Can you cook?"

It was the last thing I ever expected Madeline to ask me when she called me into her office. I hate going in there, taking those five steps down like I'm entering the dank and evil dungeon of the sorceress, Morgan La Faye. I always think I'm about to be called on the carpet and flayed alive with a cat o nine tails for some monstrous transgression. I couldn't for the life of me think what it was I had done. I hadn't been in any trouble lately, unless she'd gotten wind of that little scene Michael and I had performed for my mother at Mercy General. But that was a month and a half ago.

She asked the question again. My mouth dropped open. Was she going to ask herself over for dinner? God. I hoped not. What sort of thing would one cook for Madeline? I don't know why but I was envisioning that scene in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom where they're eating the chilled monkey's brains out of the monkey's heads perched in the silver goblets.

She repeated the question. " Yes, Madeline. I cook rather well actually. I practically lived in a kitchen until I was eight. My mother cooked in a three star hotel." Actually it was more like a trailer park cafe in the Poconos, but who was going to tell her I lied.

Anyway, it's true. I can read a cookbook so I can basically cook anything. I'm not bragging. One wouldn't think I could cook to look at me but I actually like to try recipes. I watch the cooking channel. My culinary heroes are the Two Fat Ladies and Julia Child. Those babes can cook! I just don't have anyone to try things out on so I end up getting take-out half the time.

" What do you know about old people?"

I frowned at her. " Did you have some old person you wanted me to cook?" That just slipped out. Madeline gave me a small tight smile.

" There are two wealthy elderly women. They have a large estate in England, in Wessex. They have just lost their companion. The new employee must be able to see to their needs as a companion, act as a secretary and sometime cook. We have a had another operative in place for a month. He is the groundskeeper and chauffeur."

" What's all this got to do with Section? Have we gone into the foreign domestics market?"

" You've heard of Jason Maddox?"

I leaned forward in my seat. " Who hasn't? English polo player? Playboy? Isn't he dating Ginger Spice? " Jason Maddox was, to put it simply, a hunk. Tall, blonde and babe-o-licious. He was always appearing on the cover of an English tabloid, usually with a babe on each arm.

"I have no idea who Ginger Spice is." Madeline was getting pissed off. " He owed a great deal of money in Monaco for hotel and gambling debts. We have learned Vitto DeLuca recently bailed him out to the tune of half a million dollars. As you know we believe that Vitto De Luca is involved with the Bulgarians. In exchange for money laundering, he gets a cut from narco-terrorism and the transportation of plastic explosives from manufacturers in Bulgaria. The explosives are sold on the black market. The Bulgarians also supply Vitto with cocaine. We have recently discovered his ties with Maddox. He and Maddox have become quite close in recent months. We think Vitto DeLuca may be keeping Maddox in drugs." She punched something up on her computer then turned the screen to me. The image was of two men in flagrant delecto. My eyeballs almost feel out of my head. Madeline was smiling. This is how she gets her jollies. I wonder if she's considering selling the photos to the Sun. She could take early retirement.

Poor Ginger Spice. As if being rousted out of the Spice Girls wasn't bad enough. Why is it the hunky guys are gay? Or if they're not gay they're emotionally damaged. Too damaged to love you back.

" We have been trying to get DeLuca for years. He has always been most discreet, very careful and well protected. He's getting careless. This new friendship with Maddox is the break we need. We think it will be easier to take him down on our turf, so to speak."

" Where do the old ladies come into it?"

" Ann and Jane Delafield are Maddox's great aunts. He is their sole heir. He visits them at their country home at least a dozen times a year. He always comes in late August for the Mid Summer's Eve charity gala they host. We have reason to believe that he will be bringing his lover this year."

" You're serious. This guy, De Luca has a family, doesn't he?"

" Quite serious. The intel we have on them is irrefutable. I know that De Luca is married and has several children, but... You know how it is with certain men. They lead double lives."

Oh, yeah. I know all about double lives. And come to talking of double lives, where was Michael? I knew he'd been slightly wounded in his left leg over a month ago and then he'd just disappeared. Was he on another deep cover assignment. I hoped it wasn't another Valentine mission. " Wow. That's a kicker. Isn't Vitto in the mafia? Doesn't the mafia frown on that stuff? I couldn't see Marlon Brando playing a gay Godfather."

" I really wouldn't know the Mafia's stand on homosexuality, Nikita." Her eyebrow lifted.

I guess that put me in my place.

" You will have to go and work for the sisters as of Wednesday next. It will be a long assignment, several months, but should for the most part be pleasant. England, especially that part of the country, is lovely at this time of year. You'll be expected to work as their helper and confidant, look after all of their correspondence, shopping, household accounts, paying the servants, that sort of thing. Any communication between Maddox and his aunts will of course be relayed to us."

" He won't be suspicious of me? New help and all. I don't exactly look the part of a mild mannered bookkeeper."

" You will. They have a hard time keeping help. "

I could see it now. Tweed and sensible shoes. I wondered who they would partner me with. I had been working a lot in the field with Harper. He was a good op and we got along well. He looked like the type of guy who could tinker with a car and push a wheelbarrow around.

" You weren't supposed to get this particular assignment. It was supposed to go to Augusta Lowell. The agent in place requested her and then changed his mind on site. There isn't a great deal of time to prepare."

Augusta Lowell? That bottle blonde with the teeth. She couldn't cook.. Who had requested her in the first place? " Why does he want me?"

" It seems you resemble the family ghost."

" Ghost," I laughed. " That's crazy. Who's the op I'll be working with?"

" That would be Michael."

***********

" So guess who they have playing Groundskeeper Willie? I thought his leg was bad."

Walter smiled. " His nibs is tough. He had surgery and it went fine and then he went off for some physio. Interesting. I bet he's real good with plants. He has that sensitive touch. Did I ever tell you I was into hydroponics?"

" I'm sure you were Walter." I rolled my eyes. " What do I do, Walter? Eight weeks alone with him. I don't think I can take this."

" Easy, sugar. It'll be a piece of cake. I think you're getting worked up over nothing. This might be just what you need. Just be happy they didn't send Augusta up there. Not that I wouldn't mind being sent somewhere with that little honey."

" Walter, tell me what I should do." I wanted to grab him by his leather vest and shake him.

" Go for it, sugar. Do whatever you feel. Life is too short, especially in Section. I think the two of you need to get laid. That's my advice."

That was advice?

Madeline was right. The clothes were not very flattering. I smoothed my hair back into its tight knot and arranged my glasses on my nose. Everything in my bags had a label from Marks and Spencer. Even the serviceable underwear. I was looking like one of those heroines out of the British Harlequin novels in my knee length skirt and twin set. Miss Mary Sunshine off to work for the Duke of Earle. I would take one look at him and fall madly in love. Of course he wouldn't tell me he loved me til the last page. But that was doing a lot better than I was doing. At least the little Harlequin babe knew that the duke was going to chase her around the desk after the happily ever after.

Where was he? He was late. Actually the train was a little early. I was nervous and my palms were sweating. I wanted to pace but the cheap shoes had given me a blister. The twin set was hot. What is it with the British and itchy wool? No wonder they're always grouchy, so quick to start wars and stuff. That guy on the train with the umbrella. Id been tempted to tell him to naff off.

From what I had seen of the countryside I loved it already. Rolling green hills, hundreds of sheep. Deep blue skies and fluffy clouds. Quaint little cottages dotting the hills. A person could fall head over heels in love with this glorious place and never, ever want to leave. I smiled at a lady walking down the platform with a baby in her arms and a shopping bag over one elbow.

" Miss Andrews?" said a very familiar voice behind me.

I whirled around. He was very tanned and still limping a little from his leg injury. He looked like the Michael I knew only he didn't. He was dressed in jeans, a jean jacket and a white tee-shirt and most endearingly, a black baseball cap with the bill faced backwards. He looked young, almost merry. His hair had gotten very long and seemed a riot of loose curls, the tips bleached in tawny reddish streaks from the sun. He was, without a doubt, the most beautiful sight I had seen here in the English countryside. I suddenly remembered where I was. We were playing a part here. And here I was gazing at him like a lovesick sheep. I stuck out my right hand. "Nicole Andrews. How do you do? "

" Michael LeRoy. It's a pleasure, Miss Andrews." He grinned at me and held on to my hand a little longer than was polite. That made a thrill go right through me. Just seeing him in front of me and I was having hot flashes. Hormone overload that I couldn't blame on the hot sweater. " I hope you don't mind. I've brought the Land Rover. I have to pick up some peat moss at the garden center on the way back."

" No, of course not." He took my large bags. I took the smaller one. The largest of them contained my books and my gun and a whole pound of chocolate. I planned to do a lot of reading. Hopefully not too much shooting. As he hefted it into the back of the black Land Rover, he said archly: " Are you packing rocks in here, Miss Andrews?"

" I have books and chocolate in that bag, Mr. LeRoy."

" Are they dirty books, Miss Andrews?"

" I think you are overstepping the bounds of politeness, Mr. LeRoy."

" I thought you might loan me something. I am in need of reading matter." He pushed his hat back. I was thinking about how much I had missed his misty green eyes. " At least share the chocolate with me."

God, he was cute. Was this all part of the act? " We'll see. I don't know you well enough yet. I don't share my chocolate stash with just anyone, Mr. LeRoy. Perhaps if we get to know each other better."

He grinned. " I'm sure that will be the case."

Once we had the peat moss and were out of the very quaint and quite little town we were able to talk freely. I was a little sorry. I would have liked to pretend a little longer that I was Miss Andrews being picked up and taken to my job by the virile gardener. In the car I settled my purse on my skirted lap. It had been a long time since I'd seen him and I had not realised how much I'd missed him. He smelled so good, like sunshine and soil and newly mowed grass. There was dirt under his fingernails. " How are you feeling now?" I asked.

" Stiff," he said. He frowned down at his lap. " I guess I was thinking about dirty books."

" I meant the leg, Michael." What the hell was he trying to do to me? I told myself that I would not look down at his pants.

" Better now. Thank you.."

" How was it explained to the sisters?"

" Gulf War. Old injury. I'm Canadian, an ex-peacekeeper. It takes away the sting of my being French. I gather the animosity all goes back the Norman times around here. The sisters talk about Bonaparte like he was still alive on Elba and just waiting to come back."

" What are they like?"

" Ancient. One is tall and slightly horsey. One is small and dresses in suits like the queen. They love dogs, roses and entertaining. They're interesting characters. You'll see."

" Have you met the ghost yet?"

He turned his eyes from the road to smile at me. "Two ghosts, Miss Andrews. Their names are Emily and Sean." That's all he would say.

The estate was fabulous. Imagine the house on that A&E television movie, Pride and Prejudice, the one that belonged to the divinely sexy Mr. Darcy. White stone, huge porticos and balconies, cobblestone paths. The stone walls surrounding it were covered in ivy, white clematis and pink roses. The gardens were spectacular, seemingly going on forever. Two rows of tall, thin trees led to a glassy lake. I just held my breath as Michael drove the Land Rover up to the back entrance. I had been here before. I could almost hear the clatter of carriage wheels and the clopping of hooves on the cobblestones. It was like being home after a very long journey. I breathed deeply and sighed in bliss as I stepped out of the car.

My deja vu was forgotten when the dogs came at me. Four of them. Jack Russell terriers. Yapping white, tan and black bundles of pure energy were jumping all over me. I have never in my life seen such little dogs jump that high. I love dogs but these four were overwhelming. One word from Michael and they stopped immediately, sitting back on their short legs, ears perked up, mouths dropping open in smiles of slavish adoration. He reached down and scratched behind the ears of each one. Four tails began to wag like propellers. If he scratched behind my ears I'd wag my tail for him.

" These are the lads: John, Paul, George and Ringo. Meet Miss Andrews."

" Are they really named that after the Beatles.?" I asked. He was hefting the bags of peat from the car without even grunting.

" I named them that. I happen to love the Beatles." He pointed to the smallest dog who had a ring around his tail. " That is Cotswolds Gay Sprite. No I ask you, Miss, Andrews. Is that the sort of name to give a macho dog like that? And don't let his size fool you. He can corner a badger. He can catch a rat and shake it to death."

" I don't think I'd like to see that."

" Well, it's true. Now that dog there with the eye patch is George, otherwise known as Harbour Chines Happy Day. Get my drift. I don't even know John's real name. Watch out. He's the nasty one."

After greeting me formally with licks and barks, they came at his call, forming a conga line behind his heels as he led me into the house by the back door. I found myself in a huge old-fashioned looking kitchen. It was like something out of a cook's dream with its Aga cooker, long scrubbed pine island and rows of copper pots polished to a gleam hanging from the heavy rafters. An older lady was sitting at the table reading Women's World. A young girl about twenty was polishing silver. They both stopped what they were doing to gaze at Michael. And I thought the dogs had it bad.

They both looked at me like I was an exotic being from another planet. Maybe it was the pink sweater. Maybe I'd tracked in dog poo.

" This is Miss Andrews. This is Mrs. Alice Grimes, our chef extra ordinaire." Mrs Grimes blushed and told Michael to "go on with himself. "

She was as plump as a peach and had eyes the exact colour of chocolate drops. Maybe that's why I liked her on sight. She came and enveloped me in a hug. She smelled like apples and cinnamon. I had never had a grandmother. This is what a hug from a grandmother was like. " Oh, lass. So pretty, you are. It's so good to have you home."

Home? I'd never been here before.

" And this is Grace. Grace comes in three days a week when she's not studying to be a nurse. I try to steer clear of Grace. She's always trying to take my temperature."

" Michael! Oh, you devil. That is not true, Miss. It's not true at all. " I shook Grace's hand. She was a small ginger haired girl in her late teens. Michael took my bags and went up the back stairs. The dogs were still following him. What an actor he is, I thought, admiring his muscular jeans clad rear as he went up the stairs. It was like he'd lived here all his life. " I'm sure Miss Andrews would like a cup of tea. She can see the room later," he called over his shoulder.

' When you come down your lunch will be ready, luv," Alice called after him. Then she turned to me. " Isn't he just the most lovely man? Lashes that a girl would envy. Those greeny blue eyes. They have yellow flecks around the irises. So brilliant. Like tourmalines. Have you ever seen tourmalines?"

" I don't know." I'm glad she didn't wait for an answer to her first question.

" There's a picture of our Emily upstairs in the great hallway. She's wearing green tourmalines round her neck, she is. Lovely stones. Not precious gems, of course. It is said Lady Emily didn't need expensive jewels. She wore the stones because they reminded her of the eyes of the man she loved. Loved to her death. Lady Ann has the real necklace in the vault. " Alice sighed, then rubbed her plump hands together. " I'll feed you before I take you to meet Lady Ann and Lady Jane. They'll be having their naps now. Do you like meat pie and pickle, Miss Andrews? "

" I like just about anything. And please call me, Nicky." Wasn't Emily the name of one of the so-called ghosts?

She smiled. " Good. It suits you. Nicky it is. Isn't she pretty, Grace? " She winked broadly. " She looks like our Emily, she does."

" Oh, yes. Very pretty."

Before I could thank them for the compliment Michael was back. He poured himself some water from the pitcher. I tried not to watch him drink it.

Mrs. Grimes was issuing orders. "We'll have to be quick here. Grace, get the table set for lunch. The new vicar is coming for tea and the members of the committee for dinner and I have work to do." With that she looked at young Grace and the two of them began to giggle. Michael smiled at me and told me where to sit.

I was entertained over the delicious lunch with stories of the former vicar and how they had discovered he wore nothing under his robe one Sunday service. It seemed there was a boy who let a wild ferret loose in the church one spring morning. It ran up the vicar's gown. When the vicar began to scream and lift his gown to get rid of the beast he exposed himself to the entire congregation consisting mostly of little old ladies. It seemed that the vicar was not particularly well endowed. Even Michael laughed over the story. I have never heard him laugh that way except with Adam, so freely, so joyfully. Maybe it was Grace's contagious high pitched giggles that got him going. I hoped that I would get to hear more of his laughter. I was sorry when he set down his napkin and excused himself.

The ladies were in the dining room awaiting a light lunch. I was taken in by Alice and introduced. They were a sprightly pair somewhere in their mid eighties. Jane was a solid, tall woman with brown eyes and a warm smile. Her hair was an iron gray and she wore jodhpurs and riding boots. I have never seen anyone wearing those.

Her sister Ann was delicate, white haired, almost fey in her aspect. I figure she goes to the garden and talks to the roses. I liked them at first meeting. They sat me down and peppered me with questions about my life. I just told them what I had rehearsed and felt enormously guilty for every lie I told, especially when they smiled at each other as if to say that they liked me and hoped I would stay.

I hoped Section would not be hurting them in doing this. I felt some comfort in the knowledge that Michael would try his best not to hurt them. I don't ask me how I knew this I just did.

They seemed to adore their nephew and called him Freddy rather than Jason. He was, according to them, a dear boy. I hated the idea of their illusions regarding dear Freddy being shattered. I sat patiently while they showed me all of Freddie's scrapbooks. Freddie with a long line of girlfriends. Freddie with his first polo pony. Freddie in Aspen. Freddie at Christmas. I sure hope they never got a look at Madeline's scrapbook.

My room was a charming suite on the second floor and overlooking the gardener's cottage and garage. I parted the lace curtains and sighed looking at the gorgeous scenery. The position of the room was a good thing as far as the mission parameters went, to be able to see his house, but I was afraid that I would send all my time looking out of this window trying to catch glimpses of him. I knew I wasn't going to be able to concentrate. They should have stuck with Augusta. I just had this awful feeling I was going to screw things up. Since when was that anything new?

As if on cue he came into view pulling the hose on one of those trolley devices. He didn't have the cap on and the sun glinted off his hair. I watched as he stripped off his jacket and prepared to wash the car. My heart caught in my throat like it usually does at the sight of the white tee shirt stretched taught over his arms and chest, hugging his lean torso. I like him in jeans. They suit those strong legs of his, his narrow hips.

Oh, face it, Nikita. You'd like him if he was wearing a tutu. I was afraid of being in close proximity to him for two months. What was that going to do to my already tortured heart?

I left the window and threw myself backwards onto the bed, sinking into the wonderful feather mattress and pink chintz counterpane. It was a great bed. You had to take steps to get up into it. The posts were so high. I grinned to myself. This was a bed for sex.

Why had he told Madeline he wanted me to come here to work with him? To torture me? Or to be nice to me? It boggled my mind. I closed my eyes and felt myself drifting off to sleep, listening to Michael below the window singing along with the car radio, the dogs barking.

Someone was touching my face with a work rough finger. He smelled of horses, tobacco and hay scent, slightly musky, very male. It was not unpleasant. He continued his lovely, feather like stroking. Then I heard it close to my ear, a low, raspy chuckle that jolted me up out of sleep. " Ma acushla..."

I sat up and put my fingers to up to my cheeks. No one was in the room. The skin where I had dreamed someone touched me seemed cold as ice, the other was actually quite warm. I took a deep shaky breath. I got off the bed, running my fingers through my sleep-mussed hair

" Weird," I thought. What language had that been? French? I didn't think so. I looked at the other pillow. There was a depression there like someone's head had been laying on it. I just shrugged it off but I was thinking about it as I showered and dressed.

***********

I looked at my watch. Dinner was at eight. That would give me an hour to look around. I had been told that I would eat in the dining room with the sisters and their guests. They dressed for dinner. This was the first time I'd been anywhere people dressed for dinner in their own home. I hoped they didn't use a million forks.

I stood in front of the mirror frowning at my refection. Madeline had chosen the clothes, a plain dark grey dress with a high collar and long sleeves. With pearls. For summer! She was trying to torture me. And the neck was too high. I was choking. I yanked at the pearls. They gave a slight pop and spilled down over my black pumps. " Cheap, Madeline, " I muttered. " Section can't afford the real thing?"

The meal was delicious. I always thought British food was supposed to be awful, but the mescaline salad was fresh and delicious, probably picked by Michael's hands and the beef was juicy and succulent. I'm not usually into meat, but I figured that I was playing a part. None of them seemed worried about the threat of Mad Cow. I'm more likely to get shot in the head with a bullet than die of Mad Cow. I was a little afraid after tucking into trifle with loads of brandy in it, that I might have bad dreams.

I got a little bored listening to the people the sisters were entertaining. They were society types, talking about horses and charity events. And Ascot. I was hoping for a little gossip about Camilla what's-her-name. When they stared talking about the dear boy, Freddie, I pricked up my ears.

When Lady Jane offered to give the small group a tour of the house I jumped at the chance. I have never seen that many beautiful rooms in one house. I wondered how many of them Michael had managed to bug, with a strong pang of guilt. At least my own was clean. I could curse out Section at will, if I liked.

We finished the tour at the portrait gallery on the second floor. According to the sisters, some of the portraits of ancestors went back to Tudor times. I stopped to look at a portrait of a young girl in a gauzy white dress. She had the same blonde hair and blue eyes as me but her skin was rosier. She was finer boned, slight. Her smile was full of mischief. She had long slender arms and legs and she held a small white and black dog on her knee.

" That is Emily," Jane said softly. " Wasn't she beautiful?"

I nodded. " She's very young," I said.

"I think she was twenty there. Maybe a little younger. This was painted by Sean, of course, though he never signed it. We found it about forty years ago in the stable loft, hidden under the floorboards. We think he had been painting several years before this in Ireland, but was never recognised. We British are great snobs when it comes to recognising the talents of the Irish. We do tend to respect their horsemanship. He was talented, wasn't he?"

" Very."

" This was done just before Waterloo. She would have been sadder afterwards. Her older brother died there fighting Boney. That was the Regency period, of course. Do you read Jane Austin, Nicky?"

" Everything." It was true.

" She probably lived a year or two after this. So sad."

" How did she die?"

" Child bed fever. It was very common thing to die giving birth in those days. It was Sean's child. It was stillborn, you see. And I'm certain that she gave up after that because he was already dead. But at least she's with Sean now. I always see them headed off to the lake, you know. They tryst at night. Just like they did in life. It's lovely. Sometimes they have the baby with them. I've seen Sean bouncing him on his shoulders."

I just stared at her. She had seen the ghosts? How very casual she was. Like they were neighbours stopping for tea.

" He's very handsome. Tall, auburn haired. He hung himself, so they say. I don't believe it though. Sean was too strong willed to ever have killed himself. He knew Emily was with child. He and Emily were going to run away together but something happened. She went out one day and found him dead, hanging in the stable. I think that Sean was murdered. After that she married Lord Carrington under pressure from her father. He was a weasel like all the Carrington men. I was engaged to one of them. He left me at the altar."

" I'm sorry, Lady Jane."

" He was a bounder. Don't waste the pity, dear girl."

" I saw them last week. They always show up when there's going to be a grand thing happening." Ann said, over my shoulder. " We've always had a time keeping help because of them. "

" They get scared?"

Ann laughed and hooked her arm into mine. " Oh, no, dear. They always fall madly in love and leave us. Emily and Sean tend to want to match make. I just know you're going to leave us soon. You and our glorious Michael. It's only a matter of time, you see. I took one look at you and I knew that you two were made for each other. You were sent to us for a reason. Come now. Let's return to the drawing room for sherry."

I blushed, thinking that she was right about us being sent there. But not to fall in love. Well, not on his part at least. " I don't even know Mr. Le Roy."

" Of course you do. You've known each other forever. Eons. Your souls are very old, dear. You've been lovers forever. Emily told me. Some souls can be together in certain lifetimes quite happily. In other ones things tend to run a rocky course. It's all quite simple."

" She speaks to you?" No sense refuting her. She was cute, but about ten french fries short of a Happy Meal.

" In dreams dear. The dead always speak to the living in dreams. Or they pass traits on to us in our actions and thoughts, leaving a little of themselves behind in us. I lost my sweetheart, Reggie, in the war. He comes often to see how I am. Tell her, Jane. She's so much better at explaining it all than I am."

" I have a friend who visits me in dreams. She died of cancer at forty. I never knew how to drive or knit but the day after she died I bought a Jaguar and drove it until they took the permit away. Learned to knit, too. I shall make you a jumper. Bevvie has just taught me the most interesting cable stitch."

It was an interesting theory and totally understandable. Her friend's death just gave her the push she needed. She could have easily gone the other way. " I'd like a sweater very much, thanks."

Pulling the wool over the eyes of these little old ladies was going to be easier than I thought. They actually believed that a ghost was talking to them, that she was going to make that stubborn man they knew as their gardener-driver fall in love with me!

I think Emily the ghost had met her downfall in Michael when it came to love matches. Not that I minded in the least if the ghostly Emily tried to steer us together. It just wasn't going to happen.

I went up to my room at ten when the guests departed. I was half expecting everyone to stay and gather round the table for a seance. Once in my room I called Birkoff and checked in. He was in a snide mood as Operations was on his case about a can of Dr. Pepper he had spilled into his Keyboard. Snacks had been abolished since the famous gummy bear incident. It involved one of the sticky treats that stuck to the sole of Operations shoe. I had nothing to tell him. He said something about my having to change the Depends of a couple of little old ladies. I told him the only person I knew likely to wet the bed was him.

I took a leisurely bath, dressed in a cotton nighty and flipped through the television stations with my journal on my lap. I like British television. I love British rock. I stopped on the music station and watched Robbie Williams sing Millennium, thinking his spy spoof was pretty funny. I was thinking that I wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating crackers.

I was about to pack it in when the cell phone rang. I assumed that it might be Birkoff with something he'd forgotten. I flipped it open and said," Hello."

" Is this Josephine's Pizza. I wanted to order a special, hold the onions."

It was one of those times where you just pull back and stare at the phone in your hand because you can't believe it. " Huh?"

" Oh, did I get a wrong number? In that case, what are you wearing? I'm not wearing anything myself."

" Michael?" I was trying not to imagine him naked, eating a pizza.

" I guess I'm not as funny as I thought I was. What are you doing?"

" Watching television." And drooling over rock stars. Gorgeous men I will never have. Wishing I wasn't celibate. What are you doing, you gorgeous man that I will never have? " Have you been drinking?"

He laughed. " No. I had a glass of milk and a Tylenol. Why? "

"You don't sound like yourself, Michael. That's all."

' Maybe this is the real me, Kita. Maybe that man back at Section is just the cover."

It was a lot to think about. I couldn't say anything for a few seconds. I hate that dead air. " What are you doing?" I didn't mean it literally. I meant it in terms of what he was doing to me. Saying this strange things. I knew this camaraderie wouldn't last. That we'd go back to how it was before, blank stares and silences.

" What am I doing? I'm in bed with the four dogs. They like watching television. One of them has his head on my stomach, one has his head on my pillow and the other two are sleeping on my bad leg. I'm in great pain, " he said. Then he sighed. Or yawned maybe. " I like hearing your voice, Kita. I missed you. How long has it been? A month?"

Well, that was the kicker. I think my heart started beating double time. What was this? Whatever it was, it made me feel slightly nervous. I really didn't know how to take friendly, playful Michael. Morose, worried, control freak Michael, I do know how to deal with. " I think so," I said. " It was time to change the subject. " Have you spoken to the sisters about this ghost thing?"

" Sure. It's harmless. They're nice old ladies. I think they're onto something. I just wish the ghost would tell them what a bastard Freddie is."

I laughed. " Me, too. I should say goodnight, Michael." I flipped the phone shut, put my journal in the bedside table and switched off the light. A breeze came out of nowhere and ruffled the curtains. The room seemed to fill up with the scent of night blooming stocks, scented geraniums and heliotrope from the boxes on the balcony. Had that always been done or had Michael put them there especially for me? I smiled as I sank down in my pillows. Josephine's Pizza?

I had strange dreams. I was running down a path through the woods in a long skirt and very slippery flat shoes, breathless, hanging onto Michael's hand. He was running very fast. It was dark but the light from the moon silvered the auburn curls that spilled over the rough tweed fabric of his jacket collar. God, I loved him. I would do anything to be with this man. I tripped on an exposed root and fell, gasping. The next thing I knew I was lifted in his muscular arms and he was laughing down at me, asking me if I was hurt, nuzzling his slightly bearded cheek on my neck. I reached up and buried my fingers in his curls, bringing his face down for a long, wild kiss. " Oh, Emmie, love. . ." he murmured against my lips.

Emmie?

I sat straight up in bed. I was panting, breathless. I reached up and pushed back my hair, almost expecting to find dried leaves and moss. I touched my mouth. It felt almost swollen, thoroughly kissed. I had never had a dream that felt so real. Usually I know somewhere in the back of my mind that I am in a dream, that I somehow control the events. My dreams of Michael often are like that. I always wake up before the good parts, sometimes forgetting what happened the minute my eyes open, but that kiss, that unforgettable sensation... I could never forget that.

I could still feel the moist recesses of his beautiful mouth, his tongue stoking mine, the rasp of his beard against my cheek and chin. I could feel my fingers wrapped in the silk of his curls, his hands as they pressed against my ribs. Even my feet felt cold from running in the wet, dewy woods.

I got out of bed and went to the French doors, my pulses pounding. I could make out the brilliant white shapes of the four small dogs in the moonlight. He was out there. I could feel him in the stillness, almost hear him breathing. I leaned out a little and looked towards that house. He was there tossing a stick for the dogs to chase, dressed in jeans, shirtless, barefoot, his toes curled around the porch steps.

I moved away from the window, my heart still pounding, hoping he hadn't seen me and thought me spying on him. Maybe he was lonely, thinking of Adam. I knew he had trouble sleeping. I considered going down there so we could talk and thought better of it. It would not be good in terms of the cover. Miss Andrews would never go down there and intrude on his privacy, half naked stranger that he was. The girl I used to be might once have done that; with all that has happened between us, I am not quite that hopeful girl any longer, yet I had the feeling that I would not find myself rebuffed. He might even open his arms to me. Ask me to step into them. The thought was a little bit scary. I went back to bed unable to fall asleep until dawn broke. When I did sleep I dreamed of Michael again.

This time I was watching from the bushes at the edge of the lake trying to be quiet. My hair kept tangling in the brambles and it made me angry. I knew that I was not supposed to be there, that I was going to be in trouble. I would have no watercolours to show my tutor.

But it was all worth it because the Irish horse trainer was swimming in the lake and he was naked, totally, utterly, perfectly naked.

Of course, somewhere in my mind I knew that I was not Emmie watching Sean. It was me watching Michael. Everything seemed mixed up, topsy turvey. It was as if I were that innocent young girl, as if I had never seen Michael naked before. Every aspect of that perfect body was a new revelation, a gift from him to me. I could count every crystal bead of water on his smooth tanned skin, watched the rivulets course down the ridges of muscle banking his spine, the sweet dimples at his lower back, the curve of powerful, rounded buttocks, valleys and contours of flank and hard thigh.

He turned and I saw his eyes, as green and cool as the water. He was like a statue posed there in naked magnificence with the sun glinting on his long muscles. He lifted his arms to smooth back his hair, lifting his face to the sun. Then he turned and looked right at me, smiling slowly, impudently, like he knew where I was, that I was watching, breathless and spellbound with longing. I groaned aloud watching in fascination as his manhood rose proud and unrestrained...

I had to lean forward a little more over the bank so that I could see better. And then it happened. My feet slipped and I was somersaulting down the slippery bank, head over heels, pens, papers, paints flying.

When I opened my eyes I was on the floor, laying on the carpet, staring at the ceiling.

Jeez, I thought. I have to get a life. Walter was right. I had to get laid so I'd stop doing this to myself.

***************

There is something about an English breakfast. Don't get me wrong. I adore food. Eggs are great scambled. Bagels are heaven with some lite cream cheese and strawberry preserves. I even like pie or cold pizza. But an English breakfast is a heart attack on a plate. I guess that's part of the reason that I couldn't believe that he was eating bacon and sausage and fried eggs.

Okay, I know. I'll bet he never indulges. Who knows what he eats on his own. Probably nothing. I liked seeing him eat, enjoying something. But I saw how Alice cooked those eggs, spooning the inch of grease they bubbled in over the fat yellow mounds. And dollops of butter melting on the toast. No wonder the English public health is having grave problems.

At least he didn't eat the kidneys. For breakfast? Who in God's name wants to eat the urinary tract of a cow at breakfast? I mean, I ask you seriously, would you lick the floor of the men's room in Madison Square Garden after a Kiss concert? I doubt it. To me, it's the same thing.

I was yawning again. I have been here about a week. Between the dreams, the good food and sitting on my rear cataloguing dusty books, I have gained three pounds. I could blame the fresh air for making me tired but I presume it must be the dreams. I have a new one in glorious technicolour every night.

This morning the sisters sent me upstairs to look for a tussie mussie. I had no idea what that was. I was envisioning something an exotic dancer might wear over her privates, but I doubt the Delafield sisters have ever heard of exotic dancers.

It turns out a tussie mussie is a little silver vial something like a purse. Women used to wear them a century and a half ago to balls and soirees, usually to hold violets or rosebuds. They requested that I search through the attic to find the one their mother left them. It had been missing for a long time. I was thinking that Freddie probably hocked it, or was wearing it somewhere in his demented person.

The attic was really something. Now, allow me to gush here: I have always wanted to do this, go through somebody's junk. Years and years of junk, centuries. What perfect fun. I always watch the Antiques Roadshow when I'm home alone on a Sunday night. My mother was a tag sale maven. Her tastes ran to Elvis on black velvet and clocks shaped like cats. She got all of my clothes at tags sales and flea markets. She used to drag me away from Saturday morning cartoons.

After a while I got to like it. She'd give me a quarter and I'd buy buttons and beads and wire. I'd go home and make jewellery, pretend I was a princess.

I looked around the bulging room Grace said had once been a artist's studio. There were skylights in the ceiling illuminating wall to wall junk. Trunks galore. Heaven. Thank you, Madeline! I'll bet you never thought you'd hear me say that.

Grace showed me where the room was and then left. She had beds to change. I was glad that she wasn't staying. It was after about two hours of looking for the elusive tussie mussie that I found the small leather diary. It was hidden in an old war time trunk under some clothing. The weight of it seemed familiar in my hand like my own dear journal.

Since I have no compunction about you, dear friend, reading my private words as you are now doing, I had no qualms about reading these. There was no name on the flyleaf, but I carefully turned the brittle pages and saw the name: Emmie. It was hers. I knew it.

I settled on an old dusty chaise near the window and began to read. I read until the dust and the heat of the attic made my eyes heavy...

My nostrils were filled with the scent of turpentine, linseed oil and his clean, newly washed hair. I was wearing a gauzy dress of pale blue, but I was quickly divested of it by his capable hands. He was fully dressed in linen shirt, breeches and boots. I felt no shame in it, only great joy, wonder that he wanted me, too.

He was taking his time with my laces on the front of my corset, smiling at me with those green-blue eyes. I quivered as he brushed the tops of my breasts with his lips. How do I describe his lips? They are beautiful, pink like the insides of rose petals, soft and dewy, yet firmly sculpted as a man's lips should be. It is quite sinful, his mouth. I wanted it on me in the worst way.

He untied the pink silk ribbons. He kissed me behind the knees as he lowered the stockings down my legs, sliding his firm, slightly roughened hands up and down on my sensitive skin. No one has ever done anything like that to me before, touched me in that way. My legs were wobbling like cook's mutton jelly.

I was going to do the same to him, slide the suspenders down his taut arms, kiss that wide chest until he trembled like me. God, he is beautiful. Kiss me, Sean. Kiss me.

" Kiss me," I whispered, opening my eyes. Two green orbs were locked with mine. His mouth was an inch away.

" If that's what you want," Michael said.

I have to talk to you directly here, Michael. I couldn't breath or think. I just stared at your mouth. Pink rose petals, indeed. Emmie was right. You have a mouth meant for sin and boy do I relish being a sinner. I was sitting there thinking that I would die if you didn't kiss me, Michael, but the words to confirm or deny wouldn't make it past the lump in my throat.

Back to the narrative. My poor heart was pounding out of control. I was surprised that he couldn't feel it. My senses were reeling at the nearness of him. The room was spinning around the tow of us. Spinning and spinning and then tilted.

He cupped my cheek with his hand, rubbing the skin with his thumb. I could smell the hand soap he had washed with, a sharp tang in the musty room. His lips parted slightly. His handsome face came closer and closer until he brought his mouth to meet mine. Ever so slowly, ever so gently, he brushed his lips against mine in coaxing movements.

Not really a kiss, but the sweetest thing I have ever known. He began to trace the tip of his tongue against the seam of my lips. I was sorry when he pulled away slightly. I whimpered a protest and reached out to take his hard shoulder, pull him back to me.

" You feel like a dream I had last night," he whispered. " I've been having a lot of dreams about you. I haven't had dreams like this since I was fourteen and had to hide the sheets from my mother."

" I dream about you, too, Michael. Is that what this is? Just a dream I want very badly." I know my voice was sad. I felt on the verge of tears.

" I don't care if it is,' he said fiercely. " It's what I want. Do you want this?"

" Yes, Michael. I want this." I moved closer to him on the chaise, sliding my arms around his lean waist, hungry to be closer. My breasts brushed his chest. I heard his sharp intake of breath. He pulled me hard against him, covering my mouth with his. Finally.

And then Grace's call broke the moment, tearing us apart like guilty teenagers.

" Michael! Mr. Weatherby is here with the plants. He needs you to unload the truck. Hurry, they're wilting."

" Something else is wilting," he muttered. He layed his forehead every briefly on my shoulder as if in great distress.

I wanted to laugh, but this wasn't funny.

" Nicky!" Lady Ann was calling now. " Did you find the tussie mussie yet? "

" What the hell is that?" he hissed.

" Nothing, Michael. Go." He was too close. It was too much. I pushed him off the chair. My cheeks were flaming.

He looked down at me with dark fire in his eyes. As if to tell me that he would have that kiss again. Then he leaned down and traced my lips with one finger, as if to tell me that the interlude had been infinitely precious to him.

At least that was what I wanted to believe as I watched him walk out of the room. I picked up Emily's diary and slipped the delicate object into the trunk where I had found it.

Do you ever wonder what God really does? Does he have the time to worry about the millionaire football players who pray to him before games? Is he up there meddling in the lives of us little humans, jerking us around like puppets on a string? Or does he have bigger fish to fry?

I don't want to offend you if he have religious sensibilities but I wonder sometimes if he's up there at all. Maybe he takes a lot of naps. He's pretty old, you know.

Did Michael finish what he started?

No, not yet. Maybe he will. I don't really know. I have known Michael long enough to know that I do not hope for things. When I do my heart gets trampled. Before we got out here Michael and I were at a crossroads in our relationship. I think it was going to be say goodbye forever or just be friends. I was hoping for friends because I do not want him out of my life. No matter what Section wants. We haven't talked about it.

That's part of it. We don't talk. What if he came to me and said: Nikita, let's go to bed together. I want you. You want me. It's lust, pure and simple. There's nothing worse than lying about love. Hot, monkey sex for sex's sake has got to be better than false promises.

Could I go alone with sex every Saturday night with Michael. Uncomplicated sex. Unfettered, meaningless sex with that beautiful, worldly, fascinating man with no hope of hearing say he loves me? What would you do? Don't answer that. You haven't seen him, haven't heard his voice. You haven't buried your nose in his hair, felt his skin under your fingers. He hasn't touched you with that mouth. You couldn't be virtuous either.

I don't know if I can do it. I know that I would always be hoping. I am an all or none sort of person. I have never had a real boyfriend, a beau. I have never been courted. No man has ever come to me with flowers and candy and hope in his eyes. I want all of that and I want him to say he loves me. I do. No shades of gray. Technicolour truth. All encompassing, unconditional love. That's what I want to give him. That's what I want in return.

I won't get that with him. I won't get that with Section. I may never have it. One day I'll be a little old lady knitting in a chair like Lady Jane or Lady Ann, dreaming about the love that failed to be. They are content with that. I'm sure they have had their moments of regret but their lives have not been wasted because they did not have a man's love. I must hold on to that. There are worse things.

Okay, I know you think I am chicken. You think I should tell him how I feel. That perhaps I don't know what I want. You remember that old Bangles song: If she knew what she wants, he'd be giving it to her, if she knew what she needs, he'd be doing that, too... Maybe that describes me, a little. But you can say all you want about me because you don't have Section breathing down your neck, hoping you'll screw up and do something stupid so that they can cancel you. The man I want to love is one of them. That is what scares me.

Maybe I'll tell you what I've decided tomorrow. Maybe I'll let fate decide.

Two things happened after that kiss in the attic. I had to give Madeline an update. I think she has radar, a sixth sense when it comes to Michael and me. And then Ringo went missing so I never saw Michael alone again the night of the kiss.

It happened after Mr. Weatherby left. We spent four hours combing the bush for him. Lady Jane was certain that he'd met his end in a badger hole. Michael, Grace and I tramped the entire estate looking for him without luck until he came back alone, his ear hanging off and a rent in his side.

The only person he'd let near him was Michael. He wrapped him in a towel and cradled the poor little dog against his chest. My heart swelled over that. He took him to the vet in town while the rest of us went off to bed.

***************

Last night I dreamed about Michael in suspenders again. There is just something about pulling them down over his shoulders that I seem fixated on. Downright weird. I was getting worse than I'd ever been. And I'd been so tired when I went to bed. I'd spent all evening looking for Ringo and up half the night comforting Ann, who was taking it very hard. Ringo is going to be fine. He's languishing in the kennel with one of those cones on his head. I wish they had those for people like me who are prone to nail biting.

I spent the following morning checking the books, seeing how the charming Freddie Maddox had been cheating these kindly old ladies for years out of their wealth and possessions. Probably to pay for gambling and cocaine. He called while I was in the middle of it. Flirting, wanting to know who I was. I wanted to say: I have your number, Freddie. I know all about you. I have pictures. Your ass is toast.

Mrs. Grimes was taking her bi monthly three days off and it was up to me to make the trays of tea and toast for the sisters. I'm not too adept at making soft boiled eggs yet, as I still have my own teeth, so I just followed Mrs. Grimes instructions. There were no complaints so I figured the eggs were soft enough. I was given a list of my day's chores at breakfast. It involved seeing to the household bills and walking the dogs.

I decided to work off the steam I was feeling rise in me by walking the dogs. Much better than going out and blowing up some terrorist stronghold, or beating dear Freddie senseless, I thought to myself, as I looked behind the kitchen door for the leashes.

I think in a way blowing up terrorists is easier. The three remaining dogs were terrorists, tiny menaces, pulling at the leashes in ten different directions. It had been a chore just getting the damned things strapped on them. They kept leaping up and licking my face, knocking me onto my butt at one point. I finally got them somewhat settled and we set out. Or should I say they dragged me out, down a path that they'd obviously had some experience with. They kept getting tangled with each other and tripping me. I had been told not to let them off for fear they would meet the same fate as Ringo.

So they dragged me towards the lake. And that's when I saw him. Michael. Rising out of the water in all his glory. And thankfully, only sort of in his glory, wearing his briefs, though they left very little to my imagination. I stopped short, looked at him and my hands loosed their grip on the dog's leashes. Before I could take a breath they were happily paddling into the small lake.

By the time I got down there he was laughing and splashing with the three little pests. I stood there looking at him and blushing like I'd never seen him half naked before. I was thinking about that damned kiss and wondering if he'd forgotten all about it. He grinned at me. " Why don't you come in? You look kind of hot and bothered," he teased.

Hot and bothered? The idea of splashing around in the lake with him didn't strike me as the sort of thing to leave me feeling calm, cool and collected. I had lunch to make soon. " No, thanks. I have things to do today."

" Are you planning to make my lunch?' he wheedled, as he came out of the water. He reached for his jeans slipping them on wet over his lean body. I could smell him, clean and cool and wet from the lake. I swallowed hard as he zipped his fly. I couldn't help but glance down at his flat stomach, thinking about that lake dream.

" I guess I could do that." I was trying very hard to be sedate. I was watching drops of water trickle off his ears and I was thinking of that dream. I leaned in closer, not that I had to. I wanted to smell him better. I wished I could have caught one of those droplets of water from the lobe of his ear with my tongue. " Jason Maddox called. You might want to check in with Birkoff."

It seemed he could care less about Jason Maddox. " Good, Kita. Thanks. I caught some trout this morning. I'll clean them if you'll cook them."

" Sure, I think I can manage that."

He picked up his shirt and whistled for the dogs. They were around him in a second.

"How do you do that? Never mind. Don't answer." I started ahead of him up the path. I know exactly what makes them come at his call.

The sisters were waiting for their lunch in the dining room. I served them some of the trout Michael had caught, new potatoes and peas from the garden. They informed me that they had decided at the spur of the moment to go off and spend the next few days at the home of a friend in a neighbouring county. Michael would take them there this afternoon. They had some issues to discuss regarding the ball. They were sorry to be leaving me to my own devices so soon. Was I uncomfortable at being in the house all alone with Mrs. Grimes gone for a few days?

" No. I don't think so, Lady Jane. I'll be fine."

" Of course you will. You have the lads. And Michael will be here." They looked at each other and smiled. What was this: Fantasy Island? " You'll be in very good hands."

I swallowed. Yes, I would. That's what had me worried.

I spent the afternoon on the cell phone to Birkoff discussing the intel that Michael about the mansion and its surrounding areas, adding what I could. Birkoff was pleased. The mission would be a piece of cake. They could pick up De Luca and Maddox and no one would even be disturbed at the party. Michael had set things up perfectly. All I had to do was sit tight.

Michael would return later that night. He told me not to bother saving dinner for him. He would pick up something on his way home. I hoped it was a hamburger smothered in onions so I wouldn't want to kiss him.

I spent a good part of the late afternoon in the attic again, curled up on the chaise, reading Emily's diary. I had to stop after Sean died. It was too heartbreaking to read about how she had gone to meet him and found him dead in the stables. My throat choked with tears as she described herself watching out the window, expecting to see him, the sunlight glinting off the red in his hair, whistling a tune and leading one of the horses in a walk about the yard. She knew he would never come back and yet she waited.

She felt it was her fault. That the man she loved had died so young, never to ride or paint, swim naked in the lake or walk down the path whistling a tune again. She felt he had died because she had indulged herself forbidden to them.

I was sitting watching televison with the dogs when I heard his car pull into the drive. They looked at me expectantly, their heads tilted to the side as if to say: He's here. We're waiting. Aren't you excited?

I took a deep breath and opened the door. My legs were rubbery. I kept telling myself all the way down the kitchen stairs that I had to get a grip. What ever happened, happened. I had to be cool.

He was standing at the kitchen island, his arms braced against the scrubbed pine surface. He was staring at nothing in particular, lost in his thoughts. The dogs were gathered there watching him, arriving far ahead of me in their eagerness.

" Hi, Michael," I said. My voice didn't sound anything like mine. " How is Ringo?"

" Just checked him. He's fine."

I nodded. " I checked in with Birkoff. There's nothing new. Are you hungry, Michael?"

Michael looked at Paul, who had tilted his head to one side expectantly, and laughed. " She wasn't talking to you, Paul. You're always hungry," he said, turning to me with laughter in his eyes. " I know Alice has Oreos hidden in here somewhere. I can get us some milk."

I nodded. " Oreos sound good."

He found the Oreos in the walk in the pantry. We both went for the milk at the same time. That's when my shoulder brushed his chest, sending tendrils of electricity through my limbs. Not a good sign.

He poured us both a tumbler of milk. He wore a loose pair of khaki pants that sat low on his hips, the much-washed fabric loose over his buttocks and thighs, barely hinting at the power there. He also wore a cream coloured shirt, the buttons open down the front in deference to the heat. There was a little patch of sweat on his back between his shoulder blades.

We sat at the table with the cookies and milk like two little kids. I popped one of the cookies into my mouth and took a bite. I would have dunked but I didn't want to appear totally graceless.

" I like to spread them open and lick the creamy parts," he said. His green eyes were twinkling roguishly.

Wow, I thought, as I tried to swallow the cookie that had stuck in my throat. I can get SEX out of that? Am I that depraved and desperate? I suddenly wasn't hungry any more. I felt panicked. It was inevitable. Michael and I would find our way to a bed and make love again. Just what I had been craving, dreaming of, avoiding like the plague. Maybe I should take a big bite of cookie, and smile seductively at him with black stuff all over my teeth. He'd run, screaming.

But then again, what if I just bit the bullet and made a move? Just leaned forward and kissed that tiny fleck of white icing from the corner of his mouth. Would I be turned down? I didn't think so. I believed that he wanted me at that moment with the same all encompassing longing I felt. I was certain of it.

That's what scared me. I didn't want it to be a mistake again, to have him give himself to me out of loneliness, or lust or this crazy spell that was cast over us. Once or twice or a dozen times, only to be dumped again once we got back to our real lives at Section. I wanted him to tell me that he loved me first. I needed him to tell me that.

Dammit. I didn't know what I wanted. I burned for him and yet...

" Nikita? What's the matter?"

" There's nothing the matter. Do you think it's going to storm? Would you like to watch a movie or something?" I bit my lip, chewed it.

" I don't want to watch movies, Kita. " He did something I'd been wanting, needing, dreading. He leaned forward and took my chin in his hand, tipped my head back. I just stared into his remarkable eyes. They were blazing behind that thicket of lashes. " Just forget about everything. Live in the moment. This moment. It's all we have. Can you do that? "

I nodded. " I can do that." Hell, I'd crawl over glass for this man. Anything. Live in the moment. No problem.

Then he took my hand and pulled me over so that I was sitting in his lap, facing him, my legs hanging down on either side of his hips. He just stared into my eyes for the longest time, our foreheads touching, our noses a centimetre apart. I could feel his arousal, hard and insistent beneath our clothes. I shifted my bottom a little and his eyes closed slowly as if in pain. He exhaled a breath, ruffling my hair. He smoothed his hands up and down my thighs, my hips, my sides, watching my face, as my body reacted to his touch. He ran his hands up my arms to my shoulders and took my face in his hands. " Kiss me, Kita. Please."

It was scary. Sensation made a muddle of my thoughts. I cupped his jaw in my hands and pressed my mouth to his, kissing him softly, shyly as he had kissed me that morning in the attic. He let me explore his lips, until I touched the slick, sensitive place inside his bottom lip with the tip of my tongue. He pulled back, startling me, taking my wrists in his hands. He was shaking, I assumed with desire, but perhaps fear of what might become of us if we dared make love again, defy Section." Do you want this, Nikita?"

" Yes, I want this."

" You're sure? I won't tell you any lies. I can't make promises. I'll make it good for you. Is that enough for now?"

" Yes, Michael. It's enough for now." He nodded, in relief, I assume, and closed his eyes as his mouth met mine.

How do I describe that kiss? One word: Lush.

He wrapped his arms around my ribs, almost crushing me in his embrace, bringing his need up hard against my pelvis. Oh, that stunning kiss, that wild wondrous kiss. He overwhelmed me, indulged me, inundated my senses with his overwhelming masculinity. I drank in the sweet cookie taste of his mouth, the feel of his hands on my body, his tongue stroking, bewitching me.

I remember him picking me up like that, standing up with me, my legs still wrapped around his waist. He carried me upstairs to the big bed I had jokingly referred to a bed made for sex. I don't know how we found the room. He almost dropped me on the stairs. I bumped my head on the bulkhead at the top of the kitchen stair and started laughing. He was muttering swear words and apologies in French. I wanted him to set me down, but he refused. He said he was not going to let me go, as this exotic light burned in his eyes, as he continued to kiss me, consume me, at one point propping my back up against the wall in the hallway so he could give me another of those opulent, ravishing, all consuming kisses. At one point a small table keeled over and the vase on it smashed sending roses and water everywhere. He told me to forget it. We'd think about that later. We were both panting, wild with need as I finally fumbled with the door handle.

You want me to tell you what happened next, don't you? Describe it in detail. Lurid detail.

It's what seems to be the style in books these days, pages and pages of information. What goes where, descriptions of moans and groans and clinical details. After a while you get desensitized and it is no longer new or moving.

I am not going to do that, describe every aspect of our lovemaking. It's too private. It happened between Michael and me. It is our secret and it must remain that way. One day, if I'm lucky, my children will read this. They will not want to know the details. I'm laughing here. Does any child want to know that his parents had sex?

In Emily's diary she said: I loved him with all he had to give, as he loved me. We were one.

I hope that my child perhaps, or you, dear friend, are reading this with as much joy as I read Emily's words, knowing that love is never wasted, no matter what the consequences. And Michael and I loved each other in that moment. Even if the words didn't pass our lips. What are words, anyway? If only for that short time, we were one. Section can never change or touch that.

I remember laying there on my side, watching him as he slept, thinking that I felt so alive at that moment, I could have jumped up and run a marathon. And though I had the energy to do it all again, to repeat the act that consumed us so sweetly, so fully, I had the desire solely to look at him. To study that beautiful profile to my heart's content, to listen to his deep, even breaths, to know him when he is tranquil and at peace. I knew deep in my heart that the moment had passed for us, burned itself out and he was not really mine at all any longer.

I had promised that it was enough. I intended to keep that promise.

It was very late. I got up silently. Washed and slipped on a nightgown, then I climbed back into bed, wrapping my arm around his waist. I lay there thinking, waiting for sleep to come, not knowing when the thoughts ended and the dreams began.

I awoke suddenly to find that it was storming and he was gone. I have always liked storms but today I was afraid, overwhelmed with fear, anxiety. Something had happened to my love. I knew it. I could feel it. I threw back the covers and got out of the bed.. I knew that I had to find him. I ran, realising that I was wearing some sort of long gown. The fabric swished against my legs tripping me. I ran out from the kitchen into into the yard, making my way into the stables. Thunder crashed and I could smell the dampness of the ground and the earthy smell of the storm. I pushed open the stable door just as lightning creased the sky, illuminating everything.

I saw him there. Hanging from the rafters, his green eyes open, his neck broken. I began to scream and scream, calling his name over and over.

I think I woke up the second his arms wrapped around me. He was holding me tightly against his warm, big body there in the yard as the rain pounded down on us.

" You're alright, Michael." I hugged him tighter, crying. Choking with the force of my sobs. He wasn't wearing a shirt, just jeans. His hair was wet. I touched him. His face, his chest. his strong, tensed arms. " It wasn't real. It wasn't real."

" What did you see? "

" You. Hanging there in the stables. You were dead . Oh, Michael, I thought you were hanging there in the stable." I knew it wasn't a stable now but a garage. I shook my head. I could see him clear as day, his limp body swinging in a macabre circle. " I guess I dreamed it." I tried to pull away, but he held fast. " I thought it was real. I thought you'd given up. Maybe it was an omen "

He stared down at me. " I wouldn't do that to you, Kita. Never. Come. Let's get you into the house. You're shaking."

We turned to go into the house and then I felt it, an awful stinging pain in the sole of my foot. " I think I cut my foot, Michael."

In answer he swooped me up into his arms and carried me to the kitchen. I wrapped my arms around his neck, thinking that I was probably heavy. I pressed my face to his neck, drinking in his clean scent. So very thankful that he was alive and well.

The door was open already. He flipped the light on with his elbow. Across the floor were the smears of blood from my cut foot. I must have stepped in glass from the vase we had broken. I had not even felt it. He set me up on the counter and rested my muddied, bloody feet in the sink. He picked my foot up with gentle hands and washed the gore away in the running tap. I've never had anyone wash my feet before. It was a unique experience. I wished for the millionth time that I had tiny, dainty feet as I watched his finely-shaped gentle hands rub my feet with the soap.

" There's a piece of glass in it. I think I can pull it out. It might hurt." I nodded and told him to go ahead. His shoulders were glossy and wet. I could count the freckles on them. His hair was wildly curling. He pulled the glass out with not too much effort and displayed it to me, a one inch long shard of crystal. The wound was bleeding quite freely, but he didn't think it required stitches.

He bent down and kissed my bare knee and told me to sit still and soak the cut. He was off for the First Aid kit. I waited for him, still shaky, unable to get the picture of his swinging dead body from my mind. And the kiss on the knee didn't help. It didn't help at all. Now my heart was hammering even harder and I was thinking about how I was going to be without him again. So soon. .

He dried my foot with a towel, spread the cut with antibiotic and pressed some butterflies to the small, deep cut. Then he bandaged my foot with gauze and tape. " Should be tender for a while. Do you always have such vivid dreams?"

I flushed. " Sometimes. I've been having them more lately. I haven't done any sleepwalking since I was a little kid. "

" When I was nine I got up in the night and peed in my mother's linen closet. All over the freshly washed sheets. I was not too popular."

" Oh, Michael." I practically groaned out the words. I loved hearing him say that, something about his past. It meant the world to me. I reached out and put my fingers against his beard roughened cheek." Thank you for everything. I mean that." I smiled, drinking him in. Everything. The wet curling hair. The wide gleaming shoulders. Those eyes looking at me with a want, a need, I hoped that I wasn't imagining.

" Let's go back to bed, Kita. The nights not quite over," he said softly.

If the sisters had been paying me for real they'd have been happy with what I did the next few days. I took care of a lot of little discrepancies in the books, hired a new cleaning service to give the house an overhaul before the midsummer ball as requested by the sisters and straightened out the library. It took me days to dust the shelves. I told myself it was because my foot was too sore to do much else but the truth was that I was trying to avoid Michael.

I was still dreaming about him, still watching him out the window. I was lost in thought dusting books when Lady Ann came into the office carrying a big box. Lady Jane followed her carrying a small laquer box.

" I have something for you, Nicky dear. It just came."

I just stared at her. Something for me. Why would they have something for me? I got down from the book ladder. She had opened the box and was pulling out a dress. It was a confection of sheer fabric in the Empire style of the Emily's time. As a matter of fact it was a replica of the exact same dress that Emily wore in her portrait.

" For the party. We knew you had to have a gown for the party. It is a costume ball, of course. We decided that this would be the perfect thing. Do you like it?" She pressed the gossamer gown into my hands.

My heart soared and sank at the same minute. I was amazed and incredibly moved that they would have done this. And horrified that I would be instrumental in ruining their party. I didn't have any words to say to them. I felt the sting of tears behind my lids. Lady Jane stepped forward with the box. " Emily's tourmalines, dear. You must wear these with the dress. You'll be the picture of Emily."

" Oh, Lady Jane, I can't ..."

" Go and try it on, Nicky. We'll be right here waiting. Grace is waiting upstairs to help you. She's excited, too. Oh, Jane! Isn't this brilliant?" I could hear their gleeful giggles as I made my way up the stairs to try on the dress.

It suited me. I looked at my reflection in the cheval mirror. The hair wasn't right. I had drawn it back in a ponytail and the sun had brought freckles out on my nose. In those days the freckles would have been a no-no they'd have called me a "long Meg" but the gown seemed to call for someone tall to pull it off. In the gossamer fabric, with the stones around my neck I looked almost delicate, virginal. Like I had never done any of the things I have done for Section. I could almost believe...

"Oh, Nicky, you're gorgeous." Grace was tweaking at the hem, chattering. " You need shoes. Can't go barefoot. Do you know that in the old days the ladies used to dampen their gowns with water before parties? No wonder they dies of colds. My boyfriend Eddie and I went to a wet tee-shirt contest at the pub "

" Oh, Nicky!" Lady Ann called. " Come down. Let us see."

I took a deep breath and hiked up the skirt. My bare toes peeped out from the hem. I straightened my shoulders, took a deep breath and headed for the sweeping staircase. I was standing at the top under Emily's portrait when I saw him.

Michael, but not Michael. He was wearing rough clothes, boots to the knee and a white linen shirt with stains on the elbow. He held rough tweed cap in one hand. His lips parted slowly and he looked up at me with such a wild, longing gaze in his green eyes that I almost ran down the stairs to throw myself into his arms. I imagined him catching me, his big hands spanning my waist, letting me slide down the front of his body to find his beautiful mouth waiting...

I blinked and the vision was gone. He was standing there, but wearing the khaki pants and a white tee shirt. He was not gazing at me in wonder as I came down toward him. His look made me feel sick with dread.

" Isn't she lovely, Michael? Oh, Nicky. You look like Emily. Just like her. I can't wait for the ball. The gentlemen will be fighting each other to dance with you," Lady Ann gushed.

I'm sure I was blushing. I am not used to having people make a fuss and the sheen of tears in Lady Jane's eyes made me want to cry myself.

" She is lovely," Michael said huskily. " Perfect." He took a deep breath. " I have some things to do. May I speak with you, Nicky? It's about the garden center account."

" Yes, of course. I'll just change." He reached out to stop me, his fingers pressing into my arm. It was as if a current of electricity ran between us. " Is it alright if we use the library, Lady Jane? "

" Don't be silly. Use the library, dear children," said Ann. " Jane and I have a few things to attend to." She took Jane's arm and went off giggling.

" I think she's hoping you'll ravish me," I said after the door was closed.

" I'd like to. But this isn't the time." He steered me over toward the desk. " The Italian police have De Luca. The mission is off. We have to pack it up and get back. Madeline is giving us until midnight tomorrow to get the surveillance equipment packed and out of here."

I blew out a shaky breath. Maybe I would have argued with him once upon a time. What could he do? There was no sense making this more painful for him. And something deep inside me knew that he was in pain. He would never say so. Michael has steeled himself not to.

" Nikita. It's time. We have to go."

I knew he was right. He has said it to me before. We do what we have to do. It is a given. Maybe I have grown up somewhat because I understand it now and I do not blame him. But I couldn't help the wave of sorrow that washed over me just then. No more dressing up. No more flirting. No more nights in that bed while the storm raged outside.

"Tell me what you need me to do, Michael."

He told me what he needed, succinctly, professionally in that softly accented voice that not days ago had praised my beauty and offered a list of the many erotic ways he would please me.

When he was finished he turned and walked toward the door. Something stopped him from opening it. He dropped his hand, turned and came back. My pent up breath just rushed out of my lungs.

He took me by the arms, his hands very tanned as they closed over the white elbow length gloves. His eyes, as green as the fiery stones around my neck, lowered to study my breasts peeping out over the low bodice. Then his eyes closed and he pulled me against him, his lips covering mine, his hands sliding around my back. He kissed me so thoroughly, so deeply, and with such sweet, sad conviction, that when he let me go I almost fell backwards. His hand slipped down my arm and took my fingers. The was a catch in his voice, " It's been a pleasure knowing you, Miss Andrews."

" Yep. It's been a slice, Mr. Le Roy," I managed.

He grinned and pushed the hair back over his ear, that dear curl that never stays in place. Then he readjusted my bodice to make it appear a little more crooked. I almost jumped when his fingers brushed my skin. " You have just been ravished, my dear love. I hope they notice." With that he turned on his heel and was gone.

I sort of hoped they didn't notice. I'd liked to have had him do it again.

**********

I think about it sometimes, that terrible dream of Michael, hanging from the stable rafters, his limp body suspended, twirling, lifeless. I wonder if it was me who dreamed it, or did Emily's spirit somehow meld with mine?

I suppose it does not matter if it was Sean or Michael that I dreamed of. The lesson is the same. It is, perhaps, an omen. I know that the lives of Michael and I both hang in the balance. We do what we have to do. We cannot afford to make mistakes. We can't afford to lead with our hearts and stumble into our downfall.

I regarded him today in the grey void that is Section. He was walking down the hall in his impeccable black suit, his handsome, well groomed head lowered. I wondered what he was thinking about. I thought of him grinning, delightfully grubby, pushing that wheelbarrow full of plants down the fragrant mulch path, four tiny dogs at his heels. I had to press my lips together before a shocking sob of laughter and tears spilled out.

Freddy Maddox came to his aunt's home that afternoon, acting like nothing had happened, probably looking for money for cocaine. I wasn't surprised to see that Section hadn't taken him in yet. But he is small potatoes. I waited until after dinner and got him in the library on the pretense of a flirtation.

He didn't know what hit him. I had him flipped onto his back in seconds. I pressed my gun right up into his quivering nostril. I told him to get his act together, get into a drug rehab and act like a man for a change. I told him I would know if he was ripping off his aunts. If he didn't do as he was told I would come back and blow his sorry head off. I added as an aside that his aunts were not to find out that I carry firearms. I didn't see Freddie for the rest of the evening. It seemed he had a sick headache.

I left the dress on the bed with the necklace. I couldn't help but stoop to touch the fabric, swirling the soft folds through my fingers. I checked my watch. In two minutes I would meet Michael and we would leave.

I stopped in the hallway and looked up at the portrait of the blue eyed girl. " Tell them that I meant no harm, Emily. Tell them that I have never been so happy as I have been here. Would you do that, please? "

I made my was silently through the sleeping house to the kitchen. The lads were sound asleep in their baskets. Only George raised his head and yawned and then went back to slumber. I was just about at the back of the door when I heard it.

A soft giggle. The rustle of a skirt. Slippers on the slate tiles. I turned.

Up on the high shelf where Alice's television perched was a white card. It seemed to lift in the air and float down to settle at my feet. I stooped to pick it up. It said Ann and Jane on the front in masculine black script, a hand that I know well.

I would like to say that I felt bad reading other people's mail. I did not. The note said:

Dear Lady Ann and Lady Jane,

Thank you for your kindness to us. Nicky and I have fallen in love. We are going to Scotland, where we intend to marry soon. I love her with all my heart and will look after her for the rest of my life. Please believe that, for it is the truth.

Perhaps we will see you again, someday. For now you can say a prayer for us and wish us happy.

Your friend and most humble servant,

Michael

I set the note back on the shelf and looked about the kitchen one last time before I went to the door. Before I left to meet Michael, I looked back and smiled.

" Thank you for showing me that, Emily. Goodbye."

I stepped out the door and softly closed it. I heard the tinkle of laughter again. I squinted in the dark, unable to believe my eyes.

Walking down the path in the moonlight were two figures. They were holding hands, their heads tilted close in conversation, lost in each other. She was dressed in a gossamer, white gown. He wore breeches and boots, his auburn hair falling in shiny curls to his shoulders. I stood there rapt, gazing at them, a feeling of sadness tempered with joy filling my heart. I watched until they disappeared and then wiping away the tears, turned to meet Michael.

Send suggestions and comments to ranma.