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“Such great news!” Kathy hugged her. “You must be so relieved.”

“Yes, It’s a huge relief. I couldn’t have proved it was Greg without Tony’s help.”

“What a bastard,” Kathy said..

“Yes, and apparently he’s done it before. I was just unlucky enough to be in his sights.”

“No one needs to worry for a while,” Tony said as he lifted his glass. “The police said with his previous record, he’ll go to prison this time.”

“Now tell us all about the festival.” Beth looked at her eagerly. “And I want to hear all about my Great-Aunt Alice’s cottage. Was it quaint?”

Megan sat down and waited for Tony to bring her a glass of wine from the bar. She picked up the drink and the light caught the deep red of the wine in her glass. She closed her eyes, the memory of sharing the bottle of vintage red wine at the cottage with David filling her thoughts. A warm hand on her forearm alerted her to her sister’s concern and Megan opened her eyes. Kathy was looking at her with a frown wrinkling her forehead.

“Megs, what’s wrong?” Kathy leaned in and spoke softly to her while Tony and Beth chatted on the other side of the table. “You’re pale and listless and not yourself. Winning the appeal should have put a bit of spark back in you. We’ve been worried about you since you came home.” Kathy’s face was full of concern. “I thought it was the case but it’s not, is it? What’s happened? You’re not sick, are you?”

“I met someone in England.” Megan’s throat ached and her eyelids pricked with tears as she finally put David into words. The emotion she’d kept bottled inside her tumbled through her and she put her hands against her chest. “Oh Kathy, I miss him so much.”

“You were hardly over there long enough to meet anyone.”

“Oh, believe me—it seemed like a very long time.” Megan gave a short laugh. “Don’t worry about me, Kath. I think I’ve picked up some sort of bug. I’ll be fine.”

For the rest of the night she put everything she had into being sociable, asking Kathy about the nursery she was decorating, and the baby clothes she was knitting. By the time she got home, Megan was exhausted. She collapsed onto the lounge and flicked on the CD player with the remote and lay back as Davy’s voice surrounded her. The words washed over her and she drifted off for a few moments until the mellow notes of the last song woke her.

How can I live without him?

Suddenly, she sat bolt upright and listened to the song.

Really listened.

She’d known this song since she was a teenager and hadn’t taken much notice of the words but had smiled at the title. It had been the first Davy Morgan song she’d ever heard and it had caught her attention because it was called “For Megan.”

Jumping up from the sofa, she went over and flicked through the old albums on the floor by the bookcase. Pulling out Wandering, his second album, she turned it over and read the back of the sleeve.

Excitement began to build in her stomach as she looked at the dates. “For Megan” had been written in early July 1971 and released as the last song on their big hit album. It said it was recorded at the studio in London and had been written by Davy Morgan alone.

The CD clicked back to the first song, but with shaking fingers Megan pressed the button on her stereo to select “For Megan.” Sitting on the floor in front of the stereo so she could go back as soon as the song finished, she listened to it again and again. Grasping the album cover in her hands, her lips moved as she read the words of the song written on the back cover.

Certainty filled her and she relaxed, taking deep breaths. A lightness filled her chest and she smiled. The words of the song had been written for her. She was sure they had, as sure as the breaths she was taking in would sustain her. Something must have happened to keep David from coming back to her that night. There was no girlfriend—that was newspaper gossip. It wasn’t because he’d been taking advantage of her. He’d had the same intense feelings she did. Maybe she should have waited, or maybe he hadn’t been able to get back at all. She had to trust.

Come back to me, Megan.

Together we will conquer time.

He’d written the song to get the message to her. The tension that had filled her body since that night slowly eased out of her body and her limbs relaxed as the chorus swelled.

Come back to me, I can’t find you.

I need you, I love you.

The song ended and Megan clicked the stereo off. With surprise she reached up to her wet cheeks. She’d been so immersed in the words of his song for her, she hadn’t even been aware she was crying. Wiping her eyes, she logged on to her laptop. There were flights to book and she would have to apply for more leave from the university. The only problem she could foresee was finding David if he hadn’t been able to get back through the time slip. If it meant she had to go back in time again, so be it.

Whatever she had to do to find David, she would do it.

Chapter Twenty-Six

“McLaren.” David tried to keep his tone patient as he spelled out the surname. He’d spent two days scouring the Internet for all the McLarens he could find in the Sydney white pages, and last night he had spent hours dialling Australian phone numbers. No one had heard of a Beth McLaren, and he was beginning to wonder if he’d remembered the name that Megan had said correctly.

Now he was onto the local borough and trying to get the Australian address of the owner of Violet Cottage, but had come head-to-head with British bureaucracy.