Coming Home

It had been four weeks since Jacob Wells watched Catherine enter the cavern where his son was raging, in torment. Two weeks ago she had, reluctantly, returned to her life Above. Now, all seemed calm again. Vincent had won back to physical health, though it was more difficult to gauge his mental state. ‘It could have been so much worse,’ Jacob reflected. There was no denying that it had been Catherine alone who had pulled him back from the brink of death. Her love. Her strength. Her courage. Extraordinary!

Once the immediate crisis had passed, Jacob had time to wonder at all that had taken place. He had searched deeply into his soul to find the source of his feelings of shame. He had gravely mis-judged that young woman, and as a result he had spent nearly three years blocking his son’s pathway to happiness. Facing his own shortcomings was difficult and very painful. He vacillated between guilt, shame and despair, knowing that any attempt at repairing the damage might well prove futile. It was imperative that he at least try; he could not live with himself otherwise. He was in turmoil, trying to think through ways he might approach the subject both with Vincent and then with Catherine. He had to make amends somehow. The lives of both young people had been influenced - warped was nearer the mark - by his own harsh judgment of their relationship. Now it was time to eat crow. Humble pie. Whatever. No longer would he allow himself to interfere in the natural development of their love.

* * * *

"Father" Vincent gave the usual tunnel greeting before descending the steps into the study.

"Ah, there you are, my boy. I was wondering where you’d disappeared to."

"I promised to help with the re-location of William’s stores, now the new pantry is ready."

"Of course. It slipped my mind. Tea?" Father raised his eyebrows in an inquiring glance and at Vincent’s affirmative nod, began to pour. "All finished?"

"Just the shelving, and William would prefer to do that himself, otherwise he’d never find anything, he says."

A neutral "hmph" of acknowledgement, and the two men continued such small-talk, as they companionably supped their tea.

"Time for a game?" suggested Jacob.

"If you wish."

"I’m long overdue for a victory. Maybe tonight’s the night, eh?"

"Hope springs eternal, Father."

"Perhaps. Unless some myopic meddler shatters it."

"Father?" He was concerned at the unexpectedly sharp tone of the remark.

"Black or white?" The older man held forward his clenched fists in the ritual familiar since Vincent’s childhood, for his son to tap one. Several moves into the game came the gentle enquiry,

"What is it that troubles you, Father?"

"Me. I’m the trouble. I’ve been taking a close look at myself. I don’t like what I see."

Vincent sat back in consternation, chess forgotten, "Tell me."

"Yes. I suppose I must," came the thoughtful reply. "Life, Vincent. One’s experiences in life. They teach you. You learn the truths, from living. I made a mess of my life........."

"No Father! How can you say - - - - -" Vincent broke in, until a hand grasped his forearm, quietening him.

"Yes, my son. I most certainly did. Why do you think I came Below? The loss of my career was no fault of mine. Honesty is no crime, yet only honesty was the cause of my downfall. You already know about my research at Chittenden and why I was black-listed. I could have weathered that storm, perhaps - - - - -,"

Vincent kept silent, aware of the introspection beyond the temporarily distant eyes. A few seconds later, Jacob returned to the present and continued.

"Without Margaret’s support, I hadn’t the strength to try. That was what really devastated me; sent me to the depths of despair. I loved her so desperately. She was my reason for living and without her I lost heart. I couldn’t understand why, however profound was my love for her, it simply wasn’t enough."

"She loved you, Father. I know she did. I saw how she loved you."

"Yes... Yes, I realise that, but you see, Vincent, she just wasn’t strong enough; not to stand by me when things didn’t go to plan; not to face the obstacles in our path and to surmount them. That was my truth, the fact I’ve had to accept. Life taught me that however strong I was in the face of adversity, I could not overcome the weakness of the woman whom I loved more than life. My wife." He fell silent again, and Vincent was at a loss as to what comfort he could offer. He watched sadly as Father shrugged, as if to cast off the burden of his thoughts.

"Yes. Well now. Whose move is it, Vincent? Mine I believe. Hmm. There." Vincent countered automatically, his mind whirling, wondering where Father was intending to move this rather one-sided conversation.

"No Catherine tonight?" moving another piece. Relieved somewhat at the apparent change of topic, Vincent replied,

"She has to attend a formal dinner. Something to do with her work. Joe Maxwell is to accompany her, I believe."

"Oh I see. How’s the new job going? Does she like it?"

Vincent’s head jerked up, his move forgotten.

"New job? You are mistaken, Father. Catherine is still working for the D.A.’s office."

"I know that, Vincent!" he retorted testily. Then he realised that he had, unwittingly, put his foot in it. ‘She hasn’t discussed the move, with Vincent? Well, of course she hasn’t you ninny! She doesn’t want him to feel guilty’ The cat was out of the bag now, though. No way to retrieve his gaffe. He squirmed rather uncomfortably in his chair, dropping his eyes guiltily from his son’s searching stare.

"My truth, Vincent. I’ve been superimposing it on your life. It doesn’t fit. Your truth is quite different."

"Father?" His bewilderment was total.

"She stayed by your side, night and day, for two long, difficult weeks. That was after she had gone into the nightmare of a situation in that cave, to bring you out. I was terrified. Catherine was resolute. When we brought you back, she defied me to make her leave. Short of physically carrying her from your chamber, I didn’t think anyone could have forced her from your side until she felt you were safe. She fed you, bathed you, held you fearlessly in spite of your claws thrashing about, when the nightmares came. All without a thought for herself. The only thing in the world which mattered was your well-being. I’ve never seen anyone more fiercely determined."

"It wasn’t easy for me to persuade her that she should return Above," Vincent confessed, "But I knew it was time."

"The first thing she did, on her return to work, was to change her job. She wasn’t prepared to continue with field-work; investigations which led her into potentially dangerous situations," Father told him.

The chair crashed over as Vincent leapt up.

"She was afraid for me, for my involvement, for my safety."

"Indeed," Father affirmed, "So she opted for a desk job. Preparation and research for trials, as far as I understand it."

Vincent’s swift, agitated strides took him to the far end of the study and back again, as his wildly waving arms punctuated his vehement words.

"Why didn’t she tell me, Father? She sacrifices so much for me already. Now this. It’s . . ." Father interrupted him.

"That, Vincent, is precisely the reason for Catherine’s reticence, no doubt. Already you are blaming yourself, feeling guilty, ready to deny her again."

"Deny her?" He thumped his fists down on Father’s desk, glowering in indignation. "I would deny her nothing, Father. Everything I am, or could become, everything I have, is hers!"

"No my son. That’s not the truth - not yet. But it should be, and I hope it will be."

Vincent retrieved his chair and carefully sat down opposite his father. Very quietly he asked,

"What are you telling me, Father. What do you mean?"

"Your truth, Vincent. You love Catherine with all that you are."

"She is my life."

"As you are hers. I have been a blind fool, not to see that long before now. Catherine is strong, determined, and she loves you the way you love her. She will be your strength, your support, as you are hers. Together, you can surmount any and all obstacles you will meet. Apart, each of you will wither. Together, you will thrive. That’s your truth, Vincent. My vision has been clouded by my own failure and my wish to shield you from my pain. Forgive me for misguiding you. Follow the course which is right for you."

After a few long moments of stunned silence, "You have given me much to think about, Father," observed Vincent.

Noticing a glance towards his cloak, Father stated firmly,

"No, Vincent."

"Father?"

"No. It’s not a time to retreat and think things over by yourself. Talk to Catherine, instead. I have a feeling that will be so much more productive."

"Catherine. Yes. She will be home soon."

"I hope so, Vincent. Oh, I do hope so."

Puzzled once more at the fervency of Father’s words, Vincent bade him goodnight, and set off to meet Catherine.

* * * *

She was leaning on the wall of the balcony, gazing over the city in a hauntingly familiar pose. Vincent drank in the sight of her beauty while she remained unaware of his presence. Her hair was swept up on her head, in formal style, and the heels of her court shoes increased her diminutive height. His vision was caught for a moment’s curiosity by the enticing peep of pink toenails. Then his eyes travelled up the shapely calves, lingered over the sweep of dark blue silk and envied the way it caressed her thighs and rounded bottom. He followed the tender indentation of waist, rising to forbidden and secret feminine round softnesses, which he’d never experienced but always yearned for. As Catherine leant back and gazed upward to the stars, he felt himself drawn by her delicate collar bones and the vulnerable white, curved column of her throat and neck; enticed by the gentle pulse which his remarkable vision allowed him to see despite the muted lights, and the unbearable distance which separated them. Unable to restrain himself for one second longer, he released his pent breath and took a step forward from the concealing shadows. He watched as joy suffused her features, before he surrounded her, her quiet whisper of his name a clarion call to his heart. As they stood, immobile, each wrapped in the arms and in the loving presence of the other, Vincent recalled how Catherine had referred to similar moments as ‘coming home.’ That was just how it was, for both of them; reaching the place where they belonged. Father’s parting words to him were less puzzling now.

"I’m so glad you are here, Vincent. I hadn’t dared to hope you’d come. It’s such a long climb, and you’ve barely recovered."

"I’m fine now, Catherine. Your evening went well? Did you enjoy the dinner?"

"I always resent these occasions. They cut in to our time together. I feel duty-bound to support Joe and the D.A. - its part of the job, I suppose, but yes, it went well."

As they moved to sit on the bench, he kept his arm around her shoulders, tucking her head into its familiar place beneath his chin, unwilling to release her. Catherine snuggled in, gave a contented little sigh, and Vincent suddenly understood, really understood the truth of the matter. Incredibly, his Catherine was happier here, with him, than she ever was at the glamourous ‘functions’ Above, whatever they were. A concert heard from the dusty floor under the drainage grid was as much pleasure as a night at the Met., to Catherine.

In fact, he concluded, she enjoyed herself more, whatever the occasion, when they were together. He’d been so sure that she must not be allowed to sacrifice her friends, her life Above, to spend her time in his world. Hollowly, his own earlier words resounded in his mind. ‘I would deny her nothing,’ he’d said. Father had firmly refuted those words. Was Father right? Had he denied what Catherine most wanted? A hesitant but insistent guilt was worming its way through. Had he dismissed her words, without really listening to them? Without believing the truth of them? How could he have done that? He knew, with soul-deep certainty, that Catherine’s character allowed for no dissembling. She was, and always had been, totally honest and sincere; yet how often had he dismissed her words as if they were a cover-up, an evasion of reality? He had insisted to himself that she did not understand, could not envisage the difficulties which their relationship would encounter, if they should attempt to go forward. He desperately feared the loss of what they had, should they reach for more. He feared; Catherine did not. On the contrary, she had always been confident in their future together. It was his own fear of failure, of loss, of the unknown, which had prevented progress.

"You are very quiet tonight," Catherine’s voice broke into his thoughts, "Is anything wrong?"

With a little squeeze he re-assured her.

"No. Nothing’s wrong. I was just thinking about a conversation with Father, earlier this evening."

He fell silent again. She waited for him to go on, or not, as he wished.

"Catherine. I had not realised, until Father explained, that it was you who nursed me through my . . . illness. He told me you never left my side."

"You needed me."

So simple an answer. So huge an answer.

"You didn’t really want to leave."

"You felt it was time I returned Above. Eventually I gave in."

He felt the dismissive little shrug, and heard Father’s words, ‘She defied me to make her leave.’

Yet when he himself insisted, she ‘gave in’ and left. He hadn’t known, hadn’t allowed himself to understand that far from ‘returning’ to life Above, Catherine had felt a ‘leaving’, a loss of her life Below. She had felt rejected, but still she ‘gave in’ to his wishes. His needs were paramount, to Catherine. Her need , her happiness, was his primary concern. Was Father right? Vincent knew he was only half alive when they were apart. Was it the same, could it be the same, for Catherine? ‘Its not a time to retreat. Talk to Catherine.’

"Shall I make tea, Vincent?"

"I would enjoy that. Thank you."

To her astonishment, he followed her through to the tiny kitchen. Slightly flustered, she put the kettle on to boil, moved round him to collect cups, and again to reach the fridge.

"Are you enjoying your new job?"

She threw him a quick glance, flushed a little at the unexpected revelation, and turned back to her task as she answered defensively,

"Its not really a new job, Vincent. Just a change of emphasis. I’m doing more research, more preparation now, instead of investigation."

"And you prefer that?"

"Well, I suppose shuffling papers is less interesting than dealing with people, but its important work, and someone has to do it."

"And its safer," he probed.

"It beats getting knifed or being shot at, that’s for sure!" she smiled, trying to lighten the tone a little, trying not to stumble over the rocky patch, hoping to avoid discussing the glaringly obvious omission, and the reason for it. She should have told him, she guiltily acknowledged to herself.

Gently, Vincent took the milk from her trembling hands and placed it firmly on the counter. He took both her hands in his own, and waited patiently until she raised her eyes, with such a heartbreaking air of uncertainty, of apprehension.

"Come home, Catherine."

There was a resounding silence, while she frantically searched his face, afraid to believe what she thought he meant. Unsure. Not daring to hope.

"Come home. You don’t belong here anymore."

She crumpled into his arms with a wailing little "Ooh" and was overcome with relieved sobs. For so long she had hoped, so long despaired, and now she found it difficult to take in. Her deepest dreams were about to come true. She had to be sure.

"Do you really mean it? Can I Come? Will I be allowed?" she babbled almost incoherently, desperate for confirmation.

"I mean it. You belong Below. You are expected," he assured her

"I’ll go and change." All else forgotten, she dashed across to the bedroom. As he brought her tea through, the attractive rear-view of Catherine hurriedly shimmying into her jeans stopped Vincent in his tracks.

"I won’t be a minute," she assured him as she, completely unselfconsciously, grabbed a sweater to pull over revealing scraps of lace, then bent to find her sneakers from under the bed. A sudden joy filled Vincent as he took in the vision of the tiny tornado which was Catherine, hell bent on getting Below before he could change his mind.

"Catherine," he laughed, "Slow down! I shall wait for you, I promise. I’ve brought your tea." He placed the cup on the bedside table, just in time to catch her up in his arms as she sped by. She squealed as her feet suddenly connected with air instead of the expected carpet, which had been there the previous second. Her mind deserted her as she looked into his dancing eyes and then at his wide smile. So stunningly beautiful. A little, breathless "Oh" escaped her as she watched his head bow towards her. ‘So this is what heaven feels like,’ her last coherent thought for some time, as they kissed.

This was what they had both yearned for. An end to their separation. Suddenly Vincent felt certainty, confidence, replacing all his fears and hesitations. This was right, for both of them. What he could feel from Catherine went far beyond mere happiness and her face was radiant with joy.

* * * *

It was the early hours of the morning before Vincent stood once again at the study entrance, knowing that, as ever, his father would be awaiting his return.

"Father." Vincent gave the usual tunnel greeting before descending the steps into the chamber.

"Ah, there you are, my boy. I was wondering where you’d got to."

"We’re home safely."

Jacob Wells rose stiffly from his chair, taking in the aura of happiness surrounding his son and the young woman tucked securely under his arm, her own arms tightly wrapped around his waist.

"So I see," as he came round the desk to greet them, "thank God!" There was anguish in the old man’s face, as he pleaded, arms outstretched, "Catherine. Can you ever forgive me?"

"Oh, Father," she replied softly, wanting to banish that expression, forever, "For loving and protecting him? For building a safe home where he as been nurtured in love and acceptance? For trying to prevent an unknown outsider from making off with his heart, perhaps to shatter it and throw it away? What is it that you need me to forgive you for, Father?"

"For misjudging the ‘strange outsider’ who has become as dear to me as if she were my own daughter. Welcome home, dear Catherine."

As Father embraced her, Vincent’s strong arms enclosed both of them, at peace with himself.

* * * *

Next morning, the excitement in the dining room was almost palpable, and every member of the community seemed to have approached their table at least once, to offer words of welcome and of congratulation. Mouse, in particular, seemed to keep bouncing back in front of them to make doubly, trebly sure that Catherine was really here, and that she intended to stay. How everyone knew, within the brief passage of time before breakfast, was a mystery. Vincent assured her there had been no message on the pipes to convey the news, but somehow, they all seemed to know.

"Everyone has made me feel as if I belong here, Vincent. They are so pleased for us."

"Did you doubt it, Catherine? They all love you."

"And you. That’s why, don’t you think?"

"Perhaps," Vincent conceded, "that’s part of it, but you have given so much of yourself to us, Catherine, that I’m sure its only a small part. They welcome you for all that you are. Your warmth. Your courage. The many kindnesses. The way you care for each and everyone of us."

"They are like my family, Vincent."

"No. They are your family now."

The tears came again, as she felt the truth of his words, though she smiled.

"Yes," she nodded, "they are."

The area had gradually emptied as people went to begin their day-to-day tasks. Having seen a good breakfast inside everyone else, William approached with his own meal, responding to Vincent’s signalled invitation to join them.

"About time, too," was his brusque observation.

"What took you so long? Welcome, Catherine. At last I’ll have a chance to put some meat on those bones!"

"William, you cannot improve on perfection."

They both looked at Vincent in astonishment, before collapsing in a fit of laughter.

"True, true," agreed William, taking another mouthful of his food. "How long have I got then, Vincent? When’s the happy day?"

Catherine cringed, thinking, ‘Oh William, no ! Not when everything is going so well. Don’t upset him now.’ She waited with bated breath for the response.

"You are a little premature, William. I haven’t asked yet."

With a wink at Catherine, William removed the tea-towel tucked across his ample girth, and with a dramatic flourish, laid it on the floor beside Vincent’s boots, saying, as he did so,

"Well, you know how its done, don’t you?"

Vincent looked, aghast, at the menacing sheet of cloth at his feet. He raised his eyes to the familiar face, beaming with affectionate, good-natured expectation and encouragement. How could he hurt William by rebuffing his well-intentioned suggestion? After all, it was only his own cowardice which had previously turned him from this mission. It was what he desperately wanted. Humour alleviated the tension at times like this, and William had presented him with a wonderful opportunity. Was it appropriate for such a serious, important event? Would he ever bring himself to ask, if he let this moment evade him? All these thoughts jumbled and tumbled in his brain for the merest jot of time.

"Yes, I know how it is done, William."

Before his intent had registered with Catherine, Vincent was there on one knee, in time-honoured tradition, asking her to marry him. Stunned, she couldn’t form the words for a moment. A stricken look came over Vincent’s earnest face at her delay, prompting her to force an answer past the constriction in her throat. The words came tumbling out.

"Yes! Oh, yes please, Vincent. I long to be your wife. I’d love to marry you."

He swung her up into his arms and danced round the dining-room, saying "Yes, Yes," over and again, as William wiped the happy tears from his own face, having retrieved the tea-towel for that express purpose.

As Vincent slowed in his giddy career and came to rest beside William, not releasing his prize, he asked,

"How long do you need?"

"Give me a week. A lot of the preparations are already under way. I’ve been storing provisions ready for this celebration for a while," he laughed.

Wriggling to the floor, Catherine flung her arms round William and kissed his cheeks, crying her thanks between each hearty kiss. Blushing furiously, he demanded that Vincent control his wife-to-be, before she smothered him. Still streaming tears, he watched the happy couple leave the chamber.

"God bless you both," was his fervent prayer.

* * * *

Sheer habit, from so many years of storing his clothing in the same place, caused Vincent to open his ‘sweater drawer’. He had emptied it of course, only the previous day, in order to provide somewhere for Catherine to put her own things. He stood mesmerised, hand stilled, as he took in the array of bright colours and soft pastels. Tentatively, almost reverently, his hand stroked the delicate textures. He recognised the soft pink, and his mind returned to the concert the previous week, recalling how the neckline dipped into a sharp V, as if to frame the sparkling crystal which was suspended between her breasts.

There was the bright red which she had worn beside the Mirror Pool, on Sunday. Another article drew his attention, and he remembered how disconcerted he’d been, when he inadvertently discovered that the ivory jumper, so demure from the front, was virtually backless. A small smile softened his face, as he re-lived the way the smooth silk of her skin had felt under his open palm, as he had guided her to a seat in the dining hall.

Gradually, he registered another revelation, and a lump came to his throat. His own sweaters, dwarfing Catherine’s, were re-installed where they had always been. She had simply turned them at right-angles from the way he’d had them, so that now the full depth of the drawer, front to back, was in use, leaving space at one side, where her own jumpers were now lying. Taking the clean sweater he needed, he closed the drawer. Deliberately, half-guessing what he would find, he opened the next one. His shirts were there again, and tucked along-side was a variety of much smaller T-shirts and blouses, all neatly folded. He gazed at these symbols of a dream come true, overcome with emotion. As he knelt there, holding his clean clothes, Catherine placed a hand on each of his shoulders, from behind him. He’d been so lost in his reverie that he’d been quite unaware of her presence.

"You haven’t looked for your clean socks yet, have you?" she asked mischievously. He turned to look up at her grinning face. She giggled delightfully, and continued, "I hoped to catch your reaction when you did. It’s just for now, till Cullen has the little chest ready for me."

Oh-Oh. He guessed what devilry was coming next. Oh, Catherine! But how could he allow a little embarrassment to spoil her fun? She had given him such a thoughtful gift, the way she’d altered his arrangements.

"Socks? No. I was just about to get them. Are they still in the bottom drawer, then? I had put them away in the closet, for now," he replied innocently.

"I know you had." More serious now, she explained, "I know you were making me welcome, Vincent, making room for me, but I want us to share our lives. I didn’t like you - - sort of - - - - being pushed out. Do you mind what I’ve done?"

"So far, I love what you’ve done. May I reserve judgement until I’ve found my socks?"

His twinkling eyes were the sole indication of humour as he closed the drawer on the shirts and rested his hand on the handle to the lowest drawer. He was pleased to see his very direct stare at Catherine had caused a rather attractive blush over her smiling face. He pinned her with his eyes for another long moment after he’d pulled open the drawer, before turning at last to view the contents.

His first impression was a kaleidoscope of jewelled colours: silks, satins, scraps of lace and tiny bows and flowers, highlighted here and there by a sparkling, faceted stone catching the candle light. It was a stunningly vibrant display. For the first few indrawn breaths, his mind did not relate to the purpose, only to the colours. With no more than the slightest tremor, he grasped a pair of thick, woollen socks,

"So many my Catherine?" He tried hard to repress the merest quirk of a smile.

"I know. I know but - - - - I just can’t resist pretty lingerie, somehow," she confessed.

"Nor I. Fetching clean socks may become my favourite chore, from now on." He gently lifted her dropped jaw with a finger, and her briefly shocked expression relaxed into irrepressible laughter, counter-pointed by the deep bass of Vincent’s chuckles. He showered her face with kisses, but all too soon she drew back.

"Vincent, we’ll be late for supper if you don’t bathe soon," Catherine reminded him.

"Mm. You’re right," Vincent viewed his muddy work-clothes, "but I’m sure William will understand if I just explain why I was delayed."

"Don’t you dare! Go!" Catherine pointed very imperiously in the direction of the bathing chamber.

As he crossed the room, laughing,

"Do you need any help?" she asked saucily.

"Only if you wish to explain to William why we’re so late - - - for breakfast," was his rejoinder as he disappeared into the tunnel, followed only by peals of laughter.

* * * *

Jacob Wells watched as his son wandered round the study, apparently aimlessly, as he picked up one object after another, at random, turned it in his hands for a few moments, then replaced it. After a few minutes, he could no longer keep silent.

"You are very restless this morning, Vincent. Is something troubling you?"

"Not really, Father. Its just that - - - - Catherine has gone Above, to speak with Joe, and take care of some essential business arrangements. I know its foolish of me, but somehow - - - I feel so lost without her here. Isn’t that strange? After years of snatching a few brief minutes here and there to be together; now I can’t bear a few hours apart from her, it seems, without missing her."

"Not strange at all, my son. And certainly not foolish. But Catherine could hardly disappear for very long, without explaining herself, now could she?"

"Joe would have half of New York’s Police Department searching for her, no doubt, had she done so," he smiled, "She made that mistake once before, and she has taken care not to repeat the error."

"Oh?" said Father, his curiosity piqued.

"Joe became so concerned for Catherine’s welfare after her father died that he eventually demanded access to search her apartment. He had no idea where she was, you understand, and feared for her state of mind."

"Yes, he would," interjected Father.

"In her grief, Catherine did not have the foresight to let Joe know that she would be visiting friends for a while. She would not frighten him in that manner again."

"No, of course not. I hadn’t realised he is not simply her employer, though Catherine always speaks very warmly of him."

"They have become close friends. I wish ---"

"What is it, Vincent? Surely you don’t think --- you have no doubts?"

"None, Father. Joe would make a wonderful Helper, if friendship were the only criterion. He’s a good man, with a warm heart. I would be honoured to be able to call him my friend."

"But?"

"Catherine is concerned that there would be a conflict of interests for Joe, should we attempt to introduce him. No doubt he could be made to understand, and he would do nothing to hurt Catherine, but she fears he might find himself in an untenable position."

"As she herself has experienced, many times," Father observed.

"That’s so. She has been forced to prevaricate, to avoid the whole truth, many times, to keep our secrets from being disclosed. It has caused her deep pain, at times. She wishes to shield Joe from that, but to do so she has to maintain a facade. It hurts her to be less than honest with her friends."

"I understand that, Vincent. Deceit is not in Catherine’s nature. I think her assessment of Joe’s position is probably accurate. It would be an unnecessary burden for him. But what of her other friends?"

"Yes. There are two with whom she grew up, and they have remained close. Nancy and Jenny are, I think, the only really important people in her life Above, apart from Joe. Nancy is married, with children. Jenny is an executive in a publishing house, here in New York."

"No conflict of interest there, then." Father chewed the arm of his glasses, thoughtfully.

Eventually, he continued.

"What’s your assessment of the risk, Vincent? You know what’s involved, here, better than anyone."

Vincent was stunned. Father seemed to be contemplating the idea of inviting Catherine’s friends to the wedding!

"I think, - I’m sure, that love for Catherine would preclude, absolutely, any betrayal - - - -"

"But?"

" What might they think of me, Father. Could they accept the idea of their friend marrying this?" He gestured toward his face. "Its their re-action to me, that I fear."

"You are afraid to meet Catherine’s friends?"

"No. Yes. It would mean so much to her - - - - could it be, Father? Could they accept me, do you think, for Catherine?"

He looked so hopefully at Father. So eager. It was suddenly the young boy who had looked to him to make all right with his world, in years past. As always, he would try.

"How would it be if we asked Peter for his opinion? He’s known them both for as long as Catherine has, I should expect. Then, if Peter thinks they could cope, and you are prepared to meet them - - - "

"Yes! Thank you, Father. I’ll send a message to Peter, right away," as he disappeared up the steps.

Jacob Wells smiled to see the ‘aimless wanderer’ of minutes ago, now galvanised into action. He sighed at the thought of the new hazards involved in bringing two strangers Below. Not complete strangers, he consoled himself. Both Peter and Catherine had been good friends with them for very many years, after all. The Council, he knew, would jump at the chance to help make the big day more special, for this so special couple. The community owed each of them so much. This was a small gesture, by comparison.

* * * *

The sounds of happy chattering were swallowed by the closing of the elevator door, and Catherine carefully set the door locks inside her apartment. Before she had completed the task, two loving arms enclosed her, and Vincent’s warm breath bathed her neck as he nuzzled under her hair to find her ear.

"Well, my Catherine, did you enjoy your surprise?"

She turned in his arms, smiling up at him, before pulling his head down to bring his mouth within reach,

"Are they really coming on Sunday? I can hardly believe it. However did you manage it?"

He returned her kiss, with interest, before replying,

"Not I, my love. Father. It was his suggestion, and Peter convinced the Council that the idea was feasible, and entailed no great risk. They all wanted this for you."

"Oh Vincent, how wonderful! I know how fearful Father is when new people come into the tunnels."

"He loves you. I think perhaps this is his way of showing you that. I’ll admit I was surprised at his intention, initially. I wasn’t sure - - - -"

"About meeting Jen and Nancy?" He nodded.

"Its always - - - - an ordeal, meeting new people; not knowing how frightened they may be by my appearance."

"And how do you feel about them now?"

"As if I’d known them for years! Its been an incredible evening. They make me feel - - - - ordinary. As if I was like any other man with whom they would choose to spend an evening. I forgot, within moments, that I am different."

She could have cried, for the look on his face. A simple meal with friends; laughter; conversation. It had given him such enjoyment. He had been denied such ordinary pleasures all his life, yet there was no trace of bitterness. She swallowed the lump in her throat and said, with a giggle, "We don’t have to discuss it by the front door, you know," and she tugged his hand to lead him back into the lounge.

They lay back on the sofa, finishing the wine, hearing but not really listening to the music, gazing into the fire, content in silent companionship. Catherine was unaware of having dozed off until she felt Vincent remove her shoes before he carried her to bed. Gently, he turned her on her side, to unfasten the long zip at the back of her dress, then he laid her on her back, grasping the cuffs to draw off first the sleeves, then the bodice. Hardly daring to breathe, and certainly no longer sleepy, Catherine raised her hips to enable him to remove her dress.

Everything seemed to be happening in slowed motion as she watched him remove his boots, his vest, and unbutton his shirt. Her heart raced and her mouth was dry. His eyes were burning her, as she lay transfixed, aware of his every movement. She was entranced, watching the play of his muscles as he discarded his shirt, then bent to light the single large pillar candle which was on the night stand before switching off the electric lamps. He came to stand beside the bed, such love and desire in his eyes. She moved over to make room for him, and neither uttered a word as he came into her outstretched arms.

"Sleep now, Catherine. We are both tired. Its been such an exciting day. We must return Below shortly, or Father will become anxious for us."

She knew he was right, but she had hoped - - - - Perhaps he wanted to wait till after the ceremony? They hadn’t discussed it, but it would be compatible with his stance in other matters. She would dream, for now, safe in his arms. He’d said we must return, so she knew he didn’t intend to leave before dawn, without her.

Suddenly, she had to be sure. "You will wake me?"

"I will not leave you. Rest for a while," he repeated. Re-assured, she allowed her heavy lids to close.

Vincent gazed a the woman in his arms, overawed, to realise how far he had travelled, how many changes there had been, in the few days since Father had encouraged him to reach for his destiny. Here he was Above, lying with the most beautiful woman in the world in his arms. She was wearing only her lingerie. Removing her dress had not felt presumptuous; not in the least. Moreover, Catherine had acted as if it was quite natural, perfectly acceptable for him to do so. On reflection, so it was. Not just for other men, caring for their partners, but for him, also. He himself was bare to the waist. His trepidation about allowing his hirsute body to be seen by Catherine had vanished. He knew she loved the sight. Even now, in sleep, one tiny hand was buried lovingly in the curls on his chest.

Her friends had enjoyed his company, he knew. Not mere acceptance; so much more than that, he had felt from them. On Sunday, he was to be married. To Catherine. Already she had brought most of her personal belongings Below, to place them alongside his things. Just as she had laid her life alongside his, to share everything with him. He had to be the most fortunate man on God’s earth. He held his love a little tighter, to satisfy himself that he was not dreaming. It was real - - - - all of it, and he fell asleep, to dream of Sunday.

* * * *

Vincent recalled Father’s earlier advice, that talking to Catherine would be more productive than trying to think things through alone. Throwing a few more stones far out into the pool, and watching the turmoil of ripples, he thought that maybe this was another dilemma which could not be dealt with, without her help. Whichever solution he posed, however he approached the problem, it seemed impossible to choose a path which would not hurt someone whom he loved. His thoughts were becoming as cyclic as the ripples caused by the pebbles, and were no less in turmoil. Sighing, he rose to return to the home chambers, with a heavy heart.

"Catherine, we need to talk," he greeted her.

One look told her how troubled he was.

"Are you free for a while?" he asked.

"Just let me explain to Sarah. I’m sure she won’t mind if we delay our time together. Or perhaps you could use the pipes for me?"

Half-an-hour later they were seated above the falls, in a spot far back, where the sound of the water was not intrusive. Catherine’s apprehension had rapidly escalated during the silent walk, as her imagination turned from one disastrous scenario to another, each worse that the last, so that when eventually Vincent removed a letter from inside his vest and solemnly handed it to her, she was almost afraid to read it. When she did so, she was swamped with relief.

"Oh, Vincent! You really frightened me. I thought something dreadful had happened!"

"But - - - -"

"No ‘buts’! Its not the end of the world. We’ll simply have to delay things for a couple of days."

"You are not upset?" Already his eyes were less troubled and his shoulders were losing the defeated slump of a few minutes earlier.

"It wouldn’t be the same, wouldn’t be complete if Devin missed the ceremony, would it? You want him to stand with you, and he would be dreadfully disappointed if he could not be here for you."

"But Catherine, what about Nancy and Jenny? What about William’s arrangements?"

"There’s time to let Nancy and Jenny know, and I’m sure they will re-schedule their plans. We’ll explain to William. I doubt he’ll have prepared any perishables yet; its too early. I expect he can delay things, without any wastage."

"Yes. You are probably right. We’ll need to let helpers know that all the arrangements remain the same, but for Tuesday rather than Sunday."

He looked at Catherine in amazement. The insurmountable problems he had wrestled with all morning seemed, quite magically, to have melted away. No-one would have to be upset, either by the postponement of the wedding, or by the exclusion of Devin on the original day.

"I always knew you were a remarkable woman. Thank you, my love," and he drew her to him, holding her closely, while he searched for the courage to approach one last topic.

"Vincent?"

"Mm?" He tilted her face up for a kiss. She was blushing a little, as she continued.

"I know we’ve decided to delay the ceremony, but - - - um - - do we have to - - - -"

"Postpone the honeymoon?" he finished for her.

Now she was really blushing.

"Do you want to?" he asked, kissing her again, "I was hoping we might let those particular plans stay as they are," he whispered in her ear.

"Well, we won’t need Devin’s help with that part, I hope," she laughed, "so we could go ahead without him, I should think."

"Yes. If that’s what you would like. I would have been dreadfully disappointed to delay, but - - - - we could bring it forward, perhaps?"

She flung her arms round his neck, "Have I told you today what a wonderful man you are? Do you know how deeply I’m in love with you?"

"I never tire of you telling me, Catherine, though I’m convinced the Bard was right. Love is, assuredly, totally blind," he murmured.

"Let’s go and postpone or bring forward, as appropriate. The sooner people know, the easier will be the re-scheduling," suggested Catherine.

He rose, pulled her into his arms, and allowed a short delay while he thanked his bride-to-be so thoroughly that her knees turned to jelly.

* * * *

‘Not the most alluring of going away outfits,’ Catherine thought ruefully, as she looked down at the heavy knee pads, cross-laced over an old pair of jeans which Vincent had insisted were ‘de rigeur’ for their trip. The quilted jacket, padded at elbows and shoulders, completed the ensemble. ‘At least he didn’t make me wear a hard hat, to go with the sturdy boots. That would really have completed the ‘builder’s labourer’ look.’ As a mental image of her ‘old’ self, wearing the latest fashion, high heels, jewellery and make-up flashed before her, her sense of humour re-asserted itself. Scrabbling over scree and boulders, crawling through passages in bed-rock where head-room didn’t exist, and splashing through muddy patches of run-off from sub-terranean springs may not be everyone’s picture of the ideal honeymoon, but she had begged to see the Crystal Cavern. ‘Be careful what you wish for - - - -,’ she reminded herself, ‘but any honeymoon will be perfect, so long as Vincent is sharing it with me.’

In truth, Vincent was so eager to show her more of the wonders of his world and so thrilled to be fulfilling her wish to see where her crystal had come from that she was heartily glad that she had suggested it.

"What makes you smile?"

"I was just picturing myself going adventuring with you, wearing the very latest ‘Above’ outfit, complete with three-inch heels," she told him, giggling. He took her in his arms, and she lost herself again in his eyes.

"Oh, Catherine," he breathed, "I walked into the chamber a minute ago, to find such a vision! My Catherine, part of my world."

As quickly as that, she felt beautiful. She knew, with a sudden certainty, that she could never be less than that, in Vincent’s eyes. She truly was blessed that he loved her so.

* * * *

They lay comfortably together, pleasantly tired, well fed, content to just enjoy one another’s company in front of the glowing embers of the fire. Because Vincent had set a leisurely pace, with rest stops along the way, Catherine had enjoyed the lengthy trip without feeling physically over-taxed. Mouse and Jamie had been responsible for the fuel, bedding, extra lamps and candles which Vincent knew would be here already. He was able to carry the fresh foodstuffs and a few last-minute items himself, leaving Catherine un-burdened.

Vincent closed his eyes, re-living the moment when Catherine had first seen the cavern. She was speechless. He heard her gasp and opened the bond, just a little, to share her feelings of awe, disbelief, sheer astonishment at the magnitude and incomparable beauty of the chamber. All ability of thought or movement had been stripped from her, as her eyes beheld the colours, the iridescent surfaces gleaming from every niche, wall, and right across the huge domed roof. Spellbound. That was the word, he thought.

Unwilling to break the spell, or intrude on the moment, he had remained silent and still alongside her. She brought her vision back to where they were standing, then slowly, as if in a dream, she stretched out her hand to touch an area of quartz, just beside her.

"Oh, Vincent." Wide-eyed, almost disbelieving what she saw, she began to move from one outcrop to another, slowly, completely entranced.

"Oh, look! - - - - Look at the colours here! See how this part shimmers, Vincent!" and then she was darting quickly from one miracle to another, like a little girl trying to be everywhere at once, exclaiming over each fresh discovery in wonder.

He exhaled in relief, only then realising how he’d held his breath in apprehension, fearful that she might have been disappointed. Her hand was tugging at his eagerly, urgently, as she called him to ‘Look at this! Come and see! Isn’t it wonderful?’ and he found himself caught up in her effervescent mood, unwilling to slow her down, but aware of how very easily she might trip on the irregular floor of the cavern. He ventured a steadying arm around her waist. She turned into his body, wrapped her arms tightly round him and gasped breathlessly, "Thank you, Vincent, for bringing me here!" and proceeded to shower kisses on every part of him which she could reach, on tiptoes.

Catherine’s voice broke the silence, bringing him back to the present.

"Is there somewhere to bathe, before we get too sleepy?"

"I’ll show you." Rising, Vincent put a log on the fire, went over to his pack and found soap and towels and returned, to hand a small package to Catherine.

"Mary sent this gift for you. I was to keep it till this evening, she said."

She opened the note which was tucked under the ribbon fastening and read,

"Wear this for him tonight, with all my love. God’s blessing on you both. Be happy. Mary."

She gently unwrapped the tissue paper, to reveal delicate ivory silk. Every tiny stitch made by hand, in candlelight, with love; her eyes blurred with tears as she understood the message for them both, couched in untold hours of painstaking work to make the delicate traditional bridal nightdress which rested in her lap. Mutely she passed the note to Vincent. As he read it his heart swelled with joy and with love. He pulled Catherine to her feet, kissed away her tears and grabbing the soap and towels as he passed, he led her to the nearby bathing place.

"The water’s not very warm, my love, so don’t stay in too long. I’d like to swim for a while. Will you be all right, if I leave you here?"

"Of course. So long as you leave me a lantern, I can find my own way back."

Vincent disappeared as Catherine began to undress. She could hear him splashing farther out, as she bathed, but however hard she peered into the darkness beyond the lantern’s glow, she could see nothing.

* * * *

The beautiful nightgown had slipped over her body like the benediction which it was. Catherine could feel the cool silk caressing her skin with every movement as she stood beside the fire, brushing her hair. The vision which greeted Vincent when he returned to their camp made his heart pound. Backlit by the fire’s glow, he could see every graceful movement of her body. So radiant. Sensual. Erotic. And she was waiting. For him.

"You look like an angel, standing there."

She smiled, as she remembered.

"Now we can savour every moment of the joy," she replied, as he knew she would.

"Have you any idea how much you mean to me, Catherine? How deeply I love you?"

"Oh yes," she breathed into his waiting mouth, "I look at you, at us, and although I’ve never felt this way before, I know its real. I believe in it; You have made me know I can be sure of ‘forever’."

An echo of her words, in a deeper, rougher timbre, came into his mind. A well-loved face, full of earnest sincerity, with far-seeing, expressive eyes and a rugged strength of character etched in every line, swam before his inner vision. ‘I see it, and I know its real.’

He gulped back a sob, as he took her mouth tenderly, gently, amazed that he could do so devoid of any fear, any hesitation, knowing that this was what Catherine longed for. He had always had faith that such love was real. The poetry, prose, music of the great masters which had surrounded him all his life taught him that it existed. For others. Never, before Catherine, had he tried to grasp the concept that it might exist, for him. As he explored her mouth more deeply, and trembled to feel her tongue caressing his, he opened the bond fully, to experience every nuance of the passion as it heightened between them. She loved him. She desired him with a profound need as all-consuming as was his own. His spirit soared with the re-affirmation of what he had known, but never acknowledged, for so long.

His hands were moving over the cool silk of her gown with a boldness which astounded him. He felt her response as he took one soft, bewitching breast into the palm of his hand; heard her soft moan of pleasure; ran his thumb gently over the tip and gasped to feel it tighten at his caress. He was oblivious to his own involuntary cry as her teeth grazed his nipple, while her fingers brushed through the curls over his heart. He carried her to the pallet by the fire, while his legs were still capable of supporting him, and fought to regain the ability to breathe. A shy look from beneath his bangs took in her smile, but his eyes strayed to her beckoning body, till he was panting heavily again and becoming more embarrassed by the moment, unable to control his arousal, and not quite knowing what to do about it.

Catherine lay on her side, head propped by one arm, and watched Vincent’s heaving chest as he sat on the edge, halfway down the bed. A magnificent sight, to be sure, but she also sensed his uncertainty.

"S’pose there’s nothing for it then. I’ll just have to go on a diet," she pouted at him, with twinkling merriment in her eyes. Startled, he got his brain in gear, and responded.

"As I informed William, my love, one cannot improve on perfection. Its not your weight which has destroyed my equilibrium, I assure you," He relaxed into her waiting embrace, planting tiny kisses all over her face, while running his open hand very suggestively from her shoulder to her knee, and murmuring softly into her ear, " - - - - but your form." He continued his sensual assault till her wits had abandoned her, as his uncertainty had left him.

"Your gown is lovely Catherine, but it is hiding what I would see." He slid his hands over her shoulders and down her arms, taking the ivory silk to her waist, before twining his fingers with hers and raising their hands to the pillow. He lowered his torso, to tease her breasts with his soft curls, making her strain upwards, seeking more of that erotic contact. They were both lost, within moments, in a daze of sensual pleasure, venturing touches they had yearned to give and receive for so long, daring to explore and to savour all aspects of their love which they had only dreamed of, before this night. Fully aroused and desperate for completion, they drew together at last, unable to withstand the searing need an instant longer.

* * * *

The abrupt abandonment was utterly unexpected. The shock of it brought Catherine down to earth with a sickening jolt. Everything had been so absolutely perfect. He couldn’t be having second thoughts at this point, surely not! Her mind racing, she raised herself on her elbow, striving to get a glimpse of his face, beyond the broad, shaking back. He was curled into a ball of tension, trembling in silent misery. He jerked away the instant her hand made contact, and momentarily she was at a loss. What was she to do?

"I’m sorry, Catherine," came the almost inaudible whisper.

"What’s wrong? Tell me, Vincent." Her voice rose as a despairing panic began to replace the euphoria of only moments earlier.

"Don’t shut me out! Not again! I don’t think I could bear it, Vincent! Not any more! Tell me!"

She tugged frantically at his shoulder, desperately needing to see his expression, his eyes, some means of contact, of communication. Gibraltar. A rock. She couldn’t move him.

She stilled, trying to calm herself, intent on reaching him through their bond. It was silent; a void of bleak emptiness. Concentrating now with all her being, she honed in on the tiniest thread. Shame. No, as she fought through the barriers it was more like - - - - humiliation. Puzzled, she re-traced both her words and her actions from the minutes before his retreat. There was nothing that could possibly have humiliated him; nothing which he might have misconstrued as less than positive. She was certain of that. Not herself, then. Him.

There had been no release, and his retreat was not intentional, she rationalised. Intuitively, she knew. However could she help?

"Its alright. Its O.K. Don’t worry about it." Unable to turn him, she scrambled, a tiny Mohammet over the mountain, to clasp him tightly. She was oblivious of using her feet to kick his knees down in order to get close enough, and of how roughly she was pulling his mane to prevent his turning from her.

"Please, Vincent. It doesn’t matter. Its not important." She almost shouted at him, as she shook his face, knowing she must make him respond.

"All I’ve ever longed for, within reach. I don’t know what’s happening to me, what’s wrong with me," he sobbed.

"Oh, Vincent," she said softly, tenderly, "I know. I should have expected it; been more careful. I’ve been so selfish, so eager to get my own way. I had thought I was more mature than that. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me, please, Vincent. Its just that I love you so much; I want you so badly. Don’t say I’ve ruined everything, lost the most important part of my life. Don’t push me away, please. I know I don’t deserve you, but I can’t manage without you." Concerned at Catherine’s distress, Vincent forgot his own, in his need to comfort her.

"Sh --- Sh --- I could never leave you. I’ll always love you, Catherine. Hush, now. I can’t bear to see you weeping.

At last the strong arms had relaxed and found their way to where they belonged, as he gently ran his hands over her back until her sobbing subsided to a shuddering sigh. He kissed each eyelid, the damp cheeks, her brow. As she raised her face she became aware of such sadness in his eyes.

"I so wanted to be able to make love with you, Catherine." He sounded lost, bereft.

"We will, Vincent. Soon. You’re just not ready, yet." He gave her a very straight look. She smiled.

"Oh, I know you’ve been ready here for a long time," as she rubbed the furry chest above his heart, "and I know you were ready here," she gave a fleeting caress, and an impish grin, continuing before he had time to become embarrassed, "its here that you are not ready," she tapped his head gently. "This is where the problem lies, isn’t it?" She searched his face.

"I was frightened when I realised how - - - -" He dropped his eyes, shyly.

"How ‘ready’ you were?" she suggested.

A nod of assent.

"You are much smaller than I, Catherine, and no match for my strength. So delicate."

"Logistics?"

He smiled at that.

"I was suddenly terrified that I would cause you injury," he admitted.

"I can understand that," she conceded, "but its nonsense, you know. It won’t happen. A little pain at first, perhaps. I’ve been celibate for a long time," now it was Catherine’s turn to feel a little reticence, which she quickly brushed aside, "but that’s a minor thing, hardly ‘injury’."

"How can you be so sure?" His gaze was piercing; intent.

She searched her mind for a way to convince him. He was so sensitive. She had to tread very carefully or she might give offence. She treasured that quality of innocent shyness, the romantic view of their relationship, but she had to help him set aside this specific fear somehow, and quickly, before it caused further damage to his already fragile self-confidence.

"Catherine?"

"I was just recalling how touched I was, when Lena named little Kathy after me." She giggled. " After some of the suggestions from you and Father, it was quite a relief, as well." He followed where she led, as she had hoped he would, without query.

"I’ll never forget the moment when she was placed in my arms. So fragile. So perfect. So tiny." The look of wonder which Catherine had seen on that day came across Vincent’s face again.

"Six pounds and five ounces, as I recall Lena telling everyone so proudly," Catherine observed, "Is that about average?"

"Luke was heavier, I know. Nearly eight pounds, but I think seven is more usual."

"Did you help to deliver Luke as well, then?"

"Mary was recovering from a bad bout of flu. She thought it unwise to risk infecting a new-born, or Olivia. Livvy and I are close, we grew up together, so Father asked for my help. Kanin was with Olivia and Father delivered Luke, of course. I was just present in case they needed anything. Fetching and carrying, rather than medical help," he explained.

"Quite an experience, I should think," she prompted him when he fell silent, reminiscing.

"Yes. It was a long and difficult labour. Livvy’s first baby, and quite large. I remember the tears pouring down Kanin’s face as he supported her, sitting behind her on the bed, when the contractions were becoming severe, just before Luke was born. Olivia must have been exhausted, yet there was such joy on her face the moment she saw her son. She turned to Kanin and kissed him. After all that pain - - - - she thanked him."

Silence. A mental prayer, here goes, and Catherine said quietly,

"I expect she thought that Luke was worth any amount of pain. Eight pounds. Was she injured?"

"No. Father was surprised that she didn’t need a stitch or two, but - - - -" his voice petered out as the word registered. He looked at Catherine in amazement, his thoughts in a whirl. His eyes filled as he understood what she had been telling him.

"Oh Catherine," then words failed him.

He kissed her deeply, and felt her respond, heard her passionate moan as his hand enclosed her breast, felt the involuntary lifting of her hips as he gently pulled her closer to his groin. He was unaware of his own growls of arousal as her hands moved along his spine, raising then smoothing his fur, over and again, but Catherine thrilled to every sound; to the vibrations against her sensitised skin; to every loving touch.

As his lips moved down her body to taste her breasts, he smoothed and petted the soft skin of her inner thigh, causing her to open to him. Gently he caressed her, hearing her mewling cries at each deep pull as he suckled, feeling her writhe in ecstasy, pressing herself closer to his stroking hand, moving rhythmically with his exploring fingers as he found the courage to move deeper, then deeper still within her. He felt the slick warmth of her, and the rippling grip of her muscles around his fingers astounded him. Every sound, each movement from her was a thrilling experience, a revelation. Each confirmation of her pleasure was a balm, healing his shattered confidence. This was how it was meant to be, how it had to be between them. This was right, he knew with deep-rooted certainty.

Her cries had changed now, to a more urgent call.

"Please, oh please, Vincent!" He raised his head, eyes afire with passion, his groin aching with need, his erection becoming painful. His hands slid beneath and up her back to curl over her shoulders. He leant on his fore-arms and brought himself over her, looking deep into her eyes.

"Now, my Catherine? Now?"

He could feel himself nudging her entrance. Her legs came round his waist and suddenly she tensed, pulling him forward just as he gave his first tentative push. They both stilled, feeling the tip of him gripped inside her, looking at each other in disbelief and suddenly knowing that all would be well. Eagerly he pushed a little further and felt her body open to accommodate him, holding him securely. He searched her face for any trace of discomfort, but saw only a strangely serene expectation.

"Yes, my love" she breathed, then, as she felt him gradually filling her, "Oh, yes!" she cried aloud in rapture. Then he was fully home, completely encompassed by her soft warmth, and they both savoured the moment.

Confident now, Vincent let instinct and need, her need a match for his, carry him away on wave after wave of powerful thrusting movement, increasingly swift and sure, every stroke synchronised with the answering welcome of Catherine’s body. He took her higher, glorying in his own virility, playing her body as a virtuoso might handle a Stradivarius, in tune with her every response, drawing the sweetest music ever heard. Each time they were about to fall over the brink he restrained himself, allowing a brief lull, waiting in immobility for the urging call for more. He controlled his movement to the point where their need impelled him to dive again, deep into her, responding to the siren call which could never again be denied. Together they rose one more time to those ethereal heights which only soul-mates ever experience. Ever faster and deeper he plunged until together they explosively fragmented into a myriad scintillating starbursts. As one they gently floated, drifting slowly back to a reality which would be forever enhanced by the wonders which they had just shared.

For some time they rested in silent companionship, overwhelmed by the enormity of it all, each re-assured by the comfort of contact with the other, grounded by those small pettings and strokings which lovers are wont to bestow during the aftermath of union. A slight shiver from Catherine prompted Vincent to reach for the quilts, pull them around her shoulders and tuck them into her back.

This had been a journey they would take often, now they had found their way. There were innumerable by-ways to explore, and a life-time to discover them. Soon they would set out again, but not just yet. Catherine’s mumbled "Thank you" was the last thing either were aware of, as a deep, untroubled slumber overcame them, to allow dreams, perhaps, of a new reality.

* * * *

(Epilogue) Vincent’s Journal

Never in my wildest flights of fantasy, not in my most uninhibited dreams, did I come anywhere close to the rapture, the ecstasy which I experienced during last night’s journey. It was so far beyond anything which I might have conjured in my mind. Even now, though I know the heights and depths we reached, I have great difficulty in comprehending the reality. I had problems enough in encompassing even the concept of such dreams; now, what I feel is beyond expression. It is overwhelming, wondrous, the greatest gift anyone could be offered. All the pain of my life, all the years of anguish when I questioned my origins, why I existed, to what purpose - all has been answered in your love, and in your arms. Your soul is the part of mine which was missing. Now it has come home to me; I am whole.

 

PART TWO

Neither Vincent nor Catherine were ready to leave the idyllic surroundings which had been the setting for the realisation of all their romantic dreams, but time had swiftly sped away. They must return to home, family and the most extensive, lavish celebrations which the tunnels had ever known.

"Couldn’t we be just ‘fashionably late’?" asked Catherine, wistfully. "Its so heavenly here."

"Heaven is . . . wherever you, my Catherine, happen to be," he replied, "and I promise we will return soon."

"You know, you really are such a charmer, Vincent," she laughed. But his words thrilled her. She knew them to be sincere, and that he had hoped to ease her reluctance to leave by offering to bring her here again.

"We have to go back. I want to be sure that you marry me before you have a chance to change your mind," he joked, " I shall have no peace of mind until I have my ring on your finger; until you are my wife . . ."

Suddenly, the teasing merriment vanished and he slowly repeated, " . . . my wife," as if he were in a dream and could no longer trust in reality.

"Oh, Vincent." The tears came. Overcome with emotion they clung together, neither one able to articulate, but each feeling the depths of the other’s love.

"Right you are, mister. Let’s go and make an honest woman of me. I suspect your teasing rogue of a brother would never let us live it down, if we’re late for our wedding." Catherine tugged at him, with a show of resolve, and Vincent shouldered his pack as they took one last look around, before turning for home.

* * * *

"Hey, Fuzz! Ever heard that saying about putting the cart before the horse?" a grinning Devin greeted them, having come some hour’s journey beyond the pipes, to meet them on the last lap home. The two men embraced heartily and Catherine laughed as Devin winked at her over Vincent’s shoulder.

"Way to go, Chandler! I can tell you’ve been taking great care of my little brother," he leered, "and from the look of you . . ." The rest of his saucy observation was effectively stifled in Vincent’s chest when he released his arm-lock and allowed Devin to slide, unsupported, to the ground.

"The ‘horse’ was delayed, waiting for an essential piece of tack to arrive," Vincent told him.

"Piece of tack! Piece of tack! I didn’t need to come down here to be so insulted!"

"An essential piece of tack," re-iterated his brother, with an amicable punch to Devin’s shoulder.

Continuing their banter, the trio resumed a leisurely pace toward the home tunnels, keeping up a lively exchange of news and gossip for quite some time. When the initial excitement of their reunion had begun to die down a little, Vincent became aware of a certain hesitancy in his brother. He sensed that there was a purpose, more than just eagerness to see them, in his coming so far along the route to intercept them. Eventually they had a rest break, and he knew that this would be the last chance for quiet conversation for some time.

"Something troubles you, Devin?" he prompted.

"No. Ah, no, Vincent. No trouble. Just an idea I wanted to run by you both, while we’re alone."

"Fire away then, Devin," encouraged Catherine.

"You . . . um . . . you might hate the very thought of it. That’s O.K. though," he hastened to assure the bewildered couple, "You just say so and I’ll forget the whole thing. No sweat, honest. You just say ‘no’. That’s it." He searched their faces anxiously, as if awaiting their reply.

"Perhaps you could enlighten us, Devin, as to what this plan, which we are permitted to veto, might be?" Vincent queried gently.

"Oh. Yeah. Well. You know how we always used to do things together, Fuzz? All the important stuff, when we were kids?"

"You mean all the mischief which has turned Father’s hair grey," grinned Catherine, "He’s told me. You have some crazy prank to turn him white?" she asked.

"No, no not that. I think the old man would be pleased, at least I hope he would, but I don’t want to steal your thunder, its your day, I don’t want to horn in on that, but it would be great if Fuzz and I could do the most important thing together, like old times." He stopped for breath as the long rush of words dried up, and looked earnestly at the others, for their response.

Catherine was still mystified, but Vincent, after some deliberation, asked,

"Who?"

The whispered answer was reverent, and Devin’s face had an expression of serene wonder.

"Laura," he breathed.

"Tell me."

"She was so lost, in such pain, after Jerry. I just had to try to help her. To comfort her. I never thought . . . well, I’m so much older than her for a start! She was just my kid sister, in trouble, needing help, so I just caught a flight and went when I got the old man’s letter. It just sort of . . . sneaked up on us, over the months. I never expected . . ." He fell silent.

"And Laura wants this also?" asked Vincent.

"Oh yes. We’re both very sure. No doubts. I can’t believe I asked, and I couldn’t believe my luck when she said ‘yes’, but she did, Vincent. She really, truly did." His eyes glowed, sparkled.

At last Catherine began to understand what was going on, what Devin was trying to suggest.

"Could we, Vincent? Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could? Just imagine Father’s face!" she cried "What do you think?"

Both Devin and Catherine had their eyes riveted on Vincent, breathlessly waiting for his reply.

"Is Laura prepared for this Devin?" he asked.

Exasperated, and determined to convince Vincent once and for all,

"Fuzz! Who do you think sent me down here to ask? You know Laura’s number one in your fan club, always has been! OOPS, second I guess, now. Sorry Chandler. The very idea had her dancing, but she thought you might prefer . . . well, you know."

Vincent sat with his eyes closed, head tilted back against the rock wall, in completely still silence for several long minutes. His brother cast an apprehensive glance at Catherine. He realised that everything must be well despite Vincent’s quietude and his heart immediately lifted, for Catherine’s face was wreathed in a beatific smile, as she moved to embrace the man whom she adored.

"Each time, Catherine, every time I’m sure there can be no greater happiness, that my cup is full to overflowing with joy, that there is no corner of my heart which is not filled with love, always I am blessed with more, it seems."

Catherine held him tightly, knowing that he deserved everything, and that there was a infinite capacity in his great heart.

"The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain," she quoted.

"It was worth every moment of the pain, my love, to know such joy."

"I’ll take it that’s a ‘yes’, then," said Devin quietly to himself, as the lovers lost themselves in this tender exchange, briefly.

"Devin, I’m so sorry. Please excuse us," a rather embarrassed Vincent hastened to regain his composure.

"That’s O.K. bro’. Couldn’t happen to a nicer bloke. I’ll forgive you for ignoring this spare part. I’ll get used to playing ‘gooseberry’." Devin feigned an injured air, belied by the twinkling mischief in his eyes.

"Can’t think what the old man was thinking of, letting you out of his sight. I just knew Chandler needed a chaperone."

"Yeah. Like a hole in the head!" Catherine answered back, and gales of laughter swept through all three of them as they resumed their walk, and began busily revising plans for the following day.

* * * *

Though such matters were never taken lightly, or in a casual manner, by the community, it was accepted that couples might make their lives together without any public commitment. Some times such unions were dissolved quietly, informally, while in other cases the couples might exchange vows later, should they choose to do so.

Like most of the customs of the tunnels, the ‘joining ceremony’ had evolved from the needs of the people. A mixture of tradition and expediency, it was, above all, flexible. It adapted to embrace the particular beliefs of each couple. Sometimes a minister from one of the great world faiths had been invited to officiate at a marriage service. Where possible, there might be a ‘legal’ registration of the marriage Above. More usually, Father had overseen the proceedings, but the couple committed themselves directly to each other, by means of their personal declarations.

The ceremony was infinitely variable, but whatever form it took, the Great Hall would be filled with tunnel dwellers, friends, family and helpers, to hear an exchange of vows between two lovers. Father would enter the details of the marriage in a great leather-bound book. That was a weighty matter, of great import. It signified a permanent bond, considered by all to be for the rest of their lives. There were no means, in tunnel law, for the setting aside of such oaths; none had ever been required.

* * * *

It was in an atmosphere of solemn expectancy in the overflowing Great Hall that Devin and Vincent waited, side by side, at the foot of the stairs. Father stood by the elaborately covered table, where the great book lay open, lit by candles and surrounded by flowers, waiting for the entries to be written at the completion of the ceremony.

The scent from dozens of flower arrangements permeated the air, mingling with the fragrance of the oils which Rebecca had used in the hundreds of candles. So much brighter than usual was the lighting that the whole chamber had become one huge kaleidoscope of colours. The very best finery available had been found to dress both the hall and the congregation. Crystal flower vases sparkled, the metallic threads in the tapestries glinted, highly polished wood of the furniture and stairway gleamed in the warm glow. A single violin played a sweet, haunting air which danced across the ceiling. Rolley was ready, at the newly installed and tuned grand piano. The rest of the musicians sat patiently on the dais, waiting for their turn to enhance the mood, when the bride would make her entrance. As if by a given signal, the muted sussuration of whispers from nearly two hundred people suddenly ceased. All eyes turned toward the breathtaking vision of two radiant young women who had materialised at the top of the staircase. Each wore a long, white dress. Each was crowned with a dainty circlet of flowers. Hand in hand, they slowly began their descent into the chamber, while gasps of surprise and, after a stunned few seconds, the musical welcome, broke the profound silence.

Laura and Catherine continued downward, aware only of Devin and Vincent, as each of the brothers moved forward to take the hand of his bride. All four walked to the space in front, and turned to face Father, as the music reached a crescendo, then died away. Jacob Wells was utterly astounded. Eventually he closed his mouth, swallowed convulsively, looked from one son to the other, then croaked,

"Both of you?"

"If you would do us the honour, please, Father," Devin responded without a trace of humour, but with an earnest, unmistakable sincerity.

The tunnel patriarch let go his cane, which clattered unheeded to the floor, and moved forward to enclose Devin and Laura in a loving embrace.

"The honour is mine, Devin, and deeply appreciated, my son," as he reluctantly let go of them.

"Well, Vincent, Catherine. You have obviously decided to share your day, and to double our happiness, if such is possible. What a wonderful, wonderful surprise."

Regaining his composure, Father turned to the waiting congregation to begin his address.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered together to hear and witness the joining of four members of our community, each of whom are loved and valued greatly. You have watched, as have I, the growth of the love and respect between Catherine and Vincent. They have been totally committed, each to the other, for so long now that some of you may have begun to wonder whether this day of joining would ever come for them. We rejoice that has, indeed, arrived."

Catherine watched, entranced, as those furred and clawed hands which Vincent so loathed, signed in graceful, beautiful gestures so that Laura could know the words which she could neither see nor hear, while Father was no longer facing her.

"Devin and Laura have found love while living in a world far from us. They demonstrate that wherever we travel, the ideals of this world go with us. We carry our sense of community, a part of us, in our hearts, always. I am so thrilled to be able to say ‘Welcome home’, and so deeply touched that it is here, with their family, that they have chosen to make their vows to one another, and to us all."

As Father stepped back, he reflected on the vagaries of fate which had brought them all to this wonderful, fulfilling day. While part of his mind assimilated the continuing ceremony, with Sarah translating Laura’s words for those who were not fully competent, while Vincent was lost in the rapture of his first kiss as a husband, and Devin wept in a display of emotion which was, for him, unprecedented, the other part thought about past events.

If Grace had not brought him Below . . . if Vincent had not found Catherine after she was attacked . . . if they had not enabled him to heal the breach with Devin . . . had he not been able to write of Laura’s great sorrow . . . if Devin had not felt the urge to help her . . . if Catherine had not had the patience of Job, and the courage to withstand a cantankerous old buffer who had perpetually opposed her. .

But the tangled web had been woven, and the happiness which had evolved from a young man’s tragedy was a thing of great beauty, indeed. Perhaps, in spite of everything, he had not made such a mess of his life, after all? He felt his chest swell with love and pride as his sons, each with a beloved wife at his side, began to circulate through the happy throng of well-wishers.

A central area was being cleared of seating, to allow room to dance. Older children were removing the covers from the food, already arranged on groaning trestle tables. The young musicians were tuning up. Sebastian was holding excited children still, fascinated with his magic tricks. There wasn’t a face anywhere, it seemed, that was not smiling, in spite of so many tears. Why was it, he wondered vaguely, that silly women always cried at weddings?

He wiped his tears away, and made his way to Mary. He was not yet so decrepit that he could not manage at least one waltz!

* * * *

It was very late - or very early - when the newlyweds had stolen away to the Mirror Pool, for a few peaceful moments together before retiring. Catherine and Laura were sprawled across a blanket in an exhausted, euphoric daze. Their husbands had been talking quietly together for a few minutes, when their voices became louder, more animated.

"Not fair, Vincent. You have a headstart!"

"Possibly, big brother, but I surmise you have had far more practice than I?" and Vincent raised one, very expressive, eyebrow. Both men roared with good-natured laughter, scooped up their respective, startled brides in their arms and set off at a brisk pace for home. Devin called a quiet ‘good-night’ over his shoulder as he turned aside into the tunnel where he and Laura were staying. Vincent continued on, with a sleepy Catherine in his arms, toward their own chamber.

"What was all that about?" she mumbled.

"Devin and I were talking about a race," he replied.

"Oh. Did you win?" she yawned, barely conscious.

"I’m not quite sure yet, my love, but I think its very probable. We may have," he told her, as he slipped her dress and shoes from her, before joining her in bed.

"Mm. Good," she murmured, and fell sound asleep.

"Oh, far better thank good. Better than best," he told himself quietly as he kissed her brow.

Gazing at the serene beauty of his new bride, he recalled how everything about their marriage had been topsy-turvy. Even their wedding night, quite evidently, was also to be different! He consoled himself that a ‘wedding morning’ would certainly be a much more fulfilling experience. They would both be well-rested from this day’s hectic celebrations. . . full of energy . . . and love . . .

With these enticing thoughts Vincent wrapped his arms snugly around Catherine sighed with contentment, and joined her in blissful slumber.