"We don't have to go inside," Barbara said. "I just want to spend a few quiet minutes, and the churchyard will do."
"Alone?" he asked.
She answered by taking him by a hand and leading the way into the church garden where tombstones made it look like a small cemetery. She never liked being in cemeteries, but found this ancient one strangely comforting.
As they walked in the ruins of the churchyard Barbara felt its serenity. She thought Stephen did, too. It was an Anglican church and garden, and not of her own faith, but still she thought she might find a sense of peace there.
Why have I come here? she asked herself while walking hand-in-hand with the man she loved. Because he's married, and I cannot have him. But I need this time, this place, to give me strength. I know I will have to give him up. I just need these few minutes to build up my resolve.
Stephen did not speak as they walked, but she thought he must have his own thoughts and they were probably similar to hers.
Barbara suddenly felt her first great love's presence.
Paul, I've done what you said... Where there was no love, I have put love, and found love. But I cannot keep the love I have found. It does not belong to me, but to someone else; as yours belonged to Gail.
I love this man, Paul. You and Gail would like him, too.
I did not come between you both, and I will not come between Stephen and his wife. He cannot tell me anything about his marriage that could make a difference. But I need your help to give me the strength to let him go after today; to send him away.
But Paul, if there is any way out for Stephen and me, I pray you can find it for us.
But no one should be hurt. I do not want anyone to be hurt.
She felt then that she had had the moments of contemplation she needed.
Stephen pressed her hand in his. "If ever you really need me, Barbara, I'll come to you," he said, as if again reading her mind. "No matter what."
Almost in silence, they rode out of London. Soon they were past Burnham and Cookham and into the countryside which the war had not touched as brutally as in the great and unbowed city. Driving along the Thames, a road sign announced the village they were seeking.
Marlow looked as Barbara hoped it would; a sleepy little town in the country whose cottages and shops looked like they had stepped out of the pages of a Dickens novel.