Equally important, he was in love with her.
VI
At their places before the magical barrier on the long table they had two daiquiris apiece, followed with melon and prosciutto, chicken marengo with white wine and grapes, avocado salad and spumoni.
"Indeed," Deborah said dimpling, "if this be the food of thy age, Darling Charles, then Belvoir can be but a small miracle to thee."
He shook his head and replied, "We do have what must seem miracles of living to thee—to you, Debby—but Belvoir is years, perhaps centuries, and billions of miles beyond our reach. So marvelous is it, in fact, that I'm becoming once more persuaded this is all a dream.
"Certainly," he went on softly, "I've dreamed for years of having a girl like you, dear—and you're here and seem to show a certain fondness for me."
"Charles," she said simply, "don't jest about that." She regarded him gravely, then said, "Prithee, Charles, if I be thy dream, then how is it that thou art mine? For surely, never in my deepest sleep, have I e'er dreamed of a man like thyself."
He reached out and touched her and the softness of her flesh, beneath the now-limp nightgown, was as real as the touch of his own. Sudden terror struck him as he accepted emotionally for the first time the fact that Belvoir might not be a substance created by his own subconscious. If Belvoir were real, then he would never see her again.
"Charles darling, are you ill?"