It was late on Thursday afternoon about 4.30 when the doorbell rang in the apartment. I felt the fear again, but breathed hard to choke it down. Peering through the spy hole, I looked at the man standing there. He was staring about him, his hands in his pockets, his back to me. For a moment I thought it was Terry. Speaking through the intercom, I asked:

"Who is it?" He turned and smiled. Lachlan.

I think I screamed. I certainly made him jump anyway. Pulling back the security bolts, I threw back the door and flung my arms round him, almost bowling him over. "Lachlan Curry! What on earth are you doing here?"

He giggled and swung me round. "Hiya, gorgeous! I was just flying around and felt like dropping in. Got something for you..." He picked up a gift bag from the floor, next to his carryon and handed it to me. I was curious.

Stepping back, I invited him in; he bent to retrieve his luggage and entered. "What's this?" I said, peering inside.

"Open it, love! I've no idea...it isn't from me. Terry asked me to drop it off for you."

I sat cross-legged on the sofa and pulled out the package. It was wrapped beautifully but in my usual fashion, I ripped away the paper in a mad hurry. There was a small jewellery box inside - but when I opened it there was no trinket, just a key. Beneath the yellow satin lining of the box I could see a piece of paper jutting out. I pulled back the base and there, folded neatly, was a page from a magazine, torn out.

Unfolding, I looked confused at the advert for baby food. "The other side, love," Lachlan said as I held up the page. Flipping it over I saw a picture of a car. Scrawled across it was:

Parking bay: Number A26. Yours. Don't crunch the gears. Terry x

The car was a silver Mercedes Sports C320 V6. I jumped up and grabbed my flat keys and ran to the door. Turning back, I shouted to Lachlan: "Well, come on then...thought you were the test pilot? Let's give this baby a test drive!"

It was a beautiful car. I mean I'm not really a car person but even I knew that this was a step up from my little run around. Terry drives a Jag but I rarely use it. He wouldn't mind- he simply isn't bothered about possessions- but, frankly it scares me a bit and anyway, he drives all the time when we are together. Sitting by me as a passenger brings out a nervous tic in him. This little honey was sleek and elegant and unashamedly top of the range. I couldn't believe it. I know it had been my birthday while we were away and he had said he would get me a special something when we got back but so much had happened that I had completely forgotten and he's always spending money on me anyway.

"It is so beautiful! Lachlan...here take the keys and drive it." I threw them over.

He caught them and looked surprised. "Your present... don't you want to try it out?"

I shook my head. "I'd probably prang it straight off, I'm such a lulu."

"Don't be ridiculous! Come on...you drive and I'll navigate. I've been in dodgier situations that this one and lived," he teased.

I tentatively slipped behind the wheel and checked it out. Looking at him, he said "Ignition- crank her up...no time like the present..."

I turned the key and the little darling purred into action. She was a joy to drive and we spun around the city on this warm July night, windows down and drinking in the evening.

"Hey, fancy something to eat?" Lachlan said a few hours later. We were outside London on the M4 giving this sweet little mover some wellie. I nodded and we turned off at the next junction, driving through country lanes until we found a restaurant by a river. On a veranda overlooking a summer garden, we ate a meal and got to know each other.

Lachlan is a man who has no visible barrier between himself and the world. He has an innocence and a joie-de-vivre that I suspect was natural in his generation. They knew what was important in life and they had not learnt the modern need for appearing cool. He is open and friendly, funny and charming, even though he has depths that might not be immediately obvious. There was something behind his smile that I wished I could fathom, something melancholic that kept reminding me of a younger Terry, but his appealing personality soon swept me away and made me forget my desire to uncover his sadness.

We talked of so many things: books, films, music, our homes, places we had visited...he is a chatterbox and tells the best stories - although I know most are well-embroidered. I felt really relaxed in his company; he was like a, well, a brother. I mean he is a Brother...but this was a non- threatening relationship. That is so badly expressed. The Brothers do not threaten...what I mean is...I didn't feel that instinctive attraction that I had with the others. Not that he isn't attractive...I can't explain it. I just wanted to sit and chat and laugh and for it to stay like that...it was enough.

Lachlan drove home- he had drunk a pint of beer but I had had some wine and I never drink and drive- I'm loopy enough sober; Terry would kill me if he thought I was behind a wheel with alcohol in my system. Arriving back at the apartment, Lachlan jumped out, opened the door and bowed, saying: " This way, my lady!" with a flourish. I giggled and took his hand.

"I'll just come up and get my togs...I'll be on my way then, Uma."

"Way? Where are you going? Not flying tonight?"

"No. I'll find a hotel...there's heaps of them around here. Charge it to the company. Like the dinner. Entertaining the boss's wife!" He grinned.

"Hotel? Are you joking? Stay here! We've got a spare room. You're one of the Brothers...you have to stay with me...I think it's a rule!"

"If you're sure?"

"Course I'm sure. I just presumed you came for that reason anyway. I want you to stay. It will be so good to have a man about the house. Between you and me...these days I get a bit scared alone."

He nodded and guided me to the lifts, his hand lightly on my shoulder. Back upstairs I brewed up; we had a cup of tea in the kitchen and talked.

"When you said you were scared...is this since what happened in New Orleans?" Lachlan asked, stirring sugar into his cup.

"Yeah...I'm very jumpy these days."

"Not surprised. Any one would be after that."

I ran my hands through my hair. "Did Terry tell you to come here? No bullshitting."

"Yeah, he did. It was a long flight. He sat up with me and we talked. He loves you very much and he's worried about you. Nothing wrong with that, is there? Wouldn't any man do that for the woman he loves?" Lachlan's face took on a faraway look; he was thinking of the woman he'd loved and what sacrifice it had cost him to leave her.

"I'm glad you came. Terry was right; I did need company. I just don't want to be a burden to him. He is so responsible and honourable- but I'm scared I'll bring him down, ruin his life. I want him to have fun and play- not to revert back to that place he was before when he had so much melancholy in him and so little opportunity to be his real self."

Lachlan laughed gently. "You take the rough with the smooth - it's part of love. You'll be right as rain soon and everything will be apples. You just see." He reached over and patted my arm.

"I wish I wasn't scared all the time. I'm scared of ...well, everything..."

"Like? Give me an example?"

"Scared of a door banging shut, scared of going to sleep, scared of being alone, scared of...playing the Game. God, I'm even scared of flying. I always was really but now I'm even worse. I remember waking up on that jet and then, when I think about ours, I just get all scared again. I've never flown in it. How crazy is that?"

He ran his hand through his hair and looked at me. "I'll make sure all the doors are closed tonight. I'm sleeping in the next room if you need me. Remember, the Game can be played in many ways- friendship is just as important as... you know what... Look, I have an idea...tomorrow, if you'll let me, I'll take you on board the jet and see if we can't get you over one of those fears of yours. Sometimes you have to face your fears, Uma, and then they go away. I know that. I've been scared, too. Think about it. Promise?"

I thought about his words and said that I would sleep on it. I was tired and I knew that Terry would call me soon; I wanted to be alone for that. Showing him to his room, I said goodnight.

"Sweet dreams, gorgeous!" He replied; I reached up, kissed him on the cheek and felt a momentary tension in him before he ruffled up my hair, winked and turned to go in.

"Goodnight, flyboy, see you in the morning!" I whispered as the door shut behind him.

He was up early the next morning, walking all shiny and fresh into the kitchen, fastening his tie. Again I thought of another era where 'standards' were important. A man would always be shaved and showered, hair trimmed and oiled, always in a suit and tie or the appropriate clothes for a given occasion. Best foot forward, rise and shine, put a jolly decent show on. I think I like it. He saw me smile at him.

"What's the joke?"

"No joke. I'm not used to seeing men so well turned out in the morning. Even the urbane Mr Thorne prefers unshaved and shaggy at this hour of the day and rarely wears more than a pair of jeans- and usually less than that. I was just admiring your style, Lachlan."

He grinned. "Air Force training, love. Can't have the boys letting standards go, can we? You have to be in your best when you go down with the burning plane," but there was a note of cynicism underneath the throwaway good humour.

I offered him breakfast, knowing that muesli and a banana would not be his preferred meal- so I cooked him the works and he tucked in. It made me feel useful- I have really taken to cooking recently. It is very therapeutic. As soon as he was finished he jumped up and helped me clear up, he has very good manners. Apparently he was raised in a houseful of brothers- his Mum the only female- so he's used to mucking in, as they all were.

I excused myself to get ready and took a shower and spent a little time trying to do something with my hair, finding a little jewelled clip to hold it back from my face. I wasn't sure what to wear but decided to choose something that might please a man of Lachlan's era- so I picked out a pale turquoise linen skirt, knee length, and a rather demure white top, somewhere between sexy, feminine and smart. Slipping on some turquoise low-heeled sandals and a see-through silk cardigan, I made up lightly and surprised myself- I hadn't looked like this for ages. I thought I saw someone I recognised in the mirror for a fleeting moment.

My eyes alighted on my jewellery box and I took out the aquamarine earrings and the bracelet that Terry had bought me at Soper's Hole. A sudden warm feeling swept over me at the thought of that crazy perfect day when we had behaved like two sex-crazed teenagers. In my mind it seemed to be the last day of the innocence. I would give everything I possess to rewind and start again to find myself back where we were then. But wearing Terry's gift gave me a feeling of safety, a protective cloak against my fears, a talisman.

I think Lachlan approved of what I wore. His eyes lingered on me in a slightly more than fraternal way; he looked away nervously and cleared his throat, his fingers drumming on the arm of the chair and his heel tapping. I have known enough of the Brothers to recognise the unconscious signs of unease. Perhaps he had just realised that I was a woman.

The day was fine and the drive a pleasant one; we listened to the radio and I sang along with some of the records- he didn't recognise most - I guess they were either too English or too modern for his taste. I fiddled around and put on a CD I had brought with me, found Roxy Music and flipped it on. I sang loudly to "Street Life" and made him laugh; the sound made me giddy. It was so long since I had heard that sweet deep rumble or the girlish giggle.

I acted out the arch lyrics in a very Brit accent, just like Bryan himself; I was enjoying the old familiar sensation of playing to the gallery- the gallery, as usual, being a man.

Wish everybody would leave me alone
They're always calling on my telephone
When I pick it up there's no one there
So I walk outside just to take the air

Come on with me, moving down the street
Who knows what you'll see, who you might meet
This crazy world's not like yesterday
It can take you higher than the Milky Way

Street Life....Street life. Street life...  What a life...!!

We pulled into Luton airport and after Lachlan flashed his credentials, we were directed into a separate gate to the private jet hangars. Despite the lingering anxiety it was hard not to feel a little bit of a buzz in such a place- they treat you like royalty. The plane is a little beauty - a Gulfstream. Oh baby, will you girls love this one! Lachlan indicated that I should board and I did, a little tentatively, but he walked behind me and held my hand, a sort of friendly gesture, his warm solid hand in mine overwhelmingly reassuring.

I stepped into the luxurious interior that still had the strong leather smell of newness about it, like a new car. I giggled in delight at the plush leather seats and the enormous couch that was begging for a test drive. I snorted and ran along the aisle, jumped on it and threw my head back. I could just see Terry at work in this setting.

Standing up, hitching up imaginary pants and settling myself back, undoing the imaginary jacket button and fiddling with my imaginary cuffs, I pretended to be Terry at work.

"OK, mate, this is the deal. You got the fucking cargo, I got the case of money. We do this my way, or we don't. Can't say fairer than that - I'm a reasonable bloke. But arse about, mate- you get zip and case full of sad old East European porn...."

"That is the worst Aussie accent I have ever heard! You sound like that Steve-O bloke. Why doesn't someone put a sock in his mouth? We don't sound like that!"

"You do after 10 pints of VB," I giggled. I had this swirling feeling of a mist clearing in my head. The crossword clue delivered up its answer.

"Wouldn't mind trying this chair out...bloody hell, you haven't taken Darcy or Cort anywhere have you? Or Bud and Iz...the plane would experience extreme turbulence...oops, sorry, I'm being a bit rude, aren't I? I'm sure women in your day wouldn't have been so forward..."

Lachlan smiled. "You young things didn't invent sex, you know? The mile high club still existed in my day. It was just a bit more dangerous without auto pilot!" We both laughed at that.

"C'mon...let me show you my cock pit."

"Ooh -er...actually didn't know you had one! Thought I was the only one here with a pit for a..."

"Uma..." Lachlan pointed a finger at me in mock horror.

"I promise. No more crudities. But you look so cute when you blush..." He grinned and shook his head.

"And no remarks about joy sticks, either. I've heard the lot, love. And nobody can handle a joy stick quite like a pilot...it's the forward thrust...our speciality...although the reverse pullback has its advantages..."

"Who's being crude now?" I gasped.

"I'm just talking planes, love. You're the one with the dirty mind!" he winked and went forward.

I joined him up top and sat in the co-pilot's seat before the array of complex gadgets, dials and the onboard computer. It was mind-boggling. "How do you figure it all out? Did it take a lot to move up from the old rust buckets to these babies?"

He shrugged. "I had to pass the courses but, frankly, these new jets are a piece of cake, love. Real flying is the old propeller planes- they were held together by a wish and a prayer. These fly themselves. Anyone can do it."

"All this electronic stuff, isn't there more to go wrong? Like new cars- your electrics pack up and you can't even get the fucking window open," I observed from experience.

He nodded. "Yeah, know what you mean, but the safety devices are very advanced. You're safe up here. Safer than your car- you don't have to fly thinking about some crazy drongo in the next lane cutting you up. Let's give it a whirl, hey? A quick up and down. What do you say?"

I eyed him up. "You making a pass at me?" He waggled his eyebrows. "OK...take me to the limit. Per ardua ad astra...your old RAF motto."

"Don't say hard, love...I was hoping for a soft landing." His eyes gleamed mischievously.

"I wasn't!!" I pouted.  He shook his head at my innuendo and slipped on his headpiece.

"Right-ee-o. Let's give this girl a whirl. Belt up, gorgeous, we're going up."

LACHLAN

She is nothing like I expected. I had met her once briefly at the Temple and we had flirted a little but I just got a vague impression then of a confident, attractive woman with an edge of sadness; I thought she was too much for a simple bloke like me to handle. I read the diaries and she seemed the typical smart-mouthed, classy "It" girl. Perfect foil for a bloke like Thorne. They always seemed the kind of couple that you see in a posh restaurant - ya know, they look like they own the place and no one ever refuses them a table, even when it's fully booked.

I've nothing against Terry Thorne. He's a regular bloke. Treats me like a mate...slap on the back, g'day, mate, man's man. Easy to talk to, intelligent, in charge all the time. You know he's the boss man. He doesn't throw rank in your face but his manner is authoritative in a quiet way. He speaks softly, moves easily, but he has a latent power that other men recognise- don't mess with this guy. I reckon women recognise it, too- I'll bet he's never stood on the edge of a dance floor trying to catch someone's eye and then been too damn nervous to talk to her when you do. Bloke like him just smiles and the girls come running. He doesn't even know he's doing it.

But Uma is nothing like the kind of woman you would expect to be with him. I pictured a brittle beauty, elegant and top drawer, a little hard and calculating with a cutting glare, the kind of woman who severs a bollock with a glance if you presume to enter her space uninvited. She isn't like that at all. For starters, she's very girlish and natural, without any apparent guile. There's a fragile delicacy about her that makes a man immediately feel protective, but she isn't weak or drippy- you can feel an intelligent strength in her. Her eyes are lively and she listens intently to what you say, her response dancing in her eyes even before she snaps it out.

Looks like I'm smitten already. I was warned. That's what the others said. She doesn't even try and she makes you want to wrap her up and take her home. Didn't expect a bloke like Thorne to be that way inclined - looks like a love 'em and leave 'em type. But you never know, do ya? The heart's a funny old thing. I should know that more than most.

It was a long flight to Manila and I had a co-pilot, a nice fella from Kent, Phil. When I took a break and wandered back for a cup of tea, the boss called me over to join him. He was sitting by a window, staring out at the night sky, nursing a glass of Scotch. I knew that look- ruffled and tired, needing a shave and sleep, but no chance of it coming. There was a woman in his head.

"Join me. I could do with a yarn." He smiled wryly and I carried my tea over, refusing the proffered shot of malt.

"I'm in charge, mate. Buy me a Scotch in Manila."

"You're on. Get some sleep...I shouldn't keep you up."

"No...not sleepy. Takes a while to wind down. You should get your head down...you look like you need some kip." 

He shrugged my comment away. "Too much on my mind. I'll get a couple of hours later. Mate, can you do something for me when you get back? Something personal?"

"You're the boss, mate."

"No...as a Brother. Bit of an imposition but, man, I'm desperate. Can't think who else to ask. She won't see anyone. You'd be a good excuse. Wouldn't seem like a set up."

I frowned. "Not following your drift, mate. Who?"

He rucked up his hair. "Uma. She's ...not been well since, you know? Did you hear about it?"

"The kidnap? Not surprised. That was a bad show. Her nerves?"

He nodded. "Something like that. See, she's not coping but I'm not sure she realises. I'm not saying she'll do anything but...I'd really like someone with her when I'm gone. She's adamant that she can manage but if you just dropped by...give her this gift...make out I just got you to hand it over...and stay for a week or two. She'll invite you if she thinks you need a place to stay." He handed me a small gift bag with a box inside- it looked like jewellery.

"Stay? At your place? Have a visit with her?" I asked and then bit my lip; I sounded too eager.

He looked up and observed me a moment; I felt like a kid in front of the teacher. "I don't care what happens. You're a Brother...it's up to her. Just keep her safe. I know it's a lot to ask..."

"Hey, mate, she's a Sister...one of our girls. It'd be a privilege, mate. I wouldn't lay a finger...but I would be there for her."

"I'm not asking you to be a monk, Curry. That's not the way it works. If the moment is right...that's nothing to do with me. Just don't write a fucking diary, mate." He grinned. "Now get your arse, back there and some shut-eye before you take the helm. I don't want any amateurs on my team, ya bastard." I recognised the moment. He had opened up more than he was comfortable and had to cover himself with a dismissive joke. Aussie trait; I understand it well. I also saw a man in love with the weight of hopelessness on him. I understand that well, too.

I glanced across at her when we reached a cruising height; she was craning her neck to stare out of the window, her nose pressed against the glass, like a little child. It gave me a chance to look at her again. She's really pretty and beautifully dressed- with a chic that looks natural not artful, like those French women, not like a Sheila with a cotton sundress and a white cardie. Her hair is different from the short blonde modern crop she wore when I first saw her, dark brown, shiny and thick with a messy curl, clipped back with a pretty diamond pin. She has a long neck; it makes you want to kiss the hollow on her throat and hear her sigh.

Her body is slender, that slightly leggy look- tallish and willowy, carrying herself very straight backed but with a jaunty, coltish walk that stops her from seeming too haughty. I look at her legs, slim and smooth and imagine how her skin would feel to the touch. I see her expressive hands constantly in motion, betraying her nervousness as she speaks. She makes the breath catch in my throat.  I'm going to have to watch my step here. You know what I'm like. I always seem to end up fancying the ones who can't be mine.

"Scared now?"

She wrinkled up her nose and smiled. "Not as much as I thought I would be. Why is it that the apprehension of danger is always more frightening than the danger itself? I don't seem to care now I'm up here. If something happens, then it happens. You can't stop a runaway horse."

I indicated down below. "When you see down there, all the little houses, all the thousands of lives...it's a pretty humbling thought. We're all like little ants just busying around building our hills. No one is that important in the long run. Makes you less arrogant- you just accept what comes your way. Grasp the things worth having and let now be all that matters. We can't change tomorrow."

Her reaction was unexpected; she tensed and then smiled, a look of amazement on her face. "Terry said something about looking down on the world...how when you see the bigger picture then everything looks beautiful, even the squalid things. I thought that was very profound at the time...I think that is what I was missing. The clue. Sorry...I have this strange tendency to think laterally. Nash commented on it. I'm a bit odd really. I just get notions and then they seem to interconnect in unusual ways. Terry calls it my rambling mode."

"You take a lot of notice of him, don't you? He makes a bit impact on you," I observed.

"Terry? Yeah. He's the most complete man I've ever met. Good job and all...I'm the most incomplete mess there is. There's a sort of asymmetrical balance in that, isn't there? Not sure what's in it for him though." She smiled but I saw the nervous darting of her eyes at that thought. I had clearly touched a nerve.

"Yeah, he seems to be quite a man. Bit in awe myself." I shrugged.

"Of Terry?" She grinned and the warmth returned. "He's a pussy cat really but don't tell him I told you. Just a big softie. Why should a man like you feel in awe of him? You're a bit of a hero yourself. Ace fighter pilot. Don't come much tougher than that."

"No, I'm just an ordinary bloke. Just the kind of fella that falls for a sweet girl, gets married and has a houseful of kids. Except I didn't. Born at the wrong time, that's me." It happened the moment I had said it. I saw a flare in her eyes, like a cloud passing over and the sun coming out. She didn't reply but returned to staring out of the window, thoughtful.

"That's the sea!" She observed suddenly, pointing to the Channel, changing the subject. 

"Yeah, we'll take a turn around. You ready to go down? I'll start the descent in a few. Just go back and make me a cuppa, will ya, love?"

A few minutes later she was back with two cups of tea and a plate of biscuits. Very homey. Not what I expected from the image in my head of her. Shortly after, we were coming into land and taxiing sweetly down the runway. Didn't even spill a drop of tea. A voice came over the radio, guiding me to the correct bay. She looked across quickly and then out of the window. There was a large sign on the terminal building "ORLY".

"OH MY GOD!" She shrieked. "We are in Paris! You bugger...you kidnapped me!" But she threw back her head and laughed. "What a scam! I love being got. But I don't have my passport!"

I reached into my inside pocket and held out the little red book. "You shouldn't leave it lying around, love!" At that she chortled even more and the melancholy woman of the day before seemed to have disappeared. Or was there a touch of hysteria in her mood?

An hour and a half later and we were in cab driving around central Paris. She knows the city quite well and speaks French so I let her have her head and listened to her babbling on about this place and that. She's full of quirky knowledge and odd little asides but fun to listen to.

It was almost lunchtime when we found a little restaurant called Balthazar in the Latin Quarter on a non-descript side street - back home you wouldn't take a lady down a street like this. But Paris is Paris- or so she said- and we entered the small old-fashioned room, black and white tiles on the sawdust- strewn floor, crudely wrought wooden trestle tables packed in tightly, high ceiling full of cobwebs and dusty lights. The waiters were dressed formally with those long white aprons that always look like penguins to me.

There were only two dishes on the menu- no messing about here. You could have roast chicken or lamb with beans; she insisted we try one of each dish and share. The 'poulet roti' as she told me it was called, was 'to die for' and the 'gigot aux haricots' was even better. She was right. Don't know what they do different here but those French know how to cook. We washed it down with a bottle of red vino and it tasted like the best damn meal I had ever eaten.

"This is a really famous place. Hasn't changed in a hundred plus years- reckon some of the waiters have been here since then! But everyone eats here- it is so highly regarded. Even the top chefs from the posh restaurants!"

After lunch, we decided to walk off the effects of the meal and the wine and sauntered through the alleys and narrow streets, poking around tiny art galleries and second hand book stores, antique shops and boutiques with second hand clothes- some even pre-dating me. After a while we came out on to a main road and she let out a scream in that way she has of completely blowing a hole through her elegant image.

"Abbaie des Cluniacs! I must have a look!"  Darting away she entered what looked to me like a church or old monastery, but was apparently a museum. I have to say it was the most boring place I have ever been to in my entire life but she was like a pig in muck. After a few rooms of medieval church art (the place is museum of the Middle Ages), I sat down on one of a row of wooden high backed chairs and the wine, food and heat of the day began to take its toll....

UMA

I lost Lachlan in the museum- you should have seen his face! He was so bored and yet wouldn't say so, kept yawning behind his hand. I just wandered off and left him to it, finding him when I'd finished- fast asleep on a 12th century wooden choir stall. He looked like a little cherub...well, less of the little, but a cherub, anyway. Shaking him gently, I woke him and he apologised profusely. It made me smile.

"You apologise for falling asleep in a museum? Terry would have dumped me at the door and gone for a pint. He likes History but he thinks Imperial War Museum or Natural History or the Museum of Science and Industry. This place would have him snoring- and he wouldn't apologise. You have been such a good boy to put up with me...your treat now. What would you like to do for the rest of the afternoon?"

He rubbed his eyes and I caught a slight side wards look, an expression that I recognised from other more predatory brothers, but he quickly closed it down, masking the moment with a grin. "Eiffel Tower. You have to go up the tower if you come to Paris," he announced.

I pulled a face at that. I hate heights and had never actually been up there. But I was here to get over fears- wasn't that what Lachlan had said? And he would be with me and no harm could come to me...so I simply smiled, nodded and then let him hail a cab, my teeth gritted.

I asked him if he would hold my hand in the lift up and he took it readily enough. His hand is so warm and strong, as all their hands are. I love holding hands with the Brothers almost as much as anything else I do with them. There is something both strong and protective about it whilst also being a little bit vulnerable, too- you always feel they are holding on to you as much as taking the lead. Not sure quite how to explain it; must be something to do with how tactile they are- one of the Creator's most pervasive traits that they all share.

I caught his eye, he smiled, squeezed my hand slightly and I realised how happy he was making me, how much I needed today. But immediately I felt a sense of guilt wash over me. I had made Terry sad and tried to drive him away. Another man was making me feel happy. It should have been him. Yet I knew that Terry had made this possible, that he understood what was driving me, even if not the actual cause. Of course his selfless support and love just made me feel more inadequate.

At the viewing area, we stood against the rail, Lachlan holding his arms firmly around my waist although I hadn't asked him to. But I knew he realised from my quietness that I was uneasy; he is really very intuitive for a young man. I think he would have made a very good commanding officer- he has such an ability to open people up without ever prying. He also inspires confidence and respect. I like him more and more all the time.

The walkway around the tower is bloody high up- today was a great day for viewing- clear and sunny with the entire city displayed at every angle. Even wetting myself with nervousness, I had to be moved by the overwhelming spectacle of this most beautiful city laid out before me. I gasped as Lachlan pointed out landmarks and leaned over to look down. He, of course, was simply enthralled by the height, uplifted by it. I watched his eyes light up as he surveyed the scene and saw his imagination take flight.

"Say the poem, Lachlan. Would it hurt too much, bring back memories for you, to say the poem for me?"

He turned to look at me. "The poem? My one and only?" He smiled sadly and looked out over the view. "Always got a lump in my throat when I said it- even before..." he trailed off and went silent. I didn't ask again.

Just then he started to recite it quietly and then his voice suddenly grew stronger. Leaning back against the rail, he spoke in that beautiful tone, elegant and articulate, expressive and deep, spoke of his love for the air and his love for a woman whom he had to give up. The lump came into my throat and tears welled in my eyes. I was so choked by his quiet dignity and integrity, his tender concern for me- a woman he barely knew- and the loneliness he carried with him. He is so ripe for love and yet sees no way it can be his. Everyone has a cross to bear. I wish I could help him carry his.

I let him finish and then he turned and leant on the rail, staring out, in his own thoughts. I put my arm around his waist and leant against his broad back. He made me think of how I felt and how selfish I had been. Here I am wrapped up in some trauma of my own making and never once have I asked how others were dealing with it, Terry most of all.

Lachlan put his hands on mine and we remained there, wrapped up in our own worlds. Terry. What was going on in his head? He must be hurting - the whole thing affected him, too. I know he was devastated. He thought I would be killed. He saw me in that room, he washed me clean of that man's blood. I know he thought he failed me, all of us really. He just can't help but take responsibility for everything- it is his nature. Since then he has tended me so carefully, with such patience, and been rewarded by my aggression and coldness. Perhaps it was time for me to reach out to them all and help them; it might be just what I needed to help myself.

"Are you all right, Lachlan?" I whispered.

He turned to face me and nodded. "Yeah, just memories. 'Bout time I got over things. I'm a big boy now."

I shook my head. "No! Some things mark you forever. I lost Terry for a few months and it nearly broke me. Then I thought he was...you know...that Raul had... you know..." I couldn't finish the sentence.

"Say it, love. Say the words. It's like the poem. Sometimes you have to say the things and then you feel better. It opens you up."

My eyes filled with tears. "I can't. I'm not ready. I can't speak of it." He pulled me close and held my head to his chest.

"You do get over things in time. It's a long time since I lost Lil. It hurts but I'm ready to move on. More than ready. Time does heal."

"Then why are you so sad?" I asked freeing my face from his grasp to look at him.

"I miss the feeling of being loved. When I was younger I didn't want any ball and chain to hold me down. Left them all behind, that's what I used to say. But that was before, when I was a young larrikin with an eye for the girls and no desire to settle down. Not a care in the world. Then I went to war. You need different things when you face your own mortality- the need to make roots and ties; to know someone would remember you if you didn't make it. Lill knocked me for six, Uma. Didn't see it coming. But I knew what it meant. I needed a woman's love for the first time in my life. Once I tasted that, playing the field would never satisfy me completely. I just want to be loved, that's all." He shrugged but he didn't back away from his comment. He is the most open and honest man I have ever met. How could any woman not love him?

"Lachlan, the Sisters love you! We would do anything for you!"

A soft smile crossed his face. "I know that but...you also know that's not quite what I mean. Don't you?"

I nodded and he put his arm around me as we walked to take the lift back down. "When you can say the words, Uma, you'll start feeling better. Believe me, love."

Out on the street, strolling in the warm sunshine, eating an ice cream cone, I suddenly realised something. I didn't want to go home. "Lach? Can we stay here a while? Do we have to go home? I hate the flat."

"You want to stay in Paris? I can arrange for an extra night's berth for the plane but what about us? You've got no clothes..."

I snorted. "Credit card. Come on...cab it to Boulevard Haussman and we'll do a spot of shopping- essentials only- don't put on that face - and then we'll find a hotel that will have us. What d'ya say?"

One trip to Galeries Lafayette later, a couple of purchases and then along the Champs d' Elysee to the George Vth. Lachlan whistled as we disembarked. "Bloody Oath! We can't stay here. It'll cost a small fortune!"

"Fortunately I know a man who has a large one. His fortune's big as well!" I grinned as we entered this hotel that is a byword for luxury- we took two rooms and repaired there to shower and freshen up before dinner. On the corridor outside I fished in my bags and found some items I had bought for him, and threw them over.

"New shirt and some skivvies." He caught them in surprise.

"You don't know my size."

I giggled. "Mate, my eyes are calibrated for men. They will fit." He looked at the sizes, seemed impressed and conceded I was right.

"See you in an hour. I'll book a table. I know just the place." And I slipped inside my room to dress.

We dined at Maison Prunier, one of my favourite Parisian restaurants. Prunier was a master chef of the twenties and his restaurant is still lovingly decorated in a modernised art nouveau style- all black and white chic. It is famed as a fish restaurant but also serves fabulous liqueurs after dinner. Many are rum based- the Prunier estate includes a Caribbean island and all the spirits are distilled there. It is a fabulous dining experience.

The best bit, however, was Lachlan's childlike amusement with the Men's room. Not only is the Prunier one celebrated for its original Italian tiles and marble floors but also the urinal has been modernised and adds high tech to opulent excess. Apparently as you (i.e. a man) approach the urinal, a soft tinkle of water jets automatically sets off - thus both enhancing your ability to perform and washing it all away most hygienically. For Paris, where toilet standards are indifferent at best- this is luxury at its highest.  He was so excited by it that I had to come in and check it out (I must assure you this did not include either of us urinating just in case your dirty minds are at work). We jumped backwards and forwards setting off the tinkling fountain and then making it stop abruptly like two little kids with a new toy.

We dined royally and ate and drank far too much, talked non-stop and laughed like drains. Then we strolled back along Avenue Victor Hugo towards the Arc de Triomphe, hand in hand and quieter now, enjoying the warm summer night breeze. Paris is a city for lovers- everybody says that -and it's easy to see why. There is something in the air that makes one feel young and happy; with a man like Lachlan, that feeling was more intense than ever.

We stopped at the great monument and stood looking up at it as a young couple close by kissed deeply, lost in each other. I could see we had both noticed them but looked away, embarrassed, aware that we might look like lovers even if we were not. I frowned a little and looked down at my toes; Lachlan put his hands in his pockets and began to whistle something.

You know me- it made me laugh that we were so awkward with each other and as I giggled, so did he. I touched his face, he did the same to me, and in the next moment, I was pulled into his arms and we kissed, like lovers do. It just seemed the right thing to do.

Boy, can Lachlan kiss! He just gives you all of himself- as fine as any of the Creator's incarnations but with the sweet generosity that is just Lachlan alone. I almost saw stars in his arms. As he pulled away, he blushed slightly and looked down- his eyelashes the final coup in his arsenal. "Oh, Lachlan...what you do to me!" I gasped.

He pointed up to the sky above the great arch, a full silver moon hanging there, almost sitting on the monument.

"Look at that moon! There just for us. Wouldn't you know?" He sighed, hand on his heart and hamming for all he was worth, the sweetest smile on his face.

It was so utterly cheesy and yet so wonderfully romantic - full moon, Lachlan, Paris and love. What more can a girl ask for?

"This is like a sentimental old movie!" I laughed.

"That's me, love, a sentimental old war time movie! What did you expect?"

He grinned and took my hand, raised it to his lips and led me on down the road, but an intimacy had begun. I felt as if I had been romanced and was falling under his spell; it was something I had not expected to happen. A few blocks on, we heard the sound of music and he dragged me towards the door. It was a long established jazz club, with prints of all the famous on the walls: Django Reinhardt, Charlie Parker, Satchmo- just to name a few. But what had attracted Lachlan was the current group playing with a sexy, full-bosomed dark haired singer crooning. They were doing a set of the songs of the 30s. Lachlan was in his element.

"Now that's what I call a song!" He trilled and before I knew it, we were dancing on the small floor and he was singing the words softly in my ear.

Cathedral bells were tolling
And our hearts sang on
Was it the spell of Paris or the summer dawn?
Who knows if we shall meet again?
But when the morning chimes,
Ring sweet again.

I'll be seeing you
In all the old familiar places
That this heart of mine embraces
All day through

In that small cafe
The park across the way
The children's carousel
The chestnut tree
The wishing well

I'll be seeing you
In every lovely summer's day
In everything that's light and gay
I'll always think of you that way

I'll find you in the morning sun
And when the night is new
I'll be looking at the moon
But I'll be seeing you

It was indescribably romantic and I simply smiled like someone completely stupid at his adorable infatuation. Lachlan is in love with love. I'm know that I'm not the right woman for him but I envy the one who will be. She will be a lucky, lucky, lucky girl.

We danced some more and then set off for the hotel. What a day! I knew that I had gone many miles in the past twenty-four hours or so and something was finally taking shape in my head. I wasn't sure what but I felt nearer to my former strength than I had in weeks.

At the door of my room, Lachlan took me in his arms and kissed me again. He didn't explain or say anything. He just wanted to do it and that was fine by me. As he walked off, hands in pockets, to his own room next door, I called his name softly. He turned, a query of hope in his eyes; I was sorely tempted.

"Goodnight Lachlan. Thanks for today. It's the best day I've spent in some time. I have not felt this peace in weeks."

"No problem, love. That's what I'm here for." And with a grin and a wink, he was gone into his own room.

I went to the window and stared out at that big old moon for a while and thought of love and lovers. Then I jumped on the bed, lay there for a few minutes and called Terry's number. The phone rang a few times and I suddenly realised he might not be alone. It was seven thirty am in Manila. Perhaps another Sister had gone to see him. I slammed the phone down, so afraid that I would have disturbed them. Moments later my cell phone rang and I answered it gingerly.

"Why did you hang up?" He was eating something, breakfast I suppose.

"Um...I er...thought I had rung the wrong number."

"On speed dial?" He is so bloody smart. "Where are ya? I've been ringing the flat. Was a bit worried."

"I'm in Paris."

"Paris? France?"

"Well...yeah!" I teased back. "Lachlan took me in the plane. We're staying over. At the George V."

"Suppose you're charging it?" He laughed. "You OK?"

"Yes...I've had the most wonderful day..."

I heard him clear his throat. "Lachlan there now?" He asked quietly.

"He's next door. In his own room. In bed."

"You and he...you're not...?"

I giggled. "Not unless he can shoot through walls, Tez. I feel a lot better. I'm still fucked up, Terry, but he's doing me good. I can't explain it. He's just...making it easy for me to think."

There was a silence and I wondered how hurt he was to think another man could do what he couldn't for me. "Terry...I love you too much ...we're too close. This is not about you. I swear that when I can, I will share it with you. Do you trust me?"

Another silence and then his gravelly voice. "You have to ask? Be happy. Be safe. That's all I ask."

"I promise," I whispered. And then I lay back on the pillows and stretched. "You ready for work?"

"Just having breakfast. Half dressed. Why?"

"Lose the half. Come and join me on the bed. I won't take long..." I heard his low sigh.

"I've a car picking me up in ten minutes."

"Then hurry up and take your pants off. We don't want stains, do we?" I murmured and he put the phone down. I heard a rustle and then he spoke again. "I'm on hands free. Now what you gonna do for me, little girl...."

LACHLAN

I closed the door and lent back on it, talking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. My groin felt heavy and hot; I ripped off my clothes, throwing them on the floor and striding through to the shower. I gasped at the shock of cold water but forced myself to stand under it, letting the water wash me down. I didn't dare use my hands.

Resting back on the cold tiles, I forced the images of the evening from my brain. 'Bugger!" I slammed my fist into the wall. I want her so much it hurts. But she's not interested. I know I kissed her- twice- and she responded- but she's a Sister. There's bound to be some bond. I can't expect her to act on it. But when I'm near her she intoxicates me- there's that lingering sense- not smell or taste but somewhere in between that you always get when you're near them. Do they feel that as well?

She's such a great girl. So much fun to be with. So pretty and tender. And I am having erotic thoughts about her. I should be ashamed of myself for feeling this way. A man of my age lusting over another man's woman- the boss's wife, too, in a manner of speaking.

I dried off and looked at myself in the mirror. I was still aroused. Nothing else for it. I'd better get rid of this or I'll never sleep...