From the moment that Peter had shown them into Father’s chamber and their eyes had finally fallen from the room’s decor to the two men watching their arrival, her father had been awestruck with Vincent. Catherine had been awestruck too, but in a different way. She had been struck too dumb to scream.

They had stood there on the steps leading down into the chamber and openly stared at the strange man before them, until her father finding his voice at last, be that it wavered, had asked, “Are you for real?”

Vincent had risen then and with a courteous bow had welcomed the two of them into his home, offering them each a seat that would afford them opportunity to further examine his features without appearing rude in doing so.

“I am what I am.” Vincent had told her father extending one gloved hand in welcome. Her father, bless him, had taken the hand without preamble and had shaken it quite hard. He told her afterward that doing so impressed upon him the strength that Vincent possessed.

“How did you get like that?” Charles wanted to know, seemingly forgetting his manners by ignoring Father completely.

Vincent had smiled then, Catherine remembered that well. Her eyes never leaving his face had seen his eyes light up with amusement and a hint of sadness as he replied, “I do not know. My mother abandoned me at birth. I have ideas...” he spread his palms out to either side of him and shrugged, “but I do not know if any of them are in any way near the truth.”

“You poor thing.” Her father had replied, and Vincent's father was quick to reassure him.

“No pity is needed. Vincent has grown up with a wealth of love and a family that adores him. He has not missed out save for being denied the sunshine.”

“Really,” her father had added, “that’s so sad yet having said that often love in abundance more than makes up for that which has been lacking."

Vincent agreed with him, adding; "No man has been loved more than I. As regards the other things, I have regrets, who doesn’t, but I get by.”

“That’s a very admirable approach, Vincent. And I expect you are a force to be reckoned with too huh?” Charles smiled intending no offence but Vincent visibly paled before them. Jacob Wells noticed too and hastened to reassure their guests. “Vincent tries not to use his abilities in defence of us, though I am certain he would if he had to. However, we are safe down here, and as long as newcomers promise to keep our secret that’s the way it will stay.”

“Oh you have my word.” Charles told them at once. “How about you, honey?”

Catherine who had until then been silent looked to each man in turn, leaving Vincent till last. She didn’t know what to say although she knew deep down that she would never tell a living soul above about this place. And who would believe her about Vincent? But she was unable to voice those opinions, instead saying; “ I can’t believe this is happening.” And then instantly feeling very foolish as her remark was mistaken.

“It’s happening, because it’s a necessity.” Father told her sternly, “If Vincent were to be discovered, well surely I don’t need to explain what that would mean for him?”

“No, its not that, I wouldn’t... I mean...” Catherine faltered, unable to voice her thoughts.

“You have to promise not to tell. Had we of known how you would feel I would never have agreed to your coming here in the first place. It was partly because of your friendship to Vincent over the years that made me relent to Peter’s request, and although your loyalty has waned somewhat recently I saw no reason not to trust you with our secret. It appears I was wrong.” Father was standing now, leaning forward with arms on his desk glaring at the young woman, as if by doing so he could drop her with a glance.

Catherine drew a deep breath, then with head held high replied, “What you insinuate is wrong. What I meant, was that I can’t believe that I am here, that this place exists, that I never knew it existed, yet we must be what? Directly beneath the park, a place I have visited a thousand times. Its incredible.” then turning to Vincent she told him sincerely, “You, are incredible.”

Smiling Vincent told her, “I’ve been called many things, incredible has never been one of them, and I hasten to ask in what way you think that of me?”

She could see he was teasing her and Catherine blushed, and lowering her lashes so that he could not see her eyes she told him, “Unique.” while beneath her breath she added, “Grotesque.” But how could she reveal that to him?

“Some would say that I am ugly.”

Startled, Catherine’s eyes rose to meet his. How had he known what she had been thinking? Again she blushed but said nothing, too flustered to think of anything to say. Her father on the other hand had plenty to fill in with.

“That all depends on the onlooker. I am a great believer in beauty that shines from within and no matter what a person looks like that inner beauty can become like a beacon drawing everyone near. Yet with you, Vincent, there is something else, something quite remarkable, you are different yes, very much so, but please don’t be offended, you are beautiful too. Outside. You are beautiful outside. I saw it the moment I set eyes on you, and you’re strong too I bet?"

“Thank you.” Vincent replied humbly. He could tell Charles was being sincere, but Vincent worried about Charles' daughter. Though they had built up a closeness between them over the years, perhaps he had done wrong not to prepare her for the way that he looked, but then how could he? How could he tell a perfect stranger in a letter that his looks were animalistic?

“Hopefully it won’t have to be a long stay, “Charles was going on, “But I am certain Catherine will be safe down here. And I must admit my first impression while being led down by Peter greatly reduced when I saw the welcome we received by everyone along the way, and then saw all these candles, all these books, and you Vincent. In my opinion you are the icing on the cake. I can sleep at night knowing that Catherine is in safe hands. Talking of which are they reminiscent as the rest of you?” Charles nodded toward Vincent’s gloved hands.

Extracting his gloves, Vincent revealed his hands, bringing forth a gasp from both Charles and Catherine.

“Lethal.” Charles commented with awe.

Vincent didn’t like to think of them that way, and he hoped Catherine’s father wasn’t setting him up as some super hero for his daughter. Father thought so too. “That’s as maybe, but those hands rock to sleep the youngest member of our community with tender care. I know you mean well Mr Chandler, but please, don’t set Vincent up in your own mind as some guardian angel for your daughter. He has his differences and they are useful to us, of course they are, but to highlight those differences, I well know causes my son great discomfort and pain.” And reminds him of things best left forgotten, he added beneath his breath, but instead told Charles, “We will do everything in our power to see that your daughter is safe down here, but that role will not fall primarily on Vincent. We, all of us, will take equal responsibility.”

Charles nodded, and apologised before agreeing, “Yes I know you will, and I am grateful. Now how about visits? Will you permit me to come from time to time?”

Catherine looked fearfully toward Father, and hopefully toward her own, as Father replied, “I don’t think this is wise, do you? I mean if this psychopath knows of Catherine’s whereabouts above he might start following you when he cannot find her.”

“We’ve spoken of this.” Peter prompted, the first time he had spoken since their arrival, apart from making the introductions, and he turned in his chair to look at Charles, “You know the police advised that wherever your daughter was taken to, you should keep away from her. Unless you were prepared to co-operate and use her as bait.”

“That’s unthinkable!” Father rose again. “We could not allow that!”

“Relax Jacob.” Peter told his friend, “If we decide on that venture we would do it a long way from the tunnels. Don’t worry, we don’t intend to betray your secret no matter how difficult it is to find the bast...I mean...” Peter looked apologetically in Catherine’s direction, “fellow.” he finished lamely.

“Have you any leads?” Vincent asked.

“No. And Catherine is the only one that knows what he looks like. The murder victim still has to be formally identified and until he is, we have no way of knowing if he knew the murderer or not. That is, by Catherine’s help with the photo fit, we do not know who to show his photo to.” Charles spoke grimly as he addressed the problems one by one.

“The papers are covering it of course,” Catherine started to involve herself in the conversation. Now that they had left the makeup of Vincent behind, she felt able to converse in things she knew something about.

“Yes, and they are running the photo fit.” Charles added.

“But no photo fit could ever capture those eyes.” Catherine shuddered, and her words made both Peter and her father turn to her with worried glances.

“You’ve never mentioned it before.” Charles whispered, taking up her trembling hand in his. He could see Catherine reliving the moment in her mind’s eye as she became silent and withdrawn.

For long moments, silence permeated the chamber, each not quite knowing what to say, and all visibly jumped when Catherine began speaking again, almost in automation.

“Like a shark. You know, those deep, expressionless eyes, the ones that seem to go on forever. Black unmerciful eyes like those sharks we saw at the sea life centre in Florida.”

“Are you sure about this honey, it was awfully dark?” Charles asked her gently.

“Not in the cabin.”

Charles sucked in a breath. His daughter had not been able to bring herself to speak of that day, and up till now all he knew was that someone had attacked her with intent to kill, and that someone had killed twice before, maybe more, and was intent on killing his daughter still.

“He came to you in the cabin?”

“Yes.”

There was silence again, and then Catherine seeming to shake herself from her reverie surprised them by suddenly saying, “Shouldn’t you be going daddy? We’ve been here a long time already.”

“What? Oh er...” Charles checked his watch, “Yes, perhaps you are right. I’m sure these good people have much to do. You will be all right won’t you honey?”

Catherine wanted to laugh, wanted to say something witty, something to ease the frown she saw gathering on her father’s brow, but for the life of her she could think of nothing like that to say. Instead she told him solemnly, “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. He’ll never find me down here.”

It was word enough though, for Charles visibly relaxed, “I know he won’t honey. Thank God for this place.”

“My sentiments exactly.” A voice came from the doorway, and all looked up to find a burly fellow, that some recognised and some did not, standing there.

“Come in William.” Father beckoned the fellow to enter, “This is Charles Chandler and his daughter, Catherine. Catherine is staying with us for a while.” Next he turned to their guests and told them cheerfully, “This is William...” but before he could add anything further William had extended a hand of welcome and added, “Chief cook and bottle washer...you’ll stay for lunch I take it?”

Dubiously, Charles checked his watch again, but though he was running late, morbid curiosity got the better of him. He had brought supplies down with him so that his daughter might not starve down here, but he was curious to know what the other half lived on, since none of them appeared undernourished.

“Well...” He began clearly tempted.

“It’s all ready, and you don’t have to come into the dining room, I can bring it to you here.” William shot Father a warning look in reply to the one from him that said ‘dining room?’

“That would be most acceptable. Thank you.” Charles replied reseating himself.

“I’ll be two shakes of a lambs tail.” William told them exiting the chamber, and true to his word returned moments later with a tray of steaming stew. Lamb stew no less.

The scent wafted in on the breath of candles to Charles and Catherine and was so delicious that their stomachs rumbled noticeably. “Guess I was hungrier than I thought.” Charles remarked with a grin. “Thank you William, this smells delicious.”

And so it had been with all the meals that Catherine had eaten there since. In fact since her arrival she had had not a single thing to complain of, save for missing her father of course, but that was to be expected.

She watched Vincent now with open scrutiny, something he had been exceedingly uncomfortable with at first, but accepted now, and as her thoughts of her first day there run their course, she asked him, “What exactly did your father mean, Vincent, when he spoke of my loyalty to you waning recently?” Out of everything that was said that day, that was the only thing that returned to bug her constantly.

At first she thought Vincent might ignore her comment, he visibly paled that was for sure, and he seemed at a loss as to know how to reply. Catherine waited, knowing he would speak in his own good time. That she had learned in her short time below. Vincent always chose his words carefully.

Finally, he replied, “You did not answer my letters.”

“You’re letters?” Clearly Catherine was confused, “I always answered them.”

A great weight lifted off of Vincent’s shoulders suddenly, ‘she’d written? Then what of the replies? Had they gone astray?’

“You sent them via Peter I take it?”

“Yes, always. I had no other forwarding address, and I think if I did the postman would pull his hair out navigating these tunnels. You’d have to install signposts for him.” She laughed merrily at the thought and Vincent did too. Funnily enough, it was the first open laughter they had shared since her arrival. The mystery of Father’s comment and the unreplied letters had always stood between them, though neither had brought the subject up to know what was causing the other such mistrust.

And you replied to all of them?” Vincent asked sardonically.

“Hey what is this, don’t you believe me?” Catherine grinned.

“I do find it hard.” Vincent told her sincerely. “I wrote to you over a period of six months and not one letter was replied to.”

Enlightenment dawned, “Oh those letters.” Catherine replied and Vincent’s joy plummeted. There had been a problem after all.

“Peter was away overseas when they arrived, and then we were out of town. He eventually gave dad a bundle to give to me. Then dad left them in his drawer at work and finally he handed them to me as we reached the cabin, then with all of this...” She waved a hand about herself to encompass the problem and her reason for being below, “I confess.” she added with a wry grimace, “I have yet to read them all.”

“You’ve not read them!” Vincent gasped, “You’ve not read any of them?”

“Hey, don’t worry, I will. I promise.”

“No, no, it’s not that. Do you have them here with you?” Catherine couldn’t understand why, but she was certain Vincent was elated.

“Well not on me, but yes, with my belongings somewhere. That is I’m sure I put them in my bag.” She nibbled her lower lip for a moment trying to remember, she had been undecided about bringing them that she did know. To read letters from a friend while in the company of that friend and all that. Suddenly her eyes brightened, “Yes I did bring them. I suddenly thought you might make reference to something within them, and I wouldn’t know what on earth you were on about.” She grinned, hoping he would understand how she felt. But he seemed not to notice, as he replied, “Can I have them back?”

Catherine giggled then, “What all of them?”

“Well not to keep, just to sort through.” He lowered his head then to tell her meekly, “There’s one I regret having written. I’ve berated myself over it ever since sending it, and lost a lot of sleep I can tell you. If I could have it back without you seeing it, I would be deeply grateful.”

Something pricked at the back of Catherine’s mind, and she replied softly, “the one with the tears on?”

“You read it?” Vincent’s tone was flat.

“No. No, I didn’t Vincent. I was going to. When I saw the smudged ink I guessed you had been crying when you wrote it. I put it at the top of the pile intent on reading it the moment dad and I returned from horse riding, and then we discovered the body...and well you know the rest. I never actually got around to reading it and I won’t now if you don’t want me to?”

“No, please no. I would prefer it if you didn’t know of those things. When I wrote the letter it seemed the most natural thing in the world to tell you but now I deeply regret writing it. Please may I have it back?”

“Because you see tears are a sign of weakness? Vincent every one is entitled to cry sometimes. Even you.” Catherine told him sincerely.

"No not because I am ashamed to let you see me cry, but because of its content. I told you things about another that was personal, and I shouldn’t have. In my defence I was hurt at the time and could not think past telling a friend of that pain, but now, well now I know there were things I should not have said. Please Catherine, can I have it back?” He pleaded with her.

Intrigued Catherine told him, “Of course you can. Why don’t we go along to my chamber and I’ll find it for you?”

“I’d like that, thank you.” Vincent told her with obvious relief. Catherine wondered what was in the letter, her inquisitive nature compelled her to know, but she would not peek even when she handed it over to him, at least that’s what she told herself as they walked side by side toward the chamber that had been loaned to her during her stay below. Perhaps something would stand out that she couldn’t help but read. That wouldn’t be classed as nosy would it?

“I know it was here.” Catherine rummaged through the pile of letters still without their envelopes ten minutes after discovering them at the bottom of her bag.

Vincent held his breath anxiously waiting while she searched. Seeing his letters in her hands made him feel awkward. He felt compelled to snatch and make off with them, just to check if nothing else that he had made no further reference to the contents in the tear stained one. Then almost as if Catherine had the same notion she handed the whole bunch to him saying, “Here, you take them. Maybe we are mistaken about the smudges. Maybe beneath candlelight they are not so noticeable. You read them all. Find the one that you want and give me the others back. That’s if you want to of course?”

“Thank you Catherine.” Vincent was clearly relieved to be holding them, and Catherine couldn’t help but notice that if she should challenge him for them back now, he would defend them with his life. Again she wondered about those contents. What could be so important that he wanted it kept from her, and what had it been that had hurt him so much? When she thought back to her first impression of him, she knew then that she couldn’t have cared less to his feelings, but since she had come to know him, Catherine realised that she cared for him greatly, and yes, she faced the fact now with startling acceptance, her father had been right. Vincent was indeed beautiful.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” As Vincent caught her staring at him he became uneasy.

“You.” Catherine replied with her head to one side.

“What about me?” Immediately he was on the defensive cautiously awaiting her reply.

“I can’t explain it Vincent.” She replied at length, “except to say that you mean a lot to me.”

Vincent coloured, a blush staining his cheeks instantly and he looked away covering his face with a halo of tawny hair. He was also suddenly saddened. Lisa had told him the same thing over and over, and look where that ended.

“Yet when you have left here, you will forget all about me.” He whispered sadly sure that this would be so.

“I will never forget you, Vincent. Never!” Catherine replied vehemently, surprising him with her assertion. “Even if I live to be old and decrepit and start rambling about you and everyone thinks I am senile. I will know, and I will remember. Has anyone ever told you that you have the most beautiful eyes?” It was Catherine’s turn to feel embarrassed; she hadn’t meant to add that bit.

Yes somebody had told him. Somebody that had not proved true. “Are not the eyes the window to the soul?”

They laughed having spoken the very same words together, causing Catherine to add sincerely, “I think you have the most beautiful spirit Vincent. Truly, I always treasured our friendship and now that I know you better nothing will change. And if you would let me, I’d like to visit from time to time after this ghastly experience is over, if you don’t mind that is?”

“I’d like that, Catherine.” He told her warmly, “And if you don’t mind my saying, I think that you too have beautiful eyes.”

For a moment time stood still as each searched the other’s face for clues and dreams to come true, and for one brief moment Catherine was transported back to that day she sat in the rocking chair at the cabin and thought she heard her mother say that the man she searched for she already knew. Was it possible? Did her mother mean Vincent?

“What is it?” Vincent detected that something bothered her.

“It’s nothing, just a thought, don’t worry about it. I’m not.”

“Oh but you are.” Vincent blinked as his mouth dropped open, as did Catherine’s. How did he know that?

“What a strange comment.” Catherine told him.

“Yes, look forgive me. And thank you Catherine, for these,” he indicated the letters with a wave of the hand that contained them, “I’ll probably see you at dinner.”

“Yes, I’ll see you there. Be well Vincent, till then.”

“Thank you. Be well Catherine.” He exited as fast as he could, breathing and leaning heavily against the tunnel wall just outside of her chamber. What on earth had happened back there? Nothing had ever occurred like that before, not even with Lisa. For suddenly, out of the blue Catherine’s emotions, her thoughts, feelings and desires had crashed in on him so hard that he knew everything about her and before him she had no secrets. No secrets at all. Vincent was terrified!

In view of what he had just discovered Vincent took the letters back to his chamber in a daze, laying them down upon his lap as he seated himself in his high backed chair, to think about his friendship with Catherine. And then his relationship with Lisa, and then back to Catherine. Something was different there. He knew Catherine had beauty, not just that her looks were magnificent but that inwardly she had something that he adhered to and that in many respects she hadn’t yet uncovered. He could tell her upbringing had blinded her to its existence, but it was there and when it eventually flowered, Catherine would alter. The woman she was becoming would change for the better especially if circumstances that were forced upon her now were allowed to mould and shape and change the life for which she had been adapted.
Vincent hoped he would be there when those changes took place. And he hoped that she would visit as she had proposed and that they would always be friends.

He shuffled and as the sound of paper brought him back to his senses Vincent picked up the pile of letters and began to scan them briefly searching for the one he had in mind. But just as Catherine had discovered earlier the one he wanted wasn’t among them. Where was it? Catherine knew of the one he referred to so had she been telling him the truth when she said she hadn’t read it?

Frantic, Vincent bestowed all of the letters into a drawer in his desk, hoping to ask her about it at dinner, if he could do so privately without any one overhearing what he had to say. Yet the chance never seemed to come as evening after evening during dinner Catherine would sit and relate all the things she had done in her life so far and when the children learned of it they would file in one by one and would sit eyes wide, mouths agape at the stories she spun for their benefit. And she glowed, yes she positively shone when she related these tales, and Vincent felt on more than one occasion a sense of pride that he had this friend that could charm the birds from the trees if she did but know it.

Certainly she had Father eating out of her hand. Vincent had never known his father to play chess so infrequently, as evening after evening he would invite Catherine to sit with him and tell of her experiences and those of her father’s imparted to her on cold winter evenings while they stayed at the cabin during happier times. The only sadness to etch her features being the times she spoke of her mother, and it was easy to see that she missed this parent very much. In that both she and Vincent were kindred spirits, each yearning for a mother lost to them. One guided by memories, the other guided by wishes.

Vincent commented as much to Father one evening as they sat enjoying Catherine’s chatter several weeks after she had been living with them, “You hardly play chess these days Father. Perhaps Catherine could team you?”

Father’s eyes lit up, “Yes, do you play Catherine?”

“Marginally, I learned at school, but there is much you will have to remind me. Is that how you two usually spend your evenings, playing chess?”

“That and reading. When Vincent’s not here I usually read.”

Catherine was interested by that comment, “Why where do you go, Vincent?”

“Above.”

“Above? You go above? I didn’t know that! Where do you go?”

“Usually to the park. Sometimes I sit on the rooftops...”

”Much to my annoyance, my dear.” Father snorted, showing his obvious disapproval.

Vincent went on, “And sometimes I don’t quite go above. I have a quiet spot beneath the bandstand up in the park where I go to listen to the concerts.”

“That sounds divine! Would you take me?” Catherine asked breathlessly.

“To the concert?”

“Yes. When is the next one?”

“There’s one on tonight as it happens.” Vincent told her beginning to get caught up in her excitement while determined not to analyse why. Ever since that day he had been assaulted by her emotions he had tried everything to prevent himself from taking that liberty again, choosing not to know even though there were times when he would have loved to have given in to the pull.

“Will you take me, Vincent? Please?”

How could he deny her? “Yes of course.” He heard himself replying although his heart hammered at being so close to her and he sent Father a look that asked for help to refuse her innocent request.

Father noticed but chose to ignore the look that Vincent sent him misinterpreting it for one of embarrassment. Though why he should be embarrassed for Catherine to see their ‘best seat in the house’ he did not know. Catherine, would surely by now, be aware that she couldn’t expect velvet seating and an usherette bringing round refreshments? But it wasn’t that at all, Vincent had hoped Father would help him find a way to thwart Catherine’s enthusiasm to go because of his growing sense of awareness to her nearness whenever they were alone together. But of course, Father knew nothing of this feeling and in all innocence urged them to spend the time alone together. Two young people out together? It would be good for them. And besides they were only pen friends after all so what was the harm in it?

The harm, Vincent reasoned, after he and Catherine had sat shoulder to shoulder for an hour or more listening to the concert in silence, was that he was very much aware of everything about her. As she leaned against him, he could feel the softly rounded contours of her breast touching his arm and he could see the dancing lights of her eyes every time she looked at him at the start of a new piece of music. And he knew, though he tried to prevent it, that he was falling in love with her, hook, line and sinker and that made him very miserable.

He didn’t think it was possible after Lisa. He thought he had painfully learned that particular lesson. Yet even so, he could not deny the way his body betrayed him as he caught a whiff of the perfume Catherine favoured or how much he longed to place his arm around her shoulders and draw her close.

“Oh Vincent!” Catherine broke through his reverie, her delight plain in the tone of her voice, “I haven’t heard this piece since high school in fact just before we broke up for summer vacation, actually. Then Daddy took me to Fiji. That island is the best Vincent.” For a long moment she was silent remembering, and for once Vincent wished he could see the pictures of her mind, to be transported to wherever she had suddenly gone, and her next question caught him unawares. “Do you swim Vincent?”

“Yes.” He was looking at the sheen of her hair clearly visible by dappled moonlight. He longed to run his fingers through the silken strands.

“Will you take me? Can we use the mirror pool?”

“Yes.” He replied without thinking.

“Then let’s go now. I bet its wonderful swimming there with the reflection of the stars on the surface.” Catherine gathered herself to stand pulling him up with her, “Come on, the concert is almost over and the night is still young, let’s go get wet!”

Her laughter exhilarated him and he went unthinking, eager to pursue whatever game she was playing, sure in his fevered mind that she was flirting with him, much the same as Lisa had done. He could hear her now, “Come watch me dance, Vincent. This one is just for you.”

Catherine took his arm as they walked; she was at ease with him now. He was so easy to get along with, and none of her earlier first impressions toward him existed anymore. He was her friend, and because of his differences, no matter what her mother whispered in the silence of the night, Catherine felt he would only ever be that. And friends shared things together, and right now with memories of the warm waters of Fiji firmly implanted in her mind, Catherine wanted to swim. To splash and have fun with her over large friend.

They reached the mirror pool and found it deserted. Any activity that had taken place there that day was visible only by the damp footprints left around its edges signifying by their impressions that the children had been swimming there earlier.

For a second Catherine hesitated, she had brought no swimwear, but decided that bra and panties would suffice as much as a bikini and so she quickly began to peel off her thick sweater and jeans. Vincent stood watching her mesmerised until she stood before him half nude and his pulse began to race.

Suddenly aware of his predicament he sought a means to escape, but Catherine was laughing and tugging at his clothes, “Come on Vincent, don’t be shy. Off with these.”

Swallowing convulsively, Vincent slowly removed his clothing, not quite sure of her reaction. To date she had seen his face, hands and bare arms, what would she think of the rest of him? Everyone else that lived below knew, he had not been so self-conscious when accompanying them for swimming lessons, but with Catherine?

He took a deep breath. He had to remember that Catherine saw him as no more than a friend, and that she was in no other league to him than the other people he swam with regularly. That in mind, and with eyes tightly closed he lifted his sweater, vest and thermals over his head as one, discarding them at his feet and without looking at her at all, unfastened his jeans until he stood clothed only in a pair of shorts before her.

“Come on, I’m freezing my butt off here.” Catherine called taking his hand, “let’s dive in together!”

For the first time in the last half hour Vincent smiled, she was in for a shock if she thought she would get any warmer once in the water. Catherine tugged at his hand believing his hesitancy to be one of nerves at swimming with her, and determined to ease his fears she prepared to drag him in with her, sure that once in they would have too much fun to be embarrassed about seeing one another half naked.

For she had noticed him. Couldn’t help but do so. As he had pulled his clothing over his head, Catherine had had a moment to observe and take delight in the rippling biceps and triceps, the flat planes of his stomach, the delightful way an arrowhead of curls descended down beneath his navel as if drawing her gaze to whatever lay beneath. Catherine had found herself blushing then and it was that as much as a willingness to swim that made her want to get into the water and fast. Few men had made her feel that way. What way? Catherine had a hard time putting a name to it. But for a certainty it made her feel good.

Standing on the edge of the pool, they toppled into the water, Vincent grinning from ear to ear knowing what to expect laughing out loud when Catherine screamed as her skin touched the cold water and it cascaded over her head. She came up spluttering, teeth chattering, eyes accusing. “You might have warned me! Vincent, its fr...fr...freezing!”

Laughing out loud, Vincent replied, "I thought you were brave swimming at this time of night.”

“What...has...n..n...night...got..to..do..w..w..with it?” Catherine chattered treading water in a bid to get warm and fast.

“Its a little warmer in here when the suns rays are on the surface of the water.”

“But the bathing pools are so warm, I just assumed...” Catherine began as Vincent answered; “They have underground hot spots, one reason we channelled them that way. This pool is natural, good for the skin if you can stand being in it long enough. Come, if we swim we will get warm.”

Catherine grimaced, “Well I suppose I should never have expected it to be like Fiji. At least there’s one consolation...”

“What’s that?”

“There are no sharks.” Immediately she said it she wished to extract it. Vincent’s eyes seemed to alter before her very gaze, reminiscent of those very same creatures, dark, deep and merciless.

“Vincent?” Suddenly nervous Catherine pushed herself a few yards back. What did she know about this man anyway? In this close-knit community, few said anything about him. What did they know that she didn’t? She said the first thing that came to mind hoping to divert him unwilling to show him how nervous he had suddenly made her feel.

“What?” Vincent’s heart hammered painfully against his ribs. The water was unusually cold this night, but the heat assuaging his body was turning the water warm. This woman had seen him half nude and had not been disgusted and he was with her now, she in a skimpy set of underwear that if she did but know it was almost transparent when wet. Above the surface of the water he could clearly see the creamy white swell of her breasts and as she moved, once or twice he caught sight of the proud stance of a rosy nipple.

“You never said, did you find the letter you were searching for?” Why was he looking at her like that? Catherine found her breath rose and fell in exaggerated pants.

“Letter?”

Had he not heard her? It didn’t appear so. Either that or he had some other intent on his mind and chose to ignore her, in fact as he swam the few feet that separated them and took her in his arms Catherine was unsure whether to scream or to wish that he would kiss her.

They trod water Vincent’s arms holding her steady, his gaze never leaving hers and Catherine finding herself drawn to his warmth placed her hands upon his arms her eyes tracing every fine line of his face, a face that edged toward her until she could feel his ragged breath upon her cheek.

And then he kissed her!

Catherine gasped! Pulling herself back and away from his lips to regard him from a few feet away warily, incredulous when he seemed to return from someplace he had gone, contrite and full of apology and embarrassment.

“Catherine! Forgive me!” Swimming to the side of the pool, Vincent hauled himself out of the water gathered his clothing and without looking back at her he started to run.

For long agonising moments Catherine, dazed by what had happened, trod water and then with a hand that traced the kiss he had placed upon her lips, she slowly lowered herself beneath the icy depths of the mirror pool as a means to deaden the flame that had suddenly started to burn within her.