It was early in the morning and Raquel and Jackson were sitting down to breakfast while glancing through the morning newspapers. They were passing the time quietly when the telephone rang. As Raquel got up and answered it, there came a knock at the apartment door, which Jackson attended to.

Raquel, it seemed, had intercepted a call from Christopher. The young man sounded rather irate, and when Raquel went to gesture Jackson over to speak to him, he found that Jackson had opened the door and there was Claire, standing out in the hall.

Raquel turned her attention back to Christopher, who was on the other end of the line, and quickly said that Jaselle was unavailable and that she would call him back later and hung up, and turned to look on the young couple.

"Come in, come in, Claire, darling," Raquel urged hastily, going over and closing the door, and gently ushering the two young people over to the breakfast table.

Raquel asked Claire how she was. The young girl replied, quietly, that she felt fine. Raquel smiled, nodded and gave her a hug before she and announced she had to go and get dressed, and then vanished into her bedroom in a less than subtle move to allow them some moments alone.

Jackson and Claire sat down quietly, neither of them having said much than the customary greetings. Claire asked him if Jaselle had passed on the message that she had left with her a few days prior. Jackson replied that she had.

“Then why didn't you call me?" Claire asked him.

"Because it's better this way...”

"Better for you, you mean," Claire said with resentment. "It's easy for you this way. You can hide from me And maybe you think you can hide from yourself. But you can't, Jackson!" she cried.

"Let's not get into a fight," he told her.

"I'm not looking for one," she said. "What I do want is for you to tell me that you don't care about me anymore...”

“Claire...” he groaned. He didn't want to have this conversation. He didn't want to see her and be reminded of what he was giving up.

"What does Jaselle mean to you?" she asked him.

“Jaselle…?” he echoed. “Um… well... she… she’s someone I feel close to, I suppose,” he replied hesitantly. There followed a long pause, clearly indicating that he didn’t wish to delve any further into the nature of his association with Jaselle.

"She stays here with you, doesn't she? You sleep together," Claire stated.

He felt the ridiculous sensation of wanting to smile creeping across his lips, but fought the twisted sense of irony off successfully before he answered her question.

"Yes." And it was true, too, from a certain point of view. So far he had not - technically -lied to her. But the hurt that rose up in Claire's eyes was far more than he had anticipated.

"Is that all you ever wanted? Someone who would get into bed with you?" she asked.

"You don't understand, Claire. It's more complicated than that," he explained, hoping that would ease some of her pain, but knowing it was a feeble reply.

"So where is she now?" she asked him.

Jackson told her that Jaselle had gone out for the day. Claire was obviously pleased to here it. She even suggested to him that they spend the day together.

"It will be like old times!" she promised him. "It'll be fun, and may be we can have a chance to talk a bit more…" she said and got up from the table, moved around to his side, and kissed him on the lips.

He closed his eyes, swimming in her touch, and felt his heartache with fresh and certain pain, and repressed love. A part of him wanted desperately to hold her in his arms, cover her in kisses, and shelter her from the world. But he had learned to be a master of restraint and denied his feelings.

Claire stepped back from him, bitten by his chilliness. She frowned for a moment, staring at him in a considering manner, then said: "One day together, Jackson. That's all I'm asking. Please?" she said, remaining determined not to give in.

Her tender brown eyes weakened him. How could he deny her, even though he knew it could only lead them both into trouble, and new wounds?

"One day," he said, nodding, echoing her words. Her face broke into an immediate smile.

They bought some take-away McDonalds' hamburgers that they took with and ate down under a shaded section by the Yarra River. They sat on a small hill, looking out across the murky coloured river, beneath the canopy of an antique elm.

Gazing across the river, and back at the city, Jackson found himself silently marveling to himself how much had changed in his life since he had first stepped off the train at Spencer Street Train Station, more than eight months ago. He had arrived a naive country boy - now that seemed like someone else entirely different. One thing remained the same, his hatred for Lloyd Crane.

"What are you day-dreaming about?" Claire asked him.

"Just things," he replied vaguely. "A lot has changed since I first got here. I've changed," he told her.

Claire smiled at him. "Not to me, you haven't. You're still the same gentle, caring person. A bit confused, I guess. But who isn't these days," she stated.

Yes, he was confused. When he looked at Claire, that confusion multiplied. He knew his feelings for her. They were one of the most powerful things that had ever filled his body or touched his soul. But he was willing to cut her out of his life to satisfy another, equally strong emotion that lived in him.

He knew that the only sensible solution available to him was to forget her and get on with his task. But he wanted to kiss her and love her, and to be loved by her. He had barely digested that thought when he found himself leaning towards her and placing a soft, hesitant kiss on her lips.

Claire's hands slinked around the back of his neck as she drew him close to her, and she rolled onto her back, the soft, fragrant, emerald grass beneath her. They joined in a hungry embrace, Jackson bearing his body down on her as their lips tasted one another, and then broke off to caress faces and necks.

"I love you," Claire revealed to him, between excited breaths, staring into his deep, grey eyes.

"I know," he said. "I love you, too," he whispered, in a breath fluttering with shyness and gentle passion.

Like crystal petals, joyful tears fell from Claire's lids, glistening on her glowing, smiling face. He reached for her and they exchanged more kisses. They took more time to let their lips and tongues feel each other. His heart wondered how he could ever consider letting her go or vanquishing her from his life; she was such a crucial part of him.

Jackson's mind closed on his heart with teeth of steel. He reminded himself that he had, at most, only a few weeks left as Jackson Crane. He had to end his relationship with Claire long before that time had drawn any closer.

Jackson Crane had to disappear forever so that Jaselle La Fleur's life could begin. He knew this to be an indisputable fact. Yet… why not allow himself some happiness? Even if it was only real for a short time? He and Claire had enough time left to cultivate some precious moments together that could become the seeds of tomorrow's better memories.

Was he being selfish? Maybe so. He could give Claire so much, for awhile. Jackson didn't believe that once he was gone from her life, she would fret about him. Claire was strong and beautiful and possessed courage and a great desire to live life. She would not shut herself off from the world on Jackson's account, for she had so much that she wanted to do with the world and people.

What he failed to consider was the possibility that he was underestimating Claire's love for him.

They spent the rest of the day in a loving, warm daze, walking about arm in arm and taking frequent opportunities to exchange kisses. By late afternoon they had found their way to St. Kilda. There, they strolled along the esplanade as a cool late afternoon breeze blew up from the ocean, across the beach, tainting the air with a scent of salt and seaweed. It was a peaceful moment, though cars hurtled past on the road; the atmosphere was one of comfort and tranquillity.

Jackson and Claire came upon a man in his early forties sitting on a chair, on the pavement. He had silver hair and a long, fascinating face, which seemed to have been pencilled in with a harsh, strong style, with dozens of lines. His eyes were large and round and a frosty black. He was wearing large, baggy green pants and an oversized, ratty purple jumper over a faded orange shirt.

Although a queer site, he was nonetheless compelling for it. In his large hands, he held a sketching pad which he had leaning against one knee. He was sketching gently with a charcoal pencil, as his intense eyes studied a quartet of rowdy seagulls dancing on a bricked barrier across the street.

There was a notice written on white board, propped against the side of the man's chair, announcing: ‘Portraits done for $5’.

Claire thought it would be wonderful to have the man do a portrait of her and Jackson, and he agreed, so they approached him. The man nodded wordlessly and took Jackson's money. He flipped over the page he'd been working on, and then critically looked at the young couple who stood before him.

He instructed Jackson to stand behind Claire and wrap his arms around her waist, leaving Claire's head neatly tucked in under Jackson's chin.

The artist's beautiful hands, with those long, quick fingers, jumped across the paper without hesitation, as he caught their images, forever in his medium. In a matter of minutes, he had completed the portrait, which he presented to the couple for their inspection.

Jackson and Claire were both extremely impressed with the man's skill. Not only was the picture technically superb, but he had managed to capture the sense of the moment; the depth of Jackson and Claire’s connection.

They thanked him for the portrait, which Jackson carried with him as they continued along the Esplanade, hand-in-hand.

Claire went into the bathroom to go to the toilet. As she did so, the telephone bleated. Jackson answered it.

It was Christopher on the line, asking if Jaselle was available. Having said nothing at that point in time, Jackson looked anxiously to the bathroom, hoping that Claire was not about to come out of it. Seeing that the area was clear, speaking in Jaselle’s voice, he spoke into the telephone.

"Christopher… Hello," he said. "Look, I can't talk right now. I’m somewhat busy. I'll call you back later."

Christopher sounded extremely annoyed and uptight. He went on to tell how he’d been trying to call Jaselle's number all day, without getting a reply, except for in the morning, when some woman had picked up the telephone and had then informed him that Jaselle was going to be busy all day, and would call him back later - which Jaselle hadn't done.

He told Jackson that he wasn't going to be put off by her any longer. "I want you and me to get together and have dinner tonight," Christopher said bluntly.

"Oh Christopher," Jackson complained, sounding mildly exasperated.

"I need to see you," he insisted. "If you're thinking of trying to shrug me off, you can forget it, because I'm going to keep at you until you give into me...”

"Alright, alright," Jackson cried, but endeavoring to keep his voice down, so Claire didn't hear. "I'll have dinner with you."

"Good, then I'll pick you up at - "

"No!" Jackson exclaimed. "I'll meet you there."

Christopher tried to suggest otherwise, but Jackson - or rather Jaselle - made it clear that they were her terms. Christopher gave in, and then explained he had reservations at 'Mietta's' restaurant for seven o'clock that night.

"I know the place," Jackson said, nodding. "I'll meet you at seven. Good-bye," he said finally and hung up as Claire came out of the bathroom.

She immediately inquired about who had been on the telephone. He made a vague reference about a friend of Raquel's and dismissed the matter. But he must not have sounded convincing, because Claire asked him if it had been Jaselle.

He thought on this for a moment before arriving at the conclusion that it might be good for her to believe that it had been Jaselle, so that was what he told her.

"And what did she say?" Claire managed to make ’she’ sound like a dirty word.

"Nothing much," he replied as he glanced at his watch. It was 5.30pm. He realised he would have to get rid of Claire immediately so that he could begin to get changed for his evening out with Christopher.

"Let's not discuss Jaselle, O.K.? We had an excellent day, let's not ruin it." He suggested. Claire agreed with him. "We can do something tomorrow, alright?" he suggested.

'Tomorrow? Sure!" she cried, nodding and with her dimples showing.

"Great," he said and gently guided her over to the door. "Well, you'd better be getting back home ...you'll be late for dinner," he said.

"But I thought that we might go out or something - see a movie? I can call Mum and tell her...”

"I can't. Not tonight. I'm busy and can't get out of it," he told her. A frowned creased her clear brow. The light went out from her face.

"It's Jaselle, isn't it?"

"No," he replied, "it's work." But he could see that she was wondering whether or not he was telling her the truth.

"Fine," she said at last, at least trying to appear bright and unconcerned. “Then I'll hear from you tomorrow?" she asked him.

"You bet," he said and kissed her. He opened the door and Claire ventured out into the hall, her eyes never leaving his. She was searching for something in him and they both knew it. She wanted the truth, but wasn't certain if he was giving it to her; he knew that he never could.

She reached up and touched her lips softly to his cheek, then made her way down the hall. He watched her for a moment before closing the door.