The Blue Caribbean

THE BLUE CARIBBEAN Celine Conway

The tiny breathtakingly beautiful island of Farando Cay in the Bahamas had been divided between three owners: Bryn Sherard, an uncompromising autocratic Englishman; Madame de Meulen, matriarchal ruler of an aristocratic French family; and Gray Murray, who was dead. When Gray's widow came out with her young sister and brother to see her inheritance, she guessed that the three of them would be regarded with suspicion and that, in so small a white community, this fact could give rise to a good many difficulties. But it hadn't occurred to anyone that three love stories, and a spice of intrigue, would grow out of this quiet invasion.

CHAPTER ONE IT was only four hours by boat from Nassau to Farando Cay. The inter-island service was weekly, of course, so one could not return for seven days, but in Caribbean waters time did not count for much. Julie was already discovering that. She was standing on deck with Ann when Farando Cay rose out of the turbulent blue sea like some exquisite jungle flower, and broadened first into a bouquet set in green moss and then into a thick green and flowery island edged with white beaches. Ann said unemotionally, "So this is where Gray buried his heart. What a pity he ever left the place." "Don't be an idiot," said Julie, her blue-green eyes serious. "He wouldn't have missed meeting you for the world. He had a heart, all right, and it wasn't buried. He told me that the weeks of your marriage were the happiest he'd ever known." And why shouldn't he have been happy? Julie fiercely demanded of herself. Ann was lovely and considerate; the veneer of sophistication was pretty strong, but it was only a veneer, an armour against the sentimental and importunate. Gray had loved her tall slimness, the auburn streaks in the neat dark hair, the dark brown eyes. With Ann present, there had never been anyone else in a room for him. Ann continued to stare broodingly at the approaching island. "I must warn you again, my pet. Farando Cay may be one of the glorious Bahamas, but practically the whole of it is privately owned by three estates. About half of it belongs to Bryn Sherard, and the rest was more or less equally divided between a French family and Gray. Mr. Sherard is the man we have to beware of."

"But why? Gray always spoke as if the Sherard man was his best friend," "Quite," said Ann succinctly. "Do you mean he won't like you for having married Gray ?" Ann shrugged, but the smile on her narrow red lips held affection. "How innocent you are, Julie, in spite of the independence. Hasn't it struck you at all that the white people of the island are going to be suspicious of the widow of the well-to-do Gray Murray? When I married Gray I knew he would never recover. If he had any next-ofkin they could make a case of it and I wouldn't get a penny." "But that's unjust. Gray wanted you to have it." "I know. That's why I decided to come out here rather than accept Mr. Sherard's offer for the plantation straight away. But from what I've heard of him, he'll think the worst." "That you're going to bargain for more money?" demanded Julie indignantly. "Is he as horrible as that?" Ann laughed gently. "He's uncompromising. That's all I know at the moment - but it won't be long now! You don't know how glad I am that I persuaded you and Noel to come along. Where is Noel, by the way?" "Still in the cabin, making notes." "You'd better tell him we're nearly there, or he'll turn up at the last moment, wild-eyed and untidy. At all costs we must strive to give a good first impression." Julie couldn't imagine anyone gaining a poor impression of Ann at any time. But she was prejudiced. From childhood, Ann had always

shone in Julie's mind as an example of the sort of maturity she would like to attain herself. Dimly, she remembered her mother's quiet fondness for this daughter of her husband's first marriage. More vividly than anything, she recalled the death of their parents in a fearful car crash. Ann had been twenty-three then, Noel fifteen and she herself only ten. Ann had said thinly, but valiantly, "They went together, darlings, so we mustn't grieve too much. There are three of us to help each other. I'm afraid it will mean giving up the house and taking a flat in London, but it will be quite an adventure, won't it ?" Nine years had passed since then, years which had seen Noel grow into an intellectually good-looking young man, and Julie expand into a young woman who was rather too wide- browed and shortnosed to be beautiful, though the pale brown-gold hair was pretty and softened the thinness of her features. Ann had gone on nursing at the St. Cross, and at seventeen Julie had gone there too, for training as an X-ray assistant. Noel, professing himself disgusted with so much of what he termed "clinicism" in the flat, had snaffled an easy Civil Service job which allowed him ample time for his literary pursuits. On the whole they had been a happy household, though there had been little time for social life. Then, about a year ago, Gray Murray had come into their lives. Ann, Sister of a surgical ward, had admitted him to a private room and supervised the preparations for the operation which, he had hoped, would save his life. After the operation he had rallied wonderfully, and Ann would spend precious minutes with him, listening to descriptions of his home at Farando Cay. He got up and was wheeled out into the watery London sunshine, and in due course he walked about the grounds. It was when he was told he had become fit enough to leave hospital that Ann realized he was in love with her and that her own feelings

where he was concerned were decidedly muddled. The years in hospital had toughened her against sharing the misfortunes of the patients, but she found it difficult to tolerate the thought of Gray Murray going back to a drab existence in a hotel. If she could have seen him on to a boat she would have minded less, but he was still receiving biweekly electrical treatments, and there was the possibility of a second operation. He couldn't travel across the world to the Bahamas yet. Fortunately, both Julie and Noel had become acquainted with Gray. At Ann's request, because he had no one, they had been his visitors on Sunday afternoons, and both of them had grown to like the thin man who talked of coffee trees and sweet jasmine and the comical superstitions of his West Indian workers. So Ann, lest she be branded girlish, had paid them the compliment of absolute frankness. The man hadn't a soul in the world, and he would never get well; for some reason he had become attached to Ann Penross and her young brother and sister, and she knew he was dreading the loneliness of hotel life -any side man would. By the way, she informed the without a tremor, a second operation wouldn't do Gray any good at all. At the most he had six months to live. The decision, after sober discussion, was unanimous. Gray was to have Noel's bedroom, and Noel bed down on the divan in the lounge. It was terribly sad about Gray and they would do all they could for him. And that was how it happened. With no fuss at all the planter from the Bahamas became installed. And one night he asked Ann to marry him. That was all Julie knew about it - that he had proposed and been accepted. Ann gave in her notice at the hospital, and soon after she married Gray at a register office and took him off to a cottage at Bournemouth. Two or three times Julie and Noel went down to see them, until a weekend came when Gray was not so well, and Ann asked them to stay away till

she invited them. Gray had died at the cottage and been buried close to a mellow old wall of the village church. Ann came back to London and wrote letters to the lawyer in Nassau and to Bryn Sherard in Farando Cay, and within a few months she had decided they all needed a holiday - a long one - booked three passages to the West Indies and bought a stock of clothes. Julie had often wished she could see into Ann's mind and comprehend just how much the brief marriage had meant to her. Ann's candour had never embraced her personal feelings, though, and it was unlikely she would ever put into words any of the experiences she had shared with Gray. They had not altered her fundamentally, but she was perhaps a shade more reserved and cynical; as if it seemed to her that life had only offered bounty for the pleasure of snatching it away. Now, Julie poked her head into the single public cabin of the steamer. "Noel, we're practically at the quay. Do tidy up and come on deck." He ran harassed fingers through his thick, straw-coloured hair. "How do you spell calypso?" "Does it matter? I shall be typing the stuff and I'll correct your errors. And, anyway, you should leave out calypsos; they've been overdone." "If they're part of the place you have to mention them," he told her impatiently. But he snapped shut the notebook and dropped it, with his pencil, into the shapeless pocket of his jacket. Perfunctorily he pushed back the long loose lock of hair which habitually fell across his brow, and gave her the smile that invariably got him what he wanted.

"I'm going to write here as I've never written before," he said. "I'll keep you busy, Julie." "Fine. And now will you please wash your hands. Ann says it's frightfully important that we make a good impression on this Sherard man." "She'll be impressive enough for all of us," he said easily. "Good old Ann." However, he did wash and comb his hair. He even squared his shoulders in the disreputable jacket and kept his hands out of the pockets of the corduroy slacks. He came out on deck and stood beside Ann, smiled down upon her in a fatherly fashion and took a deep breath before enjoying the feast of the vision which loomed ahead. At the back of the waterfront stood the warehouses, most imposing among them those of the Sherard estate. "Bryn Sherard, Cannery," announced one; and "Bryn Sherard, Sisal and Cotton," said another. Julie didn't look at the third and fourth. She saw a car of modest proportions and a man emerging from it. A thickset man, slightly above average height and with a touch of grey at the temples. An easy-going, unimaginative sort of man, she thought. Quite definitely not Bryn Sherard. As they stepped down the modest gangplank he came forward with a slight limp and gave the suggestion of a bow. A smile creased his longish, good-humoured face. "Mrs. Murray?" he asked politely. Ann answered guardedly. "Yes. Are you Mr. Sherard?"

"Good lord, no," he said. "I'm Bryn's assistant. We manage everything between us. The name is Vincent, Luke Vincent. I'm very glad to know you." Ann looked sceptical, but introduced her companions. "Julie and Noel Penross." He greeted them, and turned back to Ann with an odd, amused expression. "Your bodyguard? From your letter I expected children." "Do I need a bodyguard?" she challenged. Then, before he could reply, "I rather thought Mr. Sherard would meet us." He turned away, not awkwardly, but as if to count their pieces of luggage. "Bryn's busy. He had to go over to Belle Marquise this afternoon. He asked me to meet you and take you to Murray's Green. Julie and Noel got into the back of the car and Ann, naturally, occupied the front seat. Luke slid behind the wheel and let in the clutch, and away they went, along an admirably constructed road which mounted very gradually to the higher ground where Cayans lived in their thousands in tiny adobe houses with thatched roofs. Polite conversation ensued. "I do hope you'll like Farando Cay, Mrs. Murray," from Luke Vincent. "You've come upon us at an unexciting time. The winters are wonderful here, so that's when we have visitors." "How many permanent white residents are there?" asked Ann with reserve. "There's Bryn at Tamarisk Lodge, Madame de Meulen at Belle Marquise, and me in my little white house near the cannery.

Madame has a grandson and a granddaughter who are due fairly soon for the winter, and Bryn, of course, entertains when the weather cools." "And you, I suppose, live on the fringe of the revelry?" "Sort of, though I do take part in the less energetic pastimes." He cast his slow smile over his shoulder. "I prophesy that your brother and sister will find the island either wildly enchanting or completely boring; that's mostly how it is with the young. And you, Mrs. Murray..." "Yes?" She sounded sarcastic, and Julie felt herself hoping that nothing bitter would be said. Luke Vincent seemed too nice to be deliberately hurt. "I don't know why," he said, with a simplicity surprising in a man of his age, "but I think you're going to enjoy Farando Cay. You may never admit it, but I think you will." "Good heavens," said Ann in her most chilling, careless manner, "if I do take to your little island I shan't mind saying so. Tell me, what are those big trees smothered in red flowers?" Julie sat back, inexplicably relieved, and listened to Luke's drawl. The scarlet-clad trees were immortelles. Their pale smooth trunks reached for the sky from among a tangle of palms and tree ferns. He told them that almost anything would grow on Farando Cay, as it would on most of the cays hereabouts, that there was a beach where oysters grew on trees and another which had sheltered smugglers and pirates. Luke did not tell them they were passing through a section of the Sherard estate, but Julie knew it. The orderly lands, the well-kept roads, the busy workers among plants and trees, had the feel of Bryn Sherard. Odd, she thought, to be antagonistic towards someone she

had not only never seen, but of whom she had heard only good from Gray Murray. It was the letter to Ann offering to buy Murray's Green which rankled. Not one word in it of sympathy or sorrow for her loss, but merely a straightforward business offer to purchase at valuation plus ten per cent. His very generosity seemed a jibe: "You were after money, Mrs. Murray, and for my part you can have it." What a soulless brute the man must be! "The white posts ahead," Luke Vincent was saying, "are the entrance to Murray's Green. Gray will have told you that he concentrated on coffee, and he made a good thing of it, too, till... well, till he had to leave." Then, quite suddenly, they came within sight of the house. It was a huge, rambling bungalow built of the local stone and whitewashed. The red tiles were old and mossy, the pillars supporting the veranda roof swathed in clipped climbers which flowered profusely, lemon and white and rust-red. The drive ran round a semi-circular lawn, and the garden was bordered by hibiscus and poinsettia, magnolias, cassias, pouyi trees, with here and there a long slim palm trunk which waved a small frond like a bunch of spinach way up in the blue. The car drew up at the foot of the stone steps and Luke got out to open the doors. Noel came to with a start and did his duty and in a minute or so they had mounted the steps and were in the veranda. The door stood open, showing a square hall which had a gay rug on its polished floor, bookshelves in a recess and a couple of studded leather chairs. Luke waved a hand and gave a rap on the door. "Do go in, Mrs. Murray. Ah" - as a small, wrinkled brown woman dressed in a cerise cotton dress of Victorian vintage, a white apron and turban, made her appearance - "this is Ignatia. She's worked

here at Murray's Green for thirty years, so she knows every crack in the plaster. Ignatia, this is Mrs. Murray." "Pleased, very pleased," said the old woman confusedly as she dropped a curtsey. "I've heard a lot about you, Ignatia," Ann said. "Mr. Gray said you were the best cook in Farando Cay. I'm looking forward to your cooking." "We do our best," the old servant whispered, scared but smiling. "Mis' want tea now?" "That would be very nice. And when you bring it, we'll have a talk." When she was gone, Luke said, "That's a relief. Ignatia's conservative and she regarded Gray as her especial property. I was afraid that after so long in control she wouldn't take to have a mistress, but you seem to have scored a hit. Well" - looking around him at the spotless walls and gleaming pieces of furniture that showed through the archway which led into the lounge - "is there anything else I can do for you ?" "You can let Mr. Sherard know we've arrived," said Ann with a trace of acid. ' "He said he'd give you today to dig in. He'll be over to see you tomorrow. If there's anything you want just tell Ignatia, and if it's on the island she'll get it for you." Ann nodded. "Thank you. And thanks very much for meeting us, Mr. Vincent." "It was a pleasure. You'll find the car in the garage. Bryn had a mechanic go over it to make sure it was roadworthy after standing so long."

"The man's a bit of a mixture, isn't he? Both considerate and hateful." "A woman might find something to hate in Bryn, but I don't think a man would. Don't pass any judgment till you've met." His tanned face was smiling pleasantly as he gave her a nod. "Good-bye for the present, Mrs. Murray." He extended his good-byes to the other two and went out to his car. Ann walked on into the adjoining dining-room. "Nice rooms," she commented in flat tones. "A little dark through the verandas being outside, but I daresay that keeps them cool. There are six bedrooms, so we can easily spare one to be converted into a study for Noel. Think you can stick it for a spell Julie?" "Of course. It's a darling of a house and I never saw such a garden. I believe I could be happy here for ever." "No hope of that, my pet. You're going to marry, and there's no one here I'd recommend. Sit down, both of you. Don't let's do anything till we get that tea."

It had been a long, unreal day, Julie decided when she went to bed that night. This morning, when they had left gaudy and gay Nassau, seemed a year away, and the trip on the coaster was hardly easier to remember. But the rest of the day had been filled with unpacking and delighted wanderings through the house. Noel, straining to get started on expanding his notes into stories and articles, had begged that his workroom be prepared first. So they had set aside for him the small room at the back of the house, pushed the bed into a corner and given him a plain table, a comfortable chair, two waste baskets, a jug of iced water and a tumbler, and told him he could get busy.

Ann had the large bedroom which opened by a french window on to the east veranda, and Julie took the room next to it. That way, Noel had one side of the house practically to himself. He had given Ann a feverish kiss at the corner of her eye, shed his jacket, opened the front of his garish green shirt and shut himself away. They had seen no more of him till each had ventured into the sanctum to wish him good-night. A little later Ann had come to Julie's room in her dressing- gown, her dark hair still neat about her head though her face was clear of make-up. She had paused for a moment at the foot of the four-poster and looked across at Julie, who sat at the dressing-chest, brushing her hair back into soft light waves. "You know, Julie," she said, "one can be ecstatically happy on this island or deathly miserable. There's nothing in between. These men who settle and work here are as happy as it's in them to be; not many men are built for ecstasy, anyway. I'm pretty sure that Noel is going to reach the heights, and I hope you will, too, if it's only in the garden." Julie had stopped brushing. "What about you?" "I'm like the men. I shall be as happy as it's in me to be." A light laugh. "Tense, aren't we? I just wanted you to know that if you and Noel are truly happy here for a couple of months or so, everything... everything will have been worth white. Good-night, Julie. Sleep well." There was never another sister like Ann, thought Julie, as she lay in her bed and watched through the square of the window the trees moving gently against the star-sown sky. What luck that they all got on so well together, and how good it was going to be to live here at Murray's Green, helping and encouraging

Noel and doing what she could for Ann; putting in an hour in the garden now and then. Next morning she discovered there was heaps to do in Farando Cay. For instance, no day was truly begun till one had bathed in the inviting waters of the bay which stretched along the edge of the Murray estate. She asked first Ann and then Noel to go with her to find the beach. "Not today," said Ann as she resolutely patted the slim waist of her button-through overall. "I've promised to get together with Ignatia. Try the car out, but be careful. It'll probably have different gears from the hospital jeep you practised on." Noel's response was less coherent. He suspended scribbling for a second, gave her a blank smile and muttered, "I'd sooner eat than swim, and I'm not hungry." A remark which Julie was still trying to elucidate as she cautiously backed the car out of the garage and ran it out on to the road. They had come in yesterday with Luke Vincent from the right, so this morning she went left, because it seemed that a faint sea smell was wafted from that direction. It was a heavenly morning. The hills - there were no mountains on Farando Cay - rippled away into a blue haze which would lift as the day grew hotter, to reveal definite greens and browns and purple. Closer grew the coffee, and as she took a bend in the road she saw the end of the coffee trees, and the undulating slopes of dwarf bamboo and wild sugar cane which gave way to breadfruit and plantains before one caught the inevitable blowing green of the coconut palms which shaded the beach. The sea was a dreaming, untenanted blue.

At last, by curving between grey-green casuarinas, she reached the beach, and there, not fifty yards from where she had stopped the car, stood a large and solid log hut, sheltered by the palms. It looked as if it existed merely for bathers. They did themselves well, she thought, these white people on Farando Cay. She was wearing her swim-suit with a striped silk bathing coat over it, so she had no real need of a bathing hut, but it might be good policy to leave her wrap and sandals there. A stiffish breeze was blowing and she didn't want to lose the wrap. She picked up her rubber cap from the seat beside her and got out, walked to the hut and found the door wide. Inside, everything was in keeping with the exterior. There were seats made from sawn logs, bright cushions, a bookshelf, ashtrays, and even a cupboard upon which was perched the figurine of a sea-nymph in a queer green mineral which had probably been dug up on the island. Except for a sprinkling of trodden sand over the floor the hut was very clean, and she had no hesitation in sitting down to unstrap her sandals. Suddenly she was stilled, her glance on a curtain of swinging reeds, which she now saw hung over an opening into a second room. Wasn't that the scraping of a match? And ... yes, that was cigarette smoke. Good heavens, she was gatecrashing! She stood up precipitately and was about to fly when the reed curtain was pushed aside and a man stood there, a tall man with hair that was thick and black, damp and curly from the sea. His features were regular and burned a dark brown, and his eyes were a curious dark grey. He wore khaki shorts and a white shirt with a red handkerchief knotted about the open collar, and for the moment Julie got the illusion that he was an up-to-date pirate. Then he said, in a low, clipped sort of voice, "Who the devil are you?"

Julie's first sensation upon seeing the man had naturally been one of apology. His tone, however, wiped contrition right out of her mind. Very slightly, her chin tilted. "I had no idea the hut was occupied," she said somewhat sharply. "I'll leave my things in the car." "Just a moment" - in the manner of one accustomed to being obeyed. He came right in and tapped ash from his cigarette into one of the ashtrays. "You must be Mrs. Murray's young sister. Luke told me about you. I'm Bryn Sherard." "I thought you might be," she answered, still in a tight voice. "I don't have to assure you that if I'd thought you'd be here I wouldn't have come." "No?" His eyes narrowed, perhaps against the smoke, though there wasn't touch of it. "You haven't cared for what you've heard about me? Well, never mind; it isn't important. What made you come all this way to bathe ?" "All this way?" It struck her swiftly and forcibly that of course Gray's hut wouldn't be so spiels and span. This one was obviously in daily use. "Is this your beach?" He nodded. "Mrs. Murray's beach is only five hundred yards from her house." Wasn't he rather accentuating Ann's ownership of Murray's Green? Before Julie could decide he went on, "There's a kind of breakwater dividing your beach from mine, but you don't have to take much notice of it. Madame de Meulen is the only one who prohibits trespassing, but you'll see that the barrier is higher at her end of your beach. I daresay you'll find a couple of miles of sand enough."

Stung by his arrogant manner, she replied at once, "I'm sure we shall. I'm sorry to have bothered you," and took a firm step or two towards the door. "Now you're here," he said, "you may as well make use of the hut. I'm going, anyway." "Thanks all the same, but I'd rather not." A mocking cynicism came into his expression. "What's the objection? I didn't think you people minded taking anything from anyone." She stared at him, staggered. Anger welled up in her, took the scant colour from her cheeks and put sparks in her eyes. "How dare you say a thing like that! I know what you're getting at - Ann's marriage to Gray Murray. You think she was after his money, but you don't know Ann - and somehow I don't believe you knew Gray very well, either. You may have been friends for years, but if you've always been as self- centred as you are now, it's unlikely you'd have seen far below his surface. Gray was a dear..." He cut in, crisp and cool. "Spare me the sentimental details. Your sister was unwise enough to write to me soon after her marriage, telling me that Gray had only a short while to live. She knew it, but he didn't. Do you suppose he'd have married her, if he had?" "Why not?" she retorted. "He loved Ann, and it's natural in a man to want to give everything he has to the woman he loves. I don't know much of the circumstances of the marriage, but I'd trust Ann in any situation, and so will you, when you know her - unless you're too hard and businesslike to trust anyone at all!" Belatedly, she strove to calm herself. In a lower voice she added, "Ann made Gray very happy. Doesn't that alter your view?"

"Not materially. I believe what I see - and what I see is a woman of small means made comfortably off, and a young brother and sister who are in on the pickings." Before Julie could explode, he tacked on mercilessly, "Don't kid yourself that Gray was in love with your sister. She happened to be on hand when he needed a woman's understanding and help. I'm not interested in the ramifications of the marriage, only in the results of it. I shall be calling on your sister at about twelve this morning, to renew the offer for the property. If she accepts, I'll agree to her staying on at the house for a vacation." "You're altogether too generous, Mr. Sherard!" Negligently, he pressed out the cigarette and moved towards the door, "I've seen too many predatory women ever to have any admiration for even the most beautiful and seductive of them. Go ahead and have your bathe, and when you've finished with the hut slip up the catch and slam the door." But she was before him, moving quickly down the two steps to the beach. Her words tumbled. "I wouldn't use your hut if I were caught here in a thunderstorm! I wouldn't use anything of yours! Ann has to sell out, but I hope she'll find someone a sight more human than you are to take on the estate. And I hope I'll never have the bad luck to run into you again!" "You're certainly loyal," he said, with a tolerant, infuriating smile, "but then you have good reason to be. Would you like me to turn the car for you?" "No, thanks!" "You may get bogged down in the sand." "If I do, I'll walk home."

"Good. It's all of four miles." He slipped up the catch as he had bade her do, and slammed the door. His hands went into his pockets. "So long," he said, and nonchalantly he made his way up through the belt of palms, presumably towards his house. Julie waited till he was out of sight before starting up the car; then, in aperies of backward and forward movements which churned up the sand and sent the wheels spinning, she eventually managed to reverse and climb out on to the track. She was crimson and sweat was running all over her body, and somehow the victory wasn't very sweet, even when she saw the tall figure of Bryn Sherard poised among the trees, and looking back. Had he deliberately taken his time to see whether she could manage it, or was the backward glance accidental? Julie didn't know. All she was sure of was that Bryn Sherard was even more insufferable than she had thought he would be. Till now, she hadn't imagined it possible that their conjectures about him could have more than a germ of truth. But he really was convinced that Ann had married Gray in cold blood, for the money that would come to her after his death. And to finish the picture, he saw Noel and Julie Penross as a couple of young things out for a good time on whatever they could get out of Ann. He hadn't even waited to know them before making up his mind. It was horrible and maddening. In one breath Julie wanted to prove publicly that he was utterly wrong; and in the next she told herself furiously that she didn't care what the brute thought, so long as she didn't have to meet him again.

CHAPTER TWO WHEN Bryn Sherard called at Murray's Green that day at noon, Ann saw him alone. Her initial impression of him was rather different from Julie's, because he wore an impeccable white suit and the black hair was brushed back so that scarcely a wave disturbed the sleekness. She saw a West Indian plantation owner, the fabulous white man of wealth and comparative ease. She also saw that he was handsome in an eagle-like fashion, about thirty-four and completely experienced. Well, that was not so frightening; she was experienced herself. She greeted him with a cool, veiled smile. "How do you do, Mr. Sherard. Please sit down. Will you have a drink?" "Thank you, no." He saw her seated in one of the armchairs and took another chair nearby. "I must apologize for not meeting you yesterday, but I had a call to Belle Marquise. When you've been here a little longer you'll realize that one never disobeys a summons from Madame de Meulen." "Not even you?" He showed his appreciation of this remark with a smile that was not much different from her own. It was knowledgeable, uncommunicative. "Not even I. I've known the old lady since I was a child and I have both respect and affection for her." "I accept your apology," she said. "Mr. Vincent was an able escort." Quite clearly she left it for him to state the true purpose of his visit. She had changed from the overall into a yellow linen which showed up the red lights in her hair, and her make-up was cleverly and sparingly applied. She looked poised and at ease, as she was.

"This is only partly a social call, of course," he said, coming to the point as she had known he would. "I wanted to tell you in person that the offer I made by post remains open. There's no hurry at all for your decision." "I'm glad of that because I'm not in a hurry to make one. All this" - a wave of her pink-tipped fingers indicated the quiet luxury of the room - "is very new to me, though I'd heard all about it before I came. It may sound strange, but I feel I want to know it, before I sell." "I merely want your assurance that you won't sell to a stranger." "But you are a stranger, Mr. Sherard." "I mean a stranger to Farando Cay," he replied equably. "The Sherards and the de Meulens came to this island together in the seventeenth century; they shared the island equally till about forty years ago, when Monsieur de Meulen hit a bad patch and sold half his property to Gray Murray's father. Gray and I grew up together." "Yes, I know." The brief silence vibrated a little, and to end it, she said, "You haven't asked me about Gray." "There's nothing to ask," he answered abruptly. "He was pretty sick before he left and his death wasn't really a surprise." "But his marriage was." He shrugged. "His marriage was his own business." "Would you say he showed poor taste in his choice?" she asked, watching him.

"No, I wouldn't." Apparently he was not to be drawn, for he then said, "I'd better continue to handle the estate for you. Do you know anything about coffee-growing?" She shook her head. "I always thought the West Indies were full of sugar. On your land you grow practically everything, don't you?" "Yes. We can fruit and vegetables and sell them throughout the islands. We also have a well-grown sisal plantation, cocoa - which is an excellent cropper in this climate - and an oil-extraction plant. Oddly enough, we have to import sugar from Barbados, but we're well on the right side with our exports. However, you're not likely to be interested in the economics of the island. How long do you propose to stay?" "We haven't set a limit. My brother is a free-lance writer and my young sister helps him. When we've had enough of it we'll go back to England and take up where we left off." "You mean you'll go back to the hospital?" "Does that astonish you?" "When you've sold Murray's Green you'll never need to earn a living again." "That's true. I haven't yet thought about it much, but I may start up a nursing home with the money." She slanted a look at him. "That astonishes you, doesn't it, Mr Sherard? A monied woman going back to the most exacting profession in the world." "You haven't done it yet," he said with irony. "Women lead a lazy life here and you may find the desire for work will evaporate. Heat and good living are insidious." "So are some people," she said, "but one can always avoid them."

He laughed briefly and stood up. "I'll let you have the account books and a report on the past year's operations." "That isn't necessary." She also got to her feet. "I trust you." "Thanks, but you don't have to." "I didn't mean I trust you personally," she told him casually. "I should say that you're a business man of integrity and as far as I'm concerned that's all that matters. As you've implied, we're not likely to be friends." Without much expression he said, "I don't remember implying that, but if it's the way you feel, I'm content. I'll send over those accounts." It wasn't exactly a hostility that bristled between them; rather, it was a sharp coolness. Ann went with him to the porch, said good-bye, and was about to turn back into the hall when Julie came round the corner of the house; Julie fresh from the sea, that intelligent face of hers glowing and the dark gold hair tied back into a foolish little bunch. The bathing wrap clung round her wetly, and she was swinging her cap and sandals from one hand. She looked young and appealing and without a care, till she saw their visitor. Bryn's glance, Ann noticed, was aloof and sardonic as it rested upon Julie. "Hallo," he said. "Did you get a good bathe?" "What do you care?" she remarked coldly. "I like to know that young people enjoy themselves. If you'll bring the car down to the harbour workshop I'll get someone to hammer that dent out of the mudguard." "So you were watching!"

"My dear child, that happened to be my beach, and those were my palms. I wasn't too keen on having you knock them about, but I thought you could do with a jolt, so I let you get on with it." "What is all this ?" enquired Ann. Bryn gestured from the bottom of the steps. "Just a few pleasantries between enemies," he said. "Good-bye." Julie marched into the house without answering, and Ann, after shrugging at him with a hint of humour, followed her.

The next few days were a succession of fresh mornings, sultry afternoons and miraculous breezy evenings. Julie discovered all sorts of things in the garden; a little path running away from the lawn under a pergola laden with purple bougainvillea, another garden beyond a magnolia hedge where grotesque jungle plants had been cultivated into a tropical shrubbery, a pool from which pink lilies stood out a yard high, a sunken lawn edged with portulaca and mesembryanthemums in brilliant cushions, and a kitchen garden in which grew outlandish egg-plant, okra, and squashes of many kinds as well as the usual products of the vegetable patch. Noel liked the garden, too, but he could not be coaxed out there very often, and to Ann a garden was simply a view; she loved it about her but could take no interest in this flower or that, though she was very willing to pay the gardener to keep it trim. The gardener was Ignatia's husband, a leathery, black old man with white crinkled hair over which he dragged a chewed-up straw hat. Cristophe and Ignatia lived in a small adobe cottage beyond the garden. They were a quiet couple and devoted to Murray's Green. Ignatia was a marvel. Her cooking was superb and just faintly continental, for she had grown up in the service of Madame de

Meulen at Belle Marquise. Very occasionally, she could be persuaded to talk of the Frenchwoman's house and her strange, lonely way of living. Through Ignatia, Julie learned that because Madame hated the idea of selling the exquisite family jewels, the Belle Marquise property was mortgaged up to the hilt to Bryn Sherard. Again that man! What did he want-to own the whole island? One afternoon she took a walk to the long high rock wall which cut off their beach from Belle Marquise. On an impulse she climbed to the top of the wall, to find only a similar stretch of beach to their own, but looking upwards, to the left, she saw the great fortress which the first de Meulen on Farando Cay had built for himself. From rumours and records, Julie had gathered that there had at first been enmity between the Sherards and the de Meulens, because in those days the British claim to the island had not been firmly established. However, an intermarriage had caused a truce, and though it had never been repeated the two families had gradually come to have a regard for each other. Madame de Meulen had been a widow for many years, and even earlier than that her two sons had left Farando Cay for France. But nothing would persuade the old lady to leave the island. Every year Fleur and Louis came to stay with their grandmother for a few months. Louis ran an outboard motor yacht in which kg visited other islands and generally had a wild time, and Fleur sat with Grand'mere. Fleur was a sweet industrious person whose bottom drawer must be literally overflowing with dainty embroideries. Staring up at the sandstone walls and numerous small windows, Julie thought how queer it was that the aristocratic old Frenchwoman should live there alone without any sort of social contacts. -

Julie philosophically lifted her shoulders and jumped down from the wall. It didn't seem very likely that the family at Murray's Green would ever have much to do with Madame. They might never even meet her. But only a day or two later came their first invitation to Belle Marquise. It was written in a crabbed hand on thick crested paper, and worded in a style both archaic and complicated. "Madame Laure de Meulen presents her compliments to Mrs. Gray Murray, and begs that Mrs. Murray, with her sister and brother, will do Madame the honour to attend for English tea at Belle Marquise on Wednesday, the twentieth. Four o'clock, if you please." "My, my," said Ann. "I wonder what would happen if we sent a polite refusal?" "The fortress would collapse. But why should we refuse? I'm dying to see inside the place." "You're worse than Noel. Think he'll go?" Julie went off to ask him. Having just finished a long-short story, Noel was willing to be led from the den into the humanizing atmosphere of the lounge. Belle Marquise? He ruminated and gradually grew elated. In fact, he went quite white about the mouth. "The germ of a novel there," he almost whispered, in his urgency. "Rise and fall of a French colonial family. A gentle, fading old woman at the mercy of an unscrupulous nephew she dotes on. The nephew is an up-to-date smuggler..." " I take it," said Ann mildly, "that we accept the invitation?" "Of course! I really mean it about the novel. I've never been able to tackle anything very long before, but now I seem able to concentrate, like fury, and I'm sure I could sustain a novel-length

story. It's just rushing into my brain, and I haven't yet seen the old lady." "You'll get a headache," Julie warned him. "You've hardly rested from writing for sis days. The novel is a grand idea, but let it simmer. You ought to get out more." "So I ought, and you and I haven't had a good talk since the boat. Let's go for a walk." Julie knew that "a good talk" with Noel meant that she would listen while he dilated about his ideas. But she liked listening, and sometimes she was able to insert a small suggestion. One good thing about Noel was that he never disdained any suggestion; he would take it up as a painter might take up the sketch of a lesser rival, pick it to pieces here and there and build up the rest into something interesting and full of colour. Not that he ever regarded Julie as a rival; he shamelessly used her as a prop or a boost to his ego whichever he happened to be in need of. Ann had tea brought to the veranda and sat in one of the long leather-thonged loungers. Desultorily, while she drank, she leafed through some of the periodicals they had bought in Nassau. All were at least a month old, and Ann never did feel comfortable in the past. That was why she was glad the house wasn't too ancient. A car stopped on the road and the white gate creaked. Oh, dear, the Vincent man. He was walking a little better and she wondered if he had been tired the other day. An injured kneecap, she guessed; perhaps no kneecap at all. He gave her his slow smile as he approached, and when he had come up into the porch he placed the three or four ledgers he had been carrying on the metal table beside the tea tray.

"Bryn asked me to send them over," he said, "and I thought I'd bring them myself and find out how you're settling in." "It's good of you. We're doing well. Sit down and I'll send for more tea." "No, don't. I'm not much of a tea drinker." He did take the seat she indicated, though, and when he had crossed his ankles and taken a sniff at the bush which flowered above the veranda wall, he got out cigarettes. Ann took one and leaned to his lighter. Why, she asked herself, did a man who would obviously make an adequate if unromantic husband and positively revel in the love of a wife remain unmarried? The trouble was, probably, that he just didn't go where women were. Following this line of thought she asked, "How long have you been here, Mr. Vincent?" "Call me Luke," he said. "Just over three years." "Is that all? Where were you before that?" "In Nassau. That's where I met Bryn. He offered me the managership of the cannery and his other business interests, I accepted and have been here ever since." "Were you working in Nassau?" "No." As he did not qualify this she said, "I'm being too inquisitive. One grows that way when there's not much to think about. I'm sorry." "You needn't be. The story is simple, if you'd care to hear it?"

"I think I would. Does the kneecap come into it?" "Kneecap?" he echoed, startled. Then he laughed, a trifle awkwardly. "I'd forgotten you're a nurse. You probably know by the way a chap limps which part of the leg is affected. I was an instructor at a flying school. One day I had to crash- land and I came out of it with a shattered knee." "That must have been a blow," she said, almost as a sympathetic man might have said it. "Did it put you out of a job?" "More or less. I was out of commission altogether for some time, got a bit low in spirits and was urged to take a cruise. Halfway through the cruise I met Bryn, so I didn't go back to England. As a matter of fact," he ended, with an odd sort of deliberation, "Gray and he were taking a break in Nassau at the time. We all came here together." They smoked in silence for a couple of minutes. Then Ann said, "You were three lone bachelors here, weren't you ? What an odd setup - three bachelors and an ageing Frenchwoman. None of you seems to have thought much about the future." "I expect Bryn will marry some time, and he's the one who counts most." "Who will he marry? He never puts himself out to know women." "He's been linked with one or two who come here in the winter, and occasionally he goes over to England." "I expect," she said with a trace of acid, "he's afraid of being chased for his money. And what about you?" "I?" He paused reflectively and, perhaps unconsciously, looked down at his stiff knee. "I did think about it once. I knew a nice

woman who seemed to like me all right, but I was flying almost every day and it isn't fair to marry in those circumstances." "Don't be silly," she said. "A woman takes those risks. If she's strong-minded she makes a good thing of the marriage, however brief it might turn out to be. What happened to her?" He smiled. "I don't know at all. It wasn't one of those painful friendships; she drifted into my life and out again." "And now, I suppose, you'd hesitate to offer yourself to a woman because a bit of knee-bone is missing! It's such rot." He looked at her and she coloured faintly. Annoyed, because she had unwittingly revealed a part of herself that she preferred to keep locked up, she pressed out the cigarette and dusted ash from her skirt. Evenly, he asked, "How are your young relatives? Do they like it here?" She nodded. "Noel is bursting with inspiration and Julie's bemused. They're out together, wrestling with a new idea for a novel." "About Farando Cay?" "What is there here in the way of human problems?" "Plenty, if you go a few years back. Bryn has a history of the island which was compiled by his father. There are only a dozen printed copies, but I daresay he'd lend one to Noel. Shall I ask him?" "I think Noel should do the asking. I'll tell him about it." He finished his cigarette, sat forward and nodded at the books he had brought. "I'll go through them with any time you like. Your

bank passbook is at the branch in Nassau, but I can tell you how it stands." "There's no haste." "I'll go, then." She said nothing to keep him, but he did not at once stand up. Instead, he gave her a half-glance. "I ran into our island doctor yesterday and he said he'd like to meet you." "Oh. Another white man?" "He's a Creole, but exceptionally clever. He's studied in England and America, and Bryn has seen to it that the hospital is modern and well-equipped. His chief trouble is staff, but even so he gets along very well. I think both he and his clinic would surprise you." "Maybe," she said offhandedly. "I happen to be on holiday from that kind of thing." He shrugged. "All right. No harm in mentioning it." "No harm at all. Thank Bryn Sherard for the accounts books, will you?" He took his dismissal with a smile. Perhaps he noticed that Ann's clever face had hardened, but if so it didn't appear to worry him much. As he walked away up the drive he was whistling softly. She retrieved the magazines from the floor at her side, and within a minute or two she had forgotten Luke Vincent of the unexciting smile and prosaic mentality. *

At intervals, during the next couple of days, Julie knew a throb of pleasurable anticipation. Belle Marquise was such a lovely name and it conjured visions of beauty and grandeur. She typed for Noel, weeded one of the beds in the garden for Cristophe and did some washing and ironing of dainties for Ann and herself, but between times she looked forward to Wednesday afternoon with a peculiar compulsion. For no clear reason, she had decided down to the last detail what she would wear. When the three of them met in the lounge at three-thirty on Wednesday, each expressed admiration for the others. Ann wore a soft pale peach suit with short sleeves and a matching hat which had a scarf loosely knotted about it. She looked svelte and decorous and completely charming. Julie, in a crisp white frock with a small cap set on the back of her burnished head, was young and tender. Coaxing Noel to discard the green whipcord slacks and yellow shirt he had worn this morning in favour of a light lounge suit had been something of a task, but he definitely looked well in the suit, particularly as they had also been able to persuade him to wear socks over his brown toes, and finish off with a pair of calf shoes. There wasn't much one could do about his hair, though; it always needed cutting and always fell in a thick yellow lock over one eyebrow. "Rather fetching, don't you think?" he would say absently, when the other two complained. It was decided that Ann would drive and that they would start out in plenty of time but contrive to arrive at one minute to four, and that more or less was what happened. They drove back to their own white posts on the main road, took a right turn and in a short while passed between two tall ornate pillars into the estate of Belle Marquise. The lands seemed to be completely covered with coconut palms, but years ago a pleasant and pretty hedge of pouyi trees had been planted, and they stretched ahead now, parallel lines of pink foam above which towered the palm fronds.

There were iron gates and more pillars to Belle Marquise. The driveway wound down between magnolias and oleanders, and it was not till they had reached the wide steps that they had a complete view of the great stone mansion. The facade was impressively carved, the great oaken door was a masterpiece, and in the afternoon sun one could have imagined oneself in the heart of La Belle France herself. To heighten the impression, a handsome young Frenchman stood awaiting them. "Well, well," said Ann under her breath. "The castle is haunted by a red-blooded ghost." The next moment the illusion disintegrated, for Bryn Sherard came out to join the young man. The car doors were opened, and Julie, who had had the back of it to herself, found her hand seized by an olive-brown one which drew her gently but firmly out on to the courtyard and clung for several seconds while black eyes burned into her own, before it was released. "Mademoiselle!" Whether it was a greeting or an anguished exclamation Julie could not tell. "I am so very charmed to meet you. Bryn, you must make the introduction - quickly!" Bryn looked Julie over, very coolly, from the tips of her white sandals to the neat little waves of hair about the white cap, and took his time about it too. "Louis de Meulen," he said, and to the fiery young man: "This is Mrs. Murray ... her sister, Miss Julie Penross... and Noel Penross." Louis' acknowledgment of the introduction to Ann and Noel was graceful but perfunctory. He attached himself to Julie laid light, flattering finger-tips on her elbow and bent with delightful eagerness to tell her how exceedingly pleasant it was to find someone so... so beautiful and fresh on Farando Cay. His attentions were almost embarrassing, particularly as she glanced up and caught a hard smile

of mockery from Bryn. Yet the compliment implicit in the young man's behaviour couldn't but be agreeable. She forgot her disappointment at finding Bryn there, forgot everything but the sense of lightness and happiness which is every woman's when she is admired. Thus it was to Louis that she owed the self-confidence with which she met Madame de Meulen for the first time. She saw an upright woman of extraordinary thinness and elegance, tastefully dressed in a black tailored suit with white lace at the throat over which hung a treble row of glistening pearls. She saw the long regular features which were still beautiful, though the skin over them was incredibly wrinkled, rouged and powdered. She bowed in response to Madame, murmured "How do you do, Madame de Meulen," with the modesty appropriate, in a Frenchwoman's eyes, to the most youthful of the party, and stepped away, with Louis. It was the sort of tea-party which might have taken place a hundred years ago. A Valenciennes cloth hung richly from an oval table, the silver teapot, superbly chased but much too massive for the delicate wrist of Madame, half-filled exquisitely thin cups. A silver plate held delectable scraps of French pastry, and in crystal dishes rested caramelled peaches and pineapple slices. The air of the salon was warm and narcotic. At least, it was narcotic to Julie. The delicate damask chairs, the Aubusson carpet, the huge old paintings and the chandeliers, were all much as she had imagined them, but more so. What she had not been prepared for was this young Frenchman of the ardent glances. "You are perplexed about my being here," he said softly, under cover of the others' conversation. "I arrived late yesterday, in the yacht of a friend who is settling in Martinique. For the first time I am at odds with my family. I would much like to make my home in

Martinique or even here in Farando Cay, but my father is against it. He is in the shipping business at Cherbourg, and he wishes me as his only son to prepare to take his desk when he retires. I can imagine nothing more dull. You agree with me, mademoiselle ?" "Not entirely. Shipping is romantic." "Ah, you too desire that elusive thing! But shipping is not romantic. It is papers and telephones, insurance claims and board meetings. There is no colour in it!" Julie was willing to let him have his own way. She heard Ala dame de Meulen saying, "I had a fondness for your husband, Mrs. Murray. He never omitted to visit me once each week, and sometimes he and Bryn would come together and dine with me. We would talk French, would we not, Bryn?" "You insisted on it, Madame." "But it was good for you two men to retain something of your culture. That is why I was always so anxious that you should go to Europe for your holidays. It was frightening to think you might marry one of these tourists who come to the Bahamas." "I don't know," said Bryn carelessly. "A tourist isn't always without culture. Much as we might like to, we can't all marry Frenchwomen!" This remark apparently pleased the old lady. She wagged a rather claw-like forefinger. "We must see about that. Nothing is impossible." But whether she was planning for all the men who might prefer to marry Frenchwomen or merely for Bryn was not clear. She now turned politely to Noel. "And you, monsieur. I hear

you write. I am a good critic. You must let me read something of yours." Awkwardly, Noel said, "I don't turn out fancy prose, I'm afraid. My stuff is decidedly of the earth." "It cannot help but be, my son. This is a crude and graceless age. But perhaps in France we still maintain some of the graces. Eh, Louis?" Her grandson turned upon her his dark brilliant smile. "The most enchanting grace in the world is to be found here, at Belle Marquise," he said gallantly. "Grand'mere, cherie, you will permit that I take Miss Julie to the gallery?" "But, yes." The old brown eyes moved over Julie and gained a pale gleam of interest. "If Bryn will agree." "What have I to do with it?" demanded Bryn, almost curtly. The thin shoulders lifted in a characteristic shrug. "Mrs. Murray and these two young people are new to the island, and it is your duty to protect them." Ann broke in, smiling, "I can assure you that we English don't need any protection in a place like Belle Marquise, and even Julie generally makes her own decisions." "Nevertheless," said Madame, "I feel sure that Gray Murray would like to know that Bryn has you under his wing during your stay." Louis was standing. "Come, then, mademoiselle, I will show you the beauties and monstrosities which adorn our gallery walls." Without volition Julie moved off with him. She knew that Ann was watching with some amusement, that the old lady's glance was keen

as a falcon's, and that Bryn was indifferently getting out cigarettes and his lighter.

CHAPTER THREE DURING her first days on Farando Cay, Julie had been sure that the three of than would settle into a routine. They had lived that way in England and there seemed no reason why they should not achieve a similar mode of existence at Murray's Green. But Noel's continuous presence in the house was a disturbing factor. Everything he wrote had to be typed out roughly at once, so that he could re-read as he went along. Also, he had an understandable aversion to noise, and he went to bed and got up at outlandish hours. He was just on twenty-five, but compared with Louis de Meulen, who was only a few months older, he was still a good- looking boy. Not that Louis gave an impression of greater age; it was his Latin verve and maturity, and that indescribable something with which a Frenchman is born, that set him apart from other men Julie had known. Louis came rather often to Murray's Green. With impatience he drove the ancient limousine belonging to his grandmother, but with great charm he addressed himself restrainedly both to Ann and Julie. On his third visit he politely begged Ann's permission to drive Julie to the quay, where he proposed to pick up a trunk which had been sent on to him from France. "If you would care to accompany us, madame . . ." he suggested courteously but without enthusiasm. Ann laughed. "I wouldn't," she said, "but be careful with my little sister. She's not used to being flattered. She may believe you." "Julie can certainly believe me," he answered with dignity. "There is nothing I would not do for her!"

Which extravagant claim Ann treated as she thought it deserved. She waved them off and went back to the task she had set herself the systematic clearing of the desk in the lounge. That was the first of several jaunts Julie took with Louis, and on every occasion his behaviour was impeccable. Jestingly she asked him once whether Madame de Meulen approved of their friendship, and she was pleasantly astonished to hear that Grand'mere thought her delightful. "She says you will be an ideal companion for Fleur, when she arrives for the winter. My sister is quite sweet and she has a feeling for this island. Only two months ago she was twenty- one, and we are hoping to get her married very soon." "You speak as though it will be a load off your minds.'' "No, it is not that. In most things Fleur is docile, but in this matter of being betrothed she is obstinate. There is an excellent young man in Cherbourg who wishes to marry her, but she will not hear of it. Nevertheless, my father has told her that this next visit to Farando Cay will be her last. She must go back to marry Henri." "Isn't that rather hard? She can't possibly be in love with him or she'd long to marry him." They were bowling along the road to the sea with Louis at the wheel, but his bright dark eyes recklessly devoured her. "Why should she not make herself love Henri?" he said. "Enough to marry him, at least." "Love can't be forced," she answered. "It's there or it isn't. Your sister sounds sensible." "She is not sensible at all!" he exclaimed. "I will tell you something, in confidence. You will respect my confidence, will you not, Julie?"

"Of course, but..." He slowed and said, "Besides Fleur I am the only one who knows this, so I am trusting you. Please - hear me out. I want to tell you this. Fleur has committed a great folly; she has allowed herself to fall in love with Bryn Sherard." "Good heavens," murmured Julie soberly. "Poor girl." "It is certainly 'poor girl'," he replied with some heat as he slowly drove on. "She told me about it on our voyage home last year, but I hoped she had forgotten it. But no. She is now what you call keyed up, to see him again, and because she is of age she has the feeling a miracle will happen," "Are you sure Bryn doesn't care for her?" "Bryn," he said, "cares for no one. He would often tease Fleur, and he accepted from her some embroidered cloths for his dining-room, but I doubt whether, even if it were to his advantage, he would marry her." "What do you mean, to his advantage?" His shrug was very like his grandmother's, prodigious and wholly foreign. "Materially, he would gain nothing from marriage with Fleur. Already he is virtually the owner of the Belle Marquise estate, though nominally it will come to me at Grand'mere's death. I shall inherit the mortgages." This was spoken without the vestige of a smile. "Fleur will receive some pieces of jewellery, no more. And if she marries against my father's wishes there will be no dot... you understand?" "No dowry." Julie nodded. "You know, the dowry custom always strikes us English as too businesslike. In any case, whether or not she had money wouldn't bother Bryn. He has plenty."

"That is so. If he wished to marry my sister he is rich enough to overcome my father's objections. But, frankly, I do not think he will wish to marry her. She was just as beautiful last year, just as much a woman as now, yet he extracted no promise from her." "Perhaps she was encouragement."

too

passive.

An

Englishman

needs

He gave a sudden exuberant laugh. "These English! They think too much." Then, more gravely, "Do you consider it possible that Bryn Sherard would respond to the shy advances of a woman?" "Well ... he might." She was sceptical, though. "I've heard from our old servant about your visits here in previous years. Your sister has the reputation of staying close to Madame, so she couldn't have had much chance of showing individuality. Couldn't you be candid with your grandmother ? I'm sure she wouldn't object to your sister marrying Bryn, and she could be such a help." "You do not realize! I have promised Fleur to keep her secret." "You've brought me into it!" His smile at her was harassed and endearing. "With you I am safe. I feel it. With Grand'mere I would not be safe; like many old women, where her will is concerned she is apt to mislay her scruples! Julie, you must help me in this. I have a great affection for Fleur and I would like her to be happy. Perhaps I am wrong; perhaps she would not be happy with Henri. Very well, then, we must make her desirable to Bryn!" Faintly scandalized, Julie leaned back, silent for a moment. Then she said, "You could drop a hint to Madame - not that your sister is in love with Bryn, but that it would be a suitable marriage. You wouldn't be giving anything away."

"I am afraid you do not know Grand'mere! She has a nose for that kind of thing and she will know soon enough. The only reason she has not yet guessed about Fleur is Fleur's own meekness. If I dropped the hint, as you say, Grand'mere would immediately put into operation all her formidable powers of scheming, and they would stand out like... like a three-dimensional film! Bryn would laugh in his sleeve." The smile diverted Julie; Louis was really very charming and he was genuinely concerned about his sister. "Maybe when she sees Bryn again she'll decide he wouldn't make such a very good husband after all," she consoled him. He shook his head. "This emotion she has for him has grown with the years. It will not end so easily. Shall we make this little plan, Julie?" "What plan, exactly?" she asked cautiously. "It is quite simple. Grand'mere, as I have said, is delighted that you will be here to make companionship for Fleur. You drive a car and go where you will. It would be natural for Fleur to accompany you. Me she would suspect, and I am not a close friend of Bryn, either. You could throw them together, perhaps even ensure that they are alone sometimes. Away from Grand'mere Fleur would blossom, and if Bryn is any kind of man he will find himself tingling with an urge to know more about her! It is practicable, yes ?" "I suppose so," she said, unaccountably reluctant, "though we at Murray's Green are not likely to be good friends with Bryn. I'd rather get to know your sister before we do anything drastic." "Well, it will not be long before you make her acquaintance. She is already on her way here, in the care of a paid companion who will

return to France at once. Will you give me your promise to help this romance?" "I'll do my best." "Your promise, mademoiselle. Please!" He had stopped the car and was gazing entreatingly into her eyes. "Very well, I promise," she answered quickly. "And now you must take me home." He obeyed, of course. Louis was much too disciplined a Frenchman to follow his own inclination unless it coincided with hers; at least, he was at the moment.

Julie would have given much to be able to talk to Ann about Fleur de Meulen and Bryn Sherard. Ann's outlook was cool and logical; possibly she would neither have agreed nor agreed with Louis' plan, but she would certainly have illumined it for Julie. On the other hand Julie could not see that there was really very much to discuss. It was on the cards that she and Fleur would not take to each other at all, but if they did there remained the problem of arranging meetings between the girl and Bryn. He had called in to see Ann on business once or twice, but he had pointedly refused refreshment and steered the conversation clear of personal topics. He was still firmly of the opinion that Ann had married for money; perhaps she was not quite the harpy he had expected, but the fact that she apparently intended to sell the estate and use the money for her own ends rather bore out his conviction. To him, Noel and Julie were mere hangers-on. Which was infuriating and not conducive to good relations. She did hope Louis would not keep her to her promise.

Next morning she drove the five miles or so to the quay. The coaster was due in, and Noel was anxious that she should hand the large postal packet for his London agent directly to the skipper. Like many another artist struggling for a foothold, he was liable to distrust the most entrenched institutions! Julie went down to the coaster, which was unloading sacks of sugar. The skipper, a tough-looking man in a singlet and navy slacks, promised to airmail Noel's packet from Nassau, and after thanking him she went back to the car. But before she got in, the long-drawn whistle of a siren drew her attention to the cannery, which spread out in geometrical whiteness along a slope above the warehouses. She saw the workers come out and slump down in the shade with their mugs of sweet, rum-flavoured tea, and something drew her up closer, to watch the boys and girls who seemed to appear from nowhere, settle upon parents and share the drink. Then Luke came out, and because she was the only white person among the mass of dark skins, he saw Julie and came towards her with that almost imperceptible limp. "Hallo there," he said. "Exploring again?" "Not this time. I came to the post. But I couldn't help watching when the factory hands came out." "I'm just going up to my house for some coffee. Join me?" "Thanks. I'd love it, and I want to meet your dogs." He indicated the worn path round the back of the cannery building, and she moved at his side. "Patsy's sick," he said. "She's the smaller of the Labradors. She has a delicate digestion, and when she eats anything that doesn't agree with her she has to pay for it. Did you have any dogs in England?"

"Not at the flat, but when I was a child we had an Airedale. If we were staying longer in Farando Cay I'd ask you to get us a terrier of some sort." They were within sight of his house now. It was an L shaped bungalow with a veranda on the long side and new young climbers trying hard to reach the tops of the posts. It had no hedge at the front, and ornamental trees had been planted in the smooth green lawn. The view from the veranda was one which appealed to Julie. Directly below was the green roof of the cannery, and beyond it the vivid waterfront, the masts and the blue glass sea. To right and left little adobe houses scrambled up the hillsides in a scattered muddle of off-white among different greens, and beyond those hillsides the sea again, changing colour under the hot sky. The dogs were sprawled about the stone-flagged floor, too fagged to do more than wag a feeble tail. Patsy kept to her cushion on one of the chairs, but she gave Luke a long, devoted look before closing her eyes once more upon the world. Luke's servant, a sleek-looking Cayan who made excellent coffee, brought the tray, and Luke poured. "Any time you're this way and in need of a drink, come and give Sam a shout," he said, "and take a rest here in the veranda. I'm too old for anyone to think it odd." "You're not old, and anyway I don't think age matters much in a place like this," she told him. "You're by far the nicest man on the island." Luke laughed a little. "That's outrageous flattery," he said, "and Louis would shoot me if he heard you say it. How do you like the young man?" "He's a bit exciting and a bit of a bore. I enjoy him, though."

'What's your sister's opinion of him?" She sipped her coffee and smiled at him. "She's a woman, you know, and he has the prettiest way of paying compliments. We Englishwomen are not proof against the subtle courtesies, and Louis is a master of them. What is it about Frenchmen that's so intriguing?" He shrugged. "To a woman? They always seem to have time for love and talk of love. Among men they're good business men, but when they come within a yard of a woman, business and everything else is forgotten and the amorist takes possession. Seeing that Louis hasn't any business interests worth mentioning, he can put in overtime in the other direction. I'm not detracting from the man. Where you're concerned I think he's quite sincere." "Heavens, I hope not!" Luke raised his somewhat shaggy brows. "Is it like that? I think you can depend on him to keep within bounds. He prides himself on being an aristocrat." He poured some more coffee and offered her a cigarette. One of the terriers yawned and lumbered over to drape himself across Luke's feet, while the other edged along the floor till he could reach up to sniff at Julie's hanging hand. She fondled the rough head, and thought how pleasant and peaceful it was here, with Luke. A bird came to lodge in the low thicket of a bougainvillea, and she watched it poised there, a sleek royal blue overlaid with a golden sheen, its eye a saffron bead. "Some time," said Luke, "you and Noel must come here for a meal. We could go for a sail afterwards." "Not Ann?"

"Of course, if you think she'd like it. I didn't suppose she would." "She can do with that sort of thing," Julie said seriously. "Ever since I can remember she's worked hard. She was the youngest Sister at the St. Cross when she got her promotion, and they used to say she knew as much as the doctors. It wasn't quite true, but she certainly knew much more about nursing than they did." "But she hasn't worked so hard since she left the hospital?" "No," she admitted, "and she's clever at relaxing. But she won't get the best out of Murray's Green unless we have more social life. We can't entertain much because of Noel...." "He's very important, isn't he?" he said with a smile. "Well, you know how it is. He's the only one of us with that kind of brain and we love to nourish and nurture it. I only wish," she said, "that Ann had made a perfect marriage; she deserves so much better than what she had." She looked away from him, a shade embarrassed. "To you, I expect, that sounds disloyal to Gray." "Not a bit. I haven't regarded it in that way before, but I see what you mean." There was a pause and he added, evenly, "Was there much feeling between them - Ann and Gray?" "Quite a lot, I think, though Ann never said much about it. She couldn't, really, because if she had it would have been so much worse for her after his death. I used to feel horribly inadequate. Ann and I are not contemporaries, you see, and she couldn't bring herself to confide in me. I only know what I saw, and... it hurt." Rather abruptly Luke said, "There must be some kind of pattern to living, though sometimes I'm damned if I can see anything but a first-rate muddle. A false step, and you're flung halfway across the world, to start again." He gave his brief laugh, "It won't happen to

you, Julie. You'll marry and lead a planned existence with someone who adores you." She wasn't able to answer this, for a dark head became visible on the slope below the front garden, followed by big shoulders and a narrow waist. Through an opening between bushes came Bryn Sherard in shorts and white shirt which lay open at the neck. He didn't appear to be in the least surprised to see Julie, but neither did he appear to be glad. He gave her a casual greeting, and addressed Luke, who had got to his feet. "That sisal order for Rio - the skipper of the freighter says he'll take it as far as Trinidad for us if we can load before sundown. It would save two or three weeks. Think we can do it?" "Sure. I'll get some extra boys on loading. It's all in the warehouse, so it shouldn't take longer than three hours." "Good. It's as well to keep a big stock, so I'll get the boys cutting again tomorrow." "Have some coffee, Bryn?" "I've had mine, thanks. I'll get along. We're on the cocoa if you should want me for anything." Julie moved round Luke. "Thank you for the refreshment," she said to him. "I'll keep you up to that invitation for a meal." Bryn said, "I saw your car down there. I'll take you to it." Luke went indoors for something and Julie, perforce, walked with Bryn through the short garden and out on to the slope, from which the workers had now disappeared. In the steep parts he offered a hand, but he said nothing till they were below the cannery and approaching the car. His own big black tourer was a little farther on.

"I looked for you at the beach this morning," he said. "Didn't you bathe?" She shook her head and asked incredulously, "You looked for me?" "Merely to be neighbourly," he assured her at once. "There's funny kind of kelp that comes up on the tide at this time of the year, and this morning the shallows all along the shore were full of it. It makes bathing very dangerous, so I thought I'd warn you to keep clear of the sea till it washes away." "But how could you look for me?" she persisted, curious. 'You can't see our beach from yours." "I took out a canoe and paddled along. As a matter of fact I left a note in your bathing house." "Did you?" She stared up at him, still not quite believing. And without thinking she said, "I daresay you're not so bad. really, because if you'd do a thing like that for us, whom you loathe, you're probably a marvellous friend to those you've nothing against." A small smile pulled cynically at the corner of his mouth. "Thanks. In return I'll tell you something about yourself. You could be a pleasant child if you weren't misguided." She wasn't put out. "Misguided? How?" "By the lure of money and romance." "If you mean Ann's money," she said a trifle shortly, "I haven't yet used a penny of it. I paid my own fare out here, just as Noel did, and I have enough to pay my fare back. We're certainly living on Murray's Green produce, but I don't see why we shouldn't."

"No reason at all," he replied steadily, "except that none of you has a genuine right here." "That's very unfair. Ann has all the right in the world." "Legally, yes. It's a funny thing about your sister," he said. "I'd believe in her except for one thing. She was never in love with Gray." "How could she be in love with him?" Julie protested swiftly. "She was fond of him, we all were. It just happened that he adored Ann, and she gave him all she could during his last few weeks. To be candid, I... I didn't think she would accept his money and property, but seeing that she did I'm convinced her reasons were good ones. If you're really interested, Bryn -" She didn't notice his name had slipped out till the mockery came into his eyes, and then it was too late to apologize, so she barely paused before repeating, "If you're really interested, why don't you tackle Ann yourself? You're of her generation and you ought to be able to understand her. She's badly needed a friend round her own age for a long time, and if you'd only..." "My dear girl," he broke in, "I've no intention of being hooked as a second husband by Ann." She drew a sudden heavy breath. "Why, you beast! And I thought you'd decided to be decent! Ann's a thousand times too good for anyone like you, and she wouldn't take you on, anyway." "Now, now," he said. "Where's your sense of humour! Would I have said a thing like that if there were a chance of any woman being able to hook me against my will?" In that second she remembered Louis' sister, Fleur, and instead of following up her outburst she was silent, her thoughts shooting off

at a tangent. She moved out of the shade of a tree to the door of the car. "By the way," he said, "I also accused you of being misguided in the matter of romance. I meant Louis de Meulen, of course. Don't trust him too far, will you ?" "What's wrong with Louis?" she asked in hard tones. "Nothing fundamental, but he happens to have come here in a rebellious mood, and he's also the apple of Grand'mere's eye. He's probably already unloaded his troubles to you, so you know that his best bet is to follow in his father's footsteps. However, Madame would not be averse to his staying here and taking over the reins of the estate. She has the odd notion that he'd make good at it." "Whereas you're, pretty sure there's no one who can run Farando Cay as you can." Again she gave him a curious stare. "You'd like to lord it over the whole of the island, wouldn't you?" "Believe it or not, I wouldn't." He spoke sharply, and the dark grey eyes looked straight into hers. "All my life there have been three owners on the island, and if I could have my way, there would still be three. But I happen to have a feeling for the soil of Farando Cay, and I hate to see it neglected - as it would be if Louis were in charge. I know that young man; he's full of get-rich-quick ideas. If Madame died the house at Belle Marquise would be turned into a hotel, and holiday chalets for fat tourists would line that part of the beach. We'd be overrun by the lounging crowd that has taken possession of some of the other islands; men who never sport anything but a big straw hat and a pair of shorts, and women wearing sunburn lotion and a handkerchief or two. If Farando Cay ever reaches that point of absurdity I'll sell out myself!"

"And I wouldn't blame you," she said, smiling a little. "I think you've got Louis wrong, though. He honestly likes this part of the world." "I don't doubt that. He honestly likes you, too. He can probably see you making yourself charming for wealthy visitors to the old French hostelry. A hard-headed Frenchman with a very English wife could make a heap of money at the Hotel Belle Marquise!" "If you were any other man I'd say you were being fanciful. What on earth makes you think Louis might want to marry me?" His glance held a gentle taunt. "You wouldn't be so difficult to make love to," he said. "If you were a year or two older I might even be tempted myself." The pink in her cheeks deepened, and he added, "Does that surprise you ?" "You're surprising me all the time. It never occurred to me you could make love." He laughed briefly. "I have my human moments. You may run up against one if you're here long enough. About Louis, you're not encouraging him, are you? Once he takes you for granted there'll be no holding him." "I can manage Louis, thank you." "I daresay you can, but that's not what I was thinking of. If he can convince himself that you'll marry him, he'll get to work on Madame. I'm trying to persuade her to have the coconut plantations thinned out and put into good order, but if that young man tries his blandishments she won't have a cent to spare for anything. Her pride is fierce and she refuses financial help. That's why Belle Marquise is so heavily mortgaged. Unfortunately she's too old and too much of a woman to make the place pay, but with the right man in charge it could be done."

"I see," she said, hardening again. "You'd like me to tell Louis right away that there's nothing doing - that I wouldn't marry him if he were the last man on earth." "It sounds callow, the way you put it. Handle it in a sophisticated manner and you needn't put his back up at all. On the other hand" with a philosophical shrug - "it might do him good." "How do you know," she demanded in a voice as steady as she could make it, "that I don't value his friendship too much to want to hurt him ?" He gave her a second appraising glance, this time with a sharpness in its depths. "Don't tell me you've come under his spell. If you have, it's time someone shook you out of it." Narrow-eyed, a slight and not very pleasant smile on his lips, he went on, "Under the Latin charm Louis de Meulen is utterly selfish. Whenever he looks into the future he sees himself idling on someone else's money. His father is a respected man in Cherbourg, but Louis doesn't consider other people's respect is worth much compared with soft living at another's expense. He comes here for several months every year so that he can idle and indulge his passion for outboard motor yachting, but it happens that this year he is determined, if ft can be managed, not to go back to France. My guess is that he'll offer to stay and manage the estate, that he'll suggest a few improvements which in reality will be money-making ideas; they'll be the vanguard of all the other monstrosities he hopes to accomplish when Belle Marquise becomes his. See if I'm not right!" "I rather think," she said slowly, "that it would do you good to be proved wrong for once. Louis may be selfish - aren't we all?"'- with a pointed nod. "But he does have an affection for Madame de Meulen, and he's devoted to his sister." Her nerves tightened a fraction, as she asked, "You know his sister well, don't you ?"

"Fleur? Of course. She's a lovely creature and so demure that one's afraid she'll come to harm. Both she and Louis are typical products of loving parents; he's always had his own way, and Fleur has been sheltered and cosseted." Negligently, he said, "You'll have to bring her out a bit, when she comes." "You might help me," she said lightly, "if we're still on speaking terms then." He smiled. His hand came up to her hair, took something white from it and let it blow away. "We were standing under a cotton tree," he said. "You've gathered fluff." Another piece was sent on the breeze. "Your head is hot. You'd better get in the car." He opened the door and when she was behind the wheel he closed it again. She turned the ignition key, used the reluctant starter and pushed in the gear. Perhaps to prevent her moving off at once, he was leaning on the window-frame, looking in at her. "You might tell your sister I'd like the books back as soon as she's finished with them. It saves a lot of trouble if the accounts are kept up to date." "She was saying she must talk to you about them. No charge appears for your services." "We're like that on Farando Cay," he said. "Gray Murray would have done as much for me." "But this is for Ann." "No," he said coolly, "it's still for Gray. Work it out for yourself." He straightened abruptly. "Try not to forget the advice I've handed out. So long... Julie."

She made some answer and pulled the car off the slope. In the mirror she watched him turn quickly towards his own car, then she knew he had started up and was moving. In what seemed only a stretched moment the distance widened between them before he disappeared. She drew a breath and tried to concentrate on the track ahead. It would probably always be like that - she and Bryn pulling away in opposite directions. Not always, though, because she wouldn't know him that long. He was a ruthless, pig-headed sort of man. She knew what he meant when he said the work he was putting in at Murray's Green was still for Gray. Whatever her reasons for marrying, Ann was Gray's widow and therefore deserving of consideration, however much he might despise her personally. Besides, whispered a voice, he wasn't likely to let Murray's Green run wild; he was expecting to buy the place. She was trying to recall word for word what he had said about Louis .. . and Fleur. Inevitably, she linked him with Louis' assertion about his sister. She tried to imagine Bryn falling in love with a French girl of beauty and sensibility and, oddly, it was not difficult. She remembered him as she had first seen him, his hair wet and roughly curly and black, the red scarf about the neck of his shirt; a modern pirate. Pirates always fell for delicately beautiful ladies, didn't they ? For Fleur's sake, it was to be hoped this one would. Something disquieting seemed to lurk in the back of Julie's mind, but she could not put a name to it. She would be glad to get home and talk to Ann. Yet when she did come to Murray's Green she did not turn in at the gates, but went on round the path towards the beach, scarcely realizing what she was doing. Then it came to her. She was going down to the bathing house to collect the note Bryn had left there. But why bother? It would still be there tomorrow, or Noel could bring it up if he went down for a bathe in the cool of the evening. All very true, but she drove on.

CHAPTER FOUR ON Farando Cay there were about seven hundred West Indians, or rather Cayans. The latter term was more applicable to the mixture of Negroes, mulattoes and Hindus because for the most part they were islanders before claiming any particular race. Back of the waterfront stood a Hindu temple of modest design and gaudy hues, and farther inland, near the largest settlement, was a church as grey and simple and railed-in as any in the villages of England. Both churches claimed a large flock, but the Caribbean native likes his religion highly-coloured and guaranteed to warn off the "duppies" that are reputed to float around during the dark hours. At sea, the Cayan was fearless; he would ride a storm in a primitive canoe and think nothing of it. But put him on open land in the darkness and he was ready to die of fright. On the whole they were a healthy lot. Serious surgical cases were sent to Nassau, but the rest were treated in the clinic, which was visited every two or three months by a white medical officer. Except for Dr. Jackson, who was the head of the clinic, the staff there was for ever changing. No sooner did he train a young mulatto nurse as a midwife than she was either whisked away to another cay or she grew ambitious, and sought work in one of the luxury resorts. His male assistants were keen to study in one of the large centres, and he had never been able to persuade any of the few nurses who had stayed with him that it was worth while aspiring to become a matron. By the time they were mature enough to take charge of the hospital wards they invariably had a piccaninny or two of their own. Dr. Jackson burned with zeal. Perhaps he was a little too zealous for his compatriots, setting them an example of impossible excellence. He worked during the whole of his waking hours, smoked two cheroots a day and drank rum only at occasional festivities. He was tall and broad-framed; his skin was nearly white, but the negroid spread of his nose and the faint yellow in the whites of his eyes

showed unmistakably his origin. Actually, considering the distance he had travelled since growing up with several brothers and sisters in a shanty among the sugar of Tobago, he could be proud of his origin; though to be sure, he never consciously thought about it - he hadn't time. It was Dr. Jackson's utter sincerity about his work that took him to Murray's Green. Without the sincerity he would not have had the courage, for it was well known that white women were not keen to offer help of any kind to an institution run completely by those of darker skin. But Dr. Jackson had managed somehow to retain a large amount of faith, and neither was he without hope. So he drove in his very old two-seater from the clinic, which was set on the edge of the settlement near the harbour, to Murray's Green. He tapped on the open door and to Ignatia's astonished query he answered that he would very much like to speak with Mrs. Gray Murray. Ann, who like most nurses was smart with her needle, happened to be sitting in the lounge with Julie, and each was stitching at a beach frock. Ignatia was told to show in the visitor, and Ann laid aside her sewing to greet him. He advanced into the room nervously, a burly man in a welllaundered -but washed-out khaki drill suit. "I beg your pardon most sincerely, madame," he said in the slightly stilted fashion which is invariably adopted by the educated man of colour. "I am Dr. Jackson, of the clinic. Mr. Vincent was so good as to tell me that you have much experience of hospital work, and so I took the liberty..." "No liberty at all, I assure you," said Ann in her simple, direct fashion. "I'm very glad to know you."

She smiled and extended a hand, introduced Julie and begged him to be seated. Ignatia brought glasses of iced lemon splashed with rum, and at last Dr. Jackson showed signs of relaxing. "I am very pleased," he said in those thick polite tones, "that my coming here has not vexed you. It is a long time since I had contact with European nurses, and I was afraid I might also have committed some social error." "Indeed you haven't. I believe you trained in England, Dr. Jackson?" "Yes, madame, at Liverpool, and for a short time in London." "Did you ever go to the St. Cross, in the north of London ?" "I followed a case there for two months." He went into technical details, but the case had not, apparently, entered Ann's department. However, she nodded interestedly. "While I was there we had two West Indian doctors house-walking," she said. "One of them was the present Dr. Mortonson, at Nassau." This delighted Dr. Jackson, and for a while he and Ann went on talking about people they might both have known. No trace of nervousness was left in the man when Ann said, "And now your purpose in coming to me, doctor. I'm glad you did come, of course, but you did have an object, didn't you?" Having been set at ease he gave an immediate reply. "I come to beg your assistance, madame. At the clinic I have many nurses, but none of them are really good. I have a staff nurse and she is not very good, either. It is not their fault. They have no rigid discipline, no example, and only me to lecture them. It is an unfortunate fact that a well-trained native matron, were I able to persuade one to come to

Farando Cay, would have little effect upon them, because they would know her too much as one of themselves. Do I make myself clear?" "Perfectly, but I'm afraid I can't help you out. This is the first holiday I've had in years, and even if I were willing to give it up to your clinic it wouldn't assist you much. I shan't be here long enough for that." "Oh." He paused and looked down at his long thick fingers. "If that is your last word on the matter I will say no more." Julie had suspended her sewing and under cover of smoothing a seam she watched the two of them. The doctor looked downcast, but he had patently had to bear disappointment before. Ann, though, was struggling with herself. Obviously she wanted nothing more to do with nursing for a while, yet it went against her dearest principles to refuse to give professional aid when it was needed. Julie found herself waiting almost tense and expectant for the next development. "In what way did you think I might help?" asked Ann. "These nurses of mine need guidance and frequent inspections. Already they have rules, but they break them with impunity. One or two have integrity which I think could be fostered if they had someone over them they respected and feared a little. They respect me, but they know I am too busy to bother with details. It does not surprise me to come upon a nurse extracting a swab from a wound with her fingers. The serious cases I must follow myself, because I trust no one." "I'm terribly sorry. Couldn't you use a sort of penalty system?" "Ah, now that is a very good idea!" His sudden brightness dimmed. "There is always the time factor. I would have to manage it myself, and I work sixteen hours a day. It is just too much."

"And you wanted me," said Ann, very carefully keeping all encouragement from her voice, "to go down there in a veil and apron and strike a little healthy terror into some of these lazy creatures. Is that it?" He showed fine big teeth in a smile. "The veil and apron are inspiring, madame. There is nothing like white starch and sternness in a hospital!" "You're right. Look here" - she sounded as if she were talking against her better judgment but it had to be said - "I'll get out a uniform and come down to see you tomorrow. Prepare the nurses for me; give me a big write-up and I'll sail in and do what I can. I won't promise to come very often, though." Still, the concession-relieved him hugely. He voiced profuse thanks and eventually made his departure. Ann went with him into the porch, and when she came back into the lounge she grimaced at Julie, ruefully. "I've let myself in for the very thing I hoped to avoid. It's not that I'd mind doing a bit of nursing if I had to, but I'm tired of ordering people around. It sounds as if the clinic staff is a shiftless crowd." "I didn't know you'd brought a veil and apron with you," said Julie. "I packed aprons automatically, as a sort of insurance against you and Noel getting ill. I can never nurse anyone in an overall." Between them rose the wraith of Gray. Ann had worn pretty frocks to nurse him, but that had been different. Julie folded away her sewing. "I'd go with you tomorrow if I thought it would help, but I'm probably about as expert as Dr. Jackson's nurses."

"No, you stay away. We're not getting too far into this. I'll do what I can a couple of times a week, but having had hospital training doesn't bind us to working while we're on holiday. Do you realize this is our first real break since Mother and Dad died?" "We couldn't afford it, but when we got leave you did give us good times." "A day out once in a blue moon! We need this vacation, Julie. Whatever we go back to in England we'll do it better after a thorough rest. I refuse to be embroiled in the affairs of the island clinic." But up to a point she had to become embroiled. There was the little girl with wasted arm muscles which must be thoroughly massaged every day; Ann had to train a nurse to do it. Then there was the old lady with fluid in her lung who refused to be drained; the boy whom no one would touch because they were certain that a small harmless patch on his forehead was leprosy; and the little child who had had a bout of food poisoning and had never since been able to eat without vomiting. It was on Ann's third visit to the clinic that Luke Vincent came in. She was supervising the dressing of patients' wounds in the surgical section when he came behind her and said, in his pleasant drawl, "Good morning, Sister Murray. May I have a word with the patient in the end bed? He's one of our foremen. It's purely business." She gave him a quick look, and nodded. "You may, this once, but no more visiting in the mornings, please. You'll see the correct hours on the notice board outside." "Thanks. Sorry to have broken the regulations," he said, and walked on.

Momentarily, Ann registered that he hadn't seemed in the least surprised to come upon her here in uniform. But then he never did appear to be surprised at anything. It was as if he had experienced the worst, and grown imperturbable. Which meant that if he had no feelings about the depths he probably had none about the heights, either. Well, she was that way herself, and it wasn't a bad way to be. He nodded again as he left, and she went on calmly and economically with her duties. Her presence in the general and surgical sections was acting like a sterilizer. The first morning she had been appalled by the noise, the odours of rotting fruit in the lockers, the spilled washing water, the crumpled beds. In a voice that was cold and incisive she called the nurses together and told them, simply but with the hint of a threat, that she meant to have quietude, cleanliness and general efficiency. They had a wonderful doctor, she informed them, and he deserved their utmost cooperation; in fact, that was what she, Sister Murray, was here for - to see that he got it. After that she spoke to the nurses collectively every day, and individually if they wished. She encouraged them to write down their problems and hand up slips of paper so that she could deal with them on her next visit. In clear, vivid colours she painted the nurse's profession for them and she only hoped that in the comparatively short time at her disposal she might be able to influence them. That morning, she noticed how deftly one of the nurses was dressing an awkwardly placed wound; might be as well to hand out small prizes on results. Unorthodox, of course, but these girls knew nothing of exams and belts and epaulettes. When the nurse had reached the last patient, Ann gave her a kindly smile and showed her trust by leaving her. She walked down the ward and out to the small office where the records were filed away, and there she came upon Luke. He was sitting in the chair at the desk, but the moment she appeared he stood up and moved aside.

"Hallo," he said. "I hope it's not irregular to wait for you." "Not at all," she answered, her manner businesslike as she took the chair. "What can I do for you?" "That chap I came to see - do you think he needs specialized treatment? If necessary, Bryn will pay for him to go to Nassau." "He needs no different treatment from that which he's getting. He'll be leaving us at the end of the week, but he shouldn't return to work for at least two weeks after that." "He can have a month. We'll see he's paid up." "Good." She said it with finality and Luke should have taken it for dismissal. But he leaned back against the filing cabinet, regarding her with a blend of curiosity and something else. "The uniform suits you," he said. "I knew it would." "If you've finished, I've rather a lot to do before lunch." "Still," he went on as if she had not spoken, "I like you better without it. You don't unbend much at any time, but it looks a sheer impossibility when you're dressed up like that. Dr. Jackson says you're doing a fine job. He hardly recognizes the place since you've been breathing fire." "Do you mind if we postpone this conversation?" she asked politely and coolly. "All right. Till when? Can I come for dinner tonight?" "To Murray's Green?" She looked startled. "I don't see why not, if you really want to. You're not noisy."

"Too bad for you two old ladies if I were." "We keep quiet for Noel," she told him with exasperation. "If you do want to come, make it seven o'clock." "That's as backhanded an invitation as I've ever had, but I'll accept it. And now I'll get out of your way." He moved stiffly towards the door. "Is your knee giving trouble?" she asked. "It always goes rusty when there's rain about." "Painful?" "Not very. I'm used to it." "Why don't you invest in one of those electrical self- massage sets?" "Bryn gave me one a couple of years ago, but I'm generally over the worst before I remember it." "Well, see that you use it today," she said. "Yes, Sister," he said meekly. "May I go now?" Half an hour later she heard a sudden sweep of rain across the clinic windows and she thought what fools men were, the way they would have ease at hand and not bother to use it. Perhaps women were nearly as bad, though. The queer inertias of human nature were incomprehensible. After which she forgot Luke Vincent and his game knee. The squally, soaking rain continued for the remaining daylight hours, and even after the swift darkness it kept on raining, though the wind dropped. Julie quite enjoyed setting the dinner table with

an extra place. Noel had been told he had better show up on this important occasion, the first on which they had entertained, and he had said he would do so on condition that they would let him go back to his room afterwards. She had cut some sprays of smilax and set them in the branch of coral which usually graced their dining-table. She had also made an unusual rum punch, which would be good on a night like this. Ignatia had promised a dinner of chicken soup, baked fish with pineapple slices, steak and tinned mushrooms and an iced sweet; so everything was more or less ready for their first guest. Ann wore a navy linen suit with a white blouse; she refused to get herself up any differently than if they were dining alone. So Julie put on a plain green dress and a row of pearls. Noel, as was to be expected, wandered in wearing baggy slacks, sandals on bare feet and a shirt which looked as though it had been dragged through several vats of dye before being given up as hopeless. However, he was freshly shaven and smelled of Ann's bath salts, which was something. "Too bad," said Ann with a smile, "if after all this trouble Luke doesn't turn up." "He'd better," growled Noel. "I wasn't due to shave till tomorrow morning." "He'll come," said Julie confidently. "He likes us." Ann raised a slender black brow. "Did he tell you so?" "In a way. I told him I like him, too." "As matey as that," Ann said. "What is it about him that gets you?" "Oh, he's just ordinary and nice. The sort of man it's wise to marry."

"Good heavens, he's twice your age!" "Besides," put in Noel unexpectedly, "his type wouldn't be exciting enough for Julie. She's too young to marry, anyway." "Who said I'd want to marry Luke!" exclaimed Julie impatiently. "I wish he would marry, that's all. He's got a fatalistic slant on life that a happy marriage might alter." "Well" - from Ann - "don't you try to alter it, darling. And I'd just as soon our dinner wasn't too good tonight, or he might decide he likes us even better. If he comes!" He did come, and Bryn came with him, but hot for dinner. He was aloof and suave in a white dinner jacket, and stated that he had been invited to Belle Marquise for the evening and thought it would save the use of two cars if he dropped Luke on his way. He would call back for him at about ten, if that was agreeable. "Of course," said Ann with reserve. "Give our regards to Madame." He turned to Julie, looked her over in a way she was beginning to resent. "You have no message for Louis ?" "No," she replied demurely. "I saw him this morning." "And you'll probably see him again tomorrow," he stated. "Adieu, then, ladies... and Noel." He was gone and Luke was accepting a drink in that casual manner of his. Watching him light a cigarette, Julie thought how different they were, Luke and the man who was his employer. Not that Bryn stressed the difference in their positions; his dealings with Luke were based on a cooperative friendliness which gave the impression almost of a partnership. Only a man of Luke's disposition, she knew, could have worked so well with Bryn Sherard.

The dinner was ample and superbly cooked. Luke enjoyed the rum punch, too, though he thought a spot of cinnamon and a clove or two would have improved it. It was while they were drinking coffee and Noel was straining like a setter at the leash, that Luke mentioned something about the garden at Tamarisk Lodge. "If you're ever in need of plants," he said, "go to Bryn. He has a huge nursery of plantation seedlings, and a smaller one of the more domestic kind. People on the other islands send to him for saplings by the thousand." Curiously Julie asked, "What is it like at Tamarisk Lodge? I always feel that a house belonging to Bryn should be called Dragon's End or Devil's Mount." Luke gave his lazy laugh. "The name suits the place. It's one of those tall old Spanish houses built round a patio. You're sure to see it soon, because a married cousin of Bryn's is due next month, and he's bound to do some entertaining for her and her husband." "What makes you think he'll invite us? Bryn despises the Penrosses." "I say," said Noel, "that's a bit thick." But he must have been vague about it because the next moment he enquired plaintively, "Will there be any objection if I move off? And I'd like Julie to come with me for ten minutes if she can. I'll have to explain some corrections I've made in the stuff she has to type for me in the morning." No one seemed put out by his request, so he dropped an arm about Julie's shoulders and drew her along to his den. For a moment or two after they had gone Luke and Ann smoked tranquilly. Then Luke said mildly, "If Julie's right about Bryn despising you, it's your own fault, you know. You haven't troubled to relieve him of his suspicions."

"You mean he's sure I married Gray Murray for hard cash?" "I don't think he is sure, but he can't see any other reason for a woman of your kind marrying a man who hadn't long to live. To be honest, I find it rather difficult to understand myself. It isn't as if Gray could have been a husband to you, and you could have given him friendship without marriage." Ann blew a thin scarf of smoke away from him. In even tones she answered, "I don't have to explain my actions. I felt justified in doing what I did, and that is enough." "You forget," he said deliberately, "that Bryn and Gray grew up side by side, and that I was his friend long before you were. Maybe you find it difficult to realize that in any other circumstances we'd have welcomed Gray's wife gladly as a new friend. I, personally, believe in you, but you really can't blame Bryn if he doesn't." She gave him a long, expressionless glance through the smoke, then lowered her lids. "Why should you believe in me any more than he does?" He shrugged. "Perhaps I can see myself in a parallel situation." Ann made a prolonged business of pressing out her cigarette, and when she sat back again she had shifted slightly, so that it was not necessary to look his way. Her voice came low and level. "I loved Gray - all three of us did - but because he was sick it was to me he turned most. Here on Farando Cay you couldn't possibly visualize how it was..." "I could try," he inserted quietly. She went on as if he had not interrupted, her tones still unnaturally low. "As far as it's in an ailing man to fall in love I think he did -

with me, while he was still in the hospital. Perhaps in some ways our taking him to the flat was a mistake. Julie was very sweet with him, and so was Noel; he was almost like another Penross about the place. I don't think either Julie or Noel realized how firmly we'd all determined that his last months should be as happy as we could possibly make them. There was never a second's dullness because he had no pain and he was naturally a cheerful person. We had some wonderful times." The merest hint of a tremor came into the last sentence, and Luke half lifted his hand as if to prevent her going on. But within a minute she spoke again, quite steadily. "I suppose it was natural he should take it for granted that I let him live at the fiat because I was attracted to him, as a woman is attracted to one man. I saw his proposal coming and tried to ward it off, but in his way he was as one-track as ... as I am. At first I promised to marry him as soon as he was thoroughly well, but at that time he was feeling deceptively fit, and I hadn't the heart to harp on his illness." "You were in love with him," he said flatly. "Not in love. I've already admitted we all loved him, but I was older than the other two, and I knew deep inside how he felt. He seemed so alone, so anxious not to be alone. The outcome was that I gave him my promise, and after that it was no use looking back." There was a silence, cut across by a short laugh from the den. The curtain billowed, and let in the scent of rain-washed ginger bush and a flurry of small flying things which made straight for the lamp. "So you took a cottage by the sea," he said abruptly. She nodded, and her dark eyes softened. "He was like a boy in his happiness. We used to fish from the river bank, and sometimes I'd

bathe in the sea while he lay in the sun. You know, he would never read a book...." "That's right. He always laughed at my addiction to the printed word." "Well, he discovered a joy in being read to. I used to read him thrillers and he'd make hilarious fun of them. The big thing about Gray," she ended on a sigh, "was his sense of humour." "You were brave," he said. "Not really. I didn't have to be very brave until the last week or two, and unconsciously I'd been building myself up for it, so I came through with hardly a quiver. I was lucky that the end came so suddenly." On an almost hostile note, she wound up, "So now you know!" He nodded, and after a moment said whimsically, "You're not onetrack, Ann. You're two people and I admire them both. I've no idea what' you were like a year ago, but I surmise that here on Farando Cay you're permitting the cool, efficient you to oust the other more gentle personality." "Oh, no." She was herself again, bright and hard. "I've never been one of your vulnerable women. I told you all that because you implied you had a right to know; you can please yourself whether you believe it." His teeth pulled in his lip and he smiled thoughtfully. "Very well. We're back where we were, but I understand you rather better than I did." "And if Bryn should ask," she said, "you can tell him I'm still living on money I've earned myself. Gray's will remain intact till I decide what to do with it."

"Please!" he begged. "You've no cause to talk like that." "Don't give me any cause, then," she returned with unusual illogicality. Luke had no time to answer because Julie came back and asked if he would like her to play some records. The rest of the evening passed pleasantly, and at a quarter to ten Julie thought she would make some more coffee so that she could offer a cup to Bryn when he came. But when she got to the kitchen she found that the ever-resourceful Ignatia had left everything ready and all she had to do was light the paraffin ring and turn it very low. So she went out of the back door and stood in the clean darkness with the scent of tobacco flowers around her. It had stopped raining. The two big water-tanks were overflowing. She could hear the steady drip-drip from one of the outlets, and as her eyes grew accustomed to the night she saw frogs leaping about in a kind of ecstasy of gratitude for the rain; but being near the house they were silent. She walked round the side path, looked up at Noel's window and thought what a delicious fool he could be in print. With Noel, it seemed that he put his all into his writing. To talk to he was almost dull, yet his written sentences scintillated and drew swift pictures, sparsely pointed the humour of a scene or scoffed at pathos. She knew in her bones that one day he would be a success. A car sounded on the road and her heart leapt, unaccountably. She wanted to run indoors, to get the coffee and greet Bryn brightly in the safety of the lounge. But somehow she was still standing there when he drew up on the drive and got out of the car. Then he saw her and she was unable to do anything but stand still and wait for

him to join her. He smelled of cigar smoke and she sensed a smile in him. "Did you come out to meet me ? How charming." "I was taking a breather after the rain," she answered quickly. "I didn't think for a moment you'd be so strictly on time." "Did you enjoy your dinner with Luke ?" "Very much. Are you going in ?" "Where are you off to?" "The back door. There's some coffee simmering, if you'd like it." "Thanks. I'll go with you and carry the tray." The kitchen was by no means small, but he made it seem so. In the dim glow of the lamp his face was all angles and shadows, but the well-cut mouth was still smiling. "I've something to tell you," he said. "Louis' sister is arriving tomorrow. I took Madame a cable which came in by canoe this afternoon, and that was the news it contained." So this was the cause of his smile. She dropped a pinch of cocoa into the coffee pot as Ignatia had taught her, and turned off the paraffin ring, looked up at him and away again. "The freighter isn't due for three days, is it? How will she arrive?" "By yacht, from Martinique." "Will there be a big welcome?"

"Madame has asked me to meet her, and Louis, of course" - with sarcasm - "will take you to the quay. Madame has a great sense of the fitness of things; she herself will wait in solitary grandeur to greet Fleur when she gets there - Belle Marquise." "Does this happen every year ?" "Yes .. . and no. Previously Fleur and Louis have come together and I've picked them up and driven them to Belle Marquise. This year there seems to be an excitement in the air because Fleur has come of age and is entitled to the Belle Marquise jewels. In a day or two she'll be presented with them and the same evening we shall all be bidden to dinner with Madame in order that we may admire. They say that jewels have a subtle influence on the character of the wearer. I wonder what the rubies will do to Fleur ?" "You can have a marvellous time finding out." He laughed a little, "She's not like you," he said. "She wouldn't dream of going in for backchat, as you do. Her whole upbringing has had as its object a successful French womanhood." "In England," she said hardily, "we don't do it so consciously, but the result is not very different." Then, afraid she might sound ungracious about a girl she had not yet met, she added, "Louis says his aster is quite grown up now and more vivacious than she used to be. I'm looking forward to knowing her." She opened the top cupboard of the kitchen cabinet and reached up for a large cup and saucer. He came behind her and his arm rose beside hers, much longer, the hand brown and strong. "This one?" he asked. "Yes, please. It's for Noel. Ignatia will never set it on the tray with the other cups because Aim says he drinks too much coffee, but

Noel will have it that coffee and cigarettes keep him going into the small hours." "Why don't you train him to be normal?" He had placed the cup on the tray, but he was still very close to her, looking quizzically down upon her dark gold head. "Do you really have faith in him as a writer?" "Not only as a writer," she returned, "but a good one. What he's engaged on now is impetuous and unrestrained, but when it's streamlined it will be first-rate. By the way, I don't suppose he thanked you for sending over the copy of the history of Farando Cay. He was wildly joyful about it and he's using it all the time, but he's apt to forget the conventions. Anyway, I'll thank you for him. I've given it a good stiff cover of brown paper and I remind him every day that he mustn't dog-ear it." "I several copies. You may keep that one." "Really? Noel will be glad." "I said you can keep it. From what you've just said it appears that you're a caretaker and he's a destroyer. Though I suppose" - with irony - "anything that is yours is his. There's nothing you wouldn't do for that brother and sister of yours, is there?" "No," she said, pausing to think, "I don't believe there is. We're not much like other families because we've been without parents so long, and anything one of us does is important to the other two." She smiled. "For years I've had ambitions for Ann and Noel." "What about yourself ?" "I'm the only ordinary one. Haven't you noticed that yet?" "I'd say you were the only genuine one."

Swiftly, her smile faded, and a spark leapt in each of the blue-green eyes. "That's not a compliment I If you ever say one more word to me against Ann, I'll..." "Yes?" he murmured tauntingly. "I'll beg her to turn Murray's Green into a playground for lounge lizards and fill the beach with roundabouts and swings!" "I believe you would, too," he said tolerantly. She was irritated by his smiling charm, more so because she was sure his mood had been engendered by the news that Fleur de Meulen would be arriving tomorrow. He had never been like this before, and it couldn't be due to anything else. It wasn't that she minded his being happy about it; of course it wasn't. But if he did have some feeling for Fleur, why the dickens had he let her go home last year? Perhaps he had considered her too young, or it might be that... "What about this coffee?" he said. "Is the tray ready now?" "Yes," she replied offhandedly. "Will you take it?" At her tone his eyes narrowed slightly. "What's wrong?" He was too close, too dominating. "Nothing at all," she said, lifting the coffee pot. "On second thoughts I'll pour Noel's and take it along to him now." Her hand was unsteady, or maybe his nearness restricted the movement of her elbow. The pot wavered and a stream of hot liquid splashed over her bare ankle. In a second the pot had been taken from her "and set on the table. Bryn was kneeling, his handkerchief to the reddened skin.

"Idiot," he muttered. "Have you got any tannic acid jelly?" "No." She was suddenly strung up. "Leave it. The coffee wasn't boiling. Leave it, Bryn!" He straightened and looked searchingly into her face at the very moment when a treacherous tear welled into each eye. "You funny child," he said, and put an arm round her. But that was far more than Julie could bear. She dragged away from him, almost snatched up Noel's half-filled cup and dashed out of the kitchen. Her throat was so full that she couldn't even swallow, and where Bryn's arm had held her shoulders there was a definite ache. It wasn't till much later that she acknowledged a foolish clamouring, a swooning need, and even then she was reluctant to connect either with Bryn Sherard.

CHAPTER FIVE IN appearance Fleur de Meulen was very much as Julie had pictured her. She had a small, heart-shaped face, a skin smooth and creamy and hair that was black, gently waving and dressed into a plaited coronet. Her eyes were lighter than Louis' and more gentle, and her smile was gentle, too, but the mouth in repose showed a hint of determination. Oddly, in spite of a sheltered girlhood, she looked older than twenty-one. Louis, when he had called for Julie that morning, had been happy and conspiratorial. "It has come, cherie", he had whispered. "Fleur is almost here and Bryn will be at the harbour with us to meet her. You will keep your promise?" Her heart plunging, she had answered, "If your sister really wants me to." "Oh, but it is to me you have made the promise, no? Fleur will not dare to ask you till you are close friends." "I don't know how it is going to be arranged that she and Bryn see a lot of each other..." He had interrupted-with a delighted laugh. "Do not meet trouble, Julie! Me, I cannot comprehend what Fleur adores about that big planter, but if she must have him it shall be done!" Well, they had driven down to the waterfront just as the yacht from Martinique was slowly coming to rest. About two minutes later Bryn's car had pulled up behind theirs, and after reserved greetings Bryn slanting her a sharp glance which slid down to examine her ankle - they had moved forward to the foot of the gangplank which had been raised to the deck of the yacht.

Then came Fleur, her white-gloved hand extended to accept Bryn's help. Louis kissed his sister. Bryn said, "Fleurise, you're even more beautiful than I remembered!" Jarred, Julie saw the faintest pink creep into the girl's cheeks and then she felt Louis' urgent hand on her arm, and heard herself being introduced. Not very much could be said because the friends from Martinique were staying long enough to pay a brief courtesy visit to Madame. The two car loads made their way to Belle Marquise, where the ceremonial welcome was enacted, and Louis drove Julie home to Murray's Green for lunch. It was a couple of days later that Julie really made the acquaintance of Fleur de Meulen, though even then she had the feeling that only a miracle would bring them close to each other. At Madame's invitation she had gone to Belle Marquise for tea, and afterwards she had walked in the grounds with Fleur. "I have been dreaming of this for six whole months," said Fleur in her carefully modulated tones. "Perhaps it will seem strange to you that I am more at home here than I am in Cherbourg, with my mother and father ?" "It isn't so strange. Your father was a boy here, wasn't he? How old were you when you first came to Farando Cay ?" "Twelve years." She smiled reminiscently. "Louis had been before, but not I, and in my mind I used to call it paradise; I had heard so much about it, you see. That first year I discovered every cranny and knew every blade of grass at Belle Marquise." "Was... was that when you met Bryn ?" "For the first time, yes. I was extremely small for my age and he thought I was younger. Nine years ago he was as old as Louis is now, and he was such a handsome ... what is the word...

buccaneering sort of young man that I entirely lost my heart to him." It was spoken artlessly and definitely in the past tense, yet Julie felt her nerves tightening. Fleur went on, "You know how it is when one is young, and Bryn was so different from my father and brother. I remember I hugged him when we said good-bye, but I have never dared to do so again." With a flippancy she could not feel, Julie said, "You did make the first move. It was up to him to follow on!" "I know him so well," said Fleur, "yet I am just a little afraid of him. Are not you?" Was it fear, Julie asked herself, that queer leap inside her whenever she saw Bryn, the instinctive urge to avoid him? "No, I'm not frightened of him," she replied stiffly. When she went indoors to say good-bye to Madame, the old lady looked at her long and appraisingly. "Louis tells me that you bathe every day and would like Fleur to bathe with you. That is very kind of you, Julie, and I am sure Fleur will be very happy to have your companionship. Eh, ma petite?" "But of course, Grand'mere" - dutifully from Fleur. "However," continued Madame indomitably, "I do not care for this idea of mixed bathing parties. Fleur will have her swim and dress immediately. It is understood?" Yes, it was understood. Fleur did not demur, so why should Julie? Louis, it seemed, was doing all the arranging, anyway; he probably had other plans, too. "Also," said Madame, "I wish you to take this note to Mrs. Murray. It is an invitation for dinner here tomorrow, a welcome for Fleur.

You will please wear evening dress." And with a grim smile, "That nice, absentminded brother of yours possesses a dinner jacket, does he not?" Julie laughed. "We'll get him into it. Thank you so much, Madame." She was glad to escape, even though she had to sit beside Louis in the old de Meulen car. Louis was happy. He sang a little French song about a girl with red ribbons and blue shoes, and when he had finished he talked of the new outboard motor which was being fixed to his reconditioned yacht and of the picnic parties he would give aboard. "And you will come to every one of them - you and perhaps Fleur. She is a sweet sister, that, is she not?" "She's lovely," said Julie automatically. "She is very well for a sister," he told her with humour, "but for me, I prefer a little less height and a very fair skin; and brown eyes mean nothing to me - I have them myself. I like eyes that are the colour of the sea and hair that is gold silk. And I much enjoy the novelty of knowing that a woman thinks in English while I think in French!" She smiled. "Thank you, Louis. That's the prettiest set of compliments I've ever had." "And you, mademoiselle - do you consider your country men dull?" "No. They're sometimes very annoying, but they're not dull." "You are being loyal to them," he declared, "and I admire your loyalty. In fact" - he sounded both surprised and delighted to have discovered it - "I admire everything about you. Your shyness is so different from that of Frenchwomen; theirs is calculated, but yours is - what does one say . . . spontaneous? And I find the greatest

pleasure in your laughter." He turned to her suddenly, anxiously. "You are not laughing today. Why is that?" "If you don't keep your eyes on the road," she said, "you won't have much cause for laughter, either." "But there is something which has upset you a little," he persisted. "There is nothing." Later, when Louis had left Murray's Green and Julie was helping Ignatia in the kitchen, she recalled his repeated query, and for the life of her she could think of nothing which might have brought on a despondent mood. Luckily, she felt better now she was home, but she was not much looking forward to having dinner tomorrow at Belle Marquise. Next morning Noel awoke with a heavy cold. Where he could have picked it up was a mystery, because he hardly ever went beyond the garden, but there it was. It didn't put him off his work, but he was by no means fit to go into another's house. So, rather to his disgust because he was fascinated by Belle Marquise and the old lady, Noel had to stay at home. The two women dressed fairly early, Ann in a simple rose- coloured cotton and Julie in white. They had sent an acceptance of the invitation and a regret that Noel would not be able to come, so they were not surprised when Louis turned up to collect them. To him it was unthinkable that a woman in evening wear should drive. "I am sorry about your brother," he said. "Our number will now be uneven, but seven is considered lucky, so we must not mind too much. I passed Bryn Sherard and Luke Vincent as I came here."

"Luke?" Ann paused in the act of securing at her shoulder the spray of magnolias he had brought her. "Does your grandmother entertain mere executives?" "You are harsh towards the snob," he said, not a whit put out. "It was I who suggested Mr. Vincent be asked, and she agreed because there are so few of us. In previous years Fleur and I have arrived here after the winter visitors, and we have dined perhaps twelve or fourteen." "You're fortunate that he accepted," she said. "Luke has his pride." "He has been to Belle Marquise before," he answered defensively. "Grand'mere considers him interesting." "Good for Grand'mere," murmured Ann under her breath. Aloud she said, "We're going to be an odd crowd, aren't we? It never occurred to me before that there are now just four white men and four white women on Farando Cay." With an alien lift of his shoulders and a knowledgeable smile, Louis commented, "Something should come of it, think you not? Who will make a little bet with me?" "What sort of bet?" asked Julie. "I will wager that of the first engaged couple, one is a de Meulen." "No bid," said Ann. "I'm sure your sister is too nice to bet about." "And I?" "You, Louis? Well, my sister is too nice to bet about, too." "You are very right," he agreed promptly. "I apologize." He turned to the table and took the delicate spray of pink gardenias from the

box in which he had also brought Ann's. "Come, Julie, you will wear this. I chose the flowers, but Fleur made them up for me." She took the spray from him and went into the hall to try it against her shoulder. He was behind her, not such a lot taller, and looking into the mirror with the sort of smile that might turn a woman's heart in her breast. Indeed, for a few seconds that look of his held her nerveless; it was so ardent, so breathtaking. She felt his lips at the side of her neck and couldn't move. His hands held her upper arms, and he whispered very close to her ear: "I am falling in love with you, cherie. Falling very hard." The next moment he had turned charmingly to drop Ann's coat about her shoulders, and Julie was able to take the breath she had done without so long. She glanced at him fleetingly, saw him assured and courteous and offering his arm. She got into the back of the car with Ann, her neck still tingling from the unexpected caress. This was the first time she had seen Belle Marquise by night. Oddly, the turrets were more spectacular against the pale radiance of a starry sky, but there was also about the place a prison-like atmosphere; this was the prison which the old lady kept for herself and her treasures. The salon, however, was brilliantly lit by the chandeliers, and Fleur, in cream silk with a bouffant skirt, the rubies warm and costly at her slim throat, made a beautiful picture against the white panelling. Bryn was standing with her, bending his head and giving her the half-smile which could mean much or little. The talk at dinner was varied. Fleur and Louis sat one at each side of Madame, who was at the head of the table; Julie was next to Louis and Bryn next to Fleur, so that Julie and Bryn faced each other, as did Ann and Luke.

Julie had not much appetite for the delicious food. Luke gave her an occasional companionable smile, but throughout the meal she was conscious almost exclusively of Fleur, whose gown had cost a small fortune, and whose neck and left wrist were encircled by sparkling little fires set amid diamonds in beaten gold. Bryn had no doubt complimented her on the enhanced beauty of the jewels against her skin. He smiled at her often, and couldn't possibly be unaware of the delightful flush in her normally pale cheeks, and the brightness in the dark eyes she raised to him. This was Fleur's hour. It seemed to Julie that there would be no need at all for her own help in the relationship between the French girl and Bryn. Which, perhaps, she thought bleakly, was just as well. Dinner was over. At Madame's request Bryn toasted Fleur, and then the ladies departed to make good their complexions. The room to which Ann and Julie were escorted by a servant had doubtless been used as a rest room for women guests for many years. It was small and daintily ornamental; a bed covered in heavy white satin, gilt chairs with white damask seats, and a white dressing-table surmounted by a large mirror framed in gilt filigree. And it was open to the night on one side, the great glass doors fastened back with gilt cords. Julie stepped out on to the small private veranda that overlooked a neat garden which stretched away to the foot of the tower. "I'd love to go up into the tower," she said over her shoulder so that Ann, still at the dressing-table, should hear her. But the answer came from the shadow of a nearby casuarina. "Would you? I thought Louis would already have taken you." She quelled a nervous start. "Why aren't you smoking cigars and soaking brandy ?"

Bryn came into the light cast from the room and looked up, his face like burnished copper. "I don't fancy a cigar and I'm not much of a brandy drinker. Your Louis, by the way, seems intent on draining the decanter this evening. You wouldn't know what he's celebrating, by any chance?" Unconsciously, her fingers went to the side of her neck, and for a second she felt lips there, warm and clinging. "It... it's Fleur's coming-of-age, after all." "Quite." He held up a hand. "Sit on the wall and sling your legs over. It's very low." "I can't. I'm with Ann." He leaned a hand on the wall and called quietly, "Ann! Have I your permission to walk with your sister in the garden?" Ann came to the doorway. "Go ahead, but don't bully her. She needs cheering." He made some light rejoinder and a moment later Julie found herself on the path at his side, and began strolling with him towards the archway which separated the tower from the main building. Except for the shrilling of cicadas down in the thick growth on the cliff it was very quiet. "So you need cheering," he commented. "Has something gone wrong since I saw you last ?" Something had, but Julie was not too sure herself of what it was. So she said, "Ann would have us always in top form. She's seldom below par herself." "I understand she's airing her knowledge and authority at the clinic."

"At Dr. Jackson's request," she put in quickly. "I know," he said tolerantly, "and I'm all for it. I hear there's already a tremendous change down there; I hope she'll keep it up for a while." She glanced at him suspiciously. "You're not giving in, are you? Ann at the clinic is the same woman who arrived here a month ago." He laughed briefly. "She's not a simple character and in spite of her apparent shortcomings I like her. "You ought to be glad, not belligerent. How did Noel contract his cold? We never have them here." "I don't know. He hasn't even bathed during the last few days." "He may be allergic to those pepper trees in your back garden. At this time of the year they do cause hay fever." "Noel says their greenness is inspiring, but I think we'd better trim them down to the trunk, don't you?" she asked anxiously. "They'd grow again next year, wouldn't they?" "You'd do better to uproot them altogether. I'll send some boys over to do it, if you like." "We'll have to ask Noel first." He looked at her thoughtfully. "One of these days your own private life will loom so large that you won't have room for Ann's and Noel's. By the way, how is his story shaping?" "It's still going well. All his names are fictitious, but he's using the romance between that ancestor of yours and the fascinating Antoinette de Meulen." She paused under the archway, her tones

quietly enthralled. "This is where he met her the night they eloped, isn't it? They must have been terribly in love." "Terribly," he agreed with irony. He took her elbow. "Come with me and I'll show you the exact spot. Hitch your dress or you'll spoil the hem." He led her round the tower and down a slope of springy grass to a path through the wild bananas and breadfruit trees. It was a long winding path with growth jungle-thick and high on each side, but with every pace they neared the sea. The roar of the waves came louder and louder till suddenly they were on the rocks above the beach. "Look," he said, still holding her tight, and pointing, "the channel runs straight under the cliff. Nicholas got a couple of islanders to provision a canoe and keep it hidden here till there was a midnight tide. He met Antoinette under the arch and ten minutes later they were pushing cautiously out to sea; all her father found next day was Nicholas Sherard's horse, peacefully cropping the grass in the garden." "There were certainly the days," she breathed smilingly. "It would never occur to you to elope with anyone, would it, Bryn?" Again the brief laugh. "I might, if there were a need for it, but such affairs are conducted more sensibly these days. On the whole" - in a voice which blended both sarcasm and whimsicality - "I don't know that I'd care to take my honeymoon in a hewn-out log with a couple of Cayans looking on. I should say it cramps one's style." She laughed with him, gaily and appreciatively. "Still, it's thrilling to have that sort of happening in one's history. Both my mother and father were of ordinary stock. His family were all doctors and

schoolmasters, and Mother's people had an old farm which was gradually going to the dogs." "Did you go to the farm as a child ?" "Oh, yes, we spent our summer holidays there, Noel and I, Our greatest excitements were the local cricket matches and driving an ancient governess cart. We used to hear about the family romances, of course, but they hadn't much colour to them; I was then at an age when a hero had to be a sort of Robin Hood." Banteringly he asked, "What does he have to be now?" "You're the last person I'd tell." "You don't have to. I could tell you." He dropped his arm and murmured mockingly, "He has to be handsome and ardent, to look at you as if there were no other woman in the world, to flood you with flattery and, if possible, to possess an accent you could cut with a knife. And it's in his favour if he can call you cherie and click his heels as he bends over your hand." "Good heavens," she said, playing up to him. "Is no one safe from your microscope ?" He looked about as if weighing up the best way back, and asked carelessly, "Has he kissed you yet?" Darkness is a wonderful disguise so long as the voice is not treacherous. "You know so much," she replied quite steadily, "that I feel sure that's another question you can answer yourself." "I'll take a guess at it," he observed negligently. "He hasn't kissed you properly because he hasn't altogether decided whether to propose. You're probably such a good business proposition that he's convinced there's a snag somewhere."

She drew a deep breath. "If you're starting that again I'm going back at once!" Without thinking, she twisted round and took a leap on to a rock which put distance between them. Skirt held high, slithering, and knowing with a fatalistic certainty that her tights were snagging at every step, she went swiftly from one rock to the next, precariously keeping her balance till she reached the path which led upwards to the tower. He came behind her with long easy strides, making no attempt to catch up with her until she put on a spurt which carried her like a deer up the first few yards of the path. She gave a tiny, exultant laugh, which was her undoing. With no trouble at all he caught up with her, pinned her arms at her sides and laughed mockingly down into her face, and at that moment all the anger she had ever known against him raged to the surface. She fought to drag her arms free, panted to him to let her go, but he remained there, almost unmoving, his grip inflexible while he mocked. "You're hurting," she gasped. "I'll never forgive you, Bryn!" "It hurts because you're struggling," he said. "Keep still, and tell me why you ran away." "What do you think!" "I think you were scared - and angry with yourself for being scared." "Well, you're wrong. I was plain angry because you're a cynical, taunting brute!" Furiously, she made a final superhuman effort to wrench herself away. He did release one arm, but only in order to free his hand. It

came behind her head, grasped it and held it firm. She saw his face, dark and smiling and malicious, heard him say through his teeth, "I'll teach you to run away and laugh at me!" And then he kissed her j only it wasn't a kiss, but a chastisement. It didn't last long. There came a shout from above: "Julie! Mon dieu, is that you, Julie? Are you alone?" They were a foot apart, Bryn grinning at her unpleasantly, while she gathered her scattered wits and tried to force movement into her limbs. "A few minutes ago you thought present-day living wasn't exciting enough," Bryn said softly. "If it's fireworks you're after, tell Louis I kissed you against your will." She was too shaky to be disdainful, trembling too much to make any kind of response. Louis was hurling himself down the path, and Bryn shrugged as if this were all in a day's work, placed hard fingers round her shrinking elbow and led her onward. Louis stopped dead and stared at them. He was pale and annoyed, his dark glance had points that glittered in the starlight. "Oh, so you are with Bryn. Ann said you had gone with him, but you were away from the house a long time. I suppose it is comme il faut - your being with an Englishman who is much older." "Oh, yes," Bryn answered for her casually. "I've been giving her some sage advice. Every nice girl needs an uncle." "It pleases you to joke," said Louis with dignity. "Yes, it does, rather, though it's no joke being an uncle to a girl like Julie. Shall we go back to the house ?"

Louis, perforce, had to turn round and walk alone; there was not room on the path for three. Bryn kept the guiding hand on Julie and whistled something gay under his breath. They arrived under the arch and Louis at once attached himself to her other side. Bryn shoved his hands into his pockets and looked up at the tower. "I understand you haven't taken Julie up there yet," he said to Louis. "The place is crumbling," he returned shortly. "It is dangerous. I would not go up myself." "I should think there'd be time to get to the top and down again. It's good for another fifty years." Patently, Louis was restraining himself with difficulty; perhaps he continually reminded himself that this man was likely, at some future date, to be his brother-in-law. "Some time," he said, "I will have it reconditioned." "A good idea. It would make a nice show-piece for the tourists. You might even convert the room with the gun- embrasures into a bedroom and charge extra." "Monsieur," said Louis, in the edged tones of temper, "you are scoffing at me. But I do not care! My plans for Belle Marquise do not concern you. The day will come when I will fling at you a cheque to cover those generous bonds of yours!" "Tut, tut," said Bryn. "Not before the lady." It was he who wandered on in front now, walking as though he were enjoying the night air and the sweet sound of distant singing. They came round to the front terrace, where Madame was sitting with Ann and Luke, while Fleur stood like a slender night-nymph against a pillar, the light casting a faint blue halo about her neat dark head with its coronet of braids. Unconcernedly, Bryn went up the steps

and along to Fleur; he said something which made her look up at him and smile, and then he turned and spoke clearly to Madame. "There are competitions on the waterfront tonight, and Fleur says she would like to see them. If you've no objection, Madame, I'll take her down there." Madame slanted a swift glance at Louis, seemed about to say one thing and then changed her mind and said, with a cool smile, "It is Fleur's day. Why should she not have what she wants? We are too few for a real party, so Louis must play us some records." Julie sank down into a chair near Ann's. She saw Bryn, tall and broad, escorting Fleur down to his car, saw the car curve out and disappear round the drive. The rest of the evening passed in a rather painful haze. Ann and Luke conversed only desultorily, and Julie was scarcely called upon to converse at all. As a dinner party, it petered out into a couple of farewells and a silent drive back to Murray's Green. Ann went straight into the house, but Louis held tightly on to Julie's fingers, keeping her back. "Mademoiselle, I am so sorry I nearly lost my temper when I found you with Bryn. Where you are concerned I try very hard not to be too French. I appreciate that Englishwomen have friendships with men which mean nothing, but I am afraid one does not always recall such things in the heat of the moment. Bryn Sherard is the most" he sought for a word - "aggravating man I have ever known, but if we are to be brothers I must not quarrel with him." "Brothers ?" Julie's heart turned as she echoed the syllables. Louis kindled into his warm smile. He whispered, "It seems to me you will not have to work so hard to throw those two together. You saw him seek her out and take her, with Grand'mere and myself as

witnesses, for a drive alone in his car." He let out a small sigh of relief. "For a minute I was sure that Grand'mere would refuse him; it goes very much against the" - again the hesitation for a word "against the nature of her generation that an unmarried woman should have such freedom. But Madame is sharp-witted, and I would not be surprised if it has occurred to her that Bryn would not be niggardly in his wedding gifts. When he marries Fleur," he finished with a delighted laugh, "he will certainly give Grand'mere those mortgage bonds. The old lady is proud, but a gesture in such circumstances would be acceptable." In a voice which she strove to keep clear of hardness, she said, "Melodrama up to date. You have a very businesslike approach to romance, Louis." "Not at all. It is merely fortunate that Fleur should be in love with Bryn Sherard, who can be of much help financially. For myself, I do not seek a rich wife. I will marry only where Hove." She withdrew her hand from his clasp. "I'm awfully tired. Goodnight, Louis." She was tired, she thought, as she got into bed; tired and fed up. A first kiss, she had always understood, was a pleasurable experience, but she hadn't found it so. Louis' lips at her neck had caused a tingling but had not made a material difference to the sum of her experience. Bryn, on the other hand, had shaken her considerably, and she wasn't over it yet. Why did both have to happen in one day? She knew Bryn had been glad to get away with Fleur. He would have driven fairly fast, to put as much distance as possible between the car and Belle Marquise. He would have pulled up just above the waterfront, and the? would have Sat there in the sweet intimacy

which is attainable at night in a car, and listened to the calypsos and guitar music, watched the dancing and acrobatics. Louis was right. After this, there would be no need for her services as go-between and companion. Fleur, by the magnetism which is the prerogative of a woman in love who is becoming hourly more sure of herself, was drawing Bryn to her without any assistance. Julie turned on her side and tried, like a sad defeated child, to sleep.

CHAPTER SIX IT was some days before Noel threw off the cold or hay-fever or whatever it was. The pepper trees were uprooted and in their place were planted immortelle saplings which next year would sprout scarlet blossoms. None of the three at Murray's Green ever talked frankly about the future, and Julie got the impression that she was the only one who reflected upon what they might be doing in a year's time, when the saplings bloomed. Noel was certainly living concentratedly in the past, but once his cold had gone he appeared to thrive. In spite of herself, Ann was being drawn more and more into the ramifications of the clinic. No one asked her to do more; it was simply there to be done and she wouldn't have been Ann Penross if she had ignored the needs of the sick. But she was adamant in her refusal to allow Julie to work with her. "You never were a nurse, my pet, and some of the sights down there would finish you completely. Besides, you type for Noel and you help in the house and garden. You don't need more to do." "But if I came with you, you needn't put in so many hours." "Unless there's an emergency, I only work there in the mornings. I just have to get this staff nurse trained in the duties of matron in the shortest possible time." "I could lighten your end of it a little." Ann shook her head. "Even if I'd consent to your coming down to the clinic, Bryn wouldn't. I mentioned it to him the other day and he was dead against it." "What has it to do with Bryn?"

"As the biggest employer of labour here he's also the biggest contributor to the hospital funds. He, Madame de Meulen and Gray formed the hospital committee." "Are you taking Gray's place on the committee?" Julie asked curiously. "No," was Ann's abrupt reply. "You know very well that I'm selling out." "I thought you might have changed your mind." "Why should I?" "No reason. I hadn't heard the sale discussed for some time, that's all." Ann didn't answer for some minutes. Then she said, as if to herself, "I wish there weren't so much to be done here. These men should have married years ago, and their wives should be running a women's institute and a community centre for young people. Everywhere you look you see the lack of the white woman's influence." "What about Madame?" "She's too elevated. To her, the islanders are a mass of illiterates who should be grateful that the plantations exist to give them work. Sometimes I'm sorry we came." Sometimes, thought Julie, she herself was sorry, too. Here on this island in the Caribbean there was something radically wrong with human relationships. You'd have thought that out of three estates at least one of them would be a normal happy, family affair. Instead of which there seemed to be undercurrents which ran in a triangle,

linking the three houses and somehow undermining ordinary feelings. Too much depended on a handful of white people. Actually, a change was already on the way, because the first of the visitors arrived. They were a Mr. and Mrs. Delport, old friends of the Sherard family. They stayed at Tamarisk Lodge and led their own untroubled life, but the fact of their being on the island subtly altered the atmosphere. Then, before lunch one day, when Julie was changing from her swim-suit in her bedroom, Ignatia announced a caller. "I put de lady in de lounge," the old servant said in her thick smooth tones. "She-all ask for see Mis' Murray." Faintly thrilled, Julie hurriedly fastened her belt and slicked a comb through her hair. In the doorway of the lounge she paused, startled, for the woman couldn't possibly be the elderly Mrs. Delport. A border of red hair showed under the brim of the white hat, and the face had a fine, mature beauty. The eyes were very green and longlashed, but the well- shaped mouth had decided downward curves which spoke of disillusionment by no means bravely borne. Her age was uncertain; she might have been thirty or thirty-five. "You're not Mrs. Murray," she said. "You must be the young sister. I'm Bryn's cousin, Paula Fanshawe." "I'm Julie, and happy to know you. Won't you sit down?" "Thanks." The other woman slid with ease into an armchair facing the french door. "Has Bryn told you about me ?" "Only that you and your husband were coming. I didn't think you were due for a week or two."

"I wasn't." Her voice was flat. "My husband didn't come with me. We're getting a divorce." Julie was not quite sure what to say to this, but she found herself murmuring, "What a pity. Divorce is so final." "Mike believes in the clean cut." A short, unmirthful laugh. "Wonderful chap, Mike. Straight and narrow and no nonsense." She shrugged as though to shed all thought of him. "Tell me, don't you get bored in this place ?" "I haven't yet. It's a holiday for us." "Still, it's deadly unless you're sweating your hide off, like Bryn. I've never stuck it for more than a couple of weeks. This time it's different, though. At the moment I can't think where else to go." She sidetracked the danger of slipping back to the sore subject. "Tomorrow we're giving an all-day party at Tamarisk, and I'm personally delivering invitations. I've already been to Belle Marquise and ascertained that the two young things will be there. The old ramrod thinks a day out would be too much for her, thank the stars. Will you come?" "All three of us?" "Of course." "I think I can safely accept, though Ann may not be free till after lunch." She hesitated, and asked cautiously, "Bryn does know you're inviting us, doesn't he ?" "Naturally he knows." The green eyes narrowed. "Is there a feud on between you?" "I don't think so. It's merely that none of us has ever been asked to Tamarisk Lodge and we wouldn't want to..."

Paula broke in, waving a negligent hand. "For a man who owns a beautiful house he's too much of a hermit, but he told me himself that he intended inviting you over as soon as he had a few guests at the place." "In that case - thank you very much. We'll be there." "Louis was anxious for me to tell you that he and Fleur would pick you up. By the way" - she raised a quizzical eyebrow in an expression which was vaguely reminiscent of Ann - "Fleur's come out, hasn't she? Last year she was a dewy-eyed mouse, but this morning she was sparkling and had actually been for a swim all by her little self. She wanted to know why Bryn didn't put out an invitation when he went there last night, but I told her I only got here yesterday and didn't think of having a party till this morning." So Bryn's visits to Belle Marquise were becoming more frequent; that was why Louis was not agitating for Julie to keep her promise. The first piece of luck, she'd had, she thought a trifle bitterly. Paula Fanshawe refused a drink and got up to go just as Noel, wildhaired and murky-eyed, came into the room. She cast an amused glance at his powder-blue beach shorts and pink shirt, told him he was the first writer she had met and went out to drive away in Bryn's car. "Marvellous hair," Noel said dreamily. "Was the colour natural?" "Yes, and I believe she has the nature that goes with it." . "Good to write about but hell to live with," he said simply. "What's for lunch?" When Julie told him he was due to spend the following day at Tamarisk Lodge he demurred from habit, but after absorbing the fact he said he was glad.

"That will complete the picture for me; I'll see the island as a whole. And I don't suppose Bryn Sherard is so bad when you're really acquainted with him. At first I felt his sarcasm; he thought I had a nerve to come here and write about his island and his ancestors. But he liked my asking for a copy of the history of Farando Cay, and the fact that I get down to it impresses him as sincere. You can see why he was Gray's best friend." Ann, when she came in, accepted the inevitable with a shrug. "I'll wear a light dress when I go in the morning, and drive straight there from the clinic. If Louis is picking you two up it will be easy." At exactly ten-thirty the next morning the outmoded limousine from Belle Marquise pulled up at the gate. Noel stood up and went to the window, and Julie said, "Let's go out, shall we?" But Noel was silent. He stared at the two people who had got out of the car and were apparently having an agreeable little argument at the gate. Louis seemed to think it would be enough if he went alone to the house, but... In strained tones, Noel asked, "Julie... who is that girl?" She came beside him. "That's Fleur de Meulen. Oh, I forgot - you two haven't met yet, have you? She's charming, isn't she?" "Enchanting," he said with a strange inflection. "Her darkness, and the creamy-olive skin. I've never seen anyone quite like her before." "That's because you haven't travelled much, darling. Buck up. They'll expect us to meet them on the path." The introduction was accomplished. Noel bowed awkwardly, helped Julie into the back of the car beside Fleur, and got in with Louis. They moved off, and Louis made some joke about wresting Noel away from his pen and paper.

Pleasantries were exchanged, and then Julie looked out of the window. She had never turned towards the Sherard house before, and now she saw the rows of sisal, followed by cocoa trees with the immortelles towering between them to act as wind-breaks, and then some groves of citrus that gave way to a high hedge of feathery tamarisk which parted at the drive-in. Next came ornamental bushes on each side of the gravel drive, and finally an expanse of lawn with a flower-bed here and there, which ended at a stretch of paving that ran in and under the many arches along the front of the tall white house. The roof had old red tiles and odd eaves, and the upper rooms were all balconied. There was no one about, except Bryn. He came from the main doorway, big and casual in a white sports suit, a hand outstretched to open the back door of the car. "Well, Fleur! And Julie. Ah, and the two dutiful brothers. This is the first time we're all together, I think. Come along in." Nothing in the grey glance to suggest that he remembered a ruthless kiss. The lounge was immense. Double doors opened into a patio which had an old giant palm growing right out of the centre of the paving stones, and it was near these doors and looking out that they found the Delports and Mrs. Fanshawe. Mr. and Mrs. Delport gave them a companionable welcome, and Paula Sipped her fingers at them and raised a glass in the other hand. "Cheers," she said. "You made it. Will you have coffee or something stronger?" Bryn said, "You can leave that to me, Paula. This may be your party, but we won't run it quite on your lines." He looked at Julie. "I

saw your sister at the clinic this morning and asked her to bring Luke. He's broken an axle and it will take a little while to fix." Julie drank tea flavoured with mint, and took a small nutty concoction from the tray of dainties. A game of tennis was suggested, but neither of the girls had come prepared and Paula was unwilling to change from her thin flowered silk, so a croquet match was decided upon. It was not long before Julie realized that a decided sharpness existed between Bryn and his cousin. She would make a suggestion and he would come back at her with a veiled crack which no one else appeared to notice. Paula would give him a vicious little smile and carry on with the game. When it ended she linked an arm in Julie's. "Come and see the lily pool. It was there that Mike proposed to me, five years ago." "More fool Mike," said Bryn softly, so that only the two women could hear. "I shouldn't rake over old bones, if I were you." Paula shrugged at him and drew Julie away from the rest. They walked across the lawn to a path between oleanders which still held a few pink waxen blossoms. A few more yards and there was the glitter of the sea through the tamarisks, and a pretty track disappearing downwards. Julie could even see the thatched roof of the log bathing hut in which she had first made Bryn's acquaintance. For a long moment both women gazed out over the green and blue vista. Then Paula said with apparent irrelevance, "Don't ever get married, Julie. Fall in love and have fun out of it, but don't sink so far in that you want to belong to someone. It's fatal." "I don't think it is, normally. Most marriages follow a pattern."

"No. Every single woman feels that her marriage is going to be something special, but it seldom is. And when she's disappointed, she looks for something else to take its place. In many cases it's children, but if there aren't any children she has to do a bit of exploring outside her home. And that's more or less the end of it. There's absolutely nothing beyond." "You're being pessimistic because you're unhappy," said Julie, sympathetically. "This wasn't the best place to come, was it?" "You mean Farando Cay? Probably not. Bryn and I always got on so well together that he was the first person I thought of. I knew he wouldn't approve of divorce, but I did bank a little on his affection. It seems his scruples are stronger than his affections." She sighed philosophically. "You're too young to listen to this, kind of thing, and it isn't fair to steal your illusions. Tell me about yourself. Where did you live in England, and what Hid you do?" Talking, they walked back to the house. Ann and Luke had arrived, and it was time to wash for lunch. Plans for the afternoon were discussed, and after lunch Julie went off to the beach with Louis and Paula and Mr. Delport. They set out in a covered motor-boat to find a sea breeze, and Louis had a grand time getting the best out of the engine. He really loved speed on the water, and he promised her many thrills when she should go out with him in his own boat. They got back in time for tea on the beach under the palms, A freshen-up and then cocktails at one end of that remarkable lounge. Dinner to music from the garden, played by guitarists and someone with an accordion. A few mournfully beautiful songs, after which the players, who had presented themselves impromptu because they had heard there was a party at the "big house", accepted pay and went on their way.

It was easy to arrange for dancing after dinner. The chairs were pushed back, a few of the rugs rolled up and the radiogram set in motion. Bryn danced with Ann and Mrs. Delport. He asked Fleur, and she raised starry eyes to his and held up her arms. Louis whispered his gratification to Julie, and fall of it was so painful that as soon as that dance was ended she went outside to find Luke. But Luke was standing at the other end of the patio in comparative darkness smoking his pipe and looking unusually morose, so she sank into one of the chairs and used a grass fan which lay on a table nearby. Bryn stood in the doorway lighting a cigarette. He saw her, flicked away the match and came across to her. "Tired?" he asked. "Not very. I'll dance again soon." "I shouldn't. You've had a long day. This kind of party is Paula's idea of enjoyment, not mine." He offered cigarettes, and when she refused he snapped the case shut and slipped it back into his pocket. Lazily, he dropped into a chair beside her. "I've got a piece of information for you." "Yes ? What is it this time ?" "Louis is proposing to build half a dozen seaside cottages for tourists." Her eyes searched his face in the half-darkness. "Can he?" "There's nothing to stop him if he can afford it. He's sold the idea to Grand'mere." "But didn't she consult you?"

"She hasn't done so yet, but we have a sort of gentleman's agreement about such things. She wouldn't let the work go ahead until I agreed." "Oh. So it's all right?" "As far as I'm concerned, yes. I told you because it bears out what I warned you about. This seaside cottage idea is one of those 'improvements' he's longing to make to the Belle Marquise property; he'd charge fabulous rents. Unfortunately for him he can't afford to build yet, so he's unable to do a great deal without my permission." So Louis had an added reason for wishing his sister to marry Bryn. It might even be a stronger reason than the desire for Fleur's happiness with the man she loved. Offhandedly she asked, "Well, did the rubies do anything to Fleur? You wondered whether they would." He smiled. "She's different, but I'm not sure one can attribute it to the rubies. She's much more alive than she used to be, and therefore much more of a woman. More of a woman than you are, Julie." "That's a horrid thing to say," she answered warmly, "but then you're mostly horrid to me." "How unkind." He was cynical again. "Why, I even kissed you once." "I hope you had more pleasure from it than I did," she answered hardily. "None at all, to be candid - but I didn't expect any." He let a minute elapse before asking abruptly, "What did you and Paula talk about this morning?"

Readjusting her thoughts to cope with the question, she said slowly, "She was interested in our life in London." "Didn't she talk about herself?" "Yes, a little, but she didn't strike me as the type to confide in another woman." "On the whole she isn't, but she does need a woman confidante, and she's taken to you." Curtly, he added, "You'd better ward her off, Julie. She won't do you a bit of good." Here in the dimness she could watch him more closely than was possible indoors. His expression was grim, his mouth thin with distaste, and she felt a wave of sympathy for Paula Fanshawe, who had mistakenly come to him in trouble. Where marriage and morals were at stake, Bryn was steel. "You're harsh," she said. "Your cousin is a very unhappy woman." "It's her own fault She's behaved abominably." Julie kept silent. Bryn took a last pull at the cigarette, dropped it to the floor and ground it out with his heel. Fleetingly, she wondered if there was any real softness in his nature at all. She felt him give her a swift, calculating glance, and it occurred to her that he might be weighing up the wisdom of talking to her like this. Very coolly, he said, "Now that Paula has unloaded upon you part of her troubles she's almost bound to tell you more. She's chosen you, for better or worse." The final phrase apparently stirred him to acid pleasure, for he looked at her with a cynical smile. "So that you won't be shaken to the core with pity for the redhead, I'll give it to you straight, if you'd like to hear it." "I would."

"Well, it was supposed to be a love match. It happened five years ago. Mike had long leave from his job in South America and he came here for part of it. Paula was here with her mother, and she and Mike fell for each other in a big way. I was glad, because she was always a problem where men were concerned, and Mike was steady and reliable - just the influence she needed. They were married that same year in Nassau and he took her back with him to South America. For a while it looked as though she was settling down perfectly, and I'm certain they were happy enough during the first three years. The trouble was, Mike thought too much of her." "How could that possibly be wrong?" "My dear girl" - on a note which suggested a sneer - "the woman isn't born who won't take advantage of a situation like that. Mike's work often took him away from home for a day or two, but they had lots of friends and there was no chance of Paula becoming lonely so Mike thought, in his innocence. When they came here last year I sensed they'd been quarrelling; at least, I felt there was strain between them. Mike can't quarrel; he goes dead quiet. If he could have rounded on Paula and given her a spanking things might not have gone so far." "Now you're being silly and masculine," she said. "A spanking never got anyone anywhere. Paula would have walked out on him even earlier if that had happened." "I don't think so. The evenness of her existence was driving her crazy; she wanted action." He shrugged. "So when Mike asked if she wasn't seeing too much of a certain fellow during his absences, Paula blazed at him. And when he refused to argue she went out to a night club and came home rather less pretty, if you know what I mean. I'm not surmising anything. She told me all this herself."

"But surely there should have been more understanding between husband and wife?" "Oh, sure," he agreed with sarcasm. "In your opinion he should have petted her and whispered, 'Darling, I can't say I care for your kissing other men, but if you have to . . .' " Bryn left it there, and shifted, to lean back. "I suppose it's understandable - your having sympathy only with the husband," she said, "but I can't believe she wilfully broke up her marriage. She feels things too much." "She feels herself, but she doesn't feel Mike, and in marriage you've got to feel one another." He spoke forcibly, even brought his fist down with a smack on the arm of his chair. "Can you imagine what Mike's going through now? No,, of course you can't; you're too young and you haven't come up against this sort of thing." "But he shouldn't have let her go! As for acquiescing in a divorce..." "Forget about it," he said brusquely. "I shouldn't have told you all this." "You might as well finish now we've gone so far. Whose idea was the divorce?" "Paula's, I should think, but Mike seems to have told her to damn well go ahead." "There, you see?" Involuntarily, Julie was caught up in Paula's and Mike's pain. "Do you think he still loves her?" "I do-the poor fool." "But don't you realize - Paula loves him, too!"

Bryn leaned sideways on the edge of the garden table and looked into the pale blur of her face. "Did she say that?" "No, but it's terribly obvious. If she didn't love him she'd be glad to have left him, wouldn't she - but she isn't. She's bitter and frustrated, and I'm certain she thinks of him most of the time. She hates you for being on his side. She was counting on your understanding." "I understand, all right," he said, his voice tight. "She's done the unpardonable thing - walked right out and left him to bear the compassion and whispering of their friends. He's got to carry on with his work somehow, not knowing what she's going to do next." "If she were your wife..." "If she were mine," he broke in with violence, "she'd never have got to this pitch. I'd make her regret it if she so much as glanced at another man!" "Good heavens," she said soberly. "And I believe you mean it." He gave a short, discordant laugh. "It's her plate of trouble, not ours. Leave it, Julie, and if she spills any more, receive it in silence." He had barely finished speaking when his head came up sharply. "What was that?" They listened, and he was suddenly on his feet. "Wait here!" But she went with him, running across the patio and round the corner of the house to the flight of stone steps which led down to a sunken garden. Near the bottom of the steps a man lay sprawled against the balustrade, and as they reached him he tried unsuccessfully to pull himself upright. "Luke!" she exclaimed in fright, and was down beside him.

Bryn was next to her, his hand on Luke's leg. "Did you fall, old chap ? Hurt somewhere?" "It's this blamed knee." Luke was breathing fast, but he smiled. "I was halfway up the steps and it gave out, suddenly; it does sometimes. I generally stay close to the wall, but my thoughts were a mile away and I forgot. Sorry to be a nuisance." "Did you twist the leg?" "I must have done. It's not painful - just numb. The devil of it is it gives way if I put weight on it." "That's easy. I'll get you indoors." Julie was on her feet. "I'll call Ann," she said. "She'll know what to do." "No!" It came like a pistol-shot from Luke. "You're not to tell her, Julie. Not at all!" "But, Luke..." "I don't care. You're not to say a word about this." Bryn interposed evenly, "Ann can't do much, Julie. I'll get Luke into one of the rooms downstairs, and we'll let the others think he's been called away. It isn't likely that Dr. Jackson will be able to get here before the morning." "Then Ann should certainly see that knee," she said doggedly. "In cases of this kind she's as good as a doctor." "I'll wait till the morning for the real thing," Luke said firmly. "Not a word, mind!"

Bryn got him up on to his sound leg. To Julie he said, "Go back to the others. I'll be in presently." "I'll help," she replied, hovering. "I can take a little of the weight on his sound side." He let out a breath of exasperation; Luke shook his head at her, but finally laid an arm across her shoulder. Slowly, with Bryn shouldering most of Luke's weight, they got to the top of the steps. The first room they came to was the library, and in no time at all Bryn had the french window open and Luke was lowered into a chair. Curtly, Bryn said, "Clear out, Julie. Go and have a nice strong drink." "What about giving Luke a drink?" "I've got some in the cupboard here. Run along, there's a good girl." She drew the curtains, went outside and closed the french door. In the darkness, she stood still for a minute, fighting down an incomprehensible ache of tears. Then she heard Louis' voice, excitably worried. "I cannot think where she has gone. Fleur, you must have seen her since she last danced with me." Julie swallowed and walked round to the patio. Louis came forward quickly, grasped both her hands. "Cherie, I have been so anxious. Why did you not say you wished for a walk? I would certainly not have let you go alone." "Were you not with Bryn?" asked Fleur.

Julie made some sort of reply, allowed Louis to take possession and give her rum and ginger. But she couldn't dance; nor could she look at Ann, who sat, poised and calm, talking with the Delport and Paula Fanshawe. At length Bryn came in and Ann said it was time to go. Noel, who appeared both weary and elated, brought round Ann's car, but Louis and Fleur somehow got away first. Ann said a few words of thanks. "Where's Luke got to?" she asked without curiosity. "There was some trouble. I'll run him down myself." "Say good-night to him for us." Bryn nodded and saw her seated. He opened the back door for Julie, looked down at her and saw that the blue-green eyes were brimming. "Stop it," he whispered peremptorily. "For heaven's sake leave other people's troubles alone. I'll see you tomorrow." "Tomorrow?" she echoed, unbelieving. "Yes" - impatiently. "Try to relax, or you'll snap in two. Goodnight." In the car she felt slightly better. Ann was her quiet and casual self, Noel hummed off-key, and the stars shimmered between the branches of the gesticulating palms. He's coming tomorrow, she thought, especially to see me. Nothing in the least romantic about the way he had said it, but just now that didn't matter. It was nearly tomorrow already.

CHAPTER SEVEN LUKE had not sustained any further permanent injury to his knee. Through the fall, the grafted tendons had been stretched, and naturally his limp was more pronounced, but Dr. Jackson said he thought that in a few weeks the leg would be back to its normal stiffness. Bryn reported that Luke didn't seem to worry about it, though he had to spend more time in a chair, resting the leg. He had stayed on at Tamarisk Lodge for a couple of days, with Paula as a surprisingly attentive nurse, but was now at his bungalow taking it easy. "Am I still to keep it dark from Ann?" Julie asked, at Bryn's third call. "Work it out for yourself, little one," he answered, in that dry, brusque manner of his, "and if you can't, just let it lie." He came four times, always in the morning when Ann was away, and Noel working. Companionable but aloof, he accepted a cup of coffee, .smoked a cigarette with Julie and was away again. By the fifth morning she had half reconciled herself to the knowledge that Bryn wouldn't turn up at Murray's Green again without a good reason. Towards the end of that week Louis announced that his motor yacht was ready to take them for a picnic trip. "Fleur will come, and I thought it might not appear too odd if we invited Bryn," he said, smiling. "Since he has been paying some attentions to Fleur without our efforts, I do not have to pretend with Grand'mere. Indeed, she and I have had many close talks and she agrees entirely with my plans. Everything is falling into shape as I hoped." "Your grandmother is keen to keep you both on Farando Cay, isn't she?"

"It would be good, do you not think?" he observed with pride, "if Fleur should become the wife of Bryn Sherard, and I could make of Belle Marquise a fine, remunerative property? We de Meulens have played too long the second fiddle to the Sherards!" "You never put in any time on the plantation," she pointed out. He snapped his fingers airily. "Coconuts! Who cares about coconuts?" He lifted a fastidious nose. "I detest the smell of palm oil and copra, and I am unimpressed by the Sherard miles of cocoa and sisal. There are other ways of making money." He spoke mysteriously, implying that so young and sweet a person as Julie Penross could not be expected to comprehend the intricacies of the big business he had in mind. And inevitably the conversation took a personal turn. They had their day out among the cays, only Noel was one of the four instead of Bryn, who was much too busy, with Luke out of commission, to give time to social affairs. Noel had needed no coercing. In fact, when Julie had mentioned that Fleur was to be one of the number he had assented at once, but with a guarded look in his eyes. Privately, Julie wondered whether he hadn't fallen just a little for Fleur. As they wound among the small atolls which protruded like uncut emeralds from the sea, she watched him and thought there must be something in the air of the Caribbean that affected the emotions. Or perhaps it was the chemical reaction of the French upon the English. Next day Noel did an unprecedented thing; he went out walking for a couple of hours, alone. It was Saturday and Ann was there,

enjoying a rest on the veranda after a morning bathe, when Julie told her that Noel was not in his room. Ann raised her slender dark brows. "His brain couldn't cope any longer. He was bound to meet a vacuum. The walk will do him good." "I hope so." Julie mentioned her suspicion that he was losing his heart, and tacked on, "It would be too bad if he got serious over Fleur. They'd never let her marry him." "Don't fuss, my pet," said Ann equably. "Noel's in love with his book. Don't you realize that apart from you Fleur de Meulen is the only young and personable thing on the island? If he scarcely noticed her existence he wouldn't be human." "I suppose not. Thank heaven he didn't get a crush on Paula Fanshawe." Ann gave a small laugh. "I can't stand women like Paula. She hasn't a thought in her head beyond her own selfish pleasures." "I don't think you're right. She didn't want to run away from her husband. Her marriage just became impossible." "It should have been much more impossible to leave him." "You're as bad as Bryn. Come to think of it," she said slowly, "you and Bryn have several like streaks in your Characters. Neither of you ever gets rattled and you're both expert at keeping your own counsel. He blames Paula entirely, but Luke doesn't." "Luke?" It was Ann's habit to repeat a name with a query in it. "What does he say about Mrs. Fanshawe ?"

Hastily, recollecting Luke's injunction that she say nothing about his knee to her sister, Julie said, "He seemed to find her amusing when we were at Tamarisk Lodge. He met her last year, of course, and the year before." Thoughtfully, Ann commented, "Luke seems to be avoiding us lately. I haven't seen him since that day at Bryn's. Have you?" "No." "He enjoyed having dinner with us. You can ask him up again, if you like." "All right. I will." Julie had kept away from Luke because she had felt he would not want her around till he was getting about as usual. On the other hand it was possible that the days, which he habitually filled without difficulty, were beginning to drag. She would give him till Monday and then call upon him, casually. So on Monday morning she bought some fish from one of the women on the waterfront and took a look at the girls who made all kinds of beautiful objects from shells, then sauntered up past the cannery to Luke's bungalow. There was no one on the veranda, so she tapped on the door, and in a moment or two it was opened by Luke himself. "Hallo," he said, not quite so cordially as she had expected. "Come on in. You look hot." "I am. You did say I could give Sam a yell for a drink, if I happened to be this way and needing one." "I've got some lime right here. Plenty of ice ?"

"Please." The cubes of ice chinked into the glass and he poured over them the pale green liquid. Julie, sitting in the rattan chair he had indicated, looked round the cosy room. It wasn't unlike the living-room they had had at the flat in London and, feeling expansive, she told him so. He gave a somewhat jaundiced glance at the chintz-covered chairs, the fruitwood table and cabinet. "You've passed beyond inexpensive furniture and peasant-made rugs. I never shall." "I don't think it matters, do you? To be candid, I feel more at home in this room than I do in the lounge at Murray's Green. I'm not too keen on dark leather with studs and that fearfully solid dark wood." His smile was tired. "You always say the right thing, Julie - at least, you do to me. I believe you could be thoroughly happy married to some nice fellow and keeping house for him in a place like this." "If I loved him, I'd be happy in a mud hut," she said ingenuously. "It isn't I who've passed beyond a sweet little bungalow like this. Only Ann." He didn't say anything for a minute or two. "When is your sister going to clinch the deal with Bryn?" he asked presently, with a peculiar conciseness. "You mean sell Murray's Green? Nothing is fixed yet, but she'll go ahead as soon as Bryn is ready." "He's been ready for months. She merely has to decide whether to accept his offer or stand out for a bigger figure. Considering the amount of work he's put in on the estate his offer is amazingly generous. She owes it to Bryn to sign up soon."

Julie was a little startled. It wasn't like Luke to be sharp. "He doesn't seem to be in a hurry," she said. "I daresay he takes it for granted she'll complete the sale before we go " There came another pause, briefer than the last. "Have you settled when you're going?" he asked. "Why, no. A lot depends on Noel's book, and Ann has set herself a task at the clinic. She can't bear inefficiency among the sick." "Does she honestly believe that a couple of months' supervision will work miracles ? I wouldn't mind betting that within a month of her leaving Farando Cay those nurses at the clinic will be as slovenly as ever. They have to have someone to look up to, and there isn't an islander existing who'll look up to another islander. Dr. Jackson commands respect because he's nearly white. I'm not making racial claims; they're merely facts." "Aim can't do more than her best during the short time she's here." "I agree. I was simply pointing out that it doesn't really matter when she leaves. When she goes, she'll take her influence with her. You might tell her that." "Why don't .you tell her?" suggested Julie. "I have instructions to invite you up for dinner," "Whose instructions?" "Ann's. You will come, won't you?" "I'm afraid I shan't have time," he said, reaching for his pipe. "As soon as I can I shall put in an intensive week or two at the factories and then take a spot of leave."

"But, good heavens, you have to eat somewhere every night. Why not with us once in a while ?" "I'll let you know," he said abruptly. "Will you have a cigarette?" On the whole the interview with Luke was unsatisfactory. Julie decided that the stumble in the garden at Tamarisk Lodge had shaken him mentally as well as physically; perhaps it had rammed home the knowledge that the leg would never be right, and being alone so much he had brooded upon it and reflected that he wasn't much good for anything. Which was an absurd conclusion for a man who ran sisal and canning factories and arranged the shipping for vast quantities of produce. Bryn couldn't get along without such an assistant. She did wish she could think of something really heartening to say. When she left him he smiled at her and patted her shoulder. "Don't look so worried, Julie. There's not a problem in the world that hasn't its solution. Remember that, when your courage is low." For all the world as if it were she who needed bolstering. She climbed into the car and drove home. It was only twelve, yet Ann was there, smoking a cigarette as she stood above a table, leafing through a magazine. She looked up, and through the smoke Julie saw that the brown eyes were hard. "Did you go to see Luke?" she asked point-blank. Julie nodded. "I've just come from his house. He says he'll let us know if he can come to dinner." "How is that knee of his ?" Julie paused. She hadn't heard quite that degree of flint in her sister's tones before. "Better, I think. He can walk, but not so well as he did."

Ann squashed out the scarcely-smoked cigarette. "What's the matter with everyone?" she demanded. "I heard about that fall of his this morning for the first time. Dr. Jackson happened to mention it, or I shouldn't know yet. I can't get over the fact that I was actually there, at Bryn's house, when Luke injured himself, yet no one thought of calling upon me to give some help. Did you know about it?" It was no use prevaricating. Ann on the trail had always been a lynx. "I was with Bryn when we found Luke. Bryn helped him into the library and called Dr. Jackson. There was nothing you could do." "How can you possibly know that! And why in the world have you kept so close about it since?" "Bryn told me I was to say nothing." "Bryn?" Julie was cross with herself for floundering, particularly with Ann. "It was Luke, really. The moment I knew he was hurt I wanted to find you, but he wouldn't have it. Bryn sort of backed him up. I don't know why." Ann took another cigarette and struck a match. "I'm sorry to have jumped on you like that. It wasn't your fault, Julie, but those men make me mad. They won't accept a single thing from me because deep down they still disapprove of my marrying Gray. But I'D get back at them. I'll put them in a spot where they'll have to take, and like it." She drew deeply at the cigarette and said, her eyes narrowed, "I'm not selling Murray's Green, Julie. I'm going to appoint a plantation manager and use the proceeds for the building of a children's hospital. I believe I know a doctor in England who'll be glad to come out, and I shall train the nurses myself. I'm sure it's a scheme that Gray would have approved of, and I can't do better with his money than that."

"It sounds marvellous! You'll have to let me train as a nurse now." "Oh, no. You're going to be free. Some time Noel will want to go back to England, and you'll probably go with him. In any case, we shan't be built in time for you to do much. For the present this is between you and me, Julie. I'll get in touch with an architect and find out what it will cost before we make the idea public." Julie hesitated. "You've promised Bryn you'll sell. Don't you feel you may be letting him down?" "Quite the reverse. Through me the children of his workers will get a better start in life, and the clinic can be used solely for adults. I could sell him the plantation and reserve only enough ground for the scheme, but if I did we'd have one lump sum, whereas I'd rather have a smaller amount of money coming in regularly. The building won't be expensive, and I'll do my best to get some government assistance with the equipment. I think it can be done." Julie knew that with Ann as the organizer it could certainly be done. But she experienced a moment's sadness because Ann was setting out on a venture which would rob her entirely of any private life. Except for the few weeks at the seaside cottage with Gray, Ann had never seemed to know what to do with a private life. In her place, Julie would have taken an interest in the coffee trees and tie marketing of the beans. She would have probed into the living conditions of the workers and visited the school, and she would have had a go at forming a youth club to keep adolescents away from the rum parties. There were literally a hundred things the plantation "missus" could do. Still, Ann was always first a nurse; there was nothing anyone could do about that. *

The following weekend Madame de Meulen allowed Louis to give a beach party, and the whole of the white community, with the exception of Madame herself, attended. Bryn had added another man and wife to his household, a middle-aged pair of globe-trotters, so that those who gathered about the baskets of chicken and pork and wine numbered a dozen. Louis was a charming host. As the sun slid down in a haze of flame he served cocktails with olives and pink onions on sticks. Under robes of varying hues and thicknesses, all the younger people wore swim-suits, and when the swift darkness had sketched in, the robes were cast off and the swimmers ran down the beach and fell or dived into the waves. Paula Fanshawe was the only one who didn't run. She sauntered over the sand dispiritedly, waded in at some distance from the others and started to swim, not very strongly, but with purpose. Julie had been glad to get into the sea. Sitting among the crowd with Noel she couldn't help but be conscious of Fleur looking flushed and excited because she had never taken part in anything so unconventional as a beach party before. Fleur's robe, of heavy white silk with scarlet cuffs and revers and a girdle of scarlet, had accentuated her tall slenderness. In the light from the hurricane lamps she had been graceful and beautiful as the gown dropped to reveal a white swim-suit and limbs which had already acquired a yellow-gold tan. Bryn had said, "You're wearing a necklace. Didn't you know?" "I had forgotten. How foolish of me." He had unclipped the thing and dropped it into the pocket of her gown as it lay on the sand, and the small intimacy had stabbed Julie right through the heart. She had pushed off her own bathing wrap,

dragged over her curls a blue cap which matched her suit and loped round the sitting elders and down to the sea. Swimming dulled the pain. She had never swum in the dark before, and it was surprising to find the water warm and languorous in spite of its blackness. She saw heads bobbing, the men's dark and the women's like pale balls at the mercy of the small waves. Then she resolutely struck out, wanting to get away and beyond those others. In deeper water it was cooler, and for a while she lay on her back with her eyes closed, yielding herself to the balm of the cold, pliant bed. When she did drag herself from the queer inertia she discovered that the ebbing tide had carried her somewhat farther from the pale sickle of the beach than she was wont to venture. Still, she wasn't tired; she could manage the swim back without trouble. She turned over and struck out lazily. She thought about Luke, who had said, "No, I'm not going to swim; it would look too silly if one of you girls had to carry me out." Ann had answered him impatiently, "Self-contempt never got anyone far, but sit there with your pipe if you'd rather. The pose suits you." Whether she was being consciously cruel or not Julie had been unable to fathom. Luke's smile hadn't altered and he had taken his usual care over filling the pipe. It occurred to her as odd that Louis had not followed her out to the deep water. Then she remembered that Madame was against mixed bathing parties, that she would not have consented to this one had it been intended to hold it in daylight; all very prudish, but Louis had no doubt been brought up that way, too. Well, it was good to be alone. The shore seemed no nearer and she put on a spurt. Her shoulder was beginning to ache abominably, and she couldn't think why. A great luminous fish shot along under her and she shied away from it, alarmed. It was silly to have drifted so far from the shore; these

waters were known to be full of live things in the daytime, and at night their phosphorescence was terrifying. Stupid to be frightened of them; who wouldn't have been, if this pain hadn't suddenly attacked her shoulder. Yes, it was definitely a pain; a circle of it to the right of the shoulder blade and an ache which spread up and over the shoulder itself. She's never had anything like it before, which made it uncanny. Her arm was nearly useless. Fear filled her throat. She kicked out madly with her legs and searched over the white-veined water for someone to whom she could cry for help. Another of those ghastly fish; it actually pushed at her hip and scared her into an immobility which caused her to sink a few inches. Her foot scraped something which must have been branching coral, but which terror converted into the tentacle of an octopus. Julie lost all sense of direction. She flailed and coughed up sea water. An arm came about her waist. "Keep still," commanded Bryn. "Why the hell didn't you answer me?" She hadn't heard him, of course; she had heard nothing but the thundering of her own heart. She knew an overwhelming sick relief and a strange, cold despair. Wordless, she let him turn her on to her back and tow her in. When they reached the beach she struggled to her feet and walked a few feet beyond the water's edge, where she sat down, suddenly. Bryn got a towel from somewhere and threw it round her, and she sat with her arms crossed on her drawn-up knees, and her forehead lowered upon one wrist. He got down beside her. "You're a spectacular swimmer," he said with chilly sarcasm. "Oh, shut up," she croaked, muffled. "Go away and leave me alone." "There's gratitude. What were you trying to do out there - a new stroke? You looked like a miniature paddle-steamer."

"Very funny. I was on the point of drowning." A startled pause; his tone changed. "God! I didn't suspect that for a moment. You're a pretty good swimmer - did you get cramp?" "No, just plain wind-up. Now will you go away!" "Julie." His hand touched the towel on her back. "I'm terribly sorry. It didn't look like fright, and seeing that you didn't answer me when I called I took it you were practising something or other. What was it that scared you - the fish?" She nodded miserably into her wrist. "They . . . they touched me." "Poor kid. Let me take off your cap." He pulled it from the back over her hair, and as if she were a child he pushed his fingers through the brown-gold mop. "I wouldn't have spoken to you like that if I hadn't thought you were fooling. Even when I brought you in I took it to be part of a game. Look at me, Julie." "I don't want to. I don't want to look at anyone." "You're being an idiot," he said gently. "Going out so far in the dark you were bound to meet big fish. I'd have warned you if I'd thought you'd venture out there. I know they're terrifying, but you should have turned right round and come back. There's no danger if you keep moving." She remembered her shoulder, which had caused three parts of her fright. The stinging pain was gone now, leaving only a hot ache. Seeing that whatever it was had decided to pass off there was no point in mentioning it. She raised her head, pressed a hand over her brow and looked away from him at the sea. "Thanks for hauling me out, anyway. Perhaps we'd better get up the beach to the others."

"Give yourself a minute or two. They can just about see us, so they won't wonder where we are." Tonelessly she said, "They'll, think it odd, though, if we stay away." "Let them. I only wish I had a cigarette to give you. Do relax a bit; it's over now. Not cold, are you?" She shook her head. Physically she was warm enough, but her spirit remained "Sold as charity. She hated sitting here with Bryn but dreaded facing the rest. She had never felt like this before; it was devitalizing. "I never do enjoy evening beach parties very much," he said ruminatively, "but the visitors love them; they have the notion that this is the way we live throughout the year. They never think of us having all the normal problems and a few abnormal ones thrown in." Dispiritedly, because he seemed to expect some sort of reply, she said, "I should have thought your problems were all normal business ones. Do you call Paula Fanshawe a problem?" "I do, and she's not the worst I have in hand at the moment. I never knew so much trouble crop up at one time. There was Luke's bad luck - and now he's feeling the need of a break, so I shall have to get along without him for a few weeks. And all the while I have to watch Lotus; that young man is moving fast in two or three directions and he's doing as much as possible under cover. By the way," he added noncommittally, "Madame has the impression that Louis wishes to become thoroughly established here at once, in order to marry. She didn't put it into so many words, but she feels I ought to help the young man, for friendship's sake. I told her I still think it would be wiser for him to take a desk in his father's office in Cherbourg."

"Someone has to look after Belle Marquise. After all, if he's going to inherit the place..." "He'd take money instead," Bryn said crisply, "so long as there was enough of it." A pause. "Would you be heartbroken if we persuaded him to sail home to France?" "He might take me with him," she said with a weary attempt at flippancy. "I really think we ought to go back to the others, Bryn." He leaned towards her so that she actually felt his breath quite close to her cheek. His voice was low. "You take things so hard, Julie, and it makes life tough for you. It's not wise to wrap everything up inside you. Don't tell me you haven't a care in the world; I know differently. I also know you're in an old position. Your brother is so engrossed with himself that he's blind as a bat, and your sister doesn't remember how she felt at nineteen." "You're hardly better equipped," she said, drawing the towel more tightly about her as she prepared to stand. "I believe you're a couple of years older than Ann. I'll get through, Bryn." "Of course you will, but you'll do it easier with a helping hand now and then. Will you come to me if you're ever in a spot?" "I very much doubt it." "What do I have to do?" he demanded roughly. "Express an abject sorrow for having misjudged you in the beginning? I won't do that, but I've admitted I was wrong about you. I don't like to see you going hard because you've had a knock or two. Before you realize it you'll be as cynical as the rest of us." "What's wrong with that? You don't do too badly."

"How do you know what goes on inside any one of us? In people like your sister and Paula cynicism is a mask for something they're afraid to show. But you're not cut out for those bitter emotions." His voice deepened still more but went oddly clipped. "When you're thirty, Julie, you won't be an automaton in a hospital; nor will you be roaming round the Caribbean, childless and full of pity for yourself because your husband wouldn't condone affairs with other men!" "I wouldn't mind being Ann," she said offhandedly. "Since Gray died she hasn't had any private life to worry her. There's a definite place in the world for women like Ann." "There's a definite place for every woman," he answered, his tones still harsh. Then, impatiently, "This is the devil of a time to get into serious discussion. Look here, I'll see you in the morning. I'll pick you up and take you down to the plantation with me and we'll have a talk. All right?" She made a movement and he was on his feet, helping her. The sand was cool and yielding as they walked up the beach. At his suggestion her heart had magically lightened and quickened, till she remembered that Fleur was confessedly in love with Bryn, and that if she, Julie, wished to help that romance she shouldn't be alone with him. But did she wish to help it? Her heart gave back a wild negative. Why should she push another woman into his arms? In any case, their chances were grossly uneven. Fleur, being a de Meulen and into the bargain a fascinating Frenchwoman, had a flying start. Surely Julie could be natural with him for one morning without breaking her promise to Louis? They were nearing the group, whence came laughter and the clinking of plates and glasses. They entered the circle of light and Louis, who looked very handsome in his wine- coloured robe, greeted them merrily, though his glance was watchful.

"And what have you two been doing down there at the rim of the sea? Ah, you found the towel I left on the sand." He nodded his approval that she had sought a covering before communing with a man in the dark. "What will you drink with dinner, Julie? And you, Bryn?" The two had parted. Julie went round to where her wrap lay in a heap as she had discarded it, between Noel and Luke. She slid down and took a quick look at all those who were seated round the spread cloth. Ann was leaning back on one hand, smoking a cigarette and apparently not interested in anyone in particular. Fleur, in the scarlet-trimmed gown, appeared not to have swum at all; her hair was the usual neat halo, her make-up flawless. She must have worked fast. Noel looked his engaging self, the wheaten hair a dark wet thatch, a drop or two of water still clinging to his thick eyebrows. Julie shook out her wrap and Luke took it and held it for her to slip into. She threw off Louis' towel and reached back both arms for the sleeves. But Luke seemed to be taking his time. He was leaning over her sideways and looking at the back of her shoulder. "Some fish-bite!" he said. "So that's what kept you down there. You must have gone out some way to get that. Does it still hurt?" "No, I'd forgotten it," she replied quickly, fumbling her hands into the silk sleeves. "I can hardly feel it." Louis was standing again and Ann had flung away her cigarette and bent forward. Bryn came round and got on his haunches behind Julie. "Oh, yes," he said without much expression, "we were going to give it a dab of iodine, weren't we? I've got some in my car."

She knew he was angry that she hadn't told him the whole truth down there by the sea, but it came to her, with a pleasant tingling sense of shock, that she could put it right tomorrow morning. None of these people knew she had a date with Bryn tomorrow, but it was like a warmth inside her, ousting the cold despair. She accepted a plate of chicken from Mrs. Delport and a glass of wine from Louis; she even let him touch his glass to hers and smiled when he murmured, "To you, cherie. Vive l'amour !'" Vive l'amour, indeed! She could echo that ardently, so long as she did not turn her gaze and watch Bryn smiling companionably with Fleur.

CHAPTER EIGHT As it happened, Julie did not ride through the plantation with Bryn next day after all. At nine-thirty a note came from him, brought by one of his workers on horseback. "Apologies, Julie," it read, "but I'm hung up this morning, so we'll have to postpone the talk. Haven't time to explain now, but I'm really sorry." The words had been penned hastily and the signature was one letter and a scrawl. He had written her off in a matter of seconds. The following afternoon Louis and Fleur came to tea, but they would not wait for cocktails because Bryn had been invited to Belle Marquise for dinner. Louis gave Julie a long glance of pure but conspiratorial pleasure and whispered that events were speeding up. Did Julie know that Bryn had gone into Nassau on business yesterday and was returning this afternoon? Julie spent a wretched evening. Ann went to bed early and Julie sat alone in the lounge, trying to read. At ten she took Noel a glass of milk and some biscuits, and was astonished to discover him neither working nor sleeping. He was slowly pacing in his rubber-soled sandals between the window and the bookcase. "Milk?" he said on a note of disappointment. "I wish you'd brought coffee, Julie." She gave him a tenderly compassionate smile. "Aim's orders, I'm afraid. She says you're shadowed round the eyes and need more milk. Why are you striding about? A hiatus in the story?" "And how," he said heavily. "I've hardly written a line all day." "You couldn't this afternoon, with Fleur and Louis here, but you'll make up for it tomorrow. It'll be quieter."

"It won't make any difference. I've come to the end." He picked up the glass and sipped at the milk with distaste. "Honestly, I feel I could go a whisky and soda." "Good heavens," she said soberly. "I've never heard you say that before. You need a rest, Noel, a respite from writing. Wait a minute and I'll bring the whisky. You can compromise by having a dash in the milk." He was grateful for that, and allowed himself to be persuaded to sit in the only armchair. Julie perched on the desk, regarding him with affection and a trace of anxiety. "Wouldn't it be best to leave the whole thing till you're in the mood again? You've done a lot too much during the last few weeks, and now that you're well into the novel it won't be so difficult to pick up the threads again. Do you know that we three haven't had any fun together at all! We're only together when we're invited out, or have other people here. We did come to Farando Cay for a vacation." "I didn't; I came here to find myself." He pushed back into soft leather upholstery and drank half the doctored milk. The guarded expression came back into his eyes as he said, "I'm afraid it's those de Meulens who put me off. Julie." A brief embarrassed pause, then, "are you ... do you care a great deal for Louis ?" "No," she answered, with neither haste nor reluctance. "He's a little exciting and very flattering, but I'd never lose my heart to him. Why ?" Noel rubbed hand over his bare arm and took an interest in the procedure. "I've a horrid feeling," he said, his tones abnormally hollow, "that I'll never react to another woman as I do to Fleur. This kind of emotion is so new to me that I have to talk about it in order to understand it myself. She is beautiful, isn't she, Julie?"

"Very beautiful. But, Noel.,." "And she has a sweet and lovely character," he went on doggedly. "She hasn't been brought up as we were. I don't suppose she's ever washed a dish in her life or lifted anything heavier than a handbag. She'd have to marry money - plenty of it. Even if she were attracted to me, too, there'd still be no chance of our marrying. But that doesn't prevent my wanting to... love her." "Are you sure your feeling for her is... love?" He shrugged helplessly. "What else can it be? Her face comes between me and what I'm trying to write. I listen to the breeze in the branches and it's her voice I hear, with the fascinating accent and the quiet smile behind the words. The heroine in my book has fair colouring, as you know, but now she's behaving like a dark Madonna, and for the life of me I can't help it." Unexpectedly, he added, "Fleur's interested in the fact that I write. I promised to let her see an article or two." "She was being polite." The swift hurt in his face made her qualify the statement hurriedly. She hadn't guessed this thing had gone so deep with him! "Fleur likes you; of course she does. Everyone likes you, Noel. And I daresay her interest in your writing is genuine. But. . ." - there seemed to be only one way to say it - the brutal way - "but you don't stand a chance with her, darling. She comes from a proud old family and her future is already planned." "Planned?" He caught her up. "How?" For a moment Julie wrestled with her conscience and inclination. She knew without any doubt that her first loyalty was to her brother, yet she had promised Louis she would keep secret Fleur's love for Bryn. She ached to comfort Noel, though she was aware from her

own experience that he wanted no facile phrases of solace. He was in a condition to deal only with facts. "You know how it is in these French families. I rather think her parents expect her to go home and marry a man she has known for some time." He smiled in absolute disbelief. "She won't do that. I'm sure of it. If you'd said there was a plan afoot to marry her to Bryn Sherard, I might have believed you!" Julie was silent in sheer alarm and desperation. "Strange, isn't it?" he went on musingly. "I've never had a woman on my mind before. I keep telling myself I'll get over it, but I know I won't. I suppose you're right about my not standing a chance with her. I'm not in a position to marry anyone, let alone a girl like Fleur. If I stick to writing it'll be years before I'll be able to support a wife in the most modest way - in any case, I won't want to, if there's no Fleur." "Give yourself time," she pleaded. "You're only just twenty-five, and that's awfully young for a man placed as you are to think of marriage. People do get over their first love, you know" - she shivered, hoping there was truth in the assertion - "and you hardly know Fleur, anyway. As for the novel, Ann predicted you'd come to a halt weeks ago; she said you couldn't possibly keep up that first speed. Drink down the rest of the whisky and milk. It'll make you sleep." He did empty the glass, and with a sigh he got up. The desk was tidier than he had ever left it and he merely had to shove in a drawer and slip the worn cover over the old portable typewriter. Julie was standing beside him, holding the glass. She reached up to peck at his cheek.

"I know how you feel," she whispered. "If you can't have Fleur life isn't worth having; even your work isn't worth doing. Once you've passed this beastly patch you may find that being in love has heightened your perceptions and your work will gain colour and strength. From the writer's viewpoint you may even decide that it was an enriching experience you wouldn't have missed for anything." He tapped her temple. "Wise words, Julie, but they don't cut a heap of ice. You wait till someone gets under your skin and see if other people's wisdom will pull you through. But you won't love unwisely, will you? I'd hate to think you'll have any grim experiences of that kind." "I'll have to keep away from them," she said lightly. "Good-night, Noel. Do go straight to bed." He came to the door with her and switched off the light, went into his bedroom next door and looked back. "I'll bolt up." His door closed and Julie went to the kitchen. She looked over Ann's breakfast tray, then remembered that the light was still on in the lounge. They really ought to be more careful with the electricity or that good-natured generator would be breaking down. She was right inside the lounge before she realized that the french doors stood wide, and the next second she saw Paula Fanshawe and her heart turned over in her body. Paula was sunk into the corner of the chesterfield. The red hair was like strips of tropical seaweed, her face white and ravaged with a crooked scarlet line for the mouth. Her eyes were large and staring and she was breathing deeply and unevenly, as though she were ill. Julie's tongue stole out and moistened her lips. "You gave me quite a fright," she said. "Aren't you well?"

Paula spoke with difficulty. "I'm . , . well enough. Sorry to . . . land myself on you, but. . . well, I couldn't think of anyone else. Don't look so alarmed. I'm only breathless because I... cycled here." "Cycled! Paula, is somebody... is there..." "Give me time." She swallowed and tried to sit more upright. "Julie, please don't stand there staring at me as if I were a duppy." Her voice was almost shrill. "I've been counting on you. There just isn't anyone else and I'm frantic. I'm not going to ask much of you - it's simply that I have to stay somewhere till the freighter comes. The damn thing only turns up on Thursdays, but I refuse to stay on at Tamarisk Lodge till next Thursday. I... I've had enough." Her tone had risen still further, and she became aware of it and made a visible effort to pull herself together. She gave a cracked laugh. "You haven't the smallest notion what I'm talking about, have you?" Julie sat down as if her legs wouldn't bear her any longer. First Noel.. . and now Paula. Paula was almost a stranger, though; her troubles didn't have to be shared with Julie. It was too much. But Paula was saying, baldly, "Bryn has brought my husband to Farando Cay. He's at Tamarisk Lodge now." "How did it happen?" Julie managed dazedly. Paula had recovered enough to talk more connectedly, but her demeanour was that of a woman physically and mentally exhausted. "Bryn had a message from Mike early yesterday morning; it must have come by the private motor-boat service from Nassau. He didn't tell me a thing about it - just went off to Nassau in the boat. This afternoon I was sitting with the others in the terrace when Bryn came back. He had Alike with him. I didn't wait to meet them rushed straight off to my room. It was a rotten, treacherous trick on Bryn's part!"

"He was probably only trying to bring you together." "He sympathizes with Alike and blames me for everything. I've felt it ever since I came here." Beating her hands together in passion, she went on, "It's no good. Mike isn't human and he expects me to be the same. I won't see him!" Julie looked apprehensively at the door. "Hush, Paula, or my brother will hear." "I'm sorry. I've kept this locked up for hours and it had to come out. I remained in my room till I could bear it no longer. They knew I was there, but nobody came - only the servant with a meal. I believe they went out to dinner, because I heard the car come back and some of them saying good-night. The house went quiet and I felt like screaming. They'd ignored me - probably told the others I had a bad head and left it at that. I got to thinking about tomorrow and I couldn't face it. I went down to a garden shed and found a bicycle it was a man's and horribly difficult to ride, but once I'd got going I couldn't stop. This is the first bit of luck I've had - finding you alone." "Did you leave a note?" The other's eyes flashed. "Not I! Let them worry." "You can't do that," said Julie, distressed. "A servant will discover you're not there tomorrow morning and there'll be a hue and cry. Bryn has other guests - he won't want them upset over your disappearance. Paula, let me take you back in our car." "I wouldn't go back to Tamarisk Lodge," said Paula distinctly, "if you turned me out in the teeth of a hurricane. If you don't want me here..."

"You're welcome to stay; you know that. But it's unfair to vanish from Bryn's house without warning. They won't guess for a moment that you've come here." "All the better!" "I don't agree. You should at least have left a note." "I was only concerned with getting away, but I don't believe I'd have written a note if I'd thought of it." "Then you must write one now. It isn't far to Tamarisk Lodge by car and we can take it right away." She was already at the desk, getting out notepaper and an envelope. "Are you suggesting," said Paula in a low furious voice, "that I go back there tonight?" "Only to put the note in your room. You needn't write more than a couple of lines to Bryn or your husband telling them you'll be with us till the freighter sails. They have a right to know, Paula." But persuading Paula was a far tougher task than Julie would ever have imagined. Obviously the hours alone in her bedroom had resulted in an almost hysterical hatred and disgust both for her cousin and her husband, and she was nearly unshakable in her determination to make them suffer if she could. By the time Julie had got her to the desk and pushed a pen into her hand she was ready to drop with fatigue herself. And beyond scribbling a few words, Paula refused to budge. If Julie was so keen to save those two brutes a little uncertainty, she must take the letter herself. "Mine is the first bedroom round to the right of the terrace, and the bedside table is only a couple of yards from the french door. Take a torch and you'll have no trouble at all."

During the next half-hour Julie wondered bleakly what in the world she could have done to deserve a night like this. She took Paula into her own bedroom and provided her with pyjamas, then went out to the garage. As she neared Tamarisk Lodge the car's beams licked along the road with such garish brightness that she snapped off the switch, and instantly she was plunged into a darkness rent only by the stars. At the tall pillars surmounted by urns filled with flowers she stopped. This was it. She grasped the letter tightly, and with her heart beating up in her throat she walked along the drive. The sight of the cloistered house, pearl-grey in the softness of the Caribbean midnight, tilted at her courage. Not a single light blossomed, and she had a ghostly vision of Bryn and his several guests sleeping in their beds. Parched with fear, she moved along the terrace and round the corner. It had to be done, she told herself again, jerkily, and it wasn't really much of a task; she was light and need make no sound. There was the door, and the catch was bound to be oiled; details of that sort would automatically receive attention here. Her fingers on the handle, she shivered violently with a sick dread. A second ago she had been certain Paula had said the first door; now, it seemed possible she had said the second, or even the third. Wasn't this corner room likely to be a large one, for two people? What if... A footfall! Gasping, she swung round to meet the brilliant ray of a flashlight. A scream tried to pass the terror in her throat and she swayed, dizzily. "Good God!" came a masculine exclamation, and she sagged nervelessly against a broad chest.

As if her lids were weighted, Julie half opened her eyes. She saw books in rows and a Persian rug, an angle of chair-arm and a brown hand holding a glass. The scene was hazily familiar and she managed to lift her lids a little higher. The library. Luke had limped in here after twisting his knee. Someone was speaking, and either her hearing was woolly or his voice thick with urgency. "Julie! Come on, now, wake up. It's only Bryn. There's not a thing to be afraid of. Julie!" Her lips scarcely moved. "I'm all right," she said thinly. "I didn't faint." "Then sit up properly and drink this." And peremptorily, "At once!" No, she hadn't fainted, but she did feel as if the last straw had given way. She sat forward, sipped at the bitter-tasting liquid in the glass and realized that her hand on the arm of the chair was covered by one of his. His face, watchful with concern, was close to her own, and she leaned back again, wishing he would stand up. With all the nonchalance she could muster, she said, "That was a bit of bad luck - being caught by you. As the house was in darkness I took it you were all in bed and asleep." "How do you feel now?" "Odd. What was that stuff in the glass?" "It doesn't matter - just a stimulant." He let out a breath of worry and exasperation. "What the hell are you doing here at this time of

night? As if there isn't enough upheaval, without your behaving like a lunatic!" "I . . . suppose I am a little crazy. But you happen to have a cousin who's even crazier, and somehow she's dragged me into the patchwork." "Paula?" Patently he thought she was snug in her bedroom along the terrace, for he next asked, "Why did you come to see her at this hour? Did she get a message to you?" "My dear man," she said wearily, "she brought it in person. Paula is at Murray's Green. You and that husband of hers treated her so abominably that she fled, and she's going to remain with us till she can get away on the inter-island boat." "Go on," he said grimly. "That's all. There's a bicycle belonging to one of your boys on our lawn; perhaps you'll send for it." "You still haven't explained your presence here, at midnight!" She lifted her shoulders. "Paula ran out without leaving any sort of indication about where she'd gone. I knew you wouldn't want an uproar among your friends tomorrow morning, so I got her to write a note and I was going to put it on her bedside table, for the servant to find when he went in with early coffee. I must have dropped it out there on the terrace." His mouth had thinned. "How very nice. Paula has about as many scruples as a goat, and you're an utter fool to let her use you. As for driving around the island at this time of night . . ." He broke off, and asked sharply, "Are you sure there's nothing seriously wrong? You're horribly pale."

"I haven't yet got over the fright of your suddenly appearing. I couldn't see any lights." "I was in here, and if you remember the window is at the back. I'd been trying to read, but couldn't settle." He gestured impatiently. "Between Mike Fanshawe and Madame de Meulen - I dined with her tonight - I've had a day of it, and I was just beginning to feel like twisting someone's neck when I heard a rustling and came out to investigate." He paused and shook his head. "From now on I'll believe anything about you. The other night you let me think you were scared into fits by a few fish when you were really suffering from a poison-bite, and tonight you boldly drive out with the purpose of breaking into a house inhabited by half a dozen fullgrown people, four of them men." "But I was terrified." "Yet you did it - for Paula." He was standing only half facing her now, and she could not read his expression when he added, "By the way, was it for Paula? It couldn't have been for Mike, because you don't know him." She sensed a trap, and answered evasively, "It seemed the right thing to do. It needn't have taken long. If you hadn't come out I'd be nearly home by now." She sighed, and put both hands on the arms of the chair as if to get up. "I'll have to go." "Didn't it strike you that the sensible thing would be to send your brother over first thing in the morning?" "I wanted to bring as few people into it as possible. I'd have thought up some explanation of Paula's presence at Murray's Green, and Thursday is only two days away. Leaving a note here was really the simplest way out." A clock in the baroque case chimed softly. Twelve-forty-five. She felt compelled to ask, "What made you bring

Paula's husband here without warning her? Her temperament isn't suited to that kind of shock." "Too bad," he said crisply. "She has altogether too much temperament." He shoved his hands into his pockets and moved away, to lounge against the wall above the lamp. "As you've been drawn into this new mess you'd better know more of the details. When Paula left him Mike got leave from his job as soon as he could. He came straight to Nassau and he chartered a motor-boat to bring me a letter - it came just as I was ready to come for you yesterday morning, so I had to send you word; did you mind?" "What was the use? Go on telling me about Mike." "Well, I went over to Nassau yesterday and we had a talk over there which lasted most of the night. Mike admitted he'd been hasty and jealous and all the rest of it. If there's anyone I despise," he ended with a vicious vehemence, "it's the man who doesn't know how to handle his own wife!" Dully, she commented, "I can forgive that kind of ineptitude much more easily than I can tolerate the man who's high-handed with everyone." "Meaning me?" His eyes narrowed at her, as he added abruptly, "I have my failures. In fact, I had a near go tonight." Still without much expression, she said, "I can't believe that. Is Louis going to build his holiday cottages after all?" "Possibly, but that wasn't under discussion." He bent to take a cigarette from the box near the lamp, and tapped the end on his thumbnail. "Do you remember the first time you met Madame de Meulen?" "Of course."

"You may recall a remark of hers - that she regarded me to some extent as your guardian?" "Yes. I thought it comical." "So did I - at the time. But not so Madame. About three hours ago, in the privacy of her sitting-room, Madame de Meulen put it to me formally that Louis wishes to marry you. In her opinion, your brother is too young and bohemian to be consulted about anything so serious, and your sister, being a woman, isn't in the running, either. She asked for my permission." She stared at him stunned. Her small sensitive face, still pale but with coins of colour rising into the cheeks, had the strained cast of incredulity. "How did you answer?" "I told her it wouldn't work out, that Louis couldn't make you happy. Her reply to that was an assurance that Louis had given his word to settle here if you'd marry him and in return she had promised to make Belle Marquise over to him as a wedding gift. I told her you were very young, that you'd have to wait a while before deciding, but she said Louis is impatient for marriage. Had she been a younger woman," he finished sourly, "I'd have told her clearly why Louis is impatient !" With a supreme effort of will Julie made her brain work with precision and clarity. It was absurd that Madame should have consulted Bryn on this matter and even more annoying that he should have taken it seriously. But was it annoying? Perhaps on the whole it was as well. At least it would prevent his suspecting where her emotions were really placed. "What, exactly, are your objections to Louis?" she asked. "You know them," he replied tersely. "He's good-looking and I daresay he can make love as a girl of your age might like it, but his

mind is commercial right through. In you he sees the means to his financial ends. Grand'mere will bless his union and shower gifts, and he'll be able to go ahead with his tourist schemes. Mark this: unless he marries he doesn't get Belle Marquise till Madame dies!" She contrived somehow to get to her feet. "Not very complimentary, are you, Bryn?" "Where Louis is concerned one needs to be a realist. If he had half his sister's sincerity I'd say that marriage with him should depend on whether you cared enough." So Fleur was his yardstick for sincerity. Julie gave a brittle laugh. "It seems to me that it still depends on whether I care enough!" There was a moment's silence filled by the measured tick of the clock. Without having lit the cigarette, Bryn dropped it into the heap on the ashtray. His glance raked her, shrewd and metallic. "Do you?" he demanded bluntly. Pain hardened round her heart. How dared he put her on the spot like this! "I'd hardly confess as much to you before telling Louis himself," she said, turning slightly towards the door. "If Madame approaches you again, you might inform her that you're the last person to whom I'd trust the planning of my future." "On the contrary," he said, through closed teeth, "I shall see to it that she continues to respect my judgment. If you think I'm going to let you throw yourself at Louis in a fit of pique, you're wrong." Malice edged his tones. "You'd better realize that this is Farando Cay and you're almost entirely in my power. You can't marry Louis here without my consent." Slowly, she drew back her shoulders. She gazed straight at him, unbelieving. "The omnipotent Bryn Sherard. First Paula and now

me," she observed with a curious quietness. "Somehow or other you've always got what you were after haven't you? I used to sympathize with your love for the island, but that was before I understood the fanaticism of it. I can see your plans more plainly now. If Louis comes into the property the 'gentleman's agreement' you had with Madame will be worthless. So long as he pays the interest on your mortgages he can do as he likes - spoil your paradise with holiday huts and tourist shops." Her voice broke with hurt and anger. "That's what you're out to avoid at any cost, isn't it?" Bryn said curtly, "Put what construction you please on my actions. I won't agree to your marrying Louis, and Madame won't give her consent without mine." Julie's breath came faster. Her chest ached with the anguish of knowing him withdrawn and sneering and mighty pleased with his impregnable position. Of course Madame would not dare to cross him, and he knew why. Oh, yes, he knew Fleur was in love with him; that Madame was hopefully watching for some sign that Bryn Sherard would take the step to unite the two families and eliminate the debts. "Some day," she told him a little hoarsely, "you're going to discover that even you can't always call the tune. You're a pretty horrible sort of man, Bryn." With icy sarcasm, he said, "What have I done - shattered the cosy dream? Perhaps I'm clearer-sighted than you are. You'll just have to let the infatuation for Louis peter out. In any case, you'd be miserable as mistress of Belle Marquise." She stood facing him, straight and defensive. "Yes, I would, and do you know why? Because if I were, it would mean spending the rest of my life within a few miles of you!"

He had come closer and his eyes had a warning glitter as they looked at her. "I shouldn't go any further than that, if I were you. You haven't left anything in doubt. I'll drive you home." "Thanks, but I'll drive myself. I'd stifle in the same car with you!" "Then I'm afraid you'll have to stifle." He put out a hand as if to draw her through the french door, but she evaded it and walked out into the warm night. Without looking his way, she went down to the drive and round to the car, and as he drove away she sat tightly in the corner and stared out of the window. They had almost reached Murray's Green before he said, "I'll have to go back in this car, but I'll see that you have it early in the morning. About Paula - I'll make sure you're relieved of her soon after breakfast. In feet" - savagely - "I'll rid myself of her, too. She and Mike can sort out their own damned muddle!" Julie said nothing. There was no need for him to get out of the car with her, but he did. There was also no need for him to go up into the porch and wait while she fumbled in her pocket for a key she hadn't got, but he did. And it was he who eventually opened the door which had never been locked, and switched on a lamp. Then he pushed up the catch on the lock. "Good-night," he said. "And remember in future never to do after midnight anything which can easily wait till the morning." And he was gone. Quickly and quietly she wait to the door of her bedroom and listened. With an impersonal disquiet she heard Paula weeping softly, and for a minute she was tempted to go in, but decided against it.

So back in the lounge she half undressed, turned off the light and lay down uncomfortably on the chesterfield. She felt as if part of her life had come to an end; as if she had passed from the final phase of growing up. Bryn was a pain, a torment, and everything connected with him had sharp edges. She had to keep away from him, and them. "Poor Noel," she thought. "He loves Fleur and Fleur loves Bryn. I love Bryn, and Bryn loves... Bryn." She had slept for only an horn when dawn broke.

CHAPTER NINE JULIE never did meet Mike Fanshawe. It was Bryn who came over to Murray's Green the following morning for a chastened tear-washed Paula, and it was he who, on Thursday, saw both Fanshawes aboard the freighter and told them he never wanted to see either of them separately again. "Let them be a lesson to you, Julie," Ann said, lifting those slender dark brows. "When you get married don't wait five years for your first child. It's often fatal." "Do you think it was as simple as that?" "I'm sure of it. Paula slipped because she had no one to worry about while her husband was away. He knew she had top much time on her hands, and immediately looked around to find out whom she was spending it with. Result, fireworks." Ann had not really had much to do with Paula. Actually, she had Little patience with women who cluttered themselves with extraneous emotions after marriage. She saw marriage simply; it was giving and more giving, and receiving was a natural sequence. She belonged to the world of realities, and on the whole she didn't find it too bad. Compared with her job in London the work at the clinic was not exacting, particularly as she still considered it wise to give no more than half a day unless her services were urgently required. The change from bad habits to good ones among the nurses was not difficult to initiate and sustain. But her plan for a new hospital for children was something big and challenging and, oddly, she was not even yet too sure she wanted to take it on. It was by far the best thing to do with Gray's money and the obvious location was Murray's Green, yet the idea was losing its

first rosy lustre. Did she want to stay on Farando Cay? Wouldn't it be wiser to start the hospital on one of the bigger islands - perhaps even somewhere near Nassau? And in spite of her resolve to say nothing to anyone but Julie, wouldn't it be safer to ask one of these men their opinion? Bryn would be impartial, but it hardly seemed fair to approach him; he was expecting to buy her out. And Luke... well, why not? Luke knew the island and its people. She only wanted information from him; nothing else. However, she took no steps to seek him out. If he hadn't come to the clinic to say good-bye to Dr. Jackson before going on leave, she wouldn't have seen him before he sailed. As it was, she ran into him as she was passing from the clinic building into the nearby dispensary. That morning she was wearing only a white apron over a blue dress. The neat dark hair fitted her head like a cap and her slightlyreddened mouth had a set smile. She looked him over, quickly, professionally, saw a lack of tone in his skin and a tiredness in his eyes. "Hallo," he said, giving her a jaded smile! "The Bahamas suit you. I believe you look even younger and more beautiful." "I wish I could return the compliment," she answered coolly. "How's the leg?" "Coming round. I'll have it looked at when I get to Nassau." "So you're going to Nassau. When?" "Tomorrow morning, in the Delports' yacht." "Julie didn't say anything,"

"She didn't know. I haven't seen her lately. How are they - your brother and sister?" "Fairly well, I think. How long will you be away?" "Three or four weeks. Anything I can do for you in Nassau?" She hesitated. "Yes, there is. Come into the dispensary; there's no one in there." She unlocked the door into the tiny office, and when he had come in and closed it, she went round to the other side of the desk and stood there for a moment without speaking. There was no tremor in her poise, nothing to suggest any kind of inward struggle, but she spoke without looking directly at him. "I'm thinking of hanging on to Murray's Green and building a hospital there, and I need expert advice." She went on to give him details, her voice even and businesslike, and finished, "If you have time to contact the government in Nassau and find out how I stand as regards a grant for equipment, and anything else you can think of, I'd be grateful." "I'll do what I can, though I can't say I agree that Gray would have liked you to spend yourself and his money on such a scheme. If you do embark on it, you'll never have another moment of your life to call your own." "That's my business, isn't it?" she answered in a hard voice. "I suppose it is, but I still think you'd be wiser to give a large donation to the hospital authorities. It's up to you, though, and by gathering details you won't be committing yourself in any way. I do know how you feel about such things and I admire your intentions."

"Thanks." Her glance was ironical, and there was irony in her tones as she asked, "Were you going away without telling us?" "Yes. I don't consider myself that important." "That's frank, anyway, but I don't care for the attitude you have towards yourself, Luke. It's too humble." "As a matter of fact," he said offhandedly, "I'm not a bit humble, and I find the attitude extremely hard to maintain, particularly with a woman. If I'd followed my inclination I'd have come up last night and had a drink with the three of you." She paused, surprised and a shade uneasy. "Well... why didn't you?" He wasn't smiling now; his mouth was compressed and his long features strangely prominent. "Because I'm not another Gray Murray. I'm not quite as much of a crock as he was, and I certainly haven't his money to make any friendship worth having." Ann froze. The hands which had been hanging at her sides curled inwards into fists and her chin went up slightly as her jaw tightened. "If that's the conception you have of us I'm glad you've stayed away. And that favour I asked of you just now - forget it. I'm beginning to think I'd better spend Gray's money in England." "I thought you would," he said abruptly. "Good-bye." Ann let him go without another word. She hadn't thought it possible she could ever be so incensed against a man, so angry about what he thought of her. She went through into the adjoining dispensary and automatically gathered the pills and bottles she had come for. But her hands were none too steady when she came out again into the sunshine and pulled shut the door.

* That same afternoon Julie was summoned to Belle Marquise. Her first reaction to the few written words from Madame was a desire to keep clear of the de Meulens at any price. Then she remembered that she had seen Louis only yesterday, and nothing had appeared to be changed between them. Whatever had transpired between him, his grandmother and Bryn, not a word of it had been spoken by Louis to Julie. And when she was with Louis she found it very hard to believe it was his ambition to marry Julie Penross. They had good times, exciting times, but they had never discovered a spiritual bond. Which all cancelled out to the incontrovertible fact that she was not in love with him. So it was with decidedly mixed feelings that she dressed that afternoon in pink linen with white appliqué flowers about the low neck, and got into her best white shoes. Louis brought the big old limousine right round to the steps with something of a flourish and he pressed his mouth to her wrist with an endearing courtesy. He was gay and jubilant, and he told her with a possessive fondness that he had never seen her so beautiful, so entrancingly right! She did not ask him, right for what? They drove along to Belle Marquise and came upon Fleur seated with Madame in the salon, each of them busy with a piece of exquisite petit-point. Polite talk about books, the piano, portrait painters and the like, was carried on right through tea. Fleur seemed to have lost vitality. She was pale, composed and untalkative. Madame, though, remained her elegant, enamelled self. She wore stiff dark blue silk with a double necklace of pearls, and on one hand gleamed the marquise ring which had been in her family for three hundred years. As the servant wheeled away the ornate tea trolley, Madame alluded to the ring. "It used to be the betrothal ring of the de Meulens, but I

was the last to receive it. My eldest son chose to leave Belle Marquise and go to France, so the ring has remained here with me. Eh Men, it is best here. The fiancée of Louis will wear it." Lotus said wickedly, "Then you should give it to me, Grand'mere. I will not demand that you propose for me!" "Nevertheless," she answered, her sharp glance tinged with affection, "I will not surrender it until I have approved your choice. Fleur, chine - you have been in the house all day. Take her for a walk, Louis." Julie rose at once, but Madame's fine, wrinkled hand rose to detain her. "I wish for a talk with you, child. You may join them later." Julie's heart began to beat fast and heavily. She could manage Louis, but Madame was a stickier proposition. "Julie, bring me a footstool." She obeyed mechanically and sat down again. The thin white fingers were once more flying over the embroidery, the ring flashed fire, like a tiny beacon sending out warnings. Within Julie the tumult grew. But Madame was in no hurry. She waited till Fleur and Louis could no longer be heard and the house was absolutely quiet. Then she Raised her head, accorded Julie an aloof and kindly nod, and said, "I believe your father was a schoolmaster, Julie?" "Yes, Madame." "Schoolmasters are excellent men, but they are seldom rich. Possibly your father left only enough money for the education of your brother and yourself?"

"Hardly more," Julie replied a trifle woodenly. "Noel wanted to go on to university, but we couldn't afford it." "It is sad, that, as he is so gifted, but he is a charming boy and, I think, will rise above the lack. Your sister, however, is a wealthy woman." "She isn't really. You see, she doesn't feel entitled to use Gray's money for herself and us, and we agree that taking a holiday in his house is all we should accept." The busy fingers slowed, then stopped altogether. Madame leant forward and her gaze had a peculiar, steely quality which was not pleasant in a woman. "Are you serious? Is it true that Mrs. Murray has this perverted notion that she will not claim the money which is hers by right - as Gray Murray's wife? It is not possible!" "You don't know Aim. She doesn't need Gray's money, so she'll probably use it for some good cause." "But that is imbecile!" The thin, aristocratic features were a mask of disgusted astonishment. "By great good fortune she has the plantation and is also financially secure. It is her duty to see that you marry well and are provided with a good settlement. Would she permit you to be penniless while she scatters her funds on distant charities ?" Julie felt a little sick. With a horrid clarity she saw what Madame was leading up to. She didn't really consider Julie a good match for Louis, but she was willing to tolerate such a marriage so long as Ann forked over a goodly wad of hard cash; under those conditions the old lady might even fight Bryn. She controlled her impulses and said in a level voice, "Money isn't awfully important to us, Madame. I don't know if you're under the

impression that my sister married Gray Murray because he was rich, but I can assure you she didn't." "Naturally one has feelings in these matters," the old lady answered sharply, "but a woman is not to be blamed if she chooses to use her head as well as her heart. Myself, I would commend your sister for so sensible a marriage. But I would say that it is now her duty to arrange as excellent a match for you." "Ann would help me financially if I needed it, but I don't." Madame drew a well-bred but exasperated breath. "I do not understand you English. One has to use nails to knock facts into your head. It is... unseemly that one sister, who is a wealthy widow, should not share her fortune with a younger who has nothing. You wish to marry well, do you not?" Julie said quietly, "I wish to marry for love, Madame." Madame de Meulen made a small sound of irritation. "But certainly you wish to marry for love. Bien entendu! We are not now concerned with the emotions but with necessity. In a family like mine, mademoiselle, a daughter does not go to her husband without a dowry; and a son" - impressively - "expects that his wife will bring him a dowry. Otherwise, how could a young wife dress and have things about her according to the elegance to which she has been accustomed? It is right that she should have this independence. A young man, newly-married, is often unable to provide everything of the best." Nerves quivering, Julie contrived a nonchalant rejoinder. "In England that kind of thing doesn't matter much. Who cares if this year's clothes have to last well into next year, so long as one is warm with love? It isn't practical, but it's probably heavenly."

No doubt at all that Madame was angry. The thin hands with the loose skin over them clenched whitely and her nose seemed to grow momentarily more bony and autocratic. She appraised Julie with piercing eyes; "I would like to speak with your sister, Julie," she said. "She is older - she will have more sense." Julie hardened. Without thinking sufficiently, she said the unpardonable. "She would tell you that what she does with her money is no one else's business - and I'm afraid, Madame, that I'd agree with her." There was a silence. Madame, ever mistress of a situation, preserved her dignity intact. Regally, she took up her sewing and made a few stitches. Icily, she indicated the door which stood open to the grounds. "You may go to find Louis and Fleur." Julie escaped. Blindly she walked into the sun and crossed the lawn to where Louis and his sister were sitting on a carved white bench. She did not see Louis' glance of anxious enquiry, nor meet the dark and rather sombre eyes of Fleur. She sat down, felt Louis sit down beside her and surreptitiously grasp her hand on the seat between them. The pressure of his fingers was hot and demanding, but there was nothing she could say or do to reassure him. She hated him for laying her open to that scene with Madame. Louis seemed to sense that all had not gone well between his grandmother and Julie, but she suspected he would rather have a talk with Madame before embarking on a discussion with herself. A fact for which she was thankful; she had nothing to say to Louis. When she mentioned it was time she went home he did not demur, and her suggestion that Fleur might also enjoy the ride gained his approval. All three then went indoors. Julie bade Madame a formal au revoir which was received with a frigid nod, and they came out again to

get into/the car. At Murray's Green, Lotus escorted her into the porch and said a rather unhappy farewell. By that time Julie had had a surfeit of the de Meulens; she gave him a perfunctory smile and left him.

That evening, for the first time, a tension Existed between the three at Murray's Green. Ann was cynical without being humorous, Julie felt nervous and apprehensive, and Noel was morose and restless. After dinner, Julie took a walk down to the beach. The sand, white in the darkness, curved between still coconut palms and the moving sea. Warm and spicy scents hung tantalizingly on the air, but apart from the occasional outsize crab which sidled close to her feet there was no sign of life. She wondered about Ann and Noel, but could come to no conclusion about them. What a pity it was they had been unable to avoid close contact with the other white people of the island; those others seemed to have spoiled everything. Farando Cay was such a marvellous spot for thinking and dreaming and recovering from grief. They ought to have been wonderfully happy - all three of them - yet they weren't. She turned and began to climb the rough-hewn steps which zigzagged upwards to the Murray's Green garden, and she thought about Gray, who had lived in that house all his life and known nothing but happiness there until he was too ill to carry on the plantation. Futilely, she wished that Gray were still here; whatever Ann might say to the contrary, she needed a husband, and they'd all loved Gray so much. Julie sighed, reached the top of the steps and caught her breath almost on a sob of anger. For there was Louis and she felt it

impossible to face him. She would have turned and scrambled back to the beach if she hadn't known that he saw her. So she stood still where she was, her fist unconsciously pressing against the thudding in her heart. He came to her quickly. The dark eyes blazed in the pallor of his face and the dark hair, usually so sleek, had been raked into ridges by harassed fingers. He spoke violently, catching her hand up between his and pressing it so hard that it hurt. "Cherie - forgive me that I come like this. Only just now have I talked with Grand'mere - it was impossible earlier - and now she tells me that until you show sense about financial matters she will oppose our marriage. C'est diraisonnable! I cannot believe she is so stupid. It is she who insists this morning that she must have a talk with you. Believe, mademoiselle, that I did not know of what she wished to speak to you till tonight, when she has said you would not accept a marriage settlement from your sister. Grand'mere is enraged, but I can think of nothing but how you are considering me after her tactlessness." A little weakly, Julie said, "You mean, you had no idea she was going to talk to me about money?" "I swear it! Grand'mere has an old-fashioned conception of the grandeur of the de Meulens and she feels that. . ." He hesitated, and she said it for him. "That I, as the daughter of a schoolmaster, am not good enough for her grandson unless I bring with me a large dowry! I understand that very well, but I'm not interested, Louis, now or ever!" He was eager and pained. "My dear one, I do not blame you for being furious. I myself was devastated! Come, let us talk reasonably about this." He was drawing her along the path to a log seat under a

tree, but Julie took no notice of the seat, and as soon as it was possible she firmly withdrew her hand. Louis said, "I would do anything to undo the old woman's foolishness. What do I care if you have not a centime? I love you, Julie, and I want to marry you - in spite of my father, and Grand'mere, in spite of anyone who may be against it! In a little while we shall have money, chine - plenty of it, and what Grand'mere thinks will not matter in the least. But for the present we must not anger her too much. This dowry upon which she insists - it is for your protection, petite, and she means no harm to you. If you are unwilling to ask for a settlement from your sister, perhaps she will give it without being asked." She was frantic. "I wouldn't take it, I tell you, even if I wanted more than anything in the world to marry you. And I don't, Louis. I don't!" "But of course you will marry me!" he exclaimed, bending close. His Voice was shaking. "Since we first met I have thought of nothing else, and I told Grand'mere because I was anxious for her approval. You see, Julie, when we are married we must live at Belle Marquise, so it is imperative that we do not upset Grand'mere. Once she has made over the property to me - which she has promised to do as soon as our marriage is arranged - she will have no power to dictate to us, and you will gradually take over the management of the household. I have plans, Julie - great plans which will make us prosperous, but everything depends on our marriage." Despairingly, pleadingly, she said, "But, Louis, I can't. We're not in love with each other...." He smacked a fist furiously into the palm of his other hand. "I am certainly in love with you. I adore you, Julie, and there is nothing I would not do to make you happy. This misunderstanding is

unsupportable. I am not surprised you are distressed, but you must believe that everything I do is for our future. Unless you marry me everything is lost!" "But how can it be? It isn't my fault if you've built upon something which has no substance. I've never said I'd marry you, and you have no right..." He grasped both her wrists between his hands and declared passionately, "I love you and I am going to marry you, Julie, and that gives me the right to presume many things! I am sorry this had to happen so ... so precipitately, but it makes no difference to you and me. You do not care for Grand'mere. To be frank, she also irritates me, but I must be careful how I behave with her - you must see that. Once Belle Marquise is mine everything will change, I promise you. Cherie, please say you will marry me!" "I can't. I'm not in love with you, Louis." Patently, he found this incredible. He raised her imprisoned hands and pressed kisses upon them. "There is no one else, Julie - there can be no one else! Have I disappointed you in some way?" "No, no, of course not." It was like battling with a spring tide. "There are other women, Louis, Plenty of them in France who would give anything to marry you." "But it is you I want. You, here in Farando Cay. And I must have you!" With an expert manoeuvre he dropped her wrists and flung his arms about her. He kissed her mouth with a paralysing intensity and when she struggled he held her firmly and kissed her again. He was strong in love, this young Frenchman.

But once the first suffocating disbelief was past, Julie became strong in aversion. She gave a wrench that freed her, took a gasping breath and ran. Like a deer she fled along the garden path and round to the front of the house. The french door of the lounge stood wide, and she almost fell into the room and grabbed at the back of a chair for support. "Running away from Louis?" asked Bryn's cool sarcastic voice. "Very sensible of you. I saw his car at the front and guessed you were mooning together in the garden." She straightened and tried to disguise the panting. But her nerves jangled and her heart clamoured up in her throat. She looked around her swiftly. "Haven't you seen Ann ... or Noel?" "No, I haven't tried, "though I actually came to see your sister. Sit down and get your breath. He's probably adjusting his tie and slicking his hair before following you in." But the next minute he was proved wrong. A car started up on the road, gears grated a protest, the engine roared and then the noise receded as the vehicle raced away. Bryn shrugged. "You've sloughed him for the moment, but it won't be as easy as that to get rid of him for good. What did he do?" - with a keen glance. "Kiss you?" She thought suddenly of the last time she had seen Bryn, in his library; his autocratic assumption that he could do as he wished with her future. And she answered, "Any objection, if he did?" "Not if you haven't." But his mouth had thinned, cruelly. "For your sake, I hope you won't get all the trouble you're asking for. I don't know whether, in your exalted condition, you're capable of feeling it, but there's climax in the air and much of it centres on Belle Marquise. You'll think I'm back on my hobby-horse, but it's only

fair that someone should try to knock some sense into that thick head of yours. Louis is a dangerous young cub and he's staking everything on you. Don't flatter yourself it's your person he's in love with; you're the only girl here, so you have no competition." His lip curled as he added, "He means to have you, mon petit pigeon, in spite of Bryn Sherard, and Grand'mere's insistence on the proprieties." "It must sting a bit, then, to discover you're not so powerful, after all. As a matter of fact, it's almost worth marrying him to deprive you of your control over Belle Marquise!" "Don't worry," he said with wounding nonchalance, "I've another ace up my sleeve." And he lit a cigarette. The other "ace" of course was Fleur. In order to do more or less as he wished with Madame, Bryn had only to become engaged to her granddaughter. True, Belle Marquise would still be Louis', but it would not be difficult to persuade Madame de Meulen to decree that the estate should not be altered in any way during her lifetime; which would probably take care of a number of years! Bryn, in his assurance, was insufferable. At that moment, drawing on the cigarette as if it tasted bitter and staring out into the night, he was as remote and cold as a glacier. But as he looked down at her his eyes held a warning glitter. "There's one thing you have to remember, my child. Your living on Farando Cay is purely incidental and may even be temporary. We others belong here and we have the right to keep the island as it is. Apart from every other consideration, though, if you persist in having love scenes with Louis you'll be in for big trouble. And if you're merely allowing him the privilege of kissing you because it titillates your vanity, you're even less of an individual than I thought!"

A retort sprang to Julie's lips but remained unuttered. For Ann came in, glanced from one to the other in some surprise, and said rather slackly, "Good heavens, Bryn. I don't remember having a visit from you at this hour before. In a place like this you can't say you were just passing, and dropped in." "It's not very late," he said. "I hoped you'd have an hour to spare for business." "The plantation?" She took a cigarette from the case he offered. "You know I leave everything in your hands." "This hasn't anything to do with the running of the estate." He paused. "Luke had dinner with me tonight." "Oh, so that's it." She put the cigarette to his light and leaned back, a little paler than usual, but quite calm. "Has he told you about the talk I had with him this morning?" Julie said quickly, "I'll go, Ann...." But Ann waved her back. "No, darling. It's easier to have you here than to tell you about it afterwards. It isn't private." Bryn bent forward with his arms along this thighs. "It seems you didn't come to any decision with Luke, and I'm glad. I feel I do rate some consideration. He says you're thinking of hanging on to Murray's Green." Ann did not equivocate. She tapped away ash and resettled herself in the chair. "I can't decide, Bryn. Perhaps you can help. You knew Gray nearly as well as I did." His glance was sharp. "I knew him better."

"No, you didn't; you" only knew him longer. That's been the trouble between you and me. You can't believe that I did more for Gray in a few months than you were able to accomplish in a lifetime." "I'm not saying that the woman a man marries doesn't learn more about him than his friends do," he answered brusquely. "But Gray's case wasn't a normal one." "You're right. He was sick and abnormally sensitive; therefore he felt more than most men. But we don't have to discuss that." She paused and added baldly, unexpectedly, "I'm in your hands, Bryn. What would you have me do with Gray's money, and his lands?" There was a silence. Julie's ragged nerves began to squeal. Supposing Bryn insisted that it would be best if Ann sold up. Supposing what he really wanted was to get the Penrosses away from Farando Cay. Could he possibly want anything so hurtful? Had nothing grown between them - no bond of any kind? Would she be able to feel like this - full of pain and desolation - if he felt nothing at all? Yes, she admitted hollowly, she would; because Bryn hadn't much of a heart to feel with, anyway.

CHAPTER TEN BRYN had leaned back again and crossed his long legs. He squashed out the cigarette and looked Ann over, thoughtfully. "I feel," he said, "that I ought to beg your pardon for some of the things I said and thought when you first arrived." Ann lifted her shoulders. "You didn't know me, so I daresay you were justified at the time, though you did Gray an injustice. He wouldn't have been attracted to a woman who was after his money." "I know." He glanced briefly at Julie. "But people in love are not entirely responsible for their actions. What makes you think Gray didn't want you to have the money for yourself?" "Nothing. I believe he did, and I'd feel quite happy about taking enough from it to live on if I had to. On the other hand, I'm a qualified nurse and unlikely to spend the rest of my life in idleness. The question is: do I sell out here and use the money in England, or hang on to Murray's Green and build a hospital on the land? Before I saw Luke this morning I was quite determined to stay. He, I'm afraid, is against it, but that wouldn't worry me if you promised your moral assistance." Bryn considered. "I wish you'd just stay on as a plantation 'missus' for a year or two. Surely you're doing enough at the clinic to ease your medical conscience?" Julie swallowed. She thought, "He's fond of Ann. He doesn't want her to go, but... what about me?" Ann said, "You really don't mind my backing out of our bargain? I did promise to sell out to you."

Bryn smiled at her. "Nothing would please me more than to have you marry again and start a family here. Failing that, I've another idea to offer. There are six bedrooms in this house and each would take at least two beds. Why not turn the place into a convalescent home?" Julie found herself saying huskily, "You . . . you would agree to that?" "Why not?" he said, meeting her eyes obliquely, and with curtness in his manner. "There's a hell of a difference between a holiday camp and a convalescent home. The people I invite to my own place are chiefly those who need a rest." "I like the sound of that," Ann commented. "The sick will always turn up, but how does one get hold of people who need to convalesce?" "There are hospitals in Trinidad, Jamaica and Nassau. Take an average of say, four a month from each of them an the details would be looked after by the welfare committees. Your plan for a children's hospital is more ambitious, but it would demand too much of you. You can't get enough responsible staff on a cay in the Caribbean." "So you honestly advise that - the convalescent home idea?" "I advise you to stay as you are for as long as you can, but if you get restive think over my suggestion. As a matter of fact, in about a month I'll have a young fellow here to manage the plantation for you. He was going to do it for me, and he can still answer to me, if you like." Ann was smiling, not very cheerily, but smiling. "I don't know how to thank you, Bryn. I'd have been saved a lot of mental milling if you'd been friendly from the beginning."

"That's life," he said. "There's no reason at all why we shouldn't be friends from now on. By the way, all my guests are clearing out tomorrow, the Delport still next year and the others for a break in Nassau. What about all three of you coming over for dinner tomorrow evening?" "Thanks. We'd like to. Wouldn't we, Julie?" Julie kept her glance away from them and nodded. Her pulses had evened out and now she was merely low and dispirited. It seemed as if life were an unbearable muddle which would never untangle itself. Here was Bryn as matey as he could be with Ann and despising Julie so utterly that he could hardly stand looking at her. They couldn't possibly go on this way; it was much too painful. He was talking companionably with Ann. His lean brown face looked so dear and agreeable; not a vestige remained of the chilly anger about Louis and Belle Marquise. Indeed, one would have said that the French on Farando Cay meant very little to Bryn Sherard. Even Fleur? Julie was not sure. She knew that Fleur and Louis had been dining formally at Tamarisk Lodge once a week, and that Bryn kept up his usual weekly call on Madame. Louis had never pressed for Julie to arrange meetings between Bryn and Fleur, and he now thought the... the romance had reached a point where it could progress without aid of any kind. Fleur's behaviour was no more revealing .than Bryn's, but she hadn't appeared too happy this afternoon. Perhaps Grand'mere had been on to her as well, thought Julie with a sigh; Madame was capable of ferocity when her schemes did not go forward with haste and certainty. Ann was saying, "To me, Luke looks run down - as though he hasn't been eating and slewing as well as he should. Who is this doctor he's going to see in Nassau?"

"A specialist who's there on a routine visit," replied Bryn. "Have you ever had a close look at that knee?" "Good lord, no. He wouldn't let me near it! He thinks all my knowledge is covered by the term 'first aid'." Bryn smiled. "He's been touchy about it since that fall. A stiff knee isn't much of a handicap, but with Luke it's more than the limp. He lost his livelihood and with it quite a chunk of self-respect. Lately he's got to hating himself." "Why don't you make him snap out of it?" "My dear woman," he said, shaking his head at her, "I know exactly how I'd feel in his position. If another man told me to snap out of it I'd feel like snapping his knee instead, to let him see how he liked it! No, Luke has to climb out of this himself. He'll do it." "Will he be writing you from Nassau ?" "Possibly. I've told him not to come back till the place pulls." "That may be never!" "Well, he must please himself. I'm not running other people's lives. I have enough bother at intervals with my own." Now, he looked fully at Julie, and the smile which had been so pleasant for Ann took the cast of distaste. For a few horrid seconds she thought he intended to expose her dilemma over Louis. But he only added, "You ought to give more time to your little sister, Ann." Ann slanted a glance at Julie and replied to him casually, "She's tired. Julie went to Belle Marquise this afternoon. She has to carry on the social life for all of us and it's much more wearing than mere work."

Bryn accepted a nightcap and then got up to go. Ann said goodnight from her chair, and Julie would have done the same, if he had not touched her shoulder and said, his mouth twisted, "Since you're the socialite of the family you can go with me to the gate." She moved at his side. Down the steps and along the drive to the ever-open gates. At the car he stopped and studied her face mercilessly. "The kiss didn't transport you into heaven," he said tersely. "That kind of experiment won't get you anywhere. Why the deuce can't you wait!" "Wait? For what?" "For the genuine article. You won't get it from Louis. All he wants is to get married!" "Not again," she pleaded. "You've just told Ann that you have enough bother with your own private life. Leave mine alone." "I can't." He sounded cold and savage. "I've warned you that we're working up to something, but for the life of me I can't analyse what it is. Spooning with Louis is rash and childish; you must have realized that when you ran away from him "this evening. For heaven's sake see the danger in this situation! Will you let me handle it for you?" "No. Just leave me alone." "Very well." His expression was dark, unreadable, but she had the impression that his jaw had tightened still more. "I'll watch events in my own way. Good-night."

She turned back along the path, tried to swallow on the ridge in her throat and found that slow, hot tears were sliding down under her lids and down her cheeks. Vexedly, she wiped them away, but it wasn't so easy to dispel the anguish. Ann was still where she had left her, in the lounge. She was smoking another cigarette and gazing through the smoke at the beamed ceiling, but when she heard Julie she sat up a little straighter and moved slightly so that she could look at her. "Bryn's right," she said in her level tones. "I don't give you much time, do I? I've become so accustomed to your being able to get through on your own that it hasn't occurred to me that you might need help of some kind." A slight concern deepened her tones, "You don't look a bit bright. Far be it from me to probe, my pet, but if you're in a spot of any kind, you know I'll do my best for you." "I know you will, Ann. I'm quite all right - really." "Was Bryn unpleasant? He looked grim when I first came in." Julie hesitated, and then plunged. "He was warning me against Louis, and I told him he doesn't have to." "I see. And what's wrong with Louis?" Julie wondered if she had been wise even to mention it. Her sister was so engrossed in the clinic and her own business affairs that she would, doubtless be astonished to hear about Louis' ambitions. Yet it was balm to talk with a woman as knowledgeable arid sympathetic as Ann. She said starkly, "He's asked me to marry him." Ann stared. "My, my," she said. "So it's like that. And you - do you feel you can't live without him?"

"Not at all. I've told him I won't marry him, and to me that's the end of it. It's- Bryn's contention that Louis won't take no for an answer." "Oh, well," said Ann with a hint of banter, "just keep on refusing the man. What's the matter with Bryn? Doesn't he want you for a sisterin-law ?" It went home like a knife-stab, yet Julie was able to say, "Sister-inlaw? What are you getting at?" "You must have heard that Fleur de Meulen is going to marry Bryn. Mrs. Delport told me a day or two ago. She got a thorn buried in her hand and came down to have it hooked out. I encouraged her to talk while I did the job, and she was of the opinion that it won't be long before the engagement is announced. Rather a pity, I think. Fleur's too quiet and accommodating for a man like Bryn." "They... they've known each other a long time." Ann flipped her fingers. "Maybe he was waiting for her to reach twenty-one. When it comes off the old lady will be beside herself. There'll be Fleur living at Tamarisk Lodge, and Louis - well, if he married you I suppose you'd both live at Belle Marquise. She'd have everything her own way." "But I shan't marry Louis!" "I heard you the first time, darling. I was only soliloquizing. To be honest, I don't care for Louis much myself. He has a mercenary streak." So Ann did see more than she confessed. "How did you find that out?" Julie asked curiously. "From Dr. Jackson. Louis had the nerve to query the medical accounts for the Belle Marquise labourers, and from the workers

themselves I had it that he's tightening up on expenditure because he has to make a large down payment on the building of those holiday cottages he's planning." Flippantly, she ended, "Busy little island, Farando Cay, and chockfull of intrigue; even you have managed to get into it. Noel, thank the stars, is high and dry." Upon this Julie made no comment. She went off to boil a kettle and make some coffee, and ten minutes later took a cup to Ann in her bedroom. Back in the kitchen she paused before pouring coffee for Noel. Through the window she could see there was no light in the den and she didn't think there was one in his bedroom next door, either. She stood there at the kitchen window, her own unhappiness forgotten while she fretted about Noel. She saw a movement out there among the bushes and quickly dropped the curtain. He had been walking again, alone, and her heart contracted with pity for him because he had never before know heartache. Everything had always gone well for Noel; one would almost have taken it for granted that his loves would follow the same course. But like herself he had had to pick on someone impossible. What fools were the Penrosses! Quickly she poured milky coffee and added to it a tot of whisky. She carried it into Noel's bedroom and switched on the bedside light. Coming out of the room she met him. He looked haggard and blank-eyed, and she would have given everything she owned to be able to whisper, "She loves you, Noel. Things will work out." She did say softly, "I forgot to tell you - Fleur likes that article you sent her. She thinks you're a very good writer." But he didn't brighten. "Bless you, Julie," he said. "I'm relying on you to chase me back to work in the morning."

The next day a gale hit Farando Cay, causing a vast amount of damage. It tore out of a clear sky, lifted roofs and hurled them out to sea, knocked people flat on their faces and uprooted trees as if they were light as matchsticks. The palms were suddenly a frenzy of whirling green, and all over the hillsides near the waterfront houses rocked, shutters crashed and clouds of pink dust eddied skywards, creating a suffocating haze. It lasted a day and a half, and while the wind raged almost the entire population stayed within doors. The stores and factories were closed, the clinic was shuttered and barred and those boats which could not be dragged ashore to shelter were lashed together in the harbour where gigantic waves rose and splintered in a majestic chaos. It was towards sunset on the second day that the gale died as suddenly as it had begun. The frantically waving branches were still, the windows ceased to bang, and for a moment it was as though life itself had stopped. In the swift peace, Ann put on a coat and got out the car. When Noel appeared at one side of her and Julie at the other she did no more than nod. They got in with her and went to the clinic. There they found a besieging throng. Broken limbs, smashed heads, superficial wounds by the score, and some folk who had what they termed "de 'ur 'cane sickness" through herding together in large numbers within tiny huts. Ann organized the bedraggled brown people into queues, had the serious cases lined up on stretchers down the centre of the ward and put Julie and Noel on to bandaging the lighter wounds. It was dim in the anteroom where Julie and Noel worked. Only one lamp was functioning and that erratically, and they were surrounded by a miserable audience who shuffled and sighed with poignant self-

pity. It grew late, bandaged victims were sent out at the rate of one every few minutes, yet the crowd did not thin out. If anything, the room became more full and fetid, in spite of windows thrown wide and a spinning fan. Someone fought through the doorway with steaming rum coffee, but after the first sip Julie had to leave it, though Noel managed to quaff the appalling brew. It was about ten o'clock when Fleur edged her way through the mass of Cayans near the door. She did it fastidiously yet firmly, and when Noel, his jaw slightly askew, flurried to her assistance, she gave him her small smile and thanked him politely. "I have been helping Louis at the settlement," she said. "We gave out drinks and food and now he is with those of our workers who are making small repairs to their homes. I met Bryn and asked him to bring me here." Then, simply, "Tell me what I must do." Noel answered her gruffly. "You've done enough. Find somewhere peaceful and rest." "Do not be foolish," she said. "I can wash wounds while you bandage. We will deal more quickly with these poor people." "Julie," implored Noel, his face a furious red, "take Mademoiselle outside and find someone to drive her home." Julie snipped away the ends of a bandage. She looked quickly from the pale, composed face of Fleur to her brother's. "Why shouldn't she do her bit if she wants to? Fleur, we've run out of dressings, and it's such a nuisance to have to stop and make one for every patient. Make us a few like this one, will you?" Noel carried on with what he was doing. The fact that he fumbled more than previously might have been due to the fact that he had put on considerable speed. Fleur cut squares of cotton wool and wrapped them in gauze, and when a pile had appeared at her elbow

she made a space at the other end of the table and dealt with some of the injured herself. By midnight, when the last gale victim had been sent away, Fleur's white linen dress was spattered with dirt and blood, her nose shone and her hair stuck out in wisps at the temples. Noel hovered anxiously. His love reached out to enwrap Fleur like an electric blanket; it hurt Julie, and it seemed that Fleur herself must have been a little aware of it, for when he insisted on driving her home at once her smile at him was warm and grateful. "If you are sure there is nothing more I can do?" "Perhaps tomorrow," he said. "Coming, Julie?" "No, I'll wait for Ann. Good-night, Fleur." The accommodating sister to the last, she thought wryly. She was hot and tired, the clinic smelled unbearably of human flesh and antiseptic and, belatedly, a steady rain was releasing the pungent odours of earth and growth. Everyone had been provided with some sort of shelter for the night, thank heaven. She went into the dimly-lit ward and concluded that Ann and Dr. Jackson were working at the two lighted, screened- off beds some way down to the right. A tall man in a medical overall was bending .over one of the stretchers on the floor. He looked up, beckoned to Julie and she went to him. Not until she was kneeling beside the whimpering child did she realize the man was Bryn. "The only pneumonia case, so far, and he's not very bad," he said softly. "We can't leave him here on the floor. My car is outside. Take some blankets and make a little bed in the back seat. I'll carry him out."

She nodded. Oddly, her tiredness had fallen away and her heart become full and happier. She got up and went in search of blankets, found only one but added to it her own coat and the travelling rug from Bryn's luggage carrier. No sooner had she arranged them in the back seat than Bryn came out with the child, a boy of about three or four. His pale chocolate skin ran with sweat and he uttered plaintive cries as he tossed his arms. Had it not been for Bryn's calmness and speed and his insistence that the boy was not desperately ill, Julie would have been frightened for the child. He hurried back into the clinic and came out with a medical kit which he stowed on the floor of the car, and then he opened the front door for Julie. "Where are we going?" she asked. "To Tamarisk Lodge. Jackson gave him a shot of penicillin, but he'll need dosing with sulpha." They were already moving when she pleaded, "Bryn, please take him to Murray's Green. I'll look after him." On the point of refusing he appeared to change his mind. "All right," he said after a pause. "Perhaps it would be best, as I have to be out for the rest of the night." At Murray's Green, Bryn flatly refused to carry the child into Julie's bedroom. The boy was put into Noel's bed, the first dose of medicine administered and the blankets tucked snugly about him. In the porch, Bryn bade Julie good-night. As an afterthought he said, "By the way, this gale isn't the climax I warned you about. This is merely weather and doesn't even rate as a complication." Before she could reflect upon the statement he was gone..

* The following morning broke brilliantly over the island. The seas were calm and seductive, disclaiming all connection with the wreckage which lay over the waterfront like a blight. The palms waved tenderly, ignoring the shed coconuts which massed about their roots like huge cobblestones, and rakish thatched roofs had a benign and propitiatory air. The next day was Sunday, rather different from other Sundays because Bryn was coming over after lunch for the rest of the day. Ann had decided to have breakfast in bed and Noel was eating grapefruit and a couple of boiled eggs in his den. The little invalid, already much better and able to take some food, was in the servants' quarters, moved there by the indignant Ignatia. "Dis lil no-good Cayan," she had told Julie, "am crawly wid fleas. He flea-up de rest ob de house!" Ignatia was very motherly with the child or Julie would not have let him go. In a day or two he could be taken back to his parents. She had some toast and fruit-juice and went down into the sparkling garden. She couldn't help the thread of cautious elation which ran in her veins, and she didn't mind admitting to herself its connection with Bryn. Perhaps he would have thrown off that black mood by now. She heard a car and thought, "Luke!" But Luke was away, and almost the only other car owner beside Bryn was ... yes, it was Louis. Her heart sank a fraction but she was determined that not even Louis should spoil this day. He had been so good during the first aftermath of the gale, doling out meal and sugar and coffee and directing the minor repairs. So she smiled at him and, for good measure, held out a hand.

He bent over it. "How nice to find you in the garden, Julie: I was afraid you would be worn out with this climate and keeping to your room. But you do not look too tired." "Nor you," she said conventionally. "You're about early, Louis." He took a moment to get into stride by her side, then said carefully, "We owe ourselves a small discussion, do we not? W ill you spend the morning with me on the boat ?" "I'm sorry," she answered at once. "I can't go with you, but we can walk down to the beach and talk there." His head lowered and he moistened those full lips. "Then you do not forgive I was afraid of that. Yet I have been so dreadfully angry with myself for the things I said and did the other evening. I knew they were unpardonable, yet I hoped, because you are gentle and good, that you would forgive me. I was beside myself - so much that I could not think clearly, only act. Now, I would give all I own to be back where we were, you and I, a week ago." His voice shook and she thought with a sigh, "This Frenchman ! I may be a complete fool, but I believe him." Aloud she said, "Don't think about it any more, Louis. Just ... just don't do it again." He caught her hand as it swung. "My dear one! That makes me so happy. I have been wanting to come to you, but I would not, until I felt you had had time to forget my display of ill-timed passion. We are friends again, are we not?" "Of course we are." "Then prove it, cherie. Come out with me in the motor yacht."

"Now?" "But why not? The sea is like glass. Through the binoculars this morning I saw the palms scarcely moving out there on Aquila Cay; one could almost swim the distance. Let us take out the boat and talk and be lazy for an hour or two. There are what you call 'hard rations' in the locker. We could even have lunch there." "I can't do that. We have Bryn coming this afternoon." He made a grimace of distaste. "The more I think of Bryn as a relative, the less I am able to support it. The man is iron. Do you know he worked through forty-eight hours for those ungrateful Cayans? He is even supplying the repair material, free of charge. One wonders how he ever grew rich!" "He probably gets more work out of the people if they are well looked after." An alien shrug. "Me, I would drive them to work; they are full of rum and bad singing. At what time does Bryn come here?" "Around three, I think." "Then we have plenty of time. On Aquila Cay we will have dejeuner, like the French, and we can be back here at one- thirty. Say yes, Julie." He was so patently apologetic, so unimpassioned, that she yielded a mite. "Will Fleur come?" "Fleur can come if you wish," he said almost fretfully, "but how can we talk if she is there? Besides, she and I have no bond these days. Do you know, she is opposed to the improvements I have in mind for Belle Marquise! She regards with distaste my plan for tourist

cottages which will bring in a small but regular income. Already she is as difficult to approach on that subject as Bryn Sherard himself!" The chilly feeling was back in Julie's heart. Why, oh, why couldn't Louis have stayed away today, of all days! He was forcing her to think about matters she had determinedly locked away. It was no use caring that Fleur had absorbed Bryn's ideas; the way they were now, she was bound to. But Julie didn't want to know. Not today, anyway. "So you will come with me, won't you - without Fleur," Louis coaxed her. "I will take the greatest care of you, petite, and we will return the moment you wish it. Out there at sea it is cool and beautiful and the boat moves like a bird. Since the gale there will be sponges by the hundred on the cays, and branches of coral sown with those red weeds you find so fascinating. And again I promise I will behave with the utmost propriety! Come, Julie." She did not hesitate much longer. "I'll have to tell Ann I won't be back for lunch," she said. "Would you like a drink of some sort?" "Of drink," he told her confidingly, "we also have a stock on the boat. But bring a coat, cherie. There is a chance you will feel cold on the sea." "I shan't." "Bring it, nevertheless. I will take charge of it." When she came out from the house he took the coat from her and slipped an arm under hers. "We are off," he said gaily. "Believe me, Julie, this is a very exciting moment in our lives!"

Julie did not openly disagree, but in that moment she realized that Louis wasn't a bit exciting any more; even those qualities she had found endearing had lost their charm.

CHAPTER ELEVEN THE whole of that Sunday morning Noel spent at his table, writing down his impressions of the gale and its wake of havoc. He had lunch with Ann in the veranda and afterwards unashamedly went to sleep in his chair till she sent him off to change his green flannels for seemly whites. Ann put on one of her linen suits, turquoise with a finely pleated skirt, after which she sat in the lounge with a book open on her knees, not troubling to turn a page. Examining her own reactions, Ann discovered she was both glad and sorry about the decision to spend the next few years of her life on Farando Cay. Noel, of course, would only hang on as long as it suited him, and Julie would definitely return to England some time soon. Even if she wanted to stay, it wouldn't be fair to deprive her of young society and the chance of marriage, though neither of them would be happy about parting. A pity Lotus was such a self-centred blighter. He certainly had a business head on him, but a girl like Julie had to keep her dreams. Still, it would have been pretty marvellous if Julie could have married someone here in Farando Cay. One might base a hope or two on this new young manager of Bryn's. Noel came in with his attractive slouch. The slightly ravaged appearance, brought on no doubt by unceasing toil with his pen, made him mature and interesting. He really looked his profession, which was more than could be said for other writers with whom she had had contact. Bryn came slightly earlier than she had expected. He stalked in in that lordly fashion of his, gave them both a casual greeting and slipped down into a chair as familiarly as if this were still Gray's house.

"After all those hours on the go you ought to be tired," she said. "What time did you get to bed last night ?" "It was two in the morning, but I've been lazy today." "You won't want to play tennis." "I don't mind a doubles. Where's Julie?" Ann looked at her watch. "It's three, and she thought she'd be back by two. She went out with Louis at about nine-thirty this morning." "To Belle Marquise?" "They were going out in a boat, and I expect he persuaded her to go with him to Belle Marquise for lunch. She'll turn up soon." Bryn gazed out at the garden for a minute. Then he said, without much expression, "You have an obstinate young sister, Ann. She doesn't believe a thing she hasn't experienced herself, and what she knows about men isn't worth mentioning. Can't you stop her seeing so much of Louis?" "She won't come to harm," said Ann easily. "Loins may be a little headstrong and rather more passionate than we English, but he has a fine sense of propriety. I expect he thinks he's being awfully daring to go out alone with a woman in his boat." "I wonder." Bryn sounded cool and sceptical. "Don't get a mistaken impression of him. Like most young Frenchmen of his class, Louis has been around. He also has a fantastically one-track mind." "Well, don't worry.' His intentions towards Julie are strictly honourable. Why, don't you have a knock-up on the court with Noel? You don't need to kill yourselves."

She strolled outside with them, tall and lovely in the blue suit and a wide-brimmed hat. She sat in a canvas chair under a tree, and watched a game which developed from a lackadaisical start into a fiendish match of wits which left poor Noel limp as wet string. Ignatia brought tea and cool drinks, and Ann saw with annoyance that it was four-thirty. What on earth was Julie thinking of? She had said she would be here when Bryn arrived, and it wasn't like her not to keep a promise. Come to think of it, though, there seemed to be some sort of strain between Julie and Bryn. Was she deliberately avoiding him? Ann didn't think so. No, Louis was to blame for her absence from home this afternoon; Ann was sure of it. Presently, Bryn looked irritably at the house. He called to the youngster who had acted as ball-boy and was now eating a large portion of pie tinder a palm. "Ask Mama Ignatia if the young miss is home yet." "Yass, sah!" Ann said, "I feel a bit on edge about it, too. I'm sure she'd have come out if she were here." The boy returned, shaking his woolly head. "Young miss not come at-all." Bryn stood up suddenly. "I'm going down to Belle Marquise. Are you coming?" Aim was jolted. "Do you think they could have had an accident in that boat?" "Not on your life," said Noel. "Louis handles the thing as if he were born to it, and the sea is unruffled as a pond today. They're probably basking on Aquila Cay."

"Not if Julie said they'd be back by two!" Bryn bit out. "They could be half an hour late, but not longer." He was almost pushing Ann along with him, and he added over his shoulder, "Stay here, Noel, in case they come up from your beach. If they do, come after us." Noel gave an incredulous shrug. "Aren't you getting hot over nothing? It seems to me..." Bryn swung round, blazing, "I don't care what it seems to you. You don't know the half of this. Louis is absolutely banking on having his own way with your sister and his grandmother. He doesn't get Belle Marquise until he marries and he wants to marry Julie. Got that?" "Yes," was Noel's dazed reply. "But what do you think he'd do?" asked Ann, her face white. "I can only give a guess." He dragged open the car door for her to get in. "We may find that he's merely used his persuasions to keep her at Belle Marquise for the day. Let's hope so!" They shot away, leaving Noel perplexed and uncomfortable. Bryn drove fast and said nothing at all till Ann asked, "How can Louis possibly make her do anything against her will? She told me herself she wouldn't marry him at any price." "She did?" He cast her a grim glance. "I wish to heaven she'd told me as plainly as that - or that you had. If I'd known I could have prevented this." "I still think we may be panicking." "My dear woman," he answered curtly, "I never panic. You may be a good nurse, Ann, but you're a damned rotten sister!"

Ann was so hurt that she was silent the rest of the way. Belle Marquise stood massive and immutable against trees and the metallic blue sky. Bryn thrust open the main door without ceremony, stalked into the salon and demanded of an astonished servant that he call his mistress. Madame came in regally, her head held high above the stiff white collar of her navy silk. She advanced in her customary fashion, with one hand forward so that Bryn could take it and bend over it if he had a mind. But Bryn's mind was elsewhere. "Madame," he demanded abruptly, "is Louis here?" "Louis?" The sharp old eyes shifted to Ann. "No, Louis is away." "Oh!" Ann wailed. "Away where?" Madame addressed Bryn. "What is it you want of Louis? I have not seen you like this before." If Fleur had not made her appearance at that moment he might have been unforgivably rude. But she came swiftly to her grandmother's side and faced them, her eyes brave and frightened. So Bryn said, his mouth thin, "Where has Louis gone - and for how long?" "He has gone to one of his friends in the islands for a few days; I do not know which one. The sea is calm, good weather has set in, and he grows impatient of the restrictions on Farando Cay. He is young..." "Did you know," Bryn asked, his teeth snapping, "that he planned to take Julie Penross with him?"

Madame grasped this and stiffened. Fleur swayed and uttered a faint, "No!" Bryn turned to her, as gently as he could in his anger. "You knew nothing of this, mademoiselle?" "Nothing." "Then please go to your room. This will only distress you." Madame echoed his command in French, and Fleur drifted away like a wraith. Madame moved and sank rather suddenly into a chair. But to her credit scarcely a muscle in her face was not under control. "You are speaking," she said haughtily, "as if Julie was dragged away in the boat against her will. You are accusing Louis of disgusting conduct, and I have a right to know why. Because I do not believe for one second that Louis would behave like a... a goujat!" "Julie," Bryn told her angrily, "imagined she was going for a morning's joy-ride. She told her sister she would be back at the house at two. Louis is a liar and a cheat, and I mean to find him! Your imagination is as; good as mine, so I don't have to explain what was at the back of his actions. He's mad with the desire to own Belle Marquise and turn it into a money-making racket, and you, in your ignorance of his character, have abetted him. You know as well as I do that this escapade is a forced elopement!" "Oh, Bryn!" Ann clutched at his arm. "What in the world are we going to do?" "We're going to search and find them, and if he's harmed her in any way..." "She will not be harmed!" The old lady smote the arm of her chair in a grand display of fury. "Would Louis harm the woman he wishes to marry? Do you not realize that however ill-advised his behaviour he

is a de Meulen!" She glittered up at them. "What is so wrong about this elopement? Did not an ancestor of your own carry away the beautiful Antoinette? That marriage resulted in the friendship of your family with mine, and might not this..." But Bryn had no time for history. "Tell me the islands he visits in the boat." Through a narrowed mouth she named half a dozen cays. "But when you do find them," she said, the thin nostrils dilated, "it will be too late to prevent the marriage. After spending a night in his company she will have no choice." "That's what your precious grandson is counting on. But maybe we'll see that she doesn't spend a night in his company!" Afterwards, Ann could never fully recall the happenings of the following few hours. She did remember gathering up medical kit and an overcoat from her room and hurrying back to Bryn's car with Noel, and she vaguely recollected going aboard a motor vessel which smelled strongly of bananas and pineapples. For the rest, it was a nightmare of swift moving across darkening seas, the eclipse of the sunset by the purple pall of night, hurried conversations on rickety jetties, and again the speeding across the wastes of the Caribbean. That was the longest evening she had ever lived through.

Julie was roused by the newly-sprung night breeze blowing cool over her drying body; and by something else - the noise of an engine not far from the shore. In an instant she was wide awake and prepared to heave herself away into the bush. She rested an elbow in the sand and painfully lifted herself, and a dry sob of relief pushed past the salt mound in her throat. It wasn't the outboard motor-boat. Too big, too many lights.

The engine slowed and a long white beam raked the beach, backwards and forwards, not quite reaching her. It must have floodlit something, though, because it swung to the left and remained stationary. She stared at it with smarting eyes and thought, dully, "The light has found one of my shoes; I lost the other in the sea." Then she lay back in the yielding sand, too exhausted both mentally and physically to remain conscious. Even when they came upon her she was hardly aware of it. She didn't hear Bryn's savage oath, nor feel Ann's fingers prodding professionally over her limbs. The whisky they forced into her did compel her eyes open, but their faces were a blur. The smile she gave them had the greyness of death. Dawn was splashing pearly streaks across the eastern sky when the fruit boat put back into the harbour at Farando Cay. Dr. Jackson, with commendable foresight, had the ambulance waiting there, and it did not take long for Julie to be transferred into it and driven to Murray's Green. She slept through most of that day and all night; Ann saw to that. She and Noel were both badly shaken, but not for anything would they have hurried Julie into giving an account of what had happened out there on the sea between herself and Louis. Ann stayed at home, and their only visitor was Bryn. Bryn, of course, was impatient. "I've made all the enquiries I can and there's no trace of Louis. Julie may be able to tell us where he was making for." "I don't see that it matters," Ann said flatly. "Thank heaven she got through with nothing worse than a few nasty bruises. I don't care what happens to Louis."

"Well, I do! If he ever shows up here again I'll choke him. If Noel was any sort of a brother he'd feel like doing the same!" "We're not all as violent as you are, Bryn. Noel and I just hope we'll never see Louis again." Julie hoped that, too, but she didn't spend a lot of time thinking about it. It was after nine when she awoke next morning, feeling as if a slice had been cut right out of her life. Her head was empty, her stomach hollow because she had eaten nothing solid since the Sunday morning toast, and the stiff ache in her body made movement something to be put off. One of the french windows was open and the curtain blew out, sending gusts of air over the bed. Outside in the veranda a bright red bird was pecking at a handful of seeds which Noel must have placed there. The palms rustled invitingly and above them the sky was its usual merciless blue. Into the open doorway stepped Bryn. Julie looked at him without any kind of emotion, and when he came right into her room it didn't strike her as peculiar. She felt as if nothing would really move her any more. His voice was strangely low. "Hallo, Julie. How are you?" She answered reluctantly, her tones thin. "Not so bad. Why are you here... so early?" He gave her a tight little smile. "I wanted to be in on the awakening. Would you like some tea?" "I think I would." Perhaps she had vaguely thought the request might take him away for a long time, or for good, but he was back in two minutes, carrying a cup.

"A spot of luck - Ignatia had it ready," he said, putting it down on the bedside table. "Don't try to move. I'll help you." At any other time she would have had to repulse him. This morning, however, she had no mood of any kind. She felt his arm slide under her and take her weight while he shifted the pillows to make a backrest, and then, despite his gentleness, she knew a tearing pain in her joints, so that her teeth went together and her eyes closed hard as he lifted her into a sitting position. The next moment he exclaimed, briefly and angrily, and turned back the sleeve of her pyjama jacket in order to get a closer look at the graze and bruises on her arm. But he didn't say anything till he had the tea-cup to her lips. Then, rather thickly, he muttered, "I've got to know all about it as soon as you can tell me, Julie." He pulled a chair forward suddenly and sat down, took one of her hands and leaned forward. "Let me have the whole thing - from when you went out in the boat on Sunday morning till midnight when we found you." "Not... yet." "Please. Just the "bare details, there's a good girl." Her pale lips hardly moved as she asked, "Isn't he back - Louis?" "Was he coming back?" "I don't know," she replied slackly. "He probably thinks I'm drowned." The points of fire in Bryn's eyes leapt strangely. "Why should he think that?"

She took more sips of the tea, dabbed her mouth with the handkerchief he gave her from his top pocket, and said, "I suppose it has to be told some time." But she hesitated before adding, "Louis had planned it, you see, but I suspected nothing. He had his boat overhauled and provisioned. We went first to Aquila Cay, but he wouldn't stay there long. I thought we were coming straight back." "But you didn't," Bryn prompted her quickly. "No. He set the boat due east and put on full speed. I didn't get anxious because there was still plenty of time ... and he was charming." "Of course he was" - tautly. "The rat!" His hand over hers was warm and gripping. She felt the pulse in her wrist throbbing hard into his fingers, and an uneasiness, the first sign of returning emotion, caused a feathery chill over her skin. "You know already why he took me to sea, don't you?" His eyes still burned but his voice was extraordinarily quiet. "Yes, I know. Where was he heading for - Martinique ?" "I'm not sure. Anyway I told him I wouldn't marry him and he laughed - said I would think differently after we'd been at sea a couple of days. I... I..." "Take your time, Julie." His thumb moved over the delicate veins at her wrist. "Does talking about it upset you?" She moistened her lips. "A little, but now I've begun ..." "Were you terribly frightened?"

"Not for some time. It was daylight and all the time I could see other cays. I told him that when I was missed a search- party would come after me, but there was no shaking him. He was so certain his plan would succeed that I began to feel... helpless." "I can understand that," he said, his mouth compressed. "Let's come to the bruises, shall we?" She looked down sideways at her arm. "If you're thinking he mishandled me, you're wrong. He was in high spirits and sweet to me. I knew that... if I did have to spend the night in the boat with him he... he wouldn't..." "You knew nothing of the sort. He's a man and I'm afraid he war as likely to try his luck as any other man would be. He was so determined on this scheme that he might have..." He paused, saw a very faint pink come up under her skin, and tacked on sardonically, "Let it pass, and get on with your story." "Well, I was worried because I thought Ann would be getting anxious. He said she would certainly get in touch with Belle Marquise, and Madame would let her know that he intended being away for a few days. They would surmise the elopement, and Grand'mere, for one, would not be displeased. He said that quite apart from the dowry business, Madame couldn't agree to his marrying me until you did, but he was sure that secretly the old lady would approve his step; it would let her out of that 'gentleman's agreement with you, you see." "Yes, I see." The sharp breath he drew was audible. "Didn't you defy him, for heaven's sake? You haven't been backward in defying me for much less!" "You don't really understand how it was, Bryn. He wasn't horrid, and I couldn't see that it would do any good to rouse him."

"You could have threatened him with legal steps as soon as you reach land - anything to pull him up and make him think." She eased her shoulders and withdrew her hand from his clasp. "I had a method of escape in my mind, and I thought it safer to keep him sweet. I pretended it was all a huge joke, to frighten me - that he would take me home when he had had his fun. It did keep him at a distance till it was dark." Bryn's expression was hard and watchful. "Then what?" She shook her head slightly and looked away from him. "Nothing. He began to prepare some food and while his back was towards me I slipped over the side of the boat and struck out. It was crazy, of course. On the boat I could see the black outline of an island, but once I was swimming I couldn't see anything at all. He dived in after me, but I had two or three minutes' start, and I knew he'd keep the boat in sight. After that, I just swam and swam." "Among the coral and the big fish and unyielding rocks." He gave an angry little laugh. "And the crazy-shot came off!" "I was swimming for a long time. I suppose that's why I ache so abominably." "Now that you've slept off all risk of shock we'll massage those aches away. You need some gentle exercise. Come on, let me help you out of bed." She hadn't time to voice a firm refusal before the door opened and Ann walked in. "Well," she commented with a trace of acid, "I never knew any place where there was so much room and so little privacy. I suppose it's these french doors. I understand you've been giving the servant her orders, Bryn. If you don't mind my saying so, I'm still capable of

ordering a patient's breakfast." She came to the other side of the bed and cast a knowledgeable glance over Julie's pallor. "Maybe you're not wide awake enough yet to mind having a man in your bedroom. How are the muscles, darling?" Bryn answered her crisply, "I was just suggesting some exercise." "Plenty of time," said Ann drily. He stood up and Julie lifted a detaining hand, quickly. "You're not going after Louis, are you?" "I don't have to. I'm pretty certain now that he's gone to Martinique. I need only send a report through to get him apprehended." "Please don't," she begged. "There's no need to spread this all through the islands." "That young cub has been needing a lesson.. "Ssh!" But Ann's warning came too late. Fleur stood in the doorway, a slim and flower-like figure in daffodil yellow. She looked from Bryn to Julie, and back at Bryn. Ann said, "I was about to tell you that Fleur had called to see how you're going along, Julie." Diplomatically, she added, "Come and have a cup of tea, Bryn." Fleur had come right in, though. To Julie she said, her mouth quivering, "I am so sorry to see you like this, and the fact that it is my brother who has caused it grieves me more than I can say." She raised her head and met Bryn's grey eyes. "I have to plead with you, Bryn. Grand'mere is very unwell because we have had news that Louis has reached a small French island near Martinique, and she is

afraid of what you may do. If the escapade had caused deep hurt to Julie I would say that Louis would deserve punishment; but you will agree that men are reckless when they are in love, and Louis has his share of foolishness." Bryn spoke in the quiet tones he always used with the French girl. "What a pity your brother hasn't some of your integrity, Fleurise. I would not wish to disturb Madame more than is necessary. Tell her we will deal with Louis here, when he returns." Grateful tears filled her eyes, but she gave him a tremulous smile. "I told Grand'mere you would do nothing to wound her-and me." "How did you know I was here?" "I went first to your house." He smiled slightly. In a moment, thought Julie, her hands tight and clammy under the blanket, he'll put an arm round her and lead her outside. She looked at Fleur's slender figure, at the dark head without a hair out of place, at the thin fingers nervously clasping and unclasping. Was all this feeling for Louis or for Bryn? Julie felt all will going out of her. She was sick and defeated, a negligible piece of humanity amid crumpled pyjamas and tumbled bedclothes. She wished they would get out, all of them. Bryn observed, "I'll see you again later, Julie." And Ann said, "Sorry I hadn't got you prinked up for visitors, but I didn't imagine we'd have any this early." Then Julie was left alone with Fleur. The French girl came closer to the bed and placed both hands on the back of the chair in which Bryn had sat. Her voice still low and uncertain, she said, "How can I possibly express what I feel about this, Julie?"

"I shouldn't try. None of it was your fault." "But I must tell you how it was. When we heard about the stupid thing Louis had done Grand'mere was resigned. She thought it would smooth many difficulties. But I was desolate for you. I knew my brother was in love with you..." "He wasn't. Louis has never loved anyone but himself." Fleur nodded, accepting the rebuke. "But he cared more for you than he has ever cared for any other woman. I knew that. I also knew you were not in love with him, and I told Grand'mere so." Julie looked up at the other girl's pale, controlled features. "How did you know I didn't love Louis? We've never talked intimately, you and I." "Nevertheless, I was sure." Fleur hesitated. "I watched you and my brother when you were together. Louis was all ardour, but you were cold. You could not have been like that if you were in love." To add to her own torment, Julie put a veiled question. "You speak as if you know a great deal about love." Fleur's glance lowered to her white hands gripped over the back of the chair. "Love can be very beautiful," she said, "but when money has to enter the relationship it becomes painful and ugly." Julie had her answer, and though she had known it all along, it had all the elements of a death-blow because the information came from Fleur herself. Yet in her anguish she spared a moment's compassion for the young woman who had become a bargaining commodity in the hands of her grandmother; Fleur was to be bought - her price the mortgage bonds on Belle Marquise. Bryn wouldn't regard it that way, but Fleur couldn't help doing so and it tainted the pleasures of love.

In a valiant attempt to draw them both back to normal, Julie said, "I'm glad you were able to persuade Bryn to do nothing about Louis till he gets back here. And don't worry, Fleur, I shan't want to do anything about him at all. Except" - with the ghost of a smile - "that I'll be careful not to go out alone with him again in a boat!" "You are very good, Julie." She moved, bent and laid cool lips to Julie's hot temple. As she straightened she sighed. "It would be good to think that one day we would all be happy, and still know each other. I must go now; Grand'mere may have awakened, and if she discovers I have been out alone she will fuss." Julie said good-bye and slid back into her pillows. A minute later she heard Bryn's firm tones on the veranda and Fleur's modulated reply. Then Bryn's voice again, clearly, "I'll be along at midmorning, Fleur. It's time Madame and I had a serious talk. And don't give another anxious thought to Louis. I'm sure you'll approve of the way I intend to deal with him." Fleur's answer had a smile in it. "I would always rely on you, Bryn. Always." Very nice, too. Julie closed her eyes and longed to weep. So this was the climax Bryn had warned her against. It was lasting a long time; Sunday till Tuesday, and there was no guarantee that it was over now. Ann came in carrying a tray. "Some breakfast first," she said, "then I'll get you up and into the lounge. Bryn says a cargo-boat has come in with some mail, so I think I'll go down for the letters. I'm expecting one from the lawyer in Nassau. Come on, darling, don't look so sad. It's a marvellous morning." Marvellous, Julie conceded thinly. Just marvellous.

CHAPTER TWELVE ANN picked up the letters at the shack to which they were usually delivered, read through the statement of her finances which had come from the lawyer, stowed away a couple of - envelopes addressed to Noel and walked up the slope from the waterfront to the car. Luke's untenanted house looked a little forlorn. Aim had never been inside the place, but she thought that in atmosphere the interior might be an extension of the exterior; a little care would improve it a great deal. Without thinking much about what she was doing, she strolled across the lawn and arrived at the veranda. One of the dogs opened an eye, waved the tip of his tail in recognition of a visitor, sighed blissfully and went to sleep again. Ann smiled to herself. Just the sort of dogs Luke would have. She pulled the silky black ears and peered through a window. A light and comfortable living-room, but somehow without heart. Like Luke himself. She turned away from the window, bestowed another smile on the dogs and was about to go down the steps when the door opened and Luke came out. Ann stopped almost violently and colour suffused her face. She felt herself grow angry with him, terribly angry because he was here and she had wandered around his domain as if he weren't. "Good morning," he said. "Were you going away without knocking?" "I didn't know you were home!" "I guessed that. I came in on the coaster this morning. Saw you through the window. Won't you come in now you're here?" Her anger was cooling and turning inwards. He didn't appear to be too well, or perhaps it had been a rotten journey by sea. She passed

him and went into the living-room to stand rather inflexibly near the table. "How did you get on in Nassau?" "Badly. Sit down; the place isn't much compared with Murray's Green, but there's a degree of comfort." She took a chair and glanced up at him. "Did you see the specialist?" He nodded and offered cigarettes. "He couldn't do a thing. I'll always have a game leg. Light?" She blew out smoke and thanked him, watched him hitch his trousers and sit down a little awkwardly. And because she could see that he was loathing himself for some reason, she said levelly, "I saw Bryn this morning, but he didn't say you were expected." "He doesn't yet know I'm here. I meant to stay longer, but you know how it is when you're away and things are happening. I heard about the gale and wondered how you'd all got through; then yesterday morning I was told about a fruit boat which had been searching the islands for Louis de Meulen and your sister. How is she, by the way?" "Julie? She got through all right. We found her on Sunday night." "So they said. Louis ought to be shoved in gaol." "That would only aggravate the matter." They were talking like a couple of machines, but had her life depended on it Ann could not have altered her manner; not just then. "I suppose it's gay in Nassau; it's the season there, isn't it?" "Yes. There's, plenty of yachting, and big nights at the clubs. I stayed with a married couple I know. We had a few parties."

"The change doesn't seem to have refreshed you very much." "A man always has to live with himself, wherever he is." In case this might prove revealing, he added at once, "I made a few enquiries in connection with your scheme for a children's hospital. I think it's going to be something bigger and tougher than even you can handle." "I've discussed it with Bryn and changed my mind. He thinks Murray's Green would make an admirable convalescent home and be much easier for me to run. As soon as I feel the urge I shall go deeper into it." "You're determined to stay here, then - on Farando Cay?" She tapped ash into a large abalone shell he had pushed close. "You," she said deliberately, "are the only one who doesn't want me to. It's ungracious of you, Luke." He drew in his lip and let it go, but there was not much expression in his voice when he answered, "Not ungracious, merely selfdefensive. I'm . .. not happy with you around." He pressed out his cigarette with a vigour that was a shade unnecessary. "You remind me too forcibly of things I can't have. I was contented enough here till you came along." He stood up suddenly and swung round to the window. "Don't take it that this is a callow confession of love. It isn't. A fallow with white patches at his temples and a leg that gives him gyp when it rains doesn't think in those terms at all. He's too old for it, too jaded. If Gray had come back and brought you as his wife we'd all have been friends because I wouldn't have thought of you in the way I think of you now." "And how," she asked in a voice that sounded distant in her own ears, "do you think of me now?"

"Chiefly as a woman who married a man near death and delighted in it. Gray was too far gone to realize that your love was three-parts pity, but . . ."He turned back, pushed at his hair and gave a short hard laugh. "You're clever. You can see what's happened to me, can't you? But perhaps you're not quite clever enough to understand my viewpoint. I won't have pity from anyone. Not from anyone!" There was a long moment of silence. A gust came through the open window laden with the faint scents of midday and a tang of the sea. At last Ann spoke. "Perhaps I did pity Gray - it was inevitable in the circumstances. But I don't pity you, Luke. You've annoyed me a good many times, and I think you place too much importance on a mere limp. I don't pity you, but you certainly pity yourself. Yes, I can see what's happened to you. You had an accident which changed the course of your life. Financially, you must be a lot better off now than you were as a pilot, but the fact that you're grounded has "literally put years on you. You're quite an old man - getting towards forty, I believe - and that makes things even worse, doesn't it?" She pushed up from the chair. "I'm not sorry that curiosity brought me here this morning. You've cleared up one or two points." "Fine." He was himself again, reserved, tired. "I'll see you as far as the car." Aim walked at his side with her head up. She felt his limp like a pain in her own limbs, yet she knew Luke had no pain with it at the moment. He simply wouldn't be helped. And it wasn't only Ann that he loathed. It was women - because he hadn't a woman of his own and never would have while he hung on to his present frame of mind. At the car he opened the door. "Give my regards to Julie," he said.

"It wouldn't hurt you to come and see her," she said shortly, and added a sudden decision, "I shall be down at the clinic this afternoon." "All right, I'll call in. Be careful how you back; there are some boulders sticking out." From habit she drove home with her usual care, but her mind was far from gears and steering wheel. She knew that permanent mood into which some people sank after an injury which left a physical handicap, but Luke's wasn't like that. All this seemed to have flared up after his fall in Bryn's garden. Perhaps it had been callous to point out that he pitied himself; it hadn't got under his skin, anyway. When she came into the lounge at Murray's Green, Julie was gently swinging her legs from the hip. "Don't overdo it." Ann put the letters on the table. "Luke's back. He's coming to see you this afternoon." "He didn't stay away long. How is he?" "His usual long-suffering self," replied Ann briefly. "You might give these to Noel. I believe he's waiting for one of them." And she took her own letter to her bedroom. With Noel's letters in her hand, Julie went down the corridor to his den. He answered her knock with a grunt, and when she came in he struggled out of the armchair and took the envelopes from her. He ought to have trembled as he tore open the first one, from a wellknown publishing house. Instead, he was able to slit it evenly and draw out the sheet of paper as if it were an account or a receipt. He read without emotion and gave the letter to Julie. "They like those articles and want some more. What a hope!"

"You'll write them. Perhaps not yet, but you will." He put down the other letter unopened, remembered he hadn't seen her since last night when she had barely awakened to wish him good-night and said, "Are you better, Julie?" "A bit creaky, but none the worse otherwise. Noel" - she paused and her glance sought his - "did you see Fleur this morning?" "Only through the window." He shook his head swiftly, as though on edge. "It's no use, Julie. I haven't the right even to think about a girl like Fleur." "Why not?" she demanded, immediately militant for him. "She's no better than you are." Then, as memory flooded over her in a bitter wave, "I'm sorry, Noel. If you could only work..." "Well, I can't. I'm going out." "I'll go a little way with you." "No, you need more rest." What he really meant was that he didn't want her. She remembered that Ann had locked her door, and drew an inward sigh. If only all three of them could pack up and go back to England! Julie was alone when Luke arrived. She answered his questions, poured the tea which Ignatia brought and asked him about Nassau. He hadn't much time, he told her; Bryn had his hands full and he had to relieve him of some of the trouble right away. Julie could find no difference in him, and she considered Ann's adjective misplaced. Luke wasn't long-suffering. He was tolerant and kind, and quite male and abusive when he spoke about Louis. It

was only when the conversation veered towards Ann that he became in the least morose. Soon after four he thanked her for the tea and went off. Julie took a book on to the veranda but couldn't settle. She dropped the book into a chair and went down among the shrubs. She sat on the grass in the shade of a casuarina, leaned back against the trunk and closed her eyes, and for some minutes she was at peace. "Are you asleep or only pretending?" She opened her eyes and looked into Bryn's mocking grey ones. He was down close to her, his face brown and angular but unsmiling except for the mockery. "It's a languorous sort of day," she said. "Aren't you tired of visiting us?" "One's social life occasionally becomes more important than one's job." He slid right down, so that he was resting back on one elbow, only a foot away. "Joints loosening up?" "Yes, thanks." She toyed with a desire to put a casual question about his call at Belle Marquise this morning; then told herself that she mustn't care what had happened between him and Madame. So, almost desperately, she said, "Luke came here this afternoon." "Did he?" Bryn paused, as if lining up this information with something he knew already. "We had lunch together. Luke has decided to leave us." "To leave Farando Cay?" she echoed. "He didn't mention it." "He wouldn't. He detests a fuss and he can't get away till I've appointed someone to succeed him."

"But are you going to let him go?" "My good girl," said Bryn, "he must please himself; I can't stop him, he wouldn't go if he didn't find it necessary." "How can it be necessary? When we first came it seemed he was dug in here for ever; I'm sure he loves it here. Bryn" - involuntarily she nearly touched his arm, but her fingers drew back before a heavy, glittering glance - "do you suppose we Penrosses have something to do with his decision?" He gave her a crooked, cynical smile. "Not you, little one. Luke loves you like a pet sister." "Then... it's Ann." "Could be. I'm not prying." "When you do something to help a friend you're not prying. You're the only one who can help him at all, and it's your duty to do what you can!" He leaned right back and looked up into her face with an exasperating half-sneer. "Don't be any younger than you can help, there's an angel. Luke is mature, and so is your sister. If they can't work it out together, we certainly can't do it for them." "You can discuss it with Luke." "Discuss what - a shotgun wedding?" "You're being obstructive. He's in love with Ann... "Hold on. Don't get any sudden ideas about this."

"But I'm sure of it," she exclaimed, vexed at his manner. "It's been hovering at the back of my mind for a long time and now I can see it so plainly that... well, you must see it, too. Of course he loves Ann, but he won't ask her to marry him because of that silly knee." "There is also a matter of money," Bryn reminded her sarcastically. "Ann is a woman of means, so Luke is doubly cursed... if he's in love." Her throat was hot. She pushed her back once more against the tree and commented huskily, "You simply don't care, do you? Because you don't really believe in love. To you, marriages are made by contract, not in heaven. You probably think that Luke would be just as well without a wife as with one. It's the kind of philosophy you would have! In many ways I may be as juvenile as you think I am, but I'm not too young to understand what's eating at Luke. If she'd come here as a nurse, not as Gray Murray's widow, there'd be hardly a complication. But now he can see himself as another Gray Murray, in love with his nurse, and he won't subject her to a second marriage with a man who isn't whole. He'd rather go somewhere else and live it down." Bryn had hardened considerably. "Every man acts according to his own conscience. And don't bring my philosophy into this. I daresay I know as much about love as your do, cherie, and I'm sure I know a sight more about men." Perhaps it was weakness through lack of food during the past couple of days which made her shiver. She looked at his dark head, slightly in front and below her. The hair was slicked back but waving a little; luxuriant hair for a man. She saw the angle of his jaw, the jut of his nose, but neither gave a clue to his expression. Apparently he hadn't yet left the subject. "There's Ann's side of this business," he remarked evenly. "The whole thing depends on her."

"She likes Luke, but his outlook irritates her. The marriage with Gray put her on guard; she doesn't want her emotions roused again, but if they were she'd give as she did then." Julie's voice caught. "Gray adored her. I know you won't believe it, but..." "For heaven's sake!" He twisted towards her savagely. "Will you allow me to choose what I believe in! First you have the nerve to say I believe in marriage by contract, and now you're sure I won't believe Gray thought the world of Ann. What the blazes do you think I am - something carved out of rock!" "You do sometimes behave that way," she said shakily. "No one seems to be normal and ordinary on this wretched island. If Louis comes back and stirs up more trouble I'll take the very next boat myself." "You can forget Louis. He's not coming back!" "Oh" - faintly. "And what have you decreed for him?" His mouth set, Bryn turned back to contemplation of the nearest flower-bed. "I told Madame this morning that if Lotus turned up here again I'd deal with him in a way that would humble his French pride, and hand him over to the law. She agreed-to my sending him a message to that effect. If I know Louis he'll see that he's lost, and get back to Cherbourg." "Poor Madame," she said. "She was counting on Louis to revive the family fortunes." "Madame has her bonds back," he said, "on condition that Belle Marquise goes to Fleur at her death." Julie took a long, searing moment to absorb this, and her first coherent thoughts were: "Through Fleur, he'll get Belle Marquise, after all, he's so heartbreakingly cool and clever that he can get

anything he wants. He's even using Louis' dud elopement to achieve his ends." "Congratulations," she said above the horrid harshness in her throat. Bryn didn't look at her, and he ignored the dry antagonism in her manner. "Will you three be able to come to Tamarisk Lodge for the day tomorrow?" he asked. "Mid-week? Aren't you neglecting the plantations ?" "They can stand it. All right?" "I think so. Ann may come after lunch, as before." "And, Julie" - a metal thread in his voice - "don't go on kidding yourself that you can tell the condition of a man's heart by the way he acts. The experience with Louis should have cured you of that!" "What am I supposed to do - sit back and have no opinions of my own?" "Your trouble is that you have too many, about things you don't understand. You haven't much emotion, but what there is of it you overwork. If you'd used common sense with Louis instead of blind feeling he would never have reached a point where he'd dare chance a forced elopement!" He still spoke quietly, but she could hear a vibrant anger in his tones. "One can forgive a woman many things, but when it comes to that sort of weakness for a man for whom she hasn't even an affection..." He stopped, gave a shove at the ground and was standing. Abruptly he said, "Come at about ten tomorrow." "Bryn" - she faced him, straight and very pale - "I haven't thanked you for coming after me on Sunday night. From what you've just said about how you feel regarding people like me, it must have gone against the grain to come searching for me, but I'm grateful all the

same. Still" - unconsciously she put up a hand to hide the sudden pulsing in the hollow at the base of her neck - "I'd rather not come to Tamarisk Lodge any more." He looked down at her with eyes gone hard and cold as steel. "You're fed up with me because I come out with a spot of truth now and then; you feel you can't stand any more of me. Since we're being honest with each other for once, I'll tell you something else. There are times when I feel I can't stand much more of you, either! That surprises you, doesn't it? Not too good to have your own brand of retaliation thrust back at you, is it?" He moved to the door. "As I said before, I shall expect you tomorrow at ten." "I'm not coming." "Very well. I must come for you." His smile was cruel. "It's going to be quite a big day. You're going to be there, Julie, and you're going to try to enjoy someone else's good fortune. So long." Mechanically, Julie picked up the glass he had used, but she didn't move to take it to the kitchen. Thoughts she had been trying to suppress all day took possession, and she pressed a hand over her eyes in an attempt to minimise the anguish. How had Bryn got his own way with Madame de Meulen this morning? The old lady was fanatically fond of Louis and unlikely to agree to his returning to France without seeing her again. Unless . . . unless Bryn had offered some undeniable solace. Had he proposed formally to Fleur? Or had the first arrangement been made solely with Madame and the proposal postponed till Fleur was less distressed about her brother? Somehow, Julie couldn't imagine Bryn waiting. More likely that as soon as he had finished with Madame he had masterfully led Fleur into the garden and shown her a sample of the lovemaking she could

expect from now on. Hard warm lips upon her wonderingly responsive mouth, arms strong and possessive about her, their hearts so close that the combined beating was tumultuous. The stem of the glass snapped in Julie's agonized grasp and blood spurted from the pad of her thumb. Automatically she pressed the thumb into her handkerchief, gathered a couple of splinters from the rug and walked through to the kitchen. Murmuring something about an accident, she dropped the pieces of glass into the bin. In her throaty contralto, Ignatia said, "Mus' tell you dat chile go home wid mudder two-three o'clock. Him take boil' fish an' pumken pie." It was a moment or two before Julie caught the sense of this speech. Then she nodded dully. "For a pneumonia case he did well, didn't he? Must have been sturdy to start with. Let me help you get the dinner, Ignatia." But the old woman was shocked. "Mis' bin sick. Ain't no reason for help nohow. Chicken an' veg done ready, and we'se get cole sweet. Sit you in de pariah an' I bring fresh fruit drink." So even Ignatia didn't want her, but Julie was past brooding about it. She went to her room for her swim-suit and slowly and carefully took the hewn steps down to the beach. After trying for a few minutes to swim, she crawled up on to the beach and watched the blackening sea. A little boat she hadn't noticed before hung out a light which danced like a firefly caught in gossamer. Drifting across the water came the thin note of an old guitar and the wistful singing of an island shanty. Some of the Cayans slept in their boats because they felt safer from evil spirits on the sea. The early darkness on Farando Cay always had a sad-sweet flavour. Later, merrier sounds would fill the air and a myriad scents would

be released. Perhaps a bird would quarrel with its neighbours in the branches and the crickets would be noisy. Fires would glow, and there was a chance that one would catch a glimpse of a writhing figure etched against the flame in a moment of traditional dancing. Achingly, Julie thought, "I love it so much here. Why, oh, why can't we all be happy and free!"

CHAPTER THIRTEEN THE children, brown as cocoa-beans and with deliciously bloomy skins, trailed happily across the patio at Tamarisk Lodge. At the stalls which had been set up under the almond trees each one was fitted out with underclothes and dresses, shorts and shirts, and as they passed on each received a packet of chocolate and a toy from huge baskets presided over by Noel. Julie and Fleur fitted the children with their clothes. Most of the garments were second-hand but all were sound and beautifully clean; the gift, Julie learned, of a women's society in Nassau. Farando Cay, it seemed, had been the worst hit of the islands in the gale, and an appeal for help to the white residents of other islands had been swiftly answered. The load had come in on yesterday's coaster, and the adult clothing was being given out at the clinic. The last few children said their shy thanks and scooted away. The patio was quiet and sunlit, but there were still a good many odds and. ends of clothing and footwear on the stalls and Noel reported thirty packets of chocolate left over. "We'll send the rest of the stuff down to the clinic," Bryn said. "And now we may as well go indoors for a wash before lunch. You girls know your way to a bathroom, don't you?" Fleur nodded and smiled at him. She was serene this morning. Obviously she-had known before being picked up in Bryn's car that she was to take part in the giving out of clothing; possibly she and Bryn had arranged it together, and Julie and Noel had been hauled in as helpers. Julie was in a mood to believe anything of Bryn. She went with Fleur to one of the spacious bathrooms and they washed side by side, at pastel-tinted basins. Fleur powdered her nose and pressed into place a single unruly hair, then she moved

away from the mirror and looked through a half-open window at the garden. "After such a morning one glows with virtue/' she said. "I am glad you were enough recovered to come." "There wasn't much wrong with me." Julie used a comb on her short, yellow-brown curls. "I wouldn't have missed seeing those children's faces for anything. The chocolate was a master-stroke." "Bryn ordered the chocolate. Did you not know?" "I might have guessed." She dusted a grain or two of powder from the skirt of her striped silk dress. "He has a nice taste in climaxes." Fleur laughed a little. "I agree with you, Julie. He brought one of them to Belle Marquise yesterday and Grand'mere is not over it yet. Poor Louis must go back to France and my father's office. I am afraid I have no sorrow for him." "You should have," said Julie, unsmiling: "He's devoted to you." "That is not true, but he liked to think it so. It helped him if he believed that he was doing for me something which he wanted so badly for himself. He is my brother, but in this I am of a mind with Bryn. We do not want tourist trade on Farando Cay; it is better to encourage small industries, like straw-work and dyeing and the making of earthenware. In that manner the people will develop a kind of independence; they will not be beggars round the feet of tourists." "You speak as if you intend to settle here." A shadow passed over Fleur's face, but she smiled again. "How lovely," she said simply, "if we all settled here. Soon there will be a new man to manage Murray's Green, and Bryn is also going to find

us a manager at Belle Marquise. Perhaps they will be married and have children. We shall be a growing white community. There is nothing I would like better than that." "It'll happen," said Julie, her heart cold. "Bryn will see to it for you." They had lunch with the two men in the veranda, and halfway through it Luke turned up and a place was set for him. Patently, he hadn't realized there would be visitors today at Tamarisk Lodge, even though he'd been invited himself. He had probably visualized a business conference. The meal ended and Bryn suggested that Noel take a look at some equipment for pottery making that he had set up in an outhouse; Fleur, being interested in design, might care to come along. Julie, he contended, scarcely looking her way, needed a rest after standing most of the morning. So she was left alone with a coffee tray and Luke, and neither of them could find much to say. He smoked, stubbed out the cigarette and lit another, glanced uneasily at his watch and wondered if it wasn't time he got back to the factory. Then a car door slammed, there came the sound of light footsteps, and Aim came round the end of the house and into the patio. Luke went mask-like and stood up. Ann hesitated for a fraction of a second and came right on. Julie's nerves contracted and she said quickly, "Had your lunch, Ann?" "Yes, thanks." She sat down, took off her hat and dropped it to the floor of the patio. "Did I disturb you, Luke?" "No, I was just going. I have to get back to the office." "There's no rush." Bryn had joined them and was talking easily. "You can do with a little more of the island mentality, Luke. Why

do everything today, when there's tomorrow? I'm depending on you to be one of the party for the rest of the day." "If you'd mentioned it before..." "If I had, you wouldn't have come at all - not even to lunch." Suavely, as if it had only just occurred to him, Bryn added, "Something got into you while you were away, old chap. You've come back taciturn and aching to get away again. What happened - a woman?" Luke shrugged. "What do you think?" "I haven't decided. I wish it were a woman, though, Luke. If you had a wife here you'd think twice before moving off." "Moving?" Ann looked up from one man to the other. "Is Luke running out on Farando Cay?" "You don't appear to be surprised," said Bryn. "I'm not, really, but I think it's a great pity." "So do I - particularly as I've a hunch that there's nothing wrong with him that can't be put right." "If you've finished," said Luke, rather pale under his tan. "I'll get along." Bryn answered him casually, "I've asked you to stay. What have you got against Julie and her brother?" "Nothing at all." "And Ann?"

By now Luke's face was grey and set. "I don't know what you're trying to put over, Bryn, but it isn't in the least humorous. I've resigned, and you have no right to question my motives." Bryn sighed, as though he were suddenly giving in. "It's this child," he said, indicating the scarlet, palpitating Julie. "She's upset, because she feels you're in love with her sister and have some noble reason for keeping the fact to yourself." He swung round upon Ann. "Julie may be right, for once. In any case, I'll leave him with you, my dear. Get to the bottom of it if you can. I don't want to lose him." By this time, Julie had sprung to her feet and hurried through the first french window into the house. So Bryn, anything but urbane now the piece of play-acting had been accomplished, dug his hands forcibly into his pockets and strode down the steps towards the path which led to the outhouse where he had left Fleur and Noel. For quite two minutes after they were alone, Ann sat clinging to her chair and gazing at the single tall palm which grew in the centre of the patio. Gradually her composure returned and she was able to slant a glance at Luke's upright figure, though she could not see his face. "It was unforgivable of Julie," she said in a low voice, "to discuss matters about which she can know nothing. I must apologize for her." "Why blame Julie?" Luke's manner was relaxed and emotionless. "I'm a pretty obvious sort of chap, and she hasn't put into words anything you didn't know already." Very carefully Ann answered, "Are you admitting the truth of what she's said? You told me yesterday..." "I tried to hang on to my pride," he said bitterly. "What good is this doing? It'll only increase my self-pity!"

"Don't say that! You made me angry yesterday and I said what I thought would hurt most. Luke" - she stood at his side, but facing him - "can't you see how difficult it is for a woman to speak about this kind of thing when she hasn't had the least encouragement? I believe I know your heart right through, but how can I be sure if you're so rigidly silent on the one point that matters?" His mouth was compressed. "You married Gray on his death-bed," he said. "So what?" she demanded fiercely. "Have I got to live with that for the rest of my life? I'd gone through thirty years and never been loved and needed in that way. Won't you ever understand what we meant to him - all three of us? We were his family, and I... well, I was his wife and his mother and sister - all the things he hadn't got. Living in that cottage with him by the sea was the most painful experience I've ever had, but it was worth it, for what it did to him. You must see my side of it, Luke!" "I'm not jealous of Gray," he said wearily. "He deserved all you gave him." "I see." She withdrew slightly. "I've been mistaken." "Yes, you have." He was stiffly angry now. "We're not getting far, are we? Would you like me to go?" "No, let me go - away from Farando Cay. Do you think I could ever settle and be happy here, knowing I'd driven you from the work and the people you like? You know what you're doing, don't you, Luke? You're turning me into a second air- crash. The first one dislocated your life pretty thoroughly..." "We had this out yesterday," he broke in.

"No, we didn't. You didn't say anything about leaving, because of me." Her voice shook. "How do you think I feel about that?" Luke didn't answer for some moments, but at last in a low steady voice he said, "Maybe if we'd met five years ago things would have been different." "Seeing that we can't put back the clock we have to face the matter as it is now. Luke, I won't have you leave Farando Cay because of me." He stopped her with a gesture, turned slightly and looked at her. "You're making this as difficult as you can for me, aren't you? You're something of a business woman and you want it all down in black and white. Well, here it is. I've never felt about anyone else as I feel about you. If I could, I'd give you the whole world - but I can't marry you. Even if I were younger and hadn't a leg that gives out when I least expect it I wouldn't marry a woman with money." She gave a sudden, tremulous laugh. "I'll give it away, Luke! I meant to, anyway - you must believe me, because you know all about turning Murray's Green into a convalescent home. I've never used a penny of the money - never wanted to because I've never regarded it as truly mine. I've been the trustee, that's all. Doesn't it help you to know that?" "Yes, but apart from the money ..." He trailed off, then said gently, "You're such a fine person, Ann. If I thought I could make you as happy as you deserve..." "Yes ?" she caught him up swiftly. "I'd take a chance and ask you to marry me." In controlled tones she answered, "You heard what Bryn said - he doesn't want to lose you. Well, I don't, either. What more can I say?"

"My dear," he murmured unsteadily, "you've said far too much. Will you go for a drive with me? I can't seem to think clearly here, where we might be interrupted at any moment." A little breathlessly she said, "Take me down to your house, Luke. And let's swear to tell each other the truth and nothing but." Julie saw them go. She was clinging to a secluded bench in an alcove of magnolias when they came round the terrace, and something in the way Luke was grasping Ann's arm was so revealing that it hurt. Ann was walking with a spring in her step and she was smiling. They got into Luke's car; Julie heard the engine, saw him push over the gear lever, but he didn't start away at once. He looked sideways at Ann, and... yes, he raised the back of her hand to his cheek. He hadn't kissed her yet - Julie was sure of it - but it wouldn't be long before he did. She bent her head. The car moved off, but she didn't watch it go. Her panic over the suddenness with which Bryn had betrayed her interest in the private affairs of Luke and her sister subsided; it left her flat and cold. Gladness for Ann was muted by her own sense of utter aloneness. She got up from the bench and walked quickly in the shadow of the trees round to the back of the house and down the path she had first trodden with Paula Fanshawe weeks ago. The sea spread out in front of her, ultramarine with white flecks. The beach was a deserted beige curve, and along there, where the palms leaned together whispering their secrets, slanted the roof of the log bathing hut. Without looking about her, Julie made for the hut. She knew it was unlocked because someone had mentioned it. There she could be sure of privacy in which to weep away this salt harshness in her throat.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN IT was quiet and cool in the bathing hut. So quiet that after she had snicked the lock Julie stood still for a moment savouring the tranquillity. As she stood there the need for tears left her. She felt dry and exhausted. She sank down among the cushions, slid further and buried her face in her forearm. The day was probably not too far distant when Luke would marry Arm, but Julie felt she could hardly bear to remain on the island another day. She had to get back to work, to steep herself in the only world she knew that was remote from the insidious lure of this green paradise. Dreadful to contemplate a life in which there could be no Aim, no Noel; appalling to think that she could not even look forward to letters from either of them because they would be all about the island and the people on it. Julie didn't hear the turning of the door handle. Nor was she fully aware of the twisting of the key in the lock. But she certainly heard the final closing of the door and Bryn's sudden exclamation, though by the time she had collected her wits and raised herself into a sitting posture he was bending over her. "I thought I might find you here," he said quickly, "but I was horribly afraid you'd be crying. I'm glad you aren't." Through pale lips she answered, "I came here to be alone." "I know, but I can't leave you alone." He sat beside her but half facing her, and took one of her hands between his. "You silly child," he said roughly. "My throwing down the glove between Luke and Ann doesn't matter that much - and your part in it wasn't a scrap important. I'm certain there was something between those two even before Luke went away. You're not to worry about it."

"I'm not worried." She cast about for words, but could only add, desperately, "Bryn, I want to go home - to England." There was a silence. Just perceptibly his hand tightened about her wrist, but that was all. In studiously level tones he said, "Isn't this home - Farando Cay? I'm doing my utmost to make it so." "Not... not for me." "No? Ann and Noel are staying and you can't go home alone. That's the way I worked it out, anyway. You" - with a tight, exasperated smile - "are rather more difficult than they are, that's all. You had to land yourself in a spot with Louis and I suppose" - tersely, bitterly "you feel benighted now the excitable Frenchman is out of the way. But in spite of these upheavals, life has to go on, you know. You're not leaving Farando Cay, Julie." "But I must. There's no place for me here!" He dropped her hand abruptly and got up. A pace or two took him to the high window, and he pulled back the weave curtain and hooked it on to the window-frame. For fully a minute he stared out at the beach and the sea. Then he said without turning, "I manufactured this bit of a party today especially for you. I could have had servants give out those clothes to the children, but because of you, I didn't. We're all here at Tamarisk Lodge - expressly for you. You wanted Ann and Luke to get together - and I believe they've done so fairly successfully. You were also keen that Fleur should find your brother more attractive than any other man she's ever met ...' "Who told you that?" "I'm not blind. Do you suppose I'd thought of starting a pottery here before it became apparent that your brother needed a background

besides his writing, something concrete he might be able to offer a woman in a few months?" She was stunned and a little frightened, but after a pause she was able to say, "I don't understand this at all. Madame de Meulen wouldn't permit Fleur to marry Noel. She thinks... we all thought... Fleur was going to marry you!" He turned slightly and she saw that his mouth was thin, his eyes narrowed. "You too? It seems that Fleur and I were the only two who didn't know about it. I intended to talk this out with you today, but I'm damned if I know where to begin." Rather faintly she persisted, "Then you're not going to marry Fleur?" "I certainly am not!" He swung right round and plunged his hands into his pockets. That pirate's face of his was taut. "Suppose you do some talking! How soft a spot did you have for Louis - and what did he tell you about Fleur and me? And why the hell did you let him kiss you if you cared so little for him that you dived over the side of a boat and swam a couple of miles rather than trust yourself with him for a night?" Defensively, but with an odd, cautious lightness at her heart, she said, "I didn't let him kiss me. You've never been a woman warding off an ardent Frenchman or you'd know that I hardly stood a chance. Perhaps it was stupid to go with him in the yacht, but it never for a moment occurred to me that he wouldn't bring me back within a few hours. Even now, I can't think Louis was really bad." He gave a short discordant laugh. "A woman will forgive a man anything so long as he flatters her. Everything I've ever told you about Louis was true - you know that now. He staked his future on you, and because you didn't fall hard enough for him he lost. You know already that he's not going to get Belle Marquise."

She nodded. "It doesn't seem fair that he should lose so much." "It's fair enough. At Madame's death he will have whatever money she leaves - on condition that he keeps away from Farando Cay." "And Fleur will inherit the whole estate?" "I have Madame's word that by a new will Belle Marquise will-go to Fleur and her husband, jointly." Julie went quite cold. "Do you really mean that Noel can marry Fleur, and that he'll inherit with her? I can't believe Madame would do that." "Madame," he said in tones both sharp and sarcastic, "will do anything which is not at war with her particular brand of conscience. I gave her back the bonds on that condition." "Then she knows how Noel feels about Fleur?" "I don't know," he answered, his teeth snapping, "and to be honest I don't much care. I'm tired of chasing up one love affair after another. I've done the best I can and now they must look out for themselves. Believe it or not, I have a life of my own, and I intend to do something about it - today" He was standing there with his back to the light, but she saw a muscle jerk in his jaw; a strange, nervous reaction which was so unlike Bryn that her heart contracted painfully, even though it had lightened so miraculously. An instinct warned her not to venture into this dream too soon, yet her every nerve was aware of him. In a voice that sounded odd in her ears, she said, "We've been an awful nuisance, haven't we? It must have seemed like the last straw when I told you a few minutes ago that I want to go home. I... I've never thought of any of it touching you deeply."

"You've never thought at all!" "Oh, but I have - incessantly. When Ann said that Mrs. Delport had told her you might soon be engaged to Fleur, I wondered whether you were really in love, or if it was just a plan to get control of Belle Marquise before Louis did." "Charitable, aren't you!" He glittered down at her. "I don't suppose it struck you that Mrs. Delport is of an age to romanticize about almost anyone. And you certainly didn't pause to consider whether I'm the type to let that kind of rumour circulate if it had any truth in it." "But, you see, I knew that Fleur was in love with you!" He gazed at her. "Is that a piece of fiction from Louis ?" "Perhaps it wasn't fiction. Perhaps she is fond of you. She seemed so much happier when I spoke to her before lunch that I felt something important must have happened to her." "My dear girl" - he sounded downright violent - "the most important things that have happened to Fleur today are the touch of your brother's hand his eagerness to hear her ideas on pottery design, and the sensation of utter peace now that her grandmother's plans have collapsed!" She tried to think quickly. Louis had been convinced that his sister was in love with Bryn; why, Fleur had even refused on that account to marry a young Frenchman chosen by her father. True, Louis had admitted that since his sister's arrival on Farando Cay she had not confided in him, but Fleur was not one to change heart. Unless she had merely imagined herself in love with Bryn - till she had met Noel! Could that be it? Involuntarily, she got up. "I'm sorry. It isn't my business."

"That's where you're wrong," he said, his manner strange. "Everything that remotely concerns me is your business, just as the smallest detail connected with you is mine. Because some day, Julie, you're going to marry me." She stood motionless and silent for a long moment. Then a pulsing began in the hollow of her throat and she put a hand up to hide it. Huskily, she said, "I don't care for that sort of joke, Bryn." He made a savage sound which was halfway between an unpleasant laugh and an oath. "I'm serious enough, and you know it. Young as you are, you must have felt that something has been growing between us. Tell me this: since I've assured you that Fleur means nothing whatever to me, do you still want to leave Farando Cay?" Julie scarcely heard him. She was staring up into his dark angry face with the rapt expression of one who suspects she is in heaven and can't quite believe it. Her lips had parted and the whole of her warm heart was reflected in her clear, pleading eyes. Thickly he whispered, "God, Julie. It can't be true. Why in the world couldn't you look at me like that before?" "Oh, Bryn," she breathed shakily, and pressed her face against him. He didn't kiss her at once, but just held on to her, his arms so tight that she could hardly breathe. Relief and ecstasy flooded over her in a tingling tide.

Some time later he let her sit down and gave her a cigarette. The cigarette quivered at the flame of his lighter, and he laughed teasingly.

"You're shot away, darling. So was I, for a bit. You've been such a little oyster that I didn't for a moment guess your response to a kiss would be so mature! Don't hide the blush. It's pretty." "Bryn," she said feelingly, "I'm so glad you're in love with me and not with Fleur." "It beats me why you ever thought I might want Fleur as a wife. She's sweet, but for me her colouring is all wrong and she hasn't enough spirit. She just isn't you! It seems as if I've been in love with you for ever." "Even before you kissed me when we were down on the rocks that night?" "Yes, though I didn't know it. I can hardly remember how peaceful it was before you came to the island!" "It will be peaceful again." "Not as it was before you Penrosses turned up. I believe we were half dead. Do you realize" - he was sitting beside her again and smiling into her face - "that you three have penetrated the three strongholds on the island? The Penross invasion. Remember the first time we met ?" "In this hut! You looked like a handsome smuggler." "And you bristled like an angry kitten. You said you wouldn't use the hut even if you were caught here in a thunderstorm." She smiled tremulously. "How long did you distrust us, Bryn?" "Not long - after I'd met you." He waved away the smoke from his cigarette. "You'll admit it appeared sticky, and I've always been something of a realist. But Ann is a realist too; that's why she could

marry Gray in his condition and make his end a happy one. You couldn't have done that, my sweet; you'd suffer too much. I hope Ann won't keep Luke waiting too long, because he's so conscious of his shortcomings." "You can safely leave him to Ann. I'd like to think of their living at Murray's Green, but I don't suppose they will." "No, I'm afraid that's out. Luke would hate it - living in another man's house. I'll persuade Ann to form a trust to administer Gray's estate; the income will pay for the upkeep of the convalescent home. Maybe Luke would buy part of the plantation for himself, but I won't suggest it till they start a family." She looked at him, startled. "You are getting them established." He took her fingers on to his knee and stroked them. "That's what I mean to do. There's nothing like their own roots to keep a couple anchored, and besides, it's what they both need. Your brother is a slightly different proposition. So long as he and Fleur are engaged he'll be able to wait six months or even a year. Madame likes him, you know." "But her pride has had a nasty jolt." He shrugged. "It did her good; she was a fool about Louis. And" somewhat curtly - "so were you. You gave me some black days, I can tell you! And I'll never forget the horror of last Sunday. Something had to come to a head after that!" "Have a little pity for Louis. He must be feeling dreadful." "I hope so," he said callously. "The fellow didn't belong here; all he saw were the money-making possibilities of the island and bigger and better outboard motor-boats. He'll be best off in his father's

office for eleven months of the year; during the other month he can play with boats at Nice or Cannes." "He'll have had a ghastly time wondering if I was drowned." "I suppose so" - grudgingly. "That was why I didn't put the police on to him at once. He paid for his sin and lost Belle Marquise into the bargain. But that's enough of Louis!" Bryn bent to feel the tickle of her hair against his mouth, and said softly, "Let's get married right away. There's not a thing to stop us." "But I'd love to be engaged," she said, going pink again. "So you shall be, for two whole weeks. We'll be married here in Farando Cay and take a cruise through the Caribbean for a honeymoon, ending up at Jamaica for a spot of high life. Fancy it?" "Of course." "Julie" - his tone quiet and a little odd - "you're not going to find it dull here, are you? If we get a couple of new estate managers and Murray's Green full of convalescents, I don't see why we shouldn't build a small club-house and train some of the locals to play dance music. There should also be, some sort of organized social activity among the islanders; we might give them a central hall of their own. Heaven only knows why I haven't thought of all this before, but perhaps there was no real reason. I intend you to be the happiest wife in the world." "I shall be," she promised him, gripping his hand. "Shouldn't we go back to the house now?" He laughed. "Yes, and I'll propose to you formally in the lounge. A bathing hut is completely wrong."

He drew her to her feet and kissed her again as if he would never let her go, and she clung to him, go full of happiness and gratitude that foolish tears moistened her lashes. At last he took her out into the sunshine and snapped the door shut behind them. The path upwards through the trees was cool and his arm about her was strength and security. Near the top he stopped her and they looked back over the thick greenness, the white strand and the blue sea. "Feel you can bear to see that off and on for the rest of your life ?" he murmured. "There'll be so many other things," she said softly, "and there'll be you. Bryn, I'm so happy." Mockingly, but with a hint of the former thickness, he said, "We're both happy, darling. I always knew there was something missing on Farando Cay, but I didn't guess it might be a slip of a girl with seagreen eyes. I love you, Julie." With her lips she gave him everything - this big, demanding man who was to be her husband - and deep inside she knew a thankfulness both poignant and ecstatic for the circumstances which had brought her halfway across the world to Farando Cay, and Bryn.