MAXIMUS

I checked my watch. It was six-fifteen and I closed the document I was working on. Leaning back in the leather seat I shut my eyes and took a deep breath, swiveling round to face the window and the view over Whitehall. I saw people hurrying off to catch their trains and their rides home to their lives, looking forward to a Friday and then the weekend, that curious ritual of the modern day world.

Reaching for my cell phone, I dialed the number and listened for her voice, aware how important it was for restoring my peace of mind.

"Hello. Who is it please?"

"Daddy. Have you eaten?"

"Daddy! Yes...Daddy, guess what? I won a prize at school for my painting and it's going on the wall in the Hall! And Mrs. Covington said it was so good that she thought one of the older girls did it! Can you come and see it one day...please say yes, Daddy, please say yes!"

I laughed. "Yes. Of course, I will, Florilla."

"Are you coming home soon?"

I paused. "I'm sorry, Lily, I have an appointment in the City. I'll be home as soon as I can. Be good for Miss McAlister. Don't stay up too late- and no inappropriate television!"

She sighed in exasperation. "Daddy---you don't have to tell me! Anyway, I've a new Harry Potter book and I want to read it..."

"I'm not sure I approve of those books. Aren't you a little young for them?"

"But I can read them! I can read better than anyone in my class. They're all so stupid!"

"I hope you don't say that to them, Lily- that would sound very arrogant." I chided her.

"Of course, I don't! Then I would have no friends, silly!" I smiled at her manner. She is so very mature in some ways and such a little child in others. "Daddy...are you going to dinner with a lady?"

Her ability to think laterally always catches me unawares. She is so like Uma in that way, able to dart from one topic to another where a man must drag his sluggish brain in the wake of her lightening moves. "No...I'm having a drink with a...an acquaintance of mine."

"Not a girlfriend?"

"No, Lily. Not a girlfriend." She is obsessed with this topic of late; she must have read something to make her think like this; or perhaps the children at school have put this idea into her head? I am not sure whether the notion interests or repels her- it is hard to be sure. But she questions my whereabouts most acutely when I am absent in the evenings.

Of course there have been women over the years. Not many, but now and again I have 'dated' as they say, or at least made some attempt. A dinner, tickets to the theatre, some respectable outing with a woman whom I had met in the course of my work or at some function, but nothing much ever came of these occasions, I always felt that I was simply going through the motions. In truth, I merely wanted to have sex with them but, there was the usual social performance that had to be conducted until some secret signal was given and I was allowed to make my move. It still seemed to me more tawdry than such things in my day. At least then we all knew where we stood.

They always wish to know everything about me. Was I married? Divorced? Did I have children? The child lives with me? What happened to your wife? I hate to speak of it all and always try to avoid any confidences of that nature, but that only seemed to make me more of an interesting specimen to women. Apparently, I am seen as needing a good woman. I am some pitiful character who is prime target for an unattached lady to thus attach herself to.

Once or twice I have taken a woman home to meet Lily to observe her reaction- and I have always enjoyed her appraisal of them. That is when I see myself in her. She greets them impassively, her green eyes steady and unwavering and her mouth drawn into a slightly disapproving pout. No matter what the unfortunate woman does to try to win her over, Lily seems impervious to all attempts and simply answers yes or no or stares quite threateningly. It even frightens me somewhat how intense she can be. It touches me, too, as few things are able to do. Lily is like a little she-cat protecting her young, my child protecting me. When did she learn to do that? Again, I think of Uma who was always so fiercely defensive of me that she would never allow anyone to make even a veiled comment against me.

I forced my mind back to the conversation.

"Then who are you meeting?"

"Whom."

She tsked. "Whom then!"

"A man."

"What's his name?"

"Er...Mr. Thorne."

"Do I know him?"

"No, and it's rude to be so inquisitive. Learn to act as a lady should."

"Oh poo, Dad. That's sexist," she giggled, casually dismissive of my remark.

I shook my head. Where does she hear these things? "Enough, Lily. I shall see you in the morning. Good evening, little flower..."

"I love you, Daddy..."

I closed the phone and stood up, adding a few files and disks to my attaché case and then locking it. Slipping on my jacket, I threw my overcoat over my arm and left the office.

The bar was easy to find, on a back lane off Regent Street. I had parked the car in a nearby multi-storey and walked the rest of the way. The evening was pleasant, a fine autumn night. It was the sort of evening a man wants to stroll along with his woman by his side, chatting and laughing, before whisking her off to a quiet restaurant and wining and dining her, presenting her with a gift, perhaps a bracelet or some earrings...I amused myself sometimes with my foolishness. What would my colleagues think if they knew how frivolous my nature could really be?

But I shrugged off the idle reverie and forced my eyes from the other lovers who were out and about enjoying the early evening. Ahead of me was the wine bar, Chambre, and I pushed on the heavy oak door to enter.

It was in the modern style, wooden floors, leather armchairs, subdued spotlights and a stark metal bar counter with glass shelving arrayed with a rainbow effect of liquor bottles each placed prominently in their own glass display. Several of the clusters of armchairs and low tables were already taken by young men and women winding down after a week of work, all smartly suited but with ties loosened and blouse buttons no longer so demurely fastened.

I caught the appraisal from one group of ladies as I entered; these young women today are as assertive as men once were, raising their glasses and rolling their eyes in encouragement for me to join them. It is so easy to find a willing woman and yet so hard to find one that I actually desire. But sometimes, any woman who will pass the time of day with me, is better than the alternative, I am ashamed to say.

Settling at the bar, I ordered a beer and watched the door. It was five minutes to seven - Thorne would not be late. I wanted to get it over with. I wasn't fooled for a moment by his cloak-and-dagger excuse that the Family needed help. The Family was in shattered ruins and no amount of brotherly love was going to forge back the original close bonds we had made. No, this was about something entirely different and I had a fairly shrewd idea what he would be seeking.

She had sent him, unwilling to face me or have me hear first through a lawyer. She wanted a divorce and they planned to marry; it would be the obvious next step. They would wish to start a family - neither of them was getting any younger. I grimaced as I drained my glass and signaled over for another bottle, adding to my order a large Scotch. The familiar pain gnawed deep inside me, the old bitter jealousy that fed my despair. But, I wouldn't stop them. She had kept her part of the bargain and left me my child. For that I would let her go.

My head must have sunk down as I dwelled on the stark decision that he would force me to make. I would have to sign some document and sunder the last vestiges of what we had dreamed together. I still used to think on the early days- how I had courted her and what a time of joy it had been; our wedding and the bliss of our marriage bed; the arrival of our daughter and the seal she had set on our new-found happiness. Where did it all begin to crumble, until nothing remained but the last act of separation- the legal details- and then...nothing but dust and air? The old phrase I had once used to goad Proximo rose up to goad me now. Everything I had been, everything I had ever desired, everything I had won and struggled for...in the end what was I ever left with? Lily. I smiled. She was the prize worth any other. The prize worth dying for. But more to the point- she was the prize worth living for.

I sensed, rather than saw, the woman who stood by me at the bar as I morosely contemplated the bottom of my glass. Vaguely, I heard her ask the barman for a glass of wine and some casual instinct still left from the days when I would never have let any woman pass by my vision without a discreet glance, made me look up. She must have done the same thing, casting her eyes over the men surrounding her, ascertaining that she was not about to receive unwanted attention.

The shock almost struck us both dumb.

"U--Uma..." I stuttered.

"Maximus..." Her lips shaped my name but no sound was uttered.

For long moments we started at each other, incomprehension writ large on both our faces. 

"White or red?" The young man at the bar repeated and Uma seemed to jump back to awareness.

"Er...white, please...dry..." 

"On my tab..." I added.

She ran a hand back through her short tousled hair and licked her lips nervously. "Whoah! Wasn't expecting that! What are you doing here?" she asked, speaking quickly in that rambling way she always had when she was ill-at-ease.

"I'm meeting someone...and you?"

"Yeah...someone..." I noticed a sudden look of panic on her face; she glanced around quickly. Then it came to me. He had set this up for her. I had been lured by his ridiculous ruse of a "Family' crisis because they suspected I would have refused to meet her. At least she was going to put her request to me herself; she had never been lacking in courage.

"Terry Thorne. I should have realized. He arranged this, didn't he?"

An expression of dismay crossed her face but she said nothing. I continued. "I'm supposed to be meeting him here tonight. But that was just to get me here, was it not? Then go ahead. Put your request on the table. Let us begin the negotiations..."

I saw her blink and her brow crease in a frown. "Negotiations? What do you mean?"

I sighed and ran my hand over my forehead. "Uma...if you want to divorce me...just say so! I will not make any objection- not that it would matter if I did. Our separation is long enough to prove irreconcilable differences, isn't it?" I drank back my Scotch; she stood before the glass of wine and left it untouched.

"You think ...what? I came here to ask you for a divorce? That Terry Thorne set this all up?" She asked, incredulity in her voice.

"Well, didn't you? Didn't he?"

At that she shook her head in amazement and pulled a packet of cigarettes out of her pocket, lighting one and raking a hand back through her hair again. I found the mannerism oddly affecting.

"I wasn't sure if I was still married. I mean...I told the lawyer I would agree to whatever you wished. I haven't even picked my mail up. I always thought that it would be you who wanted to be free of me...and yes, he did set this up. But not in the way you think..."

Again she was rambling slightly, stopping for a deep drag on her cigarette. I noticed that her hands were shaking and her nails, once so elegantly manicured, were bitten down and jagged. It was then that I began to notice the other differences. Her clothes were of a cheap make, inexpensive fabric and poorly cut, even if her slender loveliness enhanced any outfit. She was thin, gaunt even, and her once radiant eyes were bruised and guarded, like a dog that has been beaten down. Her skin was golden brown where it had once been ivory fair. There had been a remarkable change in my wife and it was not for the better. Before me was a woman who seemed to be the shadow of the beauty I had once known.

"Then why are you here?" I heard my own blunt question and grimaced at my coldness; it wasn't how I felt, but I was hiding as much as she was.

She hunched her shoulders, unwilling to answer. Then she stubbed out her cigarette and simply turned and walked out, striding quickly onto the street outside. I threw down a note, far more that I had spent- the bartender at least would do well out of us- and charged after her, afraid that she would simply merge into the busy Regent Street crowds and I would lose her again.

But I saw her, half walking, half running towards the tube station entrance and set of in full pursuit, knocking people out of my way as I raced to keep her in my sights. I reached her just as she gained the entrance and placed my hand on her shoulder. "Uma...please..."

She shrugged me off her but I was determined and took her by the hand, swinging her against me. "Please! We need to talk!"

Her eyes flashed, a reminder of her former spirit. "I don't wish to talk to you! You cannot make me! You have no rights over me anymore!"

I dropped my hold of her and held up my hands. "Whatever you want. But I have some things I wish to say to you. That is all."

She nodded curtly as if to allow me to continue and I indicated we should walk on together. 

"So...what did you want to say to me?" She addressed me bluntly.

"I...er...are you well? You look ...thin...is he looking after you?"

"He? Who?"

"Thorne?"

At that she gave me one of her withering glances. "You think Terry and I are...? Christ, Terry Thorne and I are finished...We never even bloody started...Max, I never saw him again...Jesus Christ!" Her reaction was quite clearly honest and I struggled to grasp what she was saying. The evidence was there before me- Terry Thorne was a wealthy man and Uma was attired like a penniless university student. But why? I made sure she had a sufficient income of her own, even should he have left her...why did she seem so down-at- heel?

"Where have you been then? If not with him- where have you been?"

Uma shrugged again. "Working overseas. Couple of years." She did not enlarge on it.

"Ah...I see..."

"And you? How's the job?"

"Fine...I am division head now...less active work..."

"Safer?" She asked that quickly, as if it still mattered to her. She had once spent days at my bedside willing me to live when I had hung between life and death.

"Yes...I have to think of..."My voice died away. I had been about to say...Lily. But I couldn't mention the name before her.

She nodded brusquely and I saw her take a deep breath. I recognised it. She was trying to control tears. "How ---is she?" she forced out.

"She is well and happy. At school now and doing very well- she has grown so much...." My thoughtless words cut me to the quick. How could I have said that to her? "I'm sorry...you must miss her..."

She stared at me with eyes wide as if in horror. "Miss her? Miss my baby? Are you quite insane? She has never left my thoughts for a single second since the last time I saw her. Do you know that? It is two years, two hundred and fifteen days and nights -counting today. Do you know THAT?"

"As a matter of fact I do," I whispered.

We both stood and looked at each other. I expected her to turn on me, make some aggressive comment but in fact, she didn't. She just looked sad.

"What a bloody fucking waste, hey?"

Her simple honesty could not be countered. I had made Lily pay the greatest price of all and for a long time now I had been aware of my mistake - but too proud to rectify my terrible blunder. I reacted instinctively now to the opportunity that her presence afforded me. "Uma---I was wrong to keep her from you. I know that now. A girl child needs her mother...there are so many things that she asks already that I cannot answer - and she is still only five years old..."

"Don't you have a nanny?"

I looked at the floor. "She is an old woman. Lily needs a...she needs her mother. Please, Uma...I am asking you to meet her. Would you do that?"

She stopped dead and paled beneath her tan. "Do that? DO THAT? It would be like the greatest gift in life to see her. How can you think I would say no? But why now? Why didn't you contact me before? I left an address..."

"I burnt it." I felt the muscle in my cheek twitch as I admitted to my petulant act of self-destruction.

"Of course- the grand pointless gesture- you were always rather good at those, were you not?" A return to the sharp tongue. "So you just meet me and decide that you were wrong and it's OK for me to meet my daughter? What if you hadn't met me tonight?"

I swallowed and looked up to the heavens for help in answering her. I heard my voice husky and felt my emotions rigid. "I intended to ask Thorne to arrange it. I had thought you were involved somewhere in this. That would have been the concession I was prepared to make..."

"Concession? Maximus the generous, hey? Well, don't trip over your human kindness on the way out, will you?" She fumbled again for a cigarette and flicked her cheap throwaway lighter a few times; I took it from her and lit the tip for her, steadying her trembling hand. Her touch made me tremble. She nodded her thanks but pulled away quickly. "I'll meet her - but not at the house...I couldn't go there. Somewhere neutral..."

I agreed. "The park? I will take her for a walk tomorrow afternoon after lunch. She has a ballet lesson in the morning..."

"Ballet?" Her voice dropped to a whisper and the ghost of a smile fluttered over her lips. Uma had been a dancer as a girl and I am sure the knowledge that her child had at least one of her interests had stirred her. She forced the tender expression away and turned back to me, her shoulders held up and her eyes unnaturally bright. "Tomorrow at two, by the ducks. We used to feed the ducks. When she was a little girl... I have to go..." Abruptly she turned and made to go back in the direction of the tube station.

"Wait...I have a car...I will drive you home...it is late..." I caught up with her.

"Max...it is only eight thirty...and I'm a big girl now. You haven't a clue what I've been doing for the past two and a half years- but I can assure you that it was a sight more dangerous that an evening train..." and with that, she ran down the long escalator and left me standing there, staring at her retreating figure. I am not sure which of us looked more lost and unhappy.

UMA

I paced nervously in the little hollow where the path dipped down and the small duck pond was situated. There were several young families there, fathers with toddlers watching as the little ones threw chunks of bread into the water, mothers carrying babies in their arms and showing them the wildfowl. My mind dislocated in that way it has; I found myself in the place of one of those mothers and recalled an earlier quiet afternoon when we had wandered down here after Lily had woken from her nap and idly fed the ducks. How I wish I had treasured those moments, as I should have, instead of taken them for granted!

I was still a little shaken by the shock of my meeting with Maximus, right out of the blue like that, without warning. Terry Thorne! What a character! What a friend! I squirmed when I thought of the interview last night with my husband. After all these years and the number of times I had fantasized a meeting with him, who would have imagined I would make such a royal fuck up of the whole thing? I had been so abrasive and awkward with him. It had been so very, very hard to look upon him again and know he could never be mine as he had once been.

But he had the jump on me after all with his surprising offer to allow me to meet my daughter. Where had that come from? Had he really been wishing it for some time, needing help in raising her now that she was growing? Or had he just realised that moment when he had seen me that it was unnecessary to deny us both any more - for what harm was I to anyone now? I suspected that he had felt pity. I had seen his eyes take in my cheap clothes and my untidy appearance. He must have thought me a wretched sight. Perhaps I had now lost the power to hurt him. Who knows what goes on in his mind?

My heart was fluttering as it had been all day. Say I fucked this up as badly as I had done the time with him? I didn't know what she knew. Had he warned her that I was her mother or just told her I was a friend? How would she regard me if she knew, the mother who would leave her child and never contact her? Should I embrace her or keep my distance? Should I try to explain or say nothing? What could I talk about that would be a 'safe' topic? There was a moment or two when I seriously considered running and avoiding the moment now that it had arrived but I couldn't do that to my child again. I would face her and be whatever she wished me to be. Merely to look upon her face would be enough.

I saw them approaching down the path some distance away. Terry Thorne had been right. I would have known her in an instant. Lily was skipping along next to her father, trying to keep up with his long stride. How like a man not to see that her legs would not cover so much ground! All the while she was chattering to him, holding his hand and looking up at him as she talked; he was quiet and listening, a smile on his face. I wondered what they spoke of. They seemed very close and relaxed in each other's presence. I imagined them a tight little partnership against the world out there.

Lily was so tall now. Her chubbiness had gone and she was skinny and leggy, in a floral dress under a velvet coat unbuttoned; the afternoon was mild. She wore little white ankle socks with lacy trim and shiny black patent shoes; her hair was cut into a bob; it was a shiny dark brown, almost black. Her baby curls seemed gone. An Alice band held back her fringe from her face. She seemed dressed in a slightly old fashioned style and I wondered if that was just the outfit or whether the influence of an old woman as a nanny and a man with little desire to give concessions to the modern world were keeping her in a time warp. If they were, then that was already a mistake, but not something on which I would now have the right to comment.

I saw Maximus raise his head and realised that he had known I was there all along - how typical of his acuity. I felt his steady gaze and the way it seemed to bore into me. Lily went on with her nonstop chatter as they came nearer and nearer but our eyes never wavered. He had me in his sights.

And then they simply walked up and I stood up away from the bench where I had been sitting. Maximus stopped and so did Lily, looking up at him in askance. It was immediately obvious that she had not been told to expect my presence here.

"Good afternoon." Maximus's formal greeting was so ridiculous that I had to repress the hysterical urge to laugh in his face.

"Hello," I replied. Lily looked from one to the other. Then Maximus introduced me.

"Lily, this is a friend of mine.  Her name is Uma. Uma, my daughter, Lilia."

What exactly could I say? 

I shook her hand and said hello; she smiled shyly up at me and responded politely: "Hello. Pleased to meet you." But she was shrewd; I could see it in her eyes. She was trying to work out exactly what was going on here.

"I - er - would you do me a favour, Uma? I need to go somewhere; would you watch my daughter while she feeds the ducks?" It was a clumsy and unlikely request, as was obvious from Lily's expression; she pulled a face and pouted. It was a look that her father used when he disapproved of something. But she did not demur. He had raised her well and she would not openly disobey him.

"Of course. We will have a little stroll. Don't worry, I'll take good care of her," I answered. At that he gave me a curt nod and then placed an affectionate hand on her head. "I shall be back soon. Be a good girl, Lily." With that, he withdrew and strode briskly back in the direction from which he had come, looking neither to the right nor left - but I knew he wasn't comfortable. I can always tell in the way he holds his shoulders and thrusts himself forward; he does not wish for this.

I watched him until he was out of sight and then turned my attention back to my daughter, to find her observing me closely, her eyes screwed up against the sun.

I blushed at her honest appraisal and tried to think of something with which I could open the conversation. "Would you like an ice cream?"

Lily gave me a look as if to say she couldn't be swayed by bribery, but nodded anyway and we sauntered over to a nearby vendor and bought two cornets. Sitting down by the pond we began our hesitant conversation. Usually I can rabbit on at a drop of a hat, especially when I'm nervous, but my tongue was sticking to the roof of my mouth and my hands were clammy. The actual reality of being here with my little girl whose image had been in my head every moment these past years was rendering me speechless. She was so beautiful to me but so much changed. Where was my little baby now? How to accept the part of her lost to me forever?

"Are you my father's girlfriend?" she suddenly asked as she licked her ice. I blinked rapidly.

"Er...no."

"Do you work with him?"

"Er...no."

"Do you like him?" Her pale green eyes pinned me acutely in their gaze. I felt the prickle of unease.

"Er...yes. He's very...er...nice."

Lily smiled. "He's lovely. All my friends say their Mums fancy him. Why don't you go out with him on a date?"

Her frank comments took my breath away. I simply didn't know how to deal with this. "Er...well, he hasn't asked me," I replied lamely.

"I think he's shy. You see...do you know about my Mum?" If I had been shocked before, I was catatonic by now.

"Your...Mum?" I repeated inanely.

Lily nodded seriously. "Daddy never talks about her. I think it makes him very sad. I think she's dead. That's what someone at school said. Poppy said that when they say your Mummy went away that means she's gone to heaven but they don't want you to know. I don't talk about it to Dad because it will upset him. But I'm sure that's what happened. I just wish he would get a girlfriend. He's very lonely."

I had to pinch myself almost to remember that this child, so mature and together, was not yet six years old. Her poise was frightening. But maybe it was easier for her to accept that she had not been abandoned but that her mother had been cruelly taken from her. "Do you remember your Mum?" I asked her and then wished that I could take back the words.

"A little bit. I can't exactly remember what she looked like but I know she was very nice. She had long hair. She was always singing. Then one day she wasn't there. That's all." She continued to eat at her ice cream; mine was dripping away almost untouched. Her matter-of-fact little voice made the revelations even harder to take. Her mother was just a distant memory and Lily had moved on. Her mother had died and she wanted a new Mummy. At least I did not need to fear that she was still suffering for what had happened. Before me was a well-balanced little child who loved her Dad and was settled in her world. My return could bring her nothing but trauma. A sinking feeling inside me seemed to presage some final decline. There would be no fond reunions. The last minute thread of hope I must have carried somewhere was shearing fast. If I loved them at all, I had to let them go forever.

"Why don't you come for dinner? Miss McAlister is a bit old but she's a good cook. I could show you my paintings. I want to be a famous artist when I grow up. Daddy says girls are never artists but I said well, I'm going to be the first. He laughs and says I probably shall. What do you do?"

I swallowed and tried to return my mind to her change of subject. "I teach little children who have no parents."

"Like orphans? Like Harry Potter? In an orphanage?" She jumped on that quickly.

I smiled. "No. In Africa. There are many little children who have no homes or people to love them. They are very poor."

"I know about that. We collect money for poor children at school. You're very kind to help other people. Do you have any children?"

I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak, an urge so great taking me over to grasp her to my heart and hold her. It was so strong that I almost thought that I had done it.

"Are you married?"

"No."

"Have you got a boyfriend?"

"No."

She smiled. "Then you must come to dinner and get to know my Daddy better. You would like him. He's very interesting - even if he is quite old. I don't know how old he is but I think he's quite old." I laughed. Yes, Lily. He is very old. Older than any man alive.

"I would like to but I don't think I can, sweetie. I really have to go." Just then, I saw Maximus in the distance walking back and I took my chance. "Oh, there's your Dad. Run and join him while I throw this ice cream in the rubbish bin." Lily obliged, skipping across as he smiled and sauntered over to her. I made my way from the pond and ducked along the path through the rhododendrons to cover my retreat. I had to get away before it got any further. I could not bring myself to say goodbye.

From the safe vantage of the leafy covering, I watched them both look about and try to see where I had gone. It gave me a final opportunity to gaze upon the two of them, the only people I cared about in life. Lily, my beautiful child, everything I had ever hoped her to be and so much more: bright, lively, articulate, happy. Maximus, my beautiful man, as dignified and virile as ever, but now his reserve tempered by his closeness to his little girl, the unlikeliest of companions for him. They looked such a team, a partnership, her little hand in his and the tight bond of their relationship so evidently displayed. She looked disappointed; he seemed resigned. I suppose he is inured by now to such things - and perhaps he was even relieved that the matter had resolved itself this way.

Until they were gone from my sight, I watched and loved them. A deep and painful sorrow settled on my heart. This was the final moment. I had had my wish and now I knew my child was well and that her life was set. He had taken her from me as my punishment for breaking his trust and I had paid my debt; he had acknowledged that. This time I would walk away myself, out of the love I bear for both of them. My return would only hurt them more. I could do this sacrifice for them. The pain lay in the lack of hope that was left to me now. While that had still been there, I had had a reason to go on.

MAXIMUS

It wasn't difficult to find her.  A few phone calls with her name and date of birth and I had her address and many other personal details, including her bank account. It appeared she was in some financial hardship; the money I remit to her transferred into an investment for Lily. I was ashamed when I read this, mostly because it did not surprise me at all. I should have known she would have been too proud to live off my money and that she would wish to offer some legacy for the future to her lost child.

Lost child.

Why had I done it? I try to remember how I had felt that day when I bore witness to her infidelity, but the anger and bitterness seemed to have long dissipated. The only thing that I feel now is sorrow and the stubborn pride that has always been my greatest failing. I would not relent in case it made me look weak. I would not shake the emperor's hand. Both of my families had paid a terrible price for my arrogance.

Uma had been guilty; my first wife had been innocent. They were not the same. 

Uma had been under an enchantment that had even made me lust after another man's wife, Cort had died because he could not restrain the passion that the magic had unleashed, marriages had been split asunder, children left with one parent - why had I not taken that into account when I had judged her? She had been under great duress and had fallen. But I would not forgive her. Yet in my heart I know the reason for my rigid refusal to take her back. My perfect wife had fallen from the pedestal upon which I had placed her and tumbled to the earth; for that fault, because she was proved to be human after all, I tore apart our lives and gave neither my wife nor daughter a chance to voice their opinions. I behaved as befitted a man of my time - but I am no longer a man of my time. It has taken me years to understand that.

A little girl has taught me the reality of how I must live my life. Her mother had indulged me too much and sheltered me from any need to move forward in this future world. But Lily is a child of her age and through her I have learnt, as she has, how to adapt. Now it is my guilt that bites deep into my subconscious.

As I drove through the darkened streets of this slum area, I again contemplated why Uma was struggling so much with money. She has an excellent academic pedigree, was already in possession of a good position when we parted and must by now have made something of her career. Yet the signs were not good. It occurred to me she might have gone into a decline with the loss of her daughter and family. Had she perhaps been ill or suffered some nervous debilitation? The thought of her alone and in desperate need filled me with horror and I saw my own blind cruelty in sharp distinction. I had thought never to harm her, to give her a perfect life - and in the end I had destroyed her. History repeats itself - even if in very different ways. I am a dangerous man to the women who love me.

The street on which she lived was in the heart of the area called Tower Hamlets, an urban wilderness which was being regenerated, but still bore the marks of poverty, deprivation and wasted lives. It seemed she had a small bed-sit flat in a large Victorian property that had seen better days. Parking outside, I stepped on to the dirty street, looked around with dismay, and went forward to the main door, trying to imagine how she kept safe in such a forbidding environment.

The door was open and gave onto a dusty rubbish strewn hallway- there was even a motorbike leaned against the wall. Leaves and wrappers from snacks had blown in from the street, mail was spilling out of the boxes unclaimed, the wallpaper was peeling and damp with mildew. A scrap of worn carpet covered the stairs. Uma's flat was on the first floor, so I took the staircase and found my way up there. A young man, disheveled and unkempt, thin and unhealthy, pushed past me and ran up to another room; he had the mindless expression of a drug addict high on something. My fears for my wife increased.

Outside her door, I paused and steeled myself for the task ahead. I had no idea what to expect or whether she would simply slam the door in my face. But I had to do something, that much was clear. This situation could not be allowed to continue.

My sharp knock was received with deathly silence until I began to wonder if she wasn't there. But all at once the door was wrenched open and she stood before me. Her appearance was bedraggled. I think she had been crying, if the swollen eyes and red nose were any sign. In her hand was a tiny soft toy that I vaguely remembered Lily having years ago. Her hand went to her mouth in shock when she saw me there.

"How did you find me?" she gasped.

"I have my ways," I replied evasively.

"Why did you find me?"

"I was concerned for you. Why did you leave so abruptly?"

Uma took a step back and motioned for me to enter. She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and blew her nose as I walked in and surveyed my surroundings. It was a depressing sight.

She lived in a tiny space, everything old and worn, from the washed out curtains to the chipped and mismatched furniture. The bed was the only decent piece; its sheets were clean and smelled fresh; she would never have let her standards go like that. I watched her watch me as I looked about and she seemed embarrassed.

"I didn't want you to come here," was her only comment.

"Why? Why do you live like this?" I asked.

She shrugged. "I have no money for anything better. It's a roof over my head for now. I don't really pay much attention to my surroundings."

I took a seat and she perched on the end of the bed. There were so few possessions. I wondered where all her belongings were - she used to love to be surrounded by her clutter. "Uma, I did not expect you to fall on hard times. I gave you sufficient money...it was never about trying to punish your lifestyle..." She waved her hand dismissively.

"I know. How I live is not your fault. It is my choice."

"But - why? Why on earth would anyone choose this? You have a good career. You can support yourself..."

Uma jumped up. "Just go, will you? I haven't anything more to say to you. It is finished, Maximus, finished long ago and there is no use going over it. Like it or not, my decisions and my life are not your concern anymore. Please, leave me be!"

"I...I...Uma...I...can't bear it. I cannot bear to see you like this. Did I bring you so low?"

At that she turned away and I saw the quiver of her slender shoulders as she fought the return of tears. I heard her voice softly pleading. "Go...please leave me alone...!" but it had little conviction. She was distraught and yet I sensed that her words were the opposite of what she really felt.

Standing and advancing towards her, I placed my hands on her upper arms and gently turned her round. She made a low groan of resignation. Before I had the chance to think beyond this, she was in my arms and pressed against my chest while I rocked her - and she gave into helpless weeping.

Time seemed to stand still for us as we stood wrapped up close. Somewhere in that embrace was the anchor from which I had been set adrift. I held on to her almost despite myself as she gripped me like a vice and clung to me in return.

Her feel and scent were so familiar that they made my head swim and it was difficult not to find myself swept away by the old memories. I stroked her tenderly, my hand running down her spine and the other cupping the back of her, resting it against my shoulder. Her fingers played with the thong of leather around my neck. I have no idea how long I comforted her or how long she rested in my arms.

I can recall exactly what occurred then, although it is in a dreamlike image in my head. Our hands began to remember the other's touches, wandering across and down the landscape of our different torsos. The smooth plane of her long narrow back, the curve of her spine that gave to the tiny swell of her perfect buttocks; the small breasts, unfettered by covering, soft and pliant as my fingers brushed their tips; her long shapely neck, the pulse throbbing, my lips aching to taste her flesh. All the while her hands traveled over me, smoothed across the thick muscles of my back, unconsciously tracing the rise and fall of my frame, her hips slightly pressing in against my groin, her hands gripping and squeezing the bunched sinews of my upper arms.

I tilted up her chin and she looked into my eyes; there was a world of memory there between us, remembered passion, the story of our life together, all that we had ever said or meant to each other, the pain and indescribable joy interwoven.

I could not have stopped myself any more than any man can hold back the tide - the force of nature cannot be reined in; I dipped down to capture her lips, already slightly parted in anticipation - and we kissed. I recalled somewhere in the farthest reaches of my brain the first time I had ever touched her lips with mine and how that simple act had been as passionate and sexual as any intimate knowledge I was ever to have of her body. Such was the kiss my whirling mind perceived. It began soft and hesitant, just a pressure of lip on lip and then it increased as mouth surrendered to mouth. Her parted lips widened and I sought her taste as eagerly as she sought mine, our tongues dancing to join our bodies in mimicry of our desire.

My hand tightened around the back of her head, her arms slipped further round my neck to bring me closer. Her body sank into my grip, loosening as I dived deeper into her willing mouth; her head fell back and my thumb fingered the pulse of her smooth silk neck, the span of my palm encompassing her slenderness, a hint of my power displayed, the male exerting his claim over the capitulating female.

None of this registered on my mind; I am sure it was the same with her. It is only later that I came to understand the nature of what happened - at the time instinct and desire, passion and love, restrained and hidden for so many years, longing and loneliness, the results of desolate nights and waking to empty beds swept us back to act like creatures of base responses. My body and my heart wanted her enough to stultify my brain. I imagine it was the same for her.

At some point we must have begun to lay each other bare; I remember a frantic pulling at clothing and groaning as naked flesh appeared before my eyes and warm skin rested beneath my hand. She ripped my shirt from me and planted kisses all over my naked chest, her fingers struggling in their haste to open my zipper and plunge in to hold my manhood in her delicate hands. That moment when I felt her fingers encircled me I almost came, like a boy with his first woman. It took all my control to breathe and win mastery over the limits of my virility. Blinded by my desire for her, intoxicated by her touch, besotted by my love, mesmerized by the lure of memory, I acted purely driven by the elemental power of our opposite natures. What place does rational thought have at such a moment?

Is a man even capable of thought when he is so deeply captured by his essential maleness? Can a woman really say no when her body is so programmed to respond to the aggressive lovemaking of her mate? I doubt if conscious decision was present in her mind either - just the ebbing and flowing of fertile womanhood in the presence of potent man.

We made love. Wild and tempestuous love, desperate and needy love, grasping at each other, mauling, biting, licking, kissing, sucking, moaning, crying out, rolling over and over, offering our bodies to each other as both gift and weapon. I have little clear memory of it all - just images flitting across my mind of sexual passion of the most intense and erotic kind - our knowledge of each other coupled with the tormented need that our separation had brought us to.

As the blackness cleared from my mind, I lay slumped across her body, my head buried in her neck and my cock still flexing inside her. The warm wet seep of our fluids ran down to pool upon the sheet below. Uma was weeping again, almost silent, her chest rising and falling in shudders as she struggled for breath, hampered both by my weight and by her tears. I eased away, felt the soft slither as I came out of her and the flow of semen that followed my withdrawal. Raised on my elbows, my upper body supported by my arms, our lower bodies still entwined, I held her beautiful face in my hands and kissed away the tears.

"Don't cry...did I hurt you? I did not mean to hurt you...I lost my wits...my desire made a beast of me..."

"NO! That is not why I'm crying! It is relief, release, the unbearable weight of grief and loneliness lifting in one cathartic burst...too much...too quickly...oh Maximus...Maximus...Maximus...my beautiful Maximus..." She could not speak coherently and merely sobbed my name over and over as she held my head to her breast. I rolled on to my back and pulled her to curl up against me and we lay there in a silence punctuated by her sobs and my attempts to calm her. No words were exchanged, no explanations or apologies. Neither of us even understood what had just happened; we both needed time to think. It was in that position, holding each other in that tawdry room, that we sank into sleep - but it was far from carefree slumber. There was still a world of obstacles standing in our way.

UMA

We had always been intense, bordering on obsessional in our lovemaking. Not at all times - like any couple we had fallen into easy and playful sex, tired and perfunctory sex, lazy and uncomplicated sex, just as all couples who know each other well. But when something touched us, from time to time, even when things were happy and unremarkable in our married life, there were still nights (and days) when a look or a touch or an argument or something one of us had read or observed provoked a reaction and we would reach for each other and the madness would take us over again.

Maximus is a deep man and his feelings are kept in some subterranean place that even he finds hard to access. It isn't that he is not capable of light-hearted banter - he is - but he internalizes his emotions and disregards them as if they are unworthy. But the Minotaur still roars no matter how deep the labyrinth that hides him from the world. When he is angry, hurt, exhilarated or aroused, that wild untamed part of his nature bursts through and sees him unleashed - and he is far more passionate than all the men who wear their emotions readily on their sleeves. I expect that this is always how he is upon the battlefield when he can give rein to his inner man and allow himself the indulgence to be what he truly is.

That was what had happened. Maximus simply let himself be what he wished to be in my arms and for a while- a time out of time- we touched the heavens. But nothing had really changed. Perhaps in storybooks and poorly scripted films, love is resolved in one stirring speech or a passionate coupling; one partner need only say - 'I loved only you all along' for the other to profess the same. Not in the real world, however. Once the flame of passion was spent, the cold light of day revealed the same minefield that we had navigated since this whole damn mess began.

I woke up some time later, wrapped up in his arms, his leg flung over me, his naked body pressed against mine, a familiar position, the way he had always held me. For moments of still dreamy peace, I reveled in the joy of his embrace, my sleepy imagination believing that he was still my man and none of the bad things had ever happened, that I was still loved by him more than anything in life. He stirred and pulled me closer, nuzzling against my neck and muttering something. I smiled and purred like a well-fed cat.

Wriggling round to turn in his arms, I lay on one side and looked at him. He was asleep on his side, curled round me slightly. He looked like a little boy, his long lashes flickering, his face relaxed, his lips parted almost in a smile. Against the innocence of his expression was the contrast of his body: bulky, muscular, hairy and strong, marred by scars. His cock flopped forward onto his thigh and his balls were cushioned between his thighs; somehow it brought a tug to my heart to see his nakedness so displayed. Vulnerable and trusting, he was all I had ever hoped for in life. My hand stroked the hair peppered across his chest tenderly.

At that moment I saw his eyelids flutter open and he woke. He surveyed me impassively but I saw the thought processes dance across his impressive eyes. I smiled a hesitant smile but he did not return it, merely looking intently until my nakedness embarrassed me. Pulling up the sheet, I covered us both, as he lay back, threw his arms above his head and stared at the ceiling.

"Can I get you anything? A drink? I have some wine somewhere..."

"No." His answer was definite and terse.

"Is everything all right?" I ventured, the first prickling sense of reality gripping me.

"I should not be here. This is not why I came. Forgive me." At that he rolled away and sat up, swinging his legs off the bed, giving me his back. I sensed he was uneasy now to be naked before me. He bent to retrieve his clothes where they lay scattered and began to dress quickly. He said nothing.

Rising to kneel on the bed, wrapping the sheet around me, I addressed him: "Maximus, where are you going? We need to talk. Please, don't simply walk away from me now...!"

"...There is nothing to say. This was ill-advised. I should not have used you in this way. You still have the power to bewitch me..."

At that my temper flared unwisely. "Ill-advised? Power to bewitch? Are you implying that I seduced you into my bed? That you merely used me? What am I - a whore?"

He bridled at the use of the word. "That is not what I said. What I meant was..."

"...I know what you meant. You mean you still hold to your stupid rigid sense of honour but, given proximity to your wife and the world not observing, you are quite at liberty to take a little free nookie from her body. After all, I'm still your property and presumably still do it for you at some level. Is that a fair translation of what you meant?"

Thrusting his arms into his shirt and buttoning it up with intent, he tucked it into the waistband of his trousers and zipped up in an angry swipe. "I would never intend to behave in the way you suggest. I forgot myself. I apologise.I warn you - do not try to make me angry! Enough damage has been done today."

He carried on dressing; I jumped from the bed and put on my wrap. "Max...you are closing down on me...why? Doesn't this prove something? We made love. We didn't just fuck. That was real passion, Maximus, the way we really feel about each other. Max...I love you...I always loved you...there has been no one else...please, reconsider! It is clear you feel the same inside. You need me! I need you! Our daughter..." My voice trailed off at the mention of her name.

"Our daughter? The child you left and ran from this afternoon? Why did you do that? She was so confused by your action and has been asking me all day who you are. She's knows something is wrong. Imagine, should she realize your identity? That she should think her mother had abandoned her..."

"Again? Is that what you were going to say? I didn't abandon her - she was taken from me! I was exiled. And as for working it out...she already has. Do you know that Lily believes me dead? That she keeps her suspicions from you because she fears to wound you? Whoever she imagines I am, it is not her mother. She is better off believing that some dreadful accident or illness claimed me. In that way she can keep the fiction that her father pines for her mother and a cruel fate has parted us all. Thus she need never know that her mother is an adulteress, her father a cold-hearted bastard and that she has paid the price for our selfish arrogance."

As I spoke, I shouted at him and pummeled on his chest in anger until he held my fists and stayed me. He answered nothing by way of response, appearing somewhat shocked by my words.

"She thinks you dead? She told you that?"

I nodded. He dropped my hands and backed away. "Then perhaps you are right. It places an end upon it all. So be it."

He put on his jacket and turned towards the door, striding purposefully away. But I knew the carriage of his shoulders and imagined the courage it was taking for him to make this move. Courage and stubbornness. He had those in plenty and would never shrink from hurting himself and those he loved to keep to his particular notions of honour. At the door, his white-knuckled hand gripping the handle, he spoke again. "Goodbye, Uma. I'm sorry that I opened old wounds. It was not my intent."

His voice, deep and sonorous, echoed in my ears long after he had left. The shabby room had never seemed so depressing nor had my spirits ever sunk so low since the day he had first left me. All my rehabilitation over the past years lay dashed in the ashes of the bonfire he had made of our marriage. If it took him courage to walk away then it took me courage to stay alive that night; it would have been so much easier simply to have ended it all then and there. Who would have cared? Not I. Not he. Not my daughter. I was already dead to them anyway.

But something remained in me that would not let go. Who can understand the human spirit? What makes one endure even the darkest hour? I suspect it was little more than my own stubbornness - he was not alone in that trait.

I might have lost it all, but one thing struck me strongly that night. I had paid. My guilt was atoned. It was he who had done wrong now. I would not allow him to make me pay for that as well.