The Bells of Bruges

THE BELLS OF BRUGES Elizabeth Ashton

When Kit was fourteen, starry-eyed as only a schoolgirl can be, Nicholas Redfern had told her, "If you wait for me, I'll marry you". He had gone off to Africa, and that was that. True, he had now turned up in her life again, but everything was very different for both of them. Kit was on the brink of becoming engaged to Jeremy Jones, who loved and needed her, while Nicholas had arrived in town with a very glamorous girl-friend in tow - the dazzling Stephanie. It was on a trip to the beautiful city of Bruges, in Belgium, that Kit realised how she still felt about Nicholas - but what was the point of walking out on Jeremy when she had no reason to believe that Nicholas would ever want her now?

CHAPTER ONE EXCITEMENT coursed through Kit Vereker's veins like strong wine as Albatross skimmed over the line and the finishing gun exploded into the blue air. 'We've done it, Mart!' She was balanced on the side of the dinghy, a slight, boyish figure in tee-shirt and trews, her mop of reddish curls blown back from her sun-tanned face by the breeze, her grey eyes alight with triumph. Her brother Martin was navigating with fixed concentration as the dinghy veered away from the finishing line. 'Not out of the wood yet,' he said tersely. 'If we foul another boat or strike a marker, we can be disqualified.' 'We shan't do that, not with you for skipper,' Kit declared confidently, leaning out to counter the pull of the sail, as Albatross bore away out of the path of a late finisher and set off on her homeward track. Clear of the other yachts making for the line, Martin relaxed with a long sigh of relief. 'Well done, crew!' he told his sister. Albatross sailed sedately back to the mouth of the river, in which the Eastwold Sailing Club parked its yachts. The following breeze was stiffening and counteracted the race of the ebbing tide. The hard was crowded with members of the visiting crews and their supporters, for Eastwold was holding a big open race meeting, the most important event of the season, and it had been lucky in its day, having blue and gold weather with enough wind to make sailing a pleasure and not a hazard.

As the dinghy approached her berth, she was hailed with lusty cheers, for she had won the last and biggest race and the coveted trophy would go to the club. Jubilant fellow members came to the water's edge to welcome her crew and help lower the sails before pulling the boat up on to the ramp. 'Right, I'll take charge of her, while you sign the Declaration Form,' offered a fair young man, holding out his hand to Kit to help her ashore. 'Thanks, Jeremy.' Ignoring his hand, Kit jumped lightly on to the jetty. 'Well done!' he murmured. 'We're all proud of you, Kit,' and impulsively kissed her cheek; then, as if ashamed of his impetuosity, he turned his attention to Martin, and Kit heard him say: 'I hope I can crew for you in a race one day, when I'm good enough.' 'Sure,' Martin returned, 'and you're quite good enough now, it's only that Kit and I have sailed together ever since we were old enough to take a boat out.' Brother and sister were in such accord that they could anticipate each other's actions, thinking as one, and they were the crew upon which the club had fixed its hopes to win the trophy, but Jeremy, Kit knew, was envious of their close partnership, half hoping that Martin would have chosen him to crew for him, because he was a man, but it was Martin's boat, and he preferred his sister's services. Kit watched Jeremy as he helped Martin to lower the terylene sails with a little understanding smile, well aware of his discontent and the reason for it. If the event had been less important, she would have stood down for him, but if in that case he had lost, Martin would have blamed the defeat upon his crew, which would have been

disastrous to Jeremy's ego, an ego which she had been at considerable pains to build up ever since she had known him. He was genuinely pleased by their victory, but his pleasure was tinged by regret that he had no part in it. He was a good sailor, and it was she who had overcome his initial diffidence and persuaded him to join the club. She and Martin had taught him the principles of sailing, and even her critical brother had admitted that he shaped very well. When Jeremy had come to lodge with the Verekers, a shy retiring youth about to embark upon his apprenticeship to a builder, Kit had taken him in hand. The Verekers had been asked to befriend him, and motherly Mrs. Vereker had made him one of the family, but Kit went further: good-naturedly she had endeavoured to build up his selfconfidence and drew him into the stream of her busy, active life. A warm-hearted girl, she had fought his battles for him and encouraged him to such an extent that the good-looking young man into which he had developed was practically her creation. She was proud of her achievement and congratulated herself that she had caused the large chip he had carried upon his shoulder to shrink to splinter size, thought he still needed careful handling. For Jeremy Jones had been reared in an orphanage, and that was the root of his inferiority complex, and though his associates soon forgot that fact, he never could. His father had gone abroad, deserting his mother, who had developed an incurable disease and died when he was small. He persisted in thinking that the institutional upbringing constituted a stigma, though Kit had assured him over and over again that nobody thought any the worse of him for that, and it was to his credit that he was making good without family support. Because she was so anxious to complete her handiwork, she had ignored the sentimental attachment that he had formed for her. To snub Jeremy would be fatal to his progress in self-confidence. Consequently he had come to look upon her as his property, and since she was heartwhole and had little time for boys, except for one

teenage interlude, she accepted the situation. She had a warm and maternal feeling for Jeremy, and as he grew into an exceptionally nice- looking young man, she was pleased to accept his escort when a male partner was needed. When she thought about it, which was rarely, she decided that she probably would marry him some time in the dim and distant future when he was in a position to support a wife. Her parents approved of him. He was doing well in his job and was a nice, steady young man, and already seemed to be one of the family. He got on well with Martin, who had been heard to say he looked upon him as a brother, without waiting for Kit to make him his brother-in-law. As for that childish affair with Nicholas Redfern, that was a distant memory, which Kit did her best to forget completely. He had gone out of her orbit and was unlikely to return to it, for the Redferns moved in a different stratum from the Verekers. If he ever did return, it would be with a glamorous bride, and he would have forgotten that she existed. All in all Kit found Jeremy was a satisfactory companion;. he deferred to her in everything, and she liked her own way. That she might have to continue to protect him and bolster his ego for the rest of her life did not occur to her, or if it did, she was untroubled by the implication, for his dependence upon her was a subtle flattery. Once Martin had told her: 'You should let him stand on his own feet more - he's a big boy now and shouldn't need a prop.' 'But I'm not a prop,' she objected. 'You don't understand how terribly sensitive Jeremy is. I can't bear him to be hurt.'

'We all have to take knocks from time to time,' Martin persisted. 'You let him make a cushion out of you.' 'That doesn't hurt me,' she pointed out. 'If Jeremy is helped by making a cushion of me, I'm glad to be one, so what?' Martin shrugged and left it at that.

Kit and Martin signed the Declaration Sheet, which was a signing off form on which each competitor declared that he had sailed a fair race without infringing knowingly any of the racing rules. Then their enthusiastic supporters swept them into the club room, Martin loudly announcing that he needed a drink. The bar in the club room was packed with robust-looking youths in club blazers and attractive girls in bell-bottom trousers and striped pullovers. Jeremy looked in dismay at the milling herd, while he mumbled: 'What would you like to drink, Kit?' 'Something long and cool,' she requested. 'But Martin will get it.' Martin was already pushing his way towards the bar. As skipper of the winning crew, a path was cleared for him with many jocular exclamations such as, 'Make way for the conquering hero!' 'Give the lad a wet, he deserves it.' He did not have to pay for the three glasses of shandy which he bore back in triumph. Jeremy said anxiously: 'I suppose you're going to the do tonight, Kit?' The day was to be rounded off with a supper dance in the town's main hall, the club room being too small to accommodate the influx of competitors and their friends. 'Of course.' Kit looked surprised at the question.

'You'll stick by me?' 'But you're taking me, aren't you?' He looked gratified. 'Sure you want me?' She shook his arm playfully. 'You know I always go everywhere with you, but you must remember that we'll be the hosts. We'll have to mingle with the visitors.' 'Oh, must we? You know I can't dance.' That was something which she had failed to teach him. Not only was he too self-conscious, but he had no ear for music. 'That doesn't matter. You just circulate. If you see a pretty girl looking out of it, go and chat her up.' 'Do you think she'd mind?' 'Idiot! She'd be delighted. You'll be one of the best- looking boys there.' He blushed faintly at the compliment; his fair skin coloured easily. His hair was long and very fair, and curled at the ends. His features were regular, the blue-grey eyes large, but there was a definite weakness about the sensitive mouth and small chin. Jeremy would have made an exceedingly pretty girl. Kit looked at him with approval, for it was she who had cured him of his initial hangdog look and taught him not to slouch. His blue jersey became him, and she felt proud of her handiwork. Martin was appraising what he could see of the feminine half of the assembled company. 'Seems to be quite a good selection,' he drawled, and Kit laughed.

'You old Casanova, you!' For Martin fluttered from girl to girl with impartial ease. Often he and the current one joined Jeremy and Kit as a foursome to various entertainments. At the moment he was unattached. He had the same dark red hair as his sister, the same grey-green eyes with fortuitous dark brows and lashes, both having escaped the white or sandy ones which are so often the lot of the red-haired. Of the two, Martin was the better-looking, having a straight profile, while Kit's nose was definitely retroussee, and usually covered with freckles. Both had wide urchin grins, but there was a charm and piquancy about Kit's face which marked her out from among prettier girls. Not that Kit bothered much about her looks. She was happiest in old jeans and a sweater, messing about with boats. The sea was in her blood, for her father was a fisherman, and had trawled for most of his life. It was a real penance for her to don a skirt and blouse and keep herself tidy during office hours, for she had a job as a shorthandtypist. Kit and the two young men left the heat and din of the club house to step out into the lavender and gold of the gathering dusk. The sun was beginning to set over the estuary. Inland the river wound away between marshland and heather-covered heath to the slightly higher slopes of the distant fields. From the shore where the boat club was situated, an expanse of common land lay between it and the town, which was crossed by an unfenced road, rising up a steepish slope to the clustering roofs of the small town in which three features predominated - the tower of the fifteenth-century church, the water tower and the white column of the lighthouse. The tide had turned and would in time cover the mud flats exposed by its retreat. Beyond the harbour, the sea was darkening. The first crescent of the moon showed above the sunset, with the evening star a gleaming point of light.

Dinghies crowded the hard, their owners dismantling masts and pulling on canvas covers. A few were being loaded on to trailers for the homeward trek. Albatross, drawn up on the hard, her sails secure in their bags, was a mere skeleton of her former full-rigged glory. 'Great Jehosaphat!' Martin exclaimed suddenly. 'Look what's coming!' With her sails spread to catch the last of the breeze, gingerly negotiating the narrow fairway in the middle of the river, a yacht was sailing upstream, her dingy trailing behind her. She was a lovely sight, the slanting beams from the sunset turning the channel to a pathway of gold and winking on the polished top of her cabin amidships, the spread of her sails being like the wings of an enormous bird. 'I wonder her skipper was able to get over the bar at low tide,' Martin went on, for the yacht drew considerably more water than a sailing dinghy. 'He'll have to be careful he doesn't go aground.' 'The centre channel is quite deep,' Kit pointed out. 'And he seems to know the river.' The boat glided on. 'Like a painted ship upon a painted ocean,' Kit murmured. She passed the dinghy park, and having cleared all the moored craft, she seemed to hover on the golden river. Then her sails went slack and they heard the rattle of the anchor chain. 'That's cheek,' Martin complained. 'Berthing in the middle of the fairway without a by your leave!' 'She's a beautiful craft,' Jeremy sighed. 'What wouldn't I give to sail in her?'

'Sail!' Martin snorted. 'It's a picnic on a thing like that. She's got an engine too. You don't get half the fun you do in a sailing dinghy.' 'Perhaps not, but you can cross the Channel,' Jeremy pointed out. 'Of course there is that,' Martin conceded, watching the stranger furl his sails. They could see the skipper plainly on deck, for the boat had berthed opposite to them, a tall lithe figure with a crown of dark hair. Then someone down by the water's edge recognized him and shouted: 'Would you believe it? It's old Nick turned up again!' An excited whisper rippled through the assembled watchers. 'Who's he?' 'Don't you remember?' 'He's sure come in style.' Someone shouted: 'Ahoy, Nick!' The man on board turned towards them and waved. 'Nick!' Martin whistled. 'I wonder anyone recognized him after this long while. Shows what an impression the guy makes.' He stared across the water. 'It's him all right. I'd never forget that shape and carriage - eh, Kit?' The colour rose in Kit's face. 'It does look like him,' she admitted. 'Pity he didn't get here sooner to see us race.' 'As if he'd be interested in a little thing like that,' Kit cried scornfully. 'Nick's an important man now, Mart, he'll have forgotten all about us and our silly little club.'

'I bet he's still a good sport,' Martin returned. He looked at his sister in surprise. 'What's biting you? You used to be crazy about him when you were a kid.' 'Nothing's biting me, and I was only a kid,' she said sharply. She turned away to look inland where a thin mist was gathering over the marshes, away from that slim dark figure on the deck of the yacht and the memories it was stirring. It was six years since she had last seen Nicholas Redfern during that long hot summer before he had gone abroad. He was as mad about boats as the Verekers were, and that year Martin had just acquired his first boat. From the lofty vantage of his additional years, he was twenty-two to Martin's sixteen, he had patronized and encouraged the younger boy, telling him he was a plucky kid and he would be a credit to the club in the days to come. Martin had hero-worshipped him and was in the seventh heaven when Nicholas asked him to crew for him in his own much superior craft; but actually that honour fell more often to Kit. Nicholas had been overworking and his doctor had prescribed a long rest before he took up his next appointment, and Kit, being still at school, had more free time than the majority of the club members. Actually she had known him off and on all her short life, for he was always home during his college vacations, and she haunted the hard. Nicholas had a reputation for daring and audacity and his exploits were the talk of the town, but at sea he was never foolhardy. To Kit he had seemed like a demi-god. During that summer her god had raised her to his celestial heights when he so frequently sought her services as a crew member and that not only because she was available, but because she was a natural sailor, being quick and neat with the gear, and possessing an instinct for balancing the boat. He had ungallantly called her Chimp, an abbreviation of chimpanzee, declaring that she resembled a young ape in her capacity for mischief and her agility, but he had also praised her seamanship.

'I'd rather be with you in a jam than any of those know-all college types,' he had told her. 'At least you always do what you're told,' amending his somewhat backhanded compliment by adding: 'And it isn't often you need to be told.' There had been many a mishap as often befalls a too venturesome small boat, but as both could swim like fishes, there had never been anything worse than a ducking when their frail craft capsized. She had adored him; to her there was no one to compare with Nicholas Redfern, slim and keen as a sword blade, tanned to copper hue by the sun, his night-dark hair, and his narrow eyes, so vividly blue between their dark lashes. There was a hint of devilry about him, a gay insouciance which made him wildly attractive to everything female. Kit took his orders, his teasing and his jibes in good part, so long as she had his notice. The only thing she could not bear was to be ignored, but Nicholas rarely did that; when she was around he always had an indulgent word for his Chimp. He completed his engineering course brilliantly; everything Nicholas did was brilliant. Then he had a position in the north, until the illness laid him low and he came home to recuperate. The Redferns lived in Eastwold in a big house facing the common, with a view over the estuary. Kit had never been inside it. All her contacts with Nicholas were confined to the hard and the club. The Verekers occupied a small house at the opposite end of the town. Their association ended when Nicholas was sent out to Africa to work with the construction of a dam. He sent her several postcards to which she replied with schoolgirlish letters, but the correspondence soon lapsed. As far as she knew he had not been home on leave, but if he had, his other friends and interests had absorbed him. The

Redferns had a host of well-to-do acquaintances. Although she was only fourteen when she had last seen him, she had never wholly forgotten him. No one could easily forget Nicholas, so vitally compelling, and full of life and fun, but he had forgotten his Chimp. Now he had returned, and Kit remembered her crush on him with wry amusement. He probably would not even recognize her and she would discover that he was in reality a quite ordinary young man with no resemblance to the young god she had imagined him to be when she had parted from him with such girlish woe. A dinghy was putting off from the yacht and making for the shore. Nicholas was rowing with rhythmic, leisurely strokes. There was someone sitting in the stern - a girl. Obeying a sudden impulse, Kit said: 'Let's go back.' She found she did not want to encounter Nicholas and his latest girl-friend. 'Not likely.' Martin seized her arm. 'We're going to join the welcoming committee. We might just get a chance to speak to him before he's wafted away.' Jeremy was looking bewildered; his arrival at the Verekers' having occurred after Nicholas' departure, he knew nothing about the man. 'Who is this person?' he asked with a slight disdain, caused by mingled envy and curiosity. 'A legend,' Martin said reverently. Then he laughed. 'You know the Redferns, Jerry? Well, here comes the son and heir. Others, better informed than us, must have known he was expected, but I don't suppose anyone thought he would come in a state barge with Cleopatra in tow.' He nodded towards the boat's passenger.

'You do talk a lot of nonsense,' Kit murmured. 'You mean he's important?' Jeremy asked doubtfully. 'By Eastwold's standards; it's a snobby little place, but believe it or not, Kit and I have crewed for him.' 'So long ago he'll have forgotten all about it,' Kit interposed hastily, catching Jeremy's questioning look. 'But Nick was never a snob.' 'He may have become one.' Martin spoke dryly. 'That we'll soon discover.' Still holding Kit's arm, he moved to join the several men and girls who were collecting to admire the yacht and greet its crew. A stone pier ran out into the stream at that point, and the dinghy drew alongside it. The man inside her lifted his passenger on to the quay, then leaped up beside her, while willing hands made his rowing boat fast to the iron rings in the pier side, and various personages met him with a flood of questions. Kit heard his familiar laugh and her heart gave a little lurch. 'Oh, from the proceeds of the diamonds I looted in Africa,' his gay voice reached her, and she gathered some inquisitive person had asked how he came by his yacht, but they would not get any change out of Nicholas, she thought with satisfaction. He could always counter impertinence. The group of welcomers parted as he strode through them, and as he reached the quay, she saw him plainly. At first she thought there was little alteration; though he had filled out a bit, he was still lean and rangy as a greyhound, and he was bronzed by a hotter sun than that in England. Then she saw there was a definite change. The face she remembered had had the softness of youth, but the man who had come back, and he was a man now, looked mature; the planes of his

face were harder, more pronounced, the thin mouth, when he was not laughing, had a cynical curve, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were not all caused by the sun. Experience had set its mark upon him, and his had not all been happy. The girl clinging to his arm, looking about her disdainfully, was a perfect foil to his black and bronze, being very fair and pink and white. Her semi-nautical garb, white trousers and blue jumper piped with white, was expensive and fitted perfectly. Her hair under the peaked naval cap which she affected glinted brassily in the dying light, her eyes, hard and round, were china blue. He wore slacks and a navy short-sleeved jersey which displayed his smooth muscular bronzed arms, for although so dark, Nicholas was not hairy. His keen glance ranged over his welcomers, while Jeremy whispered to Kit: 'What a gorgeous girl!' Martin laughed. 'Trust old Nick to pick a decorative dolly bird, but she looks to me hardboiled.' 'Hush,' Kit whispered as Nicholas's glance reached them. He came straight up to them, slapping Martin on the back. 'If it isn't old Mart!' he exclaimed. 'Just the same only a few sizes larger, and this—' He looked down at Kit with a mocking twist of his lips that she well remembered. 'Must be my little Chimp, and you're exactly the same.' His free hand lifted her chin, and stooping he lightly brushed her lips with his. 'She's grown up now,' Martin reminded him, disapproving of this familiarity, while Kit, to her unspeakable disgust, felt herself blush.

'Nick, behave yourself,' the blonde said repressively. 'Darling, I always do,' Nicholas informed her. 'How else should I greet my oldest girl-friend and the best crew I ever sailed with?' 'Oh, she sails, does she?' the girl asked contemptuously, as if that explained Kit's appearance. Her eyes slid appraisingly over the other girl, noting her well worn trousers and faded jumper. 'She looks as if she did.' 'She and Mart have just won the trophy,' a bystander informed her. 'Have you, now!' Nicholas exclaimed enthusiastically. 'Wish I'd been here to see you do it. I meant to get here earlier, but...' his eyes glinted down at the girl upon his arm, 'circumstances engineered by Steph made that impossible. I haven't introduced you, have I? This is Stephanie Hillman, the worst passenger I ever sailed with, though to give her her due, she's the most ornamental...' Stephanie tried to interrupt, but he ran on imperturbably. 'Steph, meet Kit and Mart Vereker, my boyhood buddies.' Stephanie gave him a vindictive look. 'Would you believe it, he actually asked me to empty the garbage pail!' she told them. 'She did too.' Nicholas chuckled. 'On the windward side, and most of the contents came back over my beautiful deck. It was the moppingup operation which made us so late.' 'It was your own fault,' Miss Hillman said with asperity. 'You should do your own dirty work.'

'It's infra dig for the skipper to empty pails,' Nicholas drawled. 'You ask Chimp. She'd have been ready to do it and she wouldn't have made such an error.' His very blue eyes, the azure of the sea on a sunny day, sought Kit's for confirmation. She was wondering why he had taken Stephanie on board if she was such a landlubber, unless he considered her looks compensated for her lack of skill. Decorative she certainly was, from her hairdo to her manicured fingertips. Kit became acutely conscious of her own slightly tousled appearance. Her copper curls were roughened by the wind, her nails broken by wrestling with sheets and guys, and her snub nose was as freckled as a turkey's egg. She would be all right for emptying garbage pails, but she would be no ornament to grace the deck of that shining yacht. She said coolly: 'When I'm crewing, I always do what I'm told to the best of my ability, but I've never been privileged to be a passenger.' 'Privileged! You'd hate it,' Nicholas told her. 'You're never happy unless you're doing something. I'll have to try how you shape on Sea Witch.' 'Thank you, but my sailing time is limited now I'm a working girl,' she pointed out. He must be made to realize that she could no longer be at his disposal to fetch and carry, nor did she think his blonde would appreciate her inclusion in the crew. 'But you have holidays?' Nicholas inquired. 'Occasionally.' 'We're having a fortnight next week,' Martin interposed. 'We've fixed our dates all together so we can have fun on the high seas.' He looked at Nicholas hopefully.

'By next week Mr. Redfern will have sailed away,' Kit said. 'Mr. Redfern be damned!' Nicholas exploded. 'What's got into you, Chimp?' 'You have become a bit of a stranger,' she told him defensively. 'Have I? We'll soon alter that. As for my plans, I haven't fixed any yet.' He looked at her challengingly. Jeremy created a diversion by exclaiming impetuously: 'I'd give anything to sail on that yacht!' This interpolation was so uncharacteristic of him that Kit gave a gasp of surprise. She saw he was staring longingly across the river at Sea Witch and his enthusiasm had for once overcome his diffidence. 'And who is this?' Nicholas drawled. The faint disparagement in his tone roused Kit at once to come to Jeremy's defence. She was always on the watch for possible slights which might hurt him. Quickly she drew his arm through hers and said almost defiantly: 'My boy-friend, Jeremy Jones.' The corners of Nicholas's mouth twitched. 'So my Chimp really has grown up!' 'I'm not your Chimp,' she told him fiercely. 'I never did like that stupid nickname. I'm called Kit, in case you've forgotten.' 'I haven't forgotten, Miss Kathryn Vereker,' his tone was smooth as silk, but there was an ominous gleam in his narrowed eyes, and Kit knew that she had annoyed him. 'I haven't forgotten anything,

especially the girlish confession you made to me upon the last occasion we were together.' She could never wholly forget that day, the day when he had told her he was leaving Eastwold to go abroad for an indefinite period, and the memory still seared her. With all the brash emotionalism of a young teenager, she had cried and admitted her love. He had comforted her, telling her he would come back - some time. 'And if you'll wait for me, I'll marry you.' Even though only fourteen, she had realized the absurdity of such a promise. 'You're only saying that to stop me crying,' she had declared. 'You don't mean it.' 'Why shouldn't I mean it? Together we're a perfect crew, so we ought to make an ideal couple. You may look less like a monkey when I come back, and in any case I like your funny face.' He had teased and laughed her out of her despair, and gone his way, and he had not communicated with her for six long years, except for a couple of cards. Now he had at long last come back, as tantalizingly attractive as ever, and had the audacity to remind her of her youthful folly. No doubt he imagined he had only to whistle and she would come running back to him, as eager to fawn upon him as a spaniel. All the girls he wanted were his for the taking, including the brazen piece standing beside him, but she, Kathryn Vereker, would not be of their number, and she must somehow convince him of that. 'I was only a child then,' she told him, aware that Stephanie was regarding her suspiciously. 'I didn't know what I was talking about.'

She addressed the other girl with a candid smile. 'I expect you've discovered, Miss Hillman, Nick can be an awful tease.' 'Steph,' Nicholas murmured. 'We're all pals, aren't we? Why the frigid "Miss Hillman?" ' Stephanie said: 'You forget, Nick, this young lady and I have only just become acquainted.' Her expression suggested that it was a pity they had. 'I've no time for formalities,' Nicholas told her impatiently. 'You're Steph and ... er ... Kit, and that's that.' 'Is it?' Kit murmured rebelliously, her grey eyes raised to his defiantly. 'Who made you dictator, Nick?' Sensing their latent antagonism, Martin intervened tactfully: 'You're too late for the race, Nick, but you're in time for the jollifications. You'll come to our dance?' 'A dance? What about it, Steph?' Nicholas asked, and Kit said disparagingly: 'It's only a village hop.' She did not want Nicholas and Stephanie impinging upon her evening, afraid their presence might prove distracting. 'Village hop?' Jeremy was outraged. 'Eastwold's a town, and it's to be held in the main hall.' 'Then we must certainly come,' Nicholas decided. 'But now I must take Stephanie home and present her to the parents. They're expecting us and they're going to put her up.' 'But aren't you staying there too?' the girl asked a little anxiously, and Kit thought she would be still more apprehensive if she knew what she had to face. The senior Redferns could be intimidating, though

they would approve of Stephanie Hillman, who looked both superior and affluent. 'I thought I'd sleep on the boat,' Nicholas told her. 'Then I can keep an eye on her.' 'I'd much rather be with you,' Stephanie insisted. 'Can't I sleep aboard too?' Nicholas appeared to be shocked at this suggestion. 'Impossible, my sweet. Unfortunately Eastwold is the sort of town that thinks the worst and loves a juicy bit of scandal to chew over their cups of tea and pints of mild and bitter, and being so small everybody knows everybody else's business.' Though he spoke flippantly, there was an underlying note of bitterness, and it flashed across Kit's mind that he had at some time or other suffered from Eastwold's gossiping tongues, but she could not recall any such incident. 'But the boat's partly mine,' Stephanie reminded him. 'If I want to sleep in her I've every right to do so.' So that, Kit thought, accounted for her presence on the yacht. Nicholas had put up with her incompetence for the pleasure of sailing Sea Witch. The curious onlookers had by now dispersed and they were the only group left on the quay. The sun was a red rim on the horizon and the circling seabirds were uttering their last plaintive cries before going to roost. 'Nobody disputes your right,' Nicholas said suavely, 'but as I can't be with you, it wouldn't do to let you sleep alone on it. If anything went

wrong, you couldn't cope, and you'd be terrified if you heard a water rat...' Stephanie gave a squeal. 'Oh, are there rats?' 'There, you see - so off to the parents you go. Mart, be a good lad and fetch Steph's case out of the dinghy, then we'll be on our way. We'll all meet again at this beanfeast.' He looked at Kit for confirmation as Martin ran off. 'Yes, of course, but it won't be a dressy do,' she warned him. 'Ah, but I always dress for dinner,' he told her, 'even in the backwoods. Isn't that what's expected of an English gentleman?' 'You're years out of date,' she retorted. 'The pukka sahib dining in state in the wilderness is a myth from the past.' 'And of course you know all about it,' he mocked. Stephanie, round-eyed, inquired: 'Did you use tin plates and eat in your shirt sleeves in Africa, Nick? I can't imagine it.' 'No,' he returned, 'I dined in the nude, and you'd better not try to imagine that.' She giggled: 'Kit's right, you are a tease.' Kit noticed that she had used her first name. This one was definitely under Nicholas's thumb! Martin returned with Stephanie's case, having performed the errand with alacrity. He was obviously pleased to have a chance to oblige Nicholas. So it had always been, Kit remembered, Martin and herself running round to serve Nicholas as if he were a god. But it would be

different now they were grown up and she wished that her brother had not been quite so eager to obey his behest. Nicholas took the case with a casual thank you. 'Come along, Steph, stretch your legs. It's only up there.' He indicated the line of lights along the top of the Common, which rose upwards from the water between it and them and it looked vaguely ominous in the falling dusk. The water tower crowned it like an obelisk dark against the mauve and rose sky. Stephanie looked at it disgustedly and then at her white sandals. 'They might have sent a car for us.' 'What, for a distance of half a mile? In any case they didn't know what time to expect us.' His glance went to her feet. 'I told you those shoes were most unsuitable.' Stephanie pouted. 'Wouldn't one of your friends give us a lift?' Noise and light from the club room proclaimed that many members were still there. 'I'll run and ask,' Jeremy said obligingly. 'You'll stay where you are,' Nicholas commanded imperiously. 'I don't want to bother anyone to turn out for such a short distance.' He seized Stephanie's arm. 'Come along, lazybones.' He smiled serenely at the Verekers. 'See you later.' Kit and the two young men watched the two figures trudging towards the common. Nicholas's dark form seemed to merge with the shadows, but Stephanie's white trousers shone out with a comical effect. She seemed to be complaining bitterly, but Nicholas was laughing at her.

Jeremy said indignantly: 'There are lots of people here would have been glad to run them up. He doesn't give her any consideration.' 'Nick expects his female appendages to put up with anything,' Martin commented. 'And usually they do.' Kit wilted. She had herself been ready to put up with anything to please the lordly youth whom she had so adored, more fool she, but she never would again, she vowed, definitely never again. But did Nicholas still regard her as one of his appendages? Hadn't she been totally superseded by his glamorous blonde, and goodness alone knew how many more during the long interval of time he had been abroad. But whether he did or did not, the days of his dominance were over as far as she was concerned. She was a grownup young woman now with a boy-friend of her own, to whom she owed her loyalty, and the links which had once bound her to Nicholas Redfern were finally and irrevocably broken. She took Jeremy's arm with unusual possessiveness as they walked away from the quay, with Martin striding on ahead. 'Were you really his girl-friend?' Jeremy asked a little anxiously. 'Not in the sense you mean,' she told him. 'As I've kept emphasizing, I was only a silly kid, just a schoolgirl crush.' Deliberately she kept her voice light and squeezed his arm reassuringly. 'I've only had one real boy-friend, Jeremy, and that's you.' Jeremy and his devotion would be her stay and bulwark against any straying fancies in the direction of Nicholas Redfern.

CHAPTER TWO ALTHOUGH Kit knew that most of the people at the dance would be casually dressed, many in flannels, as she had warned Nicholas, she was a little exercised what to wear herself. During the proceedings the trophy would be presented and the Commodore of the Club and his cronies would be impeccably clad. She could not go up to the platform with every eye upon her in her usual boyish garb - at least that was what she told herself, unwilling to admit that she wanted to appear feminine in Nicholas' eyes. Finally she chose a simple navy dress with a short full skirt and short sleeves, which did at least redeem her from looking like a youth. She brushed her unruly hair until it shone and added a little lipstick, not daring to use eye-shadow, for she so seldom wore make-up, she was not at all expert. Powder faded her freckles but nothing could eliminate them. Neither, unless she resorted to padding, could she do anything about her lack of curves. She eyed her slight figure in the glass, recalling wistfully Stephanie's gracious contours. She still looked a teenager and had little hope of impressing Nicholas with the maturity of her twenty years, but it was unlikely that he would take any notice of her. Apart from the beauty he had brought with him, all the young women of Eastwold would be eager to welcome home the town's most eligible bachelor. Nor did she want him to spare any time for her, she tried to convince herself; he would be too distracting. As she was a member of the committee, albeit the youngest one, it would be her duty to ensure that none of the visitors were feeling neglected, and Jeremy would need her support. Recalling her boy-friend, she went along to his room to ascertain that he had been able to find his clean shirt and to make sure that he had polished his shoes, for Jeremy was careless about sartorial details, and she supervised him like a nannie.

Both the youths were wearing their club blazers and looked spruce when they issued forth to walk the short distance to the hall. Kit's spirits rose as she looked at them; they made a personable escort. Nicholas arrived late and had elected to wear a dinner jacket. Kit was sure he had done it out of pure cussedness, for except for the Commodore, he was the only man so clad. It complemented Stephanie's long dress of clinging blue material, which left her snowy arms and neck bare. In that she was not alone, as several girls had decided to show off their evening dresses, and she was easily the best-looking woman present. They made a striking pair, he so tall, dark and debonair and she also tall, but dazzlingly fair, and, as Kit had noticed, curvaceous. Kit took her duties seriously, finding partners for wallflowers and coaxing shy young men, who were more at home in a boat than on a dance floor, to partner her. Supper was a buffet affair and she was busy making sure that everyone was having enough to eat and drink. After that came the long anticipated moment when the Commodore mounted the platform where the cups and trophies were displayed and she went up with Martin to receive their award. Applause was long and loud, for they were a popular couple and the Commodore, an ex-Naval man, kissed her on both cheeks. 'I'm glad you won it,' he told her. 'You deserve it. You and Martin are the keenest members we've got.' Throughout the proceedings she had been aware of Nicholas Redfern, a slim elegant figure among the dancers and apparently being lionized by the younger set. His supper was brought to him where he sat among a bevy of adoring girls, while Stephanie looked far from pleased, though she herself did not lack for attention.

As Kit had anticipated, neither took any notice of her beyond a casual wave of greeting and she had to fight a quite unreasonable feeling of neglect because Nicholas did not ask her to dance. She did not want to dance with him, she told herself repeatedly, and she was not dressed in the manner to match his elegance. He chose his partners from among the best lookers in the most decolletee gowns, when he was not dancing with Stephanie. She thought resentfully that he might have asked her just once for auld lang syne, and then chided herself for being a sentimental idiot. He would not want to be continually reminded of their once close association. As the evening drew towards its close her energy began to flag. The room had become very hot and noisy. Feeling the need of a little peace and quiet, she went out of the entrance door and stood on the pavement letting the night air cool her hot face. The door swung open and shut behind her and to her surprise she found Nicholas beside her. 'All alone?' he queried. 'Won't the proceedings collapse if you aren't there to keep them going?' 'I've done my stint,' she said sharply, stung by his mocking tone. 'You of course have done nothing to help but allow yourself to be adored.' 'I'm sure I've been a picturesque addition to the party,' he returned, 'and it's very pleasant to be appreciated.' 'Oh, you were - half the wenches in Eastwold will be having romantic dreams tonight.' 'Well, then, how can you say I haven't done my stuff? But I'm sure you've been appreciated too. I was filled with admiration for your enthusiasm.'

'I didn't think you'd noticed me at all,' she complained. 'Couldn't fail to. You were here - there - everywhere. Such energy!' Sighing, she told him: 'It's gone a bit flat now.' 'I'm not surprised. All that, and winning a race too. Shall we walk along and look at the sea? A little ozone may recharge you for the final leave-taking, the auld lang syne and farewell kisses.' 'There won't be any of those.. 'You surprise me. Already the noble Commodore has taken his toll. All very nice and fatherly, of course.' 'I've know him all my life,' she said defensively. 'Exactly, so he considers he's privileged.' He linked his arm through hers. 'Come along.' Without conscious thought she moved out into the street with him. It seemed so perfectly natural to be walking arm in arm with Nicholas, and though in the old days she had had to skip to keep up with his long stride, she could now, by lengthening hers, keep pace with him. They crossed the road and took a turning by the lighthouse which led towards the sea; above their heads the revolving light showed now a bright beam and then a shadow. Nicholas gave a long sigh. 'It's good to be home at last.' 'Haven't you been back at all in all these years?' 'No, too busy building my dam. Actually the old man thought it best that I should stay away for a long, long time, and I spent my leaves in Cairo.'

'Hence the gorgeous tan,' she said lightly. 'Fascinating, isn't it?' he agreed complacently. 'I'm grateful to it for all the fun I've had tonight.' 'Oh, I think there's a little more to you than your complexion.' 'Lady, you're too kind.' It was natural too to drop back into their old bantering way of talk; the years seemed to be rolling away. They reached the sea front. The houses behind them showed few lights, their occupants being either out or in bed. Nicholas guided Kit on to a path that ran in zig-zags down the cliff to the promenade below. A little way along it they came upon a seat set facing the sea sheltered by a clump of tamarisk bushes. 'Let's rest a while,' Nicholas suggested. 'It's so peaceful here after the racket of the hall.' Nothing loath, Kit sat down and he took his place beside her. It was a warm night and very still. Below them the wavelets whispered on the shingle, above them was an immensity of star-spangled sky. The revolving lighthouse beam behind them threw their faces into alternate light and shade. Nicholas said softly: 'Good old Eastwold, it never changes.' 'Oh, but it does. Haven't you seen the new sea defences down towards the harbour and all the bungalow development along the main road? Perhaps you haven't had time.' 'No, but the town itself is just the same.' 'I suppose so, it's only people who change.'

He glanced at her obliquely. 'Do you find me much changed?' 'Not really. You've matured, of course, but then I have too. I'm grown up now, not a soppy teenager any longer.' He laughed. 'Do I sense a warning in that remark? I have to treat you with respect?' 'Of course.' 'Difficult when I remember my Chimp.' 'You forgot me for a good many years,' she accused him. 'Not really,' he said apologetically. 'I often thought of those days, but you and Eastwold were very far away. You know of course that I left in disgrace?' She thought he was kidding and said lightly: 'Actually I didn't, but I'm not surprised. The things you used to do!' 'But this I didn't do. It was Maureen Smith.' 'Oh!' She knew that he used to take Maureen out and she had suffered many a jealous pang on that account, but Maureen did not like boats and had never really impinged upon her world. She had been grown up, smart and sophisticated, the sort of girl a man liked to be seen about with on social occasions. She had left Eastwold about the same time as Nicholas had done and Kit had heard vaguely that she was now married. She looked at Nicholas uncertainly. Had he gone away to heal a broken heart in the traditional manner, though not to shoot big game but build a dam? He said with his eyes on the distant horizon where the sky met the sea: 'She was in ... difficulties ... more loving than wise.' Kit went tense, and he said hurriedly: 'No, it wasn't me, I never went that far,

but being a chivalrous young fool I was ready to assume responsibility. She was desperate and I... well, I was soft.' He laughed scornfully at his younger self. 'However, my old man put his foot down and exiled me to Africa for six long years. I wouldn't have gone if Maureen hadn't disappeared. I think he bribed her.' 'I heard she was married.' 'So she is, very satisfactorily, I believe,' he said harshly. 'She didn't care about me at all, she only wanted to use me to get her out of a jam.' Silence fell between them. Kit was both flattered to receive his confidence and wounded by the revelation. She had had no idea during those carefree summer days that Nicholas was seriously involved elsewhere. How little she had really known him, but she had been in love with her own idea of him and the real man had been an enigma, as he still was. She said reproachfully: 'All this was going on and I had no idea.' 'I could hardly confide in a child like you were, could I? But your innocent companionship was very comforting because you were so completely unaware of the ... er ... complications, and you were so undemanding.' 'Maureen, I gather, was,' she said dryly. 'She expected me to help her.' 'Were you in love with her?' Kit asked hesitantly, thinking he must have been very much so to be prepared to sacrifice himself to father another man's child.

'A bit, I suppose; she was older than I was and had a lot of men after her. I was flattered she turned to me. In those days I couldn't bear to see a woman cry, and she wept buckets full.' Kit remembered she had wept when she had learned of his departure, and he had made her a vague promise too to comfort her, but by that time he must have known it was all over with Maureen. Nicholas crossed his legs, leaned back and laughed a little cynically. 'I may tell you, Kit, I'm a lot wiser now. Most women's tears are of the crocodile variety.' But not mine, she thought; they had been an expression of genuine grief. 'And I've long ceased to be a chivalrous young fool. I make them dance to my piping nowadays and I'm no longer vulnerable.' The contemptuous note in his voice subtly hurt her. Nicholas had developed a hard carapace to cover his wound, for the experience had left its mark, though she sensed that what had pained him most was not Maureen's desertion but his parents' distrust. They had not believed he was innocent. Sensing also that he would not want commiseration, for Nicholas was never one to lick his wounds, she said brightly: 'You certainly bullied poor Stephanie, making her walk over the common when there was no need.' 'It was for her own good,' he returned, grinning mischievously. 'She needs exercise and she's always moaning about putting on weight.' 'And is she really part owner of the yacht?' 'Yes. A thing like that costs a mint of money. Our agreement is that I shall buy her out in time. Meanwhile she needed a skipper and I wanted to sail Sea Witch. We've just been across to France. Oh, we

weren't alone, I know better than that. We had another couple aboard, but we dropped them at Felixstowe on our way up.' 'A very convenient arrangement,' Kit said, thinking that Stephanie's interest in her skipper was rather more than commercial. This joint enterprise could well develop into a permanent partnership if he so wished, but did he wish? She said tentatively: 'Stephanie would make a very decorative wife.' 'She would, wouldn't she? Moreover, she's well endowed with worldly goods - quite a catch, in fact.' 'But you've already caught her, haven't you? When's the wedding?' For no good reason the thought of his marriage was oddly depressing. It could make no difference to her whom he wedded. 'Don't jump to conclusions,' he warned her. 'I'm not sure I'm ready to put my head in the matrimonial noose just yet.' 'Then you shouldn't raise expectations you don't intend to fulfil.' She spoke warmly, for she did not like to think that Nicholas had become a philanderer. 'Joining forces over a yacht is hardly raising expectations,' he pointed out airily. 'At least not .to my mind. Of course Steph, being a woman, sees every male through the circle of a wedding ring!' 'What a sweeping assertion! I assure you I don't.' 'But perhaps you've made your choice? Are you serious about that yellow-haired lad? Where did you pick him up?' 'He came to lodge with us.'

'How nice for him. And he hasn't neglected his opportunities?' She did not like the jeering note which had come into his voice. He had not taken to Jeremy, but that was not strange. The orphan boy was poles apart from the Redfern clique. As always where Jeremy was concerned she was ready to defend him, and she plunged eagerly into a description of Jeremy's virtues - how he had had to combat the disadvantages of his upbringing, but was making good in his trade, his excellent character, and she even mentioned his skill with a boat. 'Quite a paragon,' Nicholas drawled at the end of her recital, and looking up she caught the quizzical expression on his face as the lighthouse beam illuminated it. 'You needn't despise him,' she cried hotly. 'Not everyone has your advantages.' 'They don't, do they?' he said dryly. 'Parents who could cheerfully throw me to the wolves, or more correctly the savages, for something which I didn't do because they feared a blot upon the family escutcheon.' He had reverted to his personal grievance and he no longer tried to disguise his bitterness. 'But wasn't it a good job in Africa?' Kit asked. He shrugged his shoulders. 'So-so - the pay was all that could be desired; not everybody likes being fried. Living was rough. Not that I minded that, and I certainly gained experience - of other things besides constructional engineering.' He smiled cynically. 'What rankled was my people's attitude. They had no compassion, nor could they understand why I was ready to marry Maureen if I wasn't responsible.'

He again became intent on the distant horizon where the lights of a steamer showed making its way towards Harwich, and silence fell between them. Kit's heart went out to him on a wave of sympathy. She could not conceive of her own parents being ready to part with her for six years whatever she had done, but she thought Nicholas had been a little naive to imagine he could persuade his worldly-wise mother and father that his motives were purely chivalrous. Presently he roused himself from his reverie and turned to her. 'The experience did me no harm, in fact it taught me a lesson. Maureen showed she was well able to look after herself, and you also have found old Nick quite superfluous—' She started to protest, but he went on without heeding her. 'From henceforth I intend to look after number one and let others fend for themselves.' 'What a selfish attitude!' she exclaimed, shocked. 'A very sensible one, and one adopted by ninety per cent of our associates. My only really unselfish urge - to help Maureen - reacted like a boomerang, which was not encouraging. You, my Chimp, are still at the youthfully idealistic stage, particularly with regard to this Jeremy character. Do you plan to marry him?' She said sedately: 'We're both too young to become engaged yet, and we'll have to save up a lot of dough before we can think of marriage, but ... well, yes, I do expect to marry him eventually.' 'You'll be a blasted idiot if you do,' he told her so vehemently that she jumped. His former semi-ironic, semi- reflective manner had completely evaporated. 'Oh, really Nick, how can you say that?' she protested. 'What can you have against him? You don't even know him. He's a steady reliable boy and I could do a lot worse.'

She had his full attention now, he was watching her intently. The intermittent beam from the lighthouse showed her own face, pale in its amber glow, the grey eyes very wide and earnest. Nicholas's expression was inscrutable, but his question gaze seemed to be trying to penetrate her defences as if he would read her very soul. 'I doubt it,' he told her. 'I'm used to summing men up at a glance. That boy of yours is a drip.' The sympathy she had felt for Nicholas vanished in a rush of indignation at this unjust assessment. He was after all a Redfern with all his family's prejudices. 'How dare you say that!' she blazed. 'You may think you're very smart at snap judgments, but Jeremy's had to contend with a lot and he's come through splendidly. You're quite wrong to call him a drip.' Nicholas held up a conciliatory hand. 'Okay, okay, you needn't get all het up, spitfire. Granted that this... er ... Jeremy is all that's worthy - do you love him?' Kit's anger died away while she considered his question. Her feeling for Jeremy was very different from the uncritical adoration which she had experienced for Nicholas, but that had not been love, merely a teenage infatuation. The affection that she had for Jeremy was surely a much more stable emotion. She said a little doubtfully: 'I suppose so.' Then realizing that she had sounded lukewarm, she added hastily: 'Of course I do.' Nicholas put one arm along the top of the seat behind her and leaned back negligently. 'Of course you don't,' he told her coolly. 'My little Chimp, you haven't the faintest notion of what love means.'

'You being an expert,' she flashed, and wondered. That Nicholas had had a great deal more experience than she had had she did not doubt. Apart from Maureen there had been those leaves in Cairo. A man of his age, nearing thirty, and of his temperament, could not be expected to live like a monk, but did he know anything about real love? His assertion that he meant in future to think only of himself did not sound like it. At least whatever it was she felt for Jeremy was not selfish. 'I've been knocking about the world while you've been stagnating in this little backwater,' he pointed out. 'I've learned a lot about human nature, Kit.' 'I bet you have, but that doesn't give you the right to sneer at me and Jeremy. I may be stagnating, as you put it, but I'm quite content with my life and him.' But was she? Although she spoke confidently she was assailed by a sudden doubt. Eastwold was a backwater, and a whole lifetime spent with Jeremy did not present a wildly exciting prospect. Instantly she chided herself for being disloyal; marriage was not an occasion for excitement, but a matter of compatibility and mutual confidence. Nicholas laughed derisively. 'Are you, Kit?' he asked lazily. 'Don't you ever feel you're missing something? Something - like this?' He took her completely by surprise. One moment he was lounging beside her, mockingly aloof, the next he had her in his arms. His mouth, as it fastened upon hers, was hard and insistent. He had kissed her often in the past, light, casual caresses, almost fraternal, and the comradely hugs he had given her from time to time bore no resemblance to his present constricting hold.

Even as she struggled in his embrace, the thought occurred to her that she could have loved Nicholas in a very different manner from the way she did Jeremy, if ... if ... She went limp and a shamed and quivering response awoke in her as thought was blotted out in sensation. His hands moved over her body expertly and his lips ranged from her mouth over her cheeks to the base of her throat and back to her mouth again. When at length he let her go, she crouched on the seat, her outraged face buried in her hands, while she tried to still her trembling limbs and burning tears gathered behind her eyes. He did not speak for several moments, then he lightly ruffled the curls in the nape of her neck, and said coolly: 'See what I mean?' The casual question stung her to fury. He had merely been experimenting with her, trying to see if he could arouse her. That he had succeeded was humiliating. Kit sat up abruptly, and with all her strength she slapped his smooth bronze face. For a second she was terrified as he tensed; she had the sensation of waiting for a jungle beast to spring. Then he relaxed and laughed. 'You may live to regret that,' he said softly. 'That I never will,' she flashed. 'It's what you deserve. You think you can bulldoze your way into a girl's heart by your caveman methods and I don't doubt they often succeed, for you've got the devil's own charm, Nicholas Red- fern, but it won't work with me, and I despise you for it!' She flung back her head, her eyes blazing, and Nicholas laughed again with pure enjoyment.

Realizing that her temper was amusing him, Kit sought to calm herself. With fingers that still shook, she rearranged the collar of her dress that was in disarray, and smoothed her hair. Watching her, Nicholas said lightly: 'Easy, little one, what's a kiss between old pals?' He leaned forward, studying her curiously. 'Be honest - you liked it, didn't you?' That was an understatement; she had been shattered, more by her own emotional response than his actions. Deep down inside her was she was aware of an intense regret for what might have been, but she smothered it resolutely. He was only playing with her, and there was Jeremy. 'It wasn't fair,' she accused him. 'All's fair in love and war.' 'So it's war, is it?' 'If you say so.' He was mocking now. 'And my terms are unconditional surrender.' 'I don't know what you mean by that. I'm thinking of Jeremy.' 'Oh, of course, Jeremy. I'd forgotten him, and I think you had too.' 'Of course I hadn't.' She stood up, thankful to find that her legs were steady. She dared stay no longer with Nicholas. She had become almost painfully aware of his physical presence. The whole length of him, the way in which his hair grew, with the dark plume over his forehead, which his exertions had ruffled, the mocking glint in his eyes. All were familiar and dear to her - how dear, she was only just beginning to realize, but that she must never allow him to suspect. The old Nicholas she could have trusted, but there were new

elements in him now which she could not gauge; that 'unconditional surrender' had sounded ambiguous. 'I must get back to Jeremy,' she said. 'He'll be wondering what's become of me.' 'Going to confess you've been untrue?' Nicholas jeered. 'Mind you tell him you slapped my face.' 'Oh, you're impossible!' she cried a little wildly, adding more quietly: 'What's happened to Stephanie? Shouldn't you be with her?' He shrugged his shoulders. 'She'll keep.' 'Poor girl, you do treat her badly.' Recalling that he was involved with the other girl, his recent conduct seemed all the more reprehensible, and she went on, 'You ought to be ashamed of yourself, and if I don't know what love is,' for the life of her she could not control a slight quiver in her voice, 'then you don't know what it is to be ashamed.' He looked up at her with a lopsided smile. 'Because I happen to like variety?' 'What a confession!' She was scornful. 'I believe in fidelity. Good night, Mr. Redfern.' Confident that she had uttered a good exit line, she turned to walk away with her head in the air and stumbling over the protruding end of the seat, fell upon her knees. Nicholas raised her to her feet, quoting mischievously: 'Pride goeth before a fall, my Chimp.'

His hands lingered on her waist, and she quickly disengaged herself, furious with herself for being so careless of her going. 'Thank you,' she muttered ungraciously, and looked anxiously at her legs wondering if she had laddered her tights. 'It would have been an ignominious end to your righteous wrath if you'd sprained your ankle and I'd had to carry you back to the hall,' Nicholas pointed out maliciously. 'It would have betrayed our secret rendezvous, and what would Jeremy have said to that?' Of course she never ought to have come out with him on the cliffs, but how could she have foreseen? Satisfied that there were no runs, she retorted: 'Luckily there's no damage done to me or my clothes, and I shan't mention this... er ... interlude to Jeremy. There's no need to hurt his feelings.' 'Marry him and protecting his feelings will be your life's work,' Nicholas told her mockingly. She said nothing to that, but started to walk rapidly away. He made no move to accompany her and reaching the end of the path, she glanced back. She saw he was standing with his arms on the guard rail above the cliff staring out to sea. He looked oddly lost and alone. Yet a short while before he had been the most popular man in the dance hall and full of vivacity. She had an impulse to return to him, to slip her arm through his and share his vigil, but she sternly repressed it. He was no longer the Nicholas of her teenage years, but a grown man with his quota of good and bad experiences, and even when she had given him her girlish adoration, he had been running around with Maureen. Jeremy met her as she re-entered the hall with a reproachful mien.

'Kit, where have you been?' 'Just for a stroll outside, it was so hot in here. I didn't think I'd be missed.' 'You know I always miss you. Why didn't you ask me to come along?' Kit felt vaguely guilty. Her action in going off with Nicholas had been wholly spontaneous, its culmination entirely unforeseen, but she had left Jeremy for rather a long time to his own devices. She said defensively: 'You weren't visible, and I thought you were enjoying yourself.' 'I don't care for this kind of thing,' he returned. 'They all know I'm not their sort.' 'Rubbish, Jeremy,' she spoke impatiently, for this was a well worn theme. 'They're all working boys, just like you are.' On impulse she added: 'How would you cope if you were transported abroad to deal with native labour?' 'What a silly question, that's most unlikely to happen.' His eyes narrowed. 'You've been talking to Mr. Redfern.' 'Oh, call him Nick like we all do.' 'I couldn't do that, it would be presumptuous. I suppose you think he's wonderful? No wonder you'd forgotten me.' 'I don't think he's wonderful, and I hadn't forgotten you. I'd much rather have been with you,' Kit told him patiently, and not entirely truthfully. She linked her arm through his. 'Come along. It's nearly over now and we must be sociable.'

Reluctantly he went with her to join the large circle formed to sing Auld Lang Syne, which was the traditional ending to their social functions. Kit caught sight of Nicholas opposite to her. He was looking very gay between Stephanie and another glamorous girl, and singing lustily. The glimpse she had caught of him when she had left him, she decided, must have been an illusion. There was nothing lost and lonely about him now. Later she saw him enthusiastically kissing all the more presentable girls goodbye, and her lip curled scornfully. Kisses were easy exchange with him - not that she did not come in for her share amid the laughter and congratulations, and she was highly delighted when a cheeky brunette included Jeremy in her good night salutes. But Nicholas did not approach her again. He waved to her from a distance as he went off with Stephanie, this time in a car. She felt a little slighted, and that was ridiculous, for she wanted no more of his casual favours. Martin was escorting his latest acquisition, so she walked home alone with Jeremy through the empty streets, while he made selfdeprecating remarks, which meant he needed reassurance for his lack of social success. This she proceeded to give him, until Nicholas's words recurred to her. 'Marry Jeremy and protecting his feelings will be your life work.' She fell silent, fiercely telling herself they were not true. Nicholas had no understanding of the sensitivity of a boy like Jeremy. He had never lacked self-confidence, and he had always had everything he wanted, even if he did not get on with his parents, including popularity. Instead of being grateful for his advantages, he had become a hardboiled egotist. Jeremy cut into her thoughts. 'You won't ever let me down, will you, Kit?' 'No, Jeremy, I'll never do that,' she said earnestly. 'You can always rely upon me.'

He sighed. 'You seem so popular, everybody likes you. I find it hard to believe you really care about me.' 'But, my dear, you're very ...' she sought wildly for the right word 'lovable, and so dependable. Half those people we met tonight will have forgotten me the moment I'm out of sight.' She was thinking of Nicholas driving away would have no further thought for her in that could kiss herself as he had done merely to more fervently would he embrace his blonde her good night.

with Stephanie, who lady's company. If he tease her, how much beauty when he bade

'I'm nothing to write home about,' she went on bitterly. 'Just a plain, ordinary girl. You could do better than me, you know.' For once Jeremy rose to the occasion. 'That I couldn't,' he declared stoutly. 'You've got a heart of gold, Kit. You're worth a dozen of those tarty females we saw tonight.' A leafy tree from a garden overhung the footpath. Jeremy drew her into its shadow and kissed her clumsily. His caress awoke no emotional response in Kit; she accepted it for what it was, a token of his esteem and affection, and as such she returned it, a slight pressure of young lips. 'I'm jolly lucky to have a wonderful girl like you,' Jeremy said happily as they continued their way. 'So long as I've got you I don't mind anything, not even having no home or family.' 'Some day we'll have our own home,' Kit assured him, 'and perhaps a family.' She vowed inwardly that she would never do anything to betray his trust.

CHAPTER THREE TIRED with all the activities of that exhausting day, Kit slept late on the following Sunday morning, and awoke to find her mother at her bedside with a breakfast tray. 'Oh, darling, you shouldn't have bothered,' she exclaimed, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. 'You're encouraging me to be lazy!' 'Do you good to have a rest for once,' her mother told her. 'According to Jeremy you were the life and soul of the party, and that after winning a race. You'll wear yourself to a frazzle.' 'Not me, and Jeremy exaggerates.' Kit sat up and poured herself out a cup of tea from the diminutive pot on the tray. 'Still, I was kept pretty busy.' 'I hear Nicholas Redfern has returned,' Airs. Vereker remarked casually, 'and he came to the dance. Did he speak to you?' Kit's grey eyes sparkled. 'Oh, he had a word with me,' she said airily, and unconsciously rubbed her lips. Rather more than a word if truth were told, and if she were to keep faith with Jeremy she would have to give him a wide berth in future. 'But he's been spoilt,' she went on, 'too much feminine adulation.' She attacked her egg with venom as if it were Nicholas she was beheading, not the eggshell. 'The boys up yet?' Though Jeremy and Martin were both over twenty, they were still referred to in that household as the boys. 'Yes, unusually early for Sunday. Jeremy was anxious to get down to the club and yanked Martin out of bed. Anything on this morning?' 'Not that I know of.' Kit was surprised by this activity on Jeremy's part,, until she remembered his interest in Sea Witch. Perhaps he had

gone down hoping to inveigle the owner into allowing him on board. Nicholas would be sleeping in the cabin. She hoped he would not snub Jeremy, but if Martin were with him, it would probably be all right, since Nicholas was fond of Martin. 'I suppose you'll be joining them?' Mrs. Vereker asked. Kit shook her tousled head. 'Not this morning. I'm coming to church with you.' Kit loved the old parish church with its huge mullioned windows and lofty clerestory. Part of the roof over the chancel had been restored to its original blue and gilt and the ends of each beam carried a winged horizontal angel. The carved wooden screen had also been restored in gold and colour, while the font cover was made to match. It was a huge and spacious edifice, its unstained windows admitting a quantity of light; Cromwell's men had disposed of most of the original glass when ornamentation in churches was considered popish. Her concentration that morning was disturbed by the intrusion of Nicholas into her thoughts. He was not there, though his parents were, but she was only too conscious that he was not far away. Though he had no place in her life now, and she had no wish to revive their former intimacy, he still presented a vague threat to the even tenure of her days. She wondered how long he would be staying - not long, she thought; he and that brassy blonde of his would be going off again upon a sea trip and she would be glad when Sea Witch had set sail and removed his disturbing presence. He had jeered at her comfortable relationship with Jeremy, telling her that she had no idea of what love meant, but who was he to preach to her? The way he treated and spoke of Stephanie was not her idea of a lover; he would always take and never give, and love meant giving everything.

As they came out of church, Mrs. Redfern stopped them to congratulate Kit upon her victory, for she prided herself upon taking an interest in local events. She had a hard, austere face; Nicholas had inherited from her his good features, but her eyes were a cold grey. She did not mention her son, but her husband did. 'You've heard the prodigal has returned?' he asked Kit with a faint gleam of mischief in blue eyes that were very like Nicholas's. 'He was at the dance last night,' Kit reminded him. 'Ah yes, with his fiancée, such a charming girl,' his wife took him up. Evidently Stephanie had been a success, though the description of fiancée gave Kit a jolt; she had not understood they were actually engaged. Nor apparently had Nicholas's father, for he said: T didn't gather they were engaged.' 'Then you were a bit dim, dear,' his wife told him acidly. 'Of course they must be, but young people nowadays are so casual about their relationships.' Her husband winked at Kit as she uttered this somewhat ambiguous remark. 'I'm sure she must belong to the Staffordshire Hillmans.' 'I don't think she's any connection whatever,' Mr. Redfern declared, 'and she's not my idea of a homemaker.' 'Ah, but she has money,' Mrs. Redfern purred, 'and Nicholas is so extravagant.' So Stephanie had passed muster with her mother-in-law- to-be and Kit agreed with her that they must be in reality engaged. Nicholas would hardly have planted her upon his family if they were not serious. Though from the first moment of seeing Stephanie she had expected no less, the confirmation had a curiously damping effect

upon her spirits. It could not matter to her whom Nicholas was going to marry, and Stephanie would suit him very well; ornamental, rich and devoted, for she must be devoted if she allowed him to treat her as casually as he seemed to do. The boys returned for midday dinner in tearing spirits, but Kit was unable to discover the cause of their jubilation. Nicholas had been at the club, they told her, and he had taken them out to view Sea Witch. 'In fact he's running a sort of ferry across the estuary to show everyone its marvels,' Martin said. 'You'd think none of them had ever been aboard a yacht before.' 'Well, she is rather super,' Jeremy sighed. 'He asked where you were,' Martin informed Kit. 'He wants to see you.' 'Mere politeness,' Kit returned tartly. 'He's got plenty to occupy him without bothering about me.' 'Oh, but he does, really.' Martin exchanged a conspiring glance with Jeremy. 'He's got a little proposition to put to you.' 'To me?' She was incredulous. 'Well, to all of us really,' Jeremy amended. 'Look, what's cooking?' she demanded suspiciously. 'We promised not to tell,' Martin informed her, 'but if you don't agree to it, we'll never forgive you.' 'Of course she'll agree,' Jeremy said confidently. 'She wouldn't be such an idiot not to.'

Kit looked from one to the other of their eager faces uneasily. Nicholas had put some proposition to them which had elated them, and her own concurrence was needed to put it into effect, but she wanted to have nothing more to do with Nicholas and his fiancée. 'He's offered us a cruise in Sea Witch?' she hazarded. Martin shook his head. 'No fishing, sis.' 'I won't go,' she declared emphatically. 'You haven't been asked.' 'But he's asked you? Is that what he wants to see me about?' she probed. 'He wants to know if I'd mind if you leave me for part of our holiday?' Martin said firmly: 'Wait and see.' 'I'm not going anywhere with Nicholas Redfern,' she informed them. 'Aw, Kit, don't be so mean,' Jeremy expostulated. Martin looked at her shrewdly. 'Did he make a pass at you last night?' he asked significantly. She bent her head so that her curls concealed her tell-tale face. 'With Stephanie there?' she queried. 'Talk sense.' 'You and he were thick enough at one time,' Martin persisted. 'Were they?' Jeremy asked anxiously.

Kit laughed, but it was a little forced. 'Crushes don't last for six years,' she said lightly. She was sitting next to Jeremy and she reached for his hand, pressing it reassuringly. Nevertheless she allowed herself to be persuaded to visit the club that afternoon, for she was a little curious to discover exactly what Nicholas had in mind. She changed from the neat green suit which she had worn for church into slacks and a striped tee-shirt and set off with the boys for the estuary. She saw him as soon as she entered the club house, which was nearly empty, for most of the members were upon the water. Today his sweater was white, contrasting with his deeply tanned skin and jetty hair. She remembered suddenly that he had once told her that one of his grandmothers had been Spanish, and since he had been away, the Latin element in him had become more pronounced. His patrician features and haughty carriage were a heritage from some Spanish grandee, marking him out from his Anglo-Saxon associates, though his eyes were Nordic. As she caught sight of him, her heart gave a treacherous lurch and she knew she had been foolish to come. 'Hi, Chimp,' he hailed her. 'Where have you been hiding? I thought you'd have been along this morning to join the queue of sightseers.' 'Since it's Sunday, I went to church,' she told him demurely. He came to stand beside her, his blue gaze glinting over her. 'I hope you prayed for me.' 'I'm afraid you're past praying for.' 'So I'm not forgiven?' he asked in a low voice. 'Aren't you making too much of a mere kiss?'

'Oh, that,' she shrugged her shoulders with a fine assumption of nonchalance, though she could not meet his eyes. 'That was nothing. Where's Stephanie?' 'Holding court on the boat. I want a word with you alone.' 'I wonder why?' she looked up at him challengingly. 'Why not find out? We can take a little stroll towards the bridge.' She hesitated. 'Afraid of another demonstration?' he jeered. 'You needn't be, I keep my kisses for those who appreciate them.' A car load of noisy youngsters pulled up outside, which meant they would soon be interrupted. Yielding to the magnetic compulsion of his gaze, Kit said ungraciously: 'Oh, very well, let's go, since this great project has to be divulged in solitude.' 'Who said there was a project?' he asked, as he followed her out of the club house. 'Jeremy and Martin are just busting with something you've suggested to them.' 'Yes, they're full of enthusiasm,' he said absently. He strode along the quay so swiftly that she had much ado to keep up with him without running. 'You might remember my legs aren't as long as yours,' she expostulated.

'Sorry.' He checked his pace. 'I wanted to get away before those hooligans in the car recognized me.' His hands were thrust into his trouser pockets, and he whistled softly the tune of a hornpipe. He moved with a light, catlike tread, the breeze lifting the plume of dark hair off his forehead, and he seemed oblivious of her presence hurrying along beside him. As they passed Sea Witch with her sails furled, a blue and white figure with gleaming hair waved to them, but Nicholas took no notice. Kit waved back, deeming it only polite to do so, and saw that Stephanie was indeed entertaining the Commodore and several of his friends. The quay ended in a length of sea wall, planted with marram grass, a narrow path running along the top of it, and here they must walk in single file. Nicholas stepped aside to allow her to precede him, and she proceeded at a quickened pace, very conscious of his following form, thinking that as an opportunity for conversation the terrain was singularly unsuitable. However, he did not speak until they reached the footbridge which spanned the river. Here they halted, and stood side by side looking back at the estuary with its blue- and-whitesailed craft - there was even one boat with a red one - and beyond it the line of the sea outside the harbour walls. 'Well?' she queried, for Nicholas seemed wrapped in reverie. 'Eh? Sorry, Kit, I was just thinking what a contrast this was to the African desert. So green and wet!' 'Oh, were you, but you didn't bring me here to admire the English scene. I want to know what you've been hatching.' 'Well, on Saturday we up anchor and sail for the Belgian coast.'

'Why wait until Saturday? The weather may have changed by then.' 'Because you, Martin and Co. start your holiday on Saturday. Right?' 'Quite right, but you're not proposing we come with you?' 'That's the idea.' She stared at him blankly. 'Why us?' 'Why not? All three of you are competent sailors, at least I know you and Martin are, and Martin vouched for the Co. I need a crew and you could do with a better holiday than messing about on the hard. Wouldn't it make a nice change?' 'Very kind of you to think of us, and how long does this voyage last?' 'You've two weeks' holiday, haven't you?' 'Oh no!' she exclaimed involuntarily. Dearly though she would have liked to sail in Sea Witch two weeks in its close quarters with Nicholas and Stephanie was an ordeal which she could not face. 'Don't you like the idea?' Well, it's awfully good of you, but X don't think it would be a good arrangement. You know a crew should be in harmony.' 'And are we so disharmonious?' 'You don't like Jeremy,' she made the first objection which occurred to her. 'I hardly know him,' he returned blandly, 'and you've assured me that he's a very worthy character. He's very keen to go.' That she was well

aware of. 'You and I and Martin have often sailed together, so where's the difficulty?' The difficulty was standing here beside her, much of his old charm encircling her. If only the years could be rolled back, and they could set off upon this adventure as the light- hearted trio they once had been. But now Nicholas was engaged to Stephanie and she was pledged to Jeremy. If she wanted to stay true to the younger man, she must make herself impervious to Nicholas's fascination, and how could she do that if she was in daily intimate contact with him for two whole weeks? Unfortunately her very good reason was not one which she could explain to him without betraying her folly to his indifference, for she was still to him the urchin whom it had amused him to play with during his vacations. As she did not speak, he put his hand under her chin and raised her face to make her look at him. With an effort, she met his narrow blue eyes with her clear candid gaze, and told him frankly: 'It wouldn't be good for me, Nick.' 'On the contrary, it would be very good for you, Chimp. It would widen your experience and give you a chance to spread your wings.' 'I haven't any wings to spread, and a wider experience would only make me discontented.' 'Divine discontent?' he suggested, smiling mischievously. She said with a note of appeal in her voice: 'Please leave me alone, Nick. I'm happy as I am.' 'With Jeremy?' 'Yes.'

'But Jeremy will never forgive you if you turn down this opportunity. I've asked him to come for your sake, to keep you - contented.' 'Very thoughtful of you, but you should have asked me first. You'd better leave me out. Take the boys, they're raring to go, but I'll stay at home.' 'That would spoil your holiday, and his; besides, we need another girl, to chaperon Stephanie.' She flinched; to go in the capacity of Stephanie's duenna was really asking too much of her. 'I don't see that's necessary, and she doesn't like me.' 'Stephanie's not fond of her own sex, but she feels we ought to have another girl aboard and she considers you're harmless.' Again Kit flinched. Stephanie was prepared to tolerate her because she was too unattractive to be dangerous as a rival. 'I should have thought you had plenty of friends of your own whom you'd prefer to take,' she said. 'I don't want friends, I want a crew,' he returned. 'You and Martin know your stuff. That sounds like a working holiday, but you'll have a respite when we go ashore. Come on, Chimp, be a sport.' The juvenile phrase which had promoted so many of her youthful escapades shook her, but she hesitated. 'I do wish you'd drop that name,' she complained. 'I may look like a monkey, but it's hardly flattering to call me one.' 'If you want flattery, you've changed, Kit.'

She pushed back her unruly curls impatiently and stared up at him defiantly. 'Of course I've changed. I've grown up, and you've changed too.' 'Not entirely, and you're not all that grown up. In fact you're being very childish at this moment.' 'Because I don't want to sail with you?' 'You still haven't told me why not. I can only conclude you're suspicious of my intentions. I assure you I'll be much too busy to waste time trying to seduce you!' There was a hard bantering note in his voice, and she turned away hastily, aware that her colour had risen. The sunlight surprised russet tints in her hair, the hue of autumn leaves. The nape of her neck looked vulnerable. Nicholas stared at it, with a curious expression. 'If you won't, you won't,' he told her sharply. 'But you'll have hard work placating your brother and your boyfriend.' She remembered their excited anticipation and her heart sank. 'I've asked you to take them without me.' 'And I have said I won't.' She swirled round on him. 'Then you're being very unkind.' He said silkily: 'I've told you there's only one person I consider nowadays and that's myself, and I need all three of you.' He paused, watching her mutinous face. 'Are you really afraid of me?' he asked in a changed voice. 'Afraid of you?' she lied scornfully. 'Why on earth should I be?'

'Why indeed?' Kit looked at him doubtfully and saw that he was laughing at her, his eyes agleam like turquoise in his bronzed face. He leaned negligently on the rail of the bridge, supple and strong as Toledo steel. 'Consider,' he said softly. 'Even if I were tempted to play the big, bad wolf, and haven't I got my own white lamb in tow, you'll have your doughty champion to defend you.' 'You're not to mock Jeremy!' she cried fiercely. 'I wouldn't dare. Correction, he has a doughty champion to defend him.'' His brows drew together and he dropped his mocking manner. 'Do you want me to tell him the cruise is off because you're afraid of succumbing to my fascinating ways?' 'You wouldn't do that,' she exclaimed, horror-struck, for that was exactly what she did fear. 'Would I not?' He smiled wickedly. 'For that's the truth, isn't it, Chimp? 'No, it isn't.' She was angry now. 'You're too damned conceited, Nicholas Redfern! You imagine every girl is crazy about you, but I think you're an unscrupulous, selfish pig, and I dislike you!' 'Quite an accurate appraisal of my character,' he drawled. 'And since you dislike me, why all the fuss? Wouldn't it be more sensible to plunder me while you have the chance? A trip like the one I propose can be quite expensive.' 'Of course we'll pay our share,' she said haughtily, wondering if they could.

-'You'll be giving your services, that will be your share, but you can pay for your shore excursions. I will pay for the stores, and you can order what you think we'll need - that's a fair division of labour, I was never any good at housekeeping.' He seemed to think that she had accepted, and he sounded so businesslike that Kit wavered, a little ashamed of the emotional overtones which she had introduced into the situation. 'Here come your knights to clinch the bargain,' he observed. Jeremy and Martin were running towards them along the sea wall, too impatient to wait for her return. Kit awaited their arrival in a turmoil of indecision. Every instinct urged that to agree to go upon this trip would be utterly foolish, but she could think of no excuse which would satisfy the two young men. To tell Jeremy that she feared Nicholas's old influence over her would reassert itself, was quite impossible. He would immediately conclude that she was still in love with him and be correspondingly shattered, and if she persisted in her refusal, there was no knowing what Nicholas might say to him. She glanced at him beseechingly, but he was smiling wickedly, enjoying her dilemma. She had an awful feeling that in spite of her denials, she was completely transparent to him. Jeremy reached her first and clutched her arm. 'Has he told you?' he cried excitedly. 'Isn't it marvellous? Ever since I saw Sea Witch I've been crazy to sail in her, and we're to have a whole fortnight, and visit the continent!' Enthusiasm had for once taken him right out of himself. His eyes were glowing and he looked exceedingly handsome. Kit felt as a mother feels when she has to deny a favourite child a treat upon which it has set its heart. She could not disappoint him.

Martin, more perceptive, looked at her anxiously. 'You aren't going to throw a spanner in the works, Sis?' She said with an effort: 'You seemed to have fixed it all without consulting me.' 'But Nick's been consulting you now in private session,' Martin pointed out, 'and a darned long time you've been about it.' 'Your sister was unbelievably obstinate,' Nicholas told him. 'But you've persuaded her now?' 'I hope so.' Jeremy shook her. 'Kit, Kit, how could you hesitate?' 'Well, I ...' It was no use, it was three against one. 'We shall sail with the tide early Saturday morning,' Nicholas told them suavely. 'Don't bring too much gear, but include one outfit for shore excursions.' His eyes met Kit's with a triumphant gleam in them. 'I'm sure we're all going to enjoy ourselves.' With her arm round Jeremy's neck, Kit said defiantly: 'Oh, we will, Nick, we certainly will.' 'Good,' he returned. 'Now that's all settled, I must be getting back to my chick, before she's flown off with the Commodore. After you, Madam.' He bowed mockingly to Kit. 'You go first,' she told him, 'since you're in a hurry.'

But he refused and she led the little procession self-consciously back along the sea wall, hurrying to get the ordeal over, so much so that she, who was usually as sure-footed as a goat, stumbled over a clod in the rough going. Again it was Nicholas's presence which had made her clumsy, and he again pulled her to her feet, for he was directly behind her, Jeremy and Martin had paused to watch a heron winging its way up river. With his hands still on her waist, he murmured in her ear: 'So you've capitulated.' He was so close to her, his breath stirred her hair; in every nerve she was conscious of the sinewy hands clasping her body. She whispered: 'I was blackmailed into it, but I'll get my own back somehow.' He laughed softly as he released her. 'And so will I, my Chimp -1 haven't forgotten that slap in the face.' A shiver of apprehension ran through her as she hurried on. Nicholas was unpredictable, and she had been worse than foolish in agreeing to this trip, but unless a miracle happened, she could not back out now.

In the days that followed, her fears and forebodings began to seem a little absurd, and she wondered whatever she had made such a fuss about. They all spent their evenings aboard Sea Witch making themselves familiar with the ship and studying the charts to plan their voyage, and Nicholas treated them all alike with comradely friendliness. To Kit, as he had suggested, fell the task of ordering the stores. He gave her a free hand and told her to purchase and charge

what she thought necessary at the biggest store in the town, where the Redferns had an account. Little by little she slipped back into her old relationship with him; it seemed so natural that the three of them should be together plus Jeremy, for Stephanie was never present at these evening sessions. Questioned as to her whereabouts, Nicholas told them she was bored with such matters as they had to discuss and gone to some land entertainment, either the ballet in Norwich or the pictures in Ipswich, and she had found plenty of escorts with cars. On the third evening it was a pop concert. 'But don't you mind?' Kit asked, puzzled by Nicholas's complacent attitude. 'Mind? Why should I mind, I don't like pop.' That wasn't what she meant, but she let the subject drop. Sea Witch was a sloop and built mainly of wood. She was not a new boat, the cost of one in her class being prohibitive, but she had been excellently maintained and Nicholas had been over her with a toothcomb, refurbishing anything that needed it. As such boats go, she was fairly roomy. Her saloon could be divided into two cabins at night and the three boys berthed in the forward half, allowing the two girls to have the two settees amidships, as these were more comfortable. She was fitted with a galley at the stern end of the saloon and possessed the necessary sanitary accommodation, though there was no bath or shower. The aft end of the saloon had a door and a sliding hatch above it giving access to the cockpit up steps which were dignified by the name companionway. The boat was tiller-steered and had a fairly large cockpit, but the deck space was limited. Although quarters were cramped, there was a surprising amount of space for stowage in lockers and cupboards, but extreme tidiness was essential.

'A place for everything and everything in its place,' Nicholas preached, but without visible effect upon Stephanie, for her possessions were strewn about everywhere. 'I don't mind her clothes so much,' Nicholas confided to Kit, 'they can't hurt anybody physically, though morally I wouldn't know.' He glanced whimsically at a display of diaphanous underwear hung on a line across the cabin. 'But all her bottles and lotions could be a menace. You know how everything falls about when there's a swell on.' He looked disparagingly at the array of pots and jars which covered half the table which was fixed down the middle of the saloon. Kit started to stow them in the cupboard beneath Stephanie's berth, resolving to remove the washing as soon as Nicholas had gone. It seemed clearing up after Stephanie might be one of her chores. 'I suppose she's got a lot more stuff up at the house?' she inquired. 'Unfortunately yes.' He picked up a large jar of scented bath salts and looked at it quizzically. 'At least this will be superfluous. All the baths she'll get will be in the sea.' He tossed it into the garbage pail in the galley. 'Oh, Nick, what'll she say?' He grinned. 'She's got to learn to be a sailor. You wouldn't dream of going to sea with a cartload of unguents and lotions.' 'Perhaps if I did, I'd look more like Stephanie,' Kit said pensively. 'God forbid!' Stephanie's lover ejaculated fervently.

Kit was not sure how to interpret that. Did he mean he would dislike seeing her trying to emulate his beloved? She said sadly: 'I'm afraid nothing could alter me or remove my freckles.' 'I like you as you are,' Nicholas told her. 'Especially the freckles. You wouldn't be my Chimp without them.' He sauntered out of the saloon and Kit retrieved the jar of bath salts, wiping it carefully. Stephanie might not need it afloat, but she would when they got ashore, and she knew they were expensive. Nicholas had left her with mixed feelings. He did not want her changed, because he had no wish to regard her in a romantic light. She thought she could gauge his attitude towards herself very accurately. She was, and always would be, Chimp to him, half a child, half amusing pet, and she supposed that under the circumstances, she ought to consider that satisfactory. But deep in her innermost core, she knew that she longed for him to realize that she had become a woman with emotions as adult as his own. Her good sense told her that it was much better as things were. Neither of them were free and Jeremy needed her, which Nicholas never would. If this trip was to be bearable, she must stifle her yearning towards him and devote herself entirely to Jeremy, who would require to be bolstered up and encouraged if he were to hold his own with their exacting skipper. One evening they took Sea Witch out into the bay and Kit was allowed to try her skill at steering her. To sit in the cockpit, tiller in hand, and feel the boat respond to her guidance filled her with exultation, and when Nicholas took over from her, she turned to him a glowing face.

'Nick, that was just wonderful!' 'Think what you'd have missed if I had allowed your disapproval of me to prevent you from taking this trip.' 'You allowed?' she said, laughing. 'You were all persuasion, but it was the boys' enthusiasm that decided me. I don't disapprove of you, Nick, it's just ...' She broke off, aware that she was treading on dangerous ground. 'Circumstances have changed,' she finished lamely. He looked up at the sails and altered course a fraction to keep the boat up against the wind. 'But I'm still the same old Nick,' he suggested. She was sitting opposite to him in the cockpit, and she looked away at the churning wake which marked their trail. 'I wish you were,' she murmured, for the old Nick had been much more sympathetic; moreover, he had not been engaged. 'I wonder what exactly you mean by that?' Jeremy came to the bottom of the companionway. 'Kit,' he called. 'If you're doing nothing, do come down and run over those buoy markings with me. I want to be sure I can recognize them.' The familiar mocking glint came into Nicholas's eyes. 'As you say, circumstances have changed,' he agreed. 'There didn't used to be a Jeremy. Run along, sweetheart, lover boy needs you.'

She scrambled down to join Jeremy, the hot colour staining her cheeks at Nicholas's jibe. Increasing familiarity had not improved his opinion of Jeremy, but for that matter Stephanie, to her mind, left something to be desired. If she could tolerate his fiancée, Nicholas ought in return to accept Jeremy. Back at their anchorage, they all hung over the charts spread over the cabin table, now clear of Stephanie's belongings. Nicholas proposed to make for Ostend on the Belgian coast. There he had promised Stephanie to stay a few days and they would visit Bruges, Ghent and other old Flemish cities. From Ostend they might sail up the mouth of the Scheldt to Antwerp and if time permitted, from thence up the Dutch coast. Then home across the North Sea,' Nicholas said. 'This is my favourite way of learning geography.' 'If only the weather is kind,' Martin sighed. 'The long-distance forecast is good, but it isn't always reliable.' 'Weather is as unpredictable as woman,' Nicholas observed, watching Kit's face. She was bending over the chart, her eyes shining with enthusiasm, and as always when she was excited, amber lights tinged their grey so that they looked almost green. One hand was ruffling up her russet hair which curled entrancingly in the nape of her neck, and here where it was protected by its cover, her skin showed its natural creaminess. Her face was so tanned, her freckles were barely noticeable. 'Weren't you lucky to have those nice black eyelashes?' he said suddenly. 'It would have been awful for you if they'd been sandy.' The other two, surprised by this irrelevant remark, turned their heads to stare at her, and Kit lowered her lids shyly. Her lashes were long, dark, and curly at the tips.

'How do you know I don't tint them?' she asked provocatively. 'I do know. I've seen you far too often wet through and I know mascara runs.' 'You're too knowing altogether,' she murmured. Martin, who was studying her face, remarked with brotherly candour: 'Kit can never be a beauty with that nose.' 'Tiptilted like the petals of a flower,' Nicholas quoted. 'Doesn't matter what she looks like when she's so warmhearted,' Jeremy contributed, not very flatteringly. 'Of course, it's her heart you're interested in,' Nicholas murmured teasingly. 'But don't you appreciate what goes with it?' Jeremy looked blank; he was not quick-witted. 'I suppose so,' he muttered. 'I'm not a specimen under dissection,' Kit cried. 'Stop it, Nick, you're making me feel embarrassed.' 'I should hate to do that,' Nicholas said softly. 'My lady's wishes shall be obeyed.' He made her a mock bow. Jeremy blundered on. 'Kit's all right, not every girl can be as gorgeous as Stephanie. You're an awfully lucky man, Mr. Redfern.' 'I am, aren't I?' Nicholas agreed, looking sardonic. He leaned forward over the table with an air of conspiracy. 'I'll let you into a secret. Her eyelashes take on and off.'

Kit was shocked by this disclosure which was unfair to Stephanie. 'You're downright mean!' she exclaimed. 'Any woman who trusted you with a secret would be a fool.' 'Why? Have you got one, Kit?' His gaze sought hers inquiringly and she turned away hastily. 'Let's have some coffee,' she suggested, anxious to break the tension which she sensed was building up between her and Nicholas. 'I'm becoming a dab hand with the Primus. Get some mugs out, Jeremy.' Jeremy hastened to obey, flinging wide the doors of the china cupboard and proceeding to unhook the mugs. Nicholas watched him critically. 'Not quite the right way to go about it, old man,' he drawled. 'When we're at sea, a list to leeward with the doors wide open like that would send our supply of crockery hurtling to the floor.' Jeremy turned crimson. 'I... I didn't think.' 'On board you must always think what you're doing.' 'Don't be so fussy, Nick,' Kit said sharply. 'Jeremy knows we're not at sea now. If we were, he'd be more careful.' 'Of course I should,' Jeremy murmured gratefully. 'I didn't think it mattered now.' 'Of course,' Nicholas agreed blandly. 'I understand.' Again his blue gaze sought Kit's with a wealth of meaning in it. Almost she could hear him say:

'Covering up for him as usual.' Suddenly she wanted to hit his smooth brown face, do something violent to wipe the satirical curl from his mouth. With flushed cheeks and smouldering eyes, she poured boiling water on to the instant coffee, and wished he would scald himself when he tried to drink it.

CHAPTER FOUR ON that breezy Saturday morning, Sea Witch slipped out over the harbour bar on the ebbing tide. It was very early, the eastern sky was a delicate green, the cirrus clouds above the horizon were edged with orange and red in the spreading light. Westward, the remnants of the night were fading from purple to grey before the onslaught of the advancing day. The yacht with spread sails skimmed merrily into the grey- green waters of the North Sea, her spinnaker billowing before her like a giant balloon. The crew had come aboard the night before to be ready for the early start, and when it came to the allocation of their duties, Kit had volunteered to do the cooking. Nicholas had cocked an eyebrow in Stephanie's direction and suggested that she might like to do her share, but Miss Hillman had soon squashed that idea. 'Food I prepare is never eatable,' she had told them. 'If I boil an egg it's always hard, and I don't know why, but my potatoes go all watery.' Nicholas had winced, having had experience of both items, and glanced quizzically at Kit. 'So it seems we'll have to take your offer and make you into our galley slave.' 'Well, I've got to earn my keep,' she had returned brightly, 'but I hope I'll be permitted to take my turn at the tiller.' 'You can take first watch tonight unless it turns stormy,' he had told her, to her great joy, while Stephanie looked at her doubtfully. 'I hope you won't let us go aground. I'm told there are lots of sandbanks around this coast.'

'Not her,' Jeremy declared loyally. 'If any of us do that, it'll be me.' He did not really believe it, it was his habitual self-deprecation speaking. Nicholas muttered sotto voce: 'I'm sure it will.' And Kit frowned at him. In spite of this inauspicious beginning, Stephanie treated Kit with a condescending friendliness, to which Kit tried to respond, though she felt sure it was only because Stephanie considered that she was too low a form of life to present any rivalry. Not being sleepy, she prattled away for some time after they had gone to bed. She wore a revealing nightgown and flimsy negligee, most unsuitable for a sea trip, and was much amused by Kit's more sensible gab. To this Kit had given some thought. Well knowing the intimacy that must result from their confined quarters, she had wanted nightwear which did not suggest what it was. Her plain dark pyjamas with their mandarin collar could have been worn in the daytime. 'You look like a Chinese coolie,' Stephanie had laughed. 'Fine if we're shipwrecked, but you're neglecting your opportunities. Wouldn't the boy-friend like to see you in something more fetching?' Lying in her bunk, her draperies spread around her, Stephanie looked a picture of seductive femininity, hoping no doubt that Nicholas would be passing through. If her eyelashes were detachable, she had not taken them off. 'Frills don't suit me,' Kit had told her, 'and I'm here as crew.' She soon discovered that Stephanie's primary interest in the yacht was its value as a status symbol, and it was the stay in Ostend to which she was looking forward. She was quite ready to sail in the boat, provided nobody expected her to do anything except sun herself

on deck, for she was exceedingly indolent. She was also surprisingly good-natured and a little stupid. Kit was astonished that quicksilver Nicholas could bear with this latter quality, for he did not suffer fools gladly. She had noticed that he tended to make butt of his fiancée, but as she rarely perceived his meaning, she did not mind. Stephanie was convinced that he adored her, though she admitted he was a tease, and was sure he would fall in with all her wishes when they were married. It seemed that their engagement was not yet official, for she did not wear his ring. Kit wondered what they were waiting for, nor could she decide what Nicholas really felt for Stephanie. His attitude was not at all lover-like, but she recalled that he had suffered at least one bitter experience and he never liked to show his feelings. She thought he had no use for dalliance when his attentions were serious, and he would take Stephanie when he needed her, but in the meantime he was much more interested in Sea Witch. Kit stood at the stern, watching Eastwold drop below the horizon with a thought for her parents still abed. Then she turned towards the brightening east, with her heart beating fast with anticipation. She had never been abroad before and was keen to see Belgium. Nicholas and Stephanie were to stay at a smart hotel, but she and the boys had opted for a small pension, which Nicholas had said ruefully he would have much preferred, but he had to make some concessions to satisfy Stephanie. The Verekers and Jeremy had insisted upon paying for their own accommodation, despite Nicholas' protests. He was wildly generous and had wanted to treat them to everything. Shafts of gold shot up the sky, though the sun was still some way below the horizon. Martin from the cockpit called: 'Go and rout out that boy of yours, it's time he took over, and if you want a sluice, there's a bucket and a bar of sea water soap.' 'Thanks, but I've washed,' she told him, leaning over the coaming. 'In warm fresh water in the galley.'

'Sybarite,' he accused her. 'Luckily we don't have to ration the fresh water, since we're not intending to cross the Atlantic.' Jeremy appeared at that moment, and went to drop the bucket over the side. He wore only trunks, and his long suntanned limbs still had some of the coltishness of youth. With the bright light turning his fair hair to gold, Kit thought he looked like a young Nordic god, Baldur the Beautiful, perhaps. He drew up his bucket full of water, yawned and looked at Kit. 'Get thee below, maiden. What we are about to do will not be a fit sight for thine eyes.' 'Modest little violet,' she laughed. 'I'll go and deal with breakfast.' 'Make it lashings of eggs and bacon,' Martin called. 'I'm starving!' Out of the tail of her eye, Kit saw Nicholas's black head and bronzed shoulders appearing through the forward hatch, as he heaved himself up, and she hastily slipped down the companionway. Below in the cabin, a sleepy Stephanie was wandering about in her diaphanous negligee, leaving her bedding for Kit to put away. Apparently she had seen Jeremy going up on deck, for she remarked: 'That boy of yours has got a beautiful body. Puts me in mind of a Palomino mare I once had, all cream and gold. At least Nick says he's your boy?' She looked at Kit inquiringly, as if she were wondering how she had been able to acquire a presentable young man. 'Well, he is rather a special friend,' Kit said non-committally. In her pyjamas, with her feet thrust into rope-soled sandals, she looked like a boy herself, as Stephanie was obviously thinking.

'He's a real English type,' Stephanie went on enthusiastically. 'I wish Nick looked a little more British. Oh, I know he's considered handsome, but he looks so sultry when he's annoyed, I feel I'm being questioned by a Spanish inquisitor.' Which was quite a perceptive remark for Stephanie to make. 'If I don't get breakfast, I'll be condemned to an auto- da-fe,' Kit said, laughing, as she stowed the last of Stephanie's blankets.

That night, as promised, Kit took the first watch. The others, tired with the long day in the sun, had gone to bed and she was alone in the cockpit. Sea Witch was now well out into the North Sea; the wind had dropped considerably and she moved sluggishly through calm water. The waxing moon shone serenely from a cloudless sky. A pleasant melancholy settled upon Kit, born of the vast areas of sky and sea around her. Men and women with all their petty struggles, their loves and hates were mere ants below the immensity of the heavens, from which the stars had watched the rise of humanity and would still shine indifferently upon its decline. The mundane frictions of everyday life and her own personal problems shrank into insignificance. A gay whistling of a sea shanty heralded Nicholas's approach up the companionway. He had not yet retired and Kit suspected that he had taken advantage of her absence to say a prolonged good night to Stephanie lying in voluptuous glamour on her bunk. A small yacht, she thought wryly, did not afford much privacy for lovers. He sat down at a little distance from her after checking the compass and the course. Since the night was much cooler than the day he had put on a dark sweater, though he had gone bare-torsoed all day.

'Managing all right?' he asked. 'Fine, thanks.' Her heartbeats had quickened at his proximity, and involuntarily she moved the tiller. The sails flapped. 'Now why did you do that?' he asked, as she hastily righted her course. 'You distracted me, and I don't appreciate your musical effort. Couldn't you think of something more romantic on a night like this than the problem of a drunken sailor?' 'Oh, it's romance you want, is it? Let me see, how about this? She was my childhood's sweetheart, She swore to be true when I left. When I returned, she'd married another, And I was left bereft.' He sang the words in a rich baritone and gave her a languishing glance. 'What an absurd ditty,' she exclaimed, glad he could not see her blush in the moonlight. 'Where did you pick that one up?' For though the tune was vaguely familiar she did not recognize the words. 'Nowhere, I made it up impromptu. Appropriate, don't you think?' She wished he would go away, she wanted to concentrate upon her steering and enjoy the peace of the night. There could be no peace for her with that dark, provoking figure within a couple of feet of her, who seemed to have arrived in the cockpit for the sole purpose of teasing her.

'Most inappropriate,' she said shortly. 'You never had a childhood's sweetheart.' 'Didn't I? You don't know all my secrets.' 'As well I don't, I'm sure they're not fit for publication.' 'Dear me, how prickly we are - and I came up here hoping for a nice confidential chat!' She ignored that, pretending to be absorbed in reading the compass, set on its binnacle beside her. 'If we don't get more wind, we'll be a long time getting across,' she observed. 'We'll have to use the engine. Sea Witch has got quite a powerful auxiliary. I'm not worried about that. Do you have to keep your eyes glued to the compass card? We're not expecting a hurricane or even a small tornado.' He had put one foot up on the seat and was clasping his knee, his black head tilted sideways in an effort to see her face. She could feel his gaze, though she would not look up. 'You shouldn't talk to the man at the helm,' she said severely. 'You take your duties seriously, don't you, my pet?' he told her tauntingly. 'On a night like this Sea Witch could sail herself.' To her relief he withdrew his gaze, and hoisting himself on to the cockpit coaming turned his attention to watching the silver arrow of wake behind the ship. All along it, and wherever there was any disturbance, the crest of every wavelet glowed with tiny points of light, the phosphorescence of the sea.

'I often think I'd like to live on a desert island,' he said dreamily. 'Nothing but sea, sand and coconuts. I'd spend my days beachcombing and grow my beard. All the fret and fume of our modern rat-race forgotten. Of course, to be ideal I would need a Girl Friday.' 'If you're thinking of emulating Robinson Crusoe, Friday was a man.' 'But I'd much prefer a girl.' 'You would, but I don't think Stephanie would suit the role.' 'No, Steph wouldn't fit into the picture at all, but you might.' He looked down at her and a quiver ran up her spine as she involuntarily met his gaze. 'Please leave me out of your fantasies,' she said desperately. 'You should be below getting some sleep before you take your turn.' 'But I'm not at all sleepy,' he objected, 'and in such a night... do you know your Shakespeare? I played Lorenzo once in a school play; he had a whole list of things which had happened upon such a night.' In a deep, musical voice, he recited: 'In such a night, Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan wall And sighed his soul towards the Grecian tents, Where Cressid lay that night.' Kit created a mental picture of Nicholas as he must have appeared dressed for the part in tights and tunic, with a cloak worn gallantly over one shoulder, a romantic Venetian youth, young, slim, dark and infinitely beguiling. But now he was subtly trying to flirt with her and her heart swelled with indignation. He always had to have some

female adoring him, and since Stephanie was asleep, he was practising his wiles upon her. She said acidly: 'I know that scene, but your Cressid is lying beneath us, and if I remember right, Jessica told Lorenzo that he: 'Swore he loved her well, Stealing her soul with many vows of faith, And ne'er a true one.' She emphasized the last line. 'I get the message. You don't believe I'm capable of faithful love,' he accused her, with his voice full of pretended reproach, belied by his dancing eyes. 'I'm not in a position to know. Presumably Stephanie thinks you are.' 'Stephanie never thinks at all. If she did, she'd see ..He left the sentence unfinished. 'Love's an emotion; one doesn't need to think about it.' Kit stopped abruptly. What a subject to be discussing with Nicholas, whose heart had turned to stone! 'That is so,' he said, as if she had uttered a profound truth. 'Otherwise no one would want to die for it, as Romeo and Juliet did. Othello, too, talking about dying upon a kiss.' He looked pointedly at Kit's lips. 'But Rosalind said: "Men have died and worms have eaten them, but not for love," ' she reminded him tartly. 'Nevertheless she was quite desperate about Orlando. We seem to be giving an anthology of the great Bard's plays. He understood human

nature. He killed off Romeo and Juliet because he knew such violent passions usually end in the divorce court.' 'Oh, Nick, how can you be so cynical?' she cried, shocked. 'I thought you were the cynic, refusing to believe in lovers' vows. He also wrote: "In delay there lies no plenty, Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty. Youth's a stuff will not endure." You're twenty, aren't you, Kit?' He had slid off the coaming and was very near to her. The implication was too obvious. Did he suspect that she was still carrying a torch for him, and was trying to make her betray herself? She said coldly: 'Do you talk to Stephanie in this strain? I shouldn't think it was much in her line.' 'You're right, she's a barbarian, she doesn't like poetry. Now you ...' 'At this moment I don't like poetry either,' she interrupted. 'Oh? And in such a night?' He peered at her downcast face. 'Does Jeremy steal your soul with vows of faith, Kit?' he asked slyly. She burst out laughing. 'Doesn't it sound silly? Poetry doesn't apply to our prosy everyday existence.' 'It ought, when one is in love,' he said softly. Refusing to be drawn, she told him prosaically: 'I think the moonlight has gone to your head. I can manage perfectly while it's so calm, so do go and get some rest while you can.'

He heaved a mock sigh. 'In other words you've had enough of me. Okay, I can take a hint.' He looked up at the burgee at the masthead to see the wind direction, checked it by the reading on the log, then with a casual 'So long, Kit,' he jumped down into the well of the ship, not bothering to use the steps. Kit heard a sleepy murmur from Stephanie as he went through the saloon and his laughing rejoinder. A little pang which she identified as jealousy shot through her. The night seemed darker for his going, and her eyes went to the serenity of the stars, seeking to regain her former tranquillity which Nick had shattered. Jeremy would never steal her soul with vows of faith, he wouldn't know how to make them, but another man might ... Fiercely she pushed the thought away from her. What had poetry, vows and all the rest of the sentimental jargon to do with plain little Kit Vereker, who could cook and sail but could not inspire romance? Freckles did not go with such imaginative images. As for Nicholas, he could charm a bird off a twig if he wanted to, but he meant nothing. Nobody could penetrate the hard shell covering his heart since his affair with Maureen, but he admired Stephanie's beauty, and shared the yacht with her, and doubtless what he felt for her would pass for love even though neither of them could steal each other's souls. The yacht glided on smoothly through the night, and presently Martin climbed up through the forward hatch and came to relieve her. He at least had some compunction about disturbing Stephanie's rest.

The wind freshened next day and Sea Witch required all Nicholas's attention, what little time he had to spare between adjusting sails, checking their course, and steering the ship, he devoted to Stephanie, more or less ignoring Kit.

Eventually they sailed into Ostend harbour flying the 'Q' yellow flag, showing that Sea Witch was a foreigner requiring Customs clearance. After the formalities had been concluded, a suitable berth hired and an aged fisherman engaged to keep an eye upon the boat, she was stripped and locked up prior to their trip ashore. Ostend was gay in summer dress, its very wide promenade and stretches of sandy beach crowded with holiday- makers. Brightly coloured awnings and striped umbrellas shaded the outdoor cafes. Kit was intrigued by the two- and three-passenger pedal cars trundling along the front, which were not only patronized by children. Nicholas and Stephanie were staying at one of the big hotels behind the promenade and the latter was anxious to get there as soon as possible to take possession of her suite and repair the damage to hair and complexion resulting from their passage across the sea. 'Of course she insisted upon having a suite,' Nicholas muttered aside to Kit. 'Expensive person, our Steph. You must all come and dine with us this evening, and there'll be dancing.' Jeremy, who had caught this last sentence, threw Kit an appealing glance and she said quickly: 'Thanks a lot, Nick, but I haven't a dinner dress and Jeremy doesn't dance.' 'Then I'll have to teach him,' Stephanie said unexpectedly, giving Jeremy a coquettish smile. 'And as for clothes, anything goes here.' She studied Kit critically. 'But if you've nothing except trousers with you, there are a lot of good shops here.' 'I've got my navy blue dress...' Kit began.

'That thing you wore the other night?' Stephanie interrupted. 'We'll do better than that. Green's your colour, I think. As soon as we've registered, I'll take you on a shopping spree.' This was an unwelcome suggestion to Kit, who had no wish to squander her francs upon personal adornment, but there was no dissuading Stephanie, who had decided that an afternoon spent transforming Kit would be most entertaining, anticipating deriving from it the same pleasure a small girl does when she dresses up a favourite doll. At Nicholas's suggestion, since it was midday, they agreed to find their own lodging, have a snack lunch and meet again during the afternoon. 'We shan't want you,' Stephanie told Nicholas. 'You take Jeremy and Martin surf-riding or some such. Kit's coming with me.' The place where the Verekers and Jeremy were staying was in a back street, and was clean and homely. Monsieur and Madame with the solicitude of continental hoteliers were anxious to do everything for their comfort. Kit enjoyed the luxury of a hot bath and washed the sand and salt out of her hair. Dismally she counted her small store of foreign currency and cheques, deciding they would not go far in Stephanie's company. She dressed again in her best blue trousers and a striped tee-shirt - she considered her legs were too skinny for shorts - and joined the two young men for a meal of omelettes, cheese and red wine at a nearby cafe. She need not have worried over expense. Stephanie meant to have her own way, but she was also prepared to pay for it. She swept aside all Kit's remonstrances, insisting that she intended to do the job properly and would not have the effect spoiled by niggling over the cost. Feeling more than ever like a doll, Kit submitted to her generosity, divining that Stephanie was getting a kick out of the

proceedings, and satisfying her conscience by considering that in that case, it was quite fair that she should pay for her afternoon's entertainment. Enjoy herself Stephanie certainly did. Having decided that green was Kit's colour, the evening frock she insisted upon buying was in reseda, designed with a close-fitting waist and long, flowing skirt. The bodice was negligible; what there was of it being covered with silver sequins. Kit firmly resisted the saleswoman's suggestion that a little padding would augment Mademoiselle's lack of bosom, on the plea that it might slip, with embarrassing results. Slight and supple as a willow wand, the dress gave her a sylph-like appearance, and Stephanie sighed enviously. 'I can't think how you manage to keep so thin,' she said, then, brightening. 'But gentlemen prefer - curves.' Kit was wondering what one gentleman in particular would make of her metamorphosis. He had never seen her in a décolleté gown, nor for that matter had she ever worn one before. Silver slippers and a diaphanous silver stole were added, and a necklace of silver filigree. Stephanie would not let her see the bill and wrote out a cheque for it. 'Tonight you will come early and dress in my room,' Stephanie decreed, 'and I'll show you how to make up your face. Your hair is naturally curly, it only needs a little shaping.' And forthwith she whisked her off to a hairdresser. Although she had some qualms about this, Kit felt she could not do other than let Stephanie continue to have her way, since she had been so lavish. She was a little excited by the prospect of impressing Nicholas, and wondered if the other girl could really make up her face to match her dress. So as requested, she duly presented herself at Stephanie's suite some time before dinner. It comprised a bedroom, sitting- room and bathroom, all furnished in ornate Empire style. Nicholas, she discovered, was discreetly accommodated on the floor above.

When Stephanie had finished with her, Kit hardly knew herself. Skilfully applied green eye-shadow turned her eyes into emeralds, her freckles seemed to have faded and her hair looked like a burnished chestnut. Neck and arms dusted with powder gleamed apricot under the flimsy veiling of her stole. 'The boy lover will be much impressed,' Stephanie told her with satisfaction, and Kit started guiltily. She had not been thinking of the effect her appearance would have upon Jeremy, but upon someone else. Stephanie, supremely confident in her own charms, would not dream that Kit would possibly rival her in that direction, and Kit knew that she was right, but it would be pleasant if Nicholas expressed admiration, if he only did it to please Stephanie. Stephanie herself was resplendent in a silver sheath, her hair retouched so that it gleamed like gold. Emeralds sparkled in her ears, at her throat and on her hands, but her engagement finger was still conspicuously bare. The two girls came down in the lift to join their waiting menfolk. Jeremy and Martin had brought a dark suit each in case such an occasion should arise, and Nicholas wore his dinner jacket. Kit wondered how he had managed to stow it uncreased in the confines of Sea Witch, but he might have had it pressed upon arrival. There was a girl with them, a dark-eyed, dark-haired Belgian, wearing a scarlet dress. It was subsequently divulged that Nicholas had made her acquaintance for Martin's benefit, but as Stephanie and Kit came across the lounge towards them, it looked as though she was finding her host more intriguing. They were drinking cocktails, and she was clinking glasses with him, while he wore his most engaging smile. With Stephanie absent, he couldn't resist making the running with whatever pretty girl was to hand, Kit thought disparagingly.

Martin was looking a little glum, feeling excluded. He sprang to his feet when he perceived them, emitting a low whistle, while Jeremy slowly got up. His dazzled eyes fixed upon Stephanie. 'Nick!' Stephanie called. He turned his head, jumped up and as his eyes swept over Kit, he ejaculated: 'Good God!' Stephanie laughed triumphantly. 'Do you recognize her?' 'What on earth have you been doing to her?' 'Can't you see?' 'Yes, I'm not blind,' he said slowly. Kit's heart sank. He was not impressed, and she heartily wished she had not let Stephanie have her way. She was a sparrow aping a bird of paradise, but to Nicholas she would always be a sparrow, and he only saw her now as a painted one. Stephanie was jubilant. 'Well, Jeremy, what do you think of your girl-friend now?' 'Lovely,' he said, but without enthusiasm. 'You've been awfully extravagant, haven't you, Kit?' 'Not a bit of it,' Stephanie laughed. 'You've no idea how cheap women's clothes are here.' The Belgian girl goggled; she knew what Kit's dress must have cost. 'Aren't you going to get us a drink, Nick?' Stephanie went on, sitting down beside him.

'My apologies, I was momentarily overwhelmed,' he returned with a gleam in his eyes. He summoned a waiter with a lordly click of his fingers. Waiters always hastened to serve Nicholas. 'What will you have?' Stephanie chose a Martini, and Kit followed suit, unable to think of anything else. Jeremy was still eyeing her dubiously, and she knew he was criticizing her for spending money which could have been more usefully employed. She managed to whisper to him placatingly: 'Stephanie has a friend in the trade,' which untruth she hoped would satisfy him. Nicholas did not give her another glance but devoted all his attention to Stephanie. Kit felt miserable, sure he was angry with her for letting Stephanie waste her money upon her. With an effort she made herself laugh and chatter over dinner. The Belgian girl, whose name was Jeanne, realizing the situation between Stephanie and Nicholas, diverted her attention to Martin. Automatically Kit, who was seated beside Jeremy, watched to make sure that he made no blunder with his cutlery, though she was not familiar with such an array of implements herself, but surreptitiously kept an eye on Stephanie's procedure. What she ate and drank, she hardly noticed, though the meal was lavish, a tempting array of hors d'oeuvres, fish, entree and a splendid ice pudding. Nicholas, between his fiancée and Jeanne, was gay and bantering, but he never addressed a word to herself. Poor Kit felt definitely out of favour, for even Martin was eyeing her with more amusement than admiration. The hotel had a ballroom adjoining, a vast space of polished floor lined with mirrors. Chandeliers spilling coloured light hung from the ceiling. Potted plants surrounded the orchestra, which was dressed in

some sort of fancy uniform. Doors opened on to a terrace overlooking the sea, where palms in tubs and more plants veiled secluded corners. Kit sat beside Jeremy watching the dancers and the floor was thronged, for the place was not confined to hotel guests. There was a mixed crowd in all sorts of garb, amid which Nicholas's and Stephanie's black and silver figures looked outstandingly distinguished. The dances were equally varied, ultra-modern mingling with the old-fashioned, but foxtrots and waltzes predominated. These Kit noticed were Nicholas's favourites; he did not appreciate the newer contortions. The lights changed from time to time; now, during a Viennese waltz, bathing the room in the hues of twilight, blue and mauve, then during a Latin-American number turning to red and orange. Jeremy said little and fearing he was bored Kit suggested a walk on the terrace, but he shook his head. 'I'm all right, Kit, it's a marvellous spectacle,' adding apologetically: 'I'm sorry I can't dance.' Martin claimed her for a foxtrot - they danced well together - while Jeanne tried to make conversation with Jeremy. 'You look super, Kit,' he told her, if a little belatedly. 'I hardly knew you. I don't think Nick's got over the shock yet.' 'I didn't mean to shock him,' she said a little bitterly. 'It was Stephanie's idea of a joke.' 'Rather an expensive one,' he suggested. 'She paid.'

'So I surmised. She's really quite a good sort, old Steph. Lots of girls would be afraid of being eclipsed.' 'She knows I can never do that.' 'Oh, I don't know, sis. You're not the same type, and you've got a sort of gamin charm, which is quite engaging.' This was high praise from a brother and Kit asked him laughingly how much he wanted to borrow. Two dances later, Nicholas and Stephanie came to a halt before her. 'Come on, wallflower,' Stephanie said to Jeremy. 'You're going to do this one with me.' He reddened. 'It's no good, Stephanie, I really can't dance.' 'Nonsense, you're going to try even if it kills you.' Eventually she coaxed him on to the floor and Nicholas was left standing by Kit. 'May I have the honour?' he asked with mock formality. 'You needn't, you know, I'm quite happy watching.' 'You're not, you look depressed, and I know you love dancing.' He took her hands and pulled her to her feet. 'Come on, Kit.' It was a slow waltz. Nicholas held Kit closely, his chin touching her curly head, while he guided her expertly over the close-packed floor. He did not speak, neither did she; she gave herself up to a sensuous dream, engendered by his proximity and the sentimental music. A dream in which there was no Stephanie and no Jeremy, only herself and Nicholas, gliding eternally through a fantastic realm of make-

believe. Suddenly she became aware of the night air on her face and enclosing darkness. He had swept her out on to the terrace. He waltzed with her down to the farthest limit where the shadows were thickest. Behind a bulwark of hydrangeas, with only the balustrade and the sea before them, he came to a halt. He did not release her, instead his other arm closed round her and he bent his head, seeking for her lips. 'Must you?' she gasped faintly. 'Yes, I must.' His kiss this time, though lingering, was gentle, and she sensed he was holding himself in check. Still keeping his arm about her, he sat down on a bench conveniently placed behind the plants, and drew her down beside him. The music from the ballroom came to them muted, mingling with the murmur of the sea. Neon lights from other hotels and buildings blazed over the promenade, but in that corner it was dark. 'Nick, we oughtn't to be doing this,' she protested, though she longed to stay there in the circle of his arm for ever. 'What else did you expect when you go and get yourself up like a siren? Didn't you know what my reaction would be?' 'I never dreamed of such a thing. I thought you disapproved. I let Stephanie dress me up to please her. I don't think she can have had enough dolls in her infancy.' She essayed a shaky laugh. 'I told you before, Stephanie doesn't think,' he reminded her. 'But you should have had more sense than to give in to her.' 'Yes, I realize that now, but at the time it seemed quite harmless.'

'Harmless? Good God, woman,' he exclaimed. 'Are you completely dim?' 'I suppose I am,' she said, not understanding what was agitating him. 'Stephanie has everything a man could wish for in a wife,' he told her, 'except...' He broke off. 'I know that,' she whispered, and tried to disengage herself. He withdrew his arm, but took her face between his hands. It was a pale oval in the dim light, her lashes dark crescents on her cheeks. 'Look at me,' he bade her. 'I... daren't.' He again kissed her lips long and closely and a shiver ran through her body. Dropping his hands, he asked mischievously: 'Aren't you going to smack my face again? I promise I'll offer no resistance.' 'No, that does no good,' she said sadly. Was this his revenge for her previous onslaught? If so it was a complete victory, for she knew now that strive how she would, she could never put him out of her life. She had always loved him, and her youthful infatuation had been succeeded by a woman's emotion. Whatever he had become, whatever he did, her heart was irrevocably given to him. 'Let's go back,' she said. 'The others will be wondering where we are.' 'To hell with the others!' Forcibly he restrained her movement to rise. 'I want another kiss.'

'Nick, you're crazy. Have you forgotten Stephanie? And there's Jeremy.' 'I'm well aware that there's Jeremy,' he said savagely. 'That's your stock remark - There's Jeremy. If you were honest, you'd admit the fellow is no more to you than an imposition and an excuse.' 'You've no right to say that!' she cried angrily. 'Damn all rights. Why won't you let your heart speak, Kit?' A great surge of bitterness swept over her. Not content with the glamorous Stephanie, he had to try to subjugate her too. He wanted a confession of love from her, as she had once made one long ago. That time he had left her stranded, and once she had satisfied his ego, he would leave her again. It was the chase that excited him. Conquest left him cold. 'I think you're a bit of a heel, Nick,' she told him in a quivering voice. 'I asked you before to leave me alone, and you might respect my wishes. You can't consign Stephanie and Jeremy to hell just to suit your whims, nor am I going to gratify your vanity with any protestations of affection, which I suppose is what you're angling for. Now, please, may I go?' Slowly he released her. 'You seem to imagine I'm a pretty foul sort of cad,' he said slowly. 'Oh, not quite as bad as that,' she smiled wanly. 'I think you are under a misapprehension regarding me, and if you'll get rid of that Jeremy type, I'll explain ...'

She stood up, as she interrupted him. 'I've no intention of getting rid of poor Jeremy. I'm devoted to him, and you've nothing to explain, Nick, I understand you perfectly.' 'You little fool,' he said angrily, 'you don't understand me at all.' 'Shall we leave it at that?' she suggested sweetly. 'It isn't likely I could understand a man with your experience, is it? But I know enough of you, Nick, to know we're better apart.' 'So be it, Miss Vereker,' he agreed suavely. 'From henceforth I'll treat you with as much formality as our rather intimate circumstances allow.' Perversely now she had won her point she felt wounded. There would be no more evening conversations in the cockpit, no further advances, for she had stung his pride. And a good thing too, she tried to convince herself as she sped back to the ballroom along the terrace, for what was rankling with him was her preference for Jeremy. He could not bear to accept that another man had superseded him in her affections, and was using his charm to try to win her back from him. An unworthy act, for she and Jeremy only had each other, and Nicholas did not really want her. If only he had not come back to disrupt her life, she would not now be yearning after him, for in spite of everything he had said and done, he had stolen her soul, but he had made no vows of faith.

CHAPTER FIVE KIT awoke after a restless night, during which she had dreamed vividly. She and Jeremy were in Albatross being pursued by Nicholas in Sea Witch. The much bigger boat rammed them; they were struggling in the water and it had become very dark. The words, 'In such a night', kept echoing in her brain. Then the light of a searchlight cut through the water, and she saw Nicholas swimming towards them. He shouted to Jeremy, 'You can keep her body, but I possess her soul!' She had a dreadful sensation of being divided in two, while Nicholas laughed, and she awoke palpitating, the sound of his merriment still sounding in her ears. She lay still while the miasma of her dream dissolved; it had been a weird hotch-potch of the events of the last few days, and the division in her feelings between the two men. She saw that the early morning light was penetrating her shutters. She jumped out of bed and threw them wide open to admit the freshness of the morning. Leaning on the sill, she reviewed the events of the previous night. It had been a error to allow Stephanie to dress her up. Nicholas had not liked it, and then her changed appearance had given him ideas. She considered that she had not acquitted herself badly during that difficult scene on the terrace, and she had certainly told him a few home truths. She hoped he would do as he had said and keep his distance in future. She must do her part too, by controlling her wayward feelings. Nicholas had told them before they parted on the previous evening that he had arranged to hire a car to take them all to Bruges today. Her tentative suggestion that they could quite well go by train and leave him free to escort Stephanie had been vetoed. A car could accommodate five as cheaply as two and they would be wasting their money on fares. They need not stay together when they had arrived there. So she had perforce agreed, aware of Nicholas's quizzical gaze,

and it had flashed into her mind that she was using the wrong tactics. Man, she had read, was a hunter and the more his prey sought to elude him, the keener he became on capture. Not that she was in any sense Nicholas's prey, except in her dream, but he might consider her evasions were a challenge. So she had thanked him sweetly for his kindness in taking them, and his mouth had curved satirically. Too late she recalled that he disclaimed all pretensions to kindness, obeying only his own inclinations, and had retired in confusion. On their way out of the hotel, Martin had said he believed Nicholas became bored with only Stephanie's company, which Jeremy had hotly denied as an impossibility, while Jeanne had smirked knowingly. When Martin went off with his latest girl-friend, and she had walked back with Jeremy, it occurred to her that it was ironic that while she was constantly up in arms to defend him, he seemed to feel he was called upon to champion Stephanie. Lured by the beauty of the morning, Kit washed and dressed and went outside; it was still too early for breakfast. Few people were about. She was amused to see a small cart delivering fresh vegetables to the hotel, which must have been picked at dawn, drawn by a large dog. He looked well and amiable and she remembered that in Belgium dogs were used as draught animals, though they, like the horse, were fast disappearing with the advent of the motor van. She felt pleased that she had actually seen one in harness. Now that it was empty, she could see how very wide was the promenade. It was so constructed as a sea defence. It was not only the English east coast which had its erosion problems. The rising sun was gilding the rooftops and there was activity among the shipping along the quays, though most of the hotels were still shuttered. Here and there a sleepy janitor was drawing out the sunblinds.

She came to the one where Stephanie and Nicholas were staying. She could identify Stephanie's suite, for it was on the first floor and overlooked the sea. Then she drew back hastily, looking round for cover. A familiar figure had come out of the entrance wrapped in a towelling robe. Luckily he did not notice her, for he was intent upon his morning swim. She saw him fling off his robe and run across the sand, a lithe bronzed figure clad only in swimming trunks. He plunged into the sea and only his black head was visible. Kit retraced her steps; her heart had started to hammer at that unexpected glimpse of him. She was thankful that he had not seen her. Caught unprepared she might have blurted out some idiocy. The incident warned her that if she wanted to maintain her composure, she must avoid the possibility of chance meetings in future. Martin grumbled at the continental breakfast of coffee, rolls and butter, missing his bacon and eggs. Kit told him not to be so insular, insisting that they were delicious. He was somewhat mollified when their waitress produced a large dish of honey, of which he was very fond. Nicholas drove up soon after they had finished with Stephanie beside him, and the trio crowded into the rear seat. 'Nick hauled me out of bed at a disgustingly early hour,' Stephanie told them, yawning delicately. 'After our activities last night I could have done with a lie-in.' 'Did he really haul you out of bed?' Jeremy asked round-eyed. 'Silly boy, of course not, he merely nearly banged my door in.' 'Shame to waste such a lovely morning in bed,' Nicholas told her, 'and our first one on foreign soil. I'd been for a swim.'

'Such energy makes my head reel,' Stephanie murmured, and Kit nearly said, 'I saw you', but checked herself in time. Nicholas would probably imagine she had been out looking for him. The country they were traversing was very flat and the roads were very straight, many of them lined with poplar trees. Since Belgium is composed of two peoples, the Flemings and the Walloons, each town has a dual name in two languages, the Germanic tongue of the former, and the French of the latter. Thus Bruges was also called Brugge and both appellations appeared on the signposts. The name meant bridge. 'I believe the official notices also appear in French and Flemish,' Nicholas told them. 'Belgium only became a united country in 1831. This part of course is Flanders, a much fought over territory. In medieval times it had its own Count.' 'What a lot you know,' Stephanie murmured admiringly. Martin said: 'It's a good thing somebody knows something, I'm woefully ignorant.' 'Read the guide book,' Nicholas suggested. Kit already had, but she took no part in the dialogue, unwilling to draw Nicholas's attention to herself. All she could see of him was his black head above his polo-necked sweater, and she thought how very well shaped it was. Jeremy's was round like a pumpkin, but the long hair he affected disguised it. They passed through agricultural land without hedges and verges as in England, but here and there by the wayside a stray poppy had managed to survive the careful weeding.

'They're tough, the Flanders poppies,' Nicholas said, indicating the red heads. 'Further south, round Ypres, they were the only vegetation to survive in that blood-soaked earth; even the grass was destroyed. The year after the first Great War, they covered the whole area with a sheet of scarlet. Symbolical, wasn't it?' 'Very,' Martin agreed. 'So that's why they became an emblem of remembrance.' They recalled that the country they were exploring had once been the scene of one of the greatest slaughters in history. 'Ugh!' Stephanie exclaimed. 'Let's talk about something more cheerful. There've been some pretty bloody episodes in most countries, but we needn't dwell upon them.' 'We must remember that we've been lucky,' Nicholas reproved her. 'We haven't been invaded since 1066, though both Napoleon and Hitler contemplated it.' The town of Bruges looked very ordinary from a distance, but when Nicholas drove over the bridge into the old part of the city, Kit felt as if she had stepped back into another era. After its river had silted up, Bruges had become a sleepy backwater, dreaming of its past glories when it had been a prosperous port, but, with the building of a new canal to the sea, it hoped to regain some of its former trade. Tall church towers and its distinctive Belfroi rose above a medley of red and brown roofs. Everywhere there were canals, the houses dropping sheer to the waterway, for in days gone by, their basements had been the warehouses which stocked the spices, silks and other goods imported from the East, and the necessary wool, to be converted into merchandise to be exported in its turn.

There were many trees too shading the waterways, some of them willows, the tender green of which was reflected in the still canals. 'In medieval times, Flanders was the centre of trade and learning,' Nicholas remarked as they drew up in the Grand' Place. 'At a time when America was still given over to prairies and redskins. The atmosphere of tradition still hangs over it, an atmosphere which can only be produced by centuries of culture. Can't you feel it?' 'We've hardly had time to do that,' Martin objected, as they got out of the car, but Kit knew what Nicholas meant. After the sophisticated modernity of Ostend, they had entered another world, for time stood still in Bruges. The belfry greeted them with a carillon of bells, marking the hour. The cascade of notes descended upon the old town, breaking its brooding quiet, as they had done throughout the centuries. The tall tower intrigued Martin and Jeremy; it was built in three tiers, two square towers one above the other and then a high elongated one, ending in a spiked top like a crown. Jeremy wanted to go up it, and upon investigation they found that they could, but Nicholas suggested that that feat, and it would be a feat, for the tower was nearly three hundred feet high, ascended by a circular stair inside, should be postponed until they were fortified by lunch. Instead he proposed a walk to the Beguinage. Beguinages, like the Grand' Places, the massive churches and the old guildhouses, were a feature of every Flemish town, but the one in Bruges was particularly renowned. They consisted of a collection of what might be termed almshouses, inhabited by women who wished to live a secluded life of good works, but they were not nunneries, for the women took no vows. They could leave any time they wished.

The Beguinage at Bruges was approached by a stone gateway under a low curved arch. Stephanie complained bitterly during their walk to it about the small rounded cobbles with which most of the smaller roads were paved. They crossed several canals by old brick bridges, which were not unlike those of Venice; indeed Bruges shared with Stockholm the designation of the Venice of the North. Inside the archway was a shady enclosure surrounded by small gabled houses and a church. They caught a glimpse of some of the women, wearing long dresses and a peculiar white starched cap. The place had an atmosphere of utter peace. Here, Kit thought, the weary and the heartbroken could find sanctuary. They left through another ancient gateway which led to the sluices of the Minnewater and thence to the Lac d'Amour, a placid sheet of water, the habitat of swans. Kit soon was made to realize that as he had told her, she need fear no further advances from Nicholas. His manner towards her had changed, though so imperceptibly only she noticed it. There was none of the camaraderie there had been during the voyage, though in her striped tee-shirt and trousers she was Chimp again. He seemed to enjoy imparting information, but he never addressed a remark directly to her, and his glance was frosty when it fell upon her. Jeremy's and Stephanie's eyes, also blue, became dull pebbles when they were annoyed, but Nicholas's had an icy glitter which seemed to stab. In vain Kit told herself that this was what she wanted, and she could expect no less after calling him a heel and criticizing his conduct so severely, but she was wounded every time she caught his glacial regard. Not that that was often, for he avoided looking at her. Hurt was finally succeeded by resentment, which was easier to bear. She had done no wrong, but he could not forgive her resistance to his charm. Someone said somewhere, 'Vanity, thy name is Woman,' but

male vanity, she thought, was much greater, though in a somewhat different context. Consequently she became more charming and affectionate than usual towards Jeremy, and Nicholas looked even icier. Returning by the old ramparts, they saw launches conveying tourist passengers along the broader canals, which Martin suggested was the best way to see the town. 'No, thank you,' Stephanie said emphatically. 'I've had enough of boats for a while, and the water smells.' Which it did. However, she wanted to buy some lace, and they stopped at a shop while she made her purchases. Lace was made in Bruges and they were told that they only had to walk down yet another cobbled street and they could see the women at work on it, but Stephanie rebelled, saying: 'I'm only interested in the finished product.' So instead they went into the Chapel of the Saint Sang, which Nicholas insisted was a must. Here was housed the holy relic of the Sacred Blood, which had been brought by one of the Counts of Flanders back from the Holy Land, whence he had gone on a crusade. It had been preserved in Bruges for nearly a thousand years and was supposed to have performed many miracles. On various occasions in troublous times it had had to be hidden in a very secret place, but during the last war this had been unnecessary, for the Germans were not interested in this sort of treasure. Every May there was a procession through the city streets, when the Holy Relic was carried in state in its golden casket. This information they obtained from Kit's guide book, which she had brought with her. Stephanie

expressed herself as being sceptical about miracles performed by relics or anything else, but Nicholas, surprisingly, seemed to believe in them. 'It's the power of faith which does it,' he said, 'and don't be too ready to pour scorn upon mystical experiences. I've seen some quite inexplicable things in Africa. There are more things in heaven and earth, etc.' His eyes sought Kit's as he started to quote, then remembering that they were estranged, he looked hastily away, his face hardening. After lunch, the three men decided to climb the Belfry while the girls stayed in the cafe finishing their coffee. Jeremy asked Kit if she did not want to come, but she shook her head, for she wished to avoid Nicholas's company as much as possible. 'Besides, we can't leave Stephanie all alone,' she said. Stephanie had indicated very emphatically that nothing would induce her to climb three hundred feet of stairway. 'Serve her right for being so lazy,' Nicholas said unfeelingly. Kit persisted in her refusal, she was a little surprised that Nicholas was so willing to leave his girl, but she knew he hated inaction, and thought it was a pity Stephanie was not more energetic. That lady seemed to be quite content with the arrangement. She ordered more coffee and while it filtered, lit a cigarette. Kit had never seen her smoke before and was again surprised. 'I often do,' Stephanie told her, 'but Nick won't let me on the boat. Thinks I'll set it alight, I suppose. He's a bit of a tyrant. You've got a much easier proposition with Jeremy.'

In that, Kit thought, she was right, but she was not sure that it was a recommendation. Nicholas was much more exciting, but she said nothing. Stephanie said with apparent irrelevance: 'Jeremy says his father's still alive.' Kit was startled, for Jeremy rarely spoke of his life prior to coming to Eastwold. Stephanie had been highly honoured. 'When did he tell you that?' she asked. 'Oh, we got talking while Nick was dancing with you,' Stephanie informed her. 'I became rather tired of having my feet trodden upon. I'm afraid he's right, poor Jerry will never make a dancer. Apparently he never hears from his father?' She made it a question. 'No. He disappeared, and I don't think he's any loss,' Kit stated, feeling more and more surprised that Jeremy should have confided in an almost complete stranger. 'He was five, wasn't he, when his old man went off?' Stephanie went on. 'He said he was very fond of him, and that made his desertion seem all the worse.' 'Well, of course,' Kit murmured, wondering if Jeremy could really remember his father. 'Perhaps he'll turn up again sometime?' Stephanie suggested optimistically. 'After all these years? Most unlikely, I should say.'

'Ah, but Jeremy, like Nicholas, believes in miracles,' Stephanie said with a little laugh. 'He's sure his father will come one day to claim him, having made a fortune overseas.' 'I hope you didn't encourage him in his fantasies?' Kit asked with dismay, for she had no idea that Jeremy harboured such vain hopes. 'I didn't squash them flat, if that's what you mean,' Stephanie told her. 'We all need our dreams, and it is just possible, you know.' Stephanie's revelation gave Kit a shock. Jeremy had never confided to her to such an extent, and she could only suppose that believing her to be essentially practical he had feared she would pour scorn upon his cherished hopes. That Stephanie on such a short acquaintanceship had led him to disclose them was a little humiliating. 'Doesn't he talk to you about it?' Stephanie inquired. 'Only vaguely,' Kit said, unwilling to betray her ignorance. She thought that she knew Jeremy inside out and was pained to discover that he had excluded her from his innermost thoughts. She would not have been unsympathetic; she could well understand how the idea of a prosperous father returning to claim him had sustained Jeremy when he was feeling snubbed and unwanted. 'He's a nice boy,' Stephanie mused. 'Rather wasted as a builder.' 'It's a good trade,' Kit pointed out, 'and it keeps him at home, not like engineering.' 'Nick won't go abroad again,' Stephanie declared, recognizing the implication. 'Imagine me in darkest Africa!' she laughed. 'I shall insist that he stays in England.'

She seemed very confident of her ability to manage Nicholas in essentials, so that Kit supposed her influence over him must be much greater than it appeared to be. She looked wistfully at the pretty, painted face. With such looks Stephanie had no difficulty in controlling a man's destiny. She had gained Jeremy's confidence at a sitting, so to speak, and she held Nicholas's allegiance. The three tower climbers returned full of enthusiasm for the wonderful view of Bruges' spires, roofs and the Flanders plain which they had obtained from the top of the Belfry. 'And as we started down, the half hour struck,' Martin told them. 'God, what a din! The vibration nearly shook us off the stairs.' 'You ought to have come, Kit,' Jeremy said. 'And Steph,' Nicholas added. He looked at his beloved. 'The best things in life are only attained by exertion.' 'Rubbish,' she retorted. 'But you wouldn't really have left me all alone here, would you, darling?' 'I never want to leave you alone,' he told her with a wicked glint in his eyes, 'but there are times when you insist.' Stephanie giggled. 'Isn't he awful?' she cried happily. 'I'm of the same mind,' Jeremy said with unexpected gallantry. 'Naughty boy,' she tapped his hand playfully. Kit was suddenly aware of tension in the air. Jeremy was looking at Stephanie like a spaniel looks at its mistress, while Nicholas's lips had their most sardonic curve. She knew that Jeremy admired Stephanie and Nicholas seemed to be resenting it. She sprang to her feet.

'Are we going to sit here all day?' she exclaimed. 'I want to see some more of this entrancing old town.' 'I don't,' Stephanie declared emphatically. 'Those beastly old cobbles about cripple me. You go, if you want to explore, and perhaps Nick will take me for a run while you're doing it.' So it was arranged. Nicholas drove off with his fiancée, promising to return for them. It appeared to Kit that he went reluctantly, but he made no protest. Kit and the other two continued their sightseeing. The loftiness of the churches impressed them, they were so much higher than the ones at home. They visited the Cathedral and the church of Notre Dame with its beautiful white marble madonna, surrounded somewhat theatrically with black marble. They had no time left to visit the picture galleries, but they saw the bronze statue of Jan Van Eyck in the Place which bore his name, and learned he was one of the most celebrated of the early Flemish painters. Memlic was another, and he had a marble one in a delightful little square surrounded by old houses. At every hour, when it played a little tune, and at the halves and the quarters, the carillon rang out, reminding them of the passage of time and all the ages which had past since it first broke the stillness of the city. Actually the Belfroi had been several times burned down. Finally the cobbles became too much even for the indefatigable Kit, for she had been trying by a surfeit of new sights and impressions to drive out the thought of Nicholas and Stephanie enjoying their solitude, without the distraction of the rest of the crew. Being imaginative, she sought to visualize the knights and burghers who had inhabited Bruges in its heyday, which was not difficult, for its ancient streets and picturesque houses were a more suitable setting for men on horseback and ladies in flowing gowns than motor cars

and shorts. The civic fathers were anxious to preserve the old world atmosphere of the place, and the more blatant attributes of modern architecture and neon lighting were excluded. They were devouring rum babas and cups of tea at the English patisserie, where they chose their own cakes from the counter, French fashion, when Nicholas and Stephanie returned, and came to join them. It transpired that they had been down to the coast, which, Nicholas complained, was all one great seaside resort from Knokke to Ostend. The towns adjoined each other and were all alike. 'It was nice,' Stephanie said, 'so gay and bright and crowds of people.' 'Too many darned people,' Nicholas growled. Kit could have laughed aloud. She had pictured the pair behaving as lovers do in some secluded spot, not, as Stephanie's bulging packages bore witness, rifling the tourist shops. Nicholas she sensed was disappointed. He had not had much of Stephanie's undivided attention so far. But that was to be different on the morrow, for it was decided that they would split up. Martin said he had a date with Jeanne, so Kitty and Jeremy booked on a bus excursion to Brussels. They started early in the morning in one of the mammoth coaches used for touring on the continent, and Kit found it something of a relief to be free of Nicholas's obsessive presence. The coach passed through Ghent or Gand, but did not stop. Their courier told them they would halt there for tea on the return journey. Kit glimpsed the impressive and sinister pile of the medieval castle. She remembered that this thriving town, and it was full of bustle and

commerce, very different from sleepy Bruges, was where John of Gaunt, another variation of Ghent, had been born. The great Plantagenet duke had played an important part in the politics of his time, but it was his love story which intrigued her most. He had eventually married as his third wife his daughters' governess, another Katharine, and by so doing legitimized her children. The story of Katharine Swinton's long devotion to her duke made one of history's true romances. Kit wondered if he could have been anything like Nicholas, for the latter had upon occasion an arrogant and regal air, but the Plantagenet men were reputed to be fair or red. She scolded herself for the way in which her thoughts invariably returned to Nicholas; for this one day at least she must devote herself to Jeremy. Past Ghent they stopped to look at the tapis en sable, pictures made of coloured sand on velvet, which seemed to her to be rather a waste of time, for though very handsome and clever they were not durable. The industry was kept going mainly as a tourist attraction. Of Brussels, Kit retained only impressions of the more outstanding features, for there was too much to assimilate in one day. The city was built on hills, and while narrow streets and old-world houses were to be found in the lower town, broad boulevards and fine properties graced the upper. The Cathedral and the Grand Place lingered long in her memory. Ste. Gudule was built on a hillside, and contained an enormous wooden pulpit surmounted by a heavy canopy. On the front was carved a scene from the Garden of Eden, and the balustrade of the staircase was in the form of a hedge with animals crouched in the middle. Their guide made a point of showing them the marble tablet erected to the memory of the million British soldiers who were killed in Flanders. On the crest of the hill above the Cathedral was the domed Palais de Justice. The Grand Place was a grand' place of grand' places', every Flemish town possessed one. It was surrounded by magnificent carved buildings dating from the fifteenth century, among them the Hotel de

Ville with its tall tower surmounted by a spire, its steep roof containing three rows of dormer windows, decorated with a carved and fretted facade. La Maison du Roi now houses a museum, and the rest of the square was surrounded by the old Guild Houses, every one different and all carved and gilded, each bearing a different emblem a swan, a ship or perhaps a bird - being the totems of the rich city guilds that had built them for their meeting places. 'So even in those days they had their trades unions,' Jeremy remarked when the purpose of the Guilds was explained to him. 'Yes, and very good they were about looking after their craftsmen,' Kit told him, having read some history. 'The nobility didn't have it all their own way, and the merchants were the ones with the money.' 'Life must have been quite pleasant.' Jeremy looked round the spacious square. 'None of the noise and confusion of modern traffic.' 'Except that they were always fighting somebody. Poor Belgium has been called the cockpit of Europe.' They had free time to do some shopping, and wandering down a little street in the older part of the town, Kit espied an antique shop selling among other things a quantity of old jewellery. She was much taken with a silver ring containing a garnet, and trying it on her right hand, found it fitted perfectly. 'Let me give you that,' Jeremy said, for it was not very expensive. 'It will be a little memento of our trip.' 'It could be more than that,' she said significantly, for suddenly she very much wanted to tie herself to Jeremy, to erect him as a barrier between her and Nicholas and against her own wayward thoughts. Once she was engaged to him it would silence all Nicholas's criticisms.

Jeremy coloured. 'Oh, Kit, do you really mean that?' he breathed. For answer she transferred the ring from her right hand to her left. The shop man was delighted; he could not understand much of their English, but he could not fail to understand their actions. Effusively he offered his felicitations. Kit smiled with satisfaction; when they returned that night they would greet Nicholas as an engaged couple. Out in the street, Jeremy told her eagerly: 'I'm so glad. Since we left Eastwold you seemed to be slipping away from me. I was afraid ...' He broke off, but Kit guessed his thought. He was perceptive enough to have noticed that Nicholas attracted her, and had been afraid their relationship was threatened. 'You really do like me best?' he went on childishly, and she knew he also was thinking of the other man. 'You will always come first with me,' she told him, and vowed to herself that she would make that true. A little further on they came upon a small park and behind a sheltering hedge of clipped yew, Jeremy took her in his arms and gave her their betrothal kiss. 'You've made me so happy,' he said. He was looking boyishly handsome, his eyes alight with feeling, his open shirt showing his tanned throat. Kit put up a hand to stroke his fair, soft hair, which the sun was gilding. Young, healthy and ardent, what more could she want? Moreover, there was a tenderness in Jeremy's embrace which Nicholas lacked entirely, though if she had been honest, she would have had to admit that she missed the fire behind Nicholas's kisses and the excitement he was able to awake in her. But she must put Nicholas out of her thoughts now that she was officially engaged and he would have to respect her new status. That,

after all, had been the real object of the exercise, for Jeremy depended upon her for all the love and security he had in his life. That daughter brought her conversation with Stephanie to mind. 'Why did you tell Stephanie you were hoping your father would turn up again?' she asked, as they walked entwined down a path between rose bushes. He flushed a little guiltily. 'One has to keep one's end up,' he explained jauntily. 'And I'd rather talk about Dad than the orphanage.' 'But you don't really believe he ever will?' she persisted. She felt him shrug his shoulders. 'You should have asked for a miracle in the Chapel lu Saint Sang,' she suggested lightly. He gave her an odd look. 'Perhaps I did.' Determined to dispel this fixation if she could, she told him firmly: 'You don't need fathers or anybody else, when you've got me.' 'No, darling.' He signed. 'But I wish I'd got more to offer you.' 'We've got all that's necessary.' She glanced up at his face, noticing the discontented curve of his mouth. 'It's Nicholas and Stephanie who are upsetting you,' she said shrewdly. 'You envy their way of life. I always thought this cruise was a mistake.' Much worse than a mistake with regard to her own feelings, but she had been coerced into it.

'Don't say that,' Jeremy objected. 'I wouldn't have missed it for anything.' On the return journey they stopped in Ghent as arranged. They were behind schedule and their visit to St. Bavon to see the famous polyptych by the brothers Van Eyck was a little hurried, as devotees were already assembling for the evening service. The altarpiece, which had many side panels, was called 'The Adoration of the Lamb' and was world- famous. It shows the Lamb of God in the centre surrounded by a crowd of worshippers. Every face in the multitude is clearly and vividly painted, while the colouring is a rich and glowing conglomeration of reds, blues and greens, with a lot of gold. During the last war it was stolen by the Germans, and the Americans found it in a salt mine in Eastern Europe and returned it to the Belgians. The altarpiece is in a little chapel by itself, with an inscription under it recording the happening, a tribute to the Americans. Ghent too was a mixture of ancient and modern, antique buildings begin next door to big, modern cafes, with a very up-to-date shopping centre. There were some beautiful old houses along the quays. Built on a cluster of islands in the Scheldt, Ghent was the capital of Flanders and prominent in the wool and weaving trade with England in Plantagenet days. Not that Kit and Jeremy had much time to explore. After the visit to St. Bavon, tea was laid on for their party in a fantastic old inn, all wood carving and ancient beams. The proprietor had once been a famous archer, archery being the national sport, and the gallery which ran round the restaurant was decorated with the trophies which he had won. 'It's nice being by ourselves,' Jeremy said as they sat down to their meal. He had said it more than once during the day, and Kit again

agreed. Freed from the disturbance of Nicholas's presence, she was trying hard to regain the tranquillity which had been hers before he re-entered her life, but as the day wore on she caught herself storing up incidents and impressions which she thought would interest him to recount to Nicholas when she saw him again. Dismayed to find he was again dominating her thoughts, she told herself firmly that today and its occurrences were dedicated to Jeremy and she would not share it with a third party. But Jeremy as a sightseeing companion was a little disappointing. He only took a perfunctory interest in the old inn, but Nicholas she knew would have raved about it, and quite possibly, if he had not already done it, would want to try his skill as an archer. Jeremy merely made a feeble joke about drawing a long bow. She was being very unfair to make comparisons between the two men. Jeremy had not had Nicholas's education and opportunities. Moreover he was much younger, and for that she ought to be thankful. Nicholas had had too much experience of life - and women. There, she thought despairingly, her mind had again wandered into forbidden territory. She tried to fix her attention upon her new fiancé, but strive as she would she could not entirely dismiss the tiny ache in her heart, nor her longing for the presence of the man whose spell she had hoped to exorcize with an antique silver ring. Martin was still out when the newly engaged couple returned to their lodging. Kit knew that Nicholas would be calling that evening, for they were to resume their cruise on the morrow and he would be coming to give them his instructions. They waited for him in the small lounge of their pension, which was empty as all the other guests had gone out. Kit had changed into her navy dress, feeling it was an occasion, and Jeremy wore his dark suit. He ordered a bottle of wine to celebrate their engagement, and they self-consciously toasted each other.

Martin and Nicholas arrived together, each with his attendant lady. Jeanne wore a lemon-coloured trouser suit and seemed very pleased with herself and her escort. Stephanie also wore trousers, very full ones in pale blue with a white double-breasted jacket. 'We've something to tell you,' Jeremy said importantly, when they had greeted each other. 'Kit and I are engaged.' 'I thought you already were,' Martin exclaimed. 'This is official,' Kit told him, and held out her ring for inspection. She had flashed a glance at Nicholas, and saw his face was quite inscrutable, except for an ominous glitter in his eyes. Jeanne and Stephanie exclaimed over the ring and congratulated Kit warmly, though Stephanie added: 'Antiques are very pretty, but I don't care for them myself. I think there's nothing so nice as diamonds, preferably a half hoop.' She glanced expectantly at Nicholas. 'I daresay you do,' he returned non-committally. He did not congratulate Kit. 'What are you drinking?' He picked up the bottle of Graves and made a face. 'Doesn't the occasion call for champagne?' 'We aren't plutocrats,' Kit reminded him. 'Let's have some,' Stephanie suggested eagerly. 'Ask for a bottle, Nick.' While it was being brought, Nicholas said to Jeremy: 'I hope your new status won't affect your efficiency as crew.'

Kit flushed with anger. It was a deliberate reminder of their position, his hired crew, and as such their personal affairs must give way to his demands. 'What a beastly thing to say!' she exclaimed. 'Of course it won't make any difference.' 'I'm not so sure about that. Stars in the eyes can obscure vision, and lovers' reveries induce aberrations.' He was jeering. Jeremy said with dignity: 'Nothing will impair my sense of responsibility, Mr. Red- fern.' He always used Nicholas's surname when he suspected an affront. Nicholas raised quizzical eyebrows, and Stephanie, unaware of tension, asked eagerly: 'When's the wedding going to be?' 'I don't know,' Kit replied. 'We've got to find somewhere to live first.' 'I thought one of those new bungalows at Reydon,' Jeremy broke in eagerly. 'I've got something saved towards the deposit and with our combined salaries we should manage comfortably.' So he had got it all taped, and he was counting upon Kit continuing with her job. She flushed uncomfortably, wishing he had not been so frank in front of Stephanie who never had to work and Nicholas, whose smile became more and more satirical. The arrival of the champagne created a diversion. Martin proposed their health and then Jeremy, elevated by the occasion and so much wine, raised his glass.

'To our own little home, Kit's and mine,' he proposed enthusiastically. Kit drank while she was suddenly assailed by a painful doubt. Did Jeremy really love her, or did he want to marry her merely for the home of his own for which he had always longed? She needed his love to sustain her and assuage her own heartache, and although she could not wholeheartedly return it, she could make for him the home he wanted, so she did not feel she was being unfair to him, but if neither of them brought love to their marriage, it had the cold aspect of a business arrangement. Then she remembered his shy kisses that afternoon, which surely had expressed genuine affection. Affection? She had that for him too, but was it enough? What of the wild ecstasy she had experienced in Nicholas's arms? She gave a long sigh. That was something which she would have to forgo, and all said and done, such passion was very unreliable. 'Now that's all over,' Nicholas said, setting down his glass. 'Let's get to business, if you can bear the intrusion of mundane matters.' He proceeded to outline his plans for the next day. Kit watched him while he detailed his schemes for sailing up the Scheldt to Antwerp. Every line of him was dear and familiar to her, from the ebony lock of hair which he kept brushing back from his forehead to his immaculate shoes. Subconsciously she had hoped he might betray some emotion, a regret that he had lost his Chimp, or even jealousy of Jeremy, but that of course was quite absurd; all they were to him was an efficient crew, and the only thing that concerned him was that they should continue to be so. He was reminding her and Jeremy where their duty lay. Eventually the session broke up, much to Jeanne's relief, who was becoming very bored with their incomprehensible talk of winds, tides and navigational problems. She left first with Martin, for he was

going to walk her home. Stephanie was talking to Jeremy in a corner of the room. Nicholas looked towards them, then turned to Kit. 'I suppose you know what you've done?' he asked in a low voice. 'Of course I do,' she returned, while an angry spot of colour rose in either cheek. He looked her up and down with ironic eyes. 'A suburban bungalow and Jeremy, but not love in a cottage. God help you, Kit, but you've made your bed and now you must lie on it.' He strode over to the other couple, leaving her stricken. 'Come on Stephanie, time flies, and we have to be astir early in the morning.' Kit stood watching them say good-bye to Jeremy with an icy stricture round her heart. Nicholas knew that she did not love Jeremy, and he had meant she would find no joy in a loveless marriage. The step that she had taken that day was irrevocable, for never could she let Jeremy down, and she knew then that she had made a terrible mistake. For though he did not want them, her heart and soul belonged to Nicholas and by marrying Jeremy she was betraying both. Stephanie went out on Nicholas's arm, waving a cheery good-bye, but Nicholas avoided looking at Kit. Jeremy came up to her with a somewhat sheepish smile. 'Nice of Nick to stand us all champagne,' he remarked. 'Everyone was very kind. This has been a great day for us, Kit.' 'Oh, very,' she agreed, but she was wishing she were dead.

CHAPTER SIX KIT stood on the slanting deck looking despondently over the acres of wet shining sand, more of which came into view every moment as the tide ebbed. Sea Witch was stuck fast on a sandbank, her keel deeply embedded in moist ooze. They had made an early start on a bright and breezy morning, but Nicholas had seemed to be in a vile temper. Stephanie whispered to Kit that he had got a hangover. 'We fairly whooped it up last night after we left you. Didn't get to bed until nearly morning.' Information which astonished Kit, for Nicholas had indicated that he meant to retire when he had said good night, and also it was very unlike him to indulge in an alcoholic orgy on the night before a voyage. He had once told her that he only drank to excess when he needed to drown sorrow, but he had not had that excuse this time. Martin was not in much better shape; he had gone places with Jeanne on the way to her home. Since they were bowling along nicely with a following breeze, Kit had suggested that Nicholas and Martin should sleep off their dissipations. Jeremy was steering and she would be at hand if he needed help. Rather to her surprise, Nicholas had agreed. 'I've got a rotten head,' he had said apologetically, 'and I'm not fit company for anyone.' He warned Jeremy to keep an eye on the weather and to look out for shoals. Unfortunately the echo sounder was out of action, but if he had any doubts about the depth, he must get Kit to use a lead line.

Then with a final check-up he betook himself to his berth, much to everyone's relief, and Martin followed suit. Kit went down below to peel some potatoes for lunch, while Stephanie, feeling bored, went to join Jeremy in the cockpit. Her night out did not seem to have affected her. Kit heard her giggles and Jeremy's shy laughter. They seemed to be having a good time and she had no wish to join them. Absorbed in her own bitter reflections, for the new day had brought no abatement of her sense of having committed an irreparable folly, she lingered over her tasks, glad to be alone. From the forward cabin there came no sound; Martin and Nicholas were dead to the world, each rolled in his sleeping bag. Afterwards she was to blame herself deeply for not keeping an eye on the weather. She became aware that the sails were fluttering, and then disaster struck. Sea Witch shuddered from stem to stern, and gave a sickening lurch. The deck began to tilt. Scrambling up into the cockpit, she found the yacht was not moving and her sails were flapping madly. A white- faced Jeremy greeted her. 'Kit, we're aground!' Nicholas came up in a black fury. 'What the hell did you think you were doing?' he blazed at Jeremy. 'I was sailing on the course you gave me ...' Jeremy began. -Nicholas took him by the shoulders and turned him to face the burgee at the masthead. 'Do you see that?'

The pennant indicated that the wind had veered, and Jeremy hung his head. 'Furl the sails!' Nicholas barked. Kit was already untying the sheets. 'Then get the kedge anchor out - perhaps we can kedge her off.' It was useless; the sandbank at the point shelved sharply, and Sea Witch was soon left high and dry, her deck tilted at an angle. She did not heel over completely, for her keel was fast in the sand. 'You'll signal for help?' Stephanie asked. Nicholas shook his head. 'Thanks to Jeremy's erratic steering, I haven't a clue where we are. Before I use the R/T I want to discover our whereabouts if I can. The North Sea is a fairly big area in which to search for a boat in trouble.' 'But, Nick,' she cried agitatedly, 'aren't we in danger?' 'None at all. Eventually when the tide comes back, she'll float off. We only have to wait.' He smiled at their anxious faces a little grimly. 'A nice rest can be had by all.' Kit was doing a rapid sum in her head; it would be many hours before the tide reached full again and Nicholas looked as if he would enjoy keeping them captive there to wait for its return. Martin said cheerfully: 'I only hope we're not on the Goodwins. I've heard of ships being buried there with just their masts left sticking up like tombstones.' 'Oh, our beautiful boat!' Stephanie wailed, but her subsequent anger was directed not against Jeremy, the real culprit, but against Nicholas. 'Why did you sleep so long?' she accused him.

'Because I believed I had a competent crew,' he returned. 'But we're nowhere near the Goodwins, that I can assure you. I'll go and look at the charts after I've checked the compass and the log, and perhaps I can find a clue as to which sandbank we're marooned upon.' He glanced up at the bright sky. 'I believe there's a sextant somewhere in the fo'c'sle. If I can find it, we can get a bearing from the sun. Kit, you'd better rustle up some lunch.' Jeremy and Martin were busy stowing the sails, Jeremy working with a feverish energy to atone for his carelessness. Nicholas went down to the saloon and Kit followed reluctantly. She wanted a chance to hearten Jeremy, who looked miserable. She would be able to cook, for the stove was held steady in its gimbals. Arrived in the cabin, she said to Nicholas: 'There really is no danger?' 'Not unless the weather changes. If it started to blow, with her bottom fast, Sea Witch might break her back, but it's quiet enough at the moment.' Too quiet. The sun poured down upon them with the scorching heat that presages a storm. Kit found an opportunity to glance at the barometer and saw that it was falling. They ate their meal in the cockpit, Martin carrying up the plates of stew, but Jeremy refused to join them, nor would he eat anything. Martin had rigged up a rope ladder which gave them access to the sands, and he stood at its foot, staring dismally at the havoc he had wrought. The breeze dropped and it became very still. On either side of them the sand appeared to stretch for miles, a very narrow stream trickled by marking where the seaway had been. Kit's heart went out to the lonely figure below them, longing to comfort him, but it was not from her that he wanted reassurance.

Nicholas helped Kit to carry down their platters when their meal was finished. In the galley, she asked beseechingly: 'Couldn't you say something to Jeremy? He's so miserable. After all, we all make mistakes.' The look he turned upon her was one of pure fury. 'Neither you nor Martin would have been so heedless. Let him stew down there on the sand.' 'Oh, Nick, you're so hard!' she sighed. 'He endangered the boat,' he returned. Jeremy's only excuse was that Stephanie had distracted his attention from what he was doing, but that Kit dared not mention, well knowing the torrent of scorn it would produce. She herself was a little at a loss to account for Jeremy's aberration, and she bitterly regretted that she had not interrupted their tête-à-tête to see what was happening. 'They ... they're very tricky waters,' she ventured, 'and the channel was very narrow.' 'He shouldn't have been in it,' Nicholas snapped. 'I know these are tricky waters, as you put it, and that's all the more reason for care.' Kit sighed, and turned away. Nicholas looked at her drooping figure with a savage gleam in his eyes. 'What do you want me to do?' he rasped. 'Go up to him and say, think no more of it, my lad, it doesn't matter in the least that you've grounded our beautiful boat and she may end up a total wreck? I quite understand you can't be expected to always have your wits about you. God, I don't think the moron's got any wits at all. No, Kit,

you may be so weak that you want to soft-soap him, but I'm damned if I will. I hate his guts, and if I could maroon him on this blasted bank till doomsday, I'd do it without a qualm!' Kit stared at Nicholas in dismay. He looked more than angry and there was a biting edge to his voice, nor did he usually use swearwords. As she had thought more than once, his feeling for the yacht amounted to a passion, and injury to it could rouse him more forcibly than anything a woman could do to him. 'You ... you're inhuman,' she said with a quiver in her voice. 'He's only a lad.' 'Over twenty, isn't he? That makes him a man, but I doubt if you or anyone else will ever make him into one. You've gone the wrong way about it, my girl, shielding and cosseting. That's not how grit is formed.' 'And of course you think you're everything he isn't,' she flung at him. 'But in your case, whatever formed you didn't create grit, but marble. When I first knew you ...' She paused, recalling the gay and gallant youth to whom she had lost her heart. He would have been more understanding of Jeremy - or would he? Nicholas grimaced. 'My salad days when I was green in judgment.' 'Oh, you and your Shakespearean tags - you use them to disguise the fact that you haven't got a heart. All you can love is boats - inanimate objects of wood, stone and ... and glass fibre!' She threw her accusation at him with almost passionate intensity, but his own anger was abating. The fire had died out of his eyes, and the familiar satirical glint had returned to them.

'You're quite right,' he told her. 'I don't possess the sort of amatory organ you mean, and when I see the muddles people who allow their hearts to rule them get themselves into, I'm very thankful I'm immune.' Kit turned away feeling sick. Nicholas spoke greater truth than he knew, or did he know? She had muddled her own affairs, and his thrust went home. She stumbled back through the hatch towards the cockpit. What she saw when her head rose above the deck sent her scurrying down again. The air was still and heavy, and though the sun still shone brightly down upon the imprisoned ship, the sky to the south was inky black and great thunderheads were creeping up towards the zenith. 'Nick, there's going to be a storm.' He groaned. 'It only wanted that!' He turned on the radio set. 'Stay by it,' he bade her, 'and keep sending out the distress signal. You know the frequency! Good. Someone may pick it up and come to our rescue, though I doubt if they can get within a mile of us.' 'There ... there's helicopters,' she reminded him. 'So there are. Nil desperandum, Kit, we'll get out somehow, though I'm afraid Sea Witch won't.' Martin, who had been walking over the sandbank, arrived back on deck with Jeremy. Both looked scared. Nicholas brought out the inflatable tender which the boat carried in place of the usual one they had used in the estuary, there being nowhere on board to stow it. He and Martin lowered it on to the sand, and it looked pitiably frail. Kit wondered how they could all get into it, while Stephanie stared at it aghast.

'Do you expect me to trust myself in that cockleshell?' she asked. 'It's all your fault, Nick, why didn't you radio sooner?' 'I should have done,' he admitted. 'I hoped it wouldn't be necessary.' He continued to pointedly ignore Jeremy. Knowing the boy longed to do something to help, Kit handed him the packet of rockets which the boat also carried and suggested that he sent them off. The red stars shot up into the ominous sky, where the clouds were now obliterating the sun, and she thought it was unlikely that anyone would see them. They had not seen another craft all the hours they had been on the sandbank, so that it would seem Jeremy had steered them right away from the normal sea lanes. The storm broke with a great rush of wind that shook Sea Witch like dice in a box and her rigging rattled. They struggled into their P.V.C. suits, for rain would follow, while lightning flashed and the thunder rolled from horizon to horizon. Stephanie sat sulkily upon her bunk, while Kit tried to pack some food in a waterproof container, for they might be some time at sea before they were picked up. Martin had taken over the radio. Above the noise of the storm he shouted: 'A boat has picked up our signal. She's coming this way.' Kit went up to tell Nicholas, who would not leave the cockpit. She saw the tide had turned at last and was running back through the channel which broadened minute by minute. 'You'd better put out in the dinghy to meet your rescuers,' he decreed. 'If this boat's any size she can't get up here.' Stephanie, who had become surprisingly calm, although full of complaints, packed a bag with what she considered necessities, and

they launched the rubber tender into the stream. Nicholas stepped back. 'So long,' he shouted. 'Good luck!' 'Aren't you coming?' Martin yelled. 'No, I'm staying with the ship.' He climbed up the bank and disappeared. Stephanie was being helped aboard by Jeremy, Martin was getting out the paddles. Kit, half in the water, half in the boat, drew back. 'I'm staying too.' 'Don't be an ass,' Martin admonished her, but she was already battling against wind, rain, flying spume and sand, on her way back to the yacht. 'Get going.' Stephanie bade the two men. 'If we can find this rescue ship, we can send someone to bring them off.' Kit fought her way towards the Sea Witch, while the elements screamed around her. At times a curtain of sand, blown by the wind, obscured her vision, then a violet glare would show her the dark shape of the ship; her feet sank deep at every footstep, and she had to drag them out. She had only one clear thought, she must get to Nicholas, she could not, would not, leave him alone to face whatever was in store for him. Pride, reason, Jeremy, every obstacle that lay between them was swept aside before the realization of his peril. At long last she gained the ladder which gave access to the deck; it was flailing wildly back and forth in the gale, but somehow she caught hold of it and steadied it, and managed by its very insecure aid to scramble aboard.

Nicholas had not taken shelter below. He was in the cockpit staring bleakly up at the discharging heavens. He was bare-headed, his black hair streamed with rain, his hands grasped the tiller, as if Sea Witch were already under way. He was waiting perhaps in the hope that the yacht would right herself before she broke up, but the tide was still a long way off the full. Kit climbed over the cockpit coaming and dropped down on to the seat beside him. He turned his head and his jaw dropped in amazement. 'Good God, girl, what are you doing here?' She said simply: 'I came back to be with you.' 'But Kit, my darling, there's only one chance in a hundred that she'll float off. I thought you were safe with Jeremy.' Kit quivered at the word of endearment, spoken for once as if he meant it. This was no time for subterfuge. Faced with possible death by drowning, she felt no shame in showing him her heart. Raising her eyes to his, shining with the love she felt for him, she told him: 'I'd rather die with you than live with Jeremy.' Blue fire kindled in Nicholas's eyes, and he laughed with pure triumph. 'So it's taken a shipwreck to force you to make that admission?' 'Don't jeer at me,' she said. 'Nothing matters now.' 'Nothing, but this.' It was not easy to embrace enshrouded in weather suits, with the rain streaming down, but Nicholas managed a very creditable one, and their kiss was prolonged.

Sea Witch shuddered and trembled, as the wind, which had temporarily slackened, redoubled its fury. Nicholas gave a long sigh. 'She's going, I'm afraid. We'd better get the lifebelts. We might be picked up.' He had to shout above the noise of the storm. At that moment of sheer ecstasy, Kit hoped no rescue would come, and said so. 'So you want to die upon a kiss, my sweet,' he said, laughingly, in her ear. 'But while there's life there's hope.' There was also Jeremy, Stephanie and all the complications a return to life would bring. Kit stood up, swaying in the wind. 'Very well, if you say so.' A sheet of flame descended upon the mast, which shivered and splintered. A falling fragment struck Kit across her forehead. She knew no more.

The bells of Bruges were unusually active today, Kit thought; surely the carillon could not go on for ever, and how the biggest bell seemed to boom. Nicholas was up there in the belfry with the other lads. The vibration must be terrific, someone ought to tell them to come down before it deafened them. She put her hand to her aching head. 'Can't someone stop the bells?' she asked fretfully. 'There are no bells, darling,' Martin said gently. 'It's your poor head. How does it feel?'

Kit stared about her in bewilderment. She was not at Bruges, nor was she on Sea Witch. She was lying on a bunk in a strange cabin, and Martin was sitting beside her. 'Nick?' she queried. 'Oh, he'll be all right,' Martin told her evasively. 'Not to worry.' Kit tried to sit up and fell back weakly. 'Where am I?' 'You're in the captain's cabin on the Northern Star making for Felixstowe with a load of timber from Scandinavia,' Martin said glibly. 'She sent her own boat to bring you off. She's a bit of an old tub, but she'll get us home.' 'And you're all here? Including Nick?' 'No,' Martin admitted unwillingly. 'He wouldn't leave Sea Witch, but he'll be all right. If she breaks up we've left him the rubber raft and the coastguards know his position. He'll be picked up. I never knew anyone more able to look after himself than old Nick, though if he wants to play the hero, sticking to his ship, he really might remember others are anxious about him. I'm thinking of Stephanie.' Kit looked at him dully. 'Yes, of course, there's Stephanie,' she echoed. 'Can't say she seems to be worrying much,' Martin went on brightly. 'But she's sure he'll come through all right. She's having fun impressing the crew. Now you'd better try to get some sleep. Best thing for that head of yours.' Kit discovered that her brow was covered with plaster.

'It was the mast,' she said. 'The lightning split it.' 'Yes, we discovered that. Anything I can get you?' 'No, thanks. I only want to sleep.' But she could not. Moonlight shone in through the skylight, the same moon which a few nights ago had illuminated the cockpit while Nicholas quoted Shakespeare, only now it was beginning to wane, with a bite out of its luminous disc. Martin had tried to reassure her, but she was certain that Nicholas would stay with his beloved boat until the end. The captain traditionally went down with his ship. Her imagination tormented her with pictures of that menacing stretch of the sand, the remnants of Sea Witch revealed by the next low tide, and beside them a still figure. Sandbanks were the graveyards of ships - and men. Weakly she began to murmur: 'In such a night ...' Further words from the Belmont scene recurred to her. 'Stood Dido with a willow in her hand Upon the wild sea banks and waft her love To come again to Carthage.' Aeneas had not come back to his deserted love, and Nicholas would not come, the wild sea had claimed him. Dido had died by her own hand, and she, Kit, had wished to die with Nicholas. But he had not wanted her, he had sent her back to life and Jeremy. Weakly she began to cry. Then the bells began again, recalling the Chapel of the Holy Relic. If only she could get to it, she could pray for a miracle, that Nicholas might be saved. Nicholas had said miracles were possible. But she could not go to Bruges and Nicholas might be already dead. 'Willow in her hand'. Willows meant weeping, didn't they? The willow trees at Bruges dripping their wands over the quiet canals ... if only the bells would stop.

Martin looking in again, became worried. Kit was muttering about willows, bells and miracles. The ship did not run to a doctor, but it had a medicine chest and its captain possessed some medicinal lore. Kit was given a sedative and her muttering ceased. She was still sleeping peacefully when the Northern Star put into Felixstowe Dock. The captain said she could stay where she was as they would be some time unloading the cargo and he thought it would be a pity to wake her. Martin suggested calling an ambulance and taking her to hospital, but the captain thought they should wait until she woke. Hospital might not be necessary. He was a tough old sea salt, and suspicious of all shore institutions. As he was anxious to get his sister and himself home, Martin concurred and hoped he was doing the right thing. Jeremy also was claiming his attention. He too was injured. He had fallen down the companionway on the Northern Star and broken his wrist. He went with him to have it set while Kit slept. It was afternoon when she awoke, and although her head still ached, she was much refreshed and in full command of her senses. But she was oppressed by a sense of calamity, and bit by bit the events of the previous day returned to her. She was desperately anxious to know if there were any news of Nicholas. A bearded sailor brought her a cup of tea and seemed pleased to find her so much better. 'How be you feeling, missie?' he asked her. 'Fine.' She touched her hair and found it was caked with salt and sand. 'I must look an awful mess.'

'You've been shipwrecked, missie,' he told her with twinkling eyes. 'Not likely to be looking your best, but there's naught a bath and a comb won't put right. From what I been told you're a plucky one. I've got a lassie at home. She's like you, a rare one for boats.' She asked anxiously if anything had been heard of Nicholas and he looked puzzled. 'The one who stayed behind,' she prompted. 'Ah,' he exclaimed. 'No, not yet, but don't you worrit, he'll turn up. The Air Rescue Squad'll find him, and he ain't the sort to drown.' He looked at her slyly. 'He's engaged to you, maybe, missie?' Not to her but to Stephanie. She hadn't even the right to grieve for him except as a friend. 'No, but he was one of our crew,' she said, smiling faintly. 'Actually he's engaged to the fair girl.' He looked at her shrewdly. 'Be that so? She's a fancy piece if you like. I wonder what took her to sea.' Kit offered no explanation, but finished drinking her tea. She took what comfort she could from what he had told her, but a man at sea was such a tiny speck in a waste of water and would take a lot of locating. There was a wash-basin in the cabin, and a comb was provided to deal with her tangled locks. Feeling more presentable, she went to thank the captain and join Jeremy and Martin who had come to collect her.

They told her that Stephanie had hired a car to take them home. She also was going to Eastwold to the Redferns and was waiting for them at the entrance to the docks. 'She wants to go to Nick's people as they'll be the first to get news of him,' Martin explained. Jeremy had returned from hospital with his wrist in plaster and his arm in a sling. 'I think you ought to have gone there too,' Martin said, looking at Kit worriedly. 'Only the captain was so pigheaded.' Kit was pale under her sunburn, her eyes were ringed with black, and all the curl seemed to have come out of her lustreless hair, which looked dank and dark, but she declared that she was not in need of hospitalization, and only wanted to get home. 'I want Mum and Dad,' she said pathetically. Stephanie looked none the worse for her adventure. With the aid of the contents of the bag which she had rescued from the wreck, she had done up her face, and put on a clean light dress, which she must have salvaged. She was standing beside the car looking about her curiously. When they appeared, she glanced from Kit's plastered head to Jeremy's sling and burst out laughing. 'You two certainly look the worse for wear,' she told them. Her round blue eyes stared inquiringly at Kit. 'What on earth possessed you to go back to the yacht?' Kit was at a loss; it was a very natural question for Stephanie to ask, and she could not answer it truthfully. Jeremy too, she noticed, was giving her an odd look.

'I was frightened,' she said vaguely, and that was not wholly a lie, she had been frightened, not for herself but for Nicholas. Martin hooted: 'Frightened - you!' Kit could have kicked him. 'Oh, but I was,' she insisted. 'That tender looked so frail. I preferred to take a chance on Sea Witch.' 'Which resulted in you being knocked out,' Stephanie said dryly. She was considering Kit with a faintly malicious smile, and Kit knew she did not believe her excuse. Neither did Jeremy; he knew Kit too well to believe she could have panicked. 'You forgot those rations you packed,' he exclaimed, as if he had suddenly seen daylight. 'You went back for them.' 'But we didn't need them,' Stephanie pointed out. 'No, but since Kit was our galley slave, she would naturally think of our stomachs.' Kit winced painfully. It was Nicholas who had called her a galley slave. His face rose before her, the mocking smile, the vivid blue eyes - where was he now? She put her hand to her eyes and shut out the vision. 'Do you mind?' she whispered. Martin took her arm. 'Come on, Kit, get in the car.' He gave Stephanie a warning look. 'You shouldn't bother her with questions in the state she's in.' 'She's only herself to blame for that, Stephanie returned tartly. The driver held the car door open for her, while she settled herself in the

front seat. The other three got into the back, Martin carefully settling Kit in a corner, and putting Jeremy between them. Stephanie did not seem to be anxious about Nicholas's fate, being convinced that he would be rescued. As the car moved away on to the fine new motorway out of Felixstowe, she continued to grumble about his obstinacy over not using the R/T sooner. 'We'd have been all right if the storm hadn't come up,' Martin said in his defence. 'Sea Witch would have floated off and we'd have all come home in style.' 'Sez you,' Stephanie snapped rudely. 'But the storm did come and he endangered all our lives.' Jeremy asked Kit perfunctorily if she were comfortable and accepted her assurance that she was all right. He then proceeded to make a great fuss about his injured wrist, expecting her sympathy. Since she had no broken bones and only a slip of plaster on her head, he considered he was in a much worse case. He deplored the fact that he would be inactive for six weeks before it was healed, and could not imagine what he would do with himself. His accident had diverted his mind from his feeling of guilt about the grounding, but for once Kit failed him. She sat silent and withdrawn in her corner without heeding him. Her thoughts had winged back to that spit of sand and what it might conceal. In spite of all the assurances that she had been given, she was unconvinced that Nicholas was safe. She could not bear to think that those quizzical blue eyes might be closed for ever and that gay, mocking spirit quenched, but it was only too possible. She longed to be out there beside him, he should not be alone. He had been too much alone, those years of exile in Africa which had so hardened him had much to answer for. If only the mast had not been

struck, she would never have left him, and whatever his fate, she would have shared it, but she had been denied that privilege. Stephanie suddenly turned round to say to Martin: 'I hope to goodness Nick had everything properly insured. I'd quite a lot of things on board and I suppose I've lost them all.' 'Of course he did,' Martin growled sleepily. 'Nick's no fool.' 'There I don't agree with you,' Stephanie said icily. Kit felt a hot surge of indignation. How could Stephanie consider such trifles when she did not know if Nicholas was safe? She insisted upon driving them to their door before going to the Redferns', and firmly refused to allow them to contribute towards the hire of the car. 'In the captain's absence, it's up to me to look after the crew,' she declared. 'I'll get it back out of the insurance.' The two men thanked her warmly, but Kit was aware of the inference behind her words. Stephanie was paying off Nicholas's crew in recognition of their services, but she wanted no more to do with them. As she got out of the car, Kit looked at Martin beseechingly, willing him to ask the question which she dared not frame. To her relief he did. 'You'll let us know as soon as you receive any news of Nick?' 'Of course,' Stephanie promised. 'But I expect it will be in the headlines. Nick's doings are always spectacular.'

She waved cheerfully to them as the car drove off, and the thought occurred to Kit that she did not care at all about what happened to Nicholas, she was only concerned about her possessions. If he had a heart of stone, he had contracted himself to a woman who was as hard as the diamonds she wished for in her engagement ring.

CHAPTER SEVEN KIT was in hospital when eventually news of Nicholas was received. She had been sent into the East Suffolk Hospital at Ipswich for observation and to have her head X-rayed. Her parents had been alarmed by her lack of appetite, her low spirits and miserable looks. She could not tell them that she was suffering agonies of anxiety and suspense about Nicholas, agonies much too great for a mere friend, besides which, they also took an optimistic view of his chances, but when two days passed without word from him Kit's condition became pitiable, so that, without heeding her remonstrances, her doctor sent her into Ipswich. She had not been in long, when Martin phoned a brief two words to be relayed to her, 'Nick okay,' and she was left until visitors' day to learn the details, but from that moment her health began to improve. She wondered if Nicholas would try to contact her, or at least send a message, but none came. However, for all she knew he might be in hospital himself. She waited impatiently for Martin's arrival, thinking he might have been more explicit, but her brother naturally would not realize how much she was longing to hear what had happened. She watched each distribution of mail, with yearning eyes, hoping someone might write, but there was never anything for her. Jeremy did not communicate with her, for it was his right hand which was incapacitated, and he could not write. He had told her when she went in not to expect a visit from him, he felt such a fool when he could only use one hand in trains and buses. He did send her flowers, a bunch of anemones and a sheaf of long-stemmed red roses, delivered by an Ipswich florist. As for her parents, they were no letter writers and would find difficulty in getting time off to visit her, and they were expecting she might come home any day.

Nicholas was constantly in her thoughts. Again and again she went over their last few moments together. For the second time in her life, she had confessed her love for him, and though his reception of her admission had been satisfactory, he had made no promises, nor suggested any solution for their future. There had hardly been time, and at that moment it had been doubtful if they were going to have any future. But surely now he had returned, he would say something, if it were only to remind her that he was tied to Stephanie. After facing a watery death together, he would not ignore her completely? Even a postcard would be something to reassure her. At last Martin came. He arrived a little late, after she had despairingly faced the possibility that he might not come at all. He had been given an afternoon off to visit her, he told her, but the journey from Eastwold was a tiresome one and his train had been delayed. He was hung round with parcels, sweets, fruit, and biscuits from the family, clean nightwear and more flowers. 'Though it doesn't look like you'll need it all,' he declared. 'Sister says you'll be home tomorrow or next day.' He had also brought the local weekly paper which had come out two days previously. 'And that's going to make you laugh,' he informed her. It was not Nicholas who had hit the headlines, but Stephanie. The paper contained a large photograph of her in her nautical garb and since Nicholas had refused to be interviewed, she had stepped into the breach. She and the local reporter had really gone to town. Miraculously Sea Witch had not gone to pieces, but had survived until the high tide, when she had floated off with little damage

beyond her broken mast. The storm had begun to abate almost as soon as Northern Star had left the vicinity. Nicholas had sailed the sloop home under jury rig, a journey which had taken him some time, but when spotted from the air, he had signalled that he needed no help. He had brought the boat back into the estuary triumphantly amid the cheers from the Sailing Club members. 'Pity you had to miss it all,' Martin said regretfully. 'It was quite a day.' 'And Nick's all right?' 'Fit as a fiddle, burnt the colour of mahogany and lean as a greyhound, but none the worse. Just you read what old Steph says about it, it's priceless!' Stephanie in her interview described the wastes of what she described as quicksands, the unparalleled fury of the storm. She made much capital out of the days and nights of agony which she said she had suffered waiting for news of her fiancé. 'Some agony,' Martin scoffed. 'She was out every evening with a fellow I know, and he told me she never mentioned Nick.' Stephanie went on to declare that she had not wanted to desert the ship, but Nick and his friends had made her go, and she had had to be literally torn from his arms. Remembering the alacrity with which Stephanie had scuttled off to get into the tender with her bag of salvage, Martin and Kit exchanged amused glances.

The article was headed, 'Fiancée's Grim Ordeal'. There was a much smaller picture of Sea Witch with her improvised mast, and Nicholas was just discernible amid a crowd of welcomers in a smaller one still. 'Doesn't say much about Nick's ordeal, which was the real one,' Martin observed. 'But I expect the reporter took umbrage because he wouldn't talk. Anyway, Stephanie made a pretty picture. I told you there was nothing to worry about. Nick always comes out on top.' He perused the article again, chuckling at Stephanie's misrepresentations, while Kit's thoughts went back to that day of storm. She recalled Nicholas' triumphant laugh when she had made her avowal - his kiss. At the time it had been pure bliss, for as she had said, faced with destruction nothing mattered. Nor did it matter now. Nicholas had had his little victory and dismissing her from his mind, had come happily back to Stephanie. She had been again discarded. She did not know quite what she had expected, but it was certainly not complete repudiation of her devotion. She writhed inwardly as she remembered her melodramatic declaration: 'I would rather die with you than live with Jeremy.' It must have caused Nicholas some inward amusement, and he had always believed in their survival. 'So you want to die upon a kiss,' he had said. If only she had it would have been better than this disillusioning aftermath. Nicholas would naturally want to forget the whole episode, especially now he was reunited with Stephanie. She was all he required in his wife, smart, sophisticated, pretty and affluent. Mrs. Nicholas Redfern would be a personage in the town and he wanted someone of whom he could be proud when he presented her to his friends. She, Kit, had nothing to offer him except her loving heart and on that he set no value. She took up the hand mirror which she had brought with her, and stared disparagingly at her face.

'I think my freckles are more pronounced than ever,' she said despondently. 'Like a blackbird's egg,' Martin agreed cheerfully. 'But it's only because you're so pale. When you get your colour back you'll be like you always were.' 'Like I always was,' she repeated with a bleak little smile. She would be Chimp, the good shipmate, the galley slave, an object for teasing, an immature creature, whose affections were not to be taken seriously, and didn't even rate a postcard when she was in hospital. 'Buck up, Kit,' Martin bade her. 'You look as dismal as a wet Sunday. I thought you'd be overjoyed to know that Nick was safe.' 'I'm delighted,' she assured him. She hesitated; there could be one explanation of Nicholas's neglect. 'Does Nick know I'm in here?' she asked. 'Oh, yes, I told him. Met him down at the club. Stephanie had assured him that you were all right, and he was very sorry to hear you'd been so poorly.' 'Was that all?' The words broke from her before she could check them. Martin shrugged. 'What more did you expect?' She turned her face away. What more could she expect? but after what had occurred between them she had hoped he would be more concerned. Martin looked at her averted face doubtfully.

'Look, Kit,' he began gently. 'It's not my business, of course, and I know you used to think the world of Nick, and I did too - still do but you aren't a kid any longer, and you did make rather an ass of yourself rushing back to be with him on the ship. Stephanie didn't like it at all.' Kit reddened painfully, and fumbling for her handkerchief, pretended to blow her nose. Martin did not know how Nick had reacted upon that occasion, but he was quite right. She had behaved crazily and Stephanie had known what was motivating her. Nicholas would have to pass it off as a joke to placate her. 'I shan't be seeing much more of him,' she said, her voice coming muffled through her handkerchief. 'And surely his leave is nearly up?' 'I don't expect so. Chaps who've been overseas for a long time get months and months.' But Stephanie had said she would not permit Nicholas to go abroad again, so he must be looking for another appointment, and that would take him away from Eastwold; there was nothing for him there. In her pain and humiliation she decided that she could not bear to encounter Nicholas Redfern again, and so long as she kept away from the Sailing Club, it should be easy to avoid him. Martin was saying: 'I don't know if you've been told, but the X-ray showed no damage. You're no more loopy than you always were.' The visitors' bell rang, and he rose to his feet. 'Be seeing you soon. What you need are a few outings in Albatross. Oh, of course Jeremy sent his love - the chocolates are from him - do I take yours back again?' 'Please.' But at that moment she could not care less about Jeremy.

'Right. You'd like to keep the paper? Good. Keep your pecker up, you'll be home in less than no time.' He stooped to kiss her clumsily and departed. Left alone, Kit idly scanned the pages in the newspaper. In the engagements column, she discovered that Jeremy had not been idle. It was there in black and white, 'Forthcoming Marriages and Engagements. The engagement is announced between Jeremy Jones and Kathryn Vereker.' No, nothing was changed. She had not died with Nicholas, and Jeremy was expecting to live with her.

Kit came home. She was granted a further week's sick leave before resuming work and Jeremy monopolized her, for his wrist still kept him convalescent. He walked her up to the new housing site, but shook his head over the prices which were being asked. 'We'll need a big mortgage, Kit, and it'll take a lot of paying off.' 'I suppose other couples manage somehow. Perhaps we could live on a boat.' 'Oh, no, Kit, I want a real home.' That was his recurring theme, though looking at the boxlike bungalows, Kit wondered if such a place could ever be made into her idea of a home. As they came away from the estate, arm in arm, a big car passed them, and she was almost certain that she had glimpsed Nicholas at the wheel. The sight of him gave her heart a jolt, but he did not

appear to see them. The car did not slacken speed and was gone in a flash. She saw by his compressed lips and heightened colour that Jeremy too had recognized Nicholas. He was the last person whom Jeremy wanted to encounter, for he could never forget that he had let him down. It was fortunate that he did not know all that Nicholas had said about him, Kit thought, as she protectively tightened her clasp of his arm. On that occasion Nicholas had been mean. 'Shall you go to Mr. Redfern's wedding?' Jeremy asked. She started. 'Has it been announced?' 'Not yet, but I should think it will be soon.' 'I don't suppose I shall be asked.' Jeremy looked surprised. 'But you and Martin are such old friends of his.' 'Only sailing friends,' she told him bitterly. 'We'd hardly grace the Redfern reception.' 'But it's the bride's people who give the reception.' Kit gave a sigh of relief. She had forgotten that. She had envisioned Nicholas and Stephanie being married in Eastwold church, her church. She could imagine Nicholas standing in front of the carved screen, straight and slim in his groom's clothes, and Stephanie walking down the broad aisle, the light from the great windows, illuminating her white draperies, but that was not to be. The wedding would take place at some distance and she need know nothing about it.

'Where does Stephanie live?' she asked idly, thinking that Miss Hillman never said much about her family or her home. 'Somewhere near London, I believe. She has a bachelor flat in town.' Stephanie had been more communicative with Jeremy. 'A regular modern miss?' Kit suggested, wondering if Nicholas had visited Stephanie's flat and what had transpired there. 'No harm in that,' Jeremy said stolidly.

In Bruges Jeremy had prayed for a miracle, believing that the home of the Holy Relic would give his petition added virtue. Nobody, least of all Kit, had attached any importance to his obsession. She had thought it was a fantasy he fell back upon in times of stress, she had never dreamed it could come true, until, out of the blue, the letter came. It was from a firm of South American solicitors with the information that Thomas Jones had died, leaving his property to his only son Jeremy, and upon receipt of his reply and proof of his identity they would be happy to obtain probate. Jeremy was overwhelmed. 'How did they find out where I was?' he asked. 'Dad hasn't been in touch for years, though I was quite sure he hadn't forgotten me.' Thomas had been at some considerable pains to trace his son. The solicitors enclosed a letter which he had written prior to his sudden death from a heart attack.

Jeremy read it through, then went out for several hours alone. When he returned his eyes were red, and he passed the letter to Kit. Thomas Jones had roamed around the American continents for several years, picking up casual labour here and there to enable him to live. Finally he had been lured by talk of gold for the digging into the Amazonian rain forests, and there he had stayed for nearly a decade. There was gold to be had in the enclosed jungle, but so inaccessible that automated mining on a large scale was practically impossible. It remained a one-man operation for the freelance adventurer and the individual prospector. The mining camps were cleared spaces in the midst of trackless forests, exceedingly primitive and approachable only by small single-engined planes, their only contact with civilization. It was one of the last places in the world where a man without a name, capital or education could still with luck make a fortune. That was what Thomas had done. Miraculously he had survived fever, snakebite, the violence of his fellow miners and other hazards, and he had contrived to save. He invested his money in property development in Brasilia. A final lucky strike made him a rich man and he had left the green hell of the Amazon basin with a thankful heart. He built for himself a Spanish type house on the outskirts of the capital, and then he set about locating his wife and child. Eventually he discovered that his wife had been dead for many years and Jeremy had been fostered by an East Anglian family. The orphanage to which he had traced him told him his son was doing well and strongly advised him not to disturb him unless he had something better to offer him. Thomas had. 'Now that at long last I have somewhere for you to live, I'm coming to bring you home,' Thomas wrote. 'And I pray that you will forgive

all the neglect of the. past. I'm growing old, and you are all the kin I have.' He had meant to come to England to fetch his son, but the unremitting toil amid unhealthy surroundings had caught up with him. He was a very sick man when he wrote to Jeremy, and he died before the letter was mailed. 'He didn't have long to enjoy his good fortune,' Jeremy said sadly. His prayer had only been answered in part, for he had wanted to see his father again. Then as he began to realize the change in his circumstances, he became excited. He possessed a house and money of his own. 'You'll sell it, of course?' Kit asked anxiously. 'Oh, no. It was Dad's home. He wouldn't like me to part with it.' She found he was determined to go out to Brazil and take over the property, and her heart sank. 'You mean you want us to live there?' she faltered. 'Yes, Kit. I want to get right away from Eastwold where everyone knows me as the orphanage boy. I want to make a fresh start.' He looked at her downcast face. 'What's the matter? Aren't you thrilled? This will be an adventure.' She tried to raise some enthusiasm to please him, and the thought occurred to her that if it had been Nicholas who wanted to take her away into the unknown she would not be feeling this reluctance. That spurred her to greater effort; Jeremy deserved her loyalty if she could give him nothing else, but she was badly shaken when he asked: 'How soon can we be married?' 'I ... I don't know,' she gasped. 'I hadn't thought about it.'

'There's nothing to wait for, is there?' Nothing at all but her own reluctance to go alone with Jeremy to this strange place. But it transpired there was no need for haste, for the will had to be proved and various matters settled before Jeremy could take up residence. At his request, photographs were sent to him of the house and garden. It was a white building with balconies and a patio. There was also a swimming pool. To Kit it looked exotic and very foreign. She could not visualize herself in such surroundings, but Jeremy waxed ecstatic over it. Since there was also a car, he arranged for driving lessons, and suggested that they should both study Portuguese. The more Jeremy rejoiced, the lower Kit's heart sank. She had never realized before how much she loved her native town. To leave it, possibly for ever, would be a dreadful wrench. In vain she reasoned with herself that to go out to Brazil was the best thing that could happen to her. She had been given a heaven-sent opportunity to make a new life far away from her memories of Nicholas and all the heartache he had caused her. She stood more chance of making her marriage work away from any repercussions from the past, but she could not make herself any more eager to go. 'I should like to tell Stephanie about all this,' Jeremy announced one day. Kit was surprised. 'But don't you see her at die Club?' 'Never go in there, in case Mr. Redfern's around,' Jeremy said gruffly. 'Oh, don't be absurd!' But she herself had not been to the Club House for the same reason. Stephanie was still staying with the Redferns

and seemed in no hurry to leave. Sea Witch was moored in the estuary undergoing repairs, but Kit never went near her, nor did she go out in Albatross. Martin did not press her to do so, suspecting the reason for her absence from the hard. Kit was back at work, and spent her life between her office and her home. Her mother complained that she was not picking up as she should, and put it down to pre-marital nerves. Martin and Jeremy sailed Albatross at week-ends, and Martin told her he had spoken to Nicholas, but he and Jeremy ignored each other, the latter refusing to enter the Club House. But apparently Jeremy did pluck up courage to go in search of Stephanie, for he came back one afternoon glowing. 'She says she never believed in miracles before, but she does now,' he told Kit. 'Someone said it was faith that did it' (it had been Nicholas, but she did not remind him) 'and I'd always had a hunch something like this would happen.' 'We seem to be living in an age of miracles,' Kit said dryly. 'First Nicholas bringing Sea Witch home and now your inheritance. What'll be the next one, I wonder?' 'Does there have to be another?' he asked. 'Yes, everything goes in three.' As a sailor's daughter she was naturally superstitious, and the Holy Relic might have had some influence upon their destiny, but there was one miracle that was beyond its power. 'Well, I can't think of anything else that could happen,' Jeremy remarked, 'unless it's our wedding.' Kit sighed. 'That isn't a miracle, it's a foregone conclusion.'

He looked at her doubtfully. 'Do you know, Kit, I sometimes think you don't want to marry me.' Kit felt a quick rush of contrition. If she were honest, she would tell him that she did not, but that would be too cruel, just when everything was going his way, and after all, she had nothing else to look forward to, except a lonely spinsterhood. 'Of course I do,' she said quickly, 'but everything has happened so suddenly, I feel quite bewildered. I've always wanted to make you happy, but now it seems I'm not nearly so necessary to you.' She looked at him hopefully. If he admitted she was not, it would give her a loophole of escape. 'But you are,' he insisted. 'My inheritance would be nothing to me without you. I'd rather forgo it all than lose you. You know that, don't you, darling?' It was no use, she could not go back on him. The habit of protecting Jeremy's feelings was too strong.

It was a blustery Saturday afternoon. Kit set out on a long walk, knowing that Jeremy and Martin were sailing. She wanted solitude to think, for she still could not make up her mind about Jeremy. She wore her usual off-duty trousers and shirt, and in spite of all her woes, looked little more than a boyish teenager. She crossed the river by the footbridge, from which Sea Witch was visible. She saw a new mast had been fitted, but her sails were furled. She left the river and tramped over the common on its further side. The place she was making for was a wild, desolate spot between the woods and the sea frequented by bird-watchers and nature-lovers. A

footpath led to it from the road, and then she was on the marshes. Here were reeds, masses and masses of them, crossed by wide watery dykes. There was no one else in sight and she had the place to herself. Sea-birds circled round her, uttering plaintive cries, the wind whispered among the reeds, which bent their heads under its caress. Eastwold on its slight eminence was behind her, the sea wall concealed the sea. The scene was dreary and melancholy on this windy afternoon, but Kit loved the place. Here she had often come for picnics when a child, and the rounded knoll for which she was making grew a magnificent blackberry crop, which she had helped to plunder upon many a family outing. What was she going to do about Jeremy? Bitterly did she regret the impulse which had prompted her to tie herself to him in that antique shop in far-away Brussels. Why had she done it? A gesture of defiance against Nicholas's criticisms, a desire to flaunt her ring in front of him? But he had not cared a straw. But he had known that she did not love Jeremy and he had told her that she had made her bed and must lie on it. That she had felt less and less inclined to do. If only Jeremy had had other flames, it would make her own infidelity seem less reprehensible, but he had never looked at another girl beside herself in all their short lives, and during that time she had done her best to shield him from hurt. Now if she followed her own wishes she would have to deal him the unkindest cut of all. She emerged from the path through the reeds, which were nearly as tall as herself, and began the ascent of the green turved knoll, at the top of which a concrete army emplacement had been turned into a holiday house. There was no one in it, then, as its shutter-covered windows proclaimed. Then she gave a little gasp and stood still, for from behind it, followed by a golden labrador dog, striding towards her was Nicholas.

'Well,' he exclaimed, 'fancy meeting you here!' His eyes ran over her slight figure in its boyish garb. 'And not getting any fatter by the look of you. Do you eat enough?' 'I don't want to become stout,' she returned. 'What are you doing here?' She had seen him last in the cockpit of Sea Witch, with the water streaming from his hair, his eyes alight with triumphant laughter. Strung as she had been to a high emotional pitch, every detail of that wild scene had been indelibly impressed upon her memory. Between that exultant moment and the present one stretched a desert of anxious waiting, fading hope and final renunciation. She had not wanted to see Nicholas again. Now that she did, she saw he looked oddly quenched, as if the vitality which used to burn so strongly within him had shrunk to embers, and she wondered anxiously if he had suffered from the exposure of that homeward trip. She had not heard that he had been ill and she knew better than to ask. Nicholas always hated admitting to physical weakness. Meanwhile he was answering her question with a spate of words. 'I've taken up walking as an exercise. Like you, I don't want to grow fat.' He was looking more spare than even he had done before. 'Besides which I find it conducive to meditation, and landscape is a change from the eternal sea. For company I've acquired a dog, which also requires exercising. Where's the brute got to? Hi, Butch!' The labrador, which had been engaged in investigating a rabbit hole, came obediently to heel. Kit received the impression that Nicholas was talking at random, almost as if he were as thrown off balance by their unexpected

encounter as she was herself, but she thought she must be mistaken. Nicholas was never embarrassed by the recollection of his past misdeeds, if indeed he considered they were misdeeds, but perhaps he feared she was going to reproach him. Shyly she looked up to meet his narrow blue gaze, and found his eyes were hard and glittering with something akin to accusation in their depths, but she had. done nothing to annoy him, except keep out of his way, which was presumably what he wanted. Nicholas turned his attention to the dog. 'Beauty, isn't he? He's got a name and a pedigree a mile long, but I call him Butch for every day. Butch, make friends with the lady.' The animal came up to her flagging his tail. He sat down before her and held up a paw, looking at her out of benign brown eyes. Kit solemnly took the paw and shook it. 'What a well-mannered dog!' 'All my appendages are well trained,' Nicholas told her airily. 'Hadn't you noticed? It seems I have to congratulate you again. Who would have thought that ninny would turn out to be a gold prospector's heir? Some people have all the luck. It seems there was some point in your long devotion after all, and now you're reaping your reward.' A sarcastic note had crept into his voice, and she turned away as tears sprang to her eyes. Could Nicholas possibly be imagining she was mercenary? 'I wish it hadn't happened,' she murmured, for she cared nothing for riches and did not want to leave her native land. 'But surely...' he began, staring at her averted face. Abruptly he dropped his mocking manner. 'You don't look well, Kit. Have you got over that bang on your head?'

'Oh, quite, but your solicitude comes a little late,' she returned resentfully, for Nicholas had only made one casual inquiry about her, and had ignored her spell in hospital when she had so hoped to receive a message from him. 'I haven't seen you,' he pointed out, 'but I did send you some flowers.' 'Flowers?' She knitted her brows. 'Red roses. Didn't you get them?' She had believed that Jeremy had sent them, since they came with the anemones, which must have been his offering. She had thought at the time that he had been very extravagant. 'Yes, I got them,' she informed him. 'Thank you very much, though it's rather late in the day. I didn't know they were from you - there was no card.' He grinned. 'I'm always discreet, and I thought you'd guess. I wonder who got the credit for them.' She said nothing, thinking how it would have cheered her if she had known the roses were from him. She turned to a bush beside her over which honeysuckle was growing, and absently began to pick the sweet-scented sprays. 'I was going to follow them up with a visit,' he told her, 'but that was before I saw the announcement of your engagement in the paper. I wouldn't have sent anything if I'd seen it sooner.' 'It couldn't have been news to you, you knew all about it in Belgium,' she reminded him. 'So I did, but there had been developments since then.'

She dropped the flowers, whirling round to face him, her expression incredulous. 'You mean that after... after what happened in the storm, you expected me to break it off?' He said very quietly: 'I always believed you to be an honest woman, Kit.' That was too much. He was still running around with Stephanie, but he had anticipated that she would discard poor Jeremy because of her unlucky love for himself. That would have flattered his vanity, added a scalp to his belt. Little Kit Vereker ditching her fiancé because of a stray kiss in a cockpit bestowed by an engaged man. 'So I am,' she said heatedly. 'I've always said I was going to marry Jeremy. I've never deceived you or anyone else about that.' He took a stride towards her, and taking her by her shoulders stared down into her face. His keen gaze seemed to be trying to pierce to her inmost core, but Kit met it bravely, her eyes wide and candid, she had nothing-of which to be ashamed. 'Is that fair to him when you don't love him?' Nicholas asked. 'It's what he wants,' she retorted. 'Does he know you don't love him?' 'But I do ... in a way.' 'Not this way.' She cried out in anguish: 'Nick, please don't!' but he took no heed. His mouth seemed to draw her very soul out of her lips. Then she

was clinging to him, her head buried in his neck, her soft curls beneath his chin, while she wept bitterly. He held her gently, waiting for her emotion to pass, and when her sobs subsided into a few sniffs, he withdrew his arms. Kit felt for her handkerchief and blew her nose. 'Well?' he asked. She looked at him. He was standing with his hands in his pockets, his lips curved in the familiar mocking smile, with a glint in his eyes. He was so confident of his power over her, he was sure he only had to beckon and she would come running. She gave a deep sigh. 'You're always very free with your kisses, Nick,' she said bitterly. 'They don't mean very much, do they, and they prove nothing.' He made an impatient movement, seemed on the verge of an outburst, then restrained himself, to say coolly: 'They prove you don't care a hoot about Jeremy.' 'That's not true. I do care about Jeremy. I'm going to Brazil with him because I can't bear to hurt him.' 'Of all the idiotic reasons!' he exploded. 'But you're always on the same old tack. Think, Kit, wouldn't it be better to hurt him a little now than to do him a great wrong? He could find a girl who was heartwhole.' She shook her head. 'Jeremy's never looked at another girl-' Nicholas uttered a contemptuous sound. 'It's quite true, and he'd be lost without me. He won't ever know that I don't really love him.'

'I don't think even Jeremy's quite that stupid,' he told her. 'I suppose he has a normal male's reactions.' Said with a sneer, and that roused her as criticism of Jeremy always did. It was a conditioned reflex to which she had been too long attuned. 'He's never doubted me,' she said confidently. 'And I'll make sure that he never has cause to do so. But you're not fair to him. Right from the word go, you've had your knife into him. It was unfortunate about the boat...' 'Very unfortunate,' he cut in. 'It nearly cost me my life.' She winced at the recollection of all the agony that she had suffered when she had thought Nicholas might be drowned, but that had not been Jeremy's fault, but his own foolish bravado. 'You'd have been in no danger if you'd been sensible,' she told him scornfully. 'But you always have to be showing off. The brave captain sinking with his ship!' Their eyes met and she saw in his an instant's reproach, and then his mouth twisted in its usual satirical manner. He turned away from her and whistled to the dog, which had returned to his rabbiting among the blackberry bushes. Kit glanced at him doubtfully, sensing that her taunt had gone home. Her fingers shredded the handkerchief which she was holding. The memory of their last parting was still very vivid. Then she had been ready to die with him, and now he was provoking her into saying cruel things, things better left unsaid. But he knew perfectly well that jibes at Jeremy always incensed her, and all the time he had another girl. Butch came up to his master, and Nicholas bent to stroke his head, with a tender gesture which caught at Kit's heart.

Straightening himself, he said conversationally: 'Are you looking forward to going to Brazil?' 'Oh, very much,' she lied. 'It'll be a new life.' 'Yes, and it'll offer you more scope than Eastwold ever could. Perhaps you've made the right decision after all. What is love, a willo'-the-wisp that leads into all sorts of bogs.' He kicked a mound of turf savagely. 'Sensible people don't pursue it.' She glanced at him questioningly, wondering to whom he was applying these remarks, and he gave her a long, narrow look. Standing there, the wind whipping her thin shirt and trousers against her slight form, brown of face and arms, russet-haired, she had a wild elfin grace, a creature belonging to the reeds and bushes, a wood sprite, a dryad. Nicholas said bitterly: 'Apparently I was good enough to die with, but not to live with.' Startled, unsure of his meaning, she cried involuntarily: 'But how could I possibly live with you, Nick?' 'Exactly. A heel, a show-off and a few other nice things you've called me from time to time. Now, if you'll excuse me, Butch wants a dip in the sea. Come on, boy.' Without giving her a chance to protest, he set off at a great pace with the labrador gambolling beside him. Kit stared after his retreating form. What had he meant by living with him? A clandestine liaison with Stephanie in the background? Surely not. Nicholas would not insult her by such a suggestion, nor, she thought ruefully, did she look the sort of girl who would become a

man's mistress. To her innocent mind the word conjured up exotic visions of diaphanous underwear, luxurious love-nests, the 'roses and raptures of vice'. Not Kit Vereker's setting at all. He had not mentioned Stephanie, but he was as bound to her as she herself was to Jeremy. Stephanie had publicized her engagement in that newspaper article and all the county knew she was his fiancée. It was a bit too much to expect her to throw over Jeremy when he had nothing to offer her himself, but that was typical of Nicholas, to take everything and give nothing. He had, however, resolved her own dilemma. She could not, would not give up Jeremy at Nicholas's dictation. Jeremy loved her, was prepared to share his good fortune with her, and that thought was balm to the pride which Nicholas had torn to shreds. The two diminishing figures, the man and the dog were wending their way along the path through the reeds towards the sea wall. Kit watched them shrink to two black dots with a sore and angry heart. She remembered how tenderly he had caressed the beast's head, and it was so seldom that Nicholas showed any softer feeling. Could he only express it for dogs? Certainly he had none to spare for her. He had said that love was a marsh light leading into all sorts of bogs, and that was a very good description of her love for him. It had led her into a morass of pain and woe. She was determined to extricate herself now, for she recognized that it was primarily upon Nicholas's account that she had wanted to break her engagement, and she clung to Eastwold because the place held all her memories of him. She would be led astray by no more will-o'-the-wisps, but would seek to build her life with Jeremy upon the rock of mutual esteem, even though she could not feel for him, what she had felt for Nicholas. At least she was confident that he would never let her down.

CHAPTER EIGHT WITH his new affluence - the solicitors had made him an advance pending settlement of the estate - Jeremy elected to move into a flat of his own. For years he had shared Martin's room in the Verekers' three-bedroomed house, and now he felt that his new dignity merited something better. It was only a large furnished bed-sitter with a kitchenette and bathroom attached, but it seemed spacious to him. A woman came in to 'do' for him. Kit often went round to see if she could cook a meal for him or perform some other service, and found to her surprise that except for breakfast, he always ate out. Moreover, she gained the impression that her presence was not entirely welcome. She concluded that Jeremy was at last savouring the joys of independence and tactfully curtailed her visits. Yet she felt vaguely disturbed. It would be too bad if after she had come to depend upon him, he was discovering that he could do without her. For she was finding that this new Jeremy had increasing attraction for her, he had become so much more mature, but he was no longer urging her to hurry on their marriage. He had suggested that it would be a good idea if he went out first to see what the place was like and he would either come back to fetch her, or she could come out to him. Somewhat reluctantly she agreed. Perversely she was now as anxious to be gone as she had formerly been averse to leaving. Nicholas was still around, and though she never encountered him to speak to, she often glimpsed his figure in the distance, for Eastwold was a small place. His presence was a perpetual reminder of her humiliation and hurt. She wanted to be free of him once and for all and close that chapter of her life. Jeremy had become much more interested in his wardrobe; he bought new clothes about which he did not consult her, and Kit was surprised at the good taste he showed. His fair hair was shorn for the

first time since she had known him, and he looked smart and spruce. In a conventional suit nicely tailored, with a discreet blue or cream shirt, he looked almost a stranger. Stephanie was still in Eastwold, but she had left the Red- ferns' and was staying at the most expensive hotel in the town. Kit saw her frequently in the distance, always beautifully dressed, and Stephanie would give her a smile and a wave. She had acquired a car, and adorned it with L-plates. Jeremy told Kit that she was supplementing his driving lessons by allowing him to drive it for practice. That meant that Stephanie had to accompany him until he had passed his test. Kit asked him once if Nicholas minded this frequent association. 'No, why should he?' Jeremy asked, looking faintly embarrassed. 'It's all perfectly innocent.' 'After all, she is his girl,' Kit pointed out. 'But he keeps her dangling.' Jeremy was quite indignant. 'If she's content to dangle, that's her look-out,' Kit told him. 'I imagine she's plenty to choose from.' 'Isn't it a case of wanting one particular chap?' Jeremy asked diffidently. 'It always seems the one we want most is unattainable.' The significance of this remark coming from him was lost upon Kit, for she was applying the truth of it to her own situation. The man she wanted was beyond her reach and apparently Stephanie was finding him elusive also. Perhaps men like Nicholas ought not to marry. They liked to pick their girls here and there, but shrank from tying themselves down. He had never given Stephanie a ring. 'It'll all be the same in a hundred years,' she said drearily.

She often went to the Sailing Club, for she found that Nicholas no longer frequented it. It seemed he was as anxious to avoid her as she was him. Her happiest hours were spent afloat with Martin skimming through the brown-grey waters of the bay - the North Sea was rarely blue, there was too much churned-up sand, but there also were far too many memories. It would be easier when she was far away. Sea Witch remained berthed in the river. Sometimes there was activity aboard her, and Kit could distinguish Nicholas's tall, dark figure, but he never took her out to sea. One night she stayed later than usual at the Club House after a sail, yarning with old friends. Jeremy had been there earlier in the evening, but he had disappeared. Martin had wandered off with a girl-friend, so she was faced with a solitary walk home. She did not mind that, but she thought Jeremy might have come back for her. She stepped out into a clear, moonlit night, two moons later than the one which had lit their voyage, and decided to walk home across the common. She felt that she could not have enough of the sights and sounds of Eastwold, memories to store up to carry away with her, when she went to that strange country on the other side of the globe, which she viewed with apprehension. As the ground began to rise, she turned and looked back. The estuary at high tide was a sheet of silver, the sky a vast bowl above her head. She could distinguish Sea Witch's mast against the skyline, and the lights of the club and the other small houses along the quay. Beyond were woods and common land, black in the white light, and to her left was the sea, with a broad pathway of moonlight across its calm surface. How often she would think of this scene with longing when she was gone from it! She sighed, and continued her way, only to come to a halt with a sense of shock. On one side of her, a lane led down to the tennis club,

with an overhanging bank covered with gorse bushes. In its inadequate shelter were two figures wrapped in each other's arms, oblivious of any possible passer by. Jeremy and Stephanie, the moonlight gleaming on their fair heads, hers tilted backwards, Jeremy's bent over it. Kit stood stock still, unable to believe the evidence of her senses. She had always known that Jeremy admired Stephanie, and he was always ready to take her part against Nicholas, but she had never dreamed that matters could go this far. Little significant details recurred to her. Jeremy's caginess about her own visits to his flat. His dress and grooming - Stephanie had had a hand in that, the driving sessions... but how could he be so mad? He was engaged to her, and Stephanie was Nicholas's girl. A familiar voice beside her broke into her cogitations. 'Pretty sight, what? Love's young dream.' Nicholas's tone was more than ordinarily sardonic. He had come upon her, walking softly over the grass. Fearing a scene, for surely he must be furious that Jeremy of all people should be poaching upon his preserves, she laid her hand upon his arm. 'Please ... don't intervene. Perhaps they'll explain ...' But that ardent embrace was going to take a lot of explaining. 'I've no intention of intervening,' he returned. 'Let them get on with it.' He drew her hand through his arm in his old comradely way, and walked her upwards towards the water-tower. Bewildered, she exclaimed: 'But, Nick, don't you mind? Stephanie's engaged to you, isn't she?'

'Stephanie collects fiancés as better people collect stamps,' he said dryly. 'She never gives their rings back, and she has quite an assortment. You will have noticed I never gave her one. I like my tokens to be valued, not treated like scalps.' Lightly spoken, but with underlying bitterness. Kit's heart went out to him in sympathy, for though she did not think he bore Stephanie much love, his vanity must have taken a severe knock. Nicholas was unused to being supplanted. But it was incredible to her that Stephanie could risk losing Nicholas for the sake of Jeremy's rather mediocre caresses, though he had seemed to be putting more fervour into his lovemaking than he usually did. She blurted out: 'But ... but how could she prefer Jeremy to you?' He slanted an odd look at her. 'That's a strange remark to come from you!' She coloured and hung her head and he laughed. 'We all know Jeremy is quite a charmer. Aren't you devoted to him, in more ways than one?' He dropped his mocking manner and said seriously: 'This has upset you, hasn't it?' 'It... it gave me a shock.' She had not grasped the full implication of what she had seen, but she was beginning to realize that she could regain her liberty if she wanted to do so. She owed no loyalty to Jeremy now he had betrayed her. She need not leave Eastwold, and . .. Nicholas was also free. She turned her head to look up at him questioningly, wondering how much he had cared for Stephanie and if now, at last, she might begin to hope.

Nicholas turned with her hand still within his arm in the shadow of the water tower, and looked towards the sea. The knoll upon which it stood was high above the lowland round the harbour, and much more of the bay was visible, low cliffs that marked its further arm lining the horizon. Kit looked up into his aloof face, and felt her love for him wash over her in flood. It was no use - whatever he said and did, she could not destroy it. Her heart was beating fast; was it possible he might turn to her on the rebound? Nicholas drew a long breath. 'Pretty little place,' he observed. 'I shall remember it like this when I'm far away.' A cold finger seemed to touch her heart. Just when a faint hope was beginning to stir, he had doused it. 'You... you're going away?' she faltered. 'Back to Africa,' he told her. 'I've landed quite a good job, in the south this time. The country's a bit disturbed, but that may be exciting.' He laughed a little bitterly. 'Seems to be the usual panacea for my broken heart, doesn't it? Victorian jilted lovers were always supposed to go big game hunting, and that's the same idea.' Kit's heart sank. So he did love Stephanie, and in his curious unrevealing manner, he had shown no emotion over her perfidy, but he was betraying himself now. 'Are you sure it... it's serious?' she hazarded. 'I mean... a kiss doesn't mean a lot, you've said so yourself.' She felt him stiffen.

'I don't share my women,' he said coldly. 'Least of all with a drip like Jeremy. Surely you know that?' For once Kit did not fly to Jeremy's defence. 'But you ... you don't mind kissing other girls,' she reminded him, for he had kissed herself in a manner Stephanie would regard as most reprehensible. He laughed, and patted her hand with his free one. 'Meaning you. But we've always had a unique relationship, haven't we, Kit? I'm afraid it's terminated now, though, you'll be in South America, and I'll be at the other side of the world. Sad, isn't it? But that's life.' 'I shan't be going to Brazil,' she said, and glanced up at him hopefully. He again patted her hand and said in a paternal tone: 'Don't be so contrary, Kit. Now Jeremy has got something to offer you, you'd be an idiot to give him up because of what's happening down there.' He moved his head to indicate the sunken lane. 'Forget it. As you say, I don't suppose they're in earnest.' 'So you think,' she returned with a sigh. 'You never take love seriously.' 'Who said anything about love? A pretty girl and a moonlit night don't necessarily proclaim la grande passion, my Chimp. We know that, don't we?' He laughed, but the laugh did not ring true. A cynical utterance, typical of Nicholas, but beneath his light banter Kit sensed he was deeply hint. Being Nicholas, he would not show that he minded, but he must have suspected that Stephanie had

become tired of him, and that was why he had been negotiating for the job in Africa. What they had just seen had come as no surprise to him; he recognized Jeremy as Stephanie's latest fancy, and did not believe he would be the last. They both became silent, but Kit did not withdraw her hand. This was perhaps the last time that she would be close to him. Another six years might elapse before he came again, if he ever came again. 'And Sea Witch?' she asked at last. 'What are you going to do about her?' 'She's to be sold. Stephanie's had enough of her. She was only one of her more expensive whims. There's not much point in buying her out. I'll have no use for the boat while I'm away.' Yet he had loved the sloop. Involuntarily Kit exclaimed: 'So you're to lose everything you cared about? This hasn't been a lucky leave for you.' 'Oh, I wouldn't say that. It's had its moments. Events haven't gone quite as I intended, but they seldom do. No doubt I shall find compensations in Cape Town.' The diversions of Cape Town would console him for the loss of Stephanie, as those of Cairo had done for Maureen. 'Will you write to me, Nick?' Kit asked wistfully, unable to face this total break. 'No,' he said firmly. She drooped upon his arm at this rebuff.

'You may mean that kindly,' he told her gently, 'but it's a mistake to try to cling to a past that is dead.' She knew that she had betrayed herself completely on that day when they were grounded. He was telling her kindly that she had no hope. Even though she had indicated that she was at last intending to break with Jeremy, he had not taken her up on it. Merely told her that she would be a fool to leave him now. She could hardly expect him to turn to her for consolation for Stephanie's faithlessness, for she had nothing to offer him except her plain, insignificant self and a love which he despised. Wild words rose to her a lips, a desperate plea that he would not leave her, but she bit them back. He would tell her that he did not want Jeremy's leavings. Nicholas gave a sharp sigh. 'We'll say good-bye now, shall we, Kit? We may not be alone again and I shall be busy, going up to London and so forth. There's a great deal to arrange.' He withdrew his arm; then putting his hands upon her shoulders, turned her to face him. 'We've had some good times, Chimp. I shan't quite forget you, in fact I may think of you quite often in my bachelor solitude.' 'Then you don't ever intend to marry?' she asked. His mobile mouth twisted satirically. 'Domesticity has never been my strong suit,' he told her lightly. 'I have considered Holy Matrimony,' his tone became wry, 'but fate ordained otherwise. Perhaps it's as well, I'm not the marrying type.' His expression softened as he looked down into her sad face, whitened by the moon. 'Shall we follow the example of our friends in the lane?' he asked softly. 'For the last time, Kit.'

She surrendered to his arms with a sobbing breath. His kiss was long and close. As he drew away from her, she cried agonizingly: 'Nick, don't go away. I can't bear it!' He stood perfectly still, his body tensed, his face inscrutable, while Kit's heart beat so loudly she thought he must be able to hear it. She clasped her hands over her breast and her eyes, dark pools in the moonlight, were full of desperate appeal. Nicholas relaxed, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets. 'My child, you aren't yourself at this moment,' he told her dispassionately. 'You are naturally piqued by Jeremy's lapse, and like all women, you're looking for a substitute to salve your pride, but that is not a role I care to assume .. She interrupted frenziedly: 'But, Nick, you know I don't love Jeremy ...' 'I've known it all along, but nothing would induce you to give him up, though God knows I've done my best to wean you from him, with a conspicuous lack of success. On the sandbank I thought I'd won, but when I came back I was confronted by the official announcement of your engagement.' That's null and void, now,' she began. 'Don't be silly,' he cut her short. 'When Jeremy comes to you, full of contrition, and confesses his sin, or maybe doesn't confess it, but declares you're his only real love and he can't do without you, you'll forgive him. You can't help yourself, Kit, he's become a habit with you. All husbands become habits eventually, I suppose, and since he's already one, you won't be disillusioned. Good luck, Kit, and may you be happy in your new life.'

He moved away, but she sprang after him. She could not fathom what lay behind his half bitter, half mocking words, but she sensed some sort of regret. 'Nick,' she pleaded. 'Listen. I... I've been having doubts about marrying Jeremy for some time, and you've told me several times not to do so...' He drew a long breath. 'Really, Kit, you do blow hot and cold, but I don't believe you're in earnest about ditching Jeremy. As I said, he's only got to put on the "don't desert me, I rely upon you" act, and you'll be all over him again, especially when he realizes Stephanie's only playing with him.' His teeth showed white in a cynical smile. 'He'll need all your comfort then.' 'He won't get it.' 'Oh yes, he will. Giving comfort's your mission in life, Kit. No, my dear, I'm not going to play your three-handed game any more - it's too humiliating. Nor have I forgotten that you told me it was impossible to live with me. Goodbye.' He went from her so swiftly that she did not realize he had gone, until she saw the black shadow of his form loping over the common. Her thoughts were chaotic. Nicholas had implied that he was not indifferent to her, and his actions had more than once supported such a supposition, but she could not credit it because of Stephanie. It was possible that the latter's defection had turned his thoughts in her direction. It was not only women who sought consolation out of pique, but he had decided that he could not break Jeremy's hold over her. He was intolerant of rivals for his favours, and as proud as his namesake, Old Nick - moreover he resented criticism. Although she had confessed her love, she had also been provoked into making many sharp retorts which she had not really meant, and most unfortunate of all was her assertion that it would be impossible to

live with him which had been surprised out of her by the unexpectedness of his foregoing remark. That she had not meant at all in the sense he had taken it. The conviction grew upon her that some sort of misunderstanding had arisen between them, and she could not let him go out of her life if there were any chance of clearing it up. He had nearly reached the top of the common, when she sped after him, hoping to intercept him before he entered his parents' house, which was presumably his objective. She was as fleet of foot as a young deer, but he had a considerable start on her, and he never looked back, nor had she any breath to spare to call to him. She was just too late. She was in time to see the front door open, his silhouette against the fan of light, and to hear it close. For a while she stood outside the house concealed by the shadow of the close-trimmed hedge, debating whether she dare knock and ask for him. She could imagine Mrs. Red- fern's supercilious stare, and Nicholas might refuse to listen to her, might be annoyed by her intrusion, and yet the issue was so desperately important to her that she was prepared to risk their joint displeasure. If only she were properly dressed, she would feel more confidence; the Redferns probably changed in the evening, and she was still in her sailing garb, with her curls blown by the wind and her face innocent of make-up. Nicholas's Chimp. Chimp? The shipmate, the playfellow, the competent crew, but nothing more. She began to see the situation with painful clarity. Nicholas had looked upon her as his property, and resenting Jeremy's claim, had tried to detach her from him, but he had never seen her as

a woman he might wed, though it amused him to kiss her. She recalled that he had just told her that domesticity did not appeal to him, though he had contemplated marriage once. That must have been when he was carried away by Stephanie's charms, but now she had deserted him, it was not to be, and he was secretly relieved. Realizing not only that he was free, but that Kit might also become so, he had taken fright, and urged her to forgive her errant lover, for he had no wish to bind himself again. So long as she was involved with Jeremy, she had had the attraction of forbidden fruit. Now that she was within his grasp, he had beaten a hurried retreat, using her own foolish words as an excuse. By now he would already have put her out of his mind, and if there were a misunderstanding between them, he had no wish to clear it up. So there was no point in lingering longer, and yet she still lingered, deriving a bitter-sweet pleasure from being so near to him, although he was unaware of her presence. The window of the sitting-room was wide open, though the curtains were drawn over it, she could hear the sound of his voice, though she could not distinguish the words. She heard him laugh merrily, and the sound jarred her. He was not grieving either for her or for Stephanie. Then he raised his voice, and her quick ears heard him distinctly. 'Don't wait up for me, Mother, I'll be very late. I'm going to drive up to Yarmouth and make a night of it.' A murmur from Mrs. Redfern, and then: 'Oh, I'll be careful, but I think I'm about due for a bit of fun, after the perils of being shipwrecked. 'Good night.' Kit fled; she could not bear to be discovered after that. Far from having any regrets, Nicholas was about to immerse himself in sophisticated pleasures to celebrate his return to a gay bachelorhood.

Her cheeks burned as she visualized the humiliation which she had been mercifully spared. She had been foolish to imagine for one moment that Nicholas had any regrets about leaving her. He had meant his good-bye to be final, and if she had gone blundering in, she would have been met with a further painful rejection. Nicholas had told her soon after his return that he thought only of himself, and what he wanted now was his freedom.

If Nicholas had gone, there was still Jeremy to be dealt with. Kit wasted no time. She went round to his flat the next day, as soon as she had finished work. He seemed perturbed by her unexpected appearance and she noticed he was dressed up in his best suit and etceteras. 'I'm awfully sorry, Kit, but I'm going out,' he told her. 'With Stephanie?' she asked, and he looked embarrassed. 'I won't keep you long,' she continued. 'I want to tell you that I saw you on the common with her last night.' To her surprise he neither denied nor apologized, but presented a counter-accusation. 'What of it? Stephanie says you're in love with Nick.' 'Oh, did she? So you think that excuses you, but wasn't she supposed to be engaged to him herself?' He drew himself up with a newly acquired air of dignity. 'Didn't you know it was all washed up between Stephanie and Nick ages ago?'

'No, I didn't,' she said with surprise. 'I thought Stephanie was staying on here to be near him.' Jeremy looked conscious. 'You don't mean it was because of you? Oh, Jeremy, you and she have been carrying on behind my back!' Her eyes widened with reproach. 'No, Kit, it wasn't like that at all,' he assured her earnestly. 'Of course I've always thought Stephanie was wonderful, but I believed she was as far above me as the stars. It wasn't until last night that I discovered she loved me.' He looked so pleased with himself as he made this admission that Kit nearly laughed. 'Did Stephanie jilt Nick because of you?' she asked incredulously. He smiled deprecatingly, but he did not deny it. 'I don't wonder you're surprised,' he told her. 'I was, but they weren't really suited. You know how snide he often was about her. It used to make my blood boil to hear him sneer at her.' Kit grinned; she could not imagine Jeremy's blood boiling. 'It seemed a shame that she should waste herself upon someone who didn't appreciate her,' he went on. 'But she couldn't jilt him, because they weren't actually engaged.' 'She told the newspaper reporter that she was.' 'Oh, that was only to make a better story. Steph says the public always want the romantic angle.' Stephanie had briefed Jeremy very competently, Kit thought, in her own defence, but on the boat she had made it obvious that she considered Nicholas belonged to her and vice versa.

'Poor Nick was in love with her,' she said. 'Doesn't she consider him at all?' 'Nicholas was not in love with her,' Jeremy said decidedly, adding brutally: 'He liked her looks and her money.' 'That's Stephanie's version, and now she fancies your looks and your money,' Kit returned equally brutally. 'It is only a fancy, Jeremy.' He shook his head. 'She declares it's the real thing this time.' Kit did not think he could put much reliance upon that statement. She saw that Jeremy was looking at her insinuatingly, and he blurted out: 'So you see Nick's really quite free, and you were always keen on him.' She flinched. Had it been so obvious to them all? 'I'll admit I've always had a bit of a yen for him,' she admitted frankly. 'As you know, it started with a schoolgirl's crush, but he doesn't want me, and I've always known it couldn't come to anything.' She made herself look infinitely reproachful. 'It seems a bit hard that after all the years we've been going together and just when your prospects have improved so that we can get married, you're wanting to ditch me.' 'I didn't say I was going to ditch you.' Jeremy moved uncomfortably. 'But Steph thought if she was out of the running, you'd make it up with Nick.' 'There's nothing to make up,' Kit said dully. 'Nick's off to South Africa.' 'So Steph says, but he could take you with him.'

So they had arranged it all to suit their convenience, but Nicholas had not fulfilled their expectations. 'I wasn't asked,' Kit informed him. 'He insists that I ought to go to Brazil.' Jeremy stiffened at this revealing remark.' 'I've no wish to take you there at Nicholas Redfern's command.' He glanced at her pale face and unhappy eyes, but was not sure upon whose account she was looking distressed. 'I'm sorry, Kit,' he said gently. 'But I'm surprised. We were sure ... I mean, Steph said he was hankering after you.' 'Well, he wasn't,' Kit told him crossly, for his misconception about Nicholas's feelings for her was painful. 'Stephanie seems to believe whatever suits her.' She regarded Jeremy's smart appearance a little maliciously. Stephanie had certainly taught him how to dress. He was wearing a well cut suit in navy blue, which could not have been tailored in Eastwold. Blue socks, tie and matching handkerchief, and a pale blue shirt. His cuff links appeared to be gold - a present from Stephanie? He was well groomed, his blond handsomeness set off by the dark suit. He had also acquired an air of self-confidence. Thus much had the other girl and his father's money done for him, but it was she who had cured him of stooping and first set his feet upon the upward path. Kit sighed a little sadly, recalling all the time and affection that she had lavished upon him. She did not grudge the harvest of her sowing to another woman, but it was a little wounding that he was so ready to give her up. Jeremy was eyeing her uneasily.

'Of course if you want to go on, I won't let you down,' he said awkwardly. 'I'm grateful to you for all you've done for me and for a long time you were my only friend, but I didn't think you were very keen on going to South America.' 'And Stephanie is?' He smiled fatuously. 'She's crazy about it. Fancies herself as a Brazilian senhora. She's bought a Spanish shawl and we're taking Portuguese lessons together.' Kit turned her engagement ring round and round on her finger, smiling wryly. She fully intended to give Jeremy his freedom, but she was not going to make it too easy for him. Let him suffer a little suspense-it was what he deserved. He had counted on Nicholas taking her off his hands, and was disconcerted to find that he and Stephanie had miscalculated. Looking up into his anxious face with wide appealing eyes, she said with assumed sadness: 'I never thought it would come to this. Not after you made me promise never to let you down. I was a little scared about living in Brazil, it would be such a very different life from that here, and they have earthquakes and revolutions, and all sorts of unpleasant novelties, but I was ready to brave them all for your sake, Jeremy.' He actually squirmed. 'Yes ... well.' The door, which was unlocked, opened and Stephanie came in. 'Are you ready, Jerry?' Then she saw Kit. 'What a surprise!' She was looking radiant, dressed for an evening out in the silver sheath which she had worn at Ostend with a pale blue evening coat trimmed with white fur. Kit remembered her generosity upon that

trip. The green dress which she had insisted upon Kit keeping still hung in her wardrobe at home. She was indebted to her for that and for freeing her from Jeremy, but she could not forgive her for her casual treatment of Nicholas. She said bluntly: 'So you've cut me out with Jeremy.' 'Oh, come off it,' Stephanie returned cheerfully. 'Be honest, Kit. You don't really want him, do you?' 'You're hoping not,' Kit told her with her urchin grin. Jeremy intervened, not quite liking the role of bone of contention. 'I'm in honour bound to Kit, Steph.' 'Don't be so old-fashioned,' Stephanie told him. 'Talk of honour and bonds bores me.' She sat down on Jeremy's upholstered settee, quite at her ease. 'It evidently doesn't bother you,' Kit flashed. 'What about poor Nick?' 'Poor Nick?' Stephanie raised her eyebrows. 'Poor me, you mean. What I went through with that bully!' 'He's going to exile himself in Africa because of you,' Kit accused her. She was not sure this was really true, but she wanted to make Stephanie show some contrition. 'Don't you believe it,' Stephanie told her. 'That's one of the things we couldn't agree about. He likes Africa. Had a whale of a time during those leaves in Cairo ... all those houris ... no, that's not right... you know, belly dancers. Oh, I'll admit I did think of marrying him once, he's very decorative. Gives a girl a kick to go places with him and see all the other women staring.' She giggled. 'But as a matter of fact, he never asked me.' She looked at Kit inquiringly. 'Hasn't he asked you either?'

'No, of course not.' Kit felt a dart of pain. 'You know very well, Nick only regards me as an efficient crew. Besides, he wouldn't dream of taking me to Africa with him. I'd cramp his style.' 'Rotten swine,' Stephanie remarked casually. 'Never a thought for anyone but himself. If he gets bumped off in a riot, it would serve him right.' Kit shuddered. She had not thought of that possibility. Stephanie stretched out her hand to Jeremy. 'Now this dear boy will always show me consideration, and he's just as good-looking as Nick in a different way.' Jeremy touched her fingers and looked apologetically at Kit, as much as to say. You can't expect me to snub her. 'He's not showing me much consideration,' Kit complained, experiencing a stab of envy - not jealousy - these two were looking at each other so lovingly and she was the odd one out. She could not blame Jeremy for being complaisant with so much dazzling beauty being offered to him. A mirror hanging on the wall opposite to her reflected her figure clad in a neat suit, bought off the peg, her almost too slender legs in nylon tights, her mop of curls and freckled nose. An ordinary little typist, there were dozens of her sort around, with nothing to attract the now affluent Jeremy ... or Nicholas. 'I've told you I won't let you down,' Jeremy reiterated, and Stephanie raised her arched eyebrows. 'So it's for Kit to decide?' 'Yes.'

They both looked at Kit with appeal in two pairs of china-blue eyes. Kit remembered other blue eyes, long, narrow and dark-lashed with lurking laughter in their depths. Compared with Nicholas's the ones regarding her seemed insipid. She stood up and pulled off her ring, which she had always worn since that day in Brussels. 'I wouldn't dream of standing between you,' she said sincerely, and held the ring out to Jeremy. The relief in his face caused her a minor pang, he was so undisguisedly glad to be free from her. 'Keep it, Kit,' he told her. 'I'd like you to wear it in memory of all the good times we've had together.' She slipped it on to her right hand, thinking that Nicholas had also spoken of those. She smiled faintly. Both men had enjoyed her company, but neither wanted to perpetuate it. Stephanie said: 'You could give her something better than that. I never did admire it very much.' But it had been the best Jeremy could afford - then. Kit recalled the night in the hotel at Ostend, when she had brandished her ring triumphantly in front of Nicholas, the champagne and Stephanie's hint that she desired a half hoop of diamonds, which Jeremy could bestow upon her - now. Remembered too, Nicholas's words: 'You've made your bed and now you must lie on it.' He had been serious about it too, but he had been proved wrong. With a lifting of her spirits, she realized that she would never have to consider Jeremy's feelings again. Meanwhile, Jeremy was saying:

'Of course I will, something expensive that she really wants.' Reminded of his new wealth, he sighed and added: 'If I hadn't come into money, you'd never have looked at me, Steph.' Kit was sorry then that she had said it was his money that had drawn Stephanie to him. She might be genuinely in love with him. 'I'd been looking at you ever since I met you,' Stephanie told him. 'And liking what I saw, but I'm a realist, Jerry, and a very expensive person.' She smiled a little ruefully. 'I couldn't see any future for us until now.' 'But we wouldn't be having any future if Kit hadn't been a sportswoman,' Jeremy declared with more fervour than tact. 'We all know she's that,' Stephanie agreed, looking at Kit kindly. 'First time I saw you, Kit, you'd just won a race. How little we knew then how things were going to turn out.' 'It took a miracle on the part of the Saint Sang to bring about the happy denouement,' Kit said dryly. Awe-struck, Jeremy exclaimed: 'It really worked!' A little irritated by his credulity, for she had spoken in jest, Kit pointed out: 'Your father must have found his fortune long before you went to Bruges.' 'But something turned his mind in my direction,' Jeremy insisted, not wanting to be done out of his miracle. 'He might have taken up with a Brazilian beauty instead. He had forgotten he had a son for a good many years.' 'But ...' Kit was beginning a further objection, for Thomas had been too old and sick to be interested in women, when Stephanie intervened, laughing.

'Let him have his miracle, Kit. It's quite a pretty idea.' 'Oh, sure, but unfortunately the Holy Relic hasn't performed one for me,' Kit said a little bitterly, for she was the prime loser. 'But to be fair, I didn't ask for one.' 'Neglected your opportunities, didn't you?' Stephanie pointed out. 'But you're young yet, lots can happen to you, miraculous or otherwise.' Kit caught her breath, glimpsing the long, empty years ahead. Stephanie rose and coming over to her, stooped and kissed her cheek. Kit caught a whiff of her expensive scent. 'Don't grieve over Nick,' she bade her. 'He's not worth it, and he'd make a rotten husband. If he does ever marry, I'm sorry for his wife.' She looked commiseratingly at Kit's set face. 'You must come and stay with us when we're settled,' she went on. 'We'll find some sultry Brazilian for you, if you like that type.' 'Thanks, but I think I'd prefer something more docile for a change,' Kit returned. She stood up. 'But I'm keeping you, when you want to be off.' She held out her hand to Jeremy. 'Good-bye and all the best.' He took it awkwardly, muttering something which she did not catch. Then with a smile towards Stephanie, who was watching her quizzically, Kit went out of the flat. It was strange to think that she need never again exert herself in Jeremy's defence, that he had chosen a life far away from her, and ironically it was Stephanie who had finally made a man of him and not herself. Nicholas would have appreciated the humour of the situation; if it were true he really did not mind about Stephanie, but of course he did know it, and was probably laughing at them all now.

Outside Stephanie's shining car was waiting by the kerb. It was a symbol of how far Jeremy had risen in the world. Kit noticed that the L-plates had gone. He must have passed his test. Resolutely she squared her shoulders as she walked on. Both the men in her life were going far away, one to Africa, the other to South America, and they would probably never meet again. But it was useless to indulge in sentimental regrets, she must look forward and not back. Now she would never leave Eastwold and she still had Martin, Albatross and the solace of the sea. Next summer they might win another race.

CHAPTER NINE AUTUMN came with rain and gales at the equinox, to be followed by a spell of mild, sunny weather. Sea Witch was still anchored in the estuary, and Kit wondered who had bought her. She did not know if Nicholas had left for the Cape, but as she never saw him, she assumed that he had. Jeremy had moved to London and he and Stephanie were preparing for their wedding, which was to be a big affair in the middle of October. Then they would fly out to their new home. Martin was absorbed in a girl and it really looked as though he was serious about one at last. Thrown on her own resources, Kit spent her week-aids in long solitary walks, often returning too dead beat to do anything except tumble into bed and sleep. Thus she sought to assuage her heartache which seemed to increase instead of diminish. The hard and the quay were haunted by the echo of Nicholas's gay laughter, water and sky reflected the memory of his mocking eyes, and so she avoided them, but she could not wholly escape from him, even on the cliffs and among the marshes, for she would find herself scanning the horizon for a glimpse of a tall, lithe figure with a yellow dog in tow. She wondered what Nicholas had done with Butch. She would get over it in time, Nicholas's image would fade and she would find other distractions, but that in her present mood was no consolation. She did not want to forget Nicholas. She was like a young widow, hugging her grief, and so she would continue until something happened to shake her out of it and she would find that it no longer existed. One Saturday afternoon, she walked round the bay as far as Dunwich on its further side. It was low tide and her way lay across wet sand, which was easier walking than the shingle which fringed the beach. As it was past the holiday season, there was no one about, and the

circling sea-birds' plaintive cries seemed to her like Poe's raven to be croaking 'Nevermore'. Nevermore would she see her love again. Rather enjoying her melancholy, die readied Dunwich and climbed the crumbling cliffs, by a steep path which led up from the shore to a stretch of short grass along their top. From here she could look back to Eastwold on its slight promontory, the column of the lighthouse and the arch of the water tower plainly visible, both of which held memories for her. Between her and the little town was the sickle of the bay, backed by marshes and woodlands. Behind her was the dilapidated wall of the Old Priory, of which only a ruined tower remained in the centre of its grounds. Where she stood had been the graveyard of a fine church, which bit by bit had fallen into the sea. The little town in the hollow behind the cliffs was all that was left of a once large and prosperous seaport. Now it all lay beneath the encroaching sea, churches, houses, shops and wharves, and on stormy days it was alleged that the drowned church bells could be heard ringing. Divers had been down to see, but all they could find was sand, which gave the lie to the legend. Kit thought of that other town across the water which had so appealed to her. Bruges had suffered from the vagaries of the sea in the opposite direction. While the commerce of Dunwich had been drowned, that of Bruges had been silted up, but at least the bells of Bruges could still ring, while those of Dunwich were dumb. She advanced to the very edge of the cliff, looking down at the beach below her. Many things were washed up on to that shore, from Roman coins - Dunwich dated from Roman times - to human bones, for much of the graveyard had followed the church, spilling its macabre contents on the rocks below.

The late heavy rains had loosened the soil at the top of the cliff. Suddenly, without warning, the ground beneath her feet crumbled and she slid down in an avalanche of earth and stones to the beach below. It was not a long fall, and the descent had been gradual, a slipping downwards of part of the cliff. She was not hurt beyond a few bruises, but when she tried to rise, she found a boulder had fallen across her foot and ankle, and she could not move it. Her foot was not crushed, it lay in a cavity beneath the boulder, but the space was too narrow for her to pull it out. She was trapped. She looked apprehensively up at the raw gash in the cliff above her. More might follow at any moment and then she would be buried. It would not be the first time that victims had been buried on those cliffs. There had been a case of some children who had unwisely been playing in a sandy cave half-way up them. Kit looked towards the sea, and saw that the tide was coming in, and it would cover the spot where she was lying. It seemed she had the possibility of two ends, and neither of them was particularly pleasant to contemplate. She called, but the wind blowing from the land carried away her voice, nor did anyone come along the pebbly beach. Several times since saying good-bye to Nicholas, she had thought that she would like to die. Now she realized how foolish had been such a wish. She did not at all want to die; nobody did when it came to the point. Again and again she tried to extricate her foot, but she could not move the boulder, nor dared she try to dig beneath it in case she brought it down on her ankle. She was in a position where she could obtain no purchase to lever it off, and the rubble upon which she was sitting was very hard.

She shouted again, desperately, but there did not seem to be anyone about to hear her; both sea and shore were deserted. A large yellow dog came bounding into sight and stopped to investigate the new fall. Kit looked at him hopefully; he looked familiar, though one yellow dog was much like another, but he might possibly be the one she knew. 'Butch!' she called. 'Here, boy, Butch!' He pricked up his ears, seeming to know the name. He walked gingerly over the fallen earth and paused. Kit called to him again. 'Butch! Good dog. Come here, Butch.' After some agonizing moments of uncertainty, he came right up to her and tried to lick her face. Kit took firm hold of his collar. The dog would not be alone, somebody would come to look for him, and that would be her chance. Nicholas, she thought, would be glad that his dog had come to her rescue. It was luck for her that the labrador had remembered her. She wondered if he missed his master, and she hoped whoever owned him now would hurry up and put in an appearance. A shrill whistle sounded, Butch pricked up his ears, and struggled to be free, but Kit clung to him. 'Good boy, stay with me,' she pleaded. The whistle came again, much nearer. Butch, finding himself unable to extricate himself, began to bark and whine. Kit stared as a familiar figure came into view. Was she having an hallucination? It could not be Nicholas, he must be in Africa by now. Her slack fingers dropped from the dog's collar, and the beast raced away to greet his master. Nicholas pushed him aside and began to

run, for earth and bits of stones were beginning to trickle down the cliff, prelude to another fall. Kit, impervious to her danger, could only stare and wonder. How was it possible that Nicholas was here? He reached her, saw at once what had happened, and exerting all his strength rolled the boulder away. Kit tried to rise, but her foot was numb. 'I can't,' she murmured. 'Don't try.' He scooped her up in his arms and ran, as a fresh avalanche slid down the cliff. Kit clung to him with thankfulness and joy, realizing he was really flesh and blood. At a safe distance, he set her down upon a large rock, and taking out his handkerchief, he wiped his face. Kit saw that he was very pale. 'My God, that was a close shave!' he muttered. Then he rounded on her. Didn't she know those cliffs were dangerous? Hadn't she read the warning notices? Did she want to kill herself? Why couldn't she take more care? Recognizing this outburst for what it was, the release of tension after a bad fright, Kit made no attempt to excuse herself. When he paused for breath, she said: 'I thought you'd left for Africa.' 'I don't go until the end of the month, but I've been in London. Fortunately, I'm home for the week-end, and had taken Butch for a walk.'

He looked at her with an enigmatical expression in his eyes, then suddenly a spasm crossed his face, and he knelt beside her, encircling her with his arms, burying his face against her breast. 'My little Chimp! If you'd been killed!' Kit laid her cheek against the dark head. 'Would you have cared?' she whispered. 'Cared?' He lifted his face towards her, and his eyes were blue flame. 'Dimwit!' he said. Then he recollected the pass she had been in. 'But your foot...' He sat back on his heels, lifting it in his hands. 'We must get you to a doctor.' He whipped off her shoe and sock, pushing up her trouser leg. Kit looked at her white foot between his brown hands and laughed. 'Not necessary, nothing's broken, it's only a bit numb. Oh, Nick, I'm so glad you came. I didn't want to die.' 'Die? What a horrible thought!' he ejaculated. His eyes gleamed quizzically. 'But you were prepared to die once - with me.' 'Yes,' she said thoughtfully. 'I could face even death .. s with you.' 'Don't let's be so morbid,' he said brusquely, but an unfamiliar tenderness showed in his face. 'You know Stephanie and Jeremy are getting married?' she asked, anxious to let him know that die had freed herself. 'Couldn't help knowing, it's the talk of the town. So Steph's really going to take the plunge.' He laughed as if it was a joke, then sobering, he asked gently:

'Was it a great blow to you?' 'No, it was a happy release.' 'Really? You're not just trying to put a good face on it?' 'Really and truly. I knew some time ago I wanted to give him up. I tried to tell you that night when we saw them together...' She leaned forward, her eyes searching his face. 'Nick, you spoke then almost as if ... you were sorry to be leaving me.' He dropped his eyes, and began to busy himself putting her sock and shoe on again. 'I told you then to stick to Jeremy,' he said shortly. 'But as usual you disregarded my advice.' She wondered if he was being deliberately obtuse. 'Please will you understand, I didn't want him,' she declared with a quiver in her voice. He stood up and began to pull off his black windcheater. 'I'm being a neglectful brute - you're shivering. I must get you somewhere warm and give you a drink.' He wrapped the garment round her shoulders. 'I'll carry you.' 'Oh, no, you won't.' She rose from the rock and gingerly tried her foot. 'It's quite serviceable.' But she allowed him to put his arm round her, though she could walk quite well without support. She even limped so that she could legitimately enjoy his close proximity.

Entwined, they made their way over the pebbles towards the lane which led into the town, while Butch walked sedately behind them. Kit wished that walk could go on for ever. Nicholas was actually here beside her and behaving almost as if he cared. 'The third miracle,' she murmured. 'Eh, what was that?' 'Your prompt appearance in the nick of time was almost a miracle,' she suggested. 'You might call it that.' 'Where are we going?' 'There's an inn in the town. I know it's between hours, but they have to serve wayfarers,' he told her. 'They'll have to do their best for you, or I'll pull the place apart.' Mine host, though somewhat sulky at first for being disturbed, became quite genial when he was told of Kit's mishap. It would be something to talk about over the bar that night. 'Them little old cliffs are proper dangerous,' he agreed. 'They ought to fence them off.' Before an electric stove in the bar parlour Kit ceased to shiver and a pot of tea and some scones were provided for her benefit. Nicholas, she noticed, ordered a stiff whisky. 'I need that after such a shock,' he explained apologetically. 'Do you good to have some too.' She insisted that the hot tea was all she needed.

'So now you're heartwhole and fancy free?' he asked her, and she shook her head. 'You know I'm not that.' Her eyes met the narrow blue ones in a long look. Nicholas sighed and turned his regard to the fire. 'Maybe this afternoon I learned for the first time how much you mean to me,' he said slowly, and Kit's heart quickened. 'When I came back from Africa, it was you I really wanted to see. If you had developed into what you promised to be, you would have become a girl worth having, Kit.'-The corners of his eyes crinkled humorously. 'I just picked Stephanie up on the way. You see, there was the transaction over the boat. I fell in love with her - Sea Witch, I mean, not Steph. But when I arrived, I found Jeremy in possession. I soon decided you didn't love him, but you were so pigheaded and stupid about him.' His face hardened. 'I didn't like the lad, and he was imposing upon your generous nature.' Kit cradled the teacup between her hands, while she tried to subdue the wild hope surging through her veins. Nicholas still had not declared himself. 'You weren't very subtle, Nick,' she told him. 'You always drove me further than I meant to go in his defence.' 'You couldn't expect me to praise him!' 'It might have worked better.' 'Be that as it may, I soon ascertained that you weren't indifferent to me, but you continued to throw that... that peasant in my face. You drove me crazy!' 'Don't be arrogant, Jeremy's not a peasant.'

'Don't you start sticking up for him again or I'll throttle you,' he told her fiercely. Kit was beginning to enjoy herself, though she was still in considerable suspense. 'One might almost suppose you're jealous of him,' she murmured hopefully. 'Of course I am, jealous of all the years you wasted on him when you might have been thinking of me.' 'But you forgot all about me and when you came back you led me to suppose you were engaged to Stephanie.' 'I never forgot you, but I was waiting for you to grow up. Those schoolgirl scrawls of yours were not quite what I wanted, and I didn't want you to start creating a preconceived image of me that I couldn't live up to when we met again. As for being engaged to Stephanie, that was your own idea.' 'Well, she gave colour to it, and she's so beautiful, Nick, while I... I've got freckles.' He laughed. 'I love your freckles, you mutt. Sun kisses, some people call them. I should have thought it was obvious I wasn't serious about Steph. I don't treat a girl I love like I behaved with her. However, I was determined I wouldn't declare myself until you got rid of that boy. I gave you enough hints.' 'Nick,' Kit began softly, 'do you mean you ... you ...' She could not bring herself to say it. Instead she asked primly,'... return my feelings for you?' His eyes crinkled with laughter in the way she loved.

'I'll tell you that when you've defined your feelings.' 'I can't do that, it wouldn't be proper. It's the man's business to make the advances.' 'Haven't I made enough advances, or did you deliberately misunderstand them?' He rose from his chair and came to her, lifting her face between his hands. 'Drop the bluff, Kit. I love you and I believe you love me.' Some time later, she asked: 'Do I take it that you've got over your aversion to domesticity and this constitutes a proposal, Nick?' 'You don't imagine I'm suggesting we live in sin?' he countered. Kit gave him a wicked grin. 'It did occur to me that you had that in mind when you accused me of thinking you were good enough to die with but not to live with. Naturally I said it was impossible.' 'Shame on you, Kit, for harbouring such a thought. My intentions have always been strictly honourable, and I'm prepared to face up to all that will be expected of me. Wedding bells, reception,' he grimaced. 'House-hunting, babies,' - Kit blushed. 'And of course a honeymoon. That I propose we embark upon as soon as we can get the formalities over and done with.' 'But what about Africa? I understood you to say that you were leaving at the end of the month.' His mouth curled mischievously. 'A slight inaccuracy. I was to have gone then, but I resigned when I heard that Steph was marrying Jeremy.' Then why did you pretend...?'

'I was testing your reactions. I fully intended to resume my ... er ... courtship, when a suitable opportunity presented itself.' 'Oh!' she exclaimed indignantly. 'And all this while I believed you were far away! No, don't touch me; I've been miserable, you unfeeling wretch, and right up to five minutes ago you've kept me in suspense.' 'All your own fault for being so dim,' he returned, pulling her, in spite of her resistance, on to his knees. 'Let's hope no one comes in.' He kissed her again fervently. 'Wasn't that worth a little misery?' 'Perhaps,' she admitted, then with a surge of emotion, 'Oh, Nick, I do love you so!' 'That's better, my Chimp. Now, about this honeymoon, and I warn you it's got to be soon. Where do you want to go?' 'Bruges,' she said promptly. 'I didn't see half enough of that charming old town, and I must give thanks in the Chapel of Saint Sang.' 'Bruges it shall be. I like it too, but what has the Holy Relic done for you?' 'That I don't know, but three miracles have happened since we paid our respects to it and I rather like to think it had something to do with them.' She explained about the other two. 'But this last one is the best of all,' she declared. He smiled sceptically at her fancy, but made no comment. 'I'm afraid we've seen the last of Sea Witch,' he told her. 'She's to be sold by auction next week.'

'Couldn't you buy out Stephanie as you originally intended?' 'No. I shall need my spare cash for more important matters, your ring for a start. What's a yacht compared with you?' 'That is the greatest compliment you could pay me,' she said with satisfaction. 'Stephanie was a formidable rival, but Sea Witch was a greater one. All the same, I'm sorry you'll have to lose her. She is a lovely boat.'

But they did not lose the sloop. Jeremy bid for her at auction and he and Stephanie presented her to them for a wedding present. 'I told you I'd give you something you really wanted,' he told Kit when he and his fiancée came to Eastwold for the sale. Their grandiose wedding was to be followed a week later by Kit's and Nicholas's much quieter ceremony. Stephanie deplored Kit's choice for her honeymoon. 'Why don't you go somewhere gay?' she demanded. 'Because I'm not that sort of person,' Kit told her. 'It's as well we don't all like the same things.' 'Isn't it?' Stephanie agreed. 'If we did, you and I would be scratching each other's eyes out over Nick or Jeremy, but as it is, we've each got the one we wanted.' Although they were now the proud possessors of Sea Witch, Nicholas decreed that they would not attempt to sail to Belgium in her. She was not, he declared, the right venue for a honeymoon. 'This trip you'll be my wife, not my crew,' he told Kit.

*** Autumn had turned the willows by the canals to gold, and russet leaves strewed their largesse on the Lac d'Amour, when Kit came again to Bruges. The late October sun was mellow on the red roofs and dreaming spires, before surrendering to the November mists. Nicholas and Kit stood at the window of their hotel bedroom watching the lights go out over the town and the old houses merge into the velvet sky. As the bells from the Belfroi rang out their carillon proclaiming the late hour, Nicholas took his wife in his arms. The notes fell through the soft night air in a silver cascade of sound. Kit murmured: 'In such a night... you've stolen my soul, Nick, and I hope your vows were true ones.' 'You slander your love,' he returned against her ear, twisting the quotation. 'But I forgive it you. My heart was always yours.' Kit smiled to herself. Once she had thought that Nicholas had no heart, but now the hard shell which had covered it had cracked and broken. The last vibration from the bells died away, and silence settled over the ancient town.