She felt a pang of sympathy as she followed him into his office and shut the door, but it was mitigated with a sense of inevitability. She'd always known some day they would have to have this conversation. There was no point in beating around the bush. "I'm leaving, Joe. I need to tender my two-weeks' notice."

"Whoa--thanks for breaking it to me gently, Cathy." He threw her a desperate look but found no hint of misunderstanding in her steady gaze. With a sigh he sat down heavily and folded his hands on the desk top. "So--what is it? You're not going to tell me that trial work isn't satisfying. You won us the Murdock case."

"It has nothing to do with the job, Joe."

"You've been offered something else." His expression said that sooner or later it happened to all the good ones.

"No . . . it's personal. I've made another commitment."

He gave her a dubious look out of the corner of his eye. "How personal are we talking here, Radcliffe? Are you telling me you're getting married?"

"Something like that. Yes, Joe."

"And this guy doesn't want you to work? Come on, Cath, I know you better than that. There's something else going on."

"I wish I could tell you more, I really do, but all I can say is I'm leaving the job, leaving the city."

Joe looked at her, half bureaucrat, half scolded puppy dog. "I don't get it. What's the big secret here? Is somebody putting pressure on you, Cathy? Are you being coerced into something, because if you are--"

"Joe," she said, smiling gently, "do I look like someone who's being forced into anything?"

Dark eyes studied her a moment. "No. . . you look . . . radiant."

"I'm happy, Joe. Happier than I've ever been in my life, and if I could explain any more about this to you, I would. You know that."

"I hope so."

"It’s true. I care very much about you and about our friendship. You'll just have to trust me when I say this is the way it has to be."

He blinked at her and finally settled back in his chair. "I always knew this day would come. I guess I just hoped it wouldn't be for a long time yet--or so damned mysterious. You're sure you know what you're doing?"

"Absolutely sure. This may seem like a quick decision, but it isn't Joe, believe me. It's been going on for a long time."

"Does this have anything to do with the fact that I know next to nada about your personal life?"

"Could be. There are things I’ve had to keep very private, very personal but it's nothing illegal. The man I'm involved with . . . there are reasons that he has to stay anonymous, and if I'm to be part of his life, then the same goes for me. I need you to respect that."

"Just how long are we talking about when you say a ‘long time’? Like since way back when you first started here?" She saw no reason to deny it, but his reaction puzzled her. "Oh, man." He loosened his tie another notch and shook his head. "Look, you want me to be honest with you?"

"Of course."

"I know you think there's a basically decent guy under that aggressiveness, and if anybody could bring it out, you could, but I'm telling you, Cathy, when he's pushed to the wall, he's gonna fall back on all the old power plays--anything he can do to come out on top. He thinks he can get away with murder and bounce back. These glamour boys always do, but it's you I worry about. You're the one who's gonna suffer for it."

"I am?"

"Come on, Cathy--he's hurt you before. How do you know, when the chips are down, he won’t do something you just can’t stomach? What's he up to this time? Gonna spirit you away to his island paradise . . . make you queen of the coconuts or something?"

"Joe . . . who exactly are we talking about?"

"Who . . . ? Elliot Burch."

"Oh." It was impossible to suppress a grin. Joe couldn't resist reacting to the situation as if it was a case to be solved, though his deductive reasoning had let him down on this one. And what was it about the few dates she'd had with Elliot that had made a greater impression on the men in her life than they had on her? "Wrong call, Joe. This has nothing to do with Elliot."

"It doesn't?"

"No . . . it doesn't. The man in question is nothing like Elliot. In fact, he's a lot more like you."

"He is?" The idea seemed to compensate somewhat for the realization that he'd jumped to the wrong conclusion. "What does that mean?"

"Well, for one thing, he also seems to think my feelings for Elliot were more significant than they actually were. And he has your kindness, Joe and your honesty, your commitment."

"What . . . is he part Italian?"

"Somehow I doubt it." She leaned forward, her voice fervent. "I want you to know you can call on me, if you ever need me, as a colleague . . . and a friend. I'll be there for you, Joe, like you've always been there for me when I needed it most."

"Why do I get the impression that doesn't mean I can just pick up the phone and chew the fat with you?"

"Because you're a very sharp interrogator," she smiled. "No, I'm not going to be quite that accessible, but I'll give you the number of someone who can reach me at any time, and you have to promise me you'll use it."

"Is this somebody I know?"

Poor Joe, she thought, he couldn't help trying to put the pieces together, no matter how she'd warned him off. "Yes. You remember Dr. Peter Alcott? He's an old friend of my family, and he'll know where I am at any given time."

"Wait a minute. When was the last time you crossed paths with our friends the feds? This is beginning to sound like a set-up."

"You'd know, Joe, if it was anything like that . . . but now that you’ve brought it up . . . "

"Go ahead. Hit me with it, Radcliffe. I'm already down--what can it hurt?"

"I haven't said anything about this yet to Jenny."

"Oh--and you expect her to be the pushover that I am? Cathy, that woman will have you down at Tiffany’s picking out silver patterns the moment you open your mouth."

"I know," she laughed. "Not everybody's as understanding as you are, but I don't plan to tell her one thing more than I’ve told you. You two are the most important people in my life here, and I know it's asking a lot to expect you just to go along with this, but I have to ask you not to look at it as an investigator--just as a friend."

"So how do you plan to keep Aronson off your trail?"

"I'm not going to lie to her, Joe, but I know Jenny. I know how she thinks, and it’s quite possible she may make some assumptions that are not strictly accurate. If she does that, and if she comes to you for confirmation, it would mean a lot to me if you wouldn't exactly deny them. I'm not asking you to go out on a limb or join a conspiracy--if you'd just let her think what it's comfortable for her to think. I'd really appreciate it."

"Anything else, Radcliffe? Want me to fix a parking ticket or bribe a judge?"

"No, but I'd just as soon we keep it as quiet as possible that I'm leaving, so there won't be so many questions."

"You willing to miss cut on a cake and a lot of embarrassing speeches?"

"I'll take my chances."

He sat looking at her a minute and she returned his look, steadily, confidently, knowing he could find nothing but happiness and anticipation in her eyes. "Two weeks, huh?" he said finally.

"Yeah." She bit her lip at the sudden surge of poignancy as she saw a vital era in her life passing. "Let's make it the best two weeks ever, Joe. What do you say?"

He rose and rearranged his slightly stricken expression into the familiar smile. At the door he slipped his arm around her. "Okay, Radcliffe, I say two weeks of major butt-kicking, coming right up."

There was no shortage of butts that deserved to be kicked, she noted as she went through the files on her desk. There probably never would be, but nothing in front of her required a long-term commitment, and she worked with a relish, stopping only to answer the phone. One of the calls that afternoon was from someone whom she probably should have thought to call herself.

"Ms. Chandler, Aaron Stratton here. I'm sorry to bother you at work again, but I have some news."

"That's all right, Dr. Stratton. What is it?"

"Well, I wasn't sure if you might already know about this--in your professional capacity--but I've just had a visit from a police officer. John McConnell was murdered last night in Central Park."

"As a matter of fact, I had heard. I'm terribly sorry."

"Yes, it's a shame. He'd been out on his own such a short time. No one can understand what he would have been doing in the park on such a rainy night."

"He did find me, Dr. Stratton, as you said he might. I spotted him for several days outside my apartment and my office. He never said anything, and I didn't think it was a good idea to approach him."

“No, you were wise not to."

“But I never saw any sign that he meant any harm. You were probably right about him. Does Steven know?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Apparently some of the patients heard it on the radio this morning. I wish I could say that he showed some genuine feeling for John's death, but I'm afraid he's used it to rave again about the monster who injured him. In Steven's mind, John must have found the creature, fought with him--for Steven's sake--and been clawed to death."

"I believe the weapon was a .38.

"Yes, I'm not surprised. My profession has its triumphs, Ms. Chandler, but I don't mind telling you that there are times when it can be very frustrating."

"A lot like mine," she said sympathetically. "Thanks for caring enough to call me."

When she hung up, she scribbled a hasty reminder to herself--and to her accountants. Crestmore was a private sanitarium, well-funded by the affluent patients it treated, but a modest donation wouldn't be unwelcome, just a simple tribute from one veteran of the uphills battles to another.

Her thoughts segued naturally to another call that needed to be made, and she called Peter Alcott's office.

"There's something important I'd like to discuss with you, Peter."

"You're not having a reaction to the pills, are you, Cathy?"

"No . . . nothing like that. It's more in the nature of an enormous favor I need to ask. Can you spare me a couple of hours this week?"

"Office hours or personal hours?"

"Personal."

"Are you free for dinner tonight?"

"That would be perfect."

Peter proved to be far less intimidated by the proposal she presented over the grilled salmon at Cafe Luxembourg than he had been by her revelations in his office. Perhaps one had paved the way for the other.

He made only the most cursory attempt to discourage her--"Cathy, are you sure this is what you want?"--and then proceeded to throw in some good ideas of his own. She suspected his own long-held concern for the tunnel world's survival predisposed him to be sympathetic, and she wondered with a brief sense of disloyalty if her own father would have been quite so understanding where the family fortune was concerned. He would have wanted her to be financially secure, but then he hadn't realized that there were other kinds of security, infinitely more rewarding.

Peter was amenable to acting as her go-between should either Joe or Jenny need to contact her. A good thing, too, she thought, since she'd already presumed to give his name to Joe. His offer to come along when she met with the attorneys was welcome. The more he knew about the financial arrangements, the less she would be called upon to iron out every little problem.

He seemed genuinely pleased to be offered a vital role in her life, and understood immediately why she found the prospect of a life below rewarding.

"You could be just what they need, Cathy," he told her over coffee. "Now don't tell Jacob I said this, but he’s been down there a very long time. You and I know the world has changed a lot since then, but I think he tends to interpret a lot of what transpires between his people and those up here in terms of post-war America."

"There've been several wars since then."

"Not to mention some changes in attitudes that I'm not sure my old friend always understands. I think Vincent probably grasps that a lot better than he does, but then Vincent is very limited as far as interaction goes. No, it will be good for them to have a fresh voice--someone who's been in the thick of things, and interesting, too, to have a woman's voice on the council."

"Peter, I'm not going to be part of the council. I don't even know how to do laundry down there yet . . . or make candles or where the best water comes from. I have a lot to learn, and I don’t plan to learn it any differently than any other newcomer to the tunnels."

Peter pushed back from the table, chuckling. "Cathy, how long were you in high school before you were on the cheerleading team . . . or elected to class office? It was the same thing in college. I remember when Susan told me you'd been chosen for--"

"It's hardly the same thing, Peter," she said defensively. "The leadership down there is extraordinary. They don't need a neophyte to tell them how to run things that are going perfectly well."

"Does this mean that if you disagree with a decision made by Father or Vincent--or any of them for that matter--you just plan to keep it to yourself'?" He still seemed highly amused.

"Well . . . no. Of course, I'd have to tell them what I think. They wouldn't expect me not to."

"There--exactly, and if your idea happened to be a better one, they would accept it as such, wouldn't they? Oh, no doubt about it, Cathy. You'll be running the whole show before you know it."

"You're teasing me." She felt herself blushing as she had as a little girl when Dr. Peter would accuse her of breaking the hearts of the boys in her class.

"Besides, they have a woman on the council--Mary, and from what I’ve seen she's a very capable person."

"Mary is an angel, but she's of the old school, too. I don’t think anyone would call her assertive. I'll have to make it a point to get down there more often-- just for the fun of watching you and Jacob lock horns."

"Assuming he lets me come there in the first place. We've been getting along very well lately, but I don't know what will happen when Vincent tells him I want to move below."

"Jacob's extremely fond of you, Cathy."

"He's also extremely fond of Vincent," she reminded him ruefully. "I'm not sure how ready he is to share him on a permanent basis."

"Just leave that up to Vincent. He can be . . . persuasive in any circumstances and with the kind of incentive you've given him, Jacob doesn't stand a chance."

She smiled. "I'm not really worried. I just don't want to give him any reason to resent me."

"Well, in that case, I can give you one piece of valuable advice." Peter leaned forward in his gravest bedside manner. "Do not--under any circumstances--take up the game of chess."

***

So far, so good, she told herself at the end of the week. The marathon session with the accountants and attorneys--her own, Henry Niles, and her father's former partners--had turned out to be the toughest part of the plan to implement. She had included Niles, who'd been enormously helpful at unraveling the Murdock mess, for his expertise in setting up the kind of foundation she wanted, but the logistics took a back seat to the protests of Prasker and son.

Suddenly, they professed a personal interest in her life that had never been in evidence before. Why was she doing this? If she was on some guilt trip about spending money she hadn't earned, what about her heirs--the future generations who would find themselves with Chandler blood but not a cent of Chandler money? What would poor Charles think if he knew his hard-earned money might go to job-training for people who clearly didn’t want to work? Had Cathy been unduly influenced by some religious cult?

Fortunately, Peter was there to step between their rhetoric and her swiftly rising temper. He was a forthright man, but for most of his professional life he had kept the secret of the tunnel world and his connection with the people there. He had to have grown accustomed to deflecting curiosity about his own activities, and now he glibly assured them all that as a respected physician and friend of the family, he had known Cathy Chandler since birth and could vouch for the sincerity and the determination of her decision.

After that, they were able to get down to business, and the basic structure of something approximating what she had in mind was finally in place when they went out into the cold night air. They continued to discuss the fine points of the agreement over Bellini's pasta, and Peter offered to drop her off at home. As they pulled up in front of her building, she thanked him again for giving up so much of his own precious free time to help.

"I'm happy to do it, Cathy. It's a pleasure to stand by and see what a fine young woman you've become. Your parents would be very proud of you."

"Do you really think so?" As usual, speaking of them brought tears to her eyes.

"There's no doubt in my mind. To Charles you were everything--his beloved daughter and, I suspect, the son he never had. It was gratifying to him when you chose to study law. He took a lot of pride in your intelligence and your self-determination."

"I don't know about that, Peter. It was very disappointing to him when I left the firm."

"Of course, but he came to realize that your independence was part of the strength he wanted you to have. I think it gave him peace of mind to know you could take care of yourself and that you weren't afraid to be challenged. As for your mother . . . well, I think she just wanted you to be happy. It looks to me like you’ve fulfilled all their expectations."

"Thanks." She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"Did you tell Jenny she could call me if she needs to contact you in the future?" he asked, as she got out of the car.

"Actually, I haven’t told her anything yet. Somehow the time has never seemed quite right."

"Not much time left, is there? You better do that, Cathy."

"Yes, Doctor," she laughed ruefully. "I'll get to it right away."

As he drove off, she bundled her coat more tightly around her, smiling at the lovely notion that time was running out, the time until she'd be with him, be part of his daily life with its joys and sorrows, as she had always been part of his heart. Jenny hadn't returned yet from her house-hunting tour. Peter was right. There would never be any perfectly right time to break the news to her, and she deserved a chance to get used to the idea before her best friend literally dropped off the face of the earth.

She dismissed the temptation to go below tonight in favor of getting the dreaded talk with Jenny out of the way. This last tie with her old life was by far the hardest to break. Easiest had been the phone call to Westport--and not simply because time constraints had prevented her telling Nancy face-to-face. Nance alone had been unsurprised by the news. Nance alone knew Vincent's name.

"Cathy, the way you looked that night when you left here . . . it seemed to me that no matter how impossible the situation was, you were going to find a way to make it work eventually. Does this mean our chances of meeting him have improved?"

"Well, I wouldn't line up a sitter just yet," Catherine had laughed, "but, as you say, things seem to have a way of working out--eventually."

With Jenny in residence, it wouldn't be a matter of dropping her bombshell and beating a hasty retreat. If her oldest friend chose to react emotionally or bombard her with endless questions, there'd be no escaping.

She didn't remove her coat when she entered the apartment, going straight through and out the balcony doors. Here the brittle night air had a charm that it lacked at street level. The trees in the park below now beckoned with rattling, bare-boned branches that seemed to her bravely elegant.

Smiling, she thought of the hum of activity that would still be going on below the hard-packed earth--laughter and camaraderie, purposeful work whose benefits would be directly apparent to everyone who shared in it, the pleasures that people everywhere turned to naturally on a Saturday night.

Now this was a place she would miss, this vantage point that had been theirs alone, but there were new and mysterious worlds to be discovered, and they would only have to share them together to imbue them with all the romance and magic that had for so long been confined to this one small terrace among the lights.

Her glance fell on the rosebush, now huddled out of the worst of the winds in the corner. I wonder how you'll like growing under artificial lights, she thought, and then decided that the poor thing would no doubt find anything an improvement over its present environment. It didn’t look too enthusiastic with its few remaining leaves turned brown and listless with the season, but its bedraggled state failed to depress her. She could only marvel that within it lay a secret and the ability to bloom again into a thing of beauty.

Jenny was coming in as she finally sought the warmth of the apartment, closing the French doors behind her. "Hi, Jen. How did it go?"

"That depends. If you mean did we have a good time--we did, but if you mean did we find anything--we didn't." Jenny yanked her shoes off, sinking onto the couch with a groan. "Actually, we wouldn't have gotten such a kick out of the whole thing if there weren’t so many laughable places on the market."

"Michael didn't come back with you?"

"No, we were both done in, and we have to start again in the morning. It’s freezing out there. I could really go for a nice scalding shower."

"Why don't you go ahead and take one, and I’ll fix us something hot to drink."

"You're a terrific hostess, Cath. I'm on my way."

Catherine lit a fire, kneeling to blow the timid flames into action. Standing on the threshold of the balcony, watching her friend's weary arrival had given her an idea--and the hook she needed to at last make her announcement. By the time Jenny had emerged in terry cloth and fuzzy slippers, she was just putting the finishing touches on the drinks.

"Irish coffees--with Frangelico! What a great idea. Do you remember that time at Stowe--the two pre-med students?"

"How could I forget," Catherine laughed.

"You don't suppose they really became doctors, do you? What a horrible thought--being operated on by someone whose idea of sophisticated humor is a whipped cream fight."

"Especially when you consider how badly they lost."

"Well, what do you expect? Feminine subtlety will win over brute force anytime. How about a toast? Here's to better men."

"Much better," Catherine murmured in agreement, as they clicked their glasses. "So come on and tell me about your search. The apartments were really awful?"

"No, not all of them," Jenny said, as they each curled up on a couch before the cheerful fire. "Most of them are interchangeable. Nothing really wrong with them, just nothing special. It's like living in a pigeon hole--with a lot of other pigeons. If we can't find anything more interesting tomorrow, we'll probably opt for convenience."

Catherine listened to her colorful descriptions of the most unlivable places on the list, waiting till they were nearly through with their coffees. Whether she was hoping the warm liquor would better prepare Jenny---or herself--she wasn't entirely sure, but at last she said casually. "How do you feel about this place?"

"Your apartment? I love it, you know that. Why--is there a vacancy? One on this side--high enough to have a view?"

"You don't think it would be too small?"

"For two of us? No . . . we're only planning to live together for now. It's too soon to think about anything more drastic than that. Is there one available?"

"I meant this place--my apartment."

Jenny stared at her. "You're thinking of leaving?" Catherine watched her friend's expression change from surprise to something less easily defined--a strange combination of recognition and anxiety. "Omigod, this is it, isn't it. Cathy?"

"This is what?"

Jenny set her glass down on the end table and twisted her fingers together. With an indrawn breath she began to speak, and it seemed to Catherine that the words had already been prepared. "For a long time, I've felt like something was going on with you--beyond what you talk about. At first I thought it was probably nothing much or you'd explain it. After a while, I decided it must be extremely important--for the same reason. All that time . . . and you not saying a word. It didn't seem like something that was going to go away."

What ever made her think she could fool anyone who knew her so well? "You're right, Jen. Something is going on, and it is very important. Please believe me when I say that if I could have spoken freely about it to anyone, it would have been you."

Jenny seemed to relax with the admission. Her hands stopped their nervous motion, but there were still little lines of anxiety between her brows. "Just tell me. Cathy--is this something good or bad."

"It's good, Jen. Honestly, it is, but the reason why it had to be a secret still exists. There's not all that much I can say, but I needed you to know I'll be leaving here, leaving the city."

Dark eyes were pooling ominously, but Jenny only nodded. "Because you want to?"

"Because I want to, yes."

"Does this involve a man, Cathy. Are you in love?"

She felt a lump rise in her throat. It seemed almost like a betrayal to accept such a simple description of something that had layers and layers of meaning too powerful to put into words, but she only nodded. "Yes."

"I was afraid it was only my own romanticism that kept telling me you were, but it made sense."

"It did? What made you think so?"

"Well, let's face it, Cath. You've hardly dated anyone since you broke up with Tom Gunther, and every time I tried to introduce you to somebody, you were blatantly uninterested. It didn't make a lot of sense unless you were into a cause, like the 'new celibacy' or something, and people who are into causes like to talk about them. And then there was the look on your face sometimes, and that night you were kidnapped, when I wanted to stay with you. It didn't figure that you'd be so wound up about keeping a casual date--on a night when you'd very nearly been murdered."

"But you never said anything, Jen. You never even asked me any questions." Jenny shrugged.

"You're my friend, Cathy. You knew I was there to listen if you wanted to tell me anything. Clearly, you didn't intend to, so I had to respect that--for the sake of the friendship."

"Nobody's ever had a better friend. I know it's a lot to ask."

"Can you at least tell me where you'll be going?"

"Not even that." Catherine said gently. "There are reasons I simply can't go into. I'm hoping that will change some day, but for now it's very important that no one knows."

"Just tell me this--you know I'm going to worry anyway--is this a dangerous situation Cath?

Catherine smiled, glad to be able to answer one of the questions directly with perfect candor. "I can honestly guarantee you that I will be safer than I've ever been--safer than you or anyone else is living in New York."

The relief on Jenny's face was gratifying, but she waited for something more. Come on, Jen, she thought, listen to what I've just said. You know you hate having unanswered questions to worry over. "I think there's enough of everything for another round." She stood and collected both glasses before Jenny could respond, taking them to the kitchen, hoping that while she was bustling around, the three little words would snap obediently into place in her friend's naturally verbal brain. She turned off the coffeemaker and dolloped the last of the whipping cream into the glasses.

When she returned to the living room, Jenny was swinging one slippered foot, a sure sign that her mind was working busily as well. "Cathy," she said, a canny look in her eyes, "does this have something to do with a witness protection program?"

"What makes you say that?" Catherine sat down and drank a silent toast to friendship that cut both ways--she knew Jenny as well as Jenny knew her.

"Well, I've read about it--how if someone gives important testimony against a criminal, and there's reason to believe they may be in jeopardy because of it, that the government can arrange to move them to a new place with a new identity. I thought it was just the FBI that did things like that, but you've dealt off and on with them all along, haven't you?"

"Jen, I'm sorry, but like I told you, I'm not free to say anything more than I have."

"Right. I understand, but speaking hypothetically, if you had met someone in the course of your work who needed that kind of protection, and you wanted to be with him, then you would have to disappear, too."

"Hypothetically."

"And I suppose you'd have some pretty tough agents watching over you." Catherine sipped her drink, waiting for Jenny to spin out her tale.

"I assume Joe would have to be in on something like that."

"Not necessarily. The safest route would be to make sure as few people knew about it as possible."

"But surely there'd have to be someone that could be contacted--in case of an emergency, some kind of go-between."

"I plan to write to you, Jen, and you can write to me--through Peter Alcott. If you ever need to see me, he'll know where I can be reached, and I'm sure you can see that it wouldn't be fair to press him for information. "

Jenny nodded. "I guess there's not much you can say then . . . about the man himself?"

"I could talk forever about him . . . but no. An I can say is he's the answer to dreams I never even knew I had."

"Oh, Cath, I'm so happy for you. I really am, but my God, I'm going to miss you. Life's going to be very different from now on. You know, it's funny. You go along in a rut for so long that you think things will always stay that way, and then when you least expect it, your whole world changes."

"So what do you think--about the apartment? Would you and Michael like to live here?"

"I'd love it. It would make me feel closer to you, and when you came back . . .You will come back now and then, won't you? I mean, you're not the one that anybody's looking for. If I didn't know about your relationship with this guy then clearly no one else does."

"I'll pop up from time to time," Catherine assured her.

"Well, that's great--then it will still be like you're coming home."

"Almost."

"What about your furniture?"

"My furniture?" In truth, she hadn't thought about it. She'd been too intent on changing life itself to consider the fate of a coffee table. "I won't be taking much. Whatever you'd like to have, you're welcome to. I'll probably just put the rest in storage. Are you sure Michael's going to want it? You better have him take a look."

"Oh, I will--first thing tomorrow, but I know he'll love it, Cath."

***

Michael did. He came for breakfast the next morning, and Jenny only had to whisk him out to the terrace, where a bright sun picked up the frost glittering on the trees in the park and detailed the grandeur of the nearby buildings, to win him over.

"The view must be terrific at night," he said, as they came inside.

"And romantic," Jenny pointed out, as if it were an amenity that any practical renter would place at the top of his priorities.

Catherine smiled. It was that, and it pleased her to think that someone she loved would appreciate that fact and celebrate it. "So what do you think, Michael? Does the idea appeal to you?"

"Well, its perfect for us, but I'm not quite clear on your reasons for parting with it. On the phone Jenny said you were leaving the area?"

"She can't say much about that, Michael," Jenny stepped in, ever the loyal friend. "it's very hush-hush, and we have to be careful not to press her about it."

"I understand."

Of course, he couldn't really, but she thought he was used to keeping secrets in his own way. The privacy of doctor/patient relationships was integral to his profession. He would respect the concept that her own esoteric career might require the same. "I'm really happy about this. I'll have the papers drawn up this week."

"It looks like we've got a free day then," he said, slipping his arm around Jenny. "How about going up to the Cloisters? You've been wanting to do that."

"Perfect. It'll be so much more fun imagining life in medieval times, when I know I'll have all the modern conveniences to come home to. You'll come with us, won't you. Cath?"

The image of rock wall and tapestries did have a certain appeal, but the ones that drew her didn't require leaving Manhattan. "Thanks, but I have some things I need to do."

"At least let us take you out to dinner tonight--to celebrate." Michael insisted. "We can be back by six."

"Okay. That would be fun."

Catherine enjoyed the conversation, as they sat around the dining table drenched in winter sunlight. They were so full of plans, and so happy to be together, but she was anxious, too, for them to be on their way. She had her own plans, and it seemed an eternity since she'd seen him.