January 16th 2004

Lily had disappeared from where I had left her sitting under the table playing with napkins. I looked about for her, the ever-present anxiety gripping me whenever I find myself cut adrift from my child. But her pealing laughter alerted me to her proximity and her safety. I followed the direction of her voice and found that she was in the hallway with the two Curry boys, Donald and Robert. They were aged four and three and were as cute as buttons but quite a handful- their mother seemed to find them difficult to keep up with. Lachlan made an effort every now and again but he seemed to enjoy their mayhem and sometimes joined in himself like a big kid. He was a very sweet man- and an attractive one, too. Dino O'Leary's six year old son, Andy, was among them as were the two White children, Alex and Cathy; he was about four and Cathy was a few months older than Lily.

The six of them were racing up and down the corridor. The boys were faster and stronger but Lily didn't seem to mind that she was always trailing them. I saw the look in her eyes when she followed- it was a sort of adoration for these creatures who were bigger and stronger than her and allowed her into their world. For their part, they seemed fascinated by her. Just then they all fell into a heap and rolled about. She was lying between the two boys. One of them, Donny, the elder Curry boy, picked up one of her curls.

"Your hair smells like flowers," he said unembarrassed. "Your face is like a little doll."

Lily laughed and put her arms around him. She is an affectionate child and her instinct is always to kiss anyone she likes. She did just that- kissing him with a smacking sound that made the other boy giggle. "You kissed a girl. Yuk!"

Donny rubbed his mouth and rolled away. "What did you do that for?"

Lily looked surprised and her limited vocabulary stopped her from answering. I knew she would feel rejected- something she wasn't used to- and probably cry, especially as she was so tired. I started to make for where she was sitting, but I heard Max's voice growling from behind me. "You children - get back to your mothers." The little boys stared at him; his voice would have frightened most adult males, never mind children so young, and Cathy and Bobby began to cry. They scarpered as fast as they could; he picked up his daughter and she cuddled into him.

"I told you to take her to rest- instead you have her running wild with those boys! It is unseemly for a girl to behave like that and their behaviour was inappropriate. I will not have her touched by them."

I eased her from his grasp, annoyed by his foolishness. "They are little boys who are no harm whatsoever. Don't be such a fool. She kissed one of them- she is two and she kisses everyone she likes. Do not read something into their innocence that is not there. And I was looking after her; I was watching her play with others. She needs friends; she is of an age when she needs to mix and learn from her peers."

"Then give me another child. Let us make a companion for her," he whispered in my ear. I gave him a petulant glance and stormed off. He would not let it rest. He wanted a son. I was not in a mood for another argument.

I went upstairs into our bedroom and slipped Lily out of her dress, bathed her lightly to freshen her up, popped on her Nemo pyjamas (her current favourites) and slipped her under the covers of her single bed. She curled up quickly as she was tired, so I lay beside her, leaning up on one arm, stroking back her wispy dark hair and singing softly to her as she drifted into sleep. My mind drifted too- over the events of the day. Terry Thorne. I pictured him as he had stood smiling down at us, his relaxed easy style and laconic good humour in direct contrast to Max's quiet reserve. Not that Max had been quiet with Ann. That had annoyed me- how he could assume a veneer of sophisticated charm with others but with me, he was always very proper in public? He would not even touch me except when it was absolutely necessary. Even if I understood the conventions of his world, I longed for more warmth and a public recognition of our love.

Imagine a man like Terry who, although he is sophisticated and urbane, thinks nothing of swinging his girl in his arms and dragging her off for a little bit of fun and games and doesn't care who knows that. My mind strayed onto dangerous ground; I began to imagine the scene in their room when they were alone- taking place right now probably, only a few doors from where I was lying. He would strip her dress from her and walk her back to the bed as she frantically pulled at his clothes. They would kiss in a frenzy; deep wet kisses, and he would pick her up and lie her back, slipping her underwear from her and placing his lips all over her down there, between her legs... I found myself groaning slightly and realised that the woman in my imaginings wasn't Ann, it was me. I lay back on the bed, my daughter sleeping beside me and I breathed slowly to try and regain my cool. I felt hot and languid- I knew the signs of sexual arousal- and I felt ashamed. I was a grown woman, married and a mother. I loved my husband. Why was I fantasising about another man?

TERRY

We made love in our room, lazily and slow. Ann was sleepy afterwards - I think the champagne had got to her and she dozed off. But I was wired, for once. Something had me keyed up- I had thought a bit of sex would have relaxed me but I still felt jumpy. She's a beautiful woman. Where did that come from? Why was I lying naked with my wife, satiated from a rather wild orgasm, and the image of a dark haired beauty was hovering in my consciousness?

I swung my legs off the bed, covered Ann over and went into the bathroom for a quick shower. I re-dressed and she was still half asleep, smiling at me. "You go back, honey, I'll be up in a few minutes. Just want to recover." I kissed her lightly and went to the door, strolling down the corridor with that irrepressible gait of a man who has just scored. Happens every time- you just can't help it. Then I heard the voice: a woman's voice, soft and sweet, singing a lullaby. The door to the room I was passing was slightly ajar; I could not resist nudging it open. Uma was lying there singing to her little girl. I love that sight- a woman and her child lying together in a dark room, the child sleeping, her fingers round her mother's hand and the mother still stroking the child's hair, lost in her love for her baby. There is something that resonates with me- a half forgotten memory of my own mother and my childhood? The times I had watched my first wife tend to our son and felt the rare bond of family with them? Or was it just some primal urge that strikes a man to plant life in a woman's womb and watch it grow before his eyes?

I saw her lie back and stroke her brow; Uma's face was flushed and I wondered what she was thinking of. For a reckless moment I wondered if it was me. I batted the crazy notion away. She is a woman in love with her husband- that was so clear to see. He's a pretty formidable man- even I can see the attraction he has for women- most of the Primaries were wetting their knickers at the sight of him, not to mention my own wife. Why should Uma think of any man but him? I imagine he is pretty demanding in the bedroom- he leaks testosterone and she is the epitome of all that is womanly. I'll bet they singe the sheets.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, turned and Ann was beside me. I couldn't believe I hadn't heard her walk up. I must have been far away. "What are you looking at?"

But she knew. I walked on up the corridor, turned back and saw her linger at the door. She looked up at me and her eyes were bruised. I wondered what bothered her the most. The fact that I was lusting over a beautiful woman or dreaming about a child- or had she picked up on both those messages? Knowing her, there wasn't much doubt.

January- February 2001

It was the beginning of the third millennium. I wondered how that seemed to Maximus who had lived - to all extents and purposes- in the early centuries of the first. Whatever he really thought about this age he had found himself in, one thing was abundantly clear. We were both about to step into an unknown future together and a man as superstitious as Maximus could not have failed to be affected by the symbolism. The dawning of a new era, the beginning of a new epoch, the start of his new existence and the blossoming of new love. These were powerful totems to him.

We spent New Year in Scotland on a loch in a hotel that had once been a castle. It was magical. I had expected Max's resolve about his 'no-sex' decision to be history during this visit- in fact I rather thought that was the whole point of it. So I went kitted out with sexy lingerie and negligees but he had booked two rooms. However, they were adjoining; I thought "Here we go..." But no. No matter how romantic our evenings were, he settled me in my room and kissed me goodnight before returning to his room and sleeping alone.

The second evening, I challenged him on this. We were at the window, looking out onto the dark loch, the Christmas lights on the trees rather incongruous against the dark foreboding of the black waters. He held me from behind and I leaned back on him; he was nuzzling my neck and playing with my hair. "Max?"

"Hmmmm?" He did not stop his love play.

"Stop it, Maximus..." I turned in his arms and put my hands on his shoulders. "Max, we are engaged now. That means we are promised to each other."

"That is so. We are betrothed." He said it with a sort of finality. It obviously meant a lot to him.

"What I am trying to say is...there is no reason why we shouldn't sleep together now. You said before that we needed to see where this went. Now we know. We are going to get married soon. Why wait? Max, I want more than this and I know you do. Let's not fight it anymore. Please?"

He broke away and walked a few paces, drawing his hand across his beard in that familiar gesture he has when he is trying to deal with something he finds difficult. "We have come so far...Uma, I want this to be perfect. I want our life together to be perfect. For me, some things have meaning within them...I cannot expect you to understand how I feel. I know that you are a more experienced woman than I would have married in my day but you are no loose woman either - that is clear to me. I want to marry you and for that first night to be a singular night, the like that neither of us has ever known. I am an earthy man with a healthy lust for the pleasures of the flesh; you are a full-blooded woman who knows what she wants from a man and what she can give to him. Can you imagine what music we will make on that night? Is it not more than worth the pain of waiting?"

Some times a declaration of such honesty- even if you do not share the principle- can move you in ways that you did not expect. He had thought about this, struggled with it even, and believed that it would set the scene for our lives. I was used to sex as a shallow pleasure, a titillation, a right that I had as a thinking woman to explore my own body. But the notion that in giving myself to one man on a day so loaded with significance, I could achieve some higher form of pleasure and self-knowledge intrigued me. Perhaps he was right. Maybe we were missing something in our drive to fulfill every need as and when we had it. In his day, pleasures were strictly rationed and all the more enjoyed for the time spent in anticipation. He loved me so much that he would not simply have me because he could. That was an awesome notion.

I smiled and leaned in closer to him, slipping my arms around his neck and kissing his lips lightly. "You are right. I will never cheapen what we have. This is a singular love and we will share a deep and lasting passion. But let's not wait too long. There's nothing to stop us marrying quickly. I don't want a long engagement."

He laughed. "Me neither. I fear I only have so much resolve. How quickly can these things be arranged?"

So, we made plans to marry in late February. I gave notice of my leave at work and Max cleared his schedule. We booked a restaurant in my home town and invited a small number of guests. Neither of us wanted a large wedding or to draw too much attention to ourselves. I didn't even want a formal dress, imagining that a nice suit would suffice, but my Mum and Max soon shot that idea down.  She found out my plan and rang him up, asking him to make me see sense. He made me see sense - Maximus-style.

"I believe you do not wish to have a wedding dress... "

"How do you know that? The bridegroom shouldn't know anything about the dress- it's bad luck."

"Your mother told me and I don't know anything about it. However I wish to give my opinion."

I gave him the eye. "Oh yeah? What opinion is that?" I couldn't quite see Maximus having the least idea about women's clothing - but surprisingly he did have some views of his own.

"I would like you to wear a feminine dress. Something long and womanly that drapes your body but is not revealing. You must look like a beautiful princess on that day. I wish for you to be like a goddess, for that is what you are to me."

What could I say? He hadn't asked for anything wrong. His words were inspired by the quiet awe he seemed to have for the state of marriage and for my person. I was like some goddess to him, something far above him that he could hardly believe that he had won. I had never known such love or dreamed that I could be all those things for any man. I acceded to his wishes and found the perfect dress. It was a copy of an Edwardian wedding dress; high necked and with a bodice of lace, with dozens of tiny pearl buttons that would bedevil his large fingers; its skirt was slender but finely draped in elegant silken folds and pearl beads were scattered over the fine fabric. In my hair I would wear little pearls woven through and, over it all, a simple mantilla- he would expect a veil- it had been an integral part of a Roman wedding. I even joked with him if he would like me to wear flaming orange with red trim, the Roman traditional colours of loss of innocence and the breaking of the hymen; he tutted and told me to hold my nonsense but laughed despite himself.

I made sure he had a suit. He has so few possessions really that it was often necessary to force him to buy things that he did not feel the need to have. "Have you got a suit, Max?"

"Yes."

"I mean a new one."

"Yes."

"Can I see it?"

"Why?"

"Because I might not like it. You have no idea with modern clothes, Max. You would wear anything. You are a broad shouldered man- if you don't have a well-cut suit you will look a mess. You will just look square."

He looked over at me with a disdainful expression. "When have I ever looked 'a mess', as you call it?"

I giggled. "Well you wore that awful tie that I threw in the bin for a start...Max, I am not insulting you but I mean it. You need advice. Let's go and look at your suit." After some nagging, he took me back to his apartment which would have made a prison cell look over decorated. He seems only to sleep there. He put the suit on and stepped out - I gasped. My God, he looked so beautiful. I needn't have worried. He had spent a lot of money on it and must have asked for advice. I should have known that he would never make an error when it was a matter of form. It was dark grey Italian wool, the material so soft and smooth to the touch, the cut so perfect for his body. He had chosen a traditional fine white cotton shirt and a silver grey tie. "It's perfect, Max...just like you are."

He laughed roundly at that but enjoyed the compliment. I could tell by the self-satisfied look on his face as he watched me arrange his tie and smooth down the lapels. It almost took my breath away to imagine walking by his side.

Everything was ready. I had my Hen night with the usual ribald nonsense, well aware that if Max had known that there was a male stripper and had heard some of the dirty jokes and comments made by my girlfriends not to mention the gifts (one frighteningly large vibrator that was actually called The Maximus -they hadn't been able to resist that.), he would have probably spontaneously combusted. Luckily he never found out. He was away at the time on some special assignment so I managed to hide the most embarrassing gifts and throw away the worst of the photographs.

I was at my desk in my office late one snowy February afternoon, trying to finish off everything before I went off for my three week break, when there was a knock on the door. I summoned in the visitors. From then on my life went into a tailspin.

A few men entered; they looked sort of formal and businesslike; I would call them 'suits'. They confirmed my name and then one launched into his reason for disturbing me.

"I'm Detective Inspector Williams, Internal Security. These gentlemen are my colleagues. I'm afraid I have some bad news for you..."

I didn't faint or feel anything much. I was aware of the pounding of blood in my brain and clanking of the ancient central heating system. Somewhere, in the background of all that, was his voice telling me that my fiance had been seriously injured in a terrorist attack during a summit in Geneva and that he had been airlifted to a military hospital in Hertfordshire. They were there to escort me to the base. It was urgent. I should prepare myself for the worst. There wasn't much time.

In a sort of daze, I simply picked up my outside clothes and my bag and followed them out of the Museum, into a fleet of waiting cars and was speeded out of London to a secure establishment. No one said very much, just the usual attempt to fill the awful silence with some human touch.

"You're getting married soon?"

"Next week."

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you. Can you tell me anything?"

"I'm afraid not. I know little and what I do know is classified."

I nodded and stared out of the window. Bleak fields, snow covered and silent under the gathering gloom of a winter's late afternoon. It didn't make sense. Why bring him here and put him through all this just to take it from him again? Would he die? Had he merely cheated death for a short while? Would he suffer crushing injuries that left him a useless cripple? He'd rather be dead than that. Were we fated never to be together after all? I wished I could cry, as if the tears might loosen the lump of dread that lay in my stomach and threatened to choke the breath from me. But tears would not come. My body remained rigid and still. I would not let him go. I would not let him die. I would use my will, my body, to hold him to this world. He would choose me, not them. It was a different scenario now.

After what seemed an endless age, we reached the base, went straight to the hospital and there I was told he was in emergency surgery after a relapse. I sat, flanked by my sentinels who kept placing a fresh cup of coffee in my hands and then taking it from me when it was cold. I could do nothing; just remaining conscious was all I could achieve. I had to concentrate on him, willing him to live, talking to him, wherever he was. "Do not close your eyes. Do not go away from me. I am here. I will not leave you..." On and on went the mantra in my mind until at long last, a doctor joined me, took my cold hand and asked me to come with him.

I was led into an intensive care unit and there was my Maximus, wired up to machines and deeply asleep, his skin greyish and blue-tinged- an unhealthy colour that made me fear for him. But he was alive. That much I knew.

"How is he?" I muttered, my voice ragged and hoarse, sounding unfamiliar to my ears.

"A very sick man. But he is strong and he is fighting. The next forty eight hours are crucial. He took two bullets, one to his lung, the other hit a major artery. But it could have been worse. There is no other major organ damage. However, it all depends on whether infection sets in. In his weakened state, he would find it difficult to combat that and his system might close down. I'm sorry that I can't be more hopeful than that but we find that it's better if the relatives are kept fully informed. We would not give you false hope."

I looked at the young army doctor. "Is he going to die? Please, tell me, I don't want any bullshit."

"I don't know. I really cannot say any more than that. It is in the lap of the gods now."

I almost laughed at his words. Let's hope his gods are not still playing with his fate as they had done before. If they were, they must surely be laughing now.

Still alive, Maximus?

The Gods must have a sense of humour.

I sat down at his bedside, took his large hand in mine and there I sat and slept for three days, only leaving when I was chased out by the nurses while they tended to him or when they insisted that I wash or eat or take a break. Every second that I was away, I feared he would wake and find himself alone or even worse that he might fade away and I not be there to close his eyes and see his spirit to the next world.

But he did improve through those days, little by little. His colour returned and his BP rose, he responded to the intravenous antibiotics and the food that was fed to him by drip. His sleep seemed to be less deep; sometimes he sighed or groaned, at others he almost muttered something, but he did not wake. One day I sat there while the nurses washed him; it was actually the first time that I had ever seen him fully naked although I barely remarked it at the time. One girl asked me as she sponged him down: "What are these scars? He seems to have been injured before."

"He was a soldier," I replied non-committally.

"They're not bullet wounds- no exit point." She was a military nurse, familiar with such injuries. " Look more like knife wounds- see, this one on his back is a long thin blade... but some of these look like sword slashes. And this grotesque scar on his upper left arm- it looked like it healed itself- why wasn't it stitched? And this jagged one below it? How did he get them?"

I glared at her. "Classified," I bit back. She looked a little surprised at my vehemence but took the hint. "Just wash him gently and stop prying. He has put up with enough." I muttered.

I had a right to be angry. I had been told nothing about what had happened. I scoured the newspapers for anything that would suggest there had been a terrorist assault but there was no apparent incident to account for what had taken place. I asked if I could talk to anyone in authority but there appeared to be nobody available. My job was simply to nurse him through and make him well enough to be debriefed- or so I imagined.

When he first woke up I was asleep, having slumped forward onto his bed. I felt his touch on my hair and jumped. He spoke. "Ubi sum?" (Where am I?) It was more of a groan. I looked around- the room was empty.

"Speak English, Max...please!"

"Uma...quid accidit?" (What happened?)

He knew me, that was one relief, but he didn't seem able to think in anything but Latin- unsurprisingly.

"Max...it is Uma. But, you have to speak in English. Can you understand me? English!"

"Me dolet." (It hurts). He was staring around and I could see panic in his eyes.

"I know it hurts, Max..." He was trying to pull at the needles in his arm and seemed very confused. I knew I needed assistance and had to press the panic button; even injured he was too strong for me to restrain.

I rang the bell and returned to cradle his head and try to stay his hands. "Max...you were shot and you have been very ill...don't fight it...you are in good hands..."

"Ubi locus est?" (Where is this place?) "Moriorne?" (Am I dead?)

I took his face and made him look at me. I wondered if he had forgotten his transition and somehow thought he was still in his Roman existence. Yet I was there in his mind, too. I must be able to reach him somehow. "Maximus...listen to me! You are in a hospital- and you have to speak in English or say nothing. You must not use Latin. Answer me- do you understand what I have said?"

He looked at me and his eyes seemed to register at last. "Certe. I mean...yes. I...cannot...think..."

"No need to worry or fret. Just say nothing until you are ready to. I'm here. I won't leave you. I'll never leave your side."

His eyes said it all. He was lost and afraid, trying to recall this place, this time, and I was again the only lifeline he had. At that moment, the room began to fill with nurses and doctors. They sent me out and I begged them to let me stay. I had promised that I would not leave him and now a moment later I was deserting him. But I was bustled out with a last look back at him. His eyes had never left me.

So he was on the road to recovery. It would be a long process; his injuries were serious and slow to heal. The wedding was cancelled indefinitely; it seemed a mere frippery anyway compared to this. My parents were devastated and wanted to come and be with me but I dissuaded them. For now I needed to be alone with him but as soon as he was out of hospital, we would come home and he could convalesce at their place in the country; it would be better for him there. I loved to be able to plan ahead- the idea that we had a future seemed miraculous after the nightmarish fear of the first few days.

A few days after he had first woken up, on a day when he seemed particularly alert, I asked him if he remembered what had happened. He thought for a while and said. "Yes. I do."

I asked him to tell me. He seemed reluctant. "What is it, Maximus? Why won't you tell me?"

He sighed and shifted slightly in the bed; I could see that even that slight movement hurt him. "We were setting up a security cordon for a summit meeting. I had reason to be suspicious of the behaviour of one on the men on our team. I did some investigation of my own and I discovered he was an inside man. I don't know how he had been bought but he was preparing to set off a bomb in the conference room. I tackled him. I killed him but not before he put two bullets in me..."

"Why didn't you want to tell me?" I wasn't sure at his hesitancy.

"There is no evidence. I worked alone. I fear they may think I am the traitor." A cold fear gripped me. If they looked into his credentials wouldn't they quickly find that they were false? Maximus would appear to have been the mole and ...I could not bear to imagine the consequences. "I believe that is why I am here and not in a regular hospital. I think they mean to interrogate me as soon as they can and here I cannot be reached by those with whom I might be working. It is possible that the room is bugged. Take care what you say..." The last sentences he mouthed into my ear.

He was right- when is Maximus ever wrong in such matters? As soon as they realised that he was well enough to answer questions, there began an intensive series of interviews - and I, too, was given a grilling. I was asked what I knew about him and I could only say that I had known him for three months and had no reason to doubt what he told me of himself as true. I did not know if I was helping or making it worse. But at the end of the interrogation, there was surprising result. Other evidence backed up Maximus' story and they accepted it completely. Furthermore they were highly impressed with his abilities and instinct, the courage and initiative that he had shown. The end result was that Maximus was offered a new job. M15 recruited him and it meant a significant pay rise and rise in rank. I had told him that he could not be kept down. I had been right.

He was sitting up, bare-chested and well bandaged, reading, when I came to him that day. He dropped the book, delight evident in his eyes and he called me to sit on the bed. Holding my hands, he told me about the job and all it would mean. I was so proud of him that I thought my heart would burst; instead I just began to cry and all the tears held back these past few weeks came pouring forth in a tidal wave. I sobbed until my body ached. Maximus held me awkwardly and let me cry.

"This has been hard for you...the wedding... everything..." He began. I shook my head. 

"I just thought you would die. I didn't care about anything else. Maximus, I don't care about the wedding. I just want you to be well and to love me. I was so scared I would lose you..."

He smiled and stroked his thumb down my tear-stained face. "You will never lose me. I will never leave you." How dangerous it is to tempt the gods.

Maximus had a visitor. For the first time, I met one of the other brothers. It was Lachlan Curry who had flown in from the States. By now Maximus had been moved to a hospital in London and was much improved and beginning to find his indisposition a burden- he was dragging at the leash. It made me smile to see his frustration. That lunch time, I had arrived to find him up and attempting to dress himself. His shoulder was still strapped and he was in obvious pain- but too stubborn and tough to admit to it. I found him standing in the room in a loose pair of sweat pants and trying to insert one arm into a shirt that resolutely refused to behave. He was swearing under his breath.

"I'll do that, Max!" I laughed from the door, but was greeted with a scowl.

"I can dress myself."

"I am just helping." I untied the shoulder support, eased the shirt on one arm and then the other, replacing the sling. He chuffed in annoyance and I smirked. "Why do you need to dress? You're still largely bed-bound and could just wear pyjamas..."

"I don't wish to wear them. I feel like an old man in them."

It is very hard to keep a straight face when Maximus is in this sort of cranky mood but I bit my lip and repressed the urge. "OK, you're dressed. Now sit down and take it easy. Otherwise you will split some stitches and be back at square one."

"I want to use the bathroom. I need to urinate." He cleared his throat, a little embarrassed.

"Want me to help?" I teased. He gave me a glare. 

"Stay here - give me some privacy!" He strode purposefully into the bathroom and turned his back while he peed.

"You know, I helped to wash you when you were really ill, Max? I've seen your naked body and cleaned it up."

He made a grunting sound of disapproval. "That is the task of menials. You should not have been subjected to that."

I rolled my eyes as he returned to the room and smiled at the rather awkward bulge in his pants- he hadn't rearranged himself very well and would have been mortified had he known. "Maximus...a nurse is not a menial. She is a highly skilled professional. Don't use words like that here- or they will give you hell for it. And I am your fiancée. Who better to carry out personal attention on your injured body? I would have thought in your day that was the expected behaviour?"

"Of a wife- not a betrothed!" He spoke as if I was a fool but I understood his feelings. He had not wished for me to discover his body in this way- not when he was helpless and not in control of his bodily functions. I walked over and knelt before him, taking his face in my hands.

"I love you. That means whatever state you are in. I almost lost you - do you know how important it was to me to be part of the people who tended to you in those days? Max- if it were me? What would you do for me? I know the kind of man you are- there is nothing that you would not do for me if I was helpless- no matter how personal or intimate. That is what people in love do for each other. We say 'in sickness and in health, until death do us part...' "

He looked up and blew air out gently. "What would I do without you?" he whispered as he ran his fingers down my cheek. I simply smiled as he bent to kiss me, aware that even that movement would hurt him, but knowing that he would not wish for me to make it easier for him. He is so proud.

Just then there was a firm and chirpy rat-tat on the room door. Maximus sprang away, grimacing at the sudden motion and indicated that I should stand up. He would hate us to be caught in the midst of a romantic moment. I stood up and Max called "Enter!" in his imposing growl.

A familiar man entered. Not that I knew him, but I felt as if I did. He was one of the Brothers, I had seen his film and it was quite a breathtaking moment to meet the first of Maximus' 'siblings' at close hand. Max smiled broadly and immediately went to stand up.

"No, mate, don't get up!" Lachlan Curry strode over but Max was already on his feet, somewhat stiffly, a muscle twitching in his cheek revealing the effort it took. "How are you? All we heard was you were in the hospital. You don't give much away, do ya?"

They shook hands and I pulled up a chair for him, taking from him the gift- a rather thoughtful basket of fruit. "It's very good of you to come all this way, Curry. You shouldn't have bothered..."

"Crap, mate...what's a bloke to do? Hey, mate- I'm your brother." They both grinned at that. Lachlan looked across at me and back at Maximus who finally took the hint.

"Forgive me, I must introduce my...friend, Uma... Uma meet Lachlan Curry..."

I extended a hand and smiled. "Very pleased to meet you. You're Australian, aren't you?"

"Yeah, love, but the tablets are working..." He grinned across and gave my hand a firm shake. "Well, well, well, Maxie...you are a dark horse...how long's this been going on?"

Maximus cleared his throat, irritation evident, but Lachlan went on before he could say anything. "..That looks like an engagement ring....you randy bastard...when were you planning on telling us? Trying to do it on the cheap?"

I giggled, immediately liking his irreverent charm and well aware that Maximus did too even though he was pretending disapproval.

"Uma is my...fiancée and it is no one's business but mine..." he retorted with a smug face.

"When are you planning to tell her then?" was his quick-as-lightning response. We all laughed at that.

"The wedding was actually last month but Maximus managed to get himself shot up and it was cancelled." I explained.

"Shot? Stone the crows- I thought it was a car accident or something. Mate, how did that happen? What have you been up to? He never bloody says anything, you know, Uma. You could pull his finger nails out and he wouldn't even tell you what he had for breakfast..."

I giggled. "You don't have to tell me that! He's hopeless." Maximus made that slight clicking noise that he makes when he is annoyed- a very Gallic sound that intrigues me and shows a curious legacy that still lingers Mediterranean expression.

"I am working in national security. It is not something one talks about," he stated with a finality that clearly ended the conversation. Lachlan gave me a wink. I grinned back.

"OK, 007, I better get on with a few things, seeing as you've got company. I'll be back this afternoon- Max, be reasonable and don't try and do too much, you hear?" I waltzed up and kissed him softly, unconcerned if we were seen or not. I did not miss the flicker of a smile on his lips.

"He'll be fine with me, love- I'll keep an eye on him. Catch ya later, eh, gorgeous?" I picked up my bag and made for the door, throwing the attractive pilot a look. No matter how much I love Maximus, I'm a girl. I like compliments and I like knowing that a bloke is checking out my arse when I bend over in front of him.

MAXIMUS

I have always liked him, although he does his best to vex me- I am convinced of that. He is an intelligent man and much more deep than his veneer of insouciant banter would suggest. I have read a little of the war in which he fought and have seen through his mask. His unfailing high spirits lie over a personality as melancholy as my own. When I first came over we spent some time together- his beautiful wife had a small baby and they invited me to stay. It was a time that was both healing and raw with pain. I saw in him my younger self and the pain of loss cut deep. But I also saw that he had turned the tide in his own sad story and there was hope that one day, the same fate might beckon for me. Then I was unconvinced. Now- I saw the chance unfolding before my eyes and understood the real humanity in what they had tried to do for me. I will not forget the debt I owe them both.

He watched Uma as she bounced gaily out of the room- it was good to see her in such high spirits again. I knew she had enjoyed his company and was pleased that she had made such an impression on him. As the door closed he turned back with a gleam in his eye. He whistled.

"Bloody hell, mate, where d'ya find a Sheila like that? What the fuck she see in you?"

I narrowed my eyes at him and pursed my lip. "Integrity and valour...and of, course my very impressive cock..." We both laughed heartily and he reached into the inner pocket of his leather jacket.

"Right, Maximus Dickus, here's yer real pressie- you can bin the fruit..." And he pulled out a half bottle of Scotch. "Reckon you might appreciate that now Bossy Boots has gone. What is it with women, hey? You on medication?"

"Of course."

"Bonzer- this'll give you a real buzz then. Chuck me a glass, mate..." he poured himself a healthy slug and passed the bottle to me. I tipped his glass, drank deeply, felt the burn.

"Tell me that's not better, Max...you know it makes sense...so...where d'ya meet her? She is bloody gorgeous, mate. Wait till the boys back home cop a load of her- their fucking tongues'll be hanging out, not to mention their dicks..."

I waved the bottle ominously at him. "You watch your mouth, man, she is my woman and there had better be no lecherous behaviour around her- you understand that?"

He saluted and grinned. "Hey, mate- a guy can look and lust, can't he? She fair raised my temperature, any gate. Congratulations, mate, I mean it. You could both do a lot worse. I hope you'll be very happy. Just don't go around annoying any barmy emperors, this time, hey?"

I growled at him. "That was not funny."

He giggled. "You know me. I just say what others think."

"Yes, until someone lops your sorry head off. Don't fucking tempt me." But I laughed at him. He has that manner that even makes such a comment appear affectionate rather than heartless. It is a great gift he has of winning people over by his charm and essential goodness. But he is also a man's man- and I suspect a ladies' man, too. He may be a faithful and happy husband and father but he has a roving eye and women clearly favour him. I had not missed the way Uma behaved in his presence.

"Actually, mate, there is another reason for me being here. I mean, I was worried and all but...look, Max, I think we need to talk about the future."

I looked across at him. "Meaning?"

"Things are changing and changing pretty damned fast. This Crowe bloke has gone global- his face is everywhere. He can't even take someone else's wife out without every moment being tracked. Now he's got an Oscar as well..."

"Oscar?"

"It's some award for being an actor- as if they're not paid enough as it is...What I mean is, he is so famous that we are beginning to be recognized. Some of the younger ones are pretty reckless over in Oz. Jeff runs around Sydney with a gay crowd, Hando pays regular visits to his old stomping grounds and they get tanked up and pick up daggy sheilas and...all we need is one of these girls to go to the papers. Max, we are fucked. I know I sound like I'm whinging but we need some sort of organization here- someone needs to take control and make some kind of strategies for the future..."

I sighed deeply. "You mean me? What can I do? They are grown men- they live their lives as they see fit...."

"Max- you are part of the cause. It is Russell Crowe the Gladiator who is the image in everyone's mind. This goes public then your life will be the hardest hit, you realize that? And they all look up to you. You are the only one who could get them to listen. I'm not trying to pass the buck, mate- I'll support you but...a few of us have talked about it. They say it's gotta be you."

I glanced sidewards at him. "Who has talked?"

"Me, Bud, Cort...ya know?"

"Then do it yourselves." I spoke softly. I didn't want this. I have my own life to lead. They are not my responsibility...

"And if Uma gets caught in some backlash? Whose responsibility will that be then?"

He looked calmly at me and I rubbed my face with my hand. "What would you have me do...?"

UMA

I rushed back after work and found Lachlan sitting dozing in a chair and Max flat out in the bed. There was an empty half bottle of Scotch on the bedside. I groaned and hid the evidence, knowing full well that Sister would have had something to say had she seen it- and I think even Max is scared of her.

Lachlan stirred and then woke with a grunt. "Sorry, love, must have dozed off. Jetlag, ya know?"

"Plus a gut full of Scotch at lunchtime? Max is on all sorts of drugs- look at him! He's out for the count!"

"Do him good. Nothing like a rest to get you on your feet again..." I smiled at him and had a sudden urge to ruffle up his hair like a cheeky kid. But he isn't that, of course. He is a grown man and his charm could be misleading. It hides much depth. At that moment Maximus stirred and groaned softly to himself. I sat by his side and smoothed my hand across his brow. His hair was longer than usual and I liked its curl; his beard needed trimming again- I had been doing it for him every few days now. His eyes flickered and he ran his tongue over his lips. I helped him take some water.

"You OK?"

He nodded. "Just tired."

"Just bombed." I waved the empty bottle of Scotch at him and put it back in my briefcase. He looked chastened. I giggled. "I think you should rest."

I kissed him and he closed his eyes gratefully. I tiptoed out and motioned to Lachlan to follow me. Closing the door, I put my hands on my hips. "OK, now you've ruined my evening. You owe me dinner. And some food might be better on your stomach after that binge. Come on."

So Lachlan Curry bought me dinner and we had a high old time. It felt so good just to talk and laugh without the weight of pressure and worry. It was only then that I realised how very low I had been for so many weeks. The strain of Maximus' condition, the hours running backwards and forwards between work and the hospital, the loneliness of it all- it had worn me down completely. For the first time in a long time, I just chatted and fooled about with him and he was a sweet and interesting companion- a well read man who hid his learning under a guise of being just one of the boys.

He told me he works as a civilian pilot now and it was in that capacity that he had flown over to London- he would be returning the following evening after the required lay over. I heard about his wife, Darcy and his little son Donald- he showed me pictures and was clearly so proud of his family. He had reasons to be- his wife is very beautiful, an elegant blonde, and his son is adorable. She is expecting their second child and it is due in a few months. I think he secretly hopes for a little girl although he is clearly the kind of Dad who loves them all - whatever shape or size they come in.

He didn't pry about me and Maximus although I sensed he was very curious about us both. He is fascinated by Max and a little in awe of him, I imagine, but it was obvious that there was affection and respect. At a lull in the conversation, I asked him where he was staying and did he wish to use Max's apartment tonight. He shook his head- he had a hotel room arranged by the airline. But then he looked straight at me and added, "Not sure Max would think that quite on, anyway."

I frowned. "Why not? He wouldn't mind you staying there."

Lachlan smiled a little uneasily. "Well, he might if you were unchaperoned. Reckon he has pretty strict notions about such things..."

I smiled, suddenly realizing that he seemed to think I had suggested coming back with me. "Actually Lachlan, I don't live there. You'd be safe. I wouldn't compromise your reputation..."

He grinned sheepishly. "You don't...? But I thought..."

"...We're engaged but not yet married."

"Yeah, but...it's the year 2001. Even I know that things have changed." He raised his eyebrows and gave me a wink.

I sighed. "I live in the house we bought. It seemed a waste to have it standing there empty. But...look... Maximus and I don't live together. That's all."

He thought about that. "That means, you don't... Sorry, love, that was very intrusive of me. None of my bloody business, eh?"

I tilted my head and played with the remains of my dessert. "Lachlan, what are the others like? Maximus doesn't really say very much." I changed the subject rather clumsily.

"He's a bloke- we tend not to. They're a pretty mixed bunch- have you watched the flicks? Next time we get together, be there. In fact I think you will be anyway- it will be in your honour, I reckon. They're all red-blooded males and they will like you. Count on that, love."

I like you too, Lachlan Curry. Count on that.

Maximus recovered and was discharged. We decided that we didn't want to wait very long. As soon as he was pronounced fit, I took a month's leave and we got married. It was May. The world seemed full of promise- the spring, fine weather, my future set before me calm and sure. I would never be the same again.

It was a simple ceremony with few guests- just a mid-week registry office affair- neither of us felt that could go through the sham of a Christian wedding- and lunch at a beautiful country inn on a blossomy May afternoon. We flew to Naples and were in our hotel by the early evening. Maximus had asked me where I wanted to go with him. I knew the place straight away. Amalfi. It is one of the most beautiful spots in the world to me and it has a resonance for him as well. This was the coast where the beautiful people of Rome summered in his day. It was a sort of half way house between our worlds.

He had arranged for a limousine to collect us at the airport and negotiate the hairpin twists and turns of the spectacular Amalfi Drive, one of the world's most majestic and dangerous routes. We sat in the back, hand in hand, saying little, mostly staring out at the scenery. I was nervous and I think he was, too. The nearer we came to our destination, the more the whole enormity of what we were and what we had done seemed to rise up before me. And then there was the sex. We were going to make love. The thought made my head spin and my pulse race.

I glanced across at him as he gazed out on the sweeping vistas of the bay of Naples and wondered what was in his mind. He had never been there before but he had been shipped as a slave to this coast and then taken up the Appian Way in chains to Rome, a matter of a little over two years ago to him. His face was set and his eyes far away.

Maximus was dressed in a linen suit of a dark caramel colour with a pale blue shirt beneath. He looked fresh and handsome, the shirt bringing out the blue of his eyes. His skin was still pale from the long weeks in hospital but he had spent a few weeks convalescing in the country and had lost the grey pallor of the worst days. I knew that what he needed was just to lie under a warm and healing sun, eat and exercise lightly, and make love. That is what we both needed. Only that could wash away the deep and cutting wounds that almost losing him had brought to us both. He should have died- that's what the doctors said. But he would not die. I think he stayed for me.

I smoothed down the pale pink silk suit that I wore and let his hand rest easily on the expanse of leg where the short skirt had ridden up. His finger tentatively stroked the creamy silk of my stocking. Our eyes met and locked. I could see a light there that I had never seen before, a hunger that was no longer tamed by his strong will. Openly and without embarrassment I saw what he needed from me in the flicker of fire in his beautiful eyes and the flaring of his nostrils. His tongue peeked through his lips and licked the surface, not lasciviously, but almost unconsciously, as if his mind was already tasting my fruit. I watched a fine sheen of sweat break out on his forehead even in the cool sterility of the air conditioned car.

Prickles of electricity ran along my spine, languor seeped through me, a dampness began to moisten the ludicrously expensive and uncomfortable lace panties with their butterfly motif which seemed to be all there was to hide my sex from view. At the top of my thigh where the stockings were held up by their band of lace, I felt an itch and struggled against the urge to scratch. I wondered if I was imagining the ripe woman smell that emanated from me or if I was really leaking my desire through every pore and washing the civilising trace of French perfume from my body to reveal the female animal that he made me wish to be. I wanted to mate with him. I was awash with primal and earthy desires. If this is what denial causes then it should be bottled. I had never felt so sexually aroused in all my life- and he had only touched my hand and traced a finger on my leg.

At last we reached the hotel and carried out the rituals of checking in and having our luggage carted up for us. Maximus seemed impatient with the staff, answering brusquely, his voice even huskier and more soft than usual. We followed a bell boy with the trolley carrying our baggage into the elevator and looked at the ceiling or our feet as we traveled up to our suite.

The boy delivered the cases and Maximus stood looking at him. I realised that tipping would be something he wouldn't get- you didn't tip slaves, did you?- so I rummaged in my bag to find some lire and thrust the rolled up notes into Max's hand, whispering 'give that to the boy.'

"Why?"

"Just give it!" I rasped. The boy accepted it and withdrew.

"I don't understand..."

"Max...I don't want to discuss it- it is not what we are here for....OH God....you drive me insane..." I threw myself at him and we kissed like we were two people dying of thirst and were trying to drink up the last drop of each other. He grabbed me and held me against him until his cock bruised my pubic bone in his urgent haste. He threw off my jacket- ripped the buttons on my little lace blouse, wrenched at the zip of my skirt. In moments I was clad in just the tiny lace panties and a see through bra, the butterfly motifs being the only thing that covered my nakedness from him.

He stepped back and stared at me; his hands tracing the outline of my breasts, smoothing over my stomach and coming to rest on the mound of my sex. He sank to his knees and began to kiss me: my throat, my nipples, my navel, and halting upon the shadow of the hair at my groin. I held his head as his lips paid homage to my body and then reached for him.

Pulling on his hands, I raised him up to a stand; his eyes were moist and dark, forces inside him warring with each other. His hands circled by waist, dropped to caress the naked cheeks of my buttocks and then he raised me in one swift motion until I was astraddle him, my legs naturally wrapping round to grip him, the friction of his lower belly against the soft wetness between my legs.

"Max, I wanted a shower first..." I mumbled as his lips reached for me.

"Why?" He moaned as I dragged at his shirt buttons.

"You know...to freshen up..."

He pulled away, a dark and wild look about him; his voice, when he spoke, was low enough to graze the soles of my feet. "I want you as you are. I want to taste your natural taste and smell your natural smell..." he growled as he whirled me around and I pushed his shirt down his arms. We fell backwards onto the bed and I squirmed above him, knees at either side of his hips as I fumbled with his belt and zip. His hand rested between my legs and his thumb stroked slowly up and down through the now drenched lace. He raised his thumb to his lips and sucked with an earthy groan.

"Strip me!" he muttered and I yanked down his pants to let them slither to the floor. I gasped to see him like this, splayed out before me, his cock hard and high, pointing to me, its tip gleaming. I took in his thick and muscular upper body, the now familiar scarring, but my eyes could not leave the pit of his sexuality- the thick dark curls and the rampant cock. I heard myself make a whimpering sound, like a small animal facing the inevitable attack of the predator. "My tiny cunt..." I whispered and he stroked it more roughly now, using his cock instead of his fingers.

Suddenly he threw me over on to the bed beside me, rolled and was above me. I felt his hand simply tear the panties to shreds. "Twenty five quid down the drain...' passed through my mind with a giggle. He hadn't finished. As I laughed, he paused, caught my eye and raised his hands to my bra. He simply tore it open at the cleavage and it was history. I didn't even think of the cost. It simply felt so good.

My back arched and my nipples peaked; he threw himself upon me, mauling my slender body between his hands and his lips, raking his beard to and fro, kissing ,biting, licking- while I rubbed myself against any part of him that I could find. We were like two dogs in a frenzy for the taste and smell and touch. His sweat was like wine to me as I licked at the folds of his neck. He shimmied up to find my mouth, kissed me and then whispered.

"It has been so many years since I have known this...I am like a boy who cannot control himself..."

I held his head in my hands and raised my legs to grip his waist, opening myself up to him as much as I could. "Then take me now. Anyway you want. Anyhow. I want to give you all of myself..."

But he was no callow boy. He rolled me over and smoothed his hands down the curves of my naked back and buttocks. His mouth trailed kisses down my spine and then he licked from the hollow of my back down the cleft of my buttocks. I parted for him and his tongue delved deeper, his hands pushing my thighs up and out until I was kneeling, splayed and exposed and he feasted on me with complete abandon. I felt like every secret place in my body was there for his attention. The notion drove me over the edge and I came in a shuddering , wracking tidal wave of emotion and pleasure.

I was unaware of what happened for the next few moments until I came back to myself and found myself nestling on the pillow and Maximus holding me, muttering gently to me like a father to a child. I opened my eyes and looked into his. He gently stroked my sex with his cock. "May I? I want to be inside you so much..."

My cry of pleasure answered him and he slipped gently in, waiting, panting, his eyes glazing with the effort of holding back, as little by little he eased deep into me. I gasped- even wet and aroused as I was, he was such a big man that it hurt. I felt like a virgin. It felt like I had never felt a man before.

He ground down, rose and pulled back, ground down again, each time opening me up more and more, I felt like a flower who had never felt the heat of the sun until this moment. Over and over his slow and steady rhythm of love beat a pulse as he stared at me and I at him. I opened my mouth but could only make an empty 'OHHH!' sound as he loved me. Sweat was dripping from his chest onto my naked breasts. He raised the tempo, slowly getting faster and deeper, long strokes and then a grind, faster and faster grunting loudly now with the effort.

"Max, baby, come...come...oh God..." as I threw my head back and writhed in my orgasm - and then I heard it for the first time ever. That small sigh, as he allowed himself the joy of release and poured himself into me in judders of warm thick love. "So long...I have waited....so many years...for this..." His cry of fulfillment made me come again and close down tight on his thick shaft, making us both groan at the exquisite sensitivity of it all.

He fell forward, crushed me, rolled and lay gasping at my side. We both stared at the ceiling and then we looked at each other and we began to laugh. Don't ask me why. But we laughed with the sheer rushing joy and elation of being there together and at last part of each other. Tears poured down my face, and his too, tears of laughter and emotion; we held each other and kissed them away. He ran his hand between my legs and smeared our juices together, taking the sheet and wiping me, unconcerned for the mess he made or any propriety. Maximus is always likes that. He has no modern sensibility about a human body and simply accepts the processes of life. It is a refreshing and liberating attitude- although not one that I always share.

Sitting up, sipping champagne, naked and unashamed, we talked as we had never done. I don't know that it was so much different than what we might have said earlier but it was deeper and from the heart. There was no barrier between us anymore. We were a force together against the world. A man and a woman. With eyes for no one but each other.

I knelt across him, touching his face, his chest, his softening cock, his beautiful wrinkled balls, his muscles, his scars, his thick biceps and the hair that covered his body. He lay back and let me play, watching with an amused expression, drinking thoughtfully. Then he took my glass and poured it down himself. I giggled and lapped at the sweet sparkling wine and settled where it pooled in his pubic hair and around his plump cock. I bent and kissed the pungent sex smell and taste, leavened with the fine champagne. He sighed and muttered something indistinct- I realised it was Latin- he could not even frame a response in his adopted language.

His hands ran through my hair as I brought him to hardness in my mouth and then the real sex play began. He was not so frantic now but his fantasies had been unleashed. In a blur of tangled bed sheets, turning over and over each other, we explored each other's bodies like they were an unknown land, learnt the places that made us weak and those that made us strong. He pushed his cock into any place where it might want to go and his fingers, too- I likewise explored his wonderland. We made love. We fucked. We sweated and we strained. We bit and scratched and struggled and fought until at last our aching and sore bodies accepted the defeat of the little death and we lay entwined, half dosing and half murmuring, sticky, spent and exhausted. It felt like a tornado had passed through our lives.

"Uma? Are you hungry?" His voice suddenly jerked me awake. Was I? I thought a moment and realised that I was.

"Starving actually. Let's order room service."

We called and chose all the foods we fancied- more than we could eat- and then Max picked me up and carried me to the shower. We bathed each other beneath the warm and soothing waters and were wrapped up in our robes when the knock came and a table was set up on the flower bedecked balcony. It was dark now, clear and starry, the scent of the lemon trees from the garden beyond fragrancing the still air. Looking out to sea, to the little islands sprinkled in the bay and the twinkling lights of fishing boats on the water, we fed each other and talked quietly, laughing, at ease and content. Some moments stay with you all your life- you know even as they happen that they are singular and will shape the way you see each other forever. Such was that night. I felt like I had been touched by the hand of God.