Golden Threads (21 page)

Solemnly, she said, "You know, I never thought about it quite that way."

"I knew you were modest."

She kissed him,
then
said, "But I think we should go back to Pinewood after, and get on with the play. Nick would go to pieces if he had to replace us this late."

Devon sighed. "I was afraid you were going to suggest that. Well, since I don't have to wear tights, I suppose we can.
Odd way to spend a honeymoon, though."

"I think it's perfect. After all, how many people get to spend their honeymoon in a fairy tale?"

"That is true."

Lara frowned at him. "And you distracted me. Why was Ching hostile to Luke?"

"He was also hostile to a couple of the other men in the stage crew, remember?"

"Sure, but—"

"What did they all have in common, Lara?"

She thought about it for a minute,
then
slowly began to smile.
"Young.
And handsome.
Charming."

"Exactly.
You said yourself that Ching's an excellent judge of character; he decided I was perfect for you and didn't want another man getting in the way. I'll bet when we go back to the theater, he’ll be completely polite to Luke and the others."

And it turned out that Devon was right. When they showed up at the theater a few days later wearing matching wedding bands and a quite truthful tale of a whirlwind ceremony to explain their absence, Ching greeted Luke as an old and sincerely valued friend.

"I don't know what it is," Luke said in total bafflement, "but it isn't a cat!"

He studied several newspaper articles with a satisfied smile,
then
chuckled at a photocopy of a marriage certificate, before closing the file and setting it aside. He'd burn it later, since he no longer had any use for it, but for now he simply put it out of his way.

He reached out to the tidy stack of files and lifted the topmost one, opening it on the desk before him. In the golden circle of light provided by a shaded lamp, he studied the papers in the file thoughtfully. Difficult, he decided, but not impossible.

Impossible was a word he hadn't used in many years.

The personalities were fascinating, he thought. Not so many shadows this time, but some pain and a great deal of wariness. These two would no doubt fight each other all the way. That didn't disturb him; two flints would make a fire that would warm all the way to the soul.

If it didn't burn the house down first.

His long, elegant fingers searched through the papers, setting some aside and holding several for a close inspection. Slowly, a plan began to take shape in his keen brain.

The ball, of course.
The man would be there, and so would the woman—the children would see to that. They'd been planning it for months, after all. They were an accomplished pair, and no mistake; one would think they'd been at this as long as he had. They had been very thorough in their schemes.

So was he.

He chuckled deep in his chest, a sound of utter delight. Drawing forward a lined pad, he made swift notes of observations to be made and answers to be found once he was on the scene, and arrangements to be dealt with.

"Now, then," he said softly to himself.

"Cy?
Come to bed, darling."

Her voice evoked the response in him that was still wondrous and exhilarating even after all these decades; he could feel the warmth and joy spread through him, and he basked in it for a timeless moment of sheer enchantment. Was there, he wondered happily, anything more precious than a shared love so deep it enfolded the spirit in ageless delight? No.
Nothing.

"Cyrus?"

"Coming, my sweet," he called.

The old man with an eternal spark of youth in his heart rose from the desk and left the comfortable library with the confident, eager steps of a man in love.