Michael's Muse

By Diane Reaves

Catherine and Michael, the lovers from the Smashwords ebook, The Egyptian Cat, discover who they once
were through past life regression and how soulmates are bound together by water and, of course, love.
And who were they?
Catherine is Lydia, a bright, impoverished girl from a village in Dorset County England, who first works in
exciting London, and then finds her destiny in the seaside Brittany region of France, as she learns
about life and love from two very different men. Was Michael a man in his past life named Maxwell,
who discovers Lydia in his London business? Or was he Jeffrey, the American writer who found
success and more when he wasn't looking.
All of them are entwined in the romantic Michael's Muse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Diane Reaves
• Release date: Aug 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005382049

Diane Reaves

Diane has always been a writer of sorts, from making up stories in her head when she was a pre-teen, working for the high school & college papers, majoring in radio-TV journalism in college, and giving her talents to non-fiction as a public relations professional - a real job. In between, she co-authored two fitness books, one translated in several languages and brought in royalties for over 20 years. Now retired, she’s finally writing the fiction she imagined creating all along. Growing up in the Midwest and living in the Southeast, Northeast and now the beautiful Northwest, she includes her scenic travels in the stories she creates about the characters she has met and known. Diane and husband, Graham, co-authored restaurant reviews for a newspaper and co-hosted a radio program of romantic music for a non-profit station. Expect some romance in her books, including “Michael's Muse,” the sequel to The Egyptian Cat.Now her third book is "The Two Lives of Jake", visiting one of the lead characters of the series in a parallel life experience,

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Michael's Muse

Diane Reaves

Copyright © 2020 by Diane Reaves

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 – A New Life for Michael – by Catherine

Chapter 2 – Growing Up in Blandford Forum – by Lydia

Chapter 3 – Lydia Goes to London – by Lydia

Chapter 4 – Maxwell Robbins

Chapter 5 – From Seashore to Seashore – by Lydia

Chapter 6 – Michael Finds His Past

Chapter 7 – A New Language

Chapter 8 – More Questions

Chapter 9 – Meeting on the Beach – Lydia and then Jeffrey

Chapter 10 – The Castle

Chapter 11 – The Dilemma

Chapter 12 – Stepping Stones

Chapter 13 – Writing Again

Chapter 14 – Where to Go From Here?

Chapter 15 – Two Ships Passing

Chapter 16 – Back Home Again

Chapter 17 – Final Option

Chapter 18 – Full Circle

Chapter 19 – The Antagonists at the Door

Chapter 20 – Juicy

Chapter 21 – Even Juicier

Chapter 22 – Poor Cornelia

Chapter 23 – Not Giving Up

Chapter 24 – The Next Step

Chapter 25 – The English Channel

Chapter 26 – Another Wedding?

Chapter 27 – A Wedding – Really

Diane C. Reaves

Chapter 1 - A New Life for Michael – by Catherine

"I’m drowning, Jeffrey. I’m drowning."

I was quickly brought out of the trance.

* * *

Michael had traveled over 50 years through time to find the woman he loved. And I wasn’t sure if the woman he had sought was me - or someone else.

What mattered was that he had become my Michael. I peacefully looked at him each morning, asleep in my large bed, now our bed, and experienced a sense of amazement that he was here with me in my time and my place. He was not in his world – or that in between space where we had first met. I couldn’t put a name to wherever that was.

As handsome as I had thought he’d be when I first sensed his presence, those many months ago, he was not a physical being then. That happened later. But I didn’t care. It was not his sensitive, good looks that made me love him.

It was an absolute knowledge that we belonged together regardless of how absurd our finding each other might be. And it was an instant acceptance that his love for me was one that had lasted through eternity. I couldn’t explain that feeling, nor could I explain how he had travelled in time. I wanted to know more.

Why is this creature all over my legs? Is this normal cat behavior? he asked me one morning.

I think he likes you. You’re a new prize for him. Something he has captured.

One of my two Abyssinian cats, Tai, was a usual part of our morning, curling up at the foot of the bed, still getting used to this man who had taken over part of his space. It was Tai who had been there during my discovery of the small Egyptian alabaster cat, an inanimate creature that had given me just a few of the answers to my questions about Michael’s life in Egypt.

The small artifact had belonged to my grandmother, but it had come to her through Michael, those many years ago when he had known her in Egypt. My mother had sent it to me when she thought it might give me some answers. None of the story about the precious cat had made any sense at first, and I still had questions about everything.

You’ve never had a cat, have you?

No, my mother didn’t want animals in the house. I once had a small dog for a few days. But it made a mess, and that was the end of that, he said with a wistful look. And we didn’t stay in one location for long periods of time you see. They were flats and such – not property to keep animals outside of the lodging.

How absurd this all was. It wasn’t something as simple as not understanding cats. Michael wasn’t my type – if there was such a thing. I was still learning about his traits and habits, and I had never known anyone at all like him. His accent was a blend of British, softened by the years he had spent in Egypt, and seasoned with a bit of his Scottish heritage. Some of his phrases were so….formal. That was his upbringing, formal. I never tired of hearing him speak.

He was tall and slender, almost too thin for his height – I needed to get him to eat more. When he first arrived at my house he wore a gray hat with a wide brim that covered his dark, sandy colored hair, now needing a trim. His eyes were hazel, changing colors with the light and his mood. It was how deeply they looked into mine that affected me the most.

He was a man-child discovering everything about my world, but, unlike a child, he was comparing it with the time he had left behind as a refined aristocrat. It was called wealth and breeding. He was trying to forget about that world, making every effort to blend into mine. I’d never known a man who would try to make those sacrifices.

Have you always had animals in your home? Since you were a child? Is that what Americans do – keep animals with them?

No, not always, though many people do. Some have dogs. We lived in flats too when I was growing up. But as soon as I was out of the house – when I went away from home – I got a small kitten. And I’ve had one ever since. I’ve always been drawn to cats. I hope you don’t mind them, Michael.

"I don’t seem to mind anything you do, my love.

Not only was he from a different time, and a different place – a man of wealth from a good family in Great Britain who had spent many of his adult years in culturally rich Alexandria, Egypt – he was now in the southern part of the United States – 1980s Atlanta, Georgia to be exact. The voices and the food and so many of the attitudes would have been culture shock for anyone moving here from another place. He hadn’t been exposed to it all yet, but Atlanta was full of the kind of culture he would recognize too. I was looking forward to soon taking him to things like our new art museum and to hear the symphony orchestra, but not yet.

And he was now living with a woman who had to earn a living – a tradesperson, he called it. He hadn’t been to my bookshop yet, but I planned to get him there soon. He said he forgave me that, being someone who worked for a living. I tried not to take that as insult or sarcasm, but all the things about my world were so different for him, and I could only try to imagine the adjustments he was experiencing.

Do you think you might be ready to visit the bookshop today?

Perhaps in a day or so.

Well then, would you like to try some grits with grated cheese on them for your breakfast? It’s a southern tradition, I offered.

Might I just taste them with other food, like toast and a soft boiled egg? If I don’t care for them, it will be many hours before luncheon. That was his polite manner to appease my efforts at giving him new foods.

Part of my way of loving Michael was to help him discover my world, and to help him realize who he might be in it. He was certainly willing to learn, but there was obviously a fear that permeated that willingness. I couldn’t blame him. I was afraid for him too.

What shall I do here? I’ve spent so long looking for you. I don’t know what my purpose as a man might be now that I’ve found you. Catherine, I must seek out my role in this new life. And what if I become the aged man I would be had I actually lived through those 50 years? Or worse, shall I not be allowed to remain in this time with you at all? That would be too cruel, he said. His voice sounded as if he were almost crying over that thought.

Oh yes, there was fear, and I shared it with him. We lessened it with our passionate love making, but our physical feelings were so profound that the fear then became even more intense for us. We could not lose each other after all he had been through. We needed answers to our many questions. We would have to resolve some unique problems that were unknown to the usual couple beginning a relationship.

I’m going to phone Bob Bailly, I told him. He might know about something that applies to us other than time travel, like why you found me or where we really were when we first connected – all that stuff. Bob had tried to help me before we found a way for Michael to travel. Maybe he’ll know about some resources for us to look into for our situation. In the meantime. . . . I wasn’t sure what to tell him.

I don’t expect that you have all the solutions. Have a go at it with Bailly. I am not going anywhere. I can assure you. I am quite certain that leaving you is not a purposeful part of my immediate plans.

* * *

Bob Bailly was a philosophy professor at one of the local universities and a regular customer at the book store that I owned. He dabbled in studying the occult, and was happy to visit with me about Michael. He had already told me that he was writing about the success of Michael’s time travel, but he had promised that publishing what he knew about us could wait until things were more settled. We agreed to meet in the small office at my shop in one of Atlanta’s older renovated neighborhoods, just minutes from my house by bus. My assistant, Henry, had started to handle the light morning book browsers, so we had enough private time for a conversation.

Bob, I’m willing to take any advice you have for me this time. He must have sensed the exasperation in my voice, since I had not been so cooperative earlier. My fear that this friendly academic would turn my life and Michael’s into a research project had started when I thought that he might do something to prevent our being together.

The smiling professor who looked like an aging and husky football player meant well where his work was concerned. But before Michael had safely arrived, he had also feared for my personal safety. He had repeatedly tried to discourage me from my meetings with this entity, somewhere between the past and the present. I had followed my instincts and allowed my new lover to travel to me after all. I had no regrets.

I’m relieved that you’re approaching me sooner rather than later. Is your time traveler turning out to be all that you had hoped?

Oh, yes. Our relationship is magnificent. But there are some little glitches to resolve, as you might expect.

Yes, I did think the cultural differences might be a problem, he said with an obvious attempt to control his facial expression.

Bob, you know that is not the big problem. And try not to laugh. If it was just that, well . . . we have several concerns.

I am taking this seriously, Cath. I can’t begin to imagine what you two are dealing with. But I’d be happy to help, if I can.

We aren’t the first couple in the world dealing with different continents and different upbringings. Those will be fun to share and work through. And even what he’ll do for a living – I have some ideas about that. He’s been journaling, and I think writing might be a good career for him. I do know a bit about the publishing field, and he won’t have to explain some major gaps on his resume if he becomes a writer.

Wow. Resume gaps. That would be a mystery to explain, wouldn’t it? Also, don’t forget to get him a social security card.

I’ll have to add that one to my long range list, I said with a sigh.

"But on a more serious note, we’re both concerned about the uniqueness of his situation. We don’t know if he’ll age quickly. I mean he was born so long ago. What if he’s like The Picture of Dorian Gray and suddenly shows his age – or worse? And he’s also fearful that he might travel somewhere else. I realize there aren’t specialists on these things, but are there any concrete approaches we could take to get more information?"

Well, here’s one you haven’t mentioned. Why did he time travel to you instead of finding your grandmother, the woman he originally loved? I haven’t heard any resolution on that one.

Michael had briefly known my Greek grandmother, Kakia, in Alexandria, Egypt, where her father managed the Greaco-Roman Museum. She was the woman he had first loved, almost to an obsession.

Yes, that has bothered me too. For awhile I thought he just had us confused, but now I don’t know why he found me. And interestingly, he doesn’t seem to know either.

I’ve thought that some past life regression work might give you some answers. Who you were in a past life, and who he was as well. You two might be connected in some other way than through your grandmother. You might have known each other before, a stronger connection than through Kakia. Catherine, I know some people who do regression work, right here in Atlanta. Do you want some names?

That sounds like a start. Anything we can try is better than just worrying and being afraid. I knew you’d have something for us. Give me the name of whoever you think is the best. You have been such a friend through all this, Bob. I promise you the entire story – as soon as I know it myself.

You know I’m going to hold you to that, Cath. And I promise to tell you if I think of some other options. I’m happy for you – I really am. This is a great love story, no matter where it started.

* * *

My next step was to try to convince Michael to go with me to the woman who did the past life regressions. When I got home I found him in the first floor study of my old Federal style house, the place where I had first sensed his presence. He was devouring one of my many books that he voraciously read, trying to catch up with life in this new world. I’d planned to get him a library card if he got brave enough to venture out. He always seemed to be taking notes about the things that interested him. He had the good makings of a writer.

Tai was curled up on the arm of the sofa where he sat, so the relationship problem seemed to be resolving itself for both the man and the cat. Tai’s mother, Maya, didn’t seemed too interested to be involved in any of it.

If he wouldn’t go with me for a past life regression, I would try it alone. But first I would make him the offer to experience it by himself.

Will you think less of me if I decline a new adventure at this time? he said. He had been through so many paranormal experiences in trying to find me, and then to actually travel to the future, that he apparently wasn’t sure he wanted to brave one more.

If my time with this woman is successful, would you consider meeting with her as well? I promise not to force you into anything.

He agreed to hear about my session and to think about going to see her later.

* * *

So I went alone. I only had to wait a week for my appointment. Her name was Ella, and when I mentioned that Bob Bailly had referred me, she was able to fit me into her schedule rather quickly. She lived in a medium sized brick house, in a pleasant residential area in one of the northern Atlanta suburbs. I wondered if the neighbors knew what interesting things she was doing in that ordinary looking house. She led me to a small room just off her living room, and mentioned that she only did regressions for recommended clients.

Ella looked as ordinary as her house. Her long, straight hair – brown with strands of grey - was pulled back into a pony tail, and she wore little make up on the thin face that matched her slender body. She reminded me of an aging hippie, not the exotic fortune teller type from old movies that I had expected. Her soft Southern tone of voice was soothing.

The room was about 9' X 10', and furnished only with a variety of large cushions, and one low bench along the wall under the window. There were wide-slat blinds on the windows that, when closed, cut out about 80% of the light. For the regression, she had arranged several of the flat, blue vinyl cushions on the floor so that I could lie on my back in the semi-dark room.

There was new age music playing quietly, and she explained in her reassuring voice that she would induce a meditative, hypnotic state. Ella asked if I was comfortable and did I understand what we were about to do.

I’m going to gradually take you back to earlier and earlier periods in your life, eventually to your birth experience. If that works, then I’m going to go back further and ask for memories of the last thing you remember before your birth. You may not remember what happens, so I’m going to record what you say, as you say it. Is that agreeable to you?

Yes. I trust that you know how this works. I have meditated, and learned self-hypnosis for relaxation, but I’ve never been hypnotized. Ella, I really want to do this, I said.

Good. Sounds like you’re ahead of many of my clients. Then we’ll begin now, she replied quietly.

It was fortunate that she recorded my responses, because I didn’t remember any of them, even at the very end of the first part of the session. It was the last thing on the recording.

"I’m drowning, I shouted.Jeffrey, I’m drowning."

She quickly brought me out of the hypnotic state.

* * *

Ella quietly asked if I wanted to continue. She explained that we would take a short rest break if I did want to go to the next level. I felt upset – different than I had felt when we had started the regression.

"You were having a difficult experience, and I don’t know how much information it will give you. Do you want to continue?

Yes, I think so.

We seem to have skipped the time between your lives, but I don’t think that’s what you’re looking for right now. What I’d like to do is go back farther in your previous past life – a place where you’ll be safe. You called out for someone named Jeffrey, so I suspect he is significant to you. We’ll try to find out your name in that life, and perhaps the time and place. That is what you want, is that right?

Yes. I did want to continue. I wanted to know who this Jeffrey might have been to me. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know why the moments she had recorded were difficult as Ella had put it. But if it gave some understanding to my relationship with Michael, I had to know it all.

We began again and this time she took me to an early part of my most recent past life. I was a young girl in a rather quaint looking village. The people around me spoke English, but with an accent that was foreign to an ear accustomed to the sound of Southern drawls. I seemed to belong there.

The air was dry yet chilly – not the moist and warm air of Atlanta. Another young girl, wearing what looked like very plain school clothes from a past era, seemed to be running after me, down a cobblestone walkway. Her brown shoes seemed worn and one of the laces was undone. She ran after me.

"Lydia. Wait, she called. Yer always one to hurry. Wait fer me, Lydia." That was when I knew my name had been Lydia.

Chapter 2 – Growing Up in Blandford Forum – by Lydia

My parents were only a distant memory of my childhood in Blandford Forum, and were so little a part of those years that I hardly thought about them at all. Having lost my mother and father from consumption at a very early age, my Aunt Josie cared for me in one of the Ryves Alms houses, first opened for the elderly.

The almshouses were built in the 1600s and were quite small by any standard. To my youthful perception, the brick dwellings, partitioned into narrow flats, seemed to be dollhouses, designed just for little people, like me and my small of stature aunt. The doorways were so low that a taller person would have to stoop to enter. As I grew older, I realized that they were subsidized housing for the not so affluent in the community. I refused to acknowledge that we were poor, and that is most likely what kept me cheerful and accepted by some of the other children in town.

"Lydia, it’s so quiet and peaceful in yer little house. I love comin here to visit," said Charlotte.

"You only enjoy it because it’s different from where you live. It’s not exciting at all like where you stay. If you had to be here, you would not like it so much. Of course, I enjoy