Man of the Forest

MAN OF THE FOREST Hilda Pressley

Matt Windbourne arrived as the new Head Forester with one strike against him. He was not a local man and the local men resented his appointment. To make matters worse, a local girl--already visualized as someone else's future wife--fell in love with Matt!

CHAPTER ONE ROSEMARY drove along the Forest road slowly, as She always did when she was not hurrying to the bedside of one of her patients in response to an urgent call. She loved this part of her daily journeys through the New Forest. Row upon row upon row of trees stretched as far as the eye could see on either side of the white ribbon of road. Giant oaks with their pale green leaves, beeches, chestnuts under whose spreading arms a whole army might shelter, and most exciting of all, magnificent Douglas firs, pines and spruces which soared into the clear blue sky, their tips like green-feathered arrows. Trees were a part of her life. She had been born to the sound of the wind singing through their branches, had played hide and seek or games of Robin Hood and Maid Marian among the ferns and bracken, the oaks and the beeches, and had grown up alongside the saplings in the plantations. She knew the names of the many Inclosures by heart, and how intriguing and romantic some of them sounded. Knightwood, for instance. Which Knight? Sir Galahad? Then there was Dame's Slough, Furzy Lawn, King's Hat, Dunce's Arch and dozens of others. And they were so large, a person could wander about all day and become lost in any one of them. There was nothing she need hurry home for. Her father would take any urgent calls which might come in. She drew her small car near one of the grass rides where brooms for fire-fighting stood in a frame, and set off for a walk through the Nightingale Inclosure, one which made up the Pinewood Beat. The silence was deep. When it was like this—the forest workers gone home, the evening lull in the Lyndhurst-bound traffic—it became once again the enchanted forest of her childhood. Only when you stood perfectly still, scarcely breathing, did you hear the

scurrying of small animals in the undergrowth, the faint rustling of the leaves, the distant tap of a woodpecker, or sight a wild deer between the trees. Rosemary left the grass ride after a while and plunged into the heart of the Inclosure, her steps making little or no sound on the soft carpet of last year's leaves and the still-curled fronds of the ferns. Wearing a simple green dress, her soft brown hair caught up with a bandeau, no one would take her for a qualified doctor of medicine. But as her father's partner she had been practising for two years now, and for six months of that time had taken responsibility for the entire practice while he had been ill in hospital. Even now, the bulk of the work and responsibility lay on her shoulders. The slightest degree of overwork, and her father began to show signs of strain. Rosemary never ceased to be thankful for Denny—her name for Miss Denman, who had kept house for them ever since her mother had died a year ago. She trod lightly, her hands clasped behind her back, glancing up frequently at the massive trunks of the trees and following, with as much pleasure and appreciation of someone who might have been seeing them for the first time, the dark green pyramids as they pierced the sky. Then suddenly her senses became alerted. She could smell smoke. And smoke was synonymous with fire, something to be dreaded by all who had had connection with the forest. She frowned, her keen gaze ranging through the trees. Then she saw it—a thin wisp of smoke rising lazily into the air. She quickened her pace. She might be just in time to put it out. She sniffed again. There was a distinct aroma of tobacco. The forest workers were not actually forbidden to smoke, but—

The next moment her heart gave a startled leap. Leaning flat against the trunk of ah oak watching the smoke from his pipe as it curled upward was a man. She had never seen him before. Tall and lean with a weather-beaten face and brown hands, he wore brown casual slacks and a dark green shirt. Apart from the pipe, he seemed a part of the very forest itself. Apparently becoming aware of her, he turned and looked at her. He stared for a moment, then stood erect and took his pipe from his mouth. "Maid Marian, I presume?" he said, in a slow drawl, his lips curved in an amused smile. "Or maybe you're one of those wood nymphs I've read about?" She was unaccustomed to such familiarity from strangers, and men of the forest were usually quiet and reserved. "I saw smoke and thought there was the beginning of a forest fire," she said in reply. "I hope you realize the danger of smoking a pipe in an area like this?" The expression of his blue-grey eyes hardened and his face became set. From his pocket he took a pipe case, and without speaking placed the offending pipe in it and snapped it shut again. She felt her cheeks colouring as they had not for a very long time, but before she could frame an apology, he gave her a hard stare, then turned and plunged through the trees. She gazed after him for a moment, noting the casual grace with which he moved, one hand in his pocket, the other swinging lazily by his side. In his dark shirt and trousers he merged with the trees quickly, and in no time at all was lost to view, leaving the forest once more still and silent and as though it had never been disturbed.

With a puzzled frown Rosemary turned and made her way back to the grass ride. Who was he? Tourists did not usually frequent this part of the forest. This was a working area. There were other parts set aside for camping, picnicking and so on. But he hadn't looked like an ordinary tourist. And his accent—that slow, rather pleasant drawl. American ? Or perhaps Canadian. His carrying around a pipe case was unusual even among the Forest people themselves. She reached her car and dismissed the man from her mind. He had taken up too much of her thoughts already. Perhaps he was a new man from one of the other Beats. She knew most of the forest workers, but she couldn't hope to know them all. She drove a little further, then coming towards her was a car she recognised. She slowed down and as the other car drew nearer the features of Hugh Thornley, one of the assistant Foresters of the Pinewood Beat, came clearly in focus. Both brought their cars to a stop and Hugh left his vehicle and came towards her, a tall, broadshouldered young man of about twenty- five with a shock of dark hair and a ready, most attractive smile. A bachelor, he lived alone in one of the Forestry Commission cottages adjacent to that of the other assistant Forester and his wife, Jerry and Liz Marshall. Rosemary wound her window further down and he leaned his arm on it. "Hello there. Just on the way home?" he asked. She nodded. "And you?" "I'm having a meal with Liz and Jerry, then afterwards we might jog along to the Foresters'. How about joining us? I could pick you up around eight." "I'd love to—if nothing crops up."

"Well, let's hope nothing does. We don't see nearly enough of you these days." Her face clouded momentarily. Before her father's illness she and Hugh had seen quite a good deal of each other. But time after time while her father was in hospital she had been unable to accept Hugh's invitations out, or had to put him off at the last moment. Even now, though her father was much better, she always felt she had to be within reach of a telephone. Hugh had been very good and very patient, but at last he had begun to say: "Let me know when you're free," or had included her in foursomes. There had been a time when she thought their friendship would progress into something more, but—was it her imagination, or had he sought fewer and fewer opportunities of seeing her alone? She thrust the thought aside. Hadn't he just intimated that he would like to see more of her? "Perhaps things will be better when the new Forester arrives," she offered. For some weeks now the Beat had been without a Head Forester, but at last one had been appointed and was expected in about a week's time. "Maybe," Hugh answered briefly. Then he smiled swiftly. "If you mean I shall have a little more free time—yes, I expect so. Anyway, we'll keep our fingers crossed for tonight, shall we?" "Yes, we'll do that, Hugh." It was on the tip of her tongue to mention the stranger she had just seen in the Inclosure, but she dismissed the idea. It wasn't of any importance, really. "See you later, then," Hugh said, and crossed the road again to his own car.

At home—a red brick house standing square in an acre of ground which had its own private little woodland—Rosemary found her father in the garden spraying his roses against the ever-invading greenfly. The last of the rhododendrons and azaleas flung a gay scarf of colour across the conifers in the background and the early sweet-peas were a massed rainbow of colour. "Hello, Father. Any calls?" she asked. Prematurely grey, wearing half glasses, his clothes hanging loosely upon him, her father straightened up. "No, no calls. Full surgery, though." She bent to pull out a stray weed. "Always is these days. I don't know whether the population is increasing or more people are ill." "People won't put up with bodily ailments like they used to," John Fielding answered, bending to his task once more. "I suppose not, and one can hardly blame them, even if it makes hard work for us." "Precisely." From an open window, Denny called to them that dinner would be ready in five minutes, so they went indoors. "Do you mind if I go out for a little while afterwards?" Rosemary asked her father as they sat down to their meal. "No, of course not," he answered swiftly. "You don't get out nearly enough. I've told you before." He shot her an enquiring glance. "Anything special?"

"No, just along to the Foresters' Arms with Hugh— and Liz and Jerry." "You don't see as much of that young man as you used to," he commented. "Hugh has been extra busy—having no Head Forester." "How does he feel about the other man coming?" asked John Fielding, helping himself to potatoes. "Oh, he'll be very glad. It can't have been easy all these weeks—two people doing the work of three, especially at this time of the year with all the hoeing and weeding to be done in the nurseries and plantations. And if there isn't some rain soon, they'll have to start and water." "When is the new man expected?" "Monday week." After the meal Rosemary helped Denny with the washing up and told the older woman that she was going out. "Don't forget, Denny. If there's more 'than one call or Father seems tired at all, give me a ring. I shall be at the Foresters'." Denny—a tall, big-boned woman of tremendous vitality—smiled at her affectionately. "What your father would have done without you, I just don't know." "And what we would have done without you, I don't know," Rosemary retaliated fondly.

"Go on with you," answered Denny, but she could not disguise her pleasure at Rosemary's remark. She dried her hands. "Give me the tea towel. I'll finish those. If you're going out, you'll want to get ready." Rosemary just had time to change her dress and run a comb through her brown hair, discarding the bandeau and letting her hair fall naturally. She heard Hugh's car draw up at the front of the house, but he did not come to the door. He sat in the car and waited for her to join him. "Won't you come in and have a word with Father?" she asked. "Well—I don't know," he said, after a moment's pause. "Some other time, perhaps. I have a feeling it would be better to go while the going's good, otherwise the "phone is liable to ring and send you dashing off on some emergency." He grinned as if to take any possible sting out of his words. "How is your father, by the way?" "Much better, but he so easily gets tired, that's why I try to spare him all I can." "He's very lucky to have you. Without you, he'd have to retire, wouldn't he? Or get a locum. Anyway, let's go, shall we?" He put the car into gear and drove off in the direction of Lyndhurst. Rosemary sat puzzling over his remarks. She supposed he was right, but somehow she had never viewed the possibility of leaving her father even to get married. Yet it might one day be a choice she would have to make. Was that what Hugh had in mind? She caught a swift, sidelong glance from him. "Liz and Jerry decided not to come, after all. One of the kids is not well and they didn't like leaving him with Joan."

"Joan's only thirteen—not much more than a child herself, though I suppose once the younger ones are in bed, she's quite capable of getting on the phone to her parents if there's anything wrong. Which one is it who isn't well?" she asked. "Jimmy, the youngest." "Ought I to call in and have a look at him?" "No," Hugh said firmly. "You're off duty. And before you say that a doctor is never off duty—young Jimmy has been eating green apples and he's been sick, that's all. Liz just didn't want to leave Joan to cope." There was a pause, then as if again to soften his words, he added : "We can call in on the way home, if you like." "Yes, all right," she agreed, wondering why Hugh was so disgruntled this evening. "You doctors have such an exaggerated sense of responsibility," he went on. "You're like the nursery tale 'old woman who lived in a shoe.'" Rosemary laughed. She was not sure whether he was joking or not. She supposed there was some truth in what he said, and wondered how long he had been thinking along those lines. They passed the place where she had walked into the Nightingale Inclosure, and she was reminded again of the stranger she had seen. There had been something about him that was different from other men, some quality, something she had found both intriguing and attractive, in spite of her annoyance with him, and short as their encounter had been. It was odd, she thought, how strangers came and went in one's life— like the proverbial "ships that pass in the night."

The Foresters' Arms was a regular rendezvous for many of the forest workers. It was homely and comfortable, and the landlord and his wife had lived in the Forest all their lives. Rosemary and Hugh greeted people they knew and chatted to one or two of them, and after a while Hugh suggested they left and looked in on Liz and Jerry. They were just leaving when through the half open door of another room Rosemary caught a glimpse of Lydia Brinley, daughter of a quite wealthy local property owner. As well as a very large old country manor house with sweeping lawns, terraces and parkland, the estate included several hundred acres of private woodland. But it was the man with her which caused Rosemary to start with surprise. "What's the matter?" asked Hugh. "The stranger with Lydia Brinley—" Hugh followed the direction she indicated. "Oh yes. I've never seen him before. Do you know him?" "I don't know him, but I saw him in Nightingale as I was on the way home this evening." They made their way outside. "Probably a friend of hers, staying with them. What was he doing in the Inclosure ?" "Just leaning against a tree smoking his pipe." Hugh grunted. "Well, I only hope he didn't knock it out among any dry stuff." "No fear of that." She told him how the man had put his pipe in a case, and added: "He sounded American."

"Oh? Then you had some conversation with him?" "We had a few words during the course of which I reminded him about the danger of forest fires." "And what did he say to that?" "Just put his pipe in its case and walked away." "Sounds a cool customer." "Yes." Rosemary thought of the "cool" stranger quite a number of times during the week that followed, and half expected to come across him again, walking among the trees or striding across the common. She did not know why he should have made such an impression on her, and told herself several times not to be such a fool. She had almost forgotten him when, on the day the new Head Forester was due to arrive, she received a call to the office of the Pinewood Beat. A young trainee had injured his ankle. It was not far. Rosemary went along. As soon as she walked in' the office, she noticed a difference. The previous Forester had been rather untidy, and there had always been a clutter of slashers, reaphooks, billhooks, planting spades, brashing saws and other forestry tools lying about. But now everything was neatly arranged, hanging on hooks along one wall. The desk, usually a litter of papers, was more orderly than Rosemary had ever seen it. The new Head Forester was a very methodical man, it seemed. Even the map of the Beat which covered the other wall, showing in detail the nurseries, plantations and Incisures, looked cleaner. The injured trainee was sitting with his leg propped up on a chair, his face screwed up with pain.

"Hello, Ken, what happened? Fall down a rabbit hole or something?" "Yes, doctor." "Oh dear! You'll have to learn to look where you're going, won't you? I see somebody has been rendering a little first aid." Very sensibly, his shoe had been removed before the swelling had made it impossible without cutting, and a cold compress had been applied. "Who did this?" she asked. "I did," drawled a voice from the doorway. Rosemary swung round to see the tall stranger she had come across in the forest. "You? But—" She stared at him incredulously. He was wearing the official brown and green uniform of the Crown Foresters. "May I ask, ma'am, who you are?" he said, before she could frame her own question about him. "I sent for the doctor." His tone indicated that she could not possibly be that. "I am the doctor," she answered with a lift of her chin. "Perhaps you would—" "The doctor!" he echoed, interrupting. "Holy mackerel, I just can't believe it!" "Why not?" she asked coolly. "And now, perhaps you would be good enough to tell me who you are?"

"The name is Matt Windbourne," he answered, recovering a little. "And in case you haven't noticed my uniform, I'm the new Forester. Now, I'm a busy man, Doctor—" "Doctor Fielding," she supplied, then added, "Doctor Rosemary Fielding. My father is also a doctor. He and I are partners, and as I'm a busy woman—" She turned to her task of examining the young man's ankle. There was little difficulty about the diagnosis, however. From the angle of the foot and the swelling, as well as the pain, the ankle was badly sprained. She applied some lotion she carried in her bag and put on a pad and firm bandage. "He'll have to go off work and rest it, of course," she told Matt Windbourne. "That I fully expected, naturally. However—" But Rosemary had turned to the trainee. "On no account must you attempt to walk on that ankle. I'll come and see you again in a few days' time. Meanwhile, set yourself up with books or records or whatever your favourite pastime is, and stay put. Understand?" "Yes, doctor." She turned to the Forester. "Can you spare a man and a conveyance of some sort to take him home?" "I guess so," he drawled. "But might I remind you— doctor, that there is still the little matter of the slight loss of consciousness." "Loss of consciousness? What do you mean? No one told me about that."

"I was about to when you interrupted me," he told her. "The youngster knocked his head on the trunk of a tree and blacked out for a few minutes." "I see." She turned to the trainee. "Ken, you should have told me this." "I didn't think it was important. I feel all right now—except for the pain in my ankle." Rosemary suddenly realized she had not given him anything for the pain, and felt annoyed with herself for the fact that the presence of this stranger was robbing her of her usual efficiency. She gave Kenneth two tablets and a prescription for some more, then examined his reflexes. "Yes—well, you seem to be none the worse for banging your head, but try to keep quiet for a day or two-- and tell your landlady what I said." "Yes, doctor." Rosemary snapped shut her bag, aware that the new man of the Forest was watching her every movement with barely concealed impatience. But she was determined not to allow him to put her out any longer. She touched her patient's shoulder and had a few more words with him before turning to leave. Then, equally determined to behave in a natural manner towards the aggravating newcomer, she said politely: "Thank you, Mr Windbourne—and welcome to the New Forest community. I hope you'll be very happy here." His eyes widened a little and he inclined his head. "Thank you," he said briefly, and his whole attitude indicated that he wanted nothing more than to be rid of her.

Rosemary made her way back to her car, her pride smarting more than a little, and a ragged annoyance disturbing her usual tranquillity. It was quite evident that this man was not going to be much of an asset— at least socially—to the Forest community. She continued on her morning rounds, her mind occupied with thoughts of the Forest and the people who lived and worked in and around it. Many of the people—known as Commoners—had, like herself, been born here. They came of families who had been in the Forest for centuries. This was their home, the men of the Forestry Commission, interlopers. It was us and them, we and they. Their officials were hated on principle, and many and varied were the grievances levelled at them, and blame for things that were wrong laid at their door. There were the hated shooting rights—licences brought in a considerable income to the Forestry Commission. Another annoyance to the Commoners were the Scots pines once planted for shelter beds. These trees" seeded themselves so easily that if a watch was not kept, the whole forest would become a pure pine forest by natural regeneration with no room for the beautiful oaks, chestnuts and beeches. Then there was the week-end cottage menace. More and more forest cottages were being bought by rich townspeople who cared nothing for the real life of the Forest, and every cottage sold to them meant one less for the Commoners to live in. But the biggest grumble of all concerned the Lawns. "I tell ye, it be like Office o' Woods all over agin. There they bides—" meaning the Forestry Commission —"an' there be yon scrub an' thorns, gorse, 'eather, seedlin's an all, creeping in day by day. I tell 'e, they'll 'ave it all. You see." True or false, right or wrong, Rosemary tried to keep an open mind about these things. She loved the Forest, and surrounded by so much wild and natural beauty, it didn't seem right that there should be

division among the people who lived and worked and sheltered beneath the green arms of the Forest, whether they had been born here or whether they were newcomers. She and her father tried to rise above the old prejudices, but if there were many like this new Head Forester—distant, superior, unfriendly to the point of rudeness—who could blame the Commoners for their attitude? From her two encounters with him, she did not feel very much liking for him herself. She frowned. It had been rather odd seeing him in the company of Lydia Brinley in the Foresters' Arms. Her family was one of the oldest in the district. Her ancestors had been the Lord Wardens of the Forest— originally barons or knights appointed directly by the king to preserve the royal game and enforce the forest laws. How well did Lydia and Matt Windbourne know each other? She would have expected the two to be natural enemies, but perhaps even Lydia felt that feudalism was out of date. The two must have known each other before he came to the district. She might even have been his reason for coming here. Rosemary knew Lydia. Her father was the family physician, but she did not know Lydia sufficiently well to be acquainted with her private life. That evening after surgery, Hugh rang. "Doing anything from now until bedtime?" he asked. "Any emergencies in the offing?" "None that I know of." "I thought I might pop over to see you—if that's all right." "Of course," she said quickly. "I'm always pleased to see you. You know that." "I wasn't sure," he said softly. "Silly!"

"I'll be over in about ten minutes, then." She hung up, glad that he was coming. She had been wondering about him, how he was getting along with the new Forester so far. This time when Hugh came he rang the front door bell. Rosemary opened the door wide. "Come on through. I thought we'd take a walk by the stream in our little wood. We'll go out through the back. Father's in the garden. Come and admire his roses." The first of the roses were just coming out—the lovely Super Star, Peace, Fragrant Cloud, All Gold and Queen Elizabeth. These and many more. "Puts my little patch to shame," Hugh said. "Don't you like gardening?" asked Dr Fielding. "Well, I suppose I would if I had my own place." John Fielding smiled absently, and feeling he had no more to say for the present, Rosemary led Hugh to the little wicket gate at the bottom of the garden. "Your father certainly has green fingers—or is it all the result of just sheer hard work?" asked Hugh as they went through to the woodland. "A little of each, I expect. He loves plants and flowers and takes pains to understand them. He doesn't seem to mind the work." "Who did it when he was ill?" "Denny and I, with help from a part-time gardener."

A grey squirrel darted up a tree as they walked along the stream and Hugh watched it idly before remarking: "I hear you've already met the new man." "Yes. I expect you know about young Ken's accident. Wasn't it odd that it turned out to be the stranger I saw in the Inclosure?" "Very." "What was he doing here—a week before he was due? Getting to know the lie of the land?" "Some people would call it snooping." Rosemary looked at him. "Is that what you'd call it?" Hugh shrugged. "It doesn't matter to me. I didn't ask him why he came so early and he didn't volunteer the information." "I don't suppose for a minute he did. What do you make of him, Hugh?" "I don't know, but then I really haven't seen much of him. I expect we shall find out more about him—I mean what he's like to work with—as time goes by." Hugh glanced at her. "What did you make of him yourself?" She laughed shortly. "Let's just say I don't think he's going to be very popular." Hugh grimaced. "Like that, eh?" But now Rosemary was beginning to feel embarrassed and conscience-stricken. She was probably being most unfair to the new

Forester, and had certainly no right to propagate her own dislike of him. "I shouldn't have said that, Hugh. The fact that he and I rubbed each other up the wrong way the first couple of times we met is no criterion. He'll probably be perfectly all right with other people. And I wouldn't be surprised if he's a very good man at his job." Hugh put his arm around her shoulders. "You're a very nice person, Rosemary. There must be something wrong with a fellow who rubs you up the wrong way. But I'll take a leaf out of your book and try to be fair to him. As you say, he might be perfectly good at his job—and like lots of other people, all right when you get to know him." "You're being very generous, Hugh." He grinned. "Only following your example." "That's a compliment I don't deserve." "Oh yes, you do." His arms tightened about her shoulders. He brought her round to face him and kissed her. Then slowly, his other arm encircled her waist and the pressure of his lips increased. Hugh had kissed her before, on odd occasions, but tonight she found herself affected in a different way. A new longing seemed to be taking possession of her, a new emotion stirring in her heart. One hand crept around his neck and she whispered his name. He lifted his head and looked at her, smiling gently. "What's this, then—taking a fresh liking to an old friend?" She gave a half laugh. "Maybe."

His smile broadened and his glance flicked over her features. "Maybe will do for a start," he murmured, and kissed her again. But this time she stirred in his arms, so he released her and they walked on in silence for a minute or two. Pale silver birches rose from the bramble and fern and the tapping of a distant woodpecker broke the silence into chunky fragments. Hugh sought for her hand. "Let's sit awhile. It's so peaceful here." They sat on an old tree stump and smoked a cigarette, Hugh dowsing the match with a moist thumb and finger out of habit, and the small act reminded her again of her first encounter with Matt Windbourne. "I suppose I inadvertently insulted-—or at any rate offended—the new Forester, reminding him of the danger of forest fires. I should have suspected that he was no ordinary visitor to the Forest. Few men carry a pipe case around with them." "He ought to have been pleased to have met someone who was so diligent." "Perhaps he was, really," she said hastily, still trying to be fair to the newcomer. Then she added: "I couldn't help noticing how much tidier the office looked." Hugh smiled absently. "Well, that's one thing in his favour, isn't it? But you know, untidy as Ted was, he always knew where to lay his hands on things. He preferred to be out and about rather than spending time in the office." "Do you think the new man is going to spend too much time in the office, then?"

"No, no," he said quickly. "I didn't mean that. I expect he just wanted to get things in order. Some men are like that. I wasn't intending to make comparisons. We shall just have to wait and see what kind of Forester he is_" Again, Rosemary thought Hugh was being very fair and generous towards the new man, and she felt a new affection towards him. "Did he do a round with you and Jerry today?" Hugh shook his head. "Tomorrow. But I hope he doesn't take too long over it. We're way behind with the work as it is, and young Ken going off hasn't helped matters." They talked forestry matters for a while—a subject Rosemary always found fascinating—then as the daylight began to fade they made their way back to the house. "You'll come in and have some supper with us, won't you?" she asked. "If you're sure your father won't mind." "Of course he won't mind. He'll be glad. He's going to miss Ted. They were great friends." Ted Weathers, the previous Head Forester, was a good deal older than Hugh, more her father's age, but her father was not an old man by any means, and Rosemary thought it would be good if he knew Hugh a little better. They entered the house by way of the old conservatory and Rosemary led the way into the sitting room. "I'll go and find Father. He's probably in his study."

It was a rambling old house. Her father's study was tucked away in a quiet corner overlooking a section of open forest. But as she reached the door she heard voices. She hesitated, wondering who it could be, but as she knew all her father's friends, she gave a light tap and went in. On the threshold, however, she stopped short. The man her father was entertaining was the new Head Forester— Matt Windbourne himself.

CHAPTER TWO BOTH men looked round as she entered. They were seated with their chairs facing the window rather than the fireless grate, and as they saw who it was they rose politely. "Ah, there you are, my dear. I believe you've already met our new Forester, Mr Windbourne," said her father. She advanced into the room. "A couple of times, actually. Good evening, Mr Windbourne." "I went for a walk and found him leaning against a tree. We introduced ourselves and I invited him to supper," John Fielding went on. The new Forester eyed her with raised brows and a smile of amusement. She found his gaze disconcerting and his smile annoying. "Mr Windbourne seems to spend much of his time leaning against trees," she answered her father. Then, to the man himself: "And were you also smoking your pipe?" "Possibly." There was no reply she could make to that. She turned to her father. "Father, I've already asked Hugh to supper. Do you mind?" "My dear, if you've, already asked him, how can I possibly mind? I'm sure we have enough food in the house, and in any case, he's very welcome." "Yes, of course."

She had put it badly, she realized that. It really was ridiculous the way she allowed Matt Windbourne to throw her into confusion. It was most unlike her. "Well, if Mr Windbourne will excuse me—" this brought a slight bow—"I'll go back to Hugh, then have a word with Denny." "Yes, dear, do that." Distinctly ragged, and annoyed with herself for feeling so, she went back to the sitting room. "Father has a visitor," she told Hugh. "The new Forester." "Windbourne?" She nodded. "And he's staying to supper." Hugh grimaced. "In that case, I think I'll push off." "Oh, no, Hugh!" But she had not been surprised at his saying it. "I've nothing against him," Hugh said swiftly. "Don't get me wrong. It's just that—at this stage—I'd rather not intrude on his leisure. After all, he is the boss, so to speak. He might prefer it that way himself. Some men don't like mixing socially with their workaday subordinates." "Hugh, that's silly—" she protested, yet she knew" he could be right. "Maybe, maybe not. But I think I should go, all the same. I'm sure you understand. Perhaps when he's been here a while and we know what his views are about these things—"

She said no more. He touched her shoulder lightly and took his leave. Rosemary went into the kitchen in search of Denny, and found her just taking a bacon and cheese pie out of the oven. "Hello, Rosie—" Denny was the only one who called her that—"I saw you bring Hugh Thornley in. Is he staying to supper?" "He was, but he's changed his mind." "Because of the new Head, I suppose? It's just as well, at least until they get to know each other well enough. They've got to establish a working relationship first." "I suppose so. What do you think of him, Denny? The new Forester, I mean." "We-ell—from the, little I've seen of him, I'd say he's a real man. And a typical Forester. Tall, straight, a quiet, sort of reserved manner, knows exactly where he's going and what he wants." "And how to get it?" "Very like. Anyway, I'd say he's a true man of the forest and a man of integrity." "Denny! From one meeting?" "Very often, one look at a man is enough," Rosemary shrugged. "Well, you may have deduced all that—and I daresay you're right. But I've met him twice, and I found him rude, unfriendly and inclined— very inclined—to be sarcastic." "My, he has rubbed you up the wrong way, hasn't he? Go and tell them supper is ready, will you? And I'll take the food in."

"Are you having yours with us, Denny?" "No, not when you have a visitor," the older woman answered firmly. "You know very well I never do." Rosemary knew better than to argue. She went to the study to tell them the meal was ready, and neither of them were in the least surprised to learn that Hugh had changed his mind and left. She led the way to the dining room, gathering together her resources. "You—er—were not born in this country, I take it, Mr Windbourne?" she asked conversationally, as she served the pie. "I wasn't, as a matter of fact," he drawled. "You were born in America?" There was a pause. "I was born in Canada, British Columbia." Dr Fielding chuckled. "My dear, you ought to know better than to confuse a Canadian with an American— or vice versa." "But why?" she challenged. "Surely Mr Windbourne is above taking offence at such a trivial—and quite understandable—mistake ?" "I didn't say—I was offended." Now his drawl was more pronounced than ever, and against her will, almost, Rosemary* found it attractive. "As you were born in Canada, I expect your parents were Canadian too," she said. "No, ma'am, they, were not. They were born in this country—as you were yourself, I guess. They emigrated before I was born, and made quite a success of their life out there. My father was a lumberjack.

Unfortunately, he died some years ago and my mother became nostalgic for the old country and came back here." "And where is She living now?" "In Norfolk, ma'am. I was Forester there for some years before coming here." She longed to ask him how he came to know Lydia Brinley, but before she could ask him anything else at all, he turned and passed some remark to her father, as if he considered he had answered quite enough of her personal questions for the time being. For a little while he and her father talked about silviculture—a subject in which Rosemary had only a passing interest. She was more interested in arboriculture, the cultivation of trees for their beauty rather than for their commercial use. At the same time, she knew that it was part of a Forester's job to make the Forest pay financially. "How well do you know the New Forest, Mr Windbourne?" she asked him. He turned to her slowly. "That's not a very easy question to answer. How well is well? Trees are trees whether they're grown in Hampshire, Norfolk, Notts or anywhere." "Ah, but there's more to the New Forest than just trees. There are people." "I'm well aware of that," he answered drily. "I suppose you think that silviculture is silviculture and arboriculture is arboriculture, and never the twain shall meet?" Her shoulders lifted in a gesture he took for acquiescence. "Those," he said, "are extremes of thought of the kind which cause trouble in the world. A tree is a thing of beauty, no one knows that

better than I. But a tree is also a useful thing. Surely you have to admit that?" "Of course, but it's not so simple, here in the New Forest. There are certain prejudices, traditions, and they die hard." "I'm aware of that also," he told her. "I've read all the history books and so on, on the subject, and by and large they're exaggerated,, some more than others. All that nonsense about William the Conqueror, for instance, 'laying waste the county of Hampshire for thirty miles, burning cottages and churches—thirty-six churches, according to one writer—and a rich and populous district being converted into a wilderness to make a royal hunting ground.' It was all so much political propaganda put out by the historians." "You've certainly been doing your homework, Mr Windbourne," Rosemary answered. "But not all knowledge is to be gained from books. The absolute and complete truth hardly ever, I would say. There is a great deal of truth in the saying: there is no smoke without fire. I imaging the King's soldiers were a pretty ruthless lot in those days, and though the wholesale burning of churches and cottages might have been an exaggeration, even one cottage annexed without compensation is a derogation of human rights." "And that is something which cuts both ways," he retorted. "A king has just as much right to fair reportage and representation as anyone else." "Granted. I see you are a seeker after truth, Mr Windbourne. I hope you find it here in the New Forest." "It shouldn't be difficult," he answered smoothly. "You think not?" she challenged quietly, mentally adding conceit to the, debit side of her opinion of him.

His gaze darted swiftly to her, and for a moment they eyed each other like game birds preparing for the opponent's next move. But John Fielding intervened. "In comparison with the forests of Canada, I should think you find ours almost puny, Mr Windbourne." He considered for a moment. "I'd prefer to say that they're different, Dr Fielding. The Canadian forests are vast. They have a magnificent splendour all their own. But the New Forest—" He paused. Was he trying to think of something polite to say? Rosemary wondered. "I asked you earlier how well you knew the New Forest, Mr Windbourne," she put in. "I meant geographically, of course. You spent some time in the area before taking up your duties as Head Forester, I believe." He nodded. "A fortnight, to be exact. I wanted to find my way about, get the feel of things." She wanted to ask him how well he knew Lydia Brinley, but Denny came into the dining room at that moment with cheese and biscuits and asked if they would like coffee afterwards in the sitting room. When she had gone, Rosemary thought better of it. All kinds of constructions might be put on such a question, and she did not want to be guilty of prying into his private life. The conversation passed to a discussion of the plant and animal life of the Forest, and Rosemary noticed that he had indeed "done his homework." He was most knowledgeable. He knew that the main species of deer in the Forest were the Japanese Sika, the Fallow and the Roe. There were very few now of the Red Deer.

"I believe," he said, "that during the summer the Fallow is a light chestnut with white spots, but the spots disappear in the winter and the deer take on a dull, greyish brown." "The Sika also loses his spots in the winter," Rosemary told him. "I read that somewhere, too," he answered. When they had finished eating, Rosemary helped Denny to clear away and took the coffee in the sitting room herself. But when she entered, Matt Windbourne was in the room alone. "Where's Father?" she asked. "He went to telephone someone." She set down the coffee, wondering who on earth her father had thought to. telephone when they had a guest. Matt Windbourne was looking out into the garden, now bathed in a soft, grey twilight. "Your father has a way with plants—especially roses," he remarked. "Yes." Rosemary poured the coffee, aware that now the Forester had turned from the window and was watching her. She wished her father would return. She felt anything but at ease with this man—and possibly he did not feel at ease with her. She sought for something to say to bridge the silence. "You—have a little garden in the Forester's cottage, haven't you?" He smiled faintly. "Well, let's just say there's a plot of land."

Rosemary knew what he meant. Ted Weathers had been no gardener, neither had his wife. A square of grass passed for a lawn, indifferent species of rambling roses ran rampant, self-sown lupins grew indiscriminately and golden rod abounded. "Still, it has possibilities," she allowed. "Do you like gardening?" "When I can get around to it, I certainly like to see plenty of colour in a garden, and I think it's absolutely miraculous that a beautiful flower or tree will grow from a tiny, shrivelled-up thing like a seed." Rosemary eyed him with renewed interest. Obviously he was a lover of nature, even if he had reservations about herself. "Perhaps Father will give you some cuttings to start you off," she said. "Growing things from seed is interesting, but a little slow if you want to establish a garden quickly, and you're a little late—too late, in fact—for hardy annuals." "I'm aware of that," he answered pointedly. "But you're setting too many limitations on a gardener. There are always things that you can be growing from seed, if you're sufficiently interested." His tone implied that she was not sufficiently interested. It was hopeless, it seemed, to carry on any kind of agreeable conversation with him. Some men appeared to think it was the male prerogative always, to be right, and Matt Windbourne was one of them. She handed him his coffee in silence, then sat down to drink her own, determined that as soon as her father came back she would make an excuse to leave them. But when he did return a few minutes later, it was to announce that he had to go out. "It's Neville," he said. "He's suddenly lost the use of his left leg. Delia's worried—and it might well be serious. I do hope you don't mind, Mr Windbourne. I simply have to go, but Rosemary will look

after you. Do look in any time you're passing—always pleased to see you." Then he had gone, almost before Matt Windbourne could murmur his polite replies. There was a little silence in the room. Rosemary thought it likely that their guest would very soon make an excuse to bring his visit to an end at this rate. "Neville—Mr Westlake—is a very old friend of Father's. They were at school together," she explained. "What do you think can be wrong with him? A stroke?" "Could be,, but I hope not. If the trouble is confined to his leg only, then it could be muscular strain. He's been building an extension to his house—doing it himself. I expect he's overdone things." There was another silence. The new Forester drained his cup and stood up. "If you don't mind, I think I'll be off. Thank you for your hospitality." "Not at all," she answered politely. She made a movement to the door, but he said: "I can let myself out. Stay and finish your coffee. And I do hope it's not serious with your father's friend." With a nod, he left her. The front door opened and closed, and very soon she could see him walking with long leisurely strides towards the open forest. Rosemary watched him. Most of the Foresters she had met were tall and lean—almost as though they were endeavouring to compete with the tall pines themselves—but she had never met a man who moved with the casual grace of this new

man. There was much about him one could admire, but whether she liked him or not was another matter. The next time Rosemary saw him he was with Lydia Brinley again and in the same place—the Foresters' Arms. Rosemary was with Hugh, Liz and Jerry. "I can't make out why those two are so friendly," Jerry said. "I was under the impression that Lydia and her family hated the Forestry Commission officials like poison." "Remember the Montagues and Capulets," murmured Liz. "When you're in love old prejudices don't matter." "How do you know they're in love?" demanded her husband. "I don't. I'm just, guessing. And having regard to the way she's always kept her distance from you and Hugh—and Ted—I'm probably not far wrong." "But he hasn't been here more than five minutes. He's either a fast worker or he knew her before." Hugh said nothing on the subject, and Rosemary liked him the more for his silence. "Obviously he'd met her before," she said, then, to change the subject: "How are things in the Forest these days?" Jerry shrugged. "Life goes on much as before. Windbourne is experienced all right. At least—" "Reservations?" enquired his wife. "Well, there are various things. Of course, Windbourne might not be to blame."

This brought a comment from Hugh. "When a man is in charge he takes credit which might or might not be due to him. Likewise, anything that goes wrong is his fault. He's the man in charge. He takes the praise. He also takes the blame." "That hardly sounds fair," Rosemary protested. "Of course it's fair. If things go wrong, it is the fault of the man in charge." "That's right," said Jerry. "Skilled supervision, that's the hallmark of a good forester. He's the one whose job it is to go round making sure that everything is all right. He's the one who's mobile." "Had you something specific in mind?" enquired Liz. Jerry hesitated. "We-ell—as it's among friends— There seem to be more gaps in the fences than there used to be and gates left open. If we don't watch out the place will be overrun with rabbits and the Commoners' cattle." "But he can't be everywhere at once," Rosemary said, still trying to be fair. "It's his job," Jerry insisted. "His job to get around, I mean. It's no use sitting in the office." Rosemary couldn't help remembering how tidy the office was in comparison with Ted Weathers' days. All the same— "Well, he doesn't seem to me like a man who'd neglect his job," she said, in Matt Windbourne's defence. "It's surely up to all forest workers to report broken fences and to close gates when they're found open." "But of course we do"

Hugh gave Rosemary an odd look. "Why are you so on the defensive about him? Has he become a friend of yours since the other evening?" "Of course not. I mean—" The others eyed her interestedly, Liz with an amused twinkle in her eye. "What's all this? You been making contact that we don't know about?" "Father came across him and invited him in to supper, that's all." Liz grimaced. "Really? Then I suppose you know all about him by now?" "Hardly. He and Father were talking silviculture most of the time." "And what did he have to say about that?" queried Hugh. But she didn't want to go on talking about Matt Windbourne, somehow. "I wasn't really listening," she said evasively. "Oh, come off it, Rosemary," appealed Jerry. "But it's true. He—seemed quite knowledgeable about the Forest and its history." She thought she had better tell them something about the new man, as they were all—naturally enough—interested. "And he was born in Canada, of English parents." "But what do you think of him, really, Rosemary?" asked Liz.

Rosemary frowned. "I can't actually give a straight answer to that, Liz. I don't know him well enough, anyway." Liz shook her head wisely. "I know you, Rosemary. You never like to say you don't like a person. If you liked him you'd say so." "Perhaps you're right," Rosemary said, but she was not at all sure that her feelings were as clear-cut as all that. She caught a glance and a soft smile from Hugh. "I don't know of any other person, man or woman, who bends so far over backwards to be charitable," he said. But Rosemary felt she was being flattered by everyone more than she deserved. "I don't think we ought to let personal likes and dislikes enter into our opinion of people. We should judge them for what they are." "And for what they do?" added Jerry. "In that case, Matt Windbourne had better pull up his socks. Ted might have been a trifle slap-happy in some things, but-he was a darned good Forester." Rosemary found herself wanting to leap once more to the defence of Matt Windbourne. She felt, instinctively, that he did have all the "hallmarks" of a good Forester, whatever her private opinion about him as a man. It was hardly his fault if gates were left open or if fences seemed suddenly to need repair. Nevertheless, some misgivings tugged at the fringe of her mind. She had never heard either Jerry or Hugh mention these sort of things in Ted Weathers' time. "Where did you say he came from?" asked Liz. "Norfolk."

"Mm. He probably isn't used to anything the size of the New Forest beats." "I don't suppose he is, and maybe the job is really too big for him," Jerry said. It was shop talk, in the main, Rosemary knew that. They were not intending to condemn the new man, but she was sorry he had made such a bad start. "Look out! He and Lydia are leaving." "Bit early." "Not if you're in love—" "Sh! He might hear you." The two passed close to the table where they were sitting. Lydia's glance swept over them lightly, though she nodded faintly at Rosemary. Matt Windbourne paused, but only long enough to murmur "Good evening," before following Lydia out. He did not even look at Rosemary, a fact which did not pass unnoticed by the others. "Well, can you beat that?" said the outspoken Liz. "You extend hospitality to someone, then when you meet them outside and—" "Please, Liz. It doesn't matter in the least. Let's talk about something else," she pleaded. She felt ridiculously hurt, yet there was no real reason why she should. She was quite sure he had not ignored her deliberately, although she found the thought very little consolation.

At about half-past nine, Liz announced that she and Jerry ought to be going because of the children. Hugh waited until they had gone, then said : "What about it, Rosemary? Shall we take a run?" She nodded, glad to leave the place. Outside, dusk was slowly draining the colour from the day, and as they drove through Bolderwood the jagged points of the Douglas firs stood black against the sky. Hugh drove slowly—through Mark Ash Wood and along the Ornamental Drive with its rhododendrons, great beeches, giant sequoias and other specimen trees, and best of all, magnificent oaks, centuries old. For a little while neither spoke. Words would have been an intrusion. Familiar as they -both were with the scene there was something in the atmosphere of the Forest that was like a presence, a feeling of absolute identification with the tall silence of the trees. It was not until they came out on to Ober Heath that Hugh said : "Has Windbourne been to your house again since that evening?" Rosemary shook her head. "Father invited him to drop in any time, but so far as I know, he hasn't done so." "I take it you and he didn't hit it off too well?" "No, we didn't. Just one of those things, I suppose. One can't hope to hit off with everyone." "Well, I must say I'm not sorry you're not greatly impressed with this particular person. I hate to say this, but I don't think he's going to be very good, and I wouldn't like to think he was a friend of yours or that you liked him even remotely." "Oh, I think he has his good points," she said quickly.

"I daresay—if you look hard enough. I want to be fair to him, of course, but I'm glad you're not enamoured with him for other reasons, too." "Such as?" she queried, though she would have been extremely dense not to realize at what he was driving. He slowed down, then stopped and turned to her. "As if you didn't know!" He put his arm across her shoulders. "I just don't want him snapping you up or even looking your way. I haven't seen much of you lately, I know, but I've been waiting for your father to get back on his feet. Which brings me to asking you— what about a proper date? Come out and have dinner with me one evening, will you?" "Yes, of course. Father certainly is much improved, and it isn't as though it's mid-winter." "No." He fingered her ear, and Rosemary found the sensation not unpleasant. It would be nice to see more of Hugh, to go out and enjoy herself sometimes. Hugh was still smoothing the pinna of her ear, but absently, Rosemary thought, and he was very silent. "A penny for them," she said. "Mm?" He shifted his position and leaned his arms on the steering wheel. "Sorry. I suppose I was thinking about the work. I shouldn't be, I know. It's his responsibility now, but I've got into the habit, I expect. Not many people know this—and of course I don't go around talking about it—but I pretty well ran things when Ted was here. And in the interim." He turned and smiled at her. "But I mustn't go on. Shall we go now—or would you like to progress farther, take a walk, maybe?"

She shook her head. "I think I'd better be off home. It must be getting late." She thought Hugh had sounded worried about the forestry work. It was true that Ted had been very easygoing, but he had been well liked and the three Foresters had worked amicably together. But it also worried Rosemary that the hew Head Forester was not fitting in very well. She, like most of the local people, especially those born in or near the Forest, was deeply concerned about anything connected with it, but in particular about the Forestry Commission workers. So much was the preservation of the Forest in their hands. This same concern was partly why her father had invited Matt Windbourne into his house at first meeting. What was he really like, this new Forester? Rosemary wondered. Obviously, he was not an easy man to know, but at the same time it was inconceivable that he was not a good Forester. She could only hope that, in that respect, Jerry and Hugh would turn out to be mistaken. Quite often Rosemary drove straight through the Forest without stopping as she went to and fro on her visits, but several times during the following week she stopped and went into one or other of the Inclosures— being very, very careful to close the gate after her. She could see that in one Inclosure some felling was about to be done. Some of the trees were marked with a blob of white paint, others by a blaze cut on one side. Matt Windbourne, it seemed, was taking no chances. He had had the ones marked which were to be retained as well as the ones to be felled. Ted Weathers used only to mark those to be removed. She was pleased to see that the ones to be felled were scattered over quite a large area. It was not good forestry practice to fell large areas at the same time as it spoilt the appearance of an Inclosure. She mentioned this to Hugh when they had dinner together.

"You're right, of course," he acknowledged. "But to an experienced Forester it's very elementary. It's the 'border-line' trees which represent the greater skill. But let's not talk forestry tonight. Let's talk about you— how nice you look for a start." She was wearing a dress Hugh had not seen before. It was not new, but she had hardly worn it. It was a simply cut dress, but had wide, fashionable sleeves, and the colour-?a glowing tangerine—suited her admirably. She smiled at him across the table. "Thank you very much. You look very smart yourself." He grinned. "Ah, that's better. I'm beginning to enjoy myself. I don't mind admitting that life has been pretty hectic lately. Nose to the grindstone and all that. It's nice to have unloaded the responsibility, too." She . laughed. "Now we're back to Forestry again !," He grimaced. "Mm. We don't seem able to get away from it, do we?" She eyed him thoughtfully. "You don't mind responsibility, do you? I mean—wouldn't you like to be a Head Forester one day?" "Naturally. I wouldn't have minded the responsibility I've had over the past few weeks—if I'd had two assistants under me." She nodded understandingly. "That's bound to make a difference. I shouldn't think it will be long now before you're promoted to a Head Forester yourself. You must have a good record. Unfortunately, none of those on the other Beats is at retiring age, so promotion could mean your being moved to another area."

His expression softened.. "You say the nicest things. Would you miss me?" "Of course I would." He sighed. "You've touched on something that has been bothering me more than a little. I'm as ambitious for promotion as the next man, and if it were offered to me in one of the other conservancies miles away I wouldn't like to turn it down. That's—one reason I haven't been seeing quite so much of you, Rosemary. I—was getting too fond of you, and as things are with your medical practice and your father, I didn't think I could ask you to—well—" He broke off and reached for her hand across the small table. "You know what I'm trying to say, though I hadn't intended putting it quite so clumsily or so soon." Rosemary gave a tiny frown. She didn't know what to say. It was too soon. She liked Hugh, but she was not in love with him yet, and she would have to be very much in love with a man to consider leaving the Forest. Her father never would, she was convinced. Hugh pressed her hand. "Don't let it worry you. It was too soon to let you know how I feel, I can see that. We'll let things take their course, shall we? But you will go on seeing me?" he asked anxiously. "Yes, of course, Hugh, if you want me to. A job like yours—and mine—can create difficulties when the two parties want to marry, but I'm sure you and I could work out something if it became necessary." "Bless you! I'll tell you this. Promotion or no promotion, if I thought you cared, I'd willingly turn down even the job of DirectorGeneralship."

She smiled. "I've a feeling it won't quite come to that. You're essentially a Forester, not an administrator." "How right you are," he murmured. "I wouldn't even like the job of District Officer." Oddly enough, Rosemary saw the District Officer the following day in Lyndhurst. She did not know him very well, as he was fairly new to the area, but she had met him at various social functions and he seemed likeable enough. He hailed her outside the Queen's House, and after the usual comments on the weather, he enquired after her father. "He's much better," she told him. "Good. I heard he'd been ill." "Why don't you drop in and see him when next you're passing?" she suggested. "He's always pleased to see people, especially anyone connected with the Forest. He loves to talk silviculture—if only to emphasise how broad-minded he is." She laughed. "You should have heard him debating the subject with the new Forester one evening!" There was a quickening of interest in the District Officer's face. "So you've met the new Head." She had a feeling the comment invited her to give an opinion of Matt Windbourne, but this she evaded. "Father met him out walking and invited him to supper. And of course I met him when the trainee sprained his ankle." "Oh, really? I hadn't heard about that."

"He's back at work now. He was only off a few days, actually." Rosemary did not think this little piece of information was very important. He would read it in the Head Forester's report, most likely. Then, all at once, she saw Matt Windbourne himself. He was standing with his hand on the door handle of his car and eyeing her with the most odd expression.

CHAPTER THREE IT was a look Rosemary could not begin to interpret. Certainly he was not smiling. But she raised her hand tentatively to give him a friendly wave, at the same time glancing at the District Officer, who had his back to the new Forester. "There's Mr Windbourne now—" Whether the Head Forester had seen her wave she could not be sure, but as she spoke he opened the door of his car and got inside. The District Officer half turned. "It's all right, I've just been talking to him. He's not expecting me to do a round. I came in to see the Deputy Surveyor about something." For a second or two they stood and watched as Matt Windbourne drove away, then the other man said: "Well, I mustn't keep you. Give my regards to your father— and I'll take you up on that invitation to drop in some time." "Yes, do," Rosemary returned absently. She made her way to her own car, wondering whether Matt Windbourne really was as unfriendly as he seemed or whether it was only an impression he gave. Wandering through the Inclosure where some felling was taking place that afternoon, she came across the Head Forester again, watching the men at work. Sentinel foxgloves stood tall beneath the trees, and bracken, now fully open, reflected the June sky through the trees—a perfect setting for the oaks. No one noticed Rosemary as she stood there quietly. The ground around was littered with oaks that had been taken down. Two of the men were trimming—an awkward job, and tiring, clambering over the mass of broken foliage to get at branches which had been driven into the ground as the tree fell. The forest

workers were not trained as Hugh and Jerry were, and one of the men must have been new. Rosemary had not seen him before. "Always get the tree between you and the branch," Matt told him. "If the axe glances off you're liable to lose a leg." Kenneth, the trainee, and the other man were sawing, one on either side of a tree, pulling the crosscut with long, unhurried strokes, sawdust spurting out on to the ground. Matt watched the two for a moment, then said to Kenneth: "Never push the saw. Just pull." The tree fell, straight and clear. Looking up, Kenneth saw Rosemary and waved. Immediately, Matt Windbourne turned the way the young man was looking and saw her. He eyed her in silence for a second or two, then strolled over to her. "Did you want; something?" "No. I often watch the men at work." "Why?" "I'm interested, that's all," she answered defiantly. His eyebrows cocked up. "Interested?" he echoed. "Surely you've seen tree felling often enough?" "I still like to watch.'' He eyed her disbelievingly. "You surprise me. I would have thought that was the last thing you'd want to do." "As long as some trees are left for us to enjoy, I don't mind."

"Well, thank you," he drawled. "Now that we have your approval, perhaps we might be allowed to continue?" "I was not aware that I was doing anything to prevent your continuing," she answered, beginning to enjoy the tussle. He gave her a speculative stare. "I would prefer that you don't stand around watching my men work. Is that clear?" She felt a surge of anger. Her eyes gleamed. "Mr Windbourne, I've lived in the Forest all my life. You've been here a few weeks only. I shall come and go as I please and nothing you can say will prevent me. Is that clear?" She saw his jaw tighten. "I can only repeat what I said previously. The reason should be obvious." He turned and strolled off through the trees away from both her and the working party. She watched his tall figure, fuming. Really, the man was going out of his way to be disagreeable! It was ridiculous nonsense to suggest that her presence might detract the men from their work. They were far too used to her. He was being quite unnecessarily officious as well as unpleasant. Her enjoyment of the Forest gone for the moment, she went back to her car. But in such surroundings, familiar though they were, she could not remain in a ragged or disgruntled mood for long. The sight of the delicate green of the beeches and young oaks against the darker green of the chestnuts and larches—even the hated Scots pines—restored her natural good humour. He was right, she supposed. Truth to tell, she did not make a habit of hanging around watching the forest workers. She had been goaded into saying the things she had. But by the time she reached home, she had to acknowledge that that was no excuse for her bad behaviour, and even contemplated ringing the Head Forester to

apologise. What would his reaction be if she did? she wondered. Would he accept it in the right spirit or would it give him still further opportunity of showing his superiority? She found this out sooner than she anticipated. She changed her mind about ringing him, but that evening she was called out to a patient who was ill with suspected food poisoning, and the road back took her past Matt Windbourne's cottage. He was in the garden working and looked up as her car drew near and slowed down. She stopped and walked towards him. "Hello," he said, leaning on his garden fork and eyeing her rather suspiciously. She thought, suddenly, that physically, he was the most attractive man she had ever met. There was a combination of grace and strength in his lean body and supple limbs rarely seen in a man. His brown, weather-beaten features were fine and clear cut, his bluegrey eyes set wide apart under a broad forehead and a firmness about his mouth and jaw which told of self-discipline and clean .living. She gave a slight smile, partly at her own thoughts. "I was passing and—couldn't resist stopping, seeing you busy in the garden." His dark brows raised a little and—was she mistaken, or was there, the faintest ghost of a smile around his usually unsmiling mouth? "It would appear that you have quite a fascination for watching men at work." She gave a mischievous smile. "Well, you must admit the sight is becoming rather novel. The picture of a man lazing in a deckchair or hammock while his wife is pushing the lawn mower up and down or doing the weeding is by no means uncommon. When I pick up my father's gardening paper, what do I see? Women used to advertise

flame guns, lawn-mowers, weed-killers and all manner of garden tools and equipment." "Pure sales gimmicks. All advertising is aimed at women because they're the ones who love to spend money." "And why not? They help to earn it," she retorted swiftly. He pulled out his pipe. "I was thinking of making coffee. If you can stand it black, maybe you'd join me." She had a strong suspicion that he really wanted to be rid of her, and was hoping she would refuse, but she had a sudden curiosity to see what he had made of the inside of the cottage. Mrs Weathers had been about as untidy about the house as Ted had been in his office. What would it be like now that its tenant was a bachelor? "Thank you," she answered. "I'd love a cup." He gave her a curious look and opened the gate for her to pass through. "What are you going to plant here?" she asked, indicating the border he had just been turning over. "I guess I haven't made up my mind yet," he drawled. "What do you suggest?" She eyed him covertly. "Shrubs are trouble-free, of course." "But often dull and uninteresting." "Not necessarily. Properly planned, you can have a shrub to be in flower every month of the year." "And that's what you would do, is it?"

"I didn't say that." "No, I guess you didn't," he said, after a moment's silence. He led her into the cottage, its walls made of cob—a mixture of clay and heather—used in the days when stone was in short supply and reserved for the building of churches. The small entrance hall, she noticed, had been freshly painted a soft shade of blue, and when they passed into the beamed living room, she saw that this also had been redecorated. The walls were a creamy white, there was a new carpet on the floor, and instead of the conventional hearthrug, he had a large rush mat, completely circular. He invited her to sit down. "You like it?" he asked, seeing her glance about her. "Very much." He went into the kitchen and she could hear him putting coffee on to percolate. Instant coffee had been more in the line of Ted and his wife. "Who does the cleaning for you?" she asked. "Wife of one of the Forestry workers comes once a week." "And between whiles, you keep it tidy yourself?" "Who else?" She gave him an amused glance as he stood in the doorway connecting the kitchen with the living room. "I must say you do it very well. I've never met a man so tidy."

"It simplifies life," he told her. "I like to know where to lay my hands on things. It's just a sheer waste of time to have to go searching for everything you want. But you're a doctor. You should know that." The coffee began to blub and he turned to lower the gas underneath. It was then she noticed the book on a low table, his slippers underneath the chair close beside it and a newspaper lying on the floor. The homely, human touches pleased her. Though not a very tidy person herself without considerable effort, she admired it in others, and knew well the frustration of hunting for some elusive letter or address or other article. All the same, she would have been inclined to doubt the normality of a person who was excessively tidy. She strolled over to his bookshelf and read some of the titles. Plenty of books on silviculture, naturally, and The Forester's Companion. A great many books on the English countryside with the emphasis on Hampshire and the New Forest, history and biography, one or two on philosophy. All very learned. She picked up the one on his small table and found it was a Western. She smiled. So he was human, after all! , She heard him rattling cups, and went to sit down again. A moment later he came in with two cups of coffee and the sugar on a tray. This man intrigued her more and more, and she found herself wanting to ask him all kinds of questions. "What do you do about meals? You eat out mostly, I expect?" was her first one. "When it suits me. Otherwise I cook my own. Not all men are entirely helpless in the kitchen." He passed her her coffee and handed her the sugar. She looked up at him, an amused smile on her face. "You're a confirmed bachelor, I take it?"

"I didn't say that. It's a poor sort of man who can't cook himself a meal if he has to—or can't cook a decent meal for his wife if she happens to be ill or anything. But let's get back to the subject of my border. If it were yours, what would you plant? Put it that way." Obviously, he wanted to steer away from personal questions. She stirred her coffee. "Ah, now there you have me. I'd plant my favourite flowers, I suppose, if the soil and aspect were suitable." "And what are those? Your favourite flowers, I mean." "That's the difficulty. I have so many. I like roses, but then they should have a border all their own. I like lupins, chrysanthemums— nearly all the daisy type of flower. Asters and so on." "Dahlias?" "Those, too." He put his cup down on his small table and pulled out pipe and tobacco. "Do you mind?" "Of course not." He filled the bowl in thoughtful silence, and she watched his lean brown fingers. It was a medium- sized, neat-looking pipe, the wood dark and smooth, and she noticed a trade mark on the stem. There was a similar one in a bowl on the table with the same mark. Obviously he liked that particular kind of pipe and stuck to it, which was what she would have expected of him. He was the kind of man who knew what he liked and what he didn't. He lit it and leaned back in his chair, and as the smoke rose lazily in the air she was

reminded of the first time she had met him in the Forest. She was reminded, also, of the scene of this morning and of her thought to apologise. "By the way," she said, "I—feel I should apologise for some of the things I said this morning. You were perfectly right—I oughtn't to watch the men when they're working—but strictly speaking I don't do it often, whatever I might have led you to believe." He glanced across at her curiously. "No need to apologise. I shouldn't have assumed that you did." Then he said, suddenly: "I saw you talking to the D.O. in Lyndhurst this morning. Is he a friend of yours?" "We-ell, you could say that, I suppose," she answered, not knowing what lay behind the question, if anything, and having regard to the fact that she had invited the District Officer to drop in on her father. "Why do you ask?" But he evaded the query. "May I offer you another cup of coffee?" She shook her head and rose, taking the invitation as a signal for her to leave. "I'd better be off. Thank you for the one I've had— and the conversation." He rose with her, and she noticed that he did not press her to stay. "That was my pleasure," he answered politely. "Drop in again some time when you're passing. Always glad to have a visitor." She looked at him with renewed interest. "You— don't actually like living alone, then?"

He shrugged. "Yes and no. I don't dislike it, but too much of one's own company isn't good. I get out quite a good deal, of course." "Yes, I've—seen you." He gave her a hard stare. "And I've seen you. Hugh Thornley is obviously a very great friend of yours." This she could not deny, and there was no reason why she should attempt to. She was about to ask him the same question with regard to Lydia Brinley when there was a step outside. Then the door was pushed open and Lydia herself stood on the threshold, tall and slender with her pale blonde hair loose and shining, and elegantly dressed in a deceptively simple summer dress in a sombre shade that only a person with her colouring could successfully wear. She looked from one to the other for a moment, her brows delicately raised at the sight of Rosemary. "Matt, I saw the doctor's car outside and thought you were ill," she said in her superior, rather high- pitched voice. Her blue eyes went to the coffee cups and there was no doubting the hostile glance she gave Rosemary. "I was in the garden when the—doctor came by," he explained. "But I can assure you I'm perfectly fit." "Well, that's a relief, I must say." She advanced into the room with the obvious intention of staying for a while now that she had come. "I'll be off, then," murmured Rosemary, then having no wish .to emulate the other woman's rudeness, she added, "Goodbye, Miss Brinley. Sorry if the sight of my car gave you a shock." "Naturally, it did," came the cool reply, and Lydia sat down, one leg elegantly over the other.

Rosemary went out and Matt followed her. ''Don't bother to see me off," she told him, but he accompanied her to her car all the same and held open the door for her. She thanked him and gave him an amused glance. "I shall watch the progress of the flower border with interest." He slammed the door shut as she settled in the driving seat, and answered through the open window: "Do that." Rosemary drove off feeling slightly deflated. The arrival of Lydia Brinley had spoilt what had otherwise been quite a pleasant half hour. Had the other girl really come in to see if Matt had been ill, or out of sheer curiosity, jealousy, even? She smiled at her own thoughts. So it was "Matt" now. Matt. She said the name again to herself. It suited him, somehow. It had a strong, manly sound. She found herself envying Lydia. What were the two doing back there at the cottage, what were they talking about? And was Lydia a regular visitor? But at this trend of her thoughts she took herself to task. It was no business of hers. A few days after her visit to Matt Windbourne's ' place, Liz Marshall invited Rosemary to supper. Hugh was invited, too, and over the meal the talk strayed naturally to forestry. At first it was just the two men who were talking shop. Hugh and Jerry worked in different parts of the Beat and they often discussed the day's work. Rosemary had been talking to Liz about the children When she suddenly became aware that Matt Windbourne was under discussion. "Well, this is one time he can't pass the buck," Hugh was saying. "He takes such a delight in paying special attention to Ken's training, he took him round with him to mark off the trees.. He was

even there when some of the felling was being done—giving advice to Ken instead of leaving it to the ganger." "Hugh!" Rosemary protested. "The man was only doing his job." Hugh looked at her in surprise. "What man?" "Why, Matt Windbourne." He looked at her oddly. "How come you know about it?" "I—happened to be there." "Oh?" The three of them were now eyeing her curiously. "I—was passing, I mean walking through the Inclosure, and stopped to watch for a minute or two," she explained. "So?" Her shoulders lifted. "Well, after all, he is Head Forester and responsible for Ken's practical training— among other things." "Among other things," Hugh repeated. "I'm glad you said that. Maybe you think I'm being critical, but I have reason to be. I suppose you didn't go round and look at some of the trees marked for felling or retaining." "I did, as a matter of fact—a few days before the felling began." "Well, maybe you didn't notice, but a good many of the wrong ones were marked. Thriving conifers, in some instances, felled to give room to a weakling ash. I ask you!"

Rosemary frowned. "But, Hugh, it doesn't make sense. He wouldn't do a thing like that. He's a qualified and an experienced Forester." "That doesn't make him a good one." "Was it possible that Ken did some marking off when Matt— Windbourne wasn't there?" She coloured, as she almost called him by his first name alone. But Hugh appeared not to notice. He shook his head. "Not a chance. He was with Ken the whole of the time." "I—just can't understand it. I would have said that of all the Head Foresters we've had on this Beat, he was by far the best." Jerry laughed. "That's just like a woman, judging by appearances. He may look the part, but it's the men who work with him who should know." "You don't necessarily have to work with a man to be able to judge his character," Liz put in, "and after all, Rosemary is a doctor." "Beg pardon, Rosemary. You look so young and pretty and all that, I sometimes forget you're a woman of the world, so to speak." Rosemary passed this off. "But, Jerry, what about your section of the Beat? Things seem to be going all right there. At least, so it seems." "So far—yes, but of course it's early days yet." "How you men stick together," his wife deplored. "You talk as though you're expecting things to go wrong." Jerry's broad shoulders lifted. "Well, who can tell? It's no small thing being a Head Forester in the New Forest—or Forester in

charge anywhere, for that matter. A man needs to be a good allrounder. You know that." There was a short silence, then Liz said brightly: "Well, let's talk about something else. When's the next Foresters' Ball?" "September," Hugh said tersely. Liz giggled and Rosemary cast her an absent smile. Liz sometimes said the silliest things—usually when she was stuck for something to talk about or when there was a certain tension in the atmosphere, as now. It was evident that the situation on the Beat was very much on all their minds, yet no one wanted to talk about it any more at the moment.... "Let's take a stroll, shall we, Rosemary?" Hugh suggested almost as soon as they had finished eating. "Yes, all right." Rosemary felt unaccountably depressed as they crossed the clearing where the two cottages were situated—Hugh's and that of the Marshalls—and walked along one of the grass rides to the Nightingale Inclosure. Darkness was gathering, and a pale moon showed faintly just above the horizon. All around them could be heard tiny scutterings, a startled wood pigeon taking flight from the top of a tree. Hugh's arm came possessively about her shoulders, but quite suddenly she felt angry with him. He drew her towards him and tried to kiss her, but she pushed against him. "What's the matter?" he asked. But how could she say? She was not sure herself. She had no explanation for the feelings of restlessness and depression which seemed lately to beset her. Something was nagging her. She did not know what, and she could make no answer to Hugh.

"You know, Rosemary," he said, "I sometimes can't help wishing you were just an ordinary woman instead of a doctor." "Why?" "You're too intelligent, too sensitive, by far." "What kind of talk is that ?" "You think and analyse too much. I have a feeling th - if you were just an ordinary woman with a job in an office or something like that, you'd be more in love with me." "But that's ridiculous, Hugh." "Is it?" He grasped her shoulders again almost fiercely. "Then tell me, why is it that every time Matt Windbourne comes under discussion you go all moody and cool?" She shook off his hand angrily. "Don't talk to me like that, Hugh!" He glowered. "There you are! If you were an ordinary woman, that sort of discussion wouldn't worry you, unless—" "Unless—what, Hugh?" she asked quietly. He gave an impatient gesture. "Oh, for heaven's sake, I think I've said quite enough." "Yes, I think you have." She turned to walk back where she had left her car, and he fell into step beside her. She was in a mood, she realized that, and she tried desperately to shake it off. She didn't know why she should spring to Matt Windbourne's defence every time or why she should feel so out of sorts. She had argued with Jerry and was being difficult with

Hugh. And they were her friends. It was hardly fair to them. It was the way to lose friendships. By the time she reached her car, an apology was framing on her lips, but Hugh forestalled her. "Rosemary, don't let's quarrel. I'm sorry." "So am I, Hugh. I don't know what's the matter with me these days." "You've been working too hard." "Not really." He put his arm about her, more gently this time. "Being a doctor does tend to make you more—reserved than most women." She smiled. "Perhaps you're right—but I'm still a woman." "I do believe you are," he said softly, and brought his lips down on Tiers. This time she did not push him away. She found herself clinging to him, wanting him to kiss her, like a woman wanting to be loved. Feeling her response, Hugh's arms tightened about her and his kisses became more ardent. But perversely, this was what she did not want, and she stiffened. "I must go now, Hugh." "Must you? Why?" "Please, Hugh—" He released her with reluctance. "You're a funny one. Why do I love you so much?" "Hugh, you mustn't."

"Why not?" "I—I'm so mixed up." "Relax, Rosemary. Let things take their course." But she didn't really know what he meant by that, and she wanted to get away, to be by herself to think, to sort herself out, if she could. She supposed all women suffered from these moods from time to time, but these feelings of uncertainty and rapid changes of mood were new to her. "I must go now, anyway, Hugh. I have a patient expecting her first baby, and I've been away from the telephone far too long." He shrugged. "All right, if you must. But when am I going to see you again?" "Give me a ring some time." He gave her a long look. "That sounds awfully vague to me. Are you sure you're not trying to—give me the brush off?" "Of course not," she said quickly. "I just don't feel like talking any more tonight, that's all." But she was not sure that she should go on seeing him, except casually, if he were really in love with her and she could not reciprocate. "All right, then, I'll give you a ring tomorrow," he answered. She went back into the Marshalls' cottage to say goodnight to Liz and Jerry, and then drove home, her mind going over the scene with Hugh. There was a time when she thought she might be falling in love with Hugh, when she would have welcomed the idea of his

being in love with her. Now, the fact that he was —or had said he was—worried her. And from being a normally contented person she seemed to have become restless, unsettled. What was wrong with her? When she arrived home she found Denny and her father sharing a pot of tea and listening to some music. Both looked up and smiled, but they were obviously too engrossed in the music to have any desire to talk to her. The scene was a very cosy, happy and domestic one, and it struck her that a new relationship might be growing between the two. She was glad if this was so, but at the present moment she felt ridiculously the odd one out. She went to her room, her mind occupied now with what Hugh and Jerry had been saying about Matt Windbourne. There was some mistake, she felt sure. He must know what he was doing, otherwise he would not hold the position he did. Even the trainee Forester was carefully chosen by an Interview Board, or rather, by the Forestry Commission on the recommendation of the Board. Then followed two years at a training forest during which time he was closely watched and reported upon. Only if such reports were satisfactory did the would-be Forester go on to a further two years at a Forester Training School, at the end of which he must pass a final examination before being awarded a Forester Certificate. Even as a qualified Forester his work was reported upon regularly by the District Officer upon whose report were promotions made. Matt Windbourne must have been a very good man at his job indeed to have -secured the post as Head Forester. In fact, he must surely have been outstandingly good, otherwise either Jerry or Hugh would have been promoted. Both were certified Foresters. The ordinary forest worker had no such qualifications. She became aware that Denny was calling to her, asking her if she would like some tea, so she went downstairs. It was later, when she finally retired for the night, that her thoughts returned once more to

the new Forester. But this time she saw him leaning back in his chair contentedly smoking his pipe, one hand holding the bowl, the other resting on the arm of his chair. What was it about this man? She had not really known a minute's peace ever since she had first met him. Brushing her hair, her hand stayed and she frowned at the trend of her thoughts. This was ridiculous. It was perfectly feasible to be able to see—and acknowledge a man's physical attractions while at the same time finding him annoying, without attributing responsibility to him for her recent moods and feelings of restlessness. She defended him out of a sense of fairness, and she was restless and uneasy because she was reaching a climax in her relationship with Hugh, that was all. Nevertheless, during the ensuing days, she simply could not get Matt Windbourne out of her mind. Several times she passed his cottage even though it meant going home by a roundabout route, and knew a pang of disappointment that she did not see him in the garden. But she told herself that her interest in him was merely because he was new in the area, nothing more. Hugh rang as he promised, and she arranged to meet him at a spot they both knew well near Cadnam, and if it was fine, to go for a walk through the beechwoods. But as she was driving along the Cadnam-Lyndhurst road there was a bumping and her car began that sideways swing which told her she had a back wheel puncture. She heaved a sigh and sat at the wheel for a moment, then with an air of resignation she clambered out and began to go through the motions of changing the Wheel. She had the spare wheel on the ground and was searching for the jack when a voice said: "Having trouble?"

She swung round to see Matt Windbourne, a glint of amusement in his eyes. Why she couldn't have behaved naturally and returned with some joke herself, she could not imagine at that moment. But instead, she knew a quick surge of annoyance. "A puncture is never very funny," she answered coolly. His glint of amusement vanished. "But no great tragedy, surely? One now and again is inevitable. Allow me." He took the jack from her. "I presume the handbrake is on?" She compressed her lips. "Naturally." "You'd better check it all the same." She wanted to tell him furiously that she could manage perfectly well. But she hated changing a wheel, and in any case—She checked that the handbrake was on, and he put the jack into position. "Are you on your way to see a patient?" he asked. "If so, and it's urgent, I could run you there, then bring you back to change your wheel." She shook her head, and maddeningly, he pulled out his pipe and started to fill it as if he had all the time in the world. "But I am on my way to meet a friend," she said pointedly. She got out her tool bag, hoping he would take the hint, but he lit his pipe, sheltering the match from the light breeze and puffing away until it was well and truly going. But curiously, as she watched him, her anger died. He waved the match in the air to make thoroughly sure it was out, then put the stub back in its box. "Do you always do that?" she asked.

He puffed again before taking his pipe out of his mouth to answer her. "It saves littering the countryside. Besides which, it's good habit in a forest area." He had another couple of puffs—he was obviously a man who thoroughly enjoyed his pipe—then put it back in its case and began to jack up the car. "How's the garden coming along?" she asked him conversationally. "Why don't you drop by tomorrow evening—if you're not too busy or otherwise engaged—and take a look?" he drawled. Then he added, before she could reply: "You don't have to commit yourself if you don't want. But I'll be there if you happen to be passing." "Thanks for the pressing invitation," she answered drily. He straightened up and gave her a long look. "I can make it more pressing, if you want." She shook her head 'quickly, not because she did not want him to make his invitation pressing, but because of a sudden panic which had seized her. She turned away in confusion. There had been something in the expression of his eyes, his face. For a moment she almost thought she loved him. Almost. She opened the door of the car and pretended to look for something in her handbag, wishing he would either hurry up with the tyre or leave her to do it herself. She wished for a thousand distractions during the next five minutes and could barely find voice to thank him when at last he had the wheel changed and had replaced the punctured tyre and the jack into the boot of her car.

"A pleasure—" he drawled, and walked with his slow, lazy strides back to his own car. Rosemary sat at the wheel of her own vehicle and closed her eyes for a moment. Then, with a deep breath, she started her engine and drove off. She had fallen in love with Matt Windbourne. What was the use of trying to deny it, even to herself? But what good would it do her if, as seemed likely, he was already in love with Lydia Brinley?

CHAPTER FOUR HUGH was leaning on a gate. He smiled and straightened up as she approached him. "Hello there. I was beginning to wonder what had happened to you. Called out?" She shook her head. "Puncture, I'm afraid." He grimaced. "Oh, lord! Didn't anyone happen along to give you a hand?" "Er—yes, as a matter of fact, someone did." "Good. Anyone I know?" She suppressed a sigh. She hadn't been going to tell him, and when she did, she had just the reaction she feared. "Him again! Why of all people did it have to be him?" She gave a tiny frown. "Hugh, why do you dislike him so much?" He looked at her in mild surprise. "I didn't think you liked him very much, either. At least, not when he first came. I seem to remember you saying he wasn't going to be very popular. You said he rubbed you up the wrong way or something. Seems you've changed your mind all at once." "Well, I suppose I'm quite entitled to do that," she pointed out. He shrugged. "Oh, yes." She felt miserable and out of sorts. Life was being very disturbing these days. Most of the time she just seemed to want to be alone to

sort out her thoughts. She looked at Hugh and tried to remember that he said he was in love with her. She put a hand on his arm. . "I'm sorry, Hugh. He does seem to be a thorn in your side, one way and another, doesn't he? Let's go for that walk." At that, he smiled faintly and tucked her arm in his. "Thorn is right," he said on a sigh. "We didn't realize how lucky we were with old Ted." Rosemary did not reply. The new Forester had affected them all, one way and another, it seemed. What she was going to do about her own feelings for him, she did not know at present. But the thought of him did not leave her mind for a single instant as they walked through the wood where great beeches towered above them their leafy branches like pale green cascades. "You're in a very pensive mood this evening," Hugh said at last. "Am I?" He stopped and took her in his arms. "No, Hugh, don't do that," she said quickly. His arms dropped to his sides. "Still keeping me at arm's length— virtually—are you?" "It isn't that." "What then?" "Hugh, I—I'm sorry. I just don't love you. You— can't force these things." "I'm not trying to force you. But you don't hate me, do you?"

"Of course not." "Then why this sudden aversion to me?" She turned and began to walk back the way they had come. "Please, Hugh. I—I haven't got an aversion to you. I don't dislike you, you know that. It's just that—your feelings appear to have grown while mine—haven't. And—under those circumstances, I don't really think we should see each other again. Not alone, anyway, like this." He thrust both his hands in his pockets. "I see." She looked at his face, seeing pain, anger and disappointment in his expression. "Please, Hugh, you must see that I'm right. It isn't doing either of us any good—especially you, if you— do feel about me the way you said." "I think you might allow me to know what's good and what isn't— for me." "I'm sorry." He took a deep breath. "Damn it, woman, don't keep saying you're sorry! I think you're making a mountain out of a molehill. We used to be good friends, but we don't seem to be even that any more." Rosemary almost said "sorry" again, but stopped herself in time. "All right, Hugh, if that's how you feel about things. We can go on seeing each other, but don't expect me to—be able to show you more affection than I really have. You know I like you, I always have."

"And I thought that could be a good foundation for something more. I'm sure you thought so yourself at one time." This was so true that for a few moments Rosemary did not know what to say. And all at once she did not want to say anything more at all. She felt drained. All she wanted was to be alone to think. But she said quietly: "You're perfectly right, Hugh, of course. The point is, nothing is static in this life. Things either go backwards or forwards, become better or worse, weaker or stronger. And my feelings for you are not progressing. Our friendship could deepen, of course. But no relationship stands still." He sighed heavily. "All right, Rosemary, I get the message. Let's not talk any more about it. I only wish there was something I could do to—" He broke off, then said, with a grin, "So I can't even kiss you any more, without being pushed away?" She gave him an answering smile, glad that he was able to make light of it, after all. His masculine pride was hurt, naturally, that she could not love him. When he had recovered from that, she felt sure he would quickly recover from the love he had for her. She hoped so, fervently, because she knew now that it was impossible for her ever to return his love. "Maybe you won't want to kiss me very often in the future," she answered him. She did not want to hurt him, ever. She curbed her desire to be alone—to make some excuse and go home right away. It would hardly have been fair to Hugh. But conversation lagged, and when they reached the place where Rosemary had parked her car, he made no attempt to detain her.

"I'll ring you, then, Rosemary, shall I?" he said, obviously taking it for granted that she wanted to bring the evening to an end so far as his company was concerned. "I hope you will—or drop in sometimes," she told him, with a smile. Then, on impulse, she put her hands on his shoulders and kissed his cheek. She felt him stiffen, then he brought up his own hands and grasped hers. "Goodnight, Rosemary," he said in a carefully controlled voice. "I'll ring you in a day or two." He walked quickly away and was soon lost to view among the trees. Rosemary sighed and got into her car. One way and another, Matt Windbourne had certainly caused something of an upheaval in their lives, not least her own. What was she going to do about her feelings for him? she wondered, as she drove home. But what did anyone do about love that was not returned? Bear it nobly, go about one's daily business and hope it would become less painful in time? The only alternative would be to set out to make oneself attractive to the man. In moderation, and if the man in question were interested, yes, but— if he were already interested in someone else? This was a situation in which Rosemary had never found herself before. At school and at medical college, her attractions towards the opposite sex had been mutual, or if one-sided, not on her side at all. She tried to keep her thoughts going in order to prevent them from dwelling on Matt himself, but before very long, she had argued and reasoned all she could on the subject of how she was going to cope with her love, and was left with an image of the man himself. He was everything she would ever want in a man. True, she had only known him a short time, but it seemed as though she had known him for ever. She doubted very much whether she would ever, could ever love anyone else.

The thought of him during the next few days buoyed her up and kept a warm glow in her heart. She stopped her car once outside his cottage when he was not there, curious to see how his flower border was progressing. Her heart thrilled. He had evidently visited a nurseryman and bought a good many flowers and plants in pots, and many were her own favourites. There were dahlias, chrysanthemums, Michaelmas daisies, golden rod, and several foliage plants. The chrysanthemums were already giving a wonderful display of colour, and in front of the border marched a glorious array of pink, white, and dazzling red geraniums. Here was a man who loved beauty, who loved all growing things. Tears gathered in her eyes. How wonderful it would be to make a home with him! She grasped the slatted uprights of the small wicket gate. This was the kind of dreaming she must stop, she told herself. "Hello—deep in thought?" She started. He was standing right beside her. "I—" She blinked and turned a weak smile on him. "I—just stopped to see how the garden was coming along." He nodded. "I wondered when you would. What do you think of it—so far?" "It's—wonderful." "Wonderful what a visit to a nurseryman will do," he corrected drily. "But you had the idea, prepared the border and went along to him, didn't you?" "That's so," he agreed, and looked at her oddly. Then he said, unexpectedly : "You know, I sure do wish I could make you out."

Her eyes widened in swift surprise. "In what way?" "Well," he drawled, "I don't know whether you're merely being polite when you say things like you did just now, or whether you really mean them." She coloured, realizing vaguely that if she paid him too many compliments she would surely give herself away, but mainly at this moment she was angry that he should doubt her sincerity. "Of course I mean them," she said hotly. "I wish I could make you out, too. There are times when I think you must be the rudest man I've ever met!" "And at other times?" he prompted. "At others, I just think you're the most exasperating," she retorted. "Well, that sure has clarified matters," he observed. "And now, if you don't mind, I would like to pass through my gate to get into my cottage." Anger and hurt feelings struggling within her, she moved swiftly out of his way and went back to her car. But as she pulled the selfstarter, her anger died and only the pain remained. She compressed her lips against threatening tears and drove on, concentrating fiercely on her driving. Never again would she stop anywhere near his cottage if she could possibly avoid it, she determined. Never. The only way to cope with her feelings for him was to encounter him as little as possible. She wouldn't have thought it was possible to be in love with a man who could be so annoying, but, she thought, a warm tenderness flooding over her, if he was the most exasperating man she had ever met, he was also the most wonderful. If only things were different! If only he liked her a little, if only there were no Lydia, if only—

Pride pulled her up short. But only for a moment or two. Selfdeception was never Rosemary's strong point, and pride and love did not mix at all. It was self-pity she must guard against, she told herself. When she arrived home her father had a visitor whom he was showing round the garden. It was the District Officer. "You see?" he said to Rosemary as she went out to speak to him. "I've taken you at your word." "I'm very glad you have. Will you have some tea?" "Thank you, I will." Rosemary went inside to get it. Denny already had the kettle boiling. "Why should -the D.O. call to see your father?" she asked, as she set the tray for three. "No particular reason, Denny. I asked him to. Father likes people to come and admire his garden." "Is that all?" Rosemary laughed. "Of course. What else—except to talk about forestry, perhaps. You know how Father likes to air his knowledge on the subject." The District Officer and her father .were already talking about the forest when she took out the tea, and quite how it began, she was not quite sure, but all at once the conversation was centred around Matt. "I hear very good accounts of him from some of my patients," her father was saying.

"Forest workers?" queried the D.O. "Yes—and their wives. Quite a number of them—the men, I mean—think he's the best Forester they've ever worked with." Rosemary silently blessed him. She had not heard any opinion on Matt voiced by them herself, but her father was more chatty to the patients than she was. "M—m?" murmured the D.O., in a non-committal fashion. "And what of the other two Foresters? What do they think? Er—strictly off the cuff, of course." "Now there you'd have to ask Rosemary. She sees more of them than I do," John Fielding said. But now Rosemary did not like the conversation. She did not think this was the kind of question the D.O. should ask, off the cuff or otherwise. "I should think they are the people to ask, not me," she said stiffly. Then she added : "If you must ask anyone at all." "Rosemary—really!" protested her father. But the D.O. was not in the least put out by her pointed remark. "Ah, I know what you're thinking—and normally, you'd be quite right, of course. A D.O. is supposed to make his own assessments and judge from his observations. And so I do. But I'm not here as D.O. And in any case, you and your father are doctors. That makes you responsible people. I wouldn't dream of talking about any of the Foresters on my district to anyone else." "But . why ask anyone's opinion at all?" she demanded.

"Because I like to know what people think who are disinterested. The opinion of people like you and your father is very valuable." "Well, if you want mine, I think he's a very fine person," she declared. "I'm very glad to hear you say so," the District Officer said mildly. "It helps a lot. You—er—get along with him well, do you ?" "I didn't say that. I gave you my opinion of him as a person." "Ah, that's better still. It can be easy enough to be popular. There are some who go around making themselves pleasant to all and sundry, but often such people don't stand the test of character in the long run." This was an observation with which Rosemary could not argue, and so she simply nodded. She wished the D.O. would stop talking about Matt. A small knot of pain was beginning to make itself felt in her heart and she wanted to get away from everyone. But she knew she was going to feel like this often, and she would not always be able to go away and hide. Indeed, she supposed—diagnosing herself—it would not be good for her to do so. She couldn't think why the District Officer should be talking about the Foresters in this way. It was most unusual. Or was it her father who had first mentioned Matt? The usual discussion of someone new in a society. In any event, she could not possibly pass on to the D.O. any of the things Hugh and Jerry had said about Matt. She was glad 'when the man took his leave, but her father said at dinner : "You don't appear to like the D.O. very much, my dear." But Rosemary denied that she had anything personal against him.

"It's just that I didn't like the way he was asking our opinion about the Foresters on the Beat." "And the new Head in particular?" he queried shrewdly. "Well—yes." "Ah." "And what is that supposed to mean, Father?" she asked mildly. He couldn't possibly have guessed how she felt about Matt. But he shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing. Just 'ah.' Trying to get the hang of things, that's all. I noticed you refused to be drawn on what the other two Foresters thought about Matt Windbourne." "I should think so, too," she said indignantly. "I still think the D.O. had no right to ask questions like that." "My dear, you might be glad one day that he did," her father answered quietly. "I get around, you know. I have a fair idea of what's going on." "Then I wish to goodness someone would tell me," she said raggedly, naturally sensitive about anything which concerned Matt, and an odd feeling coming over her that there was something odd going on, on the Pinewood Beat. She did not see the glance which passed between Denny—who was sitting at table with them—and her father. He said casually: "I would have thought you were well up to date with all that was,, happening. You're so friendly with them all. By the way, as a matter of interest, how are Hugh and Jerry getting on with Matt?"

"I—think they get along with him all right. They just don't agree with some of his methods." It was the only way she could think of putting it, and blessed Denny, who remarked, "Professional jealousy, I expect. They'll settle down together shortly." "Yes, of course, Denny, that's all it is," she said with relief. But her relief was short-lived. A day or two later she saw Jerry in Brockenhurst, and as it was mid-morning, he invited her to have coffee with him. She asked him about Liz and the children, and he answered absently, then he said : "Did Hugh tell you about what happened in one of the nurseries?" Rosemary had a sudden hollow feeling. She shook her head. "Nothing wrong, I hope?" He grimaced. "Nothing wrong! Wholesale damage to the seedlings, that's all." Rosemary felt sick. "What happened?" "The wrong spray was used. Vaporizing oil used for post-emergence spraying instead of white spirit." "But—but that's terrible. How could such a thing possibly have happened ?" "Search me. Sufficient to say it did. Thank goodness I'm not Head Forester. But then, if either Hugh or I had been, it wouldn't have happened. I'm sure of that."

"How can you be?" demanded Rosemary, suddenly disliking Jerry. "It must have been a mistake." Terry stared at her for a moment. "A mistake? You must be joking. And I just know it wouldn't have happened if either Hugh or I had been in charge. We don't know the" new man, and after all, he has only the same qualifications as we have." "He wouldn't have got the job if he hadn't been good," she answered tartly. "Well, as to that—" Jerry shrugged. Then he glanced at his watch. "Do you mind if I leave you now, Rosemary? I've a few more items of shopping to do for Liz, then we're going to Bournemouth for the day. It's my day off—and am I ready for it! See you." Rosemary ordered another cup of coffee for herself. She had no reason to doubt Jerry's word, yet she simply could not believe that Matt was to blame for what had occurred, even though he was responsible for everything that happened on the Beat. Perhaps he entrusted the spraying to someone who picked up the wrong can or something by mistake. She had a table next to one of the windows and as she looked out she saw Matt himself. At the sight of him, her heart leapt, and she watched his tall figure until he disappeared from her view. A few minutes later, to her surprise, he entered the small cafe. He glanced around and saw her, and she nodded to him. Her heart began to do unfamiliar things as he strode towards her. "May I?" he asked when he reached her table. "Of course." She gave him a quick smile, but his face was stern. Naturally, he would be worried about what had happened in the nursery, but she didn't feel it would be wise to let him know that she

had been told about it already. "Everyone seems to be in Brockenhurst this morning," she said, making conversation. He sat down and beckoned a waitress. "Everyone?" he queried. "Well—Jerry Marshall, now you. Not quite everyone, but—" "You've missed out the D.O." "Oh. Is he in town? I haven't seen him. In fact I haven't seen him since—" She broke off. His voice had been like a dash of cold water, and she had a feeling that somewhere something was wrong. He nodded to the girl who brought his coffee, then said in his Canadian drawl: "Not since he was at your house a few days ago?" She stared at him, all kinds of vague ideas flitting around her brain. "That's right. He—called to see Father." "He called to see your father," he repeated in a dead flat voice. "And while he was there you had a nice little heart-to-heart talk with him." She coloured, and her heart beat began to quicken uncomfortably. "I'm—not quite sure what you're driving at, M-Mr Windbourne." Almost, she called him Matt again. But whether he noticed, she could not say. His expression was set, his eyes cold. "No? Then I must put it more clearly," he answered, in a chilly voice, "though I can't promise it will sound polite—ma'am. At a guess I'd say you had a nice little chat about the Beat in general and myself in particular. Correct me if I'm wrong and I'll gladly apologize."

For a moment she looked at him with a puzzled frown, reluctant to believe, still, that he could be accusing her. Accusing her of—She broke off her thoughts. He was eyeing her with a look of cold anger and suspicion, waiting for her reply. Suddenly she straightened and her chin jutted forward. "All right, since we're speaking plainly," she answered, striving to keep the tremor out of her voice, "we did chat about the Beat and the Foresters—including yourself. And why shouldn't we?" His glance sharpened. "Why indeed"!" he ground out. "You've told me all I wanted to know." He pushed back his chair, and leaving his coffee untasted, crossed the floor of the cafe in a few long, loping strides. Trembling, tears not far away, Rosemary drank some more of her coffee, then, her chin high, she left the cafe herself. For a while, she couldn't think clearly, and part of her brain rejected what should have been crystal clear. The other part of her brain had to concentrate on her patients as she went on her morning visits. But on and off throughout the rest of that day Matt's image was before her eyes, and the look of accusation—and contempt—on every line of his face was like a knife through her heart. She struggled through evening surgery until at last, after a day which had seemed like half a lifetime, she found herself in an armchair in the sitting room with a glass of sherry in her hand, poured out for her by Denny. "Child, you look worn out," the older woman said to her. "What happened to make you look so tired?" Rosemary sipped her sherry and leaned back in her chair, her eyes half closed. She didn't really want to talk. Her brain felt fuddled, her head heavy, and there was a tight knot of pain in her throat. But Denny's kind, enquiring look demanded an answer of some sort.

"Nothing's happened, really, except—' She couldn't bring herself to continue. Denny's hand touched her shoulder. "Well, never mind for now. Just relax. Maybe you'll fed like talking later. I'll go and see about dinner. There's only the two of us. Your father went off half an hour ago." Rosemary thanked her. Her father was having dinner with Mr Westlake, and the thought of him reminded her of the evening Matt had been with them for dinner. Mr Westlake had not had a stroke. The trouble had been exactly as she explained to Matt—muscular strain. Her mind went over some of the conversation with Matt, especially the details relating to his birth and upbringing. And the next moment, it seemed, Denny touched her shoulder again. She sat up with a start. "You dozed off, my dear. Sorry to waken you, but dinner is ready." "Denny, you're such a comfort!" Rosemary smiled. The meal was all ready to eat, and Rosemary suddenly found she was hungry. "What you need," Denny said, as they began to eat, "is a husband to look after you." Rosemary swallowed hastily. "If I had one, he'd be hardly likely to cook my meals !" "You don't want anyone to cook your meals. At least, not primarily. Anyway, anyone can cook. It's the comfort and companionship of a husband you need. Every woman does." "Then what about yourself?" she retorted, trying to steer the conversation away from herself.

Denny kept her gaze on her plate. "Not all circumstances are the same," she said quietly. "In any case, that's what I need too, but for the moment I'm perfectly happy and contented looking after you and your father. It's you I'm most concerned about just now." Rosemary sent her a grateful look. "It's all right, Denny. I've just had a bad day, that's all." "That may be, but you've been looking a little peaky for quite a few days now. I think it all has something to do with the new Head Forester, Matt Windbourne." Denny went on eating as if she had not just made the understatement of Rosemary's lifetime. Rosemary laughed a trifle hysterically. "Denny, I've told you before, you're like a mother to me. Only you could say a thing like that and then go on calmly eating your dinner!" "You mean I'm the only, one who could get away with it. I notice you haven't denied it." "What would be the use? You know me inside out, don't you?" "I know when there's something wrong. And I know a woman in love when I see one." "Oh, Denny, surely it isn't so obvious? I hope not." Denny shook her head quickly. "No, no, my dear, of course it isn't. Only to me. I'm a woman and I've known you since you were a child, remember. You and your father are my whole life." "I know. But don't you sometimes yearn for a home of your own?" Denny shook her head. "This is my home. I want no other."

It suddenly came to Rosemary that Denny was in love, too—with her father, and possibly had been for a very long time. Would he ever ask Denny to marry him? It was when they were sitting with their coffee in the sitting room that Denny brought the conversation back to Matt. "Your father and I were both saying the other day what a very nice man he is," she said. "And he seems quite well liked by most other people, too." Rosemary smiled. "I'm glad to hear it." Denny looked across at her. "What happened today, Rosie? Something, I'm sure." "It's not just today, Denny. We—don't seem to have hit it off, not really, ever since he came. At least—" "And now you've fallen in love and he hasn't. It will come, Rosie, I'm sure it will." "Hardly." Rosemary told Denny something of her conversation with Matt in the cafe. "Obviously, he actually believes I'd act as informer against him, feed the D.O. with titbits I'd gleaned from Hugh and Jerry." "Oh, surely not. You must be mistaken." "I wish I were. And besides, there's Lydia Brinley." "What about her?" "She's a friend of his. I've seen him out with her several times, and she called at his cottage—obviously not for the first time."

Denny frowned. "You know, Rosie, it is possible to put two and two together and come out with an answer of five." Rosemary shook her head. "He doesn't even like me." "That I can't believe," Denny said emphatically. "But I do know this. There's something odd going on on the Pinewood Beat. Your father's told me one or two things. And of course, it could look as if you might be talking out of turn to the D.O. You're friendly with the other two, the D.O. has been here—" "Also Matt has seen me talking to Mm in Lyndhurst. All the same, it hurts to think—" "Yes, dear, I know. But you can't really blame him. He doesn't really know you, he certainly doesn't realize how you feel about him, and who knows, maybe he's hurt, too. People are so apt to jump to conclusions, I'm afraid." "I suppose so. The point is, Denny," Rosemary went on, "if he thinks I've been telling the D.O. things, then somebody must be, and it isn't very pleasant. Mind you, if the D.O. is anything like a decent sort of person, he won't let it influence him. Still—" "It might be worth trying to find out just who has been talking," suggested Denny. "I simply can't think of anyone who would." "What about Lydia Brinley?" Rosemary stared at her, then laughed. "Don't be a goose, Denny. She's a friend of Matt's—even more, maybe," she forced herself to say. "Besides, how can she know What goes on? She doesn't mix with any of the Forestry Commission people."

"Then what about Hugh or Jerry?" At this Rosemary frowned. "Really, Denny! How can you say such a thing? As if either of them would! It's unthinkable. I know them both too well." "I wonder," answered Denny. "I wonder how well, exactly, anyone, knows another person." "Denny, that may be true, but it's a terrible thought, and I'm going to forget parts of this conversation." "Just as you like, dear," Denny said easily. Then, after a moment or two of thoughtful silence: "There's Matt's good name to consider, of course. Do you really believe he's such a poor Forester as the other two make him out to be?" Rosemary sat up. "What exactly are you driving at, Denny?" "I would have thought it was pretty plain. Would an experienced Forester mark the wrong trees for felling? Would a man like your Matt fail to keep fences in repair or to do proper rounds so that gates were left open unobserved?" "Or allow the wrong spray to be used so that almost a whole nursery full of seedling conifers were damaged?" added Rosemary thoughtfully. Then she shook her head. "I still can't believe that either Hugh or Jerry had anything to do with that. How could they? They wouldn't go around opening gates or making gaps in fences, either. And Hugh told me himself that Matt took young Ken round with him to mark off the trees." "Somebody could have gone round afterwards and marked a few more," suggested Denny.

"Oh, really!" Rosemary protested. "Honestly, Denny, you're letting your imagination run away with you." "Am I? Well, perhaps you can think of some better, more feasible explanations, like laziness on the part of your man or bad forestry management. No wonder he's annoyed if all these things are happening on his Beat and then before he can inform the D.O. himself, someone else is doing it for him." The telephone rang, and Rosemary went to answer it. A patient who had taken ill that morning was now worse, and would the doctor come at once. Rosemary replaced the receiver and called out to Denny that she had to go out. The diagnosis of this patient had been difficult—so many vague symptoms, and what there were, differential. On her way there, Rosemary's mind was occupied with all the possibilities of diagnosis and the procedure for getting the patient—a thirteen- year-old boy—into hospital immediately, if necessary, thoughts* of Matt and of some of the things Denny had said floating in the distant haze of her mind. The boy's parents were not natives of this country. A disease called favism, though rare some years ago, was becoming fairly common now with so many immigrants arriving in the country. It was a disease, however, well known in some Mediterranean countries, and was caused by lack of a certain chemical in their bodies, an enzyme called glucose-six-phosphate dehydrogenase. It stopped a person dealing with food like broad beans properly. Something like that could well be the trouble. When she arrived at the house and questioned the mother more closely, it transpired that the boy had often eaten broad beans without any effect, but recently he had eaten them raw. In some of these cases a complete change of blood had been necessary, so Rosemary had him admitted into hospital.

She drove home slowly. It was almost dark by now and the forest was quiet and peaceful. Thoughts of Matt began to come out of the haze, vague at first, accompanied by a yearning for him, then to more specific things. Was there anything in what Denny said? Could it be that either Jerry or Hugh was making things difficult for Matt? She found it very hard to believe. She reflected that she had not seen Hugh for quite a number of days, and on impulse, turned her car down the minor road which led to his cottage. A forest pony was tethered outside, one she did not recognize. It certainly did not belong to Hugh. She hesitated about going to the door. If he had a visitor— though she could not think who it could be— Then a figure passed in front of the window, and in the light from outside, Rosemary saw clearly, and with a sense of shock, that Hugh's visitor was Lydia Brinley.

CHAPTER FIVE ROSEMARY'S first instinct was to back her car out of the narrow roadway at once. But she changed her mind, and with a determined gleam in her eyes she got out of the car and slammed the door after her. As she expected, this brought Hugh himself to the window. His surprise at seeing her was evident, but when he opened the door to her there was no sign of embarrassment on his face. "Well, well, this is a pleasant surprise," he said brightly. "It isn't often you do me the honour of calling. And you're my second visitor this evening. My sudden popularity overwhelms me. But come on in." He opened the door wider and stood aside to allow her to enter. Rosemary stepped inside. There was no hall. The front door led straight into the living room where Lydia was sitting on the arm of a chair smoking a cigarette. She gave Rosemary a mocking look, but Rosemary answered it by saying : "Good evening, Miss Brinley. You seem to have taken a liking to the Forestry Commission personnel all at once." The blue eyes opened wide. "You mustn't get the wrong idea, doctor. Er—not that I really care what you think." She rose and stubbed out a cigarette which looked to Rosemary as though it had only just been lit. Hugh intervened to say: "Miss Brinley was passing while riding and didn't feel well." "Oh, really? Perhaps you'd like me to look you over," Rosemary suggested to the other girl. "Good heavens, no, I'm perfectly all right—and I'll be off now."

Hugh accompanied her outside, and left alone for a few minutes Rosemary began to think she might be in danger of jumping to wrong conclusions. "Sorry about that," Hugh said when he came back into the cottage. "But what brings you my way?" "Just passing, that's all. The same as Lydia." Hugh gave her an uncertain look. "That was true, you know. I didn't invite her." "That's all right, Hugh. You don't really owe me any explanations." "I suppose not. Pity." Rosemary began to wish she had not given way to her impulse. Neither Hugh nor Jerry had ever shown any sign of professional jealousy of Matt. She had not really meant to take Denny's speculations seriously at all. "I saw Jerry in Brockenhurst this morning," she told him. "Yes, I know. He told me he'd seen you." Rosemary waited for him to mention the affair of the damaged seedlings, but he didn't. She made a movement towards the door. "I must go." "So soon? You've only just come." "Father is out. Someone might want me." He followed her to her car, and still he did not mention the damaged seedlings.

Rosemary said: "I'm sorry to hear about what happened in the nursery.". He inclined his head. "Jerry tell you?" She nodded. Hugh thrust his hands in his pockets and examined the ground at his feet. "I feel sorry for Windbourne. Things are looking bad for him." Her stomach muscles contracted sharply. "I—saw him in Brockenhurst, too, this morning. He—seemed to think somebody had been—spilling all these things to the D.O." Hugh looked up swiftly. "Oh? Well, I'm not guilty. You didn't think for a moment that I was, did you?" "No, of course not," she answered quickly. He looked relieved. "That's all right, then. Matt Windbourne can think what he likes." "Hugh, you know you don't mean that." He rested his hand on her shoulder for a moment. "It's what you think that counts. Anyway, it's impossible to keep the D.O. in ignorance—that is, if Windbourne makes out his reports accurately." There seemed no more to be said. Rosemary continued on her way home as puzzled as ever as to who it was who was trying to injure Matt, whether or not he or she would really succeed. It just couldn't be Hugh, even though it had given her something of a shock to see Lydia Brinley at his cottage. It really was odd, she ruminated, the way Lydia kept putting in an appearance these days. She was one of those people who really hated the Forestry Commission. Knowing Matt, had she changed her way of thinking? Impossible. She might be in love with Matt, but Rosemary was convinced she would never come to terms with this section of the Government. Was she,

perhaps, trying to coax Matt away from the organization? But that would not explain the things that had been happening on the Beat. Her mind whirled around in circles. She went to bed that night exhausted and with only one unhappy thought left in her mind. She loved him. She loved Matt, yet he cared so little for her, he could even think her capable of doing him an injury. The pain in her heart was too great to bring forth tears, even. But life had to be lived, and Rosemary had a job to do, an important one. During the following weeks she made an effort to deal firmly with her emotions. She told herself that if she really loved Matt she would try to find out who was making life difficult for him instead of wallowing in self-pity. As Denny knew how she felt about Matt, it became natural to talk things over with her. "If you want to put personal feelings aside," Denny told her, as she packed stoned plums into preserving jars, "you've got to face the fact that—however well you think you know them—Hugh and Jerry both have motive. If I may say so without sounding like Maigret or Perry Mason," she added, "they both could have been promoted to Head Forester." "Yes, I know," agreed Rosemary. "But neither of them have given the least indication of jealousy. Besides, they're my friends. I can't start suspecting them and spying on them." "Would they remain your friends if they really were guilty of doing Matt an injury?" Rosemary frowned. "I—I don't know, Denny. I only know that the very idea of either of them—" She broke off. "I'm afraid I wouldn't make a very good detective." "You don't need to be a detective. Just keep your eyes and ears open and try not to blind yourself to facts. I know you have divided

loyalties, but if Matt were your husband and these things were happening to him, there would be no question then about where your loyalty lay, would there?" "There isn't now, actually. It's just that there's Liz to think of, too, and—and Hugh and I were once more than friends. In fact—" "Hugh still is in love with you?" finished Denny. Then she asked shrewdly: "Does he know how you feel about Matt?" "Heavens, no. Nobody does except you." Rosemary felt more uneasy than ever after this conversation. She remembered some of the things Hugh had said. He had wanted to marry her, yet he had feared that, if he were promoted to another area, she would not have wanted to leave her father. Had he therefore been banking on staying on the Pinewood Beat as Head Forester more than he had disclosed? In Ted Weathers' time, he had practically run the Beat, he had said. And only recently he had admitted to Matt being a "thorn in his side." And there was still the visit of Lydia Brinley to his place. But every time Rosemary thought of Lydia she came to a deadlock in her reasoning. What was her relationship with Matt? Was she in love with him or did she hate him? Was she friend or foe? More important still, was Matt in love with her? There were so many questions to which she had not the answer. All in all, the only thing to do was as Denny had suggested— keep her eyes and ears open in the hope of finding out anything that might possibly help Matt. She did not see Matt himself for almost a fortnight, and very little of either Hugh or Jerry. It was July and it was hot. It was also holiday time when thousands of people visited the New Forest, increasing the fire risk very considerably. It would be an extremely busy time for all three Foresters. It could take ten years for a tree to grow ten

feet, but only ten seconds for it to be destroyed completely by fire. Plantations of young conifers stood in greatest danger, but fires could spread even under mature pinewoods. Everything possible was done by the Foresters and Forest Workers to prevent fires and lessen the risk. Rosemary noticed with secret pride how Matt kept men on the trimming and cutting of rides, brashing— the removing of side branches to a height of about six feet—and the removal of brash from the ground in all danger areas. As a safeguard from sparks or back-firing, all tractors used in forest work had their exhaust pipes set vertically, and fire belts or barriers were established in the form of hardwood trees such as oak and chestnut, broadleaved species like beech and sycamore, and Japanese larch which grows so rapidly that it very quickly suppresses ground vegetation, so lessening the chances of fire at that level. In addition to all these precautions, there were the observation towers—the one on Lyndhurst Hill was seventy-five feet high—and the provision of fire-fighting equipment and regular fire patrols. And every forest worker or anyone who lived in the New Forest kept a sharp look-out from habit. But Matt, as one of the six Head Foresters of the New Forest, would have double responsibility. He would be on the alert night and day. Rosemary met him unexpectedly early one Sunday morning when she was out riding. It was one of those summers which young people dream about and older people say they can remember in their youth. Even the odd thunderstorm had not broken up the weather for long. One day, perhaps, then hot again. Rosemary had wakened early and too warm, and had crept out of the house before breakfast. She let her forest pony make its own way through the Nightingale Inclosure where the long, narrow lanes between the rows of trees were like dimly lit tunnels. Now and then low-hanging branches switched against her shoulders as her mare picked its way through

the carpet of undergrowth.' But after a while she came across a rectangular piece of ground which had recently been cleared of bramble and fern as well as the slender silver birches which grew like weeds in the New Forest. The ground was being ditched— probably in preparation for the planting of larches or Corsican pines. It was crossed by two main drains into which flowed a network of side ditches, some with small banks of recently dug earth. Over the clearing flew a heron, slowly flapping its great wings which seemed too heavy for its body, and pigeons cooed among the oaks of the Inclosure. Already the sun was warm, and Rosemary steered her mount back towards the shelter of the trees in the Inclosure. But suddenly the pony reared and squealed, and as Rosemary hung on she just managed to catch sight of the diamond markings of an adder. -The mare came down violently, then made a bolt for the Inclosure, and before Rosemary could control the animal an overhanging branch caught her a heavy blow, throwing her head over heels into the undergrowth. She supposed she must have blacked out for a second or two. She heard a voice say: "Are you all right?" and bending over her was Matt, his face full of concern. She smiled faintly. "Yes, I—I think so, thanks." "Let me help you to sit up." He put an arm under her shoulders and she knew the sweet delight of his touch. The mare was now standing quietly beneath a stand of young oaks about thirty or forty feet away. She put her hand on his shoulder and found she had to resist strongly the temptation to rest 'her head upon it. "What happened?" he asked. "I heard a sudden squeal and the next moment the pony came crashing into the Inclosure."

"An adder, I think. In the clearing where the ditching is in progress." "Ah, yes. They're often found in the banks of ditches, especially when it's warm. You really should have known." "I didn't think." She gave a wry smile. "This is the second time you've come to my rescue. It's—lucky for me that you're around." She realized that last time they met he had left her angrily, after having as good as accused her of telling the D.O. certain things. But that didn't seem important. The only important thing was that she loved him. As if he, too, was remembering their last meeting, he looked at her oddly. "I wouldn't have thought you considered that very lucky. And I think you would have managed perfectly well without me on both occasions. I take it there are no bones broken ?" She moved her limbs. "It doesn't feel like it." Then, with an attempt at humour: "But perhaps you'd better send for a doctor." "I'll see you back on your pony at all events," he answered, as though he had not seen , the joke. "And as you blacked out temporarily, you'd better get your father to examine you. I'd ride with you, but I'm on foot." Then he added, as an afterthought: "Are you sure you feel all right?" As a woman in love Rosemary was almost tempted to feign dizziness or something, but a touch of pride mingled with long training as a doctor put the idea out of her head. "I think so," she said. "If you'll—just give me a hand." "Of course."

He held out his hands and helped her to her feet, but strangely enough, she did feel a little dizzy and her head throbbed. At once his arm came about her to steady her. "You're far from all right. I think you'd better come back to my place and I'll get your father." She protested, but he brushed aside her protestations, and before she was aware of his intentions he swept her up into his arms, as easily as if she were a child. "It's nearer to my place than you think. Will your pony follow if you call her?" "She—she might if I give her reins a little tug as well," Rosemary said meekly. "But I expect she'll find her way home all right, in any case." "Then she'd better do that so that I can take you home by car, if necessary." Rosemary struggled between a feeling of embarrassment at being carried like this and a desire to laugh. He set off with the same long, leisurely -strides he always used, and in what she could only think must have been a perfect beeline to his cottage. She tried to avoid putting her arms around his neck, but found it impossible if she were not to fall over backwards. "You're—up early this morning," she remarked to cover the silence. "I'm always up early. At least, in the summer. And I'm not the only one," he added significantly, as the sound of a car came nearer, then faded again. "But you're out early, too. Do you often ride at this hour on a Sunday morning?"

But she had to confess that she was not normally an early riser. "Only when I can't sleep or the fancy takes me." "And which was it this morning?" "A little bit of each, I suppose." "Well, obviously it doesn't suit you—or doesn't suit your pony." It was almost an admonition not to "let it occur again," and all at once, she felt she was being a nuisance. "I'm sure I could walk now." "Nonsense. We're nearly there, anyway." Truth to tell, her head was aching pretty badly, and as she couldn't really remember which way she had fallen, she was beginning to wonder if she had slight concussion. As they reached the door of his cottage, however, he did let her down gently to her feet. "I'd better make you a drink before I take you home." He put his arm about her and helped her to a chair, and his touch was both a pleasure and a pain to her. "By the way," he said suddenly, "did you have any breakfast before you left home?" She shook her head. "Or a cup of tea?" "No, I—just came straight out." "Then no wonder you're dizzy whether or not you've got concussion," he said sternly. He went into the kitchen and she heard him fill the kettle and set it on to boil.

"Will your father be up yet?" he asked from the doorway. "I don't know. Perhaps." "Or your housekeeper? I suppose you didn't leave a note." "Of course not. Why should I?" "I thought they might be worried about you, that's all. We could give them a ring." He turned back into the kitchen. She glanced at the clock on his mantelpiece. Possibly Denny would be getting up about now. In a moment she herself would, telephone and say she might be late for breakfast. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Vaguely, she heard the kettle begin to whistle, then water being poured into the teapot and the gentle chink of crockery. A cup of tea would be nice. Matt was right—getting up very early on a Sunday morning did not suit her. She felt sleepy now. Had Matt come into the room with the tea? She felt he was there, but suddenly she could not open her eyes. She must have fallen asleep. If so, she must wake up. She tried again to open her eyes, but her lids felt as though they had lead weights on them. She began to shake herself in an effort to waken, but her whole body felt as if it were in a vice. She tried to call out, but all that issued from her lips was a half-groaning, half- grunting noise. She felt a hand on her shoulder. "Rosemary, are you all right? Rosemary—" It was Matt's voice. She tried to call his name, but in vain, then both his hands came on her shoulders and suddenly her eyes became released from their bondage and opened wide. "Oh! Oh, Matt—" she gasped.

His hands dropped swiftly from her shoulders. "What was the matter?" he asked in an oddly distant voice. "You were making the most fearful noises. I thought—" She shook her head to clear away the muzziness. "I—I think I must have fallen asleep and had a sort of nightmare. I realized I was asleep, tried to wake myself up and couldn't." He poured out two cups of tea and handed one to her. "Well, try this, maybe it will make you feel better." "I'm sure it will." She sipped the hot, rather strong liquid, wondering whether he really had called her Rosemary, or whether she had dreamt it. His arms folded, he stood looking down at her as if not sure what to do with her. She was intensely aware of him and the silence stretched out taut between them. At last she forced herself to look up at him. "Aren't you having any tea ?" "In a moment. How do you feel now?" "Better, thanks. I don't think there's much wrong with me, really. Slight concussion, maybe, and a little shock, but nothing to bother about." "Good." He picked up his tea then and sat half on the table drinking it. Rosemary's mind went back to their last meeting, wondering whether to mention it. In a few words she could perhaps put things right between them. Or at any rate she could try. But it was difficult to know how to begin. She could not deny that the D.O. had talked about Matt's Beat to her father and herself. She could tell him she

was on his side, that she did not believe any of the happenings on the Beat were his fault, but how would these things sound? She could also ask him about his relationship with Lydia, but what reason could she give for wanting to know, and if she said she was sorry about all the troubles he had been having, he would want to know again who had told her. But she felt she must try to approach the subject somehow. "Matt, how are things on the Beat?" she asked, making her voice sound as sympathetic as possible. His cup half way to his lips, his hand stayed, then quite deliberately, he took a drink and put down his cup before answering: "I'd rather not discuss the matter, if you don't mind." Then, as if to close the subject before it had been opened : "Would you like another cup of tea?" "No, thank you," she said, in a small voice. "Then if you feel rested, I'll run you home." She got to her feet and he took her empty cup away from her. "You feel steadier now?" he asked. "Yes," she answered briefly, and walked towards the door. Then suddenly she turned. "Matt, I want you to know—" she began. But he was looking beyond her through the open door, and his face was- relaxed into a smile she knew instinctively was not meant for her. She followed his gaze and saw Lydia dismounting from her pony. With all her heart Rosemary wished she had, brought her own mount with her.

Lydia came towards them. "Well, well, you again?" she said to Rosemary. "I might say the same to you," Rosemary retorted. "You might, but it wouldn't really apply." She looked at Matt. "And what's the excuse this time?" From behind her Rosemary heard him say quietly, "Dr Fielding had a slight accident out riding this morning. If you'd care to wait, I'm just going to run her home." "But, darling, of course I'll wait." Matt's car was standing outside the cottage. A sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, Rosemary walked towards it without another word and sat in the passenger seat. She had found the answer to one of her questions, and from a selfish point of view, the most important one. There was little doubt about Matt's relationship with Lydia Brinley. For the rest, she was beginning to feel that Matt did not require anyone, least of all herself, to take his side or do anything to help him in any way. He was entirely self-sufficient. She had been a fool to listen to Denny. A silly, romantic fool. Matt lingered to say a few words to Lydia, then came and took his seat behind the wheel. It was only a very short run home, but Rosemary was glad that Matt did not speak. She felt she would not have been able to answer him. To her surprise, when they did reach home, her mare was already standing outside, and Denny and her father were watching the road looking worried. Rosemary gathered together what resources she had left and clambered out of the car, prepared to give her explanations. She

turned first to thank Matt, but he was already out and coming to see if she needed any assistance. "I'm—perfectly all right now, thank you," she told him, her voice sounding as wooden as she felt. Denny came bustling forward, followed by Rosemary's father, asking what on earth had happened and enquiring whether she was all right. As briefly as possible Rosemary told them. "It was silly of me to bother Mr Windbourne, really. I could have ridden home once I'd got my second wind." "It was silly of you to go out without having something to eat," retorted Denny. "You never could get far on an empty stomach." "Well, I'm glad you're all right, anyway," said Rosemary's father. "Won't you come in and have some breakfast with us?" he asked Matt. But having left Lydia at the cottage, he naturally had to decline, and Rosemary was thankful for that, at least. She thanked him and so did Denny and her father, then he was gone. At the insistence of her father, aided by Denny, Rosemary spent the, rest of the day quietly enough on the surface, and she was glad of an excuse to spend some time in her room away from Denny's tendency to talk about Matt. She must forget about him, she told herself over and over again. It would not be easy, but she must try. Before the day was out, however, there came the ominous sound which always caused Rosemary's stomach muscles to react violently. It was that of the fire siren. Her mind flew at once to Matt. "Not surprising, weather like this," Denny remarked. "And on a Sunday, too. Hope it isn't on Matt's Beat."

Rosemary echoed the hope silently. "It might not be in the Forest at all." "I'll go and find out,!' said John Fielding. He rang the police, and a Forest fire was confirmed. "Is it in the Pinewood Beat?" asked Rosemary. "'Fraid so. Wonder how it happened? It's a bit late in the evening and there's little wind." "In that case it probably won't spread. I hope not. I—think I'll take the car out—see if there's anything I can do." To sit at home and wait for further news was both unthinkable and impossible. Only vaguely did Rosemary see the look of understanding which passed between Denny and her father. Outside, the air was still. A large, vivid red sun was gradually and inevitably sliding into a bed of crimson cloud. Rosemary stood and scanned the terrain for signs of smoke, but could see none. Perhaps it was a false alarm or the fire .was already under control, or perhaps the smoke was lost in the evening haze. A bag of medical supplies was already in the car, kept there permanently for emergencies. Rosemary clambered into the driving seat, her father's words repeating themselves in her brain. A bit late in the evening, and there's little wind. A dry summer like the one now being experienced was always a dangerous time for forest fires, naturally, but most alarms occurred during the afternoon, this being a time of drier atmospheric conditions and greater human activity. What was the cause of this one? A spark from an engine of some kind? A cigarette end carelessly thrown out of a car or passing train?

A lighted match dropped before it was properly extinguished—or cause unknown? Cause unknown. The twisted tangle of worry and fear for Matt tightened in her heart. So many inexplicable things had been happening on his Beat. Could this fire be one more deliberate act on the part of some person who disliked him, who wanted to see him discredited ? The Sunday picnicker would have long since gone home and there was no wind which would fan a smouldering into a blaze. Now she could hear an urgent clanging of the bell of the fire engine. In a matter of seconds it overtook her and rushed into the distance. Rosemary put her foot further down on the accelerator. She could not hope to catch the fire engine up, but the quicker she was on the spot the sooner she would be able to lend a hand, if necessary. When there was a forest fire the help of anyone and everyone was required. Rosemary rounded a bend, and in the distance she could see signs of activity. Several cars parked in the road, a policeman waving people on. She reduced speed as she drew near, then stopped altogether. She saw Jerry just getting out of his car. Liz was in the passenger seat. Rosemary crossed the road to him. "Is it serious, Jerry?" "I don't think so. Actually, I've only just got here, but the policeman says it's out." "Whereabouts was it?" He indicated an opening a few yards farther along. "Just a little way up the ride. The fire engine's up there and the Land Rover."

Jerry bent to say something to Liz, still in the car, and Rosemary knew a slight irritation. He ought to be rushing up the drive, not taking the policeman's word for it that the fire was out. But she fought down her irritation. She was being unreasonable. Her own anxiety was probably exaggerated because of the way she felt about Matt. "I'll be getting along up there—see if there's anything I can do," she said. Then, through the car window : "See you later, Liz." But Jerry intervened : "There's no call for you to go up there, Rosemary. Why don't you stay here with Liz? From what he lets slip now and then I don't think he's keen on having women around. With one exception, of course, and I don't need to tell you who that is." It was the truth, but at this moment Rosemary felt she hated Jerry. She compressed her lips against the pain in her heart, and hesitated, wondering whether she had better perhaps keep away from the scene of the fire, after all. It was Liz who said : "Rosemary's a doctor. She's different. She might be needed to treat burns or something." "It's hardly likely, especially as the fire's out," answered Jerry. But Rosemary felt they had stood here talking long enough. She crossed back to her car and reached out her bag and started off up the grass ride. Jerry had still lingered instead of going ahead of her, so they walked towards the scene together. "Hugh will be already there, I expect," she said. "Not necessarily. He might have been way the other side of the Beat."

Again, Rosemary was aware of an irritation with Jerry. He sounded so casual. It had not been necessary for the fire brigade to use water. But even if the fire had been a big one, much of the fire-fighting was always done by hand, beating or digging trenches or damping down with soil. In this instance there must have been prompt action on somebody's part. There was a distinct smell of smoke, so it had been no false alarm. One or two of the Forest workers were re-loading fire beaters and shovels back on to the Land Rover. Jerry had a word with them, but Rosemary waited only long enough to see the way one of them pointed in answer to his question before plunging through the trees. More and more, she thought what an odd place it was for a fire to have started. It was not near a road or the railway, and quite a long way away from any of the picnic places. There were visitors to the Forest, of course, who liked to stray away from the usual places, but generally they were not the kind of people who would drop a lighted match or start a fire on which to boil a kettle in one of the Inclosures. She followed the sound of voices, aware that Jerry was following on behind. Subconsciously, it was Matt she was looking for rather than signs of the fire. Whether he would be very pleased to see her was another matter, and one on which she did not dwell. The help of the general public was welcome if there was a really big fire. Strictly speaking she would not be needed as a doctor, but all she was concerned for at this moment was Matt. Not that he would be in danger, only that he would be upset at yet one more thing going wrong on the Beat. At last she saw him, his face grimy with sweat and smoke, covering a smouldering tree stump with soil. Of Hugh there was no sign, yet he must surely have heard the siren, and even when the Foresters

were officially off duty, they usually stayed in the vicinity at holiday week-ends. Bareheaded, Matt looked up and saw them. He stood perfectly still for a moment, his face set and strained. He spoke over Rosemary's shoulder to Jerry. "It's taken you a little while to get here, hasn't it?" he drawled. "I came as soon as I could," Jerry answered sharply. "Well, it appears to be out now, fortunately. But it was a ground fire, so a watch will have to be kept for a while. Have either of you any idea where Thornley might be?" he asked, acknowledging Rosemary's presence for the first time. Jerry shook his head, whereupon Matt looked directly at Rosemary. "I—don't know, either," she said, wishing he did not look so angry. He was bound to be upset, naturally, even at the outbreak of a small fire, but his eyes were cold and hard, his face like stone. "Is there— anything I can do to help?" she asked. "Do?" he echoed. "I should think you've done quite enough." His glance went to the first aid bag she was carrying. "When I want a doctor on the job I'll send for one. Otherwise, for heaven's sake will you get out of my hair and stay out?" He could not have hurt her more if he had struck her a blow full across her face. But for the moment her only recourse was anger. She compressed her lips and she took a deep breath, her eyes blazing. But before she could utter the stinging retort which was forming in her mind, there intruded on the evening air the incredible sound once again of the fire siren.

CHAPTER SIX THERE was a moment's shocked silence. Men who had been moving around stood rigid. Her hurt feelings forgotten, Rosemary glanced swiftly at Matt's face, now white under its grime. "It—it might not be in the Forest, Matt. It could be a domestic fire." He darted her a quick, unfathomable, look and picked up his spade. "I'm taking no chances. And I have a very good idea where it might be." He turned about. "C'mon, all of you. As fast as you can to the conifer plantation. If it's a false alarm, so much the better." "And I'm coming, too," Rosemary said swiftly. "The fact that I happen to be a doctor is immaterial. Forest fires are everybody's concern." "Somebody is. concerned with starting them, anyhow," he answered cryptically, and shouldering his spade he started off towards the Land Rover. Rosemary exchanged a glance with Jerry and they set off after him. When they reached the ride the fire engine had already gone, but had left behind a message which confirmed Matt's suspicions. Information received over the walkie-talkie radio had given the site of the fire as being in the plantation area. Men and equipment piled into the Land Rover and Jerry rode on the tailboard to his car. Rosemary reached her own on foot, her mind a conflict of emotions. Why had Matt been so angry? Was it something to do with her personally or due entirely to worry about the fire? Did he suspect someone of deliberately starting the fires— and where was Hugh all this time? She drove as quickly as she could to the conifer plantation. The sun had now disappeared completely, and dusk was rapidly deepening into the dark grey blanket of night. The man on the look-out tower must have very sharp eyes indeed to have

detected smoke in this light. Or—her stomach muscles tightened— was it not smoke he had seen but actual flames ? The conifer plantation was a young one—barely nine years old. It could be wiped out entirely. It was in all probability insured, but the loss to the nation in valuable timber would be enormous, not to mention Matt's loss of prestige. But again, the fire was quickly controlled due to prompt and energetic action at the outset. Rosemary was relieved to see that Hugh was already there, beater in hand, smothering the last of the flames. Matt was wielding his spade and Jerry and the other men also using beaters. This time, the use of water had also been necessary. Rosemary's assistance would not be needed. "Mercy it was no worse," said one of the firemen. "I wonder how it started? And the other one." These were the questions on quite a number of lips during the next day or two. The local newspaper made headline news of the two outbreaks and urged the general public to be extra vigilant and careful. "Preaching to the converted," Hugh called it. "It isn't people who live in the New Forest, it's the weekend trippers who are so careless. They don't understand. They don't—or won't—believe how easy it is to start a forest fire, possibly because at home they have to pour paraffin over their rubbish to start a garden fire." He and Rosemary were with Liz and Jerry in the Foresters' Arms. Rosemary had not seen Matt since the night of the two fires. When the party of fire-fighters had begun to disperse, he had thanked them all for their help, then, after making sure the fire was out, he disappeared into the shadows without a word or even a glance for Rosemary. She had scarcely slept that night, on tenterhooks in case the dreaded siren would sound again. It didn't, and towards dawn

she slept fitfully, dreaming of anything and everything except Matt, the nearest to her heart and most on her mind. "Well, I must admit it isn't often we have two scares in one night— or rather one day," Jerry said. "But it's pretty hopeless to conjecture how these things start. Nine times out of ten people don't even know they've started one." "Ten out of ten, one would hope," murmured Rosemary. All three stared at her, and she knew perfectly well what was in their minds. "That was only a figure of speech," Jerry said mildly. "I know, but you can't rule out incendiarism altogether, can you ? It has been known." "Not on our Beat," Hugh said. "I wonder," mused Jerry, "if that's what Windbourne had in mind?" "What?" queried Hugh. "Incendiarism. He was livid when Rosemary and I arrived on the scene of the Inclosure scare. Demanded to know where I had been and where you were." Hugh's face went a dull red and he frowned heavily. "You don't mean to say he suspected you or me of—" He broke off. "Lord, it makes you sick to think of it, and if I thought for one moment—" "Hugh, I'm sure he doesn't," Rosemary said swiftly, thinking guiltily of some of the things Denny had said. "He's been under a big strain lately, all kinds of things going wrong on the Beat. He was worried, that's all."

"Worried! Weren't we all?" declared Jerry. "Anyhow, that was no excuse for his bad manners. You should have heard the way he spoke to Rosemary," he said to Hugh. "It was nothing," she asserted quickly. "I put it down to his anxiety. Anyway, Jerry, you didn't exactly rush up there, did you?" "I like that," he said indignantly. "Whose side are you on?" "I'm not on anybody's side." "Then you ought to be," Liz chipped in. "I don't know how you can talk to Jerry like that. After all, he was defending you. I thought we were friends." "So we are, Liz, but that needn't make us unfair to other people. Matt had a right to know where his two assistants were." "He has a right to trust us, too," Hugh said quietly. "And since when has he been 'Matt' to you?" It was Rosemary's turn to colour. "It—it's hearing Father call him that, that's all. You heard Jerry say how rude he was to me. We're— not exactly soulmates." "I didn't suppose you were. I only wondered—" "Well, let's forget about the wretched fires, anyway," Liz said. "For one thing, Jerry was with me when the first siren went, and for another, Hugh was first on the scene of the plantation outbreak, weren't you, Hugh?" "If it's an inquest we're having, yes. I was—too far from the first to get there in time to help. But I was on the way there when I heard the second siren. I was passing the plantation, anyway." He broke off with a sudden gesture, glancing from one to the other. "But what

on earth am I doing—explaining all this? I don't have to. Anyone would think I was being accused." "I'm not so sure that we aren't," Jerry said. "By whom ?" queried Hugh. Jerry glanced at Rosemary and shrugged. "Perhaps I'd better not say too much about what I think. I might offend someone. And anyway, of what use are postmortems?" "Only this," Rosemary said, ignoring whatever insinuations he was making. "That when things go wrong it helps to find out why and whether anything different can be done to prevent such things happening again." "Well, I think we should change the subject," declared Liz. "There have always been forest fires and I expect there always will be, the majority of them through carelessness of the general public, the rest a chance spark—" "And the great Unknown," finished Jerry. Rosemary said no more on the subject. There had been cases of incendiarism in the past. People regarded as cranks, hating the Forestry Commission, doing wilful damage out of spite. The very sight of a conifer inflamed some people into committing arson or some other act, as did the sight of a hedge or fence forming an Inclosure, despite the Act of 1949 and the establishment of the Verderers' Court. ' "All I can say is," added Hugh, "I, for one, will be glad when the holiday season is over, and I wouldn't mind a few days' rain." "Heavens above!" answered Liz, her gaze going ceilingward. "The first decent summer in years and he longs for rain!"

Hugh did not answer, and for the rest of the time the four were together he appeared preoccupied. Liz chattered on, saying she would be glad in one sense when autumn came. "Then we shall have the Forest to ourselves again and have fun. We hardly dare move a yard in the summer in case something happens." The room became crowded and Liz turned to have a word with someone else who had come in. Hugh leaned forward and murmured to Rosemary: "For goodness' sake, let's go, shall we? I can't stand much more of Liz's chatter." "Yes, all right." She gathered up her bag and gloves. She felt she had had enough of Liz's chatter, too. "Hugh and I are going for a run," she said determinedly, and in spite of Liz's protests they went out. Rosemary had left her car behind. Hugh took the road to Beaulieu, past Bolton's Bench and over the moorlands to the river. "Shall we go to the Abbey?" asked Hugh. "If you like." There was quite a little daylight left. They followed the course of the river until they came to Beaulieu itself at the head of the wide reach, and already Rosemary felt the effect of its peace and tranquillity. "Beaulieu has everything," she sighed. "History, a ruin, a river, a lovely name. It ought to be spoilt. But in spite of the millions of people who come here, in spite of everything, it isn't." "Do you want to go in?"

But Rosemary had been in often before. "Let's park the car and stroll by the river," she suggested. Hugh agreed, but she had the feeling he wasn't very happy about something. She thought probably it was all the talk about the fires. Jerry had not been very tactful. Had Matt suspected one of the Foresters? Rosemary wondered. But she dismissed the idea. No forester would do such a thing. It was against all their natural instincts. For a little while she became occupied with her own vaguely worrying thoughts, but eventually she realized how silent Hugh was, also. "Hugh, what's the matter?" she asked. He gazed out on to the river, which seemed to be doing little for his peace of mind. "Nothing—and everything," he answered. "Nothing has gone right since Windbourne came, everything has gone wrong." "Oh, please don't talk that way, Hugh. I'm sorry we were all so tactless about the fires. Matt was very angry, I—" He swung round to face her. "Matt this, Matt the other! I wish he'd never come here. Before he came we were happy. At least—" Rosemary wished with all her heart that she had never started this conversation. But something drove her on to ask : "Hugh, were you very disappointed when—Matt Windbourne was appointed? I mean—were you banking on it yourself?" "Of course I was banking on it! I wanted promotion, but I wanted to stay here and I wanted to marry you."

She frowned and turned her head away. "Let's go back to the car, Hugh." All kinds of other questions hovered on her tongue, but she simply dared not ask them. As if sensing it, Hugh grasped her by the arms and pulled her towards him. "You've got other things on your mind, haven't you? You're wondering how jealous I am of Windbourne, whether I'm jealous enough to be trying to drive him out of here—even to the extent of starting fires." Panic seized her, "Hugh—no!" "Hugh, no," he mocked fiercely. "What kind of man do you think I am?" He gripped her shoulders until she almost cried out. Then, with a gesture and an exclamation of exasperation, he was about to let her go when his gaze flicked to something beyond her. A grim smile touched his lips, and before she could prevent him, his arms came about her and he brought his lips down hard on hers. For a moment she made no protest. She was too bewildered and too taken by surprise. Then she pushed against him a little, but he held her still more firmly. She struggled. His kiss was becoming hateful, and was devoid of affection. He lifted his head and looked again beyond her, then with a brief sort of laugh, he let her go. Wondering what he was looking at, she turned. Matt's tall figure was just disappearing from view. Drained of every emotion except the desire to weep, Rosemary turned slowly back to Hugh.

"Would you mind running me home now, please?" she asked quietly. She began to walk back to the car park and Hugh followed silently. There was no sign of Matt when they reached the car. He had either driven away at once or crossed the bridge to the other side of the river. But there was no sign of his car, either. Rosemary sat in numb silence all the way home, unable to think clearly. She could still feel the pressure of Hugh's hands on her shoulders, and her lips felt crushed and bruised from the hard pressure of his kiss. His words—what kind of man do you think I am? echoed in her brain, but above all she could see Matt's tall figure striding away. "I suppose I ought to apologize," Hugh muttered when he brought the car to a stop outside her house. "You don't have to, if you don't really mean it, Hugh," she answered. It was more an explanation of his behaviour she felt was due, rather than an apology. "Anyway, thanks for bringing me home." But he did not offer an explanation, and in the end he did not actually apologize, either. "Goodnight, then, Rosemary," he said in a defiant voice. She answered him dully and went into the house. Denny called out to her, but Rosemary did not feel like talking. "I'm going up to my room, Denny—" she answered. But Denny came out into the hall. "Is anything the matter? You're home early. We didn't expect you back until much later."

It was still early, the sun visible above the horizon. "I just want to be alone for a while, that's all," she said frankly. "Nothing's the matter." Denny gave her a searching look. "I won't argue about that, though I'd like to. I'll bring you up some tea presently and a bite to eat." Rosemary smiled her thanks and went upstairs. She did not want to talk, but neither did she want to think. What had Hugh been trying to tell her? That he was responsible for all the things that had gone wrong on Matt's Beat—including the two outbreaks of fire? She couldn't believe it. What sort of man do you think I am? What sort was he? Her head felt heavy and her brain woolly. He had kissed her deliberately when he had seen Matt. That was the only explanation for the grim smile. But why? Had he hoped to make Matt jealous? Rosemary smiled ironically. If only Matt were capable of jealousy on her behalf! Hugh had got it all wrong. He had made a guess at how she felt about Matt and had jumped to the conclusion that he was also interested in her. She took off her dress and her shoes and lay down on the bed. She should have realized that Hugh was ambitious, that he would resent another man being promoted to Head Forester on the Beat. He was only human, after all. He was hurt and angry, also, that she could not return his love. That, too, was understandable. But he was a man of the Forest. He wouldn't deliberately damage a tree, a living, growing thing. And he certainly would not deliberately try to discredit another man. Or was she being idealistic instead of realistic? Because she had once thought her liking for him might deepen into something more she did not want to think that he could possibly be anything else than a man of integrity.

She almost groaned aloud and her head began to ache intolerably. Darkness crept into the room and she could hear the murmur of voices—Denny's and her father's. What were they talking about? she wondered. She envied them their companionship, their lives free from conflict. Their voices became fainter, then she was startled by a tap on the door. It was quite dark now. Rosemary sat up and switched on her bedside lamp. Then the door opened a fraction *and Denny's voice came. "May I come in, Rosie ?" Rosemary called to her to come in. "What time is it, Denny? I think I must have dropped off to sleep." "It's not late. Your father and I are just going to have supper. Will you come down or shall I bring yours up?" Rosemary swung her feet to the floor. "No, thanks, Denny, I'll come down." It was no use mooning up here, she told herself. Whatever Hugh meant to imply, she was certain of one thing. There was nothing she could do about it. She could, of course, go to Matt and tell him that some unknown person was trying to do him harm—though he probably had come to that conclusion himself. But mention Hugh's name she could not. In any case, if she did, she might well be putting the wrong construction on what he had said. She could ask him, of course, but she knew in her heart that she would rather remain in doubt than be completely disillusioned. She called herself a coward, afraid to face facts, and thought, uncomfortably, about what Denny had said on the subject of loyalty. She frowned. She was in love with Matt, but she still had a regard for Hugh, in spite of the way he had behaved this evening.

She went downstairs, hoping that Denny and her father would not ask her too many questions or talk about Matt or the Beat. And as if they had read her thoughts neither of them said a word on any of those subjects. Instead, her father said suddenly : "Rosemary, what would your reactions be if I were to marry again ? What would you say?" Rosemary glanced swiftly from him to Denny and back again. "I'd—say congratulations, of course, especially if—" She broke off. She had better be sure it was Denny he had in mind. But he reassured her on that point. "I expect you've guessed. You must have noticed how fond of each other Denny and I have become." Rosemary blinked a little and smiled. "Nothing would please me more, Father. I—think it's a wonderful idea. When—when is it to be ?" It was Denny who answered. "Oh, we're in no hurry. We just thought we'd find out how you felt about it. Besides that, you had a right to know what we had in mind. You might one day want to make plans of your own. In fact, I'm sure you will." "What Denny means, of course," expounded her father, "is that you mustn't feel you have to consider me if at any time you wanted to move away from the area. We want you to feel free to make your own plans. We'd be happy, naturally, if, when you married, you could stay in the district and carry on as my partner for as long as you want to. But you mustn't feel obliged, in any way, just because I've been ill or couldn't manage the practice alone. It goes without saying that I'd rather have you, but if I had to get another partner, why then, I would, especially if I thought you were happy."

Rosemary gave a rueful smile. "Thank you, Father. That's very good of you—and Denny." She was very pleased indeed about Denny and her father, naturally. It was the other part of the conversation which was vaguely puzzling her. It had an odd ring about it. A few months ago the question of leaving her father would have interested Hugh quite a lot. But Denny knew now how she felt about Matt, so why— "I shouldn't worry about it now, dear, if I were you," Denny broke in. "We wanted you to know and to feel free, that's all. In all probability we shall wait until you tell us you're engaged." "Denny, you know perfectly well that there's no such possibility for goodness knows how long. If you and Father have made up your minds about each other, there's no reason at all why you should wait any longer than you both want to." "Well, we'll see." Rosemary still thought it odd that Denny should talk the way she had about her possible engagement, knowing her feelings for Matt and that he would hardly be moving away from the district for some while yet, having only recently come. Unless—did Denny and her father think there was a likelihood of Matt being forced to leave? It was one she did not even want to think about, and certainly not talk about. She wondered whether Hugh would telephone her during the next day or so and apologize for die way he had behaved, say that he had been talking through his hat, reassure her that he would not dream of doing anything against Matt. But he didn't. She neither heard from him nor saw him for over a week. Life went on as though there was no connection between herself and the life of the Forest. She took surgery and did rounds, but did not even hear either his name, Matt's

or Jerry's mentioned, nor anything about the Beat. She wanted to see Matt, wanted it with her whole heart, and yet she knew that contact with him brought her little else but pain and heartache. Once or twice she drove slowly past his cottage, almost against her will, and though she did not see him, she did notice the garden. In spite of the dry weather the dahlias were giving a wonderful display of colour and a late blooming of roses gave an impression of midsummer. Never before in her life had Rosemary so longed for a place of her own and for someone to share it. Matt. She drove on hastily. At last, one evening on her way home from a visit to an ill patient, she decided to call to see Liz. She simply must have news of Matt and find out how things were on the Beat. Liz looked a little surprised and, Rosemary thought, embarrassed at seeing her. She gave one of her giggles. "Oh. Oh, Rosemary, come on in. I was only saying to Jerry the other day, seems ages since we saw Rosemary. I was going to give you a ring, but you know how it is. The days simply fly—specially when you have children. I don't mind telling you I shall be glad when they've gone back to school!" "How are they all?" Rosemary asked automatically. "Exhaustingly fit. Jerry's taken them out on to the common to play cricket. I told them to get back before dark. But I'll put the kettle on and we'll have a cup of tea, shall we—while there's a bit of peace." Liz went on chattering in her usual way. Rosemary followed her into the kitchen and listened absently, her mind on Matt rather than small talk about the children.

"How are things on the Beat?" she asked when they were settled with their tea. "I haven't seen Hugh or anybody for ages. In fact, not since—the night of the two fires." "You mean not since the night you and Hugh went off on your own." Liz eyed her curiously. "What happened between you two that night? Hugh's been like a bear with a sore head ever since, and shuts up like a clam every time your name is mentioned." Rosemary made an evasive reply. "We had what's commonly called a difference of opinion. I'm sure Hugh said a lot of things he didn't mean." Liz gave a grim little smile. "If you're waiting for Hugh to apologize, you'll wait a long time. He's not that kind of man." But Rosemary did not want to talk about Hugh and her relationship with him. Liz had not answered her question about the Beat, which was about the nearest she could get for news of Matt without actually mentioning his name. But she said : "Maybe he isn't 'like a bear with a sore head' on my account, anyway. Perhaps he's worried about the work. I expect they've had a visit from the D.O." "Oh, yes, he's been," Liz answered briefly. So different from her usual chattiness. There was a silence. Rosemary thought desperately that it looked as though she would have virtually to drag information out of Liz. But why was she so unwilling to talk about things? "What's the matter?" she asked. "You've dried up all at once. Is there something you don't want to tell me?"

"No, of course not," Liz denied, not very convincingly. "There isn't anything to tell. In any case, Jerry doesn't talk to me any more about the Beat, so I don't know anything." "I see," Rosemary said, in a quiet voice. But Liz looked far from comfortable. Then she burst out: "To tell you the truth, I didn't like the way you suggested that Jerry was slow getting to the Inclosure fire. It was almost as if you were accusing both Jerry and Hugh of—of incendiarism." Rosemary frowned. "Liz, I didn't mean to. I—I was worried, that's all." Liz stared at her. "But why should you be all that worried? It's nothing to do with you. Oh, I know we're all concerned, in a way, but—" She broke off and looked at Rosemary oddly. "You know, come to think of it, you are always sticking up for Matt Windbourne, aren't you? Is that what you and Hugh quarrelled about?" Rosemary shook her head quickly and put down her cup. "Thanks for the tea, Liz. I think I'd better be going." She rose, and Liz rose with her. "Well, that's one way of telling me to mind my own business," she said tartly. "Oh, Liz, don't say things like that," Rosemary protested. "There are some things one just doesn't talk about." "Such as the fact that you're in love with Matt Windbourne?" Rosemary flinched at the direct remark, more statement than question.

"Perhaps," she said, not wishing to tell a deliberate lie by trying to deny it. Liz suddenly became contrite. "Rose, I'm sorry," she said swiftly. "I'm being perfectly beastly. But I've been so upset, one way and another." Rosemary's senses were alerted. "What have you been upset about? Nothing else wrong on the Beat?" "No-o, not exactly." Rosemary walked towards the door. "The Pinewood Beat used to be such a happy one. Or were there undercurrents there all the time, I wonder?" "What do you mean?" Liz asked. But Rosemary was .not quite sure what she meant herself. Unless it was that Denny had been right, after all. That both Hugh and Jerry had been ambitious for the position of Head Forester. But then there did not appear to be any sign of rivalry between the two. Liz followed Rosemary to the door. "Rosemary—" she said thoughtfully as they stood beside the gate for a minute or two, "I—don't know whether I ought to tell you this, but I—heard a rumour the other day, about Matt." "What—kind of rumour?" "Well, it was about him and Lydia Brinley." "Is that all? I know about that." Liz's shoulders lifted. "I thought you might, somehow. Mind you, I don't know when it's to be."

Rosemary frowned. "When what's to be?" "Why, the wedding. I thought you .said you knew. About their engagement" Rosemary forced herself to get to her car and to say casually: "I knew they were friends. That's what I thought you meant. I— didn't know they were—" She couldn't bring herself to finish. "Anyway, it might not be true. You know how these tales get around." Liz agreed and the two parted. All the way home Rosemary tried to fight off a sense of hopelessness. This was the kind of news she might have expected, she told herself. She would simply have to get used to it. Then suddenly a new thought came to her. Had Denny heard the rumour of Matt's engagement and hadn't liked to mention it? Was that the reason for all the talk about herself being free to plan her life— Denny and her father were hoping she might marry Hugh, after all? She went over again in her mind the conversation at dinner on that particular evenings how puzzled she had been at the time, and it seemed obvious now what had been in their minds. She became aware that her car was no longer responding to her touch of the accelerator, and when she glanced at the petrol gauge she saw that the tank was empty. She always kept a spare gallon in the boot and was about to get it out when she heard a car stop, and of all people it was Matt. He strolled towards her. "Having trouble again?" She gave him a swift glance. "No, no, I—I hadn't noticed how low my petrol tank was, that's all. But I've got a spare."

"Let me," he said, taking the can out of her (hands. Dear Matt. She watched him as he unscrewed the cap of her tank and poured the petrol in. "I—noticed how well your garden was doing," she told him. "Oh, yes? Well, it isn't for the time I'm able to put in." "I suppose not. It looked very nice, all the same." "Thanks." He put the empty can back in the boot and slammed it shut, then stood for a moment, tall and erect, before adding, in his soft, Canadian drawl: "By the way, I forgot to thank you for your help on the night of the fires." "That's all right." "I guess I was rude, too. I'm sorry." She wanted to hug him. Instead, she had to turn away in case he should read what was in her heart. "You don't have to apologize. You were worried— naturally." "A man should know how to keep his feelings in better check. Anyhow, I wasn't so much worried as angry. It is my. opinion that those fires were started deliberately, and I would very much like to know by whom. My suspicions that night were flying in all directions." "Even in mine?" she flashed back, more hurt than angry. He took a step towards her and grasped her shoulders, his gaze flicking over her features.

"You wouldn't start a forest fire," he said in hard, even tones. "That I don't believe. But you would stand by someone you—" he broke off, then finished : "Someone who might do it out of what might seem like good motives." His touch was more than she could bear. She moved away from him, shaking herself free of his grasp roughly. In the grip of varying emotions which tore her apart, she said, in a tremulous voice : "I—I know who you're referring to, perfectly well. But he wouldn't do it. He wouldn't, I'm sure of it, no matter from what motive." There had been no doubt that he had been referring to Hugh, and she had a horrible feeling, deep inside, that he could be right. But she didn't want to Relieve such things of Hugh, and above all, the fact that the man she loved imagined she cared for someone else was more than she could take. She rounded on him fiercely, tears not far away. "Why did you have to come here? There's been nothing but trouble ever since the day you arrived. Before that, we were all perfectly happy. Perfectly. And I wish to goodness you'd go back where you came from and leave us in peace!"

CHAPTER SEVEN WHEN Rosemary had had time to calm down she was appalled at the things she had said to Matt. She wanted to ring him up and apologize, call at his cottage and beg him to forgive her, tell him she hadn't meant a word of it, tell him the truth. The truth. That she loved him? She would never be able to tell him that. She might as well face it squarely, just as she might as well face the fact of his engagement. On questioning Denny the following day she learned that what she had surmised was true. Denny had learned of his engagement to Lydia. She had actually seen the ring on Lydia's finger, and naturally she had not wanted to tell Rosemary. "My dear, I thought you'd find out soon enough," she said gently. "And knowing how friendly you were with Hugh at one time—" "Denny, I shall never marry Hugh now." Denny shook her head. "Never is a long time. Every woman who is in love as you are—with no hope of its being returned—thinks that way. But she meets someone else, someone she can admire and whom later she learns to love. That's' the way of it. One of these days Matt will be no more to you than a beautiful memory. You'll look back from the security of a happy marriage—" "Was it that way with you, Denny?" Rosemary asked quietly. "Yes, my dear, it was true. I thought life would simply not be worth living if I could not marry a particular man. I had been in love in my teens, but this time I was a little older—about your age. I don't have to tell you that falling in love is not the prerogative of the very young. In fact the older you get the more it hurts if it isn't returned— and the more joy there is when it's fulfilled."

"I—wouldn't know the latter part. I only know how it can hurt," Rosemary said, in a hollow voice. Denny frowned. "This is a dreadful conversation. I should have known better than to start it." "You didn't, I did. Anyway, I'm not a child any longer, Denny, that you should have to keep things from me in order to spare my feelings. This is just one of those things I imagine many women have to cope with at some time or other. The—only thing is, I don't feel I'm coping very well. Tell me, Denny, does it show?" "What—that you're in love?" Denny shook her head. "Not really. Certainly not when you're dealing with your patients. You look as cool and collected as you always have. Just a little tired, maybe." Denny covered Rosemary's hand with her own. "Rosie, promise me one thing. That you'll not let this put you off marriage. Some day, someone else will come along, I'm sure." Denny was trying to be kind, but there would never be another man like Matt. Of that, Rosemary was convinced. Greatly to her surprise—and pleasure—Hugh rang up about a week later. After a preamble of "how've you been,"' he said, "I saw some Forest ponies being rounded up early this morning. How'd you like to go to the sale? I have a day off—at last. Maybe we could have lunch together." "Oh, Hugh, I'd love to," she said warmly, more relieved to hear from him than she would have thought possible. She was genuinely fond of him and had hated both the estrangement and the uncertainty his words at their last meeting had left in her mind. "What time shall I pick you up, then?" he asked. "No point in taking your own car, too."

She asked him to pick her up after surgery, sure that her father would not mind. The pleasure and relief must have shown in her face. Denny remarked, when she went back into the dining room : "You look happy, doesn't she, John? Had some good news?" Rosemary laughed. "Couldn't hide anything from you even if I wanted to, could I? I suppose it is good news, in a way. That was Hugh on the phone. He wants me to go to the pony sales with him, It's so long since we've been in touch, I thought we were never going to meet again." "Well, I'm glad the thought pleases you," said Denny. Rosemary shook her head at her. "Now, now, Denny, don't get any ideas. It's only friendship. I'm very fond of Hugh, and last time we met we had a misunderstanding. It will be quite a relief to have it cleared up." But Rosemary had no intention of re-opening the subject of Hugh's rivalry of Matt or talking about the Beat at all unless Hugh did, much as she would like news. But perhaps "no news was good news," and the three Foresters were settling down amicably. She thought, uncomfortably, of Matt and her outburst when last she had seen him. She had thought of a dozen different ways in which she could apologize and had kept a look-out for him when she had been either riding or motoring through the Forest, but had not seen him. Hugh was in very good form when he called for her at about tenthirty. He made no apology for the things he had said and the way he had behaved on their last meeting, and Rosemary did not expect any. As Liz had said, he was not the apologizing kind. But he did say: "I've missed you, Rosemary." "I've missed you, too."

"You mean that?" "Of course. I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it." His hand rested lightly on hers for a moment. "You're a wiz. Do you know what? I just couldn't keep away from you any longer." She gave him a warm smile. "I was so glad when you rang, Hugh." "I'd have done so before, but I thought you'd still be annoyed with me." "I wasn't so much annoyed as hurt—and worried. But," she added hastily, "let's forget it, Hugh, shall we?" "Suits me. Some things are best forgotten, anyhow." Rosemary could only suppose that a denial of having anything to do with past events on the Beat was considered by him to be superfluous, and she was glad. Hugh took the road to Beaulieu Road Station where the pony sale was being held, and she sat back to enjoy the day, pushing to the back of her mind, determinedly, that Matt, too, might be there. If she met him, she would just be natural with him, and if the opportunity arose, she Would say, simply— "Penny for them," said Hugh, breaking into her thoughts. "They're not for sale," she answered, putting a teasing note in her voice. He grimaced. "Like that, eh? Well, I won't press you." Then he said, unexpectedly: "By the way, I suppose you've heard about Windbourne and Lydia Brinley." She drew in her breath sharply. "Yes. Yes, I heard."

He flicked her a sidelong glance and she smiled swiftly, not wanting to give herself away. "I take it you don't mind, then?" Hugh asked. "Really, Hugh, why should I? I hope they'll be very happy." "That's more than generous of you. But there's another rumour, too, which you might not have heard. He might be leaving." She had geared herself for what she did not know, but even so, her heart felt as if it had curled itself into a hard ball. "You mean—leaving the district altogether—so soon? But why? Surely he isn't being forced to leave because of some of the things that have been happening on the Beat?" If anyone had been trying to drive Matt away, it seemed they had succeeded. "Whoa there," Hugh said, giving her another swift look. "Don't jump so readily to conclusions. I didn't say anything about leaving the district, but I did hear that he might be leaving the service." "But, Hugh, that sounds even worse. And who told you ? Matt himself or—" "No, it didn't come from the man himself. He doesn't talk all that much. Never did. I think it was either Jerry or Liz. I just can't remember. Anyway, it seems there's a job going on the Brinleys' estate. The Forester they have at present is nearing retirement age. Just the ticket for a man like Windbourne. He'll make a good marriage and at the same time keep a bit of his independence and his 'manly respect.' I'm sure you know what I mean."

To Rosemary, every word was like a giant hand relentlessly pushing her further and further into a bog of despair and hopelessness. How she did so, she could not have told, but she managed to answer Hugh. "Yes, I know what you mean." It was the kind of day which attracted a great many people to the pony sale, being fine and sunny. Rosemary was glad of the distraction both of the crowds of people and of the ponies to her thoughts. Hugh had never possessed a New Forest pony. "Are you going to buy one?" she asked him. He shook his head. "I don't ride, and at my age, I can't be bothered to learn." Rosemary wondered if Matt rode, and thought perhaps he did, though she had never seen him mounted. She saw him in the distance, and with him was Lydia Brinley, as was only to be expected. Rosemary avoided drifting in their direction. She did not want to see Matt's engagement ring which would be glittering on the other girl's finger. Rosemary loved the New Forest ponies. Here and there was a dun with a dark dorsal stripe—a colouring which turned up in mountain and moorland ponies all over the world—but bays and browns were by far the most common with their short necks, rather large heads— sometimes with a stamp of the Arab—and drooping narrow quarters but with good strong shoulders. A great many of the crowd were tourists and there were certainly more people just "looking" than buying. Rosemary turned to pass a remark to Hugh and discovered that he was not there. She looked around, but still could not see him. As they had booked a table for lunch, however, she did not worry. They would find each other then,

if not before. She greeted several people she knew, then quite suddenly Matt was at her side. For a moment or two she was quite incapable of saying anything. All the breath seemed to be knocked out of her. He looked at her, waiting for her to be the first to speak, and the memory of their last meeting rose swiftly before her. "Hello, Matt," she said simply. "Hello," he answered after a slight pause. Then, his gaze flicking past her : "I thought you were with Hugh Thornley." "I was, but we've lost each other." Lydia was nowhere to be seen at the moment, either, and Rosemary assumed that the same thing had happened with her and Matt. She wondered whether to mention the subject of his engagement, but could not bring herself to do so. Instead, she asked: "You buying a pony?" He nodded. "That's what I've come for. They're a hardy breed, aren't they?" "Very. They're divided roughly into two groups, you know—the lane-feeders and the forest-feeders. I think the forest-feeders make the best mounts. The other type are for ever roaming around the dustbins and roadside verges, and you get visitors to the Forest feeding them with all kinds of unsuitable foods." Automatically, they moved on to the next pen, still talking. "The ponies Create quite a good deal of interest, I expect," Matt remarked.

Rosemary laughed ruefully. "Indeed they do! A little too much sometimes. Every winter well-meaning people write to the Press about them being underfed and starving. They may have a great love of animals, but they have very little knowledge of the Forest pony." "Maybe they have a great love of seeing their names in print." "Possibly. The Forest pony may look-thin in comparison with other types, but it's naturally small, and is very adept at finding food. The breed isn't quite as hardy as it used to be, of course. The true native type has been destroyed through various people 'improving' the breed. In a very hard winter today's ponies have food put out for them by the Pony Society and by the R.S.P.C.A. But not so the old breed. They were shaggy and small and their thick growth of hair enabled them to feed on holly and gorse." "They still do, don't they?" "Yes, some, but the problem is to reduce it sufficiently so that the animal doesn't face so many prickles. The old pony used to trample it first underfoot. He didn't need it done for him. They eat heather, too, and bramble. All in all, they're well able to look after themselves." They strolled from pen to pen until talk of ponies, comments on ponies and opinions appeared to dry up. After a while Rosemary became aware of a marked silence between them. "Matt," she said suddenly, "I'm—sorry for some of the things I said last time we met." He eyed her, brows slightly raised. "What things?" She averted her face. Why was he making it so difficult? Surely he knew? A short distance away she saw Lydia Brinley coming

towards them and knew that she simply could not remain here to meet the other woman. "It doesn't matter," she answered him stiffly. "I— just wanted to apologize for—for being so rude, that's all. Hope you find a pony to suit you." She barely heard his thanks as she moved away quickly in the opposite direction to the one Lydia was taking. It was quite a few minutes before she realized that the main crowd had thinned out, and a glance at her watch showed it was ten past one. Hugh had booked a table for lunch at one o'clock. She glanced around, but could not see him, so she made her way to the Montague Arms. Hugh was sitting at their table waiting for her. "Where did you get to?" he asked. "I couldn't find you anywhere." She gave an apologetic smile. "Sorry. I lost sight of you, too, then I—ran into Matt Windbourne." He gave her a swift, enquiring glance. "Oh? And what did he have to say?" "Nothing in particular. We just talked about ponies. He's buying one." Was there relief in Hugh's eyes as he said : "Well there's plenty there for him to choose from," before picking up the menu card and asking her what she would like? Rosemary tried to concentrate on the question of what to order, hoping and praying that Matt and Lydia would not choose the Montague Arms in which to have lunch. It was a popular hotel and most of the tables were already occupied, but Rosemary could see one table for two which was not.

"I thought after lunch we might take a run to the coast—Milford perhaps. I've seen enough of ponies for one day—and maybe you have? too, by now." Rosemary's gaze strayed again to the empty table for two. "Yes, that would be nice," she murmured absently. And as though the fates did not wish to disappoint her, Lydia and Matt walked in and were led to the table by the head" waiter. Hugh followed the direction of Rosemary's gaze. "I might have known! Those two seem to haunt us. Maybe we should have brought a picnic lunch," he said. She did not answer, and throughout the meal she did not glance at the other table again, tempted though she was once or twice. She was glad that Hugh kept conversation going, though later, when she looked back on the meal, she could not remember any detail of what they had talked about. She was glad when they left the place, and Hugh showed his relief in an audible sigh. "Phew, the air was thick in there! The place is getting a darned sight too popular for my taste." Hugh drove by way of Hatchet Gate and Beaulieu Heath—a windswept, desolate stretch of moorland, but on a fine day such as this one could see the low line of the Isle of Wight where the Needles thrust boldly into the sea. "Marvellous view," remarked Hugh, and Rosemary agreed with him wholeheartedly. Most times she loved the wild beauty of the Heath, but not today. She had need of warmth, of gentleness and softness. Most of all she had a need for love and understanding, so she looked beyond the wild bleakness of the moor to the distant view and was glad when Hugh turned off the Heath to go through Boldre—a

sprawling, old-world village, its cottages stretching out along wooded lanes. As if sensing her need Hugh treated her with a gentleness, patience and understanding she never dreamed he possessed. At Milford they strolled along the sea front and then stretched out on the beach and let the warm, late-summer sun gently infuse into their bones. Once, he searched for Rosemary's hand and held it, and she let it remain. There was a strength and comfort in his touch. There was all the difference in the world, she thought, between giving love and demanding it. At the mouth of the Solent they could see Hurst Castle standing in grim, solitary grandeur on the shingle spit—where Charles the First was lodged on his journey from Carisbrooke Castle to Whitehall. "That's one place we don't want to visit this afternoon. Right?" said Hugh. "Very right," she answered, and turned to face him, her back to the forbidding castle. He gave her a sweet smile of understanding. Then his expression sobered and his gaze flicked over her features. "I love you, Rosemary," he said in a quiet voice. "Oh, Hugh—" she whispered, moved so deeply that it hurt. "Don't!" "I just wanted you to know," he said. "Don't let it worry you." She lay on her back again and closed her eyes against the brightness of the sky, thinking how cruel life could be. But Hugh would not allow her to mope. He sat up and tugged at her hand.

"Come on, let's go and find a large pot of tea somewhere and some gooey cakes." After tea they went to the cinema in Lymington, then had supper at a small cafe before driving home via Brockenhurst. Outside Rosemary's house, Hugh said goodnight swiftly with no more than a light kiss on her cheek and a gentle pressure of his hand on her shoulder. She went into the house a little sadly but with a feeling of having found something very fine and wonderful. The love of a man which was without demand, a love which seemingly had progressed beyond passion and frustration. Could she ever, perhaps, arrive at the same point in her love for Matt? For weeks now she had heard of no untoward events on the Pinewood Beat. Perhaps the previous happenings had been mere accidents or coincidences, after all. Perhaps Matt had been mistaken in thinking that those fires had been started deliberately. As she went back and forth through the Forest on her rounds and visits everything appeared normal. A group of workers trimming and peeling pit props from Scots pine thinnings, others doing a second weeding of young plantations, some cleaning out ditches and erecting rabbit fences. Once she caught a glimpse of Matt through the trees on his rounds and another time examining the seed of Lawson cypress, western red cedar and sycamore. It was when she was out riding one morning that she came across him on his new pony. It had been raining heavily and Rosemary enjoyed riding through the forest after rain, more perhaps than at any other time. The ground was patterned with glistening webs and the rain had released that wonderful earthy, fresh smell. Matt was looking down at a single tree which had been felled. He glanced up as she approached, answering her "good morning" absently.

"Is anything wrong?" she asked. "This tree," he answered. "I didn't give orders for any felling to be done." "You mean it's been done without licence?" He nodded. "And during the night. I'll swear it wasn't down yesterday." She frowned. "But who on earth—" "Your guess is as good as mine. But it has certainly been done by someone who knows how to fell a tree." The tree was a valuable, mature pine. Rosemary stared at it, still wondering who was responsible—and why. It was impossible to dismiss this as either accident or coincidence. No tree felling could be done without a licence, and as Head Forester Matt would have filled in the application form. "I'm wondering how many more of these there are in other parts of the Beat," Matt said. "I hope, none," she answered worriedly. "I—had begun to think all the troubles on the Beat were over. At least, this kind." He shook his head. "There are still all kinds of little things—and the odd thing is that the D.O. always knows before I have a chance to report them. Some, of course, are not worth reporting." Her head came up swiftly. "Matt, I swear to you, I've never—" "No, I don't think you would. I realize that now, have done for some time. But somebody wants me away from here, that's evident."

She coloured. "That's what I was trying to say at the pony sales. I— didn't mean it when I said I wish you would go back to where you came from." He flicked her a swift glance. "We all say things we don't mean at times, and I certainly agreed with one thing you said. There's been nothing but trouble here since the day I arrived." "I—did hear a rumour that you were thinking of leaving the employ of the Forestry Commission," she told him. "I think that's a case of the wish being father to the thought," he said grimly. "If you'll excuse me, I'll get around and see what other damage has been done." He turned his mount and rode off, straight-backed, into the trees. Rosemary took another glance at the felled tree. Matt was right. The job had been done by someone skilled in forest work. But who? And why? Was it, perhaps, the work of some crank who hated the Forestry Commission, considering them in the light of interlopers, growing trees not for their beauty but for their commercial value? Cranks rarely had good reasons for what they did, their actions were more often governed by prejudice or just a sheer desire to create trouble. Now the sun was shining. Rosemary left the Inclosure for the open forest where self-sown hollies shone darkly in the sunlight and the bracken already turning a golden brown. These parts of open forest, she reflected, were not nearly so beautiful as the woodlands created by the Forestry Commission. The true meaning of the word "forest," so she had been taught, was "a wilderness, a space of uncultivated country." Before the days of the Forestry Commission much of the land was barren, infertile, wretchedly thin, thick clay in some places, loose sand in others and could never have grown anything other than gorse, bramble, coarse grass j and heather.

She dismounted in her father's own stretch of woodland and let her pony roam, continuing to the house on foot. Denny was cooking breakfast while her father was having his morning stroll round the garden. The smell of coffee as she entered the kitchen made her realize how hungry she was. She poured out a cup of coffee for herself and sat down at the kitchen table, her chin resting thoughtfully on her hand. "Something the matter?" asked Denny. Rosemary heaved a great sigh and told Denny about the felled tree. "Someone, it seems, is still causing trouble." "It's a wonder to me that the police are not called in to investigate." "Maybe they have, but it's being kept quiet. Police on the scene would scare the culprit off. In fact, there has been a fairly quiet spell." The telephone rang and Rosemary went to answer it. To her surprise it was the housekeeper from Lydia Brinley's place. "It's our Forester," she explained. "The silly man was out on the estate in all that rain early this morning. He hasn't been too well for a day or two, maybe even longer. He looks to me as though he's sickening for pneumonia or something." "I'll come right away." A visit to the Manor House was something Rosemary would have avoided if she could. She had no wish to encounter Lydia. But her father was enjoying his stroll, and if the old Forester had signs of pneumonia—

After a word with Denny she got her car out and set off. The road to the Manor House took her past the Inclosures, nurseries and plantations of the Pinewood Beat, and as she went along Rosemary's mind was occupied with thoughts of Matt. Would he ever find out who was committing these acts of malicious damage? For that was what the incidents amounted to. She thought of first one person and then another who might have what could be considered motive. Hugh, she dismissed. Jerry? Even the Brinleys' Forester? But it was dreadful going around with these kind of suspicions. She preferred to think it might be someone quite unknown to her. A Forester on another Beat could have motives about which neither she nor anyone knew. The whole subject was distasteful, and she tried to dismiss it. But she couldn't altogether. She was- too concerned for Matt. If only she could find out who was responsible ! That, surely, would be the first step towards putting an end to these mischievous activities? She turned into the ground? of the Manor House through a pair of large wrought iron gates opened for her by one of the estate workers. The old Forester lived in a cottage on the estate. Rosemary had visited the old man at various times before, so she knew where to find it. She couldn't help thinking of Matt again as she drove slowly along the rutted dirt roadway now softened by the heavy rain. He had denied that he was leaving the Forestry Commission. Was this because he wanted to be independent when he married Lydia? But these kind of thoughts were too tortuous, and she was glad when she reached the cottage and had to give her thoughts and attention to her patient. The old man was a widower and lived alone, but the housekeeper was waiting for her in the tiny living room. "Are you looking after him?" Rosemary enquired.

"Well, I'm doing my best, doctor, but—" "I see." Rosemary climbed the narrow, worn stairs to the only bedroom. One look at the man was sufficient to confirm the housekeeper's guess that he was "sickening for pneumonia," though he himself insisted on calling it bronchitis. " 'Ad it on an' off for years," he croaked, coughing painfully. "Alius starts around this time o' year." "Well, it isn't bronchitis this time," she told him. His skin was hot and dry, his face flushed, his eyes bright and his expression anxious, in spite of his assertion that it was only his "old bronchitis." Added to this, his pulse was full and bounding, his respirations rapid. She put her stethoscope on his chest and was not at all happy about the heart sounds. There was an empty glass on the table beside his bed. She picked it up and held it to her nose. It smelt of whisky. " 'Ad a tot when I came in—" he gasped. "Thought it might 'elp." She gave him an injection of penicillin, then went downstairs. "Is Mr Brinley at home?" she asked. The housekeeper shook her head. "No, doctor. Both he and Mrs Brinley have gone away for the weekend." "And what about Miss Brinley?" "She was out riding, but she'll most like be back by now."

"Then I'd like to see her, please. But you'd better stay here with old Mr Parkes until someone can be found to relieve you. He simply must not be left alone. He's much too ill." She made her own way up to the house and found that Lydia had just returned from her ride. She looked very surprised to see Rosemary. "Well, well," she mocked. "And to what do I owe the pleasure? Someone ill?" "Yes. Your Forester, old Mr Parkes. He has acute lobar pneumonia and must either have a nurse day and night or be admitted to hospital." Lydia stared. "But that's impossible! I saw him this morning when— " She broke off. "Anyway, he looked perfectly all right to me." "Then you're not very observant," Rosemary told her bluntly. "The man is dangerously ill." "In that case, I suppose he had better go into hospital. Will you arrange it?" "Naturally. He should not, of course, have gone out this morning in the pouring rain. Why was he out so early? Doesn't he take Sundays off?" "How should I know? I can't be expected to act as nursemaid to all my father's employees." Rosemary's eyes gleamed angrily. "The old man has been in your family's employ for years, hasn't he? I would have expected you to feel some sense of responsibility towards him."

"I don't want to hear a lecture from you, thanks very much. You do your duty as a doctor and I'll do mine as I think fit. If he's as ill as you say he is, I should think hospital would be the best place. And now, if you'll excuse me—" It was dismissal. "I must go, too, and see about getting him admitted right away," Rosemary said. "But I must go back to the cottage and explain to him." "There's no need," Lydia came back sharply. "Why not?" "I can tell him. I'm going down there later, anyhow." "Do that by all means," Rosemary answered smoothly. "But as his doctor I feel it's my duty to explain the position to him. He could quite easily refuse to go into hospital. He should be admitted with as little delay as possible, and I can't very well arrange it without his knowledge or consent." Rosemary returned to the cottage. The living room was empty, and Rosemary concluded that the housekeeper was upstairs. She was about to go up herself when her attention was arrested by the sight of the old man's wet clothes hanging up to dry in the narrow, corridor-like kitchen. She had a sudden, half-formed thought, and on impulse, stepped just inside the doorway. Now, her attention became riveted to something else. A one-man chain saw was leaning Against the wall, its parts still wet and with all the signs of recent usage.

CHAPTER EIGHT ROSEMARY stared at the object for a moment or two, seeing in her mind's eye the tree felled that morning in one of the Inclosures of the Pinewood Beat. Then she shook her head vigorously. He had probably been doing some felling in his own woodland—or rather, the Brinleys' woodland. She went upstairs. The housekeeper was there dusting the room. Rosemary asked her to leave so that she could talk to the man. Though he was getting old he was no weakling and was quite capable of felling a tree single-handed. Rosemary explained to him that hospital would be the best place for him, especially as he lived alone. He protested that he would be better in a day or two, but Rosemary shook her head. "It will take longer than that, Mr Parkes. You shouldn't have gone out this morning in all that rain. Why did you?" " 'Cause I 'ad things to do, that's why." "Such as—tree felling?" He darted a fierce look at her from under his ample brows. "How do you know what I bin doin' ?" "I saw your chain saw downstairs." The man's gaze shifted; "Well, I suppose I can do as I like in my own woods." There was nothing further she could say. He was a sick man and she did not want to upset him. He had never been a very pleasant man, and had always been more than a little suspicious of both Rosemary and her father because they were not ready to condemn the Forestry

Commission in favour of the Commoners. All the same he was her patient. "The ambulance will probably come for you in the late morning or early afternoon," she told him. "Meanwhile, drink as much as you can—but hot whisky. Tea, water or fruit juice—anything you happen to have in. And don't get up. The ambulance will bring a stretcher and blankets for you." He grunted and began muttering to himself, something about "interlopers" and the "rights o' people to please theirselves," and conifers being an "abomination to mankind." Rosemary left him. It would not do to pay too much attention to his ramblings and mutterings. This was the way some Commoners always talked. It did not necessarily have any significance as to what had happened in the Pinewood Beat this morning or at any of the other times. But the seed of suspicion once sown tends to grow. The old man could well be responsible for everything that had gone wrong in the Forest since Matt had arrived. But why? What had he against Matt in particular? But she was presuming too much. She must put restraint on her thoughts. The old man might be perfectly innocent. The way home took her past Jerry's cottage. On impulse she decided to call in. She could ring the hospital from there. She half expected to see both Liz and Jerry still in their dressing gowns, as it was Sunday. She had called early like this before often enough. She had even had breakfast with them on occasions. But to her surprise Liz was fully dressed and Jerry looked as though he had been out. His Wellington boots, glistening darkly with rain, stood in the hall, his hat on the peg looked soaked and so did his jacket hanging beneath the hat. Both Liz and Jerry gave an impression of having been "caught on the hop" far more than when they had still not been dressed.

Liz had stared at her when she first opened the door and stood as though she were not going to ask Rosemary in. "Oh! Rosemary, you're out early. Been out on a case?" Rosemary nodded. "You're up early, too. Got something on your conscience?" It was intended as a joke, and the sort of thing they had often said to each other in the past. But Liz appeared to have lost her sense of humour. She gave a swift glance over her shoulder into the living room, then as if suddenly aware that she was keeping Rosemary standing on the doorstep, she stepped back a pace and invited her in. It was then that Rosemary noticed the Wellington boots and the coat and hat. "Jerry took it into his head to take a walk in the rain," Liz explained with one of her giggles. Rosemary followed her into the living room where Jerry was sitting before the fire. "Quite a number of people have been out in the rain this morning, it seems," she observed. Jerry's glance sharpened. "Oh?" Rosemary took the chair Liz pulled forward for her. "Somebody, in fact, has been doing a spot of tree felling." Liz and Jerry exchanged a swift glance. "Tree felling—where?" asked Jerry. Rosemary told him. "I was out riding and came across Matt. A mature conifer had been felled—and Matt didn't know anything about it." "Only one?"

"There may be more. I don't know. Matt went off on a round." "So now I suppose we're all under suspicion again," Jerry said in an unpleasant tone. Rosemary frowned, and Liz said quickly : "For goodness' sake, , Jerry, what a thing to say!" "Well, why not say it?" he demanded. "It's what some people are thinking. You'd better go and see if Hugh is still in his bed and ask him if he's been doing some tree felling this morning." Rosemary felt her face colouring. She rose slowly. "If you're going to talk like that, Jerry, I can't possibly stay." Liz looked distressed and began to protest, saying she was not to be silly and that Jerry didn't mean it. Jerry shifted uneasily, then stood up. "It's enough to make any man go off at the deep end. I don't want to offend you, Rosemary, we've been friends for a very long time— though there are times when you seem to forget that. But I tell you frankly, I wish Matt Windbourne had never set foot on this Beat!" Rosemary rounded on him. "Why?" she demanded hotly. "What has he ever done to you, tell me that." He pursed his lips and let out a loaded sigh. "I would have thought it was obvious. But if you'll excuse me, Rosemary, I must go upstairs and change." Obviously he didn't want to talk any more about it. Liz looked upset and embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, Rosemary, really. I don't know what's the matter with Jerry these days. Honestly, he hasn't been the same since Matt Windbourne came, and that's the truth," Rosemary gave her a long look and walked to the door. "You ought to know something of what goes on in your husband's mind. If you don't know what's making him so edgy how can you expect anyone else to know, still less to understand?" At this, Liz looked as though she might burst into tears. "I feel the same way that Jerry does," she burst out. "I wish that man had never set foot on this Beat. Nothing's gone right since he came here." "That's not his fault," Rosemary answered sharply. "You might spare a thought for the way he feels—a new man in a new place, surrounded by people who for various reasons don't want him here." Liz followed her to her car. "Why should I spare any thoughts for him? I don't know him, do I? You ought to be on our side—and on Hugh's. One of them should have been Head Forester." Rosemary's head came up sharply. But there was no need for her to say anything. It was clear from Liz's look of alarm that she realized immediately the implication of what she had just said. "That—that doesn't mean anything. It's—it's only my opinion. After all, Jerry is my husband, and it's only right that I should stick up for him." "Your loyalty does you credit, but don't lose your sense of justice," Rosemary said quietly. "I must rush, Liz, I have to see about getting the Brinleys' Forester into hospital. He's another who, for some reason or other, was out in the rain early this morning."

This brought another startled look into Liz's eyes, but Rosemary felt she had been delayed quite long enough. She drove home as quickly as she could and went immediately to the telephone for the arrangement of Mr Parkes' admission to hospital. Rosemary felt that her head was fairly bursting with thoughts and impressions of everything that had happened that morning. She might have gone off alone to try to think things out had not Denny come in search of her. "Child, come along and have some breakfast, you'll be ill," she told her. Suddenly realizing how hungry she was, Rosemary followed Denny into the kitchen. A plate of ham and eggs was set before her with brown toast done to perfection, butter and honey to hand and a cup of freshly brewed coffee. "You've been gone a long time," Denny remarked. "What was the trouble up at the Manor House?" Rosemary explained while she ate, and little by little Denny extracted much of what had happened both at the Manor House and at Liz and Jerry's cottage. "Shall we ever find out the truth, Denny?" she asked. "Really, it's all worrying me to death." "You must try not to let it worry you too much," Denny told her. "There's one thing. If Parkes has been the one doing all these things—and it seems feasible, then presumably they'll stop during the time he's in hospital." Rosemary's mind cleared. "Of course! I hadn't thought of that." But then she frowned. "In one sense, it would be a relief to discover who really is the culprit, but even if it turned out to be old Parkes, I still

wouldn't feel happy about it. I'd be happy if Jerry and Hugh were cleared, naturally, but the thought of anyone—" She broke off as her father entered the kitchen. He had heard her last sentence, so wanted to know what they were talking about. Between them Rosemary and Denny told him. "Old Parkes?" he exclaimed. "I wouldn't put it past him in the least." "All the same," Rosemary said, "it won't be proof, just because nothing happens while he's in hospital." "It clears him if something does," Denny pointed out. Rosemary winced. "But then we'd be back to Hugh and Jerry again." "Have you seen Hugh this morning?" asked her father. She shook her head. "I wanted to get home to ring the hospital about Parkes." She put down her serviette. "I think I'll go and give Hugh a ring. He ought to know what's been happening, in any case." She went out into the hall and dialled his number. His voice answered sleepily after a minute or two. Then when she said who was calling he became more alert. "Nice of you to ring," he said. "You sound sleepy. Did I wake you up?" she queried. "You did, but it's a pleasure—now I've recovered from the shock." "I take it you haven't been out this morning?" He could easily have risen early and then gone back to bed. Hardly likely, but she felt she had to be sure.

"Have a heart!" he protested. "It's Sunday." There was a pause, then he added : "Is anything up?" "Gould be. I don't know about anything being up, but half the population seems to have been—and early." "Oh? Such as who—and why?" "Myself, for one. The rain woke me up and I decided to go riding. I met Matt." She related to him all the events of the morning, including her call on Liz and Jerry and the reaction of both of them. "I—just thought I ought to put you in the picture, Hugh." There was a long pause, and she was about to speak again, wondering if they had been cut off, when he said : "You say Jerry had been out in the rain? Not like him." "I know, but when I made a joke about it, Liz looked —well, almost guilty, and Jerry was quite unpleasant. As good as accused me of accusing him; if you get my meaning." "He's on edge—and you can hardly blame him. It will be a good thing for all of us if this business can be cleared up. I thought things had quietened down." "So did I, but Matt says there have still been some little things which can't be accounted for." "Mm. Rosemary—" Hugh said thoughtfully, over the wire. "Yes?"

"I give you my word that I know nothing whatever about the things that have been going wrong." "I know that, Hugh," she answered with quiet conviction. She gave a brief laugh. "It might interest you to know that even I was under suspicion at one time." "You? Don't make me laugh!" "It's true. The point is the D.O. always seems to know about things long before they can be reported. In fact, some of the happenings haven't really been worth reporting." "And you were suspected of passing information to the D.O. That it?" "Yes. He often comes here to see Father, and—once or twice Matt has seen me talking to him in Lyndhurst or Brockenhurst." "You don't mean Windbourne actually accused you—" "No, no, but—" "You mean, not in so many words. Well, look, Rosemary, thanks for putting me in the picture. I think I'll give Matt Windbourne a ring. If he's not in I'll take a look round the Beat myself and maybe call and see him around lunch time. From now on I'm going to keep my eyes well skinned and my ear to the ground and try to get to the bottom of this business. Of course if it is old Parkes—and it could well be, he's got plenty of motive, come to think of it—nothing else might happen while he's in hospital. Can I pick you up this evening and we'll take a run out somewhere?" "Yes, all right. Around six-thirty?"

For the rest of the morning Rosemary helped Denny with some of the housework, thinking about Matt, wondering how many more trees had been wrongfully felled and what he must be feeling. She was glad that Hugh had been roused at last to try to solve the mystery, though with Parkes in hospital little could be done. Why had Liz been so edgy? she wondered. Both she and Jerry had behaved most oddly. Yet wasn't it natural that Jerry should be sensitive in his position and resentful if the slightest suspicion were directed against him—either real or fancied? How glad she was that Hugh had come straight out with a denial. It might have been better if, right from the very beginning, both Hugh and Jerry set out to find out who was responsible for what had happened on the Beat since Matt's arrival. But perhaps they had actually wanted to believe that Matt himself had been to blame or to make it appear that he was negligent. Hugh had confessed to jealousy, and he was only human. And she could not close her eyes to the fact that both Hugh and Jerry could have been promoted to Head Forester. By mid-afternoon, Rosemary had gone over everything so many times in her mind she felt she must get some air—if only as an aid to stop thinking about things. The sky had now brightened and there was a fresh, rather cool breeze across the open forest. Her hair held in place with a bandeau and wearing a brown jacket and skirt, she strode out, her face lifted up against the wind. She was quite a good distance away from the house when a great black cloud spread over the one patch of milky blue, and within seconds a large splash of rain fell on her face, to be followed by another and another in quick succession. She looked around for cover among the scrub and holly and over to her right stood a group of beeches. She hurried in their direction, but soon found she had to run. It was not until she reached their shelter that she realized someone else was already there. As soon as she stopped running she saw who it was.

"Matt!" She gave a brief laugh. "We always seem to be coming across each other, don't we?" He took out his pipe. "Do you mind if I smoke?" "Of course not." He put the case in which he always kept the pipe back in his pocket, and began to fill the bowl straight from the tin in which the tobacco had been bought. She watched him for a few moments, then she asked : "Did Hugh ring you ?" His eyes showed a flicker of surprise. "No—why?" "And you haven't seen him today?" He shook his head. "Did he want to see me?" "He wanted to talk to you. I rang him this morning and told him what had happened in the Inclosure." "Oh, you did?" He slipped the tin of tobacco back in his pocket and produced a box of matches. "And what did he have to say?" he enquired between puffs. "One thing was certain, Matt. He knew nothing at all about it," she said quietly. "When I rang he was still in bed and asleep. I called on Jerry Anderson. He'd been out. His Wellingtons were still wet. I— don't like to tell you this, but so had Parkes, the Brinleys' Forester — and he'd been tree felling." He took his pipe out of his mouth and stared at her. "How do you know?"

She told him. "Of course it might have been sheer coincidence—" "Yes, it might," he agreed briefly, but his frown was concentrated as he puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. "Did you find any more felled trees?" she asked. "A couple. Both conifers. Like the first." His frown deepened, then he let out an exclamation of exasperation and annoyance. "This sure is one heck of a situation, and how to deal with it is—" He broke off and glanced skyward. "Matt, I'm sorry you're having all this trouble. Hugh wants to help." "He does?" Matt queried as if not convinced. "In what way?" Rosemary found herself nonplussed. "He—he wants to help find out who's been doing all these things." "Oh. Well, when he does perhaps he'll come and tell me," he said in a mocking tone. "Matt, don't be like that!" He gave her a swift look, then shook his head swiftly and held out his hand to see if it had stopped raining. She found his attitude more than she could bear. Without waiting to see whether it was still raining or not, she left him, walking swiftly in the direction of home, pain and anger pulling at her heart strings. But suddenly, not looking where she was putting her feet, she stumbled over a half hidden root and went sprawling into a wet bramble. She smothered a cry as a host of sharp thorns pierced her flesh. She wanted to burst into tears like a child, though the fall and the thorns would have had little to do with her weeping.

She heard Matt call out, and in a moment he was at her side to help her up. Now his tone was soft and gentle. "Easy now. Lean on me and raise one knee at a time. That's right." Then, as she found her feet: "Are you all right—apart from the thorns and being wet through?" "Yes, I—think so, thanks." She looked down at her stockings, now a mass of jagged tears and ladders. He followed her gaze and gave an amused smile. "You'll need a new pair of stockings, I'm afraid." "Yes." Fortunately, she had been wearing a pair of leather gloves and had managed also to protect, her face. She brushed herself down arid picked some thorns and loose leaves from her tweed skirt, then thanked him again and turned to walk away. But he said : "I'll see you home—if I may." The three words, if I may, choked back the half- formed, stilted phrase, "It's quite all right, thanks." Instead, she murmured, "Of course," and he fell into step beside her. At first, she limped a little and his arm came up to her elbow immediately. "Take my arm in case you stumble again," he said in a voice so gentle it was like music to her ears. "You're sure you haven't sprained your ankle or anything?" She linked her arm in his and knew a sensation of purest joy and happiness. For the time being, at least, the fact that he did not love

her was forgotten. As they walked across the open forest to her house they talked of ordinary, little things, and all the time Matt kept a sharp look out for any obstacles, gently guiding her every step of the way, and making her feel warm and cherished. "Do you do very much walking?" he asked. "As much as I can." "And which do you like doing the most, actually? Walking or riding?" Because she was happy, she smiled. "It all depends. When I'm alone, I think I like riding. But when I have company I like walking." He nodded understandingly. "In surroundings like these, the motor car seems out of place. There are times when one could wish it had never been invented. Look at the number of deaths it has caused." "On the other hand, as a doctor, I can think of numerous instances where, if I hadn't been able to get to the patient quickly, death might have resulted." "I hadn't thought of it that way," he admitted, and added : "Your job must give you a great amount of satisfaction." "Yes, it does. But then so must yours. I think if I hadn't been a doctor I would have liked to have been a Forester—that is, if I'd been a man." They laughed together and it seemed to Rosemary that a miracle was happening. She would have liked the walk to last until the end of time, but all too soon they came within a few yards of the house. Two faces appeared at the window of her father's study—his own

and Denny's. Rosemary could not help smiling as they exchanged a surprised glance. "I think I'd better leave you here," Matt said. "I very much doubt whether you'll be allowed to," Rosemary laughed, as Denny opened the study window. "My dear child, what on earth have you been doing to yourself?" she called out. "Mr Windbourne, do come in and have some tea with us." Matt hesitated and glanced at Rosemary. "Yes, do," she urged. "Father will be so pleased to see you and talk to you." Stay for my sake, too, she said, in her heart. Yet she had a vague feeling that it would have been better to let him go. She might merely be storing up pain for the future. Her father met them at the door and asked roughly the same question as Denny had. "You always seem to be rescuing my daughter from some hazard or other," he said to Matt. "Maybe it's a good thing somebody happens to be around," he answered. "Or who knows what she might get up to." It was pleasant to be teased by him, to have him in the role of a knight in shining armour. "I'll go upstairs and change," she told them, and was almost glad of her fall among the brambles. It gave her an excuse to change into something attractive.

She chose one of the favourite dresses, a trim shirt- waister in which she always felt comfortable and at home. By the time she had changed her stockings and brushed her hair she looked very little worse for her wet and prickly dive. She stood for a minute or 'two before going downstairs, savouring again that wonderful feeling of walking with him, her arm linked in his. Then, as vague thoughts of Lydia threatened to pierce her golden haze, she ran swiftly down to the sitting room where Denny was just carrying in the tea. Denny stayed in the room, but set down the tea tray for Rosemary to pour out. "Miss Denman and I are going to be married some time in the near future," her father explained to Matt. Matt congratulated them politely and asked, "Does the 'near future' mean this year?" Rosemary passed her father his tea, trying to signal to him with her eyes not to bring herself into the conversation. But her efforts went either unnoticed or unheeded. "Well, it really depends on Rosemary's plans," he said. Rosemary began to protest, but Denny skilfully changed the subject. "I hear you've bought one of our forest ponies, Mr Windbourne." Matt said he had. "I waited for the autumn sales so that I could have a wider choice." John Fielding shook his head sadly. "The true native type of Forest pony has long since been destroyed. So many people trying to 'improve' the breed, introducing Arab stallions. A fine animal, true, but not all crosses are good. Then in 1893 stallions were imported from Dartmoor, Exmoor, and the Fells and so on. The Forest pony became a real mongrel and moreover resulted «in a great many

poor, weedy specimens. Fortunately, this policy stopped in 1938 and I don't think there's been any 'foreign' blood since." Rosemary was not paying much attention. She had heard it all before. She was watching Matt's face as he listened intently. It was wonderful to have him sitting here. She leaned back in her chair at peace. Matt said: "There are Verderers' by-laws relating to the removal of scrub stallions of two years old, aren't there?" John Fielding nodded. "And there's been a wonderful improvement in the standard of the breed. Of course the breeders like to think the improvement is due to their skill. But what's happened is that man has stopped interfering with nature. Nature has evolved a type most suited to the conditions in which it has to live. One can't improve upon nature," he stated. Rosemary said nothing. Often, she had argued with her father on this, believing that man was improving on nature all the time, but on this occasion she waited to see what Matt would have to say. He gave a slow smile. "I agree so far as the Forest ponies are concerned," he said. "And I think it's loathsome and cruel the things people who call themselves dog-lovers do to that animal. The poor old bulldog, for instance—some species can, scarcely breathe because of the attempts of breeders to improve its appearance by shortening its nose." "Exactly!" said her father triumphantly. Matt's smile broadened. "But it's not quite the same in horticulture, as I'm sure you'll agree. Look what man has done fop the rose, for instance, and the lupin."

These were exactly the arguments Rosemary had used and her father had stubbornly rejected them. Now she almost laughed aloud as he conceded : "Well, yes, I suppose so." Rosemary caught Denny's eye and they exchanged an amused, understanding smile. It was all very pleasant and relaxed. Tea and talk on a wet Sunday afternoon. Matt looked so much at -home, especially as he had now produced his pipe and after a preliminary "may I?" was puffing away contentedly. Rosemary poured out more tea, then with an inward sigh leaned back in her chair again. If only, she thought, this was the norm. If only she and Matt— She became aware that Denny had begun to collect the tea things. As if he felt this was a signal, Matt rose to his feet and said he had better be going. But John Fielding wouldn't hear of it. "No hurry, is there? Sit down, my boy—unless you really have to go. Stay to tea. Tea proper, I mean. We don't have dinner on Sundays." Matt hesitated and glanced directly at Rosemary. "Sure I won't be intruding?" She smiled and shook her head, not caring now whether she was giving herself away or not. "As Father says, what's the hurry?" She glanced through the window and saw that it was once more pouring with rain. "You'll get wet through if you go now, anyway." "Well, that's reason enough, isn't it?" he drawled, a quirk of amusement playing around his mouth. "Don't blame me if it rains from now until morning."

He sat down again and Rosemary's father began immediately to ask him about life in Canada. "You know," he said, "I don't think I could stand a climate like that. Unbearably hot in the summer and terribly cold in the winter." Matt began to tell him how the Canadians dealt with their extremes of climate and Rosemary sat back, content, for the most part, to listen to his voice, watch his lips move, his expressions change, loving every last little thing about him. Presently, however, Denny put her head in the doorway. "Sorry to intrude, John, but could you come for a moment?" "Yes, of course." He rose at once and asked Matt to excuse him. Rosemary smiled as he followed Denny out into the hall. Already, they were like husband and wife. Matt gave her a contemplative look. "It's easy to see you're very happy about your father and Miss Denman," he said. "Oh, yes, I'm tremendously happy about it. Denny has been a second mother to me for years, anyway." "You're hardly in need of a mother now," he pointed out mildly. "Perhaps not, in one sense. I'm more glad for Father's sake, of course. I know now that he'll—always be taken care of." "In the event of your own marriage?" Suddenly the peace and the contentment in her heart was shattered. But she had to answer him.

"Well, yes." He stood up and went to the window. "One blessing about this rain," he said. "No one could start a forest fire." "A pity it has to rain to give you complete freedom of mind on that score. Did you—have many forest fires in Canada?" Once more the conversation was on a safe plane, at least for Rosemary. Why had he changed the subject so abruptly? Her brief answer must have conveyed the fact that she herself did not want to talk about her future plans. He turned from the window and began to talk about his years in Canada once again, but the ease and the contentment was no longer with them. Now that there were only the two of them in the room she must guard her expression more closely as she listened to him talking. But soon she became carried away, transported to the vast timber growing forests of Canada where Matt, tall and erect, walked with his long, easy strides among the magnificent Douglas firs. She was quite lost in this daydream when she became aware that Matt had stopped speaking. She blinked and brought her wandering, unseeing gaze back to him. She caught an odd, fleeting expression on his face which she couldn't quite fathom, it was gone so quickly. "I'm sorry," he said brusquely. "I was boring you." "Oh, no," she came back swiftly. "You—you weren't. Not in the least. I—I was just picturing you striding among the tall trees—" "I had stopped talking about the Canadian forests," he pointed out.

She stared at him. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to be rude. But you had painted such a wonderful picture of them, I—I suppose my imagination took over and—" She broke off, not quite knowing what else to say. But as it did not look as though her father was going to come back this side of tea-time, she had better keep the conversation going. "Do you think you'll ever go back to Canada?" she asked him. He looked at her for a moment, then gazed thoughtfully at a point somewhere beyond her. "I don't know," he said. "I might. But if I did, I don't think I'd come back to this country." He smiled sardonically. "I'm aware that there are some who wish me far enough, and I suppose Canada would come under that heading." But the idea of a whole ocean and half a continent between them filled her with a sense of the utmost desolation. "Matt, you—can't do that, just because a few—or even just one, perhaps—is envious of your position and is trying to make things difficult for you." She saw his eyes widen swiftly and thought she had surely betrayed herself, but his mind was evidently running on different lines. "So that's what you think of me? That I'd run away from a difficult situation? Just like that?" "Of course not! Please don't misunderstand me, Matt. I—just thought you might have—had enough, that's all." He rose to his feet and walked over to the window. "If that were all. But believe me, it would take more than petty jealousy or spite to make me quit."

If that were all. She was about to ask him what he meant, but at that moment her father entered the room again. "Tea in about five minutes," he announced, smiling in anticipation—he loved Sunday tea—and glancing from one to the other as if to say, "What have you two been talking about?" It crossed her mind that there had been a conspiracy between him and Denny to leave Matt and herself alone together. But for what purpose, knowing he was going to marry Lydia? She rose, saying she would go and help Denny with the tea—a rather elaborate affair on Sundays with ham and salads, trifle and fruit, various kinds of bread and home-made cakes and scones. "Shall I set the table, Denny, or would you like me to cut the bread and butter?" she asked. Denny looked up from her preparation of the salad. "I thought you'd have stayed and talked to Matt." "It's no use, Denny. I find it difficult to be natural with him, and I think he senses it. We go along all right for a little "while, then we suddenly come to a sort of deadlock. We change the conversation and start afresh, then the same thing happens again. I love having him and yet—" "Yes, dear, I know. But do you know what I'd do, if I were you ?" Rosemary flicked her a cautious glance. "What?" "I'd find some way of letting him know how you felt about him." "Denny, I couldn't!" "But why so proud? There are ways. At all events, I wouldn't be at such pains to hide my feelings."

"You wouldn't? If I so much as smile at him, or try to convey that I'm on his side, he runs a mile. Besides, there's Lydia. Had you forgotten?" "They're not married yet," Denny pointed out. "And there's many a slip—" Rosemary shook her head. "I know you mean well, Denny, and if I thought there was the slightest chance that he cared for me—or even liked me—I'd think about it. As it is—" She broke off. "I'll go and set the table." They were a little later with tea than usual and also lingered longer over talking. Matt was just saying no to yet another cake and cup of tea When the doorbell rang. "Now who in the world will that be, I wonder?" said Denny, pushing back her chair. Then suddenly Rosemary's hand flew to her mouth. Hugh! She had completely forgotten all about him.

CHAPTER NINE ROSEMARY made a swift recovery, hoping Matt had not seen her gesture of surprise and dismay. What would he think of her? "It will be for me," she explained. "Hugh?" asked her father. She nodded and looked at Matt. "Perhaps you'd like to have a word with him ? I feel sure he would with you," she said, over-brightly. But Matt shook his head swiftly. "I imagine it will keep until morning." He looked from Denny to John Fielding. "It's been so good of you to allow me to stay for so long, and to give me such an excellent tea, but I wonder if you'd mind if I left now? I—do have an appointment within the next hour." The door bell -fang for a second time, and Rosemary hurried to answer it. "I was beginning to wonder whether you were all out in the garden," Hugh said. "A little too damp, I'm afraid." She invited him into the sitting room and asked him to wait until she put on her coat, but when she slipped into the dining room again Matt had gone. When Hugh said he had rung Matt several times and had also called in vain at his cottage, Rosemary felt bound to tell him what had happened that afternoon.

"So you see, he hasn't been at home. I—think he might have waited to have a word with you when you called," she added, feeling she had to make an excuse for Matt. "But he had an appointment." "With the lofty Miss Brinley, I suppose," Hugh remarked as he drove away from the house. Rosemary was sure Hugh had not meant to hurt her, but hurt his observation did. She made no answer, but asked : "Have you spoken with Jerry—or taken a walk around the Beat?" He nodded. "I only came across one other tree that had recently been felled." "Matt said there were two others." "Well, no one could call that wholesale destruction. Bad enough, of course, and indicative of mischief, but not too serious if that's where it ends. I looked in on Jerry and Liz this afternoon. Jerry—wasn't in too good a mood, I must say." "What did he say?" Hugh hesitated. "I don't know whether I ought to repeat it, even to you," "As bad as that? But do you mean he was still sore with me or—or was it something worse?" "It was what you might call incriminating. And if I didn't know you so well, I certainly wouldn't repeat it. He said that if he knew what it was that would make Matt Windbourne pack up and take himself off back to Norfolk or Canada or somewhere then he would willingly do it."

Rosemary winced and her brow puckered into a frown. 'Oh, dear, that's terrible!" "It doesn't make him guilty, of course," Hugh cautioned. "I know, but it's awful to think he hates Matt so. And why should he?" Hugh gave a brief laugh. "Darling, don't be naive." "Because he wanted Matt's job, you mean? But surely he wouldn't go to those lengths ?" "What lengths, Rosemary? I didn't say he'd had anything to do with all the other things that have been going wrong, or with this latest bit." "No, but—" She sighed. "It sounds an awful thing to say, but I almost wish old Parkes was responsible." "Not quite so near home, you mean ?" She nodded. "You know what fanatics some of the Commoners are." Hugh agreed. "But let's forget about it for now, shall we? Meanwhile, I'll see if I can get to the bottom of it, as I promised. The only thing is, if old Jerry really is responsible I'll—have to think twice about giving him away. There are such things as loyalty to one's friends." Rosemary frowned. "But what about Matt? Is it right that an innocent person should have to go on suffering simply because another can't deal with his own pride and jealousy? I think there's a greater loyalty to the things that are right."

There was a moment's pause, then Hugh said quietly: "That sounds fine in theory, but have you ever been really tested, Rosemary? For instance, would you see your best-friend—or your husband—go to jail, or worse, be hanged?" Rosemary tried to be honest with herself, to think how she would act if someone she loved were involved. Her father, Denny—Matt. "But, Hugh, what about the other person? The one who's being wronged? There is such a thing as loyalty, yes. But there is also a thing called justice. I think there's usually a way. You could talk to Jerry, try to reason with him, even warn him that if he doesn't stop— " Hugh laughed. "Hey, steady on! You're talking as though Jerry's been proved guilty. He might be as innocent as the day he was born." "Yes, of course. I'm sorry. I got carried away in my 'supposing'." Hugh's expression became grave. "The trouble is, you could be right. Jerry is more envious, wanted the job of Head Forester, more than I realized. But let's talk about something else. The whole subject is nauseating." It was more than nauseating. It was extremely distasteful and most disturbing, and in spite of Hugh's attempt to talk of other things, she was unable to dismiss easily anything which concerned Matt. And tempting as it was to hope that Parkes was guilty of all the malicious acts rather than Jerry, because of her own friendship with Liz and himself, it would be very wrong to do so, she knew that perfectly well. But Hugh was so sweet, so loving and attentive that little by little the problems of the Pinewood Beat settled like autumn leaves after a gale, and thoughts of Matt were like a limb which, though still an

essential part of her, was, for the moment, passive. She remembered that Hugh loved her, and the thought made her feel humble and unworthy. How Hugh had grown in stature! She found herself worrying about him. He deserved to be happy. Perhaps if Matt did go back to Canada when he was married— Hugh's voice brought her out of her thoughts. "You're not talking much, Rosemary. What are you thinking about?" She smiled. "You, mostly." "Well, what do you know! Tell me more." "I was just wondering whether you had any special plans for the future." As she spoke she stole a glance at him and saw him wince then his face set in grim, tense lines. She suddenly realized it was not a question she should have asked him. But to apologize might only make matters worse. After a moment or two he answered in a low voice: "No, I'm just living from day to day. If things get out of hand, I'll do something, but—" and now his tone lightened—"you know the old saying, 'while there's life there's hope'." "Oh, Hugh—" "That's all right," he assured her lightly. "Don't distress yourself. Let's call in at the Fox. I hear they've got a new pianist there who plays Chopin and Rachmaninoff. We can talk or just listen as the mood takes us." The Chopin was beautiful but sad and certainly matched Rosemary's mood. If Hugh really and truly loved her as she loved Matt, then she knew only too well what he must be feeling. They sat and sipped

their favourite drink and listened for an hour or so, then Hugh drove Rosemary home. He helped her out, then grasped both her shoulders and smiled at her. "Cheer up—and don't worry about me. I'll get by." He bent his head and kissed her on the lips long and hard, then said goodnight swiftly and drove away. Rosemary sighed and went into the house. Both her own unhappiness and Hugh's lay heavily upon her. What exactly did the future hold for them? Would they eventually marry each other? But her heart cried out for Matt. Parkes was in hospital and dangerously ill for several weeks on account of his age as well as his way of life. Living alone, he had neglected to eat properly and placed more faith in whisky as a pickme-up rather than good food. Rosemary paid him several visits and for many days prostration was marked. She did not dream of asking him any questions about his movements on the day he had taken ill or at any other time. One morning after a visit, she met Lydia in town. "I've just been to see your man Parkes," Rosemary told her. Lydia gave her a disdainful glance. "Oh, really? I was in myself a few days ago. I can't be traipsing back and forth every day. Anyway, he'll definitely be retiring now. I don't know why we kept him on for so long." . .. . "You don't seem very concerned about him," Rosemary said frankly. The blue eyes widened. "What else do you want me to do, for heaven's sake? He's tough. He'll get better, and when he comes out, Father will arrange something for him. Anyway, it won't be my concern. I shan't be here."

Rosemary's stomach muscles tightened. "You're— going away?" Canada was a word which stuck in her throat. Lydia gave her an amused smile. "Hadn't you heard? I'm getting married. Didn't Matt tell you? But I doubt if we shall settle anywhere else but in the New Forest. Somebody has to guard the heritage. I'm sure you know what I mean—though I know you couldn't care less." "I know what you mean all right, but it's a lot of ridiculous nonsense." Lydia gave her a superior smile and went on her way. Rosemary walked slowly back to Where she had parked her car, trying to ignore the pain caused by what the other girl had said, but it was difficult. So she and Matt were going to Canada—for a honeymoon? Matt had said he wouldn't come back, but Rosemary had no doubt that Lydia would be able to persuade him differently. Lydia was a very determined as well as a very beautiful woman. What man could resist, the combination, especially if he were in love with her? During the next few weeks Rosemary was more than ever glad of a job Which kept her busy. The Forest was now clothed in all its autumn glory, the gorgeous browns, reds, rusts and yellows mingling together in breathtaking harmony. The beeches were clad in burnished copper, the birches in soft lemon-yellow, the oaks in russet, and the rich crimson of the bracken, with here and there a touch of purple heather alongside the burnt amber of dead ling made a glorious carpet, fit indeed for a king. It touched the heart as only natural beauty can. Every time Rosemary paused to look or took a walk she wanted to laugh and to cry at the same time. At such times she even felt a sympathy for people like Lydia and her family who so fanatically wanted to "guard their heritage." Rosemary wanted to guard that, too. So did anyone who had been born in the Forest. But the Forestry Commission was also guarding it. True, they had

planted conifers for commercial purposes, but they had also planted many rare and beautiful trees. Even the hated Cumberbatch, Deputy Surveyor in the latter half of the nineteenth century, had established the collections of specimen trees along the Ornamental Drive, and many were still standing—fine mature trees of some one hundred and thirty feet—in Bolderwood Grounds. Rosemary thought of Parkes. He had had a very rough time. At one period it looked as though he might never recover from his pneumonia. He was still in hospital, and there was no doubt about it, all had been quiet and normal on the Pinewood Beat during his illness. "Almost looks as if the old man was responsible," Hugh remarked one evening as they sat listening to some music in his cottage. Rosemary agreed reluctantly. Somehow, she felt sorry for the old man. She had a sneaking suspicion that, if he was indeed responsible for the acts which created so much trouble for Matt, he had been aided and abetted by someone else. But by whom? Not by Lydia, as she was to marry Matt. By someone else who had a grudge against him or the Forestry Commission? "I wouldn't like to take that as concrete evidence, all the same," she said, in answer to Hugh. Then, as she had not seen Matt to speak' to recently, she asked: "What does Matt think ?" "I don't know. He doesn't talk about it. It's hard to know what he's thinking about anything. He just comes and goes with hardly a word to anyone. He's either the most unfriendly cuss I've ever come across or he's got something on his mind. To be honest, I can't quite make him out. I did hear a rumour that he was going back to Canada. I don't know how much truth there is in it."

Suddenly the concerto coming from Hugh's record player jarred. She murmured that you could never rely on rumours, then leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She didn't want to talk about Matt and Lydia. As to Matt having something on his mind, if he suspected that one of the Brinleys' employees had something to do with the troubles on the Beat, he would naturally find it disturbing and be reluctant either to try to prove anything or to take action. Hugh echoed her own thoughts when he said : "I don't think Windbourne would run away from a difficult situation. He's anything but the cowardly type. All the same, nobody could blame him if he did go back to Canada. It's all very well staying in a situation and fighting things out. But what you've got to ask yourself is; is it worth it? There must come a time when it's right to pull out." "But what if a person's good name is at issue? It would be terrible to go away from a place leaving behind doubts about one's character." Hugh gave a brief laugh and switched off the record player. "If it's Windbourne's character you're thinking of, I don't think you need worry, nor him either. Any reflections on his efficiency or skill as a Forester as a result of some of the earlier happenings on the Beat have long since been righted by the man himself. Believe me, it would have to be something really big now to seriously blacken his good name." This was good to hear, and yet somehow it was disturbing. Were Matt's troubles not over yet? She was quite glad that when Parkes was finally discharged from hospital he was sent by Lydia's father to a rest home on the Isle of Wight. It was, in fact, to be a permanent home for the old Forester.

"He'll be well taken care of there, at any rate," Denny said. "So the Brinleys have done quite well by him. It's set in its own little bit of woodland, too, so the old man should be quite happy." John Fielding stared reflectively into the fire. "As a matter of fact, I find it rather odd. Brinley isn't usually so generous with his old employees." "What are you getting at, Father?" Rosemary asked him, frowning slightly. "I don't know—unless perhaps it was to put him where he can't be so easily got at regarding that tree- felling business." "Could be," agreed Rosemary absently. Perhaps things would go smoothly for Matt now. Perhaps he wouldn't go to Canada except for a short visit. Yet if he did settle here in the New Forest as Lydia's husband, could she bear to go on living in the district herself? Hugh still wanted to marry her, she knew that. Promotion was almost bound to come his way some time, and if she was never to marry Matt— As if a sort of telepathy existed between them, her father said: "I was talking to the D:0. the other day. He hinted that there might be some changes in the Forestry pretty soon—before the winter sets in, anyhow." "Oh ? What—sort of changes ?" "Among the Foresters, I suppose. You know how they're moved around from time to time." Rosemary did. Was that the D.O.'s way of dealing with the situation on the Pinewood Beat? she wondered. To split up the three Foresters? Or was it settled that Matt was leaving, in spite of what

he himself had said to the contrary? Perhaps Lydia had persuaded him to return to her father's estate after Canada. She sighed. If only she could stop supposing! If only she could put Matt out of her mind! The answer was, of course, she did not want to put him out of her mind. She loved him too much. She knew that only his marriage to Lydia, only not seeing him or being connected with his work, only complete separation over a long period and her own probable marriage would make her, eventually, stop thinking about him. October was dry and crisp. Towards the end of the month beating up in the young plantations was started, and the lifting and planting of the nursery stock. Now and then men—and sometimes girls—could be seen collecting the seed of oak, beech, Douglas fir. Subconsciously, Rosemary kept a look-out for Matt, longing for a sight of him, but catching no more than fleeting glimpses as he disappeared in the trees or passed in his car. One Saturday morning Rosemary met Liz shopping in Lyndhurst. At first, Rosemary thought the other woman had not seen her. Later, she suspected she had been trying to avoid her. "Hello, Liz. Come and have a cup of coffee," Rosemary suggested. Liz shook her head. "I—really can't, Rosemary." "Why not?" Rosemary asked quietly. Liz looked discomfited. "Well, I—" Rosemary took her arm. "Don't be silly. Come on, I'm sure you can spare five minutes." "Oh, all right."

They went into their usual little cafe and found a table for two. "Haven't seen you for ages," Rosemary began. "How's everyone— Jerry and the children?" Liz's shoulders lifted. "All right, thanks." Rosemary stirred her coffee without speaking. She had a feeling that their friendship had suffered irreparable damage, and in a way she felt sorry for Liz. She was normally a bright, friendly soul. She wondered if Liz knew anything about the changes about which the D.O. had hinted to her father, but could hardly broach the subject herself. The D.O. had spoken to her father in confidence. She tried to open several subjects of conversation, but Liz answered only in monosyllables or short phrases. But when Rosemary asked, in a sort of desperation : "Did you know Parkes had been sent to a rest home in the Isle of Wight?" Liz's eyes opened wide and her face flushed darkly. "What's that got to do with me, for goodness' sake?" Immediately, Rosemary realized she had said the wrong thing. "Why, nothing, really, I suppose. I was only trying to make conversation, Liz. I don't know what's come over you." "You don't? You surprise me." Rosemary frowned. Liz's meaning was quite unmistakable. "Look, Liz, if you're thinking about the last time I called at your place— well, I think you're taking this whole thing much too personally." Now Liz's lips quivered. "You wouldn't say that if you had to live with Jerry. I tell you I'd be glad to get away from here."

Rosemary seized on the other's last sentence. "Is there any likelihood ?" But Liz stared at her. "What do you mean?" "Well, you know how the Foresters get moved around occasionally." "I haven't heard anything. We've only been here about three years, and anyway, Jerry doesn't want to move." Then, like a person suddenly aware that she had said something she shouldn't have, a look of alarm leapt into her eyes and Liz put down her half-finished coffee with a clatter. "I really must go, Rosemary. 'Bye!" She gathered up her things and fled without even paying for her coffee. Rosemary stared after her and sighed. Liz must certainly be going through a difficult time, especially if Jerry was still feeling angry and resentful—even though she was sure no one had actually accused him, Matt least of all. Why had Liz dashed off like that? What was she afraid of? Of having given a wrong impression or of having given something away? Rosemary rose to her feet, shrinking from hazarding even a guess. It was strange that after seeing neither Liz nor Matt to speak to for some weeks, she also saw Matt that afternoon. She was passing his cottage and he was working in his garden. He looked up and saw her, so she stopped. He was wearing a battered old felt hat pushed back, a dark open-necked shirt, the sleeves rolled up high on his brown arms and an old pair of uniform breeches. Oh, darling Matt! Her mind formed the words involuntarily. "Hello," he said on a note of faint surprise.

She got out of the car and went and stood beside the gate. Michaelmas daisies, chrysanthemums and dahlias were still giving a wonderful display. She commented on them. "A shame to think that any day now they might be struck down by frost, especially the dahlias." "Yes." He looked up at the cloudless sky, and Rosemary thought she detected lines of strain about his mouth. "No rain for weeks," he murmured. "But lots of clouds until today. Wouldn't be surprised if there's a frost tonight." Rosemary eyed him with fond amusement. Why such concern about the weather? "Well, Cheer up," she told him. "Your Michaelmas daisies and chrysanthemums look hardy enough." He looked at her with a faintly puzzled expression as if he couldn't understand what she was talking about. Then his face cleared. "Oh, the flowers—" She laughed. "Got things on your mind, Matt?" It was a stupid thing to say, really. He must have a great many things on his mind, even though nothing untoward had happened on the Beat since the morning of the mysterious tree felling. He made a stab in the earth with his garden fork. "You bet I have," he said emphatically. "To do with the Beat?" "Among other things."

She wondered what other things. To do with Lydia? But he did not enlighten her. "I'm going to make some tea," he said. "Will you join me?" "Glad to—thanks." Feeling thrills of pleasure running around inside her, she passed through the gate he opened for her. It was sheer folly, she knew. Within minutes, something he might say would hurt her as so often happened, but for the moment she could think of nothing else but the fact that she was here with him. "Go along in and make yourself at home," he told her, pausing at the door. "I'll be with you in a moment." "Shall I put the kettle on?" "If you like." She did like. She liked very much pottering around his kitchen. She put a kettle full of water on to boil and set a tray with cups and saucers and milk and sugar. She saw Matt pass the window once, and it seemed so natural for him to be working outside while she was busy in the kitchen, it did not require a great deal of imagination to see herself as his wife. He was still outside when she made the tea and took it into the living room. She wondered what was keeping him and was about to go outside to tell him that the tea was made when he came in, his arms full of magnificent dahlias of every kind and colour. " "Matt, you've cut them! They're gorgeous." "They're for you," he said.

"For me? But—" He laid them down on the table, their stems bound with raffia. She picked them up and buried her face in them for a moment. "Oh, Matt, they're beautiful. Thank you very much indeed." "I thought you might as well have them," he said gruffly. "If there's a frost they might all be gone tomorrow." His reason for giving them to her did not rob her in the slightest of her pleasure in receiving them. She set them down again almost reverently and poured out the tea. "This is very nice of you," he said when she handed it to him. "I invite you to have tea, then leave you to make it yourself." "It was a pleasure," she assured him. He gave her a long look. "You're an awfully nice person, Rosemary," he said unexpectedly. "Whoever marries you will be a very lucky man." She felt herself colouring, and again was conscious of that familiar hurt feeling. There was a silence, then because she could not keep it back any longer, she asked : "Matt, is it true you might be going to Canada after all? For good, I mean?" "Who told you I might be?" "Why, Lydia." "Lydia?" he echoed thoughtfully. Then he gave a brief sigh. "Well, I might at that. In Canada a man can tend his trees in peace with at least some idea as to who are his friends and who his enemies—if he has any. And if I left here it would give either Jerry or Hugh a chance to step into my shoes. Personally, of course, I'd recommend Hugh."

Rosemary smiled absently. "Yes, Hugh's a good man, worthy of promotion," she murmured, but it saddened her to think Matt had been made to feel uncomfortable since taking up his position of Head Forester. "Canada is an awful long way away, Matt," she found herself saying, wishing she could say to him all that was in her heart to say. Matt paused in the act of lighting his pipe and stared at her. "Yes, I know," he said, in a low voice. The depth of silence Which followed was more than Rosemary could bear. Her hand trembled, causing the cup and saucer she held to rattle noisily. Afraid she had unwittingly given herself away, she set it down and rose to her feet swiftly. "Thanks for the tea. I must go," she said jerkily. Matt stood up slowly, shaking out the lighted match still held between his finger and thumb, then dropping both match and unlighted pipe into a bowl on the table. He put his hand on her arm and she stiffened. "I must go, Matt, please," she said in desperation. His arm dropped to his side again. "All right, then, Rosemary," he said stiffly. "Don't let me keep you— and don't forget your flowers." He picked them up and thrust them into her arms. She went out quickly. Another second and she might have lost control of her emotions. She made a mental decision never to risk being alone with him again. He opened the garden gate and held it for 'her and she went swiftly round to the other side of her car. Matt stood tall and erect and watched her until she was out of sight.

Fortunately the drive home was only a short one, and Denny and her father had gone into Brockenhurst so that she had the house to herself for a little while. Her hand was still shaking when she put her key in the lock and let herself in. She went into the kitchen and put the dahlias on the table, then sank into Denny's comfortable chair and leaned back, closing her eyes for a minute or two. The old armchair seemed to have retained Denny's qualities of kindness and understanding, and received her like a mother comforting a child. Slowly, she felt her emotions draining out of her, down, down, out of her very fingertips. With a quivering sigh she opened her eyes, and before her mind could start churning over again, she went to the cupboard in search of flower vases. She tried to ignore the knot of pain deep inside her and the feeling of unshed tears at the back of her eyes. Matt was not for her, and she must get used to the idea, she told herself. He was going away, he was marrying someone else, and she would probably never see him again. She arranged one vase for the dining room and another—all her special favourites—for her own room. If only, she thought, as she placed them on her dressing table, if only they would last for ever. They were beautiful. Scarlet and white, clear yellow, glowing orange, flame, all the rich colours of autumn. From this day forward dahlias would never cease to remind her of Matt. She was glad when Hugh rang her and invited her to go to the cinema that evening. She did not want to think and she did not want to talk too much. Above all, she did not think she could have borne Denny's and her father's kind but searching glances throughout the evening. But in spite of the evening spent with Hugh and her own efforts not to dwell on things, she spent a restless night, and by the time the first light of dawn showed through her bedroom window, every

bone in her body ached from tossing. She rose and took out her pony for a ride/Underfoot, the bracken and other undergrowth was crisp. It was fortunate that the tourist and picnic season was virtually finished. A match or cigarette end dropped carelessly at the moment could be disastrous. She hoped, yet dreaded, to see Matt. When she did, her heart leapt painfully, and she turned her mount about. She simply could not bear to encounter him again. A fine, bright day, even warm for the time of the year, brought a steady flow of traffic through the New Forest that day. "May be the last we'll have like this, this year," Denny said. "Can't blame people for making the most of it." "Dangerous time of year, all the same," murmured John Fielding. "Everything's as dry as tinder." "Let's not meet trouble half-way," Denny answered cheerfully. "It gets dark by about six, anyhow. I shouldn't think anyone will be lighting picnic fires." They were settling down to watch the Sunday film on television when the air was suddenly filled with the ominous sound of the fire siren, and almost simultaneously the telephone rang. All three jumped .to their feet, startled. It was Rosemary who made a dash for the telephone. The local police sergeant answered, and Rosemary felt her stomach muscles become tense when she heard the dread news that the fire was in one of the Inclosures of the Pinewood Beat. It was dark outside and a moderate breeze had sprung up since morning. Rosemary paused long enough to pass on the news to Denny and her father, then rushed out of the house without stopping

to put on a coat. Already there was a horrifying red glow in the sky. As she started her car her pulse was beating loudly in her ears. Matt—Matt—! His name was echoing and re-echoing in her mind. It had been dark for well over an hour. The man in the look-out tower would not have been able to see the grey smoke curling up slowly among the trees. Only when the thing burst into flames would he have, been able to see. She prayed it would be got under control swiftly. But darkness, the dryness of the undergrowth and the breeze were all against them. It took Rosemary only a few minutes to reach the scene of the fire, but already great tongues of flame were licking up the tinder-dry undergrowth, the breeze sending it roaring and crackling through the bracken and hollies. This was no false alarm, this was the real, devastating thing, the most terrifying power that could be unleashed in the forest. Without a word to anyone Rosemary took a broom from the Land Rover and went to join the line of fire- beaters. She could hear Matt's voice directing the work, and in her anxiety for him she bit her lips and beat with renewed vigour. The smoke, the heat and the noise were a nightmare. There was no need for illumination. Soon Rosemary did not know Whether tears or sweat were brimming her eyes and running down her cheeks. She was aware that the fire brigade were also assisting and that, ahead, men were digging a trench, but because of the wind this had to be abandoned. The wind advancing the fire made it too hot. Rosemary lost count of time, her arms ached almost intolerably and her throat felt swollen and painful. She was just feeling that she couldn't go on any longer when someone took her broom from her. She turned to see Hugh, his face black except where the sweat had run down.

"There's some tea going," he shouted. "Go and get some. I think Matt's going to start a counter-fire." She staggered to where a group of people were drinking tea, and saw that it was Denny who had brought along a paraffin stove, a tin kettle and a large brown teapot. She must also have packed a large washing up bowl full of cups and beakers and a two-gallon water container. A beaker full of hot sweet tea was thrust into her hands. She did not normally take sugar in her tea, but the drink was very, very welcome. As soon as she had finished her tea Rosemary went back into the line of fire-beaters. If only, she prayed, the wind would drop. Who, or what, had caused the fire was something upon which they would all speculate later. But the wind did not drop and in spite of all their efforts they were not succeeding in getting the fire under control, and eventually,' Matt started a counter- fire. The object of this was to create a burntout strip in advance of the main blaze, so as to form a gap too wide for the flames to jump. This, naturally, was a very tricky business, only done by the Forester in charge and when there was an ample supply of men to help control it. By now, the whole County seemed to be on the scene and the heat was so intense, people began to be overcome by it, and some to be suffering from burns. Rosemary relinquished her broom to a Forester from one of the other Beats and began rendering first aid. Once she blacked out herself, and when she came to her senses again she was curled up on the back seat of her car. She sat up, still dazed, then thoughts of Matt brought her fully awake. But now a faint streak of daylight mingled with the smoke and flames. She staggered out, annoyed with herself for not staying the pace better. But all around her were men who had dropped and were sleeping from sheer exhaustion. A girl was curled up on the front seat of the

Land Rover, two more were in the back. But a number of people— mostly men—were still fighting the fire, though this did not seem to be quite so fierce. The D.O. was walking slowly along the line of the outbreak of the fire, searching the ground. He, too, had been helping to beat out the flames. Rosemary had caught a glimpse of him last night. Now he was probably looking for some .evidence as to what started the fire, but of course a match stem or cigarette end would have left no possible trace. Rosemary went up to him. "Looks as though the fire is just about under control." He nodded. "The wind has dropped, which helps." He went on searching, a little futilely, Rosemary thought, unless someone had lit a picnic Stove which had overturned or something like that. She scanned the scorched and blackened terrain for Matt and caught a glimpse of him beating out the remaining few yards of the blaze. Then she became aware that the D.O. had bent to pick something up. He gave an exclamation of surprise. "What is it?" she asked. "Have you found something?" "Indeed I have," he said slowly, his face grave in the extreme. "It must have been kicked out of the way or something." He opened his palm and held it out for her to see. She gazed at the object and felt as though every last bit of breath had been knocked out of her body. It was a pipe—and exactly the make and type used by Matt!

CHAPTER TEN ROSEMARY stared at the pipe as if hypnotized. For a minute she could not think clearly. She had a mental vision of Matt, his pipe held between his thumb and finger, of him standing leaning against a tree, a curl of smoke rising lazily into the air. She felt sick and cold. But then another vision rose before her—that of Matt carefully replacing his pipe in its case. "Recognise it?" came the D.O.'s voice. She looked at him swiftly, and his expression said clearly : You do, don't you? She knew a rising anger. "Matt wouldn't do a thing like that. I know him. He carried a case around and never failed to put his pipe into it most carefully. This is just another trick of somebody's to try to disgrace him. Somebody must have deliberately started the fire and—" As she was speaking, the D.O.'s eyes slowly widened. "Who, do you think?" he queried in a disbelieving voice. Rosemary put her hand to her head. It had been a trying night and she still could not think clearly. Old Mr Parkes was far away in the Isle of Wight. He couldn't be responsible. But surely Jerry would never go to these lengths. He was a Forester.' It would be against his very nature deliberately to start a forest fire. The D.O. was still eyeing her questioningly. "I—I don't know," she said helplessly. "No?" He put the pipe in his jacket pocket. "But, like myself, you have a shrewd idea."

And as if he had all the evidence he needed, the D.O. moved away. Rosemary gazed after him. What did he mean? Did he believe Matt had carelessly dropped his pipe, and had jumped to the conclusion that that was what she thought, also, but was trying to shield him? She wanted to run after the D.O. and make him listen to her, but now he was talking to Hugh. Feeling wretched and extremely worried, Rosemary started to walk towards Matt. He saw her and dropped his spade, striding in her direction. His face was grimy with smoke and sweat, his eyes redrimmed and heavy from lack of sleep, and deep lines of strain creased his brow and jaw. "You still here, Rosemary?" he asked in a hoarse voice. "I thought you'd gone home ages ago." She looked at him, making no attempt now to hide the love and the tenderness her heart held for him. "Oh, Matt, let me run you home. You look absolutely worn out. Didn't you get any rest at all?" He eyed her uncomprehendingly for a second, then shook his head quickly as if to clear his senses. Then he closed his eyes momentarily and pressed the back of his hand on his forehead. "Matt, you'll be ill. Please let me run you home. Hugh or one of the men can look after things now," she urged. "No," he answered harshly. "I'll be all right. Go home yourself. There's—nothing more you can do here. But thanks for all your help." He turned and walked away from her, and feeling more hurt and unhappy than she had ever done in her life before, she crunched her way across the charred and blackened ground to her car. If only he

knew how much she loved him, how much she wanted to help him, to minister to his needs. But he didn't know and he did not mean to hurt her. Miraculously, Denny was up when Rosemary arrived home, looking a little tired, but certainly not as though she had been up half the night. "Now you go straight on up to bed," she told Rosemary. "And stay there until you wake up." "But there's morning surgery," she protested. "Your father will take that. He told me to wake him at eight-thirty, so he's still got an hour's sleep, and he can take another nap this afternoon." "But what about you?" "Your father and I came home a couple of hours ago, as soon as the fire looked as though it was under control. You went out like a light, and Matt lifted you up as though you were a baby and made you comfortable in the back of your car." Rosemary's heart gave a surprised start. "Matt did?" Incredible that she could have remained asleep, that she had not wakened instantly at his touch. Denny nodded. "The Land Rover was full, otherwise he would have put you in there," she added, as if it mattered. "Now off you go, and I'll bring you a hot drink. You won't be needing any sleeping tablets." Rosemary moved towards the door obediently, for a moment in a golden haze of sheer joy that she had been held in Matt's arms. But

suddenly she was halted as a very different feeling touched her heart. "Denny, there's something I must tell you—" "Can't it wait, child?" "No, it can't. And I'd like you to tell Father when he gets up." She did not know why she said this, but it seemed important to her. "It's about Matt and the fire." She told Denny about the D.O. finding Matt's pipe and how bad it looked for him. Denny frowned. "But surely the D.O. doesn't think— and how can anyone be sure it was Matt's pipe?" Then she said briskly, "Well, never mind now. And you must try not to worry. If you're not sleeping within the half hour I shall bring you up some sleeping tablets." Rosemary mounted the stairs slowly, feeling sick with worry and weariness. She had a hot -bath and slipped into bed and Denny brought her a cup of chocolate and a sandwich. "You can't sleep on an empty stomach," she told her. Rosemary smiled up at her. "Who's the doctor around here, anyway?" "I am—to you and your father. Drink up and eat. I'll be back in a few minutes." Rosemary thought of Matt. Somebody ought to be doing this for him. She wished with all her heart that he had allowed her to run him back to his cottage.

"Denny, I'm so worried about him," she said when Denny returned. "He was still there and wouldn't leave. I'm sure he didn't let up the whole night long." Denny took the empty beaker from her and set it down, then smoothed the sheets and tucked her in like a mother. "I'll get your father to run me out there when he gets up," she promised. "He'll make Matt see reason, I'm sure. And I'll see that he gets to bed with a drink and a bite to eat inside him. So off you go to sleep now and don't worry about a thing." The hot bath, the warm drink and Denny's reassuring words had their effect. It was almost noon when she woke up—to find it was pouring with rain. "Just why on earth couldn't it have rained yesterday?" she said when she had dressed and gone downstairs. Her father had just returned from his morning rounds. "Why indeed? But never mind, now that the rain has come, at least we'll all be able to sleep tonight." "Father, did you see Matt?" she asked anxiously. "I did—and between us, Denny and I saw him tucked up in bed. I've also had a few words with the D.O. Unofficial, of course." "What—did he say?" "Come into the sitting room and we'll have a glass of sherry. He's been up for best part of the night, too, of course, so it will be a day or two before everybody settles down again." He poured out three glasses of sherry, and Denny came in to join them.

"Does the D.O. have any theories about how the fire started?" she asked. "Possibly by accident," he answered. Rosemary's heart lifted. "Then he doesn't think Matt—" John Fielding looked at her in surprise. "You surely don't think for a moment that Matt himself was suspect? Good heavens, the D.O. knows better than that." "But I thought—and there was Matt's pipe—" "You must have misunderstood the D.O. That pipe was either dropped—or put there—after the fire started. Otherwise it would have been burnt to a cinder." Relief washed over Rosemary like a warm sea. "Oh, yes, of course. I—I was so afraid. I've been on edge for the past weeks, half expecting something to happen." "Yes, well—" mused her father, "I wouldn't take anything for granted yet. The D.O. has his own ideas, and when everybody has had some sleep, there'll be some further investigating. It's certainly odd about that pipe. I ran Matt home and while he was sitting beside me in the car he took out his pipe from its case and had a smoke. I didn't say anything to him, naturally. He was far too tired to be bothered with anything else." Rosemary gave him a grateful smile. "There's one thing for sure. Old Parkes is let off, seeing that he's in the Isle of Wight. Maybe he's been innocent all along." "I wouldn't be too sure of that, if I were you,"

returned her father. "Still, we'll have to wait and see. I have a feeling that the D.O. is determined to get to the bottom of things during the next day or so." Rosemary took evening surgery and made one or two calls. When she returned Hugh was waiting for her in the sitting room. "Hope you don't mind," he said. "I felt I just had to see you." "Of course I don't mind. But nothing's wrong, I hope?" He shrugged. "Well, yes and no. Nothing's official yet, but the D.O. paid me a visit about an hour ago and he hinted that I might be getting promotion to Head Forester." Rosemary's head came up sharply. "You mean— on the Pinewood Beat?" Hugh nodded. "It's not official, as I said. But it's on the cards that Matt might be leaving. But of course you knew that, didn't you? I should think this last little lot has finally made up his mind for him." "But that could have been an accident, probably was." Hugh's shoulder lifted. "All the same, reading between the lines, as it were, there seems to have been some skulduggery or other. It— seems certain that Jerry will be moving on, too." "Any—particular reason?" "Your guess is as good as mine. Jerry's not talking and Liz had been crying." Rosemary frowned. "Poor Liz! I do feel sorry for her."

"I expect you do. But I haven't come to talk about them. I can't make up my mind whether to accept the D.O.'s recommendation for promotion or not, at least, so far as the Pinewood Beat is concerned. I came to ask you whether, if I did accept, you'd—marry me." Rosemary drew in a deep breath. "Oh, Hugh, I— don't think so. I'm fond of you, you know that, but I—I hardly think it would be fair on you. You see, I'm—" She broke off. It was a difficult thing to say, that she was in love with Matt. But Hugh said it for her. "You're already in love— with Matt Windbourne? I suspected it all along. All the same, as things are—" She shook her head. "Hugh, I couldn't. I couldn't say I'll marry you, feeling as I do about Matt at the moment, even though nothing will ever come of it. If— he does go back to Canada and I never see him again, I daresay I shall forget in time. Few people nurse a broken heart for ever. But I can't expect you to wait indefinitely, and I'm sure you won't want to, anyway. You'll meet someone else before long. But whether to go or stay is your decision entirely, Hugh." "But suppose Matt came back to the area one day? Lydia is sole heir to the Brinley estate. She's not likely to let it pass into someone else's hands. It's been in the family for generations." "I'll cross that bridge when I come to it, Hugh. If I had to I'd go somewhere else to live." "In that case there might still be a chance for you and me," he said hopefully. She put out a hand to him. "Hugh, that's sweet of you, but I'd much rather you tried to put me right out of your mind."

He laughed shortly. "It will be a very long time before I do that, I assure you." He rose and placed his hand on her shoulder. "I'll be getting along. 'Bye for now." He let himself out and Rosemary watched him drive away with a feeling of sadness and regret. If Matt had not come into her life she would probably have learned to love Hugh deeply. But what now? Hugh would go away and eventually, she felt sure, would meet and fall in love with someone else. And she herself? How long did it take for a longing to cease, how long the future stretch out like a barren waste, how long this feeling of pain and heartache ? The next morning, through the half open door connecting her consulting room and the patients' waiting room, Rosemary caught a snatch of conversation between two people. The gist of it was that Lydia Brinley's forthcoming marriage was announced in the morning's paper. Then one of the women began to read the announcement out loud and Rosemary got up and closed the door quickly. She had no wish to hear what she already knew. She finished filling in the form she was engaged upon, then rang the bell for the next patient. Later that day both her father and Denny tried to draw her attention to the paragraph, but she didn't want to look at it. She saw the glance which passed between the two and tried to ignore that also. But she could not ignore the awful feeling of panic now that Matt's engagement was actually in black and white, and she was finding it increasingly difficult to control her feelings. She tried to diagnose herself. The last few weeks had been a strain, long before that she had been overworking. She needed a rest, to get away for a little while to recover herself and to brace herself for What she would have to face in the future. She broached the subject to her father at tea that afternoon.

"Could you manage for a week, do you think, Father? I—I feel I must take a break." Another swift exchange of glances between Denny and her father. "Yes, of course," John Fielding said quickly. "We'll talk about it tomorrow, shall we?" Throughout the remainder of the afternoon until evening Rosemary was vaguely aware that something was "going on"—as she had been during the morning. Mysterious telephone calls, conversations ending abruptly when she entered a room, and finally, her father asking her if she would also take evening surgery as well as the morning. She hazarded a guess that he was trying to keep her busy, realizing how she must be feeling about Matt. Surgery was over and Denny was cooking the evening meal when the front door bell rang. "See who it is, dear, will you?" asked her father. "I'll pour out a drink for us all." Rosemary went obediently, and to her astonishment it was Matt who stood there. She stared at him for a moment, quite unable to form one clear thought. He gave a semi-humorous smile. "Actually, I've been invited to dinner." "To—to dinner? Oh." Recovery seemed slow in coming. "I—I'm terribly sorry. Father must have forgotten to tell me. Do come in." What were Denny and her father trying to do? she wondered, as she, closed the door and led Matt into the sitting room.

Her father turned to greet him. "Hope Rosemary didn't look too taken aback at you. We didn't tell her you were coming. Wanted to surprise her." "Well, you certainly succeeded, Father," she answered him. Matt smiled and took the seat John offered. Rosemary thought she had never seen him looking so relaxed. But of course, if he was soon to be married— "I asked Matt round," her father explained, "because he has one or two things to tell us which will be of particular interest to you, Rosemary. Some of the things are pleasant, some not so pleasant, but at any rate, I think we can safely say that there'll be a great deal more peace on the Pinewood Beat in the future." Rosemary looked swiftly from her father to Matt. "What—has happened?" she asked. Matt rolled his glass thoughtfully in his hands. "It's taken quite a bit of unravelling, really, and the D.O. has had quite a busy time. To begin with, the person mainly responsible for the jiggery-pokery on the Beat has been the Brinleys'' Forester, Parkes." "Parkes?" echoed Rosemary. "But what about the fire and—" She broke off. Had Parkes then been jealous of Matt, afraid of having his position as Estate Forester usurped ? "He was, I'm afraid," Matt continued quietly, "aided and abetted by Lydia and her father, and his actions condoned by Jerry Marshall." "But—but I don't understand. In any case, Parkes was far away on the night of the fire, so he couldn't have—I mean, what about the pipe that the D.O. found?"

"Take your time, Rosemary," her father intervened. "It will all be explained before the evening is out." Matt looked at her and smiled, and Rosemary felt her bones turning to water. "Some things are quite easily explained," he said. "Jerry had wanted the job of Head Forester, and quite early on he had found out what Parkes was doing. It suited him to keep quiet about the old Forester's activities because it would look bad for me and possibly end in my leaving and Jerry being appointed in my place. He could discount Hugh because he knew Hugh was unsettled, anyhow." "One of the surest ways for a man to convince authority that he's good and worthy of promotion is to discredit the one standing between him and the coveted senior position," said John Fielding. "And what about the pipe, Matt? Was it yours?" asked Rosemary. " 'Fraid so. But I didn't drop it—even after the fire. It was taken from my cottage. I'd dashed out, leaving the door wide open. After some probing from the D.O. Jerry admitted he'd gone in on impulse and taken it." "And he dropped it just there where it stood a good chance of being found—as it was—you being blamed for starting the fire by carelessly dropping it while still lighted?" Matt nodded. "That was the idea, I believe." Rosemary gave a distressed frown. "Oh, how awful! I wouldn't have believed it of Jerry. But how did the fire start?" "By accident, the D.O. thinks. Jerry just seized upon an opportunity."

Rosemary sighed. It was wonderful to have things cleared up at last, but there were still some aspects she did not really comprehend. Hugh had said Parkes had been aided and abetted by Lydia and her father. Aided and abetted against Matt? But how could that be when— "Matt, there are still one or two things I don't understand—" she began. But her father put in : "No more talk now until after dinner. Then we'll leave you and Matt to talk because Denny and I have things to discuss, too." But Rosemary was not looking forward to being alone with Matt. She supposed Lydia must be sorry for what she had done now that she and Matt were to be married. "Why did—Lydia and her father encourage Parkes in creating mischief?" she asked during the meal. "The old story," put in her father. "This silly, outmoded idea that the Grown is the natural enemy of the Commoner of the New Forest." "But it still doesn't make sense." "Matt will explain later," her father said again. Matt looked at her across the table, and once more gave her that warm smile which coiled itself round her heart. "Some people just delight in causing mischief," he said. "They're like human poltergeists. They like to divide people, to set them one against the other, rather than unite them."

Rosemary said no more, though -she still did not understand how Matt could say things like that about the woman he was going to marry, or be so little affected by what she had done. When they were alone after dinner, she said to him: "Matt, I'm so pleased that everything has been cleared up—and I do hope you'll be happy." He gave her a long look, and she loved him so much that it hurt. "Happy?" he echoed. "Whether or not I'll be happy depends entirely on you." Her eyes widened. "On me?" He nodded. "Rosemary, do you mind if I ask you a very personal question ?" "No. Go ahead." "Are you," he said slowly, "either in love with or going to marry Hugh Thornley?" "No, I'm not," she answered. She was sitting on the settee. He came and sat down beside her and her pulse began to beat louder. "If only I'd known before," he said softly, his gaze flicking over her features. "But I saw you so many times together, and—" She remembered the announcement in the morning's paper and shrank away from him. "I—I don't know what you're trying to say, Matt, but—"

"I'm trying to say that I'm in love with you," he said, in a low voice. She drew a swift breath. "Matt, how can you be when—when you're engaged to someone else?" "I'm not engaged to anyone," he told her firmly. "But you are—to Lydia. She said so, and it's in the paper—today's." "Did you read it?" "Not exactly." He reached out and took the morning's paper from a low table. It was already open at the appropriate page. "There you are. Read it." Reluctantly, she did so, then suddenly her face broke into an incredulous, joyful smile. "But it isn't you! I thought it was. I mean—" "He's a Canadian friend of mine. Or at least, he's an acquaintance. On the whole, I think they deserve each other. Actually, she has more than met her match, though she might not fully realize it." "Oh, Matt—" She leaned against him and touched his cheek. "Matt, I love you." The joy which spread over his face seemed to her unbelievable. He cupped her face in his hands and gave her a long look of exquisite tenderness. "Darling—" his voice caressed her and sent a million thrills coursing through her body. "Oh, darling, this is truly incredible."

Then his first kisses were on her lips, hard, firm and cool in the beginning, then possessive and entirely wonderful. "Let's get married .at Christmas," she murmured between his kisses. "Let's get married when the forest is clad in all her winter glory and we can close the doors of our home, yours and mine, and sit before the fire alone and together for always, just the two of us." "Just the two of us," he answered as his lips came down on hers once more.