The Silken Bond

THE SILKEN BOND Flora Kidd

Lyn felt she had to return to the island Lyn Brennan thought it safe to return to Morgan's Island. And after the scandal that had marred her reputation--as well as scarring her face--she felt she had nowhere else to escape to. It had been eight years since she'd been on the island, since her infatuation with Joel Morgan had nearly broken her heart. Now Lyn was older, a woman of cool reserve. But that reserve was shattered the moment she realized that the rugged island fisherman walking toward her was Joel--more dangerously attractive than ever!

CHAPTER ONE ON an afternoon in the middle of October Lyn Brennan arrived at Carter's Cove. Carrying a suitcase, a rucksack and a guitar, she walked down the hill to the fishermen's wharf. Beneath her crepesoled moccasins the weathered planks of the wharf were wet and slippery and she could only just see the fish-house at the end. The only sign of life was one seagull perched motionless on a piling, a black and white painting done on grey paper. Everything else was shrouded in thick fog. She reached the fish-house and put down her luggage. Nothing to be seen except the grey curling feathers of fog drifting across equally grey shadowed water. Yet she knew there were boats moored in the small harbour, and the regular whoop of the foghorn from Seal Head lighthouse indicated that there was land out there too, headlands, islands, rocks. Waters sucked and slapped at the wooden pilings which supported the wharf. The smell of fish was everywhere. Empty lobster traps heaped on the wharf made a wall of wooden slats and twine. Trap buoys gleamed wetly, red, white, blue; green, yellow and brown; brilliant orange and white. Each combination of colour had been chosen by an individual lobsterman so that when he went out on the sea to haul his traps from the rocky shallows he knew exactly which ones were his. Lyn looked back along the wharf to the village. Fog wreathed silvery scarves about the high pointed gables of old shingled houses and the slender white steeple of the First Baptist Church. It hung cloudlike from the branches of tall elms whose leaves glowed golden yellow. But there were no people about. 'Come to Carter's Cove, instead of Willboro. It's nearer to Morgan's,' Jennie Slater had written. 'Barney will be there to bring you out to the

island. The ferry from Willboro only runs three times a week this time of the year.' She walked to the edge of the wharf and looked down at the float. A few skiffs and dories were tied up there, bobbing on the ruffled water, nudging against each other. One of them should be Barney's, but she couldn't see any painted bright red which was his distinctive colour. Often she had stood there when a girl waiting for Barney Slater, her mother's cousin, to come in his fishing boat to take her to the island where she had stayed in the cottage which had once belonged to her maternal grandfather, Elias Slater. Many summer vacations she had spent with her mother on Morgan's. Long and golden they had been. Why was it summer always seemed long when you were young? Why was it always bright with sunlight? Yet there had been many days like this when the fog had rolled in from the Atlantic. 'Hi!' The childish voice startled her and she swung round. A girl of about seven stood right beside her. She had straight brownish hair scraped back into a pony tail from a thin elfin face, greyish- green eyes, wide-set beneath level eyebrows. She was wearing the usual jeans, T-shirt, hooded waterproof jacket and blue and white sneakers. 'Hi,' Lyn replied. 'You waitin' for someone?' asked the girl. 'I'm waiting for someone to take me out to Morgan's Island.' 'I'm goin' to Morgan's too. I ain't seen you there before. You one of the summer complaints?' Lyn's mouth twitched with wry humour. 'Summer complaints' was the description given by some of the less charitable islanders to the

summer visitors who invaded the island every year, swelling the normal population to about ten times its size for the whole of July and August. 'I used to stay on the island every summer, but I haven't been there for a long time,' she said. 'Do you live there?' 'Yeah. With my dad. My name is Rina—Rina Morgan.' Lyn glanced sideways in surprise. Whose child was this? The daughter of the wealthy studious Jonathan Morgan, who had been a summer visitor like herself? Or was she the offspring of another Morgan, one who had stayed on the island? 'What's your name?' the girl asked. 'Lyn. Lynetta Brennan.' 'I like Lynetta. It's pretty. You're pretty too,' Rina said, then added, 'Or you would be if you didn't have that mark on your face. What've you done to it?' Just like a kid to blurt it out like that without thinking! Lyn resisted a desire to cover her right cheek with her hand; she had to get used to being stared at some time. Rina's curious green gaze didn't Waver. She kept on staring at the white scars of plastic surgery until Lyn turned away so that the curtain of her smooth golden hair which she had allowed to grow to shoulder-length again slid forward to hide her scarred cheek. 'I was in an accident,' she said stiffly. 'What sort of accident?' 'A fire.'

'You were burnt?' The greenish eyes were round now. 'That's right.' 'Why are you going to Morgan's?' 'To live there for a while.' Get away from, it all. Go away until it's all blown over and people have forgotten. That had been her mother's advice. 'But where can I go?' Lyn had asked. 'Why not go to Morgan's for a while?' had been the cool practical answer. Widowed after only five years of marriage, Stephanie Brennan had never married again and had developed into a smooth sophisticated career woman who, apparently, had no emotions, or if she had, always kept them well hidden. 'At this time of the year?' Lyn had exclaimed. Morgan's Island had always been a summer place for her. 'It can be lovely in the fall,' Stephanie had replied. 'I remember your father and I once went there for two weeks in October when he was home on leave from the Navy.' Stephanie's voice hadn't faltered once when she had referred to her late husband Mark, who had been killed in an accident aboard an aircraft carrier in the Pacific. 'They were beautiful, clear-cut days, with the sea shining like a sapphire and the woods bright with scarlet, yellow and bronze leaves. You could stay at the cottage. It's some time since I was over there to check on it. I'll write to Jennie, tell her you're coming and she can open it up, air it out.' 'All right.'

It had been easier to agree than argue. Since the fire and the resulting scandalous publicity Lyn had been sunk in a depressing lethargy. Not only had she been badly burned but she had also lost her job and Brian Dempster, whom she had been going to marry one day, had turned against her. Possibly a holiday on the island in Maine where she had spent so many happy times would help her regain some of her self-confidence and peace of mind. At this time of the year it would be quiet, inhabited only by the independent, self-reliant islanders. 'Do you know Barney Slater?' she asked, turning to Rina. 'Sure I do.' Rina was walking along the edge of the wharf, placing one foot carefully after the other and holding her arms outstretched on either side for balance as she dared the danger of falling the wrong way off her slippery perch into the cold fog-clouded water. 'Have you seen him around here this afternoon?' asked Lyn. 'Uhuh.' Rina stopped her tightrope-walking act, shook her head negatively and looked down at the float. 'His dory isn't here. That's ours there, the white pea-pod with the dark blue band around it.' Lyn looked at the white double-ended rowing boat, so often used by local fishermen. If Barney hadn't come for her what should she do? Stay the night in Carter's? But where could she stay? As far as she knew there was no motel and no tourist homes either. She swung round to look back at the village. The fog had lifted slightly and a man was coming down the sloping street towards the wharf. He was wearing a peaked cap aslant on his head and a hiplength orange oilskin jacket over denim overalls which were tucked into rubber seaboots. From this distance he looked like a typical Maine fisherman. He was too tall to be Barney, yet there was something familiar about the way he walked.

Rina took off suddenly, skipping towards the man. Lyn turned away quickly and the nerves in her stomach began to crawl at the thought o£ having to face up to more curious eyes. Rubber boots clumped purposefully on the boards behind her. Rina's voice was a highpitched nasal drawl as she talked. The man's oilskin jacket rustled as he walked. 'Lyn?' His voice was familiar as his walk had been. She turned slowly, feeling her skin tighten and hearing her heart pound when she saw the glint of light grey eyes between thick dark lashes under the shadow of the cap's visor. 'Hello, Joel,' she said coolly. 'It's been a long time,' he drawled, his glance flicking over her assessingly. 'Nearly eight years.' she said. 'Barney's sick today,' he went on. 'Some kind of 'flu bug. Jennie asked me to look out for you and take you to the island with us.' He jerked his head in Rina's direction as the child went down the gangway which connected the wharf to the float. His eyes narrowed and focussed deliberately on Lyn's right cheek. He stared at it in the same curious way that Rina had. 'That's a pretty neat job,' he remarked. 'Guess there won't be too much of a mark to see in a couple of years.' This time her hand did go to her cheek, but she could feel her temper rising. He had a damned nerve to stare at her like that! 'I suppose you know how it happened,' she said, her head held high, her dark brown eyes steady and proud as they met his.

'Well, it did kind of hit the headlines of the national newspapers, didn't it?' he drawled with a sardonic quirk. 'Seems you were quite the heroine, saving the life of a well-known politician when fire raged through his country cottage where you happened to be staying alone with him. At night too.' 'And like everyone else you believed what she ... his wife said about me,' she retorted shakily, her anger flaring up. 'I didn't go away for the week-end with Dale Hampton. I went to see him on the Saturday evening to take some papers he'd asked me to take to him. The fire was already blazing when I got to his cottage. He'd passed out from smoke inhalation. I went in and dragged him out as best I could.' Her hand went to her cheek again and she shuddered. 'But I was never what Leila, his wife, said I was,' she insisted hotly. 'Never! I was just his secretary, his Girl Friday.' The light eyes glinted with scepticism. 'Oh, yeah?' he jeered. 'I find that pretty hard to believe.' 'But it's true.' 'Then why didn't he deny what his wife said about you?' Lyn gave him a sharp surprised glance. He was the only person who had asked that question. Not even her mother had questioned Dale Hampton's silence on the subject, and his silence had condemned her more surely than anything else. She could say she wasn't his mistress until she was blue in the face, but while he said nothing everyone assumed she was lying. 'I don't know why he didn't,' she answered. 'I haven't seen him since I dragged him out of the cottage.' She looked down at the float. 'Can we go in this fog to the island?'

'Sure we can,' he replied easily. 'What are you going to do when you get there?' 'I'm going to stay in my mother's cottage at Goose Cove.' 'To do what?' he queried. 'To write a book? Or paint pictures of the scenery? Or make arty-crafty things to sell in Jennie's store?' His mouth twisted cynically. 'A fine collection of other refugees from the big cities have come to live among us lately,' he added sneeringly. 'We have at least three authors and four artists; a group of potters and weavers. Or perhaps you're thinking of starting another commune ... like the one at Feldon's Point?' His eyes grew as hard and cold as flint. 'If you are, forget it,' he said harshly. 'Any sign of anything like that developing at Goose Cove and I'll have you evicted.' 'I wasn't thinking of starting anything,' she flared. 'Who do you think you are, anyway? Some feudal lord who rules the island just because your name is Morgan and your ancestor bought and settled the place way back in the eighteenth century? This is a free country and the cottage at Goose Cove is my mother's. I can do what the hell I like there without your permission.' 'As long as you don't disturb the neighbours,' he suggested coldly. Neighbours? What neighbours was he talking about? There was only one other house at Goose Cove and that was the old Morgan homestead, owned by Henry Morgan, banker and investor, who visited the island only in the summer with his son Jonathan. But they wouldn't be there at this time of the year. Unless Jonty had done what he had always said he wanted to do. Unless he was one of the authors. He had always said he wanted to write. 'Is Jonty at the Homestead?' she asked hopefully.

A strange expression flickered in the grey eyes. He looked for a moment as if someone had given him a punch where it hurt. 'Jonty died six years ago,' he said between stiff lips. 'Didn't you know? Didn't gossip Jennie ever tell you?' 'She might have told my mother...' Lyn broke off to gasp with the shock of the news. 'What happened?' she whispered. 'How did he die?' 'He drowned,' he replied curtly, and turned away towards her luggage. Lifting the rucksack, he swung it over one shoulder, then hefted the suitcase in his other hand. 'Come on, let's get going while it's light,' he ordered brusquely, and went down the gangway. Still shaken by the news of Jonty's death, questions about it clamouring in her mind, Lyn picked up her guitar and followed him. By the time she reached the float he had stowed her case and rucksack in the bow of the pea-pod, the double-ended clinker-built wooden dinghy which could be either rowed or sailed. 'I guess Rina introduced herself,' said Joel as he indicated to Lyn that she should sit in the stern of the dinghy. Rina was already stepping into the bow. 'She has. Whose daughter? Yours?' Lyn asked, settling on the wooden thwart in the stern. 'Mine,' he replied curtly. That meant he was married. Lyn felt the tension ease out of her. She could relax with him now that she knew he had a wife to keep him in order. 'Any others younger than Rina at home?' she asked as he stepped into the middle of the little boat and pushed it off from the wharf.

'No.' The answer had a curt finality. He wasn't going to discuss his personal life with her right now. Standing up in the middle of the boat with his back to her, he fitted the oars into the oar-locks and began to row, fisherman fashion, facing the direction in which he was going, moving the oars with long slow strokes. Strange that she hadn't known he was married. It was the sort of gossip Jennie might have passed on to her mother like the news of Jonty's death. But when had she been around her mother to listen to such gossip? For over seven years now she had gone her own way, done her own thing regardless of family connections. Only the accident had brought her mother rushing down to Washington to be at her side. Only the subsequent loss of her job, the splitting with Brian and the resulting depression had sent her scurrying to Boston to her mother's home once she had been released from the hospital in Washington. She stared past Joel at the girl who was sitting hunched in the bow of the boat. The big greenish eyes stared back at her. Lyn smiled in a friendly way, feeling an unusual desire to communicate with the child, but Rina turned her head away quickly and shyly, looking ahead into the fog. They were hardly thirty feet away from the wharf, but the fish-house and the sentinel seagull had disappeared. And they had become invisible too to anyone who might be watching from the land. The fog clung to face, hands and hair, wetting them. It rolled over the water, seemingly alive, treacherous and eerie. Soon moored boats began to show, like gigantic shadows. Most of them were sturdy fishing boats with high flaring bows and broad beams. Each one had a small cabin and wheelhouse built amidships

and each one bristled with fishing gear, radio aerials, stove pipes and a radar scanner. The boat they approached seemed as high as a house, but as they eased alongside it came down to its normal size. About forty feet long, its fibre-glass hull was sleek with white paint and the name Sea- Witch was painted in dark blue letters on its stern. Dry, clean lobster traps were stacked across its wide afterdeck, each one having a coiled warp and a bright blue and white buoy tucked inside. At a word from Joel Rina hopped aboard taking the pea-pod's painter with her. Lyn followed and leaned over the side to take her case and rucksack from Joel when he handed them up. He came aboard bringing her guitar with him. The pea-pod's painter was tied to a cleat on the deck and the little boat floated astern. Rina disappeared through a door in the wheel- house into the cabin, while Lyn lingered by the wheel looking round at the navigational aids. As well as the usual compass swinging in its binnacle there was a radar screen and a V.H.F. radio. Joel was talking into the microphone telling someone on Morgan's that he was about to leave Carter's Cove. 'Whose boat? Yours?' she asked when he hung up the microphone. 'Sure is. It's the latest addition to the Morgans' fishing fleet. Like her?' He adjusted the compass, setting the course he intended to follow. Then he switched on the radar scanner. As it turned round on the roof of the cabin pinpricks of light appeared on the screen showing the shape of the land enclosing the harbour. 'She's a bit different from Dangerous Lady,' Lyn said lightly, looking round and comparing the size and comfort of the boat to the one he had owned eight years ago.

'You remember her?' Joel seemed both surprised and pleased. 'Of course I do. She leaked like a sieve and was a disgrace to the Morgans' fishing fleet.' His quick grin was incandescent, lighting up his weather-beaten face, carving deep grooves in his lean cheeks. 'Dangerous Lady had her uses,' he drawled. 'And a guy has to start at the bottom in the fishing industry same as in any other kind of work.' 'But I thought ... you said ... you were going to work in a marine biological institute,' she said. 'I did. I quit after two months,' he replied curtly. 'I had to come back here and fish, learn about the processing business. Dad had to retire from it earlier this year—arthritis got to him. I'm boss of the whole Morgan operation now.' His clear eyes slanted her a cold glance, seemed to look through her. 'Like to go and cast off the mooring?' he asked. 'Okay.' She obeyed him automatically, without thinking about it. Slipping and sliding on the wet side deck she made her way up to the bow, hearing the big diesel engine throb into life as Joel pressed the self-starter. She untied the mooring warp from the cleat on the foredeck and threw it with its old- fashioned wooden buoy into the water. Back in the wheelhouse she lounged against one of the two stools provided and watched Joel steer Sea-Witch in a curve around the looming shapes of other boats and out of the harbour past a tall, pointed red buoy and under the fog-veiled heap of pink granite where the white tower of the lighthouse shimmered like a ghost, its horn blasting out a regular warning. Then they were out on the swell,

rolling a little so that Rina came up from the cabin and went out into the cockpit to sit on an old fish crate and munch an apple. There was a strange aloofness about the child which awoke a vague memory in Lyn. The girl's colouring too was familiar. Someone else had possessed those unusual sea-green eyes, a young woman Lyn had met often eight years ago, who had stayed that summer at the Morgan homestead with Jonty and his father. Her name had been Sabrina Merrow. Lyn stared at the child. Of course, why hadn't she realised it before? Rina was short for Sabrina. Rina was Sabrina's child. Lyn's glance swerved to Joel. He had shoved his cap back and under the visor his black hair was still thick and unruly, although there were silvery threads glinting in it now. Against the fog-light coming through the wheelhouse window his profile was strong and hawklike, almost Red Indian. Eight years ago he had been a handsome devil and had sent a flutter among the hearts of the girls who had always stayed on the island in the summer. Now he was even more handsome because maturity had added some interesting lines to his face and had chiselled away the softness of youth. The only son of Seth Morgan, he could claim descent from the third son of the Colonel Morgan who had bought and settled the island after the War of Independence. That was the branch of the family which had stayed on the island making a living from fishing the sea. Like most of the other children born on the island Joel had done his elementary schooling there, but unlike many of them he had gone away to the High School at Willboro on the mainland. From high school he had gone on to university, returning to the island that summer eight years ago, a fully-fledged bachelor of science with a major in marine biology. Lyn looked away out of the window on her side. They were passing a big bell-buoy. Even above the clatter of the engine its clanging could be heard. It marked the end of Turtleneck Ledges and she could see

the water rippling sinuously over the slabs of rock under the pall of slithering grey fog. Then Joel swung the wheel, set a new compass course, south-east, which would take them across the narrow navigational channel where small freighters and tankers passed on their way to Willboro at the head of Limrock Bay. Two hours from the Turtleneck bell-buoy to Feldon's Point on Morgan's, Barney had always reckoned, but in this powerful white witch of a boat they might do it in less. Sabrina and Joel. Lyn's thoughts winged back again to that summer eight years ago. How well she could remember Sabrina now. Tall and graceful, with long strawberry-blonde hair, limpid greenish eyes and a smooth golden skin, she had been like one of the models in a Vogue magazine. Or perhaps like the mermaid in a poem by John Milton, beautiful, aloof, tempting men to their destruction, Sabrina fair... Sabrina had been Jonty's friend, but whenever she and Joel had been at the same beach party or barbecue that summer there had been vibrations between them which everyone had noticed. They had never had much to say to each other. They had just looked ... Lyn's teeth dug into her lower lip. God, she could feel it even now, that sickening, clawing jealousy moving in the pit of her stomach that she had felt whenever Joel had looked at Sabrina. Why had she been so sensitive? The answer was simple. Just eighteen, she had been in love for the first time. From the moment she had met him on her arrival at Goose Cove at the beginning of the summer vacation she had been crazy about Joel. She had followed him about for the rest of the vacation, much to her prim New England mother's irritation.

Not that Joel had encouraged her. Six years older than herself, he had treated her in the same way he had treated all the other adolescent girls, with a careless mocking disdain which had held its own fascination. Possibly if he had been more friendly she might not have been so attracted to him, but at that time, big and strong, handsome and aloof, he had been her hero. The vacation had drawn to its end inevitably. Jonty and Sabrina had left the day before her own departure to return to their usual way of life, Jonty as a student at Harvard university and Sabrina as.... Funny, Lyn had never known what Sabrina had done for a living. Perhaps she hadn't needed to work or study. She herself hadn't wanted to leave Morgan's, she remembered, because to leave had meant saying goodbye to Joel, and early on the morning of the last day she had gone down to the wharf at Morganstown to watch the fishing fleet go out to haul traps, hoping that Joel would be there. The sun had been well up and most of the boats had left harbour when at last he had appeared. He had been unshaven and bleary-eyed as if he had been up all night. She had watched him untie his small dinghy, waiting for him to notice her, but she might as well have not been there for all the attention he had given her. He was in the dinghy and ready to row away, out towards Dangerous Lady, when she had spoken, driven by a new sort of desperation. 'Can I come with you?' From under his peaked fisherman's cap his eyes had glinted coldly at her. 'What for?' he had asked.

'To .... to ... help you haul traps. I've often been with Barney. I know what to do. And this is my last day....' 'Okay.' His shrug had been indifferent, but she hadn't cared. Before he could change his mind she had scrambled into the dinghy. Whether he had liked it or not she had been determined to spend that last lovely summer's day with him. He had been in a strange mood,, making fun of her unmercifully one minute, silent and morose the next. They had hauled only a few traps from the cool translucent turquoise water in the small rocky bay where Joel had set his when he had decided suddenly that he had done enough work for the day and had steered Dangerous Lady away from the island out into the ocean which, smooth as silk, had stretched away to a distant violet-smudged horizon. Tranquilly the old battered boat had ridden the shining billows of the Atlantic swell under the cloudless blue sky and Lyn had wished they could go on for ever, the two of them alone on the wide expanse of the sea. 'If we went on like this across the ocean where would we get to?' she had asked. 'The Azores, I guess,' he had replied. 'I wish we could go.' 'Why?' 'Oh, just to get away from everything, to be alone with only the sea and sky to look at, away from bothersome people.' 'Who's bothersome?' he had asked, giving her a shrewd glance.

'My mother mostly. She's always telling me what I should or shouldn't do. You know, she'd be mad if she knew I was out here with you. I'm supposed to be helping her pack up. We leave tomorrow, but I don't want to go back to Boston. I wish I could stay here.' That had been his cue to ask her why she had wanted to stay, but he hadn't taken it. Instead he had opened up the throttle of the boat's engine and had steered Dangerous Lady in a different direction, towards another island which had been only a dark smudge in the distance. 'Ever been to Dolphin Island?' he had asked, shouting above the racket of the engine. 'No. Have you?' 'Once. It's not the Azores.' A brief grin had lit his face. 'But it's uninhabited and as far as we could go today away from the bothersome people, Like to go?' 'Love to!' All her heart had been in those two words and it had seemed to her that the day had taken on a sharper quality. The sea and sky had become more blue, the scattered islands more green and yellow, the distant hills behind Willboro more mysteriously purple, just because Joel had asked her if she would like to go to Dolphin Island. It was like having an often-dreamt dream come true. In spite of the leaks in Dangerous Lady's hull they had reached the island safely and had anchored in a tiny cove edged by slabs of pink granite and overhung by cedars, spruce and birch. Together they had wandered round the dolphin-shaped hump of land, scrambling over the rocks and sometimes penetrating the thick woodland.

They had collected the pale green circular shells of sea-urchins left there by gulls and had lingered over the clear pools to poke at the waving tentacles of red sea-anemones. On a high headland they had found blueberries, as round and firm as small grapes, hiding low on the ground among shiny green leaves. Picking them, they had crammed them into their mouths, purpling their lips and teeth. By the time they had returned to the cove the tide had been out and the midday sun had been hot. On the narrow rim of golden sand they had lain side by side to sunbathe, Lyn on her back and Joel on his stomach, and it was then that he had told her he was thinking of taking a job in a marine biological institute on the mainland to do research on fish conservation. 'But Dad doesn't approve,' he had added. 'Why not?' 'He says too many islanders have left for the cities, returning only in the summer for vacations. It's happened to all the Morgans except him and now they come less and less to the island.' 'Like Jonty and his father, you mean?' she had asked. 'Yeah, like Jonty.' There had been a strange caustic note in his voice. 'You like Jonty, don't you?' he had gone on gruffly. 'Guess all the girls do. He has everything going for him. He's clever, good- looking and has plenty of money. He's got it made.' His bitterness had surprised her. She had always thought he and Jonty had been good friends as well as being distant cousins. 'I don't think he has,' she had replied thoughtfully. 'I know he's clever, but he's not as good- looking as you are. And money isn't everything.'

She had paused and then had made a shy impulsive confession. 'I don't like him as much as I like you.' Joel's light eyes had flashed like bits of silver in the sunlight as he had given her a quick look and it had seemed to her that the skin of his bare shoulders—for he had taken off his shirt to sunbathe—had the sheen of old copper. Lyn had been fascinated by the ivory gleam of his collar-bone and by the crispness of the dark hairs curling on his chest. She had been close to young men without their shirts often enough at beach parties, but all of them had been hardly more than boys, beardless and hairless, with skinny arms and legs. None had been as darkly and ruggedly handsome, as muscularly compact as Joel. Her fascinated glance had lingered on the pulsing hollow at the base of his throat, had drifted upwards to the bristly arrogant line of his jaw. Daringly she had studied the shape of his lips, the stubborn sensual thrust of the lower one and the humorous curve of the upper one. Her gaze had lifted to his eyes. There had been a breathless, heart-pounding moment of stillness, then something had exploded between them and their lips had touched in a wild kiss; a kiss which had tasted of salt and sand and which had roused an aching restlessness in her body, a craving for more. Joel's lips had moved away from hers reluctantly, so it seemed, and she had opened her eyes. On a level with them, his had been half veiled by their thick black lashes. 'Again?' he had whispered, and she had nodded eagerly, her heart knocking excitedly against her ribs. Raising her arms, she had curved them about his shoulders, rubbing her fingers against the musclepadded silkiness of his bare back. It had been the first time she had ever touched anyone intimately and she had been surprised at the excitement which had throbbed through her. When his lips had burned against hers she had experienced a heady feeling of triumph

because she was the one who was being kissed by Joel Morgan, the guy all the summer girls talked about. It wasn't Mary-Lou Bennet, Betsy Butler or Anne-Marie Vadnis he was kissing. Nor was it Sabrina Merrow. He was kissing her, Lyn Brennan, and she was loving it, glorying in it because she loved him. Learning from him, she had responded fully and as the kiss had become deeper and more demanding her brain had stopped functioning and she seemed to float in a sea of sensuousness. The warmth of the sun had been no warmer than the warmth of his lips and hands against her skin. The gentle beat of the waves on the shore had been no louder than the throb of their hearts. And the salty tang of rock- weed, the sweet scents of cedar, had been no stronger or more tantalising than the muskiness of his hair and skin. Happiness had been hers for a few glorious golden moments, and when he had wrenched his mouth from hers and had flung away from her to lie with his face buried on his folded arms while he had gasped for breath she had come back to reality with a bump. 'Joel, what's wrong?' she had whispered at last. 'What do you think?' he had growled. 'Hasn't anyone ever told you that to kiss a man like you've just kissed me, to touch him like you have, is to play with fire?' 'You mean...' She had been unable to go on because she had been too shy to put into words what she had guessed he had meant. Half sitting up, she had leaned over him and two swathes of her long silky hair had brushed against his shoulders. With tentative fingers she had ruffled the thick hair which had coiled on the back of his neck. 'Joel, if you want to I won't mind...' She had begun softly, only to break off and retreat as he had turned and reared up to face her. His eyes had been bright and glittery.

'Keep your distance,' he had muttered between taut lips, and a muscle had twitched in his cheek. 'Don't you like me?' she had blurted childishly. 'It isn't that. You're only a kid and ...' 'I'm not!' she had stormed, very hurt. 'Look at me—I'm a woman! I'm as much a woman as Sabrina Merrow is and you kissed her last night. I saw you ... ah!' She had cried out in pain as his hand had shot out and gripped her arm painfully. 'You damned spy,' he had hissed. 'Where the hell were you?' 'Walking back to the cottage through the woods. I saw you both behind the boathouse at Goose Cove,' she had stuttered, afraid of the glitter in his eyes and the ugly twist of his mouth. 'Is that all you saw?' She had nodded because her throat seemed to have dried up, making speech impossible. Joel had given her a raking suspicious glance with narrowed eyes and letting go of her had sprung to his feet and begun to pull on his shirt. Miserably aware that by speaking without thinking she had completely destroyed the good feeling there had been between them, Lyn had also stood up, pushing the tails of her shirt into the waistband of her jeans and doing up the buttons. 'Joel, please don't be angry,' she muttered, going up to him. 'I wasn't spying, honestly. I couldn't help seeing you. The moon was full and ...' 'I'm sick of you!' he had snarled, turning on her. 'Every time I've turned round this summer you've been there, under my elbow!' Cut to

the quick, she had stepped back from him, her hand going to her mouth. 'I hope to God you haven't told any of your silly girl friends about what you saw ... peeping Thomasina,' he had jibed cruelly. 'No, I haven't. I haven't seen any of them,' she had protested. And then it had suddenly occurred to her why he was angry. 'Is Sabrina the reason why you're jealous of Jonty? Is ... is she going to marry him?' 'How the hell should I know?' 'Would you like to marry her?' 'For God's sake shut up!' He had ground the words out. 'And put your shoes on,' he had ordered harshly. 'We're going back to Morgan's right now. I've had enough of you!' They hadn't talked on the way back. Lyn had been stricken to silence by Joel's cruel rejection of her offer to love him and by amazement at her own behaviour. It had been difficult for her to realise that she had actually come so close to offering herself to him. The day which had been so warm, so full of colour and promise, had seemed suddenly cold and grey and as she had sat crouched in the cockpit of the little boat a sickness which had nothing to do with being on the sea had risen within her; the sickness of shame, and with it came the wish that she hadn't given in to her own impulses and gone with Joel that day. By the time they had reached Morgan's she had been hating him as much as she had hated herself. At the Morganstown wharf more humiliation had awaited her. Her mother had been there asking the fishermen if any of them had seen her. As soon as Lyn had stepped ashore from Joel's dinghy Stephanie had been at her side. There had been no chance to turn and say goodbye to Joel because she had been marched up the wharf to the car.

'I don't understand you,' Stephanie had seethed as she had driven away from the wharf and towards Goose Cove. 'What did you want to go with him for? Where have you been, and what have you been doing?' 'We went to Dolphin Island,' Lyn had answered in a small voice. 'What for? There's nothing there.' Stephanie had slammed on the brakes suddenly and had turned on her, her face twisted with emotion her brown eyes glittering with anger. 'My God, you didn't let him touch you, did you?' 'Kiss me, you mean?' Disliking the insinuation behind her mother's query, Lyn had been defiant. 'Yeah, I did. What of it?' 'Have you no sense?' Stephanie had hissed. 'Oh, I know Joel Morgan has had a college education, but beneath the surface he's no different from any other of the island men. He's hawk-wild like the rest of them, like his father was before Joanna tamed him. They take what they want, use it, then cast it aside.' She had drawn a shaky breath and had looked at Lyn with a sort of fearful appeal. 'Honey, you'd tell me, wouldn't you, if ... if he seduced you out there today?' 'He did not seduce me, Mother,' Lyn had replied in a cold voice. 'And even if he had it would be my business, not yours, something between him and me. I'm over eighteen now and what I do with any man has nothing to do with you.' Stephanie had been hurt by her defiance and had withdrawn into stiff-faced silence for the rest of the day, but Lyn had been too busy coping with her own lacerated feelings to worry any more about her relationship with her mother. That last night on Morgan's she had hardly slept as she had gone over all that had happened and had realised how close to making a fool of herself she had come. Next morning she had tried to see Joel again before leaving the island, but

he hadn't been down at the wharf, and at last she had found the courage to go to the Morgan fish-house to ask his father where he was. Seth Morgan's grey eyes had been frosty as he had looked her up and down and he hadn't bothered to remove his pipe from his mouth when he had answered. 'He left yesterday on the evening ferry. He's gone to New York. Guess he won't be back for a while,' he had drawled, and turning, he had clumped away up the hill to the tall white house where he lived with his wife Joanna. Gone to New York. Lyn had known then that Joel had gone after Sabrina. On the journey back to Boston with her mother she had cried silently within herself, mourning the end of her first love affair, believing she would never get over it—and perhaps she hadn't recovered from it, ever. Perhaps it had coloured her attitude to men ever since, making her wary, cool and often unresponsive to any approaches which had been made to her. Even with Brian she had managed to keep a part of herself detached and private, and even though they had gone about for some time now they had rarely made love ... A change in the sound of the engine made Lyn look round. On the radar screen a pattern of lights indicated that they were approaching more land. Beyond the boat on the starboard side a big navigation buoy, heaving up and down in the moving water, went by. She looked at Joel. He was watching the screen. 'Are we at Morgan's?' she shouted to him above the noise of the engine, and he nodded.

'Feldon's Point is on the port beam,' he replied. 'Keep looking ahead for the black can-buoy which marks the end of the spit which runs out from it.' Lyn scanned the curtain of grey fog and felt a sense of satisfaction when the black buoy loomed up where it should be on the port side. Then they were through the narrow entrance to Morganstown Harbour. The boat picked up speed and within minutes Joel was on the foredeck lifting the warp of his mooring with a boathook while Lyn held the wheel, keeping the bow headed into the direction of the wind. The angular shapes of fish-houses on the long wide wharf loomed towards them through the fog as they rowed ashore. The place didn't seem any different from when she had left it eight years ago. The blue building to the left still carried the sign Morgan and Son, fish processors. There were lights on inside and through the windows Lyn could see women and men wearing waterproof overalls, filleting and packing fish ready for refrigeration. 'If you'll hang on a few minutes I'll drive you out to Goose Cove,' said Joel, heaving her case and rucksack which he had carried up from the wharf into the back of a blue and white pick-up truck. 'I'm not going there straight away. I'm staying tonight with Jennie,' she replied. ''Okay. I'll drive you to the store, then.' He went into the Morgan building and with the silent child she waited by the truck. With dusk coming the fog was growing thicker. Lights from houses hung like shaggy yellow flowers all the way up the shrouded hillside. The two at the top could be shining out from Seth Morgan's house. Lyn looked down at Rina and was just going to

ask her where she lived when Joel came towards them. He swung open the door of the truck. 'Get in,' he ordered. They drove up the hill to the tar road which linked Morganstown to other settlements on the island. At the junction they turned right. The high- gabled clapboard and shingled houses gleamed spectre-like through the fog. Half a mile along the road they came to the store which was also the post- office. Bright light shafted out from the big windows. Lyn stepped down from the truck. Joel came round and lifted her luggage out of the back to set it down at her feet. 'Tell Jennie I'll get one of the boys to haul Barney's traps for him tomorrow morning,' he said brusquely, and turning went round the back of the truck to climb in behind the steering wheel again. With her hand on the door handle Lyn waited until he was settled, then called to him, 'Thanks for the ride!' 'You're welcome.' His hand reached out to the ignition. In the dimness Rina's face was a pale blur against his bulk. 'Joel... you said I'd have neighbours at the Cove. Who are they?' Lyn asked urgently, suddenly wanting to communicate with him, make some contact with him. He turned his head and she saw his teeth gleam as he grinned at her. 'Rina and me,' he drawled. 'We live at the homestead now.' 'Oh. But how ...?' she began.

'Why don't you ask Jennie?' he interrupted her coldly, and the powerful engine roared into life, making further speech difficult. Lyn slammed the door closed and the truck moved off, was swallowed up by the fog. Picking up her luggage, Lyn staggered towards the double doors of the store. One of them opened and there stood Jennie, as full-figured as ever, dressed in a wildly-coloured plaid shirt and wide-legged jeans, her short white hair crisping over, her head, her heavy-rimmed glasses sliding down her short squat nose. Inside the store was like a small supermarket. Since it was the only store on the island it stocked almost everything from chewing gum to Californian wine. From floor to ceiling it was packed with rows of canned goods, packets of dried foods, bags of flour and sugar, sacks of peanuts in their shells. One whole wall was taken up with the glass-fronted refrigeration unit in which butter, milk and cans of beer were stored as well as frozen fish and packaged dinners. There was fresh food too, shiny red Mackintosh apples, green peppers, brownspeckled bananas, golden brown potatoes, thick wedges of Vermont cheese. 'Now you're here I'll close,' said Jennie, locking the doors and pulling down old-fashioned blinds over the windows. 'Guess there won't be too many folks out shopping tonight.' 'How's Barney?' Lyn asked, lugging her case and rucksack along one of the narrow aisles between the laden shelves while Jennie went ahead carrying her guitar. 'Not too good. He's still in bed. Leave your stuff in here,' she said as they went through a door at the back of the store into a shabby but comfortable living room. 'We'll eat in the kitchen. Guess you won't say no to some lobster stew and a slice of home-made blueberry pie.'

'Guess I won't,' said Lyn with a grin, feeling a sudden uprush of spirits. It was good to be there in that warm relaxed house. The stew was thick with vegetables, diced potatoes, carrots, onions and celery, and the hunks of lobster floating in the creamy liquid were flaky yet succulent. 'I have to tell you, Lyn, that the cottage isn't in good shape. We had the tail-end of a hurricane last week in September and it took off some of the tiles. When Barney went over he found that the rain had got into the loft, made a bit of a mess,' said Jennie as she cut a huge golden brown pie. 'He patched up the roof best he could. How long are you thinking of staying?' 'As long as my money lasts out,' said Lyn. 'Living on your savings, huh?' asked Jennie as she lifted a wedge of pie into a dish. Crammed with blueberries, it oozed purple juice. 'Like some vanilla ice-cream with it?' she enquired. 'If so, get it from the fridge. I'm having to cut down on things like that.' An urchin grin lit up her face. 'Guess I'll never be sylph-like like you. Come to think of it, you're a bit too thin.' 'I won't stay thin long if I'm going to eat like this,' retorted Lyn as she scooped ice-cream on to her pie. 'Mmm, this is good, Jennie. Why is it no one else can make blueberry pie like you?' 'It's the berries. They only grow like this on Morgan's. Nowhere else. It's a long time since you were here, girl. I always had the idea that you kind of liked this place, wouldn't have .minded living here, felt you belonged.' 'I did. At least the Slater half of me did.' 'Then how come you haven't been back these past summers?'

'I suppose, like my dad, I just had to see the world,' Lyn replied lightly. 'I had to try my wings, fly a little.' 'Kind of got them singed, didn't you?' said Jennie with caustic humour, her glance going to Lyn's scarred cheek. 'Was it true what we read in the papers? Were you and that Hampton guy having a affair?' -'No, we weren't,' replied Lyn emphatically. 'I happened to be going out with another man, was going to marry him, so why should I want to have an affair with my boss who was nearly twice my age?' 'I dunno,' drawled Jennie with a shrug. 'But it does seem to be the trend right now—for high-flyers like yourself—if we can believe everything we read in them "people" magazines.' Light glinted on her glasses as she stared curiously at Lyn again. 'When are you gettin' married?' 'I'm not,' said Lyn flatly. 'You see, Brian believed what Leila Hampton said about me too and he couldn't take it—dropped me as if I was a hot potato.' 'Well now—it strikes me you're well rid of a guy like that if he couldn't stand by you when you were in trouble. I wonder whatever happened to loyalty and trust between people? They sure seem to be in short supply in the big wide world out there and you'll find you're not the only one to come and stay here for a while to recover after taking a fall.' 'So Joel was saying.' Lyn stirred sugar in the cup of thick brown coffee Jennie had poured. 'How long has he been living at the Morgan homestead?' 'Must be about a year ago he moved in there. Henry Morgan left it to him in his will. Said something about it being only right that a

Morgan who had stayed on the island should inherit the place. Guess he was a man who knew how things should be done. Even if his own son hadn't predeceased him he was going to leave it to Joel.' Light glinted on Jennie's glasses as she looked at Lyn. 'You heard about Jonty's death?' 'Not until Joel told me. He said he'd drowned. How did it happen?' 'When he was driving back to New York from here—crashed through the barrier of a bridge going over a river. It was foggy at the time, but the police report reckoned he was going too fast anyway. Sabrina was with him. She was drowned too, trying to get out of the car.' 'You mean Sabrina Merrow?' Lyn felt a chill strike through her. 'That's right. You remember her?' 'I do. But I thought -' Lyn broke off, frowning with puzzlement. 'Jennie, that daughter of Joel's, she looks a lot like Sabrina and her name's Rina ...' 'It's short for Sabrina. You're right on target. Sabrina was her mother,' said Jennie. 'Must be eight years ago next month that Joel came back from New York. He'd decided that city life wasn't for him and he'd rather work for his father. Christmas and New Year was hardly over when Sabrina came—walked off the ferry one day, bold as you like, and came up to the store here, asking for Joel, not bothering to hide the fact she was expecting a child. Next thing any of us knew they'd set up house together in that cottage Seth Morgan owns and used to let out to summer folk, down at the far end of the harbour.' 'Were they married?' asked Lyn. 'Might have been for all I know, but I never saw a wedding ring on her finger and she never called herself Morgan. Not that that's

anything to go by, these days. Lots of girls get married, so I'm told, and keep their own family name. Anyways, Rina was born in the March. But Sabrina didn't care for the poor little mite. She used to park her all day with Joanna, Joel's mother, while she went off by herself to paint pictures. She was an artist, you know.' 'No, I didn't know.' 'Wasn't bad at it either. Used to put some of her pictures in the front of the store windows for the summer folks to see. Sold some of them too. But it didn't last.' Jennie shook her head from side to side. 'What didn't?' 'Whatever relationship she and Joel had. It was wearing a bit thin by the time Rina was a few months old and by the time Jonty came that summer Sabrina had moved out of the cottage and was living in a hut on Feldon's Point where all those hippies were living. Reckon she thought she was one of them, but when Jonty left she went with him. So that was that.' 'How did Joel take it?' asked Lyn. 'Who knows? He's an island man and tough, not given to sentimentalising or telling his troubles.' Jennie peered over the top of her glasses. 'No need for you to be sorry for him,' she said flatly. 'Maybe his attitude to women ain't so good 'cos of the way Sabrina behaved, but he has no need for sympathy. No, it's the kid you should be feeling sorry for. Something not quite right there.' Jennie touched her lined forehead with stubby fingers. 'Give her her due, Joanna has done what she could for her, but the kid is going to be lonely now. You see, Seth and Joanna have gone off to Arizona for the winter to some health resort place there where they reckon to cure arthritis. Seth's pretty well crippled with it.'

'But doesn't Rina go to school?' 'Sure she does. It's the time she isn't in school that she's neglected. Joel does his best to take care o£ her when he's on land. It's when he's out fishing or when he's over on the mainland visiting some fancy woman he has there that he can't find anyone to look after her. Sadie Crisp, who keeps house for him, has refused to have anything to do with the kid. Only his mother would have Rina, and Joanna's gone now, went yesterday. Joel took her and Seth over to Willboro himself. He wanted to leave the kid with me so he could stay over for the night, but I wasn't having any.' Jennie gave Lyn another bright glance over the top of her glasses and added, 'Now you're here, watch out. I wouldn't be surprised if he tries to use you as a babysitter.'

CHAPTER TWO LYN finished pegging her washing to the line which stretched from the corner of the wall of the cottage to the trunk of a gnarled old apple tree and stood watching it lift in the brisk wind. She had been at Goose Cove for three days now and this was the first day without fog. Last night had been stormy. Not only had there been wind and rain but also thunder and lightning as cold and warm currents of air passing over the area had clashed. And after the storm had come the north-wester to blow away the clinging wet mist and clear the sky so that now it was an opalescent blue, every distant island and headland standing out against it as if drawn with a fine-nibbed pen. Turning away from the line, she went towards the cottage which had been built by her grandfather in the style known as Cape Cod; low and long with a steeply sloping roof, its white walls from which the paint had begun to peel were nearly smothered on this near side by thick lilac bushes which had been planted years ago by her grandmother. Beyond it a field sloped down to the small saucershaped cove. This morning the water was a bright eye-hurting blue overlaid with shifting flecks of silver as the wind ruffled it. On the opposite side tawny brown rockweed festooned slabs of pink granite rocks and silvery trunks of birch trees stood out against a dark frieze of angular spruce. Glinting among the blue- green spruce were the walls of another house, pale lemon and white, the Morgan homestead. Lyn shoved her hands into the front pockets of . her jeans and began to wander round the cottage towards the shore. The grass was cool and damp around her ankles and she had to step carefully in the little field to avoid boggy patches. Great drifts of wild asters were a pale violet colour and the leaves of the maples which formed a windbreak at the western edge of the field flickered gold and bronze in the breeze, contrasting brightly with dark brown trunks.

On the shore she paused to look out to sea, drawing in breaths of the air, listening to the chuckle of the surf as it dashed against rocks, to the crows squawking in the woods behind her and the seagulls cackling as they soared on currents of air. Out there, near the horizon, the sky gleamed like the inside of a scallop shell, small clouds giving it a mother-of- pearl effect. ' This serenity, this blessed peace and time to observe the beauties of nature was what she had remembered most about the island, and now that she had come back she was beginning to understand a little the tradition that no islander could retain his health and happiness for long away from the red rocks and the wind-tormented trees. Perhaps that was why Joel had come back from New York eight years ago. She looked across the bay towards the homestead. She hadn't seen anything of him or Rina since she had moved in. They hadn't called on her and she had been too busy to call on them. There had been so much to do in the cottage; cupboards to clean out and floors to scrub. But today she felt the urge to walk over to the old house, the same urge she had used to feel as a girl. A flash of orange light caught her eye and she looked again along the shore. Someone was coming down the hill from the house, someone small who was carrying a huge ripe pumpkin. Lyn stood where she was and watched until she could see the light brown hair scraped back into a ponytail from the thin bony face. Rina was wearing jeans again, but instead of the hooded raincoat she had a thick blue and white checked shirt-like jacket on. She had both arms about the pumpkin which she clutched to her chest. When she saw Lyn she stopped and stood poised, half turned away like a wild animal ready to make a run for it. Lyn moved towards her slowly, sensing that any sudden movement on her part would frighten the child away.

'Hi!' she called out with a smile. 'That's a lovely pumpkin you have there. Where did you get it?' 'Dad grew it, in our garden. He grows lots of things, beans and peas, spinach and corn,' muttered the child shyly, resting her pointed chin on the top of the pumpkin. 'What are you going to do with it?' asked Lyn? 'I wanna make a Hallowe'en lantern out of it,' said Rina, 'but I don't know how to.' She paused, then lifted wide appealing green eyes to Lyn's face. 'Dad said you might know how to make one and would show me,' she added timidly. 'Would you?' 'Doesn't he know how to do it?' Rina shook her head slowly from side to side negatively. Lyn didn't believe her. She was pretty sure Joel Morgan had been shown how to make a lantern out of a pumpkin by his mother when he had been a boy, but there wasn't much point in saying that to his daughter now. 'It's a bit soon for Hallowe'en,' she said gently. 'That's at the end of the month and right now we're only at the middle ...' She broke off as she saw the thin face begin to crumple with disappointment. 'Okay,' she said, capitulating with a sigh. 'Like to come up to my house and see what we can do with it?' The green eyes brightened, sparkled with sudden happiness. Rina nodded again, this time in the affirmative, and without waiting for Lyn she set off along the shore in the direction of the cottage. In a few long strides Lyn caught up with her. 'No school today?' she asked. 'It's Saturday,' said Rina.

So it was. Lyn smiled ruefully to herself. The island was already putting its spell on her. She was forgetting all about time and the passing of days. All that mattered here were the changes in weather. In the kitchen at the cottage she threw more logs of wood into the stove and searching in a drawer found a big sharp knife. Rina lifted the pumpkin on to the table and at Lyn's suggestion took off her checked jacket. Under it she was wearing a knitted sweater with a complicated coloured design round the neck of it, made no doubt by Joanna Morgan, Joel's mother. The pumpkin was very big, and it took a long time to scrape the yellow pulp out. As she worked Lyn found herself talking all the time. It was the child's continuous silence that made her so chatty, she decided. Several times she asked Rina a question hoping to get her to converse, but when the girl didn't respond she began to wonder if she were slightly deaf. An hour later nearly all the pulp had been scraped out and was lying in a heap of mush on a dish. On the hollowed-out orange globe Lyn first of all drew the shape of a smiling mouth and two circles where the eyes should be. Then she cut through the rind where she had drawn. In a few minutes a plump-cheeked orange face was grinning at them. Rina stared at it as if fascinated. 'Now we need a candle,' said Lyn. But although she searched everywhere she couldn't find one in the cottage. 'Perhaps your dad has one,' she suggested to Rina. 'Let's go and take this over to him, show him what we've done.' 'He isn't home,' said Rina. 'Where's he gone? Down to the fish-house?'

'Uh-uh.' Rina shook her head. 'He's gone hunting with Willie Sloan and Mike Pruitt. They've gone in Sea-Witch to Big Harbour to hunt moose in the woods over there.' 'So who's looking after you today?' asked Lyn, knowing the answer only too well. She was looking after Rina. 'Who's going to give you your lunch?' Rina sat swinging her legs for a while looking round the kitchen as if in search of an answer. -Her wide green glance came back to Lyn's face. 'I guess you could,' she said at last. 'You mean there isn't anyone up at your house to look after you?' Lyn persisted. 'Dad said I could stay with you.' 'Oh, did he?' Lyn's remark was dry and she was about to say something else derogatory about Joel when she noticed the child's face beginning to crumple with distress again. 'I can stay, can't I?' Rina whispered, tears welling in her eyes. 'I guess so,' said Lyn with a sigh. Then seeing the tears were beginning to dribble down Rina's cheeks she squatted suddenly before the child and put her arms about her. 'Of course you can stay with me, if you' want to. I know what we'll do. We'll walk over to the store to buy some candles and to ask Jennie for a cookbook so I can make a pie out of that pumpkin pulp. Would you like to do that?' Rina nodded and smiled through her tears, wiping them away with the back of her hand. She slid off the chair and picked up her jacket. 'Let's go now,' she said.

Although it was one and a half miles to the store the little girl walked the distance without flagging, as if she was used to it. And then it was such a lovely day for a walk, with the air fresh and clear, the leaves crisp and crunching under their feet, the sea and sky sharply blue. The store was full of people buying groceries for the week-end, using the occasion as they always had to socialise and gossip. Jennie was at the cash register totalling up a fisherman's purchases and keeping up a perpetual flow of bantering comments as she did. When she saw Lyn and then Rina her eyes rolled expressively behind her glasses. 'I won't say I told you so,' she remarked caustically. 'Go in the back. Coffee pot is on and there are fresh-baked muffins. Help yourselves.' Barney Slater, Lyn's mother's cousin, wide- shouldered and stocky, his face leathery from exposure to salt wind and sea, his brown eyes twinkling, was in the kitchen, sitting at the table reading a newspaper, a big mug of steaming coffee close to his hand. Getting to his feet he made them welcome, told them to sit down at the table with him and after asking after Lyn's mother went to pour coffee for her at the stove. 'Hasn't taken Joel long to find you a job,' he remarked with dry humour, jerking his head in Rina's direction. The child instead of sitting up to the table had sunk down on a braided woollen rug and was stroking the big marmalade cat, singing some sort of tuneless rhyme to herself. 'She came by herself,' said Lyn. 'She says he's gone hunting over at Big Harbour.' 'Then you'll be lucky if you see him again today,' said Jennie, bustling in from the store. 'I warned you, didn't I?'

'You mean he won't be back until tomorrow?' exclaimed Lyn. 'That's right. The other two lads aren't married, so there's no great need for them to come back on a Saturday night, not when they can visit the bars and the dancing places in Big Harbour and go girling. Might as well face up to it, Lyn, you've got her for the night!' Later Barney drove her and Rina back to Goose Cove in his pick-up truck and carrying a hod and a rake went down to the shore from which the tide had retreated to dig for clams, taking Rina with him. Lyn found a recipe for a pumpkin pie in the cook-book Jennie had lent her and busied herself making pastry and mixing the pumpkin pulp with sugar, egg and cinnamon to pile it up in the pastry shells. Not content with that, she made an apple sauce cake and blueberry muffins, and when Barney brought in a bucket of clams she soon had them simmering in a steamer on the stove in preparation for making clam chowder. Barney went home and darkness set in. Convinced now that Joel was not going to return that day, Lyn gave Rina some supper. Afterwards the girl entertained herself playing some old records she had found that had once belonged to Lyn on the old- fashioned record player while Lyn went upstairs to make up the bed in the smallest room where she herself had once slept. When the records had been played over several times Lyn took out her guitar to play and sing a few folk songs. Row, Row, Row Your Boat seemed to be Rina's favourite and she wasn't happy until she could sing it herself, her quavering treble harmonising with Lyn's deeper tones. Then quite suddenly she thought of her father. Going out into the kitchen, she got her checked jacket and bringing it into the living room began to pull it on.

'I have to go home now,' she said. 'Can I take the pumpkin?' 'Wouldn't you like to stay here?' suggested Lyn cautiously. 'Sleep here?' The greenish eyes opened wide. 'That's right,' said Lyn. Rina looked uncertain. Her green glance flickered round the room. 'Where would I sleep?' she asked at last. 'Upstairs, in the bed where I used to sleep when I stayed here in the summer,' 'Can I see it?' 'Sure.' 'Can we take the pumpkin lantern with us to light the way?' 'Okay.' Holding the pumpkin by the strings which Lyn had threaded through the top of it, Rina carried the lantern. The flickering light from the candle danced up the narrow staircase and black shadows loomed at them. The wind howled in the chimney and something—Lyn thought it might be bats—scrabbled in the loft. 'It's spooky,' whispered Rina. 'Not really,' said Lyn. 'Not when I put the proper light on. See I' Putting her hand round the edge of the bedroom door she clicked the switch. A rosy glow spread across the patchwork quilt on the narrow bed and gleamed on the painted pine furniture.

'You really used to sleep in here?' asked Rina, going over to the bed and spreading a hand across the quilt. 'It's pretty.' She handed the lantern to Lyn. 'I'd like to go to bed now,' she said, and began to pull off her sweater. It was almost over her head when she had another thought. 'But I can't,' she said. 'I haven't got my pyjamas and I haven't got a toothbrush. Dad says I've always got to clean my teeth before I go to bed.' 'I have a spare one I could lend you,' replied Lyn seriously. 'But I haven't any pyjamas. You could sleep in your T-shirt and briefs.' 'Do you think Daddy would mind if I sleep here?' asked Rina. 'I don't know. But he isn't here right now, so where can you sleep?' 'He said he'd be back tonight,' replied Rina. 'Well, he hasn't come yet. Would you rather wait up downstairs for him?' Rina looked at the little bed longingly. Her eyelids were already drooping with sleepiness. 'No,' she said, 'I'd like to get into that bed. Will you read me a story?' 'If I can find one...' Half an hour later Lyn tiptoed from the bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar. Downstairs she checked on the time. Almost nine. So Joel was coming back that night, was he? He'd better come soon or he would find her asleep too, she thought, yawning. She'd give him until ten o'clock and then she would go to bed too. She would have a bath while she was waiting. Not that she really expected him to come. Jennie was probably right. He would stay over on the mainland, make a night of it with the other two men, drinking, dancing, girling...

She had just finished putting on her nightgown and dressing gown and was about to clean the bath when she heard the knocking at the front door which she had locked with all the caution of someone who had been living recently in a city. The sound of the brass door knocker set her nerves leaping. Could it be Joel? Or was it someone else? Could it be one of the hippies she had heard about who lived in the commune at Feldon's Point? Rebuking herself for being nervous, reminding herself that this was Morgan's Island and not downtown Washington and so there was nothing to be nervous about, she padded down the stairs into the hallway. She didn't put on the downstairs light, thinking there was enough light from upstairs. 'Who is it?' she called through the panels of the door. 'Me—Joel Morgan. Is Rina with you?' She turned the key in the lock, slid back the bolts and swung open the door. 'About time too!' she spat at the dark figure which was silhouetted against the star-bright sky. 'Wow, what a welcome I' he jeered softly. 'You sound like a neglected wife, but in that flimsy get- up with the light behind you, you sure look like another sort of woman. Mmm, guess I'm glad I stopped by.' Surprised by his suggestive remarks she stood rooted to the spot trying to make out the expression on his face, unwittingly lifting her face to his. At once he swooped in like a hawk to its prey and bending his head kissed her soundly on the mouth.

His lips were warm and tasted of rum. The smell of the liquor too was on the bristly cheek just beneath her nose. Her lips parted as she gasped protestingly, then with her hands against his chest Lyn pushed with all her might and wrenched her mouth away from his. 'Just who do you think I am?' she spat at him furiously. 'A soft touch,' he retorted mockingly, moving towards her again. 'Not any more,' she replied, stepping back into the hallway. 'You mean to say you didn't get all dressed up like that for my benefit?' he drawled, stepping in through the door. 'You must have known I'd be coming for Rina sooner or later this evening.' 'I've known nothing of the sort!' she snapped. 'And you've got a nerve, sending that child over here this morning, leaving her by herself all day and then turning up at this time of the night half drunk....' 'Now wait a minute,' he interrupted her roughly, his eyes glinting coldly. 'Stop jumping to conclusions. First of all it takes more than the couple of rums I had at Mike Pruitt's to make me half drunk. It might have relaxed a few of my inhibitions, but I'm not drunk.' He laughed suddenly. 'Come on, Lyn, get down off your high horse. You know damned well you like being kissed, specially by me.' 'You devil!' she exclaimed, furious at his sly reference to the time he had kissed her on Dolphin Island. She swung a fist at his face. His arm went up to parry the blow with an ease which made her suspect it wasn't the first time a woman had struck out at him. He caught her wrist in a vice-like grip and suddenly they were scuffling in the open doorway as she tried to pull free, at the same time kicking at his shins rather futilely with her bare feet.

The scuffle ended ignominiously for her when he dropped her wrist, grabbed her arms by the elbow and lifting her carried her upright into the hallway, kicking the door closed behind him. He set her down and kissed her again, this time with a punishing hardness, bending her neck back ruthlessly, his big hands burning through the thin stuff of her nightwear. Her bones seemed to turn to water and she was fast losing control when Joel raised his head. 'Get out!' she ordered between tight lips, pushing away from him again, forcing her shaky legs to move steadily, determined not to let him know how close contact with him had affected her. 'No,' he retorted. Devilry danced in the grey eyes as their glance swept over her again. 'You've developed into a mighty attractive woman, young Lyn, and I guess you've learned a thing or two about making love where you've been these past few years. Things have been a little slow around here lately, so I'm kind of glad you've turned up.' He stepped towards her again, a hand reaching for her shoulders. She dodged sideways, ducked under his arm and when he turned to face her she looked him in the eyes and said coldly, 'Touch me again and I'll sue you.' Joel stared at her, his eyes narrowing. 'You have learned something,' he mocked. 'Okay. We'll stop playing games for a while and get down to business. Where's Rina?' 'Upstairs asleep.' 'So you did keep her with you.' 'Of course I did, when I realised you'd gone for the day. What else could I do? Why didn't you come and ask me if I'd babysit for you before you left?'

Hands dug into the pockets of his quilted orange hunting vest which he was wearing over a thick green shirt, he studied her from under slanted eyebrows. 'I guessed you'd say no, that's why,' he drawled. 'You're darned right—I would have,' she returned acidly. 'I was going to take her with me, was all set to go when she came up with the idea of asking you to make her a pumpkin lantern and staying with you for the rest of the day. Nothing I said would make her change her mind, so I sent her over. When she didn't come back I guessed you'd agreed to make the lantern and went off to pick up Willie and Mike.' Joel lifted his broad shoulders in a shrug. 'Still mad at me because I trusted you to do the right thing?' he queried. 'You trusted me? Is that what you were doing?' Lyn remarked caustically. 'Sure it was. I knew you wouldn't let a kid like Rina down. She knew it too.' 'I don't call that trusting me. I call that taking me for granted just because I once...' Realising where her sudden rush of indignation was taking her, she broke off, her cheeks warm with an upsurge of blood. 'Because you once what?' he prompted wickedly, coming close to her again. 'Because you once told me. you liked me—is that what you were going to say? On Wednesday when he had brought her to Morgan's she had felt a little piqued thinking he had forgotten the trip they had made to Dolphin Island, but now she wasn't sure whether to be glad or sorry he had remembered what had happened there because he seemed to

be taking a devilish delight in making sly references to it to score over her. 'Something like that,' she retorted lamely. 'But you're mistaken if you can trade on ... on ... my past affection for you and assume I'm going to mind your child every time you feel like going hunting.' She turned round and began to go up the stairs. 'I'll get her and then the two of you can leave and not come back. Ever,' she added determinedly. 'Lyn—wait! Don't wake her.' There was a certain urgency in the way he spoke which made her stop and look back at him. In the light from the upper landing his turned up face was all sharp angles and dark hollows, unreadable. 'Why not?' she challenged. 'Don't you want to take her home?' 'Not yet. I'd like to talk to you—alone. I've been thinking about you a lot since you came on Wednesday,' he said softly, coming closer to the stairs until he was standing right under them. 'Eight years is a long time and we have a lot of catching up to do. Couldn't we sit for a while over a mug of coffee and talk, for old times' sake?' Oh, he knew how to turn on the charm still to get what he wanted from a woman! He knew how to strike through to her soft heart. She gripped the banister hard as she looked down at him, hesitating wanting to do as he asked yet distrusting his intentions. His eyes were clear and steady as he continued to gaze up at her and she felt the familiar magnetic pull of his personality to hers. It would be good to sit with, him for a while, drink coffee and talk. Slowly she turned and went down the stairs. 'It was a huge pumpkin,' she murmured. 'You made a lantern from it?' he asked. 'Where is it?'

'In the kitchen right now. Rina had to take it to bed with her and have it beside her with a candle burning in it until she fell asleep, but I brought it down. Come and see it.' As she passed him she gave him a sidelong mocking glance. 'I expect you'll welcome some strong coffee after all the rum you've drunk tonight,' she added dryly. 'And I made two pies out of the pumpkin pulp. Since you grew the thing I guess you're entitled to taste them.' 'Sounds great,' he commented, and followed her into the kitchen. 'Were you lucky with your hunting?' she queried. 'Did you get a moose?' She filled the kettle at the sink and set it on the woodburning stove which also warmed the house as well as providing heat for cooking. 'Yeah.' He took off his hunting vest and slung it over the back of one of the old pine chairs which he pulled out from the table to sit on. 'Willie shot it. He has the licence for it this year. Quite a big bull.' 'What will you do with it?' she asked. 'Butcher it and freeze it. Ever had moose meat, Lyn?' 'I don't think so.' 'It's good, like beef-steak.' He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table as she set out two mugs, a bowl of sugar and a small jug of cream. 'Duck- hunting season comes next.' 'Poor ducks,' she muttered. 'It seems cruel to shoot them.' 'You'll be telling me next it's cruel also to trap a lobster or net herrings,' he scoffed. 'Or even to dig for clams. Yet at one time you were as keen as any islander to gather harvest from the sea. Why haven't you been coming here for your vacations lately? Better places to go?'

'Not better. Just different,' she replied, spooning instant coffee into the mugs. 'I thought you'd be married by now, have a couple of kids of your own,' he went on. 'Why not, Lyn?' 'I -' She gave him a quick upward glance as she screwed the top back on the coffee jar. 'I was going to be married, but he changed his mind,' she added coolly, and shrugged her shoulders. 'A person is entitled to do that, I guess.' 'Because he didn't like your looks any more?' Joel asked bluntly, his glances focussing on her scarred cheek. Hand to her face, Lyn stared at him. It had never occurred to her that Brian had been repelled by the mark on her face, but now, remembering how fastidious he was about his own appearance and how insistent he had always been that she should look her best whenever they went out together to dine in one of the capital's fashionable restaurants, she realised he could have seen the scar on her face as a drawback in any woman he was to marry because for him a wife had to be an asset, a complement to him, a support to him in the furtherance of his career. 'It might have something to do with him changing his mind,' she said coolly. 'Every time he looked at me he would be reminded of what Leila Hampton had said about me and I guess that would stick in his throat. He told me he didn't care for soiled goods.' Her voice shook a little as she recalled Brian's viciousness and she was glad to turn away to attend to the kettle which had boiled. 'How long had you been Hampton's secretary?' asked Joel when she returned to the table to pour water into the mugs.

'Nearly two years,' she said. Brian had got her the job, hoping to get nearer to Hampton himself through her. 'Before that I was just a member of a typing pool in a government office. I wish I'd stayed there,' she muttered bitterly. 'Help yourself to cream and sugar. I'll cut you a slice of pie.' Apart from the crackle of wood burning in the stove and the sighing of the wind at the window there was silence in the room while Joel tackled the golden wedge of pumpkin pie she had placed in front of him. She sat round the corner of the table from him nursing her coffee mug between her two hands, watching him. She was fascinated by the deftness of his hands in spite of their size. Beautiful hands they were, long- fingered, the nails squarely and neatly cut, but thoroughly masculine too, hard and muscular, tanned by exposure to wind and sun and sprinkled by dark hairs. Her glance wavered up his nearest arm to the curve of his shoulder, bulging and solid beneath the thick green hunting shirt. He was a formidable presence in the room, a strong man, as rugged as the rocks of the island, so different from the men she had been working with over the past few years; so different from Dale with his fine- featured face and elegant suits; so different from Brian with his well brushed blond hair, dark blue eyes and soft white-skinned, almost womanish hands. Light slanted across the tough planes of Joel's face. Lyn liked the groove which his quick ironic grin had carved beside the corner of his mouth, the proud, defiant jut of his jaw, the solid sun-bronzed column of his throat arrowing down to the rough dark hairs showing in the V of his open-necked shirt Desire clawed suddenly and painfully in the pit of her stomach, taking her by surprise. At that moment Joel looked up and their eyes met, his widening slightly in an expression of mocking enquiry. There was a moment of breathless silence while they stared at each

other. Lyn could feel heat beating along her veins, colouring her neck and cheeks. 'I ... I was thinking that Rina is much more like Sabrina than she's like you,' she quavered, and took a deep gulp of coffee, move to avoid his glance than because she wanted a drink. 'Hardly surprising, since she's Sabrina's child,' he replied, amusement deepening his voice. 'The pie is good.' 'Thank you. Like some more?' 'No, thanks.' 'Joel ... Jennie told me about Sabrina being drowned with Jonty,' she said in a rush. 'I'm sorry. It ... it must have been awful for you.' The grey eyes were as hard as glass as he returned her tentative sympathetic glance. 'You don't have to be sorry,' he drawled. 'Whatever there was at one time between Sabrina and me was over and had been over for some months when she decided to leave the island. She was just using Jonty as an escape route. He was a free ride back to New York.' His mouth twisted bitterly. 'Just as she'd used me when she had wanted a shelter and a place to have her baby. And now I'm stuck with Rina.' 'That's a terrible thing to say!' Lyn was shocked. 'I agree. It is, but it's how I feel sometimes,' he growled. 'You'll remember how I was about Sabrina, eight years ago?' he queried, giving her a sardonic look. She nodded dumbly, remembering the night she had seen them together in the moonlight, embracing behind the boathouse, remembering his rejection of herself the day after.

'When I went to New York I went to see her, lived with her,' he continued in a low voice. 'Then we got married. She liked living in the city, but it stifled me. I had to come back here. Sabrina agreed to come and join me as soon as she could. When she came it was obvious she was pregnant. I never questioned that the child was mine.' He paused, his eyes cold and empty, his mouth curving bitterly. 'Not until Rina was born—prematurely,' he added tautly, 'did I begin to wonder if Sabrina had pulled a fast one on me.' 'You suspected Rina wasn't your child?' she gasped. 'I suspected it,' he replied dryly. He lifted his coffee mug. Over it his eyes mocked her. 'Sabrina was like that, you know. She slept around.' His mouth tightened and his eyes were hidden by their lashes. 'I guess I was the only guy in her life who was fool enough to marry her,' he muttered. 'You did that because you loved her,' she said quietly, in an attempt to comfort him. 'Was that why?' Again his glance was sardonic. 'I've often wondered what got into me.' His breath hissed harshly between his teeth. 'Just before she left me for good, to go to New York with Jonty, she told me what I'd suspected, that Rina isn't my child, but she refused to tell me who was the real father. Later, I found out...' He broke off, frowning, then continued slowly, 'The trouble was I believed that when she left she'd take the child with her. I was wrong.' His mouth tightened at the corners again. He drained his coffee cup, set it down and gave her a cool level look. 'How did you get on with Rina today?' he asked. 'All right. But ... I wondered ... is she deaf, by any chance?' 'No. That's what we all thought at first when she didn't respond as an infant,' he replied. 'And she used to have screaming fits whenever her

routine was upset. At first we thought it was because Sabrina neglected her, but when it continued after she'd turned two and she was making no effort to talk I took her to be assessed at a children's hospital, on the mainland. Even now she has the occasional tantrum when her will is crossed or her routine is upset. That's why I asked you not to wake her. If she's disturbed when she's sleeping she'll often scream all night.' 'What's wrong with her?' 'She's autistic, has difficulty in relating to the world around her. When anything upsets her she withdraws into herself or behaves violently. You could say she prefers to live in a world of fantasy and when that fantasy is disturbed she reacts wildly. It makes it difficult for her to fit into society as it's structured. Going to school is hard for her. Fortunately we have a teacher who understands the problem and is able to cope with it.' 'What else can be done for her?' asked Lyn. 'If she's given a stable and loving home she'll probably grow up to seem quite normal!' His mouth twisted wryly. 'That's my job since I'm supposedly her legal guardian. But I don't find it too easy. She frightens people who don't understand her. The only person besides myself outside school who can deal with her is my mother, and she's gone away now.' He gave her another cool, commanding look. 'You'll keep to yourself what I've told you. I've not told anyone else I suspect she isn't my child.' 'I won't say anything to anyone,' she promised seriously. 'And I take back what I said before. She can sleep here tonight and come to see me whenever she likes while I'm staying here.' 'Thanks.' His eyes crinkled at the corners as his smile flashed out. 'I knew you were a soft touch,' he mocked.

'I'm doing it for her sake, not yours,' she retorted. 'And don't you forget it.' 'How long are you going to stay?' he asked. 'About a month. I won't be able to afford any longer. I'll have to go and look for a job then.' 'In Washington?' he queried. 'No. I couldn't go back there. I'm not sure where I'll go yet. It depends on what turns up.' Lyn's hand crept up to her cheek involuntarily and nerves crawled in her stomach as she imagined the interviews she would have to go through before she would be able to get a job, the curious stares she would have to sustain; the questions she would have to answer. She wasn't ready for that yet. Would she ever be ready? Would the old careless confidence in her own abilities and her own appearance ever return? 'Rina liked you straight away,' Joel told her. 'I could see that on Wednesday, and when she suggested coming over here on her own this morning. She never makes the first move as a rule.' His glance went to Lyn's scarred cheek as her hand moved away from it. 'I guess it's because of this,' he added, leaning forward and touching the scar with gentle fingers. 'She senses she isn't as others are, that she's been maimed in some way, and so it makes her more responsive to a person who she can see has been hurt too.' His thumb caressed her cheek slowly and her knees shook under the table. 'That guy who changed his mind about marrying you must be a cold-blooded specimen,' he drawled softly, his glance going to her mouth, 'I'm not so cool and I'm finding I can't sit here much longer with you without wanting to kiss you again.' His lips touched hers lightly yet insinuatingly. 'Going to sue me?' he mocked.

There was a tightness across her chest, a fullness in her throat, and her eyes felt strained. She wanted to move away, but she couldn't. She sat there with her lips slightly parted as if awaiting his next kiss. Her hands gripped the edges of her chair as her senses swam, overpowered suddenly by the warm salty tang of him. 'Any chance of me being allowed to sleep here, tonight?' he asked, his breath feathering her lips. The implication jolted her out of the trance into which his nearness had hypnotised her. 'No, there isn't.' She pushed her chair back from the table and sprang to her feet. 'I'm not here to provide free entertainment during the long fall nights for you! If you want a woman you should have stayed over at Big Harbour,' she added forcefully, picking up the empty coffee mugs and going with them to the sink. Her legs were shaking again and she had to support herself by resting her hands on the edge of the sink. With her back to him and her eyes closed tightly she fought with her own rebellious desires. In rejecting Joel's advances she was getting her revenge for the way he had rejected her impulsive offer of love on Dolphin Island. But whoever had said revenge was sweet had got it all wrong. For it was agony as she repressed her longings to love him now. She stiffened suddenly, startled by the light touch of his hands on her shoulders. Slowly they slid forward and down over her breasts, curving about them, and she was drawn back against his hard warm body. 'Not even if I'm willing to pay the price?' he whispered, and his lips seemed to sear the side of her throat as they touched it fleetingly. 'What price? What do you mean?' she cried out, grasping at his hands, tearing at them with her nails as she tried to pull them away

from her. 'Let go of me,' she muttered desperately. 'I'm not what you think I am—I'm not, I'm not!' 'What do I think you are?' he countered, spinning her round to face him so that her hair swirled about her head silkily. Holding her trapped, his hands heavy now on her shoulders, he bent his head towards him so as to see her better. 'You think -' she began, tilting her head backwards, away from him, and drawing in her breath shakily, 'you think that because Leila Hampton said I was her husband's mistress,' she went on, forcing the words out, 'that... that... I'm the sort of woman whose favours can be bought! I'm not like that.' She covered her face with her hands, shuddering throughout the length of her body. 'If you knew what it's like having everyone think you're something you're not and being unable to do anything about it, you'd understand what I've been going through these past few months, since that fire,' she whispered. 'Nobody will listen to me and believe me. Nobody!' Her voice rose a little hysterically. Joel's hands slid along her arms to her wrists. Gently he pulled her hands away from her face. There was a warmth in his eyes she had never seen before as they studied her face. 'You've had a bad time of it, I can see that,' he murmured. 'Perhaps I used the wrong word. Price,' he added in answer to her enquiring look. 'Perhaps I should have put it this way. If I marry you will you let me sleep here tonight?' Eyes wide with surprise, Lyn searched his face, her glance flicking from one grey eye to the other, searching for a twinkle of mockery in the pale dark- rimmed irises. There was none.

'You've got to be kidding,' she croaked, and wrenched her hands free of his grasp. 'How do I know you'd go through with it and marry me once you've got what you want from me?' 'You'd have to trust me,' he replied coolly, and his mouth dripped cynically at one corner. 'I have to admit that after Sabrina I've been wary of marriage, but right now, as I see it, we'd solve a few problems. You wouldn't have to look for another job and....' 'No!' She spat the word out furiously. 'No what?' 'No, not even if you marry me will I let you sleep here tonight,' she said. 'I don't want you.' 'That's a lie, for a start,' he retorted, and taking hold of her shoulders jerked her forwards. Bruisingly his lips closed over hers. Lyn resisted the onslaught of his hard mouth by keeping her lips closed and unresponsive, but she couldn't control her body. Under his touch it swayed and went slack with sensuousness, moulding itself to his. Her arms went up around his neck, her fingers twisted in the rough black hair at his nape. At once his lips softened and rubbed seductively against hers. She sighed, her lips parted and desire flooded her mind, obliterating all reason. 'You see?' he whispered triumphantly, his hand stroking her head as she buried her face against his shoulder. 'You haven't changed all that much in eight years. You still want to...' 'No, I don't,' she said fiercely, pushing away from him. 'I have changed. Eight years ago I didn't know any better and if you'd asked then I'd have married you like a shot. But you didn't care about me. I was just a kid.' Her voice shook with remembered disappointment. Squaring her shoulders, she titled her chin defiantly. 'Do you really

think I can't see through this move of yours, Joel Morgan? Do you really believe I can be deceived like that? You're only asking me to marry you because you've seen a way to getting a nursemaid for Rina, to look after her while you're not around,' she went on bitterly. 'Well, I'm not interested in your proposition. I don't want to be a nursemaid—or a stepmother either.' 'That wasn't all I had in mind for you,' he said suggestively, 'as I keep trying to convince you. There would be other advantages for both of us in being married. I reckon we'd both get a lot of pleasure out of it...' 'Keep your hands off me!' she seethed, sidling past him as he reached out to take hold of her shoulders again. She went to the chair where he had hung his hunting vest and picking it up held it out to him. 'We've had our talk over our cup of coffee, for old times' sake,' she added. 'Would you mind leaving now? I'll send Rina home tomorrow morning after breakfast.' Thumbs hooked into his belt, his head tipped slightly forward, Joel leaned against the sink and stared at her, his attitude threatening. A memory of Stephanie talking about the men of the islands being hawk-wild flashed into Lyn's mind. That was how he looked now, his jaw taut and savage, wicked temper showing in the forward thrust of his lower lip and in the frosty blaze of his light eyes as they gazed at her unwinkingly. Slowly he lunged away from the sink and began to walk towards her, his eyes holding hers, and although the urge to run was strong she waited, still offering the sleeveless orange jacket towards him. Supposing he touched her again? What would she do? Having felt the strength and heat of his desire and knowing her own passion was at simmering point, ready to boil up and over, she didn't think she could fight him off a third time. Nor would she want to.

Stepping in front of her, he twitched the jacket from her fingers. For one more moment they stared at each other warily, then Joel began to slip on the jacket. 'Okay, you can relax,' he drawled provocatively. 'I'll leave. I can see it's given you one hell of a kick to turn me down tonight. You've got your revenge for the way I treated you eight years ago and we're all square now. We can begin all over again.' His glance slid down over her face, lingered on her mouth, went on to rove over her figure. Then with a muttered, searing epithet which revealed his angry state of mind he swung away and strode into the hallway. ' Standing as if petrified, Lyn heard the front door open and crash closed. In a few seconds came the roar of the pick-up's engine as it started. Wheels crunched over gravel. Gradually the noise receded until all she could hear were immediate sounds, like the ticking of a clock and the fall of logs in the wood- stove. Now that he had gone she felt the let-down of anti-climax. Big and vital, disturbingly untamed, Joel had taken excitement with him and now she felt discouraged and lonely again. She rinsed the coffee cups and plate, put the pie back in the fridge, switched off the kitchen light and went up to the front bedroom where Stephanie had always slept when they had stayed in the cottage. The fourposter bed was double in width and the sheets were cold. Lyn lay on her back and watched the shadows of branches waving across the pane of the window, thinking of Joel and wishing with a fierce frightening hunger that she hadn't sent him away. If he had stayed she would have been with her now and she wouldn't have felt cold or lonely any more.

CHAPTER THREE FOR hours Lyn lay awake, haunted by Joel's suggestion that they should get married, and no matter how often she told herself that she had done the right thing in rejecting his offer she kept thinking of what it would be like to be married to him and then the yearning to be with him would throb through her again and she would writhe in agony. But somehow the night passed, and when she rose from her bed feeling more than a little haggard her spirits soon soared as she looked out of the window. The morning was jewel-like, carved from sparkling sapphire and emerald with touches of gold filigree provided by the birch and maple leaves which still clung to the dark tracery of branches or were piled in heaps against walls and in the corners of fields. Once Rina had left for home, she would go for a walk, Lyn decided, along the shore towards the most southerly point of the island. Today the view of the ocean and the other islands would be worth seeing. But Rina had other and very decided ideas. 'Don't wanna go home.' she said flatly. 'I wanna stay with you.' 'You can't,' said Lyn firmly, putting on her quilted windbreaker. 'Why?' Rina slipped down off her chair and her green eyes held a kind of insolence which jarred Lyn. How often she had seen Sabrina look at herself or others like that, as if she were of no account. 'Your daddy came here last night for you, but you were asleep,' she explained, taking down Rina's checked shirt-like jacket from behind the back door where she had hung it the previous day. 'Now, come on. Put your jacket on and we'll go.'

'You'll come with me?' asked Rina, suddenly very adaptable and slipping her arms into the held-out jacket. 'Part of the way, just to make sure.' 'All the way,' insisted Rina. 'No. You came most of the way yourself yesterday so you can go back most of the way by yourself. It isn't far.' 'Don't wanna go by myself. Want you to come all the way,' said the stubborn child, and sitting down on the kitchen floor she began to cry. 'Want you to come!' she bawled, and suddenly, without warning, she flung herself on to her back and beating her heels on the floor began to scream. Frightened by her behaviour, Lyn went down on her knees beside her and lifted her into her arms. Cradling the small head again her breast, she smoothed the fine, soft hair. 'All right, honey, all right,' she whispered desperately. 'Don't cry any more. I'll come all the way to the house with you.' They went across the field to the shore, hand in hand, Rina carrying the pumpkin lantern by its strings. Since there was no wind the water in the cove was still, a smooth shining blue glittering here and there with long golden spangles of reflected sunlight and shading to deepest purple where the shallows ended. The sand was firm and damp under their feet and here and there mussel shells glinted purple and white. Up over the weed-festooned rocks they scrambled and into the green gloom of the spruces. Sunlight slanting through picked out glints of red in Rina's hair and made the pumpkin lantern glow like fire.

The path through the trees took them into a wide field, tawny with overgrown grasses and dying wild flowers. It sloped up to the lemon and white house. Built by Colonel Morgan to last a long time, it was two-storied, what was known as full Cape or Captain's House, four windows wide, two either side of the front door and a chimney in the middle. On either side of every window there were wooden shutters, gleaming white against the lemon-painted wooden siding of the house, and over the doorway there was an elegantly carved portico. From the top of its green knoll, shaded by old elms, it commanded a view not only of the cove but also of the road which twisted down to Morgans- town and was a beautiful monument to the skill of some early Maine carpenter who had framed houses regardless of size, to last for centuries. Behind it, linked to it by a long passage, was its barn, high and wideshouldered, complete with dovecote and weathervane, which was a bronze carving of a schooner in full sail, its bow pointing right now towards the letter W. 'This is as far as I'm coming,' said Lyn, letting go of Rina's hand. 'But you haven't seen Daddy,' complained the child. 'He might not be here, and if you go away I'll be by myself.' 'He's here all right. Go on, now, into the house and find him. I have to go to see Jennie. 'Bye, Rina. I'll see you another day.' 'Come and see Daddy,' insisted Rina, taking hold of her hand and tugging again. 'If you don't I'll scream again!' Her eyes were suddenly sly. The little devil, thought Lyn. She knows it upsets people when she screams and she uses the technique to blackmail them. Reluctantly she went with the girl, afraid to risk another tantrum. Round the side

of the house they went into the yard at the back where the pick-up truck was parked. From the other side of the barn came the whining noise of a chain saw. 'He's sawing logs for winter,' said Rina. 'Come on, let's go and find him.' They didn't have far to go. Joel was in a clearing behind the barn and with a chain saw between his hands was bending over a tree-trunk. As the silvery steel blade of the saw cut through the trunk sawdust flew in all directions, glinting in the sunlight. As soon as she saw him Rina let go of Lyn's hand and skipped towards him, the lantern swinging in her hand. Lyn saw him look up, heard the whine of the saw die away as he switched it off and decided to beat a retreat before he noticed her. She had just reached the corner of the barn when he spoke only a few feet behind her. 'Don't run off,' he drawled. 'I wasn't running,' she retorted, and swung round to face him, irritated by the jeer in his voice. In a pair of weather-battered patched jeans which hugged his powerful thighs and hips, with his red and black checked woollen shirt open down to the waist, sweat shining on his bronzed throat and chest hinting that he had expended a great deal of energy that morning already, his physical presence packed a punch for which she had been unprepared, hitting her somewhere in the solar plexus so that she had to gasp for breath. 'Well, you sure weren't taking a stroll,' he quipped, grey eyes mocking her as their gaze slid over her. He raised an arm to wipe sweat from his brow on his shirt-sleeve. 'What's the hurry?' he asked. 'I didn't intend to come with Rina,' she began.

'But you found you couldn't stay away,' he put in quickly, his grin flashing out. 'Not that at all,' she snapped. 'She wouldn't come without me—lay on the kitchen floor and screamed.' She looked past him at the child, who had stayed by the tree-trunk and seemed quite happy now as she sang her tuneless song to the lantern. 'Sometimes she shows sense,' said Joel with a cool dryness, but there was nothing cool about his eyes as their glance lingered on his face. They were smouldering smokily, as with his hands on his hips he leaned towards her, coming so near that she could smell the sweat on him. 'I had one hell of a night,' he said tautly between lips which hardly moved. 'How about you?' Her glance flickered upward uneasily to his tousled hair and came down an inch or two to his eyes. There were dark smudges on the skin beneath them and the whites were slightly bloodshot. Below the thick unkempt sideburns which arrowed down his cheeks he was unshaven, and she was reminded suddenly of how he had looked the morning he had taken her to Dolphin's Island, as if he had been up all night. 'I had a very good night,' she said coolly. 'Slept like a log. Excuse me.' 'Damn you!' he grated, and when she would have slipped past him and gone on her way his fingers bit into her arm and she was swung round to face him. 'Are you speaking to me?' she countered haughtily, raising her eyebrows at him. 'I'm finding your manners extremely boorish, to say the least...'

'Because I don't mind my language and say what I feel, I suppose. Because I'm not mealy-mouthed like those politicians you've been mixing with lately,' he sneered. 'Because I'm a man and not a stuffed shirt or a pansy. Let me tell you why I couldn't sleep last night and why I had to get up early this morning to drag a dead tree out of the woods and saw it up. I had a pain. Know why? Because I wanted to...' Lyn clapped her hands over her ears so that she couldn't hear any more, although she watched in fascination his mouth shaping the words she didn't want to hear him say. Then, unable to stand close to him any longer in the blue, gold-scattered mild stillness of the morning, she whirled and began to run. Along the side of the barn she sped and into the sloping meadow towards the spruce?. She had almost reached them when he brought her down with a flying football tackle, his heavy shoulders striking the back of her thighs, and it was only when she fell into a mound of crisp crunching leaves that it occurred to her that he had let her run until they were among the long grasses and wild rose bushes which crowded along the edge of the wood because it suited him to bring her down here were they were hidden from Rina or from anyone else who might be watching. Quickly she rolled over away from him, but he dragged her back. Kneeling with one leg either side of her hips, he loomed over her. 'I told you not to run off,' he drawled between his teeth, and imprisoned her suddenly with his weight. His beard was bristly against the softness of her cheek, his lips were ruthless in their domination of her mouth, forcing her lips apart, pressing them against her teeth. But there was no way she could respond, and panic began to build up in her as she realised he wasn't very interested in her response or pleasure but wanted only to satisfy his own overwhelming appetites, there and then on that bed of golden leaves.

Frantically she twisted under him, used her hands on him to tug at his hair, scratching at his face. Dimly, through the fog of panic which swirled in her mind, she could hear Rina screaming. 'Daddy, Daddy! Where are you, Daddy?' Joel heard the screams too. His mouth left hers, trailed across her cheek, and she heard him swearing softly. 'Joel, let me up,' she whispered breathlessly, 'Please! You're too heavy. You're hurting me!' 'Say you'll marry me and I'll let you up,' he said quietly. 'No, No, I can't!' She turned her head from side to side wildly and the leaves crackled beneath it. 'I can't marry a man who doesn't love me, and you don't.' 'And you don't know what you're talking about,' he retorted. 'I want you—that's the biggest part of loving and is enough reason for getting married.' He lifted himself up, shifting to one side of her, but still leaned over her. 'It isn't enough for me and it shouldn't be enough for you,' she replied steadily, pushing into the heap of leaves with her elbows and levering herself into a sitting position. 'You married Sabrina for that reason and look how it turned out. Surely you don't want to make the same mistake twice?' 'Listen, honey,' he said softly. 'I'm not afraid of making mistakes. I thrive on them. Anyone who's afraid of making one is afraid of living ... or dying. I'm not afraid of either.' He raised a hand and touched her scarred cheek gently. 'You've been hurt badly—not just by that fire you were in but by the men you were involved with—so right now

you're afraid of me, afraid of making a mistake in case you get hurt again. Right?' She nodded dumbly and looked down away from him so he wouldn't see the tears which had rushed into her eyes. She hadn't thought he would have so much understanding, or so much faith. Then it suddenly occurred to her that he might be offering to marry her because he was sorry for her and her head tipped back proudly. 'The answer is still no,' she said. 'Marriage, involves too much commitment. I have to think about it. I can't rush into it.' 'You've got leaves in your hair, tears in your eyes and your mouth is a soft poppy red, wanting to be kissed,' he whispered irrelevantly as if he hadn't heard a word she had said. 'You're a lovely woman, one of the loveliest I've ever known, and I want you so much I'll give you time to think. Meanwhile -' He leaned closer, his lips aiming for hers. 'No, don't,' she murmured defensively. 'Rina has spotted us. She's coming this way.' Joel straightened up and looked away over the bushes to the approaching child. Then he turned back to Lyn again. 'We'll finish this later,' he murmured, his darkened glance drifting over her face and throat, 'after she's gone to bed tonight. But first we'll have a good day together, all three of us. We'll pack a lunch and go off in Sea-Witch to look at some traps I've set in that cove on Dolphin Island.' 'I'm not coming with you.' Lyn managed somehow to get to her feet, brushing away the leaves which clung to her hair and jacket. 'I'm leaving right now.'

'But it's the finest kind of day for pottering about the islands,' he said persuasively. 'We won't get many more like it. Come on, Lyn, Coming with us won't commit you to anything.' 'No.' How often would she be able to refuse him? 'Please don't ask me any more,' she pleaded. 'Please leave me alone. I have other things I want to do today, all of Morgan's to visit and explore.' 'Okay. Then Rina and I will explore with you,' he offered reasonably. 'Where would you like to go first?' 'I don't want you to come with me,' she said through her teeth. 'I don't want your company, ever. How often do I have to say it for you to understand? Please leave me alone.' Rina had begun to scream again, piercingly on one high note. 'You'd best go to the child. She wants you,' whispered Lyn. Regret stabbed through her when she saw anger flicker in his eyes. 'All right,' he said. 'I'll leave you alone for the time being. But it isn't over between us. Got that? It isn't over.' Lyn didn't stay to hear any more. Turning her back on him, she walked into the spruce woods, not looking back. The day was warming up and the air was scented with resin and rotting leaves, but she hardly noticed the beauties of nature. Her lips were throbbing painfully and she felt bruised in other places too, but her physical pain was nothing in comparison to the raw regret which, was searing her because she had been forced to turn Joel down a second time. She didn't go back to the cottage. Climbing the rocks on the southerly side of the cove, she reached the high plateau of land known as Indian Meadow. Long ago there had been an Indian encampment there and in summers gone by she had often searched with her friends

for pieces of the stone shaped into axeheads and knives which the Indians had used in their everyday lives. There was a narrow deer track winding through the yellowish brown grass and she followed it to the row of feathery pines which marked the boundary of the land owned by the Marches, a New York family who visited Morgan's only in the summer. Through the trees she could see their house. It was hardly a summer cottage, she thought, not for the first time. Built of the local pinkish stone, it was a rambling modern ranch-house and it was bigger than the Morgan homestead. She was following the row of pines towards the driveway of the house when a dog came bounding up to her, a grey and white German Shepherd. It stopped a few feet in front of her, head down, its ruff standing up, its teeth snarling viciously. 'Hey, Bonzo, stop that!' The man's voice was sharply authoritative and the dog sidled off to the right. Turning, Lyn saw the dog-owner coming towards her. Slightly built, he had reddish brown hair and a reddish beard. He was dressed in the usual country uniform, blue jeans and a brown and white checked shirt. 'Sorry about that,' he said, coming up to her, his faded bluish-green eyes smiling faintly. 'But this is private land, you know, and Bonzo is trained to keep strangers at a distance.' 'I didn't know anyone was staying in the house,' Lyn replied. 'I thought it was closed up for the winter.' 'Not yet. The Marches have kindly rented it to us ... my wife Marcella and me—for a few months. We arrived on Friday and haven't had time to get about the island yet and make ourselves known. Name is Weston, Corey Weston.' He held out a thin narrow hand.

'Lyn Brennan,' she said, shaking his hand. 'I'm staying at Goose Cove. I walked along the shore and thought I'd cut through to the village this way. I used to know the Marches when they stayed here in the summer. Do you mind if I go on? I promise I won't trespass again.' 'You won't have to,' he said pleasantly. 'I'm hoping you'll visit Marcella and me once we're settled in. I'll walk along with you, take this animal for the walk he's been wanting. Okay?' He called the dog to heel, snapped a leash on to its collar and they began to walk along the drive which wound through close growing cedars which had been trimmed to form a hedge. 'So you're a regular visitor to the island,' commented Corey. 'Used to be. My mother was born on the island and the cottage I'm staying in belonged to her father. Barney Slater who owns the store in Morgans- town is her cousin.' Lyn glanced sideways at him. He was smoking a pipe and looked thoroughly relaxed. About thirtyfive, she reckoned, an easygoing man who had daubs of paint on his jeans. 'Are you an artist?' she asked, and he gave her a grin. 'How did you guess?' he mocked. 'Paint on your clothes, and I was told there are several artists and painters living on the island now.' 'Yeah, I'm an artist,' he said. 'Apparently not as well known as I'd like to be. You didn't recognise my name when I told you.' 'I'm afraid I don't know much about art. Do you have any family— besides your wife and the dog, I mean?'

'No. No kids.' He sighed. 'We'd like to have ... but so far no luck. What about you?' 'No, I'm not married.' They walked along in companionable silence until they came to the road. Patterned with sunlight and shadow, it stretched away into the distance, empty, seeming to end in a bank of gold and bronze leaves through which the sky-pointing spears of green spruce pointed. 'I wonder if the people who live here realise how blessed this peace and quiet is,' mused Corey as they paused at the end of the driveway. 'I think they do. That's why they stay. But it can be stormy and then it's noisy,' replied Lyn. 'But that would be the noise of nature, a symphony of sound, not the raucous din created by the internal combustion engine,' he said. He turned to her and studied her face curiously as if trying to make up his mind about her. 'I had a friend once ... a very close friend. She used to come here often, talked about the island a lot. She used to come in the summer too. That's one reason why I jumped at the Marches' offer of their house. I thought I might find her staying here or maybe be find out what's happened to her. She seems to have dropped right out of sight during the past few years while I've been in Europe and out west. I wonder if you ever knew her?' 'What was her name?' asked Lyn. 'Sabrina. Sabrina Merrow.' Lyn could only stand and stare at him, feeling as if Sabrina's ghost had suddenly materialised in front of her. 'Well?' he said with a touch of impatience. 'Does the name mean anything to you?'

'Mr Weston...' she began. 'Corey,' he insisted. 'Corey, then ... Sabrina died, about seven years ago, in an accident,' she said. Above the beard the clear-skin over his bony cheekbones went white. The greenish-blue eyes grew wide with shock. 'My God,' he whispered, 'what a tragedy! She was so young, so vital, so full of promise, a great artist in the making. What sort of accident?' His mouth twisted. 'A car, I'll bet,' he said bitterly. 'Yes. It went over the side of a bridge and she was drowned.' 'By herself?' 'No. She was with a friend—Jonty Morgan.' 'Ah, I remember. She used to stay with his family when she came here, was some sort of relative of theirs ... on his mother's side, I believe.' 'I didn't know that.' 'Thanks for telling me anyway.' He rubbed at his forehead. 'I can't believe it,' he mumbled, then gave her a questioning glance. 'I wonder what happened to her paintings. I wonder if there are any here on the island?' 'There might be. Jennie would know ... she's Barney Slater's wife, at the store.. She told me she used to put Sabrina's paintings in the front of the store windows. I'm going there now. Why not come with me?'

He considered her suggestion, puffing at his pipe, his eyes narrowed against the smoke. 'Okay,' he said at last, 'I'll do that.' He was so easy to be with, so pleasant to talk to that by the time they reached the store Lyn felt she had known him all her life and she had almost forgotten the violence of her meeting with Joel that morning. But as soon as they reached the harbour her glance went to the fishing boats moored in front of the wharf, each one still, its reflection clear-cut in the shining water, creating an illusion of two boats one sitting on top of the keel of the other. Sea Witch was still there. Joel hadn't gone to look at his traps. Then what was he doing? It didn't matter to her what he was doing and she must stop thinking about him. She had better things to do. She turned to Corey and smiled at him. 'I expect they'll just be finishing lunch. We'll go in the back way,' she said. Jennie and Barney had finished their lunch, but with usual down-East hospitality they made Corey welcome and soon he was sitting at the table with Lyn, drinking coffee and munching on some of Jennie's home-made blueberry muffins. 'We knew there was someone in the Marches' place,' said Jennie, leaning back in the spindle- backed rocking chair and stroking Sam the marmalade cat who was purring contentedly on her lap, 'but we couldn't quite figure out what you were up to there.' 'Nothing violent and nothing mysterious, you can be sure of that,' Corey replied easily. 'My wife and I have come for a little quiet relaxation.'

'Well, you might as well know now, you can't set foot on Morgan's without everyone wanting to know why you've come and what you're doing,' said Jennie. 'You've been seen ... digging... and not for clams either.' Corey laughed. 'No, not for clams, but for treasure,' he drawled, with a wink at Lyn. 'Treasure?' Jennie and Barney spoke together and gave their visitor a sharp look. 'I don't recall having heard of any treasure being buried on Morgan's, do you, Barney?' said Jennie. 'We all know Captain Kidd might have been up this way and buried his somewhere on one of the islands.' 'I always thought he'd gone as far as Nova Scotia,' said Corey, his eyes twinkling with good humour as he packed tobacco in his pipe. 'No, not that sort of treasure, Mrs Slater. I'm by way of being an amateur archaeologist and Drew March did say something about a Viking coin having been found on his land somewhere.' 'It was found in Indian Meadow, where the Indians that used to come down here from Passamaquoddy used to camp. But the folk at the museum reckon it wasn't left by a Viking but was brought over in the belongings of some settlers from Britain in the seventeenth century,' said Barney. 'Did you know that Morgan's had one of the first settlements on his side of the Atlantic, Mr Weston?' Jennie butted in. 'Captain John Smith was here in 1614, the time he came and gave the name New England to the north-east.' 'No, I didn't know that,' said Corey.

The talk went on generally about the history of the area and then about lobstering and the ups and downs of the fishing industry. 'There's no serious shortages yet,' said Barney. 'But there may be soon if we don't start dipping into ignored species like elvers, sea urchins and fresh blue tuna. At least that's what Joel Morgan says, and he should know, being a marine biologist an' all.' 'Joel Morgan? Any relation to Jonty?' Corey asked Lyn. 'A distant cousin,' she said. 'Joel owns the fish- freezing and packing company down at the wharf,' 'You knew Jonty Morgan, Mrs Weston?' Jennie asked, her eyes bright with curiosity. 'No. But I had a friend who was another distant relative of his ... on his mother's side. Sabrina Merrow. Lyn here tells me Sabrina died, unfortunately, and I'm wondering where I could lay hands on some of her paintings. I have a feeling they're going to be pretty valuable in the future.' 'You know how to judge a painting?' Barney asked. 'I should do. That's my job, or has been over the past few years. I've been working as a curator of art in a couple of museums and I'm just waiting to take up a position in a museum in New York.' 'Joel might have some, up at the homestead,' said Jennie abruptly. Pushing Sam the cat from her lap, she got up and went over to the living room window which looked down over the harbour. 'He's down at the wharf right now—I can see his pick-up. If you hurry you might just catch him before he puts out to sea.' 'Come with me,' Corey said to Lyn. 'Please,' he added earnestly when she hesitated. 'You can introduce me to him.'

'All right,' she agreed reluctantly. 'I'll be back,' she said to Jennie as they left through the back door where Bonzo was waiting patiently for them. 'I want to put a call through to my mother, tell her I got here safely.' 'You do that,' said Jennie. 'And stay to dinner. Be seeing you, Mr Weston.' There was no sign of Joel near the pick-up, which was parked in its usual place in front of the fish- packing building, so they hurried on to the wharf. Rina was at the end of it holding a stick on to which she had tied a piece of string which she was dipping into the water as if she was fishing. When she heard their footsteps she turned round, her thin bony face lighting up. 'Lyn! Are you going to come with us?' she asked, dropping the stick and coming up to Lyn to push her thin, rather sticky hand into hers. 'Good God!' Corey exclaimed, staring in fascination at the child. 'Who is she?' he whispered. 'Rina Morgan. This is Mr Weston, Rina...' Hearing a door slam, Lyn broke off and looked round. Joel was coming out of one of the fishhouses. Dressed in denim overalls over his checked shirt, rubber boots and fishing cap, he strode towards them along the wharf, his oilskin jacket slung over one shoulder. 'Daddy, here's Lyn,' shrilled Rina. 'Can she come with us?' 'Be quiet!' Lyn spoke sharply, irritated suddenly by the girl and trying to tug her hand free of that tight sticky grasp. 'She's Sabrina's child, isn't she?' Corey was saying hoarsely, still staring at Rina.

Joel was close now. He had shaved and his jaw was set in its usual aggressive tilt. Under the visor of his cap his grey eyes were as frosty and distant as his father's had been the day Seth had told Lyn Joel had gone to New York. 'Corey,' she said breathlessly, 'this is Joel Morgan. Joel, Mr Weston is an artist and used to know Sabrina...' She broke off, not knowing what else to say, shaken by the way his eyes changed when he looked at her, the way they grew warm as if a fire had been lit inside him to melt the frost. 'I've been told you might have some of Sabrina Merrow's paintings at your home,' Corey was saying, and Joel's glance swerved from her to him. 'I'd like to see them...' 'Why?' The question was snapped out. Nothing warm or pleasant about the grey eyes now; they were sharp and piercing. 'To study their value. Sabrina was destined to be a great artist and now she's dead anything of hers should be exhibited so that it can be assessed by the critics as well as by the wider public.' 'I have a few of her paintings, it's true. They belong to Rina here,' Joel began. 'She's your daughter?' exclaimed Corey. His voice was hoarse again and above the beard his face looked very strained. 'Then Sabrina...?' 'Was my wife,' drawled Joel, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. 'The paintings are not on show, nor are they going to be exhibited,' he added curtly. 'Come on, Rina.' He moved off towards the gangway leading to the float. 'Can't Lyn come too?' piped the child.

'Sure.' He didn't look back and the broad shoulders shrugged indifferently as he clumped down to the float. Rina's greenish eyes slid sideways to the staring, fascinated Corey, then came back to Lyn's face. 'You like this guy better than my dad?' she asked with childish boldness. 'I ... it's just that I don't have time to go with you right now,' explained Lyn. 'Then I'm not going either. I'll stay with you. Dad can go by himself,' said Rina, giving another sly sideways glance at Corey. 'No.' Lyn looked down at the float. Joel was untying his pea-pod. In a few seconds he would be in it and rowing away. 'Excuse me,' she said to Corey, and taking hold of Rina's hand she pulled her along behind her as she marched along the gangway. 'Joel, Rina says she isn't going with you. She says she wants to stay with me.' He turned round. His eyes were frosty again, but the corner of his mouth twitched with wicked humour. 'Suits me,' he drawled, and stepped into the pea- pod, pushing it away from the float. 'I'll pick her up later.' Across the widening gap of water his grin mocked her. 'From your place, of course.' 'But...' she spluttered. 'See you later,' he called, fitting the long oars into the oarlocks and turning his back to her, and standing in his customary fashion in the centre of the pea- pod he began to row forwards. 'Joel, come back here at once!' she yelled after him. 'I'm not minding Rina for you this afternoon.'

'Looks to me like you are,' he called back tauntingly, his voice carrying quite clearly across the water. 'I'll be back around six. I'll pick her up then.' 'But I won't be there. I'll be at Jennie's,' she shouted. 'Joel, you've got to take her with you.' 'Not if she doesn't want to come,' he replied. 'See you later ... at Jennie's ... then.' 'Damn!' Lyn stamped her foot on the planking of the wharf, but since she was only wearing rubber- soled sneakers she didn't make too much noise. 'Seems an independent sort of guy.' Corey's voice was softly amused behind her. 'Independent is too kindly a word,' Lyn seethed, still staring after Joel. 'He's domineering, infuriating, a law unto himself ...' She broke off, snapping her teeth together in an effort to control her irritation, and with Rina's hand still clinging to her hand she began to walk up to the wharf. She was breasting the steep hill sloping up to the road from the wharf by the time Corey caught up with her. 'I'm puzzled,' he muttered. 'Can't make out why Sabrina married a rough ignorant fisherman like him.' 'Joel isn't ignorant!' she flared, turning on him, glaring at him furiously. He stepped back a pace, his eyebrows going up slightly. 'Okay, okay, I take that back,' he drawled. 'But you've just given me the impression that you don't care for the guy too much yourself.' 'I'm sorry,' Lyn muttered, belatedly, as she realised how strange and contrary her behaviour must seem, one minute calling Joel names, the next defending him. 'It... It's just that I get mad whenever I hear

visitors to the islands patronising the local people. No down-East fisherman is ignorant. Fishing here is a business and the men who do it aren't "quaint characters." They're well-informed, intelligent people who've chosen to fish as their occupation in life. And it's a dangerous occupation which takes a lot of courage and endurance. Some of them drown —my grandfather did. Do you ever think of that when you're enjoying lobster Newburg?' The blue-green eyes studied her closely for a few minutes, then Corey smiled slowly. 'No, I have to admit I haven't, but I will now, and I'd like to phrase my question differently. I can't understand how someone with Sabrina's beauty and brilliance, her sensitivity, came to be married to a man with whom she would have so little in common. Have you any ideas?' 'Sabrina married Joel because she knew he loved her,' Lyn said simply, and was immediately surprised at her own insight into Sabrina's feelings, 'at a time when she needed all the love she could get,' she added, and started off up the hill again. Behind her the growl of Sea-Witch's diesel shattered the Sunday peace of the harbour and she felt again regret corkscrewing through her stomach. Why hadn't she gone with Joel? She was sick of hearing about Sabrina. 'Why would she need to be loved?' Corey's voice was sharp this time as he caught up with her. 'She had many friends who loved her.' At the top of the hill Lyn stopped to turn to him again, pondering in her mind how much she dared tell him about Joel and Sabrina. 'But none of them loved her like Joel did,' she said quietly. 'None of them loved her enough to marry her, to give her a home, a place where she could have her baby. Not one of them loved her enough to take the responsibility of her child. She knew Joel was strong enough

and mature enough to do that. I've always thought of her as cold and heartless, too absorbed in self-admiration to love anyone else. But she must have been a better judge of character than you are. She knew she could depend on Joel to be a father to Rina.' Corey wasn't a stupid man. He grasped her meaning at once and she saw the shock go right through him. 'He isn't the child's father?' he whispered. 'Right. I promised him I wouldn't tell anyone, but I think you should know before you start casting any more aspersions on his character. Domineering and infuriating he might be to me, but he's also the salt of the earth.' His glance fell before her direct one. He looked down at the brown hair of the little girl who was swinging on Lyn's hand singing tunelessly to herself. Muscles tensed in his cheek as his teeth clenched on his pipe stem. Suddenly he squatted down before Rina and taking his pipe out he smiled at her. At his heels the big dog sank down on the ground, opening its mouth to yawn noisily. 'Hi,' Corey said to Rina. 'I used to know your mummy,' he told her. 'Where is she?' asked Rina. 'I'm not sure where she is right now, but she used to like painting pictures. You have some of her pictures in your house, don't you?' Rina nodded shyly, her eyes glistening with interest. 'I like painting pictures,' she said. 'You paint at school?' Corey asked, and again she nodded shyly. 'I like to paint too,' he went on. 'One day soon would you like to come to my house and we'll do some painting together?'

Rina looked suddenly very troubled. She glanced away down the hill to the luminous blue water, to the white fishing boat which was speeding away, its wake an arrowhead of darker blue behind it. 'I'll come if Dad will let me,' she said, looking up at Corey. 'Okay.' Corey straightened up, gave Lyn a faint rueful smile. 'I guess that's as far as I'm going to get with her today.' He glanced at his watch. 'I must be getting back. Marcella will be wondering where I've got to.' They began to walk along the road towards the store, past the fishermen's houses. Some of the men were in their gardens, raking leaves, tidying flower beds. Others were sitting on verandahs enjoying the sunshine, taking their ease in old rocking chairs, smoking, talking or just snoozing. It was Sunday, truly a day of rest, although Lyn knew' that some fishermen would be out in their boats, going about their business as usual. Outside the store Corey said, . 'I can't begin to tell you how glad I am you came my way today, Lyn. You've provided several pieces to a puzzle which I've been trying to solve for years. I'd like you to come over to The Pines again soon, to meet Marcella.' His glance went down to Rina and he patted the child's head. 'I'd like the little one to come too, after school one day. Maybe her father would let her come with you,' he added. 'Maybe,' said Lyn, 'but I wouldn't count on it.' And he gave her a sharp glance. 'I guess you've known him some time,' he drawled, a slow smile curving his mouth. 'You behave to one another like friends of long standing. Well, it's been nice meeting you. I'll be moving along now. See you!'

He went off along the road, his dog padding at his heels, and Lyn went round to the back of the store with Rina. In the warm untidy kitchen where lobster traps shared space with pots and pans Jennie was talking into the phone. She looked round when she heard the door close and said quickly into the mouthpiece, 'Hang on a sec, Steph. She's here, just come in.' She held the receiver out to Lyn, gave her an ironically glinting glance and drawled, 'I see you're babysitting again. How come?' 'Joel went off and left her with me,' Lyn whispered, then lifted the receiver to her ear and said, 'Hello, Mum. How are you?' 'Good. What about you?' Stephanie sounded as usual, as bright and brisk as the north-west wind had been the day before and about as chilly too. 'I'm still settling in. There's a lot of cleaning to do at the cottage and there's a few tiles off the roof. Shall I get someone to fix it?' 'If you can. Listen, Lyn, I have something important to tell you. Brian Dempster was here yesterday, on some government business. He hoped to see you, of course.' 'Brian?' Lyn muttered, her hand automatically to her cheek as if to hide it from his critical gaze. 'I hope you didn't tell him where I am,' she said. 'No. But Lyn, he'd like to see you very much.' 'Why?' 'He said something about making a mistake. He's going to call me again, next week probably, to find out if you'll agree to meet him next weekend, here in Boston. Lyn, I think you should come back and see him. He says there's been a strange turn of events. Dale

Hampton has been sacked on account of his affair with a woman ... no, not you, but someone else, the wife of a political colleague. It came out, Brian says, in the court case.' 'What court case?' asked Lyn. 'It seems his wife Leila is suing him for divorce and also for half the property they own, which she says she helped to finance. But Brian can tell you more about it. You should come and see him, Lyn.' Lyn stood biting her lip, wondering how to answer, inwardly cringing from having to meet Brian again. 'Mum, I'm not sure yet,' she said at last. 'I'll call you again on Monday night and let you know.' She rang off and went through to the living room. Barney was stretched out on the old sagging chesterfield having his Sunday afternoon nap, snoring gently. Jennie was in her favourite place by the window. She was knitting socks. At her feet Rina was playing with the cat. 'Mind if Rina stays here with me until six o'clock? Joel said he'll be back around then.' Lyn curled up in one of the chintz-covered armchairs. 'And I don't want him coming to the cottage for her.' 'Why not?' Jennie gave her a shrewd upward glance. 'He get fresh with you last night?' 'How did you guess?' countered Lyn. 'But not only that. He asked me to marry him.' 'My soul!' exclaimed Jennie, her eyes nearly popping. 'You could do worse, you know.'

'I know,' sighed Lyn. 'But that isn't the point. He only wants to marry me to get an unpaid nursemaid for you-know-who.' She made a gesture towards Rina's bowed head. 'Any woman would do.' 'Not only a nursemaid. He'd want a bedmate too,' said Jennie with an earthy chuckle. 'You can be sure of that. Joel likes his creature comforts no less than any other man. And it's time he was settled and rearing a family properly. I know Joanna and Seth have been very worried about him ever since that... that bitch left him. She did him no good, no good at all.' Jennie sounded quite vicious. 'That may be,' said Lyn. 'But I'm not necessarily the person to help him settle.' . 'So you turned him down, huh?' 'Of course I did. I've only been a few days on the island, I've hardly had time to come to terms with myself, and he starts rushing me.' Lyn leaned forward. 'Jennie, keep it to yourself, please. Don't say anything to Mum.' 'Okay, I won't.' Jennie knitted a few more stitches, then added, 'You know, I'd have never thought you'd do that to Joel. Seems to me you were pretty keen on him when you were here some years back.' 'That was then. This is now, and I'm not too interested in men or marriage,' retorted Lyn. 'Let's leave the subject, shall we? Can Rina stay here with me?' 'Sure.' 'And is there anyone on the island who can put some new tiles on the cottage roof?' 'Caleb Johnson. Want me to ask him to call round and see you tomorrow?'

'Please.' 'Stephanie say anything about coming over for a holiday?' Jennie asked. 'No.' Lyn watched the plump fingers working the four sock needles. 'Do you remember when she came here with my father once, at this time of the year?' she asked. 'Sure do. My soul, were they in love!' Jennie's eyes rolled expressively. 'Knowing what Mum is like it's hard to imagine her falling in love, being romantic,' observed Lyn. 'She's so reserved, unapproachable.' 'She wasn't always like that. Losing your dad did that to her,' drawled Jennie thoughtfully, eyes on her knitting. 'Some women can love only one man, you know, and Stephanie is one of them.' Jennie's hands fell into her lap as she looked directly into Lyn's eyes. 'I guess you're a lot like her, soft inside, sharp and prickly outside, like a seaurchin. Mark was her first love and her last. There's been no other man in her life. You might bear that in mind the next time some guy pops the question to you.'

CHAPTER FOUR JOEL came for Rina just as Jennie served dinner and of course was invited to stay. He made no effort to refuse the invitation but took off his jacket and hung it up behind the door, returning to the table to sit down next to Lyn almost as if he had expected to be asked and had in fact come at that time so that he would be invited. As a change from seafood Jennie had cooked a sirloin of beef which Barney carved in traditional style at the table. The meat was lean and deliciously tender, the potatoes crunchy, roasted to a golden brown, and the crisp discs of golden Yorkshire pudding melted in the mouth. From Jennie's garden there were parsnips and green beans as well as a relish which she had made from green tomatoes and cucumber which offset the tongue-tingling horseradish sauce. Afterwards there was the usual blueberry pie oozing thick purple juice and topped with a scoop of ice-cream. While she ate Lyn did her best to ignore Joel, but all the time she was aware of him physically and whenever his arm brushed against hers or his knee nudged hers under the table a sort of shivery excitement beat along her nerves. Only half hearing the conversation which went on between the other three adults, she was glad no questions were addressed to her. She wouldn't have been able to answer sensibly, she was sure, and she was glad when the meal was over and she was able to leave the table and escape into the kitchen to make the after-dinner coffee for Jennie. She hoped Joel would go after coffee, but he seemed quite happy to linger, talking to Barney about island affairs, and it wasn't until the grandfather clock sweetly chimed nine that he suggested to Rina that it was time she went home and to bed because she had school the next day.

'We can drop you off at the cottage,' he said casually to Lyn, when he came back into the living room after collecting Rina's and his own jackets. Lyn looked round first at Jennie, then at Barney. Neither of them seemed much interested in what was going on. 'No, thanks,' she began. 'I'll walk...' 'But, Lyn,' shrilled Rina, 'I want you to put me to bed and read me a story like you did last night.' 'I'd like to, honey, but I ... I ...' Lyn looked at Barney, who wasn't paying any attention to her at all. 'I promised I'd stay and play checkers with Barney. Didn't I?' She raised her voice to make sure her mother's cousin could hear her. 'I reckon I can play with Jennie same as usual,' said Barney unhelpfully. 'You go along and read the kid a bedtime story. She doesn't often get a treat like that, I bet.' 'No, I don't,' agreed Rina, nodding her head as she pulled on her jacket. 'Dad never reads to me. Lyn can come and read to me, can't she?' she added, looking up at Joel. 'Sure.' He gave his noncommittal shrug. 'It's up to her.' 'So come on, put your jacket on,' said Rina, coming over to Lyn and pulling at her hand. Lyn stared at her, remembering the tantrum of the morning and guessing what would happen if she refused, and she gave in as gracefully as she could. 'All right, but you mustn't expect me to read to you every night,' she sighed.

They didn't talk as the pick-up truck rumbled along the road in the direction of Goose Cove. The moon was full and the grey tarmac was striped in silver and black. When the truck turned off and down the lane towards the Cove moon dazzle glinted at them from the water and then from the dark windows of the homestead. The truck was parked in the yard at the back and when Lyn stepped down Rina was close behind her. 'Come on,' she urged, taking Lyn's hand, and led her in the direction of the back entrance to the house. 'Hadn't we better wait for your father?' queried Lyn; 'Oh, no. I guess he'll be going to see to the hens.' 'He keeps hens?' exclaimed Lyn. 'Sure. And some sheep.' Inside the back door, which Rina was able to open easily since it wasn't locked, the child reached up to find a switch. At once light blazed both outside and inside the porch. Rina looked down at Lyn's sneakers. 'You'll have to take off your shoes 'cos you've been walking in mud,' she said, pulling off her own without untying the laces. 'Dad doesn't like anyone to walk all over the house in dirty shoes, and Gran is the same.' 'And my mum is the same,' said Lyn with a laugh, as she pulled off her sneakers and_ followed Rina through another door into a kitchen. It was big and square, panelled with wide planks of pinewood furnished with a hand-hewn pine table and spindle-backed chairs and fitted with a modern sink unit and cooking range. Bright rugs of

braided wool were scattered over the bare planks of the floor. Lyn paused in the middle of the room, looking around her with pleasure at how the modern equipment had been introduced without having detracted from the original eighteenth-century quality of the room. 'Come on,' urged Rina, taking her hand again. 'Let's go up to my room.' In the wide square hallway there was more wooden panelling, this time much smoother, and on the walls hung portraits of various past members of the Morgan family. A narrow staircase with a shining carved banister led up to the second storey. Rina's bedroom was at the back of the house. It was furnished with two single beds which had hand- carved wooden rails at both ends. Three walls were painted a soft peach colour and the fourth, behind the headrails of the beds, was decorated with a reproduction wallpaper. 'You can stay the night with me if you like and sleep in the other bed,' said Rina generously. 'It's kind of you to invite me, but I think it best if I go back to the cottage once I've read a story to you,' said Lyn coolly, kneeling down in front of a small white-painted bookcase. There were some of her own childhood favourites there, she noticed, including Charlotte's Web and The Wizard of Oz, but all the books looked very new as if they had never been opened. 'If you were my mummy you'd have to stay the night with me if I asked you, wouldn't you?' said Rina as she pulled off her sweater and threw it on the floor. 'Would you like to be my mummy?' 'Now what put that idea into your head?' asked Lyn, leaning back on her heels.

Rina gave her a sly sidelong glance, then began to undo the waistband of her jeans. 'I saw Daddy kissing you this morning. I asked him why he kissed you and he asked me if I would like you to be my mummy,' she muttered. 'Oh, did he? And what did you say?' 'I told him I'd like you to be my mummy because I haven't got one,' said Rina, and dropping her jeans beside her sweater she stepped over to Lyn to stand before her, hugging her skinny little body with crossed over arms. 'Please, Lyn, will you stay and be my mummy? I like you the most after Gran and I promise I'd be good,' she said appealingly. Lyn looked into the wide greenish eyes and felt compassion awake within her, softening her attitude. Putting her arms about the child she held her closely for a moment and stroked her hair. 'Rina, honey, it isn't all that easy for me to do what you ask,' she whispered. 'Why isn't it?' Rina pushed away from her, a frown darkening the clarity of her eyes. 'Don't you like me?' 'I like you, but...' 'Don't you like Daddy?' 'It isn't that I don't like him -' began Lyn slowly, but Rina interrupted her. 'Then say you will, please, Lyn, say you'll be my mummy—please, please!' Rina's voice shrilled excitedly and she twined her thin arms about Lyn's neck, almost strangling her.

'Rina, please, you're hurting me 1' protested Lyn, taking the arms from around her neck. 'I can't say I'll be your mummy right now.' 'You can, you can,' insisted the child fiercely, clinging to her again. 'Go on—say it, say it! Say you'll be my mummy. Lyn, I want to hear you say it!' Over and over the child said the same words like a record stuck in a groove, and Lyn realised with a little flicker of panic that any refusal on her part would set off one of the tantrums. 'Look, honey -' she began reasonably, but Rina was past listening to reason. 'If you don't do what I say I'll cry and scream!' 'No, you won't!' Lyn spoke sharply and grasping hold of the thin arms again dragged them from round her neck. 'Now, stop this! Go right to the bathroom and get washed. When you come back I'll be ready to read to you. You still want me to do that, don't you?' Her eyes wide and apprehensive, Rina nodded dumbly. 'Well, you'd better do what I say,' added Lyn firmly, 'or I'll go right out of this room and right out of the house and I'll never do anything for you again.' Her lips quivering and her eyes filling with tears, Rina stood for a moment trembling on the brink of an explosion. Lyn started to get to her feet, and at once Rina moved. 'I'm going,—I'm going to get washed!' she cried, and scurried from the room. She didn't take long in the bathroom and was soon back throwing off her underclothes, scattering them about the room. Pressing the advantage she had over the child, Lyn insisted that she pick her clothes up and put them tidily on a chair before she got into bed. When that was done Rina lay submissively in the bed, sheet and blanket pulled up to her chin, her green eyes watching Lyn in such a

timid way that Lyn felt that stir of compassion again. Quickly she suppressed it, warning herself that any softness on her part could lead her into a situation from which it would be difficult to retreat. 'Will you read now, please, Lyn?' Rina whispered. 'Okay.' Lyn sat on the edge of the bed and began to read from the book she had chosen. She didn't pause in the reading, didn't look up once, although aware of Rina watching her all the time. Only when a certain change in the child's breathing came about did she stop and glance at her. Rina's eyes were closed. She was fast asleep. Lyn returned the book to the bookcase and tiptoed from the room, clicking out the light switch. Down the stairs she went slowly, admiring the golden panelling of the walls, the simple yet graceful chandelier made from hand-carved wood which hung from the ceiling. She had always liked this house and now she remembered the few times she had been in it. Sometimes Jonty had invited all the summer youngsters up for a barbecue party and afterwards there had been music and dancing in the big living room. As she lingered in the hall looking round at the pictures on the wall, at the spider-web fanlight over the elegant front door, it seemed to Lyn she could hear the beat of the music, see the teenagers and other young people twisting and twirling. Jonty was there with his shy smile. Sabrina was there, tall and willowy, bewitching with her sun-gilded skin and her long blonde-streaked hair. And there was one other lounging in the background—a darkbrowed, black-haired young man with heavy shoulders whose light grey eyes held a strange brooding light as they had watched Sabrina. Never had Joel looked at anyone the way he had looked at Sabrina. A noise from the living room startled Lyn, bringing her back to the present. Light was glowing softly in that room. Cautiously she looked round the edge of the doorway. Joel was in there, squatting in

front of the huge fireplace, which was the walk-in kind, the wide opening supported by a massive lintel log of oak. He had just lit the kindling in the grate and was watching the flames leap up. Quickly Lyn backed away from the doorway. She would leave while he was busy. Along the shining wooden floor of the hall she sped. Her feet in their white cotton socks, which she always wore with sneakers, slipped and she skidded sideways, crashing into a hall table, banging her knee against one of its legs. A Tiffany lamp on the table rocked violently and then toppled to the floor, hitting it with the sound of splintering glass. Astounded by what she had done, Lyn began to get to her feet. Pain twinged through her knee and she sank down on the floor just as Joel appeared. 'What the hell... 'he was saying angrily when he saw her and broke off. His bright glance took in the broken coloured glass scattered on the dark wood of the floor and then came to her. 'I'm sorry,' muttered Lyn, as she watched him bend to pick up the shattered lamp arid place it on the table. 'I realise it's antique and probably irreplaceable.' 'Have you hurt yourself?' he asked, stepping over the broken glass. 'Just my knee. I bruised it against the table.' With his help she was able to get to her feet. 'Joel, I'll pay for the lamp... Ouch!' she exclaimed as she put her weight on her right leg and pain sliced through her knee. 'What were you doing?' he demanded. 'Leaving, by way of the kitchen. I left my sneakers in the porch.' 'On the run again? Thought you could leave without me knowing, eh?' he jeered softly, still holding on to her arm. 'Well, let that be a

lesson to you not to run on these floors in socks. Come into the living room and I'll take a look at your knee.' 'No.' She pulled her arm free of his grasp. 'I've read to Rina. She's asleep now, so I'll be on my way.' 'Not yet.' He stood before her, blocking the way. 'There's something I want to talk to you about, so come and sit down.' 'Joel, I....' 'It's about that guy you were with this afternoon,' he interrupted her. 'And if you don't come and sit down willingly I'll carry you into the living room,' he threatened softly. 'You and Rina both,' she retorted, holding herself stiffly against the wall, away from him. 'How you love to practise blackmail!' 'What else can, we do with someone as stubborn as you are?' he countered dryly, then his eyes narrowed. 'When was Rina trying to blackmail you?' he demanded. 'Just now, in her bedroom. She threatened to throw a tantrum if I didn't do as she asked.' 'And what did she ask you to do?' 'I'm not going to tell you. Now will you please let me pass to get my shoes and jacket... Joel, no!' It was the first time since she was a little girl that anyone had picked her up like this and carried her. Joel swung her up into his arms with ease and she felt helpless. Yet she felt strangely safe too. 'Put me down,' she said coldly, holding herself away from him, making it difficult for him to hold her.

'In a few seconds. This is just to show you I don't make idle threats,' he said, and carried her into the living room where he set her down on a chintz- covered elegantly winged chesterfield in front of the fire. Hardly was she seated than he was squatting before her and was pushing up the wide leg of her jeans to expose her right knee. There was an ugly red mark on the kneecap. Holding her leg in one hand behind the calf so that she couldn't move it, Joel pressed the fingers of his other hand against the red mark. 'That hurt?' he asked. 'Not very much,' she whispered, wondering how she was going to pretend she wasn't affected by the touch of his fingers on her leg, by the sight of them rough and weather-darkened against the whiteness of her skin. 'Then perhaps it is only a bruise,' he said. 'If it swells it will mean you've cracked something.' His fingers trailed insinuatingly over the curve of the kneecap. 'You have pretty knees,' he said. His hand stroked down her leg. Lyn reached down and hit at his arm. 'Stop it! Leave me alone,' she said furiously. 'Scared?' he queried mockingly, dropping from a squatting position to his knees. 'No, just irritated.' She leaned back away from him, but at once he leaned forward, sliding his hands along her thighs, coming closer to her until his face was so near she could only see parts of it, the fascinating curl of each separate black eyelash on the lower lid of his right eye, the proud curve of his right nostril, the groove at the corner of his mouth. 'Wh—what are you going to do?' she whispered, feeling his fingers moving delicately at her waist and pushing up under her sweater.

'Finish what we started this morning,' he murmured, and pressed his lips against her scarred cheek. 'No!' She gasped it out, her hands going to his, trying to stop them on their exploratory journey upwards under her sweater. 'You say that word an awful lot,' he said, kissing her throat just behind her ear since he couldn't get at her lips because she had turned her head sideways to him. 'Mmm, your hair is as feathery and soft as the wing of an eider duck,' he muttered, nuzzling it with his nose. 'You should know by now that saying no to me is a waste of time. What I want I usually get.' 'But not this time,' she hissed, turning to him and then groaning as she realised she had done just what he had wanted. His mouth swooped down to hers triumphantly, and all her resistance to him went up in flames. Somehow he managed to lever himself up on to the couch beside her. Somehow they were lying on it side by side, lips clinging, breast to breast, hip to hip, legs entwining. In the fireplace the logs crackled merrily. Flames leapt up casting an orange glow over everything, their heat reaching out to the two people on the couch. But Lyn wasn't hearing the crackle of the logs or feeling the heat of the flames. Sweet sensuousness was melting her bones and she was floating back in time to the beach on Dolphin Island. The sun on her skin was no warmer than the touch of Joel's hands, the sound of the surf no louder than the throb of his heart, the smell of rockweed and cedars no stronger than the salty tang of his skin or the muskiness of his hair. Joy was surging through her strongly. It was an opening up of her whole heart and body in welcome to him. She was his for the taking, had always been his to have and to hold, she realised that now. Like

her mother she could love only one man, had loved him eight years ago, was loving him now. If only she could be sure he loved her! If only he was as crazy about her as he had been about Sabrina ... Suddenly it was as if the woman was there between them, greeneyed, golden-limbed, Sabrina fair. 'No!' Lyn wrenched her mouth free, pushed with her hands wildly. 'Let me go!' she cried. Dark as slate, his half-closed eyes studied her as he propped himself up on one elbow. With his other hand he stroked her hair from her face, his fingers sliding downwards, touching her throat caressingly. 'What's wrong?' he whispered. 'Did I hurt you?' 'I ... I ... can't,' she muttered, forcing the words through stiff lips because her newly awakened love for him was making refusal of him hurt her more than she had ever thought possible. 'I can't do what you want because you don't love me, like ... like you loved Sabrina.' She couldn't look at him, couldn't bear to see any change there might be in his expression. His fingers stopped stroking her throat and for a moment he was very still. Silence seemed to hang between them like a mist which grew gradually thicker, becoming a fog that cut them off from each other. Then Joel moved, heaving to his feet. Looking up, Lyn watched him walk over to the fireplace. He raked a hand through his tousled hair and with the other hand he shoved the tail of his shirt into the belted waistband of his denim pants. He leaned a forearm along the oak lintel of the fireplace and bowing his head to his clenched fist stared down at the flames. 'What happened between me and Sabrina was a once-in-a-lifetime deal. It was crazy and beautiful, but ...' he broke off and she heard his

breath hiss between his teeth, 'I wouldn't like it to happen again,' he added in a low voice, as if speaking to himself. Pain twisted through her. Choking on it, she pressed her fingers against her mouth as she fought to suppress the desire which was flaming within her, a longing to go over to him, put her arms about him and say she took back what she had just said, tell him she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Crouching miserably against the back of the couch, she managed to overcome her natural impulses, while silence lengthened between them again, separating them, making each of them a lonely desert island. At last Lyn felt strong and calm enough to move and speak. She swung off the couch, straightened her sweater and smoothed her hair back behind her ears. 'Then there's nothing more to say,' she said stonily, and began to limp across the room, every step agony not only because her knee twinged but because it took her away from him. 'Lyn, you can't walk out now, not after we've been so close!' Joel spoke harshly and was right behind her. His hand on her arm spun her round to face him. His eyes were stormy, the colour of windtormented wintry sea, and his jaw was tensed. 'We've been close before,' she retorted. 'Only that time you did the walking away. This time I'm going.' She pulled her arm free and walked on towards the doorway, pretending she could see it clearly although tears of frustration were filling her eyes because once again she had come very close to giving him all her love only to find he had none to give her.

He stepped round in front of her. Gripping her shoulders, he dragged her against him, held her there while his glance ravished her upturned face. 'You think I don't know just how near you were to giving in,' he taunted softly, bending his head towards hers until the rough tousled hair brushed her forehead and his breath wafted across her cheekbones. 'Forget about Sabrina,' he whispered. 'That's over, done with. I want you and I'll marry you to get you. Marry me and you'll have security and a good home. I'm not a poor man. The fishing business is booming right now and when he left me this house Henry Morgan also left me an annuity for as long as I live in it, take care of it and hand it on to another Morgan when I die. But there won't be any other Morgans if I don't marry and have children. I'm the last of the breed and so...' 'Oh, I knew it,' Lyn muttered fiercely, putting her hands flat against his chest to push him away. 'I knew there was another ulterior motive. You want to marry me because it would be convenient!' 'Okay, I admit it,' he drawled, crossing his arms over his chest. 'Marriage to you would be a convenience to me. I need help in looking after Rina. I also need a wife who would give me children, a conventional practical reason for marrying, I know, but I'm not ashamed of it.' He stepped towards her again, hands spreading out in an appealing gesture. 'Lyn, you could have a good life here,' he began. 'You don't understand, do you?' she interrupted him wildly. 'You're still trying to buy me. But what you're offering isn't enough!' She saw him stiffen, his head jerking up proudly. Icy-cold his eyes stared down at her, along the bold line of his nose. 'Oh, you'll have to find some other woman,' she whispered, turning away from him and rushing now for the door, ignoring the sharp pains in her knee. 'One

who's willing to trade herself for a house and a ready-made child. I'm not in the market for that sort of thing and I never was!' Out in the hallway she blundered along to the kitchen. When she reached the porch she pushed her feet into her cold damp sneakers without undoing the laces. She found her jacket, pulled it on, opened the door, stepped outside into the crisp cool air of the clear fall night and banged the door closed behind her. She had hardly taken two steps when it opened again, and light shafted out, to show her limping. 'Where are you going?' Joel was beside her again. 'Back to the cottage, of course,' she replied coldly, and limped on across the yard. Above the stars were winking brightly in the blueblack sky. 'I'll drive you over.' Once more he was beside her, moving with long easy strides. 'No, thank you. It isn't far. I can manage.' 'With every step making you wince?' he scoffed. 'You could stay the night here, rest your leg and tomorrow I'd take you over to Willboro, to the hospital there to have it looked at -' 'Oh, stop it!' she blurted, turning on him. 'Stop trying to run my life for me. You have no rights ...' 'I don't need any rights to offer to help someone who is in obvious pain,' he interrupted forcefully. 'And why don't you stop too? Stop running away from yourself.' 'I'm not!' She turned on him furiously, but pain sliced through her knee, she lost balance and fell against him. At once his arms closed

around her 'I'm not running away from myself,' she wailed, her voice muffled by the thickness of his checked shirt. 'You're running away from commitment, from making a decision,' he told her. 'You've been brainwashed by all that femininist propaganda which puts out that it's wrong for a woman to want to marry and have children when in fact it's the most natural and right thing for a woman to do. Eight years ago you'd have gone into it without hesitation, you've told me you would ...' 'But not without love, not without love,' she whispered, twisting her head from side to side, feeling the roughness of his shirt burn her cheeks, but she didn't push against him to free herself. She leaned passively, feeling his warmth seep into her, luxuriating for a few seconds in his strength, finding all the comfort and support she could ever need. Dimly she heard behind her the shrill ring of the telephone coming from the kitchen and felt Joel stiffen. 'It'll be my parents,' he explained, putting her away from him. 'I've been expecting the call. They'll be wanting to tell me how the cure is going for Dad. Come with me. I still want to know about that guy Weston.' Her hand in his, Lyn went with him, back into the warmth of the kitchen, and sat down with relief in a chair at the table to examine her knee again while Joel talked into the phone, aware of the changes in his voice even though she didn't listen to what he was saying. There was warm concern at first as he asked questions and then some laughter, followed by brief staccato answers to questions from the other end of the line. The receiver clattered down on the rest. Lyn pulled her jeans leg down hastily over her knee. There was nothing to see except the reddish bruise, no pain while she was sitting. Only when she moved

quickly did it hurt. It couldn't possibly be cracked, but maybe she had damaged the cartilage. 'Coffee?' Joel spoke abruptly as he went across to the big cooking range and lifted the kettle off it. 'No, thanks.' The kettle was set down again with a clang. 'Rum, then? You look like you need something to warm you up,' he said, slanting a mocking glance in her direction. 'It might have the same effect on your inhibitions as it has on mine—relax them a bit.' He took down a bottle from a high cupboard. 'I don't want anything,' she replied, watching him pour the golden liquor into two small glasses. He ignored her refusal and pushed one across to her. 'What is it you want to know about Corey Weston?' she asked stiffly. Joel tossed off the rum in his glass, poured a refill and swinging round on one of the kitchen chairs until it was near to her he straddled it, leaning his arms along the back of it, his glass in his hand. 'How come he knows about Sabrina?' he drawled. 'He said he was once a close friend of hers. He's an artist too. Maybe they studied together in New York.' 'Close, eh?' he murmured, his mouth curving wryly as he looked down at the liquor in his glass. 'Knowing Sabrina it's easy to guess what that meant,' he said dryly. 'When?' He shot the word at her and the upward flash of his eyes was bright and searching. 'I don't know. Why don't you ask him yourself?' she retorted.

'What's he doing here?' 'He's come to live here for the winter. He's staying in the Marches' house. He hoped he might find Sabrina here. He said he hasn't heard of her for some years, so I told him about her death. It was then he said he'd like to find out if there were any of her pictures on the island. Jennie suggested he ask you about them, that's all.' She gave him an under- browed glance. He was sipping his rum. 'Joel, why wouldn't you let him see your pictures?' He didn't answer immediately but sat staring broodingly at his glass. 'I dunno,' he said at last with a shrug. 'He kind of got my back up. Those arty types often do.' He tossed off the rest of the rum and set the glass down on the table. 'Because Sabrina was one of them?' Lyn ventured tentatively. 'Perhaps.' Another shrug which effectively expressed his indifference. Chin resting on his arms, he studied her with a disturbing glint in his eyes. 'Would you like to see her pictures?' he asked quietly. 'Where are they?' 'Upstairs, hanging in one of the spare bedrooms.' He stretched out an arm, picked Up the glass of rum he had poured for her and held it out to her. 'Drink it up,' he ordered brusquely. 'No, I've told you I don't want anything.' She rose from her chair. 'I don't want to go and see Sabrina's pictures either,' she added, and walked towards the door again, forcing herself not to limp. 'Afraid I'll grab you once we're up there, throw you on the bed and make love to you?' he mocked bitterly. 'You needn't be. You've said no so often during the past two days I'm beginning to be turned off. But you haven't told me everything about Weston,' he went on

coolly, not moving from his chair, speaking to her over his shoulder. 'Are you going to see him again?' 'I might. He's invited me to visit him.' She remembered Corey's suggestion about Sabrina and turned back to him. 'He seemed very interested in Rina and would like her to go over to The Pines to paint with him some afternoon. Would you let her go? She says she likes painting and Corey might be able to teach her something. It would be good therapy for her, doing something creative.' 'Would you take her with you when you go to visit him?' he asked. 'I suppose, I could, but...' She paused, biting her lip. 'But what?' 'If I take her with me to see Corey or do anything else for Rina while I'm here you're not to assume I've changed my mind and that I'm going to marry you?' Joel picked up the glass of rum she had declined and drank some before replying. 'I won't,' he said flatly. 'You can be sure of that. I've made my offer and three times you've turned it down. I'm not without pride, so I won't be asking you again. But I'm not taking back the offer either. It's still there, and if you do change your mind you'll have to come and tell me. Could be that by then I'll have changed my mind. Who knows?' He shrugged his shoulders and tossed off the remains of rum, then pushed to his feet. 'You still want to go back to the cottage?' he asked. 'I have to go,' Lyn whispered. 'Joel, I'm sorry ...' 'Don't be,' he cut in roughly, striding towards the door. 'Come on, I'll drive you.'

They drove the short distance in a tense silence. Not for a long while would they be at ease with each other again, Lyn thought regretfully; not while his offer of marriage lay between them like a gauntlet flung down in challenge between two enemies; not until she accepted the challenge and agreed to take the risk of marriage would they be comfortable in each other's company. And the alternative to that? Well, she could always leave Morgan's Island sooner than she had intended, she supposed, as she had left once before. But it would be for ever, because once she left again she would never return, would never see Joel again. He waited at the front door of the cottage while she opened it and went inside to put on the light. He didn't attempt to follow her but leaned in the doorway watching her with narrowed eyes. With her hand on the door she lingered, ready to close it when he moved away yet suddenly very reluctant to part with him because she sensed his emotions were violent and it might not be good for him to be alone through the night. He raised a hand, leaned forward and stroked a finger down her cheek in a caress so gentle, so much in contrast to the hostility which was glittering in his eyes that her breath caught in her throat. 'It's going to be another hellish night,' he drawled, 'with the ghosts of the past as well as what might have been haunting us both.' His hand dropped to his side and he turned away abruptly. 'If the knee is still playing up in the morning, let me know and I'll have you over to the hospital in Willboro in no time,' he added coolly. ' 'Night, Lyn.' The darkness swallowed him. Suppressing an urge to call him back Lyn closed the door at once, locked and bolted it out of sheer habit. She felt drained of all energy as if she had been fighting a battle with herself, and she had to cling to the banisters as she went up the stairs, her legs were shaking so much. Oh, yes, it was going to be another

hellish night, for in denying Joel tonight she had denied her own passionate desires again. But strangely enough, once in bed she fell asleep as if she had been given a knock-out blow. She slept long and deeply and awakened to golden sunshine flooding the room and the sound of someone banging on the front door of the cottage. Grabbing her robe, she wrapped it round her and hurried down the stairs. Her knee only tingled slightly, reminding her of what had happened the night before, and she wondered if it was Joel at the door, come to see if she wanted to go to Willboro. She slid back the bolt, turned the key in the lock and swung the door back. When she saw the two men standing on the verandah, neither of them Joel, she felt disappointment flood through her. 'Hi there,' drawled Barney. His wrinkled face looked like tough leather and his bright eyes twinkled at her. 'This here is Caleb Johnson.' He flicked a thumb in the direction of the man standing just behind him. 'He's come to look at the roof.' 'Mornin', lady,' drawled Caleb around the wad of tobacco he -was chewing. 'Mind if I get a ladder up and go on the roof?' 'No, of course not.' Lyn pushed hair back from her eyes and looked beyond them to the sloping field, bright with sunlight, arrowing between dark spruces up to the homestead. No movement there. No sign of the blue and white pick-up truck bouncing along the road, either, on its way to the harbour, and no man with rough silverstreaked black hair and clear grey eyes coming up to the verandah. Again disappointment tasted sourly in her mouth and she wondered why it should be so.

'Are you going hauling today?' she asked Barney. She had to have some occupation, go somewhere do anything rather than cope with regret on her own. 'I sure am. Should have been out earlier but reckoned I'd best find Caleb and tell him about this job you want doing.' 'Can I come with you?' she asked. 'Like I used to?' 'You could. But what about the roof?' 'Surely Mr Johnson can work on it without me being here,' said Lyn, turning to Caleb appealingly. 'Reckon I wasn't going to start working today,' he drawled, still chewing. 'I'm just gonna look at it, decide what needs to be done and then tell you how much it's going to cost you.' His small blue eyes squinted down his long nose at her. 'Ain't much sense, now, in me doin' the work if I can't be sure you can afford it, is there? Besides, I've got me own traps to haul while the weather is good. Reckon it's going to blow later today.' 'How do you know?' asked Lyn, intrigued as usual by this ability of the islanders to predict the weather. 'Can you tell from the sky?' It was a lovely clear blue, streaked here and there with high feathery clouds. 'Nope. Heard it on the radio,' replied Caleb with typical matter-offactness, and loped off to get the ladder off his truck. 'He sure had you there, Lyn,' said Barney with a chuckle. 'I guess he did,' she replied with a grin, knowing she had fallen a victim to the Mainer's dry sense of humour. 'So can I come with you?'

'Okay. Dress warm, though. It's cold on the water this time of the year.' Most of the fishing boats had gone from the harbour and Sea-Witch wasn't bobbing at her mooring. Once they were on Barney's boat he lost no time in leaving and soon they were chugging across the harbour bouncing a little on the waves churned up by the ferry which was just arriving from Willboro with a load of supplies for the island. They went out through the narrow south-eastern passage, between the small island of Spyeglass which gave the harbour its shelter and the high cliff known as Eagle Perch. The tide was going out and the water was swirling and gurgling as it surged through, seeming to drag the fishing boat along with it. Watching the land slide by, Lyn noticed a horned sheep looked down at them from the tops of the cliffs where seagulls circled shouting raucously and a big black bald eagle hovered. Once through the passage they were out on the swell of the ocean and turned to follow the south-east coast of the island. The shoreline was a mass of pink and tawny rocks topped by thick forest. Sheltered from the slight breeze, the water murmured softly over rockweed that gave the shallows the glow of jade and amethyst. Loons paddled in the coves and tufted sheldrake ducks took off in a flurry, flying low over the water. In the woods a few lemon- coloured leaves clung to the grey branches of alders and the birches stood slim and white against the dark background of cedar and spruce, their upper branches, bare now of all leaves, a hazy network of reddish blue. For the next few hours they chugged up and down the coast, searching for the distinctive red buoys which marked Barney's traps. Each time they found one they hauled up the string of wooden traps attached to it with a small winch geared to the engine. Once a trap was on board, the lobster, if one had been caught, was removed, its claws were pegged and it was tossed into a barrel of salt water in the

cockpit. Then Lyn re-baited the trap with bits of fish, herring, alewives or redfish, which Barney had brought along for the purpose, and the trap was lowered back into the shallows again. Lyn enjoyed being on the water and working with Barney brought the serenity of mind she had been looking for, but by the time they had hauled the last trap the weather had changed and the 'blow' forecast by Caleb was beginning. The sky was covered over with grey clouds and the sun had become a greyish-yellow disc which played hide and seek in and out of them. As the boat curved southwards making for the passage into the harbour icy spray flashed again and again over the bows from the high waves which had built up. The tiny wheelhouse offered little shelter and Lyn was glad of the orange calf-length oilskin coat which Barney passed to her. Several times she felt nausea heave in her stomach in reaction to the rolling and pitching of the bait. At last they reached the comparative calm of the passage where the tide, on the turn again, swept them into the harbour. On the shore the white gables of the houses stood out starkly against the lowering clouds and the water of the harbour, so serene and blue when they had left, was a frenzy of white-crested greenish-grey waves tumbling about on top of each other. Most of the fishing boats were now back at their moorings, but Sea-Witch was still missing and the quietness of mind which Lyn had known during the past few hours was suddenly gone again, disturbed by a new worry, just as the wind had disturbed the tranquillity of the harbour. She hoped Joel had not gone far and would be back before the wind increased in strength. She helped Barney take his catch ashore but left him at the fish-house and walked up the hill back to Goose Cove. Leaves driven by the wind danced about her and grasses swayed and rustled. Half way down the lane to the cove she caught up with Rina dawdling along.

'School out?' Lyn queried. Rina nodded shyly. 'Dad isn't back from fishing yet,' she said. 'Can I stay with you until he comes?' 'Sure you can.' After all, she had promised Joel the child could come and see her any time while she was on the island and last night he had promised he wouldn't assume she had changed her mind about marrying him if she did anything for Rina. A car was parked in front of the cottage, a black Mustang, and on the verandah Corey Weston was sitting, apparently oblivious to the wind which was making the trees creak and sigh. With an old sombrerostyle hat tied under his chin, sitting on a camp stool before an easel, a palette in one hand and a brush in the other, he was daubing at a sheet of painting paper pasted to a drawing board. 'How long have you been here?' asked Lyn, looking with interest over his shoulder at the water- colour sketch he was painting. With bold strokes of grey, blue, green, red and white he had put in the wind-tossed water of the cove, the slabs of pink and tawny rocks and the frieze of dark spruce and ghostly birches. 'About an hour,' he said, turning to her, his glance sliding off her and going to Rina. 'I guessed you'd turn up sooner or later, so I decided to make a sketch of the scene for future reference. Seems my decision to wait has paid off two-fold,' he said, smiling at Rina. 'I was hoping I'd see you again too,' he added gently, and the child smiled shyly back at him. 'I've been out hauling traps with Barney, so I'm caked with salt and I stink of fish and I'm as hungry as -' Lyn laughed, 'well, as a

fisherman, I guess. Will you come in and join Rina and me, to eat some apple-sauce cake and drink some coffee?' 'Like to,' Corey said simply. After putting the coffee on and fetching out the cake Lyn directed him to the cupboard where mugs and plates could be found, excused herself and went upstairs to shower and change her clothes. She decided to dress in something different from jeans and sweater. The amber-coloured velour pant suit she had brought with her seemed suitable with its hip-moulding trousers and long-sleeved Vnecked top. The colour brought out the amber flecks in the brown of her eyes, she thought, as she considered her reflection in the long mirror attached to the back of the closet door. She really looked much better since she had come to the island and the warm peachy pink which the day on the water had whipped up in her cheeks made the scar almost disappear. Her hair too was shining glossily, the colour of ripe corn. Like her skin, her hair had benefited from the clear unpolluted water and air of the island. If only she could always live on Morgan's, work here, be a part of its community, like her grandparents had been and all her forebears before them. She turned away from the mirror quickly, not wanting to meet her own eyes, knowing the answer to her wish. She could live on the island if she was prepared to give in and accept Joel's proposal of marriage. If she could subdue her own passionate possessive feelings where he was concerned she could stay and live with him, work in the fishing business with him, be the supportive wife he wanted as long as she never expected too much of him, never demanded any more that he loved her as he had once loved Sabrina.

Sighing, she slipped on her leather moccasins. What was the use of thinking about Joel's offer? Every time she did she came up against Sabrina. The ghost of the woman would always be there, haunting her, and would be the same if she lived with him. Sabrina would make marriage to him a private hell for her. She must put his proposal out of her mind completely. In the kitchen the percolator was bubbling madly and the apple-sauce cake was untouched. Corey hadn't bothered to search for mugs or plates. Sitting at the table with Rina, he was watching the child draw a picture with some pastel crayons he had given her. So absorbed were the two of them that they didn't look up when Lyn entered the room and for a moment she stood and watched them, seeing something she hadn't noticed before which made her frown in puzzlement before she turned away to attend to the coffee. 'I've finished the picture,' Rina announced, and chair legs scraped on the tiled floor as the child pushed away from the table. 'Lyn, can I play a record, please?' 'Sure. Want me to put it on for you?' 'No, thanks, I can put it on myself. Can I take my cake and milk into the living room?' Carrying the glass of milk and the plate of cake very carefully, Rina walked slowly through the archway into the other room. 'Do you think she's like me?' asked Corey suddenly as Lyn placed a cup of coffee and a slice of cake before him. 'To look at, you mean?' she asked, glancing at him in surprise. 'It's kind of hard to tell when you have all those whiskers covering up

most of your face,' she added with a laugh, bringing her own coffee and cake to the table and sitting down. 'I guess it is,' he said with a grin, stroking his beard. She gave him another quick searching glance, noting again how sharply his cheekbones jutted through the fine pale skin above his heard and how softly rounded and heavy-lidded were his large greenish-blue eyes, and at once the image of Rina's face flashed across her inner vision. 'Why do you ask?' she said. 'I ... er ...' he began, and broke off, frowning. Then he leaned forward and placed his hand over hers where it lay on the table. 'You're a nice woman, Lyn. I sense a depth of compassion in you, a caring about other people which makes you vulnerable to being hurt yourself.' He paused, looking down at his hand covering hers. 'I've got something on my mind and I'd like to tell you what it is, but first I have to tell Marcella.' Lyn sat without moving, sensing that he was deeply agitated, dimly aware that someone had knocked on the back door and that it was being opened. Wind, cold and cutting, whipped into the warm room from the porch, then the door was closed. 'Rina here?' Joel's voice was curt and she turned sharply to look at him as he stepped in from the porch. Without a cap, his black hair blown into a tangle by the breeze, his face burned from exposure to salt spray, his grey eyes as icy and sparkling as the wintry sea which had swept over Barney's boat that afternoon, he was like the wind, she thought fancifully, wild and strong and seeming to fill the room with vibrations.

'She's here,' she said, pulling her hand from under Corey's and getting to her feet, feeling her heart kick against her ribs at the sight of Joel and the warm blood sweep up her neck and over her face. 'She's in the living room. We're just having some coffee and cake. Will you have some? Sit down and I'll get it for you.' She was babbling nervously, alarmed by the anger which was leaping in his eyes and giving a savage twist to his mouth when he looked at Corey. 'No, thanks,' he replied coldly, stepping round the table and making for the living room. 'I'll just collect the kid and move along home. Hey, Rina, come on...' The rest of his words were drowned by the voice of a well-known folk-singer singing about an old woman who swallowed a fly to a twanging guitar accompaniment. Rina had obviously managed the mechanics of putting the record on the player but had not yet found out how to adjust the volume so that the voice blared loudly, filling the rooms with noise and almost shattering eardrums.

CHAPTER FIVE 'TURN it down!' shouted Lyn, rushing into the living room, and her fingers reached the volume control just as Joel's did and flinched back from the sudden contact as if they had been burned. The singer's voice was now only loud enough to be heard but would still drown out anything being said in the living room for anyone who might be sitting in the kitchen. 'I don't wanna go home yet,' Rina said sullenly, sitting down on the floor and sticking out her lower lip defiantly and threateningly. 'I wanna listen to his record. All of it.' She glared up at Joel. 'Let her stay,' Lyn interposed. 'And have some coffee while you wait for her.' Now he was there, back safe and sound from the sea, she wanted him to stay, she found, as long as he could, all night if he wanted. She wanted him to tell her about what he had been doing that day, share in his life. She wanted to make his evening comfortable and restful, cook for him, sit with him, make love with him, and so when his glance flicked over her coldly and contemptuously she felt he had flicked her with a whip and she stepped back defensively. 'And act as gooseberry?' he drawled, shoving his hands in the slit pockets of his thick woollen plaid jacket. 'Not on your life!' 'Gooseberry?' she exclaimed in puzzlement. 'That's what I'd be if I stayed to drink coffee while you and your artist friend out there make eyes at each other,' he sneered. 'We wouldn't be ... oh, surely you don't believe -' She broke off as anger rushed up inside her, choking her. 'I believe what I see,' he spoke through taut lips, his eyes still cold with contempt. 'You and he were holding hands when I walked in.

And you've dressed up for him. Reckon I've never seen you looking so dandy before.' The cold glance shifted, roved over her in insolent appreciation. 'That get-up fits like a glove in certain places—and doesn't leave much to the imagination,' he added. 'Stop it!' she hissed. Her ears were hot with fury. 'Stop insulting me! I dressed to please myself, not him—nor you, for that matter. Anyway, Corey is married.' 'So what?' Joel drawled cuttingly. 'Since when has a little thing like marriage stopped you from making up to a man?' 'I'm not making up to him,' she seethed, glaring at him. 'Oh, that's it. I've had enough! Get out and take your child with you. I hope I never see either of you again! Reaching down, she switched off the record player and lifted the pick-up arm from the record to put it on its bracket. 'I haven't heard all the record,' complained Rina, her voice rising ominously. 'I know you haven't, honey,' Lyn said softly, taking the record off and slipping it into its sleeve. 'But your daddy wants to take you home now.' 'But -' began Rina. 'Go and get your jacket,' ordered Joel sharply. As usual when she was spoken to firmly and sharply Rina didn't argue. Pushing her before him, Joel left the room without another glance at Lyn, who after taking a deep breath to calm herself, followed them. 'Morgan,' Corey was getting to his feet, 'I'd like to have a word with you some time ...'

'About Sabrina's pictures?' Joel asked quickly, looking up from helping Rina put on her jacket. 'How about coming over to see them now, while you're out this way?' 'I'd like to,' said Corey on a note of surprise. 'But I thought you weren't interested in showing them.' 'I've had second thoughts,' Joel said crisply. 'Then I'll certainly come now.' Enthusiasm warmed Corey's voice. He pulled on his own jacket, collected up the pastel crayons he had lent to Rina and shoved them into a capacious pocket. Sombrero in his hand, he looked across at Lyn and smiled apologetically. 'Excuse me for rushing off like this,' he said to her as Joel and Rina went out into the porch. 'I'd better go with him while he's amenable. Thanks for the cake and coffee. Now don't forget, come out and see us at The Pines any time. I'd like you and Marcella to meet.' Wind rushed into the house when the outer door was opened and was cut off sharply as the door was slammed closed. Alone, Lyn stood for a few moments grasping the back of a chair. The flare-up between herself and Joel had completely destroyed any serenity of mind she had achieved during the day. She felt raw inside, aching because she had been so hurt, frustrated because she hadn't been able to fight back. If Rina hadn't been in the living room, if Corey hadn't been in the kitchen, she would have hit Joel for what he had said to her. Oh, he had been mean, unreasonably nasty, and she couldn't understand why. And now everything was finished between them. She had finished by telling him she didn't want to see him and Rina again. Automatically she began to clear the empty mugs and plates from the table, hoping to find in the mundane chore an antidote for the violence of her emotions.

But when she had washed up and put away she didn't feel any better. She would have to get out of the house; there would be no peace for her if she stayed by herself. Going into the front hall intending to go upstairs to find a suitable coat to wear over the velour suit, she noticed for the first time a slip of paper which had been pushed between the edge of the front door and the jamb. It was a note from Caleb Johnson with the price of repairing the roof and asking her to let him know by morning whether she still wanted the job doing. It would be necessary for her to call her mother, a good excuse for going down to the store and spending the evening with Jennie and Barney. Lyn dashed upstairs, found a coat and a woollen hat and in a few minutes she was striding into the teeth of the wind along the road to Morganstown. The store was still open and Jennie was busy. Barney didn't seem to be about, so she had the kitchen to herself while she talked to her mother. When they had settled the business of the roof Stephanie went on to tell her more about the Hampton divorce. 'All right, then, I'll come back to Boston on Friday,' Lyn said eventually. 'I'm feeling better and it's time I looked for another job. I'll take the Friday morning ferry to Willboro and catch a bus there.' 'Any idea what time the bus leaves Willboro?' 'There's one in the early part of the afternoon, so I should be with you about ten on Friday night.' 'So when Brian calls again can I tell him you'll be here if he wants to come up for the weekend?' asked Stephanie. 'I suppose so.'

'You don't sound better to me.' Stephanie spoke sharply. 'What's been happening over there?' 'Nothing much,' said Lyn stiffly. 'That's the trouble,' she added, hoping her mother would think she was leaving Morgan's because she was bored. After hanging up the receiver she went into the store, asked Jennie for Caleb Johnson's address and walked the length of Morganstown to his house, which was tall and high-shouldered like he was. He agreed to come out and fix the tiles on the roof as soon as the wind dropped and said he would have the job done easily by Friday. Lyn returned to the store to find Barney home again and told him and Jennie she intended to take the ferry to Willboro on Friday morning. 'There's something I have to do in Boston,' she explained, when they both looked at her in surprise. 'Sure you're not letting Joel drive you away from here?'Jennie asked shrewdly. 'He is part of the problem, yes,' said Lyn coolly, and turned back to Barney. 'How about having that game of checkers we were done out of last night?' she asked, and to her relief for the rest of the evening Jennie didn't mention Joel again. The gale blew itself out by noon the next day and after lunch Caleb appeared as he had promised to work on the roof. In the calm grey afternoon Lyn went walking, climbing up the only hill of the island, through the scented crackling forest until she came to the clearing at the top from which she could look down into the harbour. Two more days she had in which to finish her visits to all her favourite haunts; two more days and then goodbye to Morgan's, and to Joel.

She didn't see anything of Rina that day nor the next and she guessed Joel had told the child not to call on her. He had taken her at her word when she had said she didn't want to see him or his child any more. That pride of his was as hard and unyielding as the granite rocks when it was roused and it was no use her hoping he would come cap in hand to apologise for insulting her. Any move would have to be made by her. On Thursday she remembered Corey's invitation to call on him and his wife and giving in to a certain curiosity as to his opinion of Sabrina's paintings she set off after lunch to wall across Indian Meadow. It was another still day with very little sun. A pearly light lay over the island. In the meadow the asters had lost their chalky whiteness, the petals were all brown now as were the tall grasses and the feathery remains of golden rod. There were birds chattering among the grove of pines, mostly warblers resting in their long migration south, and overhead a skein of Canada geese flew by in perfect formation. No dog appeared from the house to set her at bay and there was no car parked on the driveway, but in answer to the doorbell a woman not much older than herself with a dusky skin, deep dark eyes and a shy smile opened the door. 'I'm Lyn Brennan. Corey suggested I should visit one day this week.' 'Oh, hi. Come in.' Marcella Weston's smile widened into one of genuine welcome. 'I'm glad to see you. I'm trying to make some cookies for the kid ... Rina. She's coming today again. Corey's just gone to pick her up from school.' 'Coming again?' repeated Lyn. 'Yeah. She was here yesterday with her father ... at least, with Joel Morgan.' Marcella frowned as she stumbled in her speech. 'Why don't

you let me take your jacket,' she said quickly, 'and hang it up in the closet.' The Pines' kitchen was ultra-modern, festooned with copper pans which gleamed against dark panelling. Its wide picture window had a view of the grey silken sea and the pearly grey sky and at that moment was full of the nose-tingling, mouth-watering smell of baking cookies. 'You know, I'm really glad of the chance to talk to you alone, without Corey here,' said Marcella warmly. She was tall and dressed in a green turtle- neck cotton sweater over which she was wearing a smock-line dress made from hopsack and embroidered across the yoke and round the hem with big daisies in brightly coloured wools, obviously her own creation. Dark green stockings and sabot-like shoes completed her outfit. With her 'arty' clothes and her fuzzy black hair she was a very Bohemian person to find in that superbly equipped, ultra- efficient kitchen as she cut shapes of men from the gingerbread dough she had rolled out, and Lyn could not help staring at her in fascination. 'Has Corey told you what's happened?' asked Marcella. 'I haven't seen him since Monday afternoon. He seemed very agitated about something.' 'I know. He was really hyper all Sunday night and Monday morning, but he wouldn't tell me what was wrong. Then on Monday evening he came bursting in here carrying four pictures and blurted out that he'd found his daughter.' Lyn sank down on one of the high leather-covered stools which were lined up at a breakfast bar.

'Rina—his daughter?' she whispered. 'So that was why he asked me if I thought she looked like him. But how can he be sure? I know he was a close friend of Sabrina's ... but surely there would have to be proof of some sort before he could claim her as his.' 'There is proof,' said Marcella tautly. She looked up, the curve of her generously full lips rueful. 'Oh, believe me, I was doubtful too. I said the same as you to him, with more reason. Can you imagine how I felt?' 'I can. It must have been a shock.' 'I was devastated and didn't want to face up to the fact that the man I married had turned out to be not as perfect as I'd believed.' She gave Lyn a sideways glance and smiled. 'I'm a real romantic, you know, and this has brought me down to earth with a bump, I can tell you.' 'What is the proof, and how did he find it?' asked Lyn. 'It's a long and complicated story. It seems that Corey and Sabrina used to live together in New York. He wanted to marry her, but she didn't believe in marriage, she was a really liberated woman. Then he had the chance to go to Europe to study art and he asked her to go along with him. She refused. They quarrelled and she slammed out of the apartment where they lived. That was the last he saw of her. He left for Europe immediately afterwards.' 'When did this happen?' asked Lyn. 'Eight years ago, in August. Anyway, it seems she came here and had a slight change of heart because she wrote him telling him she was sorry she'd quarrelled with him and that she was sure she was going to have a baby. She said it was his and asked him what he wanted to do about it. She sent the letter to the apartment where they'd lived, but he didn't get it until the following September.'

'Why was that?' 'Blame the postal system ... or whoever was responsible for sending on any mail to Corey. Blame Corey for moving about so much in Europe and changing his address so often his mail never caught up with him. Anyway, it did catch up with him, in Italy.' 'What did he do?' asked Lyn. 'He answered the letter straight away and sent it to the address she'd written it from.' 'That would be the homestead here,' said Lyn. 'Did she get it?' 'Unfortunately no, because it arrived after she'd been drowned. The mailman gave it to Joel and he has it still. That's the proof, Joel showed it to Corey on Monday evening when he went to see Sabrina's pictures. But Corey knew on Sunday when he saw the child for the first time that his past had caught up with him.' A timer on the oven began to ping. Marcella turned to the cooker, opened the oven and took out a baking sheet of gingerbread men and replaced it with another sheet of cookies. Lyn watched her, thinking of Joel, of his questions about Corey, of his original hostility towards the man. He had known as soon as she had introduced Corey to him that he was the real father of Rina. 'What are you going to do about it ... I mean, what does Corey want to do about Rina?' she asked. 'He wants to adopt her, of course. Give Corey his due, if he'd received Sabrina's letter eight years ago he would have come to her and taken responsibility of the child. He loves children.' Marcella paused. 'He loved Sabrina once, too, but he was never sure she loved him. It seems she was a very self-absorbed person, almost autistic

like Rina, and it was difficult to have a normal relationship with her, she liked to be by herself so much.' Marcella looked intently at Lyn. 'You knew her, didn't you? Was she beautiful?' 'Dangerously so,' answered Lyn. 'Would you like to adopt Rina? You'd have to be in agreement with Corey, wouldn't you, before he could go ahead and make arrangements?' 'As you can guess, this is why I'm in such a turmoil,' said Marcella frankly. 'I can't be sure yet. That's why we're going to have Rina over here as much as possible during the next few weeks, even months, for her to get used to him and me and for me to get used to the idea. I can't have any children and sometimes we've talked about adopting. Perhaps Rina is the answer. At least we would know she has some of Corey in her.' 'What about Joel?' asked Lyn. 'What did he have to say?' 'He came with her yesterday afternoon and they stayed for dinner.' Marcella paused, her glance at Lyn wary. 'He doesn't say much, but I've the feeling he's pretty hostile to Corey, blames him for the whole situation—you know the sort of thing—if Corey hadn't quarrelled with Sabrina and gone to Europe he would have known about the baby and married her, then she wouldn't have married Joel and foisted the child on him. I reckon he's bitter about it and I can't blame him really. But he has agreed for us to have access to the child any time we want until we can come to a decision about adoption. I guess if we go ahead and adopt her it will make quite a difference to him.' At that moment there were sounds at the front of the house and in a few seconds they could hear Corey's voice. He came straight through to the kitchen, Rina with him holding his hand. Her eyes were shining and she seemed very happy.

'Good to see you, Lyn,' said Corey. 'I expect Marcella has given you all our latest news.' 'She has. Now I know what was on your mind on Monday afternoon,' she replied lightly. 'Surprised?' he asked. 'In a way I am, and yet I guessed there was something between you and Rina. I could see the resemblance and wondered if perhaps you were some relation of hers, but I didn't realise how close a relation.' 'You'll stay for a while?' he asked. 'I'd like to show you those pictures Sabrina painted. As I'd hoped, they're brilliant. I only wish Joel had more.' 'Perhaps if you exhibit them people who've bought some of her pictures will come forward with them,' she suggested. 'I hope so.' All four of the pictures were island scenes, painted in a highly individualistic way. In vivid colours Sabrina had captured the way of life on the island, and one painting in particular appealed to Lyn. It showed a fisherman in a pea-pod hauling up a lobster trap, and she wondered if he were Joel. Corey had high praise for each picture and although she couldn't express an informed opinion about the quality of the painting Lyn found in them a wild beauty which she knew she would never forget. Marcella pressed her to stay for dinner with them, but soon afterwards she excused herself, saying she had to get back to the cottage to do her packing, because she was leaving the island the next day.

'I'll take you back to the cottage,' offered Corey, and thinking he would be driving over that way in order to return Rina to the Morgan homestead she accepted. But it seemed that Rina was. going to stay for the night at The Pines. 'Joel had to go over to the mainland this evening, to some sort of meeting to do with the fishermen. It seems he represents the Morgan island fleet on the local association,' explained Corey as they left the house. 'I offered to keep Rina with us while he went. Where are you off to?' 'Back to Boston,' said Lyn, taking her seat in the front of the Mustang. 'But you'll be back, surely,' said Corey as he sat down beside her. 'No, I'm not coming back,' she said coolly. 'That sounds very final,' he replied with a touch of amusement as he drove the car down the driveway. 'I mean, this is your place, isn't it, where your roots are, so to speak? You belong here, so you'll be back.' 'No.' 'Not even to see Joel?' he asked quietly, bringing the car to a stop at the end of the drive. 'Why should I come back to see him?' 'Because ... because...' He paused while he turned the car on to the road. The beams from the headlights lit up the silvery bark of the birches edging the woods. 'I'm not quite sure how to put it,' Corey went on quietly, 'but there's a sort of attraction between you and him. Oh, sure you strike sparks off each other, the air fairly sizzles when you're together. I could feel the electricity twanging between you on

Monday afternoon when he came in. In fact I nearly left while you two were in the living room—I felt I was in the way. But I wanted to talk to him about Rina.' He paused, then said softly, 'You're in love with him, aren't you?' 'Is it so obvious?' she whispered. The car swung round the bend and the harbour was there before them, the bright lights strung out along the wharf reflected in the calm water, each one looking like a Chinese lantern. 'Not to everyone, I suppose. But you have to remember I'm trained to observe. You've given yourself away several times when I've been with you by the way you've talked about him and the way you've looked at him.' 'Oh no, no!' she whispered, shaking her head, dismayed that her feelings for Joel should have been on show. 'Then if you've been observing you must have noticed how he isn't in love with me,' she added sharply. 'Now I've offended you because I've hit on the truth,' Corey sighed. 'Joel isn't so easy to read as you are,' he went on, 'but I've noticed he's going through some sort of emotional upheaval and it isn't all to do with this business of Rina. I wouldn't be at all surprised if you haven't got to him where it hurts and he doesn't know what the hell has hit him.' 'That's because he asked me to marry him and I refused,' Lyn said. 'He's used to getting his own way with women, always has—even with Sabrina.' She realised suddenly what she had said and added quickly and apologetically, 'I'm sorry, Corey.' 'That's okay. I know,' he replied equably. 'You see, he told me why he accepted Rina as his child at first and why he agreed to marry

Sabrina when she asked him that time he went to see her in New York.' 'Sabrina asked him to marry her?' Lyn exclaimed. They had reached another junction. To the right lay Goose Cove, to the left lay Morganstown. 'So he says. It seems she was in a bad way when she didn't get a reply from me and had found out I'd left New York and she threatened to do all kinds of desperate actions if Joel didn't take the legal responsibility of the child she was going to have, so he agreed to marry her.' 'He loved her,' said Lyn woodenly. 'And still does. She haunts ... both of us. That's why I can't marry him, why I can't stay here any longer.' Corey didn't say any more until he brought the car to a stop in front of the cottage. Then he switched off the engine and turned to her. 'Poor Sabrina,' he sighed. 'It's a pity we can't let her rest in peace.' He leaned towards her urgently. 'I'm going to stick out my neck, Lyn, and give you a piece of advice whether you want to hear it or not. There's one good way to stop Sabrina from haunting you and Joel.' 'And that is?' she whispered. 'Show Joel you love him, love him for all you're worth, and I think you'll find Sabrina will drop back into the proper place, in his past as she is in mine.' 'It's too late,' she replied, clinging to her pride. 'I can't. I told him on Monday I never want to see him again.' She opened the car door. 'Thanks for the drive, Corey, and goodbye. I hope you and Marcella are able to become Rina's parents soon. I'm sure she'll be very happy with you.'

'Think about what I've said, Lyn!' he called after her. 'It worked for me. I found Marcella, and loving her being loved by her has made a big difference to me. So long, Lyn.' While she packed up Lyn couldn't help thinking about everything she had learned that afternoon from Marcella and Corey, but one thought kept pushing its way to the front of her mind. Over and over again something Marcella had said repeated itself. If we go ahead and adopt Rina it will make quite a difference to him. Lyn had no difficulty in guessing what that difference would make. Joel would be free of the responsibility of looking after Rina. No longer would he be searching for a woman he could marry who wouldn't object to looking after Sabrina's awkward child. He would be free to look around and cast his net more widely. Perhaps now he would be able to ask the woman on the mainland whom he visited regularly, according to Jennie. Perhaps he was visiting that woman now? Lyn felt jealousy twist through her, creating a raw ache within her. She would have to go over to the homestead to see if Joel was back from his meeting. She couldn't rest until she knew. She couldn't leave tomorrow either, without seeing him, without saying goodbye, without taking the risk of being rejected again by him when she showed him she loved him. Putting on a jacket, she left the cottage. The sky was clearing and the moon was shining into the cove, flecking the still water with silver. Lyn walked to edge of the small field in front of the cottage and knew without going any further that Joel wasn't at the homestead because no light twinkled at her from the top of the knoll as it had twinkled every night since she had been there. Either he was very late returning or he had stayed over at Willboro. Again jealousy made a sick sharp pain, warping her outlook, and turning, she ran back to the

cottage, shutting and locking the door quickly as if by doing so could shut out all thoughts of Joel. She didn't sleep much and was .up early to try again, knowing she would suffer from regret for a long time if she left without seeing Joel again. The north-wester was back and in the cove every bluegreen wavelet had been whipped up into a tiny crest of white while great snowy billows of clouds, under- shadowed with purple, blew across the sky turning the water from turquoise to lavender grey, then to turquoise again. Nothing was still. Leaves leapt up from the ground in whirls of gold and bronze, and gulls dived and soared crazily, the sound of their shrieking accompanied by the perpetual wash of the sea. There was no one at the homestead, no blue and white pick-up truck parked in the yard at the back. No one came to the door when she knocked on it and when she turned the knob and pushed the door didn't open. Biting hard on her lower lip, telling herself that tears were a waste of time, Lyn turned away and trudged back through the spruces, along the beach and up to the cottage, arriving just as Jennie drove down the lane in Barney's small red truck, come as promised to take Lyn and her luggage to the ferry terminal. 'Here today and gone tomorrow,' Jennie muttered as they set off along the lane. 'I can't understand you young folks, skittering about the country like you got no place you can call home. Here am I pushing sixty and I ain't ever been further than Willboro. Found all I ever wanted out of life here on Morgan's—a good man to share my bed at nights, a business to run, a house to keep, bait bags to knit and hauling traps when I've time to help Barney. That is when I'm not having one of me lazy spells.' 'Then you're lucky to have had all you wanted in such a beautiful place,' said Lyn dully, wishing she hadn't to leave on this clear jewellike day. Now if it had been foggy maybe she would have felt better.

'I kind of thought you'd stay longer this time,' Jennie said as she brought the truck to a stop at the ferry terminal. The ship was in and was loading up with the trucks and cars of islanders who were wanting to go over to the mainland to shop in the Willboro stores or perhaps even go as far as Bangor's shipping malls and who would return the next day when the ferry came back. 'I'd like to have stayed,' said Lyn with a sigh. 'But...' She shrugged her shoulders fatalistically, scanning the wind-tossed harbour. SeaWitch wasn't on her mooring. 'Say goodbye to Joel for me,' she added. 'I will not,' retorted Jennie.' You and he will do your own farewells.' 'But how can we?' argued Lyn. 'He's not here. He wasn't at the homestead last night and he isn't here this morning.' 'I know that,' said Jennie. 'He went to the fishermen's association meeting yesterday at Willboro and now he's found some new babysitters for Rina he'll stay away for the weekend, you can be sure of that. Taken quite a shine to the girl, have that Corey Weston and his wife. Did you know that?' 'I know,' said Lyn woodenly, and got out of the truck. Nothing happened to stop her from going on the ferry. How different her return trip to the mainland was from the ride out with Joel over a week ago! This time she could see everything, even the distant Dolphin Island, a purple smudge on the horizon. Nearer at hand every other island was distinct; pink, tawny and black rocks topped by the shadowy green of spruce and cedar woods streaked with the silvery trunks of birches. And beyond them the hills of the mainland alternated between lavender grey and purple as clouds chased above them. And everywhere in between the sea had a continual sparkle and motion with the sun shining on it and the wind skimming it.

Willboro harbour was almost landlocked by dark reefs of jagged rocks between which the ferry sidled confidently. On the western side the tall masts of old fishing schooners, now fitted out to take holiday folk on week-long cruises among the islands, gleamed gold and white against the tawny-dark woods of the hill. Across from them the town wharf bristled with old brick warehouses and the familiar shingled shapes of fish-houses. Against the grey walls of the wharfs tied up fishing boats clustered together, mostly white decorated here and there with bright bands of colour. It wasn't hard for Lyn to pick out the graceful flaring bows and gleaming hull of Sea-Witch and once she had left the ferry she walked along the wharf, lugging her suitcase, rucksack and guitar with her. The tide was in, so the fishing boats were floating high and it was easy to see whether anyone was on board. Sea-Witch looked deserted and she was just turning away, feeling once again disappointment and regret surge through her, when one of the fishermen who were talking in a group nearby called out: 'Looking for Joel Morgan, are you?' 'Do you know where he is?' he asked. 'Sure I do. Right now he's with Rosie.' Lyn frowned and began to walk away. To her surprise the fisherman, who was a youngish man, wearing faded denims, bright red hair sticking out from under his cap, fell into step beside her. 'Rosie works in the Fishermen's Inn,' he said. 'Just along here, ma'am,' he added helpfully. 'You have to pass it on your way up to Main Street.' 'Thanks,' Lyn said coolly.

'You're welcome, Miss Brennan. Name's Willie Sloan. I work for Joel.' 'Oh, I see.' 'Here's the entrance to the Inn, right here, ma'am,' Willie said, stopping by a doorway in the lower part of one of the brick warehouses. 'Take a look inside. It won't be too busy this time of the day and I reckon you'll spot Joel easy enough. See you!' With a cheerful nod and smile he strode off up the narrow street. Lyn hesitated outside the doorway. She knew the Fishermen's Inn had a reputation for good seafood and attracted not only tourists but also local people. But it also had a reputation for being a place where some of the wilder fishermen of the area gathered to drink and make merry on Friday and Saturday nights. It was one of those places her mother had always warned her not to visit when she had been younger. But her mother wasn't there and she wasn't an adolescent any more, and Joel was in there. If she really wanted to see him and say goodbye, she would overcome her inhibition about this place and go in, never mind if he was with a woman called Rosie. Still carrying her luggage, she elbowed her way through the swing door entrance and found herself in a big dim room full of tables and chairs. Lobster traps, nets and brightly painted trap buoys decorated the bare brick walls and at the far end of the room was an oldfashioned bar, made from carved mahogany and decorated with brass, a relic from Victorian days. Behind the bar light glimmered on rows of bottles. There were some men sitting at a few of the tables, dark shapes hunched over glasses of beer.

Smoke rose up from pipes and cigarettes. From somewhere in the darkened rafters came the sound of taped music. Lyn advanced slowly, wending her way between the tables towards the bar, peering through the smoky dimness looking for Joel. She couldn't see him and was thinking of retracting her steps to the doorway when the sound of voices coming from a stairway on her right made her look round. A young woman, younger than herself, was coming down the stairs and in the dimness her long straight blonde hair shimmered. Behind her came Joel. At the bottom of the stairs they both stopped. 'I'll see you later, tonight,' said Joel. 'Okay,' the woman replied, and reached up, put a hand against his neck and kissed him on the cheek. Lyn turned blindly, feeling jealousy retching in her stomach. Her unwieldy guitar jammed between two chairs, barring her progress. Momentum carried her against it and she toppled forward over it, crashing between chairs and tables and banging her right knee again. All she could do for a few seconds was lie there helplessly, not knowing whether to laugh or cry at her predicament, aware that the voices of the men had stopped and everyone was looking over at her. 'On the run again?' Joel's voice held a sardonic note as he looked down at her. He reached out a hand to help her up. Ignoring that offer, Lyn pushed her suitcase aside and tried to get up unaided. 'Hey, did you hurt yourself?' The blonde woman was there too, looking down. Her oval face was heavily made up, her shining bluegrey eyes were ringed round with mascara, the lids thick with bluegrey eye-shadow. She was wearing a close-fitting blouse of shiny material with a knee-length skirt covered with an apron. A fine golden chain glinted against the smooth skin of her throat.

'No, I'm all right,' said Lyn stiffly, then gasped out loud as pain stabbed through her knee when she put her weight on it. 'Doesn't sound as if you are,' said the woman. 'Here, sit down.' She shoved a chair at Lyn. 'Banged your knee, eh?' She seemed very sympathetic. 'Did it myself not too long ago. God, did I feel sick for a while! You sit here now until the pain wears off. Like something to drink?' 'A Coke, please.' 'Bring one for me too,' said Joel, sliding into a chair at the same table. 'And a couple of club sandwiches. I've just remembered I haven't had breakfast yet and it's nearly lunch-time.' Leaning his arms on top of the round table, he stared at Lyn. Around them the men's voices started up again. More people came into the room and took their places at tables. Only between herself and Joel was there silence, a silence which sizzled with all kinds of electricity as Corey would have said. Lyn kept her eyes down, trying to think of something to say and failing, now that she was with him. 'What are you doing in here?' he asked at last. 'I came in here to have some lunch,' she replied coolly. She wasn't going to tell him she had come looking for him, not now that she had seen him with the blonde woman. 'She's very pretty,' she added, thinking it might help if she admitted the truth about the woman to herself. 'Who is?' He looked surprised. 'The ... the woman who's gone to get the drinks,' she muttered. 'Oh, Rosie,' he drawled, sitting back in his chair, a faint enigmatic smile curving his mouth. 'I guess she is.'

'Joel, you don't have to sit with me while you have your lunch if you'd rather be with her. I know you come here regularly to visit her,' she said coldly. 'Do you?' There was a dangerous iciness in his eyes, as their gaze focussed on her. 'Did someone tell you I was in here?' he demanded abruptly. 'Is that why you've dared to enter a place of ill repute?' There was mockery in his voice now. 'Were you looking for me?' No point in lying to him when he was looking at her like that as if he could see right through to what was in her mind. 'Yes, I...' She broke off because Rosie was back with a tray on which there were two tall glasses filled with dark, bubbling Coca-Cola. She set them down and smiled at Lyn. 'You're Lyn Brennan, aren't you?' she said, much to Lyn's surprise. 'I'm Rosie Fleming. I used to stay over on Morgan's some summers ago, when I was a kid, with Aunt Joanna and Uncle Seth. I used to see you sometimes.' Her smile widened into a mocking grin as she slanted a glance at Joel. 'With him,' she added, jerking her head in his direction. Lyn also looked uneasily at Joel. There was just the faintest glint of derision in the grey eyes as they met hers. She looked up at Rosie again, enquiringly. 'You mean you and he are cousins?' she said, feeling suddenly very foolish. 'Sure we are. What did you think?' said Rosie, then burst out laughing. 'Oh, Joel, I do believe she thought I'm your latest girlfriend!' she chortled, and Lyn felt the blood creeping up to her face. 'I suppose you saw me kissing him just now,' Rosie went on. 'I'm like that—have to show my affection to people I'm fond of when I say

goodbye or hello. My mum and Joel's mum are sisters and I'm well and truly married to the best guy in the world, Brent Fleming. Look, I'll go and fetch the sandwiches now. When I come back I want to ask you something.' She bounced away through the swing door to the kitchen, leaving Lyn to face Joel's eyes which had grown cold again. 'Did you really believe that about her?' he challenged. 'Well, Jennie said you often visit a woman when you come to Willboro and I...' 'You assumed I had a mistress tucked away somewhere over here, I suppose,' he said between set teeth. 'My God, a man can't even visit his first cousin these days without everyone jumping to the wrong conclusion,' he added bitterly. 'Well, thinking that Rosie was your mistress was no worse than what you said about me to my face last Monday afternoon,' she countered angrily. 'About ... about me making up to married men,' she finished in a shaky whisper. A frown clouded his clear eyes before they were hidden by his lashes as he looked down at the remains of his drink. 'I suppose not,' he agreed quietly. 'And I admit I was out of line, I deserved anything you said back to me or have thought about me.' He looked up a rueful smile curving his mouth. 'I was surprised you didn't hit me there and then.' 'I would have, if we'd been alone. But I still can't understand why you were in such a foul mood.' He gave her a strange underbrowed look which sent shivers of alarm tingling down her spine.

'Don't suppose you can,' he shrugged. 'Took me a while to sort out for myself what triggered it off. But I know now. You see...' 'Here you are.' Rosie was back with two plates piled high with club sandwiches, potato chips and dill pickles. 'Lyn, how would you like to come with Joel to the Hallowe'en party Brent and I are giving tonight?' she went on. 'It's a few days before Hallowe'en, I know, but we have to fit it in this weekend. You'd have to dress up and wear a mask. Could you fix something up between now and then?' 'Thanks for inviting me,' Lyn said regretfully, 'but I won't be here this evening. I'm catching the one o'clock bus to Boston.' 'Oh, that's too bad.' Rosie looked suddenly very puzzled. 'I'd kind of thought you two were...' She paused, shrugged her shoulders. 'Guess I was wrong,' she said with a bright impish smile, and went off to serve another table. Lyn bit into a sandwich, and waited for Joel to continue with what he had been saying before Rosie had interrupted him. But he seemed to have forgotten about it as he ate hungrily and when he did speak it was only to ask her why she was going back to Boston so soon. 'Mother told me over the phone that Brian wants to see me and he'll be in- Boston this weekend,' she said. 'Brian? He's the guy you were going to marry before the—you got hurt. Right?' he remarked. 'What's with him? Has he changed his mind? Does he Want to marry you now?' 'I think perhaps he does,' she replied coolly. 'Found out he made a mistake, was he?' he said. 'Yes. It seems the truth is out at last. Dale Hampton has admitted I wasn't with him that weekend at his cottage.'

'How come?' 'His wife is suing him for divorce and half the property they own between them, and it came out in the course of the court case that Dale has been having an affair with the wife of a colleague of his and he used my visit to the cottage to cover up the fact that she'd been there with him earlier.' 'The dirty, rotten swine!' Joel's eyes were livid and his lips tight. 'So that's why he didn't deny you were there with him.' His eyes softened, grew warmer as their glance roved over her face. 'I guess you feel a lot better now. Makes a difference to you now you've been vindicated, eh?' 'Yes, it does.' 'And I can understand why you want to go and see Brian,' he went on quietly. 'I wish you lots of luck, Lyn.' 'Thank you.' She looked down quickly, to hide the tears which had rushed into her eyes, then glanced at her watch. 'The bus leaves in twenty minutes and I have to get over to the bus station,' she mumbled, rising to her feet, 'I'd better call a cab.' 'No, don't bother,' he said, coolly autocratic, taking charge. 'I'll borrow Rosie's car and drive you over.' 'But I don't want to put you to any trouble,' she argued. 'It'll be no trouble,' he drawled, and there was a disturbing almost menacing gleam in his eyes. 'No trouble at all. The least I can do to help a friend.'

CHAPTER SIX IN the front of Rosie's somewhat battered compact car Lyn sat and looked out at the people who were thronging Willboro Main Street, shopping for the weekend. She had always liked this town and over the years it had changed very little. The stately wooden building of the Episcopal Church still stood at the junction of Main and Bay Streets, its eighteenth-century classical architecture topped by a pointed white steeple, its stained glass windows glinting with many colours. Behind the church, hiding beneath the tall elms which drooped over them were the big houses which had once belonged to the seacaptains of the clipper ships, those fast-sailing cargo ships which had long ago brought fame and prosperity to the down-East coast. Lovely, elegant houses they were, the clapboard siding painted mostly white, their shutters coloured black or yellow or blue, the simple beauty of their traditional shapes giving the town a memory of a more gracious, less hustled era of time. Steadily the car climbed the hill on its way to the shopping mall where the express Greyhound bus stopped to pick up passengers. Lyn sighed. Nothing had gone as she had expected it to. She had hoped vaguely that she would have only to see Joel again, to meet him once more, for the barriers between them to come crumbling down. That was why she had wanted to say goodbye to him. why she had gone out of her way to look for him this morning. But it seemed she had created only more barriers by behaving with her usual stiffness and coldness; just like her mother would have behaved, pretending she wasn't hurting inside, pretending she didn't love him. She glanced sideways at him. Under the silver- streaked tousled black hair his rugged features expressed nothing as he watched the road and the traffic ahead of them. He didn't care that she was leaving. Last weekend's flare-up of passion had been only that after

all, a weekend affair. He had got over it and she had helped him get over it, probably by telling him to stay away from her. He didn't love her. If he did he would show her by stopping her from taking the bus to Boston today. He would think up some way of preventing her from leaving and make her return with him to Morgan's. If he loved her he would take action like a hero in a story book.... Lyn wrenched her thoughts back from the wildly romantic flight they were taking and concentrated on reality. In a few minutes they would be at the bus station. In a few more minutes after that she would be on the long-distance coach speeding south away from Joel, away from happiness, and she would go through it again—that awful period of misery she had gone through—eight years ago, suppressing her natural instincts, forcing herself to forget him yet knowing she could love no other man. There must be something she could do about it. Why should she let it happen to her? Why let pride come between her and him, between her and happiness? All she had to do was say she had changed her mind and would like to marry him. But supposing in the last few days Joel had changed his mind about wanting to marry her? She cringed inwardly, anticipating how hurt she would be if he rejected her again. She would never get over it. She would die. 'I was at The Pines yesterday afternoon,' she said quickly because time was running out fast and she had to make some contact with him, open up some line of communication. 'So you know about Corey being Rina's real father,' he drawled, flicking her a sidelong glance. 'Yes. He told me he and Marcella would like to adopt her. Will you agree to that?'

'Only if it's what Rina wants,' he replied coolly. 'So you needn't think I'll be unloading her as fast as I can.' .'I wasn't thinking that,' she objected hotly, turning to him. 'On the other hand, I have to give Corey a chance to get to know his own daughter now he's turned up. That's why she's staying with them this weekend,' he went on. 'If they do adopt it will make a difference to you,' commented Lyn. 'Sure it will. I won't have to look around for someone soft like you to help me look after her, will I?' he retorted tauntingly. She had no answer to that. Vaguely through sudden tears she saw the long building of the shopping mall looming up on the right, and looming among the multi-coloured glittering cars in the car-park was the grey hulk of the express bus. 'If this Brian asks you to marry him again, will you?' Joel asked abruptly, as the car slithered to a stop at the traffic lights which controlled the entrance and exit to the car park. 'I don't know,' she muttered, staring at the bus and hating it quite irrationally. It seemed to be moving. It was moving. It was coming towards the exit and since the lights were in its favour it came right on, swinging out into the road, turning away, accelerating and heading down the road to the south. 'That was the Boston bus,' drawled Joel. 'You've missed it. Want me to chase it to the next stop?' 'Where is that?'

'At Black's Brook, about eight miles out of town.' 'Could you catch up with it?' she asked. 'Sure, if it's what you want.' The lights changed before she could think up a reply. The car moved forward in the direction the bus had gone, curving round a bend, passing some gas stations and small motels, picking up speed as it left the thirty-mile-an-hour zone behind and they drove out into the country where the thick Maine woods closed in about the edges of the road which arrowed straight upwards over the crest of a hill. Joel put his foot down further and reluctantly, so it seemed, Rosie's old car responded, shaking and grumbling as it was asked to go faster than it could. 'No, it isn't what I want.' The words burst out of Lyn. 'I don't want to chase the bus.' She was shaking all over. Hands covering her face, she crouched in her seat trying to control the emotions which had erupted and burst through long- imposed barriers. She heard the car's engine slow down, felt the vehicle lurch in an ungainly way when Joel drove it off the road. The engine continued to grumble and cough as it idled. 'Then would you like me to drive you to the airport?' asked Joel. 'You might be able to get on one of today's flights from Bangor to Boston. Do you have to get there today?' 'No, no,' she muttered, shaking her head. 'I don't want to go to the airport.' 'Then what the hell do you want?' His patience was suddenly at an end and he barked harshly at her as he switched off the ignition.

He wasn't going to make it easy for her. Not a chance of him lowering his pride, of reaching out and taking her in his arms to comfort her. He was a tough islander, not given to being sorry for himself or for anyone else either. Lyn drew a long shaky breath, smoothed her hair back behind her ears and looked out of the car window at the russet leaves still clinging to the young oak tree which grew thickly here under the protective shelter of the huge Maine pine trees. Swallowing pride was a painful business, she was discovering. 'I want to go back to Morgan's,' she mumbled. 'When?' The question was rapped out and she turned quickly to look at him. Arms resting on the top of the steering wheel, chin resting on them, he was staring straight ahead with cold clear eyes and his jaw was rock-hard. 'Whenever you go back there,' she whispered a little shakily. 'I want to go back with you.' He turned to look at her and she saw for the first time that day the differences a few days had made in him. There were dark hollows beneath his eyes. His cheeks looked thinner, the skin taut across the cheekbones, and his mouth was set in a severely controlled line. 'Why?' he snapped. 'Because ... because ... I want to live there with you.' She paused, struggling for the right words, her glance drifting down from his face to the pulsing column of his neck, to the dark hairs showing in the opening of his blue and white checked shirt, and the urge to touch him throbbed in her blood, yet she didn't move. 'I'd like to be your wife,' she whispered. 'That is ... if you haven't changed your mind...'

Her throat closed up. She could say no more. Hands clenched tightly on the knees, she looked out at the woods again. Sunshine shafting through spaces between branches gleamed on dead leaves and pine needles, creating a tawny glow in the dark green gloom. So might happiness light up a person's life, thought Lyn, as she waited for Joel to speak. 'No, I haven't changed my mind,' he said slowly at last. 'How soon would you like to be married?' She turned to him again, hoping to see a change in his face, but he wasn't even looking at her as he reached out a hand to the ignition to turn it on. 'I... hadn't thought about it,' she croaked. 'It takes five days to get a licence in this state once you've applied for one and we both have to have medical certificates saying we're sound in mind and body. You got one of those or will we have to visit a doctor to get one before we go to the county clerk to make the application for the licence?' 'I ... I've got one,' she said, quelling the disappointment which was welling up in her because he had accepted her commitment so matter-of-factly. What had she expected him to do or say? She remembered Corey's advice. Love him, love him for all you're worth. Well, it looked as if loving Joel was going to be much harder than she had anticipated. It was going to mean accepting the fact that he did not always feel passionate or romantic, that he was a down-toearth realist who saw marriage as a convenience and nothing more. 'Are you going to apply for the licence today?' she asked coolly, as the car trundled on to the road again and turned in the direction of Willboro.

'Might as well,' he drawled. 'And then we'll be able to get married as soon as it's through, next Tuesday or Wednesday.' At Willboro's elegant brick and stone county offices they were not the only couple applying for a marriage licence. Under oath they gave the clerk information about their names and ages and produced the medical certificates. Joel had to give information about his previous marriage and why it had ended. Afterwards they drove down to the wharf and Joel parked Rosie's car in the place where it had been. 'I'll take the keys to Rosie now and tell her I won't be at her party tonight,' he said, when they had taken Lyn's luggage out of the trunk. 'If you want to go to it, I won't mind. I'll come with you,' Lyn offered. 'I won't want to go to it,' he said softly, giving her a darkly brooding glance which made her nerves quiver. 'I've got something better to do.' It was good to be on Sea-Witch again, to feel the wind singing in her hair and stinging her cheeks, as the boat beat its way out of the harbour. The pulse of the engine throbbed upwards through Lyn's feet and seemed to become a part with the tempo of her heart. She stood beside Joel in the wheelhouse, outwardly calm as usual, her head lifted high on her slim neck, her dark eyes watching the shape of Morgan's Island change, take on colour and form as they approached it, but in the pockets of her jacket the palms of her hands were wet and her throat kept drying up. She was going home. She must think of it like that now, going home to Morgan's where she was going to live with Joel and next week they would be married unless ... unless anything happened between now and then to make either of them have a change of mind.

Lyn's shoulders twitched and her head tossed a little defiantly as she discarded the thought. No more negative thinking for her. The effort to make the commitment had been too great, had taken too much out of her, emotionally speaking, for her to take back her given word now. The island loomed closely. They were slipping past Feldon's Point and the rocky shore flung back the engine's echo. High above a fishhawk hovered, watching the churned-up wake of the boat, choosing the right time to swoop down and spear a fish. The entrance buoy marking the western passage into Morganstown Harbour appeared, bobbing on the waves, the great iron clappers banging against its bell as it moved, but instead of turning into the passage Sea-Witch pounded on, heading for the open ocean. 'Where are we going?' Lyn shouted above the engine noise, and Joel turned to slant a glance at her, the corner of his mouth turning up in a slight smile. 'Dolphin,' he said so quietly she had to read his lips. 'To look at the traps there,' he added, raising his voice. 'While the weather is good.' Of course, he would have no other reason for going but a practical one, yet Lyn felt excitement stir within her because a return to Dolphin for her meant a return to the brief happiness she had known with Joel on that island eight years ago. In the golden light of the afternoon sun the little bay was just as she had remembered it, sheltered from the wind, the clear water lapping softly against the tiny yellow beach which curved between tawny weed-covered rocks. The boat seemed to sidle into it uneasily, only just clearing a wicked-looking reef of rocks, and she turned to look at Joel, wondering why he was suddenly so careless.

'Quick, take the wheel and hold her there while I drop the anchor,' he ordered briskly. 'Something seems to be wrong with the propeller shaft. I've lost steerage way and we're going to go around if I don't move fast.' Booted feet thudding on the deck, he hurried up to the bow. In a few seconds the boat shuddered to a stop as the anchor bit into the mud of the bottom. The engine was whining crazily. Joel ran back, turned off the engine and then there was only the sound of water washing against the hull and gurgling among the nearby rocks. 'How do you know it's the propeller shaft?' Lyn asked. 'Not much can go wrong with a diesel,' he replied. 'I knew as soon as I heard the engine racing as we came into the bay. Didn't you notice it?' She shook her head. 'Thoughts miles away, eh?' he mocked, giving her jaw an unexpected caress with his fist. 'What were you thinking of?' he asked softly. 'About getting married. Would you mind very much if I asked my mother to come to the ceremony next week?' 'Not at all. But that's something we have to talk about, isn't it? The arrangements, where and when and how,' he drawled, lifting the lid of one of the cockpit lockers and taking out the pea-pod oars. 'Then I'll ask Mother tonight when I call her,' she replied. 'I wouldn't count on calling her tonight,' he said. 'Why not?'

'We won't be where there's a phone. We're going to stay here all night,' he said coolly. 'But couldn't you call up someone on the V.H.F. and ask them to come and tow us in if you can't get the engine to work?' she asked. 'I could, but I'm not going to, at least not until morning,' he drawled. 'Come on, get in the dinghy. You're going to row while I haul up the traps. You might as well get used to being a fisherman's wife.' They went slowly round the edges of the bay, visiting each of the blue and white traps which glinted on the water, close to the tumbled rocks where traps had been set in the rich growths of kelp. The wind was dying and a luminous blue peace brooded over the bay, laying a hush on Lyn's mind as she sat watching Joel haul up a trap. Balancing it on the gunwale, he reached in a hand for the lobster which was inside, having crawled through the hole in the knitted twine net. Purple- blue, its tentacles waved as he held it a moment while he pegged its claws. Then it was tossed into the barrel of salt water they had brought with them. Fresh bait was put in the trap and it was slipped overboard to sink down into the dark green water. 'Remember when we came here before?' Lyn asked. 'Instead of going to the Azores?' 'I remember.' He slanted her a bright glance. 'You never thought you'd be fishing from a pea-pod eight years later in the same place, did you?' he taunted. 'With the same guy, too.' 'I bet you never thought you'd be back here eight years later either, with the same girl,' she retorted, and then wished she had kept quiet when she saw his face harden and his eyes cloud over as he frowned. 'Row on, will you,' he ordered. 'To the next string of traps. Over there.'

Biting her lip, Lyn rowed towards the high cliffs which formed the southernmost headland of the bay, protecting it from the Atlantic swell. It had been a mistake on her part to refer to that other time they had come here together. Reference to it had only roused the ghost of Sabrina again. Apart from Joel's curt instructions there was no more talk while they worked. Slowly the sun went down and the sky to the east paled to pink-streaked green in which an evening star trembled just above the dark blue line of the horizon. The water lost all colour, shimmered briefly like silver, then became purple-black. The air grew chilly, almost frosty, and Lyn was glad to row back to Sea-Witch because her ungloved hands were growing numb on the handles of the oars. In the small cabin with a camper's kerosene lamp hissing and flaring as it swung from a hook in the ceiling, Joel lit the kerosene cooker and opened up a can of thick, creamy fish chowder. When the soup was hot he served it in bowls with some stonewheat crackers. Lyn ate gratefully, her appetite spiced by the hours spent on the water, and after the soup there were big mugs of piping hot coffee into which Joel poured generous slugs of rum. It was cosy in the cabin with the small wood-stove and the kerosene lamp providing the heat, quiet and still too. Curled up in one corner of one of the rough bunks, Lyn sipped her coffee and felt she was as close to contentment as she had ever been. 'How will we sleep?' she asked, looking round the sparsely equipped cabin. 'There are two down sleeping bags on board. Zip 'em together and we'll be as warm and comfortable as if we were in bed at the Homestead,' drawled Joel. 'Looks like we're going to have that night together before we're married after all,' he added dryly. 'Any

objections?' From under his heavy dark eyebrows his eyes glinted at her. For once she didn't rise to the bait he had trailed deliberately in front of her but began to collect up the dirty bowls and mugs. 'Where shall I wash these?' she asked. 'In that washing-up bowl, by the cooker. You can use some of the hot water in the kettle and pump cold water in with that hand. I'll just go and call one of the fishermen on Morgan's, tell him where I am,' he said, moving towards the wheelhouse. 'Is there any way I could let my mother know I won't be arriving in Boston tonight?' Lyn asked urgently. 'She's going to worry when I don't turn up.' 'I could have a message passed on to Barney, if you like, asking him to phone her. That is if you don't mind the whole of Morgan's knowing that you're with me tonight.' She returned his taunting glance steadily. 'No, I don't mind.' Joel went out. Lyn rinsed the few dishes and put them away. Then she took off her jacket and finding an old magazine curled up in the corner of one of the bunks again, her feet tucked under her, Joel came back, closed the cabin door, took off his heavy plaid parka, opened the stove and put more logs on it. Then he sat down beside her and at once tension sizzled between them, 'Going to tell me why you changed your mind?' he asked abruptly. 'Was it because there's a possibility the Westons might adopt Rina and you might not have to be nursemaid or stepmother after all?'

'No. That had nothing to do with it,' she said sharply. 'Then why?' he persisted softly, shifting along the bunk until he was close to her. 'It was seeing that bus go without me. I realised then I couldn't go through it a second time,' she explained, laying down the magazine. 'Go through what?' 'Going away from you, pretending I didn't care. I ... I ... just couldn't say goodbye to you.' Again her throat closed up and she looked down at the magazine although she couldn't really see a thing. In the silence she could hear her own heart's swift beat and the slower, steadier throb of his. A log in the stove spat and crackled and against the hull of the boat water lapped gently. 'You know, you were right just now, when we were in the pea-pod,' he said quietly. 'Eight years ago I didn't ever think I'd be back here with the same girl.' He drew a deep breath and added in a low voice, 'I had other things planned.' He was leaning back against the side of the bunk, not looking at her, his eyes narrowed as if he were looking back, into the past—seeing Sabrina, perhaps. 'I wonder if you'd have done any differently if you'd known you would be here with me?' she asked gently. 'No.' He shook his head. 'I figure you have to follow a certain pattern of life to come out where you're supposed to be. There are no short cuts to happiness, although once I thought there were.' 'I'm not sure I understand.'

He looked round to give her an intent stare. 'Well, look at yourself,' he drawled. 'You had to find out what it was like to be an independent woman with a good well-paid job. You had to go and work in the city, find out what those other men were like. And I -' He paused, his jaw tensing. 'I had to find out the hard way too. I had to find out that what I felt for Sabrina would die because after all there was no warm feeling to bind us to each other.' He sat up and leaned towards her, his gaze still intent. 'Do you know what I'm talking about now?' 'I think so. You mean that both of us had to have different experiences away from each other before we would recognise the truth about ourselves,' she whispered. 'Something like that,' he murmured, his glance going to her mouth. 'You know about that warm feeling?' 'It's "The secret sympathy, The silver link, the silken tie, Which heart to heart and mind to mind In body and soul can bind," ' she quoted softly, giving in at last to the strong urge to touch him, raising her hand to his jaw and letting her fingers spread upwards over his ear into the tangle of his wind-blown hair. 'It's a poem,' she added quickly in answer to his surprised look. 'I forget who wrote it.' 'Whoever he was he sure had a way with words,' Joel acknowledged with a glint of humour.' For that's exactly what I mean. And it's the feeling I had when I saw you that afternoon in the fog at Carter's Cove—a rush of warmth because there you were, an old friend who'd come back. But I didn't recognise how deeply I felt about you until last Monday afternoon when I walked into the cottage and saw you holding hands with Corey.'

'We weren't holding hands,' she objected. Her hand slid down to his shoulder. 'Then what the hell were you doing?' he snarled softly, his eyes glittering dangerously. 'His hand was over yours. Your heads were close together.' 'Corey is a demonstrative person,' she whispered. 'Like ... like your cousin Rosie. He was very worked up ... about Rina. I don't think he realised he'd taken my hand in his.' She moved her hand again and caressed a lean cheek with her forefinger. 'I believe you were jealous,' she taunted softly. 'Like I was when I saw Rosie kissing you this morning.' 'You were?' He looked surprised. 'Yes, that was why I was running away again,' she whispered, resting her head against his shoulder. 'Okay, I admit it,' he said with a sigh, and put an arm about her, his hand closing comfortably over her breast. 'I was jealous, blazing mad. I could have smashed my fist into Corey's face, but all I did was lash out at you and give you good reason to say you never wanted to see me again.' He rubbed a bristly cheek against hers. 'I've been through hell since then trying to figure out a way to get back into your good graces, fighting with my pride, and all I can say now is I'm glad you're here with me.' 'I wouldn't be here if I hadn't missed the bus,' she said, sliding undone one of the buttons on his shirt. 'You missed that bus, darlin' mine, because I made damn sure you did by driving through Willboro as slowly as I could,' he drawled.

At once she pushed away from him to stare at him, eyes wide with incredulity. He returned her stare with mocking glint. 'But ... but you offered to chase the bus for me,' she said at last. 'I know, but I had no intention of catching up with it,' he answered, the gleam of his eyes leaping up into a little flame as he bent his head close to hers again until his rough hair brushed against her forehead. 'I wasn't going to let you go back to Boston,' he added softly, his lips almost touching hers. 'Then why did you offer to take me to the airport?' 'You would never have got there. The car would have broken down in some conveniently out-of-the-way spot,' he said, his breath mingling with hers. 'You devious devil!' she accused, laughter and happiness bubbling up suddenly within her, and putting both arms about his neck she pressed her parted lips to his. 'Does that mean I'm forgiven for what I said to you last Monday?' he asked. 'You're forgiven. You see, I have that warm feeling too, about you. I've always had it—even when I was far away from here working and being independent, finding out about those other men, the feeling was there, a silken bond tying me to you for ever. Only I didn't know it was still there until I came back to Morgan's and met you again. But I didn't think you felt like that about me and I tried to break the bond. It was too tough for me. And I'm so glad you made me miss that bus this morning, so glad I'm here with you again. I love you, Joel, always have, always will, no matter how devious, domineering and tormenting you are.'

His lips pressed against hers possessively. His hand slid up under her blouse and sweater, caressing the soft warm flesh of her back as he gathered her to him. Against the hardness of his chest her breasts lifted and tautened as if in supplication for his touch. Seeking blindly, her fingers found their way into the opening of his shirt, their pointed nails grazing among the crisp hairs as she undid more buttons. But in spite of the heat of their passion and the warmth given out by the wood-stove she could not help shivering when Joel's cool fingertips slid across her breasts. At once he sat up and began to slide off the bunk. 'Where are you going?' she asked, feeling deserted and cold as she had felt when he had moved away from her on the beach so many years ago. 'Don't leave me, don't go away,' she pleaded. 'Joel, come back!' 'I will, honey, don't worry,' he replied, 'when I've found the sleeping bags. I haven't gone to all the trouble of getting you to myself for a night, far away from interruptions and in a place where you can't get away from me, to have you freeze while we're making love.' The bags were light but warm, filled with feathers of eider ducks, making a luxurious cocoon about them. 'That better?' Joel whispered. 'Much better,' she sighed, snuggling against his bared chest. And for a while they didn't talk as they kissed, deeply and searchingly, each trying to reach the essence of the other. His mouth was fiercely hot against hers, teaching her new pleasures. His hands too were gentle seductive guides as they moved about her, smoothing her clothing away, enticing her to drown in a delirium of sensuous desire.

'I want you, Lyn,' he muttered thickly against her throat. 'But I don't want you to think that's the only reason I want to marry you. Maybe it was when I asked you last Saturday, but not any more. 1 want to love you. I think I do love you, but not like I loved Sabrina.' At once she stiffened and tried to push him away, but his strong sinewy arms tightened about her, crushing her against him so that through the thinness of her underclothing, which was all she was wearing now, she could feel the throb of passion pulsing through every part of him. 'No, you don't,' he whispered threateningly. 'You can't run away any more. You've got to stay and listen to what I have to say about Sabrina. Once and for all we have to lay her ghost, or she'll haunt our marriage and perhaps destroy it. What I felt for her was a young man's passion, a sexual fantasy which died at the first touch of reality when I found out she didn't love me or anyone else, but loved only herself. What I feel for you is different, no less fiercely passionate but much more kindly. I ache to be a part of you and have you be a part of me—that's why I couldn't let you go today, couldn't give you the chance to go and marry Brian.' He drew a long shuddering breath and his body moved urgently against hers. 'God, I didn't know it was possible to want someone as much as I want you and be as afraid as I've been during the past week.' 'Afraid?' Lyn exclaimed, tipping back her head to look at him, in the yellow glow of lamplight which was fast dimming as the lamp ran out of fuel. 'Afraid? You were afraid?' 'Sure I was. Afraid I had lost you and wouldn't be able to get you back,' he whispered, his lips nibbling gently at her throat, moving down to the soft swell of her breasts. 'Do you believe me? Do you believe I want to live with you for ever, in sickness and in health, for better, for worse?' he asked.

'I believe you,' she answered, and felt joy surge up in her again. The barriers were down at last and the silken bond which had bound them to each other over the years was growing stronger by the minute, drawing them closer towards that ultimate intimacy of body and soul. At last they were at ease together, comfortable in each other's company without any ghosts from the past to haunt them. But there was just one little problem which niggled in Lyn's mind, one thing which she had to clear up before she could relax completely and let passion carry her where it would. 'Joel,' she murmured, pressing closely to him, letting her hand slide over his back, fingers tantalising the hollows where tiny nerves lay hidden, 'is there really something wrong with the propeller shaft?' He went very still for a moment, his breath warm against her lips and his hand curving under her breast. Then he began to laugh. 'I wondered when you'd catch on,' he drawled. 'And it looks like I'm not going to get away with anything, you're so sharp. No, there's nothing wrong with the propeller shaft, but I had to find some way of convincing you we'd have to stay the night here. Aren't you glad I did?' 'Yes, I'm glad,' she replied, and rubbed her lips against his cheek. 'I'm glad we have the whole night to discover each other.' 'We have more than tonight, darlin' mine,' he whispered. 'We have the rest of our lives, because this is the beginning of our love affair, not the end.' His lips took possession of hers again. Slowly and inexorably the glow from the lamp died down and went out, but they didn't notice the lack of light as passion flared up between them once more leading them on to the brighter glow of ecstasy which, like sunshine lights up the green gloom of woods, would light up their lives for evermore.