How many seasons had passed, how many snows had come and gone, and flowers bloomed to die beneath the summer sun, while Mariana and her Richard had waited, locked helplessly in time ... waited for that one moment when their souls could come together once again in an ecstasy of earthly love?

And now that moment had arrived, and I could find no pleasure in it, no resolution, only a dull sense of disappointment and the weariness of wasted effort. Turning from the window, I made my way upstairs with dragging steps and fell upon the bed fully clothed. There, in the semidarkness of the silent room, sleep came to me at last-—a dark, deep sleep, deep as an abyss, with no dreams in it. The time for dreams was past.

Thirty-four

The weather held fair the following day, and I went to lunch in London. It was an impulsive, unnecessary trip, a hastily arranged meeting with my editor to discuss a nonexistent problem with the book. Had I been truthful with myself, I might have admitted that I was only trying to avoid my own house, in a somewhat childish attempt to postpone the inevitable. If I was away from home, and had no recollections of Mariana's life, that was no tragedy. Or so my reasoning ran. But if I was at Greywethers, and no living memories came, I was not sure that I could bear it.

I had already borne the loss of Richard, and in a different sense, of Rachel; it seemed unfair to me that I should also lose the life in which I'd known them. And yet I knew that I would lose it. Indeed, if Mrs. Hutherson was to be believed, then I must lose it. Such was the fate to which I'd been born; the fate which had called me home, across the years, to Exbury, and Greywethers, and Geoff ...

The soul sees what truly matters, Richard had promised me, and I sought comfort in that promise. No doubt, in time, the sharpness of my pain would fade. In time I would not mind so much that Geoff could not remember, as I remembered. I would find happiness within the present tense, be glad that I had found him twice in separate lifetimes, and let it rest at that.

He had kept his part of the bargain, after all. He had said he would return to me, and seek me out, and that I would know him. He had not promised more.

It did me good to be in London, among the bustling shops and businesses, to sit with my editor in the expensively sleek restaurant and watch the flood of humanity pour past the windows, shoulder to shoulder in vivacious and colorful variety. I could not have lived in London, anymore. It was no longer part of me, nor I of it, but being there for those few hours brought order to my life, and charged me with a new and vital energy.

As I drove my car bumping over the little bridge on my homeward journey, I felt alive again and almost peaceful. My house rose proudly from the fields to greet me, solid and unchanging beneath the wide September sky. I drew along the drive, past balding trees that dropped their leaves upon my windshield, and parked the car in the old stables.

I had company, waiting for me. Vivien called to me and waved, swinging her legs as she sat upon the dovecote wall. The evening air was crisp and chill, and she wore a bright-red jumper over her jeans, her fair hair gathered back in a disheveled plait.

'We helped ourselves to coffee,' she explained with a welcoming smile. 'I didn't think you'd mind. The kitchen door was open.'

Beside her, Iain stopped working and leaned on his rake, pushing the russet hair from his forehead with a gloved hand. 'I would've made a sandwich,' he said, good-naturedly, 'but she wouldn't let me.'

'Small wonder,' Vivien said dryly. 'I've seen you make a sandwich. You'd think no one had ever fed you.'

He gave her a look. 'I've been hard at work, my love. I need my sustenance."

He had been hard at work, indeed. The garden lay in tatters at his feet, the brown and withered flowers cast in piles upon the faded grass. The only thing he'd left was the single, climbing rose, its dead and twisted fingers clinging to the crumbling stone, just hips and thorns remaining. It had been such a lovely garden, this past summer. I looked away from it, and smiled at Vivien.

'I think I'll make a cup of coffee for myself,' I said. 'Anyone want seconds?'

'A foolish question.' Iain grinned, and handed me his cup. Vivien came with me into the house, but when I would have rinsed her cup as well, she shook her head.

'I can't stop long,' she apologized. 'I have to work tonight. But I've a question to ask you, if you've got a minute.'

I set the kettle on the stove, curious. 'All right.'

'I wanted you to be the first to know,' she began, twisting her fingers awkwardly. 'Well, not exactly the first ... Iain knows, of course, and my aunt Freda, but no one else.' She took a deep breath, smiled, and plunged ahead. 'I'm getting married.'

'Vivien!' I nearly dropped a coffee mug, delighted. 'That's wonderful!'

'And I'd like you to be my maid of honour.'

'Of course,' I said instantly. 'I'd love to. And Geoff will be best man, I suppose.'

She crinkled her forehead. 'Why Geoff?'

'Well,' I faltered, 'I just thought ... with he and Iain being so close, I thought that naturally...”

Vivien's expression relaxed, but she sent me a queer look before replying. 'I'm not marrying Iain, Julia. You've got it all wrong, somehow. I'm marrying Tom.'

'Tom?'

'Your brother." She nodded. 'He asked me yesterday. He was going to tell you himself, I think, but he said you weren't feeling well.'

'I had a headache,' I said vaguely. I was beginning to get one, now. 'You're marrying Tom?' I checked again, unable to believe it. 'Yes.' Vivien's flushed smile had given way now to a puzzled, hurt expression. 'We thought you'd be pleased.'