After spending a lazy Sunday relaxing at the campsite and in the hamlet, the Turner's were up early the next morning. After breakfast they packed up the tent and headed on the main road east out of the Black Forest.

"Where are we going now?" Shelagh asked.

"Do you remember that list of beautiful things you said we could see whilst we were in West Germany?"

"Yes."

"What have we not seen yet?"

Patrick watched Shelagh mentally tick things off before she replied,

"Lakes!"

"Exactly," Patrick said, "so I think we'll spend a few days on the shores of Lake Constance, if that's alright."

They arrived at the lake in the early afternoon and pitched the tent on the shoreline. Whilst they ate lunch they admired their new surroundings. The deep-blue water stretched out as far as the horizon, woodland and mountains surrounded it and the colourful splashes of towns dotted its edge. It was a hot afternoon and the air was humid and unpleasantly sticky. Although in the shade, Timothy had taken his shirt off and Patrick had found himself loosening far more buttons than he would usually deem appropriate. He then suddenly exclaimed.

"Let's go for a swim."

He looked straight at Timothy, then at the lake, and the two of them suddenly began throwing their clothes off, and in just their underpants, ran to the bank and dived into the water. They both momentarily disappeared, before resurfacing coughing and spluttering. The water was icy cold, but so refreshing in the heat of the day. They splashed and kicked water at each other and then swam back towards the bank, noticing only then that Shelagh had not joined them in the lake.

"Come on in Mum," Timothy called, "it's so cool and refreshing."

"Honestly, you'll feel so much better," Patrick added.

Shelagh did not move, nor did she know what to say. Patrick swam right up to the bank and asked.

"Is everything alright?"

"I can't swim Patrick," she replied blankly.

"It's not still your…" he began.

"No, no," Shelagh interrupted him, "I just never learnt how to."

"Well I better help you learn then," Patrick said getting to his feet, and holding his hand out, "you've helped me in so many ways on this trip, here's one way I can repay you."

"But I don't have anything to swim in," Shelagh began to protest, before Patrick interjected,

"If you're not comfortable in just your underwear, put that shirt on," he said pointing to the one he had thrown off moments earlier,"I spilt lunch on it."

With a little reluctance, Shelagh slipped off her dress and unbuckled her sandals. Thinking Patrick's shirt would weigh her down and make her sink, she ignored it, and stood at the water's edge in her underwear. Patrick could tell she was nervous and felt exposed, but he could not take his eyes off her, all her delicate contours formed a picture far more perfect than any landscape could offer.

"It's alright, I'm here, trust me," he said. "You can do it Mum," Timothy chirped encouragingly. Patrick and Timothy watched as Shelagh took a deep breath and stepped into the lake. She moved towards them, then suddenly disappeared. She came up coughing and spluttering, her arms flailing and her legs kicking in wild panic. Patrick swam to her side and held her to him. She wrapped herself around him.

"Sssssssh," he said, "I've got you."

"I got scared," she whimpered, "the water was deeper than I thought."

"Timothy and I are going to help you," he said letting go of her so that he was just holding her hand. He saw a flash of fear across her face, "tread water, um, imagine you're riding your midwife's bike again. That will keep you afloat."

Shelagh began treading water and with great delight found that she was not sinking.

"Now try kicking your legs behind you and moving your arms, like this," Patrick said, miming a breast stroke, "and try moving towards me." He backed away, watching her movements, her rhythm was not perfect but she was able to move towards him.

"That's it Mum," Timothy said, swimming alongside her.

Suddenly she lost her concentration, her rhythm faltered and she began to sink again. Patrick pulled her back up to the surface. She held onto him, he felt her trembling against him.

"Well done," Patrick said, stroking the back of her head, "you're so brave, I'm proud of you."

"Can I get out?" Shelagh asked with a slight waver in her voice, "I think I've had enough swimming for today."

"Come on then."

Patrick fumbling for Shelagh's knees under the water before picking her up and carrying her back to the bank. He put her down gently on the blanket and went into the tent to find a towel, which he wrapped around her delicate shoulders, then kissed her wet hair, before jumping back into the lake and swimming over to Timothy.

The humidity of the day exploded that night into a violent thunderstorm. A strong wind whipped around the lake, shaking the canvas walls of the tent. Timothy had opened the tent flap to watch the lightning, but he had been forced to shut it again as the rain began pouring in. The thunder rolled round and round for hours, keeping them all awake. Patrick hated thunderstorms; the noise conjured up unpleasant memories. He was aware how he curled himself closer into Shelagh with every clap. The noise also frightened the baby and she would not settle, despite both Patrick and Shelagh's best efforts. It was the early hours of the morning before they were able to finally fall asleep.

They spent another two days beside Lake Constance. Patrick and Timothy had continued to teach Shelagh how to swim, and by Wednesday afternoon she was confident enough to swim a few metres out from the bank by herself. That morning Patrick had met a group of fisherman and persuaded them to take him and Timothy out on their boat. They returned triumphantly several hours later holding several large trout, which were swiftly dispatched to the campfire.

Their drive into Austria the next morning was one of the most beautiful Patrick had ever made. The road followed the lake around, gliding its way between water and mountain. After crossing the Austrian border, their road began to climb, higher and higher into the mountains. By the time they made camp for the night just west of Innsbruck they were high enough to see the snow on the tallest peaks above them.

They spent two full days exploring the Tyrol, driving, camping and walking in the most spectacular scenery they had never seen. Patrick found he could finally see the true beauty of these mountains, knowing now that there would never be anyone with a gun waiting to ambush him from behind a rock or from a high vantage point. Their final day was spent high up on a mountainside. The fields of the foothills had begun to peter out, slowly being replaced by Alpine plants and rocks, and the snow above them now so close it almost seemed touchable. The peace was almost unreal and they barely saw another soul that whole day.

That night after the children were asleep Patrick and Shelagh lay side by side on the blanket outside the tent, staring into the heavens. It was a beautiful night, the clear, moonlight sky was filled with more stars than either of them had ever seen, and despite their elevation, it was pleasantly mild. They had talked and shared a bottle of wine, and had started a box of truffles which they had bought in Bruges. But Patrick felt a longing for something else, something more. He rolled on his side and looked at Shelagh. She propped herself up, resting her weight on her arms. "

Nights as beautiful as this one make me want to do such beautiful things," Patrick murmured.

He gently placed another truffle into Shelagh's mouth with one hand, and then it found its way down her thigh.

"Patrick," Shelagh said. Her voice was muffled from the chocolate melting across her tongue, but she knew exactly what her husband was implying, "we can't, not in the tent, we'll wake the children."

Patrick's free hand found its way round the back of her neck and into her hair. He rolled closer to her and began to kiss her.

"Now Mrs. Turner, who said anything about being in the tent?" he whispered between kisses.

He suddenly felt Shelagh pull away.

"We can't do that out here," Shelagh said in a hushed whisper, "what if, you know, we get, caught? What if somebody sees us?"

Patrick moved closer to her, and before she could move, wrapped his arms round her, pulled her onto his lap and kissed her right ear.

"Shelagh, my darling, my angel, we are in a field high in the Alps, it is dark and we are miles from the nearest house, when was the last time you saw someone whose surname isn't Turner?" His kisses moved down her neck, across her shoulders.

"This morning," she gasped as Patrick nipped her collarbone, "but."

"Then there is nothing to worry about is there," Patrick replied mischievously, "be bold, Shelagh, like I know you can be, be my bold girl tonight."

Suddenly, and without any warning, Shelagh span round on his lap, placing one knee either side of his pelvis, pushed him onto his back and pounced on him. Her soft hands met his stubbled cheeks and she kissed him, her tongue flickering like wildfire. Patrick lay there, stunned.

"Is that what the Doctor ordered?" she said cheekily when she broke the embrace.

"Oh, yes, you foxy little…"

Unable to finish his sentence, Patrick threw off his shirt and trousers, and began to undo her dress. He pulled it up over the her hips, past her waist, over her shoulders, and then over her head, discarding it in the vague direction of his shirt and trousers. He rolled them both over so that he was lying on top of her. He reached round her back and unhooked her bra, disposing of it in similar fashion. With these barriers removed, Patrick's hands began their journey across his wife's body. Her soft hair, her gently sloping cheekbones, her neat rounded breasts, her delicate ribcage, the softness of her stomach, the flair of her hips, nothing remained unexplored. Her hands roamed his neck and chest, she could not stop them.

Patrick felt a towering strength rise from his core. He reached for Shelagh's knickers, sliding them down past her knees, from where she shook them the rest of the way. He then removed the last barrier to them, and felt Shelagh part beneath him. She felt soft and wet against him, they both gasped as they met. Shelagh let out a moan of pleasure as he filled her, a sensual and beautiful sound which Patrick now knew so well and had grown to love. He rocked his hips towards her, filling her completely. He stifled her gasp with his lips. Her arms found their way right round him, drawing him closer. He felt her hips begin to mirror his, their movements in perfect synchronicity.

And then he felt it. Like a bolt of lightning in his core. Euphoria enveloped him, he felt as he had never felt before. Visions of paradise flashed through his mind, he had never experienced such ecstasy.

"Oh Shelagh, oh, my, oh"

"Patrick, I, I"

For a moment they were the only people in his world, and the beauty of their love, their actions, the only thing, the only emotion, the only feeling in that world. For that moment, nothing else mattered, no other past, present or future hurt, pain or memory mattered to him now. This is what he lived for, the thing he would die for, love. A sweet, and perfect, love.

"Oh Shelagh," he gasped, his breath ragged, as they finally parted, "thank you, thank you for, showing me, heaven."

"Heaven?" she replied, equally breathless and slightly perplexed.

"Heaven always seems a perfect place in stories, a paradise, were there is no evil, only beauty. That, that is what I see, what I feel, when I'm with you. When I'm with you, evil does not exist, it cannot exist. You're my world, and my heaven, and I'm thankful for you every day."

"Patrick, I, I don't know what to say."

"You do not need to say anything my love, just let me kiss you and carry you to bed."

"I could not refuse such a request, Doctor Turner."