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Page 42.

"You light my fire," he said, echoing the famous Jim Morrison song (who lies buried in Père Lachaise Cemetery, at the outskirts of Bagnolet in Paris).

"You are stoking my embers pretty well too," she said in a low, husky voice.

"I have been wanting to hold your hand ever since I met you."

"You can hold my hand all you want."

She looked up at him in that straight forward way people have when they first really look into each other's hearts. Her pretty face floated glowing beneath his, and her blue eyes spoke to him of her hunger for him. He moved his own head, just those few inches, and her mouth was ready for his. She pressed firmly up against him, surprising him. His tongue sought hers, and found it. She was eager to taste him, and he groaned as he pulled her close. She pressed herself into his embrace, a perfect and more than willing fit.

They were alone together in a universe all their own.

After a while, he just hugged her close to him, and she snuggled in his embrace.

"I think this is the nicest train ride I have ever had," she said softly.

"Yeah," was all he could say. "My sentiments also."

She rested her cheek against his chest. "I need."

"You need what, baby?"

"I need to heal. I had no idea what I was getting into. I have been raped, used, and left for dead. I have lost my mother, the house, everything. I lost my trust in people until I met you."

"I will not let you down."

"I know that from the depths of my heart." Her eyes rolled upward, regarding him with that blue sky full of light that played in her irises. "I trust you totally, Richard Buchan."

He touched her soft, rosy cheek with his fingertips. "I would give anything for you, Hannah Smith."

"You need a nice girl in your life, Richard."

"I have one."

"I don't know if I'm so nice. I'm damaged material."

"So am I, baby. Where would I be without you and the pills?"

"Dead, or in Germany getting your name cleared."

"I can't get the circus out of my head."

"Neither can I." She looked up at him imploringly. "It's a lot to ask, but I wish you would just hold me and help me feel better inside."

"I am holding you, sweetheart, and I will not let you go."

"Please." She raised fists under chin, assuming a fetal position.

"Please what, baby?"

"Tell me that every day—once a day for as long as we are together."

"I promise. And I think we'll be together for a long time."

"You think?"

"I know."

She nodded, closed her eyes, and seemed to sleep. He held her close to him, all the way into the greenery of Luxembourg and then the tiny capital with its green-roofed main Gare (train station). They sat together as still as a statue of two people, almost sort of a Pietà in reverse, with the he holding the she. The thought amused him. It brightened his emotions as he watched lush green hills and thick forests roll past without hurry. A few times, he raised his hand from her shoulder to gently touch her hair.

As the train came to a stop under the overhangs in Luxembourg, she stirred on his lap. She opened her eyes and sat up. She was not yawning, nor did she look as if she'd been asleep.

"You were awake the whole time," he observed.

"I was in heaven." She gave him one adoring look, then regarded the busy platform outside.

"You know," he said, "I was right." He stroked her hair as if she were a pet.

"What's that?" she asked, looking suddenly at him, and eager for his every word.

"It is brighter and sunnier here in Luxembourg."

"Oh, that's just because you're here."

"With you."

"Oh."

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