The Vengeful Heart

THE VENGEFUL HEART Roberta Leigh

Nigel Farnham was attractive, rich and successful, but Julie Trafford had not married him for any of these reasons. She had a dark and more complicated motive -- one that was going to rebound on her tragically.

CHAPTER ONE JULIA TRAFFORD lifted her arms, stretched and was suddenly wide awake. Throwing back the bedclothes, she padded across to the window and curled up on a window- seat, her breath making a circlet of steam on the pane as she looked out on the snow-covered lawns. Although the view today was bleak, Julia loved it, as she loved everything about Lammerton Manor. It had been the family home, dwindling for seven generations through the decades until Sir Hugo, Julia's father, was the only surviving male member. She wished, as she had done a hundred times before, that she had been a boy so that she could have carried on the family name. But it was pointless to think in such a manner and she went into the bathroom and ran the hot water, remembering the days when it had been too cold for her to have more than a cursory wash. How naive she had been not to have seen the poverty that had slowly encroached on their lives. Not that she could blame herself entirely, for her parents had done everything to keep her incarcerated in their own narrow world of yesterday, away from the tempo of modern living. Even her offer to look for a job had almost made them faint with horror. "Work?" Sir Hugo had said in astonishment. "No gel of mine is going to work." "But we need the money," she had said, "and at least whatever little I can get would be better than nothing." "I won't hear of it," her father had retorted. "We'll have to cut down a bit, but we can manage. You've your music and your painting." However, no amount of retrenchment helped, and the day finally came when he would have to sell the house. "Luckily it's not

entailed," he murmured awkwardly, avoiding his wife's distressed eyes, "and once it's sold we'll have enough money to buy a small property somewhere near here." "What about selling my jewellery?" Lady Trafford had offered. "The best pieces have already gone. No, my mind's made up. We shall sell this place. I'm sure it will fetch an excellent price." Although Julia had privately doubted this, she did not say so to her parents, for she knew that neither of them realised that Lammerton Manor was far too large for modern needs. Indeed, with the possible exception of some Government department, she could not imagine anyone wanting to burden themselves with such a white elephant. But she waved her father goodbye as encouragingly as she could when she saw him off at the station later that week, and hoped he would prove her fears unfounded. Sir Hugo had spent a miserable morning with his solicitor, and feeling in need of a good lunch he set off for his club. He sat morosely in the lounge, sipping a whisky and soda and pondering over his problem, when he noticed that a man seated opposite was staring at him intently. "Excuse me asking," the man said after a moment, "but I heard the waiter address you as Sir Hugo and I wondered if you could be Sir Hugo Trafford?" "Yes, I am. Why do you ask?" "Because I used to be friendly when I was in Hong Kong with a chap called Clive Trafford and he often spoke of his uncle. I lost touch with him when he came back here and I was hoping you could let me have his address."

"It's too late," Sir Hugo said. "He was killed in a shooting accident last year." The man looked astonished and then offered his condolences. "It must have been a great blow to you. I believe he was your heir, wasn't he? He talked a great deal about Lammerton Manor." "Yes. He loved it," Sir Hugo said. "It's a good thing he won't know it won't be mine much longer. I'm selling it, you see. All this damned taxation..." The man looked suitably sympathetic. "Isn't there any other way out?" "Not that I can see." The man glanced at his watch. "I hope you won't mind my presuming on such a short acquaintance, but if you're alone for lunch, would you care to join me? I'd better introduce myself. My name's Winster Conrad Winster." Delighted to be able to talk to a man who had known his nephew, Sir Hugo accepted the invitation and as they sat down at a window table in the restaurant he studied his companion covertly. Winster looked between forty and forty-five, with a thickset body and the muscular air and florid complexion of a man who worked hard and played well. During their luncheon, Winster encouraged Sir Hugo to talk about the past glories of the Traffords, and by the time they reached the coffee stage they were chatting as if they had known each other for years. "Pity I'm not a family man," Winster remarked. "Otherwise the Manor would have been ideal for me."

Sir Hugo waved his hand in embarrassment. "I'm not trying to sell you anything, you know." "I realise that. I was just thinking out loud - it's a bad habit of mine. As a matter of fact I've been trying to think of some way you could keep your home." "It's out of the question. I've been thinking about nothing else for the last three years." "I may be able to help you." Winster had leaned forward in his chair. "I'm a stockbroker, and the chairman of one of my biggest companies resigned the other day because of ill-health and I've been wondering whether you might care to take his place." "My dear fellow, I don't know anything about stock- broking!" "There's no need for you to know anything. All we want is a figurehead, a man whose name and character are above reproach. It inspires confidence among our shareholders, you understand." "I couldn't do it," Sir Hugo had protested. "It wouldn't be right. Must have a little idea of the business." "I assure you that's not necessary. All you would be called on to do is to sign routine documents and veto or approve certain actions. You'd get a yearly salary, of course...." The sum was so large that Sir Hugo flushed with embarrassment. "I'm not worth a tenth of that. It's far too high!" "On the contrary. Men of your stature are -needed in the City today. I hope you'll give my suggestion some thought."

Knowing the amount of money involved gave Sir Hugo no need for further thought, and when he and Winster parted, it was agreed that he would take over as chairman the following week. Within a month everything had changed at the Manor. Importantlooking documents were frequently delivered and Julia would enter the library to find her father happily and pompously signing them. Although she tried to discover what it was all about, Sir Hugo would merely point a waggish finger at her and say that women should not bother their heads with business, so that eventually Julia came to the reluctant conclusion that her father knew as little about what he was doing as she did. Soon signs of their increasing affluence began to appear. A girl from the village was engaged as a maid and the family silver was taken out, cleaned and put back in the main rooms; the old curtains and worn carpets were mended and the dilapidated hot-houses repaired and filled again with fruit and flowers. To Julia, the Manor as it was now seemed unbelievable in its comfort, and though she frequently wondered how long it would last she was prepared to live from day to day and enjoy each one. Bathed and ready for breakfast, she ran down the wide staircase, stopping as she saw the village constable in the hall. Sir Hugo was holding a briefcase and his wife was by his side. "Good morning, everybody," Julia said uncertainly. "Is - is anything wrong?" Her mother drew a hand across her eyes in a bewildered gesture. "I don't know, darling. Constable Perkins wants your father to go to the police station with him to make a statement."

"What about?" "The Company," Sir Hugo said before his wife could answer. "Why can't you answer the questions here?" Although Julia addressed the question to her father she looked at Constable Perkins, who shuffled uncomfortably. "It isn't our local station, Miss Trafford. It's Scotland Yard." "Scotland Yard!" This time Julia looked at her father. ' 'What do they want to see you for?" "I don't know, dear." Sir Hugo's usually jovial manner was constrained. "But whatever it is, there's no need to worry. I'll know more about it when I come home." He walked out through the front door and, watching him drive off in a police car, Julia had a sense of foreboding that augured ill for the future.

It was the afternoon of a cold February, three months later, when the jury filed back into the court at the Old Bailey and took their places in the box. A wave of anticipation ran through the crowded courtroom. Julia leaned forward in her seat as the foreman stood up. "Have you reached your verdict?" the judge asked. "Yes, m'lord. We find the prisoner guilty." A murmur rose in the courtroom and stifled the exclamation of despair that came from Lady Trafford. In a daze, Julia heard the judge pronounce sentence of five years' imprisonment, but his voice seemed to come from a long way off and it was not until Conrad

Winster helped her to her feet that she saw the courtroom was slowly emptying. They were silent during the drive back to the small furnished flat which they had rented during the trial and Julia led Winster into the sitting-room while her mother disappeared into the bedroom. Dropping her bag and gloves on the table, she collapsed into an armchair. "I can't believe it! How could they think my father guilty? He had no more idea what was going on in the Company than a baby.'' Winster lifted his shoulders in a pitying gesture. "Unfortunately the jury judged on the facts. The Stock Exchange Committee has been waiting for an opportunity to make an example of a share-pusher, and they took advantage of this case to do so." "But my father wouldn't know one share from another!" "Maybe. But he still bought his own Company's shares when they were at rock bottom and then got his friends to buy in on a rising market." "That's not criminal." "It is when you can prove that he himself started the rumour that the Company was going to be taken over. The shares rocketed up and your father sold out and made a killing." "Sixty thousand pounds," she murmured, "all of it gone in fines." She looked up at Winster. "But what about all the other people who sold their shares before they fell - and made a killing too?" "But they didn't start the rumour about the take-over.' "I don't believe my father did."

"The prosecution called witnesses from your father's club to prove that he did." "What my father said must have been perpetrated by someone else," she said defiantly. Winster looked uncomfortable. "The shares he got his friends to buy came from the Company of which he was chairman," he said again. "That's why he was so harshly judged." "Harshly!" she said bitterly. "That's the understatement of the year!" Julia's mother came into the room on the last sentence. "Can't we appeal, Mr. Winster?" "Personally I wouldn't advise it. But check with the lawyer." He leaned forward in the chair and looked intently at Julia. "I'd give anything to help your father, but it's impossible. If you want another Q.C.'s opinion I'll happily get it for you." She looked up at him, her eyes bright with tears. "We couldn't accept any more from you - you've done so much already. As it is, we still have to repay you for the Q.C. you briefed." "I'd like to take care of that. Somehow I feel responsible for the whole trouble. If I hadn't put your father's name forward in the first place, this might never have happened." "It wasn't your fault it turned out like this." "None the less I feel to blame. If I'd had any idea someone was pushing up bogus shares I'd—" He gave an exclamation of anger and Lady Trafford sighed. "It's incredible that my husband was accused because he signed documents he never understood!"

"If a leakage hadn't occurred, the whole thing would never have been discovered. The shares would have doubled in value instead of falling to nothing and someone would have made a handsome profit. Unfortunately there was a leakage. That's why the whole thing blew up." "It's so monstrously unfair!" Julia burst out. "If it hadn't been for Mr. Farnham's prosecution I'm sure Father would have been acquitted." "Farnham was only doing his duty." "He did much more than that! He took a delight in tormenting my father with questions that would have confused a judge- let alone someone who doesn't know anything at all about finance." "Mr. Farnham did seem very merciless," Lady Trafford agreed. "His final speech seemed unnecessarily harsh." "That's putting it mildly!" Julia said. "It was the most vindictive, vitriolic attack I've ever heard. It wasn't enough for him to prove Father guilty, he seemed to make a personal issue of it." As she spoke she saw again the tall, thin figure of the prosecuting counsel with his thin, dark face, hard, set mouth and flashing grey eyes; heard again his ringing, sarcastic tones as he had paced before the jury, his long, bony hands pulling at the sides of his gown as he proceeded relentlessly with his indictment. Slowly the jury had become hypnotised by the magnetic voice and forceful personality of the man addressing them, and Julia knew she would never forget his air of satisfaction as he heard the verdict, gathered up his papers and left the courtroom, with never a backward glance at the old man in the dock whose life he had ruined.

"You mustn't think too hardly of Farnham," Winster's voice broke into her thoughts. "He's young and ambitious and this was an important case for him. I knew he'd go all out for a conviction." "Then why didn't you get him to defend my father?" "I offered him the brief, but he refused it. He's never been known to defend a man if he believes he is guilty." In the uncomfortable pause that followed, Lady Trafford murmured that she would go and make some tea, and as the door closed behind her, Conrad Winster sat down opposite Julia. When they had first met, he had been amazed that a man like Sir Hugo could have produced so lovely a daughter, for he had imagined her as large and bony with the horsy manner so many society girls had. Her tall, slender figure and thin face framed by dark hair had not only surprised him, but had made him determined to know her better, and her complete uninterest in him as a man had only served to increase this desire. At forty-five Winster had reached the age when he was no longer amused by casual affairs, and as soon as he had met Julia he had seen her as the graceful doyenne of the home he would buy, her breeding and beauty a perfect complement to his brains and money. He coughed gently and she looked up. "Forgive my asking, Miss Trafford, but—" "Don't you think that after all you've done you should call me Julia?" Satisfaction widened his smile. "I'd be delighted. But only if you call me Conrad. I was going to ask whether you and your mother have made any plans for the future."

She shook her head. "We don't know yet whether Father will be made bankrupt. If he is we'll have nothing to sell. But in any case we intend to get rid of the house." Winster drew a quick breath. It had never occurred to him that they would sell their home, for when he had imagined the future with Julia he had pictured them living at the Manor, deriving infinite satisfaction from the thought of possessing an ancestral home he could never otherwise have achieved. "Would you consider me as a prospective buyer?" he asked. "You?" Afraid he might be hurt by her surprise - for she had already discovered he was sensitive about his lack of background - she added hastily: "I mean, you've no family, and the house is so big." "With a wife and children, no man could ask for a lovelier home." "Are you thinking of marrying, then?" "I hope to one day - unless you think I'm too old?" She flushed. "Of course not. It's only that you seem so assured and successful without a wife that I can't imagine you settling down to domestic bliss!" "The most unexpected people have yearnings for domesticity, Julia. If I haven't married yet, it's because I've never fallen in love - until now." Though Julia sensed his implication she gave no sign of it and continued to keep the conversation firmly on the house. "I couldn't let you buy it. It's far too big. You only want it out of a desire to help us."

He smiled slightly. "Then there's nothing else I can say. May I ask what you intend to do?" "Find a small flat in London and get a job - though I don't know what kind of job." Winster studied her for a moment and then said, "You'd make a firstrate model." "You have to have training for that." "I don't think there's much anyone could teach you about wearing clothes. You've a natural gift for it." He stopped speaking as Lady Trafford returned with a tray, instinctively guessing that Julia did not wish to talk about the future in front of her mother. Immediately after having a cup of tea he said goodbye to them and Julia saw him to the door. In the hallway he took out a card and scribbled a name on it. "Go along and see this man. I'll have a word with him meanwhile and I'm sure he'll give you a job." Julia looked at the card. "Despoir? But he's the top couturier in London - I wouldn't have the nerve to go and see him!" "Nonsense. If he takes you it'll be because you're worth it." He paused. "Will you be seeing your father in the morning?" "Yes." "Then I'll ring you afterwards." As long as she lived Julia would never forget her last visit to her father. The weeks since his arrest had changed him from a jovial man with a military manner into an old man whose shuffling gait and nervous twitching bespoke nights of self-reproach, and Julia felt she

could have borne anything but the sight of his blue-veined hands quivering unceasingly on the table-top as he had talked to them... She and her mother returned the same day to Lammerton to begin the heartbreaking task of packing up their personal possessions in readiness for the auction. The few servants, so newly engaged, had long since been paid off, and except for Julia's old nanny, she and her mother were alone in the house. While her mother concentrated on the final packing, Julia decided to go to London to look for a flat. It meant an unceasing round of agents and viewing, but the majority of the flats she saw were either too expensive or so cheap and miserable that she could not even consider them. At last she settled for a small furnished flat in Bayswater, her heart sinking at the contrast between the three simple rooms and the comfort of her former life. However, she returned to her hotel feeling considerably more cheerful. She was just walking towards the lift when the desk clerk called her and she went over to find him holding out several message slips. They were all from Conrad Winster, asking her to contact him at once. Instantly she knew a sense of disaster, and hurrying across to the telephone box in the lobby, dialled his number. Almost as though he had been awaiting her call, he answered at once. "It's your father," he said without preamble. "He's had a heart attack. The prison welfare officer called your mother and she got on to me. Where are you now?" "In the hotel." "I'll be over at once."

It seemed an endless time until he arrived, though it was in fact barely fifteen minutes, and one look at his face as he came across to her made his words almost unnecessary. "It's bad news, I'm afraid, Julia." "You mean..." "Yes. Your father died this afternoon." She swayed and he caught hold of her. "I'm sorry to have to tell you like this, but there was no point hedging." "I understand," she whispered. "It's just - it's just so awful that he died alone - and in prison." "I know." Winster said nothing more, though he looked at her with intense sympathy. "I'll drive you home. You'll probably want to be with your mother." Gratefully she accepted his offer and he waited in the hotel lounge as she went to her room, hurriedly packed and came down with her case. Not until they were speeding out of London did she feel able to talk, and her first words were of Nigel Farnham's prosecution. "If it hadn't been for him, Daddy would have been alive today. All those terrible things he said must have swayed the jury." Julia was silent for a moment, then: "I never knew I was capable of hating anyone as much as I hate him! If there was any way I could harm him for what he did to my father, I'd do it." "Don't torment yourself like that. The man was only doing his duty." "He did more than his duty," she said stonily.

Winster did not answer, and Julia relapsed into silence, a silence which lasted until they reached the Manor. The following days were a nightmare. Winster insisted on remaining at the Manor throughout the ordeal of Sir Hugo's funeral and the auction which followed, and Julia felt she would never have managed had he not stood like a bulwark between her and the humiliation she had to face. Sir Hugo having been declared bankrupt, the proceeds of the sale went to pay back as much as possible of the losses the shareholders had sustained, and by the time everything was settled she and her mother were left with only a small annuity which, while it would supplement the income Julia hoped to earn, was quite insufficient for them to live on. Winster was aghast when he saw where they intended to live. He did not like the little house, nor did he approve of the landlady, but Julia would not hear a word against kind Mrs. Cooper, who proved to have a heart of gold beneath her stolid exterior. The crocuses the woman had planted in the window-box of her new tenants' sitting-room were putting forth their first green shoots when Julia and her mother finally moved into Cambrian Terrace. The pale spears struggling through the fibre into the light and the air above them seemed symbolic of Julia's own life - of leaving home, with all its associations and security, and starting afresh in a world which was strange and uncertain, and she could not help feeling that, like the fragile flowers, her efforts to establish herself and earn a living would be as short-lived as the life of the delicate blooms in front of her.

CHAPTER TWO ALTHOUGH Julia did not like accepting any more help from Winster, she knew she could not afford to delay getting a job, and deciding it would be foolish not to make use of his introduction to André Despoir she telephoned for an appointment. With some trepidation she entered his tall, elegant house in Grosvenor Street, its silver-gilt door guarded by a grey- liveried commissionaire. She was escorted up a wide flight of stairs carpeted in silver grey to where a pretty girl was seated at a desk in an alcove. "Good morning, madam. Can I help you?" "I have an appointment to see Monsieur Despoir. It's Miss Trafford." The girl disappeared, and returned after a moment with a look of curiosity on her face. She had imagined the well- dressed young girl to be a new client and had been surprised when Despoir had ordered her to show the lady into his office, for he never saw clients there. Julia was taken aback at her first sight of the famous couturier. He looked more like an athlete than a man who had made a fortune from his expert handling of materials. He was so tall and broad that he seemed to fill the small office, not only with his bulk but with his personality. He eyed her intently and she wished she had not had the temerity to come to him for a job. What use would such a man have for someone without any experience? "Please sit down, Miss Trafford." Despoir's speech was slow and precise, with a slight accent which was certainly not French. He waited till she had done so and then resumed speaking. "You are Sir Hugo Trafford's daughter, aren't you?"

"Yes. Mr. Winster was a friend of my father. I met him during the trial." "Come over here, Miss Trafford," he said abruptly, "and let me have a look at you. Leave your jacket on the chair." Julia did as she was told and Despoir scrutinised her carefully. The sunlight, filtering down through the narrow cul-de-sac which the window overlooked, could find no flaw in the delicate triangular face, while the hollows beneath her cheekbones, which the past months had deepened, gave character to the classical lines of her features. "Stand in the centre of the room and turn round slowly," he commanded, and as she did so he watched. "Your figure is excellent," he said. "I like my models tall and thin." "I've had no experience," she blurted out. "That is obvious," he smiled. "But you have natural grace and you know how to wear clothes." "Does that mean you'll give me a job?" "Yes. I can use another girl. But the work is not easy and you have much to learn before you can model my clothes." He moved across to his desk, scribbled something on a piece of paper and gave it to her. "Come here next Monday at nine. When you arrive, take the last door on the landing and go upstairs to Madame Angela. You will be working under her direction." He held out his hand. "Best of luck, Miss Trafford - I hope you will be happy with us." She hesitated. "I wonder whether you'd - I mean I'd rather not be known here by my own name. I'm using my mother's maiden name of Trevelyan at the moment."

"You can be known by whatever name you like." "Thank you." Her hand was on the door-knob when she heard his voice again, soft with amusement. "You haven't asked about your salary, Miss Trevelyan." She turned back quickly. "I quite forgot." "You must learn to be more commercial I" He named a salary, a nominal figure while she was training but which would be increased once she began to model his clothes. She thanked him, then said goodbye and walked happily down the stairs. On Monday she arrived at the salon, fifteen minutes early, apprehensive as to the sort of woman Madame Angela would be. Her fears that her new supervisor would be a hard taskmistress turned out to be groundless, for Madame Angela was a charming, friendly woman in her early fifties, with dark expressive eyes, gamin features and quick, bird-like movements. Julia followed her into a large room which seemed to be teeming with women, all grouped around the models. She was introduced to each of them in turn and liked the first two immediately. Jackie Fenton was a slim, vivacious-looking girl with a tip-tilted nose and brilliant red hair; and Stella Burns was fair and unusually small. The third girl, Claire Severn, whom Julia liked the least, was the chief model, a tall blonde with white skin and large grey eyes. She eyed Julia disdainfully and after the barest of greetings proceeded to ignore her. But Julia was too interested in watching what was happening to take notice of anyone's rudeness, and in the weeks that followed she spent her time watching the girls being fitted for the clothes they were to model for the Spring Collection.

Throughout this time she met Winster periodically, and soon realised he would like more than the friendship she offered him. Because she was still too numb to feel any emotion, she deliberately refrained from seeing him as often as he wished, and sensing her inability to give him more than friendship at the moment, he continued to bide his time. Three days before the Spring Show, Jackie, who for some days had been complaining of a pain in her side, was rushed to hospital with appendicitis. "Where can we get another mannequin at such short notice?" Despoir roared. "Why couldn't she wait for the Show before having her appendix out?" He paced the room as if seeking inspiration, and suddenly noticed Julia, who was on her knees picking up pins from the carpet. A speculative gleam came into his eyes and he snapped his fingers at her to stand up. "Get undressed!" he ordered. "And come back here. I'm going to use you." The next three days were a nightmare to Julia, and looking back on them afterwards she found it hard to believe she had borne everything with such equanimity. Julia could never remember clearly the Show itself. All she was aware of was that for two days she peeled off one dress and slipped hastily into another. She steeled herself to be unaware of the faces turned towards her as she entered the overheated, over-scented salon and would stare over the heads of the buyers, her face an expressionless mask. To her amazement she was retained as a model even after Jackie's return, and as the months went by was surprised at the way in which she adapted herself to her new life.

One morning, some time after the Show, an important client came in to see the bridal gown which Claire Severn had modelled at the Show. Claire was late in arriving, and when she entered the dressingroom found Julia already wearing the dress and on her way to show it to the client. Claire's pale face flushed with anger. "Take it off!" she demanded. "Madame Angela's asked me to model it," Julia replied quietly. "Don't play the little Miss Innocent with me! You've been spoiling for my position ever since you came, and now you think you've found a chance. Well, you haven't, your ladyship - or do I call you 'the Honourable'?" "What do you mean?" "Do you think I don't know who you are - Miss Trafford?" Claire's voice rang with malice. "Why are you pretending you need to work? Didn't your father swindle enough money to keep you?" Julia recoiled as if she had been struck and Claire's look of malice increased. "You thought no one knew your real name, didn't you?" "Who told you?" "I heard you talking to Despoir the first time you came here." "Is eavesdropping another of your accomplishments?" Julia retorted. "It's better than stealing!" Controlling herself, Julia made to move past, but Claire, in a white heat of rage, roughly caught hold of her shoulder. There was a rending sound and the heavily embroidered collar ripped away from the bodice, scattering pearls and crystals on the floor. At that moment

Despoir, annoyed at the delay of Julia's appearance, came into the dressing- room to see what had happened. One look at the two girls told him, and with an exclamation of fury he bounded forward and pushed them both into the fitting-room, calling for Angela as he did so. He wasted no words on Claire until Julia had left the room again, with the neckline skilfully pinned back into position, and when she came back to take off the dress, Despoir was alone. "Claire has left," he said abruptly. "It was impossible for both of you to work together. I should have realised it before." "But she was your best model!" He flung out his arms. "I had no choice. A girl who can wantonly destroy a work of art like my wedding dress ..." Words failed him. "No! She had to go." "But you've always built your collections around her," Julia protested. "Then I'll build them around someone else," Despoir said promptly. "And this time it will be a brunette. A girl of sophistication yet simplicity. You!"

Despoir's Autumn Collection was the talk of London and Paris, and Julia was photographed so much that scarcely a day went by without the newspapers carrying some item of gossip about her. Despoir had kept the secret of her name and she was known only as Juliette. For publicity's sake she was seen in his clothes at first nights and film premieres, and received many invitations from eligible young men who would have been delighted to be seen with her. But she refused most of them, fearing she might meet someone she had known in the years before the trial.

It was late one afternoon in December that, returning to the fittingroom after displaying a trousseau, Julia found a message asking her to go to St. George's Hospital immediately. Feeling she was reliving a sequence of events that had already taken place, Julia did so, and arriving at the hospital was met by one of the house doctors. "Your mother was knocked down as she was crossing the road," he said quietly. "I'm afraid she's very badly hurt." "How badly?" He hesitated. "I doubt if she'll last the night." Julia stared at him, speechless. Once more fate had shown its cruel hand in her life, this time taking away the last remaining person she cared for. "Is there nothing you can do?" she asked. "No. I'm sorry, but it's hopeless. There are too many internal injuries. She couldn't even live through an operation." "Can I see her?" "Of course. She's not conscious, though." Silently Julia followed him into the lift and up to a large ward. A cubicle in one corner was covered by curtains and he led her over to it. As he had said, her mother was not aware of anyone's presence, and Julia sat down in a chair and stared at the closed eyes and ashen face. Any faint hope she had had of her mother recovering now ebbed away, and she knew it was only a matter of hours before the end. At midnight her mother began to move restlessly and the night Sister was called. Julia was asked to wait outside the ward, and she leaned

listlessly against the wall, bracing herself for what she knew to be inevitable. Yet when the Sister came out to see her, her face full of sympathy, Julia's composure dissolved and she burst into tears. "Haven't you a friend we can call for you?" Sister asked. Julia shook her head. "I don't want anyone." "You shouldn't be alone. Do you live near here?" "I lived with my - mother." She forced herself to hold back the sobs. "Don't worry about me, Sister. I'll be perfectly all right." Like an automaton she returned home, but face to face with Mrs. Cooper she broke down again, crying not only for the present but for the past and all the anguish it had held for her mother. "She didn't suffer," Mrs. Cooper placated her. "At least that's one good thing about it." "She already suffered," Julia said bitterly. "You've no idea how much." Mrs. Cooper patted Julia's head awkwardly. "I know how you feel," she crooned, "but try not to take it so hard. Your mother wasn't happy - this wasn't the sort of life she'd been used to." "But we were together," Julia cried. "But when you weren't at home I'd often hear her crying." Although the words were poor consolation they did, in some way, help to alleviate Julia's sorrow, and though she was now entirely alone in the' world, she gained some comfort from the belief that at last her mother was at peace.

Now that she was alone, Winster took her out more often, and Julia knew she would not be able to stop him from asking her to marry him. She was honest enough to admit that without his company she would have been unbearably lonely in the months after her mother's death, but she was not sure if her loneliness could ever lead to her falling in love with him. All she knew was that she enjoyed his company and looked forward to seeing him; but there was none of the excited anticipation and desire which she had always associated with love. However, he forced the issue one evening when they were dining together, using the news of his sudden departure to America as an excuse for asking her to marry him while she was still in mourning for her mother. "I know you're not sure if you love me," he said softly. "But I love you, darling. I know I could make you love me." She studied him squarely, recognising the stubbornness in the firm chin and thin, yet sensual mouth. He was a man who had always got what he wanted; who had started out without any help from anyone and was now a self-made millionaire - that alone spoke for determination. Yet could determination to make a woman fall in love with you actually cause it to happen? If she could be sure that the answer was yes, she would have no hesitation in accepting his offer of marriage. But she was not sure. That was the trouble; and a marriage without love would be far worse than having to live alone. "Well, Julia," Winster said softly, "I'm waiting for an answer. Will you marry me and come to America for our honeymoon?" "I can't, I'm afraid." She reached out across the table and caught his hand. "I don't want to hurt you, Conrad. That's why I can't say yes. Give me longer. I want more time to think... to get to know you better."

"The best way to do that is to marry me!" "Wait until you come back from the States," she said. "I'll give my answer then." Shortly afterwards they left the restaurant, and driving home in Winster's large, comfortable car, she knew that many girls would have considered her stupid not to have accepted his proposal at once. The public was notoriously fickle and her fame as a model would not enable her to continue with this sort of life indefinitely. Like other women, she wanted a man to love, and a home and children, but until she was certain that Conrad was the man whom she could live with for the rest of her life, she could not agree to marry him. When they reached Cambrian Terrace she held out her hand. "I doubt if I'll see you before you go. I'll be working late most evenings from now on. Despoir is doing the fittings for the Spring Collection." "I can see you at any time, Julia. I'm no early bird." There was slight amusement in his voice. "If you'd rather we didn't meet until I come back from the States, you just have to say so." "Are you always able to read my mind?" she questioned. "I hope so!" Unexpectedly he slid forward across the seat and pulled her into his arms. It was the first time he had held her and she was surprised at the gentleness of his touch. His lips rested on hers, lightly to begin with, their pressure increasing as he felt her respond to him. She had been starved of affection for so long that she found intense pleasure in his closeness and only realised that he was misinterpreting her mood when he pushed her further back against the seat and rested the weight of his body on hers, the trembling pressure of his hands making words unnecessary.

Fear gave her strength and she struggled from his grasp. "Conrad, don't! Leave me alone!" Instantly he drew back. "I'm sorry, Julia. I didn't mean to frighten you. But you're so beautiful, so desirable. ..." She opened the door of the car and stepped out on to the pavement. He went to follow her, but she shook her head and ran up the steps to the house. "Good-night, Conrad. Have a good journey.'' "Sweet dreams," he said in a soft but gently mocking tone. "Don't forget me, darling. I'll be back for my answer as soon as my trip is over." More shaken by his kiss than she had imagined she would be, she let herself into the house. Had Conrad been able to arouse her because she was lonely and in need of love, or was his attraction a real and lasting one? If only she knew the answer how much easier her problem would be. To marry Conrad or to refuse him ... That - as Hamlet had said - was the question.

CHAPTER THREE JULIA was kept so busy with fittings that she had no time to miss Winster, and only just remembered to send him a note wishing him bon voyage. Everyone at the Salon was in a state of hysteria, but although she was not affected to the same degree, she found herself reacting to the nervousness around her. It Was a nervousness which increased as the opening day drew near, and by the time it arrived there was little to choose between her own state and those of all the other fitters and models. The first showing of the Collection was set for five o'clock in the afternoon, but by four-thirty the hall was filled with a crowd of men and women, their manners not nearly as elegant as their clothes. The Salon itself was tightly packed, one spindle-legged chair wedged against another. A buzz of chatter rose and fell in the heavily scented air, and the glittering candelabra reflected the sparkle of jewellery. At ten minutes past the hour, the centre lights dimmed, they grey satin curtains draping the dais drew back to form an arch, and Despoir's Spring Show began. Julia made her entry first, and a spatter of applause greeted her, almost lost in the buzz of conversation as she disappeared again. "So Despoir's still using her as his clothes-peg. ... If only his things looked as good on me as they do on her. ... What a gorgeous creature she is! I wonder where he found her? ... Do you think she's a relation of his - they say he guards her like a watchdog!" To the man in the front row the remarks sounded feline, with that subtle reservation which frequently characterised the comments of one woman about another. He half turned and looked at his cousin, a

pretty but plump blonde, and asked her why so much fuss was being made about one particular girl. "Because she's fabulous! Honestly, haven't you got eyes!" "It isn't difficult to look good if you can wear a two- hundred-pound dress." "Really?" his cousin drawled. "Then just cast your eyes around and tell me if there's anyone here to touch Juliette." "Oh no," he groaned, "not Juliette! I don't believe that's her real name." "Who cares if it is or isn't? She's still the most wonderful thing I've ever seen. Watch her properly next time." The man did as he was bid and was obliged to concede that this tall, delicate creature, with her slow, sinewy walk, was indeed lovely to look at. As the Collection neared its end the excitement mounted, and when two models came out in wild silk bridesmaids' dresses there was an audible murmur of anticipation. The slow strains of the Wedding March seeped through the room and there was a gasp as Juliette stood framed in the archway. Her dress was a dream of innocence; a subtle blending of lawn and satin that appeared to reveal everything yet revealed nothing at all. As she walked, every bone in her body was indicated, every beautiful line visible, yet apart from her face and hands she was completely swathed in material. It was a masterpiece of cut that could only have come from Despoir and could only have been worn to advantage by a girl with as fine a figure as Julia. At Despoir's command her hair was worn loose, falling in dark waves to her shoulders where it then

curled softly upwards, and her face was devoid of make-up, save for mascara and a pale gleaming silver lipstick. The man watching could scarcely credit the change in her. Gone was the exotic beauty of the past two hours, and in her place was a shy, gentle girl whose defencelessness invited protection. Julia was intensely aware of the scrutiny he was subjecting her to, and though she was used to being looked at boldly, demandingly and often lustfully, she had never encountered so penetrating a stare as this. Even so, she was not prepared for him to turn up again a few days later, and standing behind the curtains in one of the intervals, she searched the crowd until she saw him, sitting aloof and disinterested among a group of women. How out of place he looked in this hothouse atmosphere! Although not handsome in the obvious sense, he was too tall and thin for that, there was nonetheless a distinction about him which set him apart from the other men in the room. His face was gaunt, with high cheekbones, thin, curved mouth and determined chin. His hair, dark and thick, was brushed straight back from a high forehead, though a narrow lock fell forward, giving him a rakish and faintly arrogant appearance. There was something about him that struck a chord in her memory, although she was certain she had never met him. At lunchtime the next day Julia was handed a long cellophane box filled with freesias. In the dressing-room she lifted the lid and breathed in the heady scent. A card lay among the flowers, and turning it over she saw a message penned in thick, firm writing. Had it not been for the wedding dress I would have sent you orchids or tiger lilies. But these, I think, will suit you better.

Would you dine with me tomorrow night? I will telephone for your answer. As she came to the signature the blood drained from her face, and there flashed into her mind a picture of the man as she had first seen him. But this time he was wearing a wig and black gown, and one hand had been pointing menacingly at the man in the dock. She buried her head in her hands. Nigel Farnham! The one man she hated more than any other. How incredible that he should be writing to her so pleadingly, begging her to have dinner with him. Throughout the day Julia was scarcely aware of what she was doing. Memories she had long thought dead returned so vividly that she felt the present had no reality; once more she was in the courtroom, seeing her father in the dock and Nigel Farnham pointing his hand accusingly at him as he had accused him of being a cheat and an. embezzler. And now this same man who had been responsible for her father's death in prison was asking her to dine with him! It was irony too bitter to be appreciated. She was on the point of leaving for home when his telephone call came through. It was impossible for her to speak to him - she would either burst into tears or lose her temper - and she begged Jackie to talk to him instead. "What shall I say to him?" "Just make it clear that I don't want to see him." Nigel Farnham was taken aback at having his invitation turned down, and his professional manner overcame his surprise, and made him query the reason. "Juliette rarely goes out with - with - er - men she doesn't know," Jackie stammered.

"She could have at least spoken to me," came the reply. "She's with a client." "I see." There was a pause. "Is she married?" "Oh no." Jackie tried to soften the blow. "She loved the flowers you sent." "I'm glad," came the dry reply. "Thank you for being kind enough to talk to me. You have much better manners than your colleague." He hung up abruptly and Jackie made a face at the receiver and longed to give Julia a slap for being so silly. How could anyone in their right mind refuse to go out with a man like Nigel Farnham? Though he had put down the phone so sharply, Nigel Farnham was unable to get Juliette out of his mind, and he was musing over her strange behaviour on his way to his chambers the following morning when he heard his name called. Swinging round, he saw his cousin, breathless and dishevelled, running towards him. "I thought it was you," she gasped as she reached his side. "What are you doing down in these parts - getting advice on the legal status of married women?" "Don't be nasty! I was on my way to see Tony and took a short cut. Then I got lost." She tilted her head and looked at him questioningly. "You haven't got time to take me out for lunch, I suppose?" "As a matter of fact I have. The case I've been working on has ended more quickly than I thought it would, so I've got most of today free." "That's wonderful. What happened - did you win?"

He smiled. "Actually they settled out of court. I think they -were a bit windy about the decision of the judge, so they thought it best to pay up." "You must have scared them into it." He conceded the point, his general sense of irritation vanishing under his cousin's charm. "If you've got the afternoon free," she went on, "perhaps you'd like to come with me to Despoir's. I've got to make up my mind about my wedding dress and the rest of my trousseau." "Not with me there," he said quickly. "Why not? I thought you rather enjoyed it last time." He hesitated. The idea of seeing Juliette again was somehow intriguing. Would she be surprised or would she accept it as the normal behaviour of a besotted suitor? His anger against her rose and he found himself accepting Liz's offer without being able to stop himself. When Julia walked into the salon to model the wedding dress for a client she was dismayed to find Nigel Farnham there. Instinct told her that he had come solely to embarrass her, and she did not have to wait long before being proved right. "It's a dream of a dress," the young client commented. "Don't you think so, Nigel?" "It's not for you," he said. "It's too obvious." It was the first time Julia had heard his voice outside of the courtroom and she could not stop a shiver. Madame Angela noticed

it, and sensing something was wrong she came over to see if she could help. Liz looked at her gratefully. "I need your advice, Madame. I love the wedding dress, but my cousin doesn't. He thinks it's too—" she hesitated, and Nigel intervened. "Do you have something more simple? My cousin is young, as you can see, and I think something less fussy would be better." "Certainly." Madame Angela swallowed and signalled Julia to change into another outfit, and for the remainder of the afternoon remained within earshot. The girl seemed to like everything that was shown to her, but the man was out to make as much difficulty as he could, and found fault with all he saw. Either a dress was too low or too high; too naive or too vulgar. But no matter what he said he was able to make the remark sound like an insult to the girl modelling it. Julia knew he was doing it deliberately, and was determined not to let him know how much his barbs hurt. But her anger soon became apparent in her face, where twin flags of red glowed in her cheeks and an extra sparkle darkened the vivid blue of her eyes. It served to heighten her beauty, which in turn served to heighten the man's acid comments, and only when he made one particularly rude observation was Julia unable to stop the sudden glitter of tears. Seeing it made the man stop speaking with such abruptness that his cousin looked at him waiting for him to finish his sentence. The expression she saw on his face reminded her of the way he had looked at Juliette when she had come to the salon with him on the first day of the Collection, and with a sudden dawning of realisation she knew that something had occurred between him and this lovely looking model girl. Could Nigel have fallen in love at last? She longed to rush out and tell Tony, but forced herself to remain seated, wishing there was some way in which she could tell her cousin that if

he was hoping to make Juliette notice him he must stop acting as if he was defendant for the prosecution and she was witness for the Crown! But her desire to warn him was unnecessary, for when next he spoke his voice was completely different, being soft and gentle, without any of the biting sharpness that had been in it from the moment he had entered the salon. "I think you've seen enough clothes for today, Liz. The model is tired. Come back again tomorrow." Liz smiled at Julia. "I'm so sorry, I didn't realise ..." "I'm perfectly able to continue," Julia replied. "No, I wouldn't dream of it." Liz stood up and moved across to talk to Madame Angela, deliberately leaving her cousin on his own. Quickly he spoke. "I'm sorry for my bad temper. I guess I'm not used to having my invitations turned down. Will you forgive me?" "I don't know what you mean." "Of course you do. But I don't blame you for making me grovel." Talking to her gave him such an unexpected sense of pleasure that he would willingly have apologised in any way that would have mollified her. He must have been crazy to have acted in such a rude and uncalled-for manner. "Please say you forgive me?" She shrugged. "If it will make you feel better. ... But I can assure that I haven't noticed anything unusual in your behaviour." He could not help a half smile at the studied indifference in her voice, at the same time noting with pleasure that she had a speaking voice as lovely as her appearance. "If you really mean that, then you'll come out with me."

"I never—" "Go out with men you don't know? Come now, can't you make an exception in my case? Otherwise I really will think I've offended you." Julia knew she was cornered. For an instant she wondered whether he had led her into it deliberately, but there was such eagerness in his face that she knew he was being as sincere as he could. The knowledge filled her with triumph, giving her a sense of power she had never experienced before. Power over a man she hated! All at once an idea came into her mind - an idea so daring and unbelievable that she could not think beyond this very moment. All she knew was that she had to say yes to him. The rest of her plan would have to be worked out later, when she was able to think more clearly. "All right, Mr. Farnham, I'll go out with you." "Tonight? Tomorrow?" "Tomorrow." "I'll pick you up at eight. If you'll let me have your address..." She gave it to him, and he repeated it twice, obviously unwilling to write it down in case anyone saw him. Julia hid a smile. This was one more little thing that would count against him. Poor Nigel Farnham! He anticipated a flirtation that would end when he tired of her or found someone else. How little he guessed what her plans were! That night she slept very little, going over and over in her mind all she intended to do. The right and wrong of her decision did not enter her mind. All she knew was that she had been given an opportunity to hurt this man as he had hurt and destroyed the two people she had loved best in the world. Vengeance. It was an emotion she had never

known until now, and she savoured the thought of it. Vengeance against Nigel Farnham.... The following night she dressed with more care than at any other time. Despoir had always encouraged her to wear his clothes, and now she took advantage of the offer, choosing a hyacinth blue silk jersey dress that was considered one of the most successful he had designed. Promptly at eight o'clock his car drew up outside the house, and she went downstairs to meet him. Mrs. Cooper had already let him in and was chatting in her usual voluble fashion. Farnham appeared to be listening intently, but his eyes met Julia's, and she saw the slight smile in them. Even as she continued to look at him she saw him become aware of her appearance, noticed the way a muscle began to move spasmodically at the side of his temple. With Mrs. Cooper still talking to them from the doorway, Nigel Farnham escorted Julia to his car. With dismay she saw it was chauffeur-driven and knew that the testing time for her was coming sooner than she had anticipated. She had to control her true feelings; she must put on the greatest act of her life. As the car moved off she turned to look at the man by her side. In evening dress he was taller and thinner than she had remembered. More handsome too, with a dashing masculinity that came more from his arrogant bearing than anything else. He was smoking a cigarette and she noticed that his hands were long and thin, yet with a suggestion of strength that went well with his lithe body. He was a man to be reckoned with, a man who would destroy if she let him know what was in her mind before he was made sufficiently weak by love. Love ... it was a word she had never associated with him; and to think of it in terms of herself and Nigel Farnham was so terrifying a thought that she wished she could turn back the clock six hours. If only she had refused to go out with him!

"You look beautiful." His voice broke into her thoughts. "But I suppose you must be used to compliments." "I always like hearing them." "Was it true what your friend said?" "About what?" "That you don't go out often - and never with men you don't know." "It's partly true."' "Partly?" There was an edge to his voice that gave her a thrill of satisfaction, and she knew that to make this man jealous was going to be far easier than she had realised. "Despoir likes to have me to go first nights and certain parties that are given by his clients. It means I wear his clothes." "I don't like to think of you having to carry your working life into your private one." Remembering how different her private life could have been - indeed would have been if this man had shown some mercy and understanding towards her father - her reply was tinged with sharpness. "Beggars can't be choosers, Mr. Farnham." "A girl like you should never have to beg. You're so - so exquisite I'm sure you could - you could marry anyone you wished. I refuse to believe you haven't had dozens of proposals." "Hundreds," she said, "but not the sort of proposals that bring a ring with them!"

He gave an exclamation and angrily stubbed out his cigarette. As he did so he half turned to her as though about to speak, but then he seemed to change his mind and settled back in his seat. An imp of mischief decided her to lead into the attack. "Have I hit home, Mr. Farnham?" "Hit home?" "Yes! Were you going to make me a proposal as well?" The colour left his face, making his skin so pale that she thought he would faint. "I know I didn't behave very well towards you, but I... Damn it, girl, what do you take me for?" "A man." "Different from those you appear to have met," he said savagely. "If I want a woman for fun and games I know where to find one. I asked you out because I - because you ..." He stopped and took out another cigarette. He lit it and she saw that his hands were shaking. "We must get one thing straight, Juliette. You are a lovely girl, one of the loveliest I have ever seen. And that's no idle compliment. I'm sure many people have told you so already. But I asked you out because I hoped there was something more than just beauty. I hoped there was intelligence. But if you make another stupid remark like the one you just have, I'll know I was wrong!" Triumph rose in her, but she kept her voice demure. "I'm ' sorry, Mr. Farnham." "My name is Nigel." His voice was still unpacified. "Nigel," she said softly. "It's a nice name. It suits you."

"You haven't returned the compliment," he remarked. "Or don't you want me to call you Juliette?" "I'd rather you called me Julia. That's my real name. Despoir made up the other one." "Ah!" There was a note of satisfaction in his tone. "I'm glad about that. I didn't feel the name Juliette was yours." "You're very perceptive." "Perceptive enough to know you don't mean that!" She laughed, and the tension eased. She relaxed against the seat and could not help wondering what Conrad Winster would think if he could see her now. As she had expected, Nigel Farnham took her to the theatre and then to dinner at Tiberio. The show was a serious one, with-a political bias, but the restaurant was gay and expensive and filled with people who looked as though they did not have a care in the world certainly not the sort of care that had bedevilled the characters in the play they had just seen. "You're certainly not taking any chances with my taste," she commented as they sat down at a corner table. "First a heavy bit of theatre and then this." He laughed. "I believe in taking no chances. I wasn't sure of your taste, so I decided on a bit of both worlds. From now on..." He did not finish the sentence and she decided it would be wiser not to tease him any more. She had already done enough for one evening. They danced together frequently during the meal, and Julia was surprised to find their steps matched perfectly, for she had imagined

he would be as stiff and unbending on the dance floor as he was in court. They made such a striking couple that many people watched them, and Farnham, aware of the interest they caused, looked down into her face. "I'm beginning to feel some understanding of Moslem men," he said. "If I had my way I'd keep you under a large black veil. I hate other men staring at you." "I didn't think you'd like to go out with a woman whom nobody looked at!" "I wouldn't. But there's a happy medium. And where you're concerned I get the feeling that every single man here would like to put a knife in my back and take you off." "How possessive you are!" she mocked. "Only with you. Until now I have never cared enough to..." His words trailed away and she felt a feeling of triumph. The task she had set herself would not be a difficult one. A month together - six weeks at the most - and he would be caught tighter than he had ever been caught in his life. Then, and only then, would she tell him her real name. She shivered with pleasure at the thought, and as her body trembled he drew her closer. His breath was warm on her cheek and from the tenseness of his shoulders she knew he was keeping a firm control on himself. Deliberately she softened against him. Unable to stop himself, his hands moved across her back, his touch warm and unexpectedly firm. Desire stirred in her but was instantly quelled by distaste. This man had broken her father; she must never

allow herself to forget it, or to forget why she was going out with him. The effort of pretence was more tiring that she had known it would be, and by the time Nigel Farnham drove her home, having dismissed the chauffeur, she could barely summon the energy to talk. "It was a wonderful evening, Julia. When may I see you again?" "Next week." She waited for him to give an exclamation of annoyance, and when it came she hid a smile and pretended to soften. "Ring me in a few days." "What about lunch tomorrow?" "I never have the time for more than a coffee. Call me on Monday. I'll be free to see you in the evening." Before he could answer she turned the key in the lock, opened the door and quickly closed it behind her. The few days until he could see her again seemed an eternity away, and try as he might, Farnham could not stop thinking about her. He chided himself for his behaviour, but it was no use; he was gripped by an emotion he could not control, and which he was unwilling, as yet, to analyse completely. In the weeks that followed he pursued her with the same intensity he displayed to everything which concerned him, and each time he left her it was more of an effort. Before the month was out he had no need to wonder how he felt; he knew. He was in love for the first time in his life. In love with a girl of whom he knew nothing, and who lived a life he would have normally considered wasteful. He had been a fool not to have guessed that his desire would not be assuaged merely by seeing her; neither would it be assuaged by a love affair.

He wanted her completely and in every way: as his wife, as his companion and the mother of the children he longed to give her. When he called for Julia on the Saturday morning of a warm, late spring day, she sensed in his manner that he had something on his mind, but she pretended to be unaware of it, and made no mention of the fact that he had not called her since they had last had dinner together three days before. She leaned back in the seat of the small sports car and closed her eyes, enjoying the warm breeze that blew through her hair. "Did you miss me?" he asked as they stopped at some traffic lights. "Of course." "Then why didn't you telephone me - or aren't you emancipated enough?" "I don't think you are the type who would like to be chased. And I always try and please my men." "I don't like you using that word in the plural," he said. "Make it 'man', or better still make it Nigel." She laughed without replying and he said no more, content to drive in silence until they were out of London. But even when he spoke his conversation was casual and she sensed that he was biding his time. They stopped at a small hotel by the river near Maidenhead, and though the restaurant was full a table had been reserved for them on the terrace. Trust Nigel to make sure that everything was perfect! But none of her thoughts showed on her face as she sat opposite him and ate the well- chosen meal he had ordered in advance. As soon as they had finished coffee he paid the bill and pushed back his chair.

"Let's walk down to the river, Julia." She followed him down the steps and across the lawns to the water's edge. Several swans glided past, leaving a ripple on the dark surface, and she concentrated on it, trying to hide the fear that was rising in her. Suddenly Nigel raised his hand and a boat drew alongside. The old man in it looked up at them. "Want me to row for you, sir?" "No, thanks. I can manage." Nigel looked at her. "Do you like the river?" "I love it." He helped her get settled, then sat down and picked up the oars. Soon they were skimming past the bank, leaving the hotel and the swans far behind. She had never seen Nigel exert himself before and she was amused as his cheeks grew flushed with exertion. The colour gave him a boyish look, making him look different from the rigid man she knew him to be. With a deft movement he turned the boat into a small inlet overhung with willows and, slipping the oars into the rowlocks, he watched until they came to a standstill under the bank. It was darker here, the sunlight hidden by the green fronds, and the mooing of a cow seemed to come from a long way away. Julia dabbled her fingers in the water, pretending to be unaware that Nigel Farnham was staring at her intently. The boat rocked sharply and she looked up to see that he was moving towards her. She edged against the side and he sat down next to her. They were so close that she felt his leg on her thigh, and smelled the faint aroma of his shaving lotion.

"Don't avoid looking at me, Julia," he said softly. "Surely you know why I've brought you here." "Not to drown me, I hope!" "Don't joke! You know how I feel about you. I've made it obvious enough." "You find me attractive," she conceded. "I know that." "Much more than just attractive. I love you, darling, and I want you to marry me." These were the words she had been waiting for, and she was surprised at how little triumph she felt. Perhaps she had been thinking about it for so long that now, when the moment had finally arrived it had lost its excitement. "Julia, look at me. Tell me you love me." Still she was silent, inexplicably unwilling to plunge into the vengeance on which she had set her heart. Why didn't she tell him her real name? What was preventing her from letting him know he had just asked to marry the daughter of a man whom he had helped send to prison? She thought of the many nights when she had imagined how he would look when she said the name Trafford, and relived all the biting phrases she had so often rehearsed to herself. But none of them would come out and not even the thought of seeing the horror on his face could make her say anything. "Darling, I want you to marry me," he repeated. "I love you so much. Don't you care for me at all? Julia, speak to me!" She looked into the dark, virile face so near her own, seeing her reflection in his eyes. Once she told him her real name he would

draw away from her and the reflection would go. Perhaps it was for this reason that she was silent. She closed her eyes so that she could not see him, and only then was she able to speak. "I'll - I'll marry you, Nigel, if you're sure it's what you want." "If I'm sure?" He pulled her tight against him. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life. We'll be so happy, darling. So very happy." His lips rested on hers and he spoke against them. "You haven't said you love me. Are you still shy of me, Julia?" "A little." "No one would believe it of you." His voice was tender. "You look so sophisticated ... as though you've had so many lovers." She opened her eyes. "Do you think I have? It's a question you've never asked me." "There are many questions I haven't asked you," he teased. "But asking questions is a part of my work, and I have always considered you as a different part of my life." "No curiosity at all?" "You are beautiful, intelligent and kind. What you are can be seen on your face. I'm a good judge of character, darling. I wouldn't have got where I am today, if I hadn't been." Any lingering doubts that she may have had about her plans disappeared in the face of what he said. So he was a good judge of character, was he? So good that he had judged her father to be a crook. Well, she would show him how wrong his judgement could be ... but later, much later when it would really hurt him.

Feeling as though she were playing a part, she wound her arms around his neck, pulling his head down. Never before had she made a gesture of affection towards him, and he gave an exclamation that sounded almost as though he were in pain. The gentleness with which he had always kissed her goodnight was replaced by a fierceness that took her by surprise. No longer were his lips soft, but firm and demanding a response, their pressure increasing until he forced her lips apart. She struggled in his arms and sensing the fear that was there, he released her. "I'm sorry, dearest," he said huskily. "I didn't mean to kiss you like that... I've wanted to for so long, but I was always afraid of frightening you." She struggled to regain control of herself, and to stifle the shame that overwhelmed her when she remembered the way she had responded to his touch. "You ... you didn't seem to be very afraid of me just now." "If you're asking me to promise that I won't do it again," he said slowly, "I'm afraid I can't. But I'll never hurt you, my darling. Remember that." When they returned to Cambrian Terrace later that evening he insisted on coming in, and Julia thought how out of place he looked in her humble flat. He refused her offer of coffee and she apologised for not being able to offer him anything stronger. "I rarely drink spirits myself," she explained, "and I've never entertained men friends here." "And now you never will." He pulled her on his lap. "How soon will you marry me, Julia?"

"Well, I—" "Now don't give me any nonsense about a trousseau - I'll buy you everything you need in one week!" "Don't rush me, Nigel," she pleaded. "Why not? There's no reason for us to wait." "There are lots of things to arrange," she said. "You once told me your flat was too small for two people." "So it is. But I don't intend us to stay in the flat." "That's all the more reason to wait. By the time we find another flat it—" "We don't need to look," he interrupted triumphantly. "I've got the very place for us! Some friends of mine are going abroad and they've offered me their house. If you like it we can buy it and move straight in. I've got a certain amount of furniture and we can get the rest quite easily. I'll open accounts for you at all the big stores and you can get everything you want. If you—" "Nigel, stop it!" She put her hands over his. "I know I said I'll marry you, but it can't be so quickly." He put his hand over hers. "I don't mean to upset you, darling; but I don't want to give you the chance of changing your mind." "Why should I?" "Because I sometimes have the feeling you're two different people; one of them warm and alive, and the other so cold and distant that I can't get near her. It's as though you're afraid of letting your real self show."

Her heart gave an uneasy thump. "If I've seemed odd at times it's because I - because I didn't want you to fall in love with me." "Why not?" She lowered her eyes. "Because I don't come from the same circle as you, and what will your family and friends say when they hear you want to marry me? Won't it harm your career?" "Forget it," he said forcefully. "And certainly don't give a damn about my friends. There's only one person I want to like you - and whom I hope you'll like too - and that's my mother. But I've no worry on that score either. You're kind and gentle and honest, and that's what counts." Julia felt a stab of guilt at his words. Honest! What would he say if she told him honestly who she was? But that was something she had decided to hold in abeyance. Only when it would hurt him the most would she disclose her identity. "All right, Nigel," she said slowly. "I'll marry you as soon as you like." "Thank the lord for that!" He buried his face against her hair, his hands coming to tug at the coil of hair at the nape of her neck. The pins loosened beneath his touch and her hair fell in dark, silky clouds about her shoulders. "I've wanted to do this for such a long time," he said huskily, and twined his fingers in the tresses as he sought her mouth with his.

CHAPTER FOUR MRS. FARNHAM lived just outside High Wycombe and early the next Sunday morning they drove down to see her. Julia dressed for her visit with great care, aware that no survey could be more critical than that of a mother-in-law. She chose a simple blue jersey dress, its colour echoing her eyes, while her hair, worn long and straight, was caught back from her face with a narrow band of the same material. As soon as she saw Nigel's face she knew he approved her appearance, for he gave her a quick kiss and murmured: "If my mother loves you half as much as I do, she'll adore you." There was a heat haze as they left London, but an hour later the sun shone bright and the fresh green of the trees was vivid against the blue sky. They passed through High Wycombe and sped towards a small village a few miles further west. It seemed to be part of a bygone era, with a narrow high street, an old grey stone church and Tudor cottages nestling back from the winding road. Nigel turned the car down a hedge-lined lane and stopped outside a small Georgian house, its mellow brick gleaming in the sunlight. The wide lawn in front was scattered with flower beds, the brilliant colours heightening the elegance of the simple facade. Nigel shepherded Julia up the path, unlocked the door and led her into a square hall furnished with a dark settle and table, and a beautiful Persian rug. Still holding her by the elbow, he entered a room which ran the length of the house. Mrs. Farnham was sitting in an armchair and she stood up and came forward to greet them. Even if she had not known their relationship Julia would have guessed it, for the woman was remarkably like her son, though her lips were fuller and her chin more rounded. One

would have thought her the epitome of a country gentlewoman had it not been for the unusual glint of humour in the eyes which were as flashing and bright as those of a young girl. She kissed Julia on the cheek. "My dear, I'm so glad to meet you at last. I've heard so much about you from Nigel." She laughed - not the tinkly sound one might have expected - but a deep chuckle full of warmth and gaiety. "As a matter of fact, his letters have been full of nothing else except you!" "Don't give away my secrets," Nigel warned as he poured three sherries. "Letters must be treated as confidential." His mother laughed. "You and your legal brain!" He served the drinks and while they were waiting an elderly maid came in to say luncheon was served. "Ethel has been with us since Nigel was a baby," Mrs. Farnham confided as they went into the small but pretty dining-room. "I'm sure she'll want to see you, Julia. She'd be upset if she didn't meet Mr. Nigel's fiancée." Nigel looked up in mock horror. "Spare me that, Mother! I'll go into the garden if you're going to take Julia into the kitchen after lunch. At least it'll save my blushes." He threw Julia a whimsical glance. "I was a horrible child, but Ethel insists I was a paragon." After lunch the three of them went into the garden and relaxed contentedly in the sunshine, talking drowsily until Ethel brought out the tea. Slowly the sun began to sink. The shadows lengthened and a slight breeze stirred the leaves and blew against Julia's skirts. With a mock sigh Nigel stood up and stretched. "I'm going to do it before you tell me, old lady," he said to his mother, and added to

Julia, "Every time I come here Mother expects me to water the rose garden, so I'm off before she starts nagging." "I never nag," his mother said placidly. "I just keep repeating what I want you to do until you do it." With a grin he disappeared, and Mrs. Farnham took up some embroidery from a basket by her side and began to sew, the needle with its long tail of coloured silk flashing in and out of the material. "Will you and Nigel be getting married soon?" "I don't know. He wants to, but—" "I don't blame him," Mrs. Farnham said. "You're very beautiful, Julia, and any man in love with you would be impatient - especially Nigel. Patience was never his strong suit." She chuckled reminiscently. "He was such an impetuous child. One year I gave him some bulbs to plant and he measured them with a ruler every morning from the moment they started to appear." "Did he wait for them to bud, or did he give up?" "You don't know Nigel if you think he'd ever give up!" She paused and then said, "I've always looked forward to meeting the girl he would eventually marry." "He must have had many opportunities." "He has. But there was no one he wanted. You're the first girl he's ever brought down here to see me. He's gone out with several in the past year, but he would never bring them down here. Wait till I meet the right one, he'd say. Then you'll see her." She stopped sewing and regarded Julia intently. "I'm glad he's chosen you." "Are you really?"

"Certainly. Why are you so surprised?" "Because he must have had the chance of marrying someone far more suitable ... someone who could help his career, perhaps." "Nigel has reached the top of his profession without any help from anyone; and he certainly doesn't need help now. If you love him and make him happy, you'll be giving him everything that matters." "Will I?" Julia asked doubtfully. "He's so - so self- sufficient." "Only on the surface. Deep down he's very vulnerable. He tries to fight against it, and it probably makes him appear the opposite." "You can say that again!" Julia said whimsically. "He's one of the most obstinate and dogmatic men I know!" The old lady chuckled. "When you get to know him better you'll find he has a rigid sense of right and wrong," she admitted, "and if he believes in anyone he'll defend them passionately. But if he doesn't, he'll go all out to get a conviction." Julia almost said it was something she knew too well, but was saved from doing so by Nigel coming towards them holding a watering can. He sank into a chair and wiped his brow, and Julia, watching him, longed to cry out that her presence here was a farce. Nigel looked from her to his mother. "Have you two been talking about me, for a change?" "I've just been telling Julia that you're inclined to be pigheaded." He grinned at Julia. "Do you think so, darling?" She hesitated. "I think you could be."

He groaned. "Women - always sticking together! Really, Mother, my love, what have I ever done to give you that opinion of me?" "Well, you are a little hard at times," Mrs. Farnham said calmly. "Your standards aren't flexible enough." "Flexibility can lead to dishonesty if one's not careful," he replied. "I suppose you're still thinking of that wretched Trafford case?" At the mention of the name Julia went ice-cold, the smile on her face becoming fixed. But Nigel did not notice and went on: "Mother has a fixation about that Trafford man. I don't know if you remember the case, darling - he was connected with that Stock Exchange swindle eighteen months ago." "I don't think he was a swindler," his mother interrupted. "I've always maintained he was used by unscrupulous men behind the scenes." "You've been reading too many novelettes, Mother. Just because the man came from a good family and was inconsiderate enough to die a few weeks after he went to prison, nothing can persuade you he was guilty." "That's right, dear," Mrs. Farnham agreed placidly. "Nothing caw." Nigel stood up. "Don't let's bore Julia with this. Trafford was a rogue and you won't convince me otherwise." He picked up the watering can. "I'm going to get tidy. Would you like a wash before dinner, Julia?" Julia followed him silently, glad he did not speak as they went into the house. Her mind was incapable of framing sensible conversation and her body trembled so much that she .-had to concentrate on the effort of walking.

Nigel paused at the bathroom door. "I'll leave you here and go to my room. Knock at my door when you're ready, darling - it's the one at the end of the corridor." Julia was thankful to be left alone, and sat down on the edge of the bath until the shaking of her limbs had stopped. She had never realised before how other people must think of her father until she had heard him referred to in such a casual impersonal manner. To her he was just Daddy; haphazard, unlucky Daddy, but to those who had not known him he was a crook. If she had had any desire to forgo the vengeance she had promised herself, these last few minutes had hardened a resolution which had threatened to waver through sentimentality. But now sentimentality was over. She would be as ruthless, as merciless, as the man who had branded her father a criminal. She was grateful that Mrs. Farnham believed her father had been innocent. It was a comfort to know someone other than herself did not condemn him, and her only regret in making Nigel pay for his action was that it would inevitably make his mother unhappy. Driving back to London later that evening Julia was acutely aware of Nigel's proximity. Before she had met Mrs. Farnham she had seen him only as a symbol of everything she detested, but now she saw him as a man with roots and a background and a future which he wanted her to share. "Let him love me!" she thought exultantly "Let my nearness be a torment, to him! Let him know there's something that his brilliance and position can't give him!" How proud would he be then? she wondered. Would he accept the position which his love for her had led him into or would he beseech her to forgive him? Poor Nigel. She could almost find it in her heart

to pity him. He had yet to find out how empty life was when one had everything one desired except the right person with whom to share it. She was startled out of her thoughts to find that Nigel had stopped the car in a quiet lane, and without a word pulled her into his arms and kissed her. "It seems a lifetime since I've held you," he said. "I love you so much, Julia. Marry me now. There's no reason for us to wait." He lowered his head and pressed his lips to her throat, his hands gently caressing her. She looked down at his bent head, his hair black and glossy against the cream of her skin. "All right," she said huskily, "I'll marry you as soon as you want." "Darling!" He pulled her more tightly against him. "You'll never regret it. I swear it." "I know," she said tonelessly. "It's what I've wanted to do from the moment we met.''

The few weeks until her wedding flew past. Reluctant to spend all the money she had earned - and too independent to accept any from Nigel - she could only buy a small trousseau, but returning home one afternoon after a fruitless search for an inexpensive leather coat, she found three large boxes waiting for her in the hall. They were in Despoir's colours of grey and purple, and opening them she found a complete assortment of day and evening dresses, coats and suits. "A wedding present for the best model I had," Despoir had penned. "They're the last Collection — not new, of course, but modelled only by you!"

"What a wonderful surprise," Mrs. Cooper said, peeping down from the door of her sitting-room. "That Des - whatever his name is - is a real gentleman. Them clothes must be worth a proper fortune." Julia blinked back sudden tears. "I never expected anything like this, never." "Well, you've got it, so don't cry. You won't be letting that lovely friend of yours down now. You'll be the smartest wife for the next ten days! I'll help you take them upstairs." Julia laughed, but did not correct her landlady's assumption. "Come on, ducks," Mrs. Cooper continued, "I'll give you a hand to take them upstairs." "I won't have time to put them away," Julia panted, carrying one of the boxes. "I'm meeting Nigel at the house. He wants me to see if I like it before he buys it." "I should think so too! You'll be spending your life there, so you'd better make sure it's what you want. Plenty of cupboards, dear, that's what you must look for." It was four o'clock when she met Nigel at Cheyne Walk and he led her to an elegant three-storied house. It was joined to its neighbours, the row forming a crescent that overlooked a small square of green which in turn looked out on the river. Wrought iron railings separated the house from the pavement and three whitewashed steps led up to the front door. The hall was square, with a beautiful curving staircase leading to the upstairs. Off the hall itself were the drawing- room, dining-room, study, and at the end of the hall, down a short flight of steps was a large modernised kitchen looking out on a stone-flagged garden.

There were three bedrooms on the first floor, two of them communicating with each other^ and a bathroom en suite, while on the second floor there were three similar rooms and another bathroom. The house had an atmosphere of grace and quiet and gave off an aura of tranquillity which she loved. Looking through the long windows of the main bedroom, she could see over the plane trees to the river, the water dark yet shining. "It's lovely," she said. "You mean it?" "Of course. It isn't too expensive for you, is it?" He shook his head. "Money is the least of my problems. My biggest one right now is to make sure you're happy." "Any girl would be." She looked at the empty room. "I expected to find some furniture." "The Paxtons decided to take it all. I'm glad, though. I want everything to be new for us, Julia." True to his word, he opened accounts for her at all the leading stores, and it gave her a thrill to be able to go and buy whatever she wanted. The two communicating bedrooms were their obvious choice, and Julia felt sharp stab of guilt as she thought of the moment she would tell Nigel who she was. It was a strain to continue to act the happy bride-to-be and the hours she loved best were those spent bringing the house to life. She refused to look upon it as a place she would be sharing with Nigel, and saw it instead as an inanimate object into which she could breathe her own personality; something quite separate from her impending marriage.

She was thankful Nigel wanted a quiet wedding, and he for his part was glad she did not want to make it a social event, although he thought her reason to be a sense of inferiority, little knowing that she was still afraid that among his friends and relations there might be someone who would recognise her. They were married one afternoon early in September at the village church where Mrs. Farnham lived. The only guests were two of Nigel's aunts and uncles, and Liz and her fiancé, and afterwards they returned to the little Georgian house for the wedding breakfast. Nigel's gaze followed his wife as she moved among his family, tall and slender in a chalk-grey dress, at the breast of which gleamed the diamond and ruby brooch he had given her as a wedding present. Whenever their eyes met she would look hastily away, as if unwilling to face the ardour of his glance, and a tender smile curved his lips as the desire to hold her in his arms welled up in him. Because the Law Courts were to be in session again within a week, and Nigel had an important case to plead, they had postponed their honeymoon, but he had promised her they would travel south in search of the sun later in the year. "In any case, darling," he had added, "it has its compensations. It means we can start our married life in our own home." They returned to London in the late afternoon and dusk was falling as they drew into the quiet crescent and stopped outside their house. In the descending darkness the russet leaves on the trees looked black and in the distance they could hear the muffled hooting of a boat on the Thames. Nigel opened the front door with a flourish and, swinging round, lifted Julia into his arms and carried her over the threshold. "Home at

last - with you." He set her down gently and, feeling her shiver, kept his arm around her. "You're not cold, are you, darling?" She laughed shakily. "No. I suppose it's just wedding nerves." Breaking away from him, she went into the drawing-room and rang the bell. "The room's lovely, isn't it? I think we made a good job of the furnishing." She chatted on inconsequentially, knowing that unless she relieved the tension inside her she would scream. After a few moments the housekeeper appeared, wished them every happiness, and said that dinner would be ready as soon as they wanted it. Julia glanced at her watch. "We'll have it at seven-thirty - that'll just give us time to change." Mrs. Humphries withdrew and Julia picked up her handbag. "I'm going up now, Nigel." He smiled at her indulgently. "All right, darling - but you won't always be able to run away from me!" Her cheeks reddened, but she did not reply as she turned and left the room. They had their first meal together in the long, narrow Sheraton dining-room, the light of candles reflecting the gleam of silver and glass. The food was excellent, but Julia could hardly swallow it, conscious only of what lay ahead of her. Nigel too toyed with his food and they were both glad when the meal was over and they could go into the library, where coffee was waiting for them on a silver tray. All the lamps except one were turned down and the panelled walls and red and gold Persian carpet glowed warm and inviting in the firelight. Julia sat on the settee in front of the fire, its flames throwing shadows over her face, and Nigel sank down next to her, watching with loving

eyes as she served the coffee. He saw her shiver again and, leaning forward, put a hand under her chin. "Darling, what's wrong? You aren't upset because we couldn't have gone away for a honeymoon, are you? We would have gone if I hadn't got this important case coming up in a couple of weeks. It's damned important and I haven't prepared my brief yet." An ironical smile twisted her lips. "Your cases mean a great deal to you, don't they? Even more than your honeymoon?" He looked surprised at the sarcasm in her voice, and she went on: "Are you defending or prosecuting?" "Prosecuting." "That means you'll be going all out for a conviction, won't it?" "Naturally. The man's an out-and-out crook." "Are you always convinced that the people you convict are crooks?" "Of course. I wouldn't be on the prosecuting side if I wasn't." She stood up quickly and moved away from him. "How do you know you're always right? How can you be so sure that you're so infallible?" "Julia darling—" He stood up and went to take her in his arms, but she warded him off. "Don't touch me!" "What's wrong? Why waste time arguing over a crook? It won't be any loss when he's behind bars."

"There you go again! How do you know the man's a crook? And how do you know it won't be a loss to anyone if he's behind bars? Perhaps he's got a decent family who need him?" Nigel stared at her in amazement. "I don't understand you, darling. You're talking as if it had something to do with you." "It has." "How?" In a quiet voice, sometimes so low that he had to bend forward to listen, she told him of a man he had once - by a merciless prosecution - condemned to prison. "If it hadn't been for you, he might have been acquitted, but you were so sure you were right, so sure he was guilty - that you took away the one thing that mattered to him - his name. He died in prison because of you. Because you cared more for your reputation as a barrister who's never lost a case than you do about the worth of a human being. Were you so certain you were right? Haven't you ever had any doubts that you're fallible like other people?" "You don't think I'd go out for a conviction if I remotely believed a man was innocent?" "By what right do you judge?" "It's my job to make sure." He put out his hand, but she moved back. "You're too soft-hearted, Julia. Why should it matter to me if a criminal has a wife and family? He's the person who should think of that, not me." "The case I'm talking about does concern you! The man you convicted - the man who died in prison - was my father." Nigel's skin lost its colour, even his lips appearing bloodless. "Your father? Who are you talking about?"

"Sir Hugo Trafford." "Trafford? But your name's—" "Trevelyan was my mother's name. I took it because you dragged my own in the mud!" "I see." A muscle twitched at the side of his mouth and he reached out for a cigarette with fingers that shook. "What am I supposed to do now, Julia?" "What do you feel like doing? Do you want to make love to the daughter of a 'rogue and swindler', a man not worthy to bear his title? Wouldn't it offend your sense of right and wrong, or aren't you so rigid when it comes to something which affects you?" "For heaven's sake, Julia!" With an exclamation he moved over and caught her by the shoulders. "You don't know what you're saying!" "Don't I? I've been waiting to say it for long enough. When you left the courtroom that day I swore I'd make you pay for what you'd done. If it hadn't been for you my father would have been acquitted." "That's nonsense. Your father was guilty. Whether I had prosecuted or not, someone else would have taken the case, he would still have gone to prison." Ignoring his remark, she went on speaking. "I had to change my name because you'd made me ashamed of my own. I got a job and hoped that in time I'd forget how much I hated you. But when I saw you again I knew it was impossible. I didn't go out with you at first because I couldn't bear being near you, but you were so persistent, so determined to get your own way - as you always are - that you gave me the idea of how I could destroy your life the way you'd destroyed my parents."

"I can't believe it. You make it sound so cold-blooded." "It was. As cold-blooded as your destruction of my father." "Why are you telling me this now?" With an angry gesture he stubbed out his cigarette. "You're my wife, Julia. We love each other." "Love you?" There was such loathing in her voice that he fell back a step. "Don't you know that when you've touched me all I could think of was that those same hands pointed at my father? That when your lips kissed mine, they were the same lips which had condemned' him? Every time you called me darling, all I could hear were the words you used to him - 'rogue, crook, swindler'?" Her voice broke. "I hate you, Nigel! I hate you more than anyone in the world." "Then why did you pretend you loved me? Why did you marry me?" "Because you love me! You were so lucky to be able to marry me, weren't you?" she mocked. "But you'll never possess me, Nigel. Never! You and your logical mind! The man who never makes a mistake; whose judgement is always right!" She laughed without mirth. "Well, now you know you can be wrong! You've got everything, haven't you? Position, a successful career and a beautiful wife who'll never be yours! We'll have a wonderful marriage, Nigel, and I'll be the ideal hostess to all your clever, smug friends. But only you and I will know that it's an empty shell!" Once again her voice broke, and this time she had no more strength to continue. She stared at the whiteness of his face, seeing the deep lines that had appeared on either side of his mouth. Then without another word she ran from the room, banging the door behind her.

CHAPTER FIVE LEFT alone, Nigel stood staring unseeingly into the fire, unable to believe in the reality of the scene that had just taken place. It seemed incredible that Julia could have spoken to him the way she had. The girl who had said those bitter things was not the one he had fallen in love with; not the woman who had stood by his side a few hours ago and become his wife. The Julia who had spoken so heartlessly was not the Julia he had married. She was a different person - cold, calculating and cruel. The discovery of her true identity would have been a shock to him, but even had he known it before their marriage it would not have stopped him from wanting her to be his wife. He could even have forgiven all the bitter things she had just said, realising she had some justification, even if that justification was misguided. But what he could not forget was the knowledge that his touch had repelled her, his kisses been repugnant to her. How could she have responded with such ardour that he had never guessed that her only feelings had been hatred and disgust? He would have staked his reputation on her integrity, and with absolute honesty, he knew that this was what hurt the most; that he had been duped by a lovely face into falling in love with a girl who did not exist. The Julia he had married had been gentle and kind and honest. The one who now wore his ring was a person who had forsworn her honour in order to obtain revenge. He poured himself another drink, trying to dull the aching desire that pulsed through his body. He was crazy to feel such longing for her. To do so was cheapening his own integrity, making passion his master and destroying the logic on which he had always prided himself. "It's over. Finished. I don't love her!" he said aloud. Once again he pulled the decanter towards him, splashing whisky into his glass, until it spilled over on to the sideboard.

It was more than an hour later when Julia heard him stagger up the stairs to his room. She listened as he undressed and heard the bed creak as he threw himself heavily upon it. Then there was silence, and she lay awake, staring into the darkness. The triumph she had felt earlier had now gone and all she could feel was revulsion for what she had done. Desperately she reminded herself that what she had done had been motivated by the need to vindicate her father's suffering, but instead she was dismally aware that he would have found her behaviour horrifying. No daughter of his should have acted in this way. It was not the duty of one person to take revenge on another, and in doing so - no matter how justified the reason - she was wrong as Nigel had been when he had destroyed her father. The peace she had hoped to obtain by telling him her true feelings had merely been an illusion. All she had done was to destroy her own self-respect. In the morning she would apologise; try to justify what she had done and tell him she was ready to leave his home. The decision brought with it sufficient peace for her to sleep, and when she awoke the sun was streaming through the window into her room. Her first thought was of the interview that lay ahead, knowing that the longer she put it off, the more difficult it would become, so she dressed quickly and went downstairs. She heard voices coming from the dining-room and with shaking body she opened the door and went in. Nigel was at the table and a young girl in a brown dress and white apron was placing a coffee pot beside him. She turned at Julia's entrance. "Good morning, madam. I'm Hilda." Julia smiled, but her heart was beating too fast for her to speak and she sat down quickly opposite Nigel.

"Will you have coffee, madam, or would you prefer tea?" "Coffee, thanks," Julia said huskily. "You - you needn't wait." Hilda went out and Julia looked at Nigel. His eyes were bloodshot and his mouth was set in a thin tight line that evoked memories she would rather forget. "I want to - Nigel, I want to talk to you." "After breakfast," he said icily. "I'll be in the library." "I'm ready now." He let her precede him across the hall and in the library motioned her to sit down. "I don't propose to discuss what occurred last night," he said before she could begin, "other than to say that were it not for the fact that a scandal would harm my plans at the moment, I would immediately apply to the Courts for an annulment. I shall decide later when to do it." She flushed with annoyance at his monopoly of decision. "You can only do that by proving I refused to - refused to consummate our marriage!" "Really? Does that mean you've changed your mind since last night?" he asked sardonically. "Don't I repel you any longer? This puts a different complexion on things, Julia." He looked her up and down carefully. "So you deny you ever - as you so charmingly put it refused me my rights? Well, well. If I can bring myself to forget the contempt I have for you, I might take you at your word." She drew back sharply. "You wouldn't dare!" "Wouldn't I?" His manner changed abruptly. "Enough of this fooling. You loathe the thought of my coming near you just as much as I'd

loathe myself if I ever did. The fact that you'd be willing to perjure yourself in court doesn't surprise me in the least. After all, you are your father's daughter." She winced as if he had struck her. "Have you quite finished? Or do you think you're browbeating one of your witnesses?" He ignored the comment. "We will continue our marriage as long as it suits me. Until now, you've been calling the tune. Now it's my turn. As you yourself suggested last night, we'll make our marriage a beautiful shell for as long as I need to. When I no longer want to, I'll tell you." He glanced down at his watch. "I think I'll go to my chambers. I had intended taking the next few days off, but there's no longer any necessity for it. Anyway, the extra time will help me to prepare my brief and make doubly certain that the innocent criminal goes to prison!" Quietly he walked from the room and Julia leaned back and closed her eyes. She had known Nigel possessed an inflexible will, but had never guessed its real strength until now, and despite herself she was forced to concede him a grudging admiration. As one week followed another he gave no sign of the hurt he had suffered, and when they met in front of the staff he was charming and faintly chiding towards her. But as soon as they were alone he relapsed into silence, and always after dinner he would excuse himself and go into the library. He was working extremely hard, and often when she went to bed she would see the light still shining under the door. They had been married four weeks when a redirected airmail letter from Mrs. Cooper was sent to her. It was from Conrad Winster. Seeing it on her breakfast tray gave her a shock, for in the months since his departure she had been too preoccupied with Nigel to give him a thought. Now he suddenly was coming back into her mind,,

and she knew that not only would he be hurt to learn she was married, but astonished - even disgusted - to know the name of her husband. Remembering his sympathy during the bleak months immediately after her mother's death, she bitterly regretted that her desire to hurt Nigel should involve Conrad too. His letter was amusing and affectionate, telling her he was returning in about ten days and looked forward to seeing her immediately. Glancing at the date, she saw it had been delayed at Cambrian Terrace, and with trepidation she guessed he would be contacting her at any time. Quickly she wrote him a short note, stating baldly that she was married and to whom. She addressed it to his London flat and posted it when she went out for her usual morning walk. Three days later, she was finishing a solitary lunch when Hilda came in to tell her that a Mr. Winster was on the telephone. His voice was brusque as she spoke to him, and he cut short her question about his trip. "I can't be bothered with social niceties, Julia. We've more important things to talk about. How soon can I see you?" "Are you free this afternoon?" The sooner they met, the better she would feel. "Why not come here for tea? Nigel won't be in until seven, so we'll be alone." "Good. I'll be over at three." Promptly to the hour he arrived. She had expected the same icy manner that she received from Nigel, but he exuded his usual warmth, his face so pink and hearty that she experienced a sudden uprush of affection for him. "Oh, Conrad, it's so good to see you again! It's such a long time."

"Too long," he said abruptly. "What the hell did you want to go and marry Farnham for? I couldn't believe it when I read your letter. I know you weren't sure how you felt about me and I'm not blaming you for it. But to marry the man who..." He flung his arms wide in a gesture of incomprehension. "Did you fall so much in love with him that you forgot about your father?" "No!" Her reply was so emphatic that he looked at her keenly, and what he saw dissipated his anger. "What's behind it, Julia? I want to know the truth." They sat down together on the settee and slowly she told him the story of Nigel's pursuit of her, her refusal to see him and then, as he had persisted, of the idea that had formed in her mind. Winster listened with amazement. A ruthless man himself, he could not but admire her spirit, at the same time blaming himself for not having seen that his encouragement of her prejudice against Farnham might lead her to take such a drastic step if given the opportunity. Watching her as she spoke, he knew that his desire to have her was stronger than ever. In the few months of his absence she had grown thinner, her cheekbones more prominent and her eyes larger. It gave her an air of fragility which he found intensely appealing, and he cursed the fact that he had been out of the country at such a critical time in her life. But although his dreams of an immediate future with her had crashed, he was still determined that eventually he would make her his wife. "I suppose you're very angry with me?" she said finally. "Only because you've acted so stupidly. You may have hurt Farnham, but you've also hurt yourself. You can't pretend you enjoy the position you've put yourself in."

"I hate it! But I couldn't see any other way. I don't mind how unhappy I am as long as he's suffering too!" Conrad sighed. "How long do you intend to go on? You haven't only hurt yourself, you know - you've hurt me too. Or doesn't that count?" "Of course it does!" Impulsively she put her hand on his. "Once I had this idea I couldn't think of anything else. If you'd been here for me to talk to it might have been different." "You've allowed him to become an obsession with you," he said flatly. "You always knew I hated him." "I never guessed it was deep enough for you to ruin your own life. That's not revenge, Julia. It's madness!" She sighed. "I wanted to hurt him and I've done so. If I have to suffer too, it'll be worth it." Conrad lit a cigarette and through the smoke surveyed her. "How long do you intend to go on with this farce?" "I don't know. All I care about is hurting him." "And how long will you be able to do that? I doubt if Farnham is the sort of man to go on living with a woman who has humiliated him." It was a truth she did not like, yet she could not deny it. "In the long run what you say is true. But at the moment I'm sure he still cares. .. . He loved me very much," she said huskily. "He should have married a girl from a well-known family, someone who could help him - but he chose me. That surely counts for something."

"I agree. All I'm saying is that it won't count for as long as you think." He inhaled deeply again. "You didn't mince your words when you told him the truth." "I didn't intend to. I hate him." "Are you sure? Such determined vehemence might hide—" "Conrad, how could you?" She jumped up angrily. "Do you think I'm mad? How could I love a man who destroyed my father? If it hadn't been for him my mother would even be alive today. She didn't want to live, Conrad, Nigel destroyed her too." Julia's voice rose. "Don't say that to me again. It's cruel!" "I'm sorry, my dear. It was a joke in poor taste." He came over and put his arm across her shoulders. "You know you can depend on me. I told you I loved you and I still do. Your marriage to Farnham - if you can call it a marriage - makes no difference. I still want you to be my wife, and I'll wait till you're free." "Conrad, I wish you didn't love me. Even when Nigel and I. .. What I mean is that.. ." "I know what you mean, but I'm going to ignore it. You're overwrought and you can't think clearly. All I want to know right now is when you intend to get out of this farce?" "It depends on Nigel," she said unsteadily. "I told you that he said he doesn't want any scandal at the moment." "No barrister ever does," came the dry answer. "Or has he got a special reason?" "Yes. But I don't know what it is."

Conrad looked dubious. "You'd better make sure he isn't the one who's pulling the leash." "What do you mean?" "Only that he's no fool. He knows you're as unhappy as he is, and by keeping you tied he's paying you back in your own coin." "I don't think so. He really has something planned. He works hard and—" "So do I!" Conrad retorted. "A damned sight harder than Farnham. I didn't begin with his advantages, you know. I had no money or family to help me. I slogged for my first hundred pounds and I pulled myself up by my own bootlaces. When I met you, Julia, and fell in love with you, I hoped that the rest of my life would be happier. I never dreamed ..." He paused and then said: "You could make me a very happy man, Julia." Too moved to answer, she crossed to the fireplace and rang the bell for tea, not speaking until she had her back to him "I'm sorry, Conrad. Truly I am. But I can't think about the future yet." "I understand. I just wanted you to know I still loved you." Hilda came in with the tray, and watching Julia pour the tea, Conrad again cursed the bad luck that had kept him out of England during such an important phase in her life. But none of his thoughts were apparent in his conversation, and as he munched the hot scones, he amused her with stories of his trip, painting such a vivid picture of New York that she forgot her unhappiness as she listened to him. The time flew, and it was not until Hilda came in for the tray and drew the curtains that she realised it was past six o'clock.

Would it be wise for Conrad to meet Nigel, she asked herself, or should she delay it until there were other people present? The decision was taken out of her hands by the sound of a key turning in the lock. There were footsteps in the hall and then Nigel came in to the drawing-room. He stopped short when he saw Julia had a guest and she noticed how his face immediately assumed a conventional expression. Hastily she stood up. "Nigel, I don't believe you've met Conrad Winster. He's a friend of mine - of my - of my parents too." The men nodded to each other coolly and there was a slightly awkward pause. Nigel shook Conrad's hand and Julia was aware of the difference between the two men. It was not only a physical one, but one of personality too; Conrad exuded warmth and affability, making Nigel's precise manner seem old-fashioned and cold. But Conrad was not a man easily discomfited, and he talked in his usual bluff manner. "I'm sorry I missed Julia's wedding. I had no idea she was getting married so quickly. But then," he flashed a glance at Julia, "love being what it is, I don't suppose either of you saw any point in waiting." Nigel stiffened, but Conrad's expression was so bland, the light eyes looking back at him so disarmingly, that he was reassured that no double-edged meaning had been intended. "Have you known my wife very long, Mr. Winster?" "Several years." "I see." Nigel's tone was non-committal, but his thoughts were not. This man must have met Julia before her father's trial and if, as Julia

had said, he had been a friend of her parents he must have believed in Hugo Trafford's innocence. The fact that Julia still regarded the man as a friend signified that. Yet somehow he did not seem the type of man to be associated with a family like the Traffords and he was curious to know how he had met them. It was obvious that the man must know he had been prosecuting counsel in the case and he wondered if Julia had told him the truth about their marriage. But her expression gave him no clue, and a flash of irritation assailed him. Deliberately he sat on the arm of her chair and put his hand on her shoulder in a warm familiar gesture. He felt her tenseness but ignored it, caressing the skin where her sleeve ended. "Darling, perhaps Mr. Winster will join us for a cocktail?" "A good idea," Conrad said. "But it will have to be a quick one. I have an early dinner engagement." Nigel went to the tray of drinks on the sideboard. "Whisky? You name it." "Whisky, please. Straight and no ice." Nigel poured two whiskies and a sherry for Julia and brought them over. "You're the first guest we've entertained here. Julia and I haven't been going out. We still find we prefer each other's company. Isn't that so, darling?" Julia flushed, aware of Conrad's quizzical look. "Don't embarrass Conrad, sweetheart," she said in dulcet tones. "Otherwise he'll think you're exhorting wedded bliss, and you know how wary bachelors are of married friends!" Nigel turned away and Julia knew that the round had been won by her. But only on points. She would have to watch Nigel carefully whenever Conrad was here. He had obviously sensed that Conrad was in love with her.

Nigel raised his drink. "Cheers." "Cheers," Conrad replied, "and may you both get what you deserve!" Julia almost choked on her drink. She had wondered when Conrad would blot his copybook, and he had chosen a particularly clever way of doing it. She flashed him a warning look and he winked, drained his whisky and set it down on the table. "I really must be going. I hope we'll meet again soon. If you and Julia would care to dine with me one evening, I should be delighted." Then to Julia: "I'll telephone you tomorrow, my dear." "Fine. I'll see you to the door." Together they went into the hall, Julia purposely leaving the drawingroom door open so that Conrad would have no opportunity to talk. She waited until he had driven off and then returned to the drawingroom. "That's a very attentive friend you have there," drawled Nigel. "I've never heard you mention him!" "I didn't see any reason to do so. My past life has nothing to do with you." "On the contrary. Your past has affected my future!" There was such unexpected bitterness in his voice, doubly surprising in view of the calmness he had displayed since their wedding night, that she was filled with an inexplicable urge to make some sort of truce between them. "There's something I want to tell you," she said quickly. "Haven't you said enough already?"

"This is important. As you want us to stay married to each other for a little while, can't we at least behave in a civilised manner towards each other?" "Vengeance is rarely considered civilised!" She went scarlet, but refused to be put off. "Blame me as much as you like. You'll never understand my behaviour any more than I'll ever understand yours. But at least don't let's make it worse." He stared at the drink in his hand, his expression serious. "Very well," he said finally, "I agree that constant bickering can become tedious, and it's also a waste of my energy. And I need every ounce I can get for my work and my future plans to . . ." He stopped. "Civilised behaviour from now on, Julia." "Thank you." She turned away to collect the empty glasses, and when next she looked up she was alone in the room.

Despite the fact that Nigel had agreed to a truce between them, there was little change in his attitude towards Julia, for he remained as coldly polite as ever and there were some days when she did not see him at all. One afternoon late in October, when she had been married to Nigel for two months, she returned from shopping to find Mrs. Arundale waiting for her in the drawing-room. "Mrs. Farnham? I'm so delighted to see you at last. I'm Sylvia Arundale." The woman extended her hand. "I don't know whether Nigel has told you about me?" "I'm afraid not," Julia murmured politely.

"Ah well, I dare say he wouldn't. I'm his cousin - at least his cousin by marriage." "I see." "I was in South Africa when you were married, so I had to miss your wedding. I've only been back a few days, but as soon as I found out where you were living, I had to come and see you. Nigel and I are so close that I couldn't wait to meet the girl he married. I hope you'll forgive me for coming along without telephoning first, but I was in the district and couldn't resist the impulse to call in." "That's quite all right." Julia sat down and, as her visitor took out a compact and applied powder, she studied her surreptitiously. The woman was somewhere in her late twenties, thirty at the most, with hair so pale that it was almost colourless. It emphasised the flawless, china-pink skin and heavily lidded blue eyes which Julia noticed she had a habit of opening wide when she was speaking; a trick which lent her most trivial remarks an assumed importance. Mrs. Arundale put away her compact and smiled. "You have a lovely home. This room is charming. May I have a look at the pictures?" Taking agreement as automatic, she wandered from wall to wall. Standing, Julia saw she was unusually tiny, with a delicately curved figure shown to full advantage in a pale cream suit. "Did you choose everything, or did Nigel?" "We chose them together.'' "How unusual for Nigel to be so houseproud!" Mrs. Arundale returned to the settee. "I'm dying to hear all about your romance. How did you meet? You couldn't have known him long, because I've

only been away six months, and I know he hadn't met you before I left." "I was a model at Despoir's. We met there." The light eyes widened spontaneously this time. "A model? My dear, how amusing! Did you do it for fun?" "From necessity." Julia began to dislike the woman. "I see," Mrs. Arundale said. "But what on earth was Nigel doing at Despoir's? It's hardly the sort of place he'd go to." "He went with Liz. She was choosing her trousseau." "Dear Liz!" The voice belied the words. "Such a sweet girl. At least I'll be in time for her wedding. One feels so out of things when one misses occasions like that. I do try and keep close to the family, you know, even though my husband died several years ago." "I'm sorry," Julia murmured politely. "Was he a close relation of Nigel's?" "A second cousin. After he died - it was in a car crash - I came back to England. That's when Nigel and I became really close. He was so kind and understanding ..." Her voice trailed away, but when she spoke again it was firmer. "I had to go to Africa to clear up the estate and when I returned I heard about his marriage. It was such a surprise!" Julia was now frankly wary of the woman, certain that her loquacity was not as innocent as it appeared. She was glad when Hilda came in with the tea-tray, and Mrs. Arundale, refusing anything to eat, drank two cups of sugarless, milkless tea.

"Do you come from London, Julia - I may call you Julia, mayn't I?" Julia nodded. "I used to live in the country until I started working." "Do your parents live there still?" "They're dead." "I'm so sorry." Mrs. Arundale waved her hand round the room. "You must find all this a change." "From what?" The blue eyes widened again. "Why, from earning your own living, of course. So many working girls would love a home like this." Julia resisted an impulse to make a sarcastic reply, and smiled sweetly. "That's why Nigel is so generous to me. He says he adores giving me things I've never had." After this sally, the visitor confined herself to trying to glean as much information as she could about Julia, and finding herself unsuccessful, became apparently content to throw out oblique references to her great friendship with Nigel. Julia was relieved when the woman finally left, and analysing the conversation came to the conclusion that Mrs. Arundale had been disconcerted to find her so sophisticated and assured. That she had been upset by the marriage was obvious, for she had delicately implied that had Nigel not been left alone, he would never have married. The thought that Nigel could be interested in such a woman was ridiculous, for Julia considered her charms too obvious to appeal to a man with so critical an eye as her husband.

She was disconcerted to find, however, that when she mentioned Mrs. Arundale after dinner that evening, Nigel seemed genuinely disappointed not to have seen her. "Did Sylvia stay long?" he asked. "Long enough to make sure that I knew how friendly you had been with each other." "You must have misunderstood her," he said coldly. "When Gerald died she was left all alone and I was sorry for her. There was nothing more to it than that." "Mrs. Arundale implied differently," Julia contended. "You obviously don't understand her. Sylvia talks a lot, but it's all harmless chatter. She's a sweet person and very childlike!" "I'd hardly describe her in those terms, Nigel - but then," she added sweetly, "no doubt you know her better than I do." If he suspected any sarcasm he did not show it. "I'm sure you'll be good friends when you get to know each other. There are lots of ways she'll be able to help you." He paused thoughtfully. "In fact, it's a good thing she's back. We must start doing some entertaining." There was silence after that, Nigel barricading himself behind the evening papers, and Julia working on her embroidery. She had always been adept at needlework and though she had given it up when working, after her marriage the evenings had been so long and empty that she had resumed it again. He glanced up, unable to quell a pang at the sight of her loveliness. The fire crackled cheerfully in the grate and the heavy curtains drawn across the windows lent an air of intimacy to the scene.- What a picture of domestic bliss this would suggest to an innocent onlooker,

he thought wryly: a successful career, a lovely home and a beautiful wife! Yet his life was empty and cold as yesterday's ashes. For a long moment he remained motionless, a brooding look on his face, then with a faint sigh he bent to his papers again.

True to his word, Julia did not see much of Nigel, for he was rarely in and when he was it was only to hurry through his meal and rush out again to fulfil some unspecified engagement. The telephone rang for him continuously and well dressed, prosperous-looking men called at odd hours, either to pick him up, talk with him in the library or bring him home. He did not tell Julia what it was all about and although she was filled with curiosity her pride would not allow her to ask him. She might never have found out until much later had it not been for her motherin-law, who came to town on one of her infrequent visits, and had lunch with her. It was the first time Mrs. Farnham had visited them since they had moved in, and Julia had only seen her on one occasion since her marriage, when Nigel had driven her down for the day. But the time they had spent at the little house outside High Wycombe had been bitter-sweet, for they had both found it an effort to pretend to a happiness they did not feel. Perhaps it was because she had not seen her daughter-in- law for some time that Mrs. Farnham noticed a restless and unhappy aura that surrounded Julia, but she said nothing and pretended to be taken in by the air of contentment which the girl strove to maintain.

"I'm sorry Nigel isn't here, Mother, but he's been so busy the last few weeks I've hardly seen him myself." As she spoke Julia kissed Mrs. Farnham and led her into the drawing-room. "Never mind, my dear, I came to lunch with you, not Nigel. I didn't expect him to be here, with all the work he has to do for this byelection of his." At the sideboard pouring out sherry, Julia paused with the decanter in mid-air, glad her head was averted so that her mother-in-law could not see the look of surprise on her face. Mrs. Farnham might very well suspect things were not right between Nigel and herself, but the idea that Julia did not even know he was standing for Parliament would never have crossed her mind. "I expect you'll be pleased when he can spend more time with you," her mother-in-law went on blithely. "Still, there's only another few days to go, and then it will be over. By this time next week we'll know the result." She accepted her sherry and raised the glass. "Let's drink a toast to his success." Julia was grateful for the warmth the wine gave her. The casual reference to Nigel's intention of contesting a by- election had caught her so completely unawares that she was angry with herself for never having demanded a reason for his frequent absences from home - the telephone calls, the rushed dinners and strange callers. Even though their marriage was a pretence he had no right not to keep her informed of what he was doing - particularly as he was still anxious for his friends to believe that their relationship was a normal one. Only now did everything fall into its right place and anger gave way to hurt. "I expect you'll be going up to the constituency with him?" Mrs. Farnham asked.

"I don't know," Julia stammered. "He may not want me to. You know how much he dislikes emotion." Mrs. Farnham looked surprised. "Not with people he loves." Julia reddened. "I meant in front of anyone," reminding herself to be more careful of what she said. She stood and led the way into the dining-room for lunch. Only as they were sipping coffee in the drawing-room afterwards did Mrs. Farnham mention Sylvia Arundale's name, and chuckled when Julia recounted details of her visit. "I expect her nose was thoroughly put out of joint when she saw you - Sylvia has fancied herself as Nigel's wife for a long time." "He ridiculed the idea when I mentioned it to him." "Men are often obtuse when it comes to women. No matter how clever they are professionally, they can still be fooled by a pretty face and a winning manner - and Sylvia uses both to full advantage. Still, you needn't be jealous of her. Nigel never considered marrying anyone until he met you." She settled herself into a more comfortable position. "Forgive my saying so, but you're a lucky girl to have him for a husband. Once Nigel gives his love, it's yours for ever." Julia shifted uncomfortably. "I think he loves with the same intensity as he hates." "He rarely hates anyone," Mrs. Farnham protested in surprise. "He's far too logical to waste time and emotion on anything as selfdestructive as hatred." "Is it self-destructive?" Julia questioned.

"Of course! In order to hate, you have to blanket your mind to everything else. And then you might as well live in a cocoon." "Cocoons can be very comfortable," Julia answered. "But insects burst out of them! They'd atrophy if they remained in there for ever.'' Julia shivered, and seeing it, Mrs. Farnham said quickly: "Let's talk about something more cheerful than atrophying ! Tell me what you do with yourself all day." "Very little," Julia sighed. "I miss not having to work." "When you have a baby, time won't hang so heavy on your hands!" Colour swept into Julia's cheeks and her mother-in-law regarded her with a sympathetic expression. "The first months of marriage aren't easy, you know. The more a couple love each other very much, the longer it can take them to settle down together. Where people expect a great deal from marriage they must be prepared to give a great deal; and sensitive couples often find it difficult to attune themselves to one another. When I got married my mother-in-law talked to me the same way that I'm talking to you, and she said one thing I've always remembered: a good marriage doesn't just happen - you have to work at it. But believe me, Julia, it's worth working hard for." Julia stared miserably into the fire. How lightly she had gone into her own marriage, and how little thought she had given to the words of the marriage service. She had been so intent on revenge that she had not stopped to think that in following out her plan she was violating the very creed she had been brought up to revere.

She gave a deep sigh. "You've made me realise so much, Mother. It's so easy to lose one's perspective - I don't think I've even found mine yet.'' "We can't always see what's best for us." With a change of tone Mrs. Farnham went on: "Well, that really is enough for one day! If I start preaching again, you have my permission to walk out on me!" Her sharp eyes came to rest on the embroidery frame resting on the arm of the settee. "How beautiful that is. It is yours, isn't it?" "Yes. Would you like to see the other pieces I've done?" "I'd love to. I sew as well, so we can compare designs." Julia went to the cupboard, took out her embroidery bag and displayed the pieces of tapestry she had just completed. Mrs. Farnham examined them with delight. "I can see you're expert already. Have you been doing it long?" "I used to do it a lot in the old days. My mother was a wonderful needlewoman. She'd copy designs from some of our old tapestry wall-covers, and she once even mended an Aubusson." "You must have had a large house to have had tapestries." A blank look came on Julia's face and Mrs. Farnham knew the moment of confidence between them was past. "It was rather large." She turned away. "Would you like some more coffee?" "Not for me, dear." Conversation was desultory after that. The light faded early and the November evening closed in, damp and cold. The two women sat in the glow of the fire, dark shadows in a room lit only by the street lamps in the square.

"I like this time of day best of all," Julia said. "L'heure bleu. Everything ugly seems to fade and only the lovely things are left." "That's the remark of a true romantic!" "I used to be," Julie confessed, "but life destroys one's ideals." "That sounds too cynical, coming from you." "I am cynical. Circumstances have made me so." "Circumstances can't alter your personality - at least not permanently." "I don't agree. I'll never be the innocent girl I used to be." "Not innocent," Mrs. Farnham conceded, "but willing to be more understanding of human failings. We all make mistakes, Julia; to realise that is the beginning of maturity." There were footsteps in the hall and the drawing-room door opened to show Nigel silhouetted against the light. "Why are you sitting in the dark?" He pressed the electric switch and the two women blinked as the room was flooded with brilliance. "You know lots of women love the twilight," his mother reproved. "Sorry, darling." He walked over and kissed her. "I tried to get back for lunch, but I couldn't manage it. You're not leaving yet, are you? I'll run you back in the car." "You'll do nothing of the sort. You've got enough running about to do in the next few weeks. I've ordered a car to collect me at six o'clock." "But you must stay for dinner!" Julia said.

"Another time, my dear." The woman looked at her son. "When is the by-election?" A flush stained his cheeks and he avoided Julia's eyes. "The day after tomorrow, Mother." "So soon? I thought it was much later. You'll let me know the result immediately, won't you? I'll be on tenterhooks till I hear." "Of course I will. I'll phone you as soon as I know myself." "If you win," Julia said brightly, "we must have a party to celebrate." Nigel turned slowly and looked at her. "I'll be too tired for celebrating that night." "It needn't be a big affair, darling," Julia persisted. "Just a few intimate friends like Liz and Tommy and Conrad Winster and - and of course Mrs. Arundale. Will you come up for it, Mother?" "I don't think so - one trip to town in a week is enough for me. If Nigel gets in, you must both come down and have dinner with me, when you have time. You'll find plenty to occupy you if Nigel wins, Julia. I can just see you opening bazaars and kissing babies in wet nappies!" Mrs. Farnham looked at her son. "Julia will make a wonderful politician's wife - nearly all the important Members are old enough to be flattered by a beautiful young woman!" "I'm sure she'll act the part extremely well," Nigel said stiffly, stressing the operative verb sufficiently for Julia to notice it. Mrs. Farnham stood up. "The car will be here in a minute. I'd better get my coat."

The two women went upstairs, and as Julie held out the black Persian broadtail, Mrs. Farnham sighed. "I don't think Nigel looks too well. He's thinner too - like you." "He's been working very hard." "After the election it would be a good idea if you could go away somewhere. You've never had a honeymoon, have you? Try and persuade him to take you on one now." "Don't worry about him, Mother. I expect it's the strain of the election. He'll be better when it's all over." Julia and Nigel stood at the door while Mrs. Farnham settled herself in the car and, as if to create a happy effect, he rested his arm carelessly on Julia's shoulders, withdrawing it abruptly as soon as the car had driven round the corner. Dinner was a silent meal, both immersed in their thoughts, and she waited until coffee was brought into the drawing-room before she broached the subject of the election. "I had no idea you were standing for Parliament until your mother mentioned it. I wish you'd told me yourself." He regarded her impersonally. "I didn't think you'd be interested." "Even so, you should have told me. I tried not to let your mother see I didn't know, but as I was so surprised I'm not sure if I managed to fool her. Anyway, I can't see why you kept it a secret. You must have known I would find out sooner or later, and if you'd told me before, I could have helped you." "The idea of your helping me never crossed my mind. In view of your opinion of me, I should have expected you to do the exact opposite."

"You'd make a good M.P.," she answered quietly. "I would never do anything to prevent you from winning the election." "You couldn't. I'm not afraid of anything you might say or do." He stood up. "If you'll excuse me, I've got work to do." At the door he paused. "By the way, about that party - if you want to arrange it, it's all right with me. But wait for the result first, won't you? I might lose!" Somehow Julia had no doubt Nigel would win the by- election, for she could imagine him speaking on a platform with the same dynamic force he used in court, swaying a political audience as easily as he swayed a jury. She had to concede that he was the ideal candidate; his dark looks helping to capture the women's vote; his intelligence convincing the men. For this reason she was not surprised when she heard the news of his victory and she immediately began to plan a celebration party. It would be the first one they had given, and despite herself she was looking forward to it. She sent out invitations to all the people on the list Nigel gave her, and seeing he had included Sylvia Arundale, she decided to invite Conrad. She supervised the menu with enormous care, and on the afternoon of the party she herself arranged the flowers on the long dining-room table, pink roses and violets in cut glass containers in front of all the women, and deciding to let the only illumination come from tall, dark red candles in silver candelabra. The effect was elegant yet intimate, and feeling pleased with herself she heard Nigel enter his room. There was the noise of doors and cupboards opening and closing as he changed and inexplicably she felt a momentary pleasure at the sound. Quickly she put on her dress. From the moment she had planned the party she had known what she would wear tonight, though whether it stemmed from a subconscious desire to remind Nigel of their wedding night or to evoke memories of his love she did

not know, but the startling whiteness of her dress was reminiscent of the one she had worn on their first evening of marriage. It was yet another of Despoir's gifts, though until now she had never had occasion to wear it. Of soft white chiffon, it fell softly to the floor, drifting round her feet like a cloud. A tiny band of silver and pearls held up the bodice, drawing attention to the creaminess of her shoulders. Its looseness was deceptive, for as she moved the chiffon clung to the lovely lines of her figure, emphasizing the curve of her breasts, the tiny waist and long contour of hip and thigh. She had brushed her hair back from a centre parting, allowing it to fall in loose waves to her shoulders. Its darkness contrasted with the sheen of her skin and she stared at her reflection with satisfaction. No man of normal temperament could fail to appreciate the picture of loveliness she presented, while to a man who had loved her — even if it was in the past - it would arouse emotions that would inevitably disturb. An unexpected knock on the communicating door between her room and Nigel's made her swing from the mirror with fast beating heart and her voice was shaking as she called him to come in. For the first time since their marriage he entered her bedroom, and in that instant she became aware of how these short months had changed him. His face was thinner than ever, the set of his jaw and nose more prominent, giving him a look half austere, half satanic. For an instant his eyes travelled over her, pausing at the curve of her white throat before moving up to rest on her lovely, enquiring face. "I've brought you these," he said abruptly, and held out a leather case. "They belonged to my great-aunt. When she died she left them to me for my future wife." Julia took the case he held out and opened it. On a bed of dark velvet lay a magnificent sapphire and diamond necklace, with long drop ear-rings to match. They shone as if they had a life of their own, the

sapphires a deep transparent blue, the diamonds glittering with hidden fire. "They're beautiful!" she exclaimed. "Beautiful -But I can't wear them. I'm not entitled to." "They were left to me to be worn by my wife," he said brusquely, "and that's what you are - legally at least. Besides, on our wedding night you agreed to live up to your position." "Do you remember everything I said that night?" "Do you think I can ever forget?" Their eyes met and held, and she was the one to look away first. Putting the case on the dressing-table, she drew out the long necklace, fastening it carefully around her throat, then screwed in the ear-rings. "There," she said, turning to face him. "Does that satisfy you?" Once again she was conscious of his intent scrutiny and though she saw his hands clench at his sides, his voice was as composed as ever when he replied, "They look excellent on you. When you marry again, Julia, you should choose a millionaire. Diamonds particularly suit you. They are, I believe, the hardest stone of all!" Turning on his heel, he left the room and, more shaken than she liked, Julia sank down on a chair and felt an unexpected revulsion for herself. When she finally went into the drawing-room, the first guests could be heard arriving, and there was no chance for her to talk to Nigel alone. The majority of the people around her were strangers to her, and seemed mostly professional friends of Nigel - charming cultured men and their well-dressed wives. Liz and Tony arrived early, the girl flushed and happy and looking adorably pretty in a frilled dress which did nothing to disguise her plumpness.

She clasped both Julia's hands as she greeted her. "You look absolutely stunning! And you're wearing the family sapphires - now you're a proper Farnham at last." Julia experienced a deep sense of shock at the words. A proper Farnham at last! Julia Trafford - daughter of a man who had died in prison, put there by the person whose wedding ring she now wore was herself considered a Farnham. It was a bitter position to be in, and one which she suddenly knew she had never tried to attain. Vengeance was wrong. She knew it so clearly that she was disgusted with herself for ever having thought otherwise. "Anyone eke coming, apart from Nigel's stuffy friends?" Liz asked, breaking into Julia's thoughts. "They're not all stuffy," Julia protested. "But there's one friend of mine coming, though - Conrad Winster - I think you'll like him, and then there's your cousin Sylvia." "Gerald's widow?" Liz exclaimed. "Whatever made you ask that cat?" Julia laughed. "Hush, someone might hear you! I invited her because Nigel asked me to." "Have you met her already?" "Yes. She came to see me a couple of weeks ago." "I bet she did! Probably couldn't wait to see what sort of girl Nigel had married." At that moment some more guests arrived and Liz drifted away as Julia stepped over to Nigel to greet them. Almost at once Conrad Winster came in, and the two men greeted each other warily. Winster

held Julia's hand longer than was necessary, but realising his opportunity to talk to her was not yet, chatted desultorily for a few moments before moving away to mingle with the other guests. By this time everyone had arrived except Mrs. Arundale, and Julia was irritated at having to delay dinner. After ten minutes she went up to Nigel, who was talking with some friends, and with a smile of apology drew him aside. "I'd like to have dinner announced," she murmured. "Everyone's here except Mrs. Arundale, but we've already waited longer than we should." "Wait a bit longer," he said curtly. "Dinner won't be ruined, surely?" Her reply was cut short by Sylvia Arundale's dramatic entrance. Pausing effectively on the threshold of the drawing-room, illuminated by the bright lights of the hall behind her, she presented a picture of loveliness in a silk dress with a deep frilled skirt. It was a curious colour, alternating as she moved between gold and bronze, and yet when she stood still it resembled the pale gold of her hair. Her only jewellery, indeed the only positive colour about her, was a circlet of aquamarines around her throat, which emphasized the milk blue of her large eyes. She seemed like nothing so much as a wellfed, tawny kitten, and with her habit of narrowing and widening her lids, Julia mentally added "Siamese". If Julia was guilty of studying her guest, her guest was equally guilty of studying her hostess, and as they shook hands the pale eyes rested on the sapphire necklace, jealousy flitting across the smooth face before she turned with the artless grace to hold up her cheek for Nigel to kiss. Julia tightened inwardly as she saw the firm lips rest for a moment on the woman's smooth skin.

"Nigel darling! It's wonderful to see you. Though I really shouldn't speak to you at all, I was devastated not even getting the chance to fly home for your wedding!" To Julia's watchful eye, Nigel seemed to be enjoying the woman's light banter, answering it in the same easy manner, and she had to admit they really did seem the good friends Sylvia had said they were. "I hope you won't mind if you don't have a drink," Julia interrupted the conversation, "but our guests must be hungry." "It was awful of me to be so late," Sylvia apologised, "but I booked a taxi and it didn't arrive." "You should have called me," Nigel said. "I'd have sent Bates to collect you." "I didn't like to presume," came the soft answer. "Not now you're married...." "Don't be silly." Nigel smiled down into the pale face. "My marriage doesn't affect my chauffeur!" Irritated by the facile conversation, Julia signalled Hilda, and Bates, acting as butler, announced dinner in tones guaranteed to pierce the walls. As the guests moved into the dining-room there were appreciative murmurs at the decor, and Julia's irritational annoyance began to ebb, dissolving completely as one exquisite course followed another. Dinner began with a small Charentais melon for each guest, chilled on ice and served with a sauce of mint and Cointreau. This was followed by whitebait, the tiny whole fish crisped to a golden brown. And then there were individual petits poussins, each one garnished

with mushrooms, almonds and pommes dauphines. Sweet consisted of water ices in assorted flavours. Each course was accompanied by the correct wine, beginning with champagne, and followed by white Burgundy and then port. "An excellent dinner," Nigel said, coming up behind Julia as they returned once more to the drawing-room. "Thank the lord they'll be too full to want much conversation!" She flushed with pleasure at the compliment, glad that he had not only eaten the food but also been forced to eat his words, of doubt. In the drawing-room everyone settled into groups, and with his coffee-cup on one hand, Conrad Winster came up and seated himself beside Julia. "You've certainly excelled yourself, darling. My only regret is that you are not gracing my home." Embarrassed, she looked away. "I'm sorry, Conrad." "Are you?" "Yes. I should never have done it." "Ah!" It was a sound of satisfaction. "The realisation of a mistake is the first step towards altering it." "If only I could!" "You will, don't worry." Seeing her agitation, he changed the subject. "Who's the lovely lady engaging our handsome host?" "Sylvia Arundale," Julia replied stiffly. "She was married to Nigel's cousin." "Was?"

"He died." "I see." She looked at him sharply. " What do you see?" "No more than you do, my dear," he said blandly. Together they watched Nigel and Sylvia. He had bent forward to hear what she was saying and one of her small white hands rested on his arm. They seemed oblivious of being watched, and Julia was furious at the woman's possessive air of intimacy. "They seem to have a most cousinly devotion," Conrad observed. "They've known each other a long time." "I've known you a long time too, but you've never looked at me the way Mrs. Arundale's looking at Farnham." Julia made an impatient movement. "Are you trying to provoke me into an argument, Conrad?" Their eyes met, and beneath her level gaze he had the grace to grin. "You win! I'll go over and break it up for you." He put down his cup and sauntered across the room. Julia saw Nigel straighten at his approach and unwillingly introduce him to the woman by his side. Conrad sat down and started to exert the charm he possessed in abundance when he cared to use it, and after a while Nigel excused himself and left them together. Julia did not have a chance to talk to Conrad alone again that evening, for when he said good-night there were other guests around her, including Sylvia Arundale, who pressed her hand in parting and murmured that she hoped to see much more of Julia in the future.

"I shall be seeing quite a lot of Nigel," Sylvia explained. "He's promised to help me get Gerald's estate in order. So I'm sure we'll be meeting too." Returning the pressure of the small hand without warmth, Julia murmured a noncommittal reply, silently vowing that nothing would make her have Sylvia as a regular visitor to her home. It was well past midnight before the last guest left, by which time Julia's head was throbbing violently. Entertaining people whom she had never met before, in addition to its being the first large dinner she had arranged for a long while, had been more of a strain than she had realised, and though she hated to acknowledge it, her increasing dislike of Sylvia Arundale had added to her tension. Nigel poured himself a nightcap, a tuneless whistle escaping his lips as he did so. "Must you make that noise?" she asked irritably. He looked up in surprise, then the look on her face checked his retort. "Sit down," he said calmly. "You look exhausted. I'll give you a brandy and soda." "No, thanks," she said peevishly. "I've a splitting headache and a drink would make it worse." She sank on to the sofa and rested her head against a cushion. With her eyes closed, Nigel noticed the dark shadows beneath them and knew that if the past months had affected him, they had also affected her. It was the first time his implacable anger against her softened, and he accepted the fact that in trying to ruin his happiness she had done so at the expense of her own. How bitter a life could be when it was motivated by obsessive hatred!

He left the room quietly and returned with a glass of water and some aspirin tablets. "Take these. They'll make you feel better." She opened her eyes and accepted the pills in silence. He waited until she had swallowed them and drank the water and then took the empty glass and set it on a nearby table before seating himself on the sofa to sip his drink. Neither of them spoke until, after a few minutes, Julia sat up. "I feel a bit better now. It's amazing how two ordinary- looking white pills can take away a beast of a headache." She stood up and slowly moved round the room, turning off the lamps. "Let me help you," Nigel said. One by one the glow was extinguished until only one shaded lamp was left alight. Simultaneously they moved to turn it off. Their fingers touched, and it was as though a spark kindled between them. A shudder ran through Julia's body, acting like a release on the emotions Nigel had so rigidly kept under control. With an exclamation he pulled her into his arms and fastened his mouth hungrily on hers. Her lips trembled, were still, and then responded to his as her arms encircled his neck and caressing his dark head close, her body was soft and yielding, and feeling her warmth and softness, his hands moved across her back and thighs. His kiss deepened, drawing the sweetness from her mouth and arousing her to a desire that transcended all thought of escape. Here was the man she wanted ... the man to whom she could surrender. With a stifled sigh Nigel's mouth left hers and travelled along the line of her neck and shoulders, breathing in the fragrance of her skin, as his mouth came to rest against the curve of her throat.

"Julia," he whispered, "I want you... I need you." The words crashed through her consciousness, reawakening her to her responsibility and position. "No!" she gasped, and pushed him away with all her force. "No, Nigel -I can't!" She ran out of the room and up the stairs, her sobs echoing in the hallway and finally fading as the sharp click of a key told him she had locked herself in her bedroom.

CHAPTER SIX ALTHOUGH Nigel had kissed her during their brief engagement, her response had always been prompted by the knowledge that she was acting a part. But tonight she had responded of her own free will, overwhelmed by a passion that had threatened to destroy all her plans. No matter how much she regretted the vengeance which had prompted her to marry him, she had no intention of making their relationship a real one - even if Nigel still wanted it - and to have responded to him with such ardour filled her with self- contempt. She slept little that night, intensely aware that she had only to call him to bring him to her side. And what would happen if she did? What would their physical union represent? A carnal satisfaction that would leave her physically replete yet disgusted with herself? No: love should not be like this. When it came it should be a total giving and a total acceptance, its memory as beautiful as its actuality. And with Nigel as her lover this could never be so. Logic would always destroy her desire, make her hate herself for wanting a man she should - if not actively loathe - at least never actively love. It was dawn before she finally fell asleep, and she did not awaken until Hilda came in with her breakfast tray and told her Mr. Winter was on the telephone. "I hope I haven't woken you?" he began. "No," she lied, "I was just resting in bed and reading the papers." "I hope that doesn't mean you'll be too tired to have lunch with me today?" She hesitated, her instinctive refusal held in check by the knowledge that here to hand was the one person who could act as a buffer between herself and her own stupid, unreasoning emotions.

"What a good idea," she said quickly. "It'll do me good." "The Savoy, then. At one." Nigel had also slept fitfully that night and was downstairs for breakfast much earlier than usual. He could hardly restrain his impatience at seeing Julia again, determined to have a serious discussion with her. At midday, when she had still not come out of her room, he went upstairs in search of her, and was in time to see Hilda enter her bedroom with a breakfast tray. Guiltily he backed down the stairs again, wondering whether Hilda, beneath her placidity, ever cogitated on the situation between Julia and himself. Although he had a full morning's work to do, he was so intent on speaking to Julia that he did not go to his chambers. They must talk together before she had a chance to marshal her defences against him; only in this way would he ever learn if she had any feelings for him whatsoever. Irritably he paced the library, and as the clock chimed the quarter hour, he sat at his desk and pulled some documents towards him, keeping half his mind alert for Julia's footsteps. But he was not the sort of man to do anything by halves, and gradually he became so absorbed in his papers that he was unaware of the passing of time until Hilda came to tell him lunch was ready. '' Is my wife down yet? " he asked. "She went out, sir," came the expressionless answer. "Just a few minutes ago." "For a walk?" "I - don't think so. I understand Madam's lunching with Mr. Winster."

Nigel could barely conceal his anger. Although not the sort of man to object to his wife having her own friends - indeed, bearing in mind the circumstances of their marriage, he was in no position to do so his objections to Winster were nonetheless deep-rooted, springing from an instinctive dislike of the man that, though it could not bear analysis, was strong enough to rouse his temper. His mood was in no way improved by realising he was basing his judgement on mood rather than on fact, which no one with a legal training had the right to do! When Julia had run away from him last night, he had been convinced it was because she knew that had she stayed, she would have wanted to surrender to him. Her passionate response, which had been so much greater than any she had ever given him, told him more than words that her feelings for him were not as impersonal as she wanted to believe. It had required all his self-control not to follow her to her room and plead with her not to let her desire for revenge poison her love for him, and only the fact that he knew how tired she was had prevented him from doing so. Better let her hive a good night's rest and talk about it in the morning when they were both less overwrought. But the morning had been fruitless; Julia had left the house without his being aware of it, and he was obliged to eat a solitary lunch, mulling over all he would say to Julia on her return. He had reached the coffee stage when the telephone rang. It was Sylvia Arundale, her voice coming over the line quick and breathless. "Nigel dear, how nice to speak to you! I didn't think you'd be in. I only rang to thank Julia for a lovely party." "She's not here, I'm afraid. She's out to lunch." "She is energetic! If it had been me, I'd have been exhausted - unless of course it was something very special." Sylvia paused. "Still, I'm

glad I've spoken to you instead. I don't think Julia likes me very much." "Nonsense!" He was embarrassed, but tried to hide it. "It isn't nonsense, darling. She's just sort of - well, a little antagonistic to me. Anyway, let's not talk about it. It was naughty of me to have mentioned it." Her voice grew firmer. "Now I've been lucky enough to get you, perhaps we can arrange to meet. I'm desperately anxious to settle Gerald's estate - so I don't suppose you could manage to see me today?" "I doubt it. I was just going to my chambers when you rang." "What about tomorrow, then?" He thought for a moment, then gave a rueful laugh. "I'm in court all day. Look here, let me phone you when I'm free." "All right." There was a catch in her voice. "Don't let it be too long, will you?" "I won't." Nigel put down the telephone and returned to his coffee, wishing that Julia had not made her dislike of his cousin so obvious. Sylvia was a sensitive person and it was unnecessary to hurt her. Meanwhile, at lunch with Conrad, Julia was more responsive and animated than she had ever been before. Willing herself not to think about Nigel or the events of the previous night, she concentrated all her attention on the man with her, hoping that in doing so she would be able to gain some respite from the conflicting thoughts that tortured her brain. Though flattered by her absorption in him, Conrad was astute enough to recognize that her behaviour was the result of some tension within her, and not a true reflection of her mood, and the longer the

luncheon lasted the more certain he became that some crisis had occurred between her and Farnham. Casually he suggested they go for a drive, and she agreed so quickly that it was all he could do to hide his elation. He must not rush his fences; to do so might frighten her. As the powerful, sleek car opened out on the cross-country road, Julia took off her hat and ran her fingers through her hair. It ruffled against her cheeks and she leaned back on the upholstery, relaxing for the first time that day. They drove in comparative silence, neither making any effort to sustain the conversation until, after an hour, Conrad brought the car to a standstill on Beachy Head. The road wound behind them to the town beyond the brow of the hill, but up here all was quiet desolation. The lowering November sky sullen with mist. A few yards from the front of the car the cliff's edge fell sharply away, its chalky rock startlingly white against the dark clouds. Far below the heavy seas tossed as if beset by conflict, the angry waves buffeting the craggy rocks and stretches of grey sand. Conrad spoke first, as though divining Julia's thoughts. "It's odd how nature sometimes reflects one's mood. This does reflect yours doesn't it?" "Is that an inspired guess," she asked lightly, "or deep insight?" "I'd rather you thought it insight." Their eyes met and held. "Something's happened between you and Farnham, hasn't it?" She said nothing and averted her gaze. "Did he suddenly find out how desirable you are and try to—" "Conrad, don't!"

"Why not? It's the truth, isn't it? Hiding from facts won't help you. You're beautiful, Julia. No normal man could be near you and not want you.'' "You make it sound so - so—" She hesitated, and he finished the sentence for her. "So coarse? Is that what you were going to say?" He smiled slightly as he saw the look on her face. "Don't bother to deny it, my dear. You haven't offended my susceptibilities, though I suspect I've offended yours. Yes, I'm a coarse man, Julia, self-made, born to nothing. But I've built a fortune and a life of my own without any help of name or background. But that doesn't mean I haven't any feelings. I have; too many for my own peace of mind." He moved closer. "I want you, Julia, I want you so much that I'm prepared to do anything to get you." "Don't say that," she protested. "Why not? Come, my dear, don't be so surprised to hear me speak in such blunt terms. I should have done it a long time ago. I've had many women in my time, Julia, but I've never placed any of them on a pedestal the way I've placed you. I've respected you so much, always been so careful not to upset you that you ceased to regard me as a man. I shouldn't have worried so much about hurting your feelings. If I'd behaved naturally I might have been married to you now, instead of that pompous ..." He broke off, waited a moment and then said, "Well, why don't you say something?" "What's there left for me to say?" "At least tell me I'm wrong!" "I don't know if you are."

"A few weeks ago you weren't quite so unsure." Suddenly he pulled her close and pressed his lips down hard on hers. She submitted to his caress, curious to find out if she could respond to another man as she had responded to Nigel. But try as she might it was impossible to lose herself in Conrad's embrace. Nigel's ardour had aroused her own, but the passion she was invoking now merely repelled her, and after a moment she broke away, echoing the words of the night before. "No, Conrad, no! I can't—" Winster took out his handkerchief and wiped his lips. "You could be responsive if you wanted to," he said quietly. "I should have kissed you like that a long time ago. If I had, it might have been a different story. I'm offering you what I've never offered a woman before, Julia. I want you to be my wife. I can give you everything Farnham can, and much more besides that." He folded his handkerchief and put it back in his pocket. "You've always been honest with me - that's one of the things I've admired about you - and I'm going to be as honest with you. You can't live in the same house with an attractive man like Farnham - and I'll grant you he's attractive - without something happening. It's banal to say that, but then sexual attraction often is. You must break away from him now, Julia. If you don't it'll be too late." "I'm not an animal," she said crossly. "You talk as if it's impossible to control yourself." "I'm being realistic; not only about you and Farnham but also about myself. I love you, and I don't want to wait for you for ever." She turned quickly towards him. "I've no one else except you. If you took your friendship away—"

"It isn't friendship I'm offering you," he said bluntly. "The trouble with you is that you haven't yet learnt you can't eat your cake and have it too. You want to go on with this ridiculous marriage of yours and at the same time you want the comfortable feeling that I'm behind you if anything goes wrong. Well, I won't be. I'm not a young man and you can't expect me to wait much longer without at least being sure that you've made up your mind to get your freedom from Farnham and marry me." Julia tried to interrupt him, but he gave her no chance. "I've sat back and watched you have your little vengeance because I believed it was the only way you could get it out of your system. But you've played with fire long enough, and it's time you faced facts." "What do you mean?" He leaned forward. "You may have hurt Farnham at the beginning, but don't fool yourself that you can go on hurting him indefinitely. From what I saw last night, it won't take long for his pride to be mollified by Sylvia Arundale." With the memory of Nigel's kiss still warm on her lips, Julia longed to protest, but she knew that to do so would be admitting the truth of Conrad's accusation, a truth she had so consistently refused to believe. Yet Conrad's remark had raised doubts that had lain dormant in her mind, and she wondered how deeply Nigel still cared for her. What if he was already turning to another woman? — if his kisses last night had been the result of propinquity, the inevitable outcome of a tension which had been building up between them during the months when they had been living in the same house under such unnatural circumstances? Knowing Conrad was waiting for her to speak, she forced herself to do so. "I think you're making too many assumptions. I was wrong to marry Nigel, I'll grant you that - but not because I'm sorry I've hurt him," she added hastily, "but because I realise how deeply I've

involved myself. If he turns to a woman like Sylvia Arundale it only proves that the hurt was great enough to kill his love for me." "Is that what you wanted? Or did you think he'd go on loving you for ever?" ' 'No love lasts for ever,'' she replied. "Then get away from him now" "I'll do it as soon as I can. But I promised Nigel I'd wait for the time being, and I can't go back on my word." "Why must you wait?" "Because he's just been elected to Parliament, and an annulment right now would cause a scandal." "I'd have thought that's what you'd want. I was under the impression you wanted to hurt him." "I do - but only personally. I don't want to ruin his career." "Why not? If he hadn't been a barrister—" "I know," she sighed, "I'm not being logical. It's just that there are still some things I can't bring myself to do. I might have done it at one time, perhaps, but not now. Vengeance is wrong. You were right about that, Conrad. It's made me lose my self-respect." "The best way to get it back is to marry me," he said with a slight smile. "If you do you'll never need to feel guilty of disloyalty to your father's memory. Think over what I've said, Julia, I shall want my answer soon."

He switched on the ignition, backed the car on to the road and turned its nose towards London.

Nigel returned from his chambers more than ever determined to talk out the situation with Julia. He had found it impossible to concentrate on his work and was wryly reminded of the time when he had first met her. Julia was still not home, and as dinner-time approached he became uneasy, wondering if she might have had an accident. He ordered dinner to be delayed for half an hour, but when she had still not put in an appearance he dined alone. Anxiety robbed him of any appetite and he merely pushed the food around on his plate and sipped at his wine. It was nearly nine o'clock when he heard her key in the door, and a few moments later she entered the dining-room. "I'm sorry I'm late," she said breathlessly, "but Conrad and I went for a drive after lunch and we had a puncture on the way back." "I'll tell Hilda to get you something to eat." "Don't bother, thanks. We had dinner at a roadhouse." Something in his manner prompted her to add: "It was getting so late we thought we'd better eat while they were changing the tyre." "You might at least have telephoned and told me. I thought something had happened to you." "I'm sorry, I didn't realise ..." She turned to the door. "I'll go and take my things off." His voice stopped her. "I think it would be better if you didn't see Winster any more." She wheeled round. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said. I don't think you should go on seeing Winster. If anyone saw you dining with him at some obscure roadhouse, it could easily be misinterpreted." "Only by someone with the mind of a sewer!" "Your innocence does you justice," he said dryly, and seeing her blush, his temper rose. "As long as you're my wife, I don't want any scandal touching our name." "You're no right to stop my friendship with anyone." "I have every right." Her smile was sharp. "But no means of carrying it out. I'll see anyone I want to, whenever I like." She opened the door. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll go to my room." Left alone, Nigel threw his napkin angrily on the table, then he went across to the study and poured himself a whisky and soda. He suddenly longed to forget everything that had happened during the past months and to talk to someone warm and understanding. Only in that way could he forget the woman upstairs who had caused him so much unhappiness. On an impulse he dialled Sylvia's number. She answered the telephone at once, and seemed inordinately pleased to hear his voice. "I wondered whether you'd be in if I came round tonight," he said without preamble. "I've been looking through my appointments and find I can't see you at my chambers all week. But I'm free now if it's convenient for you." "I'd be delighted. Lawyers' chambers always frighten me, and I'd much rather talk business with you in my own home."

"Good. I'll be over right away." He replaced the receiver and without giving himself time to think, hurried out of the house.

Julia would never have known where Nigel had spent the evening if Sylvia had not telephoned the following day to tell Hilda that he had left some papers at her flat which he had promised to take home and read for her. Seeing the message on the pad in Hilda's blunt hand, Julia was surprised at the jealousy which shot through her. Had Nigel really gone to see Sylvia on business, or had it just been an excuse to visit her? More likely the excuse had come from Sylvia herself, and she wondered whether the fair widow had found it difficult to persuade Nigel to go and see her at such an hour. That night she was down early for dinner, and when Nigel came in to the dining-room she handed him Sylvia's message herself. He took it with a brief word of thanks and tore it up as soon as he had read it. Julia studied him covertly while they were eating, but his expression was as inscrutable as ever, and his conversation as polite and empty as it usually was when Hilda was present. It was only when Julia stood up at the end of the meal that his tone changed and he asked her formally to sit down again. She paused beside her chair, but did not take a seat. "If it's about my seeing Conrad..." "It isn't. But as to what I said last night - forget it." "Have you changed your mind about it causing gossip?" she asked ironically.

He hesitated. "Perhaps I made the point too forcibly. But I'd still prefer you not to see him in out-of-the-way road- houses at night or weekends." She flushed. "If you've finished —" "I haven't. That isn't what I wanted to talk to you about. I actually wanted to tell you I've opened a bank account in your name and put some money in it." "I'm not short of money," she said icily. "The housekeeping allowance is sufficient for me to get any personal things I need." "Maybe. But not sufficient to clothe yourself." Her face flamed. "Are you complaining about the way I dress?" "For the negligible amount of entertaining we've done up to now it has been eminently satisfactory." "Must you talk as if you're in court?" The moment the words were out Julia regretted them, not wanting him to think he had succeeded in annoying her. "I'm sorry if my speech irritates you," he said stiffly, "but our recent conversations have been so limited that I tend to forget you're not one of my colleagues. Anyway, I didn't open you an account as a philanthropic gesture, but because as my wife you have, as I believe you mentioned yourself on our wedding night, a position to maintain." "I said we would keep up appearances!" "I regard that as the same thing." Then with a flash of humour: "You must be one of the few women in the world to refuse a dress allowance!"

"I have plenty of clothes." "You need new ones. We'll be getting several invitations to dine out and I want you to look your best. I'll also be making my maiden speech in the House shortly and I shall expect you to be there." "To applaud you?" His look was withering. "Wives and close relations are usually present, and I'd like you to look your best." "You make me feel like a clothes-horse!" "I can hardly call you a wife." There was an electric silence. Then Nigel stood up. "The money is there for you to use. I'm sure Despoir will be delighted to have you as a client instead of an employee." "It might cost you more than you've bargained for!" "I think you're many things, Julia," he replied, "but being a golddigger is not one of them." He crossed to the door. "I won't be in for coffee, I'm going to see Sylvia." "Do you usually have business meetings so late?" One dark eyebrow lifted. "Are you trying to dictate to me now?" "Not at all. I was merely reminding you that gossip can start from your actions too, not only mine.'' She swept past him in silence, but when she reached the drawingroom she was so angry at having lost her temper that it was a struggle to hold back the tears. The evening stretched ahead of her, long and boring, and in a fit of pique, emulating - had she but known it -

Nigel's action of the night before, she picked up the telephone and dialled Conrad's number.

During the next week Nigel saw a great deal of Sylvia. Gradually he began to take her to dinner, frequenting the restaurants they had visited before she had gone to South Africa. He had enough awareness of his motivations to know he was trying to turn back the clock, as if by so doing he could resume the life - and clarity of thought - that had been his before he had met Julia. Aware of the reasons for his behaviour, Sylvia was triumphant. But she was careful to hide her feelings from him; make haste slowly was her best way of re-establishing herself firmly in his life, and although curious to know exactly what had precipitated his sudden lack of pretence that his marriage was a normal one, she was too clever to question him. A month passed, and by now his visits to Sylvia were automatic. She lived in a mews flat off Sloane Square, and stepping over the threshold he would feel a welcome sense of peace. It was an even stronger feeling than usual when he went to see her one evening after a particularly trying day in court, and as she opened the door to him he felt a strong affection drawing him to her. Dropping his coat and gloves on a chair in the hall, he entered the large, low-ceilinged living-room. A bright log fire crackled cheerfully in the grate, flickering over the brocade settee and chairs and gaily patterned rugs which dotted the dark parquet floor. One or two modern prints hung on the walls and large bowls of flowers gave added colour to the room. With the ease of familiarity he helped himself to a drink and, glass in hand, settled himself in front of the fire.

Sylvia sat down next to him and for several moments she said nothing, waiting until the quietness of the room had permeated through him and the stern set of his face had relaxed. Then she took his hand gently in hers and stroked it. "Poor darling, you look all in. Was it an awful day for you?" . "Pretty bad. The defence counsel is a cunning devil." "I'm sure you'll win. You always do." "I suppose so." His tone was so depressed that she looked at him covertly, thought for an instant, and then decided on her course of action. "You've been working too hard, darling. You need a holiday." "That's the last thing in the world I want. Having nothing to do all day except think—" He broke off abruptly and drained his glass. "Why are you afraid of having time to think?" she asked softly. "In your present state of mind I'd have thought it was the one thing you needed." Surprised, he turned to face her, and she stared back at him, making it obvious that was the warning for him to continue the conversation. But he said nothing, and deciding it was impossible to let her statement remain unqualified, she took the plunge. "Look at yourself in the mirror, Nigel. If your reflection tells me you're a happily married man still in the honeymoon stage, I'll eat every one of my hats!" There was a long, tense silence. Then Nigel stood up and walked over to the mantelpiece. He drummed his hands on the shelf for a moment and, as if making up his mind, turned to face her.

"I'm not a happily married man. Far from it." Now that the _words were out, he experienced a sense of relief. He did not know what had made him tell Sylvia something he had been determined to keep secret. All he knew was an enormous lifting of tension now that he had finally done so. Perhaps it was a need for sympathy and understanding from someone whom he knew was fond of him. "Are you surprised?" he asked. "A little," she lied. "Are you sure it isn't just a lovers' quarrel?" "It certainly isn't that!" he said bitterly. "My marriage is only a technical one." The remark was so unexpected that she could not hide her astonishment. She had guessed Nigel was unhappy - he would not have come to see her so frequently otherwise - but she had never believed his marriage was a complete farce. "Does anyone else know?" she asked. "No. It's not something I'm keen on broadcasting." "It's incredible! I mean it's something one reads about in Victorian novels. I never believed it could happen today." She looked up. "What went wrong?" "Does it matter?" His voice was harsh. "Just accept my word that it is wrong." She kept her voice soft and sympathetic. "You intended to ... I mean you didn't expect it to be like this, did you?"

"It was the last thing in the world I expected. I loved Julia. She was everything I'd ever wanted." The words writhed in Sylvia like a serpent, and like a serpent she was filled with venom. "Forgive me for saying so, Nigel, but I think you were crazy ever to have married her. You hardly knew her and you weren't even in the same circle. It was bound to lead to difficulties." "You're very old-fashioned," he said in surprise. "I never thought you were a snob." "It's got nothing to do with being snobbish," she said quickly. "I'm merely being realistic. You're an intelligent, well-educated man and you need a wife you can talk to as well as make love to." Unexpectedly he gave a dry smile. "If you can make love, you don't need to talk." "You're not even doing that!" Afraid she was being too hard, she deliberately changed her tactics. "Isn't this something you and Julia can straighten out? Perhaps it's just shyness. I've tried hard to be friends with her myself, but she's never responded. It might be something endemic in her nature." "I don't think so. The marriage was a mistake. It's as simple as that." Sylvia almost purred with pleasure, and gracefully glided over to him. "You deserve happiness so much, Nigel. I wish there was something I could do." He gripped her hand. "Just being able to talk to you is more than enough."

"I can't understand Julia. You're so easy to love it seems terrible to think you're wasting your life like this." Sylvia looked at him with large, innocent eyes. "Does Julia know you see me so often?" "Yes." "Does she mind?" "Why should she?" he asked wearily. "We've reached the stage where we both go our own ways." "Why don't you part?" "For a very mundane reason," he said dryly. "My career." "But if your marriage isn't a real one can't you get a divorce without any publicity?" "There'd be no question of a divorce." There was a drawn look about his face that had not been there a moment ago. "The way things stand, I could get an annulment." "Well then..." "It would cause even more comment than a divorce," came the answer. "I can just imagine what interpretation the tabloids would give it." "But you can't sacrifice your life because of your career!" "I don't intend to. In a few more months I'll be able to do as I wish. But right now I need to stay out of the papers." "Well, as long as you won't need to go on like this for too long, I don't feel so worried."

One dark eyebrow slanted up. "Worried?" "Naturally." She moved close and rested her head against his arm. "I'm sure you've got a lot of self-control, darling, but you are human. You can't go on like that." She moved closer and leaned her head against his shoulder. "Won't there come a time when you'll want something more?" "What does that mean?" "Don't pretend you don't know!" she whispered, and moving directly in front of him, encircled his neck with her arms, drawing his head down so that his cheek rested on hers. She was so soft and tiny - her warmth epitomising everything he wanted a woman to be - that his arms went around her instinctively and he gently touched his lips to hers. For an instant, they were passive beneath his, then they moved and parted and she pressed her body closer, returning his kiss with a passion that took him by surprise. Lonely, dispirited and rejected by the woman he had married with such hopes of happiness, he would not have been human if he had not responded to Sylvia and they remained locked in each other's arms, brought together by mutual desire. It was only when she murmured his name, her voice trembling and indistinct, that he came to his senses and, loosening her arms from around his neck, moved away from her. "I shouldn't have done that, Sylvia. I've no right." "You've every right." "No. It isn't fair to you. Until I know how I feel about everything I—" "Let me help you find out." She put her hand on his arm. "Do you always want me to put everything into words? Don't you know how I feel about you?"

Looking down into her slumbrous, half-closed eyes, he was tempted to take all she was offering. Her open admission of affection did not take him entirely by surprise, for she had always made it plain that she liked him, but it would be dangerous to alter their relationship until he had resolved the position between himself and Julia. "You're turning me down, aren't you?" Sylvia's voice, half mocking, half serious, broke into his thoughts, and he lifted her hand and touched his lips against it. "Would you think me even more old-fashioned than you already do if I said it was because I respected you too much?" "Not old-fashioned - just chivalrous and too kind." "You're the one who's kind. You've been wonderful to me these past few weeks. That's one reason I won't take advantage of what you just offered." He frowned. "Lord, how smug I sound! I don't mean to be. It's just—" "I know what you're trying to say, Nigel. I understand you better than you realise. Now how about some supper? I've cold chicken sandwiches and foie gras." "Wouldn't you prefer to go out?" "Certainly not, I'd rather try and seduce you! I'll just wheel in the trolley." Nigel looked after her in amazement, unable to believe that the passionately responsive creature he had held in his arms a moment ago had become the poised woman who had just left the room. Nonetheless he was glad that she had shown such control of her emotions. If only he were able to do the same! It was unbelievable that Julia still had such a hold over him.

Sylvia's entry with the trolley forced him to bring his mind back to the present, and eating the delicious cold supper she had prepared, the time passed so quickly that he was amazed when he heard the gilt clock on the mantelpiece chime twelve. "I'd no idea it was so late," he said, standing up. "You're too good a hostess, my dear." "I'm only reacting to the guest!" She gave him a mischievous smile. "I love it when you're formal, Nigel. You sound like a Jane Austen hero." "I haven't behaved like one tonight." He caught hold of her hand. "I had no right to kiss you." "You had every right." Lightly she gave him a sudden, friendly hug. "You were Gerald's best friend, Nigel, not merely his cousin. And that makes me feel even closer to you. If coming to see me can help you..." Her voice trailed away, but his grip tightened on her hand, indicating appreciation. "You mustn't let me monopolise your time," he warned. "It isn't fair to you." "Let me be the judge of that." She walked with him into the hall and opened the front door. "Tomorrow?" His brows drew together and then relaxed. "Yes," he said quietly, "tomorrow." Aware that Nigel was seeing Sylvia constantly, Julia wondered how long he would allow their marriage to drift on. For her part, the quicker she could live alone the better. Seeing Nigel was a reminder of her stupidity which she could well do without, and though she

knew her freedom would cause her a problem with Conrad, she decided to have a showdown with Nigel. One evening, after a more than usually boring day spent doing nothing she decided to talk to him immediately about their future. But her plans were frustrated when he did not put in an appearance for dinner, her anger increasing at having to hear of his absence from Hilda. "Mr. Farnham said I shouldn't trouble you to come to the telephone," the girl said by way of apology. "But he'll be working late and said not to wait dinner for him." Eating her solitary meal, Julia was convinced Nigel was with Sylvia. Conrad had been right after all. If a man could not have one woman, it did not take him long to console himself with another. Dinner over, she returned to the drawing-room and picked up a book. It was impossible to concentrate and she put it down again, deciding instead to draw up a mental chart of what she would say when Nigel came home. Slowly the hours passed, and it was after midnight when she heard his key in the lock and then his footsteps in the hall. "Nigel!" she called. The door opened and he stood there. "Yes?" Rubbing her hands - unexpectedly clammy - in her handkerchief, she said quickly: "I'd like to talk to you." "What about?" He looked so aloof, his gauntness accentuated by his dark suit, that she could not speak. She wetted lips which were suddenly dry, drew

a deep breath and began, the words bald and uncompromising nothing like the ones she had so carefully rehearsed: "I want an annulment." There was no change in his expression. It remained aloof and indifferent as he regarded her in complete silence. "Did you hear what I said?" she asked breathlessly. "I want to be free."" "I suppose you want to marry Winster?" His tone held such contempt that temper prompted her answer. "What if I do?" He gave a slight shrug, no indication showing on his face of the bleakness that pervaded him at the thought of her graceful body in Winster's arms. "I don't see why it should matter to you what I do," she replied. "At best it'll mean the end of this farce. I know it's as unpleasant for you as it is for me. Particularly now that you're so encompassed," she hesitated, "so preoccupied each evening, I'm glad you've agreed." "We all find our pleasure in different ways." The baldness of the statement hit her like a physical blow, and for a few seconds she was unable to hear what he said, although she knew he was talking. ",.. we must discuss it logically." At last his words penetrated her mind. "Sit down, Julia. It won't take too long to explain."

She did as he told her and he went to stand by the mantelpiece, tall and thin against the white wall. "When I first discussed our annulment, I said, if you remember, that I would agree to it when it suited me. But at this particular moment it is something I want to avoid." At his words an extraordinary relief overwhelmed her. It was so intense that the blood started to pound in her body, its heavy throbbing reflected in the tremor of her hands. With a clarity made more shattering by its unexpectedness she realised why his words, instead of increasing her sorrow, filled her with relief, and at the same time recognised why the idea of marrying Conrad had never seemed possible. How blind she had been! How ignorant and childish not to have acknowledged consciously all that had lain dormant in the recesses of her heart. She was in love with Nigel. In love with the man she had threatened to ruin, the man she had married for vengeance. The words she had said on their wedding night came back to mock at her, filling her with such shame that she would have given anything to have been able to retract them. She lifted her head and looked at him, determined to let him know her shame. "Nigel, I—" "Don't bother arguing," he interrupted harshly, "I want my freedom even more than you do. But right now it's impossible. The position of Solicitor-General falls vacant in a few months and I stand a chance of getting it. I'm also starting work on an important case which makes it imperative for us to remain together. Any scandal, even if I'm blameless, could do me irreparable harm. You married me out of spite and you've had your pleasure. The least you can do is to give me three or four months."

His words pounded in her ears. Three or four months of being together, of sharing the same house and eating - even if less and less frequently - at the same time. "Very well, Nigel." She marvelled that her voice, cool as his own, gave no indication of her thoughts. "I'll leave it to you to tell me when we can end this ... this farce. I'm sure Conrad will understand." Upstairs in her room Julia paced the floor. Her belief that she might find spurious happiness with Conrad disintegrated in the light of her newly discovered love for Nigel. On his own admission Conrad would not be content with friendship, and as she could give him nothing else, her future stretched ahead bleak and empty. Immediately Conrad realised her change of feeling, he would withdraw from her life, and pride made her determined not to let this happen until after her annulment. It would be more than she could bear to have Nigel believe Conrad had let her down. Far easier to cope with Conrad's attentions - unwanted though they were - than Nigel's pity. To Julia's relief her next meeting with Conrad was for Nigel less difficult than she had imagined, for he took it for granted that her asking for an annulment was a tacit agreement to marry him. He had waited for so long, he explained, drawing her into his arms, that it did not matter if he had to wait a few months longer. Shortly after this Julia sensed his preoccupation with other things. Although as attentive as ever when they were together he was away on business much more frequently and from the gifts he brought back for her she realised that many of his journeys were to the Continent. But he volunteered no information about his activities and she was reluctant to ask him, merely accepting with relief that his

preoccupation with other things meant that his attention was not solely centred on her. Her acknowledged love for Nigel made her increasingly aware of his presence in the house. His assertion that he was working on a new and important case was borne out by fact, since he spent less time with Sylvia and more time in the library, working on formidable piles of documents. But even so, he generally dined at his club, and on the rare occasion when they ate together she would study his face covertly, longing to smooth away the lines of strain which had not been there six months ago. Sometimes he would look up and catch her eyes upon him, and she would lower her gaze quickly, afraid he might read in her face all that was love in her heart. She supposed he was still managing to spend some time with Sylvia and was fiercely glad when, after a few weeks, his work on the new case increased so much that he remained at home every night. One such evening, when Nigel was working in the study and Julia was in the drawing-room, Hilda came in to say that Sylvia had arrived. It was the first time she had been to the house since the night of the party, and Julia wondered what had brought her. She was not left in doubt very long, for Sylvia, sweet and soigné in a chiffon dinner dress of buttercup yellow, was effusively apologetic for disturbing her. "I told your maid I wanted to see Nigel, but either she didn't hear me or she's a fool." "Hilda's far from a fool," Julia replied coolly. "But when Nigel's busy working she knows he doesn't like being interrupted." "It isn't that I didn't want to see you," Sylvia said quickly. "I just thought you wouldn't want to see me."

"Why not?" The white lids fluttered. "With things as they are between you and Nigel, I thought... well, you know what I mean." "You're making it rather obvious," Julia said dryly, and leaning back in her chair crossed one slim leg over the other. Sylvia's eyes narrowed as though debating what to say. "You mustn't forget that Nigel isn't a stranger to me. Most men would find it difficult to live like a celibate, but he's got his work and he can push emotion out of his life - for a certain time at least." Julia was silent. "You don't like hearing the truth." Sylvia's voice was vicious. "I wonder why you married Nigel in the first place - or did you always intend to remain the virgin bride?" "How dare you speak to me like that?" "I've already told you why. I care about Nigel's happiness." "That still doesn't give you the right to talk to me the way you have." Julia stood up. "I think it would be better if you left, Mrs. Arundale." "I'm sure you do, Mrs. Farnham," Sylvia said mockingly. "But as you're still so untouched, perhaps I should call you Miss Trafford!" Julia stood motionless. It was so long since she had heard her family name said aloud that for a split second she found it difficult to associate herself with it. "Well," Sylvia broke into her thought, "aren't you going to ask how I found out who you were?"

"I presume Nigel told you." There was a momentary hesitation before the answer came. "As a matter of fact, he didn't. I heard it from someone you used to work with - Claire Severn. She used to model at Despoir's with you before going to Sherridon. That's where I buy my clothes." Sylvia leaned back in her chair. "What surprises me is how you could want to marry Nigel after the way he prosecuted your father." Deliberately Julia ignored the remark. "What are you going to do now you know who I am?" "I'm not going to tell anyone, if that's what you mean. I wouldn't do anything so crude. I only told you that I knew your real identity because I was curious to know the reason for your marriage." "My reasons are private ones." "Your reasons may be private," came the reply, "but they could have a rather public outcome." "What do you mean by that?" "Only that I'm not sure whether you've realised the implications of your past. It's hard, I know, but they always say the sins of the fathers are visited on the children." She picked up her handbag. "Well, I'd better be going. You look as if you need to sit down for a rest! I'm sure Nigel won't mind if I go in and see him for a moment." She left the room and Julia heard her light footsteps cross the hall. There was the sound of a door opening, the murmur of voices and then silence. Julia stood rigid in the centre of the room. Sylvia's words had brought back the past with a clarity that made it seem as though it had happened yesterday. She had always known she would have to bear

the stigma of the trial all her life, but never, until now, had she ever considered it a burden her children - if she had any - would have to bear. It was impossible to guarantee that a secret would remain so for ever. Somewhere, some time, idle gossip could wreck the edifice of any self-deception. How would the story sound to young ears? she wondered. Could anyone be expected to believe in the innocence of a man they had never known - one who had been found guilty by a judicial system well- known for its integrity? Julia sank down in a chair and rested her head in her hands. It did not matter that her feelings for Nigel had changed; she could never do anything to let him know she loved him. His children - when he had them - must never live under the shadow of their mother's tragic past. No, her way was clear: she must leave him as soon as he said she could. Only then would he have the opportunity to rebuild his life. But not with Sylvia, she prayed silently. Not with a woman as evil as that!

CHAPTER SEVEN IF her marriage had been a real one Julia would have enjoyed revisiting Despoir's salon, but the thought of the questions and banter to which she would be subjected filled her with dismay. She had already had such a surfeit of acting a part with Nigel's friends that having to do so with her own almost made her decide to buy her clothes somewhere else. Yet if she did so, Nigel was certain to ask why, and she was unwilling to give him the satisfaction of knowing that the pretence of their marriage was as much a strain on her as it was on him. It was for this reason alone that she went to Despoir's. Angela was delighted to see her again and gave her a long, critical look. "You're thinner, my dear, but it suits you. I'm glad you've returned as a client. Now we'll have to treat you with great respect! Jackie! Stella! Come and see who's here." The two girls came into the salon, and seeing there were no other customers to overhear them, greeted Julia with complete lack of restraint. They vied with each other in asking questions and their excited chatter was only brought to a halt by the appearance of Despoir. "My dear Juliette!" He bounded across the room and caught Julia's hand in a bear-like grip. "So you've come back to work for me again?" He beamed at her. "Haven't quarrelled with your husband yet, I hope?" "Not if she can afford to come here as a client," Jackie murmured sotto voce. "I'm glad to know the job's still open for me," Julia laughed, "even though I don't want it." "What a tragedy!" Despoir said.

"I'm sure you'd rather have me as a client than a model," Julia replied. "But of course!" Despoir clapped his hands. "Come along, Jackie. And you too, Stella. Show Juliette our latest designs." It was a strange experience for Julia to sit in one of the gilt chairs and watch her two friends display some two dozen beautiful dresses. Deciding to take Nigel at his word, she made full use of the account he had opened for her, and placed an order which, on the price alone, would have horrified her a few months earlier. By the time everything had been chosen, two other clients had arrived, and Angela whispered to her to go into the fitting-room to talk to Jackie, while Stella and the model who had taken Julia's place dealt with the new clients. The fitting-room brought back memories both pleasant and unpleasant: the arduous hours of making-up and changing from one dress to another; the awful fight with Claire which, only yesterday, had brought such unexpected repercussions, and most important of all, her meeting here with Nigel. She could not help wondering what Despoir would say if he knew that his joke about her returning to work might one day be taken seriously by her. What irony to return here again as a model and perhaps - if fate were really cruel - to model clothes for the next girl Nigel married. Jackie burst into the room in her characteristically hurried fashion and gave Julia a hug. Then she stepped back and regarded her affectionately. "Thank goodness I've got you to myself at last," she said. "Tell me, how does it feel to be married and living it up?"

"Not much different from what it felt to be a model." "Don't expect me to believe that! Gosh, I'd give anything to be in your position. Not because of the money, but because of Nigel. I saw a wonderful picture of him in the newspaper when he won the election. I'd be his wife if he didn't have a cent!" Julia perched on the edge of the table and offered Jackie a cigarette. "When are you going to come and see me?" "When you've had a chance to settle down." "I'm already settled. That's no excuse. Don't you want to see me?" "What a crazy question! Of course I do. I just didn't think you'd want to be bothered with me." "Why not?" "Because I wouldn't fit in with the sort of life you're leading now. Can you see your husband having anything to say to someone like me?" "/was like you when he married me." "You were different." "I don't see why," Julia protested. Jackie half smiled. "I know you didn't have a bean when you came to work here, but you still weren't a working girl." "I wasn't playing at it," Julia answered.

"I didn't mean that. Honestly, Julia, you must know what I mean without my having to put it any plainer." Jackie glanced at her watch. "Heavens, I must fly! I've a date for lunch." "Anyone special?" The girl's gamin features softened. "Very special. He's a dress designer - been working in wholesale till now, but he's just started up his own place. Two rooms and a workshop only, but at least it's a beginning. He'll be as good as Despoir one day - I'm sure of it. I'd like you to meet him, Julia - you'll love him." "I take it you do?" Jackie nodded. "And does he love you?" "Seems like it.". Jackie rummaged in her bag and brought out a gold and amethyst ring. "He gave me this last night - if that's any indication." "Oh, Jackie, I'm so pleased for you!" Julia hugged her impulsively. "I'm sure your boy-friend's a darling. You won't forget to ask me to the wedding, will you?" "You can count on that." The chirpiness in the voice was belied by the moisture in Jackie's eyes. "I'm banking on a super wedding present from you!" Julia grinned. "You name it and I'll get it." "I only want Joe," came the answer. "When I'm with him, I don't need anything else." Walking up Grosvenor Street a little later, Julia reflected on what Jackie had said and, although glad for her friend's happiness, could not help feeling a pang of self-pity that Jackie - who by all accounts had so little - should in fact have so much more than she herself.

It was not until a couple of days before Nigel was due to make his maiden speech in the House that he mentioned it to her, adding that he expected to be called by the Speaker late in the afternoon. "Is your mother coming up?" she asked. "I telephoned her this morning, but she was out." "I know. I called her myself and she said you'd left a message. She asked me to apologise for not calling you back herself, but she isn't well. As a matter of fact, she was seeing a specialist when you rang." " Is it serious?'' Julia asked quickly. "I don't think so. I spoke to the man myself this afternoon. He just said she must remember her age and not gallivant around like a sixteen-year-old." Promptly at two-thirty on the important afternoon her taxi turned into the yard of Westminster Palace and she felt a deep and disturbing thrill of pride. She had not visited the House of Commons since she was a child, and she had forgotten how imposing the famous building was. Entering into Central Hall, Julia was surprised to find it full of tourists and policemen, and she handed the card Nigel had given her to a policeman seated at a table in the corner leading to the galleries. The policeman nodded to Julia, and she made her way up the stone stairs to the door leading to the Distinguished Strangers' Gallery. The House was already full, and here and there a woman member lent colourful contrast to the more sombre attire of the men. The great gold Mace lay on the table below the Speaker's chair, and to one side three grey-wigged clerks whose business it was to record the

proceedings of the House, were seated at a narrow table. The principal members of the Government sat on the Treasury Bench, but Julia barely glanced at them, her eyes scanning the Chamber for Nigel. At the same instant that she saw him he glanced up at the Gallery and half smiled, but his eyes seemed to look beyond her and, thinking he might be mistaking her for someone else, she turned and saw he was looking directly at Sylvia Arundale. Julia had not seen the woman since Sylvia had admitted knowing her true identity, and the sight of the bland, smiling face filled her with fury. Yet behind the fury there was also bitterness that Nigel had asked someone else to share this moment of personal achievement - a bitterness deepened by the knowledge that even though he was well aware how much she disliked Sylvia, it had not stopped him from asking her here today. Assiduously she kept her eyes fixed on the Chamber below, but she was conscious of the woman behind her with every fibre of her being. There was a slight buzz of conversation and then silence as Nigel stood up. With a member of his party on either side of him he walked up the centre of the House, stopping as he did so in order to bow three times. He took the oath in a firm voice and Julia's eyes filled with tears of pride as he signed the Roll and was introduced to the Speaker. Amid cheers from his own party and counter cheers from the Opposition, he resumed his seat and the clerk rose and announced the second reading of the Bill in hand. The Minister launched into his speech, which was duly attacked by a member of the Opposition. As he sat down, a score of members stood up. With a thrill of anticipation she saw that Nigel was among them, and knew that by tradition the Speaker accorded priority to anyone making a maiden speech. This was what she had come for. Trembling, she leaned forward as he began to talk. Her attention remained fixed on him until his speech came to a close and he sat down to appreciative murmurs from the House.

She had arranged to meet Nigel in the hall after his speech, and as she turned to leave the Gallery she saw to her dismay that Sylvia had already gone. By the time she "reached Nigel in the Central Hall he was surrounded by several men, with Sylvia prominently beside him. For an instant she hesitated, bitterly aware that there might come a time when to stand next to Nigel would be Sylvia's rightful place. Then pride urged her forward. For the time being she herself was Nigel's wife and no other woman was going to usurp her position. Smiling sweetly she went to stand close to Nigel, pushing Sylvia gently but firmly out of the way. Nigel put his hand on her arm, every inch the happy, newly married man, as he continued to talk to the members of his party, most of whom had come up to congratulate him. "Nigel certainly spoke wonderfully," Sylvia murmured. "But then he's wonderful at everything." Julia flushed, wondering if she were seeing an implication in the words that was not really there. As if to exercise a wifely right, she put her other hand on Nigel's arm and caught his attention during a momentary lull in the conversation. "Shall we go and have tea now, darling? I'm sure you must be dying for some." "I certainly am." Smiling goodbye to the people with whom he'd been talking, he turned and put his own free hand beneath Sylvia's elbow. "You must be longing for some tea as well. I'm afraid the lunch we had was pretty poor." "Mine wasn't," Sylvia said, and smiled innocently at Julia. "Nigel was too nervous to eat. He was like a cat on hot bricks."

Once again Julia had to fight to control her anger. How dared Nigel say he wanted to maintain the façade of a happy marriage and yet be stupid enough to lunch publicly with another woman on this particular day? Sylvia's look grew mocking, as though well aware of the turmoil buzzing beneath Julia's placid manner, but Nigel did not appear to notice anything unusual, and dividing his attention between the two women, he escorted them out to the terrace. Tea on the terrace, to which she had looked forward for so long, was a miserable, almost unendurable hour for her. Sylvia monopolised Nigel to the point of rudeness, and not until the meal was at an end did the woman make any attempt to include her in the conversation. "Why are you looking so serious, Julia? I hope you aren't worried at the thought of being an M.P.'s wife?" "I'm used to the limelight," Julia said, and regretted the words even as she uttered them, seeing from Sylvia's expression that she was thinking of the trial. "It's not all glamour and parties." Nigel grinned. "If the late sessions continue this year the way they did last year, you'll be lucky to see me once a week." "It wouldn't be unusual," Julia said dryly. "Sylvia's a very demanding client." Nigel reddened and Sylvia gave a deprecating laugh. "Oh dear, please don't quarrel about me." "We're not quarrelling," Julia replied sweetly, "we're just having a lovers' tiff!" Kitten eyes widened and narrowed and Julia held their gaze imperturbably. The very least she could do was to shatter some of

Sylvia's arrogance, and if the woman could be made to have doubts about Nigel's own version of his marriage, so much the better. Sensing the tension, Nigel took over the conversation. "I think I must be host to the two best-looking women on the terrace!" He focused on Sylvia. "That suit looks charming on you, my dear. You should always wear that colour." "I'm so glad you think so. It's my favourite." Sylvia examined Julia. "You look sweet too. Don't you think so, Nigel?" Julia reddened angrily, and unable to tolerate the deprecation in the husky voice, pushed back her chair and stood up. "If you'll both excuse me, I must go. I'm already late for another appointment." Without waiting for a reply she turned on her heel and walked off the terrace. Nigel caught up with her halfway along the inner corridor, and though aware of him walking beside her, she refused to turn and look at him until his voice, low and amused, sounded in her ears. "Where's the fire, Julia? Or is your appointment really so urgent?" "I have no appointment," she flared. "But if you think I'm going to stay and be insulted by Mrs. Arundale, you'd better think again!" "Insulted?" Nigel's voice grew even more amused. "You surely didn't take her remarks as an insult? They were merely an innocent—" "Innocent!" Julia interrupted. "She's about as capable of making innocent remarks as - as Jezebel!" There was a short silence as they crossed Central Hall. Then Nigel said imperturbably: "If you're annoyed because I didn't comment on

your appearance, you've no need to be. I thought you looked," he paused and then went on: "I thought you looked charming." "Thanks!" By this time they had reached St. Stephen's Hall and he caught hold of her arm and pulled her to a stop. The great stone corridor was deserted and only the statues looked down upon them. As they halted, the echoing sound of their footsteps died away and in the sudden stillness their voices took on a hushed quality. '' I haven't seen you so angry for a long time, Julia,'' Nigel said. "It suits you. You should be angry more often, instead of indulging in the colder emotions you usually display." His eyes travelled slowly over her. "Yes, you're looking very lovely. Those clothes have turned you into every voter's idea of an M.P.'s wife." His voice deepened. "I wonder whether you change your feelings as easily as you change your appearance?" "Do you have to be insulting too?" "I'm only curious." His voice was faintly amused. "If you do change your feelings as easily as your clothes, that might account for your behaviour now." ' 'What do you mean by that?" Nigel moved a step nearer, his eyes gleaming sardonically. "You've acted towards me in many different ways, Julia. With anger, hatred, impatience and sometimes even disdain. But today's the first time you've ever acted as if you're jealous." "Jealous?" She drew back. "You flatter yourself!" "Do I? Perhaps I should make sure."

Abruptly he pulled her into his arms, his fingers hard as steel on her shoulders as he pressed his mouth on hers. At the touch of his lips, Julia's body went weak and she gave herself up to the exquisite agony of the moment. But with a superhuman effort she wrenched herself free, her pulses still pounding with desire, her body still trembling with passion. Nigel stared at her, his breathing as quick as her own, his expression puzzled. "You showed some feeling for me just now," he said quietly." You can't deny that!" "I wouldn't try." She averted her eyes, keeping her voice low so that he could not detect its shakiness. "You're an attractive man, Nigel, but don't—" She hesitated and then said in a rush: "But don't take purely physical signs too seriously. It doesn't mean anything except animal response." The colour left his face, giving it the pallor of the marble statues behind his back. "You haven't lost your ability to hurt, have you?" "I'm the same as I've always been. You're the one who thought differently." "I admit I was wrong. You're as heartless as you've always been perhaps a better actress, though. For a moment on the terrace you had me fooled." "Into thinking I was jealous of you? Really, Nigel, isn't Sylvia's adoration enough?" He turned abruptly. "I'll see you to your taxi. You've stayed here long enough."

CHAPTER EIGHT IN the ensuing days Nigel made no reference to the scene that had taken place between them in the House of Commons, and Julia found him even more distant and cold than before. One afternoon in January, when she was busy rearranging the furniture in the drawing-room in an effort to occupy herself, she was surprised to hear his key in the lock and the sound of voices in the hall. The library door opened and closed and there was silence, but after a moment his steps crossed the parquet and he came into the drawing-room. "You're back early," she commented."Anything wrong?" Automatically he reached for a cigarette and sat down on the edge of a chair, looking at her so seriously that her heart began to pound. What was he going to say? Did he intend to tell her it was now opportune to arrange for an annulment? His first words filled her with reassurance. "I've brought someone home with me - an elderly woman. I was seeing her at my chambers this afternoon and she became somewhat distraught. I don't want her to go back to her flat in her present state of mind - she lives alone - so I've brought her here. I'd like you to look after her." His words, so different from those she had feared, filled Julia with such relief that she would willingly have entertained a python as a house-guest! "What do you want me to do?" "See she has what she wants for the night. The sort of things a woman uses." "Of course."

"Good." He gave her a grateful look. "Come and meet her. She's in the library." Julia never forgot her first sight of Mary Ennsley: a frail, thin woman in her middle sixties, with wispy grey hair drawn back from a lined face. She looked virtually on the point of collapse, her colourless lips trembling and her eyes brimming with tears which she tried unsuccessfully to blink back. "She's scared to death of something," Julia thought, as Nigel propelled the woman forward. "Miss Ennsley, this is my wife. She'll take care of you and give you everything you need for the night." "There's no need for me to stay here," the woman's voice had a high, childish treble and shook with stress. "I'll be perfectly fine once I've had dinner." Julia put her arm round the thin shoulders. "You're no trouble at all, Miss Ennsley. Come upstairs and I'll show you your room. Then perhaps you'd like to have a rest before dinner." The woman's gratitude was pathetic. "You're so kind. .. so very kind. And Mr. Farnham's been so good to me already. It seems wrong to park oneself on strangers." "Not at all," Julia replied firmly. "Come upstairs. You'll feel better when you've had a rest." Seeing her visitor settled in the guest-room, Julia returned to the drawing-room, where Nigel was waiting for her. "I'm sorry to land you with a stranger," he said, "but I had no choice." He paced the room, talking all the while. "I'm in a bit of a fix with Miss Ennsley and I need your help."

"I'll do what I can," she replied, careful to keep her pleasure at his needing her out of her voice. "Can you tell me something about her or is it a secret?" "I can tell you some of it - but not all. As you know, I'm working on an important case. It's turned out even bigger than I realised, and if I'm successful I'll be able to break up one of the cleverest currency rackets in the country. The fraud squad's known about it for some time, but they've never been able to find out the person - the real brain behind it." "And you taw?" "I think so." He smiled slightly at the incredulity in her voice. "It happened while I was working on this new case. Through Miss Ennsley I came across certain information. It set me thinking and I followed it up. Anyway, I'm pretty sure I'm on the right track." "How's Miss Ennsley involved in it? She doesn't seem the sort of person to be mixed up in any racket!" "She's not. At least not in the way you think." He paused, as if making up his mind whether to say any more. Then deciding to do so, he resumed speaking. "For many years she was secretary to the managing director of a firm that suddenly - completely to her surprise, as a matter of fact — closed down. She received recompense, of course, but she wasn't satisfied. For some months before the company folded she'd become suspicious of several things, and because she felt a lot of the employees had been poorly treated, she came to see me." "Surely she should have gone to a solicitor?" He nodded but said: "Thank heavens she didn't! If she had, none of this would have come to light."

Julia was mystified. "What things?" He rubbed the side of his face. "This currency business. Part of it's share-pushing too. She had a copy of the firm's trading records - one which she forgot to hand in when the company closed, and she gave it to me to look at, hoping that because of the profits it disclosed, it would get better recompense for the employees. Something in the records struck me as peculiar and I asked myself who would be the person most likely to know the intimate details about a director and his associates. Who's the person so often taken for granted that things are said in front of them without it being realised?" "A personal secretary," Julia retorted. "Particularly one like Miss Ennsley!" "Exactly! Apparently at the beginning the company was completely legitimate, with everything run above board, but over the past few years it developed into something quite different." ' 'Have you told the police?" "Yes. But they want more proof." "Don't tell me you're basing your judgement on intuition?" "In a way." "That's very unlike you," she commented. "I thought you always judged on facts?" He reddened, but said stoically: "Not in this case. There's a - " he paused. "I've a special reason for being anxious to get to the bottom of this one."

Julia pondered on all she had just learned and finally said: "Are you saying Miss Ennsley's ex-boss was the man responsible for this currency scheme or whatever it is?" "Yes," Nigel nodded grimly. "But I can't go back to the police until I've got more evidence. That's what I'm working on now. Once I get absolute proof, this man won't be able to wriggle his way out of a conviction." "But why is Miss Ennsley so upset?" Julia asked, puzzled. "I can understand she can't be looking forward to giving evidence, but—" "She's being pressurised to keep her mouth shut." "Pressurised? In what way?" "Threats," he said slowly. "Telephone calls warning her that if she goes into court she'll regret it. You can see for yourself she's not the sort of person to stand up to that sort of thing. The phone calls have terrified her, and if I plan to go on with this business - which I must I've got to make sure she's all right." He rubbed his chin again. "The only solution is to send her away until I need to call her as a witness. I'd ask my mother to take her, except that it's the first place anyone would think of as a hideout." Despite Nigel's prosaic manner of speaking, the words themselves were so dramatic that Julia felt she were listening to a spy thriller, "I know somewhere she can stay." "Where?" "In Exton. It's a small village about ten miles from my old home. My nanny has a cottage there. I'm sure she'd be delighted to have someone stay with her for a while. It's a quiet place off the beaten track."

"It sounds ideal. If Miss Ennsley's out of harm's way until I need her, it would be a load off my mind." "How long will it take you to find the proof you need?" "I'm not sure. I think I've already got as much as I need." "What'll stop this man leaving the country?" "If he tries to get out he'll be held." "Then what's the—" "Problem?" he finished for her. "It's a major one. It's all very well having the pheasant on the moor, but you've got to beat it out before you can shoot it down." "Miss Ennsley being the beater, I suppose?" "Yes. Without her word, it would be twice as difficult to get this man convicted. " Julia glanced at her watch. "I'll write to Nanny at once and tell her to expect me in the morning with Miss Ennsley!" "Can't you telephone?" "She hasn't got one, and she'd get alarmed if I sent a telegram. If I write now, she'll get the letter first thing in the morning. I'll do it in the library." Julia and Mary Ennsley left London early the next morning, before the main rush of traffic, and were in Exton soon after eleven o'clock. Nanny was delighted to see her "Miss Julia" again and especially pleased to have the chance of fussing over a guest, and watching her

lead Miss Ennsley upstairs to unpack her few belongings, Julia knew she had done the right thing in bringing the woman here. "I've left the poor woman to get settled," Nanny said, coming back into the small sitting-room, "so we've got time for a chat." Bright eyes, surrounded by wrinkles but still able to see her with more insight than Julia liked, stared at her in a forthright manner. "It's a long time since you've been to see me, Miss Julia. It's not like my girl to turn her back on her family - and I've always considered myself part of yours." "You are!" Julia cried, and hugged Nanny close. "I haven't been to see you because ..." She drew back and made a pretence of smoothing her hair. "Since Nigel's become an M.P. there's so much to do ... so many people to see...." "Too many, from the looks of you," came the answer. "You're too thin and too nervous, Miss Julia. What's wrong with you? And don't bother to look for a fib. I can always tell when you're not speaking the truth!" Despite the sudden tears in her eyes, Julia could not help giving a tremulous smile. "Then I'd better not give you an answer. That way you won't send me to my room!" "Is it your marriage? Isn't Mr. Nigel good to you?" "Oh, Nanny, of course he is! He's wonderful." The chiming of a clock made Julia look at her watch. "Good heavens, I didn't realise it was so late. I must get back. Mr. Winster's coming round to take me out to lunch." "You'll never get back in time." "I'll just make it."

"You can't go back without having a hot drink first." The old woman bustled about the room, and within a few minutes placed a cup of steaming chocolate on the table. Julia sipped it gratefully. "You still remember it's my favourite." "I remember everything about you. And one of them is that you've never brought your husband to see me. From his pictures in the newspapers, he seems a fine-looking man." "In the papers?" Julia said quickly. "Not recently, Miss Julia. When your father was in trouble." Julia's cheeks grew hot. "Then you know he was the man..." "Yes, dear, I know." The shrewd old eyes regarded her calmly. "I'm glad you didn't allow yourself to be embittered because a man had to do his job." "I wondered what you'd say." "Then you should have asked me earlier! Your husband didn't know you during the trial, and he can't be blamed for what happened in the past. He obviously didn't blame you." Remembering how Nigel - even when she had disclosed her real identity on their wedding night - had pleaded with her not to let her desire for revenge ruin their happiness, Julia wished with all her heart that what Nanny believed was really true. If only she had had the sense to listen to Nigel's pleading, how different her life would have been now. Fearing that the wise old eyes might penetrate her guard, she stood up and collected her bag and gloves. "I must go now or I'll never be in time. Say goodbye to Miss Ennsley for me. I'm not sure if I'll be

down to see her again. Nigel might think it best for us not to make contact with her in case..." "I understand," Nanny said quietly. "Poor thing, she doesn't look a criminal. Is your husband defending her?" It was a few seconds before Julia understood the implication of the question, but when she did she could not stop herself from smiling. "Oh, Nanny, it's nothing like that! Just the opposite, in fact. Someone's looking for her and we want her kept out of sight." "Then you've brought her to the proper place. I'll watch her the whole time." Although Julia drove back to London as fast as she dared, it was halfpast one before she arrived home. Conrad's car was already parked by the kerb and she ran up the steps and unlocked the door. As she crossed the hall he came out of the drawing-room to greet her. He was not a man who took kindly to being kept waiting, and she expected him to be annoyed, but to her surprise he seemed unperturbed at having had to kick his heels for half an hour and caught her hands in a warm, far from platonic gesture. Saying she would not keep him waiting more than a few minutes, she hurried upstairs and changed out of her tweed dress and coat into a pink angora suit and mink jacket. "You look marvellous," Conrad said as he settled her in the car. "Where did you rush off to this morning?" "I had some errands to do for Nigel." Believing her answer sounded evasive, she added: "They were in the country - for his constituents." Conrad did not reply, and when next he spoke, it was about something entirely different.

Lunch at Tiberio, one of the smartest restaurants in London, was relaxing and pleasant, and Julia felt the tension of the last few hours ebb away. Conrad was unusually quiet and there were times when he lapsed into silence, as if his thoughts were elsewhere. On one such occasion Julia had to repeat herself twice to get his attention and he apologised at once for his bad manners. "Forgive me for being so absent-minded, darling, but I've been working at top pressure. It's a good thing, though - it doesn't give me so much time to think of you." She felt an uncomfortable pang, but was saved from having to answer when he continued: "Whenever I think of you as Farnham's wife, I could punch his arrogant nose." "You can't blame Nigel. It was just as much my fault." "I suppose so!" He half smiled. "But I can't punch your nose, can I, darling? Oh well, it won't be long before you're free, and as soon as you've married me, we'll go away for a long holiday. I'd like to show you South America, Julia. It's a world of gaiety and colour that you've never dreamed of. You'll love it there. It makes England look like a dead- beat country." "But this is your home," she said in surprise. "You're not thinking of emigrating, are you?" "I don't know. It depends what you'd like to do." "I'm not sure. I've never lived abroad. I can't think in terms of settling down in a strange country." "Once you've actually settled, it's no longer strange. It depends how much you want to make another country your home." "No other country could be my home," she replied. "At least not in the way that England is."

He grinned. "I didn't know you were such a patriot!" "There's quite a lot you don't know about me," she retorted. "My sweet Julia, I intend to spend the rest of my life learning!" He caught her hand and squeezed it. "Don't be angry with me for not feeling so attached to England. I'm an Australian, remember." "Of course," she smiled. "I'd forgotten. You're probably still more of an Aussie than an Englishman!" "I guess I am." He signalled the waiter, signed the bill and escorted her out. Unwittingly she compared him with Nigel, seeing in place of the stocky, florid-faced man before her, her husband's angular figure and ascetic face. On the pavement outside she stopped. "Don't bother driving me home, Conrad. I've some shopping to do first, and I'll get a taxi when I've finished." "Are you sure?" "Positive." He hailed a taxi and helped her into it. "I'm going to be pretty busy the next few days," he said, "but I'll ring you as soon as I'm free. Will you be able to dine with me? It's a long time since I saw you in evening dress." "I'll be free," she promised. "I'm not tied to Nigel." "Too tied for my liking. You've got to end this farce and—"

"Not now," she said quickly, glancing at the taxi driver. "We'll talk about it another time." "As you say." He stepped back. "Don't stop thinking of me, Julia. I love you and you're going to be my wife." The existence of Mary Ennsley served as a link between Nigel and Julia, and during dinner that evening he asked whether the woman had liked Exton. This question led to several more, and Julia found herself telling him a great deal about her nurse and her own childhood at Lammerton. This was the first of several evenings they spent together before the commencement of the trial, and she waited anxiously for him to tell her that he had found the additional evidence he was looking for. But when the end of the week arrived and he had still said nothing, she could not contain her curiosity, and on the Friday evening after dinner asked him what was happening. "The trial proper starts next week," he said. "Most of this week was given over to presentation of documents." "Does that mean you've found the evidence you need?" He shook his head. "You're confusing the two things, Julia. I thought I had explained before that the case I am working on now isn't directly concerned with this - this man or Mary Ennsley. She only comes into this one in an indirect manner, but because of what she told me when I questioned her, it led to this new" - he hesitated - "I can't say new case, because it isn't a case yet. At the moment it's just a clue to something that could very well be the biggest case of my life."

"But you still haven't found out anything more." She could not keep the disappointment from her voice and hearing it, he half smiled and shook his head again. "We're not dealing with fairy tales, Julia, but a hard world of fact. I'm trying to uncover something that's been carefully hidden for years. It's going to take longer than a few days." "But you were so optimistic at the beginning of the week." "I shouldn't have allowed myself to be. It's just that if I could prove this man guilty it would..." "Why does it mean so much to you?" she asked. The softness left his face and it wore the hard implacable look she had come to associate with him. "I have very personal reasons. Don't ask me about it any more. When I've anything to tell you, I'll do so." The trial proper started the following week, and in the evenings he would return home weary and silent, hurrying through dinner so that he could retire to the library to bring his brief up to date for the next morning. At ten o'clock Julia would take him in a hot drink, preferring to do so herself rather than entrust the task to Hilda, for even doing this small service filled her with quiet satisfaction. At first he had been wary of discussing the trial, afraid it might awaken unhappy memories for her, and for her part Julia was reluctant to ask questions in case he should think she was looking for a chance to criticise him. It was this fear which held her back from asking for a ticket to the court to hear him speak, and she contented herself with reading day-to-day accounts of the trial in the newspapers, all of which reported Nigel's brilliant prosecution for the Crown. No mention was made of any unknown figure behind the principal defendants, and she assumed Nigel was waiting until he

called Mary Ennsley the following week before disclosing what the journalists would undoubtedly call "sensational developments". By the end of the fifth day of the trial Nigel was exhausted to breaking point, but though the weekend was supposed to give him two days of rest, he worked at his chambers the whole of Saturday, and did not return home until nearly seven. To his surprise he glimpsed Julia laying the table in the dining-room, and he walked across the hall and stood on the threshold to watch her. "Hello, Nigel." She smiled at his approach, and seeing the tiredness etched on his face, fought the urge to run over and kiss him. "Are you in for the evening?" she asked casually, and then added quickly: "For dinner, I mean?" "Yes, I'm in for dinner - and the evening. Are you?" "Yes. It's Hilda's night out, so I'm giving Mrs. Humphries a hand." "I see. What's happened to Winster? You usually go out with him on Saturday." "He's out of town." "Is it my imagination, or have you been seeing less of him lately?" Refusing to rise to the bait, she said imperturbably: "I expect to see him on Monday." "I'll have to thank him for letting you off for the weekend!" The desire to make a similar, scathing comment about his seeing less of Sylvia was only held in check by her determination not to quarrel with him, and as he turned and walked upstairs she resumed setting the table. Nigel's nerves were on edge and she must make allowance for it.

In the drawing-room after supper Nigel was restless, picking up ornaments and replacing them and straightening the bottles on the sideboard. "Are you sure there's nothing wrong?" she asked finally. He swung round and looked at her as though his thoughts were miles away. "Wrong? Why should there be something wrong?" "Because you're prowling round like a restless bear! Are you worrying about the trial?" "I wasn't even thinking of it. It's all settled anyway. Mary Ennsley is coming up tomorrow." "So soon? Why didn't you tell me?" "I didn't want to worry you. I've arranged for my clerk to meet her at the station and bring her straight to the court." "If you're not worried about Miss Ennsley, what else is wrong? You've been on edge most of the day." There was a slight pause before he spoke, as if he were weighing his words. "I was thinking about us, if you really want to know." Julia's heart started to pound. Common sense told her to end the conversation now, but her love for Nigel made it impossible for her to say a word. Come what may, she had to hear what he wanted to tell her ... what he was thinking about.... "You must have some idea what's in my mind," he went on, "if you think there's—" The strident peal of the telephone cut him short and with an exclamation of annoyance he strode out to answer it. Julia leaned

back in her chair and clasped her hands together, their shaking movements keeping time to the erratic beat of her heart. From the hall Nigel's voice came clear, the words sharp and anxious. "What did you say? When? ... Yes, of course. I understand. No, there's nothing else I can do.... Keep me informed if there's any more developments, and don't let the newspapers get hold of the story. I'll wait for you to get in touch with me again. Yes... Thank you. Goodbye." Julia heard him replace the receiver and when he came back into the room his expression was so changed that she knew something was drastically wrong. "It's Mary Ennsley, isn't it?" "Yes." The look he flung her was one of such disgust that she recoiled. "What happened to her?" "She's been taken away to a mental hospital." "But why? There was nothing wrong with her." "She's in a state of shock." He walked over to the fire and stood in front of it, hands in pockets. He was still looking at her with the same angry expression, and Julia knew there was more to come. "What else is there, Nigel? You haven't told me the whole story, have you?" • "No, I haven't." He stopped and banged his hand against his side. "If only I could get that. . ." "Nigel, what is it? For heaven's sake tell me!"

"There's not much to tell. It's all over. Finished, do you hear. As far as I'm concerned it's finished! The man I was keeping away from Miss Ennsley managed to track her down." "Oh no!" "Oh yes! Lord knows what he actually said to her, but it sent her into a fit of anxiety. Your nurse went out to tea apparently, and when she got back late this afternoon she found her in hysterics. She called the doctor and he managed to quieten her, but in the end she had to be taken away." Julia felt the hair on her head prickle. "Do you think he - he tried to kill her? This man, I mean.'' "I don't know. He certainly put the fear of death in her. All she said that made any sense at all was that she couldn't give evidence or she'd die." "I can't believe it. No one would be mad enough to commit murder." "It's her life against his freedom," Nigel said. "Even so. Anyway he didn't kill her." Julia frowned. "That's the odd part, when you come to think of it. Didn't he realise that the first thing she'd do would be to phone you?" "He took a chance that she'd be too scared to do anything," Nigel answered weakly. "And he was right, of course. She just collapsed mentally. I was speaking to the doctor at the hospital a moment ago, and he said it might be months before she was well enough to be called as a witness." This last remark increased Julia's puzzlement. She knew Nigel had been counting on Mary Ennsley's evidence, hoping not only to use her for his present case but also to give the police sufficient reason to

arrest the man whom he now seemed intent on turning into his next victim for prosecution. No doubt he must be disappointed at being thwarted at the last minute, but she did not understand why the delay should cause him so much concern. "Will it matter if you have to wait a couple of months?" she asked. "Matter!" he said furiously "You're damn right it matters. Don't you understand that the police have no evidence of this man's activities? Without proof they can't arrest him and they can't stop him leaving the country! With Mary Ennsley out of the way for months he'll get a chance of settling his affairs and pulling out." "It doesn't seem possible. I'm sure the police could stop him." "Unfortunately the fraud squad don't share your certainty." Julia stood up and moved over to him, but as she put her hand on his arm, he pushed it away so sharply that she staggered. "What's the matter, Nigel? Why are you looking at me like this? It isn't my fault Mary Ennsley was discovered." "Only three people knew where she was," Nigel replied with deadly deliberation. "Your nurse, you and myself. From what you've told me of your nurse, I think she is eminently trustworthy, and I know that / haven't told one single person where Mary Ennsley was." For a moment Julia was too shaken to speak, for there was no doubting "the implication of Nigel's words "You can't possibly believe ... Why should I want Mary Ennsley to be discovered?" He did not answer and the truth suddenly dawned on her. "Do you think I'm-so vindictive towards you that I'd try and ruin one of your cases? That I'd let an old woman be frightened out of her wits just in order to satisfy my—" She broke off, unable to continue.

"I don't know what to believe," Nigel said quietly. "For the last few weeks you've acted differently towards me, but I still don't know what you really think about me - other than what you said the night we were married and the night when - when I begged you to forget the past and think of us and our future." Julia listened to his words as though hearing them from a long way off, and it took a while before she had enough self- control to answer him. "I didn't think you'd confuse my emotional behaviour with my ethical one," she said finally. "Can the two be so clearly divided?" "To me they can. You know why I married you - there's no point in my repeating it - but that still doesn't mean I'd deliberately set out to destroy your career, and possibly even the sanity of an innocent old woman." He did not answer and she moved a step closer. "Nigel, look at me. You can't really believe I'm the sort of person who would do something so wicked?" "I don't know what to think any more. Your motivation for marrying me ... your behaviour in the last few weeks ... even your friendship with Winster ... None of it makes sense. None of it adds up to the action of a normal person. You've so many different sides, Julia, so many facets to your character- that I don't think I know half of them!" "Yet you think there's one facet of me that's willing to destroy you and Mary Ennsley?" Again he did not answer, and her incredulous shock gave way to sudden, bitter anger. "Where's your own sense of justice, Nigel? What gives you the right to be the arbiter of my guilt or innocence? If

you've so many doubts about me, what stops you from doubting your judgement? How dare you accuse me of being an informer!" Her voice rose. "And whom did I tell? Do you think I put an announcement in The Times, saying where Mary Ennsley was? Perhaps this man you're after rang me up and offered me money!" She flung out her arms. "Of course - that's what you think! That I sold you out for money the way my father sold out his name and honour!" "Don't say that!" The words seemed torn from him and she waited, expecting him to make an apology. But instead he seemed to have second thoughts, for when he spoke again, his voice was as implacable as before. "Only three people knew where she was - yet somehow this man found out." "Because I told him? That's what you believe, isn't it?" "Taking your entire behaviour towards me into account," Nigel said tonelessly, "that's exactly what could have happened." "One day you'll regret saying that to me," Julia said slowly. "I've already told you I regret the reasons for which I married you, yet knowing that you still believe I'd be despicable enough to ruin your career." She moved to the door, and with her hand on the knob, turned and looked at him. "You don't need me to ruin your career, Nigel. You'll ruin it for yourself. A man of law needs to have an understanding of people. Above all, he needs to have judgement. But if you can still have such a poor opinion of me, I don't believe you'll ever have any sense of judgement - and for that reason alone, you'll make your own failure." Quietly, she opened and closed the door behind her, at the same time closing the door on her own future.

CHAPTER NINE THROUGHOUT the night Julia tried to make sense out of what had happened, and Mary Ennsley's pale face was so vivid in her mind's eye that she could not sleep. How could anyone have found out where the woman had been staying? No one had followed her in the car on her drive to Exton - of that she was sure - therefore Mary Ennsley's whereabouts must have been discovered in another way. But how? Neither Nigel nor Nanny would have disclosed anything, and she herself had told no one. The more she thought about it, the more difficult it was to reach any conclusion, and her final thought before drifting off into fitful slumber was that this man had used private detectives. She awoke more unrefreshed than if she had not slept at all, and hurriedly dressed and ran downstairs, hoping to see Nigel. But he had already left the house and she walked restlessly from room to room, unanswered questions still beating in her brain. Aimlessly she went into the library and sat at Nigel's desk. In this very seat, only two weeks ago, she had written to Nanny telling her she was bringing Mary Ennsley down; believing that in the village of Exton the woman would find peace and security. Instead, it had brought her nervous collapse, and the burden of guilt seemed to rest very heavily on Julia's shoulders. Picking up the fountain-pen she had used, she idly wrote her name on the clean blotter. It was one of Nigel's idiosyncrasies that the blotting-paper should be changed every day, and he became as peevish as a small boy if Hilda forgot to do it. Looking at the immaculate green surface on which she had just doodled her name, Julia thought wryly how irritated he would be if he were there to see it now. Suddenly she stiffened, threw down the pen and ran across to the door.

"Hilda!" she called. "Gould you come here a moment?" Hilda hurried out from the kitchen, duster in hand. "Is anything the matter, madam?" "I only want to ask you something. But it's very important, so think carefully before you' answer. Do you remember the day we had that elderly lady here - the one who stayed the night?" Hilda nodded and Julia went on: "The following morning I took her away with me, and I want you to try and remember if you changed the blotter in this room that day." "The blotter, ma'am?" The girl looked taken aback by the question. "What's that got to do with the visitor?" "Never mind that. Just answer me. Did you change the blotting-paper on Mr. Farnham's desk that day? I know you do it often, but did you do it that morning?" Hilda pondered, her face furrowed with thought. "I usually do it Monday, Wednesday and Friday - unless it gets grubby in between. You know how particular Mr. Farnham is. Saturday and Sunday it isn't used much, so I generally leave the same piece on for the weekend." "Then the blotter I used on Wednesday evening would have been a fresh one? That means you didn't change it again till Friday?" "That's right." Julia's heart raced with excitement. "Did anyone call here on Wednesday or Thursday - before you changed the blotter, I mean?" "Just the usual callers," Hilda replied. "The postman and someone from a charity organisation and—"

"I meant someone who might have had access to the library," Julia intervened. "No, madam, no one came in here." "I see." Julia's voice was flat. "That rules that out, then." "I beg your pardon?" "I was just talking to myself. You can go now, thanks." "I'm sorry I couldn't help." "Never mind. It was just a thought." Hilda moved to go, but then stopped. "No one called on Thursday, madam, but Mr. Winster was here Wednesday." "I know. He was taking me out to lunch. He was waiting for me in the drawing-room when I got back." "But I showed him into the library when he arrived." Julia caught her breath. "Are you sure? He was waiting in the drawing-room when I came home." "Maybe he was. But I first showed him here. I remember it clearly because I was turning out the drawing-room that morning and I hadn't finished when he arrived." "But he was waiting there for me when I got back." "Then he must have seen me leave," Hilda said, "and decided he'd be more comfortable in there."

"I expect so." Julia watched Hilda closely. "Is there anyone else you forgot to tell me about?" "No. Though someone did ring at the door on the Wednesday morning and Mr. Winster answered it for me. Said it was some student trying to sell books." "And no one else came?" "No one." Julia nodded her dismissal, and alone in the library wondered what to do next. By coincidence she was dining with Conrad that night and she would ask him if he had brought the student into the library, or anyone else, perhaps. She glanced at her watch. Eleven o'clock. Plenty of time to get down to Exton and back. Picking up the telephone, she dialled Victoria Station to find out when the next train left. In half an hour, came the answer. That would just give her time to catch it. It was lunchtime when she knocked on the door of her nurse's cottage, and Nanny stared at her in astonishment. "Land sakes, Miss Julia! What a pleasure to see you again." Julia stepped into the sitting-room. Everything looked as she had last seen it, the only change being in Nanny herself, who looked every one of her seventy years. "I suppose you've come because of that poor soul?" Julia nodded, and Nanny wiped her eyes on her apron. "Such a shock it was. When I left on the Sunday afternoon, she was as right as rain — nervous, mind you, but that was only to be expected, and by the time I came back she was just..." The wrinkled face creased and tears filled the dark eyes again. "I could see it was useless trying to do anything with

her, so I called the doctor. The next thing was him saying she should be in a home, and within an hour an ambulance came and took her away." Julia sat down in a chair. "Was she completely insane or did she say anything that made sense?" "Not a word. Just blubbering nonsense about not talking and being killed if she did." The old woman shivered. "A terrible sight it was too. 'I've dealt with temper and tantrums and plain hysterics in my time, but I've never seen anything like she was. Doctor Marshall said she might never recover." "I'm so sorry to have let you in for all this," Julia whispered. "But when I brought her here, I'd no idea..." "You've nothing to blame yourself for, Miss Julia. You were just trying to help. I'd like to get my hands on the person who frightened her like that. Such a sweet lady she was too." Unable to stop herself, Julia began to cry, and with a tender, clucking sound Nanny drew her close. "There now, don't take it so hard. Perhaps the doctor won't be right after all. Maybe with rest and care she'll get quite well again." "If only I could believe that," Julia wept, her tears falling faster, "but somehow I feel as though I'm to blame - I believe I could have stopped it happening." "That's stupid, Miss Julia. You did all you could." Wrinkled hands stroked the glossy dark hair. "Hush now. Tears won't help - you should know that." "I do," Julia gulped. "I cried enough when my father..."

The hand on Julia's hair ceased its movement. "Poor Sir Hugo, not a day goes by that I don't think of him. I'll never be convinced he knew what was going on." "Unfortunately, people aren't like you," Julia said, and drawing back from her nurse's hand, took out her compact and powdered away the tear-marks. "You're one of the few people who believe my father was innocent." "Because I knew him. And anyone who knew him couldn't believe otherwise. That goes for everyone at Lammerton too." Nanny bustled over to the gas stove and lit the light below the kettle. "Mr. Winster stood by you, didn't he? And he wasn't the sort of man to be easily fooled." Julia nodded. "He was one of the few people who didn't let us down." "Fond of you he was too," came the reply. "I often wondered if you'd marry him." The nurse took down cups and saucers from the dresser. "Funny thing is that I saw him not so long ago. Driving through the village, he was." "Through Exton?" Julia was astonished. "Are you sure?" "Course I'm sure. I may be a bit hard of hearing, but I've got my eyesight!" "Did he see you?" "No. I waved and called his name, but he drove straight on." "I see." Julia stood up quickly. "I must get back to London. I've something to do." "But you've only just arrived!"

"I know, but it's urgent." "A cup of chocolate? " "Next time," Julia pleaded, and giving her nurse a hurried kiss, ran out of the cottage. She was breathless when she arrived at the station, but her luck was in, for the guard was signalling out a London express. Diving across the platform, she grasped the handle of the nearest carriage door and threw herself in. It was half-past four when she arrived home, and not even pausing to take off her coat, she rang through to Nigel's chambers. His secretary informed her he had not returned from court but offered to try and contact him there, promising to ring back if she were able to do so. Julia replaced the receiver and walked impatiently up and down until the sharp tinkle of the bell brought her back to the telephone. She put it down with a disappointed murmur of thanks. Nigel had left court without returning to his chambers, but had informed his clerk he would not be at home that evening, Julia fought back a wave of selfpity. Instinctively she knew where he could be found, and only for a moment did she hesitate before dialling Sylvia's number. As the husky voice came over the wire her spine tingled, and it required an enormous effort to keep her own voice steady. Eschewing the falseness of polite enquiries about health and welfare, she came straight to the point. "I'm trying to get in touch with Nigel. It's desperately important." "Why ring me? I haven't seen him since he's been working on the trial." Julia's lips tightened, knowing very well what Sylvia was trying to make her admit. But now was not the time for pride and she said

quietly: "I'm sure you'll be seeing him tonight, and I want you to give him a message." "Why not ring back later, then?" Sylvia suggested coolly. "I won't be able to. I'm having dinner with Conrad at seven." "Then leave a note in the hall for him, or something." Julia strove to keep her temper. "I'll do that in any case, but I'm not sure if Nigel is coming home to change or going straight on to you." "I must say all this sounds most intriguing," Sylvia drawled. "What's the emergency - espionage or something?" Julia disregarded the sarcasm. "It's extremely important. Nigel's got to be told something." "Very well. Tell me what you want to say." "It's rather involved; I think it would be best if you wrote it down." "Really, Julia, I'm quite capable of remembering a message !" "I'm sure you are, but this one's very complicated. It would be safer if you made a note of it." Julia was trembling with impatience, but there was such determination in her voice that Sylvia conceded ungraciously. "All right, hang on a minute while I get a pen." There was a pause until she came back on the line. "O.K., I'm ready." "Just write that I've been to Exton and I think I know how the address was found out and who is concerned with it. Have you got that?"

"Of course. If that's all you intended saying there wasn't any need to make such a fuss. It's simple enough to remember." "There's a bit more," Julia said. "Could you tell Nigel I'm going to the theatre but will come back here afterwards and may need his help." "Help? That sounds most intriguing. Do tell me what it's all about?" "I can't. But don't forget to let Nigel know the moment you see him. He must be here later on tonight, otherwise it would be dangerous. "Dangerous?" Sylvia's voice hardened. "This isn't some way of making Nigel leave here early, is it?" "For goodness' sake! I'm not playing tricks. I can promise you that." "I should hope so," Sylvia said peevishly, and hung up. Julia drew a deep breath, thankful to know that Nigel would be getting her message soon. She hurried up to her bedroom. The minutes were ticking by, and if she didn't want to be late for Conrad, she must start to get ready. Entering the brilliantly lighted foyer of the hotel some fifteen minutes later, Julia found Conrad already waiting for her. His eyes lit up with satisfaction and he caught her hands in his. "How wonderful you look!" She smiled sweetly at him as he led her into the lift and up to the penthouse restaurant. Time was too short for them to talk much over dinner, and even though they hurried through the meal the curtain had already gone up on the first act before they took their seats in the theatre. The play seemed dull in comparison to the drama being enacted in her own life, and Julia's attention wandered constantly.

She was acutely aware of the man by her side, and noticed that he too seemed restless, fidgeting either with a key ring or the programme. "Where would you like to have supper?" he asked as they made their way slowly through the crowded foyer at the end of the performance. "You're looking so lovely tonight, I can't let you go yet." "I'd rather go home, Conrad. I'm tired. Why not come to the house for a nightcap?" "Won't the lord and master object?" "Don't be silly! Anyway, Nigel isn't home this evening." "Then I accept your invitation." He put his hand on her arm, and a quiver ran through her at the touch of the warm, firm fingers on her flesh. When they drove into the square all the houses were in darkness, except for the warm, rosy glow that came from her own. Surmising that Hilda and Mrs. Humphries were already in bed, she put her key in the latch and turned the lock. A single lamp illuminated the hall, making a pool of light which cast long shadows against the walls and up the dark stairs. Throwing her cloak over a chair, she preceded Conrad into the drawing-room and snapped on the lights. "Do mix your own drink, will you? I never manage to add the correct amount of soda or water to the whisky." "I'm going to have brandy," he chuckled, and walked over to the sideboard. "What about you?" "Nothing, thanks."

"You drink so little, you'll be a teetotaller before you know where you are!" He poured himself a liberal brandy and came back to stand by the fire. "It seems a long time since we've been alone together." "Not more than two weeks." "They seemed two months to me" he retorted harshly. "Whenever I've rung up, you've been busy. What's the matter with you? Do you enjoy playing the good little wife to your husband?" "Not at all. But Nigel's been tired after being in court all day, and I thought it only fair to be here in case he needed me. "Doesn't Mrs. Arundale play that part? Or are you trying to do it now?" "Don't be silly." Julia went over to the mirror and pretended to arrange her hair. "You know my feelings towards Nigel." "I'm not sure I do." Conrad came to stand behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders and bending his head until his lips touched her skin. "You're so beautiful tonight, darling - or have I told you that before?" Their eyes met in the mirror. "No portrait of you could be as lovely as your own reflection, and this mirror makes an ideal frame." "Mirrors can be very useful, can't they?" she said, and the tone of her voice made him look at her questioningly. "What do you mean by that?" A pulse started to beat in her throat. "Only that mirrors have other uses besides seeing one's own reflection." She stepped away from him and helped herself to a cigarette from a box on the table, trembling inwardly at the ordeal that lay ahead of her. An indulgent smile played on Conrad's lips. "What uses?"

"For giving you the opposite view of a thing." She faced him determinedly. "When I was at school we used to play a game called Codes. One girl would make up a code and the others had to try and decipher it." "How interesting," he said half mockingly. "But why are you telling me all this? I don't care about your past - it's your future that interests me" "I think you'll be interested in this too." Julia clenched her hands tightly to stop them shaking. "I once thought up a brilliant idea for a code. I wrote my message in ink and while each line was wet I dried it on a clean sheet of blotting paper. The result was indecipherable until you held it up to a mirror." Conrad's eyes narrowed for an instant, but there was no other change in his expression. "Really, darling, I don't care a jot about the games you played as a child." "I thought you would be - especially as you played the same game yourself ten days ago!" He was motionless for a moment, then he threw his half- smoked cigarette into the fire and faced her, his hands behind his back. "Stop beating about the bush, Julia, and tell me what these innuendoes mean." "Don't pretend you don't know." She sat on the sofa to hide the trembling of her limbs. "Ten days ago Nigel brought someone home a woman he wanted to hide until he needed her as a witness in the trial going on at the moment. At my suggestion she went to stay with my old nurse. I wrote to Nanny that evening and posted the letter immediately, blotting it on the clean pad Nigel always has in the library. He wanted to keep the woman's whereabouts a secret because she'd been threatened - presumably by the man who had most to fear

from her if she went into the witness-box." Julia stopped and looked at Conrad, but his face was expressionless. "Go on, Julia, you obviously won't be satisfied till you've finished playing the whole scene the way you want it." "Very well. Somebody found out where this woman was staying. And the only person interested in doing so was the man who wanted to frighten her into silence." She looked at him squarely. "That man was you." If she had expected any violent reaction from him she was disappointed, for he burst out laughing. "Well, I'll be damned! Was this melodramatic scene leading up to that?" "Driving a woman mad from fright is melodramatic, Conrad." His hand went to his pocket and he drew out his cigarette case. He offered it to her, but she declined with a shake of her head, and he drew it back and took one for himself, lighting it with deliberation. "As you've told me so much, my dear, perhaps you'll tell me how I'm supposed to have got the address?" "I've already told you. When I wrote to Nanny I blotted my letter and the envelope - on a clean pad. The imprint of what I'd written was clear enough to be read by anyone holding it up to a mirror.'' "I see. And when am I supposed to have done this?" "When you called to take me out to lunch the day afterwards. You came from the drawing-room to meet me and I assumed you'd been waiting there all the time. It wasn't until I talked to Hilda this morning that I learned that she'd originally shown you into the

library. There was no reason why you shouldn't have waited there for me, except that after you saw the address and made a note of it, you decided it would be more expedient to be found in the drawingroom." "Honestly, Julia, what an imagination you've got! You really are naughty to try and make me a villain in some peculiar melodrama that I don't even begin to understand. Perhaps you'll tell me what the next move is after this, or must I guess?" "I'll tell you," she said quietly. "I'm going to call the police." "On what grounds? That you think - because of some crazy halfbaked game you played as a kid - that I went down to Exton and drove Mary Ennsley out of her mind!" Julia pounced on his words like a viper. "How do you know her name? It's never been in the papers!" He caught his breath sharply and then let it out on a soft sigh. "I read somewhere that your husband was planning to—" "You couldn't have done!" she interrupted. "Mary Ennsley's name has never been reported in the press. Never!" There was a long pause. Then Conrad tossed his cigarette into the fire and turned his face to her. "You're a perceptive young woman, Julia. I always knew you were beautiful, but I never gave credit for much brains. I seem to have underestimated you. Quite the little sleuth, aren't you? Your legal-minded husband must have been proud of you when you told him how you'd worked things out." "I haven't told him yet." The instant she said the words she realised her mistake, for a gleam of triumph came into his face.

"Then the only two people who know are you and me?" he said. "That wasn't very clever of you, was it?" "Don't try and frighten me, Conrad." "I'm not trying, my dear. I'm doing it! You're scared, Julia, and you've every right to be! I wanted to marry you the moment I saw you, but in a matter like this - where my personal safety is concerned - I can't - in fact I won't - let sentiment stand in my way." "Are you going to try to make me a mental case too?" "No. You're a different calibre from Mary Ennsley. I've a better idea for you. Farnham knows how unhappy you've been lately, so what could be more natural than for you to decide to make an end of everything? There's a balcony outside your bedroom window, isn't there? I never did like balconies outside upstairs windows - they can be so dangerous, especially if they're narrow ones like yours. And even if suicide were ruled out, an accident could so easily have happened. You know how it is: you come home late at night - want a breath of fresh air - lean a little too far over the railing and ..." He paused, and then added smoothly: "You see, it wouldn't be difficult." Julia's heart was thumping so painfully she could hardly breathe. Where was Nigel? Surely he must have had the message from Sylvia by now? But though she strained her ears to hear him, the house was as silent as the grave. Fear mounted in her. Suppose Nigel didn't believe the urgency of her message? Suppose he thought - as Sylvia had done - that it was merely a ruse to get him to return home? "Please, God," she prayed, "let him come home soon. Soon ... otherwise it'll be too late."

After leaving court, Nigel could not face the prospect of going back to his chambers or returning home. He had obtained an adjournment of the case for two days, but the thought of doing more work on it seemed utterly futile. With Mary Ennsley unable to give evidence against Winster it would take another six months' work to get him convicted. Climbing into his car, he decided to drive out of London. Perhaps in the clean fresh air of the country he would be able to think more clearly. Automatically he drove through the city, heading west to a main stretch of roadway. Gradually streets gave way to green, and he pressed his foot harder on the accelerator. The wind whistled against the bonnet and the hum of the engine vibrated through his body as he sat hunched over the wheel. For nearly an hour he drove with utmost concentration before bringing the car to a standstill in a lonely byroad. Then he lit a cigarette and let himself consider thoughts which he had held at bay for the past twenty-four hours. Since he had accused Julia of betraying Mary Ennsley, he had forced himself not to think of it. It had been comparatively easy to do so while in court, but now that he was relaxed it was impossible. Even now he could see her clearly as she had stood before him last night, her beautiful body rigid, her lovely face pale and incredulous at his accusation. When she had rushed from the room his first instinct had been to run after her and take back all he had said, but blind fury had prevented him, and he had only been able to think of the old woman who had been turned into a tormented creature who might never recover her reason. Throughout the day the thought of returning home and seeing Julia again had filled him with dread, and on an impulse he had decided to call Sylvia, her name seeming like a shining light on a dark horizon. Her delight at hearing from him after a silence of several weeks had been gratifying, and now, knowing she was waiting to see him, he turned the car round and drove back to London. For the moment he

would force himself not to think of Julia. Only when his temper had cooled would he then consider how quickly and quietly he could organise the annulment of their marriage. What a stupid waste of our lives, he thought bitterly, but because of Mary Ennsley there was nothing he could do to prevent it. Sylvia answered the door even as he rang it, greeting him as warmly as though no time had elapsed since he had last visited her. "How wonderful to see you, Nigel." She led him into the sittingroom. "Sit down and I'll get you a drink." Skilfully she mixed a Martini, handed it to him and watched silently as he drained it. "Would you like another?" "No, thanks. I haven't eaten all day, so it mightn't be a good thing." "Poor darling, you must be starving! I'll hurry with dinner." She went out of the room and he heard her moving quickly in the kitchen. There was the rattle of crockery and a muttered exclamation as something clattered to the floor. "Need any help?" he called. "No, thanks, everything's ready." On her final words she came in pushing a trolley, and swiftly set casserole dishes on the exquisitely laid table. "Food's up!" she smiled. "Come and get it!" Not until they were halfway through dinner, when the excellent Osso Bucco and Riesling had had time to take effect on him, did she delicately question the reason for the anxiety that was so obvious in his manner and appearance.

"I don't want to pry," she added quickly, "but there's obviously something worrying you, and if you could talk about it..." "Talking won't help," he answered. "It's over and done with." "Maybe so. But it's still in your mind. Don't you want me to know?" She looked so hurt that he reached out and caught her hand. "Of course I do. I'll tell you after dinner." The meal over, they sat in front of the fire, and with Sylvia's head resting on his shoulder he slowly recounted the events of the past few weeks, explaining details of the case he was working on and how it had led him to uncover a currency fraud on which Scotland Yard had been working fruitlessly for more than a year. "It was just by chance that I found out who was masterminding the whole scheme," he said. "I intended to break it wide open today in court. Unfortunately the witness I was relying on was too ill to appear and I'm not sure whether I'll ever be able to use her even if she recovers." Sylvia moved her head and looked up at him. "Why is that?" "Using a witness who's been in a mental hospital would be excellent fodder for opposing counsel," he said dryly. "Don't tell me you were going to call someone who'd been certified!" she exclaimed. "She hadn't been when I first intended to use her." Nigel's voice was so harsh that Sylvia knew she had only heard half the story, but from the look on his face she decided it would be expedient not to question him any further, and instead she asked the other question uppermost in her mind.

"Who is behind this fraud - or can't you tell me?" He hesitated. "If I do, it's in confidence." "Of course." "It's Conrad Winster." Sylvia was genuinely shocked. "You're joking!" "I'm hardly likely to joke about something so serious. No, my dear, I've irrefutable evidence that he's been the brains behind a vast sharepushing and currency operation that's been going on several years, but my proof hinged on Mary Ennsley's evidence." "I take it she's the woman in the mental hospital." "Yes." Briefly he explained the reason for her first coming to see him, and how in order to give her peace of mind he had sent her to stay with Julia's old nurse in Exton. "But Winster discovered where she was," he said finally, making no explanation how he had done so, "and frightened her so much that she collapsed completely.'' "So that's what Julia meant when she—" Sylvia stopped, but it was too late. "When did you speak to Julia?" Nigel asked sharply. "Earlier today. She rang me up." Knowing there was little love lost between the two women, he continued to probe. "What for?" Sylvia looked down at her hands. She had not had any intention of giving Nigel Julia's message, but now that she had said so much she

knew it was impossible to keep it a secret, and she wondered how best to minimise what Julia had actually said. "Why did Julia ring you up?" Nigel repeated. "She wanted to find out if you were coming here tonight. You know how jealous she is of our friendship." Embarrassed, he said nothing, and Sylvia leaned back against his shoulder and rubbed her hand gently up and down his arm. "It's so wonderful having you here," she whispered. "When you didn't come round these last two weeks I thought you were annoyed with me." "I'm sorry," he said absentmindedly, "but I was so busy I didn't..." He lapsed into silence and Sylvia continued to stroke his arm. "I know that now. But at the time I was upset. Still, it doesn't matter now you're here." Nigel was still only half listening to what Sylvia was saying. Something was nagging at his mind and until he had clarified it he knew he would be unable to relax. Sylvia was the last person in the world Julia would telephone - and certainly not to in order to find out whether he would be there for the evening. No, she had far too much pride for that. If she had spoken to Sylvia, it must have been for another reason. "What did Julia actually say to you when she telephoned?" "I told you - she wanted to know if you were coming here." He pondered that for a moment and then said suddenly: ''Did she want to get in touch with me?"

Sylvia knew it was impossible to lie to such a direct question. "She pretended she did. I'm sure she doesn't really want you for anything, but she can't bear anyone else to..." "What did she say?" he interrupted. "Something about Exton ... as a matter of fact, I jotted it down. I meant to give it to you when you arrived, but I completely forgot." "Let me see it." His voice was sharp, and Sylvia went into the hall and returned with a slip of paper on which she had written Julia's message. As he read it the colour seeped from his face, leaving it waxen. "Why on earth didn't you give me this as soon as I got here?" "I didn't think it was important." "Surely you realised what it meant as soon as I'd told you about the case and my suspicions of Winster?" "I'm afraid I didn't. It's easy for you to put two and two together, darling, but the whole thing seemed so odd to me that I honestly believed Julia was making up some ridiculous story just to get you away from here." "Well, she wasn't." He stood up. "I'd better get back to the house." "But why?" "Because she needs me. Can't you see the fear behind this message?" "There's no fear there," Sylvia said angrily. "There's just jealousy! Don't you know Julia just wants to break us up? If you leave me now you're playing right into her hands."

"Don't be ridiculous!" "You're the one who's ridiculous," she stormed. "Julia calls and you run to her like a lap-dog!" Understanding the reason behind Sylvia's anger, Nigel put his hands on either side of her face. "Please, Sylvia. You're being childish. If you had stopped to think, you would have realised the importance of this message; and now I've heard it, I must get back at once." "If Julia's with Conrad, she doesn't need you. Perhaps she wants you there so that they can get rid of you!" Halfway to the door, Nigel stopped and turned. "What are you getting at?" "You'd see for yourself if you weren't so blind! Julia married you because she hated you - and she still does! What makes you so sure she hasn't known about Conrad all along? You're the only person who has any proof of what he's doing, and they both know you well enough to realise that even if this Miss What's-her-name is in a mental hospital, you won't rest until you've managed to get Conrad convicted." "Are you actually saying Julia and Conrad will try and get rid of me?" Nigel asked quietly. "Yes! For heaven's sake, Nigel, I'm telling you what's in my mind. You can take it or leave it." "I'll leave it." Nigel went into the hall and picked up his coat from the chair. "I don't hold any brief for Julia, but I don't see her as a person who'd commit murder." "She's the daughter of a man who ruined thousands of people in order to line his own pockets. If you think she isn't the same, you're crazy!"

"I don't happen to think she isn't the same. I know she isn't." "Since when? She's a close friend of Conrad's, isn't she? Don't tell me you never suspected she was the one who'd told him where this woman lives?" "I'm afraid I did suspect her," Nigel admitted, "but I can see now how wrong I was." "Why?" "Because I was judging her in the same illogical way she had judged me. I let my anger at the futility of my marriage cloud my judgement about her character. Julia may be bitter against me - she may still want to hurt me, but she wouldn't do so at the expense of harming another woman." He opened the front door, but Sylvia ran ahead of him and barred his way. "Nigel, please, don't go. It's a trap, I feel it in my bones. She knows you've discovered Conrad's a crook and that's why she's pretending to be on your side." "I don't get the point of that remark." "It's obvious. She knows you'll never rest until you finally get him behind bars. That's why she's making a pretence of turning to you." "There's one thing wrong with your argument," Nigel's face was filled with suppressed anger. "Julia knows very well that Mary Ennsley is in a mental hospital and I haven't a dog's chance of getting Winster convicted. Even if Mary Ennsley recovers, Winster's counsel could destroy her evidence just by letting the judge know she had had a nervous breakdown. Anyway, even if I'd managed to get other proof from somewhere Winster will have skipped the country long before then; and there's nothing to stop Julia going with him if she

wants to. So you see, there's no reason for her to help him - except of her own free will." "You're fooled by her just because she's beautiful," Sylvia's voice was shrill. "If she's trying to help you, it's only for one reason - selfsatisfaction - and her determination to get even with me. She knows I love you and—" "Sylvia, don't." Nigel interrupted. "You're speaking without thinking. Tomorrow you'll regret it." "Why should I regret admitting I love you? I've wanted you for years. From the moment Gerald first introduced me to you I knew I'd made a mistake in marrying him. Then when he died and I was free, I hoped you'd realise how I felt. Julia's wrong for you, Nigel." "Whether she is right or wrong is irrelevant. She's in danger and she needs me." As he spoke Nigel pushed Sylvia out of the way and unlocked the door of his car. As he went to climb in Sylvia tried to pull him back. "Don't go! Please don't go." As gently as he could he pushed Sylvia's hand away from him, but she reached out and caught him again. "Stay with me. I need you more than she does. I love you. If it hadn't been for her you'd have married me." "That's not true. I'm fond of you, but I've never been in love with you." "Because you always thought of me as your cousin's wife. You've refused to let yourself think of me as a single woman."

"I'm glad you used the word 'single'," Nigel said, pushing her roughly away and taking his seat in front of the wheel. "Perhaps it might remind you of the fact that I happen to be married." "I hope you won't be married for long! I hope you get back to your house too late. Julia's scared stiff of Conrad and that means she's frightened he'll kill her." Without replying Nigel slid behind the wheel and slammed the door shut. He turned on the ignition and, as he did so, wound down the window. "I'm not going to take any notice of what you just said, Sylvia. You're overwrought." "I'm not, "she flared.'' If you go to Julia and leave me, you needn't come back - ever!" The engine flared into life and Nigel released the clutch. "I don't think I'll want to," he called. "Goodbye."

Alone in the drawing-room with Conrad, Julia was playing for time, forcing herself not to show the fear that was making her throat constrict. "Honestly, Conrad, aren't you being rather melodramatic? Frightening an old woman into losing her wits isn't as easy as trying to fake a murder." "In your case, I don't think so. As I said before, that balcony of yours makes things pretty easy." "I'm not a puppet," she smiled. "I'd put up a fight." "It wouldn't last long." He put his hands in his pockets and rocked gently backwards and forwards on his heels. His face was flushed

and there was an ugliness in his voice she had never noticed before. "I've a great deal at stake, my dear. I've spent more years than I care to remember trying to build up my name and fortune, and I'm not going to have them destroyed because of one interfering man - even though I did happen to be particularly fond of that man's wife." Julia trembled, noticing that Conrad was now speaking in the past tense, as if she were already dead. "Getting rid of me won't stop Nigel doing his best to put you in prison." "Doing his best won't be good enough," Conrad grinned. "With poor old Mary safely incarcerated and with you right out of the way, there'll be no one able to prove anything against me." "That's exactly where you're wrong, Winster!" Conrad looked up with an oath as Nigel came quietly into the room, followed by a police Inspector. "There's somebody apart from my wife and myself who can testify to your guilt. And you won't be able to fake three suicides!" Perspiration beaded Conrad's forehead, and with a sudden movement he moved his hand and disclosed the gleam of a revolver. "I wouldn't use that if I were you," the Inspector said calmly. "But you're not me," came the reply. "That's why you're a cop and I'm a millionaire!" Conrad focused his gaze on Nigel, though the point of his gun was aimed directly at Julia. "Right on cue, weren't you, Farnham? But it won't do you any good. You won't get me!" His voice changed. "Put up your hands - all of you! And don't try any funny business. I'm not fooling. It's a pity you couldn't keep your nose out of my affairs, Farnham. Things were going fine until you

married Julia. But from the moment you met me you set out to show her why I wasn't good enough for her." "Your name came into this present case I'm working on entirely by accident," Nigel said calmly. "I found you listed as a director on the files of a bankrupt company that had once been part of the group which Mary Ennsley worked for. I asked her about it, and her answers made me decide to do some investigating of my own." "It's an action you'll regret, " Conrad grated, and slowly backed to the door, now aiming his gun at Nigel. "Put the gun away and come quietly," the Inspector interposed. "Save your breath," Conrad snapped. "We're not playing cops and robbers! If you want me, you'll have to get me. Move over to the fireplace - all of you!" He motioned with his gun and Nigel and the Inspector stepped back, closer to Julia. "Don't try any heroics, Farnham, I'm a first-class shot, and I'd enjoy finishing you off." "You'll be found wherever you go," Nigel said. Conrad laughed. "But you won't be able to do a thing about it - you can't extradite me from Mexico!" "Conrad, don't!" Julia pleaded, her fear of him vanishing as pity took its place. "No money in the world is worth—" "Save your preaching," he said sharply. "You always were a fool when it came to ethics!" Julia averted her head, disgusted by the cruelty on his face. Her discovery that Conrad was a crook had been as bitter a shock as Nigel's accusation of her the night before. Involuntarily she glanced at Nigel. At least he could no longer believe she had betrayed Mary Ennsley's whereabouts ! For a brief second their eyes met, then he

turned his gaze back to Conrad, his muscles tensing as he did so. Instantly she knew he was preparing to lunge at Conrad, and fear propelled her forward. "Nigel, don't!" she screamed. "He'll shoot!" Heedless of her own danger, aware only that Nigel was leaping into point-blank range of the gun, she threw herself between him and Conrad. A deafening report shattered across the room and an agonising pain pierced her chest. With a cry she stumbled and fell, dimly aware of the Inspector leaping in Conrad's direction. Her vision blurred, everything turning red and then receding swiftly into swirling. black as she sank to the ground. When she opened her eyes again she was lying on the settee and the room was empty save for Nigel, who was bending over her and holding her hand. "Nigel," she gasped. "I didn't..." "Hush," he said quickly. "Don't talk now. The ambulance is on its way." "But I must tell you... it wasn't me... I never..." "I know," he said. "There's no need to tell me." She closed her eyes, aware of a sharp pain as she breathed. Gingerly she lifted her hand and touched it to her bodice. Her fingers came away wet and red and fear made her cry out. "Nigel - I don't want to die!" He bent closer, his face ashen. "You won't die, Julia. You won't!" He caught her hand, his own becoming red with her blood. "You saved my life," he said huskily. "If it hadn't been for you..."

"It was the least I could do." She tried to smile at him, but the effort was too great. Another wave of pain swept over her and his face swam in front of her eyes, advancing and receding, going steadily dimmer until finally it disappeared into blackness and she knew no more.

CHAPTER TEN JULIA awakened to the bareness of a hospital room. She tried to move, but a throb in her shoulder made her stop, and glancing down she saw that the top half of her chest was swathed in bandages. She lay still until the pain had subsided to a dull ache, and was just wondering whether she dared grope for the bell when the door opened and a nurse came in. "So you're awake. How do you feel?" "Awful." Julia was surprised at the thinness of her voice. "My chest hurts." "I'm not surprised. Mr. Rowntree only removed the bullet last night." "You mean I had an operation?" "Of course. But you'll be right as rain in a couple of weeks. Now what about something to eat?" "I couldn't." "I'll bring you a cup of tea anyway." As she turned to go, Julia called her. "Is my - is my husband here?" "Not now. He was here all night, though, and Sister made him go home a couple of hours ago." The answer filled Julia with contentment, and for the rest of the day she dozed fitfully, waking only to be fed an innocuous plate of soup at lunch time and another one later in the afternoon. It was dusk, and the night lamp was on above her head before she awoke sufficiently clear of mind to think about all that had happened.

Even now it seemed incredible that Conrad had been prepared to kill her - the woman he had professed to love! The knowledge that she had once looked upon him as her only friend filled her with horror, and recalling his face as she had last seen it, contorted with rage and hatred, it was almost impossible for her to identify him with the man whom she had trusted for so long. It was ironical that Nigel had been right in his prejudice against him; that he should have disliked and distrusted him long before he had discovered the ugly business with which he was connected. She longed to know if last night's events would have any bearings on the outcome of Nigel's present case, for even without Mary Ennsley's evidence, surely there was now enough verbal proof for Conrad to be stopped from leaving the country - unless he had already managed to escape ! The door creaked softly and she saw Nigel, an enormous bouquet of flowers in his arms, advancing into the room. He dropped the blooms unceremoniously in the sink and came across to the bed. "Hello, Julia, how are you?" His voice was as reserved as ever, though barely audible above the pounding of her heart. "Much better, thank you. My chest hurts, though." "I'm not surprised." He sat down on the chair by the bed, looking at her so 'intently that colour rose to her cheeks. "What happened in court?" she asked breathlessly. "I've been wondering about it all day." "You don't want to be bothered with that now." "But I do!"

"I'd rather talk about something else," he said quietly. "Please," she begged. "I want to know. Did Conrad - did he get away?" "No." He paused and then leaned forward. "But I want to talk about something else first. I've never asked you before because it didn't seem necessary, but now it's important for me to know the truth. Julia, did you love Winster very much?" Julia turned her head away, unwilling for him to see the expression in her eyes. Since the day of their marriage Nigel had never shown one iota of interest in her emotional life, and as long as he had taken it for granted that she was going to marry Conrad there had been no reason for her to lie about her feelings. But now, having been so near to death, she could not bear to utter a deliberate lie. "I've never loved Conrad," she murmured. "Never." "But you pretended you did." She said nothing and still kept her face turned away. "Julia," Nigel's voice was persistent, "why did you want me to believe you loved him?" "It seemed simpler. I would probably have married him anyway even without being in love." "I see." His voice was bleak, and unable to stop herself, she turned and looked at him, surprising an expression of such suffering on his face that her eyes filled with tears. "You don't see," she said quickly. "You don't see at all. I was only going to marry him as an escape. Once we'd - once you'd got the annulment it wouldn't have mattered to me what I did. Marrying Conrad seemed the simplest thing to do."

"But why? You're young and beautiful - you can marry again - a man you love, someone with whom you'll be happy." "I wasn't looking for happiness any more. I was prepared to settle for" - she paused - "for contentment, for peace of mind." "At your age?" he burst out. "Must we talk about it now?" she whispered. "It's all academic anyway." "Getting at the truth is never academic." He caught her hand. "Tell me the truth, Julia. No matter how much it hurts me, tell me the truth." "About what?" "Why you wanted to make me believe you loved Winster. You never said it in so many words - I'll give you that - but you led me to believe it, and I want to know why." She closed her eyes. No matter how much it destroyed her pride, she could not lie. To do so would make a mockery of all she held dear. "I didn't want you to know I regretted my reasons for marrying you." "But you'd already told me you had," he said sharply. "I never said why I regretted them. I let you believe it was because I'd discovered that revenge destroyed the avenger. But it was more than that. Much more." "Tell me," he said. She moistened her lips, finding it difficult to speak. "I thought it would be best for you. I thought you wanted to marry Sylvia."

"Sylvia? But I'd had plenty of opportunity to marry Sylvia long before I met you! Why should I have wanted to marry her afterwards?" "She gave me the impression you did." Nigel's jaw tightened. "I never wanted to marry Sylvia in my life. There's only one woman I ever wanted, and that was you!" "People change," she murmured. "Not always." She stared at him: "What are you—" "I love you," he interrupted "I can't go on pretending. When I thought you were dead I..." He leaned closer, his breath warm on her cheek. "Don't you know you can't stop loving someone just because you want to? I understood why you hated me - there were plenty of times when I hated myself. I'd think of the way I'd destroyed your father and—" "You never said so." "Pride," he said. "We both suffer from it!" "It's wrong." Her voice was shaky but determined. "I'm not going to have pride any more. I would have died last night... but I'm alive, and it's make me realise how stupid it is to pretend. I love you, Nigel. I was too bitter about everything to realise it at the beginning, and by the time I did, it was too late to tell you." "It's never too late to admit you love someone." "In our case, it is. We can't go on, Nigel. We've got to part."

"Why? You're not making sense." She did not answer, and as her eyes filled with tears again she turned her face into the pillow. "Julia," Nigel pleaded, "tell me your reason for saying that. I'm not leaving till I get at the truth. If you love me, why must we part? Are you still afraid that you'll go on remembering what I did to your father?" "No!" she burst out. "Not that." "Then what? In heaven's name, what else is there?" The, silence lengthened and stretched into minutes before she was finally able to utter the one important word. "Children." "Children?" "Yes." She turned and looked at him, her face streaked with tears. "Haven't you thought of that, Nigel? Our children. Don't you think that one day - when they found out who I was - that they'd be ashamed of me - the daughter of a criminal?" "So that's it! Of all the stupid ..." He went to touch her and then stopped. "You must have been mad. Even when you told me who you were it didn't stop me loving you. Had you forgotten that?" "Of course not. But when a man wants a woman he doesn't think of the future." "Passion and lust blinding out reason, I suppose?" he questioned. She nodded, and he gave a short, mirthless laugh. "You do have a blighted idea of what love means to me!" He pushed back his chair

and went to stand by the window, his voice so low when he spoke that she had difficulty in hearing it. "When you told me why you'd married me - who your father was - I still believed that given enough time you'd realise that vengeance wouldn't achieve anything. I was convinced you loved me, and I was prepared to wait until you found out for yourself. It took several months for me to realise that what I'd done to your father would always come between us." "No!" she said quickly. "That wasn't true." "I saw the hatred in your eyes when you looked at me," Nigel went on speaking as if he had not heard her interruption, "and to make a life with you, I'd have to do one of two things - either prove to you that your father was guilty, or prove to myself that he wasn't! That's when I started going back through all my files. I started to visit people in the City - so many that I lost count. I even went down to your old home and spoke to men and women in the village." "What for?" "To get a picture of the sort of man your father was. I only knew him as someone I'd convicted. I never saw him in any other way until I started talking to the people who'd known him all their lives. That's when I became confused. The man I'd believed guilty wasn't the man who'd lived all his life in Lammerton. The two characters didn't fit together." Nigel half turned and then stopped, still not looking at her. "Mind you, a man can have a split personality. He can be a crook and can still be a marvellous husband. I kept telling myself that was the case with your father that he'd been two different men. Yet I couldn't convince myself. So I went on searching for evidence. Finally it led me to Winster. But

when I went to the police and set out my case they needed more proof." "I hate the word proof!" she said bitterly. "Don't underestimate it," he replied. "It saves a lot of men going to the gallows." "It also convicted my father!" Nigel sighed. "I'm afraid it did. But there was so much evidence against him at the time. Everything pointed to his guilt." There was a pause. "Anyway, to get back to what I was saying. My meeting with Mary Ennsley provided the missing link." "In what way?" "It proved that a great deal of what I personally believed in happened to be true. There wasn't enough in actual documentation, though most of it was based on Mary Ennsley's word. I was banking on the hope that once I got her into the witness box on this present case of mine, I'd lead her on to disclosing what she knew about Winster." "Wouldn't it have been stopped as irrelevant evidence?" Julia asked. Nigel turned, a half smile tilting the corners of his mouth. "You've been watching too many Perry Masons! No, Julia, putting her in the box was my best way of bringing Winster's activities into the open. And once those facts had been said in court, the fraud squad would have had to act." "And now it's too late," Julia whispered. "On the contrary. When he was talking to you, Winster was very frank about his activities."

Nigel moved away from the bed and sat in the chair. "He made a full confession," he went on quietly, "and completely exonerated your father." They were words Julia had never expected to hear, and momentarily they made no sense. Then tears coursed down her cheeks. "I can't believe it . . . if only he were still alive." "You can't wish it more than I do," Nigel said simply. "Being able to prove your father's innocence has given me more satisfaction than anything I've done in my life." He leaned closer. "You do believe that, don't you, Julia?" "Yes." The look in his eyes was so intense, so full of emotion, that she was fearful of reading more into it than was there, and nervously playing for time, she reverted to Conrad's behaviour. "What happened after he fired at me?" "He ran out of the house. I was busy looking after you - that was all I cared about - and he was too fast for the Inspector. But he got the number of Winster's car and put out a police call. A patrol car caught up with him on the M1, but he refused to stop. They cut in on him and he swerved to avoid them and - and crashed." Julia looked down at the blanket, visualising the scene and knowing instantly what had happened. "He's dead, isn't he?" "Yes. I wasn't going to tell you, but—" "I'm glad you did. I've got no pity for him. When I think of what he did to my father ... how he fooled me . .. pretended to love me." "I think he did love you."

"But not enough to stop him from trying to kill me!" She shivered." He would have done, if you hadn't arrived." She was unable to continue and Nigel seemed content for the silence to remain. He took out his cigarette case, but realising where he was, quickly put it back in his pocket. Then he stood up again and prowled round the room. "What's going to happen to us?" he asked abruptly. "Do we have a future together or don't we?" "Do you need me to give you the answer?" she asked, and tentatively, wincing with pain, held out her hand towards him. "I knew that I loved you from the night we gave our first dinner party." "Why didn't you tell me then?" "Pride. I felt you were attracted to Sylvia - that you didn't really care for me. Then when I began to feel you were still ..." She stopped and he came over and caught her hand. "Go on, Julia. I want to know everything." "You do already. I'd made up my mind to tell you how I felt when Sylvia - when she said that if we had any children..." He caught his breath on an exclamation, and with an effort refrained from saying what he felt. "Let's not talk about her. We've so much to make up for - so many wasted months . . ." His mouth brushed hers and he instantly drew back. "I mustn't do that. I love you so much that. .." She pulled him close again, ignoring the pain of the movement. "Stay next to me, Nigel, don't go away." Colour warmed her cheeks, but she felt no sense of embarrassment as she said: "I love you so much, my dearest. I want to be yours completely - in every way."

"You will be," he whispered, and once more put his lips on hers. "A few weeks won't matter, sweetheart - not when we've all our lives ahead.'' "Our lives ahead," Julia echoed, and knew at last that she had a future to look forward to.