Mary Marshall was 36 today. She was contentedly single - if someone special came along, fine; if not, also fine! Children would be nice, but if it didn't happen, it would not be the end of the world.

She felt her life was a bit mediocre, but so were those of her friends. Married or single, they went to work, came home, did the usual mundane things, and life sort of doddled along. She did not feel that she was missing anything, but sometimes, on birthdays for example, she wondered if perhaps there was something she should be missing!

She strolled along to Finnegans, the local supermarket, where she was a checkout girl, still deep in thought. Someone nudged her, and broke her train of thought. Startled, she turned, to see her friend, June Parry. They usually met near this particular spot; June also worked at Finnegans.

"Penny for them?" June said.

Mary looked at her friend and smiled, "I was just thinking of something exciting happening for a change - like winning the lottery, or being swept off my feet by Mel Gibson."

"Fat chance," muttered June, then laughed.

They walked companionably, and entered the store still giggling at the thought of Mel Gibson popping up from between the freezers.

"Seriously though," said June, "You should do something out of the ordinary. How about booking on one of those package tours, those for 35-50, and go abroad this year? You've only yourself to please!"

Mary stopped in her tracks for a moment, "You, know June, I might just do that!"

June looked slightly taken aback, she'd never known her friend to do anything other than take a few days' break in Stratford or York, to wander round the shops and the Minster, seeking places of historical interest, and taking a look at the Yorvic Centre.

"Go for it," said June. "It's the beginning of May, you've three months to organise it and save up. You've always said you'd love to go abroad, you just might meet a Mel look-alike."

On her way home that evening, Mary picked up some brochures from 'Super Hols' on the high street.

"Italy," she thought, "I'll go to Italy. I've always fancied the Vatican and the Trevi fountain."

That night, as the evening cooled down, she lit the fire in her small flat, and settled down with a cup of tea and her brochures. As she poured over them, she felt her excitement mounting. The coloured pictures in the brochure brought Italy alive to her.

A week later, her holiday was booked for the end of July. The travel agent assured her that they had some nice people booking on the 30-50 packages, with some exciting trips booked to places of interest.

Over the next few months, Mary saved and shopped for her holiday. Demure shorts, colourful tops, summer sandals, and a few pretty summer dresses. A bag, packed with her suntan oils and cream, nestled ready in her suitcase.

Suddenly, it was the week before she was due to go!

She met June that morning and said, "I can't believe it's here, four days, and I'm off to Sorrento."

"Lucky you," said June, ruefully. "We're going to John's parents in Wales for a week. After having the drive and patio done this year, we can't afford a proper holiday. Send us a postcard."

In no time at all, Mary found herself sitting on the plane waiting to takeoff. The engine roared and taxied along the runway; suddenly, with a jerk, they were airborne. Looking out of the window at the disappearing airport and the approaching clouds, Mary's stomach seemed to shift and settle back into its normal position. She relaxed and settled into her seat.

After a pleasant meal and a couple of drinks, Mary nodded off whilst reading her magazine.

She awoke to bright sunshine. Looking through the window, she was surprised to realise she had slept for over an hour. The plane was preparing to land. She felt the gentle bounce as the plane landed.

She quickly collected her luggage from the carousel and set off to find her tour guide.

Soon, Mary and the rest of the party were bowling along in the coach, bound for Fiuggi, the village where their hotel was situated.

About 2 hours later they arrived.

The hotel was a small, family-run place, but no less grand for that. The building was white and covered in colourful vines. The patio ran right around the hotel, with many pots brimming with lovely blooms. Comfortable patio furniture finished the picture postcard effect.

Inside, the floors were marble, with an elegant curved marble staircase.

A small lift carried Mary and her luggage to the second floor, where she found her charming room. The initial effect was light and airy. Lovely old-fashioned furniture, white lace bed covers, white latticed blinds, flung open to welcome the sun and a cooling breeze, had Mary smiling to herself with pleasure. A small room, equipped with toilet, sink, and shower, completed Mary's temporary home.

Looking out of the window, the view was breathtaking; below, the patio, the gardens, massed in colour, and in the distance, mountains wreathed in a hazy mist.

She quickly unpacked, had a quick shower, to freshen up, and then went to explore.

The hotel staff greeted her with a friendly "Buon giorno, Signorina," their white teeth flashing her a smile.

She went out to the patio, where a few of her companions from the coach were already relaxing with cool drinks. Mary went and bought a glass of wine, and went to join them.

 

After chatting, and getting to know some of them, she joined the party, and went to the dining room.

They enjoyed a delicious meal of pasta and a creamy basil sauce, followed by fresh fruit salad, and coffee. Back on the patio, catching the last of the sun, the party chatted again, until the sun started to sink. Mary leaned back in her chair, and thought of Finnegans, so far away, and June, in Wales. She wondered if the weather was as perfect as this.

As the shadows crept around the gardens, small lights flickered on around the trees. It was delightful!

Shortly, the crowd started to drift to their rooms, tired from the excitement, and the flight. An early night for all, ready for an early start the following day, and off to Capri. As she made her way to her room, Mary mused on the pleasantness of the group of people, who were to be her companions for the next several days. About 8 or 9 men in their late forties and early fifties, and about 20 women, ranging from 30 to 60, made up the group.

The following day, waking to bright sunshine, the coach was soon on its way to the port and the hovercraft, which would transport them to Capri.

On Capri they took the funicular railway up to the heights, where the gardens and walkways were. The view was out of this world. As the railway pulled them up, they looked back on the shimmering sea, and the mountains.

The vegetation on the island was lush, green and colourful. Various gardens, with different themes, were linked by winding paths. Old statues and arches dotted the greenery. Small green lizards skittered across the path nervously.

Peering over the low walls, houses below looked tiny and far away. "Look," cried one woman, "I can see Gracie Fields' house." Everyone craned to see, cameras flashing, including Mary's.

Sitting in the shade, Mary still found it difficult to believe, "I'm really here," she breathed. The tiny lizards, and the strutting peacocks, added to her sense of unreality

All too soon the day came to an end. The crowd excitedly discussed the sights they had seen as they returned to the hotel.

After another sumptuous meal, the party retired to the patio, now splitting into small groups, as they got to know one another better. Not for long though; tired but happy, they all decided on another early night, ready for another early start the next day.

Next day, they were speeding along the motorway to Rome, the Vatican, and all the sights.

The Trevi fountain was a wonderful sight, the huge statues impressive, the square packed with tourists, all clicking away with their cameras. Mary took some lovely snaps, then made her way to the Vatican. There were tours lasting from one hour to six hours. Mary opted for the hour.

The Vatican was enormous, like a small village, and Mary happily wandered along the passages admiring the icons and murals. In the Sistine chapel the low lighting and the reverent silence seemed so right for the atmosphere. She marvelled at the freshness of the colours on the walls, as religious figures, frozen in acts related to the bible, seemed to stare back at her. The ceiling paintings seemed to be in 3d, so lifelike! St. Peter's Basilica was so interesting; looking through a small window, the chains which bound St. Peter were displayed.

The next tour was the highlight of Mary's holiday. Pompeii!

In the morning they visited Sorrento. As they ate lunch at a café, they overlooked the Bay of Biscay, and sat surrounded by orange and lemon trees. Life was voted, by all, to be perfect!

Their own tour guide passed them on to the local guides who would show them around Pompeii. As they walked around the ancient streets, they commented to each other in hushed tones, on the strange silence and the peace of the place. No bird song or animal noises, just the peace.

Several walked about conducting their various parties of tourists, each guide displaying colourful scarves tied to long canes. Any lost tourist would look for the familiar scarf, and find his guide.

The mosaics forming the pavements were still showing faint colours. Before each villa, in the courtyard, a different mosaic lay. Fawns, people, and Gods immortalised forever, giving the old buildings their titles. Inside the homes, luxurious murals were still visible on the walls. As Mary looked at the crumbling stucco, she wondered about the people who had laughed, loved, and died here.

In one villa, one of the rooms had a mural of a young couple. The guide explained that it was probably done at the time of the couple's wedding. The room would have been their bedroom. The young couple were both attractive, the woman small and dark, and the man taller and handsome.

Outside the `Villa of the Fawn ', a playful fawn, depicted in mosaic, leapt. The central heating system of the day could be seen; underground flues carried the heat from a small room at the rear of the house. Inside the room a large fireplace could be seen, the wall of the room still black with soot stains. Mary imagined the slaves, wet with sweat, toiling; throwing shovels of fuel on the fire, for the comfort of their masters.

Further on, evidence of a huge outdoor theatre showed where the ancient Romans enjoyed dramas and poetry readings. The tourists felt like silent witnesses of yesteryear.

Around a corner, a forbidding amphitheatre was evidence of cruelty, in the midst of the beauty. Here men and animals fought to the death for the amusement of the crowds! Still visible, were the small cells beneath the amphitheatre, where men and beasts alike were kept to await their fate. An air of sadness pervaded the place, a place where humanity kept other living creatures, forced to fight and die for the pleasure of the ancient Romans.

Mary found a quiet spot to rest. She sat on a stone bench in a secluded place, near to one of the old villas. She leaned back and closed her eyes. Suddenly to her astonishment, the sound of voices disturbed her, laughing and talking quietly.

Looking to her left, she observed several people dressed in togas, eating and drinking from low tables, some reclining on low divans. The surrounding buildings sparkled in the sun.

A small fountain, with a statue of a young boy blowing water from his flute, was in the centre of the garden, the water tinkling into the clear water in the trough beneath the statue. The tables were piled with food, fruit, and goblets of wine. In the distance a huge mountain smoked lazily in the blue haze surrounding it.

As Mary stirred, she was startled to feel the soft swirls of a white toga around her ankles, she looked down to see delicate thonged sandals on her feet. She rubbed her bare neck, and felt soft ringlets caught up in a metal comb.

One of the men called to her, "Olivia, sleepy head, come and eat." Somehow she knew it was her husband, Flavio. She rose, and slowly walked over to meet them, accepting a goblet of sparkling wine from the smiling man. She felt curiously graceful in the flowing costume, feminine and attractive. She felt puzzled, but strangely at home here. She knew she should not be here, but at the same time, it felt right!

Taking a handful of grapes, she sank down onto the soft divan, looking flirtatiously at the young man. The contentment made her feel so happy, and the loving glances from her handsome husband and her loving parents surrounded her with a sense of warmth and safety.

Gazing at the opulence about her, she realised she was one of the rich Roman families, her father was an important official in Pompeii. They lived a life of ease, cared for by slaves. The open doors of the surrounding buildings revealed a busy kitchen, and comfortable rooms draped in silks and other rich fabrics; beautiful murals covered the walls.

A small strange looking dog nuzzled her feet; she leaned down, and absent-mindedly scratched its ear.

Beyond the garden, through the entrance hall she could see the street. Large cobblestones, with deep ruts, formed the road. Incongruously, a Roman chariot went past the window, with a soldier pulling at the reins of the straining horse. Everything felt hazily unreal, but Mary did not feel any fear.

The family strolled out into the street. Laughing and chatting, they wandered along the open fronted shops. Shopkeepers bustled about attending to their customers. Food shops with delicious smelling wares, steam rising from the stone troughs, containing hot water, to keep the food warm. Further on, a smithy, making tools and weapons, and a silversmith, with lovely jewellery on display.

Men, women, children and animals thronged the busy main street. Flavio handed Olivia a delicate silver bangle; she smilingly accepted the gift.

Soon the heat and the crowds, plus the smell, drove the family back to their cool fragrant garden.

Olivia went into her bedroom, Flavio followed her, and they both looked at their wedding mural on the wall, remembering the happy day. She turned to speak to him, and the world tilted! They stared at each other in fear. The screams from outside drew them to the window, people were running and shouting in terror.

Suddenly the sky darkened, thick smoke began to drift across the once clear sky. A rumble heralded another sickening tremor. The family rushed outside, joining the mass of people hurrying to the harbour, trying to get to a boat, to take them to safety.

In the mad rush of frenzy, there were no masters and slaves, only blind panic. Neighbours trampled on neighbours, not even recognising them.

Black searing ash began to fall on the town, small fires erupting wherever it landed.

The great mountain was erupting, showering the crowds with hot particles of burning matter. A great tide of lava was visible, rolling down the mountainside, threatening to engulf them. The softly smoking familiar mountain was suddenly attacking them!

Olivia and her family were roughly shoved aside by their slaves; Olivia stumbled and fell, striking her head on a column. Her last sight, through her pain, strangely, was of the great statues as they seemed to be leaping down from their pedestals. Actually they were being dashed on to the hardness of the cobbles.

Mary stirred on the old stone bench, "Goodness, what a strange dream," she thought. She stood up and went to search for her group. Passing the villa where she had admired the mural of the young couple, she paused for another look. "I didn't notice before," she mused, slightly surprised, "She looks very like me."

Shaking her head, she followed the chattering guide, rubbing her arms as a sudden shiver brought goose pimples out; she felt something on her arm, looking down she found a delicate bangle.

Feeling a little frightened, she hurried back to the coach park, to the security of the familiar coach. Her mind was swirling with the weird events, the bodies of the ancient Romans made with plaster casts, so human, seeing chariots and slaves, and where had the bangle come from?

In her haste she almost fell over a clump of grass, a hand shot out to steady her. "Nearly went then, are you ok?" said a deep northern voice.

Mary looked up and his eyes widened, "I'm off the next coach, sorry for staring, but I feel as if I know you; but from a long time ago!"

Mary stared back into his dark eyes, and noticed his thick, dark, hair.

"Yes," she murmured, "I feel it too .."