Part 3f

The moment they left, she sprang into action. The practical matters that had dominated the week had been dutifully seen to, and she was free to listen to her feelings, revel in them. Now she was almost trembling with anticipation. She'd done her part; it was time to find out what had transpired at the other end. Whimsically, she directed a challenge into her make-up mirror: "I'm on my way, Vincent--bet I can get to our meeting place before you do!"

The elevator must have been in the vicinity. The doors opened quickly, and she bounced up and down on her sneakers, as if the movement could hurry its descent. Dashing across the subbasement, she shoved the boxes unceremoniously aside and, giddy with the race, plunged down the ladder.

"Darn," she said to the empty space that greeted her. She hadn't really wanted to win. He must be off somewhere in the far reaches of the tunnels. She set off at a run, feeling jubilant and energetic. Terrain that had once caused her to take cautious steps was now so familiar that she sailed over it with perfect confidence, challenging herself to go for record time. This was so much more interesting than her usual jogging route above--and safer.

She had just emerged into a craggy passage riddled with pipes when a disembodied voice hailed her.

"Catherine-hi! I'm up here." Stopping, she looked up to discover Jamie perched on a ledge above her head. She appeared to be in her element, a hefty wrench in her hand. Several more sprouted from her tool belt. "Bolts need tightening," she said with an economy worthy of Mouse.

"How is everything, Jamie?" It was a general question, but she thought she could count on Jamie to answer it specifically if, for instance, there had been a recent explosion between Vincent and Father.

"Everything's fine. Vincent's down in the quarry, I think."

"Thanks." Catherine waved and sprinted off again. That would explain his delay in coming to her. Father had told her he sometimes went there to work out his tension. She could picture him swinging a pick into the obdurate stone, wrenching the huge blocks from the earth. It was less tempting to dwell on why he might find it necessary to be doing that. Had something happened to build up his frustration? Not a good sign.

She decided to head for his chamber and wait for him there. Out of breath, she stumbled through the entryway, expecting to find it empty. Instead, a vision she could only describe as glorious turned to greet her. There was no evidence of the mornings activity on the dove grey vest or the dark corded trousers. His hair rippled, clean as flame, about his shoulders.

"I thought I should clean up before I met you," he said, his eyes already working their magic on her racing heart.

By contrast, she thought she must look a fright, after her madcap dash down here, but if she did he didn't seem to notice. He opened his arms, and with a surge of euphoria she rushed into them. "I have so much to tell you."

"You always do." He enveloped her totally, his face buried in her ruffled hair. "I love you so much," she said apropos of nothing except the awe-inspiring feeling that flooded her as she pressed against him.

"I love you." No one else could give those words the heart-stopping quality that his soft, seductive tone induced. It might have been a melody designed exclusively for one unique, perfect instrument to play.

The kiss he gave her was unexpectedly charged. So much so, that he withdrew with an air of chagrin. They had a lot to discuss. He wouldn't have chosen to greet her so erotically, unless it was something beyond his control. She treasured the knowledge, fighting down her own arousal. "Father said you work in the quarry when you're tense. I was afraid that meant your talk with him hadn't gone well."

He shook his head, "There is a tension in me, but, believe me, Catherine, it has nothing to do with Father."

"Oh," she smiled. "I can relate to that. Do you want to talk here?" She looked toward the bed, and he followed her look with a deep sigh.

"No, definitely not here . . . not today."

It made her blush to realize that temptation was proving such a formidable opponent. If only Narcissa would relent. Maybe if they checked, they'd find her secret cavern accessible again. Not likely, unless he had let it be known that, in fact, she was about to take her destined place beside him in this world. The thought reminded her that they had crucial things to discuss. Desire would just have to wait.

He had taken her hand, leading her from the chamber, and she sensed his pent-up energy in the long strides he took as she hurried to keep up. Her story spilled out at an equal pace--the news that the murderer in the park had been arrested, that she had handed in her resignation, the plans that she and Peter had engineered to give the Chandler fortune meaning, the fact that Jenny and Michael would be living in her apartment.

"It means that if we wanted to, we could go there sometimes--when they're away--and reminisce. Its still mine, Vincent, it's still ours."

"You've done so much in a week."

"I had terrific inventive. It's going to be a while before all the paperwork's in order, but I'm going to push it as hard as I can. I want to be with you so badly."

They were descending the stairway above the Chamber of the Falls, and he stopped midway down. "This is a good place to talk."

She looked around with a rush of memory--the place in her dream that had evoked such turbulent emotions. Yes, it was the perfect spot to talk, now that all feelings were one, all bent on one splendid life-affirming goal. Had he sensed that? Or did he simply see the rough steps, dropping off precariously into space, as a good place to avoid temptation--impractical for the purposes of making love? If so, she would enjoy proving him wrong. Possibilities scudded across her mind, setting off a twinge of lust that caused him to look at her in guileless surprise.

"Sorry," she said, contritely. "Now please . . . tell me what happened with Father. Did you talk to him?"

"For hours."

"Did it really take that long to convince him?" She'd never doubted that he would succeed, but dismay rose that he had met such resistance.

"Not to convince him, no." He sat with one arm stretched out on the step above, his other hand holding hers. "He was expecting it, Catherine. Even before I began to speak, he looked at me with that strange smile he's had of late. He spoke of fate in a way I've seldom heard him do. As long as I can remember he's stressed the rational, the practical, but apparently it was not always so."

"What do you mean?"

"He spoke of the days when he and . . . John Pater first envisioned our world. He felt it strongly then, Catherine--the sense that some things were meant to be, that there was an inspiration beyond thought that could show the way, but when he saw that vision distorted by a man he had admired and loved, he lost faith in the dream."

"But not in himself."

"No . . . or in the others who made our world a reality. It wasn't until you came, Catherine, until he began to recognize what we shared, that he felt again a sense of destiny."

"You could have fooled me, Vincent. I felt he blamed so much on my relationship with you, and often he was right. I can see that now--in the way I pulled you into the problems of my world--but I never thought he was right to condemn what we meant to each other."

"No." He bathed her in a look that said no condemnation could ever alter his feelings. "He wanted to protect me, to protect our world. It seemed to him the responsible thing to do. But over time he began to sense that there was something of great power at work--outside the rational boundaries."

"A truth beyond knowledge."

He nodded. "Catherine, he told me that for some time now he has felt our love had a purpose beyond even ourselves, that he saw in your strength and your compassion a new hope--for all of us."

"He said that?"

"In so many words." The trace of a simile flitted across his mouth, or perhaps it was only in his voice.

"I'll bet it was a lot more words than that," she said with a laugh. She had often thought Vincent could distill in a few sentences what Father would expound on for hours. "Do you mean he's actually been assuming that I would make the choice to live here?"

"He was hoping, Catherine."

"I can't believe it." She shook her head, giving him an incredulous look. "It's more than I dared to hope for, but if he felt that way, why did your conversation take so long?"

His eyes left hers to focus on the crystal that added such a note of elegance to her casual sweater. "There were things that we had never spoken of together, things that he had thought unnecessary--or unwise--to discuss."

She tilted her head, so that she could look into his lowered eyes. "Vincent, you're not going to tell me he finally decided to talk to you about the birds and the bees?"

"The birds and bees were duly discussed when I was still a child," he assured her drily. "It was myself Father would not consider in that regard. I think he hoped I might never experience such feelings."

"Well, that's not so rational," she said heatedly. "It sounds like an effort to stick his head in the sand, to hope if he ignored the problem, it just wouldn't exist."

"He cannot be blamed for hoping, Catherine. It hurt him deeply when he saw he was wrong . . . when he saw what happened with Lisa."

"Vincent, nobody was more hurt by that incident than you. I can't see that Father dealt with the issue even then--except to insist you avoid temptation and deny your feelings." Grateful a moment ago for Father's wisdom in accepting her, she was incensed now by the reminder of his shortsightedness. "If we hadn't met, you might never have known the joy of making love."

"If we hadn't met," he said soothingly. "I would have had no need to know." 

Placated, she smiled and ran one thumb lightly over the golden stubble on his chin. "Actually, the two of you discussing sex was probably beneficial."

His eyes searched hers with open interest. "What is it you hope I learned?" 

"You?" she grinned. "Nothing. But I'll bet Father picked up a trick or two."

He had yet to perfect an appropriate response to such discomfiting observations and chose to ignore it. "Our talk was not about making love. It was about expectations and fears . . . assumptions and regrets. We understand one another better now."

"I'm glad, but he does realize, doesn't he, that I'm not planning to come here and live alone--that I want to be with you?"

"Oh, he understands that."

There was no chance to ask what had made him so sure or what words must have passed between them to produce the droll quality she sensed in his voice. He was leaning slowly toward her, and in a moment curiosity had vanished in a haze of euphoria. She met his mouth eagerly, inviting a deepening of the kiss, an invitation he smoothly declined. With a grudging admiration for his control, she wondered how long it would be before he entertained the possibilities of stone stairways or obscure tunnels as suitable places to make love. Would desperation force a compromise before her preparations above could be completed? So far, he was holding up regrettably well.

"Catherine, when you come here . . . would you prefer a chamber of your own? Or would you like to look at the ones that are empty now . . . perhaps one large enough for both of us?"

House-hunting had no more appeal for her than it had held for Jenny when the perfect solution was at hand. "I can only think of one place I really want to be. I love your chamber, Vincent. It has a lot of history--not only yours, but ours together. Do you think it would be too small for two?"

He was touched by her choice. She could see it in his eyes. "I have shared it with a brother, a chef, a doctor, a lawyer--"

"Everything but an Indian chief?"

"No . . . that, too . . . on one incredible right." He smiled at her, remembering, and slid one hand tenderly across her hair. "Surely, I can make room for you."

"Not too much room," she murmured. "I'd like to stay as close to you as possible."

"Very close." he whispered, drawing her against him. "Very soon."

The feelings surging along their bond, the constraint in his voice that only made it all the more seductive, gave her hope that desire might win out over the legal maneuvering above, after all. Her hands smoothed the cool mantle of his hair across his shoulders. "I can't believe this is all happening, Vincent. I'm trying to stay calm--to concentrate on getting all the preparations right, but every time I think about it I just want to laugh and cry and scream it from the rooftops."

"I know." He shifted her so that he could look into her face, his eyes so intense with happiness that she could feel herself melting perilously close to tears.

"What about the council, Vincent? Do I need to . . . to present my case in front of them?"

"Father and I spoke with the members of the council--informally. They regarded the news as a gift to be celebrated, not a 'case'. It would have touched you, Catherine, to see the tears."

"Mary," she surmised, grateful for such a soft-hearted ally.

"Her too, but it was William I was thinking of. I've never seen him so moved. Father finally suggested he find something to do in the kitchen--to steady himself--and he went off to attempt a chocolate cake complete with cherries."

"William?" It wasn't easy to picture the florid face streaked with sentimental tears.

"For everyone, Catherine, I think that seeing our dream come true is an affirmation of their own. Father fears they will all be so caught up in our happiness that the work won't be done."

"So no one else knows?"

"Not yet. He thought it best to wait until your plans above have been completed."

"I'm going to make sure that happens as quickly as possible. Do you think I should drop in on Father and thank him?"

"No thanks are necessary, but . . . yes, he would be glad to welcome you." 

"When did you tell him?"

"Immediately--the day after you were here."

"So he's had some time to get used to the idea."

"Catherine, there's no need to worry." He rose, still giving her a reassuring look, and helped her up.

"I'm just so used to treading softly--to avoid his disapproval. It's hard to comprehend that it's all behind us."

"There is a great deal behind us . . . and so much more to come."

They discussed some of the things to come on the walk back. Settling trivial details helped to make it all seem real. The few things she wanted to bring with her from above--things with sentimental value--would be moved to the subbasement in preparation for her mythical move out of New York. From there, it would be easy to spirit them below.

He warned her that the whole community would no doubt want to have a party to celebrate her arrival. Would that make her uncomfortable? No, she decided. It would be wonderful, acknowledging in front of everyone that she was serious in her intent to be part of them. She didn't add how thrilling it would be to hold his hand and face them all, openly, knowing that their love was no longer a poorly kept secret.

They entered Fathers study hand-in-hand, and as he rose to greet them, she reveled in the freedom that let her meet his eyes with undisguised emotions--pride in her place by his extraordinary son's side, the sheer intoxicating happiness that had so often to be hidden.

"Catherine." He left his cane at the desk, approaching them with unfaltering steps to place his hands on her shoulders. "I am . . . so pleased." His voice rang with sincerity, and there was a hint of moisture in his eyes as he leaned forward to kiss her cheek.

"Thank you, Father. So am I." She thought she should say something more--something befitting the significance of the occasion--but she didn't know where to begin, and he was already moving away again, clearing his throat.

"I assume the two of you have been making plans."

"Our plans are simple, Father."

She flashed a look at Vincent as he guided her to a chair and remained leaning on its high back. The statement had been simple, too, but she sensed in it a reminder that certains subjects were closed and wondered if their discussion had gone as smoothly as he had led her to believe.

"Yes, well, it is the simplest things that are often most difficult to establish. What about you, Catherine? Are you satisfied with these . . . uh . . . simple plans?"

"Satisfied? Father, I'm thrilled. I feel like everything that's ever been important to me---everything I could hope to fulfill me in the future. . . it's all come together--right here."

"I'm glad to hear it." Still, he sat one hand absently stroking his beard as he studied the two of them. Was it only the history of their uneasy relationship that made her feel he was waiting for more?

"Is something troubling you, Father?" Vincent's voice floated above her--low and mild, slicing unerringly into the aura of reticence that she hadn't been alone in imagining.

"No . . . no, of course not." The thoughtful look vanished. Father shifted in his chair, wrapping his thick mohair shawl more securely around his shoulders. "So tell me, Catherine. How soon can we expect to welcome you into the fold?"

"I have one more week at work, and I'm hoping all the loose ends will be tied up . . . maybe a week after that."

"I see. Well, I'm sure I don't have to tell you how pleased we'll all be when that's accomplished. The children, Catherine--they're likely to be very excited at your arrival. You mustn't feel awkward about shooing them away if they insist on monopolizing your time."

"I'll make certain that doesn't happen."

"Yes, Vincent, I dare say you will." Father's wry smile disappeared as quickly as it came. "You're certain, Catherine, that there's nothing else that should be seen to before you settle here?"

"Very certain." She understood neither his persistent probing nor the reason that he didn't just come out and say whatever it was that was obviously on his mind, but Jamie's arrival put an end to the chance that he would.

"Sorry to bother you guys, but there's a stripped bolt up there that won't budge. Would you be able to give me a hand, Vincent?"

"Of course, Jamie."

"It's not cause I'm a woman," she added, looking pointedly at Father. "Most men wouldn't be able to move it either.

"Yes, I'm sure you're right, Jamie."

Catherine wondered how much of the girl's defensiveness was warranted. Was it an ingrained reaction to the teasing that tomboys invariably attracted? Or could the tunnel community use a little enlightenment about the role of women? Come to think of it, she'd seen no one but men posted as sentries. Generally, that was probably a good idea, but surely there were some women here with defensive skills that made up for their physical disadvantages. It was hard to imagine anyone likely to fight with more ferocity than Jamie if this world was threatened.

She thought of Bill and his abortive attack on the intruder. If she herself had been in his position, she would have known some more effective moves. With proper training Brooke might even have been able to extricate herself before the situation got so out of hand. Why not teach what she'd learned from Isaac to the women here, the children--even the men?

"Catherine, why don't you stay and chat while Vincent is helping Jamie?" 

"What?" Father's question broke her reverie, and she flushed with the memory of Peter's good natured teasing--You'll be running the whole show before you know it. She had no desire to run anything, but what would Father think if he knew she was already formulating a major campaign to alter his society's structure? She still wondered what unspoken concern was on his mind, but it was unlikely she'd find out today. "I'm sorry, but I really need to be getting back--another time."

"Yes," he smiled, a rather tight little smile. "If there's anything you'd care to discuss before the . . . change, please feel free to come to me."

She nodded and followed Jamie and Vincent from the room. There was no chance to discuss what lay behind Father's guarded look with Jamie along. The girl launched into a diatribe against the evils of rust, and she gave herself up to the appreciation of his hand holding hers and the occasional glances that made her heart flutter and brought a smile.

When they approached the area where she'd first seen Jamie today, he asked. "Do you really have to leave?"

"I do. There's some paperwork I need to get a jump on if I hope to have things tied up on schedule, and I promised to have dinner with Jenny and Michael tonight."

"Then I will see you soon." His eyes held the kiss he couldn't give her in Jamie's presence, and she blushed with the feelings that swirled between them, glad that the girl had turned away to scramble up the jagged wall.

"Jenny goes out almost every night--at least for a while," she informed him, hopefully.

"I'll keep that in mind." He squeezed her hand. She stayed long enough to watch him swing lithely up to the ledge above, where he picked up a wrench and set to work. Sighing at the reminder of the extraordinary precision with which his powerful body could move, she headed off alone.

She tried with great effort to fight down the memory of him as he had looked that night in Narcissa's inner sanctum, but it came anyway and with it, an ache of desire so intense that she had to pause and gather her wits about her.

Somewhere in the passage she had just left, there was a crash of metal falling to the rocky floor, and she flinched with a guilty smile. Yes, it had better be pretty damned soon.

***

It seemed like months, but the calendar insisted only two days had passed when she saw him again. Not that there was much chance of responding to the insistent feelings that plagued them both. Jenny had gone out to dinner with Michael. They might--or might not--take in a movie. The front door was bolted to allow for Vincent's disappearance from the balcony before it had to be opened to her house guest.

And now she leaned against him, soaking in the endless pleasure of his voice as he read to her the tale of Psyche and Eros. The night was clear, the black sky shot with stars, and though it was cold, there was no bitter wind to disturb them where they sat against the balcony wall. She wore only a heavy sweater, pleased to take her warmth from his cloak and the arm wrapped around her and the heat of his body as she snuggled against him.

As the myth unfolded, she wondered how she could have forgotten it. Psyche, the symbol of feminine consciousness, daring to shed light on her secret husband, choosing to love, choosing to undergo the Herculean tasks usually reserved for heroes and in doing so to humanize her divine lover and win a place beside him on Olympus. It was an engaging story, and it surprised her when he closed the book with a heavy sigh.

"That was lovely, Vincent. What's the matter?"

He tucked her closer, his mouth gliding over her hair in reassurance. "I've always enjoyed reading to you, Catherine, having you near, but now. . . even in the midst of the joy, I cannot stop the images ... the feelings."

"You'd prefer we were doing something else?'

"Forgive me . . . there are thoughts I simply cannot banish from my mind."

"You're forgiven." She tilted her face up to smile at him. "I feel the same way, it's only natural."

"Will there ever come a time, do you think, when it will not be uppermost in our minds?"

"It's hard to imagine, but I suppose it must. Otherwise people in love would never get anything done at all."

"There are so many other things I long to share with you."

"I look forward to all of them, and we'll get to them I'm sure, after we've spent some time making love--say, a decade or two." She wound a strand of his hair around her finger and brushed it against her lips. "I don't thinkit's possible to stop those images. I know I can't. I keep remembering what you look like under all those clothes." He made a little sound that might have been a laugh if it hadn't been half choked. "Not that I don't like the way you dress," she added, moving her hand across the intricate quilting of his vest. "I'm not sure I've ever told you, but I love your clothes. It's just that I wish I was in there with you." Her hand fell to the denim that strained across his tightly muscled thigh.

Blue eyes warned her that she was doing nothing to alleviate his unease.

"I'm afraid they're too tight to make that possible.'

"I know," she grinned. "That's one reason I like them so much.'

"Perhaps we should read the book again."

"It won't help--all those passionate encounters in the dark."

"You could tell me about your friend Jenny."

"All she talks about lately is being with the man she loves."

"What you're doing at work?"

"What I do at work is think about being with the man I love."

"It seems no subject is entirely safe."

"No," she sighed. "At the moment even nuclear fission sounds erotic."

"Does that trouble you?" he murmured against her hair.

"Not really." She smiled, wiggling closer with the confession. "Those feelings used to be frustrating, but it's different when you know you'll be able to do something about them before long. Oh, Vincent, it's going to be incredible. I want to make love to you so often it will make up for all the years of your aloneness." 

"One night with you made up for that . . . but I accept your offer."

She let her lips rest against the warm pulse of his neck. "Do you think the others will understand--that they'll just have to stop running to you for advice at all hours of the night?"

"Perhaps Father will encourage them to come to him first."

"Uh-oh, I think you've hit it, Vincent."

"Hit what?"

"The one subject that isn't particularly titillating--Father. Didn't you get the impression that something was bothering him?"

"Mm. Not so much bothering . . . it was as if he was waiting, expecting . . . something, but he's genuinely happy about your coming to us, Catherine. He accepts that we wish to share our lives."

"Maybe you should come out and ask him what's on his mind."

"I did--yesterday. He dismissed it, as if I were imagining things."

"I doubt that we both could be imagining it."

"He's a grown man, Catherine. If he has some reservation about our plans, it's up to him to tell us."

"He's certainly never hesitated to do that before," she agreed. "But enough about Father. He's not as much fun to think about as . . . almost anything else."

"Anything else seems only to remind us of our longing."

"I know." She gave him a devilish smile. "As long as were torturing ourselves anyway, why don't we really do it right? You could kiss me."

"I could," he agreed, his eyes drawn inexorably to her parted lips. "What I'm less certain of is whether I can stop kissing you."

Delighted, she slid her hands into the sensual forest of his hair. "Let's find out," she breathed against his mouth.

He needed no further coaxing, and he made no pretense of restraint, kissing her with the full force of his pent-up passion. She was so lost in it, so giddy with the promise of things to come, that it was some time before she realized the doorbell was ringing.

"Damn," she said shakily. "Jenny's home. Promise me we'll continue where we left off--soon."

"Oh, I promise." He was already on his feet, pulling her up, and in another moment had vanished into the shadows.

She slipped inside, smoothing her hair and trying to remember, as she went to the door, what it looked like not to be in the throes of passion.

***

The kiss and the question of when it might be continued intruded on her thoughts at regular intervals the next day, and when Jenny told her she had a message, her heart leaped in anticipation.

"I'm sorry if I shouldn't have read it, but it was just lying on the floor by the front door when I came in. I thought one of us had dropped it."

Catherine took the folded piece of paper and opened it. The anticipation remained, but its nature took a definite turn.

Catherine--if it's convenient, I would very much like to have a word with you--alone. Regards, Father.

Jenny was trying unsuccessfully not to look quizzical. Saying nothing would only stir her fertile imagination. Did she wonder if Charles Chandler had taken to corresponding from the beyond? Or if her clandestine relationship could be with a Catholic priest? "It's a nickname, Jen," she said truthfully enough. "He's a friend."

"That's good. I was afraid it was short for 'godfather,' and you were in trouble again."

Catherine laughed and gave her an impulsive hug. "What smells so good?" 

"I'm making omelets. They're almost finished."

As she hung up her coat, Catherine called into the kitchen. "Are you and Michael going out tonight?"

"No, he has a class. I thought I'd catch up on my reading. You staying in?" 

"No . . . if you don't mind being alone. I think I'll drop in on my friend." Jenny asked no further questions during dinner. They did the dishes together, and Catherine remembered to collect her coat and purse before leaving.

In the subbasement, she shoved them out of sight behind the boxes and descended the ladder, keeping her emotions carefully in cheek.

It wouldn't do to let her trepidation stir along the bond, alerting Vincent.

Was that the reason for Fathers reticence? Because what was troubling him was meant for her ears alone? She placated herself with Vincent's confidence that her welcome here was sincere. She had felt that herself, but what could possibly concern her that didn't also concern the man she loved? Nearing the common tunnels, she caught sight of Rachel and Mary up ahead and hung back until they had turned into another passage. It wouldn't help to have her presence here made known to Vincent--not if Father refused to speak up in front of him.

She thought at first he was alone when she entered the study, but he appeared to be addressing his own feet as he stood behind the venerable desk.

"Never again. Do you understand me?"

A blond head emerged improbably from somewhere underneath. "Got him. Wasn't doing anything---Just looking for food."

"Then I suggest you direct him to the kitchen and let William deal with the creature. Oh, hello, Catherine. Please, come in. We were just ridding the study of wildlife."

Mouse's face broke into a wide grin as he turned toward her, a wiggling bundle of fur held tight in his arms. "Hi, Catherine. Just looking for a book. Arthur came too."

"Arthur's interest in literature seems minimal, Mouse." Father grumbled. "Please, leave him in your chamber next time."

"Hi, Arthur." Catherine smiled at the tiny masked face. "How are you, Mouse?"

"Mouse is fine. Won't be long now, right, Catherine?" His eyes were dancing as if they shared a fabulous secret.

"Long till what?" she asked cautiously.

"Heard rumors," he whispered. "Good rumors. Better than good." 

"Good-night. Mouse," Father said pointedly. "Oh, and by the way, if you should happen upon Vincent, I'd rather you didn't tell him that Catherine is here." 

"No?"

"No."

The round face looked briefly perplexed, but softened again as he gave her a gleeful wink and, hunching over his rebellious burden, he hurried out of the room.

Father allowed a smile to materialize. "The last thing we need is that animal treating the library as his own smorgasbord--just as you've worked so hard to restore order. I'm pleased you could come, Catherine. May I get you some tea?"

"That would be nice, thank you." She sat down, watching him warily, but he seemed in no hurry to get to the subject at hand, pouring the tea carefully, bringing it to the desk, where he settled back with the air of a cordial host.

"So, tell me, how are your plans going?"

"Smoothly, I think. This is my last week at the office, but I want to make sure everything's in place with the foundation before I make the move--so I won't have to keep running back up there."

"You do realize, Catherine, that you'll be perfectly free to come and go as you see fit. You won't be a prisoner here. There's a great difference between an occasional trip above and the sort of routine schedule that could jeopardize our security. If you need to see to your business dealings--or touch base with a friend--there's no reason you shouldn't, as long as you take the necessary precautions."

"I appreciate that, Father, but I want to focus my energies here."

"Heaven knows we can always benefit from an influx of energy--particularly focused. There are endless ways you could contribute greatly here, Catherine, once you've had a chance to settle in."

"I'm looking forward to it." So far he hadn't said a thing he couldn't have said in front of Vincent. He couldn't have been more accommodating, but she knew better than to relax totally, and she sipped her tea, waiting for the shoe to drop.

"Is there any way we can help to make this transition easier? Anything we've neglected to consider that would make you more comfortable?"

"Nothing that I can think of. There are a few things I'd like to bring down, but I've already discussed that with Vincent. It shouldn't be a problem."

"I see." Father took a long drink of his tea and set the cup down. He continued to stare at it a moment, and once again she sensed he was waiting for something, something that obviously didn't come, as she sat silent, playing a waiting game of her own. Suddenly, he looked up, fixing her with a determined expression. "Catherine, precisely what do you expect your status to be when you come here?"

The shoe might not have dropped, but she had the distinct impression it had been removed and was poised over the floor. "My status? I'm not sure what you mean. I don't expect to be treated any differently than anyone else."

"I was referring to your relationship with my son."

Some of the old discomfort that had always existed between them when it came to that particular subject returned to haunt her. But surely that had all been resolved. "Vincent told me that the two of you had already discussed it. I love him. I want to share everything with him."

"Including, presumably, his bed."

"That falls into the category of 'everything,' so, yes, of course." She hadn't meant to sound sarcastic, but he had a way of putting her on the defensive. Was he objecting on some moral basis? What exactly was the code of conduct down here? It came as a surprise that she really had no idea.

Quickly, she tried to find a clue in what she knew of the tunnels' residents. Kanin and Olivia. They were accepted as a married couple, although no legally recognized ceremony could have united them since Olivia had lived all her life in the tunnels. She had assumed that love alone determined their lifestyle, along with the live-and-let-live attitude that marked the community's tolerance for individualism. Were she and Vincent to be exempt from that tolerance? With no more evidence to go on, she chose to remain silent, hoping Father would clarify his objection, so she'd know what she was fighting.

Instead, he rose, returning to the kettle where he poured himself another cup, belatedly thinking to ask if she wanted more.

"No, I'm fine." He was definitely on edge, but when he returned to sit down again, he seemed to have taken a different tack.

"I'm well aware that the world--your world--has changed a great deal since I was part of it. When I was young, it seemed all the little boys dreamed of becoming cowboys or firemen, perhaps. I suppose now they dream of being astronauts . . . or rock and roll musicians."

"Probably. I'm afraid I was never a little boy."

He smiled, dutifully, at her feeble attempt to lighten the mood. "As I recall, the girls at the time often dreamed of their wedding day--lovely gowns, flowers, friends and family all gathered to celebrate the occasion. Or has that fantasy fallen into disrepute with women's liberation?"

"I'm sure it's still popular. Only now it's an option, not an obligation."

"And what about you, Catherine? Did you dream of such a day as a girl? Was it one of the goals you cherished when you thought about your life?"

"I thought of it, certainly," she answered cautiously.

"Are you sure you won't have to regret never seeing that dream fulfilled? Is it so easy to dismiss something you looked forward to eagerly--all your life?"

So that was it. One last effort to remind her of everything she was leaving behind. One last challenge to the seriousness of her commitment. Later she could take the time to feel hurt by his lingering doubt: now she was simply angry.

"Everyone has fantasies that don't come true. Priorities change. Interests change. I used to dream of being a ballerina when I was little, but I don't feel crushed because it didn't happen. Children see certain images in the grown-up world, and they naturally imagine themselves in that position. It doesn't necessarily bear any relationship to what they'll want when they're mature. It's just superficial."

"Superficial? Am I to believe that you've never imagined such a ceremony between yourself and my son?"

Was that the real issue? Was he afraid she would insist on seeing her childhood fantasies carried out? Maybe he feared her residency here would be one long attempt to recreate her lifestyle above, importing traditions and influences that could have an adverse effect on the kind of society he was trying to maintain. Or did he suspect her of harboring the illusion that Vincent was an ordinary man--to be fit into an ordinary daydream, that she was bent on forcing him into a mold that couldn't hold him? Whatever rankled him, he clearly no longer intended to push it aside. It should have been a giveaway when he stopped referring to Vincent by name and started calling him "my son." The habit had always signaled a proprietary move on his part.

"Of course, I've imagined it," she said truthfully, remembering the wedding of Henry and Lin. Vincent had looked so beautiful, and the fantasy that they too might someday stand before witnesses and pledge their undying love to each other had been so seductive it was almost painful. "But I don't need anything like that, Father. Vincent and I are . . . wedded to each other in a way that makes anything else redundant. We have been from the beginning . . . maybe before we even met. I know that must be hard for you to understand, but it's true. I don't need to validate that with any kind of paper or ceremony. It just is, and if you think I'm going to try and impose some social event I got out of ModernBride just to make me feel that it's real then you couldn't be more wrong."

His hands slammed down on the desk top with such force that the china teacup rattled ominously in its saucer. "I would appreciate it, Catherine, if you would stop thinking of yourself for a moment and think of Vincent."

"Excuse me," she said, stunned.

"You have told me precisely what you don't want, what you don't need. Has it crossed your mind to consider what my son might need, what he would cherish above all other things?"

He spoke with such vehemence that she could only stare at him.