CHAPTER 5

It had been raining for several days, a steady downpour, and strong winds were blowing from the northeast. But this morning had dawned perfectly clear with a cloudless sky and warm sun that turned the lake a sparkling shade of blue.

It had been two weeks since Catherine had come to him, telling him about the man she had met. Every single day had been agony, every night unbearable, although the dream hadn´t repeated itself. But Vincent had been haunted by fantasies the likes of which he had fought to banish all his life. At first he had seen Catherine in the arms of another, but soon those arms had become his, and he´d held her close, stroked her face, and lost himself in her kisses and caresses so intimate that he didn´t know where he´d taken the images from.

Vincent expelled a low groan and tossed a pebble at the surface of the water, watching the waves drift apart in perfect circles. He wasn´t ashamed of those images, nor was he afraid.

After the incident in the park that had caused him to kill again, Rao had said something that made sense to him only now. Rao had said that behind sexual desire was a very natural longing that ´s not altogether physical: the longing to escape the loneliness of separate existence. He´d also said that once one begins to transform the passion of sex, they will find a gentleness and tenderness entering into all their relationships, into everything life has to offer.

Vincent would have liked to think that the awareness of love he felt in everything that was touched by nature´s purity, was an indication for his gradual learning to transform the passionate desire he experienced for Catherine. Besides that, he kept telling himself that truly fulfilling relationships were not really based on sexual attraction, but on tenderness and respect for one another. What he and Catherine shared was too precious for words, and he would allow nothing to interfere with it.

There had been many nights, however, that had found him diving into the cold water of the lake to find release and regain some measure of balance and inner peace.

The sound of a car engine jerked him from his thoughts and he spun around, automatically looking for a hiding place, but then his heart leapt with joy and trepidation as he recognized Catherine´s car pulling up the driveway.

Vincent took his time walking toward her. He watched as she got out of the car and stood there indecisively for a moment, hugging her arms around her body. Finally she spotted him as he approached her slowly. Her face was beaming and it caused a flicker of hope to rise in his chest.

"Vincent," she exclaimed, spreading her arms. He went into them without thinking twice, grateful for the warmth she offered and the joy her nearness gave him. He inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of her skin and hair.

"You´re here," he mumbled against her neck and then straightened to scan her face.

"Yes," she replied, "and I´m going to stay for a while. I´ve taken some vacation time and don´t intend to return to the city before it´s over."

Summoning his courage, Vincent asked shyly, "And Elliot?"

"We agreed that we wouldn´t be seeing each other for a while," Catherine answered, holding his gaze without the slightest flicker.

Vincent nodded slowly, wordlessly. He restrained his curiosity, knowing that he must give her space and time. She would talk to him when she was ready.

"Will you help me with my luggage?" she asked, pointing her thumb at the car.

He smiled. "Of course."

From the number of suitcases and the amount of food she had brought, Catherine´s vacation seemed to be quite extended, Vincent thought, amused and undeniably hopeful as he carried the luggage into the house. After they´d stored away most of it, Catherine was exhausted.

"It´s even hotter out here than I expected," she remarked. "Do you mind if we go for a swim and finish this later?"

The prospect of Catherine and him swimming together was startling, and Vincent was momentarily at a loss for words.

"What is it, Vincent?" she inquired softly, peering up into his face. "Don´t you swim?"

"Of course, I do," he replied valiantly, "but maybe you´d better go alone this time, while I finish this up?"

For long seconds she said nothing, just stared at him thoughtfully. "Okay," she said at last, giving his arm a companionable squeeze.

Vincent looked after her as she ran up the stairs, eager as a child to get to the water. A few minutes later she emerged from her room, wearing only a swimsuit and a large towel that was draped carelessly over her shoulders.

Vincent had never seen her like that. Even during the days he´d spent with her in her apartment, she´d never worn so little, although some of her nightclothes were quite revealing as well.

Her legs were slim and shapely and the swell of her breasts a sight so lovely that he had difficulty tearing his eyes away.

"Are you sure you won´t come with me?" she asked.

"Maybe I´ll follow you later," he replied, "after I´m finished here."

Catherine braced one hand on her hip. "You´re very thorough, aren´t you?" she stated, arching her brow.

He laughed. "I believe I am."

She advanced toward him and looked into his eyes, and it became clear to him that she was very much aware of his shyness about exposing his body to her. It was ridiculous, because she had seen him almost naked before and hadn´t fled, but it was still difficult to free himself from his doubts.

Finally he said, "You´re right, this can wait."

Catherine´s face broke into a delighted grin and she grasped his hand. "Let´s go then," she urged enthusiastically.

He resisted her pull gently. "I have to change first," he murmured self-consciously.

"Okay, then I´ll wait outside," she suggested, and he was grateful for that.

Catherine caught herself pacing the porch while she was waiting for Vincent. When she heard the door opening at last, she turned around expectantly. Vincent´s head was slightly bowed and she suspected that he was doing this to hide behind the long strands of his hair as it fell forward across his face. He was clad only in jeans that he´d cut short a few inches above his knee and the edges looked as if he´d just done that before donning them a few minutes ago. She took in his wide shoulders and muscular arms and couldn´t help but admire his body. She wondered fleetingly whether or not he was aware of how gorgeous he looked.

Vincent´s head snapped up and he gazed at her uncertainly.

Silently Catherine reprimanded herself that she had done it again. She´d made him uncomfortable by staring at him, by noticing his unique male beauty.

"Let´s go then," she said lightly, linking her arm through his. His muscles tensed at her touch, but the hairs on his lower arm were soft beneath her palm, just as soft as she´d always imagined his chest hair to be. Quickly she shook off the thought and released his arm.

"Race me," she commanded and dashed off toward the bank of the lake. She dove into the water, and as she came up for air, he was still standing where she´d left him, grinning broadly. With a sweep of her arm she splashed water at him and squeeled with delight when he started off toward her, plunging headlong into the waves. She scanned the surface warily to be prepared for where he would emerge, but there was no sign of him. Suddenly his arms snaked across her waist from behind and lifted her from the water only to drop her unceremoniously a few seconds later. But he didn´t actually relinquish his hold on her and pulled her up immediately. She gasped for air and shook the water from her hair, and when her vision finally cleared, she was surprised to find him watching her solemnly. Somehow she´d expected him to laugh, or at least grin, but his eyes were hooded and his expression unreadable. She had never seen his face so clearly. The water had swept back his hair and it clung to his head, revealing and emphasizing the shapes and contures of his high cheekbones and his strong jawline and chin. But most of all her gaze clung to his neck. Tiny drops of water had caught in the soft stubble at his throat and glistened in the late afternoon sun, and Catherine experienced the irrational urge to rise on her tiptoes and kiss them away. Her heart pounded erratically in her chest, and just when she feared she had offended him yet again, he bent forward and pressed a soft, lingering kiss on her forehead. Then he released her abruptly and dove away, gliding throught the water with long, powerful strokes. His mane drifted out behind him like a veil of silk.

Catherine stared after him, stunned by his unexpected behavior. She felt suddenly cold and swam back to the bank to push herself out of the water. Wrapping her towel about her shoulders, she looked out at the water in search of Vincent. There was no trace of him. The surface of the lake was unbroken. Turning her head at a rustle in the bushes to her left, she saw him striding toward her, the muscles of his thighs straining against the fabric of the wet jeans. She ignored the feelings the picture evoked and handed him his towel. He took it from her with a tilt of his head.

"Thank you," he said, drying his arms and chest. He sat down beside her, the towel flung across his shoulders and his forearms braced on his knees.

She smiled. "Where did you learn to swim like that?"

"There are ponds and pools underground," he said. "We teach our children..."

"Yes?" she urged gently when his voice broke off. A sadness passed across his features at the memory of his family.

"We teach our children to swim as a means of survival down there," he continued quietly, "but, of course, to them it is all for fun."

Catherine remembered how he had tossed her into the water and pulled her up again. She imagined him playing with the children of his world and thought with regret that she hadn´t given much thought as to how sorely he must miss that world despite all the sunshine and the beauty of nature out here. She turned her head to study him shyly, and he shifted his weight to meet her gaze. They looked at each other silently for a moment, and Catherine was certain that Vincent had been very much aware of her thoughts.

"Thank you, Catherine," he rasped, "for your concern, but I am happy here, because I know that they are safe." After a pause, he added carefully, "And...I´m happy because you are here...with me."

On impulse, she leaned her head against his bare arm. The towel slid off his back, but he made no move to replace it.

"Catherine," he began uncertainly, "aren´t you afraid to spend so much time with me...alone?"

Puzzled, Catherine lifted her head from his arm and stared at him. "Are you afraid of me?" she countered. She half-expected him to take that as a joke, but he returned her gaze solemnly and then dropped his eyes.

"I take that as a yes," she stated. "But, Vincent, why? Aren´t we friends?"

He kept studying his hands as they dangled from his knees. "We are friends," he said finally, "and, no, I´m not afraid of you."

"And do I look as if I were afraid of you?" she asked.

His head swung around and he half smiled. "Not exactly."

"Then what?"

His gaze held hers for another long moment and then snapped away. "This place is doing something to me," he said at last. "Something is happening to me out here. I´m not...who I used to be."

"That´s understandable," Catherine replied. "The circumstances of your life have changed so drastically that it would be unnatural if you hadn´t undergone certain changes." Of its own accord, her hand moved to cover his much larger one. "What´s troubling you about it?"

He inhaled forcefully. "Back in the city I was always on guard -- toward others as well as toward myself. Out here..." he swept the landscape with his free arm, "I find myself relaxing, lowering my guard."

"Because you don´t need it here," she concluded.

He nodded. "I don´t need it as long as I´m alone."

"And you think you do need it with me?" she asked, unable to hide her disappointment.

His hand came up to gently grasp her wrist, turning it so that the tender inner side was exposed to his eyes. "So fragile," he murmured. "It´s what reminds me most of what I am."

"And what do you think you are?" she inquired, her throat suddenly feeling tight.

"A danger," he said and rose to his feet, "to you."

She reached up her hand for him to take and help her rise. It took a moment before he seized it. When they finally stood facing each other, she asked, "What makes you think so?"

The corners of his mouth lifted in a sad smile. "I´m afraid that it is not a matter of thinking."

"Then, what makes you feel that way?" she insisted.

He didn´t say anything, he just reached out for her and pulled her close, so close that she could feel his breath on her face. The warmth of his chest seeped through the wet fabric of her swimsuit and his heart beat loud and fast against hers. His lips were scant inches away from hers and for a moment she thought that he was going to kiss her. He did not; he just kept gazing at her silently as if he were waiting -- waiting for something that eluded her.

His body heat had practically dried his jeans, and despite her best intentions, the touch of his thighs against hers sent a flash of arousal through her.

He released her instantly, averting his eyes to look out across the water. "This is not what you want," he said hoarsely, "and yet you can´t help it."

For once she was truly at a loss for words. In a way he was right, and that didn´t surprise her. His insight had always been highly accurate. But there was another side to it, and she didn´t know how to explain to him why she thought it better if their relationship remained on the safe ground of friendship. She knew she had to say something or he would believe that his appearance was the cause for her reluctance to give in to her desire.

"It is not you," she said at last. "That´s not the reason I won´t allow myself those feelings. It´s just that I´m scared to death that if I do, I might lose the best friend I ever had."

Vincent closed his eyes and threw back his head, drawing a deep breath and releasing it slowly. Then he turned back to her, and she shivered as his gaze met hers. "I will always be your friend," he whispered, opening his arms.

Catherine moved closer and embraced him tenderly. "My best friend," she insisted.

"Your best friend," he sighed into her hair, closing his arms around her.

*

The days passed by in sunlight and laughter, and Vincent thought that he had never been happier in his life. He reveled in his increasing self-restraint and noted with relief that having Catherine this near didn´t threaten his control at all. He seemed to have all the strength in the world to do with it as he pleased. Nature nurtured his soul and fed his spirit in a way that he´d never believed possible.

They swam together, as carefree as children, and he took her into the mountains, showing her everything he had discovered in the woods. His friends out there quickly became hers as well, and the bond between them grew stronger every day.

One day, they were surprised by rain as they were hiking through the mountains. Vincent grabbed Catherine´s hand and they broke into a run for shelter. Suddenly she tugged at his hand, urging him to stop. Surprised, he complied and when he turned to look at her, he found her standing in the pouring rain, her head lifted toward the sky in a gesture of absolute abandon. Shyly he released her hand, and she threw up her arms, laughing and spinning around in a silent dance. He fought not to notice how her soaked t-shirt clung to her body, revealing its enticing contours to his eyes. Heedless of it all, she turned to him and flew into his arms, hugging him enthusiastically. He held her against his trembling body, praying that it wouldn´t betray him now in a moment so fragile and so magical. He reclined against the trunk of a tree, holding her close and rocking her gently until he felt her shiver with cold.

Wordlessly he lifted her in his arms and carried her all the way back to the cabin only to find that she had fallen asleep against his chest. He roused her gently and she smiled.

"You ought to change into something dry," he admonished softly. She gave him a strange look that shook him inwardly, and he averted his eyes. The image of the gentle rise and fall of her breasts wouldn´t leave him alone, and he made a conscious effort to think of something else entirely.

"A penny for your thoughts," she whispered, and for the first time she didn´t receive an answer.

*

The heat of late August wafted languidly across the meadow as Catherine and Vincent strolled leisurely back to the cabin. It wasn´t comfortable to be outside in the glare of the noon-day sun. After a light meal, Catherine retired to her room upstairs for a nap while Vincent made himself comfortable downstairs with a book.

Sleep claimed her easily and Catherine drifted on a cloud of contentment when she felt someone shaking her firmly.

"Catherine," Vincent´s voice finally penetrated her foggy mind. "Catherine, please wake up. Someone is coming."

That brought her awake immediately.

"What happened?" she gasped.

"I heard the noise of an engine and saw a car approaching on the driveway. They´re headed toward us."

Catherine ran over to her father´s bedroom from where she had a clear view of the driveway.

"I can´t see anything," she said helplessly, "but maybe you should go down to the basement, just to make sure."

Soundlessly, he glided down the stairs and rolled the carpet aside that hid the trap-door. He lifted the lid and, easing himself through the opening, he admonished, "Be careful, Catherine. I´m close by."

Catherine had barely finished replacing the carpet when she heard the sound of the engine at last. It died as the car stopped down by the lake, and Catherine watched from behind the curtain as two men got out and scanned the area. Finally they turned toward the house and slowly came up the path. There was nothing unusual about them, aside from the fact that they shouldn´t be there at all. Obviously they had missed, or ignored, the sign that stood where the driveway branched off the main road. They seemed unaware that they were on private property and Catherine had every intention of making them aware of it as quickly as possible.

The men reached the door and knocked. Catherine opened it and met their pleasantly surprised faces defiantly. She didn´t know why, but she had a very bad feeling were those two were concerned.

"Yes?" she asked with forced politeness.

The taller of the men lifted his hat in greeting. "We´re sorry to disturb you, ma´m. I´m afraid we lost our way. Can you help us?"

"That depends," Catherine replied tersely.

"We´re looking for Ferngate Farm," the other man supplied.

Catherine had never heard the name in her life. "I´m sorry," she said, "I can´t help you. You´d better return to the main road and ask someone there."

The men dipped their heads in silent thanks and turned to leave. Relieved, Catherine looked after them, but the way they kept scanning their surroundings made her vaguely uneasy.

Vincent emerged from the basement and joined her at the window. "They will come back," he said through clenched teeth, peering through the window warily.

"How do you know?" Catherine inquired, puzzled by his strange behavior.

"I have a feeling that they will," he insisted.

"Then we´d better be on guard," Catherine said, rubbing his arm reassuringly. She was suddenly grateful that she had brought her gun with her and went to retrieve it so that she would have it at hand.

Vincent´s posture betrayed his tension as he watched her every move attentively. Catherine tucked the gun into the pocket of her loose-fitting shirt and walked back to him. "Vincent, you can relax now. I´ve got a portable telephone in my car. If you want, I can call the police, but to be honest, I don´t really have a reason for that."

Vincent said nothing, but kept casting wary glances through the window.

"Come," Catherine coaxed, "let´s go for a walk. You´ll see, everything will be all right."

*

They´d strolled through the woods for hours when Vincent grew restless again. "We ought to return," he urged, and Catherine had to admit that his uneasiness carried over into her.

"Okay," she relented. "It will get dark soon, and I´m tired and hungry anyway."

She followed Vincent downhill, trying in vain to shake the disconcerting feeling that something was very wrong with him. He moved in a different way than she was accustomed to, although at first she was helpless to put her finger on the difference. But by the time they neared the cabin, she realized he had abandoned his usual strong, graceful stride for a motion that could only be described as stalking, and she grew careful not to touch him, as if she feared getting hit by an electric jolt.

Vincent insisted that he would enter the cabin through the basement access. She saw him standing watch behind the trees and knew he would remain there until she was safely inside. She locked the door behind her, her hand still on the gun that she´d carried with her in her pocket as a concession to Vincent´s dismal forebodings. Suddenly a door fell shut on the upper floor and someone came down the stairs.

"Good evening, ma´m," the man said with feigned friendliness, and Catherine recognized him immediately as the taller of the two men who´d been at her door in the afternoon. "We thought we´d pay you a visit and keep you company a while. You must be pretty lonely out here."

Catherine jerked the gun from the pocket of her shirt, pointing it at him. "What do you want?" she spat at him grimly.

He raised his hands in mock fear. "Whoa, lady! You should be careful with that thing." At the same instant someone snatched the gun from her hand and dealt her a blow against her temple.

She was vaguely aware of being dragged outside and lowered to the ground. Forcing her eyes open, she noted that it had grown quite dark by now. Her head ached terribly as she pushed herself onto her knees and looked around, trying to make out her attackers. Suddenly a series of roars and growls split the air, followed by the retreating sounds of frightened screams and pounding feet. With effort, Catherine regained her feet and swayed toward the brightly lit cabin door. She heard an engine being started and a car moving away from the cabin.

Scrambling up the stairs, she peered inside the house, shielding her eyes against the brightness. "Vincent?" she called out cautiously, her voice sounding raw to her own ears.

She received no reply and turned back to search the dark for him. He stepped in her way seemingly out of nowhere and she flinched at the unexpected sight. Never before had she seen him like that, wild and untamed, his mane a hopeless tangle around his tense features. His eyes caught the light from inside, glowing almost eerily from his shadowed face.

He looked past her into the room as if he expected more attackers to show up any moment.

"They´re gone," she said softly, reaching for his arm. His gaze snapped to the point of contact and then back into the room. "Vincent," she soothed, "they´re gone." And they won´t return, she thought with grim satisfaction.

Gradually the tension drained from him and he allowed himself to be led into the room and pushed gently down onto the sofa. His shirt was torn at the shoulder, but he seemed unharmed.

Suddenly he went to his knees in front of her. "You´re hurt," he murmured, and Catherine noted with relief that he sounded like his old self again.

"Just a bruise," she said, dismissing its importance with the wave of her hand, "and probably a hell of a headache tomorrow."

With practiced movements that were reminiscent of a physician´s, he examined her eyes, checking her reflexes.

"Where did you learn that?" she asked admiringly.

"My father is a doctor," he explained without interrupting his actions. He went to fetch a washcloth and started cooling her face. "You should lay down," he ordered gently.

"Am I all right, doctor?" she teased fondly.

"You will be -- after you´ve slept," he answered.

She grasped his wrist with a quick jerk of her hand. "And you, Vincent?" she asked, concerned. "Are you okay?"

He sucked in a deep breath, releasing it carefully. "I don´t think they saw my face," he said at last. After a small pause he added, "If I´m lucky, they thought they were up against some wild animal."

Catherine sensed the bitterness in his tone of voice and wished she could have said something to take it away, but words eluded her.

Vincent rose to his feet and went to the kitchen. She heard him pouring himself a glass of water and draining it hastily. When he emerged again, he brought a glass for her, too, and set it before her on the table.

"Maybe I should remain in the woods for awhile," he said more to himself than to her.

"Do you really think that´s necessary?" she asked. "I´m certain that they didn´t see you clearly enough. It´s highly unlikely that they suspect anything."

He thought about it for a few seconds and then shook his head. "Probably not, but you really should get some sleep now."

Obediently Catherine pushed herself from the sofa, ignoring the stab of pain in her head. Vincent guided her upstairs to her room. "I think I can manage now," she said with a smile when he stood staring at her helplessly for a moment.

"Sleep well, Catherine," he murmured before he retreated downstairs.

"And you, Vincent," she called after him.

A little while later when she was safely in bed, Vincent reappeared with a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers. "You might need these," he said, placing the glass and the pills on her nightstand.

He didn´t vanish right away, a fact that vaguely suprised her, but stood staring down a her with a strange expression on his face. She must have fallen asleep some time after that, for she couldn´t remember him leaving her at all. All she was aware of was how good it felt to have him close.

Vincent couldn´t tear his eyes from Catherine as she lay sleeping, the bruise on her temple already taking on a purple shade. He felt reminded of another time when she´d been hurt and he´d come to her. Only this time he´d been there to prevent the worst.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat and turned to leave her to her peaceful slumber.

Silently he descended the stairs and started to prepare his own bed. He had to make a conscious effort to concentrate on the task, for pictures of the men´s faces, distorted in fear, kept drifting by his inner eye. He did believe that they hadn´t seen his face, but he couldn´t be certain. What if...

He shook off the thought with an impatient movement of his head. Suddenly a thousand what-if´s pressed in on him, a thousand nightmares in which Catherine was lost to him in the end.

Fighting to calm his erratic breathing, he went to the bathroom and splashed some water onto his heated face. When he looked up he caught his own gaze in the mirror. There was a desperate urgency in his eyes, a troubled frenzy that told him that the fight for control would be a long and hard one.

He discarded his clothes and took an icy shower that sucked the breath from his lungs. The ensuing relief was short-lived, though. Back in the living room, he started a restless pacing, ignoring the fact that he was wearing only a towel. He wanted to run, escape into the night and feel the freedom of the woods in his blood, but there was a part of him that wasn´t willing to leave Catherine alone in a house which suddenly didn´t feel safe anymore.

The thought of Catherine made him reach for his jeans. They felt tight and uncomfortable and he resented the need to wear them.

That was the moment when he finally realized that the beast was close to the surface, begging to be released, to shed the confinements of humanity and run, run, run -- and fight.

The rational side of him -- what was left of it, he thought grimly -- tried to explain it with the fact that he hadn´t been able to work off the adrenaline completely that his body had provided for the fight.

With a sigh, he slumped down on the bed and buried his face in his palms. His mind spun with conflicting impulses. Hide! Fight! Stay to protect her! Run to keep her safe! The voices inside his head were merciless, and with a groan of frustration he fell back on the bed, pulling the discarded shirt over his face.

*

Catherine awoke with a start. It was completely dark and a strange rhythmic noise came from below, as if someone walked incessantly across the wooden planks of the living room floor. She got up quietly and opened the door, padding silently over to the stairs.

Vincent was pacing the room with determined strides, his carelessly donned shirt flying out behind him as he spun and paced, spun and paced. For a moment she just stood watching him. His obvious anguish tore at her heart and she started descending the steps. He froze and stared up at her in confusion. With a shudder she noted that the wildness was back in his eyes. Yet she moved on, wanting so much to comfort and calm him, to make him know that he was not alone.

When she reached the foot of the stairs, Vincent slowly advanced on her, stopping only scant inches before her.

"Catherine," he rasped, and his voice sent a shiver down her spine. "Oh, Catherine." With that he opened his arms and she moved gladly into his embrace. His actions were surprisingly tender, contrasting with the look she´d glimpsed in his eyes, and she pressed her face against the exposed skin of his chest. He gasped at the contact and she could feel his heartbeat increasing.

"Shhh," she crooned, "I´m here. It´s all right."

He pulled back a little and scanned her face, but before she could say anything, he crushed her back to his chest, murmuring her name over and over again.

"Are you all right?" she whispered, but he didn´t reply. She drew back a little, searching for his eyes, and what she found made her knees go weak and her heart flutter wildly.

He met her gaze with determination, and Catherine gasped at the blue fire in the depth of his eyes as he stared at her wistfully, longingly, no longer trying to hide what was in his heart. She ached with desire as his feelings wrapped around her soul like a robe of silk. At that moment she wanted him so much that it hurt. It felt like a jolt of electricity in the pit of her her stomach, and then a gentle warmth spread out from that center through her entire body. Every single nerve ending seemed to sizzle with energy.

"We must not..." he murmured.

"We can´t..." she replied, and then his lips were on hers, tentative at first, but soon confident enough to make her tremble with pleasure.

"Vincent," she breathed when he released her for a moment to stare down at her in wonderment. She clutched his shirt and tugged him to her, already addicted to the feel of him, the taste of him, the intoxicating scent of his desire. With a low moan, she pressed her body against his. "Don´t stop," she pleaded huskily.

He threw his head back with a groan, and she watched with fascination as the skin grew taut across his Adam´s apple. Standing on tiptoes, she touched her lips to his throat, eliciting yet another groan from him.

He pushed her against the wall almost roughly, pressing his body to hers and kissing her with a sweet urgency that made her tingle with excitement. She took in every plane and angle of his body as he moved against her, and she could feel that he was fully aroused. Her hands slid from his neck down to his waist and hips, kneading gently, inquisitively. Fleetingly she became aware that they were far beyond friendship now, but she didn´t care. She simply couldn´t bring herself to draw back.

Suddenly he froze, holding her motionless against him. She wanted to lean back a little to see his face, but he tucked her head against his shoulder.

"Are you ready for this, Catherine?" he panted.

"Are you?" she asked back, her voice muffled in the folds of his shirt.

He released a groan of anguish. "I don´t know."

Before she could reply to that, he lifted her off her feet and laid her on the bed, covering her with his body. His weight was irresistible upon her and she moaned with delight.

"What about Elliot?" he inquired suddenly, his breath coming in labored gasps.

"I want you, Vincent," she replied, clasping his back for fear that he might withdraw. "I never wanted him like this."

He gave her a long look that was almost contemplative. "I don´t want to hurt you," he breathed at last.

"You won´t," she reassured him. "You won´t."

When he kissed her again, they were far beyond speech -- in a world of pure sensation. His rough palms skimmed across her skin beneath the fabric of her nightshirt, and she writhed under him, her fingers aching to touch him as well.

His unfastened shirt came off easily, and she rolled on top of him to kiss his exposed nipples and bury her face in his hairy chest. She reveled in the softness that covered his hard muscles. Before she moved even beyond the realm of thinking, she mused that he was like that inside as well, his razor sharp mind encased in that remarkable sensitivity of his, that irresistible tenderness.

She was vaguely aware that he left her briefly to take off his jeans, but before she could protest, he was back, pulling her nightshirt off over her head. His bristled cheeks grazed her tender skin as he buried his face between her breasts, placing small kisses there. Holding himself just above her, he rubbed his chest slowly against her belly, again and again. Then he moved over her, framing her face with his hands as he looked deep into her eyes. He didn´t have to ask, nor did she have to answer, and his possession of her came as something so natural that it defied description. He was large, but her body was ready for him, opening for him, welcoming him. He was powerful, but he used his strength carefully, and his lovemaking bore the rhythm of a song -- full of longing, beautiful, compelling. The image of him as he´d swum in the lake came back to her, his slow thrusts so much like the strokes that had carried him through the water, and she clung to him, allowing herself to be led by him, no longer caring where he might take her. She would have followed him everywhere. Suddenly he froze above her, holding himself very still within her body, but it was too late, too late for her to be patient. She moved against him one last time before she was seized by the violent spasms of a climax so intense that she forgot to breathe. She knew that she had shattered his self-control, and a helpless growl rumbled through him as he collapsed upon her. She drew him close, rocking him, kissing him, wanting him with her like this forever. Her whole being tingled from his lovemaking, without and within, and she mused that, if only they´d been able to move, she would want him all over again that very instant.

They lay together like that for a long while, and Catherine thought that Vincent had fallen asleep when he raised his head and gazed down at her as if seeing her for the first time. He didn´t say a word, just kept staring at her silently, enigmatically. Then he rolled onto his side, tucking her firmly against his body, and the way he cradled her head in his large palm made her want to weep with joy. "I love you," she whispered, but his deep, regular breathing told her that he could no longer hear her.

*

A dream pulled Vincent from his sleep. From the leaden weight of his limbs he could tell that he hadn´t slept long. Catherine stirred at his side and he tried to relax and lie still lest he wake her.

The scent of their lovemaking wove around his senses and the rekindled flames of desire flickered through his blood enticingly.

Gradually the contents of his dream came back to him as he lay, staring at the wooden ceiling. Catherine had stood on board a ship that was leaving the harbor. She´d waved at him with a large red handkerchief and her lips had moved, but he couldn´t understand what she was saying. Suddenly a man had stepped up behind her, placing one arm around her shoulders, and Vincent had felt his heart breaking in his chest. He remembered looking down at his hand, and the piece of cloth he´d been holding had been white.

It was a dream about passion and innocence, that much was clear to him, but he was helpless to tie the loose ends together.

Catherine sighed in her sleep and rolled away from him, exposing her bare back to his eyes. He smiled and tucked the blanket around her body solicitously.

Knowing he wouldn´t be able to go back to sleep anytime soon, he rose and grabbed his clothes without donning them. He fetched a towel and left the house, walking leisurely down to the lake.

It was still dark, dawn about an hour away. The water was cold without the warming rays of the sun, but he welcomed the chill as if it possessed the power to clear all confusion from his mind and the weariness from his body.

He shivered as he finally left the water and quickly dried himself to pull on his clothes. For a long time he simply sat on the bank and tried to put off the questions that were storming in on him. Catherine loved him, he knew that. In fact, he had known about her desire for him even before she had admitted it to herself. But what would she say, how would she feel now?

Vincent was uncertain whether or not he should tell her how his almost killing those two men had affected him. The rush of adrenaline had all but erased the iron grip he´d had on himself. The surfacing of the beast had made him more susceptible to all his feelings and had lowered considerably his resistance to Catherine´s feminine charmes.

Vincent sighed. He wasn´t sure at all if Catherine should know of that. Maybe it would lead her to think that it hadn´t been really he who had loved her, that he hadn´t been truly himself at the moment.

But he had been himself. Vincent had never been more certain of that than he was now. It always had been him. No matter how little he liked it, the beast was just as much a facet of his true self as was the teacher and friend -- and lover.

The last thought sent a tremor down his spine and he moaned softly at the intoxicating memories that invaded his mind. His body responded immediately, and Vincent sighed at the prospect of dealing with his sexual need now that he knew that reality surpassed his fantasies by far. It had been difficult before tonight, but now...

Vincent refused to finish the thought. He looked out at the first reflections of dawn on the water. The incessant stream of his thoughts slowed down to a tiny trickle and finally grew still as Vincent watched the first rays of the rising sun touch the peaks of the mountains. There was a truth in everything, a truth that would always reveal itself when the time was right.

*

Slowly Catherine surfaced from her sleep and reached out languidly to feel for Vincent´s warm presence. Her eyes flew open when her hand encountered nothing but cool sheets.

"No," she gasped and leapt to her feet. She peered out the window and was relieved to see him sitting at his favorite place down by the lake. He was only an indistinct silhouette in the first light of morning, and her heart turned over in her chest, growing wide with the intensity of her feelings. She loved him so much.

On impulse she grabbed her nightshirt to run to him, but then she paused. Maybe he needed some time to be by himself. What if he didn´t know how to look into her eyes after all the things she had told him about her intention to stay on the safe ground of friendship? Chewing her lower lip thoughtfully, Catherine wondered about the possible changes the fact that they were lovers now would cause to their friendship. Suddenly she felt cold and very lonely. Blinking away tears of apprehension, she turned and walked up to her room in order to dress properly before meeting Vincent. Besides, she wanted to collect herself and gather her thoughts before she went to talk to him. She tried to imagine his reaction but soon gave up on it. It would be best to take it one step at a time.

She walked down the path, wondering if he was as uncertain as she about what had happened between them. For her it was too wonderful and magical for words. Memories of Vincent as he moved above her sent a rush of blood to her cheeks.

She stopped for a moment, slowing her breathing and concentrating on him. Suddenly she felt carefree and calm and knew that he was feeling the same. And suddenly she couldn´t wait to be close to him again.

Vincent was sitting on a boulder, looking out into the distance. The moment he became aware of her approach, he turned and made room for her to sit beside him. His arm came up and encircled her shoulders, and all doubts and fears left her immediately as he pulled her close.

Resting his head on top of hers, he murmured, "We didn´t intend for that to happen, did we?"

"Because we didn´t know what we were missing," she replied quietly.

He chuckled softly, giving her shoulder a fond squeeze. She snuggled closer to him, encircling his waist with both arms to hug him as tight as possible.

"Do you still fear for our friendship?" he asked.

"A little," she conceded, "but knowing what I know now..." Her voice trailed away and she sighed.

He drew back a little to look down into her face. "What is it that you know now?" he pursued gently.

"That I love you," she replied huskily, "that I want you, and that I´m willing to give anything to be with you like this."

His eyes darkened and misted with tears. She tilted up her face to meet his lips as they descended on hers. The kiss was slow and soulful, not entirely free from sparks of passion, but at the same time comforting and reassuring. Catherine didn´t want it to end, and when his lips stopped moving against hers, she reached up and cupped his stubbled cheek to guide him back to her. Finally it was she who ended that second kiss before it became too consuming, too overwhelming.

"Vincent?" she asked tentatively.

With reluctance he opened his eyes. "Yes?"

As she fell into the depths of his loving gaze, she entirely forgot what she´d been about to say.

He cast her a questioning look that made her blush, but she just shook her head helplessly and leaned into him again to avoid those clear blue eyes. "I can´t think when you look at me like that," she said with mock accusation.

"Please look at me," he demanded softly, and she complied.

"What?" she asked, confused when he just kept gazing at her intently. He swallowed, and she wasn´t sure that she wanted to hear what he was about to say.

"Catherine," he began, "it is easy for us to be lovers, and friends, out here where no one interferes with our feelings for each other. But soon you will return to the city where you have other friends as well, and where someone is waiting to see you again, someone who still doesn´t know whether or not you love him. It will be difficult for you to maintain the magic of this place, of what we had here together, in your life there."

Catherine started to protest, but he silenced her by stroking her lips with his thumb.

"I didn´t say that it´s impossible," he added carefully. "I just said that it will be more difficult -- far more difficult. There will be times when you´ll find yourself doubting the truth, and the rightness, of what happened between us last night."

"Never," she contradicted vehemently, and he smiled.

"It´s all right," he whispered. "I just wanted you to know that I understand, and that I will always respect your choices."

Catherine pulled free from his arms and stared a challenge at him. "Would it be so easy for you if I were to go?"

He endured her gaze for a few seconds and then looked out at the water again. "No," he said simply. There was such a wealth of meaning behind that one syllable, such a depth of anguish, that Catherine was at a loss for a reply. She knew with absolute certainty that it would crush him to lose her, but he would never tell her so. He wanted her to be free to decide.

She slid from the boulder and knelt between his legs, looking up at him. "What about you, Vincent?" she asked. "Will you have doubts when I´m away from you? Will you regret what we did? Will you wish that it never happened?"

He gave a helpless groan and pulled her up onto his lap. Burying his face in the curve of her neck, he whispered, "If the time should come that you walk away from me, then I will wish that I had never known the beauty of your love. But only for a while. After that, when the wounds have become scars, I will be grateful again, as I am now, for the incredible gift that you have given me. I will remember it until my last breath, and I will always love you. Always, Catherine."

She could hold back her tears no longer and they spilled down over her cheeks and into the collar of her shirt. He kissed them away, nibbling, licking at the tender skin of her throat until she shivered with desire. He laid her down onto the sandy ground, caressing her, kissing her until she thought she would die from wanting him.

"Love me," she whispered, tugging at his shirt, and he shrugged out of it without taking his lips from hers. They took time undressing each other, touching each other, pleasing each other, until they were breathless and helpless to resist any longer. He wouldn´t cover her body with his, afraid that the hard ground might harm her skin, so he sat up and leaned against the boulder, pulling her atop him. She straddled his hips and sank down on him, taking him into her body with small, tender movements of her pelvis. He grasped her waist and remained utterly still until she surrounded him completely. Only then did he thrust upward and start a gentle rhythmic rocking of his own. At one time she looked down into his face and the beauty of it moved her to tears. His head was tilted back, his eyes closed, his lips slightly parted as if on a sigh. The illogical thought crossed her mind that he looked as if he were praying. But then his eyes opened slowly and he held her with his gaze as the tempo of his thrusts increased and became more demanding. She leaned forward and buried her fingers in his thick hair, kissing his lids, his forehead, and the tip of his nose. He reached for her lips and kissed her again and again until they collapsed into each other´s arms.

Together they rolled onto the sand, neither of them willing to relinquish their hold on the other. Finally Catherine came to rest on top of him and looked down into his face tenderly. As she traced his brows with her thumb, she thought that she had never seen such vulnerability in a man before.

He reached up and cupped her face with his large, warm hands, and she closed her eyes, relishing his touch. His body felt wonderful beneath hers, and she shifted her weight slightly, so as not to hurt him by lying in one place for too long. Instantly his hands stroked down her back and clutched her waist as if he were afraid that she would leave him. She pressed her face against his throat, savoring the salty taste of his skin as her lips opened of their own accord to kiss him there.

He moaned quietly and rolled her off his body, cautiously lowering her to the ground. "We´d better move or we´ll get sunburned," he whispered, and only now she noticed that the sun had become quite hot on her skin.

"How about a swim?" she suggested and rose to her feet, reaching down to help him up. He took her hand and pulled her to him again, kissing her sweetly, urgently, so that she quickly forgot about her plans. Suddenly she felt his hands under her shoulders and knees and he stood, lifting her effortlessly on his arms. She squealed as he turned toward the lake and she sensed his intent.

"Don´t you dare," she exclaimed, clinging to his neck. He stopped immediately and put her on her feet. His eyes still held that remarkable intensity that always made her go weak inside.

"After you," he said huskily, and she tore her gaze from his and preceded him into the water, very much aware of his eyes on her. As she swam away from the bank and looked back at him, he was still standing there, sunlight playing across his naked body as he gazed after her in silence. At that moment she wished fervently that she were a poet or a painter so that she might preserve the image he presented, the beauty and depth he lent to everything around him, and the meaning he had given her life.

*

It was a clear night, and Vincent stood on the porch, looking up at the starry sky. He felt reminded of the piece of lapis lazuli in Catherine´s etagere and remembered what she had said about the shine of true crystals and the glitter of colored glass. It occurred to him that all the gemstones and crystals only symbolized the deeper colors of nature. There were those which had the color of a cloudless sky at noon like chalcedony, or those that reflected the hues of sunset, like carnelian. The water of the lake was liquid aquamarine, and the fresh grass and foliage of the trees were reminiscent of chrysoprase and malachite. His heart constricted as he thought of the colors of his own world -- a world that contained all the shades of amber, orange calcite and jasper. But what affected him above everything else was the emerald green of Catherine´s eyes.

A shooting star diverted Vincent´s attention and his heart fluttered in his chest as he made a wish. Removing a tear with the heel of his hand, he turned and walked back into the room where Catherine slept peacefully in the bed they were sharing now. He tossed his shirt on a nearby chair and slipped in beside her, nestling close to her warmth. It was late August and the nights were starting to get quite cool, especially the clear ones. A wistfulness stole around his heart as he thought of Catherine´s impending departure. Her vacation was almost over and she would have to return to the city soon.

She sensed his sadness and rolled over, placing her arms around him. Her naked skin felt hot against his, and he buried himself in her tenderness, her desire, her love. She kissed him, gently first, then passionately, hungrily, and he gave himself to her, gladly following where she led -- grateful that she made him forget for a while that something wonderful was going to end. He sighed as he moved above her. She parted her thighs to pull him to her, and he joined their bodies with a slow thrust of his hips. But then he stopped moving altogether, lying so still that she opened her eyes and looked at him inquiringly.

"Vincent," she breathed, "are you all right?"

"Shhh," he soothed close to her ear. "I want this to last."

She increased the pressure of her arms and thighs around his body and simply held him to her, silently accepting his need for quiet closeness.

Grateful for her understanding, Vincent buried himself even deeper in her, clutching her to him as if he would drown without her. He felt the throbbing of her pulse beneath his cheek and the gentle ebb and flow of her life force made him giddy with desire. He started matching the rhythm, helpless to refrain from moving any longer. The first tremors of orgasm seized him, and he cried out his pleasure and his anguish, wishing desperately that time would stand still for once, that morning wouldn´t come.

He sank down beside her, his shoulders shaking as he wept soundlessly. She didn´t speak, just held him tight, and he was grateful for her silence, knowing that she was aware of his turmoil, that she understood all of it.

Suddenly her breath grazed his face as she whispered, "Please trust me, Vincent. Please have faith in our love."

He raised his head, looking down at her. Her eyes were huge in the darkness of the room, and the sadness in their depths -- a sadness that he knew was for him -- pierced him to the soul. "Forgive me," he pleaded, "forgive me for being selfish."

She pushed him back onto the pillow and smiled at him tenderly.

"Don´t be silly," she said simply, pressing small kisses on his forehead and to the corners of his mouth before she rested her head on his chest. She fell asleep that way, and he held her through the remainder of the night until the first rays of morning swept the room.

*

Vincent had been distant and withdrawn all day and Catherine couldn´t help but worry about him, especially after last night. He´d been so desperate, so fragile.

When evening came, they sat on the porch, looking out at the lake and the mountains beyond. The surface of the water lay in shadows, but the peaks of the mountains were still gilded with light.

"You´ve been very quiet today," Catherine remarked.

"I´ve been thinking," Vincent replied. She looked at him expectantly and he returned her gaze, taking his time to gather his thoughts. "Life out here is beautiful," he began, "but it´s not real. Real life isn´t perfect, and it isn´t always beautiful, but..." He sighed. "This is an amazing place, a place out of time to gain strength and to grow, a place where all things become possible -- even those that I believed impossible before." Pausing, he glanced at her shyly. "What you gave me, Catherine, what you taught me, has made me hungry for more. I thought that nothing could surpass a life in the sun, but then you loved me and made me human. You made me whole."

She took his hand, pulling it to her mouth and kissing it tenderly. "You did the same for me," she said calmly. He sighed and drew her onto his lap, cradling her against his body.

"Your love makes me want so much more. Now I want..." He fell silent, pulling his brows together in a frown.

"Yes?" she coaxed gently, tilting his head up so that he couldn´t escape her gaze.

"Now I wish for a life with you," he finished hoarsely.

His shy confession brought tears to her eyes. "Me, too," she whispered.

He pulled her against his chest, pressing small kisses to the crown of her head. "Will there never be an end to impossible dreams?" he asked.

Catherine hugged him firmly, leaning her head against his. "We should allow our dreams to fly," she quoted softly. "Who knows, maybe one day a dream drops to the earth and becomes reality."

Vincent drew back and looked at her with an arched eyebrow. "Who said that?" he asked and she saw a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that made her heart leap with joy.

"You mean besides me?" she quipped with a grin, and he nodded. "I´m sorry but I have no idea."

"You´re not playing by the rules," he admonished her with mock solemnity. She felt his arms tighten around her waist and the sudden brush of his lips against her neck made her dizzy with desire. He sought for her lips and kissed her deeply, passionately. "I tasted thee," he whispered, the words muffled against her mouth, "and now I hunger and thirst for thee." She moaned and he continued, "Thou didst touch me, and now I burn for thy peace."

At the moment, Catherine wasn´t all too eager to learn whose words had just been quoted, but she inquired dutifully, "Who said that?"

"You mean besides me?" he echoed her words from moments earlier, and she poked his ribs playfully. "Saint Augustine," Vincent hastened to provide with a chuckle.

"Saint Augustine?" Catherine asked, arching one brow in surprise.

Growing serious, Vincent said, "You have to be in love to understand the words of the mystics. Being a mystic means being in love with God, and their beautiful and poetic words almost always apply to romantic love as well."

"Maybe because there really isn´t a difference," Catherine offered.

Smiling, he nodded his agreement. "When I was little, Rao used to tell me the story of Radha and Krishna. According to the myths of Rao´s people, Radha is a beautiful village girl who is desperately in love with Lord Krishna. She yearns for a tryst with him, certain that he must come to her some day. She puts on her most alluring makeup, braids her hair with jasmine, puts on her best silk sari and jewelry, and then she waits...and waits." He paused, waiting for her reaction.

"And then?" Catherine asked, utterly captivated by the story.

Vincent smiled and continued. "Radha calls out, 'I hear him coming!' But it´s only the wind in the foliage of the trees. Then she hears Krishna´s flute, but it´s just the nightingale. And the longer she waits, the more her passion grows."

"I can relate to that," Catherine interjected.

"Finally," Vincent went on, "all her longing is transmuted into an all-consuming love of Krishna." He stopped speaking, and they regarded each other silently before he concluded, "Radha represents the human heart longing for the divine light. You see, the language of the Hindu mystics is the same as that of all mystics around the world."

"As are the lyrics of love songs," Catherine observed. "They apply to all people who are in love regardless of their cultural background."

Vincent remained silent, and Catherine slid from his lap, sitting on the floor at his feet and resting her arms on his knees. "What else did Rao teach you?" she asked, intrigued. She had seen the old man only once, but he had fascinated her instantly.

Vincent thought about that for a moment. "He taught me that the soul needs two wings to soar to the height of true spirituality. One is purity, which enables us to keep our eyes on the one thing in life that matters: awareness of the divinity within every human being. The other is simplicity: of lifestyle as well as in our wishes, so that we can nurture the awareness of the divine spirit within us."

Catherine shook her head thoughtfully. "Can purity and simplicity like you just defined them ever be anything for us but beautiful abstractions? Most people have to live in a world where they´re surrounded by all kinds of influences they cannot control. How shall they ever find a purity and simplicity like that?"

Running his long, sensitive fingers through her hair, Vincent replied softly, "Out here, surrounded only by mountains and trees, I´ve come to know that purity and simplicity. Here in this silence I thought I´d heard the whisper of the Spirit."

Gently he lifted her arms from his lap and knelt down in front of her, his hands cupping her shoulders. "But, Catherine, I´ve never been more aware of the divine spark in my soul than when you and I made love. Being one with you made me feel one with God at the same time."

Catherine didn´t know what to say. Her whole being tingled with the impact of his words. She recalled the contemplative expression on Vincent´s face as he had made love to her down by the lake. Finally she whispered, "I know what you mean, Vincent. I felt it, too."

He pulled her close and took her mouth in a slow, searching kiss. It was as if his very soul reached out to intertwine with hers, and Catherine thought fleetingly that she would have willingly dissolved into him forever. She didn´t even open her eyes as he broke the kiss and rose, lifting her up on his arms and carrying her inside.

*

The soft cry of an owl mingled with the sounds of the night outside, and Vincent tightened his arms around Catherine´s warm body as he surfaced from sleep. Instinctively she snuggled closer but didn´t awaken, and he buried his face in the curve of her neck, inhaling deeply. He sank back into the depth of dreams and was walking the tunnels again. His feet carried him down the twists and turns of gloomy passageways and dimly lit corridors and he was vaguely aware that he was searching for Father. The staircase that led down into Father´s study made a creaking sound as he stepped on it, and he paused, scanning the semi-darkness of the room. Father was nowhere to be seen and Vincent approached the large desk, gingerly running his fingers across its polished surface. It struck him as strange that the table was empty. He couldn´t remember ever having seen it that way. There always used to be piles of books, scattered haphazardously all over the tabletop, but now there was only a solitary candle that flickered in the darkness...

Sunlight was pouring in through the window when Vincent opened his eyes. He started as he couldn´t feel Catherine at his side, but then he heard her rummaging in the kitchen and relaxed. Today she would have to return to New York, and Vincent´s heart twisted painfully in his chest as he pushed back the thought of her departure. He wouldn´t allow anything to overshadow their last hours before she had to leave.

Catherine appeared in the doorframe. "Vincent?" she asked with concern. "Are you all right?"

He had noted it before, this heightened awareness she had of him now, and he smiled. "Yes," he replied, swinging his legs to the floor. He walked over to her and drew her into his arms, kissing her tenderly. Her sadness about their separation wrapped around his own heart as he held her to him, rocking her gently.

"Breakfast is ready," she said at last and he released her, knowing that she needed the distraction now.

They shared a quiet meal and then dressed and walked down to the lake. It was a cool morning and the smell of fall lingered in the air. Catherine stooped and picked up a yellow leaf, absentmindedly twisting its stem between her fingers. She didn´t seem to notice the change of color, but Vincent experienced a sting of wistfulness that summer would be over soon. He shook it off, determined not to give in to melancholy.

But Catherine sensed his mood anyway. "A penny for a quote?" she suggested.

He smiled and shook his head. "I´m sorry, but I can´t think of any right now," he apologized.

She came to a halt and put her arms around his neck, kissing his chin. "Then maybe you ´d like to tell me what you´re thinking about?"

Kissing her forehead, he returned her embrace. "I dreamed of the tunnels last night," he replied.

She released him, and he could see the concern in her eyes. "Next time Rao calls, I´m going to ask him how everyone is Below," she said. "All he can do is refuse to tell me anything. I wish so much that there were a way for you to be in contact with your family."

"Thank you, Catherine," Vincent said. "Rao will know the right thing to say. And please tell him..." He fell silent, carefully considering his words. "Please ask him to give Father and the others my love."

Catherine nodded. "I will. In a week or two I´ll be back anyway. I have to restock the supplies. You and I used up quite a lot of food." She cast him a meaningful look and he smiled.

They resumed their walk down to the water and sat down side by side on the boulder, holding each other silently, and Vincent wondered why this all seemed so final to him. After all, it was just a separation for a short while.

"I think we´d better return to the house," Catherine said at last. "I´ve got some packing to do."

Vincent stood and reached down to help her up. "Let´s go then," he replied softly.