The rain had hardly lowered the summer heat. The weather forecast, a line of thunder-storms with hail and strong winds moving towards the coast.
Shaun Maclaren sat at his favourite table in the side-walk cafe drinking coffee, watching the tourists take the air.
They sauntered along pavements, some stared at him, others stopping to peer in gift shops, then arguing among themselves whether they should turn left or right to go down the Golden mile. A few bought films from the chemist shops, searched through racks of postcards, perhaps with the hope of finding a cache of obscene ones near the back.
The young and not so young overflowed into the road, closed around traffic, like water round a boat. Angry bus drivers sounded their horns as they drove down one-way streets, pulling up at bus stops to pick up fares. Some of the tourists sat near Shaun, sipping drinks, munching on hamburgers and chips and being stared at in their turn.
Shaun Maclaren was back on the coast wishing Leah Wainwright was with him. She was constantly in his thoughts. If he closed his eyes he could see her, almost touch her, feel her arms around his neck, see the glance of her eyes. He thought about the golden afternoons they had spent together. He had a feeling that there was something absurd about their love.
When he first met her he fell for her. That first explosion of glory was followed by a nagging fear that came from the thinness of their relationship.
He knew this was a different kind of love, because she had been his nurse. Perhaps, he thought, this was the love of Shaun Maclaren the man, for a woman.
Everything Leah Wainwright had done yesterday, the day, the week before, she had done with someone else. He felt excluded, an interloper. His only claim on her was this spider's thread of loving her. A delicate line. long, thin, without breadth. To Shaun it was shimmering with excitement and promise, but he knew it was vulnerable. He knew it could be broken by the most trivial of accidents.
He wished this strand of web, this line would gain breadth so that it might never break. Breadth seemed all important. Every request for her help had to take precedence over their wanting to be together.
Leah had sent him many interesting letters, nothing like Macia's. Some of Leah's letters told of her work, others of the progress his new penis was making. The delight of Professor Gaisford and his laboratory team. That he thought Shaun's reassignment program should be completed within the next nine months. Shaun was elated. The time when he would be a complete, whole man, closer than he had dared hope.
There was still pain in his groin from the testicular insertion. But he was used to them now, these testes that hung from his vagina. Testes he examined every day with pride. He no longer looked with envy at other men who used the urinals in the male toilets. He knew he would shortly have a penis, a product of his body. No artificial silastic implant for him. With a little Pethidine, and the encouragement he received from Leah's letters, the pain became bearable. At this moment Shaun Maclaren was on top of the world.
The assignments he accepted translating Asian into English were small enough to be handled from the flat. He turned down touring contracts, believing that at this time the stress would be too great. The agency, not wanting to lose his services paid him a retaining fee.
He ignored the letters Macia sent at regular intervals. Although there were occasions when he felt like opening them. He managed to resist the temptation by tearing them into shreds and throwing them into the incinerator.
Approximately six weeks after his return to the coast Macia phoned. It was just after midnight, and it was the relentless ringing that woke him. Realising that it could only be Macia, in his half dazed state he felt concerned for her well-being, deciding to help her overcome whatever might be troubling her.
"After all," he argued loudly, "it was Macia that started me on the road to freedom." But when she reproached him for not replying to her letters he slammed down the phone and went back to bed.
A letter from Leah arrived asking if she could stay with him for part of her long-service leave. Overjoyed he thought he should find a larger unit. One closer to the beach.
Half-heartedly he inspected a number of units. There were the usual problems, and he was not able to get a satisfactory price for his flat. Eventually he gave up the idea, decided to stay where he was, hoping Leah wouldn't mind. It was his home, his haven the place where he felt secure, and according to her last letter she was only going to stay for a few days. No longer than two weeks.
Leah Wainwright looked down from the window of the Boeing 747 as the coastline faded and the darkness of the ocean replaced the land. She tried reading the in-flight magazines to help suppress her excitement. Shaun had only written a few short letters in answer to her many, nevertheless, she knew there was a magic between them.
"It's fate," a close friend told her, when she spoke of the way she felt, "one could say that whatever happens it's in your Karma."
Leah closed her eyes for a moment hoping to sleep, it eluded her. She flipped through the pages of a magazine. Picked at the air-line food, pellets, either chicken or fish with salad and a glutinous matter masquerading as pasta.
The passenger next to her, a friendly looking business man with gray hair cut short on a brick-coloured neck made a few comments. Leah who had no great mastery of small-talk responded in a dull sort of way. She lost herself in a glossy magazine of her own, a world of models, a synthetic reality. She preferred it to the magazines the air-line supplied. The man leaned towards her and tried again, Leah glared at him, went back to her magazine. They were after all strangers with nothing to share.
It was seven a.m. when the flight reached the coast and circled the airport. Outside the lounge Shaun was waiting. He saw her, wanted to run to her take her in his arms. He knew it had to be different if the delicate strand of their love were to remain intact. With tears of emotion streaming down his cheeks he waited for her to come to him.
The strand was beginning to gain breadth. She had arrived, it was all that mattered, and Shaun was happy, happier than he had been in a long time. He no longer felt like an interloper, now he was part of her life. They could spend days, weeks together, even the rest of their lives, if he treated her with a gentle patience.
Leah fell in love with his flat, thought of it as being home. Tired after the long flight she slept for hours in her room which he had redecorated, especially for her.
The following day they became tourists, sauntered along pavements, ran barefoot along the beach, where all human activities were represented. Where a gust of wind would twirl off a hat and send it out to sea.
They were all there, white bodies, light brown bodies, dark coloured ones, sleeping, reading, playing. Some hard at work building sandcastles, only to sit and watch them washed away on the incoming tide.
There were more subtle activities. Males, young and old, moving their positions with caution, so that their vision of angle would be improved. Females, the object of their gaze, some staying as they were, because they like being stared at, or were unaware of it. Others quickly closing their legs together to bring down the curtain.
In the early afternoon the tide was unusually high. Shaun and Leah clambered over the rocks, stopping now and then as a particularly big roller marched towards them, to strike and disintegrate against the breakwater. The sea fascinated both of them, perhaps Leah more than Shaun.
They walked along the sea wall, where the land jutted out into the water, and watched the majestic fury of the surf. With the young they braved the elements. As the rollers broke then receded they ventured out to the edge to challenge the next big wave, racing back to avoid the spray. Sometimes they waited too long, or the force of the waves, stronger than they expected and they were drenched.
A party had been arranged by the agency to promote tourism along the coast. Shaun had been asked to attend, the invitation including Leah. All the right people turned up for the promotion. Agents from Europe, America and many of the countries in the Pacific basin. There was nation wide television coverage, with no one objecting to the lights and cables.
The murmur of voices, clink of glasses, cigar smoke mingled with expensive perfume, were, all a little foreign to Leah Wainwright. Different, she thought, to the hospital socials and parties she had helped to organise. But it was here she felt she really belonged.
Shaun, his services as translator in demand did his best to keep her by his side, and as the champagne flowed they mingled. He introduced her to his friends who nodded their approval, and agreed, quietly that Shaun Maclaren and Leah were most definitely an item.
Leah became interested in Shaun's work. She tried to learn some of the Asian phrases, and although Shaun gave her every encouragement, she found the task a little beyond her.
After their days at the beach Leah took over the running of the flat, Many evenings working hard as hostess when Shaun brought his clients home.
She originally decided that a week or two on the coast would be long enough, now in her fifth week Leah was still enjoying every moment. It seemed that she was being drawn deeper and deeper into Shaun's world of happiness. It was a feeling she liked, a happiness she had never known.
There were occasions when she was left on her own. Usually no longer than an hour or two, or when an interview with a special client had been arranged by the agency.
Without prior notice the agency called a conference which Shaun had to attend. Knowing it would take up most of the evening, he tried to persuade Leah to go with him. She refused, wanting to stay at home, even though she knew it would be lonely.
"We need a few hours apart," she told him with a laugh, "might even do us good."
When Shaun left she washed up and put away the dishes.
The silence unbearable she studied the television column of the evening paper, and though no program interested her she turned on the set for noise. The static, unusually strong made the picture snowy. She played with the controls, and the picture vanished. She tried switching to other channels. One of them, a voice, barely audible told of a cyclone approaching the coast. Wanting more information she switched from channel to channel. Minutes later in disgust she switched the TV off, wishing now she had gone with Shaun.
She walked round the room, moved a chair closer to the table, straightened a picture, then put it back the way it was. She studied the barometer that hung by the main door, saw that the reading was low, she tapped the glass and gasped in amazement when the needle fell even lower. The news of the cyclone making her restless. She wanted, needed something to do, and wandered from room to room searching for ideas.
In her room she looked at the travelling trunk that stood in the corner covered with a cloth.
"My old service chest," Shaun had told her when she first went to the flat, "its filled with all kinds of junk, throw it all out one day."
Leah removed the cover. She opened the chest and ran her hands over the top of the things. Knowing she had no right, it made her feel like an intruder she closed the lid quickly.
"How would you like it Leah Wainwright?" she asked loudly, reproachingly, "a stranger going through your personal things."
She stood by the window, gazed at the road that glistened in the steady rain. As the light began to fade she saw the white caps on the sea in the distance, and thought about their walks along the shore.
The coast held a fascination for her. She became lost in a world of her own. Running barefoot along the beach, the sand, thick between her toes, then being washed away by the warm waters that rose and fell over legs. She slipped out of her clothes. Swam in the caressing sea. Turned on her back and floated for hours.
She heard the splash, and saw the foam of another swimmer, knew it could only be Shaun, that he had come to her rescue. In the warm gentle sea he held her close as they made a slow heavenly love.
Suddenly the room became bright as lightning lit up the sky. The crash of thunder brought her back to reality. She was laying on the bed, with no idea how she got there.
She sat up, looked at the chest, her gazed transfixed. As a roll of thunder rent the air she ran to the chest and opened it. She knew it was wrong, but her hands seemed beyond her control as they lifted out skirts, blouses, cardigans and jumpers all pressed and neatly folded. There was Shaun's service uniform. There were slacks, dresses, nighties, handkerchiefs and bras, which Leah lifted out and refolded.
There was a wedding gown, white satin and lace. She knew it belonged to Shaun. In a box near the bottom of the chest was a rich gossamer headdress and veil, Leah held the gown against her, looked in the mirror turning first one way then the other.
"What if?" she said excitedly as she waltzed around the room.
Hardly daring to think she took off her dress and slipped the wedding gown on. It didn't quite reach the floor, but everything else was perfect, her waist, bust, all in the right places. In the antique cheval mirror for a few minutes she admired the view, turning sideways she ran her hands over her breasts and trim waist.
"Will we marry, you and I, Shaun Maclaren. Please let me wear this, your beautiful gown for our wedding."
She turned away from the mirror and went back to the chest. There was a folder filled with letters from printers and publishers. Underneath the folder the book Shaun had written and another letter of rejection. She opened the book and began to read.
The lights flickered. The flat in darkness Leah ran to the window, watched a jagged bolt of lightning tear across the sky and disappear into the sea. The streetlights were out, all the houses were dark. Here and there a light danced behind a window as people lit their candles
. Leah had heard about cyclones, and storms that began life in the gulf, then raced down the coast, leaving a trail of destruction. She stood by the window, mesmerized by the lightning, and thought about Shaun and his wedding gown.
With the next flash of lightning she hitched up the gown and with Shaun's book under her arm made her way to the kitchen, stopping every time there was a roll of thunder. Waiting behind a door until it passed.
In the kitchen she searched for a light. On top of the cupboard she found a candle and matches. Lighting the candle, too frightened to scream she dialled Shaun's agency number. There was no ringing, only a hum. She replaced the receiver, waited until the lightning had passed, and seconds before the next clap of thunder she began dialling the number again. There was a flash and the line went dead.
Leah trembled as the storm ran wild. She stared at the eerie shadows created by the light from the candle. Something touched her, soft like the touch of a feather, and as the storm raged she fell asleep in the armchair.
When the storm eased and she awoke, Leah felt calm and safe. Her mind closed to the noise of the torrential rain she picked up Shaun's book from the coffee table.
She read how he had floated above the operating table. Of the spirits he had seen and spoken to. Of his thoughts on the rebirth of the soul in a new body, and his life before he was reborn Shaun Maclaren.
Of his mother who had told him that one day he would become a whole man and marry a woman called Leah. She read about his guardian angel, a never ending source of acceptance and love. Of the times when he had faced great pain and loss, knowing that was the time when the advent of his spiritual learning occurred.
The angels, Shaun had written, are always there, even in his past life they were there to guide him. They bring many gifts, but the greatest gift they bring is love.
Where there is pain there is hope. Where there has been suffering, healing has come. Where there is mistrust and anger, there is love. Ask, and your angel will appear. For these are the foot prints of angels.
Leah realised she was still wearing his gown. In her room, she took one last look in the cheval mirror. She saw, not her reflection, but the mist of his mother.
"Please," she whispered, "you know how much I really love him. Let me be the Leah who will one day, wear his wedding gown."
Leah took off the gown and laid it lovingly back in the chest.
Shaun Maclaren's book ' The Spirits of Parallel ' was published by the Hunter Organization. The book launch to be held in London.
The Concorde dipped its beak and began to roll. The plane gathered speed, lifted its nose and leapt off the runway, Shaun and Leah loosened their seat belts, pushed their seats into the reclining position and stretched their legs comfortably.
"Champagne Madame, Sir?" the pretty girl in a pale blue uniform asked. They declined, but Leah asked for coffee, plain, white. As the stewardess left Shaun grinned at Leah, although, there was a look of bewilderment about him. It had happened so fast. Leah had arranged everything. She led, he followed. He remembered the storm. Worried about Leah he managed to leave the conference early. Driving back to the flat there were patches of mist that the car headlights could hardly penetrate. As he approached his home the whole area was dark, not only the houses, but the streetlights were out. Although the storm had lessened the rain continued in a heavy downpour, and he had been forced to park the car yards away. He remembered walking up the steps, soaking wet. Leah was standing by the open door, then slipping, hitting his head and laying on the tiled courtyard floor.
He remembered the pain, but only for a moment. He had tried to move. It was Leah who had knelt beside him in the pouring rain making him lie still. There was the sound of the ambulance bell. Then there were lights. He woke up in hospital with Leah sitting beside him.
He remembered the pain in his back, that he was forced to lie still. But that was days ago.
Leah had sent his script to the Hunter Organization, and as the jet slipped through the sound barrier and settled in its flight plan, he remembered telling Leah when she had visited him in the hospital, about all the times he had tried to get it published. Now Hunters had made an offer, which Leah had accepted on his behalf.
At first it annoyed him to know she had succeeded where he had failed. He felt his newly won manhood had been threatened. It was his script. He should have been the one to decide whether or not the offer would be acceptable. Now he knew Leah did it only for him, and he revelled in the thought of becoming a published author.
This was the first time he had travelled on a Concorde, usually it was a Jumbo, or a 747. According to Leah this plane trimmed hours off the flight. It was more expensive, but there was plenty of leg room and the services were superior to many other air-lines.
Around him music played, people talked. All the stewardesses smiled. As the sky rushed by Leah gripped his hand and made him smile.
"This is wonderful Shaun," she whispered, "and its all free."
The Concorde shuddered, dipped its nose and began to slow.
"This is your Captain. I hope you've had an enjoyable flight. We are now approaching the English coast south of Dover. We are beginning to decelerate, and will be landing at Heathrow in approximately thirty minutes."
London life and the mid-morning traffic seemed normal to Shaun, but to Leah it appeared to be in a state of utter chaos. As the limousine that picked them up from the airport raced towards the city, Leah's right foot was constantly trying to force its way through the floor.
The car turned into Portman Square and stopped outside the Churchill Hotel. The chauffeur checked them in as the manager descended from the gallery above the reception area to welcome them. Leah marvelled at the air of gracious living, and on the way to their suite remarked to Shaun that if Hunters changed their mind about covering expenses they would both be broke for the rest of their lives.
When the bell-boy left they made for the bathroom and disappeared in a fog of steam and bubbling foam. An hour later Leah, wrapped in a robe went into the bedroom. There was a note on the night table and a list of appointments. Hairdressers for Shaun and herself. Tailors with fitting times for Shaun. For her a list of boutiques, dressmakers and tailors who would be calling on them to discuss their wardrobes. Unable to believe it she went back to the bathroom and read out the list to Shaun.
"Like being back in the Army," he said with a laugh, as he heaved a wet sponge at Leah, "anyone would think we were Prima Donna's. We're only here to talk about the spirits. The book and our thoughts and feelings on the fresh embodiment, and my favourite subject, the Angels."
Two days later the book launch was held, and after breakfast with the editors Shaun and Leah went down to the ballroom. It was packed with people sitting around cloth-covered tables.
High above the stage was a poster of Shaun's book. The poster was huge. It showed a figure hovering over a table, on either side sketches of angels, cherubs, famous people from the past. People, young and old, all appeared to be floating in space.
A first they were stunned by the impact of the poster. It was a frightening, yet calm, heavenly scene. While Leah stared at it in wonderment, for Shaun it brought back memories of his Vagus nerve operation, his days nights, with Maureen. At the bottom of the poster, in the distance a cottage nestled near a beach, close to where the sky met the sea.
It was Leah who really amazed him. She was in her element, conversing with publishers, booksellers and editors alike, a few even seeking her attention. He walked towards her. He needed a drink, but his mouth was so dry he felt his tongue must be glued to its roof. Someone offered him a glass of champagne. Although he was desperate, he refused, convinced that nothing would get past his restricted throat muscles, that the liquid would run down his chin.
He had been in front of people, and spoken on various subjects many times as translator, tour guide. He was always in charge. It was part of his life, his job. Now, suddenly, he Shaun Maclaren was scared to death.
"Should have put the bloody book in her name," he grumbled as he went to find Leah.
Inching his way through the crowd of writers, readers and booksellers, Shaun saw another poster of his book. Someone recognised him, asked him if he would sign their copy. Immediately there were dozens of people waving copies of ' The Spirits of Parallel ' all demanding his signature.
It was Leah who came to the rescue. She took him by the hand and led him towards the stage.
Latecomers were still straggling into the ballroom, searching for a seat.
"I wonder who that is?" he asked Leah, his attention drawn to a statuesque blonde in a long black gown, one of the most glamorous women at the launch.
"Oh! That's Charlotte. Charlotte Hunter, head of publishing and their book-store chain."
"A woman - that glamorous, head of a world-wide chain of book-stores? That's a bit hard to believe. Besides how do you know?"
Leah laughed. "she was a patient of Professor Gaisford, on a special reassignment program three years ago. We, Charlotte and I are very good friends."
Shaun stared at Leah. "You mean, she."
"She is a very nice person, I know you'll like her," she said squeezing his hand.
Charlotte Hunter came onto the stage from the side and as she walked up to the microphone, Shaun knew his time was up. He wanted to run, but Leah held onto his hand.
Pulling back his shoulders he summoned all his courage, then wondered why his feet seemed glued to the floor.
A hush fell over the ballroom, the people absorbing every word from the beautiful blonde that commanded their attention.
"It is my very great pleasure," she was saying, "to present to you a man who has a better understanding of the soul, the spirit and reincarnation than any one I know."
The applause was thunderous, delaying Shaun's entrance who was busy being scared, and trying to persuade his feet to move.
"Shaun Maclaren," she continued, when the applause had died down, "has travelled the world, is a leading exponent of Asian languages and an authority on traumatology. After an early marriage and divorce a year later he worked his way through university and has spent many years studying the influences of the Extraordinary, having had numerous experiences of his own."
The blood was pounding in his temples. He hadn't expected such a personal introduction. How could this person, he had never met, spread out his life in front of an audience of absolute strangers.
The speaker informed the audience when and where Shaun would be giving lectures, and when he would be available to autograph copies of his book.
Even before Hunters had organized the launch 'The Spirits of Parallel' had produced a profit. Now a campaign had been worked out, and a ten week tour arranged.
"Now!" Leah whispered, giving him a gentle push.
Vaguely aware of the tables stacked with copies of his book he was too intent on reaching the stage to notice all the welcoming smiles.
His foot was on the first step. The microphone loomed before him like a pitchfork that belonged to the Devil. Poised, ready to spear him. He managed to reach it, then realised people were clapping him. Charlotte Hunter grasped his hand, and as she welcomed him kissed him on the cheek.
"I wish all my duties were this enjoyable," she said, moving aside to make room for him.
"A lovely reward," Shaun Maclaren quipped, taking hold of the microphone. His confidence returned, his throat no longer dry.
He remembered to thank the editors and every one who had helped to organise the launch. It was easy to express his appreciation of Charlotte Hunter who stood to the left of him listening attentively.
But it was Leah Wainwright he thanked most of all. He told of how, one night in the height of a storm she had read his script. How hard she had worked to get it published, while he lay in hospital recovering from an injury.
Amid a standing ovation Leah found herself on the stage by his side.
"We'll always be together," he whispered, "I'll never let you go."
Taking her by the shoulders he gave her a long, lingering kiss, bringing applause and whistles of encouragement.
Leah knew he had a gift of concentrating on one person, and even in front of hundreds of people she was alone with him.
Was this, she wondered, his mother's spirit telling her that she was the Leah. The Leah he would one day call his own."