The evening was sultry, no wind moving the hot air in the city, her clothes clinging alluringly to her body, as Catherine Chandler pressed a soft kiss of gratitude against her friend Jenny's soft cheek and bid her farewell, before rushing inside her apartment building.
She had had a lovely time, and the play had gone really well, much to her surprise, but now her thoughts were on Vincent, on their dinner this evening, and then the concert in the park.
As usual, she was running late and the elevator seemed to take forever to carry her up to the eighteenth floor.
She stood under a cool shower for ten minutes, then while she towel dried her hair, she switched on the TV, mainly just for background noise, and caught the middle of a rerun of The King And I, with Deborah Kerr and Yul Bryner.
Clad in a soft, pale blue terry robe, her hair pinned precariously up out of her neck, Catherine went to her wardrobe and selected a thin cotton dress in a soft, pale sunlight yellow color, with matching sandals that were probably going to cripple her during the trek to the home tunnels, but what did she care ...
And from the living room heard Deborah Kerr's character, Anna, singing Hello Young Lovers ... as she opened her jewellery box and selected a thin, delicate gold chain to wear on her wrist.
The song was beautiful, and made her think of Vincent, a wistful little smile on her lips as she absently secured the bracelet on her wrist.
There was another lovely song later in the movie, she recalled, where Anna and the King danced, a polka, she thought. Ah yes ... Shall We Dance ...
The thought brought a smile to her lips, as she recalled how it had felt to be held by Vincent, as they had waltzed around the Great Hall, after everyone had left the Winterfest celebrations.
It had been delightful.
Vincent was so graceful, so light on his feet.
She had felt as though she were dancing on air.
She dressed carefully in clean, white cotton underwear, but her attention was drawn to the living room as another song wafted in from the TV.
She stood in front of the television set, her expression sad, and wistful, as tears blurred the image of the lovers singing to each other on the screen, and instead, she saw herself and Vincent.
She sank down on to the end of the couch and gave into the tears, silent sobs wracking her body, her head in her hands, until with a long, shuddering sigh, she pulled herself together, wiped away the tears, and forced her legs to carry her to the television, which she switched off with a decisive click.
Her emotions were in turmoil enough since her father's death without the old movie disturbing them even more.
Back in the bedroom, she straightened her underwear, and pulled on the sun yellow dress carefully, then sat at her vanity unit and carefully applied a light dusting of powder, and blusher and soft gold eye shadow, to repair the damage caused by the tears, and finished off with a light coating of pale pink lipstick.
Eventually she was pleased with the end result, twisting her hair into a French Pleat out of her neck.
The sun was getting low in the sky as she pulled her apartment door closed behind her, and rang for the elevator.
As she stood, waiting for the elevator to make it's way slowly to her floor, Catherine suddenly felt a sharp, stabbing pain, low on her right side, which robbed her of her breath, and caused her to crease over, leaning heavily against the wall, perspiration beading on her brow, as a wave of nausea rolled over her.
Panting heavily, Catherine straightened up very carefully, her face white, eyes wide with fear.
She had had this nasty little stitch on and off all afternoon, but at least she had had the play to take her mind off her discomfort.
She had also felt a little nauseous at lunch time, and had barely touched the salad that she had ordered.
Jenny had even made some comment about it, but Catherine had just shrugged it off as not being hungry, the heat ...
At first, Catherine had thought that the show was a mistake, only adding to her general feeling of melancholy, with the highs and lows of emotion being generated by the characters on the stage, but no, she had enjoyed the show, had cried a little, and laughed too, finding it very amusing in places, in fact, if anything had been a mistake, it had been that damned movie on TV!
The song had seemed to be meant for her personally, some cryptic message that was meant to apply to her situation with Vincent.
She was also acutely aware that Vincent himself could feel what she was feeling, and had, therefore, made a conscious effort to keep her spirits light during the show, but what would he make of this lapse?
The pain passed quickly, but it left her feeling totally wrung out, drained and sweaty.
She stumbled back into her apartment, going straight to the bathroom to splash cold water on her pale cheeks, scrubbing off what was left of her makeup, and taking deep breaths to quell the roiling of her stomach.
The deep breaths helped, and scrubbing her face dry with a soft towel put some color back into her cheeks, so that she felt a little better when she again left the apartment, and carefully made her way to the cement drainage culvert, and the tunnel entrance beyond.
Vincent was waiting for her as she arrived at the iron gate. He pushed it open for her and held out his hand.
She went to him willingly, leaning against his rock solid body, burying her face in his broad chest.
"Catherine ..."
"Vincent ..." She swayed slightly against him, and his strong arm was about her, protectively, in an instant.
"Catherine?" His voice was rough with concern.
""It's nothing, Vincent, the heat," she lied, smiling wanly at him. "No lunch ..."
"Come. William has laid on a king's feast for us," he steadied her as she stepped through the entrance and into the golden light of the tunnel dwellers world.
"Sounds wonderful ..." Catherine slid her arm through his then, as he reached up for the lever to close the door behind them.
He walked slowly, concerned by the way that she was holding on to him, aware that she was deliberately keeping the conversation light.
"Catherine ..." He stopped suddenly, and looked down into her beautiful face. A frown pulled at his heavy brow, as he realized that even in this golden twilight, she looked very pale and exhausted.
She smiled, a little too brightly, up into his beloved leonine face, and the question that he really wanted to ask, died on his lips.
"Tell me about your afternoon." He invited softly.
"It was wonderful ..."
"Really?"
"Well ... " She smiled weakly. "We made a lot of money for some very special kids ... and I cried a little, laughed a lot ..." She confessed, knowing that she could not keep the truth from him.
"I know ..."
"You felt it?"
"Yes ..."
"Oh ... I'm sorry ..."
"It's all right, Catherine. It is part of my being a part of you. I just think that sometimes ... it is an imposition on your privacy ..." He sighed deeply.
"No Vincent, I don't mind. I've gotten used to you being there. I just wish that I had better control over my emotions ..." She confessed hoarsely. "This afternoon must have been awful for you, Vincent ..."
"No ... I was a little ... distracted ... that's all ... then, later ... there was something more ... something else ... something that made you very sad ... made you weep ..."
"An old movie ... on TV."
"Tell me ..." He invited again.
"The King And I ..."
"Rogers and Hammerstein. I know of it, the stage version any way ..."
"There was a song, Vincent, it seemed to be speaking to me on a very personal level ..."
"About us ..." He sighed deeply.
"Yes. When I switched on the TV and saw what the movie was, I remembered that later in the movie there is a song called Shall We Dance, and it made me think about Winterfest, when everyone was gone, and we waltzed, and I felt so happy, but then the song that really made me think about us, was between two young lovers ..."
"Go on ..."
"Well, it goes like this:
"We kiss in a shadow, we hide from the moon, our meetings are few, and over too soon."
She spoke the words, rather than sang them, because she was ashamed of her singing voice, and she knew that it wouldn't make any difference to Vincent. He probably had never heard the song anyway.
"We speak in a whisper, afraid to be heard. When people are near, we speak not a word."
She paused for a breath before continuing.
"Alone in our secret, together we sigh, for one shining day to be free. To kiss in the sunlight, and say to the sky, behold and believe what you see. Behold how my lover loves me ..."
Catherine let out a deep sigh, tears suddenly brimming in her big, grey eyes.
"Oh Vincent ..." She closed her eyes, squeezing the tears away, capturing her bottom lip between her teeth as a stab of pain shot through her abdomen again. "It just seemed to speak to me so deeply ... about ... us."
"Yes ... " Vincent sighed. "I felt it too, Catherine ..."
"I don't want to hurt you, Vincent, I'm happy with the time that we have together, it's not enough ... never enough ... but it's better than nothing, Vincent ..."
"I know ..." He gathered her to him briefly, then gently set her away, gazing down into her tear filled grey eyes. "Some day, Catherine, we will find a way to be together, but until that time ..."
"We have to make the best of what we have." She brushed her tears away, and pasted a forced smile on to her lips. "Now, lead me to this king's feast that William has laid on!"
Vincent again, graciously held out his arm to her, and they walked on in silence, Catherine grateful for the time to pull herself together and get a grip on her emotions.
Father was in fine form throughout the meal, joking with Vincent and Mary, and keeping up a witty repartee over the cold spicy tomato soup, roast chicken and salad and a sharp, tart, raspberry Pavlova, not everyday tunnel fare but William had obviously gone to a great deal of trouble, and was extremely pleased with the end result.
Father could not help noticing that Catherine ate very little, and seemed unusually distracted and pale.
However, he did not wish to draw unnecessary attention to her, so he kept his own council, although every now and then, he thought that he saw a hint of pain in her eyes.
She covered it well, with a bright smile and a quirky remark, but as he watched Vincent and Catherine leave, arm in arm, at the end of the meal, he could not help wondering who was feeling whose pain the deepest.
Poor Catherine.
These past few weeks since her father's death had been hard on her.
But, harder still on Vincent.
She was healing now, apart from the odd set back, which was only natural in the grieving process.
But Vincent ...
That was a different matter.
He wasn't sleeping well.
Father had often heard him prowling up and down in his chamber, restless, too tired to sleep, unable to find peace, except when he was with Catherine.
It couldn't go on.
Father knew it.
But Vincent would not be reasoned with.
For the time being, he could cope.
But Father feared for the future.
Remembering a darker time in his son's youth, when physical weakness had led to something even more dangerous and terrifying.
No.
He wouldn't think about that.
Neither of them could live through that dark time again.
He would rather die than have to watch his son's suffering and torment.
All he could hope was that so long as Catherine was close, Vincent would be able to maintain control.
Because the other alternative did not bare thinking about.