PROLOGUE.

Snow was slowly falling one by one, like delicate bits of dandelion clocks floating in the wind. I adjusted the zoom lens of my camera and took one last picture of the people walking in the frozen Riddarfjorden. The camera view was shared by the Vasterbron Bridge in the distance. I pushed the button twice. Satisfied with my shots, I carefully placed my camera inside the bag. Hurling it over my shoulder, I decided to do a bit of sightseeing before dinner. Tomorrow I would be going back to London after a three-day photography assignment in Sweden for the STB magazine.

Stockholm is one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, although I cannot say much on this as this is the only city I had been in outside the country. Stockholm is built around an archipelago and stretches out into several little islands. Although the smaller islands’ natural beauty were hidden beneath mounds of snow, it was still exciting to walk on the wide frozen seawater. There were scores of people on the ice, walking their pram while some were merrily skiing on the thick snow. I watched a couple of young people sliding neatly across the ice when a lofty man standing across my path caught my attention. He was several meters from me but there was no mistaking that quite distinct grin. I gazed at him with incredulity etched over my face. I was transfixed to that spot, harboring a grueling battle of emotion and psyche. I wanted to run towards him but my arrogance precluded me. He was still there, gazing and waiting, his sober, jaded eyes beseeching. Finally, I decided to lay aside everything and approach him. I walked towards him awkwardly, eyes looking down, feeling like a naïve 15-year old going to her first rendezvous with Romeo. As I drew nearer, I looked up hoping to achieve a romantic effect by meeting his emerald eyes, but it was not what I anticipated. There was no one and nothing there except the Vasterbron in the distance. I gazed around expecting to find him sitting and laughing in the ice at his prank but all I could see were those young people I saw earlier. They were now giggling at their companion who was now trying to imitate a duck.

Maybe he came with her and he saw me by chance. Why does it have to happen now? It had been a year, a long, painful year. I felt I was losing him all over again.       

CHAPTER 1. A SORROWFUL BEGINNING

I only stayed in Glasgow for a day, having been just arrived from a photography assignment in Sweden. It was a peaceful Sunday and after developing the film (so I could hand over the photos tomorrow) I decided to visit Elizabeth. Elizabeth is my best friend and we have known each other for almost five years now. I met her in St. Andrews University. We shared an apartment together and since then, had been best pals. I was attending the Department of Film Studies while working as a part-time photographer in a studio in Fife and she was in the School of Philosophical and Anthropological Studies. After graduation, I worked as an apprentice in Little Viking Productions but left St. Andrews after a few months and settled in Glasgow. I decided to establish a career as a freelance photographer, which was my first passion, before trying a stint in BBC documentaries, which was my life long goal. Luckily enough, my contacts while I was still in St. Andrews provided me with exceptional clients. Now, I am slowly establishing a name with a few significant clients not only in Glasgow but also in London. Elizabeth, on the other hand, stayed behind and now works in St. Andrews Museum as an assistant to the curator.     

It was one of those relaxing afternoons when we would rather choose to stay indoors and enjoy a lovely chat. Elizabeth, or Lizzy as I had gotten used to calling her, had just brought in some tea and crumpets and sat down opposite me. But even as I was blithely recounting my Sweden jaunt to her (with the exception of seeing a familiar face again) , she kept giving me a poignant look that inaudibly declared there was something amiss, which was peculiar considering that my details where not exactly dreadful. She heaved a sigh that finally bolstered my qualms.

"Angela, have you heard about the duke lately?" she asked rather tentatively, her azure eyes oddly scrutinizing me at the same time as if I was about to explode.

My pulse beat rather quicker this time knowing that Elizabeth might have known about my accidental meeting with Cole but I tried my very best to look innocent. “I thought you detest him. Why the sudden fascination of hashing over his life?” I asked impeccably.

“I’m sorry. Just forget I mentioned him, okay? Now, what were you saying about Sweden…?”

Under normal circumstances, I would be ignoring her words. I am rather used to her tauntings. Every now and then she would utter something about Cole to examine my reaction to which I was always careful not to give anything away. I thought at first that the incident in Sweden had given me away but Elizabeth was talking in monotones without meeting my eyes. It was absolutely a signal that something is definitely wrong. “What is the matter with you Elizabeth? Is there something bothering you?” I asked guilelessly though every nerve in my body was in heteroclite stage. Her face looked even more miserable and she was wringing her hands, like a child guilty of something.

Apprehensively, she asked in a soft voice this time. "Are you aware of what came out of the news morning?”

“No, I’m sorry but I wasn’t able to catch the news or read any of the papers yet. Why?” I asked unconcernedly.

“Nothing. Nothing…”

“Elizabeth, I noticed you’ve been quite fidgety these past few minutes. Is there something you think I should know?” I asked apprehensively.

“Well, there is or rather…I don’t know if you still want to know, anyway. You said earlier that you don’t want me to say anything about the duke.”

There was a sudden lurch in my stomach. It was unusual for Lizzy to mention him twice. It was always a That-Person air. She had developed a livid attitude towards Cole from the start, claiming that sooner or later the relationship would lead to more torture on my part and her eventual madness.

"I never said that. I said it was you who…..Elizabeth, will you stop this nonsense! And please don’t give me those nerve-wracking hanging questions again!" I said suppressing the urge to throw something at her. My erratic temperament owing to my exhaustion from travelling seized over the situation.

“Okay, okay. Calm down. I know you’re not going to like this but you should know. Are you ready then?” Lizzy said, befuddled by my sudden outrage.

“Ready for what? And what is this bloody thing I should know, huh?! I bellowed. “Don’t give me that neurotic look, Elizabeth. Couldn’t you just go on and get it over with?” I added, looking apprehensively at her brutally dilated eyeballs that may break out from its sockets at any moment.

 “Cole’s gone.” Elizabeth said quietly.

Elizabeth’s words stabbed through my chest. It brought back a feeling of remorse that I tried to trample. "I know he’s gone because he went back to that Lady of Nobility!” 

Lizzy suddenly shifted the topic. “Angela, we both know the argument behind it. I mean…he went to her because…..” she said biting her lip to stop the words coming out of it and looking at me apologetically.

“Now, this…is not normal.” I said, a sarcastic smile forming on my lips. “First, you mentioned him when you’ve articulated months ago that anymore mention of him will culminate into your utter derangement. And now…now you’re taking his side all of a sudden? Elizabeth, are you implying that everything was my fault?” I asked, feeling beside myself all of a sudden.

“Don’t talk rot! Look, I am not taking sides. And would you please stop glowering at me like I’m the despicable villain! This is not about his marriage with Lady Margaret. I told you he’s gone, carked it! Dead! Lifeless!”

“What do you mean by that?" I asked, stunned by her words. My lips began to tremble. 

"He died last Thursday,” she said slowly, as if apologizing for her brusqueness. “I'm really sorry, Angela."

I felt the impact of her words hit me like a colossal blast, not because Lizzy said it bluntly (which I presume was out of annoyance) but because of the magnitude of the matter. All the antagonism I felt towards Elizabeth earlier faded, wilted into oblivion. But then, quite absurdly, a faint smile outlined from my lips, "I know you find him unacceptable from the start but that is a very grave tale. You shouldn't be pulling my leg like that."

"But I'm not, Angela. I couldn't believe it myself either. I was about to call you up this morning but then I thought you were still in Sweden", she said cautiously, in case I turn into hysterics.

"Appaling, really," Lizzy continued as soon as she noticed my silence. "His family tried to make it private but the information leaked out somehow. His body will be laid to rest this evening. Wait, I still got that newspaper article about it,". She stood up. I watched her slender form approached an old, rickety table near the window where an ugly pile of newspapers can be seen. Her round eyes were fixed on me, watching me as though expecting strange symptoms to manifest themselves at any moment. After scattering the newspapers on the table, she quickly returned carrying a folded one.

I grabbed the newspaper from her and scanned it frantically. Finally, I saw it in the lower left side, written in bold, black letters, "UNEXPECTED DEMISE OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON. Lord Colbert Thornley, Duke of Wellington, passed away last Thursday. The youngest in a generation of dukes will be buried today at St. Paul’s Cathedral in London at 6 o'clock in the evening where he will be joining his great, great grandfather, the First Duke of Wellington and Britain’s greatest war hero, Sir Arthur Wellesley. His wife, Duchess Margaret Thornley, the eldest daughter of Sir Charles Robert Baker, Earl of Huntingdon was utterly devastated and could not be interviewed. Even Lady Catherine Wordsworth, wife of Lord James William Wordsworth, Earl of Notthingham and elder sister of the Duke of Wellington was not available for comment. The Duchess of Wellington requested, through her spokesperson, that the cause of death be withheld in honor of the duke. "

There was another article beside it saying how his family had badly tried to make the incident private to avoid media fuss.

I stared blankly at the newspaper. I looked up and saw Elizabeth’s furtive face expecting for the impact of a full blast but I successfully held back the powerful emotion that was beginning to build up. I wished to impress upon Elizabeth (I think more to myself than to her) that Cole was only a consequence of a youthful delusion that I have ably recovered from. I slightly jolted when I felt Lizzy's hand on my shoulders.

I looked at her as though seeing her for the first time. “But I saw him, Lizzy, in Stockholm.”

“When?”

“The other day. I tried to approach him but when I looked again he was gone.” I said in a banausic voice and began to stare at the wall.

“But that’s impossible. He died Thursday. You might’ve have been seeing him in your mind’s eye. Or you might’ve mistaken someone for him.” Lizzy said almost consolingly.

“No. There was no one Lizzy. When I looked up, there was no one except the bridge and the young people playing in the ice.” I answered, trying to obstruct the tears that are now beginning to trickle down my cheeks.

“Then it must’ve been an ignis fatuus.”

“A what?” I asked, with a small, hollow laugh. Trust Lizzy to dabble with words at a time like this.

“An ignis fatuus, a figment, a specter.”

I feigned a smile and said, “It’s alright, Elizabeth. There’s no need to be witty.”

Lizzy gazed at me and said, “Angela, I’m really, really sorry. If there is something I could do, just…just tell me, alright?”

“Don’t worry about me, Lizzy. I’m going to be fine.”

“What are you going to do now?” she asked.

“Nothing. What do you suppose I would do?” I asked.

“Well, I can’t see any reason for you to do something stupid. I mean, between the two of us, you’re the one with an adamant character.”

“Are trying to purport that I may turn out to be thick enough to jump from a tall building or hurl myself towards a speeding truck or stationed myself in a railway track just to end this misery because I am too stubborn to admit it?

“Uhmm, I guess it’s something like that.”

 “No, I wouldn’t do that. It would definitely hurt a lot. I think I’d just hang myself from a gallow. That has a more..uhm...theatrical effect, don’t you think?” I said sarcastically.

“Angela, are you serious?” Lizzy was quite anxious now.

“Elizabeth, it was you who said… how did you put it?.....Ah yes…I’m the one with an adamant character. Well, I suppose I am inexorable enough not to be surmounted by despair.”

“Then, are you sure you’re alright?”

“Of course I am. How many times must I tell you that?”

“And I trust this is not another way of perjuring yourself? She said scrutinizing me with narrowed eyes. I felt like a lying student being interrogated by a strict teacher.

“Elizabeth!”

“Okay, okay. I suppose we could talk about something else now, couldn’t we? How was your trip to Stockholm?” she asked, her blue eyes still poring over me.

 “Oh, it was awesome.” I heard myself saying the words mechanically. I had never felt more of a hypocrite all my life. I was not sure whether I deceived Elizabeth or not but one thing was for sure, I cannot fool myself. I was only aware of my lips moving without understanding anything of everything I was saying. Unexpectedly, there was a strange, unexplainable feeling rising inside me and I knew that at this moment, Cole was on his way to his final destination.

CHAPTER 2. ANGELA'S LAMENT

The wind was nipping on my face, hitting my cheeks with slits of frost. Ignoring it, I continued walking until I reached the spot. There were no people in sight, probably because they preferred to stay indoors at such a chilly night like this.  My ears were almost numb from the bitter wind as my heart was frozen by grief. I welcomed the solitude with as much eagerness as a poet trying to finish a masterpiece. Everything was quiet apart from the sound of the waves dashing towards the shore. Feeling rather serene than afraid (the pier don’t normally attract the undesirable crowd), I sat on the narrow block of flats and watched the little waves thump on the rocks. As I lay still, a familiar sentiment gripped over me. Suddenly, my eyes were obscured with tears, tears triggered not only by a very unpleasant incident but more by a recurring emotion that I tried so many times to slay but always, in vain. It was not actually surprising how my feet dragged me here after that utterly grieving news. After all, it was here where everything begun. And it would be here where everything would end.

My thoughts were suddenly disrupted by the sound of water hurtling through the rocks, harking me back to reality. I am here, alone, drenched in misery and defeat. As I sat here, swallowed by the harsh, icy wind, legs drawn in towards my chest, I kept contemplating about everything.

Love, like death, is one of life’s most complex mysteries. When I was younger, I thought love was something beautiful and magical. I’ve always envisaged a fairy-tale prince in horseback would take me away to his distant castle and there we would live happily ever after. I have always laid aside my heart for the gallant prince. He did come but alas, he showed me love’s darker side. Since then, my idea of love has always been associated to a faithful friend who suddenly unearthed its invisible, miscreant self, fully-equipped to slaughter at the most vulnerable moment. 

The sound of waves lapping the shore roused me from my reverie. I watched them walloped the unwary sand before slowly withdrawing back to the icy sea. The water seemed calling me and I thought of pusillanimously running off towards the sea to escape this lamenting emotion slowly throttling me to death. I gazed at the undulating gray waters, watching the small ripples dancing their way towards the rocks. But then again, an inner voice said, Don’t do it Angela, you still have a long way to go.

As I stirred in my position, I heard a cold, distant voice calling for me, "Angela… Angela.."

I turned around expecting someone there but the place was completely blank except for a strange mist, oddly shaped in a distorted human figure. It was a few feet away from me. I approached it curiously but a foot away it vanished. Somehow, the silvery mist gave me a feeling of elation. It was an indication, I thought, a symbol that Cole’s memory, by some means, would vanish as quickly as that mist, now that he was on the great beyond. I had faced a year destroying every known memory of him. I could achieve it more with a dead one.

I stared at the sky that was beginning to turn from a steely gray to black and saw a single, blurry star twinkled before hiding beneath the clouds.

-----

Darkness had fallen making the city lights in the distance appeared like fluttering fairies. It was the first week of winter. The wind was now freezing cold, gnawing my face as I stood there. I adjusted my neck protector higher to shield my face from the frosty wind. It was time to set off for home but a wistful mood was starting to drape all over me, compelling me to stay.

Struggling from this emotion, I walked, keeping my gloved hands inside the pocket of my trench coat, to my car which was parked a few distance away. I reached it in a short time and sidled in the driver’s seat. I turned on the engine and drove through North Street. With a sudden impulse, I turned towards Murray Place and stopped by an old pub. It was a long time since my last visit here. As I opened the wooden front door, the steamy atmosphere of the place met me. Cigarette smoke hung in the air. Spread evenly inside were the familiar tables and chairs carved in red oak. There were still those incongruous portraits of the Beatles and a framed portrait of John Lennon and Yoko Ono’s marriage certificate hanging on its walls. Upon first visit to the place, one would thought the owner was a Beatles’ fan but these memorabilia where bequests from other loyal patrons of the place. Crossing the threshold brought back old memories of the past. I knew it was a mistake to have come here. It was deep torture for me. But I felt I have to do this. Similar to what I felt in the Harbour, it was my own way of saying goodbye to everything that connected Cole and me.

I chose a corner table beside the window. As I was about to sit, a shrill voice echoed from nowhere, “If it ain’t the dashing Ms. Pennington! How are you? It's nice to see you again!”.

I looked around and saw a petite woman in a frivolous pink apron standing a little to my left. Her Chinese features radiant in the incandescent lighting.

“Hello, Kim. How’s Mr. Kent? I noticed he’s not around tonight.”, I said rather dully.

“In Dublin for a holiday, he left his nephew here in charge, a far cry from Mr. Kent if you ask me. He’s very fussy about everything and very rude, too.” She snorted and took out her pen, “The usual, I presume?”

“Yes, thank you very much.” I lost my interest for food hours ago but I thought it would seem strange if I would only dawdle so I agreed with her.

“I heard you are now in Glasgow,” Kim replied in her unusually high-pitched voice.

“Hey, no chattering with the customers!”. The shout boomed from the bar before I could utter a word. I turned to look and saw a tall, thin chap glaring at Kim, both hands in his hips.

“See what I told yah! Anyway, better follow the lion than regret it later. I’ll be back with your order,” She said with a grin then left.

I watched her walked her way to the bar in a swaying fashion. While I waited, I looked across the room and was astounded to see Cole standing near the bar, staring at me morosely. My heart suddenly went to my throat, befuddled by mixed emotions of euphoria and fright. I blinked and looked again but it was only a stranger ogling at me rather in a stupor. The lights must’ve had quite a strange effect on my vision. I gazed at him, my heart still throbbing in my throat. He looked away and stared at one of the portraits hanging near the bar.

"Are you alright, Ms. Pennington? If I’ve known better I’ll say you’ve been ghouled.” I turned and saw Kim standing there, her anxious eyes staring at me from some feet away. 

"Yes, I'm fine." But I could see that she was not convinced though she walked on anyway snatching looks on my way. Perhaps I must have appeared demented by those contradicting ideas inside my head.

Kim came back minutes later carrying my steak and kidney pie including a glass of red wine, balancing it on her hardwood serving tray.

“I remember you used to dally here with someone.” She said, trying to start a conversation. Blimey! Now I do remember where I saw that man in the newspapers, he’s the Duke of Wellington! Why didn’t you tell me then, huh? You two used to be so adorable together. Hey..wait…but he’s married to that Duchess.., " she appeared as though comprehension was slowly dawning on her face but stopped short when she noticed my face turned a paler shade of crimson and shifted her weight, "Er...dangerous grounds, I suppose. But, is it true? Is he really dead?”, she asked offhandedly while slowly putting down my order on the table with her left hand, her right hand awkwardly steadying the wooden tray.

I looked at her uncomfortably and nodded. I do not like talking about Cole if I could avoid it.

Another shout issued from the bar, “Hey, Kim! Could you sort out the problem here!”

“Yes, Mr. Hamsworth. I’m coming!,” she said hastily putting down my glass of wine, slopping it a little. “Oopps, sorry about that.”.

I was quite grateful to Mr. Hamsworth for summoning Kim. I could almost read what Kim was thinking now. I couldn’t help but be uncomfortable with the idea of others surmising me as the other woman. Unlike before, now I felt extremely filthy. Without touching the food, I stood up and left some notes on the table. In my haste to leave the place, I almost bumped into someone towards the exit.

“Ms. Pennington, where are you going?” I heard a shrill voice bellowed as I shut the door behind.

-----

As I traveled towards South Street going to the city road, a deafening silence accompanied me. I turned on the wireless to vanish the glum feeling breeding inside of me but what came out was a poignant voice of a female singer crooning about an unrequited love. 

..Can’t understand why I’m loving you so, Even though you are miles away.. Even though I know you’ve got someone there to stay…

Funny how the words were somehow related to what I was feeling now, I thought. It made my eyes water, creating a blurred vision of the fog lights from the cars ahead.

I reached my flat after two hours and bolted myself in. I sat in front of the fireplace, alone with my grief. I lay there acceding to the overpowering misery that was throttling me. Hours stole away but I was not perturbed. Gradually, I was starting to slide down deep into the abyss until I could wield no more. My mind started drifting, whirling through the past while tears started rolling from eyes. Tonight I would lament, all the pain would be carried away with every tear I will shed. Tonight would be the first and last night for mourning for tomorrow would be a fresh, new start and with it will emerge a whole person.

CHAPTER 3. THE DREAM 

It was a chilly night. My boots were damped from trodding on the sodden grass while my gloved hands were clasping my black cloak. A voice suddenly echoed from the distance, “Milady, I beg that you come back! Your father would not be delighted about this!”. I turned around and replied, “Do not be vexed! I vowed to be here before he alights!” The woman sighed as I gave her a small wave. I ran towards the thicket, my cloak fluttering behind.

As I entered the trees, I saw the silhouette of a hooded figure through the mist, leaning against a huge beech tree. He looked as if he was trying to make a pattern amongst the brown leaves scattered beneath him. As I approached him, I couldn’t help but grin at his seemingly unbroken fascination in the leaves so I decided to announce my arrival by speaking in my most charming voice, “Pardon me Sir, but it appears you are in anticipation of someone. Would she be someone I know?”, He looked my way and a smile formed across his gaunt face.

“Genevieve!” he met me halfway, his trembling hands reaching for my face.

“You’ve come, My love! Yes! I know you would!” I said cheerfully while lowering his hood and staring at his skeletal features. “You seemed thinner. Henry, can’t you see? This is the outcome of your arrogant sacrifice! Please come back to me, please, I beg of you.” I asked while lovingly caressing his face, my eyes apprehensively studying him, as though by touching him I could make our suffering end.

“You know I can’t, my love. I am prepared to die for my belief.”

“No, don’t talk about death. No one will die, no one.”

“Not unless Charles signs the Engagement. And we, as covenanters, will make sure of that.” He said, gnashing his teeth and curling his fists.

“No, Henry, please…let us discuss no more of this. I am tired of all these…all these.. nonsense, this war. I… “

“Hush. Someone is approaching.”

“But who might that be? My father is not expected to alight yet.”

I listened warily. A distant, shrill sound echoed somewhere. It became louder, piercing through my ears. The sound jerked me awake. I sat upright and looked around. I was lying on the living room floor and still wearing my day clothes. My face was covered with sweat. I was trying to remember how I ended up sleeping on the floor when I heard that piercing sound again. It was the telephone ringing. I reached for it and answered croakily, “Hello?”

 “Angela? Are you asleep?” It was Lizzy on the other end of the line.

“I think I was earlier. Elizabeth, it’s 4 o’clock in the morning.”, I said grudgingly.

“I’m sorry but I was worried about you. You seemed so dispirited, when you left last night. I called loads of times but you never answered. Where have you gone to, anyway?

“What do you mean by that? I never…” I said cutting my words suddenly and slowly realizing how I spent the early hours of the night.

“Angela, this is Elizabeth you’re speaking with, remember. We’ve spent four years living under one roof. Really! You could’ve deceive anyone but me. I could always tell when you’re pulling the wool over your eyes.”

“Alright, alright! I went to the Harbour. I needed some time alone so I turned off my mobile. Sorry, I forgot to turn it on again. Listen, I’m fine. I just need to…er..get over this...this ordeal or whatever you might call it. But thanks for your attention. ” I said not wanting to prolong the conversation.

"I thought so". she said in her i-was-right-after-all tone. 

"I don't need you waking me up and condemning me with your dragging lecture,"

"I am not going to lecture you, Angela. I just want to make sure you're alright,"

"I am alright," I said wearily. I wish Elizabeth would stop treating me like a bunged up kid.

“Are you sure? Why don’t you take a holiday from work? I could take some time off from my work, too and we could lighten up somewhere,”

“I said I’m alright, Lizzy. Besides, work can also be therapeutic for me. Hey, why don’t we both go back to sleep. I’m about to be crowned Queen of England before you called. I might be signing your execution now,” I lied, faking a laugh at the same time.

“Yeah, I suppose you’re fine,” Lizzy answered with a slight chuckle. “Hey, Queen Angela, how about signing a law that’ll banish all gits to Africa, huh? That way, I wouldn’t have to put up with Mr. Crowley.”

“You know what, the best way out of that is to quit your job,”

“Pot-luck chance. Well, good dreaming then, and do me a favor, find a nice king for you. Bye,”

After putting the receiver back, I sat on the floor again, resting my head in the cushioned stool. I lay there staring at the ceiling. A few hours ago, I had immersed myself in grief. Then I dreamt of a man and a woman winnowed by fate. Was my dream an extension of my present life or is it telling me something instead?  Lately, my dreams were quite unusual ones, the kind where you would be left contemplating if Edgar Cayce was really being straight with the concept of Reincarnation after all. It was like watching my stranger self in a huge projector screen. Oddly enough, the man stirred quite a different emotion in me. It was a mixture of longing and pain. I knew him from somewhere but I have not the slightest idea where. A large part of me wanted to scream at Lizzy for disrupting my dream. I lighted a cigarette and stood up, walked towards the window and gazed at the endless darkness beyond.

CHAPTER 4. A CLAIRVOYANT MIND 

Blazing light marred my eyes. I opened them reluctantly and noticed that daylight had penetrated through my windows. I felt I had only slept for an hour. I blinked and looked around. A huge emptiness was creeping slowly, devouring my senses. I was looking for an explanation for my heavy feeling but then, as I contemplate, comprehension slowly dawned on me. Cole now belonged in another realm. Now, everything was brought in a stage of extinction. I have resolved to commence anew and this is what I am steadfastly set out to do. There was a time when I spent every waking hour imagining Cole, wishing, hoping, and perhaps anticipating for that immaculate moment when we could be together once more, a time where nothing and no one will ever matter. But at this point, I am unleashing myself from that parody. Now, as he rested beneath the earth, what stretches out in front of me was a vast parable of the past. I compelled myself to sit up straight. A slight wind ruffled the curtains and touched my face. Guided by a natural instinct, I looked at the window and noticed that it was closed. Strange, I thought.

I emptied my mind of the lot and leapt from the bed. I have to meet Jules for lunch. He was a publicist of a famous modeling agency in London and they picked me to photograph their models for their spring collection. I glanced at the clock on top of my dresser and saw that it was only half past nine. I put on my tartan robe and walked barefooted to the kitchen. I automatically turned on the small television set on my countertop. As I was about to brew coffee, a special report flashed at the television screen. A female reporter wearing a gray tweed suit was speaking in front of Apsley House.“I am here now at Number 1, London to get a brief conversation with the Duchess. It seemed that the Duchess still refuses to elaborate on the source of death of her husband, the Duke of Wellington. The duke was buried yesterday at St. Paul’s Cathedral beside Sir Arthur Wellesley, his great, great grandfather. Lady Catherine Wordsworth, Countess of Nottingham and elder sister of the duke, could be frequently seen in the Duke and Duchess’ London home lately, attending to her grieving sister-in-law. Speculations arouse earlier that Lord Colbert killed himself but was quickly spurned by the Duchess spokesperson. I’ll turn you over then to Barbara… ”

Cole killed himself? I thought. My hands were trembling as I reached for a mug. No, I knew Cole. He would never do such a foolish thing like that. Or would he? I thought of the stupefied look on his face when last I saw him. It was a year ago. But he would never do that, never. My determination could never be his motive. If it was, then he could’ve done it earlier if he would, I thought surreptitiously. I took a sip from the mug and looked outside. There was a light snowfall. I could see the diminutive, white objects falling down like crumbled crystals on my lavender plants.

Sometimes I don’t know what to think anymore. Grief started to gnaw on my senses again. I turned off the television set and went straight to my writing desk in the living room. I checked again the photos I have developed earlier for STB. In a photo of the Vasterbron Bridge, I noticed that there was a translucent, white figure at the right of the photo, like a ghost. It had an eerie shape of a man. Another photo, this time of the Gamla Stan, was also distorted by that translucent, white figure. I hurriedly went back to the darkroom and checked the negative. There was nothing in the negative but the bridge and the building. My skepticism abandoned the thought of supernatural beings and put the pictures aside. These won’t look too good with STB. I have to print them again. I glimpsed at the wall clock and had an hour more to spare. I entered the dark room with the film and started. After washing and squeezing as much of the Photo Flo, I hang the photos to dry.  Checking it again I noticed that the pictures were now clear. Probably a slight mistake in the process, I thought.

I was not up to dressing myself at the moment. I still felt exhausted which I obviously did not  blame for the trip alone as it was three days ago. I know there was still a large part of yearning-for-Cole in me even if I desperately tried to bury it in the middle of the Earth. I picked a faded sweatshirt and trousers from my wardrobe.

I asked Jules to meet me at the Left Bank in Gibson Street for our lunch meeting. The restaurant’s location suited me well as it was only minutes away from my Loudon Terrace flat. I arrived at the restaurant at exactly twelve noon and saw a fretfully-waving Jules in a table near the window.

“Angela Pennington, you looked like Persephone, after she was abducted by Hades. What happened to you!”

“Jet lag. I just came from Stockholm.” I said, lying.

“But, my dear woman. It’s only an hour away. You appeared to have been traveling for days. Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine, don’t worry.” I said, irritated by his words. I gave Jules a glowering look that petered out his revolting words.

“If you say so. But you really do look like hell to me. Well, let’s get down with business now. Have a seat.”

I put down the large envelope on the table and took a seat opposite Jules. A handsome waiter suddenly materialized from nowhere and gave us the menu card. As I tried to decide what to eat, I could see Jules from the corner of my eye clearly examining every detail of the waiter’s body. I slightly smiled at his boldness.

“I’ll have the garlic fried masala seafood with coconut and squash Malabar curry.” Jules said, smiling at the waiter.

“I’ll have the same.” I said, too shattered to think about food.

Jules gave me a nonchalant look. “What is this?” he asked reaching for the large envelop next to me.

“Photos for the STB Magazine. They employed me to take photos for their Asian edition. I’m handing it over to them later.”

“Can I take a look?”

“Sure. Why not? You’ve already covered half of it anyway.”

“Ohhh, Stockholm. It has been ages since my last trip in Stockholm. These are quite lovely. Oh, the Gamla Stan! I remembered meeting someone near here and, what’s this?”

“What?” I asked.

“This translucent thing here, it appears like a flimsy human figure, like a ghost. Are you alone when you took this?” Jules said, scrutinizing the photo.

“Not really, I mean there were other people but they were rather oblivious to what I was doing. Why?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“Here it is again. In the photo of the Vasterbron Bridge.” said Jules distraughtly.

“Wait, I’ve already reprinted those. Let me see them.” I said, reaching for the photos.

“Oh dear, I probably grabbed the wrong envelope.” I said, giving the photos back to Jules.

“Do you know what this means, Angela?” he asked in a rather obscure tone.

“I have to go back and swap them with the reprinted ones?”

“Angela, you have captured an image of a ghost.” He said ignoring my sarcastic tone.

“Honestly, Jules! Do you still believe in that rubbish?”