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Suddenly the silence around me was pierced by the silvery soft notes of the piano below. Was it my active imagination at work, or had Troy taken another of his nocturnal, ghostlike walks and made his way back to the past? Was this his way of mourning for our lost love, crying through the music, or was this his way of calling to me? If he was calling to me, why was he haunting me with impossible promises?
I got out of the bed, put on my velvet slippers and went to the door of the suite. My fingers trembled as I turned the brass handle. When I opened the door and looked down the corridor, all was silent and dark. The piano music had to have been a trick my mind was playing, I thought No one else had been lured out of sleep by it. Yet I didn't close the door and return to bed. I stepped forward, like a sleepwalker, feeling as if I were floating over the carpet, and continued down the dimly lit hallways.
For a moment I lingered at the top of the stairway and looked down at the empty rooms below. The great house seemed to be holding its breath. I took one step and then another and another, still feeling as if I really hadn't awakened, as if this was all part of that tumultuous nightmare that had seized hold of me. I paused at the doorway of the living room and looked in at the piano. No one was there. The keyboard was closed. All was still; all was quiet, yet I felt a flush come into my cheeks and throat as if I had discovered Troy waiting, pleading for me to come to him. I wanted it to happen so much that I couldn't admit to myself that he wasn't calling to me.
I didn't return to my suite. That secret part of me that had been stirred was now in command. I proceeded on through the dining room to the kitchen and the pantry that led to the doorway which opened on the stairway leading down into the tunnels. I took up the candle and its holder from the shelf by the door and lit the flame, which, like a gentle hand, parted the darkness below, laying out a flickering yellow pathway for me to follow.
Each step I took was accompanied by the imagined voices, some whispering warnings, some beckoning me softly. As the light washed the blackness from the tunnel walls, I saw a gallery of faces there from past and present, each animated, each offering words of advice or condemnation. There was Granny telling me to be careful, warning me about unseen evil spirits. There was Luke scowling and nodding as if to say I was doing what he expected I would do. There was Torn, beautiful, graceful Tom, urging me to think of Logan; there was Fanny laughing lewdly, urging me to go forward to satisfy myself. And there was Ethan, heavily made up, warning me that I was only going to grow old before my time. Finally there was Tony, looking scared and jealous, pleading with me to turn back.
I moved around a bend in the tunnel and all the faces drew back into the darkness behind me. I was alone once again, surrounded by silence so deep I could hear the thumping of my own heart. After a moment that was replaced by the melodious tinkling of the piano. Was I still dreaming? Was I really here?
I paused when I reached the cellar of the cottage. There was still time to turn back, I thought, and hesitated before going any farther. But a breeze coming from behind me made the candle flicker and before I could cup it protectively, the light went out, leaving me in pitch darkness. I saw a dim glow emanating from the door upstairs. When I peered up the stairway, I saw that Troy had left the door open.
Was he expecting me or was he merely hoping I would come to him? Or had he indeed just returned from playing the piano in Farthy and left the door open, knowing what the magic of our past memories could do? I looked back into the darkness behind me and then, with my heart thumping harder than ever, began to ascend the stairway. Just before I reached the doorway, his silhouette appeared in the light of a small lamp behind him. His face was masked in shadows, but I saw his hands reach out for me.
"Oh, Heaven!" he cried. "You shouldn't have come."
"I know," I whispered. As my eyes drank in his precious beauty, I took his hand.
"You should turn back before it's too late," he whispered, but his eyes belied his words.
"It's already too late," I insisted, putting all my love and passion into my low raspy voice.
"We must not do this," he said, but he pulled me closer to him and caught me up in his arms and pressed me against him. "Oh, Heaven, how can I turn you away?" He swung me up into his arms and carried me to his bed.
Many times since that fateful day when I had found Tony by the beach and he had described Troy's death to me, I had made love to Troy in my hungry imagination. It was my way of bringing him back to life. I had longed so for this moment, even during the time Logan began to court me again. And now, in Troy's arms with his eyes gazing lovingly into mine, this all seemed more like something imagined, something dreamt.
He continued to offer frail statements of protest, even as we clung to each other, but I was protective of our stolen moments of passion and joy and I kissed him into silence again and again until all the hesitation in him disappeared.
A part of me still wanted to resist, a part of me remembered that for better or for worse, I was married to another man. But in Troy's arms, and with his lips against mine, tasting his passion caused whatever resistance that lingered to quickly die.
I didn't care. I loved him, I would always love him. I wanted him to consume me just as a flame consumed that kindling that fueled it. It seemed appropriate that we would die in each other's arms and go up in the smoke of our demanding passion. Never had I felt such passion for a man. Never had our lovemaking been as intense and exciting as it was at this moment, perhaps because it was so forbidden. I surrendered myself completely to our love.
"Oh, Troy," I whispered, "I've dreamed of you, longed for this moment so much."
He kissed me deeply. "I love you still, Heaven. Still and always my heavenly Heaven."
Our lovemaking was so wonderful, it brought tears of happiness to my eyes, tears he eagerly kissed away. Over and over we reached an ecstasy from only of the truest, deepest passion, a passion that knew no right or wrong.
After it was over we lay in each other's arms, satisfied, spent, like two small boats caught in a hurricane after they've come home to harbor.
"Heaven," Troy asked as he caressed my hair, "how can something so wonderful and good be sinful? It's a cruel joke that's been played on us."
"I don't care," I said defiantly. "All I care about is being in your arms and having you hold me tightly to your body. Let's stay like this until we die."
He laughed and kissed first my right eye, then my left.
"How much you sound like the Heaven I first met," he exclaimed, "wildly hopefu
l and willing to challenge any obstacles to our love. t ut it's all different now; it's all changed," he said sadly. "I shouldn't have allowed this to happen. I'm afraid you're going to be sorry when you think about it later on. I'm sorry."
"Oh, no, Troy!" I cried and held him more tightly to me. "Never. I'II never be sorry about loving you, about wanting you, about giving myself completely to you."
He sat up in the moonlight and combed his fingers through his long hair, his beautiful, sensitive face erased by the silvery light filtering in through the window. Then he turned to me.
"Perhaps you don't know yourself as well as I know you, Heaven." His voice was low and gravelly, and sadder than tragedy. "Think about Logan, about what you've started together. Can you just cast all that aside for a few stolen moments of pleasure with me?"
"I don't care," I insisted. "I will treasure this moment for as long as I live."
