Chapter 1

Dulcie Hanson, the Reverend Dulcie Hanson, was unsettled. Incidentally, her name is pronounced with a hard 'c' – 'Dull-key' – she'd insisted on that because that was the way her Grandfather (the only member of her family that had really cared about her) always said it. She left the Vicarage and crossed the road to the small, modern church building in inner-city Sheffield. She unlocked the door, her usual sadness that locking the church was necessary surfacing briefly, and entered, shutting the door behind her but not locking it.

Walking to the front of the nave, she sat in one of the upholstered chairs in the front row and stared at the crucifix on the high altar. The agonised figure hanging there. Why was pain such a part of faith? Standing, she walked into the sanctuary and prostrated herself – face down, arms spread in mimicry of the crucified figure, a handkerchief folded under her face to collect the tears she knew she would be shedding. Why, Lord? Must we go? Must I leave my family, the people I love, that love me ... my home?

Peter Hanson, Vicar and Dulcie's husband, walked quietly down the aisle. He, too took a seat at the front of the nave, looking at the crucifix, watching his wife as her shoulders shook.

Dulcie gradually calmed, relaxing into the loving Presence she'd been avoiding for days, finding peace at last, though not without pain.

Peter, sensing the change, moved to the organ. The sound of the blower winding up always sounded loud, today it was thunderous, but he slid onto the bench before it, selected a couple of the quietest stops – the Celeste and Dulciana – and began to play; a short chorus that Dulcie and he knew well.

After a couple of repetitions, she moved from her face to her knees and, extending her hands as if offering, began to sing, her soprano a little uneven, but strengthening and clearing as she continued;

"All my life, Lord, to You I want to give,

this is my worship, please show me how to live.

Take every part of me, make it Your own,

Me on the Cross, Lord, You on the throne."

Then, changing key, not waiting for Peter, expecting him of follow her or leave her to sing a capella;

"All I once held dear, built my life upon,

You're my all, You're the best,

You're my joy, my righteousness,

and I love You Lord..."

Her voice trailed away. Rising, she moved to the altar rail, genuflected and crossed herself; not something she would normally do – a conscious physical expression of her surrender - then, turning, came face to face with her husband and walked into the circle of his arms.

"Okay," she said, her voice steady once more. "Will you let them know we accept the appointment today?"

Their friends at St. Jude's the Obscure were perhaps more upset than Dulcie; she'd been so much a part of the life of the church which was now thriving largely because of her. They had three months to say their goodbyes, then a last party for their friends in and out of the church family. Dulcie and Peter were deeply touched by the obvious love that was shown to them and could only hope and pray that the people of St. Jude's would continue in their walk of faith.

Their last service was a celebration. Peter insisted that Dulcie preside at the Communion Table and that he serve. At the end, old Harry Banks, with Mike and Helen, laid hands on them, anointed them and prayed they would see their way clearly. Everyone wanted to touch them and say goodbye; some would be travelling down to Essex to be at Peter's induction and Dulcie's licensing.

Paul Meadows got the message in Athens. 'Come home, Linda needs you.' There was no indication of urgency. Linda? Why would Linda Cameron need him? She'd broken off with him when he'd announced his intention to spend a year or so cruising the Mediterranean. He didn't want to leave his boat, Aglaia, in Greece and travel across country or fly back to Britain ... but a four thousand miles or so voyage home? He decided to sail home, leaving as soon as he could provision Aglaia, making the best time he could. It would take not less than forty days, he thought, sailing solo.

He made good progress in the Med; with fortunate slants of wind Aglaia sailed sweetly; eighteen days after leaving Athens he was clear of the Straits of Gibraltar and turning north. Another three days with reliable south-westerly winds saw him turning north-east across the Bay of Biscay which then lived up to its reputation for bad weather; He was hove to for twenty-four hours before the weather moderated and then making progress under mizzen and fore-sail; the rough sea slowing progress. Normally progress up channel would have been straightforward with south-westerly winds, but unusually he faced easterlies, the four hundred miles or so becoming more like eight hundred, beating in long tacks. There's a sea-song about the journey up channel against a foul wind ... the landfalls; Dodman, Rame Head, Start, Portland, Wight...

By the Isle of Wight he was exhausted from sailing and cat-napping and anchored in the Solent for a long sleep. When he set off he chose a favourable tidal flow and he was favoured by westerly winds. So it was eight days to Dover from Ushant. Turning north again he arrived in the mouth of the Blackwater in the early evening with the ebb just beginning so he anchored and slept soundly until roused by his alarm at five am, to complete the journey to Maldon Hythe Quay by high water just before eight am.

He moored alongside the visitors' pontoon and went in search of breakfast in the Crystal Café on the High Street. Only then did he ring his friend to find out ... why the summons?

"Paul – she's in Farleigh Hospice."

"What!"

"She's dying, Paul."

Stunned, he punched off the call, sitting on the quay oblivious of the tourists gawping at the old barges moored there. Linda, dying? Feelings he'd suppressed for months flooded back – anger, rejection, confusion ... love.

What to do? Farleigh was in Chelmsford, twelve miles away ... but he'd sailed four thousand miles – what was another twelve?

The bus service (oh, how he hated buses) was really not at all bad and he was able to get off barely an hour after deciding to visit the Hospice, to walk the few yards to the place. It was an attractive modern building and entering, he found it light and airy. An attractive young woman at reception directed him to Linda's room.

He didn't recognise the skeletal woman asleep, comatose? In the bed. He checked the name on the door again, and the name over the head of the hospital bed. It was her, but there was no trace of the beauty that had captivated him; she was skin and bone, her head bald from the effect of the chemical poisons used to fight the cancer but just showing a fuzz of new growth.

But then her eyes opened and met his. A moment of confusion, then...

"Paul ... why? Oh..." She closed her eyes for a few seconds, "Jimmy, huh? He never could leave well alone." Her eyes closed again and he thought she'd gone back to sleep, but after a while she looked at him again. "Won't you sit, Paul? You've come a long way."

He hesitated, but it made sense and he pulled a chair round so he could sit facing her, reached out and took her hand. He still hadn't spoken.

"I didn't want you to see me like this," she said, "I didn't want to get ill and spoil your voyage."

"You knew? You knew this was coming and didn't tell me?" It came out more as a croak.

"I knew ... I didn't want to tie you down, take away your dream..."

They were silent then as he continued to hold her hand, tears beginning to trickle, unheeded, down his cheeks.

A couple, a young woman and an older man in nursing uniforms, entered the room.

"Would you excuse us, sir? We need to tend to Linda and see if she'll eat. If you'd like to get some lunch, perhaps, and come back in an hour?"

He nodded, becoming aware of the tears on his cheeks. Embarrassed, he hastily wiped his face with a handkerchief and left. He felt he needed fresh air and walked the half-mile or so to the town centre for a sandwich and coffee.

When he returned, Linda was more alert but there were signs of strain in her face.

"I had them reduce the dosage on the pump," she said, "I didn't want to sleep the time away if you're here."