all with a not-quite-awake-yet smile and pouredherself some coffee.

"Did you save any of the paper for me?" she asked.

"Father and I have the news sections, and Carey's reading thesports," Charles informed her. "Here, have the society page."

"Oh, yes, just what I wanted," she murmured sardonically, butsettled down with it anyway.

Charles finished his coffee, put aside his paper and carried hisplate and mug into the kitchen to rinse them and place them in thedishwasher. Later, because Carey had done the cooking, he'd clean upthe kitchen; now he went back into the dining room to enjoy hisfamily's company.

His mother still had part of the paper open before her; when hecame in, she closed it quickly, folding it and setting it aside. Shelooked as if she wanted to say something, so he stopped. "Mother? Issomething wrong?"

She hesitated too long before shaking her head, and besides, hisfather had stopped reading and was watching her closely. Somethingwas wrong. Charles glanced at Carey, who shook his head slightly. Hedidn't know.

"Catherine?" That was his father, leaning forward now inconcern.

"I'm fine, Vincent," she said, too brightly. She moved the foldedsection of newspaper to the chair beside her and smiled. "So,Charles, when do you start your internship?"

"In two weeks," he answered slowly. "I told you that. Mother,what's in the paper?"

"Nothing," she said, a shade too quickly. "There's nothingthere."

Charles glanced at his father, who nodded. He rounded the tableand reached for the section of paper. She made an abortive move tostop him and then subsided, reaching for Vincent's hand instead.

Charles stood beside her chair and opened to the page she'd beenreading when he came in. It took him only seconds to find what haddisturbed her. In the upper left corner of page three was Elizabeth'sface, smiling softly at the camera. At him. He caught his breath atthe reminder of how lovely she was and then his eye dropped to thecaption below. BURCH-DUVET NUPTIALS SET, it read, and he felt theblood drain from his face. Elizabeth was engaged to be married.

"Oh, Charles," his mother whispered, and put her hand on his. "I'mso sorry."

He forced a smile. "It's all right," he managed. "At least she'shappy." And then he could no longer bear the commiseration in hereyes, the puzzlement on his father's and Carey's faces. He droppedthe paper and plunged blindly into the kitchen.

He hesitated there, long enough to hear his father's softlymurmured, "Oh, no," and Carey's sympathetic, "That's too bad," andknew he couldn't face them. Not now. Not while his grief was sofresh, so new. The kitchen offered him two avenues of escape. Theback door, which led to the back yard and nowhere, and the stairs,which led to the basement... and the tunnels.

The passages Below were cool, welcoming, but they couldn't soothehis aching heart. He walked faster, but the pain followed. He beganto run. It was some time before he lurched to a stop, gasping forbreath, and leaned his cheek against the jagged coarseness of atunnel wall.

The sound of rushing water reached him and he realized he was nearthe Chamber of the Falls. He staggered towards it. It was a placehe'd visited often during the past twelve months.

There was a ledge down low, close to where the torrent of fallingwater entered the pool, tumbling over itself and throwing up a finespray that wet his face and hair. The roar of the falls was loudenough, insistent enough to drive away most thoughts, but it couldn'tovercome what filled him now. Liz was gone. Now, she'd always begone. He'd never hold her again, never kiss her, never even hear hervoice speak his name. She was gone.

Foolishly, he'd thought he'd accepted losing her, thought he'dmade peace with his decision to let her go, to let her find happinesssomewhere else. He hadn't realized that all along, he'd beennurturing hope, fragile and delicate as a robin's egg, that somedayhe'd find her again, that someday they could be together. Now thathope had been crushed, shattered beyond all repair.

In that vast chamber, filled with the incessant rush and roar ofthe water, he bent his head and cried.

Over the next few days, Charles felt as if he was movingunderwater. Everything, even his mother's anxious looks, his father'sheartfelt compassion, seemed distant and unimportant. The first shockof anguish had receded, replaced by a kind of numb despair. Each daywas a struggle; he didn't dare think of the future - for Charles washis father's son. For him, there was only one woman. Without her, hewas destined to spend his days alone.

It was a relief to begin his internship at St. Vincent's Hospital.The work gave him somewhere to focus his thoughts; the hours demandedof a fledgling intern exhausted his body so that sleep, when it came,was dreamless.

He'd just finished a long shift and was walking two blocks over tocatch an express bus home when a cab pulled up to the curb ahead. Therear door swung open and a young woman stepped out.

Charles blinked. He'd only slept four of the last thirty-sixhours. Surely it was the lack of sleep that made her look so familiar- so very lovely.

When she turned toward him, he stopped breathing. The sun on herhair brought out chestnut highlights, and even from here he could seethe blue of her eyes. She was trim and poised in a pale green linensuit that complemented her skin and brought color to her cheeks.

She looked past him, down the street, and made a little frown ofdisappointment. Charles hung on the moment, knowing that any secondshe would disappear into one of the stylish shops or perhaps into thetea room on the corner. Then she'd be gone.

The cab pulled into the midday traffic and Elizabeth turned towardthe nearest doorway. Her casual gaze swept over him unrecognizing. Hedrank her in like a man stranded too long in the desert, like a manwho knows that too soon, the nectar he needs to survive willvanish.

She faltered and her gaze came back to him swiftly. He saw hereyes widen in surprise and recognition. He waited. In a moment theold resentment would return, in a moment she'd turn from him, but fornow... for now she saw him, knew him. He savored the moment,memorizing details that would have to last him the rest of hislife.

And then, incredibly, she was moving toward him, smiling, callinghis name. When she reached him, she offered her hand. If she felt thejolt that shook him at her touch, she gave no sign. Her fingers weresmall and surprisingly cold in the summer heat. He closed his handaround hers, thinking to warm it, and bent his head to be heard overthe traffic.

"Elizabeth." To his own ears, he sounded gruff, but she answeredwith a smile.

"Charles. How lovely to see you."

"Yes." As soon as he'd said it, he thought the single word ofagreement must sound idiotic, but her smile didn't falter, andgradually it dawned on him that she really was pleased to see him. Ittook longer for him to notice he was still holding her hand. "I'msorry," he apologized, releasing it. He rubbed at his eyebrow, hischeek. "I've just come off duty at the hospital," he explained,hoping she'd accept it as an excuse for his behavior. "I'm afraid I'mnot thinking too clearly." Or possibly not thinking at all, but hedidn't say that.

She smiled. "That's right. You're a doctor now, aren't you?" Shecaught his arm. "Look, there's a restaurant down the street. Do youhave time for a cup of coffee?"

He had time to drink arsenic, if it was time spent with her, so henodded.

Coffee was probably a bad idea, he thought a few minutes later,the warm cup steaming in his hand. With his inner sense of timealready disrupted by his chaotic work schedule, he'd never go tosleep. But it was worth it, worth anything to sit across from her andwatch the neat, precise movement of her hands as she stirredsweetener into her cup.

"Tell me about what you're doing," she urged, leaning forward."Are you at a hospital?"

He nodded. "Doing my internship."

"Where?"

He told her and she nodded.

"What happens after that? Are you still going into research?"

"I plan to. But after my year of internship, I have three years asa resident."

She made a face. "That doesn't sound like fun. Do you have to dothat to be a research physician?"

"Not absolutely, no. But I'm told there's no adequate alternativeto internship and residency at a good teaching hospital. I want theexperience."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Four more years, then. That's a longtime."

"Yes. But worth it." He paused. "What about you? You didn't comeback to Harvard for your last year."

She seemed intent on her cup. "No. I transferred."

He waited and in a moment she went on.

"I went on a dig last summer, in the south of France. That newcave they found, near the petroglyphs?"

He nodded. He'd read about that, a prehistoric cavern uncoveredduring excavation for an office building. According to the experts,it was the archaeological find of the decade. "How'd you get to workon that?"

She flushed and looked away. "My father. He knew somebody....Anyway, I was just a flunky," she went on. "I hardly got into thecave. Most of my work was with photographs."

"Still, it must have been exciting."

She smiled. "It was. I transferred to the university in Grenobleso I could stay close, and they let me do some work on weekends."

"I see." He drew a long breath. "I wondered where you went."

"Charles, I'm sorry. I should have spoken to you before Ileft..."

"It's all right. I wasn't very coherent last year. I know youdidn't understand. I know I hurt you."

She was silent a moment. "Yes," she agreed quietly. "You did."

It was an awkward moment; Charles shifted uncomfortably, wishinghe knew what to do with his hands, his feet. For an irrationalmoment, he wanted to tell her how much he still loved her.

"I saw the notice in the paper," he said instead. "About yourengagement. Congratulations."

Her cheeks flushed. "Thank you. He's French, you know."

Charles nodded. "Did you meet him at school?"

"At the dig. He specializes in petroglyphs and cavepaintings."

"So you have your work in common."

She nodded, looking soft and vulnerable. He ached to touchher.

"Does he make you happy, Elizabeth?" he asked softly instead.

She looked up, startled. "That's important to you, isn't it?"

When Charles had given his heart, it was without conditions,without restrictions, and it made him sad that she would neverunderstand that. "Yes," he replied. "It is."

She offered a shaky smile and covered one of his hands with herown. "That means more to me than you can possibly know," she toldhim. "That you care about my happiness. But what about you, Charles?You were so troubled last year. Were you ever able to work thingsout?"

He was supremely conscious of her hand on his; the simple contactmade it hard to concentrate. "Yes," he managed slowly. "I believe Idid."

"So whatever it was is all right now."

"No. It was never wrong. I only thought it was."

She frowned. "I don't understand."

He didn't even think about what he said. He just said it. "It's myfather. And because of my father, of who he is, of what he is, it'sme, too. And maybe I'm still wrong, I don't know. But my father...he's different, but he's not wrong. I know that now." He rose to hisfeet. "I have to go, Elizabeth. I'm sorry."

If he had thought about it, he never would have kissed the cheekshe offered; as it was, he only grazed it lightly with his lips, hischeek, but the nebulous contact was enough to remind him of how softher skin was, enough to fill his nostrils with her scent, to touchthe fall of silk that was her hair. "Goodbye, Elizabeth," hewhispered. "Be happy."

Leaving her was one of the most difficult things he'd ever done.At the door, he glanced back. Elizabeth watched him with a small, sadsmile. With an effort he tore his gaze away. He didn't look backagain.

Elizabeth watched for a long time after Charles was no longervisible. She'd imagined herself over him, convinced herself theirswas only a transitory relationship... but seeing him today shatteredthat illusion. Despite her new love for Raoul, some vestige of theold feeling for Charles remained. It bothered her; she didn't want tofeel that way, didn't need the complications it would create.

Disturbed, she abandoned her errands and went home. Home was aspacious luxury apartment on Park Avenue, staffed by ahousekeeper/cook, a valet for her father, and a maid to do thecleaning. Once there, she settled into the deep, overstuffed chair inher father's office, long her favorite room, to brood over a cup oftea. She was still there when her father came home that evening.

"Elizabeth? Why are you sitting in the dark?"

She shrugged and set down her cup, the tea long cold."Thinking."

He pulled up a chair and sat down across from her, taking herhands. "Is something wrong?"

She didn't want him to worry; he worried too much. She tried toforce a smile and failed miserably. "I saw Charles Chandler today,"she admitted.

He stiffened. "And?"

"And we had a cup of coffee."

"That sounds innocuous enough," he said cautiously. "It doesn'texplain you sitting here brooding."

She laughed sadly. She'd never been able to hide anything from herfather. "He wished me well. He wants me to be happy."

"But him saying that makes you sad."

She nodded. "It shouldn't, I know. After all, I have my work, myschooling."

"Me," he suggested with a smile.

"You," she agreed swiftly. "So why does seeing him once, briefly,affect me this way?"

"It's interesting," her father said, his expression compassionate,full of love, "that in your recitation of what you have, you nevermentioned Raoul."

"Raoul, of course," she said, too quickly.

"But it's not Raoul you want," he observed. "Not really."

"Raoul's a good person," she argued faintly. "He's kind andconsiderate and even noble."

"I agree," he said briskly. "Raoul's a man to be admired. ButLissa," he added softly. "Admiration's not love."

He'd put his finger on it precisely. With a helpless sob, she slidfrom her chair and buried her face in her father's lap. He strokedher hair while she cried.

At last she was able to compose herself, pulling herself back upinto the chair, scrubbing at her wet cheeks with her hands, pushingback her hair.

"Better now?" her father asked, handing her a tissue.

She nodded shakily. "A little. Oh, Daddy, I think I still lovehim. What am I going to do?"

"I don't know, baby," he said sadly, and stroked her cheek. "Youknow I'd do anything to make it better for you, but I don't thinkthis is something I can fix."

That earned him a small laugh. It was a joke between them thathe'd buy the world for her if it was only for sale. She knew he'dused his considerable wealth to smooth many paths for her. But he wasright. He couldn't fix this.

"I wish I could make it right for you," he went on. His wordsreminded her of something and she sat up straighter.

"Daddy, what do you know about Charles's father?"

His expression abruptly changed, becoming distant, shuttered. "Whydo you want to know?"

His sudden change of demeanor frightened her. "It was somethingCharles said. About the wrong not being in his father, but maybe inhim. It didn't make any sense to me. I thought maybe his father hadbeen ill, or something..."

"No. Not ill."

"Charles's mother would tell you, I guess," she ventured.

"I don't think she would," he said slowly. "And in any case, Ihaven't spoken to Cathy in over a year. Not since right after youleft."

"Because of me and Charles?" she guessed. "Oh, Daddy, I'm sorry. Inever meant to ruin your friendship..."

"Don't worry about that," he consoled her. "To tell the truth, Idon't think my friendship with Cathy Chandler can be ruined.Sometimes we go years without any contact, and this isn't the firsttime we've shouted at each other, but there's something deep betweenus. Permanent. Our friendship can't be broken."

She gazed at him, shocked. "You still love her. The way I loveCharles."

He smiled a little, and shook his head. "Not the way you loveCharles," he disagreed. "Not even the way I loved your mother, whowas a far better wife for me than Cathy ever would have been. Butyes, I love her. I do what I can to protect her, though I'm not sureshe knows, and it wouldn't matter if she did."

"Protect her? You mean, like bodyguards?" There'd been a briefperiod in Elizabeth's youth when her father had been threatened. He'drefused to give in to the demands made of him, and instead had hireda security firm to protect his family. Elizabeth recalled how she'dhad to remember to tell her guard where she was going and how longshe planned to stay, and wondered how her father could provide suchprotection for Charles's mother without her knowledge.

To her surprise, he laughed. "No. The last thing Cathy needs is abodyguard. What I try to do is keep the questions away, stop peoplefrom prying too deeply into her personal life."

"I don't understand. What's the big deal about her personallife?"

Her father gazed at her, long and hard, before answering. "It hasto do with her husband," he said at last. "Her children'sfather."

"There is something wrong with him, isn't there?" she whispered,her voice low and shocked.

"I doubt Cathy would agree that wrong is the proper word," hesaid. "And from what you've said, Charles wouldn't, either." He roseand crossed the room to his desk. He pressed a key on an electronicpanel, and a small section of the far wall slid away, revealing arecessed steel door and another electronic keypad. Her father toucheda series of numbers on the keypad and the recessed door opened. Hereached inside and withdrew a small steel box.

"What's that?"

He set the box down between them and fingered the lid. "Cathy'slife," he said finally. "The part she doesn't share with anyone."

"But you have it?"

He nodded. "She doesn't know." He looked at her. "Elizabeth, I'mgoing to show you what's in this box, but I want you to promiseyou'll never tell anyone what you learn."

He was so deadly earnest, he frightened her. "I promise," shewhispered.

"If Cathy finds out I have this..."

"She'd be angry," Elizabeth guessed.

"Angry doesn't begin to describe it," he said grimly, and openedthe box.

Inside was a small leatherbound book and a stack of envelopes heldtogether with rubber bands.

"Read them," he told her, and rose to his feet. "Afterwards, I'lltry to answer any questions you may have." He left the room, closingthe door quietly behind him.

Slowly she removed the little book and the envelopes. The book wasfilled with page after page written closely in her father'shandwriting, but she didn't try to read it yet. Instead, she pickedup the stack of envelopes. The rubber bands were so old they crumbledwhen she touched them, sending the sheaf of envelopes sliding acrossher lap. She caught them before they reached the floor, shufflingthem back into their original order. They seemed to hold a series ofneatly typewritten reports from a private investigator named CleonManning. They dated from the late 1980's.

Elizabeth settled more deeply into her chair and began toread.

More than three hours later, she emerged from the office, hersense of reality shaken to its core. "Daddy?" she whispered, when shefound him bent over papers spread across the dining room table. "Isit true?"

He nodded solemnly. "As far as I know, it's all true."

"Charles's father... what is he?"

"Let's just say he isn't like the rest of us," he suggested.

She sank, trembling, onto a dining room chair. "Is Charles reallyhis son?"

"You mean biologically. Naturally, I've never come right out andasked, but as far as I know, yes. It's actually a pretty goodargument for the man's humanity, if you think about it. He's fatheredfive children."

"Five?"

"Cathy lost a baby at birth," he explained. "A twin to her secondson. At least, that's the story that was given out. I've alwayswondered, though, if that child might not simply take after itsfather, and have to be hidden away."

Elizabeth felt something cold gnawing at her stomach. "That couldhave happened to me," she whispered, shocked. "If Charles and I hadever married. I could have had a child..."

"I thought of that," her father admitted.

"You never said anything."

"He made you so happy the short time you were together," he said."How could I destroy that?"

"That's what Charles was so upset about, last spring," sherealized. "That's what he couldn't tell me."

Her father said nothing.

"You're so calm," she accused. "You aren't usually so calm aboutthings like this."

"Things that threaten my little girl?" he asked with a small,self-deprecating smile. "I suppose not. But this particular issue'sbeen around since before you were born. I used up all my outragetwenty years ago."

"Over Charles's mother."

"You saw it. It's all in the diary. I would have died to protecther, Elizabeth, and it took me a very long time to learn, once andfor all, that she didn't need, didn't want, that kind of protection.She loves him. Enough to bear his children, to live with the secretand the whispers and the gossip. For over twenty-five years she'sdone that. Even the time she agreed to marry me..."

Elizabeth nodded; she remembered that. "She must have lovedyou."

His smile was sadly ironic. "She's fond of me," he admitted. "Butit's him she loves. Even when she agreed to marry me, it was toprotect him."

She frowned. "What?"

"She placed a condition on our marriage," he said. "I wasconstructing a tower - The Burch Tower, it was to be called. It wasmy dream, the building I'd always wanted to build."

She shook her head. "There's no Burch Tower in New York."

"She said if I'd halt construction on the tower, she'd marry me,"he said softly. "That's all I had to do. Stop the tower. She meantit, too. She'd have gone through with it. Because she's an honorablewoman."

"But you never married."

"No. I couldn't give up my dream, Lissa. Not even for Cathy."

"But there is no tower," she repeated.

"No. I wanted that tower so badly. There was a group. They planneda class action suit on behalf of the neighborhood's residents."

There was such regret on his face, it frightened her. "Daddy, whatdid you do?"

"I arranged for the group to receive donations in such a way thatit cast suspicion on them. If they were under a cloud, underinvestigation by the D.A.'s office, their funds would dry up." Heshrugged. "Someone in the D.A.'s office was able to trace it back tome and they got a court order. I had to stop the tower. It was neverbuilt."

"Charles's mother works for the D.A.'s office," Elizabethwhispered.

"Yes. I've always suspected it was Cathy. She was desperate tostop that tower. But I've never asked."

"It was because of those tunnels," she guessed. "The ones youwrote about."

"Yes," he agreed. "I guessed that, too. She'd have married me tostop that tower and protect those tunnels. Protect him."

"You think there are people down there."

"I know there are people down there. You read the reports. Oddlydressed people coming out of drainage tunnels in Central Park,returning hours later and going inside again, staying there. Cathyopened a gate to let me out the night my father was killed. I left,but she went back inside. She knew where to go. Nothing we found downthere surprised her."

"I know. I read it. It's just... it's all pretty fantastic, isn'tit?"

He nodded. "Yes. It is."

"Miss Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth looked up to find the maid standing at the library door."Yes, Luisa?"

"You have a telephone call. Mr. Duvet."

Raoul! Lately, she'd scarcely had time to think of him. He must bewondering why she hadn't called. She thanked Luisa and picked up thelibrary extension. "Raoul?"

"Good afternoon," he greeted her, his native French accent addingcharm to his voice. "I hoped you would be home."

"Well, I am." No point in telling him she hadn't been anywhereelse the past few days.

"I'm hoping you can give me the name of a reputable hotel."

"In Grenoble?" she asked, bewildered.

"New York," he corrected, laughter in his tone. "I'm at theairport."

"Kennedy?"

"Yes. I'm about to catch a taxi."

"Raoul's here?"

Elizabeth spun around, startled. She hadn't heard her father comein. "Yes," she whispered, covering the mouthpiece with her hand."He's at the airport. He wants me to recommend a hotel."

"Nonsense. He'll stay here." Her father smiled. "Don't look sosurprised, Lissa. We have plenty of room."

Well, she knew that, of course. "Raoul?" she said into the phone,wondering why it seemed so hard to speak. "Tell the driver to comehere. You can stay with us."

The doorman rang to announce Raoul's arrival forty minutes later.He stepped off the elevator looking dark and Gallic and handsome andshe lifted her face for his kiss. His touch spoke of tenderness, andrestrained passion, and she wondered why she couldn't summon aresponse.

"You didn't miss me as much as I hoped you would," he observed,and she knew he'd noticed.

"Of course I did," she said, too quickly, and took his arm. "Come.Let me show you to your room."

While Raoul unpacked and freshened from his trans-Atlantic flight,Elizabeth changed for dinner and went to the dining room. Her father,after instructing the housekeeper to prepare an elegant, if hasty,dinner, had conveniently remembered a prior engagement. He hadn'tforgotten to order the more basic accouterments first, though. Thetable was set with the finest china and silver, the ambiance enhancedwith candles and flowers. A bottle of fine champagne was chilling onthe sideboard.

Elizabeth seriously considered sweeping away the more obvious ofthese trappings, but it was too late. Raoul, resplendent in a dinnerjacket, came into the room.

"You look lovely," he said with sincerity, and bent over her handto press a kiss to the inside of her wrist.

She'd always found that gesture exotic and titillating, buttonight it merely made her uncomfortable and as soon as she could,she withdrew her arm. "Let's sit down," she urged, and Raoul pulledout her chair with a gallant flourish.

Luisa served each of them a tossed green salad with some of Mrs.Hampton's special dressing, smiled shyly at Elizabeth, and wentout.

"Dr. Cliburne thinks she's found the meaning of that glyph that'sbeen troubling everyone," Raoul said.

Elizabeth forced a smile. "Has she? What does it mean?"

He smiled. "I don't know. She and Dr. Clement have been arguingover it for days and neither of them is talking until they've reacheda consensus."

That did make her smile. Drs. Clement and Cliburne were highlyrespected in their fields... and hotly competitive whenever theirareas of expertise overlapped. Their arguments, which often tookplace simply for the sake of disagreement, were legend, and a sourceof amusement to their colleagues on the dig and at the university. "Aconsensus could take weeks," she offered lightly.

"Quite possibly," he agreed. "What about you, Elizabeth?" He gaveher name the English pronunciation, so she knew he was serious. Inmoments of intimacy, he gave it a French inflection. "Have you laidyour ghosts to rest?"

She looked away, a painful breath catching in her throat. She'dbeen seeing Raoul for nearly a year, but when he had asked her tomarry him, the specter of Charles had risen between them. She'dconfessed to her lost, hopeless love and Raoul had promptlydispatched her home to face her past.

Raoul waited patiently for an answer. She thought of how kind hewas, how gentle, of how he could make her laugh. And then she thoughtof Charles.

She shook her head. "No. I haven't." Slowly she slipped theengagement ring off her finger. "I realize now I won't be able to.I'm sorry, Raoul." She placed the ring on the table between them andfled.

It was more than an hour before her father knocked on her bedroomdoor. "Raoul's gone," he said quietly. "Want to talk about it?"

"Oh, yes, Daddy, please," she answered, and let him in.

If he noticed her tearstained face, he didn't mention it. "I guessI jumped the gun with that announcement in the Times," he saidwryly.

She nodded. "I guess so."

"I'm sorry it didn't work out for you, Lissa," he said gently."But if he wasn't right for you, then it's best you found outnow."

"I think he could have been right," she said, her voice small."Except..."

"Yes." He rose and kissed her forehead. "That's a very big'except,'" he told her. "And the only one who can do anything aboutit is you."

Even with Raoul removed, her choices weren't simple. It had been ayear since she and Charles had been close. When they'd met, Charleshad been kind and generous, but had given no sign he still loved her.What right did she have to disrupt his life?

The next day found her walking in Central Park, hoping theexercise, combined with the pleasant surroundings, would help focusher thoughts. The day was hot, even for June, and after a while, shefound a clear spot beneath a tree and sat down to rest.

A group of teenage boys, stripped to the waist, played anenergetic game of football on a grassy slope nearby and she watchedthem idly. A large tan dog dashed across the playing area,temporarily disrupting play and she shifted her attention, followingthe dog's progress down the hill. He paused several times to sniff atrandom spots in the grass and she was about to turn back to thefootball game when the dog put on a burst of speed and disappearedbehind a concrete abutment. He didn't immediately reappear and shecouldn't quite figure out where he might have gone. Curious, she roseand dusted the seat of her shorts before weaving a cautious paththrough the trees and shrubbery, seeking a better angle.

In the shelter of a grand old oak tree she paused. Beyond theconcrete retaining wall, flanked by another on the opposite side, wasthe round, black mouth of a drainage pipe. She had scarcely begun towonder if this could possibly be the same pipe as the one describedin her father's journal when two children - boys, she saw, as theycame into the sunlight - emerged from the pipe and began to run. Onetossed a black and white soccer ball onto the grass and the otheraltered stride to kick it away. Laughing, the boys pursued the ball,alternately kicking it and elbowing one another out of the way.

Elizabeth stood for a moment, paralyzed with shock and wonder andthe realization that it was all true. Before she had time to think,she'd left the shelter of the tree and plunged down the hill and intothe tunnel.

It was dim inside and she paused to let her eyes adjust. When shecould see again, she moved into the center of the little room at theend of the tunnel and stopped, taking in her surroundings. To herleft was an open pipe; the available light didn't penetrate far andshe had no desire to go in. She turned instead to the metal gate thatbarred the entrance to another tunnel, this one blocked off by asmooth metal panel. She reached through the bars to touch it. Thesteel was cold on her fingers, solid and unyielding, and she withdrewher hand. Footprints in the dust led away from the pipe - probablyleft by the two boys she'd seen.

Her heart pounded wildly. This must be the tunnel, the door, thechamber described by her father. He'd said the solid steel panelopened, but if he'd mentioned how it was triggered, she didn'trecall. She tugged on the barred gate, and to her surprise, it swungopen easily.

She stepped around it and squatted in front of the solid plate,examining it closely. There was no sign of a handle or latch, noplace to catch hold and pull it open. She put one palm against it andpushed tentatively. It didn't budge, so she added the other hand andput her weight behind it. Still nothing.

The underground chill was making itself felt on her bare arms andlegs and involuntarily she shivered. With a half-regretful,half-apprehensive look, she pushed the barred gate closed and leftthe tunnel.

Discovery of the drainage pipe had taken her mind away from hertroubles. She hurried home and went straight to her father's homeoffice to open the safe. She had the journal in her lap and wasrereading the portion that recounted her father's experience in thedrainage tunnels when he came into the room.

"Aha," he said, looking at the open safe. "We've had aburglar."

She managed a wan smile. "Don't be silly, Daddy. You gave me thecombination a long time ago."

He smiled in return. "So I did." He glanced at the journal. "Ithought you were through with those."

She flipped the little volume closed. "I am. What I want isn't inthere."

He arched an eyebrow. "What?"

She shrugged and looked at her hands. He perched on the corner ofhis desk, listening quietly as she recounted her afternoon'sdiscovery. "I was wondering how Charles's mother opened the slidingpanel, that's all," she concluded. "I thought it might be inhere."

He frowned and she could tell he was looking back, reliving theold memory. "You know," he said slowly, "I think there was some sortof catch. Like a lever. She pulled it and the door slid open." Helooked at her. "But that was from the other side. It may not openfrom the outside."

"I saw some boys come out," she argued. "They had to get back insomehow."

"They might just signal for someone to let them in," he said. "Andanyway, I'm not sure it's a good idea for you to be wandering arounddown there. Once you're inside, the tunnels branch off in alldirections. It would be very easy to get lost."

Despite her father's warning, Elizabeth was back at the drainagetunnel the next morning. This time she dressed in jeans andcomfortable shoes and brought a jacket and a flashlight. Sheconcentrated her efforts on finding a lever, a latch, any kind oftrigger. She started her search at the door itself, examining itclosely before extending her inspection to the area around it. Ittook a while for her to reach the innocuous grate set into the sidewall. She shined her light through the mesh and there, on the otherside, was a small black lever.

Remembering how the big barred gate had opened yesterday, she gavethe mesh grate an experimental tug. It swung toward her easily,soundlessly. The hand she put on the lever was trembling and she tooka deep breath to steady it and looked toward the flat surface of thesteel plate. She pulled the lever.

With a grinding, scraping sound, the steel plate began to move.Elizabeth watched it for a long, spellbound moment. Beyond theopening glowed a warm golden light that seemed to beckon her. Slowlyshe stepped through, pulling the gate closed behind her.

It took less time to locate the lever on this side; it was atshoulder level, right by the door. She pulled it and watched the doorslide closed again, shutting her off from her own world.

She started off, but hadn't gone far before the tunnel she wastravelling joined another. She paused at the junction. Should shecontinue the way she was going, or take one of the side branches?There were no clues to help - the surface underfoot was concrete andno marks showed on its smooth surface.

She nearly turned back. It would be easy - easier than she'dimagined - to lose her way down here and the thought of getting lostwas daunting. But after a moment she steeled herself and went on. Itwas the last time she hesitated. If she didn't know where she wasgoing, it didn't matter which way she went.

She'd been walking perhaps fifteen minutes when she heard thetapping. The sound intruded subtly on her consciousness and shestopped to listen. It was regular - too regular to be random but notrhythmic enough to be something as prosaic as water dripping.Besides, the sound was wrong. It sounded vaguely like metal on metal,but hollow and far away.

She trudged on. The tapping sound followed and presently sherealized it was coming from the pipe that ran along one side of thetunnel. She placed her hand on the pipe to feel the vibration. Yes,the sound was definitely coming from the pipe and with a sudden burstof inspiration, she identified it as communication. Morse code,maybe. If there was a community here, surely they'd be concernedabout safety. The sheet steel door under the park showed that. Somaybe there were sentries. Watching her.

She turned a slow circle in the center of the passage. She wasquite alone. The tempo of the tapping changed and she wondered ifthat was in response to her actions. "Hello?" she called tentatively.Her voice sounded hollow, ringing off the curved sides of the tunnel."Hello!" she called again, more loudly. "Is anyone there?"

The tapping ceased for a moment, then went on with renewedvigor.

"Hello!" she said a third time. "My name is Elizabeth. ElizabethBurch." A name came to her; she'd seen it scrawled in her father'shand, the marks on the page looking almost angry. "I want to seeVincent," she said firmly. "I won't go until I do."

They knew she was here; she was certain of it now. If she juststayed, someone would come. They'd have to, wouldn't they? They'dconsider her a security breach. Determined, she sank down to sitcrosslegged in the center of the tunnel. She'd wait until someonecame for her.

It took a long time. By her watch, more than an hour passed;Elizabeth was beginning to lose confidence when, at long last, afigure appeared at the end of the tunnel.

Elizabeth scrambled to her feet. It was a woman, maybe forty, withdark blond hair pulled into a careless ponytail, dressed in aleather-patched sweater over mended jeans. She was slight and didn'tlook particularly strong, but one glance at her face made Elizabethsuspect she'd be formidable in an altercation. She reached Elizabethand swept by her without breaking stride. "Come on."

Elizabeth hesitated; the woman was leading her back the way she'dcome. When she didn't follow, the woman stopped and looked back. Herirritation was evident. "What are you waiting for?"

"Where are you taking me?" Elizabeth asked, wishing her voicesounded stronger.

"Back," the other woman replied tersely. "You have no businesshere."

"No. I won't go."

"You can't stay here. I'll show you the way out."

"No," Elizabeth repeated, more firmly this time. "I want to seeVincent."

The woman swung around to face her squarely. "Vincent doesn't seestrangers."

"I'm not a stranger," she protested. "I'm Elizabeth Burch."

"I know. You're still a stranger."

"No. Not really. I haven't met Vincent, but I know his family.Please. I have to see him."

The woman's previously unshakable confidence seemed to falter."Why?"

"Please. I won't give away any of your secrets. I just need totalk to Vincent."

"You haven't answered my question."

Elizabeth's voice dropped. "Because I'm in love with his son."

That startled the woman, she could tell. But still she wasn'tconvinced. "Which one?" she demanded. "Vincent has more than oneson."

"He has three," Elizabeth answered, understanding the test."Charles, Jacob, and Evan. I love Charles."

The woman studied her, then nodded abruptly and reverseddirection. "Come on, then," she said. "I'll take you to him."

She paused once to tap a pattern on a pipe, confirming once andfor all Elizabeth's guess that they were used for communication. Alittle later, they met a boy in his early teens. He, too, was dressedin patched and mended clothing. He eyed Elizabeth warily as he spoketo the woman. "Vincent says to take her to his chamber," he said.

The woman nodded once, briskly. "All right. Thank you,Joshua."

The boy vanished down one of the side tunnels that were becomingmore prevalent and presently Elizabeth followed the woman into asmall, cozy - well, with her archaeological experience to guide her,she wanted to call it a cave. It was, after all, carved out of solidrock. But caves didn't have carpets on the floor or booklined shelveson the walls. Caves didn't have beds or tables or stained glasswindows or any of the myriad other objects that met her eye.

The woman stopped, looking around with an air of expectation.Elizabeth looked, too, but there was no one to be seen.

"Vincent?" the woman called, sounding puzzled.

"I'm here, Jamie." The voice was quiet, restful even, and imbuedwith a tranquility that soothed the nervous butterflies wreakinghavoc on Elizabeth's insides.

The woman - Jamie - turned her attention to a high corner of theroom. "I brought her," she announced. "I think you should talk toher."

"I will. Thank you."

It was a dismissal, and the woman called Jamie left. Elizabethstrained to make out detail in the shadowed recess above her head."Are you Vincent?" she asked.

"Yes." It was all he said.

"I need to talk to you."

"I'm listening."

Elizabeth closed her eyes. This wasn't going the way she'dexpected. "It's about Charles. Your son." She managed not to make ita question.

"I know."

Conversation with a disembodied voice, no matter how soothing, wasdisconcerting. "I need to..." She broke off and lifted her hands in agesture of supplication. "Please. Can't I see you?"

There was a pause. "It wouldn't be wise," he answered finally.

"Why? I know you're different."

"I might frighten you."

"No," she insisted, though her insides were quivering. "Youwouldn't. Please. I have to see you. I have to know..." She let hervoice trail away, and waited.

"Very well." He sounded unhappy. She heard a rustling, andgradually a form, dark and shapeless, took on substance. It descendedthe iron ladder bolted to the wall; at the bottom, it hesitated.

He was, she could see now by the light of the candles, cloaked insomething long and black. A hood was pulled up over his head, hidinghis face.

"Please," she said again. "I won't be afraid. I promise."

"Don't make promises you may not be able to keep," he replied, andshe wondered why it sounded like a warning. He turned slowly. Thehood still shadowed his face, but she could see his hands now. Theywere large and strong; their movement, when he lifted them to graspthe edges of his hood, was curiously graceful. They were covered withhair not unlike the downy growth on the back of Charles's hands. Onlymore of it. The fingers, though, were tipped with thick, pointednails. They looked dangerous.

His hands had stopped there, gripping his hood, and she realizedhe was watching her study his hands. She felt herself blushing. "I'msorry," she whispered. "I don't mean to stare."

"No apology is necessary," he said softly, and pushed back thehood.

She gasped. She couldn't help it, but she did resist the impulseto step backwards, away from him.

His hair was golden, tumbling long and shaggy around his face. Hiseyes were incredibly blue. And his face... she studied it in thewavering candlelight. Gradually, the braced wariness left hisface.

"You're smiling," he observed, giving her a glimpse of sharp whiteteeth. "Why?"

"I was just thinking..." She paused and he questioned thehesitation with a tiny, eloquent tip of his head, an expressive quirkof the eyebrow. "I was wondering at how much Charles looks likeyou."

She'd surprised him, but it was true. The resemblance wasn'tevident at first glance, of course, but the similarities were there -in the line of the jaw, the chin, the set of the brow, the shape ofthe eyes.

He smiled, and except for the teeth, which she could see clearlynow, the smile was Charles's, too. "You were right," he said softly."You aren't afraid."

"How could I be?" she answered. "You're Charles's father." Herknees were shaking, though, her hands trembling. Probably fromadrenaline, she guessed.

He noticed and moved swiftly, gracefully, to offer her a chair."Please," he said, when she hesitated. "You are my guest here."

Chastened, she took the offered seat. A few seemingly random tapson an overhead pipe produced a small girl in mended dress and apron.Vincent spoke to her solemnly, asking her to run to the kitchen andrequest tea. She agreed with equal gravity and dashed out.

"The children take their duties very seriously," he explained asthey waited.

"I could see that," she agreed. "Did Charles ever do that here?Have duties?"

"When he was young," Vincent said, sitting in a massive carvedchair that seemed made for him. "Not any more. Charles has chosen tolive in his mother's world."

She frowned. "You mean he could have lived down here? If he'dwanted?"

"Of course. He was born here, you know. In this very chamber."

Chamber. The perfect word for this wonderful place. But shewondered about its suitability as a birthing room. "Here?" sherepeated dubiously.

"Because we didn't know," Vincent went on, watching her carefully."What he would be like."

Chagrined, she felt herself blushing. "Of course. I'msorry..."

"There's no need," he said kindly.

The tea, brought by yet another member of this strange community,this one a teenage boy, arrived just then. The conversation laggedwhile Vincent poured her a steaming cup and offered cookies from aheaping plateful that had accompanied the tea.

"No, thank you," she answered, and took a sip of tea. "That's whatCharles was so worried about last year, isn't it?" she asked, whenthe boy had gone. "About himself, and me, and the children we mighthave one day."

"Yes. And, perhaps, concerned about your reaction, should he bringyou home to meet his parents as tradition demands."

She nodded. "I can understand that now. I wish he'd told me,though. I wish..."

"Sometimes things happen for the best," he said soothingly. "Youmust not concern yourself for Charles."

"I don't... what do you mean?"

"You are engaged to be married," he answered. "You must lookforward to your new life, happiness with your husband. Not back, atwhat might have been."

"But I'm not," she said softly, and showed him her ringless lefthand. "I gave the ring back two days ago."

"I see," he said thoughtfully, but she wasn't sure he did.

"I saw Charles," she hastened to explain. "Did he tell you?"

"No."

"Last week, it was. We had coffee together."

He made a small affirmative movement with his head, andwaited.

"I knew when I saw him, even though I wouldn't let myself believeit," she went on. "Until I saw Raoul. That's when I understood.That's why I had to give him back his ring."

"Yes?" he prompted softly when she hesitated.

"Because it wasn't fair. Not to Raoul. Because it's Charles Ilove." The words seemed to fall to lie heavily between them, and shehastened to explain. "I know it's been a year and he's probably overme by now. After all, I left him. I wouldn't tell him where I was..."She let the words trail away. He was smiling.

"Elizabeth," he said clearly, and she realized it was the firsttime he'd used her name. "Charles loves you."

She found she was gripping the teacup so tightly her knuckles werewhite. Deliberately she relaxed her hand and set the cup on thetable. "How do you know?" she asked, and wondered why her voicesounded so far away.

"I know."

He sounded very certain and though she couldn't believe he'ddeliberately mislead her, her heart doubted.

He tipped his head slightly and changed the subject. "How did youfind this place? Find me?"

"I knew where to look," she answered. "My father has a journal..."She stopped abruptly, remembering her promise.

To her surprise, he smiled. "I've often wondered if Elliot did notunderstand more than he allowed anyone to know."

His easy use of her father's name surprised her. "You knowhim?"

"We have not met," he assured her. "But," and here his voice grewquiet, reflective, "he once saved my life."

That startled her. "He says you saved his," she countered.

"Catherine was in danger," he said, sounding suddenly remote."Elliot simply happened to be there."

"He says you saved him," she insisted, stubbornly. "He says youhelped him, too. And besides," she added, on impulse. "He's gratefulto you."

The look he turned on her was gently questioning.

"Because he thinks you make..." she stumbled, wondering what nameto use, and settled on simple description. "Charles's motherhappy."

His expression softened in a way she hadn't seen before. "I knowshe's happy," he answered. "I hope I'm a part of that happiness." Hestood abruptly. "Come. I'll take you home with me."

What Charles hated most about the thirty-six hour shifts expectedof a new intern was what it did to his sleep pattern. By now, he wasso thoroughly disrupted that when he did get to bed, he couldn't fallasleep; once he slept, he couldn't get up again. This evening was nodifferent. He rolled out of bed and stood swaying, rubbing his face.When he felt in command of his balance, he made his way to thenearest bathroom.

Growing up, he'd rarely used it. It was situated between his roomand his sister Vicky's room. Back then, it had simply been easier tocross the hall to the bathroom shared by his brothers. Quicker,too.

But Vicky was in England now, so Charles let Carey have the otherbathroom, while he used this one. He stood under the shower for along time, letting the strong, steamy pulse of the water clear hishead.

More alert, he dressed and went downstairs. Lights were on in thestudy, so he went in. He saw at once there was a visitor - someonesmall and dark-haired, seated beside his mother on the couch, theirheads bent together over something in their laps. A photo album, heguessed, as he heard his mother mention his name.

"Here's Charles when he was five..."

His father was across from them, which wasn't altogethersurprising. It happened once or twice a year - someone would come - aformer helper, someone who'd once lived Below. Charles wondered onlymildly about the identity of this one.

His father looked up and greeted him and Charles started acrossthe room, prepared to be introduced to the newcomer.

For a moment he thought he was imagining things. His mind, starvedof the sight of her, had dreamed her up. He blinked hard, waiting forhis vision to clear, her delicate features to blur and moldthemselves into someone else's face.

Instead, his mother pulled the photo album aside and the otherperson rose, still wearing Elizabeth's face. It was Elizabeth'svoice, too, that spoke.

"Hello, Charles."

He had to swallow hard before he could answer. "Elizabeth."

She smiled softly, tentatively, and only then did it strike himanew that his father was in the room. He glanced that way inhorror.

"Elizabeth came to visit me this afternoon," his father explained."She's a very resourceful young woman."

Charles looked back at Elizabeth. He still couldn't quite makehimself believe she was here.

"Why don't the two of you find someplace quiet to talk, Charles?"his mother suggested. "I'm sure you have a lot to say to eachother."

Dazed, he took the hand Elizabeth offered and led her from theroom. On the landing, he paused. "Where shall we go?"

"I don't care. Anywhere."

Her hand was small and trusting in his and he closed his fingersaround it, tightening his grip. An answering pressure reassured him."A walk?" he asked. "Or we could just sit downstairs."

"Just sit, if you don't mind," she said shyly. "I've done a lot ofwalking today."

"Of course," he said, and started down the stairs. On the mainfloor, he drew her into the parlor and offered a chair.

"I like your father," she said, surprising him. "I like him alot." She ignored the chair in favor of the couch; he sank downbeside her.

"He doesn't frighten you?"

"How could he?" she asked softly. "When he looks so much likeyou?"

That reminded him, abruptly, that, pleasant though this visit was,she was engaged to marry another man. Instinctively, he drew back.She caught his hands.

"I gave back Raoul's ring," she said clearly. "I couldn't marryhim."

"Why?" His voice emerged as a bare whisper and part of himwondered if he was really still upstairs in his bed, dreaming theunsettled dreams of one whose rest is disturbed.

"Because I love you," she said in a rush, and then smiled andlooked away. "Your father said I should tell you and not let pridestand in my way."

"My father," Charles answered, feeling choked, "is a very wiseman."

And then there was no more need for words.

It was well past midnight when he used his mother's car to driveElizabeth across town; when he returned home, lights still glowedbehind the stained glass fanlights on the second floor. His parentswaited for him in the study.

"You talked a long time," his father observed.

His mother was more direct. "What did she say, Charles? What didyou say?"

"I asked her to marry me."

Neither of them bothered to ask what Elizabeth's reply had been.Instead, they rose to embrace him, murmuring congratulations andmaking Charles wonder exactly what had gone on while he'd beensleeping.

"Charles, that's wonderful..." his mother began, but let her voicefade away when Vincent put his hand on her arm.

"No, it isn't wonderful, is it?" he asked quietly.

Head bowed, Charles shook his head.

"What is it, Charles? What's wrong?" Catherine askedanxiously.

"Elizabeth's unhappy," he said.

"Because of her father," Vincent said gently.

Charles nodded, gaze fixed firmly on the floor between his feet."They're very close," he whispered. "She's afraid he'll be hurt thatshe won't... can't confide in him. She knows he can't possiblyunderstand. I thought about telling her I changed my mind, that maybewe'd be better off apart, but then she looked at me and Icouldn't."

His mother's smile was laced with sorrow. "She wouldn't havelistened, Charles," she said gently. "She loves you."

"But to make her choose between me and her father..."

"Perhaps she shouldn't have to," Vincent said slowly.

Charles's head snapped up.

His mother half turned, protesting. "Vincent, no."

"Catherine." His father put his hand on hers and bent his head tospeak to her. She said something in a voice too low for Charles tohear and shook her head sharply; his father answered, his toneinsistent.

Their only point of contact was where Vincent's hand rested onCatherine's as they argued in low voices, but there was no denyinghow they felt for each other. Charles studied his mother's earnestface, and suddenly realized where he'd seen that expression before.Earlier this evening, when Elizabeth had turned to kiss himgoodnight, she had worn that same look - of unerring trust andinfinite love shining through the unhappiness.

That his mother was unhappy with whatever his father was saying soearnestly Charles had no doubt, but the love was there, too, and thetrust. Just as obviously, though, they weren't reaching anythingresembling agreement.

"Vincent, you can't," she said. "Please."

His father squeezed her hand before releasing it and straightenedto his full height. "Catherine. I must."

Charles could see her helplessness as his father crossed to hisdesk and drew out a thick sheet of stationery. Vincent wrote for amoment, then stared at the paper with the faint beginnings of a frownpuckering his forehead.

"What's wrong?" Charles asked.

"It's customary, in your world, to use a surname," he said. "I'mwondering what Elizabeth's father will think when he sees I don'thave one."

"You could use Wells," Charles suggested. "Like Grandfather."

The little frown transformed itself into a subtle smile. "That wasFather's name, and it's Devin's, and even Carey's, but I have neverfelt it was mine."

"I'm sure Father wouldn't mind," his mother said. Obviously, she'ddecided to accept with grace what she could not prevent.

"No. I think not."

"Well, it's usual for the wife to take her husband's name whenthey marry, but we're different, and always have been." Her gentlesmile held things that Charles suspected he wasn't meant to see."You're welcome to use my name, if you like."

His father gazed at her deeply, and Charles wondered, for amoment, if either of them even remembered he was there. "I've oftenthought, if I were to adopt a surname, that it should be yours. It'sthe name my children bear, as well." He glanced again at theinvitation. "But lack of a surname is a small thing. I suppose Elliotshould know, from the beginning, that I am different."

"He already knows that," Elizabeth said, when Charles recountedthe conversation the next day.

"He thinks he knows," Charles countered. "The reality may be quitedifferent."

Elizabeth thought that over. "Yes," she agreed. "You'reright."

"Does he know yet? About you and me?"

She shook her head. "He was asleep when I came home lastnight."

"Would you like me to come with you?" he asked, and indicated theinvitation she held in her hand. "To answer his questions?"

"I was under the impression that most of the questions didn't haveanswers," Elizabeth answered, her eyes dancing. "But yes, I'd likeyou to."

Her teasing comment made him think of something he'd shoved to theback of his subconscious. "Elizabeth... about children..."

The mischief in her eyes vanished, replaced by compassion andunderstanding. "I've met your father," she reminded him gently. "Iknow what could happen."

"No. You don't." He squirmed for a moment, then decided theeasiest way was to simply tell her. "I tested myself," he said."After you left last summer. I used the lab at school."

She frowned at him. "Charles, what are you trying to tell me?"

He swallowed. "I can't father a child. I'm sterile."

She gazed at him wordlessly and he hurried to fill the silence."Jacob's not. I checked him, too. I haven't seen Evan..." He let hisvoice trail off and spread his hands. "I thought you should know. Ifit makes a difference... if it matters to you... I understand if youwant to change your mind..."

Her expression changed to mild surprise. "Change my mind aboutyou? Over a little thing like children?" She slid her arms around hisneck. "It occurs to me, Charles," she murmured, lips against hisneck, "that you don't know me very well."

Later, when he'd recovered his balance and his breath, Elizabethdrove them both to her father's office and they talked again ofchildren.

"We can always adopt, if we're determined to be parents,"Elizabeth said firmly. "There are lots of children who need to beloved."

The office building housing Burch Enterprises had a privateparking garage and an elaborate security system, but Elizabeth wasrecognized at every checkpoint and whisked through with impeccablecourtesy, and presently Charles found himself following her into acarefully appointed office. The room was large. Two walls of windowsadded to the spaciousness and announced the owner's importance -corner offices were always considered choice.

Elizabeth tugged on his arm, drawing him across the room. ElliotBurch, comfortably rumpled in shirt sleeves and loosened tie, was onthe phone, but he looked up and smiled, waving them to chairs.

Elizabeth sat easily, leaning back and crossing her legs, butCharles couldn't relax. He perched nervously on the edge of his seat.In a moment he was going to have to speak to the father of the womanhe loved, and he very much feared the reaction he'd get. Elizabethwas sure her father had showed her his journals and the privateinvestigator's reports to encourage her, but Charles wasn't. It wasentirely possible he'd meant the information as a warning. He mightnot be happy about this at all.

Elliot cradled the phone and came around his desk to kiss hisdaughter's cheek before offering Charles a friendly hand. Charles wasalready on his feet, driven as much by nerves as by manners, andreturned the handshake with all the firmness he could muster.

"Charles. Good to see you," Elliot greeted him. "How's yourmother?"

"She's fine, sir." He glanced at Elizabeth, who picked up her cuesmoothly.

"I didn't get a chance to tell you, Daddy. I met Charles's fatherlast night."

Elliot's only reaction was the delicate arching of a brow. "Didyou?" He shifted his gaze to Charles. "And that's how she wound upwith you again."

His spine stiffened at the implied challenge. "Yes, sir."

"We love each other, Daddy," Elizabeth broke in. "Charles asked meto marry him."

"Did he?" Elliot's voice seemed deceptively mild; his eyes neverleft Charles's face.

"I said 'yes'," she continued.

"I see."

Charles wished he hadn't resumed his seat; his superior heightwould give him a psychological advantage if he were standing, andright now he could use all the help he could get. In lieu of that, hesat up straight and squared his shoulders. "Mr. Burch, I come from avery traditional, if somewhat unorthodox, family." He didn't dareglance at Elizabeth, who was staring at him in unabashed horror. "Imay not be the ideal suitor; I know I've hurt Elizabeth in the past,and as her father, you must resent that. I can't promise I'll nevercause her pain again, although I can tell you I'll try my best notto. But I can promise you this: I'll love her, cherish her, honor andkeep her for the rest of my life."

"Those sound like wedding vows," Elliot observed softly, hisexpression neutral.

"Yes, sir. But it's truly the way I feel. I won't ask for yourpermission, because I'm certain Elizabeth knows her own mind. But Iwant to marry your daughter, and I'd be happier if we could have yourblessing."

"It almost sounds as if you're asking for her hand."

"Yes, sir, I suppose I am."

"Traditionally, I suppose I should ask how you expect to supporther, but since I know your family..."

Charles cleared his throat. "Actually, sir, you may as well knowthat my mother's told me to expect nothing from her estate besidesthe modest trust fund she established at my birth."

That surprised him, Charles could tell.

He rushed to explain. "She's establishing a charitable trust withthe bulk of her estate. My brothers, my sister, and I are all capableof earning a living and we all have trusts that will support us, butshe feels her money could be put to better use in other ways."

"Yes," Elliot mused, half to himself. "Cathy always did have asoft spot for those less fortunate. So am I to suspect you're aftermy daughter for her money?"

Elizabeth reached across the space between them and caughtCharles's hand. "Stop it, Daddy," she said firmly. "I'm going tomarry him."

Elliot studied their faces for a moment. "Yes, I can see that," headmitted. He smiled, offering his hand once more. "Congratulations,Charles. Welcome to the family."

The next evening, Charles paced the downstairs hall nervously,striding from the dining room to the front door and back again.Occasionally he detoured into the living room to look out; thefisheye lens in the front door peephole distorted things.

Elizabeth's father's reaction had been curiously neutral whenshe'd handed him Vincent's handwritten invitation yesterday, but he'dagreed immediately to come. Charles knew his mother was lessenthusiastic, but nevertheless, she waited upstairs with the rest ofthe family.

He half-expected to see a limousine pull up to the curb, but itwas Elizabeth's little red sports car that scooted around the cornerand parked neatly just across the street.

Elliot Burch climbed out of the passenger side, looking asdiscomfited as Charles always felt after being subjected toElizabeth's dashing style of driving.

He had the front door open by the time they mounted the steps.Emboldened by her father's acceptance of him, he greeted Elizabethwith a quick kiss before offering Elliot a more formal one.

"Good evening, sir."

"If you plan to become my son-in-law," Elliot said genially,"you'll have to get over this 'sir' business. Call me Elliot."

"Yes, sir," Charles answered dutifully, and grinned. "Elliot."

Elliot and Elizabeth began to move along the wide hallway, aiming,Charles suspected, for the living room door he'd left ajar. "Thisway," he redirected them, and pointed to the stairs. Elizabethsmiled, but Elliot looked puzzled.

"Upstairs?" he inquired.

"Yes, sir... Elliot," Charles answered. "We don't often use therooms down here. My father's more comfortable in the study."

Elliot nodded briefly.

On the second floor, the study door stood ajar; beyond it werelights and the muffled sound of voices. Charles tapped on it and thevoices stopped, replaced by the rustle of people moving about. Hepushed the door open and led the way inside.

His mother moved to meet them. The room was well lighted tonightand Charles couldn't help wondering what Elliot Burch must bethinking as his father glided silently forward in her wake. Hehesitated, wondering what he should say, and Elizabeth stepped pasthim, smiling, and took the decision out of his hands.

"You know Charles's mother, of course," she said to herfather.

"Of course," he murmured. His gaze, riveted on Vincent since he'dentered the room, never wavered.

"This is Charles's father," Elizabeth continued. "Vincent, this ismy father, Elliot Burch."

Elliot stared a moment longer, then extended his hand. "I'vewaited a long time for this," he said.

Vincent took his hand slowly. "As have I," he replied. "I'vewished for the opportunity to thank you."

"I owe you my life," Elliot began, arguing.

"No, no, you're not doing this now," Catherine interrupted. "Youcan form a mutual admiration society later. Elliot, what kind ofgreeting is a mumbled 'of course' when you don't even look atme?"

Her half-teasing tirade broke the tension and Elliot smiled."Cathy, I'm sorry. As usual, it's wonderful to see you." He startedforward, then checked his movement and glanced at Vincent.

Vincent's expression remained bland, and after a moment, Elliottook Catherine's hands and lightly kissed her cheek.

She returned the affectionate gesture and turned. "Elliot andElizabeth, we want you to meet our son Jacob..."

Elliot again offered his hand. "Jacob," he said, smiling. "Youlook like your mother."

Jacob returned the smile and the handshake. "So I'm told," heagreed. "May I present my wife Amanda?"

Amanda, clinging shyly to Jacob's arm, managed a smile and anod.

Catherine turned to the last of the family gathered there thatevening. "And our nephew Carey."

Elliot shook Carey's hand and gave Catherine a suspicious glance."Nephew?" he asked. "I happen to know you're an only child."

"Actually, he's Vincent's nephew," she explained. "Vincent has abrother."

Elliot's eyebrows rose in genuine astonishment and he turned togive Vincent another long look.

"Foster brothers is the way it was explained to me when I firstcame here," Carey offered.

Elliot turned to him gratefully. "You didn't grow up here?"

"No, sir. I'm from Illinois, originally." Elliot was interested,so Carey went on to tell about his unexpected arrival on the Chandlerdoorstep and his first meeting with Vincent.

Elizabeth persuaded Amanda away from Jacob's side and the two weresoon in deep conversation on the far side of the room. Charles'smother stood with Elliot and Carey, talking; his father stood behindher, patient and attentive, answering gravely whenever she turned todraw him into the discussion.

Charles stood back and watched. Jacob drifted to his side. "It'sgoing pretty well, don't you think?"

Charles nodded. "Mother's still worried, though," he observed asCarey detached himself from the older group and came to jointhem.

"It's always hard for her when Vincent meets new people," heagreed. "I remember how she was with me."

"I think he's glad she's not always there when new people comeBelow," Jacob added. "But it is going well. It's good of Elizabeth totalk to Amanda."

"They both look as if they're enjoying it," Charles said. "Maybethey'll be friends."

"Amanda would like that," Jacob agreed.

"I know planning the wedding is the responsibility of the bride'sfamily, Elliot," Charles heard his mother say, "but I hope you'll letme help."

"I haven't asked Elizabeth what she has in mind," Elliot replied,"but I'm sure she'd appreciate your advice."

"Actually," Charles broke in hesitantly, "we talked aboutsomething small. I was going to call Judge Marshall in themorning."

"Nick Marshall?" his mother asked. The judge, now retired, was anold family friend.

He nodded. "To ask him to marry us."

"Oh, but, Charles..." she began, protesting.

"We don't want a fuss, Mother. We just want a small, privatewedding. If both our fathers can't be there..."

"Actually..." Elizabeth interrupted from across the room andCharles looked at her, startled. "Amanda's been telling me about herwedding. In the tunnels."

From the corner of his eye, Charles saw his mother flinch and giveElliot an anxious glance.

Elizabeth saw it too, and stumbled. "I'm sorry. I don't know whatI am and am not supposed to talk about. But I was thinking... maybewe could be married with our families - both our families -there."

"It's true Jacob and Amanda were married in their world," hismother began, speaking cautiously. "Vincent and I were married there,as well. But, Elizabeth, ceremonies conducted there have no validityup here. If you and Charles want this to be a legal marriage..."

"I know about that," Elizabeth said. "Amanda explained it. But Iwas thinking, and I believe there's a way. In France," she continued,"there's a complete separation of church and state. To the point thatchurch weddings aren't recognized as valid by the government, and theCatholic Church, of course, doesn't recognize civil services. So mostCatholic couples have two weddings. A small, civil service followedby a large church wedding." She looked at Charles. "And I thought,while I was talking with Amanda, that maybe we could do that."

"Have a small wedding in the judge's chambers and then anotherone, a big one, in my father's world?" Charles asked. It sounded likea wonderful solution to him. He glanced at his parents. His fathermet his look and nodded approval. His mother looked worried, butCharles trusted his father's judgement, as well as his father'sability to persuade his mother. He smiled. "I think that's a greatidea."

The small, legal ceremony took place on a brisk September morning,attended only by immediate family. Charles's mother and Elizabeth'sfather were there, along with Jacob and Amanda, Carey, and evenVicky, who'd flown in from England especially for this. Jacob andVicky acted as witnesses and the whole thing was disconcertinglybrief.

The larger, more festive ceremony took place the same afternoon.They'd asked Vincent to preside and Elizabeth had chosen thetraditional custom of having her father give her away. Charles feltnothing but joy when Elliot put her hand in his. He was supremelyconscious of her standing beside him as they faced his father.

Difficulties lay ahead. Elizabeth's work would sometimes demandher presence elsewhere - there were few archaeological digs indowntown New York - while Charles was bound to the hospital for theterm of his internship and residency. Even later, he'd be spendingtime in a research lab.

But those were small things. He'd endure the separations just ashis father had always borne the times when his mother had been away.What was important was that Elizabeth was his now, just as he washers. They belonged together. And whatever else happened, they'dalways love one another.

His father was speaking now of the importance of the promises theywere about to make to one another; Charles stole a look at Elizabeth.She must have sensed it, though her attention seemed to be onVincent. Her hand, tucked into the crook of his arm, tightenedperceptibly and a little smile touched the corner of her mouth. Andhe understood that in her heart, the promises had already beenmade.

The End