10. March 2013 - Canberra
8.30 on Saturday morning and it was already 35°C and climbing rapidly towards the predicted top of 43°. Hope sighed at the thought of yet another bloody hot day. She had been home for two weeks and it had hardly let up, apart from a few days at the end of last week. And the fires had started up again, too – you wouldn't think there was anything left to burn within 500km of town and, by rights, it really should have been cooling down by now... Moving slowly around the house, closing blinds, curtains and doors against the heat, she became aware of the music playing on the radio in the kitchen. Gabriel Fauré, "Après un Rêve", a song she knew well enough to sing along with in bad French as she continued barricading the house against the relentless onslaught of the sun.
"Dans un sommeil que charmait ton image
(In a slumber which held your image spellbound)
Je rêvais le bonheur, ardent mirage
(I dreamt of happiness, passionate mirage)
Tes yeux étaint plus doux, ta voix pure et sonore,
(Your eyes were softer, your voice pure and sonorous)
Tu rayonnais comme un ciel éclairé par l'aurore;
(You shone like a sky lit up by the dawn.)
"Tu m'appelais et je quittais la terre
(You called me and I left the earth)
Pour m'enfuir avec toi vers la lumière,
(to run away with you towards the light)
Les cieux pour nous entr'ouvraient leurs nues
(The skies opened their clouds for us)
Splendeurs inconnues, lueurs divines entre vues
(Unknown splendours, divine flashes glimpsed)
"Hélas! Hélas, triste réveil des songes
(Alas! Alas! Sad awakening from dreams.)
Je t'appelle, ô nuit, rends moi tes mensonges,
(I call you, O night, give me back your lies.)
Reviens, reviens radieuse,
(Return, return radiant,)
Reviens, ô nuit mystérieuse!"
(Return, O mysterious night).
She understood enough of it to know how well it fit, too. She had dreamed of him – again – last night. Radiant indeed, with those irridescent eyes that changed from the darkest chocolate through amber to the greenest hazel, depending on light or mood, the velvet voice, honey-gold curls and those irresistible lips, of course. And had she been mightily peeved when she woke up, aching for him, and he wasn't there. 'Alas, sad wakening from dreams' indeed. She knew it was only because she hadn't spoken to or otherwise heard from him since yesterday morning but still...
It had been something of a surprise, how much she was missing him; she was having to be extremely disciplined at work otherwise she would drift off into a reverie at any opportunity, which was somewhat embarrassing in the middle of a meeting (they would laugh, later, when he admitted to having the same problem, only worse because he had been sprung at it in the midst of a particularly boring JIC...) and at home it was far harder, particularly in bed where she was craving just being held in that strong, gentle embrace. She wasn't sure she liked falling in love at her age, it consumed far too much energy. All she could hope was that he was suffering as well, at least to some extent, locked down and incommunicado in his two-day training exercise or whatever the hell it was.
Heading back to the kitchen she turned the airconditioners on in passing and then hauled yoghurt and fruit out of the fridge for breakfast, unwrapped the paper and sat down to eat and read, pondering what to do for the rest of the day. Race out and do the grocery shopping before it got any hotter and then probably not much, not when it was going to turn into a blast furnace outside. And put up with being irritable all day, courtesy of the bloody dream! At least she wasn't at work, where everyone would be wondering why she was so snarky.
It was, Harry decided, like walking into the open gates of Hell as he finally exited the airport just after 9.00am, heading for the hire car ranks. It was obscenely hot and dry enough to suck every last bit of moisture out of anything stupid enough to stay out in it for too long. The sky was pale orange and smoky, the sun bronze and there was a pervasive smell of burning wood in the air – he remembered the pilot making some comment about bushfires and an extreme heat warning so obviously this was what she had meant. And this was Autumn? Christ... The nearest he had come to this before was his gap year in Israel but even then he'd missed the worst of the summer heat so this was a new experience entirely.
Fishing out his rarely-used sunglasses he found the hire car lot, mightily thankful that at least the walkways were shaded for most of the way, albeit to little effect at this hour of the day, and opened the door of his nondescript white Hyundai sedan only to get another blasting as air even hotter than outside exited in a rush. Sighing, he got in, realising that even the upholstery was warm and, after swearing loudly when the metal tongue of the seat belt burned his fingers and then the plasticised top of the gearstick did the same to his palm, that even the steering wheel was actually almost too hot to touch.
So much for the fresh shirt! He was half-drenched already, although the discomfort was almost made up for by the joy of not wearing a tie. Deciding that if he was on holidays he wasn't going to need one he had taken great delight in leaving every single one of the wretched things at home, a decision that was now proven correct. Opening another button on his shirt he started the engine and turned the air conditioning up to high, collapsing in relief against the seat as an ice cold breeze poured out of the vents. Fortunately he wouldn't be in the machine for long, anyway, he'd checked on GoogleEarth before he left home and knew her house was less than 5km from the airport.
Tapping the address into the in-car navigation system he headed west and then north, through first one, then a second, then a third roundabout – someone was obsessed with circles in this city, he'd noticed the predominance of the shape even to a suburban level as they had flown in – as the ground rose up steeply on his right, covered in silvery-grey-green bush that was scarred with the red-brown-black of old fires on the creasts. Explosive, fire-prone, silvery-grey-green bush, he corrected himself as he drew closer to his destination, heart starting to beat a little faster and hoping desperately that he hadn't mis-read her. After the past decade he had no confidence left on that front at all and he certainly hadn't done anything this impetuous in his private life for at least twice as long as that.
The thought left him with a passing stab of bitter regret that he had never been sure enough of Ruth's reaction to have risked doing something so impulsive with her, although he had thought about it often enough, especially when she was in exile. However, Ruth was the past and Hope was the present and, with a bit of luck, the future so he threw his past love a vote of thanks for making him wake up to the importance of communication and sponteneity and let the regret go. Glancing at the navigation screen he realised he was getting further away from his destination and cursed, thinking he had missed the turn-off but no, it was just a case of having to negotiate a fourth roundabout before he could turn right and then right again and then there she was, at the top of the hill just before the road wound around to the right again.
The block was larger than he was expecting (at least an acre, he estimated) and the house itself was, as normal in this country, free-standing: here, not too many rows of terraces hemmed in the space and restricted the sky the way they did at home. Not overly large and not new, painted white with, surprisingly, a silver metal roof (good for reflecting heat, he found out later), there was a covered portico at the top of the stairs up from the driveway and large, tinted windows which were all closed and shuttered by blinds and curtains. The yard was neat and tidy with a couple of grassed terraces and lots of trees but not much in the way of flowers (water-saving and the trees were fire-retardant, he was told) and a broad driveway led up to the double garage built in under the house. No cars were in sight but he assumed they were shut away. Or at least he hoped so, otherwise he was going to have to wreck the surprise and ring her up to find out where she was! Parking as quietly as possible in the driveway he took a very deep breath, got out and climbed the steps to the front door, feeling the heat pressing down on him again and wondering if he had ever been quite this nervous in his life...
Sitting in her tiled kitchen at the back of the house, absorbed in the news, Hope heard absolutely nothing until there was a rather peremptory knock at the front door. Puzzled, she put the paper down, finished her coffee and looked at the clock: 9.15am. She couldn't think of anyone who should or would be knocking on her door at this hour on a Saturday morning, unless it was some poor sod out in the heat collecting for charity or something, in which case they deserved a donation whether she believed in the cause or not. Padding into the vestibule, she put her eye to the spy-hole to check who was there before opening up and promptly slapped her hand to her mouth in joy when she saw him before squealing his name and unlocking both the main and screen doors, fumbling the catches in her haste.
Outside, Harry also heard nothing except the hum of airconditioning under the incipient roar of hot wind in the trees and a crow cawing somewhere not far away until an extremely undignified squeal, which may have been his name, sounded from behind the doors just before they were unlocked and slammed open. As a result he was laughing when she did so and, she thought, looked tired but totally gorgeous. Unruly half-curls, bright blonde in the brutal light, dancing eyes green-gold today, and generally a bit dishevelled from the long flight but still gorgeous. Tears flooded her eyes as she exclaimed,
"What are you doing here?" before throwing herself, literally, into his arms, scattering the squadron of flies that had already settled, out of the wind, onto his back.
"Well, hello to you, too," he responded before kissing her, as hard and deep as he could. She kissed him back equally ferociously; breaking apart he continued, "You don't mind putting on a show for the neighbours, either?"
Pulling a face she snorted, said,
"Care factor zero, babe! Not that anyone's out to see because it's too bloody hot anyway," and started to pull him inside. "Come on, let's get back inside before the heat, smoke and flies get in."
Once in, he let himself drink in the sight of her for a moment. Bare-foot and hair screwed up into an untidy bun held in place by a giant butterfly clip and wearing a simple sleeveless cotton top and floating, knee-length skirt, she looked cool and fit and very comely. She examined him for a moment, sensibly attired for the flight in chinos and a loose cotton shirt over the top, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the top two buttons undone, before deciding that Summer casual suited him as well as dishevelled and that the exposed triangle of creamy skin on his chest was still irresistible. Running her hands up his chest and around the back of his neck she left a track of feather-light kisses from the bottom of that triangle via the hollow at the base of his throat and up his neck to his ear, then across his cheekbone to the corner of his mouth, where she stopped briefly.
"Hello."
Tightening his arms around her waist he returned the greeting before she kissed his lips, light and delicate and oh so similar to that first one they had shared on a freezing terrace in Norfolk, was it only six weeks ago? This time, when they parted briefly, she put her fingers to his lips again and said fiercely,
"You could have told me you were coming, you bastard!"
He grinned and kissed her fingers instead.
"And miss that greeting? Never!" He began to rain kisses on her face, trying to cover how overwhelmed he was suddenly feeling – he honestly couldn't remember the last time, if ever, his presence had been met with such totally unfettered joy - and tasted salt.
"You're not crying, are you?"
"No," she lied.
"Good. Neither am I." She opened her eyes to see that he was fibbing as well, his were brimming too, making them even more irridescent.
"Oh Harry..."
Laughing, she pulled his face to hers for a harder kiss and then stood back, taking his hand and leading him back out towards the kitchen.
"I presume they fed you on the plane but do you want anything else? Tea, coffee, something cold—"
"The only thing I want right now," he interrupted, "is you, in my arms, so I can continue to kiss you absolutely senseless." Which is exactly what he did. They ended up with her backed up against the cool black marble of the kitchen bench, hands inside each other's unbuttoned shirts and hips pressed hard against each other. Before things could go any further she detached herself and waved a finger in his face.
"We'd better stop right there, I think, while we can."
A puzzled look and crestfallen,
"Why?" was the response.
"Because you're dead on your feet and if we end up horizontal you'll go to sleep, wrecking any chance of minimising the jet lag that's about to descend like a ton of bricks."
"No, I won't," he said in his most persuasive voice, drawing her back into an embrace but to no avail.
The same finger that had waved in his face now poked him in the chest, emphasising her words.
"Yes. You. Will. You won't be able to prevent it and then I'll have to spend the next week with a grumpy, jet-lagged bear in the house. Anyway, you deserve to wait: serves you right for not telling me you were turning up today!"
He could actually see the sense in what she was saying and to be honest had some doubts about his ability to successfully conclude anything when he was already having a hard time seeing straight through the exhaustion but he wasn't about to admit as much.
"You're a cruel woman."
Grinning, she pushed past him to make for the fridge.
"I am. And if I remember rightly you rather like my methods of punishment when I finally inflict them on you!"
The rest of the day was spent quietly avoiding the heat, after he had soaked off the stress of the flight in the shower and then they had undertaken the required visit to the shops to restock the larder. Harry did well to stay awake until 7.30 that night, when he stretched out on the lounge with his head on her lap and she realised a couple of minutes later that he had crashed. Shaking him gently awake again she told him to go to bed and then refused to listen when he tried to protest, instead hauling him upright and into the bedroom. He allowed her to push him towards the en-suite but maintained he would wake up after a shower and rejoin her, as it was far too early to go to bed.
It didn't happen, of course, the lure of getting horizontal in a real bed after forty eight hours without much sleep and being unable to stretch out comfortably was too much and he was sound asleep when she went in to join him a couple of hours later. The sight of him, looking almost cherubic in the dim light, made her both smile and realise that she could stop wondering what his long term intentions, if any, might be: he was here, in her bed, having undertaken that horrendous journey entirely off his own bat for no other reason than to be with her so presumably the proposal to share their life that he had come out with at Greenwich a few weeks ago had, indeed, been serious. Sliding quietly into bed beside him later, after her own ablutions, she curled herself against his back, kissed the nape of his neck and murmured,
"I do love you, Harry Pearce," before closing her eyes to seek her own rest. Harry slumbered on, oblivious.
The rest of the weekend was spent equally quietly, first avoiding the heat in the morning and then cleaning up the yard after a monster southerly change on Sunday dumped leaves, twigs and hail everywhere in addition to dropping the temperature by almost twenty degrees in as many minutes. Then Monday came and she had to leave him to be a house-husband for most of the week until she could tidy up at work and organise some time off. They were both a bit surprised by how well he took to it, although Hope suspected it was really only because being the stay-at-home one was still a novelty. Whatever the truth, he was genuinely quite happy, pottering around the house and yard, joining her in town for lunch and then exercising his cooking skills (which were considerable, she realised happily) of an evening and she was quite happy to let him do it all, for a change from having to do it herself. Never knowing what she was getting for dinner until it was in front of her wasn't a bad thing, actually...
One evening early in the week, after they had finished the evening chores and were relaxing with a bottle of red on her over-sized, too-comfortable leather lounge she took herself off to one of the spare rooms, noisily rummaging around for a couple of minutes before returning triumphantly brandishing a large book.
"Got something to show you!"
Plumping back down next to him she opened the cover to reveal it wasn't a book but an old-fashioned photo album and he suddenly got both very interested and strangely nervous as she started flipping through the pages of ancestral photos to a few of herself as a child with her family. After that the years slipped by quickly, through the teenage years to the newly-minted Ph.D. in her doctoral gown and a few snaps taken in places as diverse as Quantico in the early 1980's (now that was something she hadn't let slip before, three months at the precursor to what was now the FBI's Data Intercept Technology Unit!) through her posting to Beijing later in the decade and in Indonesia in the nineties. By this stage they were almost at the back of the album and she reached out to still his hand just before he turned the page.
"You know who is on the next page?"
He nodded.
"Yes. It's about time I put a face to the name of the man who was – is – so important in your life."
She appreciated that.
"It's 'was', my love. He can never return so it can never be 'is' again." She took her hand from his before adding quickly, "There's a wedding photo. Just so you know."
His smile was slightly crooked as he gathered his nerve to look. Stupid, being nervous about seeing a photo of someone who died in the last millenium... But he had meant as much to her as Ruth, and Jane before her, had meant to him.
Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't what he saw. From her brief description he had built up some sort of vision of a man with almost movie-star looks but the reality was somewhat removed from that, something he was quietly glad about. There were only half a dozen photos in all – I've got others but they're packed away – with, on this page anyway, only one of the couple themselves, looking happy on a waterfront somewhere. The rest were of Wynne, mostly with his army buddies. That was something Harry could warm to straight away – friendships forged under those conditions were closer than normal and life-long – as he gazed at these unknown young men, horsing around in unidentifiable locations. The specific man was, indeed, enormous, dwarfing his comrades by half a head or more and usually half their bulk again as well, with more than the usual muscle development seen in special forces soldiers. A very strong face, not handsome, stared back out of the slightly faded images: long, with heavy brows over bright blue eyes and, almost inevitably, a shock of black hair standing untidly up from his head, he would have been a formidable foe just on appearance alone. It was the smile that gave away the true character of the man, though: almost shy and a little bit wistful, it endeared him to the one who had now taken his place and was reinforced by the look of sheer adoration he was aiming at the much younger Hope who was standing with him.
Smiling slightly himself, Harry turned the next page to see the wedding photo. Not something formally posed but clearly taken after the couple had thought their duty by the photographer done, they were perched on what looked like a timber veranda balustrade with some forest in the background and were laughing gently at something. Another revelation – Wynne was wearing the full dress uniform of a Colonel, something else Harry had never considered. The man had out-ranked him considerably. Turning his attention to the bride his heart caught in his throat. She was stunning, in floor length oyster silk, the fabric wrapped diagonally around her torso leading to an asymmetric neck and shoulderline, her hair – still long then – caught up in a messy bun with the fine mist of veil tucked in the back, he was struck by a momentary shaft of jealousy. It was only momentary, though, before reason exerted itself again.
"You were so happy and would have stayed that way I suspect."
She nodded and closed the album."
She nodded and closed the album.
"Yes, I think so. As you wo"uld have been with Ruth, or probably even with Jane before that, if you hadn't both had the problems you did."
"Maybe. All those alternate futures that are now gone..." He suddenly reached around and pulled her towards him. "However, here we both are and we should make the very best of this future instead!"
Hope had been in intermittent contact with the two potential jobs since her return but hadn't heard one way or the other by the time Harry arrived and, as it was the run-up to Easter, once he had arrived she had given up any thought of hearing from them in the first week he was there. That changed on the Thursday evening.
It was pleasantly warm for once (as opposed to boiling) so she got home (late, due to trying to get everything finished before taking her leave) to find dinner was to be served on the terrace out the back, next to the cooling sound of the small fountain in the garden. Everything was under control but Harry hadn't been able to find anything to light the candles with so she had wandered back inside, glass of chilled red in hand, to fish the matches out of the bottom of the drawer in which they hid, when she heard her mobile ringing. Snatching it up she answered without looking at the caller ID and heard the voice of Simon, the recruiter from the think tank, on the other end.
"Hope, it's Simon Kale, how are you?"
"Hi Simon. I'm fine – getting ready to overindulge in chocolate! How are you?"
"Excellent, thank you. Look, I won't keep you long, I know i's already Easter over there so I'm just ringing to let you know that we would like to offer you the job and I've just emailed you some documentation to fill in."
"Oh! Yes, umm, excellent!" She wandered back outside, leaning against the door frame as he ran through a summary of what was in the contract, including a salary figure that was rather larger than she was currently getting, and a relocation allowance. "A relocation allowance? That'll be handy, although most of my stuff will be going into storage over here anyway because I believe I've got somewhere to stay in London, at least for a while, already." That got Harry's attention. Standing still as he tried to follow her end of the conversation he nonetheless felt his heart beating faster as it became clear that she had got the job...whichever one it was! "So when you want me over there? I'll have to give notice here and pack up so I won't be able to do it for at least a month, I'm afraid."
"Oh, that's alright, there's been a hiccough with one of the other appointees so we'll be a little slower getting going than we were planning. June would do."
"I think I can manage that. What's happened with the other person?"
"The local consultant we thought we had has had to drop out because of ill health. So now we need to find another expert on the local situation – Europe but mostly the UK. Getting anyone any good is almost impossible because they're like hen's teeth, especially anyone with any real experience."
An idea was starting to form in her head but all she said was,
"I'm sure you'll find someone somewhere. There must be enough former operatives from Five and Six kicking around for you to pick from."
Harry blinked at that and frowned questioningly at her but she just grinned while Simon responded,
"Operatives, yes, but we need someone who's been further up the chain than that. Like yourself." The other man sighed. "I know who we'd like to get but there's probably no chance. Rumours have been flying around for years of his imminent retirement but it hasn't happened yet."
Now it was Hope's turn to not quite believe her ears. There was no way theg would get that lucky.
"And who would that be? Anyone I'm likely to know? Or shouldn't you tell me?"
"It's no secret. In fact we've been trying to track him down for the past few weeks but he's being bloody elusive. I don't know if you've met him or not but he was presenting the key-note address at that talk-fest you attended in February. Harry Pearce."
She had to stifle a laugh as she walked over to the man in question and leaned against him so he could hear the conversation as well.
"Harry? Yes, I know him. In fact he's supposed to be dropping in to catch up some time in the next few weeks – he's meant to be out here somewhere on holidays shortly, which may explain why you haven't been able to find him."
"Is he? I thought he didn't take holidays. Maybe he is starting to extract himself from Five then..." the other man said, slowly, obviously wanting to ask something more but not quite sure how to approach it until he suddenly said, "Look, if you do see him, could you sound him out for us? Let him know what the deal is and see if he's even remotely interested? We'd kill to get him on board – we'd probably get him to run the show in fact, if he wanted to, or just be part-time if he preferred that."
"I'll see what I can do, if and when he turns up. He's pretty rusted on to Five so I don't like your chances but do you want me to give him your contact details, if he's interested?"
"Yes, please, if you would. We'll continue trying to find him as well so he won't be able to hide forever."
She allowed herself to laugh then and straightened up.
"Okay, I will. Great news, Simon, and thanks. I guess I'll see everyone in June then!"
He signed off and she put the phone down on the table, looking up to find herself fixed by an amber gaze. Winking at him she asked,
"So, do you want a lodger then?"
"Now that was quite the silliest question I have heard for a long time but the answer is 'yes', just to prevent any confusion." He reached out and possessed himself of her hands. "And was the rest of that what I thought it was? I couldn't quite hear it all."
She grinned at him.
"That depends on what you thought it was! If you thought it was a job offer for you as well with the think-tank then yes, it was. Completely on your terms, by the sounds of it. So if you really do want out from under the thumb of the government, this might be your chance as well as mine. The money is rather better than I was expecting, by the way and the stress should be significantly lower as well." Fixing him with a beady eye she added bluntly, "Are you going to talk to him when we let him 'find' you?"
He inclined his head.
"I shall. It can't hurt to find out what he has to offer."
It was more than she had expected because she knew that, deep down, he really was rusted on to Section D and would probably only be prised off with a hammer and chisel at any time before he himself made the decision to leave.
"Excellent!" She held his gaze for a moment and then winked. "Not that you'll take the job, even if you're interested."
He pretended to look affronted but didn't entirely succeed.
"Pardon? You are making decisions for me already, are you?"
She just wrinkled her nose at him.
"Nup. I just know you. You will talk with him politely, give it genuine consideration and then, equally politely, decline the offer because you'd miss the adrenaline rush of the Grid!"
"No, I won't."
"Yes, you will."
He looked rueful.
"Yes, I probably will." Finally pulling her into his embrace he added, "It doesn't really matter, does it? As long as we are able to be together all the time. That's all I really care about." He suddenly cocked an ear towards the music that was playing quietly in the background and smiled. "That's rather appropriate for the moment, all things considered."
It was their favourite Scots band yet again. She had rolled her eyes at him when the CD had started playing earlier but he had defended himself by saying that he had forgotten how much he had liked them in the past; now, yet again, they had words that encapsulated much of what had happened for the couple in their lives recently.
Like shadows on the wall you come and you go
through the streets and the rain that falls down on our sin.
No more goodbyes, forever, this way,
whenever the greatest flame in the world starts burning.
This is our life and our time and nothing is ever going to break us
now, we're on our own.
Always in your eyes a waking of souls.
We gaze out on the road that brought us up to this place.
The signposts never change, we'll go where they lead.
Whenever the day to break us comes we'll not give in.
This is our place, in our lives and no one can ever change this moment
or pull this mountain to the ground…
"It's been a long road, for both of us, but we've got here eventually. I love you, Hope."
Her eyes threatened to brim over at that but, smiling crookedly instead of crying, she answered,
"I'm glad to hear that. I don't do the unrequited bit very well. Which is the long way of saying I love you, too, Harry."
Relief flooded both of them; he hadn't got it wrong this time and for her, she could finally allow herself to realise there was someone else, at last, with whom she could share everything, without hesitation. While things were on a roll he thought he might as well say the rest.
"Speaking of being together, if, in six or twelve months time we have decided that we don't want to kill each other and are quite happy to continue, would you consider making things permanent?"
She gazed at him, steadily, appraisingly, while internally she was dealing with the surprise at his words. Despite what he had said at Greenwich she hadn't seriously considered marriage because it didn't matter to her and she hadn't seriously thought it would matter to him but now... Unsure of what was going on in her mind he added,
"Malcolm is right. We love each other so why not shout it to the world?" A boyish grin appeared as he took a risk and said, "Apart from anything else it will make the visa issue so much easier whenever we swap countries!
The cheeky sod! Holding her expressionless face for just long enough to cruelly enjoy a tiny flicker of doubt register in his eyes she finally let a grin tweak her own lips before spluttering into a laugh.
"Now that's what I like! A man who is romantic but with a strong streak of pragmatic practicality." Kissing him soundly she said what he wanted to hear. "Okay. If we haven't decided we'd rather kill each other!"
He suddenly squeezed her tight and lifted her off her feet, consumed with joy.
"I saw a ring this morning but then thought I was getting ahead of myself..." A look of anticipation settled in his dark eyes. "I did get you an Easter Bilby though. A rather large one. Hand-made, out of dark chocolate."
She grinned.
"Glad to see you've got your priorities right: Chocolate more than makes up for no ring!"
Apres un Reve. Gabriel Faure. Performed by Kiri Te Kanawa.
The Greatest Flame. Written by Rory and Calum MacDonald, performed by Runrig.
A/N: and that is where I am going to leave it. Thank you very much to all of my readers and especially my reviewers, whose words are always welcome.