A/N: This is my first Hart to Hart fanfic. I've been immersed in the show over the past few months and suddenly this story just started bursting inside me. It's set in 1997, about a year after the last Hart to Hart movie. The setting of Positano, Italy is a real place, and several of the incidents I depict in this chapter really happened—the encounter with the shopkeeper is based on an exchange between a shopkeeper and my dad on the first visit my family made there; the wedding ring incident happened to my husband and me on our honeymoon (though I've embellished the results). Casa Guadagno is a real bed and breakfast, where my husband and I spent the best part of our honeymoon; however, we did not actually get to know the proprietors and any reference to them is fictional.

Glossary (Italian – English)

Arrivederci - Until we meet again; goodbye

La dottoressa – The doctor (female)

Pensione - a bed and breakfast style inn

Ristorante - restaurant

Un bell vino – A fine wine

Una bella signora – A beautiful wife

July 17, 1997

The nightmare is always the same. I am lost in a thick fog, wandering, cold, without hope, calling your name. The wind swirls around me, ripping the cry from my lips and tossing it into the abyss. And then I am falling… only to awaken alone in the dark, to the knowledge that every awakening now will be alone. "J-J-Jennifer, Darling," I stammer (a frustrating effect of my injury), but no soft hand reaches to soothe me. No calm voice cuts through the darkness, calling me home. I feel a cool wet cloth on my brow. Cold, dispassionate fingers guide a straw to my lips and a monotone voice urges me to drink, but it is not you.

I have been lost in the darkness before, but you were there to guide me through, your love a clear beacon of light that even blindness could not extinguish. You brought me through that trial, and the first sight I saw when my eyes healed was the love in your eyes. Now they tell me you are gone. I refuse to believe them, but la dottoressa says I must come to terms with my loss if I wish to get well enough for the journey home. She cannot understand—you are my home. You are my life, my light, my love. Without you, all else is meaningless. All the material wealth I have accumulated over the years is only so much chaff compared to you. If I cannot open my eyes to find you gazing back at me, what point is there in healing?

And so I sit in my chair by the open window, breathing in the thick fragrance of jasmine and thinking of you, of those last happy days we had together, letting the pleasant memories crowd out my present miseries...

April 3, 1997

Jonathan Hart heaved a deep sigh of relief as round three of the latest negotiations finally concluded. For the last few weeks he had been immersed in Hart Industries' acquisition of Denning Pharmaceutical, a deal that had brought him to New York City for a series of intense meetings with Denning's lawyer, Harvey Stevenson. It had all started as a simple transaction, set in motion by Jonathan's friend Miles Denning, who knew his remaining time on this Earth was short and wanted to guarantee his ailing wife would be well cared for in his absence. But cancer had wreaked its havoc faster than expected and Miles had died suddenly, just as the original deal was nearing completion, throwing the whole plan into disarray. Miles' son Christopher had swooped in to contest the acquisition and claim Denning Pharmaceutical for himself, in spite of his father's wishes, turning the whole procedure into a complicated legal battle. Had Miles not clearly expressed that he wanted his son kept far away from the company he'd built over the last thirty years, Jonathan might have washed his hands of the whole affair and walked away. But Miles' widow Teresa was a fragile woman, battling Alzheimer's Disease and terrified of her own son, and Jonathan knew he could not leave her at the younger Denning's mercy. Now the matter was decided, the final papers signed and approved by the court, and Denning Pharmaceutical had become a subsidiary of Hart Industries. Jonathan had no interest in making money from this deal. According to the agreement, all profit beyond that needed to assure Teresa's comfort for the rest of her days would be split between funding Alzheimer's research and providing medical care for needy children at the hospital where Miles' daughter had spent the last months of her life battling leukemia. Sulk as he might, Christopher could not touch a penny of it, and Jonathan could leave New York with a deep sense of satisfaction that he had accomplished something good.

Now at last it was time to go home. Jonathan smiled. It was only 10:00 a.m. He could be in the air within a couple of hours and wrapping his arms around the woman he loved well before supper time. Jennifer usually traveled with him, but this time she had remained in Los Angeles with Freeway Junior. Research and a looming deadline kept her from joining her husband in New York. She had called him last night to tell him her article was finished and submitted to her editor. At his insistence, she promised she would relax for a few days before accepting another assignment.

He had congratulated her and told her he loved and missed her, but had not mentioned that his own work was nearly done and his private jet stood ready at Teterboro Airport to carry him home. He wanted to surprise her and then he wanted to whisk her away. He had already made the arrangements and communicated his plans to their housekeeper Rosy, who had taken Max's place after his death. No doubt Rosy already had their bags packed and ready to go (out of Mrs. H's sight, of course).

Jonathan slid his copy of the paperwork into his briefcase, clapped Harvey on the back and bid him adieu. 20 minutes later, his driver merged onto I-95, heading north to Teterboro.

After a lazy morning and a late lunch with Rosy, Jennifer wandered down to the beach for a walk along the strand. Though she still missed the house where she and Jonathan had built so many happy memories, she had come to love the beach house as well. She loved the water at all times of day… in the cool of the morning when she had only the seagulls for company; in the afternoon heat with cold water lapping her feet; and at sunset, when the Pacific reflected a carnelian sky. Only Jonathan's presence could improve on this, she mused.

About half a mile from the house, she came across a boy and a girl laughing and chattering as they built a sand castle while their mother lounged a short distance away, engrossed in a book. Jennifer watched, intrigued. The children were beautiful, their skin a deep tan and their hair a tumble of slick jet black ringlets. Jennifer had long ago given up on the idea of having children, though she and Jonathan both would have loved to be parents. Once upon a time she had wrestled with guilt over the emptiness of her womb. She remembered her husband's eyes when a young boy had come to them, convinced Jonathan was his father. Of course, he hadn't been—his real father was simply running a scam—but Jonathan was ready to be exactly what that boy needed, and Jennifer could sense the longing in him for a son or daughter of his own blood, a child she had never conceived. Over time, Jonathan had put her guilt to rest. "A lifetime of loving you is worth more than a dozen sons or daughters to me," he had assured her. "Would I like to be a father? Yes, I would. But I don't need to be a father. I only need you." And then he had pulled her into his arms and convinced her how very much he meant it.

The little boy called excitedly for his mother to come see the castle. Mom lowered her book slightly and raised her head for a second to peer through dark sunglasses at the structure. She waved a hand dismissively and returned to her reading. Jennifer felt a surge of indignation wash over her. If these were my children, she thought, I would be splashing in the surf with them, or putting the finishing touches on the castle turret before the tide makes it crumble. Part of her wanted to sit down next to the little girl and help strengthen the castle wall, but she knew better than to encourage the little ones to admit a stranger into their play. Instead she moved closer to the lounging woman. "That's some castle they're building," she observed. "I remember going to the beach with my mother when I was a little girl. We would spend hours building castles and watching the surf carry them away and then building them up again. She died when I was still young—I would give anything to have those hours with her back. Some days I struggle to remember what she looked like, but I always remember the time she made for me."

The younger woman frowned as she lowered her book and rested it on her stomach, but she took the time to give the castle and her children a close look before responding and her expression softened. "They are pretty special, aren't they?" she asked. "They just run me ragged, you know?"

The little girl squealed as a wave came in and broke down the castle's outer wall, and Jennifer smiled wistfully. "I wish I did know," she said softly. "My husband and I were never so blessed. I… apologize if I was sticking my nose in where it doesn't belong. But I know how easy it is to become so used to our blessings we stop noticing them. We don't any of us know how many days we've got… we just have to make the most of each one that comes."

"You're right." The young woman slipped her book into her bag. "I'm Maya Remington. These are my twins, Isaac and Jamie. Their dad's stationed on a ship in the Persian Gulf. They have the day off school and all they wanted to do was come to the beach, even though it's not really hot enough."

"Jennifer Hart." Jennifer extended a hand to shake Maya's. "And at least it's not crowded today."

Maya laughed. "That's true! Well… what do you say? Would you like to build a castle with us?" She nodded toward the kids, who were frowning at the sight of their castle in ruins.

"It's my specialty!" Jennifer said, happy that the woman hadn't taken her for an interfering busybody. Together, they jogged over to the children and for the next hour or so, Jennifer had the joy of feeling sand squish between her bare toes and grimy little fingers wrapping around hers and, best of all, hearing Maya join in her children's laughter.

When the castle was finished and Jamie had handed her a flag to place on the highest turret, Jennifer suddenly heard a familiar voice behind her. "You've never looked more lovely to me than you do right now, Darling."

Forgetting the flag, she pivoted in place to see Jonathan standing there, a jaunty grin on his face and a wicked gleam in his eye. "Jonathan!" she exclaimed. "You didn't tell me you were coming home today!"

"No, I didn't. You're particularly beautiful when you're surprised, after all. I didn't want to spoil this moment by letting you know." He stepped toward her and took the flag from her hands, landing a kiss on her lips at the same time. In the background, the children giggled at the show of intimacy. "May I?" he asked them. They nodded and giggled again, and Jonathan planted the flag in the turret.

"Jonathan," Jennifer said, "I'd like you to meet Maya, Jamie, and Isaac Remington."

"My pleasure." He gave a polite nod of greeting. "And now, if you will permit me, I am going to spirit my wife away. It's been far too long since we've had an evening together."

Maya managed a faint smile, and Jennifer imagined she must be thinking of how long her own husband had been gone. She squeezed her new friend's shoulder. "Before you know it, he'll be home," she assured her. Jamie and Isaac both offered her sandy hugs, and then she linked arms with Jonathan and started the walk back home.

"I don't know about you, Jennifer, but I have a sudden hankering for Italian food." Jonathan quirked an eyebrow, and Jennifer knew he had something up his sleeve.

"Italian sounds good," she agreed. "How about Alfonse's?"

He laughed as they climbed the steps up to the beach house. "I had a feeling you would say that and I've already made arrangements. Why don't you shower and change? It will be an early dinner, but I'm starving."

Thirty minutes later, they were on the road. Only a few minutes into the drive, when Jonathan turned right when she expected a left, Jennifer's suspicions were raised. "Jonathan, this isn't the way to Alfonse's."

"Trust me, Darling," was all he would say. "Just lean back and rest your eyes." Despite the urge to peek, she did as he said, curiosity welling inside of her all the while. She tried to keep track of left and right turns, but eventually it was all a jumble in her mind. At last, he stopped the car and she heard him shift into park. "All right," he said. "You can look."

Jennifer sat up straight and opened her eyes to find the Benz parked outside Los Angeles Airport's charter flight terminal. Jonathan popped the trunk, then hopped out. He came around the car to open his wife's door, then grabbed two suitcases from the trunk, slammed it shut, and nodded toward the terminal with a grin. "Come on. Jack has probably finished refueling and is eager to get back in the air."

"The air… Jonathan… but… I thought…" She shook her head in bewilderment and followed him into the airport. Jonathan just kept grinning. "You look just like the cat that ate the canary," she teased.

Inside the plane, Jennifer found the table set for two, with Alfonse's best veal parmigiana and a bottle of chianti waiting for them. She laughed and threw her arms around her husband.

"I always keep my promises," he quipped, then kissed her on the lips and guided her to a seat. "Buckle up, Darling, and we'll get underway."

In spite of Jennifer's pleas, Jonathan steadfastly refused to tell her where they were bound on this trip. "I've said it before, Darling—'Knights in shining armor never tell!'" Eventually she stopped asking and determined simply to enjoy every moment with her husband to the fullest.

After a stopover to refuel in London, the plane landed in Naples about 3:00 the following afternoon. From there, the Harts caught a ferry to Sorrento and another to Positano. Jennifer was thankful Jonathan had arranged to travel by ferry. She would never forget her first visit to the Amalfi Coast with her father when she was just a teen. They had rented a vehicle in Rome and driven south to Positano. While the drive was breathtakingly beautiful, it was also terrifying: a narrow corkscrew of a road, with a steep cliff rising upwards on one side, a straight drop down to the ocean on the other side, and insane drivers zipping around the curves with little concern for what might be coming the other direction. In spots—often at hairpin curves—the road was barely wide enough to allow traffic in one direction, and a driver might have to back up to a wider bit just to allow another vehicle to get by. Stephen Edwards had sworn never to drive that road again after the first experience. When Jennifer brought Jonathan here not long after they married, they had traveled the Amalfi Coast road with a hired driver. They had reached their destination pale and weak-kneed, their hands white-knuckled from grasping the door handle for dear life. The ferry was a much better option.

Jennifer sighed with sheer delight as they drew closer to Positano. The town was like something out of a storybook, built up the side of a cliff. "Please tell me we're staying at Casa Guadagno," she said softly. There were more elegant hotels in the town, but the small pensione was special and the proprietors had become dear friends over the years.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Jonathan murmured, and he kissed her forehead. "Our room overlooks the water and tonight we will dine simply, just like we did our first time here. 'A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread—and Thou beside me singing in the wilderness—oh, wilderness were Paradise enow!'"* he quoted.

"Don't forget the 'book of verses underneath the bough.'" Jennifer laughed and turned toward her husband so that the kiss he was aiming to plant behind her ear landed on her nose instead. She tilted her head upward and kissed him full on the lips. "Have I told you lately that I love you?" she asked.

"Not for an hour or two, so I'm ready to hear it again." They stood together at the rail, holding one another close and watching as the ferry was tied off at the dock. At last, it was time to disembark.

The Guadagnos had sent a driver to meet them, but Jennifer fancied a good walk, so they sent their luggage ahead in the vehicle, then started off on foot along the rocky beach. They took the footpath from the Saracen Cove Hotel to Fornillo Beach, then climbed up the ancient, crumbling stairway to their bed and breakfast. Every sight, smell, and sound triggered a slew of happy memories for the couple.

Just across the street from Casa Guadagno was a small shop, and they ducked inside to purchase bread, wine, and cheese for their supper. The shopkeepers in town tended to produce and sell their own wines, and this particular vintage was a favorite of both Harts. Jonathan passed the shopkeeper a 10,000 lire note and waved away the offer of change. "Un bell vino," he told the elderly man in his stilted Italian.

The shopkeeper smiled and gestured broadly towards Jennifer. "Una bella signora!" Jennifer blushed at the compliment, while her husband simply beamed his agreement. The shopkeeper slapped Jonathan on the back and bid them arrivederci. Then Jonathan and Jennifer went to check in to their room.

"Remember the first time we came here?" Jennifer murmured drowsily as she and Jonathan lounged on Fornillo Beach the second day of their vacation. "Your wedding ring?"

"How could I forget?" Jonathan quipped. "We were sitting in the ristorante over by the Saracen Cove Hotel and suddenly you gasped in horror. I thought maybe you'd swallowed a fly." He chuckled as he rubbed at the gold band on his left ring finger.

"Of course I gasped! There we were, barely six months married, and I had just noticed your wedding ring was missing!" Even now, more than a decade later, the memory aroused Jennifer's indignation.

Jonathan laughed. "I never expected it to slip off my finger in the cold water! I'm surprised you let me finish my pasta and pay the bill before hurrying me back to the beach to search."

"You should be thankful you married a very patient and forgiving wife." Jennifer arched an eyebrow at him. "You know, some women might have considered it a bad omen for the marriage and run away then and there."

"I am thankful," Jonathan said, leaning over the side of his lounger to kiss her. "Thankful you married me, and thankful you aren't superstitious. And looking back now, I think we both agree it was a good thing—look at the friendship we made," Jonathan turned onto his stomach to let the sun warm his bare back.

"Well, now I do, yes," Jennifer conceded. "Thank goodness for that tourist who noticed us and asked what we were looking for—if he hadn't pointed us to Matteo and Francesca, we might never have gotten the ring back or met the Guadagnos. But sitting there in the ristorante, all I could think was that your ring was gone, probably forever! We could have replaced it easily, but it just wouldn't have been the same."

The helpful tourist had seen the Italian children discover the ring while playing in the water and was happy to direct the Harts their way after hearing their story. In turn, the children were pleased to hand over the ring to its rightful owner, and the grateful couple treated them to ice cream as a reward. Thus had begun their long friendship with the family that owned Casa Guadagno. Yes, the incident had turned out very well for the Harts after all.

Over the next several days Jonathan and Jennifer took it easy, relaxing on the beach and walking the quaint streets of Positano, dining on hearty and delicious fare. Not for the first time, Jennifer found herself reflecting on the words of John Steinbeck, who had written about his own stay in this hillside Italian town: "Positano bites deep. It is a dream place that isn't quite real when you are there and becomes beckoningly real after you have gone." These days in Positano did indeed feel like a dream for the Harts, and both knew once they were home again, it would take a while to waken fully to the real world.

*From the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, as translated by Edward FitzGerald.