CHAPTER 3: Daybreak

Within the hour, the Mist passed through; to continue its course through the cosmos. Not to return to the Isles for another century. The owl, perhaps sensing a change, took flight from the Lotus – and flapped over the clearing, where Tara slept serenely in her lover's arms. Rowan heard the floom, and looked up to see the broad-winged shadow sweep across the star field, and into the oaks. He slipped himself from Tara's embrace, sat up, and looked after the fleeting overseer. "Well, Goodfellow," he mused aloud, "you might have missed your chance, while wondering at our own quaint spirits" – for at the same time, Rowan also sensed the event was ending.

Only minutes remained. He took one of those minutes simply to gaze at Tara, while she lay beside him in the moonlight. To impress the memory... of her and tonight... onto his mind. For always.

Hoping the rest of the legend was true as well, he then bent low, and whispered to her a story – the same story he'd told Mother on the phone, just before Tara arrived at his flat. She nodded, in her slumber. (Though when he drew back, he noticed something shimmer at the corner of her eye... which he did not understand. But it might have been a trick of light.)

He quietly got dressed, and lifted her from the soft grass, in the fading pink luminance. She stirred, then settled, in his arms – in her own private world. He carried her to the Lotus, and gently placed her in the passenger seat; laid her clothing on the driver's side; and tucked her coat around her. He kissed her a final time, and smoothed her tousled hair, as the Moon's rosy hue gave way to its usual silver. A blissful smile traced Tara's face as she murmured, with her eyes closed, "...such a beautiful night." Then she fully relaxed into the cushioned upholstery, and drifted off. Rowan clicked the locks, and carefully closed the doors.

He stood near the Lotus for one more minute, with his hand on its roof; whispering something else. Then he made his way to the main road, and caught a ride to the city.

The lorry rumbled southward on the A6, through the night and silence. Along the way the driver tried to strike up a conversation, about the Yanks landing on the Moon the week before. "Greatest event of the century, ah'd say," as he adjusted his grey cap. Rowan just gazed out the window, to his left; watching the Midlands roll by, in that object's waning lustre. Thinking of Tara, and what had happened... and wondering what lay ahead. The driver looked aside at his young passenger – and touched a thumb to his chin.

The Mist was gone, from the sky and from Tara's mind. But he was more in love with her than ever. More deeply, and truly, than any mere moonlight could ever "enflayme." It would be impossible to speak of it; yet impossible not to. He could see no way forward, and no way to go back. As he looked across the fields of heather, in the pale light, he faced – and accepted – the only course remaining: to resign his position tomorrow... and never see her again.

He said little the rest of the way; but gave the driver a generous tip when they got to Covent Garden. The driver, in turn, gifted him with a bag of apricots from his freight. "Pleasure having you along," he remarked, as Rowan stepped away, "...on such a beautiful night." Rowan turned back, and the two men looked at each other. The driver touched his chin again... and glanced at the Moon, in the westerly sky. Then back at Rowan. "Hang on, lad. You never know." And he winked.

While the floor crews and greengrocers prepared for a new day, Rowan trekked down King Street (the name brought him a smile). The borough was just beginning to stir, as the night slipped away. At Bedford corner he looked eastward for a moment, to the approaching dawn. "And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger," the verse came to him, "At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and there," – he nodded, and sighed – "troop home to churchyards."

But after everything, he didn't feel up to a crosstown walk. So he scouted the area, and managed to flag a hackney near St. Paul's, meetly. It delivered him home by sunrise.

Though the hour was still early, he wanted it over with. So he popped open his Autodex, and dialed the division office, to give his immediate notice. But as the phone was ringing, he felt the long night weighing upon him, and hung up. Deciding he should get some sleep first, and call later – maybe 'round teatime. That might be better anyway. You never know...

He knew Tara was resourceful, with an adventurous spirit; someone who wouldn't shy from "primitive" arrangements if need be. So sleeping in her car, while on a stake-out or other mission, would not seem amiss. And in due course, early the following morning, she woke in the passenger seat; curled underneath her topcoat there, and otherwise nude.

She was well-rested... although at first a bit disoriented. Not sure that she was awake. But she soon came to recall being overcome with fatigue the night before, from the long drive – and then the informant not showing up. (So it was just as well that Rowan hadn't come.) So she had undressed to get comfortable, locked the doors, and slept the night.

Before heading out, she did a final walkabout – and discovered some other footprints in the glade. And a matted space, near the centre, where it appeared two people had lain together. The traces looked fairly fresh; within a day or two perhaps (though unnoticed by Tara the night before.) As the breeze riffled past her this morning, she gazed at the bed of grass – and smiled at the thought of two lovers coming to this secluded spot, beneath the open sky... to share each other.

Through a gap in the trees, low in the west, the ghostly full moon was just slipping below the horizon in the early daylight. Tara watched its final minute, with an odd melancholy. Then she absently brushed some bits of clover from her hair, and returned to the Lotus. She felt slightly "off" in some way – discomfited might be the closest word. But that was probably from the unusual circumstances. And the feeling soon passed... like a dissipating mist... on the drive back to London.

After reporting to Mother, she stopped by Rowan's flat in the early afternoon, where he was still nursing his ankle from the previous day. Tara knew he had something of a crush on her... which intrigued her, although she didn't want to encourage him. But in light of his bike mishap – and just to be collegial – a tureen of her French tomato bisque seemed in order.

Rowan was most appreciative.

/ The End /