And then once, before they strolled on, he dipped hishead and kissed her. He kissed her the way he had kissed her yesterday—and never before that—with his lips partedand his tongue stroking over her lips and even pressingthrough. A shocking, wonderful kiss. One that made herknees turn weak. A fine prop she would make for him ifhe kept kissing her like this.
And that was the biggest change in him, she thought, and the one she had been most trying to ignore, becauseshe had accepted the way he was and had thought to behappy with it long after he had gone. She had accepted thathe loved her but that there was no magic in his love.
Since their arrival, since that coughing spell and the short sleep of exhaustion that had followed it, he had been different. There had been something in his eyes, something inhis voice, something in his kiss... And something in hiswords, too, though she guessed he was speaking them outof tenderness and gratitude to her. He knew that she lovedhim more than life and he knew that she was going to havea leftover life to live very soon. He was being wonderfullykind to her as he always had been.
But there was something in his eyes. The eyes cannot deceive as well as the voice can.
On the third day he decided that they would go walking on the beach.
“John.” They were in the dining room at the time, having just risen from breakfast. “Is it wise? You are somuch better. Would it not be wiser to rest today? To getyour strength back gradually?” She stepped closer to himand framed his face with her hands. “There is even a littlecolor in your face today.”
“Perhaps in time,” he said, “you will even have a halfway handsome husband, Adèle.”
His face blurred beyond the tears that sprang to her eyes.“You are the most handsome man in the world,” she said.
He laughed—oh, how she loved to hear him laugh. “Did you not know,” he asked her, “that the most sure way tobuild strength and energy is to use them?”
He had some strange ideas, this new John who had appeared just the day before yesterday. “How absurd,” she said.
“They are just like love,” he said.
She smiled at the idea. Yes, it was true. The more love one gave, the more there was to give. But strength andenergy? She was not at all convinced by the analogy. Shecould see, though, that he wanted to walk on the beach,that he wanted to believe his strange theory. She could seethat he was happy here at Cartref. Why should she try tocurb his happiness merely so that she could guard his littleremaining strength and keep him with her a few dayslonger? She had married him so that she could love himinto the next world.
“Do it, then, you foolish man,” she said. “I shall even come with you. But do not expect me to carry you home.”
“Soon,” he said, “I’ll be able to do that for you, Adèle.” His eyes softened, filled with that look again, theone that made her breathless because it was new and unexpected and undreamed of. “I want to be whole for you.I amgoingto be whole for you.”
She had expected nothing of this marriage except a fulfillment of her own dream. She ached with sudden longings that she did not want to feel. She did not want to have morepain than there was going to be anyway.
And yet there was the hope. And theknowledge.
“To the beach,” he said, taking her hand and leading her to the door. “No more procrastinating.”
“To the beach, sir,” she said, trying to match the lightness of his tone.
He had only one real fear and it was a fear that puzzled him at best and made him feel guilty at worst. He fearedbeing suddenly projected forward into his own life again—though there seemed nothing particularly alien about thislife. He feared every time he woke up from sleep that hewould be back in the Cartref Hotel in the middle of the1990s.
It was a fear that puzzled him. Could hewantto be trapped in a former age, cut off forever from the life hehad known for twenty-eight years? Could he want to livewithout the trappings of late-twentieth-century civilization?And without the conveniences—electric lights and shavers,central heating, running water, zippers, to mention just afew. And without his red sports car?
And it was a fear that made him feel guilty. Could he be content never to see his father again? Or his other relatives and friends? Or Allison? He had just become engaged to Allison. She was the woman he loved, the womanhe had decided to spend the rest of his life with.
And yet he feared having to go back. He feared having to leave Cartref and his sense of belonging there. Hefeared—oh, he feared more than death having to leaveAdèle. How would he ever cope with the grief of beingseparated from her by the insurmountable barrier of almosttwo centuries?
He did not fear having been projected back into the body of a desperately sick, dying man. He could be deceivinghimself, of course. He knew that it was possible to be veryill and not even realize it until a chance medical checkuprevealed a problem. But even so he felt convinced that he was only weak, not sick. All he needed in order to get back his full health and strength was food and rest and exercise.He was certainly in the right place for all three, despite thehorror Adèle and his servants felt for his insistence on exercising.
Perhaps what cheered him most of all was that memory he had from his studies of family history. The memory ofJohn and Adèle Chandler, who had begun their married lifein the Regency era but had lived on with their children wellinto the Victorian age. Sometimes he wished that he hadlearned more about them and that his memory was sharper.But then, he decided, he did not really want to know exactlywhen they had died or who had died first. And he did notreally want to remember how many children they hadhad—though he did know that it was more than one. If hewas to live the life of the Regency Chandler, he did notwant to know any more about his future than the fact thatit was to be a lengthy one, with Adèle at his side.
He put a cloak on over his coat and his waistcoat and his shirt to go to the beach, despite the fact that it was awarm day. Adèle would have been too upset if he had refused. And he wore a hat, though he was afraid that it mightblow away in the wind. It was probably wise to dresswarmly anyway—his emaciated body felt the cold. It woulddo him no good to catch a cold in his weakened state.
Adèle looked remarkably pretty with a yellow spencer over her matching dress and a straw bonnet trimmed withblue flowers. He had always felt a treacherous preferencefor the femininity of female dress of a century and moreago, though Allison’s clothes were always chic and elegantand sexy.
But the prettiest thing aboutAdèlewas her face. Despite her anxiety that he was going to tax his strength too much,there was a glow of joy in her face that he knew he had put there in the past two days. He knew that he had arousedhope in her—it was another cause for fear if he should haveto go back and take his tuberculosis resistance with him.And he knew that he had surprised her by the depth of hisneed for her and his love for her. He knew that the Johnshe had married had never felt more than a deep affectionand tenderness for her.
She deserved more. She had devoted all of her love for all of her life to him. He knew that she would go on lovinghim for the rest of her life, even if he should die tomorrowand she should live on to be eighty or ninety. He knew thather love for him was that deep.
“Are you ready?” he asked her, offering his arm. “Though this is a deceptive gesture, is it not? It seems thatI am offering you my support when in reality I am beggingfor yours. I hope you noticed this morning, though, that Ipaused on each stair for only five seconds instead of fiveminutes.”
“Yes.” She smiled wistfully at him. “I noticed.” He wondered if she was fighting hope or if she was beginningto give in to it. “I do believe you have put on weight, too.”
