“I'm the lucky one,” she said, in awe of his reaction. She could hardly believe what he was saying. “Why are you saying all this to me?” she asked, near tears again. It was impossible to fathom.

“I'm saying it because I mean it. Why don't you just relax and stop worrying for a while, and enjoy it? You've had a lot of worrying to do for a long time. Now it's my turn. I'll worry for both of us. Okay?” he asked, moving toward her again with a smile and wiping the tears from beneath her eyes. “Okay?”

“Okay, Charles … I love you.”

“Not as much as I love you,” he said, taking her in his arms again and holding her tight as he kissed her. And then after a while, he laughed softly.

“What's funny?” she whispered, touching his lips with her fingertips, which only aroused him further. He was dying for her, but he knew it would be a while before anything happened between them.

He smiled at her as he answered, “I was just thinking that, never mind your delicate psychology, I think the only thing that's saving you from being ravaged by me, is the pin they just put in your pelvis. Frankly, I think that's the only thing that stopped me.”

“Shame on you,” she teased, suddenly wondering if she wanted to be saved from him. It was an interesting question.

Charles took care of her for the next two weeks, coming to the apartment constandy, whenever he could, and sleeping next to her in the bed on weekends. It was a cozy feeling lying next to him, and waking up in his arms in the morning. He told her stories about his childhood, and his parents, who were no longer alive, but whom he had loved very much and had been very good to him. He was an only child, and he'd had a good life, and he knew it. And she told him funny things about Luana and Sally. It was an odd assortment of memories and exchanges. And after the first week, he hired a limousine and took her for a drive in Connecticut on the weekend. They stopped and had lunch at Cobbs Mill Inn in Weston, which was wonderful, and came back to New York relaxed and exhausted.

Her doctors said that she was doing well, and after another week they told her she could go back to work, but Charles convinced her to take one more week off. And she asked the doctors one other important question, and was satisfied with the answer. She went to visit her friends at St. Andrew's too, arriving by cab, in the daytime, and they were all thrilled to see her. She promised them that she would come back to work soon, but probably not until September, when she would be off crutches.

And the following weekend Charles took her to the Hamptons for the weekend. They stayed in a cozy little inn, and the smell of the sea was delicious. They arrived late Friday night, and she made him take her for a walk on the beach, even with her crutches. She lay down on the sand, listening to the sound of the ocean, and he sat down next to her.

“You don't know how great this is. You know, before I came to New York, I'd never seen the ocean,”

“Wait till you see Martha's Vineyard.” He promised to take her there over Labor Day, but she was still worried about their future. And what were they going to do in another week when she went back to the office? They'd have to keep their relationship a secret. It was odd to think of it. It wasn't an affair yet, but it was much, much more than a friendship.

“What were you thinking then?” he asked comfortably, as they sat on the beach in the dark.

“About you,” she teased him a little bit, and he loved it.

“What about me?”

“I was wondering when we were going to sleep with each other,” she said casually, and he stared at her in confusion.

“What does that mean? Besides,” he grinned, “I thought we already had. You even snore sometimes.”

“You know what I mean,” She pushed him gently, and he laughed at her. She was so lovely.

“You mean …” He raised an eyebrow and pretended to look surprised. “Are you suggesting …”

“I think so.” She blushed. “I saw the orthopedic surgeon yesterday and he says I'm okay … now all we have to worry about is my head and not my pelvis.” As she said it, he laughed, and he was grateful they had had all these weeks to get to know each other without the complications of her history and their sex life. It had been well over a month now, and it was as though they had always been together. They were completely at ease with each other.

“Is this an invitation?” he said with a grin that would have melted any heart, hers had melted long since, but it dissolved yet again as she watched him. “Or are you just toying with me?”

“Possibly both.” But she had been thinking about it for days now, and she wanted to try it. She had to know what would happen and if there was any chance at all for a future.

“Is this my cue to jump up off the warm sand and drag you back to our room by the hair, leaving your crutches behind us?”

“That sounds pretty good.” She made him feel so young, and in spite of her serious history, she made him laugh all the time, and he loved it. It was so different from his time with his first wife. She'd been so intense, so self-involved, and so nervous. Life with Grace was completely different. She was relaxed, intelligent, giving, caring. She had been through so much, and yet she was still so kind and so gentle. And she still had a sense of humor.

“Come on, you, let's go back to the hotel.” He pulled her up off the sand, and they made their way slowly back, and then stopped for ice cream.

“Do you like banana splits?” she asked him casually, as she licked her ice-cream cone, and he smiled. She was like a kid sometimes, and a woman of the world at others. He loved the contrast and the combination. It was the advantage of her youth, and with it came endless possibilities, and a most appealing future. He wanted to have children with her, a life with her, make love with her … but first, she had to eat her ice cream.

“Yes, I like banana splits,” he said, with a grin. “Why?”

“Me too. Let's have one tomorrow.”

“Okay. Can we go back now?” It had taken them four hours to get to the Hamptons in the traffic from New York, and it was almost midnight.

“Yes, we can go back to the hotel now.” She smiled at him, mysterious and womanly again. It was like watching different creatures appear from behind clouds. He loved her playfulness and the fact that she wasn't quite grown up yet.

Their room at the inn was done in rose-patterned chintzes and Victorian furniture. There was a sweet marble sink in the room, and the bed was canopied and very pretty. Charles had asked for champagne to be left cooling in the room, and there was a huge bouquet of lilac and roses, her favorites.

“You think of everything.” She kissed him as they closed the door to their room.

“Yes,” he said, proud of himself, “and I can't even ask my secretary to do it.”

“You'd better not.” She eyed him happily as he poured the champagne and handed her a glass, but she only took a small sip and then set it down. She was too excited to drink it. This was like a honeymoon, and the expectation was terrifying for them both, particularly since they didn't know what ghosts would join them.

“Scared?” he whispered as they slid into bed, he in his shorts, and she in a nightgown, and she nodded. “Me too,” he confessed, and she nuzzled her face into his neck and held him. He had turned off the lights. And there was a single candle burning at the far end of the room. It was unforgettably romantic.

“What’11 we do now?” she whispered in his ear after a minute.

“Let's go to sleep,” he whispered back.

“You mean it?” she asked, looked startled, and he laughed.

“No … not really …” He kissed her then, almost wanting to get it over with, but not daring to yet, not sure which way to turn or what to do, and he didn't want to hurt her various injuries either. It was all a little more difficult than he'd expected. But as they kissed, he forgot about her broken bones, and the ugliness of her past slipped slowly from her. There was no memory, no time, no other person, there was only Charles and his incredible gentleness, his endless passion and love for her, as he moved ever so gently toward her, and they moved closer and closer, until suddenly they became one and she could feel herself melt into him and she could bear it no longer. It was all so exquisite, and then suddenly they both exploded in unison, and Grace lay in his arms in complete amazement. She had never known anything even remotely like that. There was no similarity at all with what had happened to her before, no memory, no pain, there was nothing but Charles now and the love they shared, and a little while later, it was Grace who wanted him, who teased him and played with him, until he could bear it no longer.

“Oh God,” he said afterwards, “you're too young for me, you're going to kill me … but what a way to die.” And then suddenly he wondered if he had committed an awful faux pas, and looked at her in horror, but she only laughed. It was all all right now, much to their joint amazement.

She forced him to buy her a banana split the next day, and they had a lovely weekend. They spent much of it in their room, discovering each other, and the rest on the beach, in the sun, and when they got back to New York on Sunday night, they lay in her bed and made love again, just to make sure it had the same magic in her apartment. And Charles decided it was even better.

“By the way,” he rolled over sleepily afterwards and whispered to her, “you're fired, Grace.” He was half asleep but she sat bolt upright. What was he saying to her? What was this all about? She looked frightened.

“What?” She almost shouted the word in the darkness, and he opened an eye in surprise. “What do you mean?” She was staring at him.