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A Candy Candy Fanfic

Conceived and Written by: Lady Gato

Webmistress, Candy Candy Nation

Candy Candy Nation, 2004-2005Candy Candy Characters and Story Kyoko Mizuki and Yumiko Igarishi

Table of Contents

What Once Was and What Now Is

- Terrys Story

- Candys Story

- A Moment in Time

Lakewood, Spring of 1934

Bundling and Unbundling

A Weekend Amongst Family


Scotland, Summer of 1934

- Scottish Lochs and Hidden Locks -

The Master

The Muses Home

A Hearth from the Past

By Royal Command

Two Princesses and a Play

Le Bal dEt

The Shooting Star

The Second Afternoon

- Return to Innocence

- The End of the Second Summer

What Once Was and What Now Is

- Terrys Story

The tall, masculine figure turned away from the ancestral mausoleum located on the grounds of the private family chapel of Grantchester House, in Grantchester, Cambridgeshire. He was only 33, but felt twice his age.

My life is one long Shakespearean play he thought, not amused. Too bad the Bard wasnt around to chronicle it.

Born a bastard of one the highest ranking members of the English Aristocracy. Torn away from his mother, left in an elite, cold English boarding school devoid of any warmth and camaraderie and kept from any filial love, albeit not unlike his peers. Engaging in behavior that was rapidly cementing his angry, morose and lonely existence. Meeting the only true love he had known and that finally redeemed him, which was then cruelly taken away from, with the same game of fate he had once pledged he would not emulate. Falling so deep into despair and self destruction, only to be redeemed by one single, deeply haunting gaze from his true love. Returning to the fate he was avoiding to fulfill, though on his terms.

Yes, from that moment he had tried to live life on his terms. If his destiny was stopping and curtailing him from what he truly desired, then he would strike an unholy bargain.

Yes, he would marry Suzanne, be kind and gentle to her, but no more. She could not ask what was not his to give, for his true love owned his heart and soul. And that he was not willing to ask back.

Yes, he would come back and claim his artbut only because this was the only way he could honor his true love and the deep feeling they had once shared. She was the only Muse he had ever had; she was the only one he acted foreven if he knew she would never witness his impassioned soliloquies, his earnest deaths, his heartfelt speeches. As it had been his right as a leading actor, he always reserved and kept empty the best seat in the house. It was there where his Muse sat, and where he delivered his lines to. Once, when he had been at the lowest point, the most desperate point in his life, her eyes had shone at him, shone the light on him that he so desperately wanted to keep forever by his side. He had then hoped to see them again, but they never came back. Ephemeral, she wasjust a moment in time of his lifeand he had come to accept that. But on his terms.

Success and fame werent a substitute for what he had lost it brought him wealth, prestige and a public profile that he was always uneasy with. But he had always been a master of presenting himself differently to the world than whom he really wasonly she, the Muse, had ever seen the true Terrence Graeme Grantchester, and no one else would ever see him again thus. Those walls and masks he used were there for a sole purpose, and that was to protect him from attacks, disappointments, hurts and the entire world at large. Not even the woman he married knew who he really was. Her version of Terrence Grantchester wasnt much different than the one she had come to know when they were acting colleagues, other than he was a bit more friendly to her.

Not even his mother, whom he had finally had a rapprochement with, could crack that shell; although they had a relationship of sorts. He always felt that she wanted more but he was not willing to give it to her. They did become friendly and cordialover the years she was a bit of mentor, much the same way Robert Hathaway, his director at the Stratford Theatre, had become for him.

He was described as maddeningly handsome, gifted and charismatic; but phlegmatic, aloof and ill-tempered. He was baptized with the moniker Greatest Shakespearean Actor of Our Times; lauded as a genius. All his plays were sold out successes. But there was only one role that he dearly wanted to play and one sobriquet he desperately cherished, and that was never to bethe one of Her Husband. No, not hers, not the one he married. Noonly hers, his one true lovethe Muse.


His wife died after 15 years of marriage. She had never been strong of either spirit or body, and perhaps it was strangely poetic that she had started to die the day she lost her leg, when she lost a part of her body in order to save him; binding him to her by duty. A long term, debilitating physical illness with no cure had finally claimed her. He buried herhe was sad, but not inconsolable. He had always been lonely, even by her side. He mourned the loss of a human life, but not of his believed lifemateno, someone else had that honor, even if he would never be together with her. Anybody who really knew how he really felt would perhaps call him cynical or a hypocritebut of course, no one ever knew what really lay in him. Oh yes, he appeared to all to be sad, but that was just another acting job for him, one all too easy to call up from his repertoire. Only his mother suspected something else; but as it was between them, she never dared to ask. So he now carried the name of widowerimagine that he would think bemused, a widower in his early thirties. He should have had a full head of gray hair and a few wrinklesthat was the stereotype of a widowerhe looked 25, according to what was being printed of him. Still in the strength of his adulthood, he was young enough to have the vitality and the vigor of a young spirited tiger, and old enough to have the experience and some hard earned wisdom of an old, wizened and battle-scarred lion.

But another title was thrown unto and onto him, a title he had turned his back on when he left St. Pauls in order to save his true lovewhere, in looking back, that separation had the been the beginning of the end of their doomed, star-crossed relationship.

There had been a terrible accident, and the entire family diedthat family that never wanted or loved himthat family and all their responsibilities and duties he had tried to evade and escape, now.he was now the new Duke of Grantchester, with all the entitlements and privileges that it carried. He now was at a crossroadswhat to do? Had he had enough of the theatre, even if it was the only altar he prayed to the Muse to? Or should he retire from Broadway and make a second career elsewhere, elsewhere where once he had been truly blissful, elsewhere where he had dared to dream and give his heart and soul to the Muse? Wasnt he being called the master of his craft? Perhaps now he could return the gift bestowed at birth unto him and do it in the place where he had once known true happiness and love with the Musethat Summer in Scotlandso long ago

He owed nobody and no one anything or any explanations. Only to herthe Muse. But she had been physically long gone out of his life, and that had been by his own foolish and stupid lapse in judgment made in an overwhelming split second. He could only silently love and honor her in his mind, in his heart, in his soul and in his art. Therefore, it did not matter that he would leave the United States and return to his ancestral homethe home that he had dearly wished she would stay in, forevershe would be no closer or no farther than she had been, since that cold, unexpected winter day in late 1914. That day that he had let her go, against his full wits and his most fervent wishes.but in the end, who was to blame? Had he let her down, let her go without even trying, flying in the face of his own bravado and determination? Or had she impetuously decided to leave, turning her back on him forever? And what about that time, six months later, in a rundown traveling theatrehad that been a mirage? Had the tearful, sad beacon of her emerald eyes that begged him to take hold of his life again been real or not? Where was the courage to find out if that episode had been a figment of imagination or the Muse in real flesh and blood? Who was to blame? Or was either of them to blame? Was there an invisible, capricious author who toyed unmercifully with their liveswas life and destiny to blame? Had life let them down, forcing them to let each other goand if that was so, why? Why??


He got into the waiting car that would take him to his new life. The chauffer spoke to him, but sounds of his voice seemed farawayhe was lost in thought. He absently replied, his mind elsewhere

A sparkling loch, a fine, warm breezea sweet, nubile kissA lovely summer, long ago, with my Musethe only time in my life when I had been completely fulfilled, corresponded and happily in love with the woman I adored

Your Grace I am called now he smiled wistfully. Duke of Grantchester.Your Grace. A title by which I had called my father, and not in the best of ways over the yearsthe yearshow the years have revealed many things to much I continue to ache and long for herhow much I deeply and truly love herto love her until the end of my days and thereon, to wherever it is we go to when we passhow many things I knew when I was a young man with great certainty are still true

No Father, in the end, I did n