“McLaren.” David tried to keep his tone patient as he spelled out the surname. He’d spent two days scouring the Internet for all the McLarens he could find in the Sydney white pages, and last night he had spent hours dialling Australian phone numbers. No one had heard of a Beth McLaren, and he was beginning to wonder if he’d remembered the name that Megan had said correctly.

Now he was onto the local borough and trying to get the Australian address of the owner of Violet Cottage, but had come head-to-head with British bureaucracy.

“Yes, sir, that is correct. The owner is Ms. McLaren in Australia, however I cannot divulge her address. It is against the privacy law. I probably shouldn’t even confirm that name for you.”

“But what if I wanted to buy the cottage?” David was prepared to do anything to find out a way to get in touch with Megan.

“You would have to contact the solicitor who manages the cottage.”

Thank God. Finally he was making progress.

“So can you give me that name and number?”

“Certainly, sir. Just give me a moment.” Over the phone line, keys clicked as the clerk retrieved the information and finally came back to give him the name of a law firm in London.

Two phone calls later and he had managed to get an assurance that an e-mail would be sent to Ms. McLaren asking her to contact him.

The morning after he’d written Megan’s song, he’d gone down to the village and discovered that Jules’ husband, Ned, the village taxi driver, had driven Megan to the train station to catch the train to London.

No privacy issues there. Jules knew all about Megan’s plans as Ned had relayed them back to her. Megan had gone straight to Heathrow and would be back in Australia by now.

Christ Almighty. I don’t even know her last name.

##

“One of your best, man.” Bear nodded at David as his fingers strummed the last notes of “For Megan” and Mick Rothman gave them a broad smile through the glass wall of the studio. David had written the song for Megan in the cottage the day before he’d come back through the stones to meet Bear and Slim, and they’d headed off to the studio. The trip had been cramped in Bear’s van overflowing with their instruments and amplifiers.

One more song to record and the album was finished. Mick was ecstatic and he was predicting a hit album. David didn’t tell him that three of the songs would reach number one in the States over the summer and challenge the Beatles for the longest place in the number one spot.

Knowing his future when he was back here was surreal. He came back occasionally to play the festivals and record some more albums—and they did a hugely successful tour, but mostly he stayed in the twenty-first century.

Bear wouldn’t make it through the eighties, but he hadn’t shared that with the guys either. He’d found his grave in the small village cemetery in Glastonbury when he’d read about the lives of the band on Wikipedia.

“We’re done. Fabulous job, guys.” Mick opened the door of the studio, the cigarette that was permanently in his mouth hanging from the corner. “Now, to the promotion. I’ve scheduled an appearance in London for you guys next week.”

David shook his head. “Right, I’ll make sure I’m back by then.”

“Back from where?”

David caught Bear’s and Slim’s grins and he shrugged as he lifted his guitar from his shoulder. “I might sound arrogant, but we’ll be big. Trust me.” He walked over to Bear and held out his hand. “I’ve organised a lift back to Glastonbury.”

Bear held his eye and David could tell he understood that they wouldn’t see him for a while.

“Take care, man. It’s been fun.”

Slim walked over and punched him lightly on the shoulder. “You look after yourself, man. Have fun spending all that dosh.”

David grinned at the look on Mick’s face. His mouth was hanging open and the cigarette had dropped from his mouth.

“Bye, Mick.”

***

The second time the taxi dropped her off in front of the cottages, Megan walked up the shady lane leading to Violet Cottage and she knew where she was going, and didn’t end up on the wrong porch. Her stomach fluttered and her heart pounded as she walked past David’s place. His front door was closed and all was quiet, but she wasn’t going to let that bother her. It was a brilliant late-summer morning and the slight breeze ruffled the shiny green leaves on the hedge lining the narrow laneway.

David had written the song for her to get her back, and now she was here, and they would find each other somewhere, somehow, in some time. That was the one thing she was sure of. A tremble went through her as she thought of going back through the stones. She walked around to the back of the cottage and put her bag down on the porch, closing her eyes as the heady perfume of the roses surrounded her.

The faint mooing of the cows in the field at the back of the cottages drifted across on the breeze and she put her hand up to her eyes and peered back across towards the village. Glastonbury Tor stood tall in the morning sun, and the last drifts of mist around the three marker stones were gradually disappearing in the light breeze. The brightly coloured tents of the festival had long gone and an idyllic English countryside spread out before her. With a happy sigh, she turned to the door, but paused as a flash of movement near the monument caught her attention.

Her breath caught as a familiar figure in a black T-shirt and black jeans stepped from behind the middle stone. Even from this distance, the sunlight highlighted the blue-black lights of his long curls. She waited with her heart thudding in her chest as he crossed the field to the gate at the back of Rose Cottage. She pressed her lips together and rubbed her arms as a lightness filled her entire body.

Finally, Megan stepped from the porch onto the soft grass and waited for David to see her. He stopped and stood stock-still. He turned his head slowly towards her and the expression on his face was all she’d dreamed of. His dark eyes lit up and those sexy full lips tilted in a huge grin. A surge of warmth began in the pit of her stomach and rose to her chest.

She smiled at him and held out her hand. He dropped his guitar to the ground and strode across his back garden, jumping the fence between the two cottages in one fluid movement.

David reached her and took her hand in his. Not one word was spoken.

The connection between them was sealed as a jolt of heat ran up Megan’s arm. He looked down at her, and his dark gaze held hers for a long moment before he took her in his arms and held her tightly against him.

Relief coursed through her body as he embraced her as though he’d never let her go. Warmth radiated through her and her heart drummed in her chest. She quivered with the effort of suppressing the emotion clogging her throat and wrapped her arms around his back.

“I heard my song.” She kept her voice soft and parted her lips as he lifted his head.

“I wrote it because I didn’t know where to look for you.” Holding her eyes with his dark gaze, his deep voice sent a shiver coursing through her.

“I know. That’s why I came back.”

Slowly his lips lowered to hers as though they had all the time in the world.

“I meant every word, you know.” He murmured against her lips and the vibration of his words sent the warmth rushing lower. “I love you, Megan. I want you in my life, wherever we are.”

His words filled her with joy and his touch drifted over her lightly; the sensation of intimacy held a promise of their future.