Grace leant into him, looked up at his dear, familiar face and lifted her mouth to his. He stopped and returned her kiss, his hand caressing her throat and shoulder as he did so. She thrilled to his touch and their lips, charged with passion, met once more. They walked on to the drawing room and once there Grace said,

"I told you I had a surprise for you earlier."

"You did. Where is it?"

"You'll see, but first you have to make yourself comfortable."

Roland went to the sofa they had occupied earlier that day and sat down. Grace stood by the windows. Maurice entered with the coffee and with two balloon glasses for the cognac, which was in a splendid crystal decanter. Roland thanked him and he left them.

"Now, my surprise?"

"You are very impatient, Roland. You're not completely comfortable yet."

"I've waited all day, Grace, how can I be impatient? I think I have shown great forbearance," he said smiling at her.

She poured the coffee and joined him on the sofa to enjoy the fragrant French blend. Then she poured him a glass of cognac and got up. He watched as she made her way to the baby grand piano, set to one side of him, and raised its lid, seating herself on the long, leather, buttoned stool. She took a deep breath and placed her hands above the keys. Then she started to play. He recognised it immediately; it was Chopin, the C Minor Impromptu. He was spellbound as Grace's hands moved with such speed and seeming effortlessness across the keyboard. Almost unconsciously he placed the cognac to one side and sat forward to watch her. She was lost in the music, which moved from a virtuoso first section to a lyrical, but no less demanding, intermediate element followed by a reprise of the first section. When the final chords had sounded, he remained silent. She had captured him yet again.

Without looking at him, she placed her hands on the keyboard and this time she played something quieter and gentler; it was her favourite Chopin, but one of the Nocturnes, those pieces of music written to capture the beauty of the evening. As Grace played, she poured all her love into the soaring melody, which was of exquisite composition. The music rose and fell, but even the crescendos were of dramatic sweetness rather than violent mood. Roland could not believe the extent of her gift. She made him feel every note deep in his soul.

When she had finished, she did not turn round, but sat facing the piano and he felt compelled to rise and to join her on the piano stool. They sat either side of the stool and he raised his hand to gently turn her face to his. As he touched her skin, he felt the tears. He said nothing, but inched closer to her and turned her into him, kissing away the tears on her cheeks. No words were spoken as each gave way to their feelings and their kisses became deeper and more passionate. Finally, Grace rested against him, her head on his chest.

"I'm sorry, I did not mean to cry, but I felt so much."

"No apology is necessary, sweetheart. Were they tears of sadness or joy?"

"Both. It is in the music."

"Just the music?"

"No. It is part of who we are. We are together yet kept apart because of our situation, because of the war."

"It will not be like this forever, Grace." He held her tight as he said this.

"I know, Roland. I think the perfection of this evening reached me. It is everything I have ever wanted for us, ever hoped for."

"And one day we shall have this, I promise you," he replied. She nodded and kissed him gently. "My darling, you play wonderfully. I was swept along by the intensity of your playing. I had no idea of the level of your accomplishment."

"So now our scores are even; I did not know you could paint so well and you did not know I could play reasonably."

"Not reasonably; wonderfully. I was thinking that every evening could be like this, when the fighting stops."

"Is that all it will take?" Grace asked.

"You mean my marital position?"

"Yes."

"We shall be together. I can never return to my former life or home; I have no desire to ever see it or my so –called wife again, but I shall, when I ask her for a divorce."

"Roland, you do not have to do anything you don't want to. As long as you are with me, I shall want for nothing else. I needed to know we would be with each other and you have told me we shall be. It is enough."

"No, my darling, it will not suffice. You are worth more than that, as I have told you before, but we shall be together whilst I resolve matters for us, however long that takes."

Grace turned her face to his once more, "I just need to be with you and to know that you love me."

"Well, you are and will be; and I do and shall forever. You're my wife, Grace, in every way that counts. Will you have me? Am I enough for you?"

"Oh God, yes; a thousand times, yes." A river of emotion flooded through Grace, her relief was palpable. Yes, he had told her before, but they were alone here and free from all the usual forces to which they were subject and he still felt the same. She offered a silent prayer of thanks as she held him.

"And I have something for you," he said rising and going to a small card table at the edge of the room. He opened the drawer at the front, removed a package from it and returned to the piano stool. "This is for you, my love."

Grace's hand shook as she took the package. It was wrapped in pale blue silk. She removed the ribbon fastening it and a dark blue, oblong velvet box appeared. She looked at him. He was smiling at her.

"Open it, sweetheart."

Her fingers trembled as she opened the lid and saw an oval locket of engraved gold in the box. It was clearly Victorian.

"Open it, darling, you're not there yet," he said, still smiling at her.

Grace ran her finger along the edge to the tiny opening and gently prised open the locket. There were two miniatures inside it; a fair-haired woman and a darker haired man. There was no mistaking who they were.

"It was my grandmother's, Grace. My grandfather gave it to her on their marriage and I want you to have it."

Grace was overwhelmed, "It is too much for me, Roland. This is part of your family history."

"You are my family, Grace, and we are making a history of our own. It's yours, my love, and I can think of no one else who ought to have it; no one else whom my grandfather and mother would want to have it, other than the woman I love with my body and soul. I knew I could never give it to anyone except the woman who captured my heart, Grace Carter."

His meaning was not lost on Grace. He had never given it to Hetty because he never loved her.

"It is so beautiful."

"So are you, my angel, and now you can keep us both close to your heart. Philippe photographed the miniatures for me. It is a hobby of his and I have an identical pair here."

He removed a thin gold case from his breast pocket and opened it to reveal the photographs.

"I was not lying when I told you I kept you here," he said touching his heart.

"The portraits are wonderful. They must have taken you an age."

"In truth, Grace, they did. I started them long before I confessed to you that I loved you. I knew that it had to be you, or no one at all. The moment I saw you I knew. I hoped that one day you would love me, but if you never did, well the portraits would mean that I could still look at the woman I loved even if we were apart."

Grace felt her eyes fill for the second time that evening. "That is the most beautiful thing…"

"No! …You are," he cut her short and stopped her mouth with a kiss. "I love you."

"And I you," she replied, her voice catching in her throat.

"I want to take you to bed. Do you think Maurice will be shocked?"

"No, I think he'll be pleased because then he can go to bed, too," she smiled.

Roland took Grace's hand and led her towards the door from the drawing room to the hall. She felt as if she was in a dream. At the foot of the staircase, he stopped and turned her to him, tilting up her chin to plant a kiss on her mouth.

"Grace, do you recall saying that you would do anything I wanted tonight?"

"I do."

"Well, I want you to do nothing except let me make love to you."

"That will be hard, Roland, because I want to make love to you, too."

"You promised, Grace."

"I did and I never break a promise, so I shall do nothing except be the willing recipient of all your attention, unless of course you want otherwise."

"Come with me Grace; come with me to a place I think we've never been before."

Grace felt her body's instant response and she held his hand tighter. He saw her answer in her eyes and he led her upstairs. On the galleried landing outside their room he opened the door, but stopped her from entering. She looked puzzled, but then found herself swept up by arms, which held her close and carried her over the threshold of their bedroom.

"Roland!"

"You're mine, Grace, and this is our night."

Her voice dropped to a whisper, "Thank you for loving me."

"Never thank me; I adore you, Grace."