The Time and the Loving

THE TIME AND THE LOVING Marjorie Lewty

"A time for everything...a time to love" Daniel's eyes gleamed as he quoted the words. At seventeen Cassandra had fallen in love with Daniel Marshall. She had been bitterly hurt by his rejection of her in favor of his career. Seeing him again, Cassandra, now personal assistant to a famous interior designer, realized she was as vulnerable as ever where Daniel was concerned. And there was no guarantee that this time would be any different....

CHAPTER ONE THE door of the studio was closed, with a DO NOT DISTURB notice hanging on the decorated brass knob. But Cassandra Smith, whose slender form and soft brown eyes gave no hint of the purposeful determination she could show when she deemed it necessary, opened the door cautiously and peeped inside. Julian had been working without a break for nearly three hours, ever since the taxi deposited them from Heathrow at the end of a fatiguing flight over the Atlantic from Miami, and enough was enough. He was due for a break and some refreshment, whether he liked it or not. After his spell in hospital last winter Cassandra's duties had expanded to include keeping an eye on his health as well as being his assistant and pupil. There was no other woman in his life to do it. 'See that he doesn't go too long without food,' Roland Dunn, Julian's friend and medical adviser, had warned her, 'and for Pete's sake don't let the old idiot burn himself up with work.' Easier said than done! Without plenty of hard work all his talent and flair wouldn't have taken Julian French, at the age of forty, to his standing as a designer of international reputation. Work was as essential to Julian as food and drink—more essential, Cassandra often thought— and keeping him away from his work was something that approached the impossible. Still, she did her best, warmly and conscientiously. She was very, very fond of Julian— as, indeed, was everyone who knew him—and she owed him a great deal. If he hadn't chosen her out of all the students graduating from college she might now be spending her days in some commercial studio, plugging out advertising copy, or earning a precarious living freelancing, instead of working in a superb environment and travelling the world with a fascinating chief. At the moment he was kneeling in the middle of the studio, surrounded by rippling oceans of velvet and satin and knobbly

cottons and rough-textured furnishing tweeds. They slid from the backs of Sheraton chairs, meandered across the Aubusson carpet, stood upright in their bolts, leaning against the bureau and the chiffonier. Anyone who wasn't familiar with Julian French's working habits might have been forgiven for doubting that some marvellous design or decorative plan could ever emerge from such chaos. But of course it always did because Julian happened to be a genius in his own line. Just now greens predominated: spring greens, blue- greens, emerald greens, brown-greens, olive, lime, seaweed. As Cassandra went in he was holding a length of apple-green brocade draped on one arm, and he looked, she thought with quite a shock, almost as green as the material. She put down the tray of sandwiches and coffee that she was carrying on a side table and went quickly across the studio. 'You shouldn't still be working, Julian,' she scolded. 'You look tired out.' He sank back on the heels of his beige suede sandals, ran tapered fingers through flopping fair hair, and heaved an exasperated sigh. 'I feel ghastly, damn it. I thought it'd pass off—it usually does—but this time it hasn't. I suppose you'd better phone Roland, Cass, and ask him to come round and vet me. Ruddy nuisance, just when something really intriguing has turned up.' 'I'll ring him now, this minute,' Cassandra hovered anxiously. 'Could you eat anything? I've brought coffee and Benson made some sandwiches.' Julian shuddered. 'God, no. I shall probably never eat again.' 'Rubbish!' Cassandra tried to sound cheerful and bracing. 'Roland will soon put you right. Now, promise to rest until he comes.' She removed a length of cloth from the buttoned velvet sofa and urged

him towards it. On his way his hand went out and groped for an envelope from the top of a walnut secretaire. 'Look at this, Cass. It must have come last week when we were in Florida. Sounds like a fascinating project.' He held the opened envelope out to her and then winced painfully. 'Later.' She took the envelope and tucked it in the pocket of her embroidered smock. Julian like her to wear loose, vaguely Eastern garments. They made her look restful, he said, and he needed a restful atmosphere around him. She helped him to lower his long, thin body on to the sofa. 'Now, stay there quietly until I come back,' she told him sternly, and went out of the studio. Julian's apartment was on the first and second floors of an elegant Georgian house in one of London's quiet leafy squares. Everything in it bore the mark of his artistry, and the office-cum-study where Cassandra went now was no exception. Deep orange-covered chairs were formed into U-shaped seating in the brown and white room and a desk of smooth, pale wood in Julian's own design ran the whole width of the room on the window side overlooking the square below. This was where Cassandra worked when she wasn't in the studio with Julian himself or in the workshop basement, and she loved to sit at the desk and look down at the birds pecking about on the grass of the square. But this was no time for sitting and looking. She picked up the receiver and dialled Roland Dunn's number at home, hoping that if he wasn't in his wife Magda would know where he was. She was lucky. 'He's just this minute come in from hospital, Cassandra,' Magda told her. And then, 'You sound bothered. Something wrong? Not Julian again, I hope. Has the trip been too much for him?' 'I'm afraid so. I thought he seemed a bit under par on the plane, but he said he was all right. He's been working flat out ever since we got in,

trying to catch up on the work—you know what he is for work. And now he's got this wretched pain again and he looks really rotten.' 'Oh, the poor sweet,' sympathised Magda warmly. 'I'll send Roland round straight away. He'll be with you in five minutes. Give Julian my love and I hope it's nothing bad.' Cassandra thanked her and replaced the receiver, to find Benson, Julian's manservant, hovering anxiously behind her. He had evidently overheard part of the phone call and she went through it again to put him in the picture. 'Is there anything I can do, miss?' Benson was as devoted to Julian as was Cassandra. She often thought Julian French was the nicest man it was possible to know- gifted, intelligent, thoughtful, reasonable, cultured, rich, amusing. What more could you ask? Sometimes she wondered why she had never fallen in love with him. Not that he had exactly encouraged her to, or offered her more than a grateful hug when she had been of special use to him on a job, or given her a good-night kiss when he had taken her out to dinner or a concert. But sometimes she thought she saw something in his face when he looked at her— Benson was still gazing at her with his mournful eyes that made him look like a large, sleepy labrador dog. But his looks were the only sleepy thing about Benson; in all practical ways he was very much awake, and a model of quiet efficiency. 'No, I don't think there's anything just now, Benson,' she told him. 'Mr French didn't feel like eating the sandwiches you made, but I've left them there, just in case. Dr Dunn is coming round straight away. Will you send him up to the studio when he gets here?'

She went back and found Julian lying with his eyes closed—such a very unusual attitude for him that she felt an uneasy pang. He wasn't going to be really ill, was he? Not able to work? He'd hate that. He opened his eyes. 'The pain's eased off a bit. I think I could -' He began to pull himself up, but Cassandra held him firmly back. 'No, you don't, my dear. You stay where you are until Roland gets here. Any minute now; he's on his way.' He grinned rather weakly. 'That sounded nice, the way you said it, Cassandra. "My dear." Why have you never called me your dear before?' She smiled back at him, adjusting the pillow behind his fair head. 'It's only because you're an invalid now.' He sighed. 'I was afraid that was it. What would I do without you, my lovely Cassandra? Just to look at you makes me feel better. Stay there and hold my hand till Roland comes.' He looked up at her, his eyes narrowed whimsically. 'Your hair's the colour of buttery caramel, did I ever tell you? Just the shade I covered those wing chairs in—the ones for the de Salingers' study. And your eyes are sort of smoky brown, like kippers.' 'Charming!' she expostulated. 'A girl does like to look romantic!' She wrinkled her nose, jollying him, humouring him, because she hated to see the drawn expression coming back into his face. He was silent, biting hard on his lower lip, eyes screwed up against the pain. When it had passed he said, 'Cassandra -' 'Yes, Julian?' 'That letter—the one I gave you from Gregory Paige. Have you read it?'

She put a hand to the pocket of her smock. 'No, not yet.' 'Well, read it when I've gone and see what you think. It sounds pretty exciting to me.' She frowned. 'Gone? What do you mean, gone? You're not going anywhere special, are you?' 'Not to the Elysian Fields just yet,' he said dryly. 'I was thinking of hospitals.' He looked over her shoulder as the door opened. 'Off you trot, Cass dear, and leave me to the tender mercies of the medico.' She squeezed his hand encouragingly, and with a questioning raise of her eyebrows towards the curly-haired young doctor as he passed her, Cassandra did as she was told. It was only about ten minutes, but it seemed much longer. She sat at the desk in the study and stared down at the square without seeing it, and waited for Roland Dunn to finish his examination. Presently she heard him close the studio door and ran to meet him. 'Telephone?' he said briefly. They went back into the. study together. 'Is it bad?' she said. 'Bad enough.' The doctor picked up the telephone receiver. 'I'm treating it as an emergency and I want him in hospital straight away. I'll ring for an ambulance. Can you pack a bag for him, Cassandra?' 'Yes, of course.' With a sinking feeling inside she went to find Benson and they put together the things that might be needed. Poor old Julian, she kept thinking. He had so enjoyed working on the job in Florida. He was so keen, so full of interest in everything he tackled, so bubbling over with plans for the next thing. And now— this!

The ambulance arrived so quickly that Cassandra thought with a pang that Roland's phone call must have been very urgent indeed. She stayed beside Julian while the doctor went downstairs to meet the ambulance men. 'Cassandra -' Julian put out a hand and she gripped it, sitting on the edge of the sofa. 'You will do something about the letter from Gregory Paige, won't you? I don't want to miss the chance to get in on this job—it's right up my street. Do whatever you think best—go and have a talk to Greg about it. You'll do that? I can leave it to you?' 'You can leave everything to me, Julian,' she promised. 'I'll do my very best.' A smile touched his eyes, his quiet, perceptive brown eyes. 'Good girl, Cassandra,' he said. 'Remind me to marry you some time.' She smiled back. 'I'll do that.' At that moment she was almost able to believe she was in love with him. If it hadn't been for the way she had felt about Daniel Marshall, six years ago, she would have believed it. Roland came back then, with two hefty, cheerful ambulance men carrying a stretcher, and she moved closer to Julian. 'Shall I come with you to the hospital? Would you like me to?' Julian grinned faintly. 'You bet I'd like you to—but I'd rather you stayed and got in touch with Gregory right away about that job.' Cassandra glanced at Roland Dunn and he nodded. 'I suppose we'll have to humour the brute. You and I know how utterly he's hooked on his work, don't we?'

She pursed her lips and shook her head solemnly. 'Too true we do!' and Julian was starting to protest that he objected to being treated like an infant when the ambulance men stepped forward to lift him on to the stretcher. Cassandra stood at the big front door and watched the ambulance disappear behind the trees on the other side of the square and then she went slowly back upstairs to the office and sat down at the desk, letting her shoulders sag a little. But quickly she pulled herself straight again. Responsibility for Julian's physical well-being was out of her hands for the moment, but at least she could look after his interests here as best she could. She took the envelope he had given her from her pocket and pulled out the letter from Gregory Paige. Gregory was a friend of Julian's -whom Cassandra had met once or twice. He had some important job in the City and was the kind of man who knew everyone and went everywhere, and he often acted as a kind of unofficial agent for Julian, putting interesting work in his way when he heard of it. Not that Julian needed an agent, for he was very much in demand and in the happy position of having so much work offered to him that he could pick and choose where he liked. This must be a very tempting project indeed to get Julian so steamed up about it. She unfolded the typewritten sheet and read: 'Dear Julian, How was Florida? Good trip, I trust. This is to contact you as soon as you get back. I was going to phone but hadn't your hotel in Jacksonville. Now look, old son, this is important. You know Lord Saunders, of course—Jack Saunders who sold his chain of supermarkets last year and retired? Well, he's bought an estate in Gloucestershire and now, it seems, he's keen on spending some of his surplus millions on establishing himself as a patron of the arts. Good for him! He's in the process at the moment of putting up a building in his own grounds which will be devoted thereto. I'll explain in detail when we met, but take my word for it, it's

going to be something very special indeed. It will include a smallish auditorium, to seat three or four hundred. Intimate theatre, chamber music concerts, jazz concerts—you know? I thought it was your kind of thing, and I mentioned your name to the old boy when I met him yesterday and he was keen as mustard. What he wants is to have the very best talent working on this thing, and that means that you should do the interior design—naturally! How do you like the idea? Could you fit it in, other things being satisfactory? It might mean disorganizing your schedule. I know you're booked up for months ahead, but Saunders naturally wants to get the job in hand pronto, and is prepared to pay, needless to say. If you're interested, ring me when you get back and I'll put you in touch, Joan sends her love. How is your delightful Cassandra? Did she enjoy the trip? Yours, Greg. P.S. By the way, I understand that the architect engaged for the job is Luigi Orlandi, that grand old man of the profession. Nothing but the best for Jack Saunders !' Luigi Orlandi! Cassandra found herself breathing the familiar sigh of relief. It was idiotic of her, but every time Julian took on some new project where he would be working with an architect she had this same little qualm run through her. A qualm of—what was it, fear?— in case the name of the architect she read on the offer sheet should be that of Daniel Marshall. It wasn't that she still felt anything at all for Daniel, after six years. She was no longer the country girl, overwhelmed by the ecstasy and agony of first love. She was nearly twenty-three, a qualified designer in her own right, and picked out from all the other graduating students by Julian French himself to be his assistant. It had been wonderful luck and she had had a wonderful time, travelling with Julian all over Europe and several times to the United States. She had confidence in herself to handle the work she was expected to do, to

meet top people in many walks of life, to deal kindly but firmly with the men who got ideas about giving her expensive presents, or offering to rent a flat for her. She was, she told them, a career girl with no time for complex relationships. Among the set she moved in, she supposed people thought that she was Julian's mistress. Only close friends like Roland Dunn knew that this wasn't true. And Cassandra herself knew Julian well enough to know that he had an endearing streak of what could only be called old-fashioned chivalry towards women. She didn't believe that he would ever offer her anything less than marriage, and she was beginning to believe that one day he would do just that. Sometimes she wondered what she would say if he did. She would be a fool to refuse. And yet—although Daniel Marshall meant nothing to her now—she had never forgotten the response he had aroused in her, the almost frightening depth of physical passion, that she had felt for no other man since. Perhaps that was just the effect of first love, she sometimes told herself. Perhaps you never felt quite the same with any other man. Perhaps life was happier if you kept to shallower water. She didn't know, and she was too happily occupied to think much about it. But all the same she was glad that the architect's name on the letter was that of Luigi Orlandi. Now she read the letter through again and then dialled the number at the top of the page. As she waited for the call to go through she felt the same interest and excitement that Julian must have felt. This really sounded like a peach of a job and she didn't think that Julian had ever undertaken anything quite the same before; certainly he hadn't since she had been working with him. Gregory Paige's secretary answered the phone. Mr Paige was out of town just now, but he had left a message. A pause while she looked for it. Then, 'Yes, here it is. If Mr Julian French called I was to tell

him that Lord Saunders is still keen and that Mr French should get in touch with Mr John Mackintosh, Lord Saunders' agent, in Broadway, Gloucestershire.' She read out the phone number. 'Does that make sense to you?' 'It makes lots of sense.' Cassandra thanked the secretary and replaced the receiver. Broadway, how marvellous! That wasn't far from her old home, where her stepbrother, Andy, and his wife and family still lived. It would be fun to see Andy and Susan and the twins again. It was ages since she had had an opportunity to visit them. Perhaps, after all, something pleasant might emerge from this not very pleasant day. She pulled a fat folder towards her across the desk. This contained details of Julian's schedule for several weeks ahead and there would be some five different clients to contact. There would have to be explanations and tactful assurances and there were at least two rather difficult men who would need a good deal of smoothing down if they were to accept the delay. After she had dealt with that little lot she would phone this John Mackintosh in Broadway and arrange an interview. And after that, if everything else had gone according to plan, she would put a call through to Andy and invite herself to stay for a night or two with them. She scribbled some notes on a pad and put out her hand to the phone. And then a very curious thing happened. She was suddenly aware of a bubbly rush of excitement inside her that she hadn't felt for years. The feeling you got when you were very young and it was a heavenly April morning, and you wanted to toss off your shoes and run in the dewy grass. The feeling of being in love for the first time in your life. What on earth was the matter with her? It must be the thought of going home, to the place where she had fallen in love for the very first time; where she had run across the wet grass on an April morning to meet Daniel, who was big and dark and very, very

masculine. Daniel, with his slow, disturbing smile and the unconscious arrogance of his every movement. Daniel, to whom she could have denied nothing. She could see him again now, as if it were only yesterday, leaning against the stile as he waited for her to run up to him, his deep blue eyes glinting in the sunshine, his mouth set purposefully. That was the morning he had told her he was going away for good— to Canada. The bubbly feeling evaporated as suddenly as it had arrived. All that was in a different life. She had nothing in common with that naive little seventeen-year-old who had offered her heart so eagerly, only to have it rejected. She was Miss Cassandra Smith, assistant to the celebrated Julian French, and, however you looked at it, a success in her own right. With a small, indulgent smile for the touching idiocy of first love, Cassandra lifted the receiver and dialled the first number on her list. The clients reacted according to their kind. Some were sympathetic and understanding. Some were disappointed but resigned. One man, a successful TV personality, seemed to take Julian's illness as a personal affront brought about to irritate him and was even inclined to doubt its genuineness. It took all Cassandra's patience to deal with hint. - Mr John Mackintosh, Lord Saunders' agent, proved elusive, but when finally contacted he said in a clipped Scots voice that he would be happy to see Mr French's assistant tomorrow afternoon. (Cassandra thought it politic not to mention at this stage that Julian was in hospital. That could come later.) Finally, the call to her old home was all pleasure. 'We're delighted,' said Susan. 'At least, I am, and Andy will be when I tell him—he's out at present. We haven't set eyes on you for aeons. Is this a holiday?'

'Well, not exactly,' said Cassandra. 'I'll explain all when I see you.' 'Lovely! Stay as long as you can. Are you driving up or coming by train?' 'I haven't worked it out yet. Train, probably.' Cassandra didn't run a car of her own. In London it was easier to use taxis, and when she went farther afield with Julian they used his beautiful silver-grey Rolls tourer. She sometimes drove it, on long runs, to give Julian a rest, but the prospect of getting it out of its garage and through the traffic was daunting. 'Yes, most likely train,' she said again. 'Well, let us know if we can meet you anywhere. Cass dear, I'm so thrilled, it'll be lovely to have you here with us, and you can tell us all your news and how wonderful Florida was. Thanks for your card from there, it looked out of this world. Look, dear, have a word with the horrors, will you? They're nearly tearing the phone out of my hand.' The twins, Simon and Jeremy, aged four, then added their personal invitation at some length, and Simon, the opportunist, remarked hopefully, 'An' Aunty Cass, don' forget to bring us presints.' Cassandra, replacing the phone, found herself laughing for the first time that day. They were darlings, all of them, and it would be grand to see them. She had never known her own father, and her mother had not long survived her remarriage, when Cassandra' was very young. So Andy's father, and Andy himself, had really been all the family she had ever had. Andy, eight years older than herself, had been the nicest kind of elder brother, and in Cassandra's eyes he could do no wrong—had never done any wrong. Except one important thing—he had one day, six years ago, walked into the house with a tall young man with blue eyes that squeezed up under thick dark lashes when he smiled, and said, 'This is my friend Daniel Marshall. Daniel, meet my young sister Cassandra.'

But that was six years ago and Cassandra wasn't thinking about it now. She was thinking about Julian and how she could best help him. She went to the studio and restored it to order, rolling the silks and velvets that Julian had been working with and stacking them into tidy piles; gathering together his rough notes into one folder, his detailed scale designs into another, emptying the waste baskets. When she had finished, the room had taken on an unfamiliar, orderly appearance that was infinitely depressing, and she was pleased to see Benson when he came in to say that he was sure Miss Smith ought to have something to eat, and he had prepared something on a tray for her and put it in the office. 'Benson, that is kind of you, I can't remember when I last ate. On the plane, I think.' She went back to the office and made short work of a large plate of scrambled eggs with mushrooms, a mound of brown bread and butter and a pot of coffee. Benson had a knack of producing appetising snacks at just the right moment. When she had finished she carried the tray back to the kitchen. 'I think I'd better stay here tonight, Benson,' she told him, 'just in case I'm wanted for anything. I'll pop round to my flat for my things and be back inside half an hour, if anyone rings up.' Benson gave her his usual lugubrious, 'Very good, Miss Smith,' but she thought he looked relieved. In her minuscule flat in a modern block a few minutes walk away Cassandra packed a bag with enough to take her through the next few days, and went down to tell the caretaker that she would be away for a time. Then she walked briskly out of the building and up the wide street into Piccadilly without a backward glance. Her flat was ridiculously expensive, relative to its size, fitted with modern gadgetry and furnished with near-luxury, but Cassandra had never learned to love it. It was, however, convenient for the studio and

Julian liked to have her near at hand. The salary he paid her was enough to make the rent a minor consideration. Back at the studio she unpacked her overnight things in the spare bedroom and then returned to the office, wondering how best to get some news of Julian. Up to this moment she had been too busy to worry actively, but now her imagination began to work overtime and the silent telephone on the desk had become vaguely menacing. When it buzzed suddenly she jumped, her heart thumping. 'Cassandra?' It was Roland Dunn's voice. 'I thought you'd be glad to know what's going on.' 'Oh yes, please.' She sank into a chair. 'Julian's fairly comfortable now, and reasonably resigned. I've managed to get Scott-James in to look at him. He's a very good man and I've got complete faith in him. He's decided to operate tomorrow, no good waiting. Julian should had had this done months ago, of course, then this crisis would never have blown up. But you know what he is—kept putting it off.' Cassandra's mouth was dry. 'How bad is it? Will he -?' The doctor's voice was reassuring. 'Don't fret, Cassandra. He's in the best of hands and there's nothing in his condition, so far as we know, that can't be put right permanently by a relatively simple operation. He'll have to take things pretty easy for a while afterwards, but after that he should be as good as new.' She found herself smiling. 'That's good news. I've been worried since he went, he looked so rotten. Will you tell him that everything's in hand here and I'm finding out all I can about the new job—he'll know what I mean.'

'Yes, I will,' said Roland. 'But why don't you look in at the hospital tomorrow morning and tell him yourself? It'll cheer him up to see you.' 'Oh, could I? I thought perhaps -' 'Yes, you certainly could. Tell the nurse in charge I sent you. I'll be keeping an eye on him myself, so ring me at home in the evening for news, will you, Cassandra? Magda will give you all the gen if I'm not in.' Cassandra thanked him and said goodbye. Then, feeling greatly relieved, she hurried out to the kitchen to share her satisfaction with Benson.

The sleek silver-grey Rolls tourer purred up and down the switchback Cotswold roads next afternoon, eating up the miles as if it were really enjoying itself. Behind the wheel, in a fetching outfit of honey-gold, dramatically embroidered in black, her hair caught back in a black chiffon scarf tied in a floppy bow under one ear, Cassandra was certainly enjoying herself. This morning at the hospital she had demurred a little when Julian told her to take the car to Broadway rather than travel by train, but he had waved away her objections. 'My dear Cass, you're perfectly capable of driving her —she's probably much safer in your hands than mine.' Julian had a passion for speed. 'Besides, it will strike the right note with the noble lord, who has to have the best, according to Gregory's letter,' he added with a shadow of his old whimsical grin. Julian knew all about striking the right note with clients. He didn't calculate it coldly, or put on an act, he just liked to give people what they wanted and what they were prepared to pay for.

After that Cassandra couldn't very well argue, and anyway she didn't want to argue with Julian this 'morning, when he was looking a long way from his usual exuberant self, lying in his hospital bed and surrounded by the life- saving but rather awe-inspiring gear of modern surgery. So she had willingly agreed to take the Rolls, to wear her most eye-catching outfit, to find out all she could from Mr John Mackintosh about the theatre project and to report back to Julian himself as soon as he had recovered from what he called the carving-up routine. And now that the slightly stressful period of manoeuvring the beautiful sleek car out of its garage and through the London traffic was behind her, Cassandra was feeling the thrill of driving a superb machine along quiet roads in the midst of what many people—herself included—considered one of the most beautiful spots in England— the Cotswold country. She had left the motorway behind just after Swindon and struck straight up through Lechlade and Burford, and at present she was high in the hills, not many miles away from Stowon-the-Wold, and beginning to feel hungry. Benson had packed a picnic hamper for her and if she knew anything about Benson's skill with providing picnics, it was going to be worth stopping for. She slowed down and looked out for somewhere to park. There seemed to be a dearth of parking places. The smooth road dipped and climbed, and climbed again, and at last Cassandra decided to take the first lane she came to, and hope for the best. In the end this was what she did. A narrowish lane off to the right, an easy pull-in to a field gateway, and she switched off the engine and surveyed with satisfaction the perfect spot she had found almost by accident. She touched the button that lowered the window and looked around with a churned-up feeling of nostalgia. She remembered so well these Cotswold hills, and the sensation of sitting on top of the world with the whole wide panorama of country stretched out below and around: the patchwork of fields, brown and gold and pale green, criss-crossed by low stone-walls. The sky was deep blue, with puffy

white clouds, and high above, the larks were singing. The April sunshine was warm on her cheeks and the breeze lifted her hair at the temples, where it escaped from its chiffon scarf. This was her place, where she had spent her childhood, where she had gone to school, and grown up. Where she had first fallen in love. Hastily she turned away from the view and slid into the passenger seat, taking the luncheon hamper on her knees. But for once Cassandra hardly tasted the tempting array of chicken breasts in aspic, crusty rolls, out-of-season strawberries, continental coffee in a silver-mounted flask, all the goodies that Benson had prepared so lavishly. She ate mechanically, and pictures kept floating into her mind of that other spring, six years ago. Of herself opening an official-looking envelope and squealing with surprise when she read that she had been offered a place in one of the big London art colleges, to take a course in design, starting in September. She had been thrilled, because that was what she had worked for and wanted—until Daniel walked into her life and put every other thought and ambition out of it. Then there was the picture of Andy, helping her with the washing-up one night when Emmy, the housekeeper, was out. Andy, big and towhaired, drying the knives and forks seriously, saying, 'Dad's decided to retire, Cass. He saw the doctor again today and he's been advised to. No, it's nothing really worrying, but running a building firm as big as ours is a pretty demanding thing, and he's at last admitted it's got too much for him. He's going to live with Aunt Christine in Swanage.' 'And you're going to run the firm? Oh Andy, can you really manage it all on your own?' Cassandra had asked. 'I know you've always thought you would, one day, but this has been so sudden.'

'I guess I can,' Andy had assured her modestly, 'if I have to. But I've got someone in mind who may come in with me—a chap I knew at university. I met him again recently, he's staying with friends for the next few months, just a couple of miles away. There's nothing settled yet, though. And Cass'—Andy had flushed slightly—'there's another thing. Susan and I have decided to get married quite soon, before Dad leaves. We'll go on living here, but I wanted you to know that everything will be the same as far as you're concerned. I mean, this is your home as long as you want to stay, you know that, and Susan feels the same as I too. She's awfully fond of you—we both are.' Cassandra had hugged him and wept a little because she had had a happy childhood and now everything was changing suddenly. At that moment she didn't know how much everything was changing. She knew it two days later, though, and it was as if her world, exploded into fragments and then slowly pieced itself together in a totally different pattern. She sat in the car now, lunch forgotten, seeing nothing but the way Daniel Marshall had stood in the doorway and looked at her with those dark blue eyes that had a most curious effect on her breathing and turned her knees to water. She had stared back at him, unable to move or look away, transfixed by a powerful emotion she had never known before. Until now, when the girls had giggled together about their boyfriends and the ones who did, or did not, 'turn them on', Cassandra had joined in, wishing that she could feel what they seemed to feel. Sometimes she worried a little because she didn't. But in that long moment when Daniel's eyes met hers she knew she had nothing to worry about. 'This is my friend Daniel Marshall,' Andy had said, with a touch of pride in his voice. 'Daniel is thinking of coming into the firm with me when Dad retires.'

Daniel had come across the room and taken her hand in his and when she felt the hard pressure of his fingers enclosing hers she thought hazily, This is the one. This is the man I shall love. 'Hullo, Cassandra,' he had said slowly, and the way he had said her name, the way his eyes had moved over her face, over her body, told her that he felt the same instant awareness as she did herself. And although he only held her hand in his, she shivered as if he had taken her in his arms. She shivered again now, sitting here in the car in the warm sunshine of the hills, because she had never been able to forget how it felt when, later on, he had taken her in his arms, with his mouth seeking her mouth, the hollows of her neck, the curve of her breast. Damn him, she thought suddenly, violently, why did he have to come into our lives? All he did was to let Andy down. And to spoil every other man for me ever since." Coming back here now, to this Cotswold country, might be a kind of exorcism. She pushed the coffee flask back in the hamper and closed the lid with a snap. I'll get him out of my system if I die in the attempt, Cassandra vowed silently. She slid into the driving seat, backed out the Rolls, and drove on towards Broadway and Mr John Mackintosh. Later in the year the High Street in Broadway would be packed with visitors' cars, the cafes and antique shops bursting at the seams. But today, in April, there was room to park the Rolls. 'Near the War Memorial,' John Mackintosh had explained on the phone. 'There's a wee bronze plate on the front door.' She found the house easily, small and picturesque like all the others, built in golden Cotswold stone, with a creeping plant twining over the porch and reaching up to the dormer windows. 'John Mackintosh', the bronze plate said, with some letters after his name. Cassandra

pulled the old- fashioned bell and a jangling sounded within. A young girl in neat secretary's blouse and skirt opened the front door. 'Miss Smith? Oh yes, Mr Mackintosh was expecting you. Will you come in, please.' She opened the door of a front room and Cassandra had the impression of an office, with filing cabinets and a big mahogany desk, on the far side of which sat a dark man, leafing through some journal or other. The girl said, 'Mr Mackintosh has had to go out, but he'll be back very soon, Miss Smith. Meanwhile he thought you might care to have a word with -' Cassandra didn't hear the rest of the sentence. With a shock that thrilled right through her she found herself staring into the steady, dark blue eyes of Daniel Marshall.

CHAPTER TWO 'HULLO, Cassandra,' said Daniel quietly and without surprise, just as if he had been expecting to see her. Hearing his voice again with its deep velvety quality brought everything back to her with frightening intensity, sending a shiver through her so that for one awful moment she thought she was going to pass right out. Dimly she heard the door of the office close behind the secretary. Then, in the time it took for Daniel to stand up and come round the desk to her, she managed to clutch at some semblance of normality. 'Why, Daniel!' she heard her own voice say, high and squeaky. 'It is Daniel Marshall, isn't it?' That sounded stupidly affected, for of course she couldn't have forgotten him and he must know it, but a basic urge for self-protection was working in her, an urge to put him at a safe distance and keep him there. The dark blue eyes looked amused under their long, thick lashes. 'Have six years changed me so much, then?' He held out his hand in the friendliest way. For a moment she hesitated, then she put her own hand into it. His grasp was hard and firm, like everything else about him, and the touch of his fingers curling round hers made her heart lurch. He stepped back. 'You've changed, Cassandra.' 'Improved, I hope?' she enquired with an archness that made her wince. 'You're lovelier than ever, but not at all the little country girl now.' His glance moved over her deliberately, taking in the model dress in honey-beige jersey with its beautiful clinging lines, the soft black kid pumps and handbag, the shining pale hair twisted into an intricate

coil under its chiffon scarf. It had taken her all of half an hour to arrange her hair before she left London this morning. But that had been to impress Mr Mackintosh, certainly not Daniel Marshall. 'Oh yes,' he mused softly, 'all very elegant! And driving up in a Rolls, no less! Not all your very own, by any chance, Cassandra?' She had a quick spurt of anger, resenting the way he was slipping back into the old, easy mockery. 'No,' she said shortly. Then, 'What are you doing here?' 'Well, actually I was waiting for you to arrive. My good friend John Mackintosh had to slip oot for a wee while.' His eyes gleamed as he broadened the Scots accent, inviting her to smile, to ease the strangeness of meeting again like this. No, she thought, oh dear, no! If he imagined he could just walk back into her life and pick up their relationship at the point where he had chosen to throw it down, when they had laughed at the same jokes, enjoyed a hundred foolish little things together, then he was very much mistaken. She frowned. 'You were waiting for we? But you couldn't have known -' '—that it was you John was expecting? Oh come, there would hardly be more than one Cassandra Smith risen so high in the design profession, surely, as to be Julian French's assistant? I always said you'd make the grade, didn't I?' 'Did you?' she said vaguely. But she remembered that he had. 'You've got lots of talent, Cassandra,' he had told her in the course of that last painful interview they had had by the stile on the edge of the wood. 'You've been blessed with a good sense of colour and form,' he'd gone on, just as if he were assessing her grades in an examination. 'You must go ahead and take up that place you've been offered in

London, and I bet you that in five years you'll be well on the way to success.' In the bleakness of her hurt she had thrown at him that she didn't want success, and he had looked at her as if she were some strange animal that he had just discovered. He was eight years older than she was, the same age as Andy, but at that moment, with his square stubborn chin and his mouth set in a purposeful line, he had looked much older. 'Don't you?' he had said curiously. 'Well, I do, and I'm damned well going to get it or perish in the attempt.' She looked at him now, smiling easily at her across the desk in John Mackintosh's office. He had wanted success and he certainly appeared to have got it. In his well-cut sports jacket and ivory silk shirt, his dark hair casually groomed, he looked the very picture of a successful professional man. His hair had been shorter before, she recalled, and she seemed to feel again the roughness and springiness of it beneath her fingers when she clasped her arms around his neck. She looked away quickly, the heat rising in her cheeks. 'Oh yes, I was quite sure you'd make the grade,' he said again. His eyes were suddenly thoughtful and she wondered, her throat contracting, if he too was remembering that last meeting. He pulled out a chair for her. 'Sit down, Cassandra. John won't be long and then we can get down to business.' She sat down rather quickly, for her knees were feeling very peculiar, and watched him as he strolled round the desk and took his own seat again. 'Get down to business? You mean—are you involved in this project too?' That would be altogether too cruel, she thought, but she had a horrid feeling that he was. 'Just slightly.' He smiled. 'I happen to be the architect on the job.'

'You!' She stared at him blankly. 'But I don't understand—we were told that Orlandi was doing the planning work.' 'I'm afraid your information was a little out of date, then. Luigi changed his mind about accepting the commission some time ago. Actually, I think his wife changed it for him. She wanted to take him off on a long visit to their daughter in South America. My firm are specialists in this line and we were offered the job. I happened to have some plans for a small theatre type of building already drawn up tentatively, enough to form a basis for consultation, so'— he shrugged-^'I flew over the day before yesterday, and here I am. Of course, this project here isn't going to be exclusively a theatre, although small theatrical shows may be put on from time to time. But I expect you know all about it already?' She shook her head, feeling more out of her depth with every moment that passed. 'As a matter of fact, I don't know anything about it yet. There was a letter waiting when we got back from Florida yesterday, and that was the first we had heard.' Daniel raised his eyebrows a fraction. 'We?' She met his quizzical glance steadily. She knew exactly what his question meant; he was inviting her to enlighten him as to whether she travelled with Julian as his assistant, or his secretary, or in some other, more intimate capacity. She was getting over the first shock of meeting Daniel again now. But out of sheer self-defence she had to build a high wall between them as quickly as possible, before there was any danger of her being drawn helplessly into the field of this man's sheer masculine magnetism all over again. 'Julian and I,' she said coolly, and let him think whatever he liked. 'Ah!' He nodded his head sagely, but his look was still questioning. 'It's like that, is it?'

She managed a faint smile, not provocative, just a trifle bored by the turn the conversation had taken. 'I don't think that is really any concern of yours, Daniel.' She wasn't doing too badly, she congratulated herself. 'Perhaps not. Still, it's a nice custom, when two old friends meet after a gap of time, to bring each other up to date on the state of play in their lives. You know—married, separated, divorced. That sort of thing.' Her lip curled. 'That sort of thing doesn't seem worth all the talk that goes on about it. People seem to lead such untidy lives, don't you think?' That sounded horribly prissy, but she couldn't help it. He leaned back and crossed his long legs nonchalantly. 'The emotions that lead to "that sort of thing" aren't particularly tidy ones, or hadn't you noticed?' His attitude might be nonchalant, but the look he gave her wasn't, and she felt the heat stinging her cheeks again. 'Suppose we change the subject?' she said. 'As you wish, madam.' He sounded annoyingly amused. 'But may I add first, just for the record, that I'm not married, nor have been up to now.' 'Congratulations,' she murmured drily. Daniel straightened up, drew his chair nearer the desk and leaned forward. 'Look, Cassandra --' But she never knew what he had been about to say, for at that moment the door of the office shot open to admit a stocky little man with sandy hair and a bristly moustache.

'Ah, John.' Daniel got out of his chair. 'The lady has arrived, as you'll notice. Cassandra—John Mackintosh, who looks after our client's interests. John—Cassandra Smith.' The Scotsman pumped Cassandra's hand up and down energetically. 'I hope you had a good journey, Miss Smith. Forgive me for not being here to greet ye—I had to run oot to catch the bank before closing time.' He sounded breathless, as if he had actually been running. He peered hard at her under bushy eyebrows, and then enquiringly at Daniel. Daniel nodded. 'Yes, John, I was right, of course. It's the same Cassandra Smith who was—is, I hope—my good friend.' John Mackintosh rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. 'Weel now, that's grand. We're going to have a happy wee team to work on this building.' 'But—' began Cassandra, feeling that he was taking too much for granted. 'Mr French will be joining you later, of course?' the little Scotsman rushed on happily. 'We'd like fine to have him— to have you both— in on the planning right from the beginning, would we no', Daniel?' Daniel's eyes were fixed on Cassandra very thoughtfully. 'Yes. Oh yes, we would indeed,' he said. 'Good. Splendid. Lord Saunders will be verra pleased.' The words seemed to tumble over each other in their haste to get out. The sandy moustache quivered with pleased anticipation. 'I promised him I'd find the best team to undertake this worrk, and I'm quite convinced we've got it. Good planning, good designing, good building, what more could he ask? Yes, Miss Smith, this is excellent.' He glanced towards the door.

Cassandra broke in desperately, 'But Mr Mackintosh, nothing is really settled yet about Mr French accepting the commission. You see, we've been working in America for the last two months and we only heard about this yesterday afternoon. Mr French asked me to come along and see you and find out the details and -' 'Ah yes, yes, of course, I understand all that. Well noo, Daniel's the man to put ye in the picture, Miss Smith. He has some drawings roughed out already and Lord Saunders likes them.' The sandy head jerked round towards the man standing in the window. 'Now, Daniel, I think the best thing will be for you and Miss Smith to take a run out to the site.' He beamed at Cassandra and began to edge towards the door. 'Nothing like being on the spot for you artists! See the natural background and so on -' He was holding out his hand affably. 'Noo that's fixed up mebbe you'll excuse me, Miss Smith, if I leave you two together? Splendid that you're old friends. Splendid!' He looked from one to the other of them as if he'd like to join their hands together. Then with a final nod and smile he disappeared from the office and the front door slammed behind him. A moment later he hurried past the low window, leaning down to wave cheerfully to them. Cassandra let out a deep breath. 'Well -!' Daniel smiled at her from the other side of the room. 'I ought to explain that John isn't always quite so frenetic, although his energy is boundless. I knew him when I was in these parts before and he's always been the same. The fact is that his wife presented him with their first infant an hour or two ago and he's been promised that he can see them both as soon as he can get to the hospital. Hence the slight impatience.' 'I see.' The idea of the funny, brisk little Scotsman in the tender role of a happy new father made Cassandra smile. But the smile vanished when Daniel came across the office, holding out his hand to her.

'Come along, Cassandra, I'll show you where our dream building is going to go up. I'm sure you'll agree it's a fantastic spot.' She stood up, ignoring his outstretched hand. There was no way of getting out of going with him, but she must be careful not to show any particular enthusiasm for the projected building work. On the other hand, she mustn't be too lukewarm about it to be convincing. Oh dear, it was all very difficult; Cassandra wasn't cut out to act a part, she liked things to be straightforward and natural. But somehow—anyhow—she had to get out of this situation as quickly as possible, because to work in close co-operation with Daniel Marshall would be quite unthinkable. Perhaps she could confide the whole story to Julian—he was very understanding. Or perhaps—and this would be better— perhaps there would be something wrong with the assignment, some flaw that would put him off. She wouldn't lie to Julian, but she was certainly going to search for flaws. But when they arrived at the place where the building would go up her heart sank, for she could see there weren't going to be any flaws. This was a perfect place. They had driven the seven or eight miles from Broadway in the Rolls. 'I'll have to get myself a car,' Daniel had said on the way. 'I can't go on cadging lifts, and British Rail only goes from A to B these days, apparently. It used to take in X, Y and Z as well, when I lived around these parts. Is that lovely little station at Little Frimlington still in existence? And the single line where the driver used to hand over a baton to the signal box man? I could never make out quite how it worked. D'you remember that picnic we had with Andy and Susan when we went by train because Andy's car had packed up? We climbed up the Malvern Hills and tried to get to the Worcestershire Beacon, but it rained.' Cassandra kept her eyes fixed straight ahead on the road, and fumed inwardly. How dared he? Oh, how dared he reminisce happily like

this, just as if they had all parted on the best possible terms, just as if he hadn't let Andy down by walking out on their plans at the last moment. I hate, she thought, catching her lower lip between her teeth, I hate him because he let Andy down. But she knew it wasn't because he had let Andy down; it was because he hadn't fallen in love with her. Daniel leaned back comfortably in the passenger seat. 'This is quite a car,' he observed as the superb machine purred along like a sleepy tiger cub. 'Friend Julian must do very well to buy expensive toys like this.' 'Oh, he does indeed,' Cassandra said airily. 'He always has far more offers than he can possibly accept. That's why I'm not at all certain that he'll take on this theatre commission.' 'H'm,' said Daniel, and didn't pursue the point, but Cassandra was uncomfortably aware of his eyes on her and she had to bring all her powers of concentration to bear on her driving. It would be too humiliating if she made a fool of herself in Daniel's presence, and she needed every bit of self-confidence she could find to defend herself against the effect his nearness was having on her. The masculine magnetism that seemed to crackle and spark around him was disturbing her heartbeat and her breathing, as well as her concentration. Presently he said, 'You handle her very well, Cassandra. Quite a number of things you've learned in the past six years, haven't you?' Like learning that I must resist your devastating charm, Mr Daniel Marshall, she thought, but she merely said coolly, 'Experience counts.' 'Quite,' he said, and again she thought he was smiling.

The short journey seemed to go on for hours, but at last Daniel said, 'The next turning on the left, and then the gates of the drive are about a couple of hundred yards further on.' Soon they came to a high stone wall and finally to the entrance gates, very high, imposing ones, embellished with gold which was wearing off slightly. Just inside there was a small lodge which looked uninhabited. As Cassandra drove up the long entrance drive, skirted by masses of rhododendrons the height of trees, Daniel said, 'The house has been empty for some time. Lord Saunders intends to restore it all eventually, but it's going to take quite a while. Worth doing though—it's a wonderful old place. Early eighteenth century, but escaped the Italian influence, and probably built lovingly by master craftsmen.' He chuckled. 'They could do very well without architects in those days.' The drive ended in a sweep of gravel and the house lay spread before them in the spring sunshine. Cassandra stopped the car and sat looking at it in silence. 'What did I tell you?' Daniel was watching her pleasure. 'Good, isn't it?' 'Fantastic,' admitted Cassandra, entirely forgetting that she was looking out for flaws. The house was low and gracious, built of the golden-grey Cotswold stone, mellow and weathered, with creepers over the great door and round the long, mullioned windows whose panes glittered like diamonds in the afternoon sunshine. A wide stone terrace ran along the width of the house, with shallow steps down to lawns, enclosed by a profusion of shrubs and trees. Everywhere there were drifts of yellow daffodils. 'I thought you'd like it,' said Daniel in a satisfied way. 'We always thought alike about these old country houses that seem to grow out of the landscape, didn't we?'

'Did we?' Cassandra was jolted back to the present situation. 'I don't really remember,' she added distantly. To her dismay he burst out laughing. 'Oh, Cassandra, you may be a hit as a designer, but as an actress you're not so bright! Now come along,' he went on, not giving her an opportunity to reply to that, even if she could have thought of a reply, 'we'll leave the car here and walk out to the proposed site of the new building. John Mackintosh brought me out here yesterday. It's over there, just the other side of that coppice. Maybe you'd better lock the car, I don't think there's anyone living here at the moment.' She followed him, with very mixed emotions, across the neglected lawns and under an archway cut in the high laurel hedge, into a wilder part of the grounds where a grassy walk followed the course of a wide stream that was not quite wide enough to be called a river. To the left were massed trees, mostly different varieties of conifer, rising dark and tall and mysterious against the sky. They passed a tiny marble pavilion, derelict and overgrown, and Daniel paused to examine it with interest. 'The fellow who laid out the gardens must have fancied himself as another Capability Brown. We must restore that to its former elegance, if Lord S. agrees. Now, through here, Cassandra, and mind that beautiful hair-do of yours.' The narrow path between the trees was almost indiscernible. He held back some low branches for her to pass beneath and then they were in a large grassy clearing, enclosed on all sides by a high, thick background of trees. 'Well, what do you think of this?' Daniel started to pace about, glowing with enthusiasm. 'A magic place. You could put on A Midsummer Night's Dream here—I can just see the fairies flitting in and out of the trees. Now, I thought the main axis of the building would run north-east and south-west. Then on a summer evening

you'd get the sunset glow through the trees—here. Of course it will have to be opened out a bit for access and so on, but we'll keep the car park and such atrocities hidden out of sight. It's going to be a fascinating exercise, adapting my plans to fit in here, but I think I've got the makings of something quite good now." She said rather stiffly, 'I'm sure you'll make a splendid job of it.' She was unnervingly conscious of him standing close beside her as he pulled a rough sketch from his pocket to show her. In this quiet place he looked big and tough and vital as he radiated enthusiasm and confidence. She hardly listened as he began to enlarge on his ideas, talking of materials, of elevation, of structural details. Then suddenly she realised that he had stopped speaking and was standing looking down at her rather strangely. 'It's good to meet you again like this, Cassandra,' he said in that deep tone that did the oddest things to her breathing. 'When this assignment came up and I found out where it was, I hoped I might see you again, or at least hear news of you. But seeing you so soon is a bonus.' In this isolated place with the dense trees closing them in, she felt that the space between them was quivering and alive. She drew in a sharp breath and said in a high, light voice, 'Yes, it's always pleasant to meet old acquaintances again.' He searched her face for a long moment, then he said drily, 'Such enthusiasm, I'm overwhelmed.' Anger seethed inside her. What did he expect, for heaven's sake? That she would fall over herself with ecstasy to meet again the man who had quite callously caused heartbreak and humiliation to her? As their eyes met she saw what she took to be amusement in his and she could have struck him. Instead she dug her fingernails into her palms and said, 'Hadn't we better be getting back, if this is all there is to see?' She looked round for the way they had come in, but the path

through the trees was not obvious. For a moment she panicked, shut in here alone with him, and it must have shown, for he grinned and said, 'Don't worry, Cassandra, we're here on business, remember? You're quite safe.' He walked to the margin of the clearing and lifted a branch. 'This way, madam,' he said with an ironic bow. Perhaps it was because she was so desperately anxious to end this tête-à-tête and did not take sufficient care; or perhaps Daniel released the branch too soon on purpose. But whatever the reason, the branch snapped back and Cassandra's black chiffon scarf was caught by the lower, thick growth of the great larch tree. She moved impatiently and the scarf was dragged off her head, taking her hairpins with it. Her hair, released, fell in a pale silky mane round her face. 'Steady on.' Daniel's voice was close to her ear, his hands were on her shoulders. She pushed forward wildly between the branches and found herself standing on the grassy path by the stream. To her confusion he did not take his hands away. He turned her round to face him. 'That's more like the Cassandra I knew,' he said, and took a strand of the shining hair between his fingers. For a petrified moment she thought he was going to draw her closer into his arms and she knew, to her deep humiliation, that if he had it would have seemed quite natural, all part of this homecoming that was playing such havoc with her careful, London-made poise. When he took his hands away and stepped back she felt suddenly lost. This was ridiculous. Impetuously, her hands shaking, she groped for the pins and began to wind up her hair again, not very successfully. 'Couldn't you leave it as it is?' he suggested. 'It looks very beautiful.'

'Of course not,' she said crossly. 'I can't go back to Mr Mackintosh's office looking -' '—looking as if I'd been making love to you among the trees?' He was watching her face, waiting, she thought, for her to flush. Cassandra couldn't take any more. She whirled round on him, her eyes stormy, her hair whipping against her neck. 'Look,' she said, 'it's quite obvious that you're doing your best to—to embarrass me, and I wish you'd stop. We've met here on business and that's all it is, and that's how I want it to remain. Anything that happened in the past is over and done with and forgotten, and I must ask you not to—to presume on—on an old friendship. If we were friends,' she added. The dark blue eyes were regarding her steadily. 'Oh, we were friends, Cassandra. Indeed we were. It seems rather silly to meet again as strangers, but if that's how you want it, so be it. We'll pretend we're meeting for the first time.' He picked up the black chiffon and handed it to her politely. 'Your scarf, Miss Smith.' 'Thank you,' she said distantly. 'And I believe this is yours too, is it not?' He stooped and retrieved a hairpin from the grass at his feet. She took it from him and their hands touched. She jerked away from him as if she had touched a live electric wire, and turned and hurried ahead along the grassy path, doing up her hair with clumsy fingers as she went. 'Miss Smith -' She paused reluctantly. 'You're going the wrong way,' said Daniel mildly. She glared at him and he looked back at her, standing quite still in an attitude of exaggerated deference, his head a little on one side, as if she had been a duchess, or even of higher rank.

In spite of herself she felt her lips twitching. 'Ah, that's better.' He came up to her. 'How about thawing a little, Cassandra? It would make things much easier all round. I'm not sure I know why you're taking this standoffish attitude. Are you really holding something against me from long ago? I shouldn't have thought you a girl to nourish grudges.' She stared at him. Men were incredible! He really didn't know what he had done to her six years ago, did he? He hadn't a clue about how he had left her drowning in love for him, how he had awakened her to passion and then walked out of her life with never a backward look when his own selfish interests were concerned. She was sure he had never given her another thought until he realised that she was Julian French's assistant and that he might have to work with her for a time. Then he had probably remembered her vaguely and been curious to see how the naive little country girl had grown up. She turned round and began to walk the other way and he walked beside her in silence. The ball was in her court now and she must decide what her tactics must be. She couldn't bear to let him guess that she had never forgotten him as he had obviously forgotten her, but she saw now that she had been in danger of giving herself away by her 'standoffishness' as he called it. 'You let Andy down pretty badly,' she said. 'His father had to retire from the firm and he was looking forward to you joining him. I didn't find it easy to forgive you.' She replaced the chiffon scarf and tied it firmly. 'But as you say, it was a long time ago. It was just meeting you again unexpectedly that brought it all back.' 'I see,' he said quietly. 'Is that all?' 'All?' She glanced at him in surprise as they walked along on the soft turf. 'What else should there be?'

He shrugged wryly. 'I just wondered.' This fencing was getting impossible. As he had said, she was a poor actress and she hated having to pretend, to cook up explanations that were only half true. But she had a nasty feeling that she wasn't taking Daniel in for one moment, and that sooner or later, if they had to spend any time in each other's company, he would get the truth out of her, if only for his own amusement and to satisfy his masculine vanity. So, she decided firmly as the car came into sight again, there was only one course open to her and that was to remove herself from his environment as quickly as possible. She would drive him back to John Mackintosh's office and dump him there. Then she would thankfully take refuge with Andy and Susan and have time to decide how best to persuade Julian not to go any further with this matter. A silence fell between them until they were in the car again and driving back to Broadway. Then Daniel said suddenly, 'Well, what do you think?' 'Think?' she repeated rather stupidly. Why did every remark he made seem loaded with some obscure meaning? 'Of the general idea of the proposed building and the location and so on. Do you think Julian French will take to the idea of working with us?' 'I really can't say,' she hedged. 'Oh come, Cassandra, you must have some idea, you're his assistant. I understood from John that you'd been sent to get the general feel of the project and report back to French so that he could make a quick decision.' His tone was entirely businesslike now—personalities were forgotten. 'Speed is of the essence in this job. Lord Saunders isn't young enough to wait years and years to see his dream come true. It was made clear to my firm that we'd got to get cracking as soon as

possible, and naturally I want to know who I've got to work with. I'd like Julian French to take it on. I like his style.' 'You know it?' That was silly, because of course he would know Julian's style. Everyone connected with designing or reconstructing buildings did. 'I know him,' said Daniel laconically. This was something Cassandra hadn't thought of—an added complication. 'We met some time ago, in Canada. That would be -' he slanted a glance at her, but she kept her eyes on the road ahead'— before you and he teamed up. You must have been still doing your stint at college.' So he remembered that much about her, did he? 'Yes,' he went on thoughtfully, 'we worked together on a small project. We fitted in pretty well.' 'He didn't tell me he knew you,' said Cassandra, and then, 'That's silly of me, of course he didn't, why should he mention you at all? We expected Luigi Orlandi to be in charge here.' 'I'm sorry to disappoint you,' said Daniel. Cassandra pressed her lips together and drove on. She couldn't wait to get away from this maddening man. At least she would have some peace when she got home. She still thought of it as home, in spite of the London flat, in spite of not having come back here, except for one or two flying visits, in years. She came to a crossroads and took the turning marked, 'Broadway.'

'Which way are you going?' Daniel enquired. 'Back to Mr Mackintosh's office. He'll expect us back, won't he?' 'I shouldn't think so,' Daniel said smoothly. 'He'll be in Oxford by now, visiting his wife and daughter. He left me to deal with any enquiries you might have.' 'Well, I think I know all I need to know, thanks. Where shall I drop you?' She heard his deep chuckle. 'You're very anxious to get rid of me, aren't you? Let's straighten things out. First, are you intending to go back to London this evening?' 'No, but -' 'Then you'll be staying with your brother at Three Trees?' 'Yes, I am, but that's on the other road. I can easily give you a lift to—to wherever you want to go. No trouble at all.' Quite the reverse in fact. It'll be a pleasure to get your disturbing presence out of the car, she added silently. He chuckled again. 'That's very civil of you, I must say. And to repay your kindness I'll tell you straight away that I shan't be taking you off your route at all. My road is your road. Andy and Susan have very kindly offered to give me a meal this evening. I was in touch with them this morning,' he added. Cassandra took her foot off the accelerator and put it on the brake. A lesser car might have bucked, but the Rolls slid smoothly to a halt. She glanced at the road and registered automatically that she hadn't stopped on a double white line, or done anything else that was forbidden. Then she turned to the man sitting beside her.

'I don't understand,' she frowned. 'I thought -' 'You thought that Andy might still hate my guts for backing out all those years ago? Oh, my sweet Cassandra, you underestimate your brother's generous nature. Andy bears me no grudge, even if you do. In fact I'm sure we shall enjoy working together on this commission.' 'You mean -?' said Cassandra faintly. 'That I've asked Andy's firm to take on tie building. Who else would do it as well? So you see, Cassandra, it'll be like old times, won't it? We'll all be together again. And perhaps -' he smiled into her eyes, his own eyes glinting very dark blue, and the look in them making her inside churn uncomfortably, '—perhaps you'll be able to forgive me, and we can begin again where we left off, as friends. How about it?' No, she wanted to shout. No, no, no! Danger flags waved redly in front of her eyes. She was frightened, and when you were frightened there were only two courses to take —flight or fight. To run away seemed impossible for the moment, to fight Daniel equally impossible. Even now the consciousness of his arm lying casually along the back of the seat behind her made her heart pound alarmingly. So what to do? She mustn't let it all begin again, she thought desperately. Daniel hadn't changed. He would amuse himself with her while they were together and then he would walk out of her life again, with never a thought for her feelings. She made the only reply she could think of. 'If you mean what I think you mean, Daniel, the answer is No.' He looked down at her bare left hand, raising his eyebrows. 'Julian?'

'Who else?' Well, Julian had said, 'remind me to marry you,' hadn't he? Daniel didn't speak for a moment. Then, with a small, thoughtful, and what seemed to her menacing smile playing about his lips, he said very quietly, 'We'll just have to see about that, won't we? Drive on, Cassandra.'

CHAPTER THREE CASSANDRA loved Three Trees. Once it had been three cottages, each with an apple tree in the front garden, but her stepfather had. bought the lot and blended them together with his builder's skill, to make them into one house, without spoiling their character. That had been just before his marriage to her mother, before Cassandra had been brought here as a baby. Tragically her mother had not lived long to enjoy the house, but it had been perfect for Cassandra to grow up in; full of nooks and corners, of sloping ceilings and creaky floorboards, of deep window- sills where you could sit and read on wet days. There was even a fascinating passage linking two of the cottages, like a dark little tunnel, where grown-ups had to lower their heads. The possibilities for playing trains and canals had been endless, and Andy had good-naturedly co-operated when his little stepsister was old enough to play with. By that time he must have been eleven or so, and had to stoop to walk through the tunnel. It had been a proud day for Cassandra when she bumped her head on the top for the first time. Now Susan's twins, Simon and Jeremy, were eagerly measuring themselves against the ceiling, but they had quite a time to wait yet. It was a lovely house with a restful, happy atmosphere, but Cassandra was feeling anything but restful and happy as she drove the Rolls through the open gate into the cobbled yard, with Daniel Marshall beside her. Susan had heard the car and now she came running out from round the back of the house, in jeans and sweater, her soft brown hair blowing in the breeze. 'Cassandra dear, how lovely!' They hugged enthusiastically. Susan was a good friend; Cassandra had known her for years, first as Andy's 'steady' and then as his wife. With her curly, infectious smile and her slightly scatty talent as a housewife and mother, she was a

born optimist, and as such very much to be cherished in these not very optimistic days. 'And Daniel too!' Susan held out both hands to him. 'It's simply ages and ages. Andy and I were trying to remember how long it was and we came to the conclusion that we hadn't seen you since our wedding day.' He nodded. 'I left for London the morning after your wedding and from there I went on to Toronto. This is the first time I've been anywhere near these parts since. It's good to see you again, Susan.' Cassandra's jaw tightened. She could have slain him. No sign of shame or even of regret for having walked out on Andy as he had done! It really Was unpardonable. But Susan didn't appear to find anything remarkable about his attitude. 'We often wondered how you were making out in Canada. Very nicely, I imagine, from the look of that super car.' He shook his head, smiling. 'Not guilty.' Susan turned a look of intrigued enquiry on Cassandra as they all began to walk towards the house. 'Julian's? Is he with you, then?' 'No, he couldn't make it.' She wished now that she had mentioned Julian's illness to Daniel before this. She avoided his eyes as she added, 'He's had to go into hospital for a minor operation, that's why I'm here on my own. It's about this proposed building for Lord Saunders. Julian's been invited to do the decorating and some of the interior design and so on. You know the kind of work he does.' 'But how marvellous!' Susan looked thrilled. 'You and Daniel and Andy all working together—it'll be like old times. I'm so sorry about Julian though. I hope it won't be a long job.'

'Oh no, it's nothing serious, just a little thing that's been nagging for some time.' Forgive me, Julian, she added silently, remembering the extremity of pain on his face before they lifted him on to the stretcher. Susan nodded and led the way into the long, comfortable living room, littered with toys. 'That's all right then, and we'll hope to see him soon.' Cassandra had brought Julian home once or twice when they had been in the neighbourhood, or passing through on the way to carry out some commission, and he was a favourite with Susan, as he was with everybody who knew him. Susan began pushing some of the toys together, clicking her tongue at the untidiness of her offspring and making room on the big, chintzcovered sofa beside the fire. 'I'm just dying to hear all your news, Cass, and all about Florida and everything, but I suppose, as you two are here on business, that'll have to wait. Andy's had to go into Oxford to pick up some fittings for a special job, and he's taken the horrors with him. Just imagine what will happen when they see that gorgeous car, Cassandra, they'll go crazy. You'll have to put it in wraps if you don't want sticky fingers all over it. Now do sit down, both of you, while I finish getting tea for the boys. Is it too late for a cuppa for you two, or would you rather have a drink?' Cassandra said she'd love tea, and when Daniel agreed she added quickly, 'Let me come and help you, Sue.' That way she would avoid being alone with him again. But Susan wouldn't hear of it. 'Certainly not! I won't have you in the kitchen in that super dress. Besides, you're "family" and you must entertain our guest, mustn't she, Daniel?' Daniel, who had been standing listening to this conversation, said quietly, 'I should enjoy that.'

'Shan't be long, then. Make yourselves comfy.' Susan whisked away. When the door had closed Daniel came over to the fire and said, 'Shall we sit down?' He indicated the soft depths of the well-worn sofa, but Cassandra ignored the gesture and sat down in a fireside chair with a straight back. Daniel raised his brows slightly, shrugged, and settled himself comfortably on the sofa, long legs stretched out in front of him, very much at home. He looked at her in silence for so long that she began to get jittery, wondering what on earth she could say that wouldn't sound stiff and stilted, and invite one of his mocking comebacks. But it was Daniel who spoke first. 'Why didn't you tell me about Julian French being in hospital?' he said. She met his gaze and looked away again quickly. 'I—I don't seem to have had an opportunity.' That was a pretty feeble excuse and they both knew it. Everything she said to him seemed to be feeble, or defensive, or just plain idiotic. He really was having a most upsetting effect on her morale. 'It didn't seem important to the matter in hand,' she added, making it worse. 'Really?' he murmured. 'I should have thought it was very important—to you. And I'd have thought—seeing that you two are so close—you'd have been sick with worry about him. Even a minor operation has its risks.' She glared at him, seething. 'That's a filthy thing to say! Of course I'm worried about him, but it's got nothing at all to do with you.' 'Oh, but surely it has?' Her anger slid off him. 'I thought the object of this present exercise was to fix up our team for the work ahead. Certainly the inside decoration will come a little later in the proceedings, but I like to have an early conference with whoever it is

I'm going to work with. It makes for ease of planning if I have the finished article in mind, however it may be modified later. If French is going to be out of circulation for any length of time I think I should have been told.' 'Yes,' said Cassandra in a small voice, and because this was an impersonal line he was taking now, she added, 'I'm sorry.' Then she saw a possible way out. 'Perhaps it might be better if you looked for someone else? I could tell Julian that you wouldn't want to wait until he's fit again.' He lounged back in the corner of the sofa. 'Don't let's be in too much of a hurry, there are various things to consider. Besides'—the dark blue eyes narrowed—'it would be too bad to lose sight of you so soon, Cassandra, when I've just found you again after so long.' That was just fooling, of course, fight talk. But all the same her heart sank. She mustn't let him see how eager she was to get away from him or he would make it awkward for her, out of sheer cussedness. Already he had shown how much he enjoyed baiting her and making her look silly. She supposed it satisfied his masculine vanity. He seemed to be waiting for her to reply and when she didn't he picked up a building journal that was lying beside him and began to leaf through it idly. Cassandra sat back in her chair and nerved herself to study him. He had changed. Not so much in looks, he had always been good- looking, in a dark, vital way, but six years ago he had been twenty-five, a young man on the bottom rung of the ladder, and his tremendous nervous and physical drive had showed. Now he was over thirty and well up the ladder of his chosen career. He looked infinitely confident, relaxed, authoritative. She knew from bitter experience that he could be hard and she thought that now he could probably be ruthless, if it suited him. She had no wish at all to make a test of that.

He lifted his head and met her considering look. 'Well?' 'I was thinking,' she said with some truth, 'that working professionally with—friends—isn't always a great success. That's why I suggested it might be better to call this thing off,-so far as Julian and I are concerned.' He grinned. 'With respect, Cassandra, you're talking utter rubbish. My own experience has been that colleagues invariably become friends when one's been working with them, if they're not friends at the start. And as for calling it off, what would Julian have to say about that? Or do you make the decisions?' he drawled provocatively. 'Of course I don't.' She recognised just in time that he was trying to bait her, and managed to keep her voice steady. To be drawn into a quarrel, which he would no doubt enjoy, would merely establish them on a more intimate footing than she was willing to acknowledge. Strangers don't quarrel. And strangers don't look at each other as Daniel was looking at her now, dark blue eyes glittering, daring her to say—what? Her heart fluttered uncomfortably. Then to her utmost relief she heard the sound of a car pulling up outside. 'That'll be Andy.' She jumped to her feet and ran out to greet him. 'Andy!' she cried, and there was her stepbrother climbing down from the Land-Rover. Andy, smiling all over his nice, cheerful face, looking dependable and ordinary in cord trousers and the bush jacket he always Wore on the job. After Daniel, the ordinariness was quite a relief.

Andy gave her a brotherly hug and held her away, looking her over with approval. 'You're very grand, Cass, and very prosperous.' His eye rested on the Rolls. 'Julian's? Is he with you, then?' 'No, I drove that great brute all the way from London by myself. Clever Cassandra, aren't I?' 'Brave Julian, to trust you with a car like that!' 'Beast! You taught me to drive, anyway.' She smiled up at him warmly. Whatever would her childhood have been without Andy, she wondered, and her heart swelled with gratitude to him for—well, for just being himself. 'How's Pops? Have you heard from him lately?' 'Yes, he was up here a few weeks ago. He looks a hundred per cent better every time I see him. He certainly chose the right time to retire, when he did.' Something in his voice made her say quickly, 'Things are going all right for you, aren't they, Andy? The business?' He looked rather serious, suddenly. 'Not many building firms have been exactly making their fortunes lately, Cass. But I expect we'll survive.' Then he brightened. 'I expect you've heard about the fairy godfather turning up from Canada to offer us a nice fat contract?' 'Daniel Marshall? Yes, I've heard about that, in fact he's here now,' she said rather shortly, and went on to explain how they had met and why she was here herself. Andy began to say how splendid it was that they would be seeing quite a lot of her, but she was spared the necessity of replying when the twins, who had been hanging round her clamouring for attention, refused to be silenced any longer. In blue jeans and bright tartan

shirts they were like a couple of small monkeys, jumping up and down and hanging on to her arms. They were good-looking boys, big for their four years. Simon, the extrovert, had his mother's cheerful smile and curly brown hair. Jeremy was quieter, with Andy's speculative gaze, so that even at this early age he seemed to be weighing things up in his mind. Cassandra ruffled their soft hair and wished they were still small enough to be hoisted up in her arms. 'Yes, Simon, I have brought you both a "presint". They're in my car. Let's go and look, shall we?' She went back to the Rolls, the boys scampering after her, and opened the luggage compartment. As she did so she looked up to see Daniel come out of the house towards Andy. The two men shook hands in the friendliest way and Andy clapped Daniel on the back and said something—she couldn't hear what—and they both laughed. Andy bears me no grudge, even if you do. That was what Daniel had said, and it was patently true. Suddenly Cassandra felt an outsider. She turned away quickly and rummaged in her case for the two toy tip-up trucks, one red, one blue, that she had bought this morning in Oxford Street. She gave Simon the red one and Jeremy the blue one, and their deafening shrieks of glee were soothing after the quiet tension of the past hour with Daniel. Over tea she began to suspect that the tension existed only inside herself. Everyone else seemed completely relaxed, treating this meeting as a happy occasion, with no undertones from the past. Andy, as usual interested in the doings of others as well as himself, plied Daniel with questions about his work in Canada, the buildings he had helped to design and put up, the state of various aspects of the building industry on the other side of the Atlantic. Cassandra devoted her attention to Susan and the twins and tried not to listen to what the two men were saying, but Daniel's deep voice seemed to reverberate inside her every time he spoke, and she found herself answering the twins' questions a little absent-mindedly. Simon and Jeremy were

unusually docile over tea and they kept eyeing the big dark stranger among them with a certain amount of apprehension. Cassandra knew exactly how they felt. Daniel hadn't attempted to chat them up. Beyond preliminary Hullos he hadn't taken very much notice of them. But towards the end of the meal he smiled across the table and said, 'Now, you two young men, what do you like doing?' Even Simon appeared to be struck dumb, and eventually Andy had to answer for them, 'Building, I'm afraid. I seem to have a couple of partners coming along in a few years.' Daniel nodded solemnly. 'Building! Well now, I wonder if you could use a mechanical grab—scoop—whatever you call it.' He held his hands apart to indicate the size. 'One that would really shift soil.' Their eyes widened, their mouth opened to breathe, in unison, 'Ooh! Super!' 'Done!' said Daniel, and to Andy, 'I know a bloke in Toronto who makes these things. Good and stout they are too—and they work. I'll ask him to ship one over.' Andy said, 'It's jolly good of you.' Susan said, 'You're a poppet, Daniel,' and the twins gazed at him, awed and bright-eyed. Conquests all round, Cassandra thought. It was so easy for him to charm people. No doubt he went about doing it all the time. But not me, she thought fiercely, not again. As they got up from the table Andy said, 'I'm taking Daniel along to the office to go over a few things about this Saunders building. Like to come along, Cass? I hear you and Julian are in on the project.'

'Only maybe, Andy,' she told him carefully. 'I don't think my presence is required at this stage, and anyway I've promised to help put your sons to bed.' The new tip-up trucks kept the twins happily occupied until bedtime, which was a riotous and splashy occupation. But Cassandra, wrapped in a bright blue towelling gown of Andy's, which would have gone round her slim figure twice over, enjoyed it, and. at least it gave her no time to brood over disturbing matters. By seven o'clock the hubbub had subsided slightly and two reasonably tired small boys in mauve and white striped pyjamas were installed in two small beds side by side, demanding that Aunty Cass read them a story. 'Could you bear to?' Susan asked. 'Then I could go down and put the finishing touches to the supper. It's only chicken casserole. I thought I'd do something easy, with Daniel and you coming, so there'd be no dashing in and out of the kitchen all the time. Anyway, I wouldn't make a special fuss for Daniel, he still seems like one of the family somehow. He's rather a pet, isn't he, Cassandra? He must have got on awfully well, but somehow he's just the same. Doesn't put on a big show. Andy's very bucked about working on this job with him. It's going to be something quite out of the ordinary.' She folded two damp bath towels and hung them over her arm. 'I do hope Julian decides to join in too, Cass. It would mean having you around these parts for a while, and that would be splendid. Your room's always here waiting for you, you know that, don't you, love?' 'Yes, I know, Sue. It still feels like home to me. But -' she smothered a sigh '—oh, I don't know. We'll have to wait and see when Julian's made up his mind. When he's fit enough, that is.' Susan gave her a quick glance. 'He is going to be all right, isn't he? You're not really worried about him?'

'I am, a bit,' Cassandra admitted, 'but I'm not making a big thing about it. He would hate me to.' Her sister-in-law nodded, paused for a moment, and then said, 'You like Julian a lot, don't you, Cass?' 'Oh, I do.' Her response was immediate and enthusiastic. 'He's an absolute darling.' Susan nodded again, as if she had satisfied herself about something, but Cassandra shook her head wryly. 'There isn't anything to tell, Sue. I'd tell you if there were.' At that moment pandemonium broke loose. While Simon had been scuffling through a pile of picture books, his brother had calmly annexed both the tip-up trucks. There , was a noisy tussle until Simon had established his ownership of the red one, then he thrust a book under Cassandra's nose. 'Read this,' he commanded. 'Please,' added Susan automatically. 'Please,' said Simon. 'Go on.' So Cassandra sat cross-legged on the floor between the two beds, the voluminous blue robe pulled in round her small waist, damp tendrils of hair clinging to her steamy forehead, and began, 'Push and Shove were two bulldozers ...' It really was an amusing story. Cassandra got quite involved in it herself. She had reached the part near the end where Push and Shove were quarrelling over which of them had the right to demolish the Very High Wall when she was aware that somebody had come into the room and was standing behind her in the doorway. Andy? Susan? But a faint tingle inside her told her it was neither of them.

'And Push pushed and pushed and pushed on one side. And Shove shoved and shoved and shoved on the other side and -' '—and the Very High Wall stayed right where it was,' put in a deep masculine voice. The boys were out of bed in a flash, squealing, 'Uncle Dan'l, Uncle Dan'l!' their earlier shyness forgotten. 'Quiet!' he ordered in a voice of thunder, which didn't fool them for one moment. Deftly he picked them both up, one under each arm, and deposited them back on their beds. Then he sat down at the bottom of Simon's bed and grinned at Cassandra. 'Let's hear the end of the story,' he said. 'You'd better finish it yourself,' she said with not very good grace. 'You seem quite familiar with it.' 'I am—very familiar. I have a small godson in Toronto whose favourite literature this is. But no, you go on, please.' There was nothing else for it. She lowered her head so that the bottom of a trouser leg, resting on a brown leather shoe, was completely out of her range of vision. Then she read rather rapidly how neither of the bulldozers managed to demolish the Very High Wall until it occurred to them that they should work in harmony and both push together on the same side of the wall. '... and they pushed and shoved, and shoved and pushed, and all at once the Very High Wall made a sort of groaning noise and all its great big bricks came crashing down. And Push and Shove stood there together until every bit of the Very High Wall was on the ground. Then they felt very happy because the Very High Wall wasn't there any more and because they were friends again, and they trundled off home together to their shed in the yard.'

'A nice moral tale,' said Daniel softly. 'A little friendliness and understanding will demolish the highest wall, won't it, Cassandra?' In the shaded light from the bedside lamp his eyes glittered like blue fire. Susan's voice called from the bottom of the stairs. 'Supper in ten minutes, you two. Tell the horrors to settle down and I'll be up to say goodnight.' Cassandra leaned down and kissed both the twins, hoping they didn't consider themselves too grown-up to be kissed by aunts. She hoped that Daniel wouldn't follow her out on to the landing, because in the flopping blue robe with her nose shiny from the bathroom steam and her hair in wisps, she must look a mess. But of course he did follow her, and as she reached out to open her bedroom door he was before her, grasping the handle. She lifted her eyebrows and, with as much dignity as she could muster, said, 'May I go into my room, please?' He grinned broadly. 'Of course. I just wanted to tell you—' 'Yes?' 'I just wanted to tell you how delightful you look in that get-up. I wish I were four years old again, to be put to bed and kissed goodnight.' 'Oh!' she breathed furiously, and as he let go of the handle she went in and slammed the door on him. Susan had kept the small, comfortable bedroom just as it had been when Cassandra had been living here. She pulled off the blue robe and threw it on the bed and began to tidy up for supper, trying to let the thought of all the happiness and love she had known in this house

soothe her. But it was no use; she had to admit that she was dreading the rest of the evening. This particular foursome—Andy and Susan, Daniel and herself—was so full of memories which, apparently, she was the only one to find disturbing. And Daniel was being abominable by adopting this mocking attitude towards her, implying that she was still a little seventeen-year-old, to be teased and patronised and flirted with, and possibly also to be made love to if he felt like it and had nothing better to do. Her hand shook as she jabbed in the final pin necessary to hold her silky pale hair in its most sophisticated style. She took particular care with her make-up, accenting her eyes more than usual. It seemed important that Daniel should see her as she was now—a successful young professional woman. She leaned to the glass, reasonably pleased with what she saw there. Her hair was immaculate, her skin as dewy-fresh as the adverts for her new moisturiser promised. Her eyes—yes, her eyes were her best point. Smoky brown, like kippers, Julian had called them, and she smiled, remembering. The new make-up gave them a darker, more mysterious look, more like old mahogany. I must remember to tell Julian that, she thought, and then felt guilty because poor old Julian had been going through what he called his 'carving-up. process' today, and she hadn't really had time to think about him. She would ring Roland after supper, just to make sure things had gone satisfactorily. She twisted in front of the long mirror, checking that the twins' bathtime antics had in no way disturbed the perfection of the model dress that so exactly matched her hair. She was uncomfortably aware of a sinking feeling inside and knew it was there because Daniel Marshall was downstairs in the living room; because in a few seconds she would have to go down and see him again, and meet those unnerving blue eyes. This was absurd. This was the sort of teenage reaction she was sure she had grown out of. She drew in a deep, steadying breath and went downstairs.

Daniel was alone in the living room, standing by the wide fireplace, where apple logs were burning redly, giving off a delicious aroma. He turned as she came into the room and smiled at her, and his smile wasn't teasing or mocking, it was a sincere sort of smile, as if he were really glad to see her, and it cut through her defences like a sharp knife through butter. 'Come over and enjoy the fire with me,' he said. 'Grand, isn't it? I haven't seen an apple-log fire for years.' She walked slowly across the room and stood on the opposite side of the fireplace. He regarded her with pleasure. 'You look lovely, Cassandra,' he said quite sincerely. 'Everything looks lovely, in fact.' He glanced round the long, comfortable room appreciatively. Susan had said she wasn't going to make any fuss for Daniel, but she had obviously gone to some pains to make the room look attractive. The toys were all tidied away, the chintzy covers on the chairs and on the sofa by the fire had been smoothed firmly into place and the cushions plumped up. At the other end of the room the table was laid for supper, with candles burning in twisted brass candlesticks, their yellowish light glowing softly against the dark oak of the refectory table. There were handcrocheted mats, gleaming wine glasses, a pretty arrangement of shaggy anemones in reds and blues. 'I'd forgotten how delightful this house is,' said Daniel. That, she thought, wasn't the only thing he had forgotten, but she made no reply for the simple reason that she couldn't think of one. She couldn't think of anything, in fact, except how devastatingly attractive he looked standing there in his well-cut suit, one arm lying along the mantelpiece. His dark head was turned towards her, eyes narrowed thoughtfully, the thick, curved black lashes almost touching his cheeks.

'There's one thing I didn't forget, Cassandra,' he said quietly, and it was as if he could read her thoughts, 'and that's what a beautiful girl you are. Now I've found you again, I don't propose to lose sight of you.' 'Really?' she countered lightly. 'Yes, really,' he said, not lightly at all. She felt her throat go dry. It was bad enough when he was teasing and mocking, but. at least she could do her best to play along with that. But if he were, going to be serious, to look at her in a way that still had the power to drain all the strength out of her body 'Hullo, you two.' Andy came into the room, a bottle of wine in each hand. 'Jolly good of you to bring these along, Daniel,' he said. 'Care to wrestle with them while I go up and say goodnight to the boys? Corkscrew on the table.' 'I'll have a go.' Daniel took the bottles from him. 'Everything O.K.?' Andy beamed at them both, rubbing his large hands together, quite obviously delighted to be host at a reunion such as this. 'Fine. Splendid.' Daniel carried the bottles of wine to the table. Cassandra said, 'Andy, may I put through a call to London before we have supper? I'm very anxious to know how Julian has come through his operation.' 'Yes, of course. Susan was telling me about it—jolly bad luck for him. I hope you'll have good news.' 'Thank you, Andy, so do I.' Her tone was as fervent as if Julian were her nearest and dearest and not just her chief. She could feel Daniel's

eyes following her as she swept past him into the hall. That, she thought childishly, will show him I'm not to be bowled over by a smouldering look, like I was at seventeen. But her knees were weak as she sank gratefully into a chair by the telephone table in the hall. The call to London went through quickly and Magda answered. 'Cassandra? I thought I recognised your voice. You'll be wanting news of Julian?' 'Oh yes, please.' Suddenly she realised just how much she wanted news of Julian. It was all wrong that adolescent yearnings after a man like Daniel should have put someone really worthwhile like Julian into the background of her mind. 'Please,' she said again, feeling ashamed. 'Well, Roland said to tell you that he was at the operation and Julian came through very well and the condition might have been worse. A few weeks should put him back on full power again. That what you wanted to hear?' 'Oh yes!' She felt enormously relieved. 'Did Roland say when I could visit?' 'He said you could go in tomorrow, but he thought it might be better to leave it over until the next day. Oh, and Julian sent you a message—almost as soon as he was properly round from the anaesthetic, apparently. He said "Tell Cassandra I'm relying on her." I expect you get the gist?' Magda sounded rather puzzled. 'Yes, I think I do. It's about the offer of a new commission that turned up just before he was taken ill.' He really was keen on it, then. She couldn't remember when a proposed job had taken his fancy so strongly, not even the one they had just finished in Florida. She sighed a little. 'Will you please ask Roland to tell him I'm in Gloucestershire now and -' what could she say that wouldn't commit

herself and wouldn't disappoint Julian? '—and that I'm finding out all I can about it and I'll report back to him when I see him the day after tomorrow.' She talked to Magda a little longer and left Andy's phone number in case of need, and then she went slowly back to the living room. The other three were already there, grouped round the fire with drinks, and three pairs of eyes turned to her as she walked into the room. Andy put a glass into her hand. 'What news, love?' He said it gently as if it was an understood thing between them all that Julian was her man. 'The operation's been a success and he's come through well.' With Daniel's eyes on her she spoke as woodenly as a phone-answering service. Susan set down her drink and came and put her arm round Cassandra's shoulder. 'I'm so glad for you, Cass dear,' she said. 'That'll be a weight off you, won't it?' 'It will indeed.' It was, of course it was. And she was grateful that both Andy and Susan were—although they didn't know it— reinforcing the impression she wanted to make on Daniel; that she was tied up with Julian. She flicked a glance at him, to see if the point had gone home. 'That's good news,' he said quietly. 'I'm very glad.' She was surprised at this apparent concern for a man he had met only casually, years ago, but he was sipping his drink and she learned nothing from what she could see of his face. 'You won't have to dash back to London, then?' Susan asked as they took their places at the table. 'You can stay with us a bit longer?'

Cassandra started on her grapefruit before she replied. 'I could see Julian tomorrow, but his doctor says it might be better to leave it until the next day.' She wouldn't commit herself until she knew what Daniel's plans were; she certainly wasn't going to let herself in for offering him a lift to London. She heard Andy say, 'How long are you here for this time, Daniel?' and the reply, 'I'm making an early start tomorrow. I'm bidden to lunch with our illustrious client at his club.' That settled it. 'I could stay on until tomorrow afternoon, if you like, Susan,' she said. She hoped Daniel would get the point that she was deliberately avoiding travelling with him, but she didn't dare to look in his direction. Susan pulled a face and said that it wasn't long enough but she supposed it would have to do. 'But you'll be coming back soon to work on this new building,' she added happily, 'and then perhaps we'll see lots of you,' to which suggestion Cassandra made no reply and Susan went out to the kitchen to fetch the casserole. Supper turned out to be not so much of an ordeal as Cassandra had feared. Susan wanted to know all about Florida and if it was the Paradise it was cracked up to be, and Cassandra enthused, 'Um— heaven! Golden sands— —palm trees—blue blue water—sunshine— the lot!' and added with a spice of meaning, 'Of course, Julian and I did work some of the time.' She enlarged on the delights of the trip, of excursions to the orange orchards, to Palm Beach, to Miami, embroidering shamelessly here and there, adding to the glamour, bringing in Julian's name on every possible pretext. By the end of the meal she was convinced that Daniel must have read the message, loud and clear. She couldn't say to him, crudely, 'Hands off, I belong to another man,' but she could show him plainly that that was how things were.

Susan listened entranced to every word and eventually Andy had to remind her that they had all finished eating and that coffee might be a good idea. She jumped up, smiling apologetically, saying that Cassandra was a lucky girl. 'We'll have coffee by the fire, people. Gather round while I go and see to it.' Andy went across to the window and peered out before pulling the curtains. 'Evenings are drawing out,' he remarked conversationally. 'It's not quite dark yet. Cassandra love, you'd better put your swanky motor car away in the garage tonight. I can't have a thing like that outside the premises, might give the tax men ideas if they saw it. Come on, we'll get it inside and the old Land-Rover can stay in the yard.' Cassandra went out with him and manoeuvred the gleaming Rolls into the shadowy depths of the old barn they used for a garage. She had just switched off the engine when Susan's voice called from the direction of the house, 'Andy—telephone! Mr Bates wants a word with you about some fencing.' 'No rest for the wicked,' he muttered. 'Leave the doors, Cass, I'll come back and lock up.' Better lock the car as well, it would be too awful if anything happened to Julian's beautiful machine. Now that she had switched off the headlights it seemed quite dark inside the barn and she had to fumble to try to find the door lock. Finally she managed to- drop the key into the debris of straw and twigs and dried mud that covered the floor. Country life! she thought with a grin, going down on her heels to grovel for the key.

'Having fun?' enquired an amused voice, and she looked up to see Daniel's tall form in the doorway, outlined against the last fading streaks of yellow light in the sky. 'I've dropped my key,' she said shortly. He came further into the shadowy barn and felt around the ground near to her so that their hands inevitably touched. She was sure he was doing it on purpose. His head was very close and she could smell the familiar, faintly astringent dressing he always used on his hair. She shivered convulsively. 'You're cold,' he said. 'Leave it—I'll go in and get a torch.' He took her arm and pulled her to her feet. Then, instead of letting her go, his hand slipped to the small of her back and he drew her towards him. Her heart thudding, she stood quite still in his embrace; it would be naive to try to wriggle away. At all costs she must present a more worldly and sophisticated image than she had done out in the wood. That had been a disaster. She was thankful that her back was towards the door so that he couldn't possibly see the expression on her face, which would surely have been a giveaway. The silence seemed to stretch and quiver between them. Then he said, 'Did you really hate me so much for walking out on you all those years ago, Cassandra?' For a moment she was struck dumb. So he hadn't forgotten ! He hadn't been taken in for one moment by all her talk about not being able to forgive him for letting Andy down. Then, by some miracle, she managed to laugh lightly. 'Hate you? Oh, Daniel, you overestimate your own fatal attraction. Of course I didn't hate you. It was just one of those things, as I soon discovered. Just—propinquity, and I was too young then to realise how potent it can be—for the moment. And how utterly unimportant soon after.'

'And now? Now I suppose you know all about the results of propinquity?' 'Wouldn't you like to know?' she countered. 'Yes,' he said tautly, 'I would. And what is more, I intend to find out.' And in the darkness he drew her closer against him and kissed her, a hard, seeking, demanding kiss that went on and on. She felt the blood rushing wildly through her body and she thought despairingly, Oh God, it's all beginning again like it was before. I can't let it happen, I can't, I can't. Everything in her yearned to soften and yield to him, but by an enormous effort of what little will remained to her she resisted the temptation and remained passive in his arms, not pushing him away, but not responding either. At last he took his mouth away. 'That,' he said, 'is just something on account.' He chuckled and she knew he hadn't been disturbed by the kiss. It had been quite deliberate; 'Just to see what we have to build on, if you know what I mean.' 'There is nothing to build on,' she said coolly. 'No?' She could well imagine the lift of the dark eyebrows. 'No,' she repeated firmly. 'Ah well,' he sighed. 'I shall put my trust in propinquity.' Cassandra turned and walked back over the cobbled yard, getting away from him as rapidly as possible, vowing fiercely that there wasn't going to be any propinquity either. She was going to use every single method she could think of to discourage Julian from taking on this commission. Working close to Daniel, being exposed day after day to that devastating magnetism he had for her, was something too dangerous to contemplate, if she didn't want to be mortally hurt

again, to be reduced to a state that even now she could hardly trust herself to recall.

CHAPTER FOUR NOTHING that happened for the rest of the evening caused Cassandra's resolve to weaken in the slightest degree. In fact that resolve actually stiffened as they all sat round the fire and drank coffee and she listened to Daniel enlarging on his ideas for Lord Saunders' building commission. He was so full of confidence in his own opinions, she told herself, and even though he glanced towards herself and Susan, politely including them in the discussion, she was convinced that it was Andy he was out to impress. Local boy made good, she thought disdainfully. The Big Success, the International Architect, came back home to patronise the man who had stayed behind to run a family building firm and would never be more than moderately prosperous! And dear, easy-going Andy, who hadn't a single spark of envy in him, lapping it all up, perhaps even a little flattered that the great man had chosen his own insignificant building firm to execute such wonderful plans! By the time Daniel stood up to leave, Cassandra was seething inside with anger and contempt, and she could scarcely bring herself to take the hand he held out. 'Au revoir, Cassandra,' he said in that quiet, deep voice that still, maddeningly, made her shake inside in spite of her dislike of its owner. 'We'll be meeting up again very soon.' His handclasp was hard and firm and deliberate. She withdrew her own hand smoothly and said, 'Oh yes, I expect so,' as if it were a matter of complete indifference to her. For a moment the vivid blue eyes held her own, while she managed to return his gaze with a politely social smile. Then his shoulders moved slightly and he turned to Susan to thank her again for a delightful evening and a delicious meal, before he went out to join Andy, who was revving up the Land-Rover in the yard.

Susan stood in the open doorway until the car lights had disappeared along the lane. Then she joined Cassandra, who was already in the kitchen, preparing to wash up, having found an apron and a pair of pink rubber gloves. 'That,' said Cassandra, hoping to steer the conversation away from personalities, 'was the best chicken casserole I've ever tasted. I'd love to have the recipe, may I?' 'Of course.' Susan smiled absently and sighed a little sigh of content. 'I think it all went off quite well. Thank goodness the horrors went to sleep and didn't play up. They were terribly impressed with Daniel— thought he was the tops —just a bit awestruck too, I think. He has that effect, hasn't he? You know, star quality. I thought he might look a bit askance at humble cottage fare by now, 'cos he must have done quite a bit of wining and dining in the high echelons. But he's not a bit stuffy really—very easy to entertain.' She picked up a pile of plates dreamily and carried them to the sink. 'Yes,' said Cassandra, turning on the tap with a vicious splash. Susan glanced quickly at her. 'Don't you like him, Cass? I always thought you two got on very well together that time he was staying in the village. Of course it's ages ago now, I suppose you've almost forgotten it.' 'Oh, I had, until I saw him again.' Not even to Susan would she admit that she had never forgotten Daniel and was beginning to wonder if she ever would. She swished up the suds in the bowl and added casually, 'I don't think he's improved. He's much too pleased with himself for my taste.' Her sister-in-law pursed her lips. 'Well, yes, I see what you mean. But I'd have thought that was more like confidence than just vanity. He has got on awfully well, and very quickly,, and men do need bags

of self-assurance in this competitive world. Sometimes,' she added, with the experience of six years of marriage, 'I think they put on a big act when they're a bit nervous and not very sure of themselves.' 'Daniel nervous? Ha!' 'Oh, you never know,' Susan said lightly. 'My own three men are constantly surprising me.' They were each occupied with their own thoughts while they finished the washing up, but back in the sitting room Cassandra said impulsively, 'Sue, didn't Andy mind— really—when Daniel went off to Canada like he did, that time? I mean, he had promised to come into the business and they had spent ages talking everything over, and it was letting Andy down badly, just when Pops had retired too.' Susan flopped into a chair with a grunt of pleasant fatigue. 'Andy mind? Goodness, no! He knew all the time that Daniel had what it takes to get right to the top. Joining up with Andy was only a stopgap until the right opportunity turned up. I suppose that working in a building firm would have been grass-roots experience for Daniel, but I'm certain Andy never expected him to make a permanent attachment here.' 'Oh!' said Cassandra rather bleakly. She stared into the fire, where the logs had burned to a grey heap of ash with a small red glow in the centre, and the old feeling of hurt and humiliation swept over her, because that was exactly what she had expected—that Daniel would make a permanent attachment. Ah well, she wouldn't make that mistake again. She smiled and leaned towards Susan. 'Never mind all that old stuff. Tell me about the twins' new play group.' The fascinating topic of her nephews was still being pursued when their father came in, rubbing his hands and bringing his hands and bringing a gust of cold air in with him. 'Going chilly tonight,' he

remarked amiably. 'I stopped for a tot with Daniel at his hotel and then we got talking.' He lowered his large bulk into a chair and regarded the two girls happily. 'Well, this is a turn-up for the book and no mistake. Who'd have thought we'd all be together like this again? You know, you've got to hand it to old Daniel, he's really got what it takes, absolutely brimming over with ideas. I've worked with plenty of architects, but he's got 'em all beat in my opinion.' Cassandra wriggled impatiently. Andy and Susan were both dears, but she had no wish to join the Daniel Marshall fan club herself and very soon she pleaded tiredness and went up to bed. To bed, but not to sleep. There was something that had to be faced first. She lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. The sky had cleared and pale moonlight seeped into the room, throwing a dark silhouette of the branches of the apple tree on to the white space above her. It was all so familiar; it tugged at her memories and emotions, made it difficult to think clearly. But that was what she must try to do. She had a strong feeling that somehow this was a crisis in her life and she mustn't fumble it again. Was she being unreasonable and unfair to Daniel? Susan and Andy seemed to have known from the beginning that Daniel was merely intending to put in time here until something better turned up. But the message that had come across to her was very different. There was this strong; unassailable feeling of utter certainty that they would fall in love and spend the rest of their lives together. The first time their eyes had met. across the room she had known, and she was sure that he felt the same. It couldn't have been just a fantasy of a romantic teenager. Or could it? The bedroom was warm, but she shivered violently. Impetuously she threw back the bedclothes, pulled on a wrap and went across to stand by the window, staring out beyond the apple tree to the fields and woods where she had walked with Daniel, that other spring six years ago. Daniel had been constantly in and out of the house then. In the evenings he would talk to Pops and Andy, learn about the business,

make plans to join it. But the afternoons he spent with Cassandra. They both of them had free time on their hands just then; he, staying with elderly godparents in the neighbouring village until he got fixed up with work that would help his career; she, putting in time between leaving school and starting at art college in London, and helping Emmy, the housekeeper who had been with them ever since she could remember. Those afternoons had opened the door on a magic new world for Cassandra. For her nothing was real except Daniel. When she was with him she came alive, young, sparkling, blissful. Sometimes they sat by the fire, sometimes they tramped the fields and woods, just then emerging into springtime life. Once they went on an expedition, she on her bike, Daniel borrowing Andy's ancient one. They pedalled up and down the Cotswold hills, laughing, teasing each other companionably, now and again stopping to enjoy a glimpse of some mellowed old mansion, exquisite in honey-gold stone, half hidden behind the trees. 'Maybe some day I'll design something wonderful,' Daniel had said, 'something to last hundreds of years, like that.' He pulled a face and added, 'But probably all I'll leave behind to posterity will be a few council houses and a bus shelter or two.' 'Don't pretend to be modest,' she laughed, 'it doesn't convince. You know you're going to be a huge success.' She closed her eyes. 'I can see it all— the grand opening of the super theatre complex, or opera house, or town hall, or some such. With Daniel Marshall, architect, sitting on the dais with the bigwigs, surrounded by potted chrysanthemums, smiling graciously to receive the congratulations of all present. Yes, I can picture it all perfectly.' She opened her eyes again and met his, looking at her very hard, as if he was trying to decide about something. For a long moment they had stood in silence, leaning on the handlebars of their bicycles, and the tension between them had stretched nearly to breaking point. Then Daniel

had moved and said, 'You're a real tonic, Cassandra. Let's push on, shall we?' Half disappointed, half relieved, she had got on to her bike again and they had pedalled off down the hill. She was willing to wait. This, she told herself, was no teenage flirtation, and when the time was right he would speak. It didn't worry her that he never tried to kiss her, but often, when she felt his eyes on her as they all sat having a meal at home, she shivered inside as if their lips had met. And all the time she had this strong, absolutely sure feeling that they were both waiting. When things had settled down; when Andy and Susan were married; when Pops had retired and gone to live in Dorset. Then, she knew, it would all begin. Susan and Andy were married on the twentieth of April at the village church. 'Just very quiet,' Susan decided. 'We don't want a big splash. I've only got Granny, and Andy's father isn't too fit. You'll be my bridesmaid, won't you, Cass? Afterwards we'll have a few friends at home, and I'll make a cake and do the eats myself.' Cassandra had helped, and loved every minute of it, loved it even more when she knew that Andy had asked Daniel to be his best man. In those days every single thing had taken on a new vividness, all her senses had suddenly sharpened and become keen and tingling. Now, as she leaned her head against the window frame and gazed out over the moonlit countryside, it was as if she were back again in the little church with the sun throwing dappled flecks of jewel colours through the big east window. She smelled again the scent of shell-pink rosebuds, thrilled again to the sight of Daniel standing only a little way from her, looking wonderful in his dark suit and white linen, his mouth firm and serious, not now curved into its usual whimsical line, his eyes lowered as Susan and Andy walked slowly forward to the altar. Then, deliberately, he had lifted his head and looked full into her face. Next time it will be us, his look seemed to say, and it was as

if they had exchanged vows just as surely as Andy and Susan had done. Much later, when the bridal pair had left for their honeymoon and the older folks had gone home, some of the younger guests had driven out to a country club to dine and dance, and Cassandra and Daniel, as bridesmaid and best man, were paired off together. It was a gay party, with good food and champagne, and Cassandra had begun to feel delightfully hazy, partly with the wine, but mostly because Daniel held her close against him while they danced in the warm, dim room. The beat of the music was deep and throbbing and she gave herself up to the bliss of the moment. He was so tall that she could rest her head against his shoulder as they moved to the rhythm of the music. His cheek was against her hair and she closed her eyes, moving in a dream. This was what she had known would happen; this was the beginning of living, she thought with absolute certainty. They had driven home slowly along the lanes in the car that Daniel had hired for the day, with the windows down, letting in the night scents of spring and she had curled up against him like a kitten, happy and trustful. The house was in darkness when they reached it, except for a light over the porch. Pops, and Emmy the housekeeper, would have retired long ago. Daniel pulled up the car in the side yard and switched off the engine, and in the sudden silence Cassandra held her breath, waiting for him to take her in his arms, to tell her he loved her. But instead he opened the door and came round to her side of the car to help her out. Perhaps she had really stumbled as she stepped out, or perhaps it was the longing to be held close that made her sway towards him. His arms went round her, steadying her, and then her face lifted to his, lips parted. She was trembling and she felt warm and soft and infinitely inviting. 'Daniel,' she whispered. 'Oh, Daniel.'

In the distant light from the porch his face was a pale blur and his body a dark shape with only the white of his shirt glimmering against the background. For a moment he didn't move or respond. Then, with a little groan, his arms tightened round her slim waist and he drew her hard against him, pressing her to him with a kind of desperation. His mouth came down on hers and there was no gentleness in his kiss, only a wild, almost savage need. The kisses she had known before had been tentative boys' kisses, but this was different. Now she was caught up in a man's strong passion and she responded with all the ardour of a girl, ready for womanhood, a girl in love who had been waiting for this moment of ecstasy for weeks, dreaming of it, willing it. She was drowned in a throbbing desire, hardly realising the pain as her flesh was pressed back against the door of the car, his hands, his lips, seeking the smooth warmth of her. Her arms went round his neck, her fingers burying themselves in the harsh springiness of his hair. She felt shameless, wanton, but she didn't care. All she knew was that this was meant to be, that they were linked together for the rest of their lives—one person, not two. Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. He took his hands away and stepped back, and Cassandra groped for the handle of the car door and clung to it to save herself from falling. She felt weak and dizzy and lost, now that he was not holding her. 'I shouldn't have let that happen, Cassandra,' he said in a strained, harsh voice. 'I'd better see you in now.' 'But ...' she began. But you haven't said you love me, she wanted to say, but the words wouldn't come. His arm was at her elbow and he was urging her towards the lighted porch. 'Got your key?' he enquired, and when she shook her head dumbly he turned the handle and the door opened. He held it for her to step inside and when he didn't follow she swallowed hard and found enough voice to say, 'Won't you come in—for—for a coffee or

something?' She felt cold and frightened; this was all going terribly wrong, not a bit as she had imagined. He glanced up the darkened stairway. 'Your stepfather's in bed,' he said. 'Pops wouldn't mind,' she pleaded. 'Just for a few minutes -' She was beyond pride now, beyond anything except the yearning to be in his arms again. But he shook his head almost sternly. 'No, Cassandra,' he said as if he were speaking to a child. 'It wouldn't do at all.' Then something about the small, vulnerable figure in the yellow bridesmaid's dress must have touched him, for he said more gently, 'It's been a lovely day, a lovely evening. Let's leave it that way, shall we?' But her throat ached so much that she couldn't reply. He stood searching her face and frowning slightly. Then suddenly he said, 'Tell you what, Cassandra, meet me tomorrow morning and we'll talk—just the two of us. By the stile at the end of the field. Right?' At his words hope flooded back. How stupid she had been! Of course, she should have known, he was just being chivalrous. He wasn't a boy, merely out to get a few kisses and caresses. This deep bond that she sensed between the two of them was as real to him as it was to her; he wouldn't want to cheapen it by a premature expression on a physical level alone. We'll talk—just the two of us, he'd said. That could only mean one thing, couldn't it? 'Right?' he asked again. 'Straight after breakfast—about half past nine?' 'Right,' she breathed, her eyes very bright.

He stood for a moment looking down at her and even in the dim light of the porch she was aware of the air of forcefulness about him, a high-voltage quality, that couldn't be mistaken or ignored. Then, abruptly, he nodded and touched her shoulder briefly. 'Goodnight, Cassandra,' he said, and strode off into the darkness. Six years ago! It felt just like yesterday. Cassandra shivered and turned away from the window, pacing up and down the carpet in her bare feet to try to relieve the tension she was generating inside herself. Recalling it all in detail like this was sheer madness, but it had to be done. There was only one more memory that must be faced. She sank down on to the bed and sat, hugging her knees, facing that memory. It had been a perfect April morning next day, with the dew still sparkling on the grass, and the birds singing like mad, and every green thing bursting into growth. She had seen Daniel from the distance, waiting by the stile, and she had run eagerly across the field to him, her heart singing with the birds. But his first words sent a chill through her. 'I'm afraid I haven't got long, Cassandra. I've got to take the car back to the garage and then I'm catching the London train.' 'You're—you're going to London?' She blinked at him stupidly. 'London first, then flying to Canada.' He glanced at her and then looked away rather quickly. 'Sorry to spring it on you like this. I meant to tell you last night, but'—he smiled very wryly—'I'm ashamed to say that the champagne was rather too much for me, perhaps for both of us, and in the end the time didn't seem appropriate. So there it is. My big chance has turned up. I've been taken on by one of the best firms of architects in Toronto. I can still hardly believe it myself. As a matter of fact my godfather—the one I'm staying with—has been pulling some strings on my behalf, but I

never really believed that anything would come of it. Say you're pleased for me.' She touched her lips with her tongue, but they remained dry. She felt dried all through, shrivelled, like an old, old woman. All she could think of to say was, 'Does Andy know?' He moved impatiently. 'Of course Andy knows. I told him straight away yesterday morning, as soon as I heard.' 'You told him then? Just before his wedding, when he was so happy and everything was so—so settled? When he was relying on you.' 'Nothing's ever settled in this world, Cassandra,' he said in a curious, harsh voice. 'Sometimes you have to make decisions.' She stared at him, feeling nothing. It was like the time she had fallen out of the apple tree and broken her arm. Just at first there was only a sort of numbed surprise; it was afterwards that the hurt began. And this time it wasn't just her arm that was broken, it was her heart. It was funny really, if you could see the joke. For him, last night had meant merely that he had drunk too much champagne. For her it had been a lifting up to the stars, a magical ecstatic time, the fulfilment of something that had been inevitable right from the very beginning. He was talking rather quickly now—about success and how much it meant to him. He was saying something conventional about how much her friendship had helped and encouraged him, how he felt sure that she, too, would attain success. But she was scarcely taking in what he said. This couldn't really be happening; in a minute the Daniel she knew would come back and tell her he'd only been teasing her. This man was a stranger, this man with the hard, purposeful face. It was all like a terrible dream, and she was frightened, so frightened that she had to get away quickly. That was when she told him she

didn't want success, and he had replied that he did, and that he meant to get it. She never knew how she managed to keep her pride, but somehow she did. She even managed to wish him luck. 'Goodbye then, Daniel, you must go or you'll miss your train.' She smiled. It wasn't too difficult when you felt nothing. He stood looking at her, his eyes very blue in the April sunshine. 'Goodbye, Cassandra.' He didn't hold out his hand or attempt to touch her. Then he said something rather odd. He said, 'The time was wrong, wasn't it?' And he turned abruptly and strode off towards the lane where his car was parked. That was the last she had heard or seen of Daniel Marshall until this afternoon.

It would have been satisfying, looking back to it all now, to be able to remind herself that she had been sensible, but she hadn't. For days she had wandered about miserably, avoiding speaking to anyone if she could help it because every time she did her eyes would flood with uncontrollable tears. By the time Andy and Susan came back from their honeymoon she had been so pale and washed out that they were quite alarmed, and she had to invent a virus to explain her lack of interest in life. They were concerned about her. Susan tried to make her rest and fed her with newlaid eggs and chicken broth. Andy took her out with him in the Land-Rover when he had calls to make—to building sites, to the station, to the quarry. It was at the quarry that the horrible moment happened. Andy was talking to the manager and Cassandra had wandered off on her own and found herself standing on the edge of the workings, looking down idly at the men loading up trucks far

below, like tiny toy figures, and thinking about Daniel and feeling the horrid lump of misery inside her that she felt all the time now. Then, as she looked down, the thought came to her: how easy it would be just to let herself go over the edge, not feel this agony any more. She would never have done it, she wasn't that kind of girl, and the mere thought sent her jumping back from the edge, her stomach turning over. She never told anyone, of course, but two days later the dreams began. The dreams were always the same. Always she was balanced on an edge, as at the quarry. Then she was falling— falling—— She would waken to clutching terror, her heart thumping as if it would escape from her body, and it would be a long long time before she could bring herself to turn out the light and try to sleep. She never knew when the dreams finally stopped. All that summer they kept returning, until she was sometimes almost scared to go to bed at night. But finally, when she had been in London at college for a while, she realised she hadn't had one of the dreams since she left home. And now she was back, sitting on her own bed, and Daniel was back too, and even remembering the dreams brought back the same cold, panicky feeling. She knew she hadn't a hope of sleeping yet. She glanced at the bedside clock and saw that it was after one. Andy and Susan must have come up to bed ages ago; they kept early hours in the country. She pulled her wrap closer, wriggled her feet into furry slippers, and opened the door. Everywhere was quiet and dark. She hesitated for a moment. Then, as she had so often done before, when everyone else was asleep, she stole down to the kitchen, heated milk and raided the biscuit box. She carried the mug, and a couple of biscuits, to the sitting room and switched on the lamp near the

fireplace. The logs had burned out but a comforting warmth still rose from the heaped grey ash. She crouched on the rug, sipping the milk and nibbling the biscuits and began to feel better. Perhaps she hadn't been so silly after all, making herself re-live the past. It had shown her some things that she hadn't realised before. One was that her great love affair with Daniel had never existed, except in her own imagination. What to her had been a deep experience of oneness had been nothing of the kind to him. He had never felt more than friendship, unless you counted that night of the wedding, and that, as he had said so crudely, had been due to the champagne. For her it had been first love, utterly shattering. For him it hadn't been love at all, first, last or any other kind. Perhaps if she had seen the truth earlier her feeling for Daniel would have died a natural death by now. Perhaps what had kept it alive was nothing more than an illusion, a trick of memory. Suddenly everything was very clear. Today had been a warning. It had shown her that she was just as vulnerable as ever where Daniel was concerned. It had also shown her that he would be quite ready to start some sort of affair with her if she were foolish enough to let him. He wouldn't hold back now as he had done six years ago. Then she had been a rather young seventeen. Now—as she had been at pains to show him—she was a, more sophisticated, more experienced young woman. He would regard her as fair game. She pulled herself to her feet, leaning on the nearest easy chair. This was the chair that Daniel had occupied earlier. His dark head had made that indentation in the cushion. On an uncontrollable impulse she laid her face against the cushion, recognising the astringent smell of whatever it was he had always used on his hair, and an alarming weakness ran all through her body.

Then, purposefully, she straightened up. No more foolishness. Daniel Marshall spelt danger to her. She was going to run away from it, and him, as fast and as far as she could.

Next morning Cassandra drove the twins to their play group in the Rolls and was amused to notice that they were not nearly as impressed by its magnificence as their mother had expected. Obviously, to them a Rolls was merely a motor car like any other motor car. Now a bulldozer, a crane, an earth-shifter, or any of the other hardware associated with the building trade—that was quite different! They nearly jumped out of their seats with excitement when the car passed two heavy lorries stacked high with red sand, and chattered knowingly about the composition of concrete for the remainder of the journey. When they arrived at the church hall, however, it was a different matter. Their small friends were rapturous about the Rolls and gathered round ooh-ing and aah-ing and comparing it with their own family vehicles, while Cassandra greeted the two young married women who ran the play group, both of whom she remembered from her schooldays. 'Doing pretty well for yourself, aren't you?' laughed Barbara Stevens, the redhead, eyeing the Rolls covetously. 'I wish I'd found myself a millionaire.' Cassandra had to explain about Julian and her wonderful job, and what had brought her back to Gloucestershire. But by now the admiring throng around the Rolls was getting a trifle out of hand and the girls had to step in to avert the approaching chaos. Cassandra seized the opportunity to get behind the wheel again and back carefully down the entrance drive.

Simon and Jeremy had disappeared into the group of milling small children and she decided not to pick them out specially to say goodbye. With a stab of regret she thought that they would be at their junior school next time she saw them, and quite grown out of this endearing stage. She would have to keep well away from Andy and Sue and her old home for some considerable time to come—until Lord Saunders' building job was completely finished and Daniel had returned to Canada. Her eyes a little misty because it had been so lovely being back home again, she waved to Barbara and Doreen and they smiled and waved back. 'Come and see us again soon,' they called. 'Yes, I will,' she called back, knowing sadly that she wasn't going to be able to keep that promise. Saying goodbye to Andy and Susan, after an early lunch, was even more difficult, for they were both happily making plans which included having her with them soon, for an indefinite period. By the time she was finally on the road to London she was feeling very low indeed, and every kind of a hypocrite. Oh why, she thought, trying to concentrate on the road ahead, did Luigi Orlandi's wife have to persuade him to go to South America? Why couldn't he have stayed in Europe and taken on the Saunders commission, and then Daniel would still have been safely in Canada, and she would never have encountered him again, particularly in the very place to awaken old miseries most poignantly. It was almost three o'clock when she drove into the garage, which was a few minutes' walk from the studio. It was a low-level garage, housing about twenty cars, and she breathed a sigh of relief when the Rolls was safely parked in its own berth. There it would remain, she resolved firmly, until Julian was fit to drive again. No more jaunts to Gloucestershire if she knew anything about it!

She left her overnight case in the car and took out the armful of daffodils she had gathered fresh this morning in the garden. It must be about visiting time at the hospital and she decided to find a taxi and go there straight away in the hope of being able to see Julian. She had an itchy desire to get things settled with him at the earliest possible moment. Somehow she must manage to persuade him not to accept the Saunders commission. Not until that had been done could she relax and get on with the work at the studio. Yesterday morning it had taken her some time to locate Julian in the large hospital, but today she went straight to the ward and looked around for someone who seemed official. To her relief she spotted the Sister she had seen yesterday and approached her, clutching her daffodils. The Sister recognised her and smiled. Cassandra thought her somewhat intimidating, with her iron-grey hair and straight back, but when she smiled she became human and approachable. 'You've come to see Mr French?' 'Yes, please, Sister, if I may. How is he today?' 'He's doing quite well. Mr Scott-James is satisfied with him. He may have visitors, but only five minutes, mind.' Sister beckoned to a passing nurse. 'Nurse, take this young lady to see Mr French, please.' To Cassandra she added, 'He has a room to himself today, after his operation.' Cassandra followed the nurse to a side ward, where she tapped at a door, opened it a little way and said, 'You have another visitor, Mr French.' Cassandra was wearing the honey-beige and black outfit again today, with her hair done in its elegant coil, and the young nurse gave her a frankly interested scrutiny as she held the door open. Julian must

have made an impression already, Cassandra thought, amused. He carried an air of distinction around with him, quite unselfconsciously, and she was accustomed to receiving curious glances when she was out with him. She smiled her thanks to the girl and went into the small, neat, sunny room. Just for a moment she caught a glimpse of his face before he looked round and recognised her. He was propped against white pillows, gazing at the wall in front of him, and she had a sudden catch in her throat when she saw his expression. He looked thin and drawn and— and sad. Not just normally fatigued after an operation, but utterly dejected and unhappy. She had never seen him look quite like that before, but then she always saw him when he was steamed up, about his work. Then he turned and saw her and his eyes lit. 'Cassandra —but this is wonderful! I didn't really expect you until tomorrow.' She put the daffodils on the locker beside his bed and touched his shoulder gently. 'How's it going, Julian?' He reached up weakly and put a hand over hers, pressing it against the silk of his pyjama jacket. 'Splendidly, so they tell me. Sit down, Cass dear, and let me feast my eyes upon you. You look delectable enough to eat. Now, we're not going to talk about me and my ailments—I want to hear how you got on in Gloucestershire and what you think of the Saunders project'. He sounded tired and he spoke slowly, as if he were measuring his strength; but his eyes held their old zest for work and Cassandra felt a brute because what she was going to say would damp his spirits to some degree. Always before she had been wholeheartedly on his side about the work they did and that was how Julian liked it to be. 'Some people function best against friction,' he often said, 'but not me. Make as many suggestions as you like, Cassandra. Criticise my ideas, to your heart's content. Tell me if you think a proposed commission isn't going to work out. Then we

can talk it all over and come to an agreement. But once we start I have to know you're on my side. I have to have harmony.' That was how it had been. No problems at all. But now -! He had seen the daffodils. 'Oh, Cass, how absolutely marvellous ! Let me smell them.' She lifted the flowers towards him and he buried his face in them. When he looked up again his brown eyes were quite misty. 'The colour—the smell of them—they bring spring and hope right into the room.' 'I picked them fresh this morning in my brother's garden,' she said, and she looked away quickly because she was shaken by the emotion in his voice and his face once again had that strange, almost sad look she had surprised on it when she first walked into the room. 'Thank you, Cass, I shall lie and look at them and get better very quickly, dreaming of Gloucestershire. And now, my dear, tell me what you think about it all.' She knew what he was asking and she felt like a murderer. 'Well,' she began carefully, 'the project isn't quite what Gregory Paige's letter seemed to suggest. For one thing it seems to be only in the very early stages, and for another, there's been a change of architects. It seems that Orlandi has turned down the commission and—and -' Stupidly she found herself unable to say Daniel's name. But she didn't have to. 'Yes, Marshall's taken it on. Daniel Marshall.' 'You know?' He nodded, and she saw that he was beginning to tire. 'Came to see me this morning—very civil of him. All fixed up. Good to work with him again—we get along together. Told, me you two are old friends, so we've arranged -'

But she wasn't to hear what Julian had arranged, for at that moment the door opened and Sister appeared. 'Time's up,' she said in a voice that brooked no argument. 'You look tired, Mr French.' She glanced sternly at Cassandra who stood up and, after a moment's hesitation, leaned forward and kissed Julian's cheek. 'Get better soon,' she murmured, and went out of the room. She picked up a taxi outside the hospital, gave the address of the studio and then sat back and stared out of the window at the passing traffic, seeing nothing but Julian's white face and the way he had crumpled up just before she left. She felt quite weak with relief that she hadn't been able to put into action her plan to persuade him to turn down the Gloucestershire commission. His work meant so much to him and he was obviously intrigued by this job. How awful she would have felt if any selfish act on her part had thrown cold water on his enthusiasm and possibly even slowed his recovery! And as it happened she wouldn't have achieved her object in any case, for Daniel had got in first. Yes, she thought, that was just what Daniel would do. When he set his heart on something he wouldn't let anything stand in his way, as she knew only too well. The taxi deposited her, still bristling about his underhand methods, outside the front door of the Georgian house in the square, but as she closed the door she was almost immediately soothed by the calm atmosphere of well-oiled tranquillity that always pervaded the house. Her anger evaporated and in its place she was conscious of an almost odd relief that the whole matter had now been taken out of her hands. Julian was the person who mattered to her, and if working with Daniel Marshall was what Julian wanted, then she would try to adjust to that too, for Julian's sake. She had been temporarily thrown off balance by meeting Daniel again, but she wasn't a teenager any longer, and if she kept her attention on her work and refused to allow him to dominate her mind and her emotions she should be safe from this contemptible weakness she felt whenever he came near her.

Having made this sensible decision, Cassandra squared her shoulders slightly, took out her key, and let herself into the apartment. She smelled it immediately—cigar smoke, for which Benson was certainly not responsible. Julian smoked cigars occasionally, but Julian was in hospital. A horrid suspicion rose in her mind, which became an even more horrid certainty as she pushed open the studio door and saw Daniel lounging in one of Julian's beautiful Regency chairs. He got to his feet as she went into the studio. He was wearing a formal dark suit today and he looked disgustingly handsome, she thought fleetingly, with his tanned face and those blue eyes with their long black lashes that nearly swept his cheek, when he was looking quizzical—as he was at this moment. 'Hullo again,' he said, smiling. Hastily she reminded herself of her resolution not to allow him to get under her skin. 'What on earth are you doing here?' she enquired coldly. He placed his cigar carefully on an Indian ashtray of brass, exquisitely inlaid with copper, and picked it up to examine it before he replied. 'Just at the moment I'm lost in admiration of my surroundings,' he said, looking .with pleasure round the elegantly-appointed studio. 'Perfect taste your boy-friend has!' She came further into the room and put her handbag on a side table. 'Yes, he has,' she agreed briefly. 'And -' She stopped abruptly. She had nearly added, 'And he's not my boy-friend,' before she realised that that was just the very impression she wished to make on Daniel—that she and Julian were very close. 'And—?' he queried. She improvised quickly. 'And you haven't answered my question.'

'What am I doing here?' He strolled across the long room and stood near her, passing his hand appreciatively over the smooth inlaid surface of the table before he replied. 'It's quite in order for me to be here, I assure you. Julian has very kindly offered to lend me this apartment for the time being. He also says that I may use all the facilities, including his attractive and invaluable assistant, Miss Cassandra Smith.' His glance slid over her wickedly and she felt the quick heat rise to her cheeks. But before she could think of any reply he had added, with a grin, 'I meant, of course, that I may use your expertise on the job. I do hope I didn't give you the wrong impression,' he added mockingly. 'That remark,' she said, 'is not funny.' 'No? Well, it wasn't really intended to be hilarious. I merely thought it might have drawn forth a flicker of a smile. But I see the war is still on, for some reason beyond my comprehension.' Cassandra lifted delicately-marked eyebrows. 'There isn't any war. It's just that I think you have behaved very deceitfully in rushing back to London and finding out somehow where Julian is, and making sure you got to him before I did. That was why you came back first thing this morning, wasn't it? Because you knew I didn't intend to leave until later. Why couldn't you have been straightforward with me and told me what you meant to do?' He stuck his hands deep into his pockets, looking down at her, still with that little smile on his lips. 'Because, my dear Cassandra, I happen to need Julian French on this job with me, and I wouldn't have trusted you not to be planning to persuade him to turn down the commission. That's what you intended to do, wasn't it? Yes, I can see by your face that it was. I won't ask you why—not at the moment, anyway. Later, perhaps, you may care to explain.'

His smoothness made her boil up inside and all her careful resolve to keep calm and not allow him to get under her skin collapsed dismally. 'I'll tell you now, this minute,' she blazed at him. 'I meant to warn Julian that in my opinion you weren't to be trusted not to break your word.' Suddenly his mouth was a thin, hard line, his eyes like chips of blue ice. 'That's a fairly rotten thing to say about a man. Suppose you take it back?' He spoke very softly and there was something dangerous in his face that sent a wriggle of cold fear through her, replacing the anger. But she lifted her chin and glared back at him. 'Why should I take it back?' Daniel took a step towards her and she backed away, but the side table was behind her. His hand went out and took her wrist in a painful grip. 'Go on,' he said relentlessly, 'retract and apologise. You know quite well you've no reason for saying that.' She wriggled feebly in his grasp. 'Let me go, you're hurting me!' 'That's nothing to what I'll do if you hurl insults like that one around,' he told her grimly. 'If you want to fight, fight fair.' Suddenly Cassandra couldn't fight any way at all. 'All right,' she said in an exhausted voice. 'I withdraw it. I'm sorry.' He let her go. and she sank into the nearest chair, rubbing her wrist absently, engulfed by a feeling of utter failure. She had been so sure she could meet Daniel and keep cool and poised. And now look—the very first time she was in his company she had behaved like a hysterical schoolgirl. Her mouth drooped. She was bitterly disappointed in herself. He stood looking down at her. Then he said, 'You're tired, Cassandra,' in that deep, gentle voice that made her heart jolt inside

her. She gave him a startled look and then she realised that she was indeed tired. It seemed that ever since they got back from Florida her nerves had been on the stretch, what with one thing and another. 'I've been making friends with Benson, Julian's man,' Daniel said. 'He suggested tea and I've no doubt it will be appearing soon. Now, you have a rest while I go and tell him there'll be two of us for tea. There, put your feet up and be comfy.' He drew up an embroidered footstool, took her ankles in his hands and swivelled her legs round. 'There you are, now just relax. There's nothing like losing your temper for draining your energy. A foolish habit!' he added with a maddening grin, and went out of the studio, leaving Cassandra half way between weak laughter and even weaker tears. She didn't know which was the most shattering— Daniel being arrogant and withering, or Daniel being kind and gentle. She only knew that he had the power to walk into her world and convulse it like an earthquake, and there seemed to be nothing she could do about it.

CHAPTER FIVE DANIEL was back in a few minutes. He strolled across the studio and settled himself in a chair opposite Cassandra, stretching out his long legs in front of him and looking, she thought resentfully, for all the world as if he owned the place. 'Tea's on the way,' he reported. 'Benson seems pleased that you're home again—in a melancholy sort of way. In fact he seems a melancholy sort of bloke.' 'He's very efficient,' she said stiffly, 'and very loyal. And he thinks the world of Julian.' Daniel gave her a sideways look but didn't pursue the subject of Julian. 'Benson's provided some Chelsea buns; he tells me they're your special weakness. Do you remember that day we cycled over to Chipping Campden and had tea at a funny old cottage? I remember you were a bun addict even then and I warned you that you'd lose your lovely shape. I couldn't have been more wrong, you're a lovelier shape than ever.' His eyes passed over her slowly and with evident pleasure. He was insolent, she told herself, absolutely shameless. But her pulses began to beat heavily as his gaze lingered on her slender waist and travelled appreciatively upwards. Benson arrived with the tea-tray then and greeted her with his usual sorrowful expression. 'I've put Mr Marshall in Mr French's bedroom, miss,' he said. 'Is that correct?' The sleeping accommodation in the apartment consisted of two bedrooms on the second floor—Julian's room and the guest room—apart from Benson's bed-sitting room on the first floor, next to the kitchen. Cassandra had slept in the guest room the night before last and Benson evidently expected her to remain there.

'Oh no, Benson,' she said hastily, 'I shall be going back to my own flat this evening, so Mr Marshall can have the guest room.' 'Very good, miss, I'll change the things round, then.' Benson retired soft-footed and closed the door. Daniel waved towards the tray. 'You're the hostess.' She poured him a cup. and passed it to him without a word and he settled back comfortably into his chair. 'Now, this is what I call cosy,' he remarked in a tone that she could only describe to herself as smug. 'We don't run to anything as pleasant as afternoon tea in the New World. It's good to come back to one's roots.' Cassandra didn't reply. She sipped her tea, not looking at him. If he wanted to make small talk he could do it on his own. He picked up the plate of Chelsea buns and waved it in front of her. 'Come on,' he wheedled, 'be friendly and bury the hatchet. Quarrelling's a mug's game.' She was on the point of refusing. She had an obscure feeling that if she accepted she would also be accepting Daniel's overtures of friendship, and that was what she must guard against. She stared at the buns, their coils plump and glossy with icing, and with dark blobs of succulent currants lurking just below the surface. The hurried lunch she had had with Andy and Susan seemed a long time ago. Her hand reached out and took a Chelsea bun and she saw Daniel smile as if he had won a point. This whole affair was turning into a stupid game, she thought; it was far more like a game than a war. Perhaps if she could think of it as a game it wouldn't be so difficult. Daniel helped himself to a bun and munched it appreciatively. 'Um, jolly good!' He finished it and then said, 'Look, Cassandra, I didn't realise you were sleeping here. I wouldn't dream of turning you out of your room.'

'It's not my room,' she said stiffly. 'I merely put up here the night that Julian was taken into hospital, in case I was needed in a hurry. I'll move out again straight away.' 'Why bother to move?' he suggested lazily. 'If we're going to work together it would be handy if we were on the same premises; then you'd be here to put me in the picture. Besides'— he grinned his wicked grin—'I might be lonely. I'm sure the lugubrious Benson would be an adequate chaperone, if the thought of us occupying adjoining bedrooms worries you.' It certainly did worry her, though she would rather have died than admit it. The idea of having Daniel sleeping next door to her, with Benson on the floor below, was quite enough to turn her careful poise into an agitated internal fluttering. 'It wouldn't worry me in the least,' she said distantly. 'I prefer to go back to my own flat, that's all.' 'As you wish.' His voice was deep and amused. 'I shall consider it a compliment.' 'Compliment?' The word took her off guard and she looked up, startled. He was smiling straight into her eyes, his own eyes squeezed up into narrow slits of blue, the dark thick lashes smudges against his cheeks. 'A compliment to my undoubted charm,' he explained blandly, 'because you evidently can't trust yourself to spend the night in such -' he drawled out the word '—propinquity.' 'Oh!' exclaimed Cassandra, her poise finally slipping into rage. She clattered her cup on to its saucer. 'I shall go and pack straight away,' she said, and flounced out of the studio and up the stairs to the second floor.

It took only minutes to transfer to her already-packed bag the few things she had left here when she set out for Gloucestershire. She glanced in the mirror to check that her hair was tidy and her make-up immaculate, then descended the stairs softly, in the hope that she could escape without encountering Daniel again. It would be soon enough to see him when she absolutely had to. He was waiting for her in the square lobby, examining Julian's collection of Japanese prints hanging all round the walls. 'Ready?' he asked. 'I'll get a taxi.' 'No need, thanks,' she said distantly. 'It's only a couple of minutes' walk.' 'Right, then I'll see you home. Carry your bag, miss?' In silence they walked out of the apartment and round the square; in silence along the wide main road, with the darkened trees of the park on the far side and the ceaseless traffic swishing past them; in silence Cassandra indicated a turning off, another. Then, 'Don't bother to come any further,' she said. 'This is where I -' and ended up with a little squeal, her hand to her lips. Outside the building that housed her flat a dismal scene presented itself. The pavement was swilling in water. One fire engine seemed to be preparing to move away, another stood a little further on. Policemen were controlling a small knot of bystanders who were still lingering hopefully, although there didn't seem anything spectacular happening. But just then an ambulance drove up and stopped at the front entrance. 'Oh no!' breathed Cassandra, horrified. 'It's your place?' Daniel asked, and she nodded, speechless. 'Wait here,' he told her brusquely. He dropped her case and pushed his way through the crowd. She watched him approach a policeman

and engage him in conversation. After a minute or two Daniel returned. 'I'm afraid it looks as if it might be your flat that's suffered. An electrical fault in the wiring under the floor that has probably been smouldering for hours before it finally got a hold. The tenant, they tell me, is a Miss Smith, and she's been away. I take it you're the said Miss Smith?' 'The ambulance?' urged Cassandra. 'Who's been hurt?' 'The woman caretaker, apparently. She suspected something was wrong and let herself into the flat. It seems she was immediately overcome by fumes and smoke and keeled over and struck her head in falling. They think it may not be too serious—she's come round again now.' Two ambulance men came out of the front door, carrying a stretcher, and Cassandra pushed her way through the crowd. 'It's all right, I live here,' she told the policeman who would have barred her way. She skidded and almost fell as she reached the ambulance and then the sight of the woman on the stretcher, covered up to the chin by a blanket, brought her up sharp, clinging on to the back of the vehicle. The caretaker's normally healthy cheeks were the colour of putty and there was a wide black smudge across one side of her face. Her eyes were closed and her greying hair invisible under a wide first-aid bandage. Cassandra felt rather sick. 'Mrs Rayner, dear, are you all right?' Stupid question—of course she wasn't all right, but she opened her eyes and focussed vaguely on Cassandra's face. 'It's Miss Smith?' she whispered. 'I'm afraid you'll find your things in a bit of mess. I'm sorry, I -' Her eyes closed again and the two men slid the stretcher into the ambulance. 'Which hospital are you taking her to?' Cassandra asked anxiously.

'The Middlesex, miss.' That was where Julian was, too. 'We'll look after her, she'll be O.K.' Cassandra frowned uncertainly. She would have felt happier if she could have gone with Mrs Rayner in the ambulance, but there were so many other things—the extent of the damage to the flat and her things in it; all sorts of matters to be dealt with, no doubt, such as police enquiries; notifying the insurance company; checking on the loss. She pushed back her hair worriedly, trying to recall anything she might have left switched on which could be responsible for the fire, but she found she couldn't think very clearly. Her temples throbbed and her head felt empty, and the ambulance and the fire engine and the fingering knot of sightseers blurred together as tears of exhaustion swam into her eyes. Then, as she heard the ambulance drive away, the figure of Daniel detached itself from the crowd and came towards her, and suddenly she was aware of a great thankfulness that he was there. He was walking purposefully, as if he had the whole situation under control, and when he reached her side he took one look at her and then fished in his pocket and pulled out a clean white handkerchief. 'Cheer up, love,' he told her bracingly, putting the handkerchief into her hand, 'it might be worse. The whole place might have gone up in flames.' She blinked up at him, chin trembling. 'Mrs Rayner, the housekeeper, she looked absolutely awful. I thought she was dead.' 'Too much imagination—that's always been your trouble, my child,' he told her briskly. 'Now then—practical matters. The police want you to come up to the flat, just to confirm that it is your place, and so on. You won't be able to get into it yet, not until the firemen have completely finished their job.' He glanced at her wilting figure doubtfully. 'Do you feel up to it? I'll come with you if you like.' 'Oh, would you?' she said with a relief she didn't attempt to hide. She blew her nose and dabbed her eyes, and then, quite naturally, as she

would have spoken to him six years ago, she said, 'Sorry to make such a fool of myself, Daniel. Do I look an awful mess?' He took the handkerchief from her and solemnly rubbed a smudge on her cheek and another on the side of her nose; then he stood back like an artist assessing his work. 'You look beautiful, my infant,' he said, and put his arm firmly round her shoulders. 'Come along.' Together they followed the large policeman up the stairs and Cassandra leaned against Daniel's strong, comforting body and forgot that she was a poised and sophisticated young woman. It just seemed right that he should take charge of her and everything else. The atmosphere of soft luxury which usually pervaded the flats had been replaced by one of grimy dishevelment. A hose snaked up the side of the stairway; the pale-gold carpet was sodden and streaked with dirt; and an acrid smell of burning was everywhere. On the first floor the door to Cassandra's flat stood open and inside she could see firemen moving about. The policeman stopped in the doorway and took out his notebook. 'This your flat, miss?' He glanced towards Daniel and added, 'Afraid we can't let you go in, sir, not until the floor's been made safe.' Cassandra peered round the policeman and felt like bursting into tears again. It was a complete and absolute shambles. Everything was blackened with a thick paste of soot and water. All the pale wood fitments were charred and the edges of the table and desk had gashes eaten out of the sides as if some hungry animal had been gnawing at them. The sliding door of the wardrobe had been pushed back, and inside she caught a glimpse of what had been her very satisfactory selection of clothes. The violet corduroy outfit was a streaky grey, and the white satin evening dress she had bought only last week with such delight clung tipsily to its hanger by one strap, a blackened ruin.

'Oh!' she grieved, and felt Daniel's hand seek for hers and press it hard. She didn't draw her own hand away. The policeman was waiting, pencil poised. 'Yes,' she told him, 'this is my flat. Was,' she added wryly. She gave him the particulars he asked for and he thanked her and said that would be all for the present and she would no doubt contact her own insurance company. After that there was nothing to stay for. Daniel tucked the hand he was holding through his arm and said, 'Come on, let's get back to sanity. We can't do any more here at present and you've had quite enough for one day.' They had been silent on the walk here and they were silent on the walk back, but it was a 'different kind of silence and Cassandra wasn't in the mood to wonder why. She only knew that in spite of the fact that most of her worldly possessions had just gone up in smoke she felt strangely peaceful. Back at the apartment they went straight up to the studio. 'I think we both deserve a drink,' Daniel said. 'Where does Julian keep his store?' Cassandra sank into a chair and waved towards the chiffonier. 'Help yourself.' She watched him hold up two bottles of brandy, comparing them, and then selecting one. 'We won't raid his best Cognac,' he decided. 'This one will do splendidly.' He poured out the drinks, brought one across to Cassandra and settled down near her with the other. 'I really must buy in some bottles to top up Julian's stock,' he remarked, sipping his brandy with appreciation. 'I simply can't guzzle the old boy's liquor as well as using his house and his manservant and his bedroom and— everything.' He slanted his wicked smile towards her on that last word, but it was different. Now he was just fooling, and the situation between the two of them was lighter, easier. It had almost returned to

what it had been all those years ago when Cassandra had dreamed up some heaven-sent rapport between them. She knew that that had all been in her imagination; but at least now she felt no need to fight him any more. She looked at him, sitting relaxed, at the strength of him, the almost arrogant carriage of his dark head and wondered if, in time, they might even be friends, without this stupid, weak yearning on her part to be close to him, to touch him, to feel his hands on her. But even as the thought crossed her mind she felt that familiar shiver ripple down her spine and looked away again quickly. She put down her glass. 'I'd better go and find Benson and tell him what's happened and organise things,' she said rather vaguely. 'Good idea.' He chuckled. 'He'll be quite dizzy, changing beds around all the time. By the way, where would you like to eat? I'm in your hands; I wouldn't know where to start looking for a good eating place in London now. Or should we stay in and see if Benson can rustle up something for us? Just as you like.' She glanced down at her dress and saw that it had somehow managed to acquire a wide streak of soot across the pale honey-beige jersey, just above the hem. She pulled a face. 'Stay in, I'm afraid. Quite literally I haven't a thing to wear. There's quite a good place near, where they send in a cooked meal. Julian and I often have one if we're working late.' He glanced quickly at her. There was the merest pause before he said, 'Oh yes? Very convenient!' He stood up. 'Well, if you'll get things going on the domestic front I'll pop along to the hospital and check up on Julian's progress and I could enquire about your Mrs -What was the caretaker's name?' 'Mrs Rayner. Oh yes, that would, be kind of you. I'd feel much happier if I knew she wasn't seriously injured.' Cassandra pulled

herself out of her chair and smoothed her dress, still feeling decidedly shaky in spite of the brandy. 'And if you'll tell me the name of your insurance company I could get on to them on the phone. That ought to be done straight away.' She told him, and showed him the way to the phone in the study. He opened the appropriate directory and she turned to the door. Here she paused. 'Daniel——' He looked round enquiringly. 'I just wanted to say thank you for being such a help and comfort and—and taking things over for me.' He regarded her thoughtfully. 'You wouldn't rather have coped on your own? Women's Lib and all that?' There was a gleam in the deep blue eyes. 'Oh heavens, no! I was very grateful.' He nodded. 'That's all right, then. My pleasure.' He turned back to the directory. Cassandra felt reassured. Daniel really was behaving in a most practical and businesslike way now. No teasing. No innuendoes to make her pulses flutter uncomfortably. If he chose to stay that way she might manage to cope with the situation, she decided, and went to find Benson. .Benson's quarters were at the back of the house, across the square lobby: a well-equipped kitchen, and next to it, a bed-sitting room with his own bathroom. He was in the kitchen, cleaning Julian's collection of ivory carvings. In spite of its modern fittings the kitchen, like the rest of the house, retained its earlier form and design, and still had its massive mahogany door and elaborate plaster-work on the ceiling. And Benson always seemed to fit in very well with his surroundings, belonging definitely to the old school of

higher servants. As Cassandra went into the kitchen he stood up, tall and black-coated, a green baize apron tied with tapes round his middle. 'Yes, miss?' he enquired in his melancholy voice, putting down the soft cleaning brush. Cassandra explained about the fire and Benson's long face lengthened even further. 'A nasty thing to happen, miss, a very nasty thing indeed. A mercy you weren't hurt yourself!' He was almost shaken from his usual impassivity. 'Can I be of any assistance?' 'Thank you, Benson, but Mr Marshall is looking after everything for me. I shall have to make my headquarters here for a while. Can you cope with the two of us?' She asked the question from politeness; Benson, she was sure, could cope with anything. 'Certainly, miss. Will you be taking a meal at home this evening? If so, I'll go and have a word with Paolo now. I prefer to make arrangements myself rather than telephone.' 'Oh, would you, Benson? Thank you so much. We'll have to change the bedrooms round again. I'll have the spare room and Mr Marshall can go back into Mr French's room. But I'll see to all that if you'll arrange the meal. About eight, then?' She gave Benson her delightful smile, which he acknowledged with a dignified bend of his grey head, and then she went up to arrange the bedrooms on the second floor, taking her suitcase with her. She paused for a moment on the narrow, straight staircase, to listen, but all was quiet in the study, so she concluded that Daniel had finished his telephoning and gone out. Up here the arrangement of the rooms was very simple, just two bedrooms, one large that was Julian's and one smaller, the guest room. The modernisation had been kept to a minimum, consisting of a small bathroom sliced from each original room, with—between the

slices—a high cupboard housing hot water cistern and linen shelves. The bed in the spare room was already made up, so she dealt with Julian's room, which Daniel was going to occupy, checking that everything was in order, although with Benson in charge this was hardly necessary. She turned in the doorway and looked back into the room, on leaving. It was odd to think of Daniel occupying Julian's room, almost taking Julian's place in the household. A couple of days ago, if anyone had told her that this might happen she would have said they were crazy. Nevertheless it was true. Tonight Daniel would sleep here and she would sleep in the next room, and in spite of what he had said about Benson acting as chaperone, the fact remained that Benson would be quite a long way away, on the floor below, and she and Daniel would be up here on their own. Actually, since she had worked here for Julian she had never had cause to go into his bedroom, and now she took in the simple, almost austere lines of the room with its shaggy white carpet, its built-in closets, and wide bed with a blue, heavily-tasselled spread in a textured material which Julian was specially fond of. Like the rest of the apartment the room was elegant and yet comfortable. Daniel should consider himself lucky to be sleeping here and not in some hotel room, she thought. And then, for some ridiculous reason, she found that she was trembling, which annoyed her so much that she went out and shut the door with a smart click. She would not let herself swoon over Daniel as if she were still a vulnerable seventeen! She was old enough and experienced enough by now to behave with poise and self-possession in this rather bizarre situation. Lifting her chin a fraction, she went into the spare room and set to work to remove the soot smudge from her dress. An hour later Cassandra was in the study putting the finishing touches to the preparations for the meal she was to share with Daniel. When Julian entertained his friends to dinner they dined in the studio, where there was a particularly fine Regency circular table, but for less formal meals he used the study.

The study was very much a Julian French room—designed for its allpurpose function and yet marked by his own flair for colour and texture. A white melamine table folded out from a long narrow counter of the same material, which served as a sideboard and ran along the wall opposite the window. The wide dining chairs were painted glossy white and had seats of thick, knobbly, orangecoloured cotton that matched the deeply cushioned U-shaped sofa. The carpet was a velvety dark brown and the walls, with their geometrical modern pictures, matt white. The beautiful desk in the window had its own sheen of natural elm. Cassandra had set the table herself, choosing table mats of greens and browns and orange linen. The silver glinted, the wine glasses sparkled. She had been out to buy a spray of mimosa and arranged it in a pottery jug on the long counter, so that the tiny yellow balls hung in a soft drift above the table, giving out their own indefinable spring fragrance. She had put out all the lights except the one that pulled down over the table. Now she stood back to assess the effect. Yes, it looked good. It was all part of the image she wanted to present to Daniel—that of an independent, modern young career woman; not at all the little seventeen-year-old country girl he had known six years ago. She was afraid that the image might have been slightly dented by the way she had behaved about the fire; dissolving into tears was no part of the desired effect. But anyone could be upset by a happening like that, she assured herself. Her conduct for the time she would have to spend in Daniel's company this evening would be entirely different—cool and composed; friendly but decidedly not provocative. The position she would take up would be that of a colleague, working on the same job. These days women and men worked together all the time without a constant emphasis on the old battle of the sexes. That was how she worked with Julian. She drew back her shoulders and lifted her chin and although there was no mirror in the room she had a clear picture in her mind of how she looked a few minutes ago, when she had finished bathing and

dressing: a tallish girl, slender but nicely curved, her fair hair coiled smoothly, her make-up impeccable—especially the eye-liner, which had run so dismally when she had wept over Mrs Rayner. The smudge of soot on her dress was hardly noticeable now, and she had put on pendant earrings of polished jet. Julian had bought them for her at a sale of Victoriana recently, and they made a sparkling contrast to the matt black embroidery on the neckline of her dress. Sandals of black patent completed the picture. Yes, everything harmonised: herself, the room, the whole atmosphere. Modern without being too brash, professional without being too formal. She would keep the conversation to the work they were going to do together, and all should go well. The main thing was to avoid any suggestion that this meal was an intimate occasion. Perhaps the light was a little too low over the table. It gave the very impression of intimacy she wanted to avoid. She reached up to push it higher and as she did so a deep voice behind her remarked, 'Well now, isn't that a pretty picture?' Cassandra dropped her arms from their revealing position and spun round, the colour flaring into her cheeks. 'Oh!' One hand went to her breast in an involuntary gesture. 'Oh, you startled me. I didn't hear you come in.' He smiled at her. 'I must startle you more often then. It suits you.' As she met that deep blue, squeezed-up smile the picture she had just had of herself began to dissolve. Her heartbeat quickened and her body felt full of warmth and a kind of excitement. Cool! she ordered herself. Cool and calm! 'I'll go and see Benson about the food and tell him you're in,' she said. 'I hope you like Boeuf Stroganoff, because that's what he's got for us, I believe.' She laughed a light, hostess laugh. 'You never know what

you're going to get from Benson's friend Paolo round the corner, but it's always very well cooked.' 'I'm sure it will be splendid,' he Said. 'It's the company that's most important. I've brought you these.' He took his hand from behind his back and held out a florist's cellophane-wrapped spray towards her. Inside were six perfect crimson rosebuds in a bed of delicate green fern. 'Oh!' breathed Cassandra, startled out of her careful composure for the second time in as many minutes. 'They're beautiful!' Red roses, she thought. It wasn't—it couldn't be—a deliberate choice on his part. Surely he couldn't be saying what red roses were supposed to say—'I love you'. For a moment her pulses raced, then she pulled herself together. Of course he didn't love her, if he had he would have taken her to Canada with him. You don't meet a girl again after six years and say, 'I'm sorry, I hadn't time to fall in love with you before, but now I've got a few months to spare I might get around to it.' That wasn't her idea of love. She took the roses from their transparent wrapping and sniffed them. 'Um, gorgeous! Thank you, Daniel.' Fleetingly she wondered what it would have felt like to throw her arms round his neck and thank him properly—the way a man should be thanked when he brings a girl red roses. She hadn't any doubt what his response would be; he'd taken every opportunity of showing her that she attracted him and that he would take anything she was willing to offer him. Take, but not give. 'The girl in the shop said they smelled good,' he said. Of course, that explained it, it was the girl in the shop who had suggested red roses, not Daniel himself. A man who looked as fabulous as that, coming in to buy flowers, would only mean one thing to a girl in a flower shop.

He bent over the roses, one hand on her shoulder, his head only inches from her face, and it was the familiar astringent smell of his dark hair that filled her senses, not the smell of the flowers. She moved back abruptly and said, 'I must get them into water straight away.' Benson was in the kitchen, wearing the white jacket he sported when he served meals. 'Oh, Benson, would you find a container for these, please?' If she arranged them herself and went back into the study carrying them like a—like a love-token it would give Daniel quite the wrong impression. Benson took the roses from her. 'Certainly, miss. Would you be ready for me to serve now?' 'In about five minutes.' Mr Marshall has only just come in from the— from the hospital.' With a pang of guilt she realised that she hadn't enquired about Julian. That should have been the first thing she asked about, and she had forgotten. She hurried back to the study. Daniel was standing over by the desk, lighting a cigarette. 'What news from the hospital?' she said. 'I suppose you didn't manage to get in to see Julian?' 'Oh, but indeed I did. There was a different nurse on duty this evening and I got on the right side of her.' He grinned. 'I told her about your mishap and that her patient would be worried and upset if he happened to hear about the fire on the radio, or see it in the morning paper. So she let me in for a few minutes and I was able to reassure him.' 'How was he?' she said eagerly. No need to pretend the eagerness!

'Better than this morning, I thought. Rather anxious about you, though. I told him you were absolutely O.K. but a bit overtired and that I'd bullied you into resting—that was true, wasn't it?' She frowned. There was something wrong about Daniel apologising for her absence to Julian, Daniel taking charge of her and telling her what she might do or not do. She said, 'I'd have come with you if I'd thought I might be able to see him. I thought it would be too late.' 'Of course you would,' he said soothingly. 'I explained that to him. He sent his love and said he was looking forward to seeing you tomorrow afternoon, if you can make it.' 'Of course I can make it,' she said rather crossly. 'I'm longing to see him.' He smiled faintly. 'Yes, I know you are, Cassandra. No need to labour the point. Oh, and you'll be wanting to hear news of your Mrs Rayner too. She's "quite satisfactory", they told me, and should be home tomorrow. Shock and a bump on the head—no concussion, fortunately.' 'Oh good, that's a relief,' Cassandra said, and smiled brightly at him. 'I expect you're ready for dinner. Shall I show you your room first?' He stubbed out the scarcely-smoked cigarette. 'I'm trying to give it up,' he grimaced. 'Yes, please, I'd like to wash off the grime of London taxis.' She led the way up the narrow staircase. 'That's Julian's room, the one you're having. I think you'll find everything you need there. If there isn't please don't hesitate to ask. I've put your case in there.'

'Thank you,' he said, and then looked hard at her. 'The perfect hostess! How grown up you are, Cassandra—I don't think I've quite got used to it yet.' She met his glance, puzzled, enigmatic, questioning. 'Perhaps,' she said coolly, 'you'd better begin, hadn't you?' Point to me, she thought, as she went downstairs again. Daniel rejoined her in the study a few minutes later, his dark hair gleaming wetly where he had ran a comb through it, and a faint aromatic whiff of after-shave hovering about him. 'Wonderful things, electric razors,' he mused, running a hand over a smooth chin. He smiled at her. 'You look so beautiful yourself, Cassandra, that I felt I had to spruce up a bit, even for a quiet meal at home.' A quiet meal at home—what a way to put it! They might have been an old married couple. Cassandra did not pursue that thought, but said brightly, 'I'll tell Benson he can serve.' 'No need, I took the liberty of calling in at the kitchen on my way down.' Her lips compressed. 'You do make yourself at home, don't you?' 'I thought that was the idea,' he said mildly. 'That was what Julian made a point of suggesting.' She hadn't thought of a comeback to that by the time Benson appeared with the prawn cocktails, and Daniel moved to the table to pull out a chair for her ceremoniously. 'Thank you,' said Cassandra, somewhat stiffly. It really was rather absurd the way he was behaving: red roses, after-shave lotion, compliments on her appearance, urbane solicitude for her comfort. What, she thought uneasily with an uncomfortable increase in the speed of her heartbeat, what exactly was he up to?

Benson went out and returned carrying what could only be a bottle of champagne, nestling in its wooden bucket of crushed ice. Cassandra's eyes widened. Julian, she was sure, didn't keep a stock of champagne at the apartment. She was silent while the cork was duly popped and the wine approved. When the door had closed again behind the manservant she looked from the cradled bottle to her glass and back again, her smooth brows lifted. Daniel chuckled. 'Don't look so amazed. I haven't got a magic wand tucked away. I connived with Benson, earlier on, just in case we decided to have a meal here tonight. It had to be champagne, of course.' A memory tingled through her of that other evening, six years ago, when Daniel had held her in his arms and caressed her, and then afterwards blamed the champagne for having lost his head. Was it possible that he, too, remembered and was trying to make up to her for the hurt of that remark? No, she decided, men don't remember things like that. He'd probably forgotten all about it by the time he got back into his car and drove away. His eyes quizzed her across the table. 'It had to be champagne tonight,' he repeated. 'You're meant to ask why.' 'All right,' she said unencouragingly. 'Why?' 'It seemed to me'— his tone was thoughtful now—'that we might have something to celebrate.' He lifted his glass. 'To our partnership, Cassandra, and the success of the weeks ahead.' His eyes held her own and she felt the heat in her cheeks. After what seemed a long moment he added, 'Coupled, as they say, with the name of Lord Saunders and the marvellous theatre we're going to build.' 'To the theatre,' murmured Cassandra, and sipped her champagne, feeling uneasy.

But as dinner progressed she began to think that she might have been wrong about the signals that Daniel seemed to be sending out, for he appeared to be quite happy to keep the conversation to shop talk. It might almost have been a business luncheon they were sharing, not a tête-à-tête dinner, with the soft-footed Benson gliding in and out and the champagne sparkling and the perfume of red roses filling the whole room. 'The building must be stone-faced, of course,' Daniel said, as they drank their coffee. 'Cotswold stone is a must if you want to get planning permission. Anyway, glass and concrete in the international style simply wouldn't fit in with the old house and the gardens. Andy was telling me they don't often use the original Cotswold stone now, there's hardly any of it being quarried. But in fact there is a substitute, made with gravel and moulded into blocks, and apparently some of it is very good indeed. In fact, so good that you can't tell the difference from the original stuff —they even reproduce the fossils in it. I'll have to talk to our noble patron about it.' Cassandra sat back among the cushions on the orangecoloured lounge-seat and thought that he used to look just like this before he became a Success, his blue eyes vivid with enthusiasm, his body in the tense-relaxed state of a runner waiting for the starting pistol. She began to see exactly what Susan meant when she said that Daniel would never settle in a small country building firm. Of course he wouldn't, he was marked out for the Big Time and he knew he could make it. But he evidently meant to make it alone; he was over thirty and if he'd intended to marry he would be married by now. She wondered how many hopeful women he had rejected along the way, as he had rejected her. She saw now that any girl would be a fool to take him seriously. A pity one wasn't so wise at seventeen! She realised that he had stopped talking and was looking quite keenly at her. 'What, exactly, do you do, Cassandra?'

'Do?' she repeated, blinking. 'Yes, do.' He spread out his hands. 'In the job. What do you do for Julian French?' 'Oh, I see.' She felt a little hazy. No doubt it was the champagne, although she had been careful not to have more than she knew she could take without feeling stupid and sleepy. 'Well, almost anything that turns up, I suppose. I look after the secretarial work when there isn't too much of it. If there's a rush on we get a girl in from an agency to do some typing, but mostly I can cope.' 'You've taken a secretarial training?' 'Oh no, I taught myself. I don't do proper shorthand, but I'm quite a fast typist—using two fingers on each hand.' She laughed. 'I'm sure you are. A girl of many parts, in fact. What are the others?' She considered that. 'It's rather difficult to pin them down. I suppose I'm involved in anything and everything that Julian is involved in. Except for the actual creative work, which he's so super at, I can take any part of the load off him—deal with clients and fabric warehouses and the various workshops. And then—well, I suppose I'm a sort of sounding board for Julian to try out his ideas on; he likes to get my reaction when he's worked something out. Just occasionally I can make a suggestion of my own. It's absolutely marvellous for me, of course; I'm learning all the time.' 'H'm.' The blue eyes regarded her thoughtfully. Daniel pushed his cup across the low glass table between them. 'Any more coffee? The job doesn't sound exactly creative. I thought you wanted to design in your own right.'

She poured a second cup of coffee from the tall silver jug. 'That was a youthful fantasy. You need to be much tougher than I am to go it alone. And I'm not sure that I'm really a creative person—especially now I've met the real thing, in Julian.' 'Oh come, Cassandra,' Daniel said quite sharply. 'There's no need to be quite so modest—or so dewy-eyed.' 'I'm not either, I'm just realistic, and anyway, I look on my modelling work as creative, in a way.' She tried not to sound defensive. 'Modelling?' He jerked his head up. 'Yes, I do quite a bit, and I find it fascinating. In my last year at college I worked in a commercial modelling studio. I think that's probably why I got this job. Julian likes to use models for the larger commissions. It gives the client a good impression of what the finished room—or flat—or house—will look like. Colour schemes and so on.' 'But this is splendid. We work a good deal with models, you know, in North America—probably far more than architects do over here, although the idea is catching on quite quickly. I'd thought of looking for a commercial studio to do some work for me. How would you feel about taking it on?' She felt doubtful. Her professional side was intrigued by the idea. But on the other hand it would mean working in close co-operation with Daniel, just as she usually did with Julian, and at the prospect a red notice saying DANGER seemed to float in front of her eyes. 'Well?' he said rather impatiently. 'I'm not sure I could do what you would need,' she said. 'Our workroom in the basement downstairs is quite primitive. We really

only aim to produce display models—nothing very accurate to scale, and I've never done any architectural work.' 'But that's precisely what I want—display models. At this stage, anyway. Something to show Lord Saunders, to act as a basis for discussion at first. Later on I'd probably have to get specialists in on the fob, especially if we go in for this acoustic testing.' 'I'm lost,' she confessed. 'I've not heard of that.' 'I'll explain some time,' he said. 'It's most useful for any place with an auditorium: theatres, concert halls, lecture rooms and so on. Meanwhile—how about my suggestion?' His keenness came through to her, kindling a spark inside her. Working for Daniel would be an exciting challenge. 'I still don't know if we have the facilities -' He was on his feet. 'Show me. Come on, girl, lead me to your workroom.' Together they went out of the apartment and down the wide, gracefully curving staircase. 'Elegant,' commented Daniel. 'Typical Adam, though it may not have been actually his work. Who has the bottom part of the house?' he enquired as they passed across the hall. 'Some people called Summerly,' she told him. 'A middle- aged couple. They own the place but they seem to spend most of their time abroad. We have it to ourselves, mostly.' 'You must find that very convenient,' he said in a conversational tone, but she walked straight on without comment and opened the basement door. The workroom was in darkness except for the light that filtered in between the area railings above. Cassandra switched on the light over

the door and Daniel stood taking it all in, his glance moving keenly over the equipment: the benches for glueing and painting, sawing and sandpapering; the separate one for clean jobs like drawing and detailing; the various tools and brushes, files and chisels and screwdrivers, cramps and knives and bulldog clips, neatly set out in stands and boxes; the shelves filled with tins of adhesives for all purposes, with bottles of paint and ink in every conceivable colour. On the floor were battens of balsa wood, sheets of acrylic, plywood and hardboard, rolls of foam plastic, sacks of plaster—Daniel turned to Cassandra, impressed. 'You've got the lot here, it seems.' She shook her head. 'Julian wouldn't think so. His latest idea is to put in jewellery-making equipment and install a craftsman and assistant. He's very keen on jewellery designing and he'd like to see the whole process through himself, rather than sending it out to other people to make.' 'How about showing me some of your work?' He changed the subject rather pointedly. With anyone else she wouldn't have hesitated a moment. She was proud of her models, it was the part of her job that she enjoyed most, but if she showed them off to Daniel it would be as good as agreeing to work for him, if he found her good enough. But having come this far it was going to be difficult to refuse—and anyway, they might not be the sort of thing he required. 'I think there are one or two in here,' she said, leading the way to a small cupboard across the workroom. 'I have a good sorting-out now and again and throw away the ones of finished jobs.' She fished at the back of the cupboard and took out three models of different sizes and put them on one of the benches. 'These tatty ones are finished with. But this one is a job that Julian had begun before we went to Florida and intended to go on with as soon as we got back. It's an idea for the drawing room in the new Guido Rosenberg house in Montreux—you

know, Rosenberg the pianist. I like the tones of green and sulphur yellow against the white, do you? The freestanding fireplace is rather unusual, isn't it? The grand piano was fun to make.' Cassandra watched him as he picked up the model to examine it and she felt curiously tensed, as if she were waiting for the decision of an examiner. He replaced it carefully on the bench. 'You did this?' 'All my own work,' she smiled. 'The model, not the design, of course.' 'Of course.' His glance mocked her. 'The design bears the mark of the master. But you've taken no mean part in it yourself, my child. Professional work as good as any I've seen. There's always a temptation to make a thing like this look as if it came from a dolls' house, but you've avoided that very skilfully. Yes, full marks!' She flushed with pleasure. 'It's only a rough, not made to scale.' 'It's exactly the kind of thing I should want,' he said. 'Consider yourself engaged. I've seen enough to convince me.' He reached up and switched off the strip light over the bench. The workroom, lit only by the one bulb behind them, was thrown suddenly into shadow and the familiar shapes were blurred. Only Daniel was clearly defined, the bigness and strength of him, standing so near her, and suddenly the old familiar weakness took possession. She drew in a quick breath and said lightly, 'Thank you, sir, I'm sure I'll do my best to satisfy you.' He stood looking down at the bench, making no move to go, and Cassandra found herself unable to move either. Then he lifted his head and his eyes were very dark and he wasn't smiling. 'You could satisfy me, Cassandra,' he said softly. 'Oh, indeed you could.'

They looked at each other in the dim, echoing workroom. Then his hands came up and rested one each side of her waist. She had no power to move away or resist and after a moment he drew her closer into his arms. With a deep sigh she let herself relax against him. Of their own accord her arms went up round his neck and her fingers buried themselves in the remembered crispness of his hair, and when his mouth came down on hers she gave herself up to the delight of his kisses with a mounting passion that matched his own, exulting in the Tightness, the inevitability of it, in the relief of letting go of her stupid fear and pride. What had happened before didn't matter; all that mattered was that she was back in his arms at last, his mouth searching hers, his hands moving over the soft curves of her body. 'My darling,' he whispered against her lips, his voice shaken. 'My little darling girl -' And then, from across the empty room, the extension telephone rang, shrilling and clamouring for attention. Cassandra froze. For an endless moment she stood rigid in Daniel's embrace, staring at the impatient instrument with a kind of horror. 'The hospital—it must be the hospital.' She didn't know why she was so sure. 'Julian must be worse.' She forced the words through stiff lips. Oh God, she thought, he might be dead. Ringing up at this time of night -! Her skin prickling with fear, she pushed away Daniel's arms and stumbled across the room to the telephone.

CHAPTER SIX IT was Roland Dunn's voice that came from the other end of the line when she had quavered out the studio number. 'Cassandra? I'm glad you're in. Now don't get alarmed, but I thought you should know that old Julian has had a bit of a setback.' It was the practised tone of the doctor, kind but unemotional, inviting a similar attitude on the part of the relative or friend. Cassandra swallowed hard. 'Roland, you know I won't panic, but— how bad is he?' There was a short pause. Then, 'He's had a rather nasty haemorrhage. It's being coped with very adequately here at the hospital, of course.' She said, 'I'd like to come, if I may.' 'You won't be able to see him, you realise that?' warned the doctor. 'Yes, of course, I understand that. But—but I'd like to come.' Another pause. 'I suppose you don't happen to know if Julian has any close relatives? He's never spoken of any to me.' She felt very cold. They asked that, didn't they, when life was in danger. 'Nor to me,' she said in a small voice. 'I've never known him visit anyone. I think I should have known if he had.' 'Yes, quite. Very well, Cassandra, perhaps it would be a good idea if you were here at hand yourself for a time.' 'You'll be there?' 'Oh yes, fortunately I was on call tonight anyway.'

She thanked him and replaced the receiver. Then she became aware at Daniel, standing very still across the shadowy room. 'It's Julian,' she said woodenly. 'A crisis. I'm going along to the hospital.' She went to the door and up the stairs, walking with quick, nervous steps. Daniel was close behind her when she reached the apartment. He hadn't answered her, but now he said, 'Get a coat or a wrap or something. I'll go out and find a taxi for you.' She looked at him vaguely. 'Thank you.' Up in the spare bedroom she grabbed a soft mohair shawl that she had taken to Gloucestershire and which had mercifully escaped the fire, and hurried downstairs again, winding it round her as she went. As she arrived outside the front door a taxi pulled up and Daniel stepped down from it and held the door open for her. When he would have followed her in she said, 'There's no need for you to bother to come. I'll be quite all right now.' He didn't even trouble to reply. He slid into the seat beside her and slammed the door, and the driver, who had evidently been briefed in advance, did a quick U-turn and drove off. Cassandra sank back in her seat. Then she said, almost to herself, 'He wanted to know if Julian has any relatives.' Compulsively she turned to the man beside her. 'Does that sound very ominous?' He patted her hand. 'Not necessarily. I should think they always do. Isn't it a routine thing to enquire when a patient is admitted? Julian must have said he hadn't anyone.' She nodded. 'Yes, and that's true as far as I know. It must be awfully sad to have nobody at a time like this.' She shivered inside the shawl and added, 'I'm so glad I was there when Roland phoned.' And then, as if to underline something, she wasn't quite sure what, she said again, 'But there was really no need for you to come with me.'

He didn't look at her, he kept his eyes fixed on the brightly-lit streets outside, on the flashing neon signs, on the tall, looming buildings of London. 'That was for me to decide,' he said, and neither of them spoke again until they reached their destination. The big hospital was quiet. The night staff had taken over and the busy activity of the day had dwindled to a trickle of comings and goings, of soft-footed nurses and shaded lights and hushed voices. Eventually they managed to find a nurse who knew what was happening. Dr Dunn, she told them, was with Mr French at present, in the Intensive Care Unit. She would show them the way, and let the doctor know they were here. After that time ceased to register. Cassandra sat beside Daniel on a leather-covered seat and was conscious only of waiting. Everything else had taken on an unreal quality and she seemed to have completely lost control of her own life. When Julian gets better, she thought, shrinking away from 'if Julian gets better' things would get back to normal and she would be her own girl again. But until that happened life was off-key, and it seemed as if clashing discords might be struck at any moment. She opened her eyes to see Daniel regarding her, frowning. 'Are you all right? Warm enough?' He wrapped the mohair shawl more closely round her. He was being kind, she thought vaguely; perhaps he, too, was feeling guilty about the way things had happened. To her it seemed somehow more than a coincidence that just when the telephone call came she and Daniel had been in each other's arms, oblivious to the world. It seemed like a kind of warning. 'Yes, thank you, I'm quite all right,' she said. And then, 'You really -' 'If you're going to say that I really needn't stay, then you can save yourself the trouble,' said Daniel. 'I'm staying.' He settled down a little lower, folded his arms and stuck his legs out in front of him.

She shrugged. 'Please yourself.' But she wished he would go, even though his strong presence was a comfort. His nearness confused her when she wanted to keep all her thoughts for Julian. Time dragged by and after what seemed hours a door opened and Roland Dunn walked towards them along the corridor. Cassandra jumped up and went to meet him and Daniel followed her. 'What's the news?' she asked quickly. Roland looked reassuringly the same as ever, even in the unfamiliar long white coat, his pleasant face unflappable beneath the thatch of curly fair hair. He smiled at Cassandra and nodded. 'He's holding his own. The haemorrhage is under control and we're hopeful that all will be well. He's having special care, of course.' He glanced towards Daniel and Cassandra said, 'This is Daniel Marshall, a colleague of Julian's. Daniel—Dr Roland Dunn, Julian's friend as well as his doctor.' The two men shook hands and measured each other with interest. Then Roland said, 'I'd take this girl home now, she looks fagged out.' He turned to Cassandra. 'We'll look after the old lad for you,' he told her reassuringly. 'Ring home in the morning around ten. I'll be fast asleep by then, I hope, but Magda will give you the latest bulletin. Well, I'll be getting back to my patient now, if you'll excuse me.' He nodded pleasantly to them both and walked back the way he had come. Daniel waited until he was half way along the corridor and then, to Cassandra's surprise, strode after him. Roland paused and the two men spoke together for a short time in low voices that did not reach her. Then Daniel returned to her side. He made no attempt to explain, except to say, 'Well, you've got your orders—home, bed, and a good long sleep. Come along.' He put his hand under her elbow and she let him lead her away. There seemed nothing else she could do.

After the aseptic bareness of the hospital, the study in the apartment, when they reached it some time later, was warm and cosy. Cassandra sank into the cushioned seat and loosened her shawl and felt like bursting into weak tears. Daniel slanted a glance at her and said, 'I imagine you could do with some coffee.' He disappeared and a few minutes later Benson brought in a tray and set it down on the low table. 'Mr Marshall tells me that Mr Julian is holding his own, Miss Smith,' he said sorrowfully. 'I'm greatly relieved.' She glanced up at the gaunt, black figure. 'Thank you, Benson,' she said, and added fervently, 'so am I.' Benson went out and closed the door and Daniel poured a cup of coffee. 'Black, I think, I don't think there's any danger of it keeping you awake after the day you've had. Something to act as a nightcap? Brandy? Liqueur?' 'No,' said Cassandra sharply, and Daniel grinned faintly and said, 'Well, you won't mind if I do.' He helped himself to a modest brandy and sat down beside her. She drank her coffee in silence, staring at the wall ahead. 'Cheer up,' Daniel told her. 'Things aren't so bad. I feel sure he'll be all right now.' 'Yes,' she said, and turned her head away from him, biting hard on her lower Up. 'It's all right,' he said soothingly. 'It's all right, Cassandra.' Suddenly she rounded on him. 'It isn't all right, it's all wrong,' she blurted in a shaking voice. 'I feel so—so beastly about everything.

Julian being so ill. Why, he might have been dying when we were— were -' There was a long silence. Daniel sighed deeply and lit a cigarette. Then, 'Aren't you being just a mite oversensitive?' he suggested, and all the kindness had gone out of his voice. 'You don't imagine that I was staging some big seduction scene, do you? I certainly wouldn't have chosen those particular surroundings for the purpose if I had.' He laughed shortly. 'And for God's sake don't go blaming yourself and wallowing in guilt. We're only human, aren't we?' Of course it hadn't meant any more than that to him— just a casual encounter, born of—what was the word— propinquity. Surely she should have learned her lesson by now. She might have guessed that he would be bored and irritated that she should have read more than that into the incident. She smiled with stiff lips. 'All right,' she said. 'Propinquity and the champagne. Let's leave it at that, but it mustn't happen again.' She wished he would move—drink his brandy, or run his hand through his hair, or get up and walk about—anything but sit there and look at her steadily with his unnerving blue gaze. At last he said, 'Are you, by any chance, trying to tell me that you and Julian French are lovers?' Her eyes widened. This was straight talk indeed. No hints, no careful probing now. 'No,' she said proudly. 'But -' 'But you're in love with him, is that it? Is that why you feel disloyal?' This was her chance then, perhaps her last chance to build the wall between them so high that nothing could break it down. If she said 'Yes,' then he would have to leave her alone.

And if she said 'No'? Wouldn't that be as good as saying to him, 'I'm free, I'm available if you want me.' In spite of her fatigue all her senses were suddenly sharpened. She was overwhelmingly conscious of his arm lying along the back of the lounge seat behind her, of his other hand, curled loosely round his glass on the table, of his long legs crossed easily over each other. She knew she only had to say that one word and his arms would close round her and she would not be able to resist. And it would all begin again, the longing and the ecstasy, and the despair at the end. Just for a chilling second she Lived again those moments in the quarry when she stared down, frozen, over the edge into that sheer drop below, and her inside churned violently. No, she thought, her fingers clenching, not that all over again! She picked up her coffee cup, took a sip, and met his eyes with a little give-away smile. 'Well, what do you think?' she said. She couldn't bring herself to put it more plainly, but surely he would get the message? It was very quiet in the study. Across the room the tiny globes of yellow mimosa were already past their fluffy best, shrinking and darkening with the heat. But the red rosebuds were opening wider and their fragrance filled the whole room. Suddenly Daniel got to his feet, smiling. 'What I think,' he said, 'is that you should take your doctor's advice and have a good night's sleep.' His eyes narrowed teasingly. 'Little girl, you've had a busy day,' he chanted. 'Come on, ups-a-daisy!' He pulled her to her feet and patted her shoulder like a kindly uncle. 'Off with you this minute. I shall stay here for a while myself. I might even start some work, that desk over there looks very tempting. Goodnight, Cassandra.' She blinked at him, stupid with exhaustion, unable to adjust to this sudden change of mood. She had tried to convince him about herself and Julian and got absolutely nowhere. Everything was just as it had

been before. Her eyes felt heavy and she drew her hand across them, yawning. Things must be straightened out tomorrow, but at the moment all she needed was sleep. 'Goodnight, Daniel,' she said. She didn't remember climbing up the stairs and into bed.

Cassandra slept soundly, curled up on the soft mattress like a dormouse. She wakened to see the sun shining through the chinks between the curtains and the travelling clock beside her saying five to ten. She pulled on a wrap and padded down to the kitchen, where Benson was going quietly about his appointed duties. 'Good morning, miss. Mr Marshall went out half an hour ago. He said to leave you to finish your sleep out. Will you take breakfast now?' 'Thank you, Benson, just toast and coffee, please. I'll be down for it in a quarter of an hour.' She went back upstairs. She had wakened with a slight headache and now she began to feel distinctly irritable as well. What right had Mr Daniel Marshall to instruct Benson that she was to be allowed to sleep on? She always got a headache if she slept late. Why should he treat her like a child on an after-the-party morning? Some party! she mused bitterly as she went into the bathroom. Her final thought last night had been that she must be up and about early this morning because it was likely to be another busy day. She was quite right. The phone rang three times before she had started breakfast. The first two calls were from Julian's clients and potential clients. The third was from the insurance company. Could they send their Mr Blackley round to have a word with her about the fire in the

flat, as soon as possible? Cassandra glanced at her watch and at the pile of mail on the desk. Eleven o'clock? She suggested, and the girl at the insurance office confirmed that and rang off. Cassandra poured herself a cup of coffee and carried it back to the desk. It was time to phone Magda for news of Julian, and the prospect was giving her nervous flutterings inside. But Magda was reassuring. Roland, she said, had come in from hospital this morning reasonably satisfied that Julian was on the right road and should be off the danger list by the end of the day. 'No visitors yet, though, he said,' Magda added. 'Julian was asleep when Roland left and he'll probably sleep most of the day. The best thing for him! Poor Cass, it's been a worrying time for you. I heard about the fire. I won't natter on now about it, I expect you're rushed off your feet. But do let me know if I can help.' 'Bless you, and I will,' promised Cassandra, and said goodbye. The flutterings had subsided with the news that Julian had come through the night safely, but a moment later they returned, for another reason, as she saw the note, folded and propped up on the back of the desk, and recognised Daniel's firm black handwriting. She unfolded it and read, 'Hope you're rested. I'm off to try to contact our revered patron. That seems to be the next thing on the agenda. Keep smiling, D.' Keep smiling! She pulled a face at the note, crumpled it and threw it into the waste basket. Then she took it out again, smoothed it and stuck it into the pocket of her silk smock, which she'd put on over the one and only dress she seemed to possess at this moment. Oh dear, that was another thing she had to do—buy some clothes. The prospect should have been delightful, but today it seemed like just another chore pressing on her.

It would save a little time if she telescoped eating breakfast with dealing with the mail, so she carried the pile of letters to the table and absently crunched toast and drank coffee while she sorted through the letters. Two had foreign postmarks and were marked 'Personal' and these she set aside, unopened, to deliver to Julian when she could. He had friends and correspondents all over the world and frequently received letters with exotic stamps on them. The other letters she sorted into two piles—urgent and not so urgent—and took them back to the desk, with a final cup of coffee. She would get through as much as she could before the insurance man arrived. But before she could even start she noticed the large buff folder at the other end of the long desk. On it Daniel had written Saunders and the date, and underneath, in a doodling sort of way, the Words: 'Firmness. Commodity. Delight.' 'Delight' was underlined. The quotation rang a bell with Cassandra, although she couldn't remember where she had heard it before. She couldn't resist having a look at what Daniel had been doing last night after she had gone to bed and she flicked open the folder to disclose several sheets of rough jottings, some in the form of plans, some drawings. There were lists of queried items: Stage? Seating? Entrance? Foyer? Workshop? Against each were several sketched-in possibilities, some even worked in detail. Truly, Andy was right—Daniel had a fertile mind. But the final sheet was the most comprehensible to Cassandra, for on it he had drawn a sketch of the outside of the building. It was just an outline sketch, but somehow he had managed to capture the whole idea in miniature. Certainly, if it was Delight he was after, he had touched on it here. As Cassandra's education had told her, the word 'beauty' was out of fashion, but that was the only word she could think of to apply to Daniel's idea for the theatre. She loved the flowing lines and softened corners, the wide welcoming entrance that narrowed and curved mysteriously inwards, into the heart of the building, giving it almost a look of mystery. He had even drawn in

the tall bank of dark trees behind, throwing the mass of the building into dramatic relief. Cassandra found her interest quickening. Up to now the theatre had been just a project, something that had brought Daniel Marshall back into her life to turn it upside down again. But now, with true designer's instinct, she saw the possibilities and thrilled to them. She wondered if he would want her to make models to accord with this drawing; it wouldn't be quite like anything she had done before, but she was sure she could tackle it. Possibilities for materials and techniques drifted through her mind while the post remained undealt with beside her on the desk until the door opened after a discreet knock and Benson said, 'Mr Blackley to see you, miss, from the insurance company. He says you are expecting him,' and the insurance inspector came into the room. Julian had found the flat for her and arranged about leases and insurance and legal matters at the time, and it was all rather a closed book to her, but Mr Blackley, a talkative man with a face like a small, smiling full moon, was evidently bent on being helpful. He put his briefcase on the lounge seat and sat down beside it, arranging papers all round him. 'Now then, let's see.' He looked up at her and beamed. 'Your policy seems to cover your personal property only, Miss Smith? Furniture and fittings belong to the owners, is that correct?' She nodded. 'It's mostly my clothes that have suffered. From what I saw yesterday I seem to be left with more or less what I stand up in.' Mr Blackley darted her an appreciative look as if he would like to say, 'And very nice too,' then he coughed and drew out a claim form. 'If you'll fill in here—and here— and over the page, and then sign it, please.' He leaned towards her, stabbing the form with his Biro. 'Can you make it out, do you think? I could go over it all in detail with you if -'

'Oh, I'm sure I can manage, thank you,' Cassandra said hastily, taking the form from him and placing it over on the desk. 'Will it do if I post it this afternoon? I've got rather a full day.' Mr Blackley got to his feet and closed his briefcase, with a trace of reluctance; he would obviously have liked to stay and have a nice long talk. She felt rather sorry if she had snubbed him. It must be rather boring, having to spend your days going around investigating people's fires. She searched for something to say to soften her abruptness and asked, 'Will it be all right if I buy some new clothes, do you think? I really do need to fit myself out again straight away.' 'Oh, certainly, certainly.' He cheered up. 'There shouldn't be any difficulty at all about your claim. I called in on the way here and saw the damage. A hasty mess!' He shook his head. 'The cause of the fire will have to be established, but I understand it was most probably some fault in the wiring. My company acts for .the owner too, so that will simplify matters. I understand he is going to contact you with a view to offering other accommodation if you require it—in a hotel, probably, as he hasn't any other flats free at the moment.' 'Oh, that won't be necessary,' said Cassandra quickly. 'I can stay here at present.' 'Is that so? Well, that seems to be all right, then,' Mr Blackley said comfortably, looking round with appreciation. 'A very nice place, if I may say so. We can contact you here then? We have the address.' 'Yes, certainly,' confirmed Cassandra absently. Now why had she jumped in so quickly to make sure she would stay on here? She must be quite, quite mad. Why, only yesterday she had been uneasy—to put it mildly—at the prospect of sharing the apartment with Daniel. And now here she was making quite sure she would do just that. Her eye caught the buff folder on the desk. Of course, that partly explained her eagerness to stay; now that she had seen what Daniel

was planning for the theatre she found herself wanting to have a share in it. Yes, that was it, she wanted to stay on here, to be near Daniel, because her professional interest was aroused, she decided primly. Then she suddenly burst out laughing as a voice inside her demanded cynically, 'Who do you think you're fooling, Cassandra Smith?' Mr Blackley was looking at her in a slightly concerned way. 'Are you feeling quite well, Miss Smith?' She composed her features quickly. 'I'm terribly sorry, I'm being very rude.' He must encounter hysterical females quite frequently in his job. 'It was just that I—just something I thought of.' When Mr Blackley had gone she walked to the window and looked down on the square, seeing nothing. Just something she thought of! Just the fact that she had been fooling herself when she thought she could ever get Daniel Marshall out of her heart! He was there to stay. She was almost shocked by the alacrity with which she had recoiled from the possibility that she might leave here, but at least it illuminated the truth with a blinding white light. So far from wanting to get away from Daniel she yearned with every bit of her to stay near him on any terms at all. Not only wanting him to kiss her and make love to her, although that was the most urgent need, but wanting to know he wasn't ever far away from her. When he was there, when she could see him, watch the way his eyes narrowed teasingly or glinted with enthusiasm, when she could hear his voice change from lightness to seriousness, then she was fully alive. When he went away she died inside. It was rather terrifying, but it was no good fighting it any more, no good hiding behind her stupid pride, no good trying to persuade herself she was in love with Julian. While she and Daniel were both in the world there wouldn't be any other man for her. It wasn't a happy thing, for she could see no future in it. Daniel's career would

always come first with him, and she didn't believe he was the man for permanent attachments, any more now than he had been six years ago. Where she went from here she didn't know and didn't dare to guess. But at least there was a kind of happiness in being honest with herself. Facing the facts seemed to release a spring of energy in Cassandra. She suddenly realised that the headache she had wakened with had gone away. She dealt with the mail in double-quick time and then, having alerted Benson to answer the phone while she was out, she took a taxi to Oxford Street to buy clothes. Usually she shopped at a boutique in Kensington run by a girl she had known at art school, but today there was no time for a leisurely browse through Valerie's latest stock and a gossip about old friends. In one of the big stores she bought what she would need in the immediate future, flipping along the rails for a few things to take her through the next week or two: three day dresses, trousers and sweaters in case she had to go back to Gloucestershire, a lightweight travelling coat. She paused beside the evening dresses; it didn't seem likely that she would be needing one in the near future, but one never knew and it was better to be on the safe side. If Daniel asked her to go out with him she would go. She wasn't going to be silly any more and try to avoid him. The thought made her feel warm and excited and she giggled to herself. Being honest seemed to be as intoxicating as champagne. In the end she chose a long dress of very fine, supple velvet in burnt orange that moulded her pretty curves and did flattering things to her eyes. Smoky brown, like kippers, Julian had called her eyes. Dear Julian, she thought, and hoped with all her heart he was feeling better today. She would call in at Magda's on the way back to the apartment and see if there was any new bulletin.

Cassandra's thoughts were occupied by one problem for the rest of that day, and when it wasn't in the forefront of her mind it was there at the back, nagging away ceaselessly. How was she going to tell Daniel that she had been purposely giving him the wrong impression about herself and Julian? If she told him straight out he would be bound to say 'Why?' and there didn't seem to be any answer to that except 'Because I love you, always have and, it seems, always will, and I was afraid I was going to get hurt again.' But being honest was one thing, making herself a pathetic, drooling object of pity was another. He had rejected her once and would certainly do so again if she took that line, and quite frankly she couldn't blame him if he did. No, there must be a better way than that, if only to wait until he gave her a lead of some sort, and then play it by ear, unless some brainwave came to her before he came in. No brainwave came, and she was still vainly sorting through ideas when he returned at five o'clock, filling the apartment with his masculine presence. He strode into the study, tossed down his briefcase and sank on to the sofa with a grunt. 'Golly, the old boy's going to be quite a pain in the neck, I can see. No doubt how he made his millions —by demanding his own way and insisting on getting it!' Cassandra swivelled round in her chair, where she was working at the desk, and her heart leapt at the sight of him there. She hadn't expected such a wild, overwhelming rush of happiness, like opening the floodgate and letting in the torrent. She realised she was gazing at him like a moonstruck teenager and pulled herself together. 'Have you been with him all day?' she asked. 'Not quite,' Daniel said, and smiled. At the moment she was too overcome to wonder what that smile meant, but afterwards she remembered it. 'And what have you been doing with yourself?' he enquired.

She told him about Mr Blackley and his full-moon face, and made him laugh, and it was almost like it had been six years ago when they had laughed together at all sorts of foolish little things. 'Then, with Mr Blackley's blessing, I took myself out and shopped for clothes,' she added with a grin. 'That must have been fun for you. Buying clothes on the insurance, I mean.' 'Oh, it was indeed. I must arrange to burn my wardrobe more often.' She didn't know that her eyes were dancing and that laughter was brimming over from her voice. She only knew that it was heaven to have him there, near her, and not to have to pretend any more. He sat back and studied her flushed face. 'You've changed, Cassandra. You're different.' 'Different? How?' What would happen if she said, 'I've just admitted to myself that I'm still crazily in love with you'? 'I'm not quite sure.' He regarded her thoughtfully. 'There's something about you——' He paused and said suddenly, 'Have you been to see Julian?' Now it was coming! Now there would be a chance for her to tell him. She shook her head. 'He's not allowed visitors today. But I called to see Magda—Dr Dunn's wife—and she gave me the latest news. She was Roland Dunn's secretary before she married him, so she's well up in medical matters. It seems that there's always a risk of a setback in this particular operation, but Julian's responded so well to the special treatment that she's sure he's going to be O.K. now. She could be much more definite than Roland himself—doctors can't stick their necks out, can they?'

'So your mind's more at rest, is it?' 'About Julian? Yes, it certainly is. He's such a dear and he's so wonderfully talented that it would have been awful if—if he hadn't come through safely, wouldn't it?' Surely now he would say something that would give her the opportunity she was waiting for. But he merely nodded soberly and said, 'It would indeed,' and after that he was silent for so long that she very nearly blurted out that she wasn't in love with Julian at all, that she had deliberately given him the wrong impression. But Daniel spoke first. 'Cassandra -' 'Yes?' She lifted her head quickly. 'About last night.' He frowned, meeting her eyes. 'I wanted to tell you that I was wrong and you were right and that, if you like, this is a formal apology. I'm not very proud of myself for taking advantage of a friend's illness to step in and make love to his girl. I think I can promise it won't happen again. That's all—am I forgiven?' She felt as if he had slammed a door in her face. Remembering how she had responded to his kisses she felt humiliated too. She stared at him dumbly. 'Am I?' he said again, and his eyes were narrowed, searching her face keenly. In spite of his apology he didn't look particularly contrite, she thought. She supposed all he was concerned with, actually, was keeping his good opinion of himself. She shrugged. 'Of course.' His frown lifted. 'Good, that's settled, then. We know where we are. Now—to business! Can you spare me a few minutes to go over one or two points?'

The very last thing she wanted to do was to talk business with him, but that was what he expected of her and that was what she must somehow manage to do. She did her best to look willing and interested and said, 'Yes?' He took a sheaf of papers from his briefcase. 'Do you think you could run up a preliminary model to show Lord S.? Just a rough, nothing elaborate. I took along a plan today, but he's the kind of man who distrusts plans. He says plans are like statistics—they can be made to cover up all sorts of discrepancies. He's wrong about the plans, of course, but I can see his point in a way, and anyway the customer is always right,' he finished with a grin. 'I'm sure one of your beautiful models would make several points for me much better than any plan drawing. Can do, Cassandra?' he added winningly. 'I'll try.' 'Good girl! Well now, I'll have time to go over it with you before I leave. By the way, I've already told Benson I shan't be in for a meal tonight.' So he was going out? Disappointment settled like a stone inside her. She still had a faint hope that she could somehow put things right between them, but the longer it was left the more impossible it was going to be. She glanced across the study, but his dark head was bent over the sheaf of papers and he was obviously engrossed in them. Finally he found the one he wanted and carried it over and placed it on the desk in front of her. 'Now this will give you the best idea to work from. By the way, do you prefer to work from drawings or would you rather have a rough scale plan? And would you be able to lay on some colour, do you think? The contrast between the local stone —the lovely warm yellow-grey—and the dark conifers behind is a thing I want to keep in mind all the way through.

The nearer we can approximate to the visual experience for his noble lordship at this stage the better he's likely to be pleased -' He went on outlining his ideas, brimming over with energy and enthusiasm now, and Cassandra tried to match it, tried to regain the first excitement she had felt this morning when she first saw his rough drawing in the folder. But inside her head the question went on over and over again: Who was Daniel taking out to dinner? Of course, he must have lots of friends in London; he probably came backwards and forwards between Canada and this country quite often, and why should she know anything about it if he did? But suddenly it seemed quite unbearable that Daniel should have a whole life that she knew nothing about. She wanted to know everything about him, every single little thing. That was absurd, of course, and she must pull herself together. She tried to concentrate on what he was saying, but the nearness of him, standing close behind her as he pointed out details on his drawing, made concentration impossible. One arm was across her shoulder and she fixed her gaze on the sleeve of his coat, dark grey with a thin lighter stripe, a cream-coloured shirt cuff protruding just the right distance from it. She looked further down to the slim, brown fingers holding the felt-tipped pen and she wanted, quite painfully, to put her own hand over his, to feel the grip of those fingers Then, across the desk, the telephone burred and Cassandra jumped quite visibly, before she stretched out for the receiver and gave the number. A girl's voice, rich and silky, said, 'Is Daniel Marshall there?' Cassandra held out the receiver. 'It's for you,' she said, and stood up and moved towards the door. Daniel put his hand over the mouthpiece and said, 'No need to go,' but she went all the same.

Just before she closed the door behind her she heard him say, 'Hullo, Livvy. Yes. Oh, didn't I? Sorry. About half seven, will that suit you?' Cassandra went up to her bedroom and sat on the bed. It hadn't taken him long, had it, to find another girl to dine with, to drink champagne with and most probably present with red roses too. She stared at the reflection of her white face in the mirror. 'You prize fool,' she told herself bitterly. 'You utter idiot!' She'd missed her chance completely. She'd been too utterly craven to take a risk that she might get hurt again, so she'd lost everything she might have had. She waited in her room until she heard Daniel leave the apartment before she went down and had her solitary meal. Afterwards she worked on the model all evening, and the very fact of having to concentrate helped a little to ease the misery and frustration. The fact that she had nobody to blame but herself made it all the worse. Daniel had showed quite plainly that she attracted him, that he desired her company, and she had rejected him and let him believe she was in love with another man. It seemed incredibly mad, but it was true. She sat at her bench the cold white strip-light, her practised hands bending to their task, cutting, moulding, trimming; and every time she referred to the sketches and plans they were Daniel's sketches, Daniel's plans, and it was as if he were standing there beside her instead of taking out some beastly girl called Livvy. She worked on until her fingers were stiff and her eyes could scarcely see what she was doing. But even when she got into bed she couldn't sleep and she turned on the light again and tried to read. She heard Daniel come in just after midnight and tried to derive some small comfort from the fact that he hadn't stayed out later. The study was below her bedroom and the carpets were thick, but she could make out one or two muffled noises and tried to imagine what he was

doing. Getting himself a nightcap, perhaps, or choosing a book from Julian's well-stocked bookcase. Or perhaps he was settling down to work late, as he had done last night. If she got up and went down? She could easily manufacture an excuse of some sort. Her heart began to thump uneasily as the idea took hold of her. Surely she couldn't make things any worse than they were already, and there might just be a chance Before she had time to change her mind she flung herself out of bed, pulled on a wrap and slippers and padded out on to the landing. Half way down the narrow oak stairway she saw Daniel at the bottom, waiting to come up. 'Hullo, Cassandra, where are you off to?' His dark hair was ruffled and he was smiling as if he were very pleased with himself. 'I—I just fancied some hot milk before I turned in,' she said. She reached the bottom of the stairs and he stood aside to let her pass. 'Splendid ideal' he said heartily. 'Nothing like hot milk for a good night's sleep.' One hand was on the rail, one foot on the bottom stair. 'Everything all right?' 'Everything's fine,' she said brightly. 'I've made a start on the model. I'll finish it tomorrow.' 'You've been working this evening? Oh, I didn't intend you to do Overtime.' His solicitude was almost more than she could bear. She forced a laugh. 'Think nothing of it—I love my work.' Then with a feeling of surprise she heard her own voice say, 'Nice evening?' 'Very pleasant,' he said. And that, his tone informed her, was all she was going to be told. 'Goodnight, Daniel.'

'Goodnight, Cassandra.' He went on up the stairs and she heard his bedroom door close. She went into the kitchen and wept quietly as she waited for the milk to heat. Had he guessed that she had come downstairs on purpose to see him? He probably had, he didn't miss much. Had he thought she was angling for a repeat of the scene in the workroom, even though she had professed loyalty to Julian? Would he think that of her? The milk boiled over, running down the sides of the pan on to Benson's immaculate cooker. Mopping it up, Cassandra suddenly thought, 'No! No, I refuse to be a soggy, snivelling wreck. What's done is done and it's no good trying to undo it. I shall be positive from now on and concentrate on the job.' This sensible resolution lasted until she had got into bed again and settled down to sleep. Then she found herself lying tense, listening for any sounds from the next room. But nothing stirred. Daniel had no doubt gone straight off to sleep, quite happy and satisfied with his world. Cassandra wondered if she would ever again be happy and satisfied with hers.

CHAPTER SEVEN CASSANDRA saw very little of Daniel in the next few days. When they met at breakfast he was silent and preoccupied, and afterwards he worked behind the closed door of Julian's studio, using the drawing boards and other facilities there, while Cassandra herself spent her time between the office- study and the workroom. The only time they met was when Daniel wanted to give her instructions about the models she was working on, and he made that as brief and businesslike as possible. All personal communication between them seemed to have come to a dead stop, and she tried to believe that was for the best. Benson went about his duties in his customary efficient, soft-footed way, providing them both, in their separate working quarters, with sandwiches and coffee, and only occasionally breaking his silence to enquire after Julian's progress. Daniel went out every evening before dinner and so did Cassandra. He never told her where he was going, but then neither did she tell him. Actually she had taken to eating her meal at a self-service restaurant near Oxford Street. Afterwards she went to a film; once across the river to a concert; and one evening she called to see Magda, Roland Dunn's wife, at their comfortable flat overlooking the park. Magda Dunn was a year or two older than Cassandra, small, dark and vivacious. She threw open the door. 'Cass, how nice—come right in! I'm all on my own and I've just made coffee.' She led the way into the living room. 'Sit down and tell me your news. I haven't seen you for ages— not since poor old Julian was struck down. And then the fire at your flat and everything! How do you think Julian is getting on? Roland seems very pleased with him.'

Cassandra nodded happily. 'He's looking better every day now when I see him. This afternoon he was sitting out of bed and he's actually crying out for a sketching pad and coloured pencils.' It was pleasantly relaxing to sit and natter away to Magda. Cassandra made an amusing anecdote about moon-faced Mr Blackley from the insurance company; enthused at length about how she and Julian had taken a trip in the Everglades when they had been in Florida, and all the fabulous birds and animals they had seen there; mentioned the new theatre project that Julian was to be involved in and which would soon taken them both to Gloucestershire; but said very little about Daniel, except to mention that he was using Julian's studio to make his drawings and plans for the theatre. 'Oh yes, that would be the man who was with you at the hospital, that night Julian had a relapse. Roland told me you had someone to look after you—it was lucky he was there.' 'Yes, he was very kind,' said Cassandra with just the right amount of gratitude to a mere acquaintance who has stepped in at a crisis. 'He's quite a pleasant man.' Oh, Daniel! she thought with a hollow feeling inside. 'I do wish you'd come more often,' Magda said, when Cassandra got up to leave at last. 'Since Roland and his group took this new consulting place I haven't nearly enough to do and I hardly ever see him. When he isn't there he's at the hospital. Who'd marry a doctor?' 'Any girl would, if the doctor happened to be Roland.' Magda grinned her wide, gamine grin. 'Oh well, perhaps you're right. All the same, I mean to look out for a job soon or I'll be crawling up the walls with boredom.'

'You can always come and help me if you're really desperate,' Cassandra told her. 'Union rates!' 'I might just take you up on that. What would Julian say?' 'He'd be delighted. He's always telling me to get some secretarial help.' Magda looked pleased. 'You'll be seeing me, then.' She looked at Cassandra thoughtfully and then added, 'He's a poppet, is Julian. Why don't you marry him, Cass, before some other girl does?' 'Ha! Chance would be a fine thing, as our old housekeeper used to say.' Cassandra picked up her bag and gloves, but Magda pressed on, 'You ought to be married, Cass, you're the right kind of girl.' This conversation might get tricky. 'And what kind of girl is that?' enquired Cassandra lightly. But Magda was serious now. 'The kind of girl who has a heart. The kind who is capable of falling in love.' 'Can't all girls fall in love? I thought falling in love was an occupational hazard connected with being a girl.' Magda shook her dark head vehemently. She had evidently given the subject some deep thought. 'Oh no, what you see around isn't love. Most girls want to fall in love. Most girls fool themselves all the time that they are in love. But when it really happens you can't miss it. It's like a volcano erupting. My, my, I am getting into deep waters! But bear it in mind, Cass.' 'I'll bear it in mind,' promised Cassandra. But she didn't have to bear it in mind, she knew all about the volcano. Just now her own volcano was bubbling away inside without actually erupting. Perhaps some day it would burn itself out.

One afternoon, a week after the fire in the flat, Daniel sought Cassandra out in the workroom, where she was putting the finishing touches to a model of the theatre entrance-hall and stairs. She glanced over her shoulder without meeting his eyes—a trick she had been practising recently—and said, 'Hullo, how did you find our noble client today?' He had mentioned at breakfast that he intended to visit Lord Saunders. He came and leaned against the bench beside her, running a finger round his collar, which was still as uncreased as when he breakfasted with her this morning. 'Phew! the old man's a tough customer. I can't say I like having a client breathing down my neck all the time. Still, at least I'll have the satisfaction that he can't come up later with a complaint that he wasn't kept informed.' 'But you're in sympathy with his ideas, generally?' She selected a strip of balsa wood carefully from a stack on the bench. 'Luckily I am. I suppose I'm a traditionalist at heart and I've always had a thing about the old Cotswold buildings. Probably that's because I spent so much of my childhood there—with my godparents. I was staying with them when we first met, if you remember, Cassandra.' If you remember! She drew in her breath in a little gasp. Being with Daniel was like walking over a minefield. She never knew when he would come out quite calmly with some loaded remark like that which blew sky-high all her good resolutions to think about him only as a colleague. He didn't seem to have noticed her sudden discomfiture. 'But he's at least come round to my way of thinking about putting in an adaptable stage,' he went on. 'It's going to cost a bomb, of course, but he can afford it. You see, Cassandra, it's the obvious solution.' He thumped a hand down on the bench, and she thought she recognised his tone of voice as one that Julian often used when he was arguing with

himself, using her as an audience, a sounding-board, so she kept silent and went on with her work. 'Quite obvious,' he went on. 'It would have drawbacks in a big commercial theatre, but this is a different thing altogether. It's intended to be an all-purpose auditorium, for concerts, recitals, lectures, theatre—the lot. It's impossible to cater precisely for everything, there has to be a compromise, and I believe an adaptable stage is the best way, so I've been selling him the idea for this last week and I believe I've won at last.' Yes, she thought, you would. You're one of the world's winners, you always find a way of getting what you want. 'Good,' she said briefly, and went on trimming the length of balsa wood with the small, very sharp knife in her hand. Out of the corner of her eye she saw his hands thrust deeply into his pockets. 'I expect a little more interest and enthusiasm than that from my temporary assistant,' he said. She looked up, startled, not knowing whether he was serious or not, and met his eyes, darkly blue, glinting behind the long thick lashes that half hid them, and her heart gave a jolt and began to thud. 'Careful!' He rapped out the warning as the razor-sharp knife dropped from her hand and embedded itself, point down, in the wooden bench. At the same instant his hand shot out and gripped her wrist. For a moment they both stared down at the knife, then Daniel raised his eyebrows and said, 'Are you usually as off-hand with lethal weapons?' 'No,' she said. She was trembling. 'Because if so I'd advise Julian to take out a personal insurance on you, my girl.'

His fingers were still curled round her wrist and she pulled away. 'He'd be wasting his money,' she said shortly. 'I don't constitute a risk.' 'No?' He smiled thinly. 'After what's just happened that's a matter of opinion. But don't let's start fighting again. I've come to tell you that Lord Saunders wants to make your acquaintance. I've already explained about you, that you're holding the fort for Julian while he's ill. Lord S. seems reasonably happy with the arrangement, but as I've told you he's a man who likes to keep his finger on the pulse all the time, and I gather he wants to look you over. He's asked me to bring you to dinner this evening. It's rather short notice, but as it's in Julian's interest! took the liberty of accepting for you, was I right?' 'Of course,' she said, ignoring the faint irony she thought she heard in the last sentence. 'What time?' 'About a quarter to eight—that be O.K. for you? Give Julian my respects when you see him this afternoon and tell him I'll drop in on him one day soon.' He detached himself from the bench and leaned over to examine the model she was working on. His sleeve brushed against her cheek and she was conscious of the spicy smell of his after- save lotion. 'Coming on nicely,' he said, picking up the small model by its base. 'We'll take that along with us this evening if you can get it finished. 'Bye, sweetheart, and take care with that knife of yours.' He, strolled away and when he had gone the workroom was an aching void. Cassandra sighed, then turned her attention back to the model. It was lucky that there was always work to be done. That afternoon when she got to the hospital she found Julian sitting out of bed making pencil sketches on the back of an envelope. She gave him the pad and coloured pencils she had brought with her, and a packet of his favourite plain biscuits, and bent down to kiss him.

'Cass darling, you'll never know how you make my day and preserve my sanity in this dreary establishment.' 'Ungrateful wretch!' She sat down beside him. 'It's a super hospital.' 'Super, I grant you, and everyone's extremely kind to me. But -' he glanced round the other patients in the small ward and lowered his voice '—but I don't care for their taste in curtains, and that contraption over there with the flowers on—well, frankly it gives me the shudders.' Cassandra giggled. It was good to find Julian his old quipping self once more. 'You're looking lots better today in spite of the curtains.' 'Every day in every way,' he assured her. 'I'll soon be back among you once again. Now tell me how things are going.' 'Quite smoothly. Mrs Lasker is going to the States with her husband for the summer, so she's agreed to put off her job until she comes back. And I've arranged with Berringtons to deliver two pieces of that tweed you wanted. Oh, and these came for you this morning.' She took two letters with foreign stamps, marked 'Personal' out of her bag and put them on the locker. He picked them up and looked at them, then stuffed them in the pocket of his dressing gown. 'Oh, and I've got some news for you,' she told him. 'Lord Saunders wants to vet me. Daniel has been instructed to take me to dine this evening—as a stand-in for you, of course.' Julian was looking rather absently at her and she wondered if she had been talking too much; it would be awful if she tired him and he had another setback. She put a hand on one of his. 'Are you all right, Julian?'

'Um?' He blinked. 'Yes. Yes, I'm fine. I was just thinking that this will clinch our appointment. Once the noble gent has seen you, Cass dear, he won't be looking elsewhere for someone to do his designing.' 'I don't do the designing, you do,' she protested. He grinned at her and he was the old Julian again. 'You don't have to be a designing girl, love, you knock 'em all flat as it is.' 'Very gallant,' she teased back. She stood up. 'I'd better take myself off now. I must wash my hair and pretty myself up to impress Lord Saunders. See how I suffer on your behalf, Julian.' He reached out and took both her hands. 'You do everything for me, Cass, you're simply wonderful. I really don't know how I should have survived all this business without you. I'd like -' he paused, glancing round the room at the other patients and their visitors '—there's something I've wanted to say to you for some time now, but this doesn't seem quite the moment.' He pressed her hands rather feebly. 'Goodbye, Cass, come again tomorrow. My regards to Daniel.' She delivered Daniel's message, bent down and laid her cheek for a moment against Julian's soft fair hair and walked out of the room and along the corridors, looking very, very thoughtful. She was still thoughtful, some hours later, as she finished dressing to go out. Her mink-fair hair shone with a lustrous gloss after its shampoo and she had taken time to arrange it in its sleek coil in her neck, with loose, wavy fronds caressing her cheeks. The dress she had bought to replace the white satin one which had been lost in the fire looked even better than it had done in the shop. It was in the sheerest velvet in a subtle shade of glowing burnt orange which brought out the lights in her hair and gave her skin a burnished look. A ruffle of chiffon edged the deep-cut neckline, and the wrists of the long, fitted sleeves, and the suppleness of the velvet moulded and

caressed the slender curves of her breasts and hips and fell in flutes to the floor. Yes, she thought, turning before the mirror, she looked the part of the professional young designer—modern, but not too trendy to frighten Lord Saunders, who was, according to Daniel, a traditionalist. 'I won't let you down, Julian,' she said softly to her reflection. Since this afternoon at the hospital a certainty had been taking shape in her, a feeling that was peaceful and satisfying. What Julian had said could mean only one thing, surely? And when he asked her to marry him she knew now that she would say Yes. Life with Julian would be deeply rewarding. They had much in common and she had so much she could give him. Surely that was what marriage should be all about—a quiet, sunlit meadow, not an unpredictable, raging volcano. Magda might recommend volcanoes, but she, Cassandra, had had quite enough of them! It was in this serene mood that she joined Daniel in the study a few minutes later. He looked up from the desk where he was poring over some plans. 'Hullo, ready for the fray?' His smile was frank, friendly, the smile of one colleague to another. There was no challenge in it now, no manwoman awareness. He turned to the cupboard where the drinks were kept. 'Something to steady your nerves in case you find our noble client too overpowering?' 'Thank you, a very small Martini, please.' She held up two fingers. He poured her drink and one for himself. 'You're looking very elegant tonight, Miss Designer. His lordship will be bowled over.' She acknowledged the compliment with a composed smile. He was looking disturbingly handsome himself, she thought with careful

dispassion, in a midnight blue evening suit with crisp white at neck and cuffs, his dark hair well groomed and reaching an inch or so above his collar. He came and stood near her as she sipped her drink and she felt a small tremor up and down her spine. But that, she told herself, was just habit and she had it under control almost immediately. 'Where are we going?' she enquired. 'Chelsea. Lord S. has a flat there. He's sold his big house in Haslemere and he plans to move up to Gloucestershire very soon. I shall have to be on the spot there when he goes—you too, I expect. He seems to favour the idea of having his team all working together. You'll be able to stay with Andy and Susan, won't you? You'll enjoy that.' And where would he be staying? Not with Andy too— oh, please not that. He might have read her thoughts, for he said, 'There's a small cottage in the grounds and it's planned that I shall have that, to live in and work in, until the building starts. Afterwards Andy can use it as a site office.' 'I see. I suppose your part of the work is finished once the building actually begins?' It would be a sort of relief to know how much longer she would have to cope with the emotions his presence aroused in her. He chuckled. 'Anxious to get rid of me? Oh, I shall be hanging around a little longer to trouble you, I'm afraid. I shall have to keep an eye on things as they go along. It's my responsibility from first to last, you know. But I shan't feel it necessary to watch every piece of stone go into place, especially as Andy will be doing the building. After I've seen the thing well off the ground I'll probably commute from here to Canada until the theatre is finished.'

'And when will that be?' 'Dear me, you are a girl for having things cut and dried, aren't you?' 'I just wondered,' she said lamely. 'Well, I'm afraid I can't help you there,' he said rather shortly. No doubt he was getting tired of her idiotic questions. Then, as if he were sorry for his curtness, he added, 'It all depends on when we get planning permission. Lord Saunders is keeping the local authority people in the picture every step of the way. He and I have practically worn out the phone line to Gloucestershire in the last few days. I don't think there should be much difficulty about getting the plans passed when we get to the point of submitting them formally. I expect you know how keen they are in the Cotswolds on keeping that part of the country unspoilt— and quite right too. But this project will be adding to the amenities of the place and be in keeping with it. It's not as if we're planning to put up a casino or a disco—or even a hypermarket,' he added with a grin. 'Once we get planning permission, then Andy will have to give a firm date for completion. Lord S. is very keen on that, he wouldn't have the thing dragging on.' Cassandra lifted her chin a fraction. 'Andy's jobs don't drag on,' she said. 'I know.' Daniel's voice was placid, ignoring her quick defence. 'If they did I shouldn't have offered him the job. When he gives us a date I'm sure he'll stick to it.' He put down his glass and looked at it for a moment or two. Then he turned and met her eyes. 'Perhaps I ought to warn you before we go, Cassandra, that Lord S. had certain reservations about my choice of Andy's firm to do the building. I think he might have preferred one of the big boys, Bellinsons, or Longs, or some other international firm. But I assured him that I've got complete confidence in Andy and that in my opinion he will almost certainly do a better job than a larger concern. For one thing

he knows the rather special local conditions, and for another his men are used to working with the Cotswold stone. That's a big point in his favour.' Cassandra frowned slightly. She was remembering that faintly worried expression she had glimpsed on her brother's usually cheerful face; remembering the way he had said, with a kind of relief, 'This contract will just about save our bacon.' At the time she had thought he was joking. She knew that many builders had been going through lean times in the past few years, but the family firm seemed to her founded on a rock. But now she wondered. 'I suppose that it is finally settled that Andy's firm will get the contract?' she asked. Daniel's eyes narrowed; he was looking at her as if she were an enemy, suddenly. 'Are you wondering if I'm going to let Andy down—again? Is that what's going through that tiny mind of yours, that's always so ready to think the worst of me?' The way he was looking at her now there wasn't even friendship left between them. Automatically she hit back against his unprovoked aggression. 'As a matter of fact it wasn't,' she told him coldly. 'Although you could hardly have blamed me if the possibility had crossed my mind.' At that moment Benson came in to say that the taxi was waiting, and Cassandra picked up her bag and the white mohair shawl. Daniel draped it round her shoulders and for a moment his fingers closed painfully on her soft flesh where the neckline of her dress ended. 'Sometimes,' he said very low, 'I'd dearly like to wring that pretty white neck of yours, my girl. Come on, let's go.' And he propelled her towards the door, none too gently.

Lord Saunders' flat in Chelsea was a surprise to Cassandra. She had half expected it to be a little like one of his own supermarkets, sleek and functional and modern, but she couldn't have been more wrong. One glance round the small drawing room, where they were taken by a uniformed maid, explained why his theatre had to be built in traditional style. This room was appointed in exquisite taste and furnished with antiques, everything a collector's item and many things probably priceless. But there was no time to take it all in, for their host was coming across the room to greet them. He wasn't at all as she had pictured him either. Very tall with a slight stoop and thinning grey hair, he looked more like a scholar than a tycoon at first glance. Then, as Daniel introduced them, she met his eyes and sensed the drive and power that had taken him from his parents' village shop to be the millionaire owner of a great chain of supermarkets. It was in the steely greyness of those eyes that the implacable, ruthless will of the man showed through; in the way the lids drooped over them, giving him an almost menacing expression. But he was being charming to her now, holding her hand in a firm grip as he said, 'Ah, Miss Smith, it's time we made each other's acquaintance. I was sorry to hear of Mr French's illness. I hope he is making good progress.' No trace of his humble origins survived in his accent. As he led them across the room to where a fire glowed in a beautiful tiled fireplace, and put drinks into their hands, he said, 'I'm afraid we may be one short for dinner. Olivia rang to say she had to stay on for a students' meeting. There's never any knowing when these things will finish, so Daniel and I will have to compete for your attention, Miss Smith.' Olivia—Livvy! Yes, of course, the girl with the silky voice who rang Daniel up. Cassandra sipped her drink and listened and gathered from

the remarks of the two men that Olivia was finishing her course at drama school. 'She has hope of a professional career.' Lord Saunders brought Cassandra smoothly into the' conversation. 'Or perhaps "hope" is an inadequate word. She learned from me at a very early age that in order to get anything in this world you have to have what I call a burning desire for it.' 'But surely you need more than just a desire?' She had once had a burning desire for Daniel, and look where that had got her! A slight twinkle showed in the steel-grey eyes. 'Yes, surely, you need many things, including luck and perhaps good friends, but the burning desire always comes first. Do you agree, Daniel?' 'Certainly I do, sir.' Daniel leaned back in his chair, sipping his drink, looking entirely at ease. 'And when you attain one goal you must set up another,' he added. 'At least that's my philosophy.' Lord Saunders nodded. 'True. Man always needs a goal.' 'And woman?' Cassandra enquired with a smile. 'Woman too, naturally,' with a little bow in her direction. She would have liked to ask him what happened when a man's desire conflicts with a woman's desire, but instead she said demurely, 'Thank you for that concession, Lord Saunders.' 'Miss Smith,' said the great man, 'I happen to have a very beautiful young daughter, cast in the modern mould. I am constantly finding it necessary to make concessions. This theatre project of mine, for instance, is partly—but only partly—a concession to my daughter's determination to arrive finally at the top of the professional tree. Knowing my Olivia, I have no doubt that she will get there.'

Cassandra smiled rather feebly. What colossal confidence there was in that statement! She glanced at Daniel and wondered if he were one of the objects of this Olivia's desire. If so, she thought with unaccustomed cynicism, it would fit in very nicely with his own goal in life. To have the daughter of Lord Saunders for a wife could do nothing but good to his career. But it was one thing to accept the fact that she herself had purposely thrown away any chance she had had with Daniel, and quite another to accept the pain of seeing him attach himself to another girl. Cassandra was very quiet as they went into the dining room. The dinner, served discreetly by the uniformed maid, was absolutely simple and absolutely perfect. A fragrant soup was followed by a sliver of turbot masked in a wine- flavoured cream sauce, and after that the tenderest, most succulent lamb cutlets nestling in mounds of petits pois and accompanied by twirls of delicately browned duchesse potatoes and buttered baby mushrooms. Fresh fruit in great crystal bowls and a cheese board ended the meal. Everything was impeccably served. It was the kind of meal to eat when you were blissfully happy, and Cassandra was very far from happy. But she was young and healthy, and rather to her surprise she found herself relishing the perfection of it all. Lord Saunders presided over the conversation at dinner just as he might have presided over a directors' meeting, sitting at the head of the polished mahogany table, with herself and Daniel on either side of him. With a quirk of amusement she thought that if they had had blotting pads and glasses of water before them instead of this superb food and wine it might have been a directors' meeting. It was evident that there was one topic and one topic only that their host was concerned with at this moment, and that was the building of his theatre and that this was more a working dinner than a social occasion. Much of the talk was between him and Daniel and was about architectural details. Cassandra listened, interested but out of

her depth. Then as they rose to go back to the drawing room for coffee Lord Saunders turned to her. 'Now, Miss Smith, I'd like you to tell me about Julian French. My friend Gregory Paige advised me that he is the best designer that can be procured for the present kind of project, but I should like to hear a little more about him.' Cassandra knew that this was why she had been invited here this evening and she had her answers ready. It wasn't difficult to act as PR for Julian. She was proud of his reputation and proud to be associated with him, and her eyes shone as she rattled off a list of his successes in different parts of Europe and America and the names of well-known men and women he had worked for and with. Lord Saunders leaned back in his chair and listened in silence, his eyes half hidden by their heavy lids, and she began to wonder if she was taking the wrong line and if all this name- dropping was a good idea after all. But finally their host nodded in his grave way. 'Thank you, Miss Smith, you have told me exactly what I wanted to know. You've convinced me that Julian French is the right man for me. I can see he has a loyal and devoted assistant in you.' Cassandra, glancing at Daniel, caught a gleam of amusement in his eye, and looked away quickly. She began to murmur thanks to Lord Saunders, but he was already on to the next matter on the agenda. Pushing a silver cigar box across the coffee table towards Daniel, he said, 'Well then, that seems to be two members of our team satisfactorily accounted for— the architect and the designer. Now, have you any more to tell me about the building firm you have in mind, Daniel?' So it wasn't finally settled that Andy should get the job, then? Lord Saunders wouldn't have phrased it like that if it had been. Cassandra stiffened as she waited for Daniel's reply. He took his time about it, selecting a cigar and lighting it first before he said, 'I think I've

already told you all that's necessary, sir. Benson and Son are an excellent firm and I've no doubt they will make a splendid job. I've known Andy Benson for some years and I've got every confidence in him. But possibly Miss Smith might be able to add something.' 'Miss Smith?' The hooded eyes turned in her direction. 'Are you connected in some way with Benson's, Miss Smith?' 'Oh yes, indeed,' she began eagerly, anxious to do some PR work on Andy's behalf too. 'It was my stepfather's firm and he passed it on to his son when he retired a few years ago. They've done a great deal of work in the neighbourhood, both new work and restoration too. For new housing they use mostly the artificial stone because the true Cotswold stone is getting very scarce and expensive, but they have done work in the original stone as well. Recently they built a school extension in the neighbourhood and -' Her voice faltered and petered out altogether as she saw the expression on Lord Saunders's face. His eyes had changed from sudden watchfulness to a complete blankness. It was rather alarming. There was a short, uncomfortable silence. Cassandra wondered whether Daniel had noticed the change in the atmosphere and decided that he hadn't. He was sitting back in his chair, brandy glass in hand, showing every sign of being completely relaxed and at ease, and when Lord Saunders spoke to him he looked up with a smile that was innocent of any tension. 'I don't think,' said Lord Saunders with a gentleness that Cassandra found sinister, 'that I was informed that your plans were quite such a family affair, Daniel. Had you some special reason for not telling me?' What was he suggesting—something underhand and devious? Dishonest, even? It was patently obvious that some such suspicion was going through his mind. She felt her cheeks go hot with anger.

As if either Daniel or Andy would stoop to underhand methods! It was insulting even to suggest it. She opened her mouth to tell Lord Saunders so—and then closed it again as she met Daniel's eyes looking straight at her and knew perfectly well that under those long dark lashes was concealed a clear warning for herself alone. 'No special reason,' Daniel replied in a perfectly even tone. 'It's an interesting coincidence that Miss Smith happens to be related to the firm of Benson's, but not particularly important.' 'No?' The one small word seemed electrically charged. 'No, sir,' Daniel replied steadily. 'And if you remember, Julian French was your own choice originally, not mine, and Miss Smith is his assistant.' The two men eyed each other in silence, Lord Saunder's face still with that almost menacingly blank expression, Daniel smiling faintly. Then the elder man picked up the crystal decanter and said, 'Have another brandy, my boy.' The small encounter was over and they were talking together in the friendliest way again. Cassandra began to wonder if she had imagined the tension between them. Suddenly the door flew open and a girl who could only be Olivia Saunders danced in. In that instant any small hope that Cassandra might have had of competing curled up and died. From the silky voice on the phone she had been picturing Livvy as a languid beauty, an insolent rich man's daughter, but this girl was neither languid nor insolent, although she was certainly a beauty. In black jeans and white shirt, her hair a careless tangle of red-gold silk, she was slender as a ballet dancer but without the hauteur; lively and vivid as a humming bird.

'Darlings, here I am at last, and am I worn out?' She flopped gracefully into a chair. 'Hullo, Daddy. Hi, Danny- boy.' She smiled enquiringly in Cassandra's direction and then slid the smile towards Daniel. It changed, became intimate, secret, shutting out the other two. The wide green eyes seemed to cling to his. Cassandra looked away quickly. Lord Saunders said, 'Miss Smith, this is my daughter Olivia. Olivia, Miss Smith, who makes those models you were admiring.' Olivia tore her eyes from Daniel's. 'Hi!' She grinned at Cassandra and then clapped a hand to her forehead in contrition. 'Sorry, Daddy darling, I clean forgot you were having a party. I'm afraid I've come to borrow Danny.' She jumped up and wound soft white arms round her father's neck. 'You can do without him, can't you, sweetie? -A crowd of us are going on to dance at a new place, and I want Danny to come with me.' 'Haven't you enough young men without stealing my dinner guest?' her father demanded with mock severity. 'Darling, they're all just boys. I want a real man with me.' She ogled Daniel shamelessly. 'You'd like to take me, wouldn't you, Danny me darlin'? Not in this old gear— I'll go and make myself beautiful for you.' 'You're beautiful now this minute, Livvy,' he said, watching her lazily and with unconcealed pleasure. Cassandra winced inwardly at the look in his eyes. Olivia left her father and came and stood behind Daniel's chair. 'You say the loveliest things, sweetie. All the same I shall change, just for you, because you look so pretty yourself.' She leaned over him and her silky hair fell across his face as she pressed her cheek against his.

'I'll be with you pronto, Danny. Don't go away.' She flashed a brilliant smile around the group and ran out of the room. 'That,' said Lord Saunders to Cassandra, 'was my daughter. Please forgive the lack of ceremony, Miss Smith. She is very young, only seventeen.' Seventeen! That rang so many bells in Cassandra's mind that she ceased even to try to follow the conversation and was only vaguely aware that Lord Saunders was apologising to Daniel and asking if he objected to being kidnapped so shamelessly and Daniel was at his most suave, saying that he was delighted and honoured. After that she stopped listening altogether. Olivia was back very quickly, looking ravishing. 'Quick change!' she announced, striking a pose in the doorway. 'Beginners for act one, please. How did I do?' Daniel drew in his breath audibly. 'Stupendous! I can see the name in lights already.' He looked stunned and he wasn't pretending. Cassandra felt stunned herself—you simply couldn't be sensitive to colour and not appreciate the picture that the girl made, standing there. She had changed into a silk caftan, and if she had looked like a humming bird earlier, now she glowed like an exotic bird of the jungle. Vibrant blues and greens, cerise and flamingo pink, lemon and deep blackpurple rioted in the folds of silk. It would have been audacious for any girl to wear, but with Livvy's shimmer of red- gold hair it was— there was no better word than Daniel's— it was stupendous. 'Ready, Danny? Let's go.' Livvy's voice was silky as her attire. He was on his feet already. 'I have your permission, sir?'

'Better than that, you have my blessing.' Cassandra kept her eyes fixed on the red glow of the fire so she didn't know whether Daniel looked her way. Olivia called out, "Bye, folks,' the door closed and the world suddenly became unutterably dreary. 'Perhaps,' suggested Lord Saunders, 'you would change your mind and have a small liqueur, Miss Smith?' 'Thank you.' She needed something to get her through the next hour or so, until she could get away without being discourteous. The Benedictine stung her throat and relaxed her slightly. Lord Saunders poured a very small brandy for himself and said, 'I hope Olivia's attire didn't outrage your designer's taste, Miss Smith?' There was a twinkle in his eye. Somehow she managed to be truthful—and generous. 'I thought she looked lovely. You must be very proud of her.' 'Proud? Yes, indeed.' He was thoughtful now. 'Proud, and hopeful, and—quite frankly—terrified, as are most other fathers of daughters in these modern days.' There wasn't an answer to that one and she waited for what she guessed would come next, a lament about the perils and difficulties of this permissive age. His next remark seemed at first irrelevant. 'I like Daniel Marshall,' he said thoughtfully. 'And I trust him'—a smile curled the ends of the thin, clever mouth—'in spite of that little brush between us a few minutes ago. Oh yes, Miss Smith, I could see you noticed that, you're an observant young lady. You were angry, were you not, but you see I always make it a point to entertain a few doubts before I make up my mind as to any man's integrity. But—yes, I trust Daniel Marshall.'

He paused for quite a while so that his next words took on a greater significance. 'I believe,' he said, 'that my girl will be safe with him.' Cassandra sat very still. She was conscious, suddenly, of the soft ticking of the gilt French clock on the mantelpiece. A heavy lump seemed to have settled in her throat; she swallowed, but it was still there. If she could have spoken she might have said, quite casually, 'I was wondering if they were actually engaged?' or some such inane query. It wouldn't have mattered if he thought her ill-mannered and prying; at least she would know the worst. But the lump in her throat was so tight that she couldn't trust herself to speak. And anyway, she thought she knew the answer. 'But now,' her host was saying, 'if you don't mind more business intruding, I have something to put to you. I've been very impressed with the models Daniel has shown me, Miss Smith, and it occurred to me that you might care to do a private commission for me. Would Mr French have any objection, do you think?' Cassandra stared at him blankly. 'Of course,' Lord Saunders was looking slightly surprised, 'if you feel you haven't the time to spare -' She pulled herself together. 'I'm sorry, I—what was it you—you had in mind?' She tried hard to look interested. 'I was thinking of a finished model of the whole complex —of the existing house and grounds, including the proposed new theatre building, I'd leave the scale to you. I'd like something to brood over myself, you know, and to keep on my coffee table and show off to my friends. And also to produce when we have the little ceremony I'm planning for the laying of a foundation stone—the turning of the first sod—you know the kind of thing. I'd like to give the venture the widest publicity possible, both among the local people and anyone

else who might be useful to my daughter's career, and to my own ambitions for the place. Agents, concert managers, impresarios, all who might be interested. I thought it would be splendid if they had some idea of what was to come, and a model would be the best way of showing them. I'm sure you'd make a splendid job of it. What do you say?' 'Say?' she echoed stupidly, and then, rather wildly, 'Yes, oh yes, I'd love to do it, it would be tremendous fun.' 'You'll consult Mi French first, of course?' 'Yes, I'll do that, but I'm sure he won't mind, and anyway I can do it in—in my own time.' She choked embarrassingly. 'Splendid! Well then, I'll give you a rough idea of the general layout.' He leaned back in his chair and reached for a pad from the secretaire behind him. Pencil poised, he looked up at her and then frowned. 'Are you feeling quite well, Miss Smith? You look a little' pale.' Cassandra smiled brilliantly at him. It would be terrible if he guessed. 'I'm fine, thank you, please go on.' Fine—but frightened to death that next time I see Daniel he'll tell me he's going to marry Olivia Saunders. And if he does I really don't see how I can manage to go on at all.

In the end it proved quite difficult to leave. When Lord Saunders found out that Cassandra had grown up in the Cotswolds he was enchanted. It was his own childhood home and he had all the nostalgic sentiment that any village boy has for the place where he was born and from where he set out to make his fortune.

'It's always been the dream of my life, Miss Smith, to go back there when I finally retired and use some of the money I've made to benefit the place in some way.' With Cassandra as a captive audience he talked—and talked! For the first time she heard a trace of the familiar West Country burr in his voice; the formidable straightness of his mouth softened and his eyes lost their hooded watchfulness. There seemed nothing that he didn't know about the Cotswolds, from way back in the past, when the great sheep known as Longwools whitened the green fields in their thousands, bringing undreamed-of riches to the wool merchants of the north and the weavers of the south. 'Those were the men who spent their wealth on building,' he mused. 'Those superbly beautiful houses, magnificent churches, still there to delight the eye today, down to the humblest cottage. Perhaps it was a merciful thing that the wool trade declined when it did. Only a couple of the flocks of the original Longwools remain today, only one or two of the huge mills. Yes, I think it was lucky that the tide of prosperity receded, leaving the Cotswolds as they are today, a gentle place of lovely villages, of cottages where the old crafts are lovely kept alive in a small way, of rolling fields of farming lands.' Cassandra listened politely,- but most of her thoughts were following Daniel and Olivia to their party. She was remembering how his arm had gone round her so naturally as they went out of the room; she was imagining, however much she tried to stop herself, what would happen as the evening progressed. They would go to someone's flat and there would be the soft thrum of music, dim lights, and Olivia would cuddle up in Daniel's willing arms She dragged her attention back to what her host was saying. 'So you see, Miss Smith, how my idea for the theatre came about. I wanted to build something more than just a house—something that many people could share, where they could come and enjoy themselves and

refresh their spirits.' He smiled thoughtfully. 'That has always been one of the burning desires that I told you about earlier. One of the two.' 'And the other?' queried Cassandra a little absently. 'Why, to see my girl happy and fulfilled.' That jerked Cassandra back to full awareness. 'I'm sure she'll make the grade in the theatre,' she said. 'She's so attractive and—and so full of life.' He nodded. 'I agree. But that wasn't quite what I meant. I still happen to believe that a woman's greatest happiness lies in making a home for the man she loves and bearing his children. My own marriage was like that for nearly forty years and that's the kind of life I would wish for my daughter—a happy life with a man who is worthy of her love and respect. Which is a breed that is becoming more rare, I'm very much afraid.' 'But—but didn't you say that your daughter's burning desire was to get to the top in her profession?' Why did she have to press the point? Why couldn't she just leave it alone? Lord Saunders smiled indulgently. 'She thinks it is now. But sometimes, if a girl falls in love, that can lead to other burning desires, even more potent than the desire for success.' By the time Cassandra finally said goodbye to her host and climbed into his impressive car, to be driven back to the studio by his chauffeur (who must have stayed on duty especially for the purpose), it was with the firm conviction that- Lord Saunders intended to see his daughter married —married and safe. And that the man he had chosen for her was Daniel Marshall.

CHAPTER EIGHT IT was well after midnight when Cassandra finally got back to the apartment. All was quiet there, with no sound from Benson's TV, which meant that he had gone to bed. On the low table in the study he had left a flask of coffee and a covered plate of sandwiches. She looked at the two plates and two beakers. Well, maybe Daniel would enjoy coffee and sandwiches when he came in. For her, she couldn't face them. She was deadly tired, but when she had undressed and slipped between the bedclothes sleep seemed remote and her head was bursting with thoughts that jigged and grimaced like hundreds of malevolent hobgoblins. She lay in the dark watching the light from passing cars filter across the ceiling, hearing the distant rumble of traffic from Piccadilly and Park Lane, until she was ready to scream. Eventually she got out of bed and swilled down a glass of water with three aspirins. Somehow she must manage to get to sleep before Daniel came in. It would be too utterly humiliating to lie awake and listen for him like some jealous wife. But in spite of this resolve she kept looking at the luminous hands of the bedside clock as she tossed and turned. The last time she looked it registered ten minutes past two and still he hadn't come in. After that she fell into a heavy sleep. The dream seemed to happen almost immediately, although afterwards she realised that it must have been quite a time later— around five in the morning. It was the same old dream that had haunted her six years ago. The same, only with something added that made it far more terrifying. She was at the quarry, just as before, standing at the edge of the old workings with that sheer, gaping drop straight below. The difference was that this time she wasn't alone. Beside her stood a shadowy, motionless form and she knew without looking that it was Daniel. She couldn't move or speak and her body was infinitely heavy, like the great blocks of stone that lay around. The certainty of imminent disaster was the most blood-freezing

sensation she had ever known. Something too ghastly to contemplate was just about to happen and she was powerless to prevent it. She tried to scream, but no sound came. She struggled to move, but her limbs were useless. Then, outrageously, the figure beside' her slowly and silently toppled forward and fell over the edge. It was like a slow-motion film. She watched it fall away from her, getting smaller and smaller, turning and floating as it fell as if it had no weight at all. Again and again she opened her mouth to scream as the horror struck her, but the screams seemed to be strangled in her throat Suddenly the room was flooded with light and arms were holding her. Daniel's voice was saying urgently, 'Wake up, Cassandra, it's all right. It's all right, baby, I'm here, I've got you. You're quite safe.' She lay against him, shuddering convulsively, in the time-gap between dreaming and waking where nothing has any sure reality, sobbing with great gulping sobs, her hands groping over the hardness of his body under his silk gown, making sure that he was there, he was alive. Finally she found that her eyes could focus again. Daniel was on the bed beside her, an arm holding her against him. She could see one brown knee resting over the edge of the bed, where his gown had fallen open. She twisted her head to look up at his face, his ruffled black hair, his eyes hazy with sleep. 'I thought you—what happened?' she croaked. 'You had a dream,' he said wryly. 'Or rather, a nightmare, I should guess, judging from the yells that wakened me up.' The horror was receding but not entirely gone. 'D-did I call Out?' One hand went to her dry throat.

'You sure did. I thought the banshees had finally got me.' He disengaged himself and moved to the bottom of the bed where he sat looking closely at her. 'Better now?' Without his arm holding her she felt cold and lost, but she nodded. 'I'm fine now. I'm sorry I disturbed you—it was rather a nasty dream. You go back to bed.' He leaned forward and drew a finger slowly down her wet cheek. 'You don't look fine, you look like a damp, frightened little girl.' He got off the bed and stood looking down at her as she pulled herself up against the pillows. She was suddenly conscious that her thin nylon pyjamas were clinging to her in a way that was surely much too revealing. 'Come on,' he said rather abruptly, 'let's go down and brew up a cup of tea, that's what you need.' Cassandra pulled the duvet up to her chin. 'No, really, there's no need, Daniel. I'm all right, I'm wide awake now. Anyone can have a bad dream, I've forgotten about it already.' But she hadn't. Something inside her was still shrieking soundlessly as his body fell down, down, further and further away from her. 'You go back to bed,' she said again. 'Not on your life! You might have another dream, and next time I go to sleep I plan to stay asleep.' He was laughing at her now. 'Come on, little girl, up you get. You need to move around.' He tossed back the duvet, took both her hands and pulled her out of bed. As her toes curled into the pile of the thick carpet she swayed slightly. He steadied her with a hand at her waist and heat surged through her as she felt the touch of his fingers through the filmy nylon of her pyjamas.

'Hey, don't tempt me too far or you never know what might happen,' he grinned. 'You'd better cover up.' He looked round the room, then picked up a fluffy white wrap from a chair by the window and tossed it across to her. She pulled it on. 'I think maybe you're right, I do need to move around,' she said through teeth that insisted on chattering. 'But honestly, there's no need for you to stay up.' 'Don't argue, Cassandra. Do as you're told.' He led the way and she stumbled after him down the narrow stairs. Outside the kitchen door she stopped. 'Do you think my banshee yells will have disturbed Benson?' She put an ear to the closed door of the manservant's private room. A gentle, regular sound came from within and she shook her head. 'He's snoring away peacefully, so I needn't feel guilty about waking him.' 'Nor me,' Daniel assured her. 'I'm quite enjoying all this, it takes me back to my childhood when I used to have nightmares myself. My godmother always took me down to the kitchen and made me drink a cup of .sweet tea. It was her remedy for all ills.' They sat on high stools and drank tea and raided the biscuit tin. 'Tell me what you thought of old Saunders,' Daniel said, obviously trying to divert her mind from the nightmare. 'I was sorry to have to leave you to the tender mercy of the dragon, but I didn't have much choice, did I? Our Olivia is quite a girl for getting what she wants.' He smiled as if remembering something. 'So I should imagine,' said Cassandra, selecting another biscuit carefully. He glanced at her. 'Sorry!'

'What for?' 'For talking about one girl to another, especially at five o'clock in the morning.' 'I'm not jealous, if that's what you're implying,' she said coldly. 'Oh, I was implying no such thing, believe me.' His tone was piously innocent, but his eyes mocked her. 'Why should you be jealous? You have your own man well and truly hooked, haven't you?' She glared at him as he sat there, his bare toes hitched on to the rung of the stool, his ruffled black head laid back against the door of the broom-cupboard, a dark shadow on his chin. If only he would treat her as an attractive woman again! If only he would give her the chance to take back what she had said to him after that episode in the workroom! But now he had met Livvy Saunders he didn't see her, Cassandra, as an attractive woman any more. And tonight he saw her (if he saw her at all) as a—what had he said?—as a damp, frightened little girl. Charming! Anger made her feel better. She slid off her stool, rinsed both their cups under the tap and said coolly, 'Thanks, Daniel, for being so kind, and sorry once again to disturb you. I hope you go straight back to sleep,' she added as they mounted the stairs again. They reached the top and paused outside their respective bedroom doors. 'Oh, I will,' he assured her. 'I have an unfailing recipe for going to sleep. I don't count sheep, I count beautiful girls. Fully clothed,' he added wickedly. He glanced down at the cleavage disclosed by her wrap and for a second he seemed to hesitate. Cassandra had a wild thought that he was going to stop teasing her; that he meant to pull down the wall that she had put up between them—the wall that he himself was making higher all the time.

She stood, hardly breathing, almost certain that in another moment he would hold out his arms to her. She knew with an urgency that left her weak and powerless that if he did she would go gladly into them. Her heart was pounding against her ribs, and the longing to be close to him, held against him, was so intense that she felt as if she were falling towards him. Then he moved back and put a hand up to his door, pushing it open. 'Goodnight, Cassandra,' he said. 'Or rather, good morning. And no more dreams, mind! See you at breakfast.' 'Goodnight,' she said. She went into her room and closed the door. As she got slowly back into bed she thought with wry bitterness that it was going to be impossible to stop dreaming—even if her dreams had now turned into nightmares.

Cassandra slept fitfully and wakened late. She spun out her toilet in the hope that she would miss Daniel at breakfast. But when she finally arrived downstairs, feeling wan and listless, he was still there, going through the post. He looked up with an absent smile. 'Morning, Cassandra. Fully recovered?' 'Yes, thank you,' she said composedly, but he wasn't waiting for a reply, his eyes had gone back to the letter he was reading. When he had finished he said, 'Look, Cassandra, Lord Saunders just phoned. They're going up to Gloucestershire this morning and they're taking me with them. The plans are coming up for final consideration today and I must be on the spot. I'm not sure how long I'll be away, a

couple of days at the most, I should imagine. I'll probably get the cottage sorted out while I'm there—the one I'm going to use temporarily. Livvy's offered to help me.' He pulled a face. 'I shouldn't have thought she's a domestic type, but she seems to want to do a bit of homemaking.' He stood up, tossing off the last of his coffee. 'I'll be seeing Andy and Susan. I'll give them your love, shall I, and say they'll be seeing you very soon.' 'Will they?' 'Oh yes, you'll have to be there if you're going to do this model for Lord Saunders. He told me about it on the phone.' She nodded. 'Yes, I suppose so. I've got quite a lot to do here, though.' He looked sharply at her. 'That nightmare did throw you somewhat. You look rotten this morning.' 'Thanks,' she said. It only needed that. He grinned. 'Touchy, aren't you? Well, I must dash or I'll be keeping them waiting. If you need to you can contact me through Andy. Anything you want before I go?' He was stacking his letters and papers and transferring them to his briefcase. 'No, nothing,' she said. Nothing I want from you, nothing, nothing! 'Right,' he said briskly, zipping his briefcase.' 'Bye then, Cassandra, be good. Give my love to Julian.' 'I'll do that.' She made her voice soft at the mention of Julian.

But when Daniel had gone she stood looking at the closed door and facing yet another unhappy fact. Yesterday she had made herself almost content deciding that if Julian asked her to marry him she would say Yes. But after last night she knew that it would be unfair to marry any man, feeling as she still did about Daniel. Some words from an old song, recently revived, came into her mind: 'There'll be no new romance, it's foolish to start, for that old feeling is still in my heart.' Pouring out coffee, and willing herself to face the next few days with no possibility of seeing Daniel, Cassandra thought ruefully that it took a pop song to express one's emotions with accuracy. It was a horrible morning. Everything in the apartment reminded her of Daniel now, not of Julian. Daniel's sketches were still on the drawing board in the studio, his letter- folder still on the desk in the study. Each time she went up to her bedroom she glimpsed through the half-open door some of his clothes neatly hung across chairs and discerned a faint whiff of the aftershave lotion he used. And, worst of all, the red rosebuds were still almost as fresh as they had been when he gave them to her, although the mimosa had long since shrivelled up and died. She tried to concentrate on the work ahead. She dealt with correspondence; phoned Magda and arranged with her to take over the secretarial work while she was away; she went through her modelling tools and packed them in a box with most of the materials she would need for the model, the special glues and colourings, adhesive tapes, foam plastic sheet. She would rely on getting from Andy any wood or plaster she found she needed when she had finally decided on the best way to tackle the model. After lunch she went to see how the repairs were getting on at the flat and found it cleaned up and looking almost its old self again It seemed like another life, when she had lived here, and she had no

urge at all to come back. Perhaps when Daniel had filially departed things would return to their old, happy groove once more, but at the moment she couldn't even picture that happening. 'I do hope it's not putting you out too much, Miss Smith,' Mrs Rayner the caretaker said when Cassandra looked in to see if she was quite better, which, it seemed, she was. 'We're only waiting for the carpenters now, and then you should be able to move back in again. What an unfortunate thing it was, to be sure.' Mrs Rayner was good-natured and voluble and obviously eager to recount the happenings of the Day of the Fire all over again, and eventually Cassandra had to excuse herself in order to arrive at the hospital on time. She found Julian standing by the window of his room, staring out like a caged animal. 'Look, Cass,' he greeted her. 'I'm on my own two feet again and rariri' to go.' She joined him at the window, with a doubtful glance at his tall figure in its blue silk dressing gown. Julian was always slight, but now he seemed thinner than ever, almost gaunt. His straight fair hair fell across his wide forehead and the bones protruded sharply above hollow cheeks. 'I just can't wait to get back among you all again.' A voice from behind them said warningly, 'Not so fast, my lad,' and they turned to see Dr Roland Dunn standing at the foot of the bed, examining Julian's chart on its clipboard. 'Well?' Julian eyed him impatiently. 'What's the verdict? Is the prisoner reprieved?' To Cassandra he added, 'I'm supposed to know today if and when they're going to let me out of here.' 'The verdict,' smiled the doctor, 'is that you can leave on Thursday— the day after tomorrow. But -' he held up a warning hand '—wait for

it! There's got to be a period of convalescence before you get back into harness.' 'Convalescence?' Julian sat down weakly. 'Yes—well— maybe for a while. I can take things easily and Cass will look after me and see I don't do too much, won't you, my sweet?' He reached for her hand and squeezed it. The set of Roland's jaw belied the almost schoolboy look his curly hair gave him. The jaw was very firm now. 'Sorry, Julian, I can't agree to your going back to your studio straight from hospital. I know a very good convalescent home just outside Oxford -' 'Convalescent home?' Julian looked horrified. 'God no, spare me that! Sitting in front of TV—making small talk at meals—having a nice he-down in the afternoon. No, I want to go home. Please, dear Roland! Cass, use your influence,' he pleaded. 'If I promised faithfully not to work?' He gazed from one to the other of them pathetically. The doctor shook his head firmly. 'No good, my boy. Once you get back to your studio nobody will be able to stop you working, not even Cassandra. And there's another thing. Magda told me at lunch that Cassandra won't be there for a while anyway.' Julian looked alarmed. 'What's all this about, Cass?' 'I was going to tell you. Lord Saunders wants me to do a model of the whole set-up in Gloucestershire, as it will be when the theatre is built. It's for display, and to include the house and grounds as well, so I'd have to be there on the spot to do it. He wants it as soon as possible, to be on show when he has the ceremony he's planning for the foundation-stone laying. He's doing the thing in style, and ho mistake.' She grinned. 'I more or less had to agree, but I made the proviso that I'd have to have your okay first. What do you think?'

Julian looked rather deflated. 'Yes, of course you'll have to go. Oh dear!' Roland put in soothingly, 'Well, that about ties it up, doesn't it? A week or so to convalesce and then you'll be ready to join the party they seem to be laying on up in Gloucestershire. In Oxford you'll be more than half way there, anyway. We'll talk about transport later.' His mission accomplished, he smiled at them both and departed. 'Well,' sighed Julian, 'I suppose that's that.' Cassandra spent the rest of her visit selling Julian the idea of the convalescent home and by the time the visitors' bell sounded she thought she had gone some way to making him resigned to the prospect. '—and Magda has promised to come in each day, while I'm away, to attend to correspondence and so on,' she said. 'She's very competent. Would you be happy about that arrangement?' Julian was looking very tired now. 'Oh yes, anything you say, Cass. But be sure to ask her to post on any personal letters that come, won't you?' 'Yes, I'll do that.' 'All right then, Cass, I'll be a good boy.' He smiled, and once again she saw that faraway sadness in his face that she had seen before. Julian had been much more ill than any of them had suspected, she thought, even himself. That evening Susan phoned. 'Daniel's just been here. He tells us you're coming up soon to start work. I had to give you a ring and let

you know that I'll be so looking forward to seeing you. You'll stay with us, of course?' Cassandra thanked her. She thought that Susan sounded subdued, unlike the usual lively Susan. 'Are the boys fit?' she asked, and was assured that they were bouncing, as usual. 'And Andy?' Susan seemed to hesitate. Then she said quickly, 'Cass, I can't say much to you now. Andy just went out with Daniel and he may be back at any moment, but—has Daniel mentioned anything to you?' 'About what?' 'About the building contract for the new theatre?' 'Not particularly,' Cassandra told her, puzzled. 'I understood it was all fixed up that Andy should have it.' 'So did I,' Susan said, 'but Andy's seemed worried lately and I just wondered—oh well, I expect I'm just imagining things. I've had a pig of a cold and I suppose it's left me a bit depressed—you know how it is. Don't give it another thought. Look, I'll have to go now, Cass, Simon's calling down. They're both a bit over-excited tonight because of Daniel being here. They think he's the tops. 'Bye, love, come soon.' Cassandra replaced the receiver thoughtfully. Daniel had assured her that Andy would have the contract—that he wouldn't let him down. She had to believe him; the alternative would be too painful to think about. As soon as he returned she would ask him straight out. She was sure he would tell her the truth. Whatever else she could accuse Daniel of, she couldn't accuse him of telling lies.

Magda came the following morning, to be 'put in the picture'. As Cassandra had expected she proved quick, tactful and completely efficient. 'You're super,' she said admiringly, after having listened to Magda handling a difficult client, and Magda laughed and said there was nothing like being a doctor's secretary for learning about people and their quirks. 'I certainly shan't have any qualms about going off and leaving you to cope. It's a good thing you're not a designer too or I'd find myself out of a job.' Magda shook her head, taking that seriously. 'I know how much Julian values you. You know, Cass, it's quite a good idea, marrying the man you've been working for. At least you know the worst about each other. I can recommend it.' She tilted her head. 'No?' 'No,' said Cassandra. 'Nothing to report.' She could manage to treat it as a joke—just—but it didn't feel like 'a joke, and she was glad that Magda didn't pursue the subject. Cassandra decided to defer her usual daily visit to the hospital until this evening. By then, she thought, plans might have been made for Julian's departure to the convalescent home in Oxford. And although she wasn't going to admit it she was half expecting a phone call from Daniel, and didn't want to miss it if it came. The call came through at five o'clock and when she heard his voice her heart seemed to stop and then began to race uncomfortably. 'Cassandra? How's everything?' he said. 'Everything's under control.' Except me, she thought, and hoped the telephone line would mask the tremor in her voice. 'And you?'

'Relieved. The plans have gone through without a hitch, so now it's all systems go.' Did that mean that Andy was in the clear too? She wondered how she could ask him, but already he was outlining his plans for the following day. 'I've just been on to the hospital and spoken to Julian himself. He tells me he's agreed to go into a convalescent home near Oxford for a while. His doctor had offered to drive him there, but I had a better idea and this is what we've arranged. I'll come back to town by train tomorrow, getting in somewhere about midday. I'll pick up the Rolls, collect you with all your gear. Then we'll call at the hospital for Julian. Finally we'll all head back for Gloucestershire, installing Julian at his convalescent home on the way. How's that for a neat schedule? Any questions?' 'You take my breath away,' she said. She heard his deep laugh from the other end of the wire. 'It isn't only buildings I can plan, when I set my mind to it. Well, what do you think, can you be ready?' She paused. 'Yes, I suppose so.' 'What's the difficulty, Cassandra? You sound doubtful.' She recognised the impatient note creeping into his voice. When Daniel made plans he expected other people to fall in with them. 'No, it's not that I'm doubtful, it's -' 'Well then, what?' She might as well get it over; she didn't want to have to brood on it for another twenty-four hours. 'It's—I wanted to ask you—it's about Andy. Daniel, has anything gone wrong about Andy getting the contract for the building? I was talking to Susan on the phone last

night and she said Andy seemed worried but he hadn't said anything to her about it. We were just wondering -' She stopped as she heard him laughing. Then, 'What's funny?' she enquired. 'You are. You and Susan. Why is it your sex is always busy making mountains out of molehills?' 'Then it is settled? Everything's all right?' she insisted. She wasn't going to enter into a feminist defence on the telephone. 'Perfectly in order. Andy's been having a spot of bother over one of his sub-contractors, but nothing he can't handle. These things crop up all the time in our line of business, you know. Does that allay your fears?' He had made it seem petty and ridiculous—and that included her. 'I suppose so,' she said coolly. 'Thank you for being so reassuring. I'll expect you tomorrow, then. Goodbye, Daniel.' She replaced the receiver smartly and went to finish her packing and consult with Benson about clothes and personal things that Julian would need to take to the convalescent home. Daniel wasn't the only person who could be efficient. When he got here tomorrow she would be sitting waiting for him, with everything packed around her, or die in the attempt. It was by coincidence that she happened to be in the apartment's lobby, surrounded by luggage, when Daniel arrived next day, although she wasn't sitting on one of the cases like an orphan of the storm. She was, in fact, looking like a very efficient young woman from a top executive suite, in one of the new suits she had bought with the insurance money—a softly-tailored little number in raspberry pink, edged with cool blue, and worn with a stripy silk blouse of the same blue. She had found time yesterday to have her hair done, and it was cut shorter and arranged in a new style, very pale and sleek and framing her face smoothly. Every move she made

at present was designed to bolster up her confidence. She was going to need every bit she possessed. Daniel walked into the apartment with his purposeful stride and stopped as he reached the array of suitcases, Cassandra's and Julian's, together with two packing boxes of modelling materials. Then he looked up at Cassandra and blinked. 'You appear to be ready on the dot.' If it had been anyone else she would have thought he sounded faintly stupefied, but Daniel wasn't easily impressed by efficiency. He expected it. 'All ready,' she confirmed, and added sweetly, 'I should hate to disturb that neat schedule of yours. Have you lunched, or wasn't there room for that on the timetable?' The dark eyebrows rose slightly, but he evidently didn't intend to be provoked. 'I thought Benson might manage to rustle up some of those famous ham sandwiches of his while you and I go over the controls of the Rolls. That is, unless you prefer to drive yourself?' he added politely. She was already half-way to the kitchen to give Benson the necessary instructions. 'Oh no,' she said over her shoulder. 'I'll leave the driving to you. I shall want to look after Julian on the journey.' This would be the first time that Daniel had seen her and Julian together and she wanted to make it convincing. There was a picture in her mind of Julian, pale and still weak, depending on her—perhaps even leaning on her—and of her fussing over him lovingly. In the event it proved a little disappointing that Julian seemed to have made enormous strides in the last twenty- four hours and firmly refused to be helped out to the Rolls, either by Cassandra on one side, or the staff nurse on the other. 'Thanks, but I'm under my own steam now,' he told them both, waving away proffered arms. He was the old

ebullient Julian, joking with the nurse and thanking her for all the care and attention he had received. Cassandra had made sure there was a fleecy rug in the car. She had intended to install him in the back and tuck him up carefully, but he wasn't having that either. 'I'll sit in the front, Cass,' he said, and added with a twinkle, 'I've got to keep an eye on this inexperienced fellow driving.' And as the big car glided smoothly away into the traffic Daniel threw a sideways grin towards his passenger and murmured, 'Perhaps you should, I haven't handled one of these cheap little cars before.' That set the tone for the journey. Daniel and Julian joked and kidded each other and Cassandra, in the back of the car, lapsed into silence. They might have been a couple of schoolboys, she thought crossly. Of course she was glad that Julian seemed so much better, but this wasn't at all how she had planned the journey. The convalescent home, when they reached it in the late afternoon, looked delightful; a long, low house at the end of a curling, shrublined drive and flanked by a semi- wild garden with a stream and pools and mysteriously inviting little paths and seats. 'I shall be quite happy here, it's my sort of place,' Julian announced. The Matron was charming, youngish, good-looking and with a sense of humour that matched Julian's own. She insisted on Daniel and Cassandra staying for tea in her private sitting room, and when they finally left Cassandra took with her a picture of Julian standing with the Matron on the steps, waving them off cheerfully. He hadn't even offered to kiss her goodbye, merely patting her hand and saying, 'Keep the Julian French flag flying, Cass. I'll be among you all again very soon.' Not a very convincing demonstration of undying affection, thought Cassandra gloomily. To make it even worse she

thought she discerned a touch of pity in the look Daniel gave her as they drove away. He stopped the car at the end of the curly drive. 'Are you in a tearing hurry to get to Andy's?' 'No?' she looked questioningly at him. 'I just said to expect me some time. Why?' 'Well, I've existed since a hasty breakfast on three of Benson's sandwiches and one of Matron's dinky little iced cakes, and frankly I can't exist much longer or I'll be fainting over the wheel. I suggest we pick up a meal on the way, what do you say?' To have dinner with Daniel at some little country hotel —to be alone together for perhaps the last time! Suddenly all her good resolutions were blurred as she looked up into the dark blue eyes searching her own hopefully. 'I'd like that,' she said. 'I'm hungry too.' 'Splendid!' There was a note of triumph in his voice; he must indeed be hungry. 'Let's go and find a nice little country pub somewhere.' They found one at Stow-on-the-Wold, high up in the hills. The tourist season had not yet got under way and for most of the time they had the small dining room to themselves. The sight of the Rolls-Royce in the car park, together with Daniel's air of authority, which he carried about with him quite pleasantly, and possibly unconsciously, ensured VIP treatment, and the manager hovered solicitously. If they wouldn't mind waiting, say, thirty minutes or so, for dinner to be prepared - They sat in an inglenook with their drinks, before a glowing log fire, and later dined in an intimate atmosphere of shaded lights and candles, with tiny posies of spring flowers on the tables—blue and white and yellow.

Daniel looked round appreciatively when the meal they had ordered was served. (Afterwards Cassandra never could remember what they ate that evening.) 'They do things well here,' he said. 'We must come again.' But that was only talk; they never would come again. He would finish the job he had come to do and go back to Canada and she would only have this time to remember. 'Tell me about Canada,' she said. Somehow she must manage to keep this one occasion perfect. They mustn't argue and fight and snipe at each other. Canada should be a safe topic. His eyes sparkled. 'Canada's a fabulous place, Cassandra, you'll love it.' That was a slip of the tongue, of course, the way he said it just as if he intended to show it all to her. 'You live in Toronto?' She steered the conversation back. 'Yes, indeed. It's one of my very favourite places—it's a civilised place that's held out against being devastated by progress—a rare thing. You wouldn't believe it, Cassandra, some of the streets there might have come straight out of an English country town, and then just around the corner there's this fabulous new glittering city of glass and steel and concrete.' He talked well and interestingly. Cassandra listened, putting in a word here and there, watching his dark eyes gleam with enthusiasm, his forehead wrinkle when he was finding words to give her a picture. Storing up every little thing about him—the way his black hair curled behind his ears, the little tweak of his thin, intelligent mouth when he smiled. She would want those memories for the time when he would have gone away. Not to get morbid and sentimental but because she knew now that it was useless to try to cut him out of her life by pretending she hated him. She loved him, and she would

have to come to terms with that before she could go ahead and live fully again. 'Did you know,' he was saying, 'that the CN Tower— Canadian National Tower to you—is the tallest free-standing building in the world?' She couldn't miss the pride in his voice. 'You would never come back to live here, would you, Daniel?' He shook his head. 'My godparents moved there when I did—all the family I have. And my work's there. It's an excellent firm I'm with— we're not tied down, we all do our own thing.' 'And you like the traditional?' 'Not always. I like modern building too, in its place. It's fashionable these days to say you can draw a line somewhere in the last fifty years and say, "All art began here," but I think that's rubbish.' His eyes gleamed. 'Remember what the Good Book says, Cassandra? "A time for everything." That idea's always appealed to me. "A time to be born and a time to die. A time to plant and a time to pluck. A time to love -"' His voice was suddenly deep as he broke off, smiling across the table at her, his eyes half hidden by their long lashes, the candlelight making them like mysterious caverns. Her heart began to rock inside her. 'But you mustn't let me get on my hobbyhorse,' he said at last, in such an ordinary tone that she wondered if she had imagined that explicit look he had given her, 'and just now it's the time for paying the bill and taking ourselves out of here so that the staff can go off duty. The waitress over there has been looking glummer and glummer for the last ten minutes.'

It was still light when they climbed back into the car. 'I suppose we could go straight to Broadway,' Daniel said, 'but I seem to remember a rather pleasant by-road that meanders over the hills and brings us out north of Winchcombe. Know it? If we go that way we could call in first at my new cottage and pick up a folder I've got all ready for you, with the final elevations plans. Then I could take you on to Andy's. Right?' 'Right,' agreed Cassandra dreamily, snuggling back into the soft leather of the front seat. This was her lovely evening, her evening plucked out -of time when there was no past and no future, only the present to enjoy. It was all part of the magic that they should drive together over the hills and into the sunset, she thought, and then she giggled as she told herself not to be sentimental. Modern young women don't languish like heroines of old films; she really shouldn't have had that last glass of wine. But she was quite sober really; it was only Daniel's closeness, the smell of his suede jacket, the sight of his strong hands on the wheel of the car, that gave her this slightly tipsy feeling. As the powerful car purred along the narrower, quieter road, he glanced down at her. 'You're very docile this evening, Cassandra. Where's that little spitfire gone to?' She heard the laughter deep in his voice. She looked back at him and then turned her head quickly towards the twilit fields and the evening sky, streaked with green and apricot. 'It's an evening for calling truce, don't you think?' 'Suits me,' he said softly, and they drove on in silence which seemed to Cassandra, in her bemused state, to hold some deep nearness and understanding that linked them together. She hadn't forgotten that once she had felt just like this before—this same certainty that they were meant for each other—but that had been just as much a result of wishful thinking as it was now; she knew that and accepted it. It was

naive to believe that because she loved him, he must love her; things didn't happen like that. But in this enchanted moment none of that seemed to matter. There was Only now. She began to hum under her breath, the tune of that song that began, 'I saw you last night and got that old feeling' and ended, 'There'll be no new romance, it's foolish to start, for that old feeling is still in my heart.' It was sweet, and sad, and utterly appropriate. Daniel drove slowly, although the road was almost empty and they met only one or two cars for every mile they covered. The sunset faded delicately and the white mist rose in cotton-wool puffs over the fields. The beautiful car sauntered along at forty as smoothly as it could skim over the motorway at high speed; up and down the hills, climbing higher all the time. Then there was one hill higher than the rest, a steep descent, a corner at the bottom—and suddenly they drove straight into the pocket of mist. 'Damn,' muttered Daniel, braking, as the white opaque cloud seemed to solidify round them. 'I never thought of this.' He slowed to a crawl. 'It's most likely only in patches, we'll be out of it in a few minutes.' It must have taken a quarter of an hour to cover a quarter of a mile. Then he stopped the car and opened the door, looking out. The mist rushed in, in a clammy cloud, and he shut the door again quickly, switching off the powerful headlights that only reflected back at them. 'I think there are special lights for fog,' Cassandra ventured, but Daniel shook his head. 'We need more than fog lights, we need an automatic pilot to get us out of this. No, we'll just have to wait a bit, if you don't mind, Cassandra, I daren't risk driving Julian's car into a ditch. It's not like a

town fog, it'll lift as quickly as it came down.' He leaned over to the back seat for the fleecy rug. 'Here, put this round you, it's going to get cold soon.' He put the rug lightly across her knees and chuckled. 'I'm not going to suggest we move to the back seat, or you'll think I arranged the mist on purpose.' 'I wouldn't accuse you of that,' she laughed back. 'I'm always absolutely fair.' Too late she saw the construction he might put on that. There was a short silence. Then he said slowly, 'Are you, Cassandra? Are you quite sure you're always fair?' 'Yes, quite sure. My grandfather's second cousin was a High Court judge, he must have passed on the habit to me. Does that surprise you?' To her relief he accepted her fooling and came back with, 'Not really. He may have passed on the habit of weighing the evidence, but not the trained mind that can sift out the truth.' 'Now you're being horrid,' she laughed. 'I'm always horrid, hadn't you noticed? And just at the moment I'm getting cold too. I'll reluctantly have to beg a corner of that rug if you can spare it.' They spread out the rug between them and he slid an arm along the back of the seat and drew her towards him. 'In all the best fairy stories the children lost in the forest cling together and cover themselves with leaves.' He pulled the rug closer. 'We do the thing in style. Now, I think we'd better keep on talking, hadn't we, in case other ideas come into our heads. It's your turn, tell me about London and your time at art college.'

She made it last out as long as she could, but with Daniel's arm holding her and the warmth of his body mingling with hers, it wasn't easy to remember art school characters that had once seemed colourful, anecdotes that had once seemed funny. Eventually the stream of reminiscence dried up altogether. She peered over the top of the rug at the illuminated clock on the dashboard, which said nearly eleven o'clock; then at the mist outside which seemed thicker than ever. She gave a little yawn, more from tense nerves than tiredness. Daniel moved beside her. 'Go to sleep,' he said, 'it'll help to pass the time and I'll wake you when we can take off. Use me as a pillow— not a very downy one, I'm afraid, but the best I have to offer.' His hand emerged from beneath the rug and drew her head on to his shoulder. For a moment she stiffened, then with a little sigh of contentment she relaxed against the supple suede of his jacket. Dreamily she thought that never again would she smell real leather without remembering this moment. It was quite dark outside now; only the parking lights threw tiny aureoles of brightness into the mist. Daniel sat very quietly, one arm around her, his cheek resting against her hair. Cassandra let her eyelids droop. She didn't much care when the mist lifted—or if it never did. As far as she was concerned this moment could go on for ever. The next thing she knew was that Daniel was shaking her gently. She opened her eyes to a black velvet sly studded with stars. 'I went to sleep,' she murmured stupidly. 'Wh-what time is it?' 'Nearly half past twelve,' Daniel's voice came close to her ear and in contrast to her own drowsiness he sounded very wide awake. 'I think we'd better get moving.' He paused and she was suddenly very aware of the tension in his body. 'Hadn't we?' he added, and waited for her reply.

In her half-awake state she felt warm and soft and yielding. The temptation to draw closer to him, to whisper, 'No, let's stay here,' was almost too strong. But before she could find the words he had tossed the rug aside and with one swift, violent movement thrust himself back behind the driving wheel and started the engine. Once on the main road Daniel drove like a fury. Cassandra sank back into the corner of the capacious seat feeling defeated. Again she had had a chance of showing him that she loved him and again she had somehow muffed it. She felt sick with disappointment and the sense of failure. Before she could get a grip on her emotions the car had pulled up again and she saw that it was parked outside a small, darkened building. 'This,' said Daniel, 'is my temporary home. Mrs Warburton must have lit a fire for me—she's Lord Saunders' housekeeper, a good kind soul. I'll go in and get that folder for you.' But he didn't move or get out of the car. He had switched off the headlights and the sudden darkness was like a caress. The silence between them stretched, became unbearable, finally broke as Daniel said in an odd, ragged voice, 'Cassandra, you're not in love with Julian, are you?' She shook her head. 'No,' she said. 'Then—then won't you come into the cottage with me? Just for a little while.' It was almost a groan. 'Oh, Cassandra, I want you so much. Don't hold out against me any longer.' He put. a hand on her knee and she could feel that he was shaking. 'I love you, my darling,' he whispered, 'I think I always have.'

She turned her head away for a moment, towards the darkened cottage, with the flicker of firelight showing through the uncurtained window. Then she knew that this time there would be no timid drawing back, no refusal of love. She opened the car door and slid out on to the soft earth. Daniel was beside her in a moment, and, arms entwined, they went up the path. He pushed open the door and went into the darkened living room, and she followed him, her eyes adjusting to the bulky, old-fashioned furniture and the big sofa drawn up before the fire, when a log burned redly, sending up sparks and little licking flames. He turned, without saying a word, holding out a hand, and she put her own into it, her heart beating as if it would suffocate her. Then something moved over by the fire. A girl's silky voice said, 'Danny, you're here at last, love, I've been waiting for hours and hours. I thought you were never coming.' And Livvy Saunders rose languidly from the sofa. She wore a diaphanous wrapper and against the light from the fire it was starkly obvious that under the wrapper her lovely body was completely naked.

CHAPTER NINE CASSANDRA was the first—in fact, the only one of them— to speak. She said in a high voice, 'If you'll let me have that folder you mentioned, Daniel, I'll be on my way,' and turned back to the door. She felt rather sick, as if she had been thumped in the stomach, but otherwise she felt nothing at all except that she must get out of here immediately. He didn't switch on a light. He picked up something from a side table and followed her out of the cottage into the clear, cold starlight. She stumbled into the car and said, 'I'll take the Rolls on with me, then you can stay with your guest.' She held out her hand for the folder. He looked down at it in a surprised sort of way. 'This? I don't know what the hell this is.' He tossed it away and it fell on the earth with a soft thud. 'Cassandra -' He gripped the door handle. 'Yes?' She waited politely, one hand to the starter. He stared at her for a long, long moment. Then, 'Oh, blast!' he shouted, with the violence of a man driven to the limit of exasperation. He slammed the car door and flung away from her and back into the cottage. Cassandra drove the Rolls with the utmost concentration over the final five miles to Three Trees and parked it carefully beside the house. The light was still on in the sitting room, but she hoped that Susan had left it on for her, and that they had all gone to bed. She wasn't quite sure whether she would be able to talk to them and keep control of herself.

She had her own key and now she opened the front door and went straight into the sitting room. Andy was there alone, sitting hunched over the table, papers spread chaotically around him. One hand propped up his head while the other twiddled a Biro aimlessly. His tow-coloured hair stuck up in frenzied spikes. He looked the very picture of a man under stress. He heard her open the door and looked up. 'Hullo, Cass, so you made it at last. We'd almost given you up.' He grinned affectionately at her; he was trying to act normally, but the effort showed. 'The mist's been pretty thick here, we thought you might have got held up somewhere.' 'We did,' she said, looking away. 'Daniel isn't with you?' She shook her head. 'I dropped him off at the cottage Lord Saunders has lent him.' Now that she had got that over it might be easier. She walked stiffly across the room and sat down opposite Andy. 'How's things?' she asked. He shrugged. 'Oh, so-so.' 'The boys all right?' He said they were fine. 'And Susan? She said on the phone she'd had a cold.' It was odd that she could still talk quite normally, when back there at the cottage she had died and now she was a pale ghost. She hadn't known that ghosts could talk just as if they were still living. 'She's better, but it's taken it out of her. She was a bit tired, so I persuaded her to go off to bed.' 'Quite right,' said Cassandra, and they were both silent. Then she said, 'You haven't waited up specially for me, have you?'

He smiled faintly. 'Good lord, no. Pressure of work.' He waved at the littered table. All these years they had been close friends; she knew him so well. Now she could tell that he was worried sick. 'Is it the job, Andy? Want to talk about it?' He shot her a startled glance, then he lowered his eyes to the paper before him and sat silent and withdrawn, tracing a complicated doodle around the columns of figures on it. Cassandra watched him in silence. All she wanted to do was to crawl up to her room and hide herself under the bedclothes, shutting out the world, but if there was anything she could do to help Andy, then her orgy of self-pity could wait. At last he said heavily, 'You remember Ken Clare, from the other side of Moreton? We've worked together for ages, helping each other out from time to time on special jobs. Well, I was depending on Ken for this Saunders building commission and—well, now it seems that Ken's firm is folding.' 'You mean——?' 'I mean he's finished—bankrupt. It's happened to any number of builders lately, you know. Things have been pretty bad in our line for years now.' 'Oh, I'm sorry, that's rotten bad luck for him. But will it affect you much? I mean, in a business way?' Andy's mouth was grim. 'Too true it will. Things haven't been going too well for me either and I've been relying on getting this Saunders contract to sweeten my bank manager. If I don't get it -He shrugged significantly.

Oh no, it couldn't happen! Not to Andy. Not to the family firm, which had always seemed as solid as a rock to Cassandra. 'But you could find someone else, surely? I mean, the building isn't started yet—they've only just passed the plans.' 'I know, but it's not as easy as that, Cass. Given a bit of time I could probably fix something up, but Lord Saunders is insisting on my sticking to the completion date I first suggested. If I can't do that he won't sign the contract. It seems he's arranged a big party for the laying of the foundation stone ceremony—a lot of blah-blah, I think, but you know how it is with these top men, they like to make a splash—and the contracts have got to be all fixed up by then.' He ran his fingers through his hair, making it even more spiky. 'You see my problem, Cass? I can't possibly be certain now that I could keep to that first completion date, and if I couldn't, in the event, then he could claim on me and'—he shrugged—'that would in all probability mean that I should be the next for the high jump.' This was worse—much worse—than she had imagined. 'Does Daniel know how serious this is for you?' She choked slightly over saying his name, but Andy wouldn't notice. 'Oh yes, Daniel knows. He said he'd talk to Lord Saunders, try to get him to settle for a later completion date, but it seems the old boy's a hard nut to crack. Already he's putting pressure on Daniel to cut me out altogether and bring in one of the big construction corporations to do the job instead.' Cassandra stared incredulously at him. 'But I don't understand. Daniel promised you, Andy, he couldn't just give the job to someone else, surely? He's the architect— he has the last word—he couldn't let you down like that!' Her voice shook a little; she was beginning to feel something again, so she couldn't have died after all.

He gave her a weary smile. 'Oh, Cassandra love, this is business. Either I can deliver the goods or I can't, and at the moment I can't, so that's it. Daniel can't really help, he's not a miracle worker.' Suddenly, inside Cassandra, a witch's brew of emotions came to a seething boil—anger and humiliation and disappointment and selfdisgust and jealousy—and spilled over into words. She glared at her brother, so patient, so reasonable, so ready to make excuses, and lashed out at him. 'Andy, how can you be so utterly blind? Of course he could help if he wanted to, if it suited him. He's just selling you down the river like he did years ago, only you won't see it. He's—he's despicable, he doesn't know the meaning of the word loyalty, he just uses people and—then ditches them when they don't fit in with his plans.' She was shaking all over, powerless to stop the bitterness that, poured out. 'He's just a—a cheap confidence man. I hate him!' If she said it often enough perhaps she would believe it. Andy was staring at her. 'You don't know what you're saying, Cass. You can't bring personal feelings into a business matter. I'm sorry now that I told you about it. You're tired, we won't talk about it any more. Would you like something to eat before you go to bed? I believe Susan left you something in the kitchen.' It was the nearest thing to a snub she had ever had from Andy and it hurt. She stood up on trembling legs. 'No, thanks, nothing. I'll go up.' She was very near breaking point now. She touched his shoulder as she passed him. 'I lost my cool, Andy. Sorry.' He smiled at her briefly. 'Goodnight, Cass,' he said, and turned back to his papers as she dragged herself wretchedly upstairs to her room. Lying wide awake in the dark, dry- eyed now, she thought that the outburst hadn't helped, it had only made everything worse. She had been so close to letting herself trust Daniel, love him unreservedly, and it had brought nothing but disillusionment.

But the worst thing of all, the ultimate treachery, was that he had said, 'I love you.'

Somehow Cassandra got through the week that followed. The first morning was the worst. She kept having a panicky urge to run away, but where to? If she went back to the studio in London it would involve far too many explanations. And she couldn't even take refuge in the conventional course of running home, for that was where she was already. So she did the only thing left to do, she got on with the job of making the model for Lord Saunders and did it as well as she knew how. They said there was nothing like working with your hands to heal an overburdened mind, she told herself wryly. They called it rehabilitation. There was a nasty moment on that first day. She had arranged with Andy to borrow his workroom, which he seldom used. It had once been a scullery at the back of the house, and was fitted with a bench and electric plugs and all the things she would need. She had just finished unpacking the boxes containing her materials and was getting organised when Susan knocked and came in with a cup of coffee in one hand and a green cardboard folder in the other. She concentrated on finding a space to put down the cup and said with studied casualness, 'Daniel Marshall's here. He brought this folder and he's asking if he might speak to you.' Cassandra's stomach contracted painfully. She took the folder and said, 'Will you thank him, Sue, and say I can't see him just now.' And then, urgently, 'Get rid of him, will you, Sue? Please.'' She could only guess how much Andy had told his wife of the outburst last night and what conclusions they had both drawn. Probably they had arrived at something near to the truth, for now

Susan glanced at her sister-in-law's white face and said, 'Okay, love, I'll do that.' Cassandra stood rigidly in the middle of the workroom, hearing their two voices in the distance, Susan's high and light, Daniel's deep and slow. Very soon the voices stopped and there was the sound of a tuned-up engine revving away. Susan returned. 'He's gone,' she said. 'There was a rather showy girl driving him.' She touched Cassandra's hand. 'Is that the trouble, love?' she asked quietly, and Cassandra nodded. 'Part of it.' Through the open window came the voices of the twins, at home for the Easter holiday. 'The bulldozer thing arrived from Canada yesterday,' Susan said. 'We've let them have the end of the kitchen garden to dig up. They seem to be making a good start. How I'm going to get the mud off them tonight I don't know.' She smiled fondly, but her gaze quickly returned to Cassandra's bleak face. Cassandra looked out and saw Simon in the seat of a handsome red and yellow contraption. He was furiously working pedals and levers and shouting out commands to Jeremy, whose attention had been diverted by the arrival of the bread delivery man. The breadman stopped to admire the new toy; he was evidently an old friend. He stood with his back to the window, swinging his basket, and then Simon's voice rang out: 'We're getting the foundashuns right. My daddy says the foundashuns are very 'portant.' Not to be left out, Jeremy added proudly, 'I'm going into my daddy's firm when I grow up.' Susan quickly turned away from the window. 'If there's any firm left to go into,' she muttered. Cassandra smiled wryly. 'We've all got our troubles, it seems. When will you know? About Andy and the contract, I mean?'

'He's not saying much, and I'm not bothering him about it. The ceremony over at the Manor House is planned for a week tomorrow, so that doesn't leave much time. I'm keeping my fingers crossed hard. I know Andy has got two or three different sub-contractors in mind; it just depends on whether they can fit in the work. It's the timing that's important.' When Susan had gone to interview the breadman Cassandra opened the green folder and drew out a sheaf of plans and drawings. With them was a folded note in Daniel's familiar black handwriting. There was no beginning and no end. It just said, 'In case I don't contact you. Please try to believe that I'm desperately sorry about last night and that what happened was none of my arranging. But I can guess what you must be thinking, and perhaps it's as well if we keep out of each other's way for a while.' She read it through twice and then tore it into confetti and dropped it in the waste bin. For the first time she didn't analyse Daniel's words and try to read into them something that might offer a gleam of hope. All that was over now. Finished. After that he made no attempt to see her or communicate with her, and in the following days she forced herself into a strict routine of work. The model she was making was the most important assignment she had ever attempted, and it was a challenge to her skill and ingenuity. The folder that Daniel had brought for her contained a layout of the whole estate, including a rough diagram of the house itself, so she was able to go ahead for a time without having to risk encountering him by visiting the Manor House. The atmosphere at Three Trees seemed normal on the surface, but underneath the tension was hovering all the time. Andy was out a great deal and when he was in the house he was withdrawn and preoccupied, which was so rare that Cassandra didn't dare to question him. Susan, usually so cheerful and outgoing, went around with a

little frown between her eyebrows, which quickly turned into a smile whenever the twins appeared. On Wednesday Cassandra rang up the convalescent home in Oxford and spoke to Julian. 'I'm bouncing,' he announced, in answer to her enquiry, and indeed he sounded a different man from the faintly world-weary Julian she had known, driving himself to overwork. 'I'm eating like a horse, sleeping like a dormouse, and generally turning into a very healthy animal.' She had never heard him in such high spirits; this illness must have been creeping up on him for years and now he was, literally, a new man. 'When are you planning to leave?' she enquired. Everything would be easier once Julian was here. In fact, she had been hatching a plan to ask him if she might return to London herself as soon as he arrived, but she wouldn't mention that yet. 'Quite soon,' he told her. 'I've had an invite to this do of Lord Saunders' next Monday, to break the holy turf in the presence of the mayor and corporation and so on. It sounds like fun. I'll probably be coming up over the weekend some time.' She asked if she should drive down and fetch him in the Rolls, but he said rather vaguely, 'No, Cass dear, thanks. You carry on with what you're doing. I've got things organised here,' and he changed the subject and went on to ask her about the model. The rest of the call was taken up with technicalities, and when she finally replaced the receiver she sat frowning at it. She should have been overjoyed that Julian had made such a spectacular recovery, but she didn't seem capable of feeling anything at all. Since the night when she had walked into the cottage with Daniel and found Livvy Saunders already there it was as if the feeling part of her was gradually getting more and more numb and dead, just as your face felt when you had had an anaesthetic for a tooth filling.

That afternoon John Mackintosh, Lord Saunders' agent, called to see her, bearing what Julian had called an 'invite' to the ceremony on Monday. Cassandra was relieved to see the little Scotsman with the sandy hair and bristly moustache, for she had reached the stage when she needed photographs of the Manor House itself in order to complete her model, and she had been worrying about how to get them without running the risk of meeting Daniel. John Mackintosh placed a bulky envelope on the bench in the workroom, where Cassandra had taken him, with the air of the conjuror producing the rabbit from the hat. 'A whole set of photographs, supplied by the estate agents for the property before Lord Saunders purchased it,' he explained triumphantly. 'Mr Marshall gave me your address here, Miss Smith. He thought you might be needing them.' 'Thank you,' said Cassandra. 'How very thoughtful of him!' No doubt Daniel was as anxious as she was that she shouldn't find it necessary to visit the Manor House. Mr Mackintosh didn't hear any irony in her tone. 'Yes, indeed, Mr Marshall thinks of everything. A first-class architect, Miss Smith, a most reliable man to work with. Lord Saunders couldn't have chosen better.' 'Oh yes?' said Cassandra coolly. 'Would you like to see how the model is getting on?' She led him over to a table in the window, effectively cutting short his eulogy about Daniel. 'Ah yes. Lord Saunders was enquiring about its progress.' He eyed the artifact on the table. 'Weel, but this is a splendid wee thing, Miss Smith. I had noo idea -' His admiration- was quite patently sincere as he, walked round the table, viewing the model from all angles, making little noises of fascinated approval as he recognised different

details of the estate, standing back to savour the tiny mass of the new building enclosed on three sides by the dark green of the trees, the entrance drive forking and dividing to sweep round to the two car parks, effectively hidden from the theatre itself. 'Amazing!' breathed the little Scotsman. 'Lord Saunders will be delighted.' He leaned forward, examining the diminutive trees. 'How verra clever to use the real branches— and the theatre seems to be made from the actual stone.' He sighed. 'It's a mystery to me how you do it!' Warmed by his evident admiration, she explained her own idea of applying acrylic glue to the plaster model and then gently blowing on powdered, finely-ground Cotswold stone as a facing. 'I didn't know how it would work, but it seems to have come out quite well.' John Mackintosh nodded. 'You're a verra clever young lady, Miss Smith. I agree with Mr Marshall,' So Daniel was saying she was clever, was he? That didn't exactly throw her into ecstasies of delight, she reflected cynically, and changed the subject to enquire after John Mackintosh's wife and new baby. 'A bonny wee laddie,' he told her, beaming, 'and both of them doing splendidly. My wife is looking forward to making your acquaintance on Monday, Miss Smith. You'll be attending the ceremony, noo doubt?' Cassandra said vaguely that she hoped so, but she wasn't quite sure at the moment whether she would have to return to London. She promised to deliver the model to his office by Friday at the latest and he finally departed, in a flurry of satisfaction and enthusiasm, leaving Cassandra to sort out the photographs and sternly drag her thoughts away from the black pit of despair where they were inclined to settle,

and come to a fine point of concentration on the work. If she were going to have the model ready for delivery on Friday she would have to put everything she knew into it; she would even have to. work late into the night, she knew, to co-ordinate the different drying periods and setting periods for all the materials she was using. But working late was a relief in one way, for the nights were the worst part of all—just lying awake and not being able to stop thinking, until her head felt as if it were bursting and her body was hot and then clammy-cold in turn. On Thursday night she didn't go to bed at all; she worked until her eyes wouldn't focus any longer and then she curled up in the old basket chair in the workroom, beside the electric bar fire, and dozed uneasily until dawn. By Friday afternoon the model was finished and duly delivered to Mr Mackintosh in Broadway. Cassandra was so tired that she hardly heard his delighted coos of approbation. When she got home Susan took one look at her and said, 'You've worn yourself out, my girl, off to bed with you. I'll bring you up some supper and then you can sleep till you wake. And I always thought designing was a nice easy job! How wrong can you be?' Cassandra slept heavily and woke on Saturday morning with a sense of anti-climax. Now that the model was finished it seemed that her work here was over. Once Julian arrived she wouldn't really be needed; she would be more useful looking after his interests in London. She couldn't help Andy and Susan at this stage either, although she could hardly bear to see Andy's grim face and Susan's determined smile. Everything considered, she argued with herself, it would be better for her to return to London. And the best reason of all, she admitted to herself, was that it would put a hundred miles between herself and Daniel Marshall. The thought made her feel sick and ill.

After lunch she decided to phone Julian in Oxford and put the suggestion to him. A few minutes later she came out to Susan in the garden, with a white face. 'He's not there,' she said. 'I got through to the Matron and she said Julian left yesterday, rather suddenly. She herself had taken him to the London train. So of course I rang the studio, but—but he's not there either. Magda—that's the girl who's looking after the office work for me—said she hadn't seen him, or heard anything of him. Oh, Sue, I'm rather worried. What do you think can have happened? He knows where I am; surely he'd have got in touch with me by this time if he'd decided to change his plans? And why did he go to London when he said he was coming straight up here?' Susan said immediately, 'I'll ring Andy at his office— he may know something.' But Andy hadn't heard anything of Julian; neither had Daniel, who, it seemed, happened to be with Andy just then. 'Don't worry, love,' Susan said. 'I'm sure there's some perfectly ordinary explanation. Wait until the morning and I expect he'll just come walking in.' By midday on Sunday, when nothing had been heard of Julian, despite phone calls to everybody that Cassandra could think of, her worry had turned into a gnawing anxiety. Andy hadn't come in for lunch, the twins had departed into the garden and the two girls were sitting rather silently over their , coffee when Cassandra burst out suddenly, 'I've got to do something, Sue. I can't just sit here. It's not as if everything were quite normal—Julian's been very ill, you know.' Even his unusual euphoria on the phone the other day seemed now to hold ominous undertones. Susan put her cup down. 'Will you tell me something, Cass? You aren't in love with Julian, are you?'

That was exactly what Daniel had said in the car, in the mist, and then -The memory hurt like a raw wound. She swallowed and shook her head. 'It's Daniel Marshall, isn't it? Always has been?' 'Yes,' said Cassandra simply. Then, 'But it's no good, Sue. I've got to cut it out. Major surgery,' she added with a shaky grin. She jumped up from her chair. 'And now I'm going to London to look for Julian.' 'You'll drive?' 'I'll have to, Sunday trains being what they are. Don't look so worried, Sue, I'm not going to smash up Julian's beautiful car. I'll give you a ring when I get in.'

The final part of the drive was slow going; part of the motorway was closed for repairs and the diversion was choked with cars returning to London after a day's outing. Cassandra reached the studio just after five o'clock and the phone was ringing as she walked into the office. She took off the receiver as Benson came hurrying in to answer it and she lifted a hand in reply to his look of surprise at seeing her there. 'Cass?' came Susan's voice over the wire. There was something odd about her voice and Cassandra said, 'Relax, love, I'm still in one piece.' Susan laughed, and her laugh told Cassandra that she wasn't alone. 'You'd better relax too,' Susan said, high and excited. 'Julian's here and he wants to speak to you.' Cassandra flopped into a chair, letting out a long breath. Then Julian's voice said, 'I'm on my knees, Cass, I'm truly sorry to have

been such a nuisance. I'm positively stricken with remorse.' He didn't sound in the least stricken, he sounded extremely cheerful. 'Where on earth have you been?' she asked weakly. 'You've given us all such a scare, disappearing without trace.' 'Well, actually -' he drawled out the words mysteriously '—I've been to Rome. I had to collect something rather special, at short notice. I've got it here with me. I'll show you when you get back.' There wasn't anything new about Julian flying all over the place to acquire new objects of special worth or beauty, but she didn't see any need for her to go back to Gloucestershire just to inspect it. The prospect of having to see Daniel again tomorrow, even at a distance, made her feel physically ill. She firmed her mouth and said, 'I was thinking that I might stay on in London now that I'm here -' 'No, no, definitely no,' Julian broke in. 'We must have you with us at the party tomorrow. I've just seen your model, Cass, and it's fantastic. It's certainly your master- work.' My swan-song, she could have said, but instead she wailed, 'Do I have to come back?' 'Yes, I'm afraid you do. Poor Cass, it's a shame to let you do all this driving, and it's my fault. Leave the Rolls behind if you like, and come up by train and I'll meet you. But come you must. That,' he added with unaccustomed firmness, 'is an order.' There was no getting out of it. She sighed deeply. 'All right, if I must I must. I'll drive—the Rolls is getting quite used to me now.' 'That's my girl! Now, have a good night's sleep and get up here as soon as you can. Come straight to the Manor House and we'll be

looking out for you. I can't wait to show you what I've collected in Rome.' There was a muffled giggle and then Susan came back on the line. 'We've been celebrating and I'm disgustingly tiddly, but I must tell you our good news. Andy's in the clear, he signed the contract about an hour ago. Talk about a cliff-hanger!' She giggled again. 'See you tomorrow, Cass.' There was a click as she put down the receiver without waiting for Cassandra's reply. Then a faintly apologetic cough made her turn, to see Benson, still standing respectfully in the doorway. 'Is everything all right, Miss Smith?' he enquired in his doleful voice. 'I wondered, when you came back without notice.' 'Oh yes, Benson, everything's quite all right. That was Mr Julian on the phone and he's very much better.' Everything was all right. Everyone, it seemed, was quite deliriously happy. Except Cassandra. Except silly, cowardly Cassandra Smith, who had been afraid to follow her heart, would wouldn't risk loving until it was too late. She couldn't go back to the ceremony tomorrow, she simply couldn't, it was asking too much of herself. She would dawdle on the way, arrive late, and go straight to Andy's. She would say she'd overslept and then had a holdup on the motorway, like yesterday. That way she wouldn't have to see Daniel and Livvy Saunders together. No doubt by this time Lord Saunders had got it all tied up, no doubt he was in sight of satisfying both his 'burning desires', the one for his theatre and the one for his daughter's future. Perhaps he might even use the opportunity tomorrow to announce the engagement in public. Cassandra went on torturing herself for the rest of the evening and most of the night. But, strangely enough, when she woke up her head

was quite clear and she knew she couldn't do it. If she ran away again she was going to loathe herself for the rest of her life. If this were her swan-song it was going to be good. She was going to the ceremony with her head up. She was going to stick it out. She was going to laugh and talk and congratulate everyone. She was even going to congratulate Daniel and Livvy Saunders, if that were the final price she had to pay for her own self-respect. She just prayed that the ghastly sinking feeling she had inside wouldn't get any worse until she'd done what she had to do. Cassandra arrived at the Manor House with five minutes to spare before the appointed time mentioned on the invitation—eleven a.m. She had known it was to be quite an occasion, but she hadn't expected the crowd she saw when she had parked the Rolls with the other cars in rows across the forecourt and halfway down the drive. There was an air of excitement around. People were obviously dressed up and some of the men even wore flowers in their buttonholes. It was almost like a wedding, and she was glad, now, that she had chosen to bolster up her courage by wearing one of her new outfits—an ash-rose dress sprinkled with field flowers and with its own floating scarf. She had fallen in love with it in the shop but had hesitated over wearing it today, wondering if it would look too much like a garden- party dress, but now she saw that she needn't have worried. Andy was coming towards her through the crowd. 'You made it, then, Cass. You're looking smashing.' His grin stretched widely as he ran a finger round his snow-white collar and added, 'Susan won't get me into all this fancy gear again until the day I go up to the Palace for my M.B.E. It's agony!' She squeezed his arm as they joined the procession of people making their way round to the gardens at the rear of the house. 'Never mind, pal, it's all in a good cause. Wonderful news about the contract!'

'Just about saved my bacon,' he said soberly, but she could hear the heartfelt relief ringing through the words. 'Most of it was Daniel's doing, Cass, you'll have to take back those harsh words. Look, there are the others over there. Come on, let's see if we can get through the mob to them.' It was a beautiful, sunny April morning. On the terraces servants hovered behind two long tables stacked with bottles and glasses and dishes piled high with savoury titbits of the usual kind. At the foot of the steps leading from the terrace down to the lawns a table was spread with a white cloth and on this Cassandra saw her own model, surrounded by interested spectators, leaning forward to examine it, pointing out details to each other. She glanced up at Andy and grinned, 'You can have Buckingham Palace, it's the Royal Academy for me!' 'You may have something there, Cass, everyone's admiring it and wanting to know who did it. You're half way to the Academy already.' Susan, looking flushed and pretty in a pale blue two- piece, had seen them approaching and was waving over the heads of a knot of people in front of her. Beside her, tall and thin and still a little frail-looking, but smiling happily, was Julian. And beside Julian was a dark girl whom Cassandra had never seen before. Julian's eyes lit when he saw Cassandra. 'Cass dear, I knew you wouldn't let me down.' He came forward and kissed her on the cheek—a friendly kiss. 'Now, let me show you what I had to go to Rome to collect.' He put his arm around the dark girl lovingly, possessively, proudly. 'My wife, Anya, only, just retrieved from the darker side of Europe after a long, weary time of waiting.' The girl held out both her hands. 'And you are Cassandra, I am so very happy to see you at last. Julian has told me so much about you

in his letters. That you have been his —how do you say it?—his mascot, and made him laugh through all the bad times.' She was very beautiful, with the long, slender body and smooth dark hair of a ballet-dancer. She was dressed all in white, like a bride, and she looked radiantly happy. Cassandra took her hands and murmured words that she hoped were appropriate. Part of her was reeling with surprise, but another part was piecing little clues together, admitting that she might easily have guessed the truth. Julian's almost frenetic drive to work; that sad, faraway look that he had sometimes; the letters with foreign stamps that he watched for so eagerly 'I'm so glad for you, Julian,' she said, and meant it. 'So very glad.' He leaned close to her ear. 'Sorry I couldn't let you into the secret before, Cass. I'd made a vow not to let anyone in until we had it all tied up. It's been quite a tricky ploy, getting Anya out. Nobody knew except Daniel, and that was by accident. One night in Canada I ran a temperature and talked too much and gave the show away. But he promised to keep it to himself and I knew I could trust old Daniel.' So Daniel had known all the time that Julian was married! How he must have been laughing at her—or, worse still, perhaps he had been pitying her. Poor Cassandra, setting her sights on a man who was in love with his wife! She felt hot with shame and misery. Was that why he had invited her into the cottage on that horrible night —offering her a consolation prize because he knew she was going to be disappointed very soon? And getting an hour or two of pleasure for himself at the same time? She pressed a hand to her throbbing head. She couldn't think straight. In fact, she couldn't think at all; all she knew was that she must get out of here as soon as she possibly could. The guests were being moved along now, politely shepherded by well-dressed young men across the lawns, along the wide grassy

track beside the river, through a gap where a tree had recently been felled, into the clearing where the theatre would eventually stand. Cassandra hung back, vaguely hoping for some way of escape to present itself, but Susan stayed close beside her, chattering excitedly. 'Look, Cass, that's Mr Walker from the surveyor's office—you've met him, haven't you? And that's John Hordon, he's a poppet, he's just been put in charge of local housing. Oh, and they've even got a mayor from somewhere. Just look at that gold chain, and his wife's hat! The big man with the cigar—I don't know him, he's someone from London, I expect. Very pukka!' She peered over the heads of the crowd towards the front, where the action was, and Cassandra fixed a smile on her mouth and kept her eyes doggedly on the ample, crepe-covered back of the woman in front of her. Then Susan said, 'There's Daniel—oh, he's coming over here,' and Cassandra's bones turned to water. She clutched Susan's arm and the other girl turned towards her quickly, seemed to remember something that in the excitement she had forgotten, and murmured, 'Okay, love, I'll stand by.' It shouldn't be impossible to look up and smile—just a formal smile of recognition that fitted the occasion, the kind of acknowledgment that he would give her. She lifted her head and saw him and in all the crowd of people she saw nothing and nobody else—only Daniel walking towards her purposefully, as if he were seeking her and only her. Then they were face to face, so close that she could see the way his lips were pressed together, the faint shadow where his razor had missed a place on his left jawbone. She met his eyes blankly; she couldn't have moved a muscle if her life had depended on it. For a moment she thought he hesitated, that his dark blue eyes flickered under their long lashes. Then he walked straight past her to where Julian stood and put a hand on his arm. 'You're wanted on stage; Julian, to meet the big boss. You and your lady wife.'

The crowd parted to let the three of them pass and when they had gone the lady in the crepe dress had moved, so that Cassandra had a clear view of the proceedings. She stared through the gap that presented itself, unblinking as a camera that registers everything and feels nothing. Over there in the distance the figures looked small and brilliantly defined in the sunshine, like a tiny colour slide held up to the light. There was Lord Saunders smiling benignly upon his guests, the picture of a satisfied man, and next to him Livvy, radiating the practised charm of the trained actress, smile flashing, arms fluttering in expressive gestures. She wasn't dressed to shock today; she wore a full, flowing peasant-style dress in muted earth colours, greens and browns and creams, above which her fiery hair glowed like a sunset. And when Daniel returned to present Julian and Anya, she linked her arm through his possessively and smiled up into his eyes. The speeches began, but Cassandra wasn't listening. At one point there was a flash of steel as the sunlight caught the edge of the spade when Lord Saunders performed the ceremonial act of cutting the turf. Then everyone was clapping politely. The scene seemed to have been well rehearsed. Lord Saunders handed the spade to John Mackintosh, who came forward to take it; then, as the clapping continued, Livvy reached up and kissed her father; turned to Daniel and kissed him too. Cassandra closed her eyes, her fingers curling into her palms, and looked round for some chance of escape. But before she could move the crowd was trooping back towards the house for refreshments and she was borne along with them. She had got separated from Susan and now she moved back to her, lowered her head and whispered. 'I've had about enough, Sue. I'm going to disappear as soon as I decently can. Will you be an angel and cover up for me? Say I had a headache or something and I've gone back home.' Susan glanced at her worriedly. 'You look rotten, love, and I'm coming with you,' but Cassandra wailed, 'Oh please, no, that would

draw attention and I don't want to make it obvious. I'll just have a glass of wine, for the look of the thing, and then watch my chance to get away. Tell Julian his Rolls is parked in the drive, a little way down. And don't worry about me—I'm sure to pick up a lift back and if I don't I'll enjoy the walk.' Susan looked down and her voice rose. 'Four miles in those shoes!' Cassandra shook her arm, shushing her. 'Please, Sue, if you love me,' and her sister-in-law took a look at her set face and agreed reluctantly, 'All right, but Andy and I will be coming after you as soon as I can get him away.' It was easy enough to escape. The two girls strolled to the edge of the lawn, holding their glasses of wine, stopping now and again to have a word with someone that Susan knew, and finally paused in front of a massive rhododendron bush. With a quick look round Cassandra pushed her glass into Susan's hand. 'See you,' she murmured, and slipped behind the shrub, giggling a little with the absurdity of the drama she had made out of her getaway. She pushed through the thicket of shrubs, scratching her arms and tearing her scarf, but it didn't seem to matter, and finally she found herself out on the wide pathway that led to the theatre site in the glade, the place where all the guests had stood a few minutes ago. But nobody would be coming back here, not yet anyway, and there was nobody in sight. Breathing quickly, she hurried along the path. Making the model had familiarised her with every inch of the grounds and she knew that if she cut across the clearing and through the spinney beyond she would come out in the main drive, quite near the gates. The sun had gone in and the clearing, which only a few minutes ago had been full of people, seemed unnaturally quiet and deserted. In her haste to get away Cassandra stumbled on the rough grass, regained her balance, and found herself looking down at the newly cut slab of

turf and at the inscribed stone that marked the very beginning of Lord Saunders' theatre—the first of his burning desires to come true. And what about the second one? Perhaps even at this moment he was proudly announcing the engagement of his beloved daughter to the eminent architect who had designed his theatre. It all tied up so neatly, both his burning desires-wrapped up in one parcel, so to speak. Her eyes filled with tears and she fumbled in her handbag for a hankie. The green of the trees and the grass blurred together until the glade seemed full of swimming green light. A magic place, Daniel had said, you could stage A Midsummer Night's Dream here. Some day, perhaps, she would come back. Years ahead, when she was an old, old lady, she would bring her grandchildren here to the theatre and tell them, 'I knew the man who planned this building,' and she would try to remember his name. She began to laugh because that was funny-—as if she could ever forget any little thing about him— the way his eyes squeezed into slits of dark blue under their curving lashes; the way his mouth pulled into a teasing smile; the touch of his hands —a shudder passed through her as she imagined she could feel those hands on her shoulders at this very minute. Then she spun round with a smothered shriek, because there were hands on her shoulders, strong hands that turned her round and held her firmly, and it was Daniel's face she was looking into. 'H-how did you get here?' she stammered. 'What do you want?' 'I walked,' he said smoothly, 'across the lawn and down the drive, in the orthodox way. Cutting off your line of retreat.' He smiled faintly. 'You were running away, weren't you?' She looked round desperately. 'Susan -'

'Susan won't be coming to your rescue, I took the precaution of putting her in the picture as I came after you. I got the impression she was rather pleased.' He released her shoulders and thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket. 'Why were you running away, Cassandra? Or should I say who were you running from?' 'I—I had a headache,' she gabbled weakly. 'Oh yes? Pushing through a shrubbery seems an odd kind of cure for a headache, if I may be allowed to criticise. You've torn your pretty scarf—' he held it up '—and scratched your pretty arm.' He trailed a finger delicately across the white skin of her upper arm and she glanced down to see a long pink weal beginning to show there, where she had dragged herself between the rhododendron bushes. Daniel bent his head and laid his mouth against her arm very gently. 'There,' he said, 'better now? We'll put some Dettol on it when we get back.' 'Get back?' Her eyes widened. Not even Daniel was going to get her back among all those people again. 'I'm not going back with you -' she began, but he gave her a little shake and said, 'Oh yes, you are, Cassandra. Indeed you are. And I don't mean back to the celebration party. I mean back home, either to my home or yours, you can take your pick.' 'I—I think I'd like to sit down,' she said faintly. 'Good idea.' He led her across to the newly-felled tree and brushed some powdery bark from the trunk. 'This isn't going to do your dress much good, but I can buy you another, so perhaps it won't matter.' He sat on the tree trunk and pulled her down beside him, keeping his arm close around her. For quite a long time he didn't seem inclined to talk, and as Cassandra found herself utterly incapable of speech they just sat

silent, close together, and gradually she could feel every tense muscle in her body beginning to relax and soften, and when Daniel's arm drew her even closer she let her head rest against the lapels of his jacket, her hair touching his cheek, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to do. After a while he said, 'You know, you had me foxed for quite a while. I thought you might really be carrying a torch for Julian French. I knew he already had a wife he was in love with, but you didn't seem to know. I thought maybe you were going to get hurt and I meant to be there if the crash came. Then when I saw you two together for the first time, the other day, I knew darned well you'd been lying to me and I began to ask myself why.' She wasn't going to help him to work that one out; in her present dreamy state it didn't seem important anyway. He went on thoughtfully, 'Could it be, I wondered, anything to do with that time six years ago, when I had to go off to Canada? Could it possibly be that you hadn't forgotten how it was with us then—the sympathy we seemed to share? Had a miracle happened and did you still love me as much—or almost as much—as I love you, and always have?' Her head shot up at that. 'Always? You went away -' 'I know I did, and it was the most damnably difficult thing I've ever had to do in my life. But the time was wrong. I had responsibilities. You see, my father was a good man but a rotten provider. I neverknew my mother and my godparents practically brought me up—they had no children of their own. They gave me everything they could afford, made sacrifices to see me through my training, planned to come to Canada with me. I couldn't just go to them and say "Thanks very much, but now I'm going to walk out on you and get married." I argued it out with myself, I tried to be rational, and it was pure hell. I

reckoned it wouldn't be fair to ask you to wait years—I was only at the start of things, and you were very young. You'd soon find someone else. You'd forget me. I even told myself that maybe in time I'd forget you.' 'And did you?' She kept her head where it was. He laughed grimly. 'I'm not going to pretend I've lived like a hermit for the last six years. I'm only human, my love. But I've never met any other girl I've even remotely considered asking to share my life. And when I heard I was coming over here to do this job, in this place where we'd been together, it seemed like a stroke of fate and I was rocked off my feet. I thought, Maybe I'll see her again. Maybe she isn't married. Maybe -And when you walked into John Mackintosh's office that day and you weren't wearing a ring it seemed as if I were being given a second chance. But it didn't turn out quite as easy as that, did it?' It was her turn to tell the truth now. 'I was afraid of being hurt again,' she admitted in a small voice, and he tightened his hold on her convulsively for a breathless moment. 'And afterwards I thought you would marry Livvy Saunders.' 'Livvy?' He sounded genuinely surprised. 'Oh, you mean that night at the cottage. That wasn't any of my doing, I promise you, I'd given her no reason for putting on an act like that. I was damned angry—I wanted to throw her out then and there.' 'But you didn't, you let me go instead.' 'I couldn't see any other way,' he said grimly. 'That seems to have been the story of my life, having to let you go, thinking the worst of me. But this time it wasn't for years, this time it was only for a day or two, to give Andy a chance to get his spot of trouble sorted out. I had to keep Jack Saunders sweet so that he wouldn't insist on cutting

Andy out of his contract, and it was touch and go, I can tell you. What do you think would have happened if I'd treated his darling daughter as she deserved? I had to play along with her for a day or two more.' 'Did you -?' she began, and stopped. No, she wasn't going to ask him. He held her away from him and glared at her. 'No, I damn well didn't,' he said violently. 'Good God, girl, what do you think I am? It was you I wanted that night, Cassandra. Since we met again I've never wanted to touch any other woman, not for an instant. And Livvy Saunders doesn't want me, except as a passing amusement. What she wants is fame and glory, and she'll probably get it. She's gone off to London again now; she's been offered a small part in a new production and she's over the moon.' So Lord Saunders wasn't going to get the second of his burning desires after all! Cassandra began to laugh. Then she looked into Daniel's eyes and stopped laughing. 'I love you, Cassandra, love you, love you, love you.' His face was haggard, his voice shaky. 'Can you believe me, now that the time is right at last?' His mouth was only inches from hers. 'Yes,' she breathed, and found her lips melting under his as he gave a little groan and pulled her down across his knees. Her scarf fell away on to the grass and her arms locked round his neck as his hands thrust beneath the low neckline of her dress, exploring the soft curves of her shoulders, her back, her breasts. She yielded to him trembling, every part of her responding to the wonder and ecstasy as they clung together desperately. When he finally released her she pulled herself up and they stared at each other, both of them shaken to the depths of their being.

Then, slowly, Daniel began to smile. 'You remember that bit I quoted to you about there being a time for everything under the heaven? I looked it up again the other day. A time to love and a time to hate. You did hate me, didn't you, my darling? You must have done.' She shook her head. 'I tried to, but it didn't seem to work.' She reached up and stroked his cheek and he caught her hand in his and kissed each finger in turn. 'There's another part that goes: A time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing. Shall I tell you something, my love?' he went on dreamily. 'Our embracing is due to start just as soon as I can get a licence. And I'm willing to bet that we can forget all about the refraining. For the rest of our lives,' he added, as he kissed her again.