"Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin

Dance me through the panic 'til I'm gathered safely in

Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove

Dance me to the end of love

Oh dance me to the end of love"

Leonard Cohen

Chapter 1 - Paddington Station, London, August 2004

"Joan, it was lovely of you to come for the funeral. So unnecessary but very much appreciated."

The two sisters stood awkwardly at the platform for Cornwall looking very unlike sisters. Few would have thought them such. One tall, large-boned, her white hair and blue eyes set in a rounded face with a body to match. The other dark eyes, shadowed deeply from lack of sleep, perhaps grief. Her once brown hair threaded with grey, considerably shorter and fitter than her sister. One took after her sturdy father, the other favoured her delicate mother.

Yet sisters they were, both now members of an ancient sorority left behind by the men they loved. Ruth Ellingham had traveled to Cornwall a few years earlier for the funeral of Joan's husband, Phil Norton. Now her sister had come to London for the funeral of Russell Fairhill, Ruth's – uhm – Joan could never work out how to describe Russell to her friends in the village. Surely, boyfriend was not quite right, nor was partner as Ruth and Russell had not actually lived together. More constant companions for the last nine years or so.

Ruth had met him several years after his wife's death. "Breast cancer" was all Russell would say. He had locked up the memory of his Beatrice, and it would never be discussed with another, not even his two daughters. Apparently, this was not the only thing Russell failed to mention. The women knew nothing of Ruth; although she knew of them, she never pressed Russell to meet his family.

He would go off to them at Christmas and the odd holiday as well as several weeks in summer. On his return, Ruth would listen as Russell talked fondly of them and proudly showed photos of daughters Gemma and Deirdre with their children. Ruth considered this a part of his life with Beatrice. It was not her business.

The three women finally met at the A&E of Hammersmith Hospital following the coronary infarction that felled him during a calculus tutorial. Ruth had arrived first, having been called from a meeting with a particularly difficult patient. Russell was still alive and grasped her hand, unable to talk through the tubes and lines covering his face. Ruth did not speak either as she endeavoured to sort out the conversation amongst the registrars, house officers and – at the last - a cardiology consultant.

They thought Ruth his wife and allowed her to remain in the treating room. She did nothing to change their opinion. Shortly after the consultant arrived, the daughter she recognized as Gemma clicked through in her very important lawyer pumps. "Blast, they've told me the wrong place. I was looking for my father." Ruth dropped Russell's hand, "This is the right room. I'm Ruth Ellingham, a friend of your father's."

"Do you teach with him, then?"

"No, only a friend." Ruth stepped from the bed and made her way to the door when Deirdre, the younger daughter and Russell's favourite, arrived: "Oh Gemma, thank God you're here. "How's Daddy?"

Then each sister took one of Russell's hands which they clutched until he died several minutes later. Ruth stood at the doorway, her left hand gripping the rough metal casing, gone quite faint as the consultant somberly said "time of death 1517 hours." After quickly signing a form, she hurried past Ruth who watched her pause at a window, bring a tissue to her eyes and then rush down the corridor.

This bit distracted Ruth from the wailing of the two sisters who moved from the bed as the nurse took tubes from Russell's nose and mouth. They embraced each other, not unlike she and Joan had done when their father died in this same hospital so many years ago.

The shock of Russell's death had the effect of scattering Ruth's orderly mind. Rather than flee as she wanted, Ruth continued to grasp the door casing, its coldness a first realization that she would no longer have the warmth of Russell's touch.

Finally, a diminutive woman with a sympathetic air came into the room and seeing Ruth asked, "Are you Mrs. Fairhill?"

"No, I'm Ruth Ellingham," she rasped. "These are Mr. Fairhill's daughters. Gemma and Deirdre, I believe."

The sisters looked at Ruth, their faces changing from shock to confusion, unsure of her.

"Alright, then. I'm Marielle Baptiste from the Chaplaincy Service. Let's have the nurse continue with your father and we'll have a talk. Tea if you like. Please come with me, ladies."

They walked slowly past Ruth saying, "Thank you. Very kind of you," clearly too shattered to understand where Ruth fit in the scene that had only now unfolded.

Ruth nodded at them, unsure of what to say or do. She then drove slowly back to Broadmoor, trying to sort out the scene for herself. The office junior, a jolly sort, looked concerned when Ruth appeared. "Dr. Ellingham, you seem quite ill. May I bring you something?"

"No," Ruth again rasped.

In the sanctuary of her office, Ruth poured water, sipped it and reached for the phone to ring Joan. It was then that she cried out the hurt of losing Russell and the pain of not being able to share her grief with his family.

Joan arrived early the next afternoon, briskly comforting and ready to see Ruth through the funeral and beyond. It was she who found that the service would be three days hence at Saint Mary le Strand, the church where Ruth and Russell intended to marry.

Ruth appreciated Joan not telling her how to manage the next few days. She saw Ruth off to Broadmoor each morning after preparing only the fruit and toast her sister reluctantly accepted. At night Joan served a simple meal rather than the hearty fare Ruth knew she preferred. Even then, it was difficult for her to swallow more than a bit of food, although she forced herself to do so. She could not be weak for the funeral.

It was a full-on High Church service, replete with the hymns Russell loved. A son-in law provided a personal eulogy of a man devoted to his family, university, students and church. Of course, with no mention of Ruth. It ended with the traditional, "We will sorely miss our dear Russell but take comfort in knowing he will be with his beloved Beatrice once more."

Joan reached for her sister's hand, ready to absorb the agony surely suffusing Ruth. It was relieved a bit by the second eulogy from Russell's longtime friend, Howard Breed, who recalled a life filled with scholarly achievement and music, most of which was well known to Ruth. She was a bit startled when Howard ended his talk with a reading from the Book of Ruth. The brief passage could be construed as a friend's farewell to a friend or was it something more, Joan wondered.

"Where you go I will go, and where you stay, I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. When you die I will die, and there I will be buried. May the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely, if even death separates you and me."

Ruth raised her head as Howard left the chancel, looked directly toward her and bowed slightly. His message was clear: She was part of Russell's life and now his death.

Joan led Ruth from the church to a waiting car, but not before she saw Gemma and Deirdre exchange puzzled glances. The younger women turned quickly away from the older sisters to join the procession walking toward Russell's university on Aldwych Street. There a funeral reception would be held, but Ruth had not been invited.

Now - a week later - Joan was satisfied that Ruth could manage on her own. It was a busy season at Havenhurst Farm and her neighbors could do only do so much. Joan had spared Ruth the boxing up of clothing Russell left at her flat along with books, music, the bits and pieces of their life together. The one photograph of them smiling together in Salzburg Ruth kept. It was taken soon after Russell told her he loved her, unlike anyone or anything he had ever known. Ruth responded in a similar fashion. Then they had made love, fallen asleep and hurried to the posh restaurant where the photograph was snapped.

Now that part of her life was over. Like Russell, she would lock away his memory and never discuss him with anyone, save Joan, the keeper of the Ellingham family secrets.

"You'll be fine then Ruthie," Joan placed her hand on Ruth's shoulder.

"Yes, of course. Now we must see you off to Portwenn. The sheep and veg won't wait and then there's Martin coming in two weeks' time. I can't imagine how that will resolve itself. He has a phobia that could be contained with only a short course of treatment. Why he is leaving a career at its zenith cannot be explained."

"Stubborn. Bloody, bloody stubborn. Like our charming brother, Christopher."

The sisters had discussed Martin's predicament as much as Ruth's. Both were quite fond of the lad and held a common hope that a kind woman would happen upon Martin and marry him. Neither was a romantic, but they wanted a good life for the nephew who suffered so at the hands of his negligent parents.

His relationship with Edwina had ended badly, but Ruth and Joan had not lost hope for Martin. In a very uncharacteristic way, Ruth had suggested several psychologists to her nephew, not for their exceptional skill but more for their age and marital status. Perhaps one of these attractive, eligible women – Ruth reasoned – could develop more than a professional relationship with Martin.

He consulted none of the women, nor would he discuss with his aunt what he named "the incident." Ruth continued to phone him, but her messages were left unanswered. It was Joan who rang her a month ago, incredulous with the news that Martin was to replace old Jim Sims as the GP in Portwenn.

"I can't believe it. He's been quite angry with me and said nothing. I suppose I pushed a bit too much with his phobia. He still seemed miffed when Russell and I ran into him at the cinema months ago."

"Martin at the cinema, now that I can believe. That's how he's learned about life. Not an outgoing sort, our Marty, but the films help him make sense of the world."

"Russell thought he looked more sheepish than anything. I put it down to our being together. You know how Martin is about that sort of thing. You and John - all that."

"Mmm. Well, what was the film? One of his usual period pieces – 'To Kill a King,' or worse? He's always been fascinated by Oliver Cromwell."

"No, it was 'Love Actually,' the Christmas film. Everyone in London was quite taken with it, and Russell insisted we see it. Come to think of it, Martin didn't look as much miffed as embarrassed. Perhaps he didn't want me to see him at such a sentimental film."

"Well for my money, what Marty actually needs is love. Portwenn is the last place he's likely to find it, but we can hope, dear sister, we can hope."

To be continued . . . .

Author's note: According to the wedding program for Louisa Glasson and Martin Ellingham, "Portuguese Love Theme" by C. Armstrong was played during the Signing of The Register. This song was featured in the film "Love Actually."