Joe towered over Catherine's desk waving a sheaf of papers at her.

"Got a real lulu for you here Radcliffe. Case of manslaughter. Guy named Peter Marshall's walki along minding his own business; suddenly he gets jumped by two men. In the ensuing struggle, our man hits one of the perpetrators so hard he falls down some steps and smashes his skull open on the sidewalk."

"And the other man is an eyewitness for the defence, right?"

"Right. And Moreno wants a conviction on this one. So get to it, Cathy. You're due to meet with Marshall and his attorney in twenty minutes." Catherine raised her eyebrows.

"Sounds pretty routine to me Joe." Joe Maxwell took a deep breath and rested his hands on his hips.

"Yeah, but there's something I haven't told you. See, the problem is, Marshall was attacked just because the other two didn't like his lifestyle ... seems he's gay. And Moreno's nephew has just left home to go and live with some guy in Greenwich Village. He's feeling a little sensitive about gays right now. You're gonna have to be tough with this one Cathy." Catherine stood up and put the papers inside her briefcase, snapping it shut.

"You know me, Joe," she said with the smile that always threatened to melt his hardened New Yorker's heart. "I can tough it out with the rest of the guys around here."

"Get outta here," he grinned.

The meeting with Peter Marshall and his lawyer, Frank Groves, didn't go quite as Catherine had expected. She wasn't actually sure what she did expect from a homosexual man who had killed another human being, but it wasn't the tall, well-built man with the cultured voice, who sat across the table from her now. His green eyes held a sadness only discernible in those who have carried a burden of suffering for a long time, and Catherine suspected that Peter Marshall's had begun the moment he had finally resigned himself to the fact that his sexual preferences were different from those of his friends and family. She was disturbed to find that her initial feelings towards him were sympathy and compassion; not the sort of emotional response desired from the person assigned to take away his freedom for some considerable time, because whatever the provocation, this man had killed.

"How old are you Mr. Marshall?" He ran a hand over his face and sighed.

"Twenty nine." Catherine scribbled on her pad.

"And these men who attacked you... had you ever seen them be fore?"

"No.

"Then can you think of any reason why they should want to hurt you? I understand the motive wasn't money ... they didn't take your wallet?" Another weary sigh.

"No, they didn't take my wallet. They took something else though."

"And what was that?" Catherine was trying hard to sound like the cool, sophisticated Assistant D.A. determined to 'get her man'.

"Another piece of my self-respect." He leaned forward earnestly. "Miss Chandler, this is nothing new for me. Oh I've never killed a man before, and I shall have to live with that every day for the rest of my life, but what I mean is... people 'attack' me constantly; if not physically then verbally, for being 'different'. They think I'm a threat to their children, their families and these days... their very lives. I try very hard not to let it affect me, to provoke me into action but whatever else I am, I'm still a man, Miss Chandler. And this time I reacted like a normal man... I fought back." Catherine's notes were growing on her pad.

"Surely the fact that you're gay and living in New York city in 1991 doesn't make you so very different, does it?" she asked. His shoulders slumped and there was a defeated note in his voice when he answered.

"There are many people like me in the city, yes. At least, there are many gay men. But... well, never mind. What could you possibly know about it? I really don't mean to be rude, Miss Chandler but there's no way you could understand. I'm sure all your family and friends are 'normal' in the eyes of the world.

Sudden tears stung Catherine's eyes and she had to fight to keep them from falling.

It was becoming increasingly difficult for Catherine to remain impartial. She noticed that Frank Groves was very quiet. Usually, the suspect's lawyer was shouting his mouth off in every direction, but this one was allowing her to question his client with no interruptions. Was this a tactical move on his part, she wondered. If so, he was a very astute man, probably guessing that once she'd met Marshall she'd have a hard time going for a conviction. Replacing the papers in her briefcase, she stood up and held out her hand to the attorney.

"Thank you for allowing me to speak to your client, Mr. Groves," she said. "We'll be in touch." Frank Groves nodded, an expression of sadness and weary cynicism on his round features.

"I'm sure you will. Goodbye Miss Chandler." Turning to Peter Marshall Catherine hesitated, wanting to take his hand too but, heeding her training, she merely picked up her briefcase and nodded to him.

"Mr. Marshall." He rose, scraping back his chair.

"Goodbye Miss Chandler."

The pounding of steaming warm water on her body helped to partly dispel the interview from Catherine's mind, and she was determined to be at her best for the evening ahead. It was to be a very special time for her and Vincent. She had, at long last, persuaded him to join her for dinner in her apartment. She smiled and shook her head in amazement at the thought of how long they'd known each other and how he'd resisted almost every advance and invitation she'd ever made to him in that time. His strength of character and determination so far, not to take their relationship beyond holding each other and the occasional kiss was, for her, a constant source of frustration, and tonight was the night, she smiled to herself, that she planned to break down that resolve in Vincent.

She blow-dried her hair and took up a section on each side, securing it with a pearl comb. Taking a midnight blue dress from her wardrobe she stepped into it, humming happily as she tightened the belt around her narrow waist and adjusted the low neckline to reveal exactly the right amount of cleavage. She grinned, knowing she wasn't being fair to Vincent but enough was enough. She knew he was never going to make the first move. They'd been all through his fear of hurting her and his experience with Lisa when he was in his teens, and however much she reassured him with words she had come to realise it was going to take more than that. She had to show him how much she loved him; how much she wanted him, and that was exactly what she planned to do tonight. Poor Vincent, she smiled at her reflection in the mirror, he didn't stand a chance.

At a minute to ten, a seafood lasagna was ready to be brought to the table, a bottle of chilled wine was waiting to be poured and candlelight glowed in the room. That was especially for Vincent; bright light hurt his eyes. A basket of rolls sat to one side of the table. Originally, Catherine had planned to have garlic bread, but in the circumstances she remembered with a grin, she had decided to settle for whole meal rolls and little curls of low-fat spread. The tap at the French doors came as Catherine's clock began to chime. It never ceased to amaze her that he was able to time his journey through the maze of tunnels and the climb to her balcony so precisely. A surge of excitement filled her as she ran to open the doors.

He stood looking down at her, his long fair hair shining silkily in the darkness. He opened his arms and she threw herself against him, noticing how cold his clothes felt in the February night air.

"Catherine," he breathed against her hair. Forcing herself to pull back she took his hand, drawing him into the room.

"I thought ten o'clock would never come," she whispered, reaching up to remove his cloak. "Close the doors would you please, Vincent?." She took his cloak through to her bedroom. She was about to lay it on the bed, then hesitated, turned and laid it carefully over a chair.

When she returned to the living room the French doors were closed and the drapes drawn. Vincent held the wine bottle and two glasses. He handed one to her.

"May I pour you a drink, Catherine?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

"Please do," she replied. He filled their glasses and replaced the bottle on the table. Winding her arm around his, she looked at him seriously. "You once said, Vincent, that we are something that has never been. Well I want to make a toast. To us... to what we are and will always be." He smiled, repeating the toast, and they sipped their wine.

"Are you ready to eat?" she asked.

"Indeed I am, Catherine. Father and I ate lunch together at one o'clock, and that seems a very long time ago now." She laughed.

"I know what you mean. My chicken salad sandwich seems like yesterday. Sit down. I'll be right back."

She disappeared into the kitchen and returned a few moments later carrying a sizzling dish between gloved hands. She served the lasagna, giving Vincent about two thirds, and placed his plate before him. He sniffed its aroma appreciatively.

"If this tastes as good as it looks and smells Catherine, you are an accomplished cook as well as being beautiful." She grinned.

"Well, you know what they say, Vincent ... the way to a man's heart et cetera." He leaned across the table and lifted her fingers.

"I do know the expression, but you found your way to my heart a long time ago. You have no need to prepare lavish meals for me in order to keep it."

"Oh Vincent - don't you know I've been wanting to cook for you for such a long time? I love to do things for you, but the way things are, well ... so often it seems that I can only help you through my work. I can't be with you all the time and you have so many others to turn to for help Below." He continued to stroke her hand gently.

"It is true that you have helped us all a great deal in so many ways, Catherine, but do not underestimate your power over me. Sometimes, when I am feeling the weight of my life and its limitations, I have only to think of you and I am reminded how very fortunate I am. You bring me such joy."

"And pain too."

"Yes. But even that is overshadowed by the joy."

Catherine tried to look at him objectively. She remembered how she had reacted the first time she saw him. True, the combination of his unusual features combined to form a fierce expression, but how anyone, in their wildest imaginings, could possibly think him ugly, was a complete mystery to her. She had dated many conventionally good looking men over the years. but none of them had ever awakened in her the depth of desire and longing she felt for Vincent.

She had never seen him completely naked of course ... she glanced at her watch - the night was still young ... but she had seen him stripped to the waist on an odd occasion and he was an impressive sight. Once he had taken her to the waterfall and actually removed his boots and socks, so she had seen his feet and the muscular calves as he rolled up the legs of his pants to test the temperature of the water for her. And, during one of their more intimate talks she had tricked him into admitting that apart from the golden layer of fur which covered certain areas of his body, he was formed exactly like any other man ... as if she had ever doubted it.

As she sat staring him now, from the vivid blue eyes to the whiteness of the linen shirt which was gathered softly across the broad, deep chest, she found herself wishing the meal was over and wondering how she was going to conceal her erotic thoughts. Suddenly she realised the futility of any such plan ... this was Vincent ... he knew everything she was feeling, even if he was too much of a gentleman to voice it. Feeling her cheeks flame, she decided to come clean. He had been eating quietly as she studied him, although his eyes had rarely left hers.

"Vincent, if I told you I was feeling horny, would you understand what I meant?" He laid down his fork and tilted his head slightly to one side.

"Why Catherine, you should have told me you weren't feeling well; I'll leave." To her horror, he stood up. Suddenly she realised he was teasing her and grinned sheepishly.

"You dare!" she said, rising and coming around the table to lean against him. After a moment she picked up the wine bottle and topped up their wine glasses. Carrying their drinks they walked over to sit on one of her couches.

"You must think I'm a transparent idiot," she said a little shyly, climbing onto his knee and slipping one arm around his neck. He made an amused sound in his throat.

"Not true Catherine. Although it saddens me to know you think I have no understanding of the modern idioms of speech." She laughed and hugged him tightly.

"I'm sorry Vincent. I guess I thought if I could tell you how I was feeling without coming right out and asking you to make love to me, I might manage to make you think it was your idea."

"But you forget I know your heart, Catherine. And the knowledge that you feel that way about me fills my heart with wonder. - .and humility." She leaned back and took his face between her fingers.

"So. What are you going to do about it?"

"Catherine, I am too much of a traditionalist to allow you to seduce me. I would like to think I have some say in the matter. So would you indulge me and allow us to talk for a while ... just so that I do not feel totally manipulated by you?" Catherine laughed and pulled away from him, sitting the other end of the couch.

"Okay. But I'll have to sit up here. I'm finding it impossible to keep my hands off you." He smiled awkwardly and lowered his eyes in embarrassment.

"Catherine please. Now tell me about your day. I feel sure it was more interesting than my work in the tunnels. At one point this afternoon I felt some strong emotion in you." Catherine sipped her wine, remembering Peter Marshall.

"Yes, you're right, Vincent. It's a new case I'm working on."

"Tell me."

"Well at first I thought it was just like any other case of manslaughter. A man was walking at night and two others attacked him. In defending himself, he managed to land a 'lucky' punch and one of the men died of a head injury. Normally it would be pretty much of a formality. We'd prosecute the case and the judge would take all the circumstances into consideration and the man would get maybe a couple of years, since there was no intention to kill." Vincent nodded.

"But this time you would prefer not to be involved?" Catherine rearranged herself on the couch, her legs curled beneath her as she faced him.

"I don't think I'm going to be able to put forward a decent case for the prosecution. My heart isn't in it. This man doesn't deserve to spend time in prison." He reached over and squeezed her hand briefly, urging her to continue.

"Go on Catherine."

"This man, Peter, has been hurt by people's fists and words for years, Vincent ... would you believe they attacked him just because he's gay!" Vincent looked at her quickly then turned his head away, making no reply.

"He's intelligent, dignified, gentle... and yet he's suffered most of his life because people won't accept him for what he is. This afternoon I almost cried when he said I wouldn't understand. Vincent, he reminded me of you in some ways.

Vincent sprang to his feet, banging his glass down on the table and making Catherine jump.

"What is it Vincent? Are you all right?" He spun round to face her, his expression grim.

"How can you possibly compare him with me, Catherine? I may be different, even inexperienced in some of the ways of your world, but I am not perverted!" Catherine rose and stood in front of him as he began to pace the room.

"Of course not Vincent. That's not what I meant at all; I meant the fact that people won't accept him, the danger he faces every day..."

"Do you imagine that the reason I have held back from you for so long is because I prefer men!" He was breathing erratically now, growing angrier every second and Catherine searched her mind desperately for the right words to calm him.

"NO! I know the reason you hold back; you've explained it; we've talked about it many times. You've got it all wrong Vincent. Of course I don't think you're gay... the idea is absolutely crazy!" She was holding onto his arms, trying to convey her love and reassurance, but suddenly he grabbed her and crushed her to him in a hold so powerful she could barely breathe.

"Perhaps you need proof, Catherine!" he shouted. "You have made it very clear what you want from me... perhaps I should oblige you, now, so that you will not doubt my inclinations and abilities any longer!" He gave a low growl and, for the first time ever, Catherine felt afraid of him. Struggling and pushing her hands against his chest, she gasped for breath.

"No Vincent! Not like this .. no! NO! Let me go!" Suddenly he released her so abruptly that she staggered, almost falling.

Vincent stood looking down at his hands for a moment, his chest and shoulders heaving with emotion. Then he walked over and slumped onto the arm of the couch, resting an elbow on one knee and covering his eyes with his hand. Catherine didn't know what to do at first. He had frightened her badly but she knew he had frightened himself more. Slowly she approached him and touched his shoulder. He tensed, but she refused to be put off. Tenderly she stroked his hair, waiting until he was ready to speak. Eventually he did.

"How can you even look at me?" he asked, his voice shaking. "I behaved like an a...."

"No," she interrupted. "You behaved like a man who misinterpreted something. It happens all the time. It was no one's fault. There's no harm done." She placed her fingers beneath his chin and raised his head. Her heart turned over when she saw the depth of anguish the blue eyes held.

"I apologise Catherine", he whispered. "Nothing can excuse my behaviour.. ever. I can only give you a reason." Slowly he stood up. "I can live with what I am ... I know what I am. And although at first, your love made me more aware of it... of the restrictions and limits on my life, it has also been the turning point for me. And then just now, to feel - wrongly I admit - that you thought me perverted, unnatural... I just..." He held up his hands in a gesture so helpless it brought tears to Catherine's eyes. But it also opened up a part of Vincent which surprised and displeased her.

"I'm glad you realise how wrong you were in what you thought Vincent," she said. "But I am shocked at your lack of understanding for someone who's gay. Why is it so unacceptable to you?" He looked round.

"Because it is sick. The idea of a man, or woman for that matter, wanting to form a union with someone of the same sex goes against everything we learn as children, when we learn that making love with someone you care about is beautiful."

"But some people find they have to live that way to be happy. It doesn't make them bad people, Vincent. Surely you've come across people like that occasionally in the Tunnels?"

"No, never! Father would never allow it." Catherine took a deep breath.

"Well, Father might not know about it. Even Father can't dictate people's sexuality. And not everyone publicises it. Many feel the need to hide it from their friends and family."

"And why is that?" Vincent snapped. "Because it is something to be ashamed of!"

"No! Because of people like those men who attacked Peter. Bigots, who have no compassion or understanding of people who are different from themselves. The same type of people who would attack you, Vincent! Think about it."

He stared at her for a moment. There was an uneasy tension between them that they had never experienced before.

"I should go."

"If that's what you want."

"Yes."

"I'll get your cloak for you."

Catherine went into the bedroom and picked it up, remembering sadly why it was on the chair and not the bed. She brought it to him and he settled it around his shoulders. He swung back the drapes, opened one of the doors and stepped outside. For a moment she thought he wasn't even going to say goodbye. Then he turned.

"Thank you for the meal Catherine. I am sorry the evening was spoiled for both of us." She wanted to touch him but something in his manner held her back.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" But he was gone. Even as she spoke he had vaulted lightly over the balcony and disappeared.

Sadly, Catherine wandered back inside and began to clear the table. How had it all gone so wrong? It was to have been such a wonderful evening; the most important milestone yet, in their relationship. If only he hadn't wanted to talk, they would probably have been curled up in bed together now. But then what if the same thing had happened later? In bed? As Catherine loaded her dishwasher she felt a variety of emotions jostling for first place inside her. Unfamiliar anger at Vincent, that he of all people, could display such an unfeeling, prejudiced attitude towards a group of people different from the rest of society; apprehension, that he had misunderstood her and was capable of reacting to her so roughly; sadness, that he had left the way he had &emdash; that she didn't even know when she'd see him again. And lastly... love. Because no matter what Vincent did, said or felt... she loved him to distraction and that would never change.

With a heavy heart she undressed and crawled between the sheets. Two hours of tossing and turning later she realised it was a waste of time and went back to the kitchen to make herself a hot drink. She even added a slug of brandy in the hope it might induce sleep.

At exactly the same time, Vincent too, was having a hard time trying to sleep. He lay on his back in his huge bed, the covers in disarray where he had kicked them about in frustration.

On his return from Catherine's apartment he had run swiftly through the Tunnels, deeper and deeper, needing to be alone and to expurgate the surplus energy of anger and hurt which pulsated through him. Finally, when he knew he would disturb no one else Below, he dropped to his knees, threw back his head and roared in a bellow of helpless frustration.

Catherine was not in the best of humour when she reported for work the next morning. Since she had known Vincent she had learned to cope with only a few hours sleep, but these were usually filled with wonderful dreams and fantasies. Last night she had managed barely two hours which had left her drained and irritable. She wondered how Vincent was feeling.

"Trial date's been set for this coming Friday, Radcliffe," announced Joe breezily. "I know it's too soon, I couldn't believe it myself but there it is. Be ready. Jesus, you look like I usually feel on Saturday mornings. I hope you enjoyed It as much as I do!"

Catherine glared at him, daring him to say anything further. She was actually quite surprised at the effect this had on him; he lifted his hands in a gesture of Hey, time out... It was a Joke, and disappeared back into his own office. Despite her depression she couldn't suppress a small smile of satisfaction. It soon vanished when she realised she had just three working days to prepare the case. Moreno must really be pulling out all the stops on this one. It was unheard of for a case to go to trial this fast.

She worked like a beaver all day, not even stopping for lunch. She had one of the Junior 5taff bring her back a sandwich which she hardly tasted, but it helped to absorb the coffee. By the time she left the office at 5.45, Catherine was dead beat, her shoulders and back aching ferociously. Even a soak in the hot tub didn't help as much as usual and she wished Vincent was there to give her a neck massage. Not that he'd ever done such a thing before; it was just another little pleasure they could give one another and she planned on showing him how, by a practical demonstration one day soon. But he didn't come all evening, and although Catherine was desperately disappointed, she was so dog tired that this time when she crept into bed she fell asleep almost immediately.

When Vincent didn't come for the next two evenings Catherine began to get mad. Surely he wasn't going to sulk over their heated words. He would never be so petty. Perhaps the incident had upset him more than she realised. It was, after all, the first time they had ever quarreled; if you could call it that - and knowing Vincent, he was probably placing too much importance on his rough handling of her. She decided, as much as she longed to see him, she would give him a chance to cool off, get the trial out of the way and then go to him herself.

Three days after the incident in Catherine's apartment, Vincent sought out Father in his chamber. The old man looked up with a smile when he saw his son.

"Come in Vincent. I've been hoping we could spend some time together. How about a game of chess?" Vincent shook his head and sat down beside Father.

"Not today if you don't mind, Father. I would like to speak with you about something that is troubling me." The old man patted Vincent's hand.

"I wondered how long it would take you to come to me. You haven't been the easiest person to live with these last few days."

"I'm sorry."

"It's Catherine I suppose?" Vincent linked his hands together before him on the table. He stared at them with a sigh.

"You remember I went to Catherine three nights ago? She had invited me for a meal and I decided to accept."

"I remember. I had questioned the advisability of it."

"Yes, well in view of what happened I am inclined to think you may have had good reason."

"Tell me."

"At first it was wonderful ... just to be alone with Catherine in the privacy of her apartment. That is something which is lacking down here when we are together. After we had eaten I asked her about her day and she told me of a case she has to try. She is prosecuting a homosexual man who accidentally killed one of two men who attacked him. Catherine feels sympathy for the man because he is hounded for being 'different'. She tells me he is dignified and intelligent, gentle even, and does not deserve to have his lifestyle criticised by other people, or indeed, spend time in prison for the crime he has committed. I disagreed because I have never had the stomach for that kind of perversion, and Catherine grew angry." He decided it was not necessary for Father to know about the misunderstanding and his own subsequent manhandling of Catherine. That was something he had yet to come to terms with in his own mind.

Father pondered on his response. He knew Vincent had rigid views about homosexuality, but he assumed these were born largely out of knowledge gained through reading, rather than actually having had any contact with any person of that persuasion. Father knew there had been an occasional such individual over the years who had spent time with the Tunnel community, but it was not something he wanted to encourage, and these people had returned to the world Above when the time was right. He realised now, that despite educating Vincent to be the scholar he had become over the years, and their ability to communicate on virtually every subject, this was one topic on which he had not sought to diffuse Vincent's antagonism. Perhaps the time had finally come for some kind of discussion, especially if the subject now lay between Vincent and Catherine as a source of division.

"Well Vincent, we all know there are quite a large number of people who feel they cannot live a normal life with a member of the opposite sex. It is not like you to be so inflexible in your views, or, indeed, to make moral judgments on people." Vincent looked up at Father in surprise.

"You approve of such people?"

"Vincent, it is not up to me, or you for that matter, to approve or disapprove! As long as they are adults, who live discreetly and without causing harm to anyone else, we can simply turn our heads. I certainly do not believe they should be persecuted; nor do I believe you would condone such a thing." Vincent turned his head away and dropped his voice.

"And what if such a person chooses to approach a child with his sick, perverted ideas?" Father sat forward in his chair. It had dawned on him in the last moment or two that perhaps there was a very real reason why Vincent held these unusually intractable views. Something he had never even hinted at until now.

"Vincent," he said gently, laying his hands over his son's. "I can see that this conversation is causing you great pain .. tell me, please. Afterwards, if you wish, we will never speak of it again."

Vincent gently removed his hands and stood up. He began to pace around the chamber, taking deep breaths all the while. Then he paused, his back turned to Father.

"There was a man .... a long time ago... over twenty years. . . his name was .. Gerald." Father cast his mind back and recalled a man in his fifties who had been brought to him with a knife wound. He had spent two weeks in the hospital chamber and Vincent had been appointed to take him his meals. Soon afterwards he left, thanking Father for his help, but apparently leaving no particular impression of himself on anyone... until now it seemed.

"I remember. He was only with us for a short time. Vincent, are you saying he..."

"One evening I took cocoa to the hospital chamber and he asked me to sit down on the bed and talk to him. It was warm and he had thrown his covers aside. At first he spoke kindly to me; he said how much he appreciated me bringing his meals to him. How lucky you were to have a son like me... and I was not to be ashamed of my face and hands ... that there would be people in my life who would be attracted to me because of the way I look. Then he spoke of what a fine doctor you were, and asked if I would like to see how well his scar was healing..."

Father felt his stomach twist. Gerald had received a stab wound in the groin and had been lucky not to lose his genitals.

Vincent began pacing again, his whole body tense, and Father was reminded of a volcano prior to eruption. He understood completely; he was having trouble retaining control himself, just thinking about what his son had been through.

"Calm yourself Vincent." He forced his voice to sound gentle. "If you'd rather not say any more I understand. Although you may feel better once you've told me. Vincent stopped dead and took a deep breath.

"I suspected nothing, Father. I was fourteen years old and had no experience of the evils of the world Above. Before I realised what was happening, his nightshirt was open and he grabbed my hand, forcing me to... touch him!"

Vincent's voice began to shake. "I cried out for him to let me go but he warned me to be silent and tried to pull my head down. That was when I used my strength to get away. I ran and ran through the Tunnels until my legs would carry me no further." Vincent sat down heavily on the desk and dropped his head.

"Oh Vincent." Father stepped around the desk and laid his hand on his son's shoulder. "And you never told me about it."

"It would have served no purpose other than to make you worry?"

"It might have made you feel better knowing I would confront him .. fight him if need be. I would have sent him away that night .. scar or no scar!"

"Nothing would have made me feel better. When I returned to my chamber I was physically sick... and I feel sick again now, just talking about it... reliving the nightmare."

"My poor boy." Father held Vincent's head against his shoulder as he would a child, until he felt the rage and humiliation gradually subside.

Catherine lost her case. Peter Marshall was given a two year suspended sentence and delivered into the care of a gay support group run by the City authorities. The Judge said he felt that having to live with the knowledge that he had taken the life of another human being was punishment enough and he hoped never to see Marshall before him again. Privately afterwards, Catherine said she had never been more pleased to lose a case, and gave him her card, saying if he ever needed her help in any way, or even just to talk, she hoped he would contact her. He took her hand and thanked her for her concern.

That evening after dinner, feeling strangely nervous, she went to the Tunnels. There was no sign of Vincent in his chamber so she made her way to Father's. The old man looked up with a smile as she called out to him.

"Come in my dear." He patted the chair beside him and set his book on the desk. "Sit with me for a moment. I haven't seen you for several days." Catherine looked around anxiously.

"Where is Vincent, Father? I really need to talk to him."

"He' ll be here. He's with Pascal, discussing some problem over one of the pipes which has to be rerouted slightly." Father studied Catherine's expression.

"I-er-understand you and Vincent exchanged words a few nights ago?"

"What did he tell you?" Catherine asked, afraid of saying too much.

"Oh, just that you and he disagreed about a case you were involved in. Catherine ... I know this is none of my business but if I asked you to do something for Vincent's sake, would you do it without question?" Catherine smiled.

"That depends Father. Probably. As long as you're not going to ask me to give him up; I'll never do that; not even for you." The old man smiled.

"I know that. No, it's nothing like that. It's about this... belief he holds about homosexuals."

"Oh that, yes. I can't understand it Father. It's not like him to be so judgmental. He's completely inflexible in his attitude. It worries me." Father nodded.

"And me. But I know why he feels like that; he told me today. It was something he found extremely difficult and which I doubt he will wish to repeat. I would like you to promise me Catherine that you will not broach the subject again to him and that you won't allow it to come between you... for his sake... for both your sakes. He may tell you the reason himself one day, but until then, please Catherine, if you continue to make it an issue between you it will only bring unhappiness to you both." Catherine reached across to pat Father's hand.

"Okay. I've learned how wise you are when it comes to Vincent. You're the only one who knows him better than me. I promise I won't press him or even bring up the subject unless he does. I just want things to be back to normal - between us."

"Thank you Catherine ... ah, here he comes," he added as Vincent appeared at the top of the stairs. He appeared unsurprised to see Catherine, but then he always felt her approach the Tunnels. Maybe, she thought, he had wanted her to have this chance to talk to Father first.

"Hello Vincent," she smiled.

"Catherine." She said goodbye to Father and walked to meet Vincent. When she held out her hand he hesitated for a second, then took it and led her to his chamber. Once inside he walked a few steps away from her then turned around. Just looking at him made Catherine realise how much she'd missed him, and she longed to hold him.

"Are you well Catherine?"

"Yes thank you Vincent ... and you?" He nodded slightly.

"But I am sick at heart."

"Because of what happened in my apartment." It wasn't a question. She'd known he would be tormenting himself.

"In my anger I hurt you. I do not deserve your love, Catherine."

"Oh Vincent," she cried, her heart turning over at the pain in his words. "You deserve everything! You once asked me if I imagined you thought I was perfect - well I'm not and neither are you. We each have our faults and we have no choice but to accept them if we love each other." He lifted his hands and studied them sadly.

"These are two of my 'faults'. They will always come between us. They have wounded and killed, Catherine, but now they have hurt the one I love most in the world." Catherine searched her mind frantically. Tentatively she took a step towards him and took his hands in hers, kissing them as she had done once before on her balcony. She was afraid he might pull away, but he didn't.

"Vincent, words can wound just as deeply as weapons. Do you remember when Alexander Ross drew into that occult sect? When I was drugged every day to make me hallucinate?" Vincent shuddered involuntarily.

"How could I ever forget. What is your point, Catherine?"

"That one night when you came to me, I said terrible things to you! What did I say Vincent? Tell me... what did I say to you!"

"You said you... hated me... that you never wanted to see me again."

"And how did that make you feel?"

"Catherine, don't!" He tried to snatch his hands away but she held on.

"How did it make you feel, Vincent?" For a moment the vivid blue of his eyes glistened.

"As if you had taken a white-hot poker and plunged it into my heart."

"But you knew I would never say such things to you normally, so you accepted it as being something I said under great stress."

"Yes. I had to be strong for you."

"You saved my life again that night." He made no comment on this; as usual, reluctant to accept any words of praise or thanks.

"But what of our disagreement, Catherine? I have not changed my mind about homosexuals."

"Vincent, do you honestly believe that a man and a woman have to agree on every single thing? I can assure you in my world they're lucky to agree on much at all! There are going to be times when we don't see eye to eye. We're two people after all, despite our bond. We feel the same way about so many things that perhaps we've come to expect too much. It would be unnatural to agree on everything." He gave a slight smile.

"So you do not intend to try and persuade me to your point of view."

"No. I understand there are reasons for your feeling the way you do, and I won' t push you to change them or even to tell me, so you can relax." He let out a long breath.

"As usual, Catherine, you have restored my peace of mind. You are truly remarkable. Whenever I suffer feelings of self-doubt, your love shines through and makes me strong again." She placed her hands on his waist and looked up at the extraordinary face she loved.

"That's exactly what you did for me when we first met."

This time he pulled her into his arms and they held each other tightly. It had been too long. Each felt the life coursing through the other, stimulated by their closeness and their powerful feelings for each other. After a few moments he held her away from him.

"I hesitate to ask Catherine, but did you win your case?" She shook her head.

"And I hesitate to say this Vincent, but I'm so glad I didn't "

"Are you sure you tried your best?" Catherine assumed a shocked expression.

"That's a terrible thing to say. Of course I did... except..."

"Except what?"

"Well, I was halfway through cross-examining a witness, when I suddenly felt this great emotional turmoil inside me. I knew it was something to do with you. Anyway, it obviously distracted me to the point of nonfunctioning because I lost." Vincent tilted his head slightly, not sure how to take this.

"I apologise Catherine. I was feeling great turmoil earlier today. But I am embarrassed to learn that it affected you at work. I would not wish to affect you that way." Catherine reached up and locked her arms around his neck.

"Oh Vincent you do affect me believe me, you affect me!"

Lowering his head he kissed her, and they both surrendered to feelings and thoughts of times yet to come... because they would come one day in the not too distant future.