Beloved Enemies

BELOVED ENEMIES Pamela Kent

Miss Caprice Vaughan could hardly wait to take possession of the lovely Tudor manor house she had been left by her great-uncle, so it was disconcerting, to say the least, to find a lodger already installed who showed no signs of wishing to leave. How was she to get rid of Mr. Richard D'Arcy Winterton?

CHAPTER ONE Caprice surveyed the crumbling wrought-iron gates that guarded the entrance to a dismal drive in some surprise, for the very last thing she had expected of Ferringfield Manor was evidence of decay. According to the terms of her great-uncle's will she had been left a handsome income, and it had not unnaturally never once occurred to her that Great-Uncle Josiah's permanent residence for the last fifty years would fail to bear the hallmark of Great-Uncle Josiah's comfortable assets. But - more to her complete astonishment than her surprise Ferringfield Manor had the air of being almost derelict. The taxi-driver who had brought her from the station could have warned her in advance had he chosen to do so. He now looked extraordinarily glum. 'What do we do now?' he asked, turning in his seat. 'Go straight up to the house?' 'Why, of course.' Caprice looked still more astonished. 'What do you think I meant when I said take me to Ferringfield Manor?' The taxi-driver shrugged. 'The last time I came here the gentleman set the dogs on me,' he explained. 'And I wasn't doing any harm, either.' They were still sitting outside the gates, and Caprice decided to attempt to get the matter straight. 'What gentleman?' she asked. "And why did you come here?'

'I brought another gentleman who had some business at the manor. We were neither of us allowed to set foot inside the place,' he added resentfully. Caprice puckered her slim dark eyebrows. 'I don't think I quite understand,' she admitted. 'Old Mr. Vaughan was an invalid for many years, and he couldn't possibly have set the dogs on you.' 'Old Mr. Vaughan?' The taxi-man laughed as he glanced over his shoulder at her. 'I'm talking about young Mr. Winterton. He lived here then, and he's living here still, I believe .. . unless he's packed up and gone.' He looked violently vindictive. 'If he has, I hope his new quarters are pretty uncomfortable. And I hope those dogs of his have been put under proper control... destroyed I'd order them to be if I had the right!' Caprice asked several questions in somewhat of a hurry. 'But who is young Mr. Winterton?' Another shrug. 'The old man's nephew, I believe. And he isn't all that young. In his thirties, I'd say.' 'And you also say he lived here? Might be here still?' 'We'll find that out when we get up to the house,' grimly. And what else does he do apart from setting the dogs on people?' 'Drinks — like a fish. And is one for the skirts.' 'Skirts?'

'Girls,' contemptuously. 'And they're short enough nowadays, aren't they? Skirts, I mean, not girls! Get any shorter and it won't be safe for chaps like me to be around.' Caprice glanced down at her knee-length skirt, which was neat and decorous and matched her beautifully tailored jacket, and decided he had nothing to fear from her. But she was concerned about this unknown Winterton. 'I don't know anything about a man living in the house,' she said. 'I just have never heard of him. But then I've come all the way from Australia, and I wouldn't know much about what was going on here, would I? I was given to understand there is a kind of caretaker who looks after the house, and his wife - who can cook. I was hoping they would stay on to look after me.' 'Then you're going to live here?' For the first time the taxi-driver looked interested as well as surprised. 'Don't tell me you've inherited the place?' 'Yes, it's mine.' There was complacency and pride in the soft voice without any trace whatsoever of an Australian accent. Eyebrows went up, and the man in the driving seat whistled. 'Well, that makes rather a difference, don't it?' He studied her for a few moments with a kind of appreciation. She was certainly pretty ... rather more than pretty. She had soft dark hair and a peaches-andcream complexion, and wonderful deeply grey eyes. Every time she fluttered her eyelashes a faint powdering of gold at their tips showed up, and she used/ just enough eye make-up to render the eyes themselves positively striking. Like most modern young women she used a delicate lipstick, and it enhanced a wildly attractive mouth.

She had a lot of expensive suitcases in the boot, and he had been wondering what she was going to do with them. 'Well, if you want a piece of advice, don't stay in the house with that fellow,' he urged her, wondering whether he ought to turn about and take her back to the station. 'Maybe he's some sort of a connection of yours, but I still think you'd better sling him out if you're thinking of living at the manor.' He gazed at her more hopefully. 'Wouldn't like me to punch him on the jaw for you, would you, if he's still here?' Caprice smiled in an amused way. 'What about the dogs?' she asked. 'You can't punch dogs on the jaw, can you?' The driver sobered. 'One thing I'm scared of is dogs,' he admitted. 'Especially big ones.' He surveyed her dubiously. 'Still want to go on up to the house?' 'But of course.' She sounded almost demure. The taxi-man released his foot-brake, which grated horribly because it was an old taxi. 'Well, don't say I didn't warn you,' he growled, as they sped between the gates, 'Don't say I didn't put you in the picture!'. Half way up the drive Caprice began to feel acutely depressed by the approach to Ferringfield Manor. The main drive, which was of considerable length, was choked with weeds, and the shrubbery which had once been held in check now crowded happily on to it. The tall trees which bounded it were fine specimens, but they

increased the atmosphere of shut-inness and slightly sinister remoteness. And then a sharp turn provided them with their first, glimpse of the house, and Caprice's pulses stirred. This was a genuine Elizabethan manor-house, and there it was in front of their eyes . . . not so much carefully preserved as miraculously surviving despite the encroachments of nature. It had gabled ends and twisted Tudor chimneys and a romantic roofline, and much of it was in black and white. The remainder - the rosy red Tudor bricks - glowed in the sunshine of the late October afternoon. The steps were thick with autumn leaves, and when Caprice alighted from the taxi the leaves crowded thickly round her ankles and she had to more or less wade, through them to reach the steps. The taxi-man followed her with a couple of her suitcases, and while she tugged at the bell- chain he deposited them on the top step and looked about him dubiously. 'Eerie place, isn't it?' he remarked. 'Never anyone about... except when you don't want them!' recalling his earlier experience. He peered into the shadowy hall, which was a comparatively simple matter as the front door was standing partly open. 'No sign of any dogs!' he observed with relief. Caprice gave another tug at the bell-chain, and they both heard footsteps approaching the front door. A woman drew the door inwards, and it was possible to see the whole length of the hall. A _ magnificently panelled hall, but otherwise gloomy and with a good deal of dust adhering to the furniture. Caprice drew a deep breath, and felt for a few seconds vaguely excited. If this woman was to be a future employee of hers then it was as well that they should establish excellent relations from the

outset, and being a friendly soul herself she beamed at the tall, angular, faded woman who was wearing a rather drab apron. 'I'm Caprice Vaughan,' she announced. 'I think you must be Mrs. Beale?' The woman surveyed her with an anxious face. 'That's right, miss. Tim Beale - my husband - and I look after the place -' The driver grunted. 'Did you say look after?' He shrugged. 'Well, of course, it's a big place. Where do you want these?' looking at Caprice for a set of instructions. 'I'll carry them upstairs for you if you like? No trouble.' 'Thanks, but I'm sure Mr. Beale can manage that.' Caprice smiled at Mrs. Beale, who seemed to lack the energy to reply. Unless it was that she was too flustered to reply. 'Now, will you please tell me how much it is I owe you?' The driver calculated, and scratched the top of his head. 'Well, it's five miles from the station ... and you've rather a lot of luggage.' He scratched the lobe of his ear. 'Will a couple of quid be too much?' ' Caprice handed over two pound notes, and then added twenty-five pence by way of a tip. Mrs. Beale was move to protest. 'But it's no distance at all.'.. and Tim could have picked up your luggage later on if you'd left it at the station.'

The girl smiled at her. That's all right, Mrs. Beale. I had to have a taxi, anyway, in order to get here.' 'Well, now that you're here I hope you like it.' The taxi-driver grinned contentedly now that he was about to depart, and had so far escaped the dogs. 'Any time you want me, miss, I don't mind coming out and taking you wherever you want to go. Since you don't run a car you're going to be a bit cut off, otherwise, aren't you?' 'Oh, but I intend to buy myself a car.' Caprice had already made up her mind about this, and she was a qualified driver, so her future transport problems were small. If only her arrival at her hew home had been a little more in keeping with her dreams of what the moment of arrival would be like she would have felt distinctly happier about the immediate future. But life had had its problems in the past, and she was accustomed to cope with them. Whatever problems the future held, she would cope with them, too . . . And after all, nothing could deprive her of the knowledge that she was the mistress of this house, and she was mistress of a very satisfactory income. She had already discovered that with money you could achieve a lot of things. She and Mrs. Beale watched the taxi-driver depart, and then Mrs. Beale made the halfhearted suggestion that she might like to see her room. 'Please.' Caprice experienced a tinge of relief. 'I feel awfully grubby. I've been travelling since early morning, and my ship only docked yesterday. I wanted to travel by sea because it's so much more fun than a quick flight by air.' 'Yes - er - yes, of course.' Mrs. Beale looked about the shadow-filled hall as if she was attempting to make up her mind,, and Caprice

picked up one of her suitcases and prepared to follow her to the foot of the beautiful carved oak staircase. Mrs. Beale appeared to be listening for something. 'I -1 think it's all right to go up now . . .' She was plainly nervous, and she glanced upwards at the gallery into which the staircase led, 'Naturally, I didn't quite know where to put you, miss, as it's your house, and you might prefer one of the other rooms, but I decided you'd like to be on the sunny side of the house, overlooking the gardens. One of the principal rooms, as a matter of fact.' 'I shall explore the house tomorrow,' Caprice said cheerfully, as she trod the stairs behind her. 'And if J don't like my room I can always change it, can't I?' 'Y-yes, miss, of course.' This time Mrs. Beale peered downwards over the balustrade, and she seemed to be particularly interested in a gloomy corridor that branched off from the hall, and appeared to be lined with massive oak doors. From somewhere at the far end of thgt corridor vague scuffling noises were making themselves heard, and Caprice could have sworn that she heard the muffled whining of dogs. And then one of the dogs - if it was a dog-yelped, and the sound was succeeded by absolute silence. The gallery was the sort of gallery that is always the pride of such an ancient sort of house, and Caprice looked about her with interest. There were stout crossbeams soaring far away above her head, and in the absence of any noticeable electric light fittings stout branchings candelabra stood on stout oak chests and tables, and there were also one or two ordinary candlesticks holding candles that had guttered badly and filled the shallow pans with wax. Before they plunged into a corridor which appeared to run parallel with the one below it Caprice voiced an enquiry which she didn't really expect to be answered in the affirmative.

'You seem to me to use a lot of candles,' she remarked. 'But it isn't possible that you haven't got electric light, is it?' Mrs. Beale glanced back at her over her shoulder. 'There's never been any electric light at Ferringfield,' she replied. Caprice could hardly believe her ears. 'But you're only five miles from a town,' she protested. The caretaker's wife shrugged. 'That's as maybe . . . but old Mr. Vaughan could never see the need for having electricity installed. He didn't care for what he called modern innovations, and we still have to draw all our water from a pump in the kitchen courtyard. I don't mind it myself, because I'm used to things here, I don't mind it if they never change.' But she glanced dubiously at Caprice, in her expensive travelling outfit, and her look said plainly that she very much doubted whether the new owner would share her sentiments for long. They plunged into yet another corridor, and then - to Caprice's extreme relief, for she had begun by this time to be the victim of grave apprehensions - the door of a bedroom was flung open, and even before she entered it she could see that it was quite delightful. The walls were panelled, and there were a lot of oak beams, but the floor was covered by quite an excellent Indian carpet, and the bed looked reasonably comfortable if rather huge, and the rest of the furniture had quite plainly received a recent polish. There was even a small vase of flowers on the dressing-table, and Caprice turned to the older woman to express her gratitude.

'Oh, but this is nice,' she declared. 'And it was very kind of you to think of flowers!' She picked them up and inhaled the perfume of the two darkish red damask roses the vase contained, and Mrs. Beale actually turned a little pink with pleasure because for once in her life she had done the right thing, and her new employer appreciated it. 'That's all right, miss.' She played with the edge of her apron, and her faded eyes brightened. She watched the girl remove her hat and shake out the soft dark hair that had been so lovingly styled by an expert hairdresser, and she wondered secretly how this young thing was going to fit into the scheme of things at Ferringfield, and whether perhaps she ought to warn her of what she could expect. And then she decided against any warning at this stage. : 'I expect you'd like a cup of tea...' she was beginning, when somewhere far off in (the house a dog most decidedly barked. Caprice turned in curiosity. 'So you have got dogs,' she said. Mrs. Beale stared blankly. 'They're not ours, miss. Tim and I like cats, but we don't go much for dogs.' 'No?' Mrs. Beale hurried on: 'Not large ones, anyway. It costs such a lot feeding them - ' 'But you have got dogs - or a dog, here in the house?' The caretaker looked frightened.

'They're Mr. Winterton's dogs, miss. He will insist on keeping them here. I -1 told him you mightn't like it-" 'Mr. Winterton?' 'He's lived here for years, Miss Vaughan,' in some agitation. 'You might say that this is his home. I know old Mr. Vaughan expected he would leave when you took over, but he's just dug in his heels and says he won't leave. Tim and me, we've talked to him. We thought you mightn't like it...' Caprice's slender brows crinkled. 'I take it that this is Mr. Richard Winterton? Who sets his dogs on people who come to the house?' , 'He does sometimes, miss. But we persuaded him to keep them shut up today . . .' A voice from below bellowed in an angry fashion up the stairs. 'Mrs. Tim, what's keeping you? You know I like my tea punctually at four o'clock... and my fire's low, and I want some more logs!' Mrs. Tim looked in an appealing fashion at her new mistress. 'I'd better go, miss - ' But Caprice set her aside. 'Oh, no, Mrs. Beale,' she replied gently. 'Not until I give you permission to serve tea to Mr. Winterton, and have had an opportunity to find out exactly why he's here and what, precisely, he imagines he's doing here, when the house is mine.' At the look of sheer horror that flashed into Mrs. Beale's face because a demanding gentleman whom she had apparently served for years was to be kept waiting, and put through some sort of interrogation, Caprice felt her decision to put an end to this sort of situation become more concrete. 'After I've had a little talk with Mr. Winterton you can make tea for us both,' she instructed sweetly.

'And after that you will no doubt be called upon to help Mr. Winterton to pack.' The faded and badly alarmed caretaker's wife gaped at her. 'Oh, but I'd never have the courage to do that, miss . . . and anyway, he wouldn't go!' she predicted. She put back a wisp of hair from her forehead with a trembling hand . 'I tell you he'll never leave, miss, and you'll just have to put up with him, like we all do! Besides, if you turn him out, I don't know where he would go-' 'Leave that to me.' And Caprice stepped out into the corridor. Mrs. Beale stood nervously pleating her apron while Caprice descended the stairs.

CHAPTER TWO Mr. Winterton had returned to the room at the end of the corridor where he and his dogs had been incarcerated for the past hour by the time Caprice reached the foot of the impressive oak staircase. She stood looking about her once more at the shabby hall, and decided that one of the first things she would, get Mrs. Beale to do once she herself had had an opportunity to settle in was give the place a good clean up, and then if the furniture wasn't too depressed by lack of attention see if it could be induced to shine. Mrs. Beale had given her a set of hoarse instructions. 'Turn left at the end of the main corridor, and then it's the first door on your right. We've always called it the library.' Caprice's brows crinkled once more. So Richard Winterton had made the library his headquarters, and that was where she would presumably find him 'dug in.' She could hear his dogs beginning to bark in chorus as she walked briskly along the corridor, but her foot-' steps did not falter. She was used to dogs to feel any particular chord of dismay vibrating in the region of her heart; and even when she reached the library door she did not hesitate except to knock. A positive baying commenced on the other side of the door. But it was not opened to her immediately. Neither was there any response to her knock apart from the wild clamouring of the dogs. She rapped sharply again, and yet again. This time a voice called to her lazily: 'Come in - if you dare!' Caprice did not need a second invitation, and she turned the handle of the door. A flurry of fur leapt at her, and but for the fact that she

backed hurriedly against the wall behind her she would have gone down. As it was, sheer brute force kept her pinned against the wall, but the expression of her eyes did not alter. It was completely unafraid, completely cool, even mildly curious. There were three dogs, and one was an Alsatian, while the other two were setters . . . splendid specimens, each of them, and obviously well cared for. All this she noted in a matter of seconds, and while her position was a little undignified, to say the least. And then, while she made no attempt to move, the owner of the dogs appeared in the open doorway, and for the first time she looked into the eyes of Richard Winterton. Most people agreed that they were unpleasant eyes. They were hazel, with little green and gold flecks in them, and they had a habit of narrowing unpleasantly when he was amused. Only when he was surprised did they open to their fullest extent, and the fact that she was not screaming for help or displaying anything in the nature of fear despite the fact that she was firmly pinned against the corridor wall by his favourite animals caused them, on this occasion, to open very wide indeed. He whistled softly. 'Well, well,' he exclaimed. 'Well, well!' And then he called the dogs off. 'Sully, Viscount! Leave the lady alone! Beatrice, the lady is not for destroying! At any rate, not yet!' Caprice dusted down the front of her suit with a hand that was still perfectly steady, and then automatically straightened and pushed back an end of her hair. The uninhibited enthusiasm of the dogs had interfered with the absolute neatness of her appearance, and she was aware of it, but the knowledge did nothing to affect her composure. After all, in between attending a finishing-school in Switzerland and taking a short language course in Paris she had grown up on a lonely

Australian cattle station, and there had been many moments in her past when her appearance had suffered as a result of conditions. One did not take on all the cooking in a big station kitchen, or help to round up cattle, and stay as neat as a new pin. She was not as neat as a new pin now, but it did not trouble her. 'Miss Vaughan, I presume?' Richard Winterton murmured, and casually lighted a cigarette while he studied her. Caprice answered in a completely unruffled manner. 'I don't imagine you were expecting anyone else. Or do you normally accord your friends and well-wishers the welcome that you sought to impress upon me?' He laughed in an amused way. 'Well, I'm glad it penetrated that I was seeking to make an impression. I didn't want you to get the idea that I've been counting the hours until your arrival. But as for friends and well-wishers . . . well, I don't go in for them. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to state that they don't go in for me!' 'I'm not surprised.' She took a few steps towards the library door. 'May I come in?' 'If you wish.' He stood aside from the door, and, more than that, he ordered the dogs to he down and not to interfere with her. They obeyed him by occupying the whole of the rug before the fireplace. 'It seems that you're not unused to canine attentions.' 'I'm not.' She stood looking about the library, and she was surprised because, apart from a certain amount of untidiness, it was in excellent order,

and the massive furniture was all well cared for, and the soft furnishings were in excellent condition. This was much more the sort of thing she had expected of Ferringfield Manor . . . and, in addition, despite his outcry because his log basket was nearly empty, there was a really splendid fire blazing on the stone hearth, and the general impression was one of extreme comfort and even luxury. 'I see you look surprised.' He managed to disperse the dogs and find a space for himself on the rug before the fireplace, and while leisurely smoking his cigarette he propped his broad shoulder against the handsome carved chimney breast behind him, and obviously prepared to take in all the details of the newcomer. 'What you've got to realise is that this is a large house, and poor old Tim and his wife have as much as they can manage to do keeping the place ticking over, and the meals and so forth served on time. In Josiah's time there was an extra helper, but she skedaddled when she heard that Josiah had left her five hundred pounds ... and although she hasn't received it yet she's gone on a wild spree (or so I imagine) to celebrate. Most people celebrate when they have some money left them.' 'Have you had occasion to celebrate, Mr. Winterton?' She perched herself on the arm of a chair, folded her hands primly and looked directly at him. 'You mean did Josiah leave me five hundred pounds as well? No-; he didn't leave me a penny.' 'And I don't think he mentioned that you had the right to go on living here, did he?' with deceptive softness. 'I have seen a copy of the will, and your name doesn't seem to have been mentioned anywhere. So why do I find you still, apparently, comfortably settled in here? And not only you, but all these animals?' waving a hand to indicate the dogs, now composedly snoring with their heads on their paws, while the bright firelight played over them and the October day died outside.

'Ah, so that's the way of it, is it?' He wagged a languid finger at her. 'You have come here to upset my way of life? And that although you never, I'm willing to wager, gave a thought to old Josh in his lifetime, and your father never gave a thought to him, either. By the way, your father is dead, isn't he?' more curtly. 'Yes; otherwise I wouldn't hive inherited.' 'And you are no more than a very distant cousin of old Josh?' . 'Not a distant cousin. He was my great- uncle.' 'Well, a great-uncle could happen to any of us. Only I wasn't fortunate enough to be able to say that Josiah Vaughan was my greatuncle. He was merely my benefactor . . . And as such, he has passed away. You have arrived here in his stead, and something tells me your disposition is not benevolent, and you are going to ask me to move on. Well, you might as well know that I have no intention of moving on. I shall remain here for as long as it suits me. Is that quite clear to you?' Grey eyes and hard, flinty hazel ones met, and Caprice received the distinct impression that a gauntlet had been flung down and she was expected to pick it up. Instead she merely sat looking at him thoughtfully for perhaps a full minute, and during that minute she took in all the salient points about him. He was a man with a dark, shut-in, rather villainously handsome type of face, and he was rather above middle height with a spare frame and unusually slim and shapely hands, for a man. She noticed his hands particularly, for while she was staring at him he tossed his cigarette into the fire and reached for a pipe from the pipe- rack on the mantelpiece. With a slightly cynical expression on his face he waved the pipe aloft as if asking permission. 'You don't mind?'

'Mr. Winterton.' She drew a deep breath. 'We haven't been formally introduced, but I'm Caprice Vaughan.' He had an excellent set of hard white teeth, and she glimpsed them for a moment as he smiled a little one-sidedly. 'How do you do, Miss Caprice Vaughan. I must say I hope the name was bestowed purely by accident.' She refrained from smiling in answer. 'You are Richard Winterton?' 'Richard d'Arcy Winterton.' 'I'm afraid I've got to ask you to sever your connection with Ferringfield Manor, Mr. Winterton. The house and estate are now mine, and so far as I know you haven't the smallest right to be here at all. In fact, I never even heard of you until I arrived here about ten minutes ago.' 'Dear me,' he commented, cramming tobacco into the bowl of his pipe, and ordering one of the dogs to stop snoring, 'the things some people miss.' 'I don't want to seem unreasonable, Mr. Winterton, but you will admit that we can't both live here, and you must be the one to go. Could you pack up and leave tomorrow, do you think?' He regarded her thoughtfully, with a rather alarming glint in his eyes. 'I could, but I don't intend to,' he replied, applying a match to the bowl of the pipe. Caprice began to feel exasperated.

'Mr. Winterton—' she began with emphasis. 'You might as well make it Richard,' he interrupted her coolly. 'People who live in the same house can hardly go about addressing one another with the maximum amount of formality. I shall call you Caprice... although, as I've said before, I hope you are not capricious by nature.' For the first time she wondered how she was going to deal with a situation that was quite novel in her experience; and she even wondered whether she ought to telephone her London solicitor and ask him to travel north with all speed. She got up and walked towards the door, deciding to allow herself time to think the matter over, and as she did so one of the dogs growled and instantly sprang to bar her path. Richard Winterton exclaimed a little irritably: 'Be reasonable, Beatrice. You can't expect a lady to arrive at her new home and be deprived of the means of exit from her own library. You'll just have to get used to having a mistress about the place ... and respect her privileges as much as you respect mine. I understand perfectly that it's going to be difficult at first. But we'll all get used to the new set-up in time.' 'I think not, Mr. Winterton,' Caprice observed icily from the near neighbourhood of the door. He shrugged. 'Of course, if you're determined to make the situation more impossible than it is . . . However, perhaps someone ought to have prepared you in advance. It would have prevented your arriving here with no knowledge whatsoever of the one fly in your pot of expensive ointment. And although I have no wish to prove an awkward fly I simply do not intend to spread my wings and leave you with the pot of ointment to yourself. Now,' he glanced at a

grandfather clock that was ticking comfortably in a corner of the room, 'I don't know whether you'd like to join me for tea and crumpets - I always insist on crumpets at this hour of the day! - or whether you'd prefer to have yours up in your room, but after your journey you'd probably prefer your own. room, and I shall have to harry Mrs. Tim, who is neglecting me shamefully for the first time in living memory. By the way, she's an excellent cook, and I do hope you won't feel tempted to fire her because she's inclined to leave dust lying about on surfaces that might present a better appearance if she gave them a good hard polish. And as I know she's got a fine- fat duck for tonight, with all the trimmings, I do hope you won't decide to skip dinner ... which, by the way, is at eight o'clock sharp.' There was no doubt about the insolence of his tone and his look, and Caprice made her escape hurriedly, realising that the first round in the battle had most unaccountably been lost to the enemy. She could only suppose that it was because she was so utterly unprepared for meeting someone like Richard Winterton that the initiative had been wrested from her, and when she met Mrs. Tim upstairs in the gallery she gathered that that good woman was already cognisant of the situation, and had almost certainly been listening at the other end of the corridor while the opening skirmish had taken place in the library. 'It's no good, miss,' she said to Caprice, as soon as she saw her. 'You won't get rid of him as easily as you apparently think. Mr. Vaughan could never get rid of him . . . but he did cut him out of his will. At one time he was to receive quite a large legacy, I believe.' 'Really?' Caprice sank down weakly on a chair in the gallery. 'I - I don't quite know what I'm going to do, Mrs. Beale,' she admitted. 'But,' she added, with sudden spirit, 'naturally I shall not allow the situation as it is to continue. Mr. Winterton will be packing up his things tomorrow.' 'Will he, miss?' But Mrs. Beale failed to sound convinced.

'Of course. And if he doesn't I shall ask my solicitor to come here and order him to leave -' The voice of the gentleman who was to be ordered to leave floated up from below, and Mrs. Beale started as if an irresistible summons had fallen on her ears. 'Mrs. Tim! What about my tea? And if you let my fire out you'll have to light it again, you know!' The caretaker's wife, without another word to Caprice, scuttled off downstairs. Caprice went through into the bathroom that adjoined her room and started mechanically to wash her hands. A clean towel had been put out for her and a cake of lavender toilet soap. She inhaled the fragrance of the lavender perfume and recognised that for the first time in her life her slim and shapely hands, with the pretty pearlised nail varnish on the excellently shaped nails, were shaking with rage. Her whole body was shaking with rage, if it came to that ... and she felt, at the same time, as if someone had unexpectedly tripped her up, and she hadn't yet recovered her balance. Of all the impossible, unlikely, unmannerly, unlikeable men she had ever met in the whole course of her twenty-four years Richard d'Arcy Winterton, with his particularly unpleasant type of face and insolent voice, was the most impossible, unlikely, unmannerly and unlikeable. He was, indeed, something so entirely new in her experience that she was temporarily quite floored by him, and would have to think the problem that he represented over before she saw him again. She decided to have a tray of tea sent up to her room, and to make no attempt to see the rest of the house until the following day. If the truth was told, she was quite appalled by the thought that she might bump into Richard Winterton if she ventured downstairs again, and

after a long and tiring journey and an encounter that had left her feeling physically shaken she knew she just hadn't the aplomb to see Richard Winterton again that night. In the morning, when she felt both rested and stronger, she would wade in and deal with him - summarily, and efficiently. She promised herself that his bags should be packed and his dogs evacuated from the library by the same hour the following day. She was anxious not to fluster Mrs. Beale any more than she was already flustered, so she said she wouldn't bother about dinner that ' night, and that she would go to bed early. Mrs. Beale looked immeasurably relieved, and returned to her kitchen to prepare roast duck for Mr. Winterton with no feeling that she was acting in opposition to her new employer's wishes, for Miss Vaughan at that particular period of time didn't seem to have any. She reported to Mr. Beale, when he came in from sawing logs in a distant corner of the grounds, that the young lady had arrived and seemed a nice enough young woman ... but so far nothing had been done about Mr. Winterton. She doubted very much whether anything ever would be done about Mr. Winterton . . . which proved she was no true judge of character. Certainly not the character of a young and purposeful woman born and brought up -in a new and purposeful country. Mr. Beale, who was thinking more of the local darts team he was to form part of in the village inn that night, merely looked uninterested. So long as he had a corner of a warm kitchen and no one interfered with him in the course of his duties outside in the not unpleasant wilderness that the grounds of Ferringfield Manor had been allowed to become he didn't mind who took over in the manor itself. He would have preferred a man, because he mistrusted all women. But it was not a matter of vital importance. And if the new Miss

Vaughan was young and personable then presumably she would marry one day. So why worry about her present attitude of mind? In any case, if he was laying a wager, he knew on which side of the fence his money would be placed... and it wouldn't be the side of Miss Caprice Vaughan. Caprice slept well that night, which surprised her when she woke up in the morning and discovered it was a brilliantly fine day. Usually, in a strange bed, she slept badly . . . and with so much on her mind it had seemed reasonably certain that she would sleep badly. But no sooner had her head touched the pillow than she fell asleep. Just before it touched the pillow she had wandered along the corridor and into the gallery that overlooked the well of the hall, and her nostrils had been offended by the .smell of a rather strong cigar that came floating up to her. She leaned over the gallery rail and looked down. Richard Winterton - in a dinner-jacket, of all things - Was standing in the very centre of the hall and smoking his cigar thoughtfully. Even as she looked he removed it from his mouth and examined the glowing tip of it, with the air of one who was not so much considering the virtues of the cigar but dwelling upon a minor problem. She heard him speak softly to one of the dogs - the Alsatian, Beatrice, who seemed extremely attached to him - when it slunk quietly up to him. He laid a hand on its handsome head and patted it several times. 'Have a good dinner, Beatrice?' he enquired. 'There must have been quite a lot of that .duck left after I'd finished with it, and neither Tim nor his wife are in the least partial to duck. Of course, it isn't ideal fare for a set of hounds, but in your case it was probably reinforced

with some good beefsteak. Anyway, I hope so. I don't want you to lose weight, old girl,' Caprice, above him in the gallery, felt as if her blood was coming slowly to the boil. Duck and beefsteak for his dogs, and presumably she had to pay for the items. Of all the unwarrantable extravagance! Winterton continued to caress Beatrice, and to talk to her. 'Pity you can't appreciate a good wine, old girl. But I can! .. . And that was an excellent hock Mrs. Tim served up tonight; Of course, it should have been claret, but I think we've disposed of most of the really good claret in the cellar. There are one ox two bottles of champagne left, but I'm reserving them for a special occasion.' Caprice's indignation boiled over, and she made an unwary movement. Beatrice's ears went up, and she bounded towards the foot of the stairs. But Winterton called her back, laughing softly as if gently but genuinely amused. 'It's only our Miss Vaughan, old girl. You'll have to get used to having her around. I'm surprised you didn't realise she was up there in the gallery. Your senses must be blunted by too good a dinner . . . I'm very much afraid you did finish up that duck!' Caprice beat a hasty retreat in the direction of her room, and she was furious with herself because she knew that she had temporarily put herself in an impossible position, and Richard Winterton had been amusing himself at her expense.

CHAPTER THREE WHEN she saw him next day he was examining the contents of an impressive bonnet attached to a gleaming Jaguar car, which was occupying a large part of the space inside one of the two garages that had been recently built on to the stable quarters at Ferringfield Manor. Surprisingly, they were not the stables converted, but entirely new garages. Which meant that for certain purposes money had been lavishly allocated at Ferringfield. 'Good morning.' Caprice stood in the wide open doorway, and looked deliberately at Winterton. She had dressed herself carefully in a pale primrose sweater and almost pure white jodhpurs. Richard Winterton was quite nattily dressed in a well-cut tweed hacking-jacket and country cords, and he looked as if he was accustomed to playing the role of squire of Ferringfield. He also looked - in the clear bright light of day - surprisingly healthy and fit for one who lived the kind of life the local taxi-driver had described the previous day. It was true - in that same clear bright light - there were the merest suggestions of pouches under his eyes, and the well-cut mouth was a little loose at the comers . . . perhaps sensual was a better word, a more descriptive word. And even his smile had a faintly sensual quality. He looked up now and smiled at her, and then he touched an imaginary forelock. 'Good morning, Miss Vaughan... enchanting lady of the house! And, I must say, you do look the part, don't you?' Caprice ignored this, and she tried to ignore the cool amusement in his eyes as his look roved over her.

'I expect you're getting ready to leave, aren't you?' she said, in the same cool tone that he himself had used. 'What a beauty of a car that is! Is it really yours, or have you borrowed it for the purpose of removing your things?' For an instant his eyes not merely darkened, but glinted as if she had said something to which he took particular exception. 'It is really mine,' he answered, with a slight edge to his voice. 'Much as that admission may surprise you! And I hasten to disabuse you of the idea that I am preparing for departure. I think I told you yesterday that that is certainly not my intention.' Her grey eyes glinted back at him. 'Then you'll have to begin to think about departure, won't you, Mr. Winterton? Departure before lunch, if you don't mind, as I'm not very much addicted to taking meals in my room/ She had already breakfasted in her room, and her heart had fairly leapt when she saw him examining his car. For, despite his bold assertions of the day before, she could not really accept it that he would be foolish enough to attempt to go on living in a house where he was not only not wanted, but according to the terms of the late owner's will had not even the shadow of a right to be found at that present time. Slowly, and quite methodically, he closed the bonnet of his car, gave the gleaming surface a wipe with a yellow duster that he extracted from one of the door pouches, and then put the duster away again and slowly crossed the garage until he was standing no more than a foot away from her. 'Miss Vaughan,' he said, in an extremely quiet and reasonably amiable voice - although his eyes were still very dark - and his chin

and jaw looked a trifle grim, 'Miss Caprice Vaughan, it's high time you and I understood one another! You are here because your greatuncle excluded me from his last will and testament, and not because you were included. Your father might have had a shadow more right here . . . but you, in my opinion, have none! A horsey young woman from the outback who had no idea what England looked like until yesterday -' 'How dare you call me horsey!' It really was rather ridiculous, for her appearance was exceptionally feminine, she was slightly below middle height, with inadequate hands and feet - very small feet in very small brown polished boots. And the only indication that she had had quite a lot of contact with horses since she was small was given away by her impractical- looking jodhpurs. And although their colour was impractical they were undoubtedly designed for horseriding, and bore all the hallmarks of a first-class equestrian tailor. Winterton, while going through the motions of lighting himself a cigarette, pointed this out to her. 'I imagine you were about to make a descent on the stables, which you'll find depressingly empty of anything recognisable as horseflesh. When I want -.to ride I borrow a mount from a friend one of our nearest neighbours. And she isn't in the least horsey . . . you might as well know that well in advance of meeting her.' 'So our nearest neighbour is a she?' She felt inclined to spit at him, standing there so composed and insolent, and offering her affronts in her own garage. 'I might have known, after all I heard about you yesterday that if you found it necessary to borrow anything at all you'd borrow it from a woman! The taxi-man who brought me here said that you had a weakness for skirts, and I can well believe him-'

His hand shot out and he grasped her wrist, and she winced because his fingers felt hard and brutal. But the tone he used to her was soft and almost seductive. 'Did he. really? Tell me some more of your taxi-man . . . and all the other revelations he made to you about me! Tell me, little Aussie, why you arrived here thirsting for my blood, and why instead of asking me politely why I'm in residence in your house you ordered me out as if I was some kind of unexplained housebreaker. In your country do you never wait to find out? Do you go after everyone's scalp with a hatchet?' 'I don't know what you, mean by my country.' She managed to wrench away her wrist. 'I'm English by descent.' 'I'm surprised that you boast of it. Your manners are not English.' She flushed, and felt really indignant. 'And who are you to talk about manners? Your behaviour to me when I arrived yesterday was nothing short of scandalous. You even set your dogs on me—' 'I didn't set them on to you. I allowed them to make your acquaintance first... and I think that revealed discretion.' 'It was lucky for you that I wasn't badly mauled by them. If I didn't happen to be used to dogs I might have been...' He regarded her with a certain amount of belated admiration . . . unwilling admiration, but admiration nevertheless. 'Yes, you did show up rather well receiving the attentions of my pets. And they're actually perfectly harmless, although some people do receive the impression that they're man-eaters ... However, to get back to the subject of your taxi friend.' His face grew distinctly dark,

and before the look of pure venom in his eyes she felt an inclination to turn and beat a hasty retreat in the direction of the house. 'What else did he say about me? And what did he think he knew about me?' She moved her feet uneasily, and the movement was in the direction of the open door of the garage. 'He complained that you set your dogs on to him when he came here one day, and of course you hadn't any right to do that—' 'I remember.' He nodded his head sardonically. 'He brought someone here I didn't want to meet, and so I got rid of them both. I'm delighted he has acquired a proper respect for my powers of getting rid of unwanted visitors.' But this provided Caprice with an opening again. 'This isn't your house, and you had no right to turn visitors away . . . not in that manner,' she objected. 'How do you know they hadn't come to see my Uncle Josiah?' 'Great-uncle,' he corrected her. 'And he was in no condition to receive visitors at that time. Besides, the visitor—not visitors—was not for him.' 'I see.' 'Do you?' He regarded her with a look of contempt. 'I wonder how much, precisely, you do see? You've been favoured by fortune, and you come here ordering people about. But I'd like you to understand one thing very clearly! I fail to recognise your right to be here at all! You are undoubtedly linked to Josiah by a tie of blood, but that doesn't impress me in the very slightest. To me you are an interloper ... and I mean interloper! Do you understand? You never knew Josiah, and even if you'p come here When he was alive I doubt

whether he would have ever meant a thing to you. He was not a loveable old man, and you would have found him hard to get along with... very hard. And you would have turned up that already slightly retrousse nose of yours at the thought of making an effort to get to know him, that much I'm fairly sure of! Therefore I take particular exception to your coming here, since your coming means disruption and disharmony; and I who knew Josiah and managed to get along with him better than most people resent the fact that everything he possessed had to go to you, the most complete outsider who ever darkened the doors of Ferringfield!' 'Well!' she exclaimed, and felt as if he had deprived her of breath. She was startled by his vehemence, slightly appalled by his naked disapproval of her, and by no means sure that she could think up a convincing defence of herself and her rights in a short space of time. So she fell back on a counter-accusation. 'And you?' she demanded. 'If you were so close to my great-uncle why didn't he leave you his money? Or at least the right to live here in his house! He could have left you the house if he'd wanted to, and he could have excluded everyone else from his will! But he didn't do so. Even the Beales whom he described as good and faithful servants! - were mentioned in the will. There were bequests to charities, to one or two old friends, to his doctor! But you... you are simply not mentioned at all, are you? Despite the fact that you were the only one who really got along with him!' Once again his hand shot out, and he caught and shook her by the shoulder. 'Do you doubt me?' he demanded, a wine- dark flush of resentment rising under his swarthy skin. 'Do you actually dare to doubt me?' She looked up into his stormy eyes with a faintly puzzled expression in her own.

'And if I do?' she demanded, as if she was trying out an experiment. 'What method would you select to deal with me this time? Your dogs being friendly animals...' For a second she felt his fingers tighten on her shoulder, and then he let her go. 'Nothing,' he replied contemptuously, and turned his back on her. He walked up to his car and ran a finger over the shining surface of the bonnet. Then he turned back to her. 'But I advise you not to provoke me all the same,' he warned her. She smiled a little. 'You are not a difficult man to provoke, Mr. Winterton,' she told him. 'Or that's the impression I have already received of you.' He glanced at her indifferently. 'I'm not very much concerned with the impression you have received of me,' he returned in cool, clipped tones. 'But I do want you to get it well and truly into your head that I am not leaving here ... or at any rate, not until it suits me. I happen to hold the opinion that I have every right to remain here, and unless you are prepared to have me evicted by force you'll have to put up with me. Your solicitor will probably advise coming to an arrangement with me - if you consult him, that is! - and even he will probably wish you hadn't mentioned the fact that I'm around. I know old Crabtree, and I've long been a thorn in his side - for reasons which I won't go into now! And for that very reason you're not going to get a lot of assistance from him if you insist upon shifting me!' 'But I've got to shift you!' She spoke almost desperately, and even flung out .her hands. 'You're an absolute stranger to me, and I can't let you go on living in a house that is mine by rights -'

'Rubbish,' he said coolly. 'We could have the whole width of the house between us if you had your quarters and I had mine.' 'And what would the neighbours think?' For the first time a question of hers seemed to genuinely amuse him, and his features broke up into an appreciative smile. 'What would they not think?' and he actually chuckled. 'It would be the titbit of the season if our arrangement lasted through the winter.' 'Then you don't intend that it should last beyond the winter?' 'I haven't said I intend to quarter myself on you for good, have I?' 'All the same,' with the very maximum amount of firmness, 'I have no intention of allowing you to stay here throughout the autumn or winter.' 'No?' She realised that she had been unfortunate enough to provoke him again, and the knowledge caused her to eye him warily. 'Will you pack your things, Mr. Winterton,' she requested him, 'and leave Ferringfield Manor within the next twenty-four hours. I don't mind giving you twenty-four hours, but that is all I will give you.' He helped himself to another cigarette from his case, and leaned against the door of his car. 'I must say your magnanimity astounds me,' he commented. 'Twenty-four hours.' She elevated her smooth chin a little, so that it seemed to stab the air. 'Magnanimous or not - and I realise you don't think I'm at all magnanimous - I can't give you a minute longer than that.'

He shook his head at her, smiling at her almost gently. 'No good, little Aussie,' he returned. 'I won't go!' 'Then I shall get Mr. Crabtree to intervene.' 'Good! Hell love to come here and lunch at your expense, and after that he'll depart without having been of any real assistance whatsoever, and his expenses and charges for endeavouring to be of assistance will all gp down to your account, and it will be little things like that that will make up the impressive bill he'll present you with at the end of the year. But of course, if you have no objection to dissipating your money in that way there's nothing more to be said, and it's up to you.' 'It certainly is up to me, and it will be money well spent if it gets rid of you!' 'Thank you.' He bowed with exaggerated politeness. 'You really have the most charming manners. They would commend themselves to anyone.' She, flushed, and turned away. 'You've put me in an impossible position, and I think you know it,' she attempted to defend her unavoidable bluntness. 'And whatever my manners may be like yours are outrageous. I'll leave you to reflect upon your misfortune. She was departing briskly, and with an air of having said her apiece and having no intention whatsoever of altering her mind or making any concessions where he was concerned, when he went after her just as briskly and stayed her with a faintly drawling note in his voice. 'Caprice!' She turned with coolly elevated eyebrows because, so far as she could recall, she had certainly not given him permission to

make use of her Christian name. 'One day I certainly will leave here, but it won't be just yet, and it might not be for quite a time. So you'll have to learn to live with me, and I with you!' He laid that familiar hand of his upon her shoulder once more and spun her round. There was an expression on his face that she personally considered most unpleasant, and she particularly disliked the sudden appreciative gleam in his eyes. 'H'm!' he exclaimed. 'You're pretty enough, and to me you look quite soft and ladylike and not a bit horsey. That was somewhat wide of the mark. I must be more careful when I make criticisms in future.' His eyes narrowed. 'So I've acquired a reputation for philandering, have I? Well, there's seldom smoke without fire, and I must admit I'm no mysogynist. I could go to town on a little soft thing like you any day, with a bit of encouragement! If you and I are to get to know one another we might as well begin now!' And before she had the least idea what he intended, he bent and kissed her with firmness and precision on the mouth. She gasped. At first she couldn't take it in that what had happened to her was really inexcusable. He had kissed her as carelessly and casually as if she was a light of love he had known for years. Her cheeks blazed with the fire of indignation that coursed through her, and if her eyes had been composed of diamond-bright particles they could not have looked more brilliant all at once with sheer, undisguised fury. 'No wonder my great-uncle excluded you from his will!' And the back of a small hand caught him fully across the mouth. His eyes grew as bright as hers. 'That was unwise,' he told her softly. 'That was very unwise!'

He made no further attempt to delay her as she turned blindly back to the door, and although he watched her as she walked away there was no longer any appreciation in his eyes. Caprice felt inclined to lock and bolt her bedroom door when she got safely back to her room, but she was too practical a person to resort to extravagances of that kind, and she realised that unless she intended to remain permanently bolted and barred behind her bedroom door - at least until Richard Winterton had departed from the. Manor - there was little point in securing her person for a brief hour or so. Besides, she had promised Mrs. Beale that she would look over the house at eleven o'clock, and it was now half past ten. A half an hour of uneasy sanctuary in her own room would do her little good, and make her future position as mistress of the house intolerable. If she was ever to lift her head up again she would behave as if nothing unusual had occurred, there was no such person as Richard d'Arcy Winterton making himself something rather worse than a nuisance in the house, and go about her affairs as if he simply did not exist. In that way she might recover a little of her own self-respect, and put Richard d'Arcy Winterton right out of her thoughts. Mrs. Beale was to accompany her on her inspection of the house, and the harassed little woman was actually waiting for her in the hall when she got back to the house. Wiping a smear of flour off her cheek with her apron, she explained a trifle anxiously: 'This is the laundry morning, and the morning the baker calls, so if you don't mind, Miss Vaughan, I thought we'd get the tour of the house over before twelve o'clock, and start a little early. I can't trust the laundryman to collect the dirty laundry as well as deliver the clean, and the baker never knows what bread I want, so... Is it all right?' and she looked at Caprice appealingly.

'Perfectly all right, Mrs. Beale.' And Caprice was so disturbed by the harassed look on her face that she actually forgot, for a few seconds, that she had a major cause for grievance herself, and a far larger problem than how to fit in a laundryman and a baker and a new mistress and a lot of household chores all in one short morning. But her face was still unnaturally flushed, and Mrs. Beale looked at her curiously after a moment, although she offered no comment. 'We'll start with the ground floor, shall we?' she said, moving hurriedly in the direction of the green baize door that cut off the kitchen quarters. 'I've been though most of the rooms with a duster, but I don't have much time to give them a good polish.' It was depressingly true, and rather a pity, because some of them were charming rooms, and all of them contained some handsome period pieces of furniture. But one could hardly expect a single female employee to keep a rambling house like Ferringfield Manor in faultless order, and she probably received little or no assistance from her husband, who had his hands full coping with the outside of the house. Caprice did her best to reassure her about the condition of the house as they walked through the rooms, but she made a mental note to provide Mrs. Beale with assistance as soon as some could be found. It might be a little difficult, in that out-of-the-way spot; but she could at least try to find an extra pair of hands to make life more tolerable for Mrs. Beale. As yet Caprice had no idea what she was going to do with the house. But it was hers, and the obvious thing, for the moment, was to live in it, and find out how she was likely to enjoy settling down in England.

She was as satisfied with the interior of the manor as she was with the exterior by the time she had seen over three-quarters of it. Some of the woodwork was extremely beautiful and well preserved, and there was an atmosphere of the past in every room that she saw. It struck her that such a house could be put to some very good use, but she couldn't think quite what at this stage. She was as fascinated by the long-disused nurseries, and the magnificent principal bedroom. She lingered in this room, stroking the faded hangings and admiring the fluted columns of the great fourposter bed. Mrs. Beale told her that Josiah Vaughan had slept in this room when he was still quite a young man, but it had been closed to the world for years. In the Yellow Drawing-room, as it was called, she found elegant eighteenth-century furniture and a crystal chandelier of great beauty shrouded in Holland covers. She removed the cover from the piano, that had remained untouched for decades, and managed to get a tune out of it-. The part of the house that she did not visit was that part which contained the suite of rooms taken over by Richard Winterton. In addition to annexing the library for his own use, and the use of his dogs, he had made himself comfortable, apparently, in a suite in the west wing. And in a house where the bathroom accommodation was limited and sketchy he had the best bathroom. Mrs. Beale was glad to be released at the end of the tour, and she asked whether Caprice would take her lunch in the dining-room . . . or whether she intended to make a practice of having her meals in her room. The question was put with a vaguely apprehensive look at the new mistress, and Caprice understood what was meant by it. Was Richard Winterton to triumph, or was Miss Vaughan strong enough to assert herself in her own house?

Caprice made up her mind there and then. She would not be driven to take refuge in her own room. She would see to it that her personality became impressed on every room - or every usable room, that is; and, most certainly, she would begin to make an impression on the diningroom. It was vast, and very sombre, and one end of the dining-table only had been used by Winterton. Day after day and night after night he had sat in splendid state in that room, and Mrs. Beale had waited on him while he occupied the carved ebony chair at the head of the table and insisted on having his meals served on the best china, and refused to drink out of anything but the finest glass. Mrs. Beale revealed this while she flicked at a speck of dust on the table with the corner of her apron, and then gave a hurried polish to that end of the table with the same handy polishing cloth. 'Mr. Winterton likes everything served up to him nicely,' she explained, while still concentrating on the table and forgetting that Mr. Winterton was no longer an honoured guest, and even that he hadn't any right in the house. 'Old Mr. Vaughan was a little like that when he was younger, but Mr. Winterton is far more fussy.' 'Oh, he is, is he?' Caprice said, watching her working away with a will. Mrs. Beale nodded. 'Sometimes he dines alone, of course, but he always like to change into a dinner-jacket for his evening meal. And when he has a friend to dine with him he like candles. He thinks they add decor to the table. Caprice glanced at the sideboard. There was a good deal of heavy Victorian silver displayed on it, but no evidence that Winterton

regaled either himself or his guests with strong waters when they sat down to dine. And then she noticed, in a corner, a much more modern- looking cabinet that could have served one purpose only. Mrs. Beale followed the direction of her eyes and she nodded her head in confirmation of Caprice's suspicions. 'That cabinet belongs to Mr. Winterton,' she said. 'It's what they call a cocktail cabinet.' Caprice crossed the room until she stood beside the cabinet. With quite a purposeful air she stooped and opened one of the doors. She was not in the least surprised to see that the cabinet was very well stocked: It appeared to contain every known bottle of alcoholic stimulant that she had ever been familiar with, and quite a number of bottles that were new in her experience. With a sinking of the heart she recalled that the taxi-driver had indicated - in fact, stated quite bluntly - that Richard Winterton had a weakness. He drank, the taximan had said... and he had a weakness for her sex. Well, she was quite prepared to believe the latter, but she didn't want to believe the former. To share a house - even for a very short time - with a man who drank might be most unpleasant, even positively alarming. She looked across the room at Mrs. Beale. 'Does - does Mr. Winterton rather enjoy drinking?' she phrased a question which she felt had to be put sooner or later, and to her relief Mrs. Beale looked mildly surprised for a moment. Then she appeared to consider. 'Well, it all depends what you mean by "enjoy drinking",' she replied. 'My Tim, as a matter of fact, enjoys a pint of beer. In fact, he always

has at least a couple of pints at the local every evening. If he could afford it I daresay he might have more than a couple of pints. But Mr. Winterton is a gentleman, as you might say, and he does his drinking here. I've known him sit over a bottle of port after his dinner in the evenings . . . and when he has guests they always have cocktails, of course. And he likes a large brandy taken to him in the library every night before he goes to bed.' Caprice felt as if her worst fears were realised. But she made an effort to prevent Mrs. Beale guessing that she was temporarily panicstricken. Australians, she knew, had a reputation for hard drinking, but she had never met that type herself. She had been lucky, apparently. Now, at last, her luck was letting her down. Then she recollected a recent decision. 'Well, one of the first things I shall have removed from the diningroom is that cocktail cabinet,' she told Mrs. Beale, squaring her shoulders to reinforce the determination in her voice. 'It can be put out tomorrow, and when Mr. Winterton leaves here he can take it with him.' Mrs. Beale looked mildly curious. 'Is Mr. Winterton leaving, then?' she asked. She looked as if she simply couldn't believe that this was something that had actually been arranged. 'I didn't think you'd be able to persuade him, miss,' she admitted. 'I thought he'd be very difficult.' Caprice tightened her lips. 'He was difficult, Mrs. Beale,' she admitted. 'But he going.' Mrs. Beale looked quite astounded . . . but she didn't actually look relieved. Caprice assumed that she must be greatly relieved by the

thought of the imminent departure of Mr. Winterton, and said that she thought he would be out of the house before a week had passed. And if he wasn't out as quickly as that, he would almost certainly be out the following week. Mrs. Beale assumed a strange, mask-like expression, and repeated her query about lunch. 'Will you have it in here with Mr. Winterton, miss?' Caprice remained very erect. 'Of course,' she said. Mrs. Beale glanced at her out of her slightly faded eyes. 'And - and dinner?' she asked. 'I shall have all my meals in this room whether Mr. Winterton shares them with me or not,' she enunciated very clearly. 'And - ' she pointed at the ebony chair - 'as the rightful mistress here I Would like to occupy my rightful place. Will you set for Mr. Winterton at the opposite end of the table.' Mrs. Beale didn't actually gasp, but she looked thoroughly shaken. 'Very well. Miss Vaughan,' she said, in an all but inaudible voice. And then as if she was trying to convince herself that she had heard aright, she added: 'Of course, if you say so, Miss Vaughan.' Caprice went upstairs to her room determined to smarten herself up quite considerably for lunch. She changed out of her sweater and jodhpurs and into a very feminine soft wool dress of palest cream, and with it she wore bracelets and ear-rings that she had bought in a famous bazaar in Singapore, and made her face up very carefully

before she returned to the dining-room she had inspected before lunch. She didn't quite know why she felt this sudden urge to make the most of herself; but she told herself that it was because, in her position, it was important that she should look as if she was the mistress of Ferringfield Manor, particularly when she had a difficult (more than difficult) person like Richard Winterton to deal with. He had called her horsey that morning, and although she knew that she wasn't in the least horsey it had annoyed her. She intended to show him that, despite the fact that he had the right to call her 'Aussie,' she was as feminine as any English girl of his acquaintance. Perhaps more so, for she had been brought up by a father who had gone out of his way to spoil her and treat her as if she was something rather rare and fragile entrusted to his care. Although he had never really had. the money to spare, he had insisted on giving her every possible advantage; and according to his lights 'every possible advantage' meant self-sacrifice on his part and the best schools and a good deal of travel outside Australia for his only child. She was of good English stock, and he wanted her to be as English as possible. He had never expected that she would inherit Ferringfield Manor one day, and be mistress of a large income; but she had, and she was, and she owed it to his memory to put herself across as well as possible in this country that he had loved, and where he had been born and brought up. She intended, as soon as she could get around to it, to visit his old school, and to see all the places and the sights that he had loved to describe to her, and which he had insisted were absolute 'musts' when visiting England. But first of all she had to settle down in her new home and acquire a certain poise and dignity, and cope with a man who was likely to prove extremely difficult to cope with. And 'coping' with him meant meeting him on entirely the right footing...

feeling sure of herself when he sought to make her feel unsure, and remembering that argument is always rather a vulgar thing, and to enter into fruitless argument is evidence of a lack of confidence in oneself. She admitted to herself that she frequently did feel a considerable lack of confidence in herself, but it would never do to let Richard Winterton guess it. If he had already guessed it she must alter his opinion of her, undeceive him about her power to command respect. And if ever he dared to do to her again what he had done to her that morning she wouldn't merely send for her solicitor. She would order him out of the house, and send for the police to support her right to put him out if necessary. And never, never again would she allow him to lay so much as a finger on her! But he should be made to feel the impact of the kind of girl she was. And the kind of girl she was was seething at the thought of being unable to punish him adequately for what he had done to her that morning, and at the same time she was ridiculously nervous every time she thought of their meeting at the lunch table, and his raised eyebrows and possibly icy stare of enquiry, when he saw that his place at table had been changed, and that in future she would occupy the carved ebony chair at the head of the table. But she need not have summoned together all the shreds of her courage, and deliberately schooled herself to look cool and indifferent when she entered the dining-room, for there was no one in the dining-room when she entered it. And when Mrs. Beale brought in the soup she told her that Mr. Winterton would not be in to lunch, and that he was having lunch with a friend in Fairchester, the nearest market town. Mrs. Beale herself looked distinctly relieved as she passed on the intelligence to her new mistress, and Caprice realised that her relief was based on her knowledge of Mr. Winterton, and the manner in

which he might have behaved if he had decided to lunch at the Manor. For the time being - for a few hours, at any rate - peace could reign at Ferringfield, and any fireworks could be postponed until the evening meal... if Miss Vaughan intended to be in for it. Almost hopefully Mrs. Beale enquired whether Miss Vaughan would, as on the previous evening, take the last meal of the day in her own room, and Caprice replied decidedly that she had already made it clear to her that she no longer intended to take any of her meals in her own room. She was not the sort of person who enjoyed meals in bedrooms, and that meant that all meals would be partaken of outside her own apartment, including breakfast. Mrs. Beale fidgeted with the dishes at the side table and muttered something about Mr. Winterton sometimes not bothering about breakfast . . . and there was a somewhat fainter note of hope in her voice because now that Miss Vaughan had arrived he might not bother about breakfast at all. Caprice, spooning soup, muttered frigidly that people who sat over port wine in the evenings, and had double brandies before they went to bed, could hardly be expected to work up an appetite during the night for breakfast! Caprice spent the afternoon seeing more of her property, and she had tea served to her in lonely state in the Yellow Drawing-room! After tea, a rather wild October night closed down, and she continued to sit on in the Yellow Drawing-room reading a book that she had discovered in the library, and which dealt with the charms of English country houses and gardens, and made her wish that something could be done about Ferringfield Manor which would give it the right to be included in such a book. It was, after all, a house of great

architectural interest and charm, and merely needed refurbishing if it was to appear at its best. And of course, the gardens would have to be completely relaid ... from the little she had seen of them they were a complete wilderness. She listened to the shrieking of the wind outside, and sat huddled over the fire that Mrs. Beale had lighted for her before tea, and wished that she had some feminine companion to share the faded splendours of the Yellow Drawing-room with her, and by making a little light conversation possible dissipate the somewhat oppressive silence (within the room, that is, for there was certainly a good deal of havoc going on amongst the trees of the park). At seven o'clock she went upstairs to her room, and had a bath and made yet another change in her appearance, putting on a black cocktail dress thus time, and relieving its soberness with a conventional pearl necklace. She knew that black suited her, and that pearls emphasised the extraordinary purity of her skin. She might have been brought up on an Australian cattle station, but there were not many English girls of her own age who could hold a candle to the unusual loveliness of that skin. When she blushed very slightly it was like a rosy glow making its appearance on the inside of an alabaster vase, and being viewed through the alabaster. And when she used mascara her enchantingly long eyelashes could be guaranteed to attract attention to themselves, even in a crowded room where there were other women present. In a room where there was no other woman present the effect of those eyelashes alone (provided there was at least one man present) could be quite devastating. Caprice was not in the least a conceited young woman, but she knew the effect her eyelashes and her skin very frequently had, and her

memory of one or two passing conquests gave her courage as she descended the stairs shortly before eight o'clock that evening. She was smelling delicately of her favourite perfume, and only the insides of her hands were a trifle wet as, with one clutching her handkerchief and the other almost convulsively clenched, she crossed the silent hall to the door of the Yellow Drawing-room to await the summons of the gong. There was a light under the door, and she noticed that before she opened it. She was not quite sure what she expected to see once the door was open, but it was certainly not what she actually did see. Mrs. Beale had made it clear that Richard Winterton seldom, if ever, used the Yellow Drawing-room, which was a particularly feminine room; but it would not have astounded her to find him lounging on the tawny-coloured rug before the fire and looking rather out of place surrounded by yellow draperies and a sea of yellow carpet. The reason, why her mouth fell slightly open, therefore, was not because he was in actual fact lounging before the fireplace, and smoking one of his rather strong-smelling cigarettes. But because, seated on a settee covered in faded yellow brocade, and drawn up reasonably close to the fire, was a young woman dressed in a very skimpy type of modern outfit that left a good deal of her shapely person on view to anyone who liked to study her really rather extreme shapeliness. Long legs covered in embroidered tights, and rather violently purple in hue; a slim, sheath-like dress glittering like the scaly skin of a serpent, and some enormous, chunky purple beads round her neck; a slim pair of arms that were very tanned like her pert little heavily made-up face, a bare midriff ornamented with a brilliant butterfly design that appeared to be actually attached to her skin, and a really striking hair-do that was as red as a horse-chestnut. She stood up the instant Caprice entered the room, and beamed at her.

'Hullo!' she said. 'Richard said it would be all right if I came to dinner, but I wasn't entirely certain about it myself. It seemed a bit of a cheek, as it's your house.' She held out a small, tanned hand with a large, square-cut emerald blazing away on it like green fire. 'The name's Sally,' she said, in a friendly way. 'Sally Carfax. I run the local riding stables. If you want a mount at any time I can always supply it.'

CHAPTER FOUR CAPRICE accepted the small, rather blunt- fingered hand that was held out to her, and felt her own fingers receive a warm squeeze. 'Richard wasn't really fair to you,' Miss Carfax observed rebukingly, looking at Winterton as if she couldn't quite understand why his information had been so misleading. 'He said you were a typical Aussie, and you're not. To me you look rather typically English.' "Thank you.' By nature Caprice herself was a friendly soul, and she couldn't resist the good nature that emanated from the other girl. Sally's eyes were on her admiringly. 'I'd like to know where you got that complexion,' she declared. 'It's shattering, isn't it?' turning to Richard. 'It makes me think of baths of asses' milk and rose leaves fluttering in the breeze. It's a real milk and roses complexion!' Richard looked down at the tip of his cigarette, and lightly shrugged his shoulders. 'Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,' he observed. Sally glanced at him in genuine impatience. 'But Miss Vaughan's got everything,' she insisted. 'Skin, hair, eyes, figure - the lot!' She let her eyes dwell for a moment on the neat little black dress, and then she nodded approval. 'Even that dress. I couldn't wear it myself, but it looks perfect on you. If I looked like you I'd probably have a lot of dresses like that.'

'You would require to have Miss Vaughan's money as well,' Winterton cut in, with a distinctly bleak look at Caprice and a dry note in his voice. 'They are what is known as deceptively simple, and one of them costs about ten times as much as anything you've got in your wardrobe, my poor Sally.' He lifted his eyebrows at Caprice. 'Would you like a drink, Miss Vaughan?' There was a good deal of formality in his tone, and Caprice wondered with a brief sensation of amusement what had happened to his determination to call her Caprice. She answered rather demurely, and as if she was in no wise taken aback by finding that they had a guest for dinner, and that the guest was a young woman who appeared to be on very familiar terms with him. 'Thank you, I'll have a small sherry if there is any sherry.' She glanced at the tray of drinks that had been set down on a low occasional table, and was rather relieved to see that in addition to whisky and gin and vodka there was sherry. Miss Carfax grimaced as the sherry was poured out. 'I don't know how you can drink that,' she admitted. 'You should try one of Richard's cocktails. They really do things for you!' She held her glass towards him and smiled at him over the rim of it with her fascinating big brown eyes. 'After the first three or four you begin to feel as if life is opening up! And it's just beginning to open up for me! Darling,' crinkling her eyes at him, 'what about assisting the good work?' He took her glass from her and picked up the cocktail shaker. But it seemed to Caprice that he frowned a little.

'If you aspire to a milk and roses complexion you'll have to cut down on your liquid intake,' he observed curtly. But he handed her a brimming glass nevertheless. The gong sounded in the hall, and they went in to dinner. It was quite different from the awkward dinner-table Caprice had imagined. The guest was clearly beginning to view her existence through very rosy spectacles indeed, and she fairly bubbled with witticisms and lively conversation once they were all seated at the table. She did make some remark about Richard being relegated to his proper place when she saw him take the chair at the foot of the table instead of the one at the head, and somewhat to Caprice's surprise he made no comment whatsoever himself on his new place at table. She felt a little ridiculous enthroned in the extra large chair, but Winterton apparently didn't even notice that his position had been usurped. Or if he did - and she was fairly sure that he did, and must be secretly resenting it very much indeed - he said nothing to add to her sensation of conspicuousness as she unfolded her napkin and waited for Mrs. Beale to serve her first after handing the various dishes to the' guest. Mrs. Beale, considerably to Caprice's surprise, was an excellent cook, and allowing for the fact that no mistress had given her instructions the meal was beautifully served and well thought out. Caprice, who intended to bring about quite a few changes at Ferringfield, could not have improved on it herself. Sally Carfax had a healthy appetite, and she waded through course after course. Her unbelievable slimness and svelte curves were plainly not the result of dieting.

She drank wine with the meal, and appeared to be very knowledgeable about vintages. She showed no signs of having already disposed of several cocktails, and indeed her conversation positively sparkled as the meal progressed, and she was never at a loss for a word or a phrase. She was particularly interested in Caprice's description of her life in Australia, and was not surprised to learn that she had ridden and owned her own horse long before it was considered safe for her to ride a bicycle. Sally, too, knew everything there was to know about horses, and she was eager to bring off a stroke of business and persuade Caprice to hire a hack from her whenever she felt like taking a more exhilarating form of exercise than she could get either walking or driving about the estate. And if she felt like buying a horse . . . well, in that case, she could help her, too. She eyed Caprice with an experienced eye and said she knew exactly where she could pick up a handsome chestnut mare that would carry her splendidly if the new owner of Ferringfield Manor was seriously interested in making a purchase of that sort. Winterton intervened at this point with a slight frown between his brows and reminded her that he had asked her to dine with him, and not to seize upon the first opportunity to extract a commission from Miss Vaughan. He was very formal every time he referred to Caprice, and the 'Miss Vaughan' received slight emphasis. Miss Carfax, without resenting the rebuke in the-very slightest, waved him aside and insisted that the evening was still young, and they would have lots of time to 'enjoy themselves,' as she phrased it, once dinner was over. 'And Miss Vaughan and I have got to get acquainted, you know,' smiling at Caprice. 'She's come all the way from Australia, and she must feel a little lonely, not knowing anyone in this country.'

'If Miss Vaughan wishes to know people in this country she will have ample opportunity once the word gets round that old Josiah's heiress is here at last,' Richard retorted, as if his patience was wearing thin. Miss Carfax indulged him to the extent of turning her peculiarly brilliant smile on him. 'Darling,' she cooed, 'you sound thoroughly bored and unpleasant, and only you know how to be really unpleasant if the mood is on you. You can hardly expect an heiress to arrive in the district without creating some interest. But I'm sure Miss Vaughan - Caprice,' she corrected herself, explaining that she simply couldn't go on addressing a young woman of her own age in such a formal manner indefinitely - 'Caprice has had experience of sorting the grain from the chaff in Australia. With her looks she must have had heaps of boy-friends, and I expect she's very knowledgeable where your sex is concerned.' Caprice undeceived her. 'I don't pretend to understand the members of my own sex, let alone the opposite sex,' she remarked drily. 'Wise girl!' Richard stood up and pressed the bell as a signal for Mrs. Beale to bring in the dessert, and at the same time he enquired with painful politeness of Caprice whether she, would like coffee served in the dining-room or in the drawing-room. Caprice looked up at him with curiously unruffled, cool grey eyes, and replied that it was a matter of complete indifference to her. 'Where do you usually have it?' she asked. 'In the library,' he replied immediately.

'With all those dogs?' Sally put a hand up to her nose as if already savouring the odour of dog that prevailed in the library, and she made it quite clear that although she was very fond of dogs as well as horses she did happen to be wearing a new dress, and the Yellow Drawing.-room was a much more fitting background if he wasn't absolutely yearning to bury himself in the library. Winterton looked down curiously at Caprice, and for the first time, with a certain air of diffidence, enquired if she had any objection to their all returning to the drawing-room. Her eyes opened wider in surprise, but she was clever enough to conceal the fact that he had secretly astonished her. 'None whatsoever,' she told him. 'I've already been mauled by your dogs on one occasion, and I don't want to risk this dress tonight,' and she looked down at the expensive creation that Sally secretly coveted, and immediately received the support of that young woman. 'I shouldn't think you do,' she exclaimed. 'It would be an absolute sin if that little number got messed up! This thing I'm wearing was bought off the peg, but I can see you don't go in for buying things off pegs.' So they returned to the Yellow Drawing- room, and Mrs. Beale followed them in with the coffee tray and set it down at Caprice's elbow. Caprice poured out with a natural grace and elegance that seemed to intrigue Sally Carfax, who watched her with undisguised admiration as she sat in an ornate chair and adroitly manoeuvred the heavy silver coffee-pot. The cups were all delicate examples of English bone china, and Caprice herself was surprised that so many had remained intact throughout a period of time when a bachelor had presided at Ferringfield.

Sally accepted her cup from Winterton's slightly ungracious hand, and with a cigarette glowing strongly settled down to extract a few more details of her past life in Australia from Caprice. The latter began to grow tired of the subject after a time, and she sensed that Winterton wasn't merely bored, he was growing more and more restless . . . and although this provided her with an excellent opportunity to bore him still further she made up her mind when her second cup of coffee had been disposed of that it was one thing to be the centre of attention but her past was her own affair, and she had no intention of gratifying Miss Carfax's curiosity to such an extent that she was in possession of most of the illuminating points of her history so far. So, grinding her own cigarette out in the ashtray, she announced that she thought she would have an early night, and Richard Winterton immediately looked immeasurably relieved, and Sally Carfax looked almost disappointed. 'Oh, well,' she said, smiling amiably at Caprice as the latter rose, 'I've no doubt we shall meet often in the future. You must get Richard to bring you over to my stables, and don't forget, if you're interested, let me know about that chestnut.' Winterton, too, stood up as Caprice moved towards the door. Sally eyed them both a little peculiarly. 'I must say,' she commented, 'it's rather strange to think you're both living in this house. It's not really what you might call strictly conventional, is it?' laughing a trifle shrilly. 'I mean, some people really old- fashioned people - would think it very unconventional, wouldn't they?' 'Are there any really conventional people left in the world nowadays?' Winterton enquired of the top of his cigarette, and Caprice assured him with sudden emphasis that in her world there were.

'And I'm a very conventional person myself,' she said quite clearly so clearly that Sally's eyebrows went up. 'If this wasn't a very temporary situation I'd probably be shocked by it myself. As it is - ' looking directly at the other girl as she spoke - 'Mr. Winterton has given me his assurance that my reputation won't be endangered for long.' And while Sally still looked intrigued her glance swung round to Winterton. He held open the door for her, and his expression didn't alter in the slightest. 'I give you my word, Miss Vaughan,' he told her with unflattering bluntness, 'your reputation is as safe with me as gold deposits are in the Bank of England. Possibly even safer! It isn't even necessary for you to lock your door at night!' Caprice went rather thoughtfully up the stairs to her room, and, once there, she wondered how long the two she had left behind in the Yellow Drawing-room would remain there, and how soon it would be before they gravitated to the library. Sally Carfax was obviously an uninhibited young woman, and she had addressed Richard Winterton as 'darling' throughout the course of the evening. This was nothing very much in itself - certainly not indicative of any particular attitude - and lots of people made use of the endearment for no particular reason, and simply because it left their tongues quite naturally. But, in addition to calling him 'darling,' she was quite obviously on familiar terms with him, and Caprice had more than once caught her looking at him with rather more than appreciative eyes. Caprice had received the impression that they were kindred spirits. Winterton was hardly the type of man to treat a woman - even a

woman to whom he was physically attracted - with any special deference; and he had certainly not accorded to Sally any particular deference. But occasionally he had directed at her a faintly whimsical look that was indicative of tolerance, and, still more occasionally, his hand had reached out and touched her quite deliberately - as if it was a pleasure to him to touch her. He had pinched her ear and stroked her cheek . . . and she had responded as a kitten might to affectionate attention. Although she had large brown eyes that could smile warmly on occasion, and her hair was red, she had not appealed to Caprice as a passionate personality ... quite the opposite, as a matter of fact. She was friendly, and hail-fellow-well-met, and possibly rather down-to-earth, and sufficiently shrewd and calculating to have her own interests 'at heart. Even well to the fore . . . But Caprice could not imagine her losing her heart to a man, and breaking her heart over him if he let her down. She was far too engagingly frank for that, too forthright. But, Caprice realised, in that she could be wrong. And she could be wrong about Richard Winterton, too. It was possible - even highly probable - that he was not all on the surface. But she did not really think so. She thought he was very much on the surface, and all that was on the surface was most unpleasant. The next day she saw nothing at all of him, and the day after that she encountered him only by accident in the hall. He was dressed for riding, and he nodded to her casually as he passed. Mrs. Beale told her that he .would not be in for lunch, and he was dining that night at the Crown Inn, Ferringfield. He usually dined at the Crown once or twice a week, and sometimes he gave parties

there. Caprice supposed that when he gave a party he included Miss Carfax amongst the guests. She also deduced that if he was going riding he would be borrowing one of Sally Carfax's horses. She couldn't tell why, but Sally Carfax, as a type of young woman with whom she was unfamiliar, intrigued her in some way. It could have been her lack of pretence, and her modernity . . . it was so unashamed and obvious. In a sense, it was almost reassuring. And it exercised its influence over Caprice. She decided that she was utterly lost at Ferringfield without a car, so she went in to the town to see a car dealer. Sally Carfax was having the tank of a long cream shooting-brake refilled, and she instantly hailed Caprice as she might have done a long-lost friend. She insisted that Caprice dismiss her taxi-driver (not the one who had driven her before, very much to her relief when she started off that morning) and allow her to drive her home once her business was completed. She urged her, in an aside, to have nothing whatsoever to do with that particular car dealer, and said she knew a man who Could be relied on who had an absolute bargain on his hands at the moment, and if Caprice would accompany her back to her stables she would get in touch with the man by telephone, and he wouldn't hesitate to drive over complete with car and let her put it through its paces there and then, if she wished. Caprice had planned to spend the day roaming about the quaint old market town ; but she did need a car badly, and Sally was very persuasive, and it seemed the sensible thing to do, since she was seriously wishing to buy a car, to accept her invitation to lunch - and she didn't have to buy the car if she didn't want it! - and climb into the vacant seat beside the driving seat of the shooting-brake, and be whisked off into the country and Headleigh Towers.

Headleigh Towers surprised her when they reached it. It was a magnificent Jacobean house that-had been allowed to fall into decay for half a century, and then been rescued and reclaimed by a wealthy business man who had grown tired of the task long before it was completed - possibly he was also startled by the expenditure! - and then been re-sold, and finally left to grow ten-foot weeds in the drive again before someone else came along and bought it for a different purpose altogether. Sally - who was looking much smarter, in-a purely conventional way, this morning, in a pale suede jacket and beautiful cord trousers looked up proudly at the house once they had driven into the courtyard and alighted from the car. She put back her shapely red head and her hair, that was worn loose this morning, swung against the smooth sides of her neck and glinted fiercely in the sunshine. 'It's adorable, isn't it?' she said. 'Of course, it's not properly furnished yet, and it isn't mine, but I love it!' Caprice glanced at her in curiosity. 'But you live here?' she stated rather than asked. Sally nodded. 'I've furnished a small flat over the stables, and one day I'll furnish the rest of the house ... I hope!' She grimaced slightly as she glanced at Caprice. 'Hateful, isn't it, when you want to do something, and you can't, do it immediately because of lack of cash! Of course, I've been lucky landing the stables, but that doesn't prevent me wishing for the moon every time I look at the house.'

Caprice was a little at a loss. Somewhat naively she began to ask questions. 'But how is it that you have the use of the flat and the stables if the house isn't yours? Do you rent it?' Sally looked mysterious, and smiled with an attractive narrowing of her eyes and upward curving of her lips. 'Shall we say chat I have a backer?' she said. 'He's rich but cautious. At the moment he won't do anything more for me until I've proved my worth.' The shapely pink mouth curved still more broadly. 'Mean of him, isn't it? But men can be awful pigs, you know, and an obstinate man is as difficult to influence as an obstinate pig. And have you ever seen a pig on the way to market, refusing to allow itself to be lifted up into the van? I have! My father was a farmer, and I know all about pigs!' , 'My father was a farmer, too,' Caprice replied quietly. 'I know quite a lot about pigs, but not very much about men.' Sally looked amused by the admission. 'You'll learn,' she told her. 'About men, I mean. On the whole they're rather more entertaining than livestock. And they can be much more useful!' Caprice said nothing. Sally surveyed her with her bright head still held slightly, consideringly, on one side. 'You'll have to be very careful, you know,' she warned. 'Where men are concerned, I mean. With your money - allied to your looks! you'll have to be constantly on guard! I'm afraid you'll never be able to be absolutely certain that they want you for your looks or your

money, but the one thing you can be absolutely certain about is that they will want you for one or the other before long!' Caprice frowned a little, but she still said nothing. Sally led the way across the yard to a small White door that provided access to the flat above the stables, and once they had climbed the steep staircase to the beautifully equipped arrangement of rooms above Sally got on to the telephone to the man friend who owned the car that she said was such a bargain, and which apparently he was anxious to sell... to the right sort of purchaser, she pointed put. Tony Moresby was not in any position to refuse a good offer, but he was choosey about the kind of people with whom he did business. And he was very knowledgeable about cars . . . knowledgeable about a lot of things, in fact. Caprice might find him quite useful. The telephone conversation seemed to be made up of a lot of cheerful backchat and lively exchanges that caused Caprice to raise her eyebrows very slightly as she listened to them, and then Sally put down the receiver and announced that Tony would be coming over after lunch. She had tried to persuade him to join them for lunch, but he couldn't manage it. Then she mixed drinks from a well-stocked cabinet that seemed to contain everything from gin to vodka - very much the type of wellstocked cabinet that Richard Winterton had in the dining-room at Ferringfield Manor - and amiably agreed to let Caprice off with a tomato juice while she curled herself up in the lap of a chesterfield and disposed of a couple of drinks, and then went off to the kitchen to prepare lunch. Caprice followed her out to the kitchen, and offered to help her. But, somewhat to her astonishment, Sally was an efficient housewife...

and a very competent cook. She grilled chops and mushrooms, and made a green salad to serve with them. She said that Richard, when he had a meal with her, always insisted on a green salad .., and he always insisted that the coffee was freshly ground, instead of coming out of a tin, or contained in a packet. Richard had a lot of foibles, but they were all fairly reasonable. When he took her out to dinner, for instance, he was never put off by the menu, but insisted on having something prepared that he particularly liked... or she particularly liked. 'He sounds difficult,' Caprice observed, and Sally looked at her through narrowed bright eyes. She shook her head. 'Not really. Only horribly obstinate.' 'Do you know him very well?' Caprice asked, wondering afterwards whether that was a wise question. Sally smiled in an amused way. 'I know him as well as any one else does, I suppose,' she answered. 'Possibly better than anyone else! Yes; I'm sure I do that.' 'Does he - does he come here often?' Caprice continued to ask unwise questions. Her hostess looked really amused. 'Very often,' she replied. 'Very often!' They had lunch sitting on Regency chairs at an elegant rosewood dining-table, and then they returned to the main part of the room (the dining-room was no more than a dining-alcove that could be screened by satin-damask curtains if real privacy was desired), and the coffee

that had been freshly ground and smelled deliciously was poured into two large cups for the occasion, since there was no one else present, and once more Sally reclined on her settee, and Caprice sat on a kind of striped covered ottoman drawn up close to the blazing log fire, and thought how extremely English this was . . . and how much, incidentally, she liked the English way of life. She particularly liked finding herself surrounded by such well-chosen furniture, and so many beautifully arranged flowers. It was the time of year when flowers were expensive, and these were obviously hothouse. She remarked on them to Sally, and the latter nestled voluptuously into the curves of the cushions that padded her couch, and said that she was afraid she was a sybarite... an odd thing for a horsewoman to be, perhaps, but true in her case. 'I like expensive things ... silks and satins,' she admitted. 'If I could afford it I'd never wear anything but the most expensive furs in winter, and as you can see, I like flowers. Lots of them!' She reached out for the coffee pot, and poured herself another cup. For the first time Caprice was recognising that there was something feline about her, svelte and feline. In the firelight (and it was a dull afternoon, promising an early dusk) her brown eyes glowed like old brown sherry under the light of a crystal chandelier, and there was a dusky colour in her cheeks. Her mouth had all at once acquired quite a lot of colour, and against the ruddy quality of her lips her small teeth gleamed like cultured pearls every time she smiled ... or merely half smiled. 'One of these days I mean to be rich,' she said, as if the matter was quite settled. 'I believe in gracious living, and one can't live graciously on a pittance.' She lifted her eyes to the other girl's face. 'Fees derived from teaching people to ride will hardly pay the electric light bill, and they certainly don't pay the wages of the girl who cleans the tack. She's a luxury I can't really afford, but I simply

couldn't do without her. Anyway, my backer understands that,' and her long eyelashes fluttered with more than a hint of self- conscious satisfaction. 'You're lucky to have such an understanding backer,' Caprice observed. 'Yes, I am, aren't I?' She stuck a fresh cigarette in a long ivory holder and lay back and stared appreciatively at the ceiling while she surrounded herself with a haze of smoke. 'Very lucky!' 'But I expect you enjoy running a riding- stables even if it doesn't pay,' Caprice added, more for something to say than for any other reason. 'Well, I don't know about that. There are other things I could enjoy more!' Sally was fixing Caprice with a reflective eye when the sound of a car being driven across the stable yard informed them that Mr. Tony Moresby, had arrived, and was about to demand admittance to the flat. Sally rose from the couch and stretched herself, glanced at herself casually in a mirror above the fireplace to make sure she was quite presentable, and then announced that she would let him in. 'You'll like Tony,' she said, before she disappeared down the steep staircase. 'I've got a kind of feeling that he's your sort of young man.' Caprice felt unable to agree with her when she caught her first glimpse of Tony Moresby. She herself had once been described as 'horsey,' and the description had annoyed her at the time because she knew it didn't fit her in the slightest. But Tony Moresby really had that quality which could set him apart as a man who knew quite a lot about horseflesh . . . which, in point of fact, he did.

He was sturdy and stocky, with a somewhat florid complexion and sandy hair and eyelashes; and he had a slight rolling gait, which made it easy to picture him in the saddle. He wore a well-cut tweed hacking-jacket which was, nevertheless, of rather a loud pattern, and a bright shirt and tie were worn under it, and actually appeared to fight with the tweed of the hacking-jacket. All the same, Caprice wasn't revolted by him, or anything of that sort, when they shook hands. He had an engaging grin and very light blue eyes that smiled easily, and altogether he struck her as a very amiable young man, and - unless she wasn't very good at judging character transparently honest. 'How do you do, Miss Vaughan,' he said, retaining her hand for a full twenty seconds longer than was strictly necessary. 'I hear you're the new owner of Ferringfield .. . and I must say it's about time that old place was brightened up! Looking at you I haven't the smallest doubt that it's going to be a very bright spot in future,' and he grinned widely. 'Well, I don't know about that.' Caprice was unaccustomed to young men of his sort and she didn't quite know what to say. 'At the moment there's a lot needs doing to it,' she added. 'But with the money to do it with, why worry?' Sally put in, dropping into the lap of her chesterfield once more while the other two still stood facing one another. 'You're right, of course.' Tony turned and looked at her as if she had made a brilliant statement. 'What is money for if not to spend? And since the late lamented Josiah was too mean to spend it that's all the more for Miss Vaughan to play around with!' Caprice felt herself freeze slightly.

'My great-uncle was too ill during the last few years of his life to spend much money,' she said, in rather a clear, cold voice. 'And aren't you forgetting death duties? They do rather eat up capital these days.' Tony looked at her and spread his hands. 'But even so,' he said, 'he did have a lot to leave, didn't he?' 'Did he?' Caprice's voice was colder than ever. 'Possibly my solicitors can let you know more accurately than I can what he did actually leave, but I understand the affairs of the estate have not yet been entirely cleared up. So, as yet, no one's terribly wise.' Sally fairly leapt off the settee and intervened. 'Why talk about money, Tony?' she complained. 'It's vulgar! And you've come here to help Caprice make up her mind about a car. She's got to have a car, and you've got one to 4 sell, so . . . well, that brings us back to the apparently inescapable subject of money, doesn't it? But, as I explained to her, you're not out to make money. You merely wish to help her out!' 'Exactly.' But even Tony looked mildly surprised by the notion. 'Look, Miss Vaughan -' He led her over to the window. 'It's down there, in the stable-yard . . . that smart little grey affair. I don't mind telling you she's a little beauty, and barely run in as yet. But I won't be hard on you because you're an heiress. I'm asking a fair price.' 'And what do you consider a fair price?' Caprice enquired, studying the 'smart little grey affair' that was drawn up for her inspection in the very middle of the stable yard. Tony mentioned a sum, and Sally immediately coughed. He climbed down, as if accepting a hint, and lowered the price by two hundred and fifty pounds. But it was still an exceptionally steep price, and

even Caprice, who knew little or nothing about the English car market, thought it was a trifle fanciful. Sally still coughed. 'You said you were not out to do the girl,' she reminded him. 'I'm not.' He looked honestly indignant at the bare suggestion. 'But I can tell you a few things about that car . . . and about a couple of people I know who are anxious to possess it. As a matter of fact,' looking earnestly at Sally, 'right up until the moment when you rang this morning I had made up my mind to clinch the -bargain with a chappie I know who's been pestering me for days to give him an answer .. . and I would have settled the matter, only I wanted to do you and your friend a favour.' He smiled in a curiously innocent fashion at them both ... or rather, his light blue eyes seemed capable of adopting the most cherubic and innocent look at times. Sally shrugged her shoulders. She looked at Caprice. 'What do you say?' she asked. 'Shall we go down and have a look at it?' Caprice agreed, and down they all three went into the stable yard. Once there, Tony Moresby really got down to the job of 'selling' his car. He insisted that Caprice slipped behind the wheel and first tried the gears, and then started it up. She was pleased by the feel of the car, and her eyes told her it was in good condition ... and she liked the attractive combination of comfortable runabout and shootingbrake that she knew was popular nowdays, and which Sally assured her could hardly be bettered if she wanted a car that was practical as well as ornamental. She supposed that before she made a decision she ought to get the local garage to vet the car. But when she made this

suggestion Tony looked so profoundly shocked, and his cherubic blue eyes rebuked her in such a hurt fashion, that she withdrew the suggestion immediately and decided to settle the matter by producing her cheque-book and writing a cheque there and then. She had the feeling, once she had handed over the cheque, that she had made a friend of Tony for life. As for Sally, she was plainly impressed by the business acumen of the girl from down under, and wanted to make tea for all three of them before Caprice climbed back into her new car and headed for Ferringfield Manor. Caprice refused the tea, but she accepted an invitation from Sally to look in at the stables whenever she felt like it - and whenever she needed any assistance. She felt reasonably certain that Miss Carfax and her boy-friend were out to make money wherever and whenever they could; but she didn't hold it against them, and before she drove off she waved her hand in a very friendly manner and said they must both come and have lunch with her the following week, when the house was a little more fitted for the reception of visitors. They called after her that the invitation was accepted, and she had no doubts whatsoever that they would both turn up when she repeated the invitation , . . and almost certainly in the future they would try to sell her many things which she might not even want to buy. She could see it in their faces as they responded to her waving. 'See you soon,' Sally called. 'And if you want any help refurbishing the Manor just let me know.' 'I will,' Caprice called back. She was reasonably satisfied with her new purchase, and very much relieved to think that in future she would not have to ring for a hired car when she wanted to go shopping in the nearest town.

She drove the car into the big garage at the manor where Richard Winterton housed his car, and as his was absent at that particular time she made use of the maximum amount of space, which meant that he would probably find himself very crowded when he returned with his sleek Jaguar. 'Of course, he would have a Jaguar,' she said to herself more than a little contemptuously, as she patted the smooth sides of her grey convertible. 'And if he wants to move this... well, he'll have to come and ask me for the key. Which will annoy him very much indeed, unless I'm badly mistaken about him!' But Richard Winterton did not disturb her later that day and ask her for the key of her new car. Neither did she see him at dinner, or meet him anywhere about the house. If he came, in later that night she did not hear him, and the next morning, as usual, she breakfasted alone. If Winterton was staying on in the house he was using it more as a sleeping place than a residence, and the thought comforted her. It surely meant that, any moment now, she would hear that he had left altogether. And as he spent so much time at the Ferringfield Arms and the local country club it would almost certainly be more dignified from his point of view if he withdrew to one or other of them. But the next morning, when she went out to look at her car, he was giving the Jaguar a meticulous polish in the garage, and she observed that he had managed to manoeuvre himself in very skilfully beside the less pretentious car, and had not even dented her paintwork. 'So I see you've bought yourself a car.' He was in his shirtsleeves, and wielding his leather vigorously. 'Not the type of vehicle I would have imagined you would have chosen, but useful, I suppose. How much did you pay for it?'

She told him, and he dropped the leather. 'You must be mad!' he said. She shrugged. 'You must remember I've got a lot of money to spend. Everyone keeps reminding me of it.' 'Everyone? Who's everyone?' 'Your friend Miss Carfax, and her friend Mr. Tony Moresby.' She could have sworn that he was mildly startled. 'When did you meet Tony Moresby?' 'Yesterday, at the stables.' 'Sally's stables?' 'Yes. She very kindly gave me lunch.' 'I see.' His eyes narrowed. 'And did she invite Tony over in order that he could rook you?' 'He didn't rook me.' She smiled at him sweetly. 'He just happens to be a business man, and he was out to make the maximum amount of profit. I'm not so stupid as not to know that he overcharged me . . . but I wanted the car, and I bought it. It was as uncomplicated as that! Don't you believe in uncomplicated business deals?' 'I believe in being a little bit cautious, apart from anything else, when buying a car.' He looked at her with a kind of surprised contempt. 'Do you mean to tell me that you didn't have the thing tested, or anything of that sort, before you paid for it?'

She shook her head. 'No.' , 'You just wrote out a cheque?' 'Yes.' He walked to the bonnet, lifted it, and peered beneath it. Then he opened the car doors and looked inside. After which he shut them quietly. 'Well,' he observed, 'a fool and his money are soon parted. A feminine fool and her money can be just as quickly separated.' She leaned against the bonnet of the car and continued to smile at him. For some reason she felt that she was the one who was in charge of the situation, and he for once was labouring under a slight disadvantage ... the disadvantage of surprise. Apparently he hadn't suspected that she was quite so easily imposed upon. To her surprise, he regarded her a trifle sternly. 'Do you want some advice?' he asked. 'No,' she answered, and shook her head decisively at the same time. 'Well, you're going to get it just the same,' he said. 'Young men like Tony Moresby are best avoided. And if you want a girl-friend, look for someone less sophisticated than Sally Carfax.' 'But she's your girl-friend.'

She was still leaning against the bonnet of the car, and her grey eyes challenged him. His were hard and dark and indifferent. 'One of them.' He extracted a handsome gold cigarette-case from his pocket, and lighted a cigarette. 'I do not make the mistake of having one girl-friend. That is a major error I have learned to be excessively cautious about.' 'I see.' But she regarded him as if he had acquired characteristics that were even less pleasant than those with which she already associated him. 'In that case, I hope your girlfriends Ire provided with a book of rules when they first get to know you. I mean, if they mistakenly thought you were serious . . . well, it would be a little hard on them, wouldn't it?' He shrugged. He could not have expressed more complete indifference. 'It's one of life's hazards, getting to know a member of the opposite sex. But young women - are sensible nowadays . . . and they're not all out for marriage. Marriage is for the few! Or should be! I would insist on a test of suitability before granting a marriage. licence if the power to issue marriage licences was any concern of mine.' 'Really?' She was intrigued by this expression of his opinion, but her eyes expressed a growing revulsion. 'Fortunately - for all of us, I think I'm safe in taking a sweeping exception - the power to govern people's lives does not lie with you, Mr. Winterton! You are free to draw up rules for the preservation of your own freedom, but you can't do anything about the rest of us .. . except the odd, misguided young woman who might conceivably find you attractive. Does Miss Carfax know about your attitude? Of is she safe in any case? She strikes me

as having a built-in protective system against being taken advantage of, unless I'm easily deceived!' 'It's quite possible that you are easily deceived.' He eyed her with arrogant speculation and a cool kind of disdain. 'Despite your "down under" shrewdness, which I would say at a guess is most decidedly "built-in". However, Sally is a girl I can admire because she is all on the surface. He would be a fool indeed who was taken in by Sally.' 'Meaning...?' 'She's a "nice" girl... nice and companionable and attractive and sensible. What more could any man want?' 'What more could any girl want than a man who put a label on her and was quite unprepared for surprises?' she retorted with unconcealed contempt. 'And "sensible"! How I would dislike being thought of as sensible.' 'Which you're not, of course, otherwise you wouldn't now be the possessor of that car for which you've paid about twice as much as it was really worth. And you wouldn't have been taken in by Tony Moresby.' She spoke very clearly. 'I like Tony Moresby. I like him because he's so completely transparent and anyone can -guess that he's always hard up and looking around for means of making money . . . not any more disgracefully than thousands of other people! I wanted this car and I never once argued about the price, and he let me have it and I got it. It was as simple and uncomplicated as that! So what can you possibly have against Tony Moresby?'

'I haven't anything against him,' he replied in a vicious tone. 'I think men of his kind are necessary sometimes when little girls like you are around. They need to be taken for a ride, and the Tony Moresbys of this world will certainly take them if they're willing to accept all the invitations. The one person I'm sorry for- and it's absurd because he doesn't need any sympathy now! - is the late Josiah Vaughan, who left you all his money. If he'd endowed a home for stray cats or stray anything-at-all he would have shown greater sense!' She smiled. She couldn't resist smiling both engagingly and very provokingly. 'And if he'd left it all to you he would have shown still more sense, wouldn't he?' she said sweetly. 'Well, for some reason - which I don't find it difficult to understand - he didn't.' She turned on her heel, and then she turned back to him. 'And that brings me back to something rather important,' she murmured in the same sweet tone. 'When will you be moving out, Mr. Winterton?' His hard eyes snapped back at her. 'I won't be moving out, Miss Vaughan . . . not yet!' With a trifle of emphasis on the last word. She surveyed him for a long moment as if she was attempting to assess the value of that final - and it could be very important! - word. 'Well, while you remain in my house I'd rather you didn't entertain your lady friends at my expense,' she observed with an almost sugary sweetness, and deceptive gentleness. 'I like Sally Carfax, but the next time she dines here let it be at my invitation.'

He swung away from her, and she thought he was about to stride angrily out of the garage... but the next moment he had turned, and was regarding her bleakly. 'Consult Mrs. Beale about the housekeeping arrangements,' he advised her. 'Ask her who, at the moment, is paying for the food you eat, and the service you receive!'

CHAPTER FIVE CAPRICE lost no time in putting those very questions to Mrs. Beale the next time she saw her. Very much to her discomfiture, and considerably to her surprise, Mrs. Beale admitted that she had received nothing at all for housekeeping from any other source than Richard Winterton for some time, and it was he who, for months now, had been paying her and her husband's wages. 'After the death of Mr. Vaughan no one apart from Mr. Winterton seemed to have any thought for us,' she admitted, 'and certainly the solicitors didn't seem to think it necessary to advance us any money. Mr. Vaughan left both my husband and myself a small legacy, but we haven't received it yet. Of course, I know we'll get it one day, but—' pleating her apron - 'I don't quite know how we would have managed if it hadn't been for Mr. Winterton. I suppose we would have had to move out and get another job, but that would have been difficult at our time of life.' 'It would,' Caprice agreed. She made up her mind to have a word with her solicitors the following day, as soon as she could get them on the telephone. And in the meantime, as a sufficient amount of ready money had been made available to her, she provided Mrs. Beale with funds that would enable her to restock her store cupboards, and be completely independent in the future of Mr. Winterton's acts of charity and benevolence. 'You must let me know how much you have received from Mr. Winterton in the way of salary,' she instructed Mrs. Beale, 'and I'll see to it that the amount is paid back to him. I don't wish you,' with more emphasis, 'to accept any financial assistance from Mr. Winterton in the future, but if he wishes to contribute to his support while he lives here he can do so,' realising that she sounded incredibly mean.

Her own father would be ashamed of her if he overheard her . . . although perhaps he would sympathise with the determined impulse she felt to get even with Mr. Winterton and not to allow him even a crumb of latitude. She disliked him intensely, and she felt that she had to go out of her way to show how intensely she disliked him. But Mrs. Beale, while receiving her instructions, looked at first vaguely uncomfortable, ami then definitely uneasy ... as well as, perhaps, a trifle apprehensive. 'But, Miss Vaughan,' she protested, as she continued to pleat her apron, 'Tim and I... we owe quite a lot to Mr. Winterton. Afid he won't take it kindly if we - if you let him know that I told you he's been paying us our wages. He asked me not to let anyone know.' 'He suggested that I ask you for the source from which you've been receiving your wages only this morning,' Caprice told her. 'And,' she added, 'I've just asked you.' Mrs. Beale recognised that she was cornered. But whether because of past kindnesses or present intimidation she insisted that Richard Winterton, although a difficult master to serve, was far from being an ungenerous one. And in addition he was the only one who had fought the battles of Tim Beale and his wife, and therefore they felt bound to support him whatever he did. 'If he left. .. well, it wouldn't be the same, miss,' Mrs. Beale said, and Caprice felt mildly startled. 'You mean that if he left you might feel tempted to leave too?' she asked. The caretaker's wife looked humbly apologetic.

'We don't want to go, miss,' she assured the new mistress, 'but we don't want Mr. Winterton to leave, either. You want him to leave... and it could be difficult.' 'He's got to leave,' Caprice said flatly. Mrs. Beale produced a duster from her pocket and started to polish the dining-table. Caprice watched her and felt irked and impatient because the woman was plainly not prepared to transfer her allegiance from one source of income to another. Which certainly indicated loyalty, which Caprice secretly approved. But she said firmly: 'In future you will take your orders from me, Mrs. Beale . . . and if you take them from Mr. Winterton I shall have to replace you. He has no power to exercise authority here, and you can take it from me he will be leaving. He will be leaving as soon as he has found alternative accommodation. And while he remains here you will look upon him as my guest, and under no circumstances will you accept financial assistance from him or allow him to pay for food, or anything of that sort. You will present all your accounts to me. Do you understand?' Mrs. Beale nodded. But she did not look very pleased. 'Yes, miss,' she said. 'All your accounts, Mrs. Beale. Mr. Winterton must not be permitted to pay for anything,' 'Yes, miss... I understand, miss.' But, as she departed from the dining-room, Mrs. Beale was muttering to herself, and Caprice wondered whether, if the situation

deteriorated any further, the pair would hand in their notice. Which would be difficult for Caprice, and a triumph for Richard Winterton. Caprice went upstairs to her room and wondered why she had had to inherit this problem as well as a house and a substantial income, for which she certainly ought to be very grateful. And as a matter of fact, she was grateful, and she wasn't nearly as arrogant as Mrs. Beale might secretly suppose, and Richard Winterton almost certainly was entirely convinced that she was. Richard Winterton.... He had the power to make her feel a complete outsider, and yet she had inherited this house and estate by right. It was hers because it should have belonged to her father. And if old Josiah Vaughan had wanted Richard d'Arcy Winterton to have it he would have made the right sort of provision in his will. All this seemed logical, and she couldn't think why she felt so unutterably depressed as she ran the taps in her bathroom and took a purely mechanical bath. She towelled herself vigorously, put on fresh clothes, and re-did her face, then combed her hair into a slightly new style because she felt the need to see another aspect of herself in the glass when she studied herself. But nothing that she did rid her of the sensation that she was attempting the well- nigh impossible in planning to live at Ferringfield Manor . . . and that for one thing she hadn't the right to make the changes that she considered necessary, or even to take over the role of mistress because there were now two people to Consider . . . Mrs. Beale (plus her husband) and Richard Winterton. Mrs. Beale had not the least intention of being awkward, but it was plain that she regarded Winterton as the man who should rightfully have inherited the house, and Caprice as the unwanted interruption in a way of life that had not always been smooth, but which was a way of life she clung to, and which she would have wished to see continue.

And whenever she spoke of Richard Winterton - and there were times when she appeared critical of him - she nevertheless managed to convey the impression that, whatever he did, she felt indulgent towards him, and she was even, in some strange way, attached to him. Caprice, who couldn't imagine anyone becoming attached to the dark-eyed, arrogant Winterton, wished that someone had had the common sense to let her know of his existence before she arrived at Ferringfield Manor, and then perhaps she wouldn't have felt as helpless as she did now having to cope with the problem that he represented. She had never met a man quite' like him before, and certainly not one with the same amount of insolence, arrogance and audacity. She would never forgive him for the various things he had said to her, and for the insulting casualness of his behaviour when he kissed her. And she knew she couldn't go on living with him in the same house. She had to get him out of her hair somehow ... and she began to cast about in her mind for some sure means by which she could achieve this desirable result. She had gathered that he was not entirely approving of her growing friendship with Sally Carfax, and so she set out to cultivate Sally Carfax. Sally was not really the type of girl friend she would have chosen, but in a strange country, with virtually no friends and not even one or two acquaintances - apart from Tony Moresby, whom she also began to see quite a lot of - she felt the need of some sort of link with another human being who had no particular reason to envy her, and was not employed to serve her, and Sally was the obvious choice. The two girls were much of an age, had one or two shared interests, and at least Sally was unashamedly friendly. Tony Moresby, perhaps not quite as desirable, but even more anxious to be friendly, left her with a more limited amount of choice when it came

to making new contacts. Having sold her his car and come very well out of the bargain, he started to pursue her in earnest. He phoned her at least twice daily, and took her to lunch at the Ferringfield Arms two days after the transfer of the car. Caprice was rather curious to see the Ferringfield Arms, for she understood that Richard Winterton visited it often, and had once or twice in the past made it his headquarters. These could have been occasions, Caprice decided, when he and the late Josiah Vaughan had either had a disagreement or the old man had grown tired of providing him with free board and lodging at the Manor. And there had been nothing left for him but to retire temporarily until the old man either relented, or invited him back against his better judgement. There was always the possibility that Winterton had had some hold over Josiah Vaughan, but Caprice could not imagine what this could have been, and she had no means - at present - of finding out. So when Tony Moresby asked her to lunch at the Ferringfield Arms she accepted with a strange alacrity. He picked her up in his own car, and they drove to the inn and had drinks before lunch, and afterwards enjoyed an excellent three-course meal in the oak-panelled diningroom. Tony was a cheerful host and sufficiently impressed by her looks to pay her genuine compliments, and at the same time she had the feeling that he was much more impressed by her undoubted affluence, and was thinking up ways and means of benefiting by it while they waded through roast duck and apple sauce followed by cranberry tart and cream and coffee in the lounge. Tony tried to persuade her to have a liqueur with her coffee, but she declined. She was charmed by their surroundings and the wealth of old oak, the log fire blazing half way up the chimney, and the typically English October day outside, and she tried to make Tony understand how

much she appreciated being back in England at last - an English girl born and brought up in Australia. Tony was very anxious to learn what she proposed to do with Ferringfield Manor. 'Will, you live in it?' he asked, as if he couldn't easily imagine her settling down there alone. 'It's a big place. It needs a lot of upkeep.' 'So is Headingly Towers,' Caprice reminded him. 'And Miss Carfax is planning to settle down there.' Tony smiled as if this was news to him. 'Well, she may settle down there one day, but at the moment I think the stable flat is quite enough for her,' he offered it as his opinion. 'And the set-up will be rather different. I mean, she's running the place as a business.' 'A riding stables?' Caprice enquired, with upraised eyebrows. 'Can one maintain a place as large as Headingly Towers on the profits of a riding stables?' Tony shrugged his shoulders. 'Don't ask me. I'm not particularly well informed about profits, in any case,' smiling a little ruefully. 'But Sally is quite a girl for getting things done when she wants them done, and if she wants to turn Headingly Towers into a show place one of these days she'll no doubt manage to do so ... with the assistance of her favourite backer,' a little drily. 'He can afford to take risks if she's planning to involve him in them.' This all sounded rather obscure to Caprice, and she didn't think it was a subject she ought to pursue with Tony Moresby. So she changed it

somewhat hurriedly and asked him whether he had ever met Josiah Vaughan. Tony shook his head. 'The old chap was an invalid for years. He never went out.' 'But you know Richard Winterton?' 'Yes, I know him.' He ground the end of his cigarette out in an ashtray. 'Very well?' 'No; not particularly well . . . but Winterton is hardly the type of man one gets to know easily. Unless, of course, it's Sally... and she, I think, knows him very well.' He sat back in his chair and looked somewhat quizzically at Caprice. 'She and Winterton see a lot of one another. Quite a lot!' 'Did you expect him to inherit Ferringfield Manor?' 'No, why should he? He wasn't a relative of the old man, was he? Although he lived there for years. By the way,' as if it had only suddenly occurred to him that she was sharing the manor with Winterton, 'are you having some difficulty in getting him out? I believe he's rather dug .himself in, hasn't he? But possession can't be nine points of the law in this case. He hasn't any right there!' 'I know,' Caprice answered. Tony surveyed her for a moment as if there was something else he was about to say to her on the subject of Winterton, and then he changed his mind. He merely observed: 'Well, now that you've moved in he'll move on, of course. He'll have to. I suppose it's natural to become attached to a place when you've lived in it for years, but

there was never any reason why he should live there, as far as I've ever understood. And he doesn't have to live there. With his money he could live almost anywhere.' 'With his money?' Caprice crinkled her brows. It had never even occurred to her that Winterton could be a man of means. Until she was corrected by, Mrs. Beale she had assumed that even the ordinary everyday necessities of life were provided, in his case, by the Ferringfield estate. Which made her feel a little uncomfortable now because her assumption, apparently, had been somewhat wide of the mark. 'I had no idea that Mr. Winterton was a wealthy man,' she remarked, frowning over this new image of Winterton as a wealthy man, and Tony lit another cigarette and smiled slightly as he did so. 'Oh yes, Winterton could buy us all up if he wanted to.' He blew a cloud of smoke into the .air, and, in his turn, he frowned slightly as he waved it away. 'Why else do you think Sally thinks so very highly of him? Or rather, why do you think she attaches herself to him so very purposefully?' Caprice looked perplexed. 'She likes him?' she hazarded. Tony laughed rather harshly. 'Perhaps. But I'm only a man, and I'm not in a position to say whether she does or not. But if she likes him, she's on to a good wicket. I'll say that!' Caprice helped herself to more coffee, and then thoughtfully spooned sugar into her cup.

'I rather get the impression that you don't like Richard Winterton,' she remarked, after rather a long moment of silence between them. One of Tony's sandy eyebrows went up somewhat quizzically. 'Do you?' he retaliated. She shook her head. She gave it such an emphatic shake that Tony laughed with a greater sense of amusement. He held out his own cup for more coffee.' 'Well, there you are,' he said. 'And you've only known him a very short while ... a matter of days, isn't it?' She nodded. 'I think he's thoroughly objectionable,' she said. Tony had paid the bill and tipped the waiter, and they were about to leave. They had got as far as the outside lounge when Winterton himself- came in through the door with Sally in attendance. She was carrying a lot of parcels as if she had been shopping, and she looked as self-satisfied as a cat that had recently stolen the cream. 'Hullo!' she called out as they passed. She didn't seem in the least surprised to see Caprice in the company of Tony, but her companion scowled. He didn't even venture a greeting, but Sally called after them as they reached the swing door: 'By the way, Caprice, there's something I'd like to show you if you'll come over tomorrow. Come to lunch again...' Caprice was so conscious of a strange sort of confusion because Winterton was regarding her with such a black look that she actually stammered as she replied.

'Oh, but I lunched with you the other day. I - I can't accept another invitation so soon:..' 'Don't be silly!' Sally was in such a high good humour that she beamed at the other girl as if she had discovered a definite affection for her. 'I've told you I've got something to show you! I think I can guarantee that you'll like it... and be interested! Do come!' 7 'Very well, if you really mean it.' Tony was holding open the car door for her when Caprice joined him outside the hotel, and she was really rather astonished to find him wearing an expression that was almost, but not quite, as black as the one worn by Winterton, 'You, see?' he said, a slight thickness in his speech as he stood holding open the car door. 'He's like a bad smell that you can't get rid of! No matter what steps you take to banish it it returns again and again! Winterton knows I loathe the sight of him, but that doesn't prevent him turning up wherever I go! Did you see how loaded down with parcels Sally was? She's been shopping... they've been shopping! And she's taken them inside to gloat over them.' 'It's a little late for lunch,' Caprice remarked, wondering whether Sally intended to gloat over the contents of her parcels in the hotel dining-room. But Tony looked almost contemptuous because she was so innocent. 'Lunch? He's got a suite in the newly decorated part of the inn. If they want lunch they'll have it upstairs. If they don't...' He slid into the driving-seat and slammed the door on his side, after having done the same thing as soon as Caprice was settled. 'I see,' she said, as he started up the car.

CHAPTER SIX HER second lunch with Sally was not quite so enjoyable, because the latter made it very plain that the main reason why she had invited her was because she wanted to sell her a chestnut mare. 'She's a beauty!' she. declared, as soon as Caprice arrived. She led her over to the stables, and opened one of the half-doors. 'I know you're keen to ride, and there's not much point in hiring a hack when you've stables of your own. The amount she'll cost you to keep will be nothing compared with what it would cost you to go on hiring from me.' But Caprice frowned very slightly. 'I haven't had time to examine the stables at Ferringfield,' she explained. 'I'm not at all sure they're in a fit condition to be put into use as they are . . . and in any case, I haven't got anyone who could groom the mare, or look after her properly.' 'Then I'll look after her for you.' Sally apparently had it all worked out. 'You can leave her here with me, and I'll house her and feed her and you can collect her whenever you want her. Naturally, I won't charge you as much as I'd charge anyone else, but I do strongly recommend that you don't let this bargain slip past you.' Caprice made a somewhat feeble effort to point out that she hadn't had any intention of buying herself a mount just yet, but Sally merely smiled as if she was trying hard to humour her, and in the end supplied her with a ball-point pen and a table to write on while she made out the cheque. It was rather a large cheque. It struck Caprice that horseflesh in England must be very expensive, in fact quite staggeringly expensive, since this was not an animal she intended to race, or

anything of that sort. And she did feel slightly revolted by the eager way Sally swept up the cheque, and then whisked it away to a drawer of her private bureau. The lunch she provided on this occasion was a somewhat hurried affair, involving scrambled eggs and some rather badly burnt toast, and the coffee they drank afterwards was instant coffee, and tasted rather bitter to Caprice. Then Sally started talking about Ferringfield Manor, and it appeared that she had been giving the house a lot of thought, and if Caprice was thinking of having the place put into really habitable condition she knew just the right person who could undertake the job. It was an old school friend of hers who had taken up interior decorating and Sally recommended her so strongly that Caprice was hard put to it to prevent her getting on to the telephone to her there and then and asking her to run over and submit an estimate. 'After all, with your money you must live in a place that's suitable, mustn't you?' Sally insisted. 'And above all, you must have a standard of comfort that will impress people and make it easy for you to settle down in England. Of course, I don't know what you were accustomed to in Australia, but it was probably very modern and clinically clean, and that sort of thing-' 'It was nothing of the kind.' Caprice decided to disabuse her straight away. 'It was very un- modern, and although I tried to make the best of it the living-room was rather like a huge bam, and the bedrooms were really primitive. Why, when I was very young we never even had curtains!' 'Really?' Sally stared at her, more than half inclined to Relieve that she was joking.

'And our kitchen equipment would probably have shocked you! But it's better now,' Caprice admitted, and explained that shortly before her father's death they had had an addition built on the main house, and amongst the increased luxuries was a reasonably up-to-date kitchen, which nevertheless had received its final coat of paint from her own hands. Sally looked as if she was still not quite sure that her leg was not being pulled, and indicated Caprice's elegant soft wool suit. 'At least you know how to dress,' she said. 'I've got a kind of feeling there's a Paris label inside that suit.' Caprice smiled. 'There is,' she admitted. 'I stopped off in Paris, as I believe most people phrase it, and bought myself this on my way here.' 'Lucky you!' Sally exclaimed, eyeing the suit enviously. 'Any more like that in your baggage?' One or two, Caprice admitted. She went home committed to receiving Sally's friend in a few days' time, when that young woman would make the journey from London and give her the benefit of her expert advice on house furnishing as well as house decoration. Sally was convinced that if she wanted entirely new furniture - and much of the old at the Manor was really in rather a poor condition of preservation - Primrose Faulkner was the one and only person in the southern (and, possibly, northern) counties of England who could really advise on it. And what was more, she would know exactly where suitable pieces could be obtained.

Caprice had the feeling of being rather deflated when she reached home, and she was not in any mood to encounter Richard Winterton in the hall . . . especially Winterton surrounded by his dogs in the firelit hall, which meant that they simply leapt at her the instant she walked in through the open front door. 'Stop it, hounds!' Winterton called them off immediately, but the skirt of the soft wool suit so admired by Sally Carfax was badly marked by three sets of muddy paws, to say nothing of one or two drawn threads. 'Clumsy animals!' He cuffed one of them rather severely as if even he recognised that an act of desecration had taken place under his eyes. 'Don't you know Miss Vaughan by this time? And do you all three have to rush at her whenever she makes her appearance in her own house?' But, perversely, Caprice defended the dogs, and she barely noticed the damage done to her skirt. She had been gradually making friends with them over the past few days, and because they knew instinctively that she was a dog- lover their responses were becoming daily more enthusiastic and less suspicious. In fact, the element of suspicion had departed altogether. She bent over them now, and fussed them, and she addressed them in a tone of voice that, judging by their reaction, they apparently found quite irresistible. 'What does it matter about a silly old skirt?' she said, as she hugged Beatrice. 'And in any case, I can always change it, can't I?' Winterton, who was smoking a pipe which he had only just succeeded in getting to light, eyed her thoughtfully. 'You look a little depressed,' he observed. 'Is it the English climate after Australia?'

She shook her head. 'I'm beginning to decide that the climate of England at this season of the year is everything it should be.' She waved a hand to indicate the wet woods, and the dying October day outside, with a paling autumn sky turning slowly pink with the setting of the sun. 'And I love this old hall! Particularly now that Mrs. Beale has taken to lighting a fire on the hearth.' 'There's nothing like a log fire,' he agreed, his own eyes roving round the panelled hall and seeing the flickering firelight playing on the seasoned oak, and, in particular, the magnificent oak staircase which climbed so grandly to the dark gallery above it. He drew thoughtfully on his pipe, and his dark eyes narrowed slightly, appreciatively. Caprice herself had placed a copper bowl of chrysanthemums on a dark - almost black - oak dower chest at the foot of the stairs, and in 'the dancing light the russets and golds acquired an extra beauty, and the tangy scent of the flowers filled the hall. 'Of course, if this property belonged to me I'd do a lot for it,' he remarked, rather suddenly, as if he was addressing no one in particular. Caprice knew a sudden impulse to tell him about Sally Carfax's friend, who was descending upon her in a few days' time, and she was surprised because, for a few moments, he actually appeared rather startled. 'Primrose Faulkner?' He uttered the name with a kind of a snort. 'Do you honestly mean to tell me that she's coming here?' 'Yes.' Caprice looked directly; at him, a faintly challenging light in her eyes. 'Any reason why she shouldn't?' He played for a moment with one of the dog's ears. 'Not really.'

'But you don't sound very enthusiastic about her coming.' He frowned, flattening the ears of the shapely Beatrice so close io her head that she looked like an otter. 'It's your house,' he pointed out, somewhat grimly. 'You can ask anyone to come to it that you please.' 'Thank you.' She smiled a little drily. 'I'm glad you realise that.' 'Oh, believe me, I realise ... a number of things.' He went on frowning, but he released the dog. 'Am I right in assuming that you've seen Sally today?' 'Yes.' 'Did she try to sell you anything? Or did any of her friends try to sell you anything?' 'A horse.' She felt quite ridiculous as she made the admission, for it was very plain that he knew Sally much better than she did. In fact, it was almost certain that he knew her very, very much better! 'A horse? She flushed slightly, and nodded. , 'An attractive little chestnut mare. She's going to keep it at the stables for me.' 'Oh, she is, is she? Her stables?' 'Yes.' 'And is she going to feed it and exercise it for you, when necessary, and then send you the bill for all these little attentions?' Caprice's

increasing flush answered for her. 'And if it isn't a rude question, how much did you pay for the mare?' She hesitated for a few seconds, and then she told him. 'The figure sounded even larger in her own ears as she disclosed it than it had actually looked when she wrote it on a cheque. Winterton whistled. 'Well, well,' he exclaimed, 'well, well! I suppose you can afford it, and Sally is always hard up, but you'll have to learn to say "No" sometimes when you see something you like, or someone else decides you ought to like. Otherwise you might find yourself saddled with an elephant to be. boarded out at Miss Carfax's stables, and have a team of workmen and bulldozers descend on this house with intent to destroy it altogether!' 'Oh, no,' she exclaimed, impulsively, at that, 'you must know very well I wouldn't allow anything of that sort to happen!' 'Wouldn't you?' He eyed her sceptically and then turned away. 'Well, so long as you don't give Miss Faulkner permission to paint the panelling blue, and have the ceiling of the library decorated with golden stars, I shall offer no personal protests.' As if he had the right, in any case, Caprice thought with a rush of indignation. 'And now I think it's time these animals went for their walk. Come, hounds!'and he whistled softly to them. Caprice made another impulsive speech. 'Oh, are you really taking them for a walk? Can I come with you?' He turned and looked at her in the utmost astonishment. Then his eyes travelled up and down the length of her slim and extraordinarily attractive figure, lingered for a fleeting moment of time on her soft

dark beautifully arranged hair and her peach-like skin, and then travelled down to her feet. 'In those shoes?' he asked. 'I - I could change them,' she answered. She flushed uncontrollably as she met his eyes, and it struck her that their expression was faintly whimsical. 'If you wouldn't mind waiting, I could go upstairs and change them.' 'If you really feel you need some exercise.' But there was nothing welcoming in his speech, nothing to indicate that he wanted her to accompany him and his dogs, anyway. Only a grudging permission to accompany them. 'How long will you be?' 'A few minutes.' He glanced at his watch. 'I'm going out after dinner tonight. I haven't got a great deal of time to spare if I'm to get back here and change and give the dogs a good walk as well.' 'Oh, very well.' But she felt extraordinarily deflated, and badly rebuffed. 'I won't ask you to wait.' He shrugged. He walked to the open door, and the dogs plunged ahead of him, and down the steps and out on to the drive. Caprice, still standing in the shadows of the firelit hall, could see above his tall head and shoulders the tranquil beauty of the sky, with the rose flush becoming brighter and more beautiful every moment, and the coppery autumn leaves swaying against the brilliant backcloth. In her nostrils was the curiously attractive scent of the wet woods, and she knew an almost irresistible impulse to plunge after him and risk being badly snubbed this time.

But she managed to get the better of the impulse. At the head of the flight of steps leading down to the drive Winterton turned and looked at her. It seemed to her that he smiled at her a little crookedly. 'Of course, you could change your mind,' be said, in a strangely soft tone. 'And despite my appointment this evening, I could wait.' But she shook her head, very slowly. 'No; I won't keep you.' The smile in his eyes was strangely inviting. It was, in a way, a compelling smile. The dogs were jumping up and down at the foot of the steps, and baying noisily. She longed, all at once, to accompany them. But once more she shook her head. 'No, I'll stay here.' He shrugged his shoulders. The smile faded, and he turned away. 'As you please,' he said crisply, and ran down the steps after his dogs. Caprice turned back into the hall and felt for some extraordinary reason as if someone had rejected her altogether, and she had been somewhat callously abandoned. Which was very unreasonable, she knew.

CHAPTER SEVEN Two days later Caprice accepted an invitation to dine and dance with Tony Moresby. He telephoned her in the morning, she went shopping in the afternoon and bought herself one or two items that she lacked and which she thought were essential for dining out with a male escort, managed to get her harr set and her nails properly varnished, and was ready at eight o'clock when Tony called for her. It was the first time, apparently, that he had set foot inside Ferringfield Manor, and he was obviously impressed by what he saw. He was still more impressed by Caprice's appearance and her ravishing hair-do and new line of make-up, and although she was fairly certain that he nourished a secret attachment for Sally Carfax his eyes brightened quite considerably when Caprice appeared on the stairs of her own house and descended to, greet him once Mrs. Beale had let him into the house. He told her that he thought she looked wonderful, and after a couple of sherries in the Yellow Dining-room and a fleeting but comprehensive examination of many of its treasures he added that she was entirely the right sort of mistress for Ferringfield Manor. 'You look the part, somehow.' He smiled at . her appreciatively as she sat sipping her own sherry on the far side of the white marble mantelpiece. 'For a girl from Australia only just arrived in England you fit in remarkably well. Remarkably well!' 'Thank you.' Caprice didn't think it necessary to remind him that she was as English as he was, and certainly as British. Then somewhat to her relief he refused another drink and they set off for the Crown in Hatherleigh, which was the next village to Ferringfield. They had a very well cooked and served dinner, and the Crown offered the same form of sophisticated hospitality that the Ferringfield Arms offered, and if anything it was a slightly more sophisticated establishment. The clientele came from farther afield, and was made up of very well-dressed, pleasure-seeking couples and

parties who had heard in advance of the capabilities of the chef and the qualities of the wine-cellar. Caprice was prepared to enjoy her evening up to a point, but she was not greatly impressed by Tony, and when she paused to ask herself why she had accepted his invitation she couldn't find a satisfactory answer. Unless it was that Richard Winterton had seemed to disapprove of her knowing him ... After dinner they danced to a three-man band, and Tony developed a tendency to hold her rather tightly whenever the opportunity came his way. He made frequent inroads on a bottle that had been brought to their table, and tried to persuade her to do the same. But no amount of persuasiveness on the part of her escort could induce her to 'let down her hair,' as he more than once phrased it. He took her home at' last in his high- powered sports car, and if she had been asked to attest as to his sobriety and ability to handle the car at that late hour of the day she would have been strongly inclined to state bluntly that he was not in any fit condition. She even felt considerably alarmed as they lurched along the narrow lanes in what remained of the moonlight, and was intensely relieved to see the dark bulk of Ferringfield Manor loom up at last. Tony roared up the weed-choked drive, and stopped the car some distance from the front door, in a patch of shadow caused by overhanging trees. It was true that the trees were practically bare now, but the shadow was dense enough. Tony switched off the engine and the dashboard light and the interior of the car was plunged into deepest gloom. Tony, breath smelling strongly of Napoleon brandy, brought his face close to Caprice's and reached out to grab her at the same time.

She managed to elude him by backing well away into her corner. 'Oh, come now,' he protested, feeling for her with his hands, 'I thought we were beginning to get to know one another -' 'It's late,' she said rather breathlessly, feeling for the handle of the door. 'It's much later than I thought. I must go in.' 'Rubbish!' He laughed softly as he caught her by the arm and drew her forcefully towards him. 'It's not even eleven o'clock, and you don't have to get up early in the morning to rush off to a job. You're a lady of leisure... the lady of the Manor!' She felt his hot hands sliding up and down her arms. 'How does it feel being old Josiah's leading beneficiary? Nice, eh? Knowing you don't have to bother about the small change, and that you've got plenty of the big stuff-!' 'Please!' She twisted away from- him determinedly and only just refrained from giving him a sharp slap across the face. 'We've had a very pleasant evening, and I'm very grateful to you for giving it to me, but I don't want to sit out here and discuss my inheritance .. . and I do want to go to bed! Goodnight, Mr. Moresby-' 'Tony,' he protested, as if she had hurt him to the very core of his being. 'Why are we so formal all at once? And what's the rush, anyway? You're an attractive little thing, and I don't think I can tear myself away from you just yet. I want to get to know you - properly!' 'You already know me, Mr. Moresby,' she returned bluntly. 'As well as, I imagine, you ever will know me! I enjoy your company, but I don't think it's necessary to accord you special favours. I've already offered to pay for the dinner tonight, and I'm willing to pay for your petrol, if that's what you want!' 'Oh, come now,' he protested again. 'What have I done to upset you? As if I'd let you pay for the dinner -'

'I'm perfectly willing to do so if. you'd feel happier about it.' He frowned at her in the poor light. 'Do girls in Australia usually pay when their men-friends take them out for the evening?' 'They do if they wish to keep the relationship on a strictly friendly basis.' 'Meaning -?' 'What I've just said ... a strictly friendly basis.' She had managed to get the car door on her side open, and she started to climb out on to the shadowy drive. 'Goodnight, Mr. Moresby... and thank you!' He allowed her to reach the drive unimpeded, and then he opened his own door and moved swiftly round until he stood beside her. She could feel rather than see him looking down at her with reproach from his superior height. 'You don't like me, is that it?' he asked reproachfully. 'Of course I like you.' She was beginning to feel impatient. 'But I'm tired. I'd like to go inside, if you don't mind.' He glanced up at the dark front of the house. 'And you won't ask me inside for a coffee? Or perhaps another drink.' 'I think you've had quite enough to drink tonight, Mr. Moresby.' He laughed suddenly, as if he was genuinely amused. 'You're quaint, aren't you?' he said. 'But it's a quaintness I like. It sets you apart, somehow.' He put out a hand and touched her cheek. She

recoiled instinctively, and he frowned. 'How long do you have to know a man before you allow him to kiss you?' he asked, as if he was honestly curious. 'I don't allow men to kiss me.' 'Only one particular man…' 'There isn't a particular man.' He laughed, and she wondered how much more direct snubbing would be necessary before he took his departure and allowed her to climb the steps to her own front door. But somewhat to her astonishment the next statement he made indicated that he was highly satisfied. . 'Well, I'm glad of that... very glad!' Then, before she fully realised what he intended, he had once more seized her in his arms and kissed her clumsily. It was a kiss that landed awkwardly on her cheek, and it infuriated her . . . even more than the kiss with which Richard Winterton had once surprised her and aroused her indignation. Winterton's kiss had been hard and firm and deliberate. Moresby's was experimental and uncertain to a degree. He tried again, and she thrust him from her with such violence that, in his somewhat inebriated state, he rocked unsteadily on his feet and very nearly toppled over in front of her and hit the drive with a thud. The fact that he didn't hit the drive was due to the merciful intervention of his car, against which he stumbled and afterwards clutched at for support. Caprice felt not even the smallest twinge of conscience as she turned and positively flew up the steps and grasped the massive handle of

the front door. To her relief the door opened immediately, and once on the other side of it she shot home the bolts although the hall was still in darkness, and then groped her way to the foot of the stairs and climbed them to her room. Just before she reached her room, however, someone came along the gallery from the direction of the corridor which led to Richard Winterton's apartments and nodded to her casually. It was Winterton himself, and he observed as he passed her wearing a sober silk dressing-gown: 'Been doing your courting in the moonlight? A pity your masculine acquaintances all seem to get a little above themselves, don't they? You must learn how to box them soundly on the ears, not just smack their faces or push them backwards over their car! A girl as attractive as you are is bound, sooner or later, to get into serious difficulties, and it might well be that a course in Judo would be your best defence.' Caprice felt the surprised colour sting her face, and although there was only a very dim light in the gallery she could see that his eyes were openly mocking her. And, not for the first time, she thought they were thoroughly detestable eyes. 'You were . . . spying on me!' she accused him, amazed that even he should stoop to a thing like that. 'You saw me just now on the drive! You must have been watching from your window!' 'Well, it's a moonlight night.' He had paused, and was looking back at her as if deliberately seeking to goad her. 'And I'm a student of the stars! I spend a lot of time studying them when I've nothing better to do. Tonight I was at a loose end, so I - studied the stars!' 'I prefer to call a spade a spade, and you might as well admit that you heard the car and looked out of your window!'

'Well?' He was leaning against the carved oak balustrade of the gallery. 'And what if I did? Is there a law against looking out of windows?' 'It was my window,' she reminded him, so annoyed that he should, have seen her that she actually spat the words at him through clenched teeth. 'You hadn't any right to be looking out of it!' 'True, true.' He produced a packet of cigarettes from the pocket of his dressing- gown and lighted one. 'But if it will help your not unnatural indignation to abate I'll pass, a piece of welcome information on to you. I shan't be looking out of any one of your windows in the nottoo-distant future. I shall, I hope, be looking out of a window I can call my own!' She instantly felt deflated. 'You mean you're... leaving?' 'Very soon.' 'How soon?' 'A matter of a week, possibly a fortnight.' 'But you are leaving?' 'Yes.' Her colour subsided slowly. She knew a strange sensation of anticlimax. 'Well, I'm glad,' she said. 'I'm sure you are.'

'I didn't think you'd want to stay on here in a house that - that didn't belong to you.' 'You remind me that it doesn't belong to me every time I see you,' he remarked, drawing thoughtfully on his cigarette. Although the light was so poor she thought his eyes were dwelling on her contemptuously. 'How much do you enjoy knowing that the house belongs to you?' he enquired in a conversational manner. 'I haven't had time to enjoy it yet.' 'But you've had time to get to know Tony Moresby quite well.' There was cool criticism in his tone. 'For a girl like you there should be more dependable boy-friends. Tony is hard up, and therefore to him you must seem like the answer to the impoverished man's secret dream.' 'I think that's a beastly thing to say,' she declared. 'But it's nevertheless true.' He half turned on his heel, and then he turned back to her. He was smiling somewhat strangely. 'All the same, we can't let him get away with it, can we? I mean, you're not very big, and the next time he may be more importunate. If you want someone to punch him on the jaw next time he gets out of hand just let me know, and although I know you don't think of me as Sir Galahad I'll do the job for you!' His tone was still quite level and cool, but a sudden, most peculiar glint had invaded his eyes. 'I never have liked Tony Moresby,' he ended with emphasis. Caprice, in addition to being somewhat taken aback, felt distinctly curious. And then she decided that she had the answer. Tony Moresby spent much of his time haunting the stables run by Sally Carfax, and Sally Carfax was on familiar terms with Richard

Winterton. It was quite likely that he was in love with her ... in a kind of way. Or else he took a proprietorial interest in her. Maybe he resented any other man even looking at her, and Moresby did a good deal mote than just look at Sally. Caprice would have been prepared to swear that he was in love with her. But she was reasonably certain Sally was not in love with him.

CHAPTER EIGHT A WEEK went by, and during that time Caprice tried hard to settle down in her new home, and to make up her mind what she was going to do with it when the novelty of living in it as if it was an ordinary private residence faded. For of course she couldn't go on living in a house of its size ... a girl alone, without any ties or close connections of any sort. She hadn't even a maiden aunt living in England - or in Australia, if it came to that - and she had Virtually no friends. One didn't include recent acquaintances in one's list of people likely to have some outside influence on one's life when attempting to establish how, and by what means, she should overcome the disadvantage of being an alien in an alien country. And what was worse, a friendless alien with a lot of money and a certain amount of property that needed expert handling if it was not in time to become a liability. And when she went to call on her solicitor in London for his advice he had little or none to offer her. 'My dear young lady,' he said, in his urbane tones, while he sat surrounded by all the dig- nity of his office with its Persian rugs scattered about the floor, and fine oak panelling that had been rescued from a crumbling mansion in the country and bought to provide background for his daily life - the daily life of a very oldestablished solicitor who handled the concerns of many famous names. 'My dear young lady, I don't quite understand why you appear to be beset by problems. The problem of Mr. Richard Winterton I do understand . . . but you tell me that he will cease to be a problem in a very short time now, and therefore you have no longer to concern yourself about him. And as for your other problems -'

'Why did my great-uncle allow Mr. Winterton to live with him for so long and then not leave him anything in his will?' Caprice asked suddenly, because she was most anxious to know this. The solicitor smiled. 'Miss Vaughan,' he replied very softly and smoothly, 'you ask me something I am not in a position to answer. I can only hazard the guess that Mr. Winterton did not need to be mentioned in your greatuncle's will . . . and in any case, your great-uncle overlooked him entirely.' 'Yes, but he must have liked him to allow him to live in his house,' she pointed out. He offered her a cigarette in a carved cedar- wood box. 'Perhaps.' He walked round the desk to hold a light to her cigarette? 'But it's hardly our businesses it?' He smiled at her, very amiably but inscrutably. Caprice was annoyed by Ms complacency. In any case, he ought never to have allowed her to move into a house - take it over lock, stock, and barrel, as she thought - when it was already occupied by a man of Winterton's type. 'I wouldn't bother your head about things that do not concern you,' the solicitor advised her. 'Enjoy your inheritance. Make the most of what is legally yours.' He saw her as far as the outer door of the office, and Caprice took her departure feeling mildly frustrated and without any further information on the subject of Richard Winterton. She realised that he was becoming a kind of bogey in her life, and although she tried hard to do so she could never quite put him out of

her thoughts ... for the reason, or so she told herself, that he still represented a major problem. For although he had said that he would be leaving the Manor quite soon there was always the possibility that his date of departure might be postponed... and, in the end, she might still not find herself entirely free of him. After she left her solicitor's office she decided to do some shopping, and she drove herself as far as the West End, where she managed to park the car, and then begin a tour of the shops. She already had quite a comprehensive wardrobe, but she could never resist the allure of shops - particularly London shops. They fascinated her, who had seen nothing like them before . . . with the major exception, that is, of Parisian shops, where she had acquired everything that was smart in her wardrobe. Now, with money to indulge her whims, she set out to enjoy herself afresh. And as she was still in the midst of an orgy of spending when lunch time arrived she lunched in one of the larger stores, after which she walked along Piccadilly in the bright October sunshine and could have sworn that she saw Richard Winterton passing between the portals of a well- known London club. She could have been wrong, of course . . . and the explanation was probably that he was on her mind. So far as she knew he was still at Ferringfield, and he had certainly not mentioned a trip to London on the last occasion that she saw him before she herself left Ferringfield. But the man running lightly up the steps of the club after dismissing a taxi was so extraordinarily like him that she received quite a shock. He was somewhat elegantly attired, and she did not think of him as an elegant man... but that was the only important reason why she decided that her eyes had deceived her. Otherwise, the arrogant tilt of the chin, the curious springiness in his stride, and the concentration

on what he was doing, all seemed to seek to offer proof that Richard Winterton had not merely followed her to London, but he was insolently crossing her path in very much the same manner that he kept on crossing her path at Ferringfield. Why, only the other night she had had to encounter him in the gallery when she was on her way to bed. And he had been spying on her from the window of his room, which had struck her as quite insufferable at the time. Now - if it was indeed he - he was commanding the respect of the doorman who actually seemed quite delighted to see him, and stood aside from the doorway in order not to impede his entrance. He was about to enter the impressive hallway when another man who was just leaving the club practically collided with him, and he also seemed quite delighted to see him. Caprice did not wait to discover whether the man who was leaving actually adhered to his original intention or returned inside the club with the man she felt reasonably certain was Winterton . . . but, out of the tail of her eye, as she hurried past at the foot of the steps she thought she saw him turn and re-enter the club. And that meant, if it was Richard Winterton, that he was popular with both his peers and those whose duty it was to ensure his comfort. Caprice bought herself some tea before she set off to pick up her car, and once back in the driving seat she concentrated on leaving London behind her.' She had spent one night in London at a quiet little hotel which had been recommended to her by a fellow passenger on the way over from Australia, visited one or two places of interest in addition to seeing her solicitor and indulging in quite an orgy of shopping, and now, somewhat to her surprise, she was quite happy to return home to Ferringfield, where she planned to begin large-scale alterations very soon.

She had some vague idea of turning the place into a hotel or a country club, but those were only vague ideas, and before that she intended to render the place really habitable. She intended to make the most of its architectural features and add to the comfort of the place inside, and she was really looking forward to getting on with the job. She had been given the addresses of various firms who could be of assistance to her, and she means to contact them as soon as she got back. It was something to look forward to . . . all the activity and interest. And in addition she had decided that she liked the situation of Ferringfield Manor very much, and it was such typically English scenery that, in time, she felt certain she was going to find it hard to tear herself away from Ferringfield even for a short time. She longed to send out roots and become really established. A young woman alone might find it a little difficult, and she had no intention of marrying for some considerable while, if ever. But as she had never yet met a man with whom she would like to settle down for the remainder of her life this attitude towards possible marriage was fairly understandable. Secretly, she was a little .afraid of men. In Australia they had seemed to her too rough and wholesome; in England two men had kissed her within the space of less than a fort-. night and each had filled her with a sense of revulsion that alarmed her slightly, for if every time she met a man and he wanted to make love to her she experienced the same sensation she would have to accept it that she was not the type who was cut out for marriage. And marriage meant children, and security, and quite a lot of things that she had often thought she would like to have one day. She was or she hoped she was - a perfectly normal young woman, and normal young women didn't normally desire above everything else to live alone. Even when they owned a house like hers, they wouldn't choose, if the choice was theirs to live alone.

And that brought her up against the thought of Richard Winterton with a kind of jolt. Every time she thought of Ferringfield she thought of him, and this preoccupation of a part of her own mind annoyed her. She disliked him. She told herself that she disliked him thoroughly. She disapproved of him - much as her great-uncle must have disapproved of him, or he would have mentioned him in his will and every time she came face to face with him he alarmed her in some curious fashion that she couldn't quite understand. When she first met him she had had every reason for taking a keen dislike to him. But since then his attitude towards her had mellowed considerably, although he made no pretence of the fact that he held her in supreme contempt, and no doubt disapproved of her strongly because she was uprooting him from his old way of life. It was understandable, perhaps, that he should dislike her ... but there was no reason why his dislike should be quite so venomous, under the false, politeness and detachment of his manner. Apparently he was quite well off, and there was no reason why he should object so strongly to leaving a tumbledown manor house behind. If he had as much money as she had been given to understand he could buy himself another house . .. and surely he could make himself much more comfortable than he was at Ferringfield? The Beales were apparently attached to him, and he could take them with him. There was little obvious reason why he should feel so strongly about being detached from Ferringfield Manor. As Caprice drove herself home she wished she could divorce him from her thoughts with the same ease that he could sever his connection with Ferringfield Manor. But, although there were brief intervals when she did stop thinking about him, in very much the same manner that all roads led to Rome in the olden days so every

single one of her thoughts seemed, eventually, to lead her back either by coincidence or because he represented a kind of miasma in the background of her mind - to Winterton. Even in London she thought she saw him. She had barely started for home when she began wondering whether he was packing up in preparation for leaving, and whether he would have actual news of his departure for her on her return home. And very soon, after she had separated herself from the outskirts of London by no more than 'twenty miles, she began to have trouble with her car, and that caused her to think of Winterton and to remember how scornful he had been about her purchase when she first told him that she had bought the car from Tony Moresby. Halfway through Hertfordshire she stopped at a garage, where the mechanic seemed to think there was nothing seriously wrong with the car, and that it should take her the remainder of her journey with considerable ease if she handled it with a fair amount of care. He filled up her petrol tank for her and off she set again, travelling by this time through the dark, and without a very good map to ensure that she didn't take the wrong fork at a vital road junction. In any case, her dashboard lights were not very good, and another garage put them right for her before she reached the area of moorland, which was a very lonely area, which had to be crossed before she could reach a possible town for spending the night. She had decided to spend the night somewhere en route, in any case, and she wasn't pushing the car very hard. She had been warned not to do that whatever else she did, and she adhered to the advice very closely. Fortunately for her she was not nervous of lonely places, having been born and brought up in an extremely desolate place. She was used to driving herself, too, for miles at a stretch, without sight of any other, human being or even a passing vehicle. She knew precisely what to

do if she was temporarily benighted, and had to spend the night sitting by the roadside still without another soul within miles, and only the lonely cries of night birds to worry her. She knew that she simply had to sit there until day dawned, and hope for another car to pass. But that was in Australia, where passing cars were infrequent. In England, where the roads were never deserted for long, she really hadn't got a thing to worry about. Or so she told herself, until she actually lost herself on the loneliest part of the moor and her engine began to make disturbing knocking noises, and her petrol tank to leak. Such a combination of disasters should never really have happened to one normally very composed and competent young woman travelling north from London. They might have happened singly, but not all at once. And possibly it was because things seemed to be ganging up against her, and she ran into a pocket of mist and couldn't find her way out of it - or rather, the road that would lead her out of it - that she started to feel the first faint pin-prickings of actual panic. It was so silent in the mist, and she could see nothing at all ahead. The knocking noises under the bonnet were getting steadily louder, and then she travelled over an enormous mound, or so it seemed, and the car gave an uneasy wheeze and came to a standstill on the far side of the mound. Once the engine made no effort to get her out of her difficulties the silence that settled down over her and the car was absolute. More than that, it was uncanny. It was also very cold, and she was wearing only a fine wool suit. She dragged a raincoat from the back seat of the car and put it on, and then she opened the car door and crawled out into the blanketing mist.

As she stood there beside the car, trying to penetrate the cloying grey vapour oh all sides of her with narrowed eyes, she experienced a mild sensation of shock, because for the first time she wondered what she was going to do. There was no point in her opening the bonnet of the car and peering at the mechanism because, whatever was wrong, she could do nothing about it. She could change" a tyre, but that was all. And apparently her tyres were perfectly all right. All the same, she did the only thing that she could do in the circumstances and opened the bonnet of the car. The result was hardly encouraging ... she learned nothing. Then she looked at her petrol gauge, and saw that she was out of petrol. Her tank had leaked so badly that it was bone dry, and she had no spare can. She couldn't think how it had come about that she didn't have a spare can, but she didn't... and that was that! She was marooned on a lonely moor miles from anywhere> and she was fairly certain that she was off the beaten track. She had quite literally wandered off the road in the smothering mist, and the thought filled her with concern. She was not, as yet, in any panicstricken state, but one more discovery of a similar nature to the ones she had just made would have the effect of a final straw, and she knew she was going to dislike her situation intensely. There was nothing she could do standing beside the car, so she got back inside it and huddled behind the wheel. She was wet with mist and shivering inside her thin raincoat, and she wished she had had the sense to bring a rug with her when she left Ferringfield Manor. Of course, if it got any colder she could open one of her cases and wrap herself in her dressing-gown .. . She had a warm dressinggown.

But immediately following her discovery that she was completely immobilised she hadn't the heart to do anything at all but just sit there, and wonder how long it would be before a car came along and she was provided with some sort of assistance. The silence was really terrifying after a time. And when she first heard the only sound that shattered it - the bleating of sheep — she was unable to identify it for a few seconds, and actually felt the hair rising on her scalp before common sense came to her rescue and she recognised what it was. Sheep ... sheep wandering at will on the moor, and making thin protesting cries in the harsh, unfeeling night. She grew so cold at last that she had to leave the car again and pace up and down outside it, trying to restore the circulation in her frozen limbs. It occurred to her that she must be many hundreds of feet up for the atmosphere to be as cold as this. If only a car would come along. If only the dreadful, greyish blackness could be dissipated by the honest beam of a pair of headlights! Even her lights appeared to be failing, and the dashboard light had failed altogether. Tony Moresby's bargain was anything but a bargain. She told herself, as she tried to still her chattering teeth, that he must have recognised that she was no match for anyone of his calibre ... and that went for Sally Carfax, too, who must be laughing heartily with Tony - probably at this very moment! - as she thought of the bright little Australian girl who wasn't half as bright as she herself imagined; and she was no doubt getting together with Tony to sell her other things in the future . . . cars and horses and furniture and interior decorators and expensive architects. All would submit their estimates, and Caprice would write out the cheques, Sally and Tony would demand generous commission, and so the thing would

continue... until the Australian girl was badly fleeced, and began to realise at long last the kind of people she was up against. Only, fortunately for herself and her bank balance, she was- realising it now. But that was no comfort to her at the present time. She strained her ears because she thought she heard a car coming, and then something blundered into her, and she was about to utter a piercing shriek of pure terror when she realised that it was only a sheep ... a thinly protesting one that went on its way still protesting and was almost immediately lost in the mist and the sable blanket of the night. She was just recovering from the shock of being butted from behind, and her alarmed pulse was steadying a little, when once again she thought she heard the noise of a car. If it was a car, its lights were so thin that they were taking a long time to reach her . .. and in any case, if she was off the road it would probably pass her by, and she would be in a worse plight than before when it had gone on its way, knowing that in addition to being marooned she was unlikely to be noticed by any motorist using that section of the moor that night, and she would probably be where she was when morning dawned ... only by that time she would be frozen solid, and her hair would probably have turned quite white. All the same, there was always the possibility that she was not so very far off the road . . . She listened with desperate intentness as the unmistakable noise of a car shattered the uneasy silence around her. She didn't dare to take a step towards it, because she might lose herself and her own car if she ventured more than a foot away from it, and if she did that she really would be in trouble.

So she stood very still and waited with bated breath until the indescribable greyish blackness around her began to be broken up by a yellowish whiteness that was like the cream on milk. And when that yellowish whiteness became a pale orange brightness her relief was so tremendous that it deprived her of the power to call out, even if that would have made any difference. ' The car - and by this time she was able to deduce that it was quite a powerful one - came crawling towards her as if the driver was actually seeking someone, whereas she understood perfectly that he was merely taking precautions in the mist. And then as she stood as if rooted to the ground the orange light bathed her in a warm flood, and she was ready to cry with relief - such tremendous relief that she couldn't remember ever experiencing before - when the car slid alongside her and its driver hailed her with his head stuck out of his driving window and didn't sound in the least surprised to find her where she was. 'You'd better get in,' he said, reaching across to hold open his far-side door. 'If you've been here long you must be feeling a bit chilled.' Without answering a word she groped her way round to the open door and then subsided on to the seat beside him with a little damp thud. She had in actual fact lost the power of speech for a few moments, after being found, and her relief was so tremendous that her main instinct was to whimper like a small animal that had been dragged in out of the cold, and then if no one objected to dissolve into tears. She did, in fact, utter a snuffle or two, and then Winterton handed her the clean handkerchief from his breast pocket to wipe the moisture from her face. 'You look as if you've been in the duck- pond,' he remarked, with such obvious accuracy, and no particular sympathy in his voice, that

she couldn't refrain from laughing at last in a slightly hysterical manner. 'Sir Galahad!' she exclaimed. 'What a blessing you don't travel about on a white horse! It really would be a most unsuitable mount for you! 'And not half as comfortable from your point of view as the interior of this car,' he pointed out. And then he uttered a gruff noise of sympathy. 'How long have you been stuck here waiting for someone to come along?' She answered a trifle wildly. 'Oh, hours and hours!' He consulted his watch. 'That's a slight exaggeration, because I left London only about half an hour after you did, and the man at the first garage you stopped at reported that you'd only just got under way again. He didn't think you'd be on the road for long, and I thought I'd catch up with you quite easily after I'd made enquiries at the second garage. You see, I made the mistake of keeping well in your rear for the better part of the way, and then when you lost yourself I very nearly did the same thing, until sheer good fortune found me the road again, and the same good fortune eventually found you for me. I was beginning to think you and your car had evaporated into thin air . . . or else the little people who're supposed to live on these heights had made off with you!' 'Oh, don't!' she exclaimed, and then she shuddered. His hand came out and he patted her knee. 'Were you nervous?' he asked.

She nodded. 'I was scared!' In the warm light inside his car he could see her wan face, and the trickles of water that were still running down her face from her hair. She looked small and pinched and woebegone, and she was also shivering with cold. In concern he felt her hands, and then the cold sides of her face. After which he slipped out of his own greatcoat and wrapped it round her, and dragged a rug from the back of the car and wrapped that round her, too. She tried to protest, through chattering teeth, but he refused to listen. 'Don't be silly, I'm perfectly warm and you're frozen to the bone. If you don't develop a chill after this I shall be very much surprised! Now,. snuggle down while I get the car back on to the road again - it would never do if we both had to spend the night in such a spot! - and we'll see if we can't find a comfortable inn and a good dinner. I expect you could do with something to eat, couldn't you?' She glanced sideways at him with inexpressible gratitude. 'I could,' she breathed huskily. 'But more than anything else, I'd like a hot drink.' 'You shall have it,' he promised, as he bent forward and peered through the windscreen and made the most fortunate discovery that the mist was thinning. 'Hot whisky and lemon, or rum and milk. You shall take your choice.' She answered feebly, 'I'd rather have a good hot pot of tea!' He laughed softly.

'You would,' he said, 'you would!' No sooner had they run out of the mist than they arrived at a brightly lit little moorland hotel, and Caprice found it hard to believe that while she was marooned she was in actual fact only a mile or so from civilisation. While she was still waiting for someone to come along and succour her she would have been prepared to swear that civilisation, in the form of hot food, drinks and blazing log fires - to say nothing of the comfort of warm human voices - was very many miles away, and she-had even had the sensation that time itself had altered, and she was in another sphere. She was still very bedraggled when Winterton led her into the hotel, and she was glad that he appeared to know the proprietor, who placed a room at her disposal where she was able to do something about her appearance, and could have had a good hot bath in the adjoining bathroom if she had felt she had the time. But she didn't like to keep Richard waiting too long in the diningroom, where he had said he would reserve a table, and she rejoined him as soon as she had disposed of the hot tea that was sent, to her room and she had dried her hair on one of the many rough towels that had been provided, and restored the ravages to her make-up. He was pacing up and down in the firelit hall, and smoking a cigarette thoughtfully. But he threw away the cigarette the instant he caught sight of her descending the stairs, and looked up at her with rather an odd sort of smile. 'That's better,' he said. 'You look much more like the Miss Caprice Vaughan I associate with Ferringfield Manor.' She held out her hand to him impulsively.

'I must thank you for coming to my rescue,' she returned. 'I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't turned up when you did!' He continued to smile a trifle one-sidedly, and for several seconds after she gave him her hand he seemed to forget that he was still holding it . 'You know the old saying about waiting for a bus,' he said. 'One always turns up sooner or later . . . and someone would have come along sooner or later and put you out of your misery.' 'Ah, but that's the point,' she replied, shaking her head. 'By the time someone else turned up I would probably have become petrified with cold, and I would certainly have been half out of my head with sheer panic. I was beginning to be panic-stricken by the time you came along. It was so horribly isolated in that spot, and the mist wouldn't lift. I couldn't see a thing, and I couldn't hear a thing ... except sheep!' 'Well, sheep are harmless enough.' But from the way he studied her she gathered that he understood . . . which was much more than surprising when she paused to remind herself that he was Richard Winterton, not very far removed from an acknowledged enemy. 'And I did come along,' he added. She looked at him in a perplexed way. 'But you said something about the first garage I stopped at . . . How did you know I stopped at a garage? And if it comes to that, how did you happen to be following me at all? And I rather gather that you were following me!' 'You're not the only one who's been living it up in London.' His dark eyes sparkled faintly with amusement. 'While you were making holes in your bank balance - by the way, all those parcels that were stacked up in the back of your car will be quite safe, because someone will be

going out as soon as the mist lifts to bring them and your car in and stow them safely away in the hotel garage here - I was looking up old friends And having a bit of a jollification, too. That is to say, I met a party of old friends last night, did some business, and lunched with a very old friend at my club today. And now here I am! And here you are!' She nodded her head at him soberly, and looked both wise and mysterious. 'I saw you,' she told him. 'I saw you this morning.' He looked astounded. 'You did?' 'Yes . . . around about lunch time, and I think you were just arriving at your club. Anyway, I saw you run up the steps after leaving a taxi and I thought that the doorman seemed quite pleased to see you!' Winterton looked rather distant for a moment. 'He's known me for years,' he said. 'Contrary to the impression I believe you formed of me, I am quite respectable, and reasonably well known, you know. Not, I venture to add, in the wrong circles!' Carried away on a wave of gratitude because of his usefulness and this new aspect she believed she was seeing of him, Caprice decided to apologise there and then for anything she had thought or said about him in the past which might have been incorrect. 'I wasn't expecting to find you at the Manor, and it was all rather a shock,' she said. 'But now that you're leaving there's no reason why we shouldn't be friends, is there?' 'No... not now that I'm leaving!'

And he refused to allow her to talk any further until she had had something to eat, but led the way into the dining-room, where they found that a table cosily tucked away in a corner had been reserved for them, and the waiter was standing by to serve them with soup. They had the dining-room to themselves, because it was already getting late for that out-of- the-way spot, and it was not the kind of evening when people ventured out for dinner, or for any other purpose, unless they had to. Caprice, who was still feeling rather chilled inside, drank her hot soup gratefully, and afterwards she was able to do full justice to the excellence of the meal provided. Although she wanted to refuse Winterton insisted that she drank at least one glass of wine, and it certainly helped to banish altogether the chilly feeling inside her. Afterwards, in the same firelit hall where he had waited for her while she was upstairs going running repairs to her appearance, they sat for nearly an hour drinking coffee and talking about such a wide variety of things that Caprice, when she thought about the conversation afterwards, felt amazed. That she and Richard Winterton should have buried the hatchet - possibly only temporarily - was one thing; but that they should find a common meeting ground was quite another. She had decided days ago that he was an awkward man whom she could never possibly get to know ... and would eternally dislike. But now she was finding out that it was the easiest thing in the world to get to know him, and the, strangest part of all was that she couldn't remember what it felt like when she actually did dislike him. There was nothing about him to dislike ... or that was the bewildering conviction she arrived at after pouring him three cups of coffee. He was still wearing his elegant town clothes, and his linen was immaculate, and he wore an Old Etonian tie. She could well believe,

now, that he was a man of means... and as a result of studying him secretly from time to time she decided that he was an extremely personable man, in a dark, rather arresting way. He had a strong, essentially masculine type of face, and she understood perfectly now that she suddenly recollected the remark - why Sally Carfax had stated that she thought him 'exciting.' He was - or possibly, he could be - 'exciting.' He had rather a whimsical mouth in repose, but his chin and jawline were both hard, and his intensely dark eyes smouldered occasionally as if there were damped-down fires behind them. Fires that only needed a little attention to be really warming. Caprice blushed openly when he caught her . curious eyes studying him and asked her, with a flash of beautifully even white teeth, what it was that was temporarily fascinating her. 'Not me, I'm sure,' he said. 'But you were looking in my direction.' Caprice decided to reveal a half truth. 'I keep wondering how you knew I was in London,' she said. 'I didn't see you before I went away.' 'No; but Mrs. Beale knew you had gone to London. I suspected you wanted to be closeted with the family solicitor.' 'Did you?' She flushed slightly again. 'Well, I did go to see him, as a matter of fact.. . but then I didn't have a chance to see him properly when I first arrived from Australia. I thought it only polite to - to make an appointment to see him.' 'Of course,' he commented drily. She crushed out her half-smoked cigarette in an ash tray .

'But the thing that is really puzzling me is how you knew when I left London,' she rushed on, for his dark eyes were distinctly quizzical all at once. 'I mean, it would be too much of a coincidence if you saw me this morning . . He smiled at her. 'But I did. And I followed you in a taxi when you picked up your car ... mine was parked so close to yours that it's amazing you didn't see me.' 'I wish I had.' She sounded so sincere about it that his quizzical look increased. 'And then I mightn't have lost myself in the mist!' 'But I don't think if I'd offered to give you a lift at that stage you would have accepted it,' he said. 'Perhaps not.' But under the influence of the food and the wine and the warmth and the comfort of her deep leather chair she couldn't think why she wouldn't have welcomed the offer of a lift from him. 'But I did have my own car,' she reminded him. 'I couldn't have left it behind.' 'I'm afraid you'll have to leave it behind now.' She was curling up like an utterly relaxed child in her chair, and he bent forward to add another log to the blaze that was casting a flood of dancing light all over her, and discovering autumn colours in her dark brown hair. And as for her childishly perfect skin, it was flushed and warm as an apricot, and as smooth as velvet. 'Why?' She blinked up at him sleepily. She really shouldn't have drunk a glass and a half of wine. 'It really wasn't such a bad bargain, you know. I expect whatever little fault has developed can soon be put right.'

'I doubt it.' He was frowning at the glowing tip of his cigarette. 'You see, I know the kind of cars Tony Moresby sells, and if only we'd been on somewhat better terms I could have warned you about the one you've got now. No one with any knowledge of cars whatsoever would have touched it at the price you paid for it.' She smiled ruefully. 'You think I'm stupid, don't you? ... a stupid Australian!' 'No, I think you're an obstinate Australian.' 'You're probably right.' She nestled down more cosily in her chair. 'What do we do next?' she asked. 'Drive back to Ferringfield tonight?' 'No, I've arranged for you to have a room here... the one they took you to before dinner. And I shall also stay here.' A dimple appeared at one corner of her mouth. 'Is that quite correct?' she asked. 'I don't think it's terribly incorrect.' 'But what about Miss Carfax ...?' She was searching his face with her distinctly dove-like eyes, over which the white eyelids were beginning to droop, while her long eyelashes fluttered from time to time. 'Would she . . . approve?' 'Does it matter whether she would approve or not?' 'I... don't know!' He frowned quite darkly as he stood up to add yet another log to the fire. And then he changed his mind.

'You're going to bed,' he said. 'I'm going to collect the proprietor's wife and see if she can lend you some night wear as you haven't got your suitcase with you. And I'm going to ask her to put a hot bottle in your bed.' 'Bed sounds delicious,' she murmured. 'But I'm very comfortable here. Why can't we just sit here like this all night?' 'Because we can't,' he replied, almost sternly. He glanced around him. The hotel seemed entirely deserted now, and there was no one about. He bent over her and lifted her and swung her up in his arms, and without offering any resistance she permitted him to carry her up the stairs and along the first corridor they came to her room, the door of which he kicked open with his foot as it was already standing partly ajar. He crossed the room and laid her down on the bed, and she was too drowsily content to object. 'What did you put in my coffee?' she demanded, looking up . into his strangely smouldering eyes and wondering what they looked like when he was not as cool and contained as he was now. 'Cognac,' he answered. 'Just a drop. I thought you needed it, and it will prevent you catching a chill.' She giggled suddenly. 'Mrs. Beale said you always drink Napoleon brandy after dinner!' 'Did she?' He didn't sound too pleased. 'And port . . . But I don't think I've ever tasted that.'

'Well, I wouldn't experiment with it if I were you.' He still sounded stern, but his eyes were twinkling a little ... it was a twinkle she liked. She also liked the smell of his after-shave lotion, and some other lotion that he must use on his hair . He stuffed two pillows under her head, and put the eiderdown over her. 'I'm going to get Mrs. Graham,' he said. 'She'll put you to bed properly.' But before he reached the door she was asleep. .. He returned to the side of the bed and stood looking down at her. Why disturb her? he asked himself. He departed to his own room and fetched his eiderdown and tucked it round her over her own eiderdown, then he bent over her and made absolutely certain her pillows were quite comfortable under her relaxed dark head. She was breathing softly and peacefully, and she looked like a child... a lovely child. His fingers went out and he touched her cheek, and then he bent and kissed her lightly on the brow. After which he withdrew to his room and spent the better part of an hour pacing up and down it and frowning as if he was wrestling with a problem.

CHAPTER NINE CAPRICE was permitted to remain undisturbed until quite late the following day, and while she slumbered peacefully beneath two eiderdowns Winterton consulted the garage people about her car, and was given to understand that a major overhaul -would be necessary before it could be driven back to Ferringfield. Caprice had breakfasted, bathed and put on - something fresh and unmarked by the previous night's events before this intelligence was conveyed to her, and she raised no objection at all to being driven back to Ferringfield by Winterton himself. Indeed, she greeted him with a somewhat shy but exceptionally friendly smile when she encountered him in one of-the public rooms of the hotel after his return from the garage, and if he was mildly surprised by the meekness with which she accepted his offer of a lift, and the lack of interest she displayed in the fate of her own car, he was careful not to reveal that he was. On the subject of her car, however, he had a few words to say. 'I hope that, in future, you will be a little more careful when you contemplate making a purchase of that type. Don't take the first thing that's offered to you ... even if it's to oblige a friend,' a little drily. She reminded him with a touch of demureness: 'But Miss Carfax is your friend. Surely you're not implying that she and Mr. Moresby deliberately planted that one on me! Just because they thought I could afford it?' 'They certainly thought you could afford it,' he agreed, with the same note of dryness in his voice.

'And if I'd bought Miss Carfax's horse, do you think it would have fallen down the first time I took it for a canter?' 'It might,' he answered. 'And the interior decorator? Would she have sold me down the river, too? And all the beautiful antique furniture, so exactly in keeping with the age and dignity of Ferringfield Manor, would have crumbled into dust the first time it was given a really good polish?' 'It might,' he replied again, almost with a touch of solemnity. She put back her head and laughed, and it was such ringing, girlish laughter that his eyes grew several degrees brighter, and he smiled at her. 'Wonderful!' she declared. 'I almost wish I'd gone along with them, and then I would have received my first sharp lesson on how not to squander other people's money, wouldn't I?' 'But the money is yours,' he reminded her. 'To do with as you wish,' he added. She smiled back at him with a dimple dancing at one corner of her mouth. 'It seems that we're now both on the same side of the fence,' she remarked. But he said nothing, only regarded her quizzically. 'Are you ready to leave?' he asked. 'I'm ready to leave,' she responded.

It was a beautiful autumn morning, and the rest of the journey to Ferringfield promised to be very pleasant indeed. Winterton's car was a very powerful one, and they could have done the journey in record time had he wished; but, from the moment they started off, it was quite apparent that he did not wish. If anything, they dawdled . . . stopping for lunch at a centuries-old inn beside the main highway, and actually fingering over their coffee. They set off again in mellow afternoon sunshine, Caprice without any visible signs of her ordeal of the night before, and looking quite enchanting in a misty blue suit and silken head-square tied under her chin, so that her rounded little white chin was somehow particularly in evidence. Winterton smiled as he glanced at it occasionally, and if he was thinking that it was an obstinate little chin he was absolutely right... it was! But he was much more fascinated by her eyes, that had the unsullied look of the sky about them. Whenever he dared to take his own eyes off the road, and met them, he seemed to experience the urge to risk taking another quick look, even if it meant endangering their lives. Caprice, who had long ago decided that he was a first-class driver, and one with whom she could travel for miles without experiencing the smallest qualm, said softly to him on one of these occasions: 'You took that corner rather widely. I think you ought to concentrate more on your job, Mr. Winterton.' For the first time since she had known him he threw back his head and laughed in pure enjoyment. 'You're a bit of a minx, Miss Vaughan,' he told her. 'In fact, you're a bit of a hussy!' 'I don't like the word hussy,' she objected.

'No?' He slowed the car, and then - somewhat to her surprise stopped it altogether and offered her a cigarette. 'Why have we stopped?' she enquired, with a kind of bland innocence. He glanced at her, settled sideways behind the wheel, and gave himself up to studying her. They were on a very quiet stretch of the road, and there was absolutely nothing that moved in sight. The fields were bare, on the other hand, the hedges golden with autumn. There was a feeling that the October day Was closing in, although it was still only three o'clock, and a slight mist was rising over the fields. They were parked beneath a splendid oak tree that dripped golden fire on them, and because she suddenly found it oddly embarrassing to be subjected to the particular kind of concentrated stare that Richard Winterton was subjecting her to she looked up into the glowing branches above her, and remarked that it was odd to think that in a few weeks' time the tree would be quite bare. 'And then it really will be winter,' she said. 'You have yet to experience an English winter,' he reminded her. 'Yes.' 'You'll find it cold enough at Ferringfield. The central heating is on its last legs, and the place is not equipped for hard winters.' 'We'll have to have it re-equipped. And we'll have an entirely new system of central heating installed next year.' 'That would be a good idea. I can put you in touch with the right people who can undertake that for you.'

She peeped at him under her long eyelashes. 'Not an acquaintance of Miss. Carfax's, I hope? Or a close friend of Mr. Tony Moresby?' He laughed rather shortly. 'Certainly not.' 'Perhaps they only meant to help me,' she attempted to defend them. 'Perhaps.' 'And in any case, I rather thought you - approved - of Miss Carfax,' she murmured, looking down demurely at her lap. 'I've known her for some time,' he admitted. 'She tells me she has a wealthy backer who is helping her to run Headleigh Towers.' There was silence. She glanced at him. 'I find her very attractive,' she said, in the peculiarly soft voice she sometimes used. 'I should think members of the opposite sex find her extremely attractive.' He looked, she thought, a trifle bored. 'I'm sure they do,' he agreed, in an indifferent tone. 'But we were talking about the central heating at Ferringfield Manor -' 'That's a dull subject,' she interrupted him. a tiny frown between her brows. 'Now, 1 don't mind discussing the refurnishing...'

'You are going to refurnish?' 'Oh, yes, of course. Why not?' "That means- you intend to settle down at the Manor?' he asked. 'Isn't it rather a big place for one young woman to live in?' Once again she peeped at him under her eyelashes, and smiled. 'I may marry one day.' 'Yes; of course,' he agreed. He tossed away his half-smoked cigarette out of the car window and lighted another. 'Have you anyone in view?' he enquired, tapping his cigarette somewhat vigorously on the back of his case. Her smile grew a little mysterious. 'You've asked me that before,' she reminded him. 'And. the answer is ...? Possibly you didn't answer me altogether truthfully before!' 'Not at the moment,' hugging her slim knees with her hands and smiling as if at some secret joke. 'But just now when you talked about equipping the Manor you said "we"...?' Her mysterious blue eyes smiled right into his. 'I was thinking of you, Mr. Winterton,' she admitted. 'I mean, I was forgetting that you're planning to move... and thinking of you as a more or less permanent tenant!'

His face hardened a trifle. It was almost as if he suspected her of trying deliberately to provoke him. 'You provided me with your views on permanent tenants shortly after you arrived at Ferringfield,' he reminded her. 'In fact, you asked me to leave the next day, if I remember rightly!' 'And you really are going to leave very soon now?' He scowled blackly as he turned to her. 'I've told you...' And then something about her expression gave him pause. He sat farther back in his corner, as if he wished to avoid any possible contact with her, and frowned as blackly as she had even seen him frown before. 'You're not inviting me to stay on, are you?' he enquired almost jerkily, while she sat demurely surveying her knees. 'I couldn't very well do that, could I?' she murmured, venturing to look up at him for a moment. 'I mean, even if I wanted you to stay on at the Manor - because, shall we say, there's only one other man in the house, and that's Mr. Beale? - I couldn't actually ask you to do so because it would be quite incorrect, wouldn't it? The scandal in the village would assume the proportions of a forest fire after a few more weeks!' For the second time he threw a partly smoked cigarette out of the car window. Then he turned to her - and she was slightly startled by his altered expression. 'You are a minx!' he exclaimed. 'Because you think you've conquered me at last, and from henceforward I shall be so docile that I'll do

whatever you wish, you're enjoying yourself at my expense! You're trying, I believe, deliberately to provoke me!' He caught her by the shoulders and dragged her towards him. 'Do you remember what I did to you before?' he asked. 'And I don't think you liked it then!'. He could feel her recoil for a moment, and then some strange impish quality entered into her, and she decided to try to find out what would happen if she provoked him now. 'Yes, I remember,' she answered, without lowering her eyes before his. 'And I think I rewarded you by smacking your face!' 'My lady friends never smack my face a second time!' She knew an extraordinary sensation of excitement as his fingers tightened on her shoulders and his face came close... closer still... to hers. And then for the second time in the brief space of time that they had known one another his mouth was on hers, and she gasped and felt as if every bone in her body melted, and her one desire in life was to get as close to him as possible. She simply couldn't understand it, but it was as if she had been waiting for this thing to happen to her for years ... this wild, fantastic experience that kept her lips upturned and offered to him even after he had partially raised his head and she was afraid that he was going to release her altogether. She made a blind, impulsive movement and clutched at him, and his arms came out and caught her close, and she heard him make a muffled little sound before his mouth descended on hers again, then

they neither of them could offer either a protest, or an expression of wholehearted approval. Then at last she was able to draw breath, and her blue eyes were swimming with wonder as she looked up at him. 'Why ... did you do that?' she demanded in a breathless rush. 'Because, apparently, I wanted to!' 'Oh, Richard!' she exclaimed. He kissed her eyelids, softly, wonderingly, and then the line of her hair. 'Oh, darling!' he breathed. 'It can't be that you - like me after all?' 'I'm afraid I do! I'm very, very much afraid I do!' And then they both laughed, unsteadily, briefly. 'How about you, my small girl from down under?' He put his fingers under her chin and tilted it, so that he could look into her eyes. 'How about you?' he whispered. She nestled unashamedly in the crook of his arm. 'I don't know what's happened to me, but you seem a different person altogether,' she admitted. 'Since last night?' She shook her dark head. 'No, not really. I think I started to feel differently towards you from the moment you kissed me that other time . . . And I felt absolutely awful after I'd smacked your face.'

'I deserved it.' She peered up at him almost fearfully. 'Are you really going to leave me alone at the Manor?' His face grew a little more grave and thoughtful, and he put her from him. 'We'll talk about that some other time,' he said. 'The thing we have to do now is to get- back to the Manor.' Caprice could not have explained it in words, but the magic moments between them were already overlaid by a faint shadow. It was almost, in fact, as if they had never been as he started up the engine and they continued on their way to Ferringfield. The brilliance of the afternoon had passed, and the surrounding countryside was dark and still and cold. Evening was closing in relentlessly, and the trees looked stark against a slightly sullen light that was still left in the sky. Before they stopped Caprice had been looking forward to yet another halt for tea, but all at once, apparently, Richard was possessed by a desire to get back to Ferringfield as quickly as possible. He stared fixedly ahead through the windscreen, and she subsided quietly in her corner and - despite a persistent glow deep down inside her because of the recent interlude - felt like a child that had been unexpectedly rebuffed after receiving a lot of approval and being promised a reward for being a good girl. Apparently the reward was not to be forthcoming after all. . . or. there was some doubt about whether or not it had been really earned.

Only when a signpost indicated that they were within a few miles of Ferringfield did Winterton suddenly relax a little, and Caprice felt one of his hands come out and rest lightly on her knee. 'Not long now,' he said. 'You'll soon be home.' 'Yes.' He glanced at her, sharply, in the dusk. 'When we get back to the Manor there are one or two things I have to do . .. someone I have to see.' 'Yes,' she said again, a little tonelessly. She felt his hand press warmly on her knee. 'After that we'll have a talk ... a proper talk. Don't think I mean to leave things up in the air after that - interlude back there.' 'No?' she whispered. He smiled slightly. 'Although perhaps that's what you would prefer.. to leave things up in the air?' She did riot answer. He frowned, and stared more fixedly at the windscreen. They travelled at considerable speed after that, and were at Ferringfield before she properly realised that they had swept through the village. Lights were streaming out from the house, and Mrs. Beale was in the hall to welcome them. She was not the only one, however, who accorded them a welcome, for Sally Carfax was in the

hall with her, and Sally looked distinctly interested when she saw that they had returned together. She look less interested and more surprised when she learned that they had returned in the same car, and that they had both been in London at the same time. 'Don't tell me it was all planned in advance?' she said drawlingly, as she advanced into the centre of the hall to meet them. She was wearing a brocaded scarlet evening dress, and flung across one of the chairs in the hall was a mink coat. She smiled inscrutably at Richard. 'Don't you remember, darling?' she said softly. 'You were to take me to the Netherfields' to dinner tonight, and the invitation was for a quarter to eight, and it's now a quarter to nine! The Netherfields will be disappointed because you've such a poor memory! And as for me, I've been hanging about here for the past half hour ... not my favourite way of spending an evening!' and her handsome eyes fairly snapped. Winterton might have been somewhat taken aback, but his expression did not betray it. He merely said, very coolly: 'If you want me to keep appointments you should see to it that your contacts are more reliable. Miss Vaughan's car broke down at a highly inconvenient spot on the homeward run, and but for me, she wouldn't be home yet! She might still be sitting in the middle of miles of moorland, with a hole in her petrol tank and no means of moving.' Sally appeared quite taken aback for a moment, and then she laughed. 'Oh, really?' she exclaimed. 'How awkward!' Winterton scowled at her quite blackly.

'How unscrupulous of your friend Tony Moresby,' he returned. 'He must have done very nicely out of that car, which is sitting in a garage many miles away from here, not expected to be much use until it's received a major overhaul. How much did you receive out of that transaction, Sally? Or was it all in aid of Tony Moresby and some pet scheme he has on hand?' She looked vaguely uncomfortable, just for a moment. 'I'm afraid I don't know much about Tony and his concerns,' she replied with an indifferent shrug of her shapely white shoulders. But Winterton was not prepared to accept this. 'But you did inspect the car yourself before allowing Tony to sell it to Miss Vaughan?' he persisted. Another shrug answered him. 'And what if I did? Miss Vaughan saw the car herself. If she was doubtful about it she could have had it vetted by a local garage.' 'She could have done, but she no doubt accepted your word - yours and Tony's. Shouldn't that have been enough?' The bright brown eyes of Sally Carfax sparkled with resentment. 'Of course,' she agreed. 'But accidents will' happen . . . even we can be deceived. I don't pretend to be an expert on cars.' 'But you are an expert on horses. You had a little mare all lined up to be palmed off on Miss Vaughan... and no doubt it would have collapsed beneath her if she had ever ridden it beyond ,the drive gates here!'

At that Miss Carfax looked as if she had had more than enough after an evening devoted to awaiting his arrival to take her out to dinner, and her concentrated indignation burst its bonds. In addition to that she had never anticipated a situation like this arising, and she turned on Caprice with much more than a resentful sparkle in her eyes. 'I see!' she exclaimed. 'It's a case of divided allegiance ... In fact, it's a case of transferred allegiance! You arrive here from Australia after inheriting this place, and because Richard's always fancied it he starts making up to you! At first he intended to freeze you out - and then to buy you out! Oh, yes,' as Caprice's eyes widened as if. she had been struck across the face, 'he's got lots of money and he can buy up almost anyone he chooses if he really wants something they've got! Old man Josiah didn't leave him this house, so he intended to work on you . . .' Her eyes narrowed contemptuously. 'He's probably been working on you on the way home!' Winterton ordered her in a tone of ice: 'Be quiet, Sally!' She flung round on him. 'And can you deny it?' she demanded. 'You despised her. You called her the "little Aussie from down under", and you thought you could make rings round her within a week. If the old charm didn't work, then it would be sterner stuff!... But she withstood you, and you had to alter your tactics yet again. Have you been making love to her in London? Both staying at the same hotel, perhaps!' Winterton Went across to her and fairly hissed at her: 'Be quiet!'

'I won't! Not after the way you treated me this evening!' Her chest was heaving, and her eyes were blazing coals of fury. 'I expect she thought you meant to marry her.,.' And very quietly, very penetratingly, he said: 'I do!' There was no doubt about it, Sally found it difficult to believe the evidence of her ears. She actually recoiled, as if that quiet but incisive speech of his had the effect of a blow, and temporarily upset her balance. Her pretty mouth fell open, and she gaped at him. 'You-w-what?' 'Miss Vaughan and I are going to be married! We shall live here at Ferringfield Manor, and I shall probably buy up more and more of the surrounding land and farm it. I think we shall be very happy here . . . very happy!' And for the first time he looked across the room fully at Caprice. Sally gave her no opportunity to say anything. She flung round on her. 'You're clever aren't you?' she said, and she was quite pale with shock and badly contained rage. 'You pretend to dislike him, and - then you agree to marry him at the first opportunity! But you might as well know that I'm the one the whole district expects him to marry, and they won't exactly take you to their heart if he ditches me! But I won't let him ditch me . . . I'll see to that!' Winterton, face very pale and set, turned to Caprice. 'Will you leave us, Caprice?' he asked. 'For a short time, anyway! I know it's your house, but I do ask you to leave us alone...'

'If you can trust us alone!' Sally fairly shrieked at her, and Caprice walked like one under the influence of an opiate up the stairs to the gallery. Mrs. Beale had hurried off to her kitchen long before this. Caprice went straight to her room and mechanically started unpacking one of her suitcases, which had preceded her - by means of Tim Beale - to her room. The new clothes she had bought in London were mostly in dress boxes, and these, too, had been carried up to her room. She shook out a chic afternoon-cum-dinner-dress and placed it on a hanger, and then folded away underthings in a drawer. Everything she did she did without any real knowledge of, or interest in, what she was doing. Her cheeks were warm and her hands cold because, during the past couple of hours, she had been lifted up to unexpected heights and then deposited almost brutally on a level far below her normal level. She felt as if she had been exalted and then depraved ... made use of because she had a certain amount of value, and humiliated publicly at a time when she was still feeling the aftereffects of the journey (and in particular the evening before) and was not mentally alert enough to deal with the situation. But Richard Winterton had dealt with it in a manner that had startled Sally Carfax, and hardly reassured Caprice. He had said he intended to marry her . . . How kind! He had stated that they were going to be married, although there had been no talk of marriage between them, and when she had all but pleaded with him not to leave her alone at the Manor he had simply said they would have a proper talk about things later on . . . when, apparently, he had successfully dealt with Sally and persuaded her to relinquish him for

the higher purpose of marrying another girl who was the owner of a house he coveted! When Sally had talked about having a backer she had obviously meant Richard Winterton. But how much more than a backer was he to her? Judging by her outraged expression when he had talked of marrying she had played quite an important part in his life so far. And she wanted to go on playing that important part! As Caprice unpacked she very nearly changed her mind and started repacking as hurriedly as she could. She felt she wanted to get out of the house with all possible speed, and the one thing she never wanted to do was see Richard Winterton again. And then she accused herself aloud of not even thinking the truth. 'Don't pretend!' she said, fiercely, to her reflection in the mirror. It was quite impossible to undergo the kind of emotional and completely revealing experience she had undergone that afternoon and not want to repeat it, and repeat it, and repeat it! She knew now that on that very first occasion when he had kissed her. he had shaken her to her foundations. If she had been a little less obstinate, and a little more truthful, she would have admitted as much to herself the very next day. It might have been a humiliating admission to make to herself, but at least it would have opened her eyes. She went into her bathroom and started running a bath, and afterwards she dressed herself in the same clothes that she had just taken off. She was not particularly interested in her appearance ... in fact, she hardly noticed it as she made up her face in the mirror.

She knew that she had to go downstairs and face Richard and get the truth out of him . .. have the matter out with him. And about one thing she was clear. They couldn't go on living in the same house any longer, not' as lovers or enemies. Not as anything! Richard would have to leave the house tonight... Or if he didn't leave tonight he would have to leave tomorrow, or the day after, or... But when she saw him standing in the hall with his suitcases when she crept down shortly before dinner time she was so shaken that her whole expression gave her away, and she even turned a little white. Richard stood staring up at her, a grim expression on his face. 'I'm leaving,' he said. 'Why?' she whispered, moving towards him across the hall. He looked faintly amazed that she should ask such a question. 'Surely you can't want me to stay after that exhibition so very soon after our return?' he demanded with a harsh, almost mocking note in his voice. It was the old note of mockery, with which she was very familiar; but the expression of his eyes, as he looked directly at her, was such a very new expression that it seemed to tear her apart inside. He was pleading with her . . . nakedly, unashamedly, he was pleading with her. His face was pale, as if he had had a bad half hour with someone who had recently left, and the set of his mouth told her that it had been quite a tussle. Sally Carfax had not left without lashing out in a few directions all at the same time . . . and one or two of her claw-marks had landed on him. He was not visibly touched, but Caprice knew he was blazing with resentment because he had had to deal with an unexpected tigress.

The gentle Sally, the amiable Sally, the friendly Sally had left... but now he was leaving, too. And even his dogs were lined up in the hall, sitting patiently waiting while their collars and leads lay over a chair. Caprice's face looked stricken all at once. Her mouth felt dry with shock. 'You're even taking the dogs,' she said as if she couldn't quite believe it. 'I'll leave one of them if you've taken a fancy to it.' His voice was so harsh it cracked slightly. 'Which one would you like?' 'All three of them.' She looked at him with dark, opaque eyes. 'And only a short while ago you said you were marrying me, so why are you leaving?' Her eyes challenged him. 'Why are you leaving?' 'If you don't know,' he said curtly, 'I don't honestly think it's necessary to tell you.' 'Are you going to her?' His black eyes flashed with amazed indignation. 'If you think that then it's certainly high time I left!' 'But you did back her, didn't you? It's you who owns Headleigh Towers, isn't it? And you've made it easy for her to run her ridingstables?' 'All that is perfectly true.' There was a certain blankness in his expression as he stared at her. 'I also said I'd take her out to dinner tonight. I didn't forget my promise, but I couldn't keep it. That's all there was to it.' 'Did you want to keep it?'

A tiny gleam of humour lit his eyes. 'What you're asking is: Am I interested in her? Have I ever been interested in her except as a financial experiment? When I brought her here to dinner on the night after you arrived was it because I'd grown used to bringing her here, or because I'd some sort of axe to grind? Well, the answer to all those questions except the last is "No." I may have a reputation for running around with women, but I don't bring them home! I'd never brought Sally to this house before, but I used her quite shamelessly - and she knew it! - because I wanted to shock you! I hoped it would cause you to turn round and run away. But it didn't! I was glad about that the next day!' 'Were you?' playing with Beatrice's ear. 'After I kissed you in the garage!' 'And... after you kissed me this afternoon?' He turned away from her abruptly and picked up one of his suitcases. 'Come on,' he called to the dogs, 'we've got to go!' 'No, no!' She actually laid her hand on his sleeve and pleaded with him. 'If you do I'll make as big a nuisance of myself as I possibly can ...because you said you were going to marry me!' The suitcase was dropped, and he uttered a sound between a groan and a snort of exasperation. 'Your great-uncle had some such silly idea in his head just before he died, and that's why I so resented your arrival, why I refused to get out just because you'd come here. But now that you're here, I -I -'

He glanced round wildly for a moment as if he was actually going to flee the house, then changed his mind and caught her quite roughly into his arms and crushed her up against him. 'You're a witch, not a minx!' he told her, shakily, against her hair. 'You're the loveliest, most adorable thing, and whether you like it or not I am going to marry you! I don't think I could go on living if I didn't marry you! Last night, when you were lost in that mist, I felt half crazed . . . and when I found you it was such inexpressible relief that I didn't know what to say! Oh, darling, darling -' he rubbed his cheek against hers, and she felt his whole body shaking with emotion as he strained her to him - 'I'm probably not the right sort of husband for you, because I've never thought very much about marriage - and I've certainly never been in love before! But now I'm so abjectly in love that it hurts! If you won't marry me I don't know what I'm going to do! . . . And that is the absolute truth.' Her face was in very close contact with his shoulder, and she smiled into his neck. 'I've every intention of marrying you,' she told him very softly. 'You - have?' She put back her head and looked up at him, and she could actually feel him quiver. 'Not because of Great-uncle Josiah ... although I'd like to please him, too, since he left me so much. But because I feel almost exactly the same as - as you do!' His arms threatened to crack every bone in her body. 'You mean you love me?' 'Oh, Richard, yes!'

His eyes told her that he simply couldn't believe it. There was such an abject expression in his eyes, in fact, that she wondered for a few lightheaded seconds whether he really was the same Richard Winterton she had met on her arrival at Ferringfield Manor. And then his mouth was on hers, and she couldn't think consciously any longer. All three dogs lay down in the hall, and they were fast asleep with their heads on their paws when the two humans could spare the time to notice them.