NO ORCHIDS BY REQUEST

Essie Summers

After Stephen had let her down, it was certainly a fillip to Elizabeth Stirling's ego to have the attractive Jeremy Ffoulkes paying court to her. But Jeremy had a wild past and a background of a broken marriage. Was he any more trustworthy than Stephen had been?

CHAPTER ONE

ELIZABETH STIRLING looked squarely at Jeremy Ffoulkes.

"Are you not the type to take 'no' for an answer?" she demanded.

"Of course not. Would you admire me if I was ?"

Elizabeth knew that when Mr. Ffoulkes was virtually her employer, it was foolish to answer as she did, but she couldn't resist it.

"As a matte of fact I don't admire you in any case!"

Unexpectedly the man in front of her laughed.

He said, his tawny brown eyes dancing, "I do like a woman expert in the art of answering back!"

Elizabeth's brows rose, a shrewd gleam came into her eye, -

"I think that what you really mean is that you don't like a woman to fall into your lap like a ripe plum. There are men like that. Had I gone out with you the first time you'd asked me, possibly you'd have lost interest. Instead, you're piqued."

He leaned his elbows on his desk, put his fingertips together, regarded her searchingly. "My interest and my curiosity are piqued, Elizabeth Stirling, but not for the reason you gave. They're piqued because you're so different from what I'd imagined you'd be."

She looked a question at him. He continued: "When I was assistant editor of the Bay of Plenty Sketch, I thought I'd come to know you extremely well through your weekly article for us. I find you quite different... disturbingly different. I took you for a sincere, kind, forthright person. I didn't think you'd be as conventionally evasive as the rest of them... playing hard to get."

Now her cheeks really did flame. "Mr. Ffoulkes, this is getting us nowhere. It simply doesn't apply. You must be conceited as well as-"

"As well as what?" he said as she stopped short. His tone held polite interest, no more.

"As well as a lot of other things I don't care for. I'm not playing hard to get. Can you get that into your th - into your head? I want to remain on nothing but business terms with you. And if you really didn't want me for anything important, I'll get back to my office."

He snapped: "Sit down ... sit down, Elizabeth." His eyes looked faintly menacing, and to her annoyance she obeyed him.

She lifted her chin, said: "The name is Miss Stirling."

"My predecessor always called you Elizabeth."

"Your predecessor was twice your age, and besides, I liked and respected him. He was more than my employer. He was my friend."

Again the audacious gleam in the tawny eyes. "Exactly. And I, too, aim to be more than just your employer."

The blue eyes held a spark just as fiery. "But it isn't friendship , you're after."

"Good. You've got -the message. Though I hope friendship will be part of it."

"I doubt it. We have nothing in common."

Now there was something in his eyes she found unreadable. "You're quite wrong, Elizabeth. I know - through your articles over the last four years-that we have much in common. How about you giving yourself a chance to know me better?"

"I've no ambition to know you better, Mr. Ffoulkes." She rose again, then made up her mind to treat it more lightly and added: "It's amazing... if I were a glamorous blonde instead of just mousey," her hand came up to rumple her short hair disparagingly, "I could understand it."

He rose too, said: "Good heavens! Who on earth's responsible for such an inferiority complex? I'd never have suspected it."

She looked at him simply, and said, "Who was responsible? Someone exactly your type. That's why I don't like you. I may sound confident in print. . . perhaps the only time I'm really confident is at my typewriter.., now, please? Let's have an end to this." '

She turned to go. He came quickly round his desk, tall, broad- shouldered, well-dressed. Elizabeth retreated hastily to the door.

The phone on his desk rang. He muttered something, leaned back, lifted the receiver, said, "Ffoulkes here... just one moment."

His hand came to cover the mouthpiece. "Wait, Elizabeth," he said, and his tone was more peremptory than any she had ever heard even from Mr. Longshaft. It halted her. Now what?

He said back into the phone, "Yes, she is here," then, "It's for you, Miss Stirling."

"I'll take it in my own office, thank you."

"You'll take it here. I haven't finished with you."

He held it out to her. Elizabeth bit her lip. She hoped someone needed her instantly, in some remote part of the Canterbury Argus.

Her next-door neighbour's voice came to her. "I'm afraid your stepmother isn't at all well, Elizabeth. She called me. I think it seems

to be her heart." The voice dropped to a whisper. "I think it seems genuine this time. Anyway, I've put her to bed. It seems she's known for a little while but says she didn't want to worry you. But with your Cousin Louisa away I thought I should call you. Any chance of your coming home?"

"Yes, I think so, Mrs. Brougham. I'm not really frantically busy at the moment" - her gaze flickered to her editor's watching her, and standing closer than she liked. "Just a moment."

She put a hand over the mouthpiece. "Mr. Ffoulkes, my stepmother appears to have had a heart turn. May I go home? I've finished the-"

"Yes, of course. I'll run you home myself."

Elizabeth said into the phone, "I'll be there in less than a quartet of an hour."

She replaced the receiver, said, "There's no need to take me, Mr. Ffoulkes, thank you all the same."

He said impatiently, "Oh, don't be so ridiculous. I know perfectly well you haven't got your car today, and mine's down here in the staff car-park. It will be quicker."

"I was going to take a taxi."

"You're using the right tense. You were. Now, as it happens, I'm taking you."

Five minutes later they were driving round Cathedral Square into Colombo Street and heading for Cashmere Hills.

This was the select area of Christchurch, overlooking the Canterbury plains, well above the occasional smogs of the flat city. Living in the flat suburbs had not agreed with Maida, but it was an expensive part

to live in and a little beyond their means. Certainly Elizabeth had a good salary, better than most girls her age, but if it had not been for her free-lance articles and short stories they could not have maintained this style.

Of course now that she was becoming established as a novelist the situation ought to improve. As long as her book advances didn't get swallowed up each time. The first one had gone on putting in a wall of windows in Maida's bedroom so that she got the early sun as well as the afternoon sun. Of course Maida had had an attack of bronchitis.

"I beg your pardon?" she said to her editor at that moment.

"I asked you was your stepmother delicate?"

She hesitated. "She-she hasn't, till now, been really delicate. She's just... well, not robust."

She certainly wasn't going to tell Mr. Ffoulkes that Maida had turned, after Father's death, into a malade imaginaire. One did not confide in a man one wanted to keep at arm's length. Doctor Chester had been blunt. "It's psychological, Elizabeth, you'd better watch it. Don't let it grow on her. If your father had still been alive for her to lean on, it wouldn't have happened. She's a clinging vine. Possessive too. Don't be too soft with her. Don't let her run you ragged."

With the best of intentions he'd been equally blunt with Maida, with the result that she had been mortally offended and engaged another doctor.

Elizabeth said now, "From what my neighbour said she's known a little time that her heart wasn't too good, but hadn't said."

"H'm. I think that's a mistake, myself I like candour " He grinned. "In all things. No, don't worry. I'm not starting that up again. Not the time to do it. But I've always thought families should face things together. Anyway, with care, heart subjects can make out fairly well. If you'd like two or three days off, please feel free to take them, Elizabeth."

That put her into the position of having to thank him. It made her feel more disgruntled than ever.

He drove up to the door, and after asking if he could help, took her refusal quite graciously and drove away.

Elizabeth entered the house with mixed feelings. If Maida was really ill, she was going to feel horribly guilty.

They had almost quarrelled last night. Maida had said with her air of sweet reasonableness that always had the effect of making Elizabeth feel harsh, "It seems so wonderful to me, Elizabeth, that just when we needed money most, you should begin to make a success of your writing."

Elizabeth had known a tremor of unease, a familiar sensation of late years.

"Yes, Maida?"

"And all the more wonderful, dear, that you should be so like your father, so strong and selfless, always thinking of others."

Elizabeth realized that this time she must get in first.

She said swiftly, "Maida, if you've any ideas about the spending of my next advance, I must tell you I've plans of my own."

Maida had looked at her as a child might, deprived of a treat, then, swiftly, with a change of expression, said, "Oh dear, Elizabeth, have I anticipated? Have I taken away from you die pleasure of giving me a surprise? Have you already planned a special trip for me?"

Elizabeth had swallowed. "I've already planned a little trip for myself. I'm taking a conducted tour round the North Island, Good opportunity to study characters in relation to New Zealand scenery. You had your trip last year, Maida."

Maida's look had been pathetic. "But - but, Elizabeth, you've all the rest of your life, dear. Not like me. When I was young and could have travelled, I was tied down with two children not my own. Your father always promised me we'd take a trip to Europe some day. But... he died. Though it's not really a travel jaunt I'm thinking about, but my health. And it would be so cheap. It's a pity to miss the chance. You remember how much good that winter in Queensland did Mrs. Leighton's bronchitis? I thought even a month there would be wonderful. Coming just after Doctor Fullingham saying I really needed to spend at least the worst of the winter in the North... he suggested Bay of Islands or Tauranga... I thought it definitely a leading."

Elizabeth had said shortly: "Then your leading has taken you astray. I turned your room into a sun-room with my first book - honestly, Maida, I just can't part with the rewards for the second. We just aren't in the position for you to count on spending the winter away from Christchurch every year. Few people could."

Maida had looked stricken. "Elizabeth, you don't sound like yourself. You've always been so willing, so eager to help. It's always seemed so wonderful to me, something that made up to me a little for all I did for you and Josie, compensated for not having any children of my own."

Elizabeth's tone had been desperate. "But, Maida, I must have some life of my own. You must try to understand. You know if I should get married, like Josie, you wouldn't even be able to continue living up here. You'd have to be content with a flat in town."

Then Maida had said the unforgivable. "But, Elizabeth, do you really think you're likely to marry - now ?"

Elizabeth's sense of humour came to her rescue. "Maida, these days a girl isn't on the shelf at twenty-five!"

For a moment Maida had stopped being hurt and helpless and something quite feline had flashed into her eyes. "Yes... but are you the marrying type, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth bit back what she'd like to have said. To have told Maida hotly that had it not been for her stepmother, Stephen might have valued herself more . . . that he'd been wax in Maida's clever hands. That Maida had disparaged Elizabeth constantly, had hinted to him that Elizabeth was the bossy, managing type, unwomanly, that she despised fripperies, was lacking in the feminine graces, that she was wedded to a career.

She'd like to have told Maida she knew why she'd done it...

because she didn't want to have to live solely on her husband's superannuation, that she'd have had to cut down on her bridge parties, her petty gambling, her lovely clothes 1 But she hated this bickering.

And Maida, taking advantage of Elizabeth's silence, had added: "I know what your real idea is ... you think that on a trip like that you'll meet some eligible males. Really, Elizabeth, now naive can you get? Those conducted tours are usually full of desperate spinsters and near-senile couples!"

Elizabeth's steady, contemptuous gaze had disconcerted Maida a little. "I find that rather vulgar, Maida. A certain amount of travelling round is necessary for a writer. I want to prove to myself that I can make a living with my pen. I think by the time I get another book written I should be able to resign from newspaper work and keep myself, even if it means managing on a shoestring at first." Her face softened a little. "Maida, would it really be so hard? You've had .four years to adjust yourself to being without Father. Some women older than you are working. Or, if I took a flat in town and you wanted to keep this on, couldn't you take in boarders?"

But it had been no go. Maida had become hysterically tearful. Elizabeth hadn't wanted to force a real quarrel. It had ended in Elizabeth taking Maida to the theatre to take her mind off it,, then Elizabeth had lain awake half the night wondering if she had been cruel. Knowing that some people were clinging vines, that they just didn't have the stamina to stand on their own feet, could make one feel a brute.

Now Elizabeth climbed the stone steps to the porch, wreathed with the bare boughs of the wistaria, and knew a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. More and more responsibilities were about to twine themselves about her life....

Maida was lying quite flat in her bed, looking frail and interesting. Mrs. Brougham had made her a cup of tea, cut some wafer- thin sandwiches, and was sitting beside her.

Maida smiled bravely. "I'd hoped you wouldn't have to know, Elizabeth. I'd made up my mind I wouldn't tell anyone about it. I was just going to try to take things easy without piling anything extra on to anyone. Even though the doctor did say the cold weather would

restrict my heart and it might get worse, I didn't expect that it would be - quite as bad - so soon."

She drew in a deep breath, gasping a little, said, "Of course with Cousin Louisa staying away so long, and you at work, I had to go down the hill for some bread, and that cold wind just seemed to take my .breath. I tried to make it up here, but couldn't - quite - make it. I was clinging to Mrs. Brougham's gatepost when she saw me. I don't know what I'd have done without her." She rewarded the neighbour with a dazzling smile.

Elizabeth managed a grateful smile too, said, "Thank you, Mrs. Brougham. I saw Jenny coming in from school just as I arrived, so we won't keep you."

When she had seen the neighbour away she came back to the bedroom, feeling, for some reason, at a loss.

Maida stretched out a beautifully manicured hand to her.

Elizabeth took it reluctantly.

Maida said, "Darling, I'm so sorry. I know just how you're feeling. But you mustn't, Elizabeth. I'm perfectly, perfectly sure this attack was nothing to do with your being cross with me last night. Nothing at all, you mustn't give it another thought. It was just the cold wind." She smiled wanly. "I shall just wrap up a little more warmly and try to keep out of the colder rooms." She paused, looking expectant.

Elizabeth missed her cue . . . deliberately. This was where she was supposed to say, "Why, Maida, we'll just have to see if we can't manage that Queensland trip after all."

Maida's eyes filled with tears. She turned a little on her pillow as if they embarrassed her. "Elizabeth dear, don't look so stricken. I tell

you I'm quite, quite sure this had nothing to do with that little upset last night. You mustn't take it to heart so much. And honestly, even knowing what I knew .. . about the state of my heart... I'd never have mentioned it but for thinking that now you've finished paying off the mortgage, you clever, clever girl, perhaps I was justified in looking forward to a little more luxury, the sort of thing your father always hoped to give me. But never mind . . . poor darling, he died before he could make that dream of his come true. And I'm sure it wasn't his fault he didn't provide a little more wisely for me."

Elizabeth was stung to words, but not the words Maida expected.

"I don't see what more he could have done, Maida. After all, you hated the farm ... and Dad had to leave it and all it meant to him, just before wool prices soared. And even then you were not content with living on the flat. You had to be in the best suburb, above the town. That meant he had to take on a big mortgage^ and should have retired earlier than he did. Well, you got the home you wanted, and honestly, living tip here, we get all the sun that's going."

Her stepmother looked at her coldly. "Yes, but you're so bursting with energy you naturally don't feel it the way I do. But let's say no more about it.

"The doctor says there isn't any real damage to the heart, not like a thrombosis. But he said that my condition could worsen any time. Now was the time to take care.... I'm afraid I didn't get the washing in, Elizabeth. I suppose with Cousin Louisa away I've overdone things."

Elizabeth said slowly, "Cousin Louisa wasn't looking very well herself. She needed this break. And I rather thought I'd done most of the extra chores,"

Maida's hand came up to her breast. She caught her breath in a fluttery sort of way. "I know, dear. I - I don't think I'll talk for a bit. Go and get yourself a cup of tea. Don't mind me, I'll just lie here."

Elizabeth went out of the room feeling a monster of cruelty. Her knees were trembling. What a day! First of all what practically amounted to quarrelling with her new editor. She just wished he'd stayed up there with his Bay of Plenty newspaper and that she'd never set eyes on him. Much, better to have worked for an older man like old Shanks, irascible and all as he could be at times. She went back into the bedroom. "Maida, when did you see the doctor?"

Maida had been lying with her eyes closed. Elizabeth had to repeat the question. But Maida said, "The day before yesterday, dear. Why?"

Elizabeth evaded that. "Just that I wish you hadn't bottled it up. It might have eased you to talk about it. Don't worry, Maida, we'll just have to make sure you don't overdo."

Elizabeth resolved to see Doctor Fullingham herself, find out how bad it was, what treatment he had advised.

Doctor Fullingham stared at Elizabeth. "You're asking me how bad she is? I've a feeling you're off beam. I've not seen your stepmother since she had that chest cold three weeks ago. She needn't have called me then. What's she up to? She asked me over and over, then, was I sure it wasn't bronchitis, and grossly exaggerated her symptoms. She was patently disappointed when I told her it would be better in a couple of days."

Elizabeth went scarlet. She didn't know this doctor well, but decided she liked him, and told him what had happened.

The doctor shook his head over it. "It's a beggar . . . these women with not enough to do but think themselves invalids! Although this is worse than that. I think you ought to tax her with it, bowl her out. It may not be easy, but you'll make a rod for your own back if you let her get away with this. I'll have a piece of her myself next time she comes to me ... if she ever does."

He stopped, laughed, said: "Ye gods! I've just realized something. She told me about her stepdaughter. Made you sound most mannish. I pictured you about forty... spinsterish... instead of a slim slip of a girl like you."

A little of the chill about Elizabeth's heart thawed. She chuckled. "She wants me to be the prop of her declining years. Well, I must disabuse her mind of that idea. And I will."

"Good for you," said the doctor, slapping her on the back as she turned to go. "Wish I could be there. I could bet a dollar she never, visits me again. Don't pull any punches. Tell her straight out you came to me. Her heart's as sound as yours. I ought to know. The times I've given her a thorough check-up! Good luck to you."

She left him still chuckling. But for all her determination she drove right round the foot of the hills to Heathcote, back up Ferry Road and along Colombo Street again before she could- bring herself to go home.

Maida was listening to some music. She looked up pathetically. "I really didn't feel up to watching television in the other room tonight, Elizabeth. I was thinking, though, that if I have a rest a good deal of the winter... bed's the best place to keep warm, isn't it... that we might have the television set up in here. After all, you spend most of your time in your own room with your typewriter, and Louisa could come in here if there was anything she wanted to see."

Elizabeth, knees knocking, walked across to the radio and switched it off. Her eyes met Maida's fairly and squarely. "No, we won't be installing the television in here, Maida. In fact we won't be doing one darned thing that's going to run me into more expense. You won't be spending the winter in Queensland or Tauranga ... or in bed! And you can jolly well pull your weight in the house too. Cousin Louisa's arthritis is a lot more painful than your mythical heart trouble!"

Maida's pale blue eyes widened, she gasped, said, "My - my mythical heart trouble! Elizabeth;, how can you - "

"How can I? Very easily, I assure you. I have it on the best authority... Doctor Fullingham's! I went to see him to ask how serious it was. He's furious. It makes me wonder just how often you've got your own way through the years, Maida, by sheer pretence. I've had it.

"You'd better make up your mind to turn over a new leaf. You've already hinted to me that now I've paid off the last of the mortgage I might be able to let you have a little more for clothes. I won't. You've got enough ... if you didn't fritter it away on bridge and horses. And that's that!"

CHAPTER TWO

FORTUNATELY, with Cousin Louisa coming back on the overnight steamer ferry from the North Island, there was no awkward tete-a-tete breakfast next morning.

Elizabeth rose at six and, with a curious sense of freedom, called to Maida from her bedroom doorway, "I'll just have a cup of tea and some toast, Maida, and get away to Port. Louisa will probably want a bigger breakfast than usual. Will you have it ready?"

She chuckled to herself as she went down to the garage. Maida wouldn't dare refuse, dared not concoct a headache, complain of insomnia. Normally, Elizabeth would have made time to have taken her a cup of tea. But she wasn't going to be a hypocrite. No good flying a flag of defiance at night and hauling it down come morning.

One thing, now the Tunnel Road was through to Lyttelton, and you didn't have to go down to Sumner and over Evan's Pass, it was almost as easy to meet the ship as to meet the boat train at Christchurch Station.

The harbour waters were as still as a sheet of polished steel, gulls wheeling above the ship coming slowly in to berth, their wings silver in the sunlight.

New Zealand was very much a maritime nation ... with the land split into two main islands, few Kiwis could be called landlubbers. And shipboard life was still exciting, even if for only twelve hours at a stretch.

Ah, there was Cousin Louisa at the railing, waving, rosy-faced, comfortably plump, giving Elizabeth her customary sense of security.

It wasn't till they .were through the hills again that Louisa asked, "And how is Maida? Still trying to persuade herself - and us - that every cold is bronchitis ?"

Elizabeth drew in to the side of the road and told her.

Cousin Louisa's resultant chuckle suddenly made Elizabeth see the whole thing in its right perspective ... as simply comical.

"Well, praise the saints she's clean bowled at last! She simply can't now put anything more over us. You'll find her different to deal with now, mark my words. Time she did get her come-uppance. If it hadn't been for you, I'd have got out long since."

Elizabeth looked anxious. "Louisa, we mustn't impose on you. The time is coming when you should be able to take a flat near your married children, especially now they're both in Auckland."

Elizabeth meant it, but Louisa shook her head. "Plenty of time yet. I've aye thought it best for young ones to be at least a hundred miles away from any in-laws when they're first married. They learn their new loyalty that way. The time's not ripe. I'll see you out of the nest first."

"What exactly do you mean by that, Louisa? Marriage? Because I'm not particularly keen on marriage at the moment."

Louisa chuckled. "You'll get over that, girl. We all do. But I didn't mean that particularly. If you really want a career you need a place of your own. You ought to travel. It's not as if Maida will ever shoulder her share of the chores while you're around. Maida's no age - she's years younger than I am. It wouldn't do her any harm to get a job - only of course she's bone- lazy!"

"Then you wouldn't think me heartless if I did get a flat of my own?"

"Not a bit. Maida could get a flat too. The house would fetch a good price and give her an income if invested. Never do to let her have the capital. She'd fritter and gamble it away. But mind, no high-falutin' notions of letting her have the lot. You take back what you paid off the mortgage... and all the repairs. Your dad let Josie take her share in buying them a section. Do it through the lawyer and see you get what's due to you."

Louisa continued: "Then you'd be able to devote all your spare time to writing. Really, I'm glad Maida put her foot in it like this. Live your own life, Elizabeth, and then you won't have that abominable woman belittling you in front of your young men.

"I can hear her at the telephone now. 'Yes, I'll call my stepdaughter. It may take a moment or two. She'll have to take her boots off. She's digging the garden for me.' Boots! As if you'd ever worn them! Even ridiculous little things like saying she was afraid of mice. 'But not Elizabeth... she has no nerves at all She can set traps and remove the mice without turning a hair.' Everything to de-feminize you. And it was doubly clever . . . enough to make any young man think twice before saddling himself with a helpless stepmother as well as a wife. How wonderful to think that this time she went too far. A bad heart! I must tell her she'd better be careful. Ironic if she did develop one and we wouldn't believe her."

Elizabeth said hastily, "We - we mustn't rub it in. She must feel terrible about it."

Louisa snorted. "Aye, that she will and all. But not remorse... merely chagrin at being found out."

Elizabeth said anxiously, "But you won't be too hard on her, Louisa, will you? I mean - "

"I ken fine what you mean as sure as my name's Louisa Stirling. You mean having given her a fright we'll slip back into treating her as always. You've a heart of butter, Elizabeth. It'll be your undoing one of these days. The only time you ever stick up for yourself is when you lose your temper, and you lose it so seldom, more's the pity. Well, let's get home and get cracking. Think out your future plans carefully, but do act upon them. I dislike family rows as much as the next one, but there's no virtue in letting people trample on you ... though that's scarcely the way to describe Maida. She'd more likely strangle you, the clinging vine that she is!"

It wasn't till she got to the Argus building that Elizabeth realized her editor was bound to ask how her stepmother was and it would' be awkward answering, She'd better start thinking about what she could say. But she didn't have time. Some work had piled up on her desk and most of it was urgent. She sat down to it.

She'd just finished the last of the urgent stuff and sent the copy to the typesetters when the office-boy appeared.

"The chief wants you immediately. Miss Stirling."

Elizabeth felt slightly apprehensive. This man was such an unknown quantity and they had got on to such unorthodox terms so soon. Pity he'd not been like old Shanks, happily married, with a family, a man of fine integrity, even if he had a crusty exterior.

Just as well to have been forewarned, even if at the rime she'd felt distaste for the relish with which Millicent Dorset had recounted all she had gleaned from her holiday in the Bay of Plenty before Jeremy Ffoulkes had arrived at the Argus.

Not that there was any real malice in Millicent, but she always passed on gossip with great gusto.

"He's a real lad ... bit of a heart-throb. In fact handsome enough to make anyone's pulses race. Pity, isn't it, that these handsome chaps always get spoiled? He's a great one for the girls and the girls really fall for him... Oh yes, he's married... at least he was. His marriage broke up. It seems he played fast and loose with twin sisters. Couldn't make up his mind which one he wanted for keeps. He married one, having broken the other one's heart, and then proceeded to break his wife's."

Elizabeth hadn't waited to hear more. But she thought it was a pity for the Argus to have a man like that as its editorial head.

She tapped on his door, was bidden to enter. He was standing looking down into the busy square below his window, where the traffic streamed ceaselessly about the green oasis of the cathedral precincts. He was undeniably good-looking. He ought to have looked dissipated, but didn't. His hair, dark brown with a hint of copper, was crisp, his eyes clear, his brow smooth, his skin tanned as if he spent his spare time out of doors. Yet his mouth told a story... but what? It looked slightly older than the rest of his face. Perhaps the life he lived was beginning to show in it. It did sooner or later.

He waved her to a seat, said good morning, then very sharply, aware of her analytical scrutiny, "What are you looking at?"

Elizabeth felt her colour rise. She could, hardly say: "At your mouth." She said quickly: "At the window behind you."

He turned, could see nothing but sky from that angle and said, "Why?"

At that moment Elizabeth heard, high above the city's din, the mew of a seagull. She said firmly: "I thought it was Egbert mistaking his window."

He stared. "Egbert? Who - oh, I get it, you mean the subs' seagull?"

The Argus had a tame seagull that had been coming to the subeditors' window-ledge for crumbs for a couple of years or more. Elizabeth knew a wave of gratitude towards Egbert.

She sat down, said, "Yes, sir, what was it you wanted me for?"

His mouth twitched. She realized she had accented the "sir" just a little too much.

He said smoothly, "I hadn't expected you in today. How is your stepmother?"

Elizabeth didn't know afterwards what got into her. She said, with a chuckle, "She's very much recovered, Mr. Ffoulkes, thank you. It was all a put-up job, intended to prise out of me the advance on my next book so she could have a month in Queensland."

"What? Does she often do that sort of thing?"

"Yes. Every cold is pleurisy or bronchitis. That got her up to Bay of Islands the other year for most of the winter. Anyway, I slipped off to see her doctor last night. He said it was all poppycock. So I owe you an apology, sir. I took you away from the paper on false pretences."

He made an impatient gesture. "That doesn't matter in the slightest. Has she always been like this?"

"Only since my father died. It's - well, not easy to cope with - but I won't waste your time on my domestic affairs. Mr.

Ffoulkes, we can work things out. What did you want me for?"

"Just that. I was concerned about you. In fact I'm none the less concerned now."

Elizabeth recognized that for what it was ... the thin edge of the wedge.

She rose. "Well, thank you for that kindly inquiry, Mr. Ffoulkes. I'll get back to my office, and I'm sure you won't have to bother about me or my stepmother again."

He rose too. "Not so fast, Elizabeth Stirling."

He strode to the door, looked into the outer office, said, "See that I'm not disturbed, Miss Stevenson, till I let you know. Unless it's really urgent. Thank you."

Elizabeth regarded him balefully, not trying to disguise it.

He laughed. "I think it's time you and I had a discussion."

Her eyes were wary. "Business or personal?"

"Everything of the most personal, of course."

He had the most audacious eyes. Elizabeth had to check an answering gleam and said severely, "There's no 'of course', Mr. Ffoulkes. I think I must make it plain to you, once and for all, that I prefer to be on the same terms with you that I was on with Mr. Longshaft."

He still smiled. "It can't be done. I've a feeling our lives are already inextricably entangled."

Elizabeth's tone had an edge to it. "You pick your words well. I daresay you're used to... er... entanglements. But that takes two, and I want nothing to do with you."

"I think you'd be wise to reconsider that."

Her head came up and a spark appeared in her blue eyes. "Do I understand you're threatening me, Mr. Ffoulkes ?"

"Threatening you? What on earth - ?"

"Threatening me that I might lose my job! Because let me tell you, that fond as I am of my job here and all it's meant - till now - I'd walk out this moment if I felt that keeping it depended upon favours from you! After all, I'm considering giving it up and keeping myself with my pen. I'm not dependent upon the Argus... and what's more it would give me the chance to write my novels when my brain's not tired out after a day's work here, interviewing people I don't care tuppence about more often than not!"

He leaned across his desk and thrust his chin out. "Be quiet, Elizabeth Stirling! How dare you think I'd do a thing like that! It's an insult. Let me say this: I'm not threatening you with anything save persistence in getting my own way about taking you out. You'd not think much of me if I gave up easily. Good heavens, girl, if I dismissed you here and now, what the devil do you think the company would say? They employ you, not me. And your page is one of the most popular in the Argus. How dare you think I was holding my position over you? I can't see you except in working hours - but this interview was not a business one - if you'd give me a chance to see you outside the firm you wouldn't think such things. Why don't you give yourself the opportunity to see if you'd like me better away from the paper? Afraid?"

Elizabeth spoke, between her teeth. "No, not afraid, only uninterested."

"Well, why not give me the satisfaction of being on trial?"

"No."

"Why not? What is there in going out with a man once or twice before giving him the complete brush-off? You've nothing against me, have you?"

Elizabeth's eyes were suddenly as much green as blue. "Yes, I have," she said.

She was glad to see him set back for once, but he rallied immediately.

"Such as what, Elizabeth Stirling?"

"The fact that you're a divorced man."

She could have sworn he whitened momentarily under the tan, but he said slowly, "You know, I wouldn't have thought you were the black-and-white type."

She looked completely puzzled.

He saw it, said, "There are people for whom black is black and white is white and there are no in-between shades, no greys. I don't particularly admire them. They're intolerant."

She said, "I don't want you to admire me." She went to get up.

He was round the desk in a flash, grasped her wrist. "Perhaps I have some explaining to do. That's what I was hoping for if you would just give me the opportunity . . . away from the office."

She shook her head. "It's no go. I'm not an impressionable girl of nineteen or so, you know, eager to lap up the old, old tale of how your wife didn't understand you. It could be she tinder- stands you all too well.. . and is far happier away from you."

She couldn't understand the swift expression that crossed his face. He started to speak, changed his mind, evidently, then said: "I see. You mean that if, for instance, I was a widower, you'd have no objections to coming out with me?"

Elizabeth felt a relief come over her. It looked as if he would accept that.

She nodded. "Of course. To me, that would be a completely different situation."

He said coolly, still holding her wrist in a grip that hurt, "Then I'll hold you to that. I am a widower. My wife was killed four years ago."

Elizabeth had nothing to say.

He said, in a perfectly ordinary tone, "You can't have seen this company do Othello, at the Theatre Royal. It's a first night. And I know you love Shakespeare. Have you anything on tonight ?"

She shook her head.

"Then I'll call for you at quarter past seven. It's early, but it takes time to get parking these nights. Besides which, it will give us time to talk things out."

She shook her head again. "No, thanks. There's nothing to talk out. Besides, I'd rather you didn't come to the house. I'H - I'll meet you."

His brows twitched together. "What a thing to suggest! Of course I'll call for you." His eyes crinkled at the corners. "I've an ambition to meet this Maida... any reason why I shouldn't?"

Elizabeth was acutely conscious that Barbara Stevenson would" naturally be wondering what was going on. She just couldn't start explaining here. Besides, he'd only get his own way in the end. What a man! You just couldn't think out a move ahead of him.

The buzzer on his desk sounded. Thank heaven. It must be urgent or Barbara wouldn't have put it through. She said quickly, "I did have a reason why I'd rather you didn't. But never mind. Perhaps it was a stupid one. I - I'll just go."

Mercifully he let her. He lifted the receiver off his phone, and nodded to her as she left, in a most hatefully nonchalant fashion that she resented all the more because she couldn't feel in the least nonchalant about it herself.

She realized her legs were shaky and her colour high and would be remarked upon.

As she went through the outer office she said with a grimace, "Phew, thank goodness that's over! Our new editor's worse than old Shanks, don'; you think?"

Barbara looked up from her file, her eyes wide. "Go on! You really don't think so, do you? I find him a great guy!"

Elizabeth escaped. As long as Barbara thought she'd been can the carpet, there'd be no talk from that quarter.

Elizabeth's colour and tumult were just beginning to subside when the house telephone rang. Jeremy Ffoulkes again. "I'm taking you out

to lunch. Don't bother thinking up any excuses. This is to give you a chance of meeting me on neutral ground. Not as editor and article writer, but as girl and man."

Elizabeth said coldly, "It's not in the least necessary. I don't want to hear the story of your life... as told by you. I'm a great believer in two sides to everything, including broken marriages."

She heard him draw in his breath and felt she'd scored off him at last. But he said, pleasantly enough, though she thought there was leashed anger beneath it, "You're off beam. I merely want to find out a little bit about you. I'll call for you at twelve."

"No," said Elizabeth hurriedly. "I'll meet you by the Godley Statue."

"Why? You've got quite a thin® about not being called £br, haven't you? Why shouldn't I call at your office?"

"You ought to have the sense to know why. Because this place - like all places of business - is a hotbed of gossip. It would be all over the place before the paper went to bed."

"What does it matter? It's not a clandestine affair. See you at noon."

He put the receiver down. Elizabeth stared crossly at the phone. She'd just have to acquiesce. If ever a man was determined to have his own way, it was this new editor.

He was very blatant about it. He stood at her door, leaning against the jamb, in full view of everyone in the outer office and the corridor. "Hurry up, Elizabeth. I'm quite sure that can wait. The machines are off. I didn't manage to get a table at the Jesmond Dene, but they said if we were prompt and there was a cancellation, we could have it."

Elizabeth was uncomfortably aware of the younger staff staring and of looks being exchanged behind Jeremy's back. She guessed

everyone knew he was a widower. But for that, it might have seemed a business lunch. She got up. Heaven knew what he'd say if she nettled him by dallying. He was just the type she most detested - the arrogant male, confident, wilful. The sort of man who enjoyed the pursuit, then tired. Not a marrying type at all. That Was probably why his marriage flopped. But she couldn't go on fighting him in the Argus building.

At the Jesmond the receptionist said to Mr. Ffoulkes, "If you'd like to take a seat here, we'll probably have a table in a few moments. We think there's been some double booking and one of the girls is straightening it out right now."

As they sat down, Jeremy Ffoulkes said, "Oh, good, time to talk a few things out."

Elizabeth's eye caught sight of Johnny Harawira, one of the sub-eds. She caught his eye, smiled, turned and said to Jeremy Ffoulkes, "There's Johnny Harawira at a table by himself. Let's join him."

"Never in your life." Elizabeth said in a low voice, "You know if we don't it might hurt him."

"Why should it? I suppose Johnny knows a chap likes a girl to himself."

"Well, you run the risk of him thinking you won't because he's a Maori."

Her editor burst out laughing. "Indeed he won't, you idiot! I had lunch with him one day last week and went to the Rugby match with him at Lancaster Park last Saturday. And I was at his place for dinner the other week. He's probably waiting for his wife, anyway."

At that moment, Mrs. Harawira, accompanied by small Maraea, her daughter, came in and crossed to Johnny's table.

Elizabeth's eyes met Jeremy's. Hers crinkled into laughter too.

"You've a habit of getting your own way," she complained, "and it's anything but endearing."

"Much, much better," he approved. "I thought you'd mislaid that excellent sense of humour you portray so well in your articles."

She said warningly: "Stop judging me on those. Isn't it true that most clowns are melancholy by nature?"

"Don't sidetrack. What I said about you temporarily mislaying your sense of humour is what I want to talk about. The cause, I mean. Oh, it looks as if our table is free." They rose.

He returned to the subject at the third course.

Elizabeth said wearily, "Don't you think serious discussion over chicken like this is an insult to good food?"

"Perhaps. Let's take an hour off and wander along the banks of the river."

"No. It's not my policy to do things like that. My time belongs to the Argus, and so should - "

"Yes, yes. And so should mine. But you know perfectly well that both of us spend many hours at home on our particular jobs. No forty-hour week for either of us."

"Well, I'm not taking time off today. I can't. I've got someone coming in to be interviewed who's just back from Zanzibar."

"Is that on the level?"

"Any reason why it shouldn't be?"

"Yes. Your tone. You said it just as anyone might say: 'just back from Timbuktu'."

Elizabeth giggled and speared another mushroom. "At the rate we're going, quibbling over trifles, we'll be bade at the Argus before we have any serious talking."

"No, we won't. I want to know who was responsible for that hint of an inferiority complex... for you dismissing your glorious hair as mouse. You ought to see it at this moment. A shaft of sunlight is catching it. Much, much more attractive than an all-over blonde, who, to use a vulgar phrase, keeps all her goods in the shop window. Your voice has the same tricksy quality. It holds such asperity at times, and at others, in your unguarded moments, it's soft and husky ... an ideal voice for lovemaking, I'd say."

Elizabeth stared and lpst the mushroom off her fork. "I've never met anyone like you before. It's a completely new technique to me." The dimple quivered in her left cheek. She looked mischievous. "You make wonderful copy, Mr. Ffoulkes. Maybe I'll use you in my next novel."

His hand came across the table to touch hers fleetingly. "You won't, you know." For once the brown eyes were serious, holding hers.

Elizabeth, disconcerted, looked down. When she looked up again he had quite a nice smile on his lips. Be very careful, said Elizabeth's mind to Elizabeth's heart, this man could be . . . fascinating, dangerous.

"Who was he, this chap? Did you care for him very much?"

Her eyes met his frankly. "Yes, I did. At the time. But I'm quite over it now. Only it induced in me a certain wariness. I'm not quite the gullible fool I used to be. I don't trust men as much as I once did."

The brown eyes were serious again. "That sort of thing happens to most people at some stage of their lives, Elizabeth Stirling. It doesn't have to colour all of life."

"No, but it makes one less - vulnerable."

"What happened?"

"I found he was going out with someone else."

"Did that have to destroy your self-confidence?"

"Well, it does make one think it could happen again."

"Why should it? I suppose this chap got bowled off his feet. It can happen. But he must have been mad to fall for someone else when he could have had you. Perhaps he was a born philanderer."

"Yes, perhaps. Not that I felt it was very sudden. The writing had been on the wall for a bit. Only I'd tried not to see it. I couldn't believe he was cooling off, that he'd allow anyone to make mischief."

"You mean this other girl did?"

"No." She hesitated, then to her own surprise, decided on candour. "He was ready to fall in love with someone else because he'd fallen out of love with me... the person who made the mischief was my stepmother. You see, I'm the bread-winner, so she didn't want to lose me - so she belittled me in Stephen's eyes ,.. and succeeded."

"Then if he was as easily influenced as that, Elizabeth, you were well shot of him."

This was so sensible a remark that for an instant Elizabeth was deceived into thinking him other than the type he was.

"How did she do it?" he went on.

She shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"Yes. To use a cliche, forewarned is forearmed and all that sort of thing. I'll know what to look out for."

"You don't need to. I'll meet you in the city. Please. I'd prefer it. Since I had that other experience I've made up my mind to keep my home life and my-"

He finished it for her. "Your love life separate."

She gave him a quelling glance. "My private life."

"Wrong technique," he said, shaking his head. "You want to spike your stepmother's guns. Then you'll be free of it for good. How does she belittle you?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "Oh, Maida is petite, frail, and charming,' extremely feminine. I'm tall, strong. Maida exaggerates that, makes out I'm mannish. It has a certain effect upon me, I feel awkward, even clumsy, when she's about." She looked into his face, expecting to find a certain amount of scorn there.

She found only wonder. "But you must know that's all hooey. But then I suppose you've never seen yourself walking."

Her eyes widened.

He answered the unspoken question. "You walk as if you watt; to music. With your head a little back as if you felt seawinds against

your temples. Even though I've seen you mainly in the Argus building."

Magic, feather-light, stirred Elizabeth's pulses for a moment. No one had ever paid her such an imaginative compliment before.

She dropped her eyes and her chief's voice said, an undercurrent of laughter in his voice, "And you .blush delightfully.., an extremely feminine trait, surely." He added with scarcely a pause, "What a very lovely lemon chiffon pie."

Elizabeth looked up at him candidly. "Well, at least you're a very amusing companion. You make me feel quite lighthearted."

His brows came together. "What do you mean .. . at least? My lightheadedness compensates for other things you don't admire? Is that it?"

Elizabeth was silent.

His voice was derisive. "Now, come. Don't tell me Elizabeth Stirling, columnist, is at a loss for words."

She bit her lip, said stumblingly, "I - I'm - well, perhaps I'm better with my pen than with my tongue. I seem to be saying the wrong things today, anyway." She put down her spoon and fork. "Perhaps I'm not the most comfortable companion, Mr. Ffoulkes. You could change your mind about taking me out. I shan't mind. After all, you did bulldoze me into accepting, didn't you?"

"I did. I still like your type of conversation. So unexpected I've never admired milk-and-water types. You remind me of Indian curry. A little fiery but stimulating to the palate. But we wander from the subject. I never knew a girl so good at sidetracking. I asked you why you- said cat least'. Not answering? Then I must answer for you. I

trapped you into accepting my invitation for tonight, didn't I ? I can guess what it all boils down to. Do tell me if I'm wrong. You've heard things about my - marriage - haven't you, Elizabeth Stirling?"

She leaned her elbows on the table, linked her fingers, rested her chin on them and said, "Yes, I have."

"So therefore you think I'm a poor risk on the marriage market. If a chap has failed once, he could fail again."

Her eyes met his, held them. "This is perfectly ridiculous. We weren't talking of marriage. I'm not the sort to think that every chap who asks me out means marriage. I just didn't want to go out with you."

"I know. You don't like my type. You said so. What's wrong? Do I remind you of this Stephen?"

She seized on that gratefully. Much better than telling him all the gossip she had heard. "Yes, you do remind me of Stephen."

He looked relieved. "Then that's fine. All I have to do is dis abuse your mind of that idea. And I should love to spike Maida's guns."

As their coffee arrived the Harawiras came across. They had to, for as soon as Maraea was lifted off her chair she was across at their table. Her parents followed, laughing.

Elizabeth expected the child to rush at her, but she went straight to Jeremy. Her little hand tugged at Jeremy's knee. "I got that puzzle out. All by my ownself. It's on a tray, for you to see next time."

Jeremy pushed his chair back, lifted her on to his knee. "My, that's fine. I'll call round one night next week before you get off to bed."

The Harawiras laughed as they reached their daughter. "Excuse our daughter gatecrashing," said Mere. "Mr. Ffoulkes is rapidly

becoming a favourite. How are you, Elizabeth? We've not seen you for an age. When are you coming to see us next?"

"She'll come with me," said Jeremy Ffoulkes easily. "I'll let you know what night." Elizabeth realized it was no use protesting. Mere Harawira looked delighted. Elizabeth knew exactly what she was thinking, what she would say to Johnny in private.

She had one minor triumph. She did not arrive back at the office with him. She pleaded urgent shopping - which was true enough.

She had noticed a dream of a dress in the Salon Lucia as she had passed it. Tonight was the first night for Othello, so formal dress was preferred, something that wasn't particularly common in New Zealand.

This dress was completely different from anything Elizabeth had ever owned and she was almost sure it would fit her. And no matter what it cost she was going to have it.

She had only one more contact with Jeremy Ffoulkes that day, and that was by phone. He said briefly, "I'm sending you flowers. What colour are you wearing?"

She replied equally briefly, "A goldy-greeny sort of thing," and hoped his choice would be right.

It was. The box was on the hall table when she got home.

Maida arrived in the hall as soon as she heard her. The exposure of yesterday's shabby trick might never have been.

"Oh, there you are, dear. Are you going out somewhere? These came."

Elizabeth looked down on the Cellophane lid. Lime-green orchids freckled with brown, costly and exquisite, spangled with synthetic dew-drops.

A card lay on top and the black, positive writing said: "For tonight. Jeremy."

Maida fluttered. "Who is this man, dear? I don't remember you mentioning a Jeremy ever."

Elizabeth's voice sounded amused. "I have. But probably you wouldn't expect us to be on such terms yet. It's my new editor."

"Good gracious! What's he like! I always think of editors as quite old."

Elizabeth hid a smile. "He's a widower." She made her voice sound a little reluctant to part with that information.

"Oh, I see." Maida sounded a little pleased. Elizabeth knew exactly what she was thinking. Middle-aged, perhaps even older, not exciting. Poor Elizabeth.

Maida said, "Pity he hadn't chosen another colour. You've nothing to wear with this."

"Oh, I have. Glad rags, new ones. They're in the car. I got them at lunch-time."

"Oh, was that why you rang Louisa to say you wouldn't be home for lunch?".

"Well, partly. Jeremy took me out to lunch and I caught sight of this as I passed the Salon Lucia."

"The Salon Lucia! Then we aren't altogether practising this economy you were preaching."

Elizabeth laughed in a most carefree and amused fashion. "Oh, I wasn't preaching economy for myself, Maida. I've decided that now I've got the mortgage paid off I owe it to myself to spend more on dress," and she went into her room.

Really, it was quite easy once you kicked over the traces. It was no use hoping Maida would reform. Her self-centredness had become part of her, but at least she knew now that Elizabeth would not pay her expenses.

Louisa, bless her, kept the conversational ball rolling adroitly at the dinner-table, and a delightful dinner it was too, planned by Maida and cooked by Louisa. The only thing was that it was a perfect example of the fact that they lived a little too well, and more than Elizabeth could afford. More than Louisa could too. It was ridiculous Louisa contributing so much when she worked so hard.

But she said nothing. When the meal was finished and they sat round the fire with their coffee, Louisa said, "Now, off you go, Elizabeth, and get ready leisurely. Maida and I will do the dishes You're always rushing. And if you do have a few minutes to spare, relax. Don't cram a few pages of typing in. Your freelance stuff can wait. You've been trying what really amounts to running two jobs. I think you ought to give up some of that, anyway. We've been living a bit high."

Maida looked horrified.

Elizabeth, rising, said, "I've been thinking on the same lines, Louisa. Only I'm not thinking of giving up my freelancing. Given time at it, I could make more than my wage. I'm thinking of giving up my job. If I make up my mind to do on much less for a year or two, and just pay

an ordinary board into the kitty, and concentrate on short stories and novels, I'll really get somewhere."

She wait out of the room, leaving Maida visibly shaken.

Louisa slipped into Elizabeth's room and asked if she could help in any way after Elizabeth had showered. Elizabeth, in a lacy slip, turned round, met Louisa's eye, and they both collapsed on the bed, trying to stifle their laughter.

"You'll have her eating out of your hand next," vowed Louisa. "She's terrified you'll give your job up. She's just said to me that we'll have to see you get more time for your writing to keep you contented. What's come over you, Elizabeth? Many's the time I could have put a bomb under you the way you've submitted to all Maida's demands."

Elizabeth sobered immediately, said wistfully, "I wish I didn't have to do this now. I'd like to be able to believe in Maida again, as I did when I was a child."

Louisa laid a motherly hand on her knee. "Lassie, don't fash yourself. It's grown and grown on her. She's one that needs a man at the back of her - and she saw in you a substitute." She grinned. "She's been asking me have you said much about this new editor to me ... how old he is, what he's like ... said he's probably short and bald!"

"Poor Maida," said Elizabeth, "her ideas are so stereotyped. Me, now, I've known some extremely fascinating men who were both short and bald."

"What is he like?" persisted Louisa. "I'll die of curiosity if you don't tell me - though not for the same reasons as Maida." Elizabeth considered it. "About thirty-two or three, I'd say. And devilish handsome. I mean that devilish, he's audacious and charming and has a way with women. Wait till Maida sees him. It's going to be fun."

Suddenly it was. She felt her pulses stir at the thought, which was perfectly ridiculous. I'm a sensible person, she told herself, not likely to be bowled over by someone like Jeremy Ffoulkes. She did not say to Louisa that he had a reputation. Louisa would be alarmed, and it wasn't fair to a man who was, as all editors were, a public figure.

Louisa slid Elizabeth into the new dress ... it was made of some new, dazzling fabric with a hint of metallic gold in its shadings that ran gauzily from palest green to sunshiny yellow.

Against her shoulder Louisa pinned the orchids. She stepped back, looked long and searchingly. "Perfect. I've never seen you in that colour before, the yellowy-green, I mean. It really does something for you. Brings out the glints in your hair. What are you going to wear over it?"

Elizabeth opened up another box, shook a furry, golden cape free of tissue, held it up. "It's only synthetic - something quite new - but it's rather lovely, isn't it?"

It was. A ring sounded.

"Goodness, he's early," said Louisa approvingly. "Now for heaven's sake let him in before Maida can. Anyway she's right through at the back of the house. Scoot! I want to see her face when you bring him into the lounge. I'll get her there."

Elizabeth heard Louisa taking Maida through the other way as she opened the door, knew they could hear her gay: "Jeremy! How very nice that you're so early. I'm sure there's some coffee left in the percolator. Come on through."

Jeremy Ffoulkes narrowed his eyes a little, twinkled, put his hand out to her, ran his eyes over her.

He whistled. "Quite perfect."

There was suddenly a flake of carnation pink in Elizabeth's cheeks. It suited her.

They came together into the lounge. Maida's eyes widened. She looked at Elizabeth's dress, at Jeremy Ffoulkes. Elizabeth and Louisa exchanged a glance which they swiftly disengaged Elizabeth performed the introductions.

Jeremy said smoothly . . . and wickedly, "Ah, I'm so glad you're well enough to be about again, Mrs. Stirling. I trust the heart complaint isn't going to be too troublesome."

Maida's colour rose, but she managed to reply: "Oh, it was very little really. Just a slight, slight warning not to overdo. I'm afraid I'd been doing more housework than usual with Cousin Louisa away, I trust it didn't inconvenience you at all, sending for Elizabeth.

He smiled. "I quite enjoyed the little break from work myself."

Maida looked puzzled. He said, "Elizabeth's car was at your local garage. I ran her home."

Maida went on asking him how he liked living in the South. Did he not find it a little cold? She found it cold herself. The winters -

"No, I prefer the South. I spent a lot of holidays down here as a boy. More bracing. Though I'm fond of the North Island too."

Maida said, with a little flattering look, "But of course even if you hadn't liked the South, being offered a position like yours - at your age - would have made it worth while."

"Eh?" asked Jeremy. "Oh, I see what you mean - but I must confess I had a much more personal reason for coining South that that." His eyes flickered meaningly to Elizabeth and his smile deepened.

Elizabeth had to quell a wild desire to laugh aloud. He was outrageous!

Maida poured some coffee. She was at her best with those tasks, the perfect hostess. Elizabeth accepted another cup, so did Louisa.

Louisa took a hand in the conversation. "And how do you like the Argus? Or shouldn't I ask? You may not have been there long enough yet to express an opinion - or want to."

"I like it very much. I knew I would before I came."

Louisa nodded. "It's a paper you've always fancied, then?"

"Yes. Particularly for the last four years."

"Why the last four, Jeremy?" Elizabeth's voice was frankly curious.

He turned a little towards her and she saw the corner of his mouth twitch. "Do I have to tell you why, Elizabeth?"

She blinked. What could he -

He laughed. "It's almost four years since you began sending your articles on to the Bay of Plenty Sketch. From the very first one I made up my mind I had to get to know you. It became almost an obsession. And the advertisement for a new editor was the answer."

Maida's mouth fell open. Her voice almost squeaked with amazement and disbelief. "You mean - you mean - you came down here because of those articles? To meet someone you'd never even seen?"

He turned his head slightly and his eyes met Elizabeth's. He turned back to Maida, sitting opposite him. "But I had met her ... once. And never forgot her."

Before Elizabeth could speak he added: "But I evidently didn't make as much impression on her as she did on me. You haven't remembered yet, have you, Elizabeth?"

That was sheer fiction on his part, of course. What an actor! Even the way he said her name was a caress.

She said slowly, "You're just being tantalizing, Jeremy! When was it?"

It was giving her a breathless feeling.

"Have you still got no clue?"

"Not one. When was it and where?"

It was mean of her, but she couldn't resist it.

"Exactly four years ago. But I shan't tell you where. My male ego demands that you shall remember yourself."

Four years ago ... he'd said his wife had died four years ago. Would - Elizabeth pulled her racing thoughts up. Heavens, he was putting this across so well, she was almost believing it herself. How crazy could one get?

"I -1 think it's time we were going, Jeremy F-Ffoulkes!"

They were out of the room before Maida. had fully recovered from the shock of knowing Jeremy and Elizabeth had met before.

In the hall Elizabeth gave way to laughter. Jeremy Ffoulkes acted quickly. He clapped his hand over her mouth and held her.

"Don't!" he hissed. "You'll spoil everything."

He got the front door open and hustled her on to the porch.

Elizabeth mopped at her eyes. "This is ruining my make-up."

"Rubbish. It's beautiful. You look a dream."

She sobered up. "You mustn't string my poor stepmother on like that. You were outrageous. Meeting me before . . . and pursuing me to Christchurch... really!"

He took her by the shoulders and brought her round to face him under the light of the little lantern that hung by the front door.

"It was the sober truth. We did meet four years ago."

"Where? Oh, how silly of me - even thinking of believing you."

"It was in the North Island," he said slowly, his eyes holding hers, "and the month was August. Late winter."

Elizabeth was completely startled. "August... four years ago! I was up North four years ago. It was August." She looked up at him, completely natural with him for the first time. "Tell me how we met? I visited three newspapers while up there, but not yours. So where - ?"

He laughed, pinched her chin and said: "I see I've piqued your interest at last! I'll leave you to remember by yourself, I'm not used to being forgotten."

She said, wrinkling her nose, "I'm sure I'd never heard your name till I read it quite a long time after the Sketch accepted my first article. The editor was on holiday and you wrote me about something. And your name is unusual enough to stick in the mind."

"You didn't hear my name - we weren't introduced - though we exchanged a fair bit of conversation. You'll remember yet. It's a shame to tease you so, but I won't give you another clue."

Suddenly Elizabeth felt gloriously alive. Here she was, escorted by a most personable man, going to the first night of a quite famous overseas company giving Othello, her favourite of the Shakespearian tragedies. She was wearing a dress that couldn't be outshone - not that she usually minded about such things, but it gave her confidence - and she didn't care a brass farthing that it had cost her more than half a month's pay. And she was wearing orchids.

She loved the world of the theatre and liked to be early to see everybody coming in. She said before they parked the car, "No chocolates, Mr. Ffoulkes, please. I can't stand eating at the theatre, particularly during tragedies."

"Good for you!" He patted her hand. "You weren't going to get any in any case. I've got a leader half written for tomorrow on what is - to me - the heinous crime of rustling sweet papers and eating ice-creams in the theatre."

By the time the first act was over Elizabeth had recognized something ... Jeremy- Ffoulkes was a better companion for the theatre than Stephen. He did not fidget. Nor was he too aware of his companion. He was completely caught up in the atmosphere and passion, and pity of the tragedy.

When they came out they walked three complete blocks in silence and over all the crossings in the Square in complete silence, his

guiding hand beneath her elbow. They reached the parked car. Jeremy unlocked it, handed her in, got in himself, put the key in the ignition and sat there without turning it on, looking unseeingly at the traffic coming towards them from the Square.

Suddenly he shook himself, laughed. "It's just a little bit hard to come back to the twentieth century and the Antipodes, isn't it?" He didn't wait for an answer but went on, almost as if speaking to himself. "Seeing it acted like that... so that it didn't seem acting at all, but real, gets you so much by the throat. .. the absolute absence of any duplicity on the part of Desdemona. She loved Othello so much ... you keep on wishing, despite the fact that you know the play so well, that he could somehow be kept back from the final violence^ Such a waste of the highest emotions, all distorted by Iago with his implanted suspicions) No use to say 'but it's only a play'. These things can happen. The word of explanation withheld . . . and a wound is never healed, all the unnecessary complications that do happen in real life."

He looked down on Elizabeth and surprised the glint of tears in her eyes as she looked up. They held each other's gaze. Suddenly his wearily disillusioned mouth relaxed and softened. He patted her hand as it lay in her lap. "It got you too, didn't it? I wouldn't have liked you as much if it hadn't."

Elizabeth smiled back. "I'd better warn you that my reactions are extremely feminine, even if Maida doesxtry to make me appear an Amazon. I always cry in the right places, at the theatre and when reading books."

He pressed the self-starter and the Jaguar sprang to life. "I like a woman who can weep, myself."

Suddenly he was back to his usual bantering manner. "By the way, you're giving me supper back at your home, did you know? Even if

it's just tea and biscuits. I can't stand the atmosphere of those dark dens of coffee bars after a play like that."

Elizabeth said lightly, "Oh, Cousin Louisa baked -&>day. The tims are full. I'll manage more than biscuits." '

"Good. Nice to have you acquiesce for a change. Othello seems to have mellowed you."

A slightly dry note crisped Elizabeth's voice. "I wouldn't count on that too much, Mr. Ffoulkes. I'm well aware that a girl needs to watch where she's heading, with you."

He took a moment to answer and Elizabeth knew a wild panic ' and regret wash over her. How cruel of her when he had been so adept at parrying Maida's little barbs of malice.

So she said quickly, with real remorse in her tone, "Sorry, Jeremy. That was mean when you've been so gallant in my defence this night. And I've not even thanked you for that."

He changed what he was going to say, she thought, and sounded decidedly irritated. "My dear girl, spare me gratitude, for pity's sake. It's a much overrated virtue. Boring."

Elizabeth heaved a sigh. "I don't know. Who likes the person who accepts everything without a thought of its cost?"

"I didn't mean ordinary gratitude, Elizabeth Stirling. That's part of the exchange of normal life. I meant gratitude between a man and a woman. It's about as acceptable as a gift of goloshes to the girl who wanted water-skis."

Elizabeth's laughter was spontaneous, bubbling up and over. "You absurd thing! But I see what you mean."

He said, "But I do want something in return, after all. Your companionship, Elizabeth. A man-woman companionship is the perfect combination. I'm not one who believes in this business of men's friendship that 'passes the love of women' and all that. With a man and a woman each supplies what the other needs. Yes?"

"I suppose so," said Elizabeth uncertainly. Not that she didn't agree with that in general. But she was wondering what - particularly - he had in mind, wondering to how much was she committing herself.

As they swung up the drive of the Cashmere Hills house Jeremy said, "Hullo, isn't that the lounge light? They must be still up."

Elizabeth felt vexed. She didn't feel like more sparring. It was so petty after the magnitude of the emotions they had witnessed.

Maida had evidently expected them back. She'd have known there was the chance they might have supped in town, but had prepared this in case. That meant she was worried, was taking Jeremy Ffoulkes as a serious threat to her continued luxurious existence here. How strange, when he was not - now - the marrying type. But Maida did not know that.

She had sandwiches, dainty mouthfuls and strips as colourful to the eye as pleasing to the palate ... cucumber, tomato, nuts, lettuce. There were asparagus rolls, beautifully symmetrical, and she had iced Louisa's butterfly cakes with a variety of decorations that were really artistic. Typical. Someone else to do the basic work.

Just as they opened the lounge door, Jeremy's fingers found Elizabeth's. As soon as he noticed Maida's eye drops to their linked hands he let them go.

Elizabeth loosened the furry jacket, let it slip on to a vacant chair. Jeremy took the chair Maida indicated, drawn up to the hearth, but

put out a hand as Elizabeth went to cross the rug to the far side. "Oh, no, you don't, my girl. Sit on that pouffe beside me."

Elizabeth hid a smile, refused to catch Louisa's eye, and did as she was bid, clasping her hands about her knees and looking up into his face as he commented on the play, with every evidence of rapt attention. She saw the side of his mouth quirk up in appreciation.

In a pause Maida said in a reproving yet affectionate tone to Elizabeth, "Darling, what a cavalier way to treat your orchids... dropping your cape down like that! Get one of those oval icecream dishes, dear, and half fill it with water and put your spray in that. Not on the windowsill, though, where the early morning sun would catch it, but... let me see.., on that small cabinet." She turned a little to Jeremy. "Elizabeth's not really used to orchids... they last so long if you cosset them."

He lifted an eyebrow, looked down on Elizabeth, said to her, smiling tenderly, "Not used to orchids? Good life, what have the men in your life been thinking of?" He continued: "Besides, there's no need to remove it yet. The night's quite young. We're going for a run up to the Kiwi after we've had this."

Elizabeth almost choked at the look on Maida's face.

Maida said; "At - at this time of night?"

Jeremy said casually, "Oh, I suppose it seems late to you. I know older folk like to go to bed reasonably early, but it's still early to us, isn't it, Elizabeth? And such a mild, Indian summer night for this time of year, it's a pity to waste it. I've not seen the lights of Christchurch from up there for many a year."

Older folk. Elizabeth saw a muscle twitch in Maida's cheek. Maida said hastily: "Oh, I'm hardly ever in bed before midnight. Louisa

goes off earlier, of course. You see I'm a little out of my age group. Elizabeth's father was almost a different generation from me."

"Oh, hardly," said Cousin Louisa placidly. "You could scarcely call ten years a generation."

Elizabeth felt laughter threatening her again. She put her cup down, said, "Well, Jeremy, let's get going."

He picked up the wrap with the orchids, slowly adjusted it for her, clipped it at her throat, put his hands under her elbow and said goodnight charmingly to both ladies.

Elizabeth held her laughter in till she was safely in the car. They both laughed all the way up the untenanted road up to the Kiwi, a stone resting-house and cafe for daytime hikers. There was all the loveliness of solitude up here, winds that came to them with the tang of both mountains and sea, breath of tussock and pine and blue-gum.

They swung into the car-park that overlooked the plains, but after he'd switched the engine off, Jeremy opened the doors, brought her out, and said, "I know these shoes of yours aren't precisely suited to this terrain, but there's a bit of a track and a stile, I can see... let's go up to the top."

A soft wind blew against Elizabeth's temples, stirring her hair. In silence for a few moments they looked out on the scene, a faint curve of silver foam marking the shore that went the full length of Pegasus Bay to the Seaward Kaikouras.

Jeremy Ffoulkes slipped an arm about her shoulders, turned her round to face him, put cool fingers under her chin, smiled into her eyes.

Elizabeth knew a moment of emotional panic that was absurd .. . she wasn't a teenager, to dislike being kissed the first time a man took you out. Without meaning to she put a hand against his chest. She knew instantly that that was foolish. Provocative even.

He was hardly the sort to be put off like that. His eyes still held hers, his expression unreadable..

His hand left her chin, came to the hand she'd placed against his chest, took it away. He said whimsically, "All right. Too soon, is it? I can wait," and he turned her round, helping her down, but quite impersonally. At the edge he sprang down to the road and lightly lifted her down.

Elizabeth felt exactly as if someone had given her an elbow jolt in the ribs. And just as breathless as if she had been kissed in the very thorough way she was sure this man would kiss. And what else did she feel? Elizabeth was used to analysing her own feelings and other people's - all writers were - so she had no difficulty coming to a conclusion.

A feeling of anti-climax.

On top of that another thought hit her. Jeremy Ffoulkes, born philanderer that he was, meant her to feel that way. She must remember there wasn't much he didn't know about women.

CHAPTER THREE

MAIDA was curious. She got up for breakfast and said, sipping orange juice, "Where did you meet him, Elizabeth?"

"You mean first? I've no idea."

Maida looked sceptical, as well she might. "But surely you found out last night ?"

Elizabeth chuckled. "Can you imagine Jeremy giving away anything he'd determined not to? I did try to pry it out of him, but he's resolved I shall remember him myself."

"Why?"

Cousin Louisa swallowed a spoonful of grapefruit. "Come, come, Maida. You aren't as dim as that. Jeremy is piqued because she didn't remember him, and man-like has decided to wait till she does. Masculine pride. He said as much himself. Have you no idea at all, Elizabeth?"

"I stayed awake last night, racking my brains. I asked him again coming down from the Kiwi. All he'd tell me then was that something I'd once said in an article made him realize he'd met me before and that he remembered me vividly. It's most provoking." She chuckled. "Well, if Jeremy Ffoulkes's idea is to keep me guessing, he's certainly succeeding. I'm bound to remember some time, surely."

Cousin Louisa nodded. "He's a clever man. But you'll probably think of it when you aren't trying to recall it. But goodness me, you must have made an impression yourself."

Maida said sharply, derisively, "Louisa, don't be ridiculous. That man must have bewitched you. He didn't deceive me. And even if Elizabeth doesn't know men - of his type - as well as I do, I'm sure

she wouldn't be taken in by that. He's just out for a good time. If he'd met Elizabeth so long ago and been attracted, he'd hardly have waited all this time. Men don't. I expect he just recognizes her and made up that farrago of nonsense out of sheer audacity."

Cousin Louisa said stubbornly: "You don't believe it, Maida, because you don't want to believe it. It's my firm belief that that man meant every word he said and that Elizabeth will be married to him by this time next year!"

Elizabeth burst into peals of laughter. "Oh, Cousin Louisa, you romantic old pet! I go out with him once and you're hearing wedding bells."

Louisa continued as if Elizabeth had not interrupted. "And as for Elizabeth not having had much experience, that's utter rot. She may have been a wide-eyed innocent once, but her experience with Stephen certainly removed the blinkers. No one's likely to deceive her a second time, but it would be a great pity if she distrusted men so much that she failed to recognize a real one when she met up with him."

Elizabeth sobered up. The pity of all this was that Maida was right about Jeremy and Louisa was wrong. But because Louisa loved her, Elizabeth, so much, and at times could have shaken the life out of Maida, she wanted to believe in Jeremy Ffoulkes. And he was a lightweight. Someone who'd wrecked his own marriage and - presumably his sister-in-law's life too.

Something that was regret and bitterness and something else . . . what? ... washed over Elizabeth. What was it? Longing? Longing indefinable and inexplicable. It left her feeling curiously weak.

Her contacts with Jeremy were slight that day. They were both bogged down in work. Elizabeth was glad of it, it helped get the

whole thing back into the right perspective. An amusing incident that had included a bit of quite delightful knight- errantry. Something that came easily to men of Jeremy's type.

As she left the office Jeremy Ffoulkes caught up with her. He grinned. "I'd have liked to have continued the fun with Maida tonight, but I'm afraid I've a date with some homework."

She glanced at the papers under his arm and indicated her own satchel. "Same here. I usually like to keep myself at least three weeks ahead with the feature pages for Saturday nights, and I'm down to two."

He nodded. "But Mere Harawira rang me this morning to pin me down to a night to visit them - after dinner because that suits me best. As far as I'm concerned it has to be either tomorrow night or Tuesday of next week. How about you?"

"I'm going out on Tuesday night for dinner and the evening, so it will have to be tomorrow night. What time?"

"About eight. I'll call for you just before. That gives Mere a chance to get the kids off to bed. Where are you going on Tuesday night?"

As if he had the right!

She decided not to resent it. She'd only get into an argument. "Out with an old friend. I suppose we'll do a theatre after dinner, We usually do."

"Let me dine the both of you. I'd better start meeting all your friends. What's her name?"

Elizabeth chuckled. "John Bull."

Then to his stare she said, "It really is. And if ever anyone is a typical John Bull, he is. His father was in the Horse Guards, evidently brought his family up as if they were on the parade ground. John is the only person I've ever met who wears a monocle and says Hurrumph and Gadsir and Demme. He looks the perfect picture of a peppery Indian Colonel, but he's a lamb."

Jeremy Ffoulkes cocked a knowing eye at her. "And is extremely fond of one Elizabeth Stirling and she of him."

"Yes. But…"

"But what? I do like people to finish what they started out to say."

"Oh, do you? But sometimes second thoughts are best. Well, it serves you right. I was going to say 'but he likes me to himself'."

His mouth twitched. "Then he and I have much in common. All right."

They said goodnight and parted.

Elizabeth found herself looking forward to the next night, rebuked herself for so doing, then let herself go. Why shouldn't she? As long as she knew it was all foolery and didn't take him seriously, no harm could be done.

She was still under the shower when he arrived, since he came much earlier than he had said. Cousin Louisa was out, so Maida had to answer the door. Oh well, Jeremy Ffoulkes could more than hold his own. Maida would get nowhere with her usual belittling tactics.

Now that someone had shown such aplomb in dealing with her stepmother, Elizabeth knew a lightness of heart she'd not experienced for years. Maybe Jeremy Ffoulkes would make Maida realize her little innuendoes couldn't affect his attitude towards Elizabeth, and

Maida would give up. There would be no necessity then to cut free and try to make a life of her own.

Maida set herself out to be charming to Jeremy Ffoulkes. And as she knew, when she really tried, she usually succeeded. The next ten minutes passed quite pleasantly. Maida heard Elizabeth come out of the bathroom. That would give her another ten minutes at the least. Now was the time. How fortunate he'd come early. She'd hoped, but not for as early as this.

She looked for a moment as if she was casting about in her mind for more of the pleasant light subjects of small talk. They had exhausted the weather, the difference in seasons between the North and the South, a headline in the evening paper. Maida had complimented Jeremy on the first leader - only to find he hadn't written it - and now, seemingly by chance, she let her eye light on a magazine lying beside her on the couch.

She picked it up. "I must show you this. I forgot to show it to Elizabeth. I got my magazines at the corner shop today. There's a poem in it by her written some time ago. Elizabeth writes very beautiful poems, but she's a little shy of showing them to people. I think most writers are like that."

"Do you?" Mr. Ffoulkes's voice was very surprised. "Writers who are just beginning, perhaps, but not one as established as your stepdaughter, surely. Anyway, she'd think nothing of showing it to her own editor." He held out his hand for it. Maida handed it over. He glanced at die title, looked up at her swiftly. Maida changed expression quickly, but not quite quickly enough. She blinked, smiled uncertainly, in the most kittenish manner, quite unsuited to her years. But the expression surprised on her face the moment before had certainly not been kittenish even if still feline. It had been

the smirk on the face of a cat who'd just polished up the jug of Sunday cream.

Why?

The poem was set in a little frame in the middle of a page of prose, with a tiny illustration, charmingly done at foot and tail.

He read:

"Bring me not orchids... pale, delicate orchids, Rooted in swamp and begotten in slime... Bring me the blossoms of cottage and meadow That whisper of sunlight and sweet summertime. Gather me daisies, the common, white daisies, The poppies that dance in a mid ecstasy, The briars that riot in thicket and hedgerow, The bluebells, the buttercups, golden and free. Bring me not orchids, exquisite, frail orchids. Sheathed in stiff Cellophane, costly and cold, Bring me the flowers of everyday living, ' Fragrant and lasting, to have and to hold... ' The pimpernel deep in the wind-shaken grasses, The nameless mid flowers of hillside and lea.. • Bring me not orchids, the still, scentless orchids If you'd lay siege to the wild heart of me"

He didn't look up for quite a few moments after he must have finished reading. Maida was conscious that he drew in a deep breath and she knew a great satisfaction. That had touched him on the saw. It had got him in his vanity. Men were usually vulnerable there. He'd

given orchids to a girl who despised them, and he wasn't going to like it.

She gave a little jerk, said, "Oh!" in a tone of the greatest' consternation and clipped two tiny hands across her mouth, "Oh!" she said again through her fingers.

Jeremy Ffoulkes looked at her levelly. "What are you 'Oh-ing' about?" he asked in a dead-flat voice.

Maida actually had tears in her eyes. It was a useful gift, that of being able to summon up teardrops at will. She'd got her own way with it many a time. She caught at the magazine, and in bogus confusion pushed it under a cushion.

"Oh, Mr. Ffoulkes, how sorry I am! I'd completely forgotten you had given Elizabeth orchids. And I know she would never have told you she doesn't like them. It's a peculiar thing that ... most women adore them. But then Elizabeth isn't..."

She paused for a word, most effectively. Jeremy Ffoulkes had no hesitation in filling it in for her.

"I think that what you're trying so hard to convey, Mrs. Stirling, is that Elizabeth isn't womanly." Suddenly his eyes snapped, his voice changed. "Just another ugly attempt to belittle Elizabeth in a man's eyes, isn't it? You've done it before, haven't you? With Stephen, I mean. Poor fool! Imagine anyone being callow enough to accept Elizabeth at your valuation." He shook his head at her. "You're so transparent. Elizabeth is the breadwinner of the family. Who wants to lose the breadwinner? You aren't prepared to do as so many women do - live on superannuation. It would mean a little less luxury, wouldn't k? But please, I ask you, don't underestimate me! After all," his weary smite came to his lips, giving them a bitter curve, "I've had quite an experience of women of your type. And the dubious ways in

which they strive to get their own way." He cut off abruptly as the door opened. Maida, her neck unbecomingly mottled with crimson, tried to push the magazine further under the cushion,

Jeremy Ffoulkes stood up. "Ah, Elizabeth, at last!" He walked across to her, took her hinds, held her off from him, ran his eyes over her, said, entirely without embarrassment, "How well blue suits you, my love," and swung her round, marching her to the couch.

"Surprise, surprise for you . . . shut your -eyes and don't look!"

Laughing, mystified, Elizabeth did exactly as she was told, holding out her hands, palms uppermost.

Jeremy leaned over, extracted the magazine, still open at the right page, laid it gently in her hands.

She opened her eyes, looked, took a moment or two to realize here was the poem she'd written more than a year ago, written it in great bitterness of heart.

She gave a faint, dismayed gasp, looked up to find Jeremy's shoulders between her and Maida's gaze, moistened her lips and was amazed to hear him say, "What luck for me, to meet up with someone who could enhance orchids the way you did the other night yet be sweet enough to prefer the inexpensive blooms ... glamour and simplicity."

He went on, giving her time to recover, "They've illustrated it very nicely, don't you think? Apple-blossom at the top and orchids at the foot." He looked at his watch. "Time we were off. Mere rang and said Maraea wouldn't go to sleep till we arrived. That's why I came early."

Elizabeth moved, caught sight of Maida sitting petrified on the couch with an expression on her face like . . . like the ones the Ugly Sisters

must have worn when they caught sight of Cinderella at the Ball. What on earth - ?

And how had Jeremy got hold of that poem? Before she could think it out Jeremy had said, most punctiliously, "Goodnight, Mrs. Stirling. We'll be extremely late. I shouldn't advise you to wait up for Elizabeth tonight," and they were out of the room.

Jeremy swung into Hackthorne Avenue, then, instead of going on towards Colombo Street, turned left towards Hoon Hay Valley.

He ran under some trees, stopped the engine.

Elizabeth said bewilderedly, "Jeremy, how did - "

He interrupted. "How did I get hold of the poem? Because your charming, malicious stepmother showed it to me. t was supposed to be set back, offended. I've had a fair experience of what I can only term feline tactics and didn't fall for it. She pretended she'd forgotten I'd given you orchids, but I bowled her out." He proceeded to tell her exactly what had happened.

Elizabeth held herself taut, felt a little shiver run over her. That had been pure wickedness on Maida's part. She had known the story behind that poem. She felt a little sick.

"Well?" asked Jeremy Ffoulkes, looking down on her. He realized, even in this half-light, that her face was extremely white, the freckles on her nose standing out more than usual.

Elizabeth said through unsteady lips, "I - I just loved those orchids you sent me the other night. They were so perfect with my dress. I - "

He gave a low laugh, caught her two hands in his. "Oh, Elizabeth, you don't need to apologize to me. Why, girl, I'm in the writing game

myself. That poem just expresses a mood of the moment. It could even be you were expressing someone else's mood. It-"

Elizabeth said steadily, "At the time I wrote it I did hate orchids. That's what makes what Maida did doubly mean." She paused, got control of her lips, helped by the warm pressure of his hands on hers, continued, "You see, a year ago - just over - I was living in a fool's paradise. I thought Stephen was on the brink of asking me to marry him. We'd been keeping company for six months. One dinner-hour I went into a florist's to send some roses to Mrs. Longshaft... she was in hospital. The girl was doing up some orchids in a box. I've always had the faculty of being able to read upside down. It was Stephen's writing. And it simply said: 'Marianne . . . sweets to the sweet. . . . Stephen'." Her voice throbbed for a moment with remembered pain. "I knew who it was immediately. I mean it couldn't be just a coincidence. She was a new friend of Stephen's sister. I'd met her too. I taxed him with it that night. We had a flaming row. Rather an undignified one, no holds barred. He admitted he'd fallen in love with her at sight. I suppose he couldn't help it, but he ought to have broken with me first. He even said: "Can you blame me? She's what every man looks for in a woman. The eternal feminine'."

She sighed. "Underlining that I wasn't, of course."

Jeremy Ffoulkes said something unprintable under his breath, ... it did something for Elizabeth. Then he said: "The idea, of course, was first implanted by your stepmother." He added: "But his judgment was my good fortune. Imagine me arriving down here to find your affections already engaged."

Elizabeth looked away from him quickly. Then she said with bitterness in her tone, "How well you know women, Jeremy Ffoulkes . . . Always the right answer, first to Maida, now to me."

He grabbed her by the shoulders, turned her round, his eyes blazing. "Elizabeth Stirling! You needn't take it out on me because one man let you down. You're trying to be hard-boiled, and no erne who writes as you do could possibly be hard-boiled. I'm not the quixotic type. So you just keep a guard on that tongue of yours!"

Suddenly the genuine and justified fury in his eyes turned to laughter. "Only one way of effectively silencing a woman," and his mouth came down on hers, hard, cool, possessing. Suddenly the caress changed, became tender, sharing, not one-sided. Not given, not taken, but all that a kiss is meant to be ... a blending of emotions, physical and of the spirit.

Elizabeth felt shaken, confused. She didn't know how to take up from here. This was like nothing she had ever known before. She didn't want to go in deep .. . and she could, so easily. She must not let her emotions become too involved, mustn't let this man's charm go to her head.

Unexpectedly he voiced some of her thoughts for her. "Phew! Bit hard to come back to earth after a kiss like that, isn't it?"

Elizabeth didn't know what to reply, so she said nothing.

He laughed, quite a nice sort of a laugh, touched her cheek lightly, as one might caress a loved child, with one fingertip, said, "Never mind, it's a start."

Warning bells jangled in Elizabeth's mind, beating almost as fast as her heart.

It was such a mildly contented domestic sort of evening after that.

Life swung back into ordinariness as they went into the Harawiras' home. Before they shed their coats Mere said, "Maraea can't make up her mind who she'd rather have hear her prayers and tell her a story... Elizabeth or Jeremy."

"We'll both go," said Jeremy.

"We won't," said Elizabeth. "We'll take it in turns. Children just love having a grown-up to themselves, they're much more natural."

Elizabeth tiptoed in with Mere to see small Hoani, named for his father, spread out blissfully in his apt, then they all settled down happily for a game of Scrabble.

"We found out the other night," said Johnny to Elizabeth, "that the Chief is just like you . . . bored to tears with cards. It's hardly civilized in this day and age."

"Thank you, Johnny," said Jeremy. "For once Elizabeth is gazing at me with the greatest approval . . . which is really something. Nothing like a shared dislike to bring two people together. I just can't stand cards. Pity in some ways, because it's a social asset, but I drive everyone mad. I fall into day- v dreams."

Elizabeth chuckled. "So do I. My father tried for years to get me interested, but even he finally gave up."

Johnny said, "Oh, is that why you don't play? I thought it was because of Maida."

Jeremy looked across at Elizabeth. "Why because of Maida?"

"She plays for money and gets into debt. And always backs the wrong horses. Apart from that she has enough to live on quite comfortably."

On the way home Jeremy referred to the subject. "If Maida has enough to live on, Elizabeth, you should take a flat of your own and make a different life for yourself."

Elizabeth wished she didn't have to examine his every remark looking for an ulterior motive. Perhaps that was Stephen's fault. It wasn't natural for her to be distrustful. But when a man with the reputation of a wolf advised a girl to cut loose from home and take a flat, it could mean trouble.

He continued talking. "There are one or two things I'd like to know. I'm not going to insult your intelligence by leading up to them. I'm plunging. This Stephen . . . did he marry Marianne?"

"No. It didn't last."

"Do you ever see him?"

"Yes - accidentally. As a matter of fact, he passed with a couple of friends when you were helping me out of the car the night we went to Othello"

"Did he see you?"

"Yes. I acknowledged him, that was all."

"Were you glad?"

"I was glad he saw me with you... a purely feminine reaction you'll probably despise."

"I'd be glad to think it a feminine reaction. I'll go further. Were you glad because you thought it might bring him back to you? Now don't get mad, Elizabeth Stirling I'm genuinely interested."

Elizabeth said calmly, "No, my reason was what I said . . . petty. You see, he did come back six months ago. Told me he'd been stupid - just bowled over by a pretty face." She giggled. "He said his mother liked me best. I almost boxed his ears for that!"

"Clumsy young fool," growled Jeremy Ffoulkes.

"Oh, it didn't hurt. I laughed, which made him mad and made him realize he'd put his foot in it. And it also did something for me - made me realize I'd got over him."

"Fine. I just wanted to know. It clears the ground. I always think that half the misunderstandings in the world come about because someone is afraid to ask somebody else the truth about a situation."

He drew up in front of Elizabeth's front door. She thought it was time to make her own position clear, and said so.

"Fair enough," said he, "what is it?"

"I don't mind going out with you - as a partner. I know that in our particular world with newspaper dinners, dances and so on, it's necessary for a man to have a partner. Same for a woman. Only I don't Want any feelings to get involved."

"How do you prevent that?"

She made an expressive gesture with her hands turned palm upwards. ' Like this. Saying exactly what one wants. Maybe my experience, with Stephen has made me a little cagey. I don't know - all I know is that these days my reason rules my heart."

His voice was cool, mocking. "You mean don't you, that your reason tells your heart that, because my marriage failed, I'm a bad marriage risk. Certainly our youthful follies cost us dearly!"

For one indecisive moment Elizabeth felt like throwing reason overboard, turning to him and saying: "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it... would you like to tell me about it?" But when the moment passed she was pleased she had curbed her impulsiveness. She must not let this man's wayward charm blind her judgment. She was no doubt flattered that a man with a reputation for liking the women was paying her attentions . . . that was all. Don't be such an idiot, Elizabeth Stirling.

When she didn't answer he said in a voice that seemed tired or blase or something, "Very well, that's that. Let's leave it. There's a film I'd like to see on at the Avon next week. I'll get seats for it."

He saw her to the door, but didn't kiss her. Elizabeth told herself she was glad about that.

It was Elizabeth's long weekend. At the Argus they had a different day off each week, and once in six it worked out to Saturday and the following Monday.

Maida was immensely relieved when Elizabeth said nothing to her about the poem. Evidently Jeremy Ffoulkes had kept his own counsel.

On the Saturday morning she actually brought Elizabeth her breakfast in bed. Elizabeth felt she had Jeremy to thank for this unusual consideration, When she was dressed she came into the living-room to find Maida dusting it. Louisa was washing the dishes.

"Thank you, Maida. I enjoyed that very much."

"I thought you would, dear. You've been looking peaky lately. It's a lovely day. Elizabeth, why don't you take the car and have a run up to

Cheviot and stay the weekend with Frances and Ron - they're always saying come any time. You could put a toll call through to them."

Elizabeth said, "A nice idea, but I've got someone calling for me at ten-thirty."

Maida, a vase in her hand, turned so quickly some water spilled. "Mr. Ffoulkes?"

"No, he's working today. It's a land agent."

"A land agent? Elizabeth, you're not thinking of selling the house?"

"No. How could I? The house belongs to the two of us . . . and a very much smaller share to me, naturally. But I'm after a flat in town. It's the only way I'll ever get time for my writing. There's not much work in a fiat." She looked squarely at Maida. "Our personal relationship seems to have deteriorated. I let you get away with too much too long. That business about the heart was bad enough, but when it came to that nasty incident about showing that poem to a man who'd just given me orchids, I came to the conclusion that you were capable of anything.

"I can't trust you. You'd make mischief for me whenever you could. I'd like to live my own life uncomplicated by your petty intrigues. And I'd like what I earn to be mine. The house is freehold - I'll pay the rates and the fire insurance, but not another thing. And you're jolly lucky I'm soft enough to do that much."

Of course Maida didn't let it go at that. She stormed and went on for half an hour, cried, reproached, ranted, all to no avail Elizabeth had thought it all out, had consulted Louisa and knew there'd be no real hardship if Maida managed all right.

She spent all day Saturday and again Monday looking at flats, but was satisfied with none.

When she started work Tuesday she felt distinctly depressed. Good job she was dining out with John Bull. She wouldn't even admit to herself that she was a little pipped that Jeremy Ffoulkes hadn't rung her at all during the weekend.

So when he rang her on the house phone to ask if he could lunch her, she refused, but agreed to accompany him to the film he wanted to see on Wednesday night.

John Bull always did things in the best tradition. No restaurants for him, they always went to a hotel for dinner/John was failing a little, she thought. Since he'd lost his wife twelve months ago he'd been a little forlorn, had got thinner.

He said now, "Instead of a show tonight, I thought we'd go back home. I've got a proposition to put to you, and I don't think a hotel lounge is the place for it. Mrs. Masterson is having friends in, but they'll be in the drawing-room. We could have the study. I told her to keep a good fire on. How about it ?"

"I'd like it very much. Let's go."

It was a pity both his son and daughter were in England. Jack was in medical research and would probably return some day, but not for years, and Jocelyn was married to the English representative of a New Zealand shipping company. It hadn't mattered much when Grace had been alive. They'd gone home every five years or so. Both had liked travelling and they had been comrades as well as lovers. An ideal marriage.

Elizabeth sat down in a comfortable chair while John stirred up the fire with his boot and threw more coal on. He stood in front of it, hurrumphed, said, "I've a proposition to put to you. You know Janet Cherrington left my wife Cherrington Lodge over at Ngahuru-Marama two years ago - and we began using it as a weekend cottage till Grace died?"

Elizabeth nodded.

"Well, I was thinking of putting it on the market. In fact, I've got this house on the market already. I'm going home. For good. Jocelyn says there's a place I can rent right next to them. They live in Kent, you remember? Well, I met Louisa in town the other day. Sensible woman, Louisa, bonny too. Always liked her. No humbug. She told me about the way Maida has been playing you up. Elizabeth, it's time you lived your own life. She said she was going to persuade you to get a flat.

"Well, I know you're really a country girl at heart. It was Maida brought your father to town. I'm deeding you the Lodge. You've been like a second daughter to us since Jocelyn left New Zealand. It would give me the greatest pleasure. But it's on one condition - that you live there for a year."

Elizabeth's eyes were shining.

"John Bull! Oh, I'm going to miss you horribly . . , you're a link with Dad . . . but you don't know just what this means, at this very moment. I've been flat-hunting-for two days and getting more and more depressed. I felt I was going to be hemmed in with people, that something was going to get between me and the good earth. I didn't know if I could possibly live without a patch of garden. Oh, John, I feel as if someone had just handed me the moon on a platter!"

He hurrumphed again, patted her back, pretended to be gruff with her display of emotion and was, despite all, delighted at her reception of his offer.

Later he said, "Now, the thing is that my bookings are coming through quicker than I anticipated. I want it all settled. I'd like to take you across there some day this week, and if you've just had your long weekend you won't have another day off till today week, will you? I've got visitors coming Sunday. Any chance of you getting Thursday off?"

"I think so," said Elizabeth. "Though I can't be sure. Look, I'll ring nay editor up now - he said something about doing homework tonight - and find out if I can have Thursday." She stopped, thought, added, "But I won't say why, yet."

She got through, was conscious of pleasure at the way Jeremy Ffoulkes's voice warmed. "Why, Elizabeth! Where are you? I thought you were going to the theatre."

She said lamely, "Well, John wanted to ask me something - have a long yarn about it - so we came back to his place. I wanted to-"

He interrupted. "Back to his place? I say, Elizabeth, how old is this chap? Really old? I mean, these chaps often get ideas. How old?"

She said desperately, "I'm ringing from his study." She hoped he'd catch on. He did.

"I see, so you can't say. Well, I'll do the talking, you can just say yes or no. Is he in his sixties ?"

"No."

Jeremy's tone changed. "I see... you mean he's in his fifties? Or his forties ? When you were talking about him the other day I imagined him as quite old. Now - "

There was laughter in Elizabeth's voice. "He is."

"He is what?"

"What you just said."

"What did I just say? Oh... quite old. Is he? You mean he's in his seventies ? Well, that's different. What did you say ?" .

"I said, yes, and plus. But, let me warn you, most fascinating."

She thought John Bull wouldn't make anything of it.

A chuckle answered her. "You'll probably give me another crack about being vain or something, but I honestly think I can compete with an octogenarian. But I'd like to meet him just the same."

"Yes, I'd like you to meet him too, but it will have to be soon. Mr. Bull is going back to Britain to live. His son and daughter live there. But what I rang about is that he wants me to help him sort out some things from a house he has over on the Peninsula. I don't suppose you know it. It's at Cherrington Inlet, Ngahuru-Marama Bay."

"I know it all right." She thought his tone sounded a little grim, or was she just imagining that?

She went on, "I wondered, if I could arrange my work so it wouldn't suffer, if I could have Thursday or Friday off. I would like to help him."

"M'm. Yes, either day. Which would suit best?"

"Thursday, if it's all the same to you,"

"Right, Thursday it is. How would it be if I came and took you home tonight?"

"No, thanks, it won't be necessary. John is-driving me home. Did you know my car was in dock?"

"Yes, I saw you get off the- bus this morning, and asked Johnny. I say, is he safe, driving at his age, the old buffer?"

Elizabeth said demurely, "I've an idea you may have seen Mr. Bull's photo in the Argus last week. He's on the Advisory Committee of the Road Safety Board. What did you say, Jeremy?"

"Just as well you didn't catch it. I'd like to slit your throat. Do you really think you ought to drag an old chap out on a cold night? Probably upset his gout."

Elizabeth said sweetly, "That just reminds me, how's your liver?"

She laughed at what he said, added, "Well, goodnight. I'd like to settle down again beside this glorious fire. And thank you, Jeremy."

As she sat down John Bull said, "Never realized you were on such matey terms with your new editor. Didn't use to call old Shanks Aubrey, did you?"

Elizabeth chuckled. "No fear! This man is younger, of course."

John shot her a shrewd glance. "And unattached, I presume? Since it sounded to me as if he wanted to come to take you home."

"He's a widower," admitted Elizabeth. "Quite a nice man, really."

John Bull said slowly, "Then perhaps this isn't in your best interests to take you away from your job?"

Elizabeth looked at him sharply. "You old matchmaker! You ought to be ashamed of yourself at your age. As a matter of fact I'd like to get away from this chap. He's a gay dog, from all I hear. I'm practically installed at Cherrington Lodge. That glorious bay, looking right down Lyttelton Harbour to the Heads. What a place to write! I'll give in a month's notice tomorrow."

CHAPTER FOUR

SHE knew she would not find it easy after these years with the Argus. She had dearly loved her work. Some functions of a society nature had bored her, but she had loved the throb and bustle of the newspaper world, had found stimulating the sense of working to a deadline, the utter fascination of handling the world's news before it got to the public.

Oddly enough, when ?he had accused the new editor of threatening her with the loss of her job, he'd said the company employed her, not him. Yet, had this happened a few months ago, she'd have given her notice to Shanks, not the business manager.

And she had an idea that Jeremy Ffoulkes would be angrier than she had ever seen him if he heard it second-hand. He'd be angry in any case, but at least this was going to be a way of calling a halt to a situation that was threatening her peace of mind. ' It looked as if she found the less reliable types fascinating. That horrified her. Much nicer to think one was discriminating. Besides, she wanted nothing to complicate the present stage of her developing career.

"I'm made for a career," Elizabeth told herself firmly. "I've no intention of ever again giving my heart into anyone's keeping. One must learn. From now on I'll run my own life. And it will be heaven living at Ngahuru-Marama Bay . . . Harvest Moon Bay, what a perfect address for a writer!"

But then her thoughts brought her back to the matter in hand. She shivered at the thought of Jeremy Ffoulkes's reaction. Twice she found herself outside the editorial door, only to retreat. Lunch-time caught up with her with it still not done. Then she got so busy she gave up the idea and decided she'd have to tell him after the film.

It was most amusing to find Maida was going out extremely early to visit a friend, taking a taxi. Cousin Louisa said to Elizabeth in an aside, "Your Jeremy has been too much for her. She feels uncomfortable with him now. I'm ashamed to say I've found the greatest satisfaction in seeing Maida get her come-uppance for once. I'd never have stayed on here if it hadn't been that I didn't want to see you in complete subjection to her, selfish woman that she is."

Elizabeth said, a glint of tears in her eyes, "Rut, Louisa, now I'm running out on you it seems hardly fair you should be left to cope. That you should have to live with a woman you don't like."

Cousin Louisa's eyes were shrewd. "Lassie, it won't last long. With your prop removed Maida will attach herself to someone else. She knows I've always seen through her and that I'd be off tomorrow were it not for you. She also knows I'd never have left you while you needed me as a buffer. But you go off to Ngahuru and give Maida a chance to do without you. It will suit you down to the ground. She might even begin to live within her means,"

It wasn't till they reached home after a most enjoyable film that Elizabeth broached the subject. They pulled up under the big overhanging native red beech at the end of the circular drive.

Jeremy turned and smiled down on her. Elizabeth knew it was now or never, though it was a pity to introduce what must be a jarring note when this had been the first outing without any discord.

She couldn't do anything but come straight out with it, and in her agitation used his surname.

"Mr. F-Ffoulkes ... I've got to tell you ... I've been trying to get hold of you alone all day. I'm leaving the Argus ... I want to give you a month's notice. Actually a fortnight would suit me better, but I know

it's a harder position to fill than a clerical one. I'm leaving Christchurch and going to freelance."

There! She'd got it all out without interruption. He didn't even speak for a few moments when she had finished and sat there, looking down at her clenched hands in the moonlight.

When he did speak his tone had a curious forced quality.

"So! I was playing knight-errant. Good old St. George. Rescuing you from the dragon Maida, encouraging you to be independent, and all that happens is that the Argus loses its lady editor. The management is going to be very pleased with me, blundering fool that I am!"

No hint of personal loss. Elizabeth took herself to task for feeling even slightly let down over that. Numbskull! After all, she was, in a way, running away from Jeremy Ffoulkes, wasn't she?

Hadn't she told herself over and over that she waited nothing to do with anyone his type? When she did feel the need of a man in her life she'd look for someone dependable. With roots.

So she said drily, "The management doesn't need to know you had anything to do with it... that you advised me to cut loose and make a life of my own. I shan't tell them."

He might just as well not have heard her. His voice was hard.

"Where are you going? Is it, like everyone else, a drift to the North? I wonder why a bigger population has any pull at all? That people think success comes easier if you're in the biggest city."

She achieved a laugh. "Actually I'm not a town girl at all, I've just been masquerading as one. The place to write is in the country. John Bull is giving me his place at Ngahuru-Marama - Cherrington Lodge. I think I'm the luckiest girl in the world."

A slightly mollified tone came into his voice, something the woman in Elizabeth appreciated. "Well, perhaps that's not so bad . . . it's reasonably near, though I still wish it hadn't been exactly there."

She said swiftly: "Jeremy, I'm aiming to make a new life for myself. I'll be very busy for a while writing potboilers. I've only two regular columns . .. that'll do no more than feed me. You know column work in New Zealand isn't exactly remunerative. And novels take a long time to get published, even if I write another, acceptable one. Especially when you're young and haven't much experience behind you."

His mood changed swiftly, his hand came to hers. "Then why turn your back on experience, Elizabeth Stirling? It won't really help your writing to retire into an old-maidish existence."

She said hotly, "That's a corny line if ever there was one! Fancy thinking I'd fall for that. Must have emotional experience to be able to express oneself! I don't want my life cluttered up with-"

She got no further because his hand was covering her mouth. "Be quiet! Don't talk like that. I don't like to be misunderstood, Elizabeth Stirling. Anyone would think I'd been suggesting a flat for all sorts of unconventional reasons! And it was simply and solely because I hated seeing your stepmother belittle you and exploit: you. Even men of my type - since that's your favourite description of me - do have a few decent impulses once in a while. We may not be very good at making women happy, but we aren't altogether devoid of decent feelings."

Elizabeth, quite unable to say anything because of the rough pressure of his hand on her mouth, was a prey to emotions she could not understand, and the sharpest of them was the realization that he was right. That she had been wounding, cruel, that she had misjudged his

motives over this, and also that it was hardly fair to take out her bitterness over Stephen on him.

She became aware that Jeremy had taken his hand from' her mouth. She looked up.

He said, with no attempt to suppress his irritation, "You're the most deflating creature I've ever met, Elizabeth Stirling 1 Here we are, in the middle of a furious argument, and you go off into a day-dream. Are you so glad to get away from the Argus .. . and me... that a moment like this you can get lost in contemplation of what's ahead of you? I'm almost inclined to wish you may die of boredom and loneliness before a month's out."

Elizabeth turned on him. "That's a horrible thing to say!"

His voice was derisive. "Much, much better. Any man would rather be shouted at than ignored."

It took her a real effort to keep her voice down at that. "I did not shout, Jeremy."

"No, not in actual fact. But you're the best I've ever known at being able to give the impression of bawling a man out an still retaining a low and perfectly charming voice!"

Elizabeth said intensely: "Well, you should know. At a guess I'd say you spent most of your adult years arguing with women!" She got put of the car, slammed the door and walked swiftly uphill to the side door. He'd catch hef before she got to the sanctuary of the little porch, but she would not run.

She was therefore completely chagrined when she heard the 'car engine spring to life, the slither of car wheels on gravel, and the roar of the engine as it swept out of the drive.

Elizabeth went straight to her room, cast herself down on her bed, wanted to cry and couldn't, and for one uninhibited moment could have drummed her heels with temper. She was completely disgusted with herself. What could be the matter with her? She wasn't like this usually, wanting to lash out and hurt. And it looked as if she had succeeded.

Well, she'd hardly know how to meet him on Friday, and it served her right. She was going off to Ngahuru-Marama tomorrow and she would have a whole day to feel uneasy and ashamed in.

What was it Dad had always said? "Fine to be worldly-wise and tough? I hardly think so. What this world really needs - everywhere - is the milk of human kindness, toleration of other people's faults, intolerance with our own." At the thought of her father tears did come. She still missed him. And she would have liked his opinion of one Jeremy Ffoulkes.

Thursday dawned in frosty splendour. Across the plains as they breasted the hill the Alps were dazzling and the sun picked up the silver ribbons that were mighty rivers cutting through the gorges to race across the patchwork of the paddocks, rich in fertility.

Up to the Kiwi resting-house they climbed, then dipped over to the harbour, its waters a deep winter blue, the sun striking blindingly on bare rock outcrops and yellow tussocks.

Through Allanton, Teddington, and up and over a road cut across a lowsheadland, down the other side and into the Bay of the Harvest Moon. Back in the over-harbour hills Mount Herbert reared, white above the lower brown hills.

They went through the village and round a curve to Cherrington Inlet. Cherrington Lodge stood sideways to the road and behind it rolling green pastures ran down to the sea. The tide was out and on the shining rippled pewter of the mud-flats, arrow-marked by the countless little feet, were sea-birds by the hundred, a nature-lover's paradise.

Cherrington Lodge was low-set, with dark brown wooden walls and an Grange-tiled roof, an old-fashioned verandah on two sides with M pillars wreathed with clematis and wistaria, all leafless now, and a garden that was a wilderness but would be a mass of colour and fragrance in spring and summer.

At the end of the L nearest the road there was a wide windows and through it Elizabeth could see the shelves of the old library that Janet Cherrington, the last of her line, had run. The windows were dusty and cobwebby, but Elizabeth did not feel dismayed.

Her fingers tingled with the itch to be at it. Pity it must be a month before she could take possession. She turned to John Bull.

"I love it already. It's going to be home in every sense of the word. Let's buy some stores and make a snack lunch here."

"No fear." John Bull was horrified. "I want roast beef and Yorkshire pudding and apple pie. None of these feathery omelettes for me . .. and feeling hungry half an hour later. My stomach's not used to that sort of thing. I'm giving you dinner at the Sickle. I rang them from Christchurch last night to tell them they'd have two extra for lunch."

Elizabeth chuckled. As she crossed the threshold she even forgot about Jeremy Ffoulkes and how she would face him again. Later, when she realized she had forgotten him for a time, she was glad. Perhaps here she would find healing and peace. Life would become simple, friendly. She had been led here, she was sure. If it crossed her

mind that it was hardly usual to long for peace at twenty-five, she dismissed that thought abruptly.

Nothing, not even thoughts of a most unpredictable editor, was going to disturb this newly-won serenity.

Elizabeth was enchanted with the place. It wasn't too big, nor was it too small. And what heaven to be able to suit, oneself with a pattern for living. To rise and breakfast without Maida trying to break the news of some totally unnecessary and extravagant purchase, or the amount of her losses the night before. Not to have to cope with her whining about how lonely she was with her husband gone ... something that invariably led up to compensating with the best seats for some show, or a new hat.

After breakfast to be able to skim happily through the housework and be at her desk by nine-thirty, refreshed in mind and body, to cope with creative writing. There was a whole pile of jottings for articles and short stories she had never been able to work on. There was but one faint shadow on her horizon. Thanks to Maida's extravagances, Elizabeth's bank balance was small. She would have to economize extremely rigidly the - first year or two. She'd have to reserve some money in case of urgent house repairs. It seemed sound enough, the roof didn't leak, and it had been painted two years before, but things could happen.

If she could make enough by freelance articles to live on, then her book advance for her second novel would be a nest-egg for security. The six-monthly royalties would be quite small at first till she increased her output.

On the way over John Bull had told her he was going to give her a lump sum for repairs just to tide her over. She had refused graciously.

He'd been grumpily approving. "I've always liked independence myself, but your Cashmere home is so graciously appointed and kept, I feel you might find this depressing. That old coal range should be taken out and a big electric one put in. That grill thing is all right for a snack meal in summer, but not for living here full-time. The old cylinder is just an unpacked one. And it's heated only by the range. Fat lot of good in hot weather,"

Elizabeth shook her head. "Now look, John. It's winter. Surely I can put up with cleaning flues and lighting fires for a few weeks. Later on I'll put in a new cylinder when I can afford it. Meanwhile I'll pack that one round with carpet felt. And although I don't enjoy sooting a range I like the look of an old black coal-stove with the fire glowing through the bars. It will be cheap to run, you know ... that huge stack of blue-gum logs in- the old barn would last all winter with half a ton of coal. So my electricity bills would be small.

"And I'll use that small room between kitchen and library for my study and I can keep an eye on my pots and pans and the fire while I'm typing. What a glorious thought ... a whole room for writing in! I've always had just a desk in my bedroom."

He gave in. "Well, as long as you promise me that if any big repair bills come your way, you'll not be too proud to let me know if you find the going hard. That's a new pump out in the shed. I had it put in last year. It pumps the .water from the hospital water supply, so you'll never be short as they sometimes are on the Peninsula. They've got a huge reservoir up in the hills. And having the nurses' home near will give you young companionship. It's only a cottage hospital, of course, never has more than about six nurses, all told, plus the matron and sister, but at least it's something."

"By the way, that paddock over there is an accommodation paddock. While most of the stock goes by sheep-trucks these t days, they still do a bit of droving, and some of the Peninsula men bring the sheep

round by road to the abattoirs near Lyttelton. I've allowed the shepherds to use that paddock still. They put up at the Sickle, of course. But you can please yourself. Would the bleating annoy you ?"

Elizabeth gave him a scornful look. "I wouldn't even notice it. It would remind me of Otago and our farm. The sound of the sea and of bleating sheep is one of my earliest memories. And in any case, one must work in with local custom. John, this is a red-letter day in my life. I can scarcely bear to wait a month!" She found a note on her office desk the next day requesting her presence immediately in the editor's office.

He was very grave. Elizabeth found her heart was racing. She hoped they wouldn't ask her to stay on till they found a successor. Those indefinite arrangements could drag on too long - it usually meant the management wouldn't put any urgency into it.

Jeremy Ffoulkes said: "You'll be glad to know we don't have to ask you to work out your month's notice. A fortnight will do. I've no doubt you'll want to settle at Ngahuru as quickly as possible."

Elizabeth got such a shock she felt her colour come up. "I - I - do you mean you - "

"Luck was with us. It does happen that way sometimes. Meriel Anderson from Auckland wants a job in Christchurch. We put an ad in yesterday's paper - not expecting any result locally, but just in case - and also sent it to papers in every city in the Dominion. By four last night we cancelled every one. Do you know Meriel personally ?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "But of course I've read and admired her work for years. It's" - her throat went a little dry and she could hardly get the words out - "it's incredible luck for the Argus."

(It was also extremely humiliating to Elizabeth Stirling to have her place filled so promptly and efficiently. It would have been nice to have been missed . .. but Meriel Anderson was one of the top names in the New Zealand newspaper world.)

"How come she heard about it so speedily, Mr. Ffoulkes?" (That was better, she must not show chagrin and must make the normal responses.)

"Sheer coincidence. She was down her visiting her son at Christ's College. Seemingly his father had been educated there. She's a widow, you know. A very merry, fascinating widow. She'd like to live here to be near the boy. Never knew anything happen so quickly in all my life. The managing director was thrilled, of course, and it so happened he knew of a charming flat going in Park Terrace, not far from the College That really decided her,"

(And she, Elizabeth, had spent days looking for a flat without seeing one she even liked a little!)

No wonder Jeremy Ffoulkes looked pleased with himself. Oh well, here was where he lost all interest in one Elizabeth Stirling who wasn't the forthcoming type he'd hoped for. Meriel Anderson would be much more his style.

Elizabeth swallowed. "Well, there's one thing. If you now have Meriel Anderson on your staff, you certainly won't want a regular column from me. I'd been going to ask if it would help the Argus if I did keep it on."

(It was also going to be a small but regular source of income.)

He said quickly, but, she felt, without any real feeling: "Oh, we'd decided to ask you to keep that on. I'd discussed it with Wilks before

we got the ad in. It's tremendously popular - not only with Women readers - and would be a big miss."

The sort of thing one did say, in courtesy, to a retiring member of the staff.

Perhaps it was silly to cling to pride when one's living was at stake, but she lifted her chin just a little, said: "You know, I don't think I'm going to have time to keep that up. I'd like to be free of all commitments, of an editor's deadline. I also think that when one does make a break, one should sever all links with a firm. I've an idea that Meriel Anderson won't like her predecessor's column still running. No, I'll cut it. Mr. Ffoulkes. I'll give the readers warning, writing a farewell article. I've two weeks, then, have I ?"

They measured glances. Then he said, in a more easy tone, "Elizabeth, won't you need a bit of regular work to keep you going? Your novel royalties aren't going to be big till you get established. A regular monthly cheque could be very comforting. Make you feel secure."

Pity! She didn't want pity.

"No, I shan't need it. Neither will I have the time. I'm reopening the library at Cherrington Inlet. The matron came down yesterday just as John Bull and I were leaving and said what a miss it had been, that patients and nurses alike missed it, apart from the farming community. Janet Cherrington used to take a trolley round the wards twice a week. I'd like to do it as a service to the community. That and writing novels and articles should provide me with a very comfortable living."

She did not say she had only promised to consider the idea.

Jeremy Ffoulkes said: "Well, how about - " His phone rang, "Yes, Ffoulkes here. What? Yes, I've had the lot . . . typhoid, cholera, smallpox." Elizabeth stared with frank curiosity. He went on, "Had them last year when the Sketch sent me to Hongkong. Why? Malaya. Let me see . . . pretty short notice, but yes, I can manage it. Yes, quite all right at home. My aunt keeps house for me. Look, I'll come to your office and check things with you - for there and for here. Be with you almost immediately."

He replaced the receiver. "Managing director. Thought he'd gone off his rocker when he asked what injections I'd had. I'm for Singapore - leaving the day after tomorrow. Sorry, Elizabeth, I would, have liked to have talked this out with you, but I can't. I'm addressing the Rotary tonight and I'll have things to see to. I'm afraid you'll be gone when I get back. Look, don't decide in a hurry about that column. I'll come over to Ngahuru to see you about it when I get back."

"Don't bother," said Elizabeth, marching to the door ahead of him. "My mind is made up. I don't want to do it, I want to be free. And don't come to Ngahuru, Mr. Ffoulkes, please. I want to be free in other ways too. I meant what I said about severing the links. I want a new life of my very own, uncluttered with my past existence. I hope you have a rewarding trip. Goodbye."

She decided when she got back to her own office that she'd done that pretty well. Much better to drop a gay philanderer than to have him drop you.

CHAPTER FIVE

AFTER all, the staff at the Canterbury Argus made a big fuss of her when she left. The reporters and sub-eds and clerical staff combined with the printers and management to make it a notable function, and Elizabeth had never thought to own such a fine desk as was presented to her.

The management gave her a cheque that would ease the financial situation considerably, but best of all was when old Shanks said to her privately: "Glad you didn't leave in my time, lass. I daresay this Meriel Anderson is all right in her way, clever and witty, but I think the women's page will lose something when you go - a certain wholesomeness. I foresee we'll get all slick and sophisticated." ,

Elizabeth knew she ought not to be so glad Shanks had said that, ought not to feel it was balm after Jeremy Ffoulkes's enthusiasm for Meriel Anderson. Elizabeth told herself she had, of late, discovered some alarming traits in herself. Downright flaws they were. She'd never before suspected she had an atom of jealousy in her. But she must have. It was very humiliating.

It was a good thing she was too busy to brood. Brood over what ? Late on the night she left the Argus for the last time Elizabeth faced up to it... she was brooding over the fact that Jeremy Ffoulkes hadn't left a message to be read at the farewell function; hadn't cabled good wishes; hadn't cared a tuppenny damn.

As she thumped her pillow for the umpteenth time and tried to compose herself for sleep she said out loud: "Oh, to the devil with Jeremy Ffoulkes!"

Louisa had wanted to help her settle in, but Elizabeth preferred to be on her own.

"I can't explain it, Louisa. I've got to get used to living alone, and once I people that house with you - you perfect darling - I'll miss you. If I live alone for two or three weeks, then have you for a weekend, it will be different."

Louisa said unhappily, "I wish you'd got a dog from the start. There's all that lonely drive, thick and dark with trees, between you and the hospital. But you will see about getting one, won't you?"

"Yes, I promise."

Louisa saw her off in her laden car, with many misgivings.

Maida's parting remark was typical. "I'm going to feel very cut off, living up here in a hill suburb, without a car of our own. And I can scarcely afford taxis now."

Louisa said bluntly, "Then sell the house and get a flat right in the city."

Elizabeth drove off. Before she reached the foot of the hills it was pouring. What a nuisance! Now everything would get wet when it was carried in. Cherrington Lodge wouldn't look half so charming. Never mind, you had to take the good with the bad.

What on earth was the matter with her, to feel so extraordinarily cast down? She'd never thought to feel this way. It was winter, wasn't it, when you expected rain and snow? Somehow some of the gilt had gone off the gingerbread.

Cloud settled down on the tops of the hills. She had to put the dimmers on. She took it easily. How much more promising it would

have been had the day been one of Indian summer such as they had had in plenty last week.

On the harbour side of the Port Hills the rain had given place to thick, clinging mist, grey and eerie. Elizabeth was glad when she got safely over and near enough to discern the iron gates of the Lodge. She got out, propped them open, came through, closed them again, getting quite wet, and drove as close as possible up to the verandah.

A carrier was to come later with her things. Her countless books and her father's books; Maida hadn't wanted them. His old maps, reminders of the fact that all his life he'd wanted to travel and had never been able to afford it, her beautiful new her old one, and the few pieces of furniture she had bought for herself, bookcases and reading lamps.

She realized as she stepped into the hall that it was very dark after her own modern home. Yet that polished panelling had looked charming the other day.

Elizabeth hung her wet coat on the kitchen door, got into a gay, modern overall, splashed with poppies on a green background, and lit the range. John Bull had set it the other day, explained its workings and brought in fuel. Elizabeth opened the dampers fully and waited for the fire to roar up the chimney.

Instead smoke gushed out of the firebox door, pushed downwards through the grate, and up into the room through the opening above the ashpan.

Elizabeth seized a short poker with a hooked end, yanked the circular plate off on the oven top, peered into the cavity. The damper had worked, but there (ought to have been a draught drawing the smoke up into the chimney. The smoke was going very reluctantly into the gap now and then but returning in billows. Elizabeth began to cough.

She rushed and set the back door open. With the atmosphere so heavy and depressed with mist, it needed draught. She tried to fling up the window and found the sash cord was broken. She found *a tile that seemed to have served Janet Cherrington as a teapot stand and propped it up.

She piled on manuka and blue-gum logs and was rewarded by seeing the flames leap instantly. She filled a small black iron kettle that sat on the hob, rushing back through the smoke-filled kitchen.

She brought in the picnic basket Louisa had filled .. . half a cold chicken, some fish balls ready to be re-heated, a mould of diced carrots and peas and beetroot with chopped mint and parsley, a jar of soup, a packet of sliced bread, butter and jam.

She found she was surprisingly hungry and thirsty. She demolished half a dozen sandwiches rapidly. What a difference food made! Now she could cope.

To her surprise smoke was still returning from the damper slot, though most of the firing had burned away. She gave an exclamation, went outside, looked up at the chimneypot that was only just discernible. Not a wisp of smoke issuing. That meant the chimney was blocked with old birds' nests. Of course old John had hardly come here after Grace died. He ought to have had the chimneys netted.

Only one thing for it. Elizabeth got a copper stick, poked hope- hopefully from the chimney flue, but reached nothing. That settled it. Elizabeth found her gardening slacks, tied her hair in a scarf, found a ladder that seemed fairly safe, and, armed with a huge piece of piping, hauled it and herself on the roof.

The piping struck something soft and yielding right away. A ; few thrusts and the soft strawy mass was descending rapidly. Elizabeth

scrambled down, rushed inside, and managed to extricate it all. She was blacker than any sweep she'd ever seen by the time she'd finished . . . and one small kettle of hot water wasn't going to remove much of it. She'd just have to wash as best she could and hope no tidemarks showed.

She carted out all the debris, gazed despairingly at the kitchen that was now covered with a layer of soot and burst out laughing. It would be a splendid start for an article for the Bay of Plenty Sketch. All grist to the mill. That was one compensation about being a writer!

She carefully set the fire again, but it roared off first thing. In ten minutes she could practically close the dampers and it settled down to a steady heat, though it would probably take most of the day to heat the bath-water. She practically spring-cleaned the kitchen. If Maida could only see me now, she thought.

It was half-past three before she sat down to her lunch in her now spotless kitchen.

"How heavenly to be able to please oneself," thought Elizabeth, propping up a book she'd unearthed from the dusty library against the milk-jug. She hoped the carrier would soon come.

By the time she had washed her dishes he was there. He manoeuvred the truck so close to the verandah that very little got even damp. Elizabeth peered into the tray.

"Have you got some stuff on board for other people? That looks like a brand-new mattress under that wrapping."

"It's a present from your cousin," he informed her. "She said to tell you that Louisa is an old fusspot but she wasn't taking any chances of you sleeping on a damp mattress. It's a beauty, with a built-in electric heating unit. Much safer than an electric blanket." ,

Elizabeth swallowed a lump in her throat. That must have cost Louisa a pretty penny! It would be a great boon. She began to think longingly of the night when she could have a proper bath and lie reading in bed, with every inch of it warm.

She had intended dragging out one of the old mattresses in front of the garden room fire, but after being so long unused it would be hard to air right through, and there was no sun.

The carrier proved a real pal and didn't care what he did. He accomplished things that would have taken Elizabeth days. She demurred about taking up so much of his time. He smiled. "She's jake. I work for myself. If I like to do it, I can. I live at Governor's Bay and I've nothing urgent on for the rest of the afternoon."

They had a cup of tea together and Elizabeth tried to pay him for his time as well as the carriage. He shook his head.

"It's been a pleasure. My old mother, who lives with us, and my wife would both skin me if I took a penny. They've read, your column ever since you began it. Tell you what, come and meet them some time. Will you? My mother is bedridden. It would give her great pleasure."

"I'd love to," said Elizabeth warmly. "Look, I hate these some- time-never arrangements. I'll come next Tuesday afternoon. How would that suit? Okay? About two-thirty. And thank you very much."

She felt decidedly less lonely after he departed, even though the mist seemed thicker than ever.

She thoroughly cleaned her bedroom, hung up her clothes and thought she'd call it a day.

It was dark by now, anyway. The evening paper was brought to the hospital by a schoolboy every night and John Bull had made 'arrangements for him to leave one in Elizabeth's mailbox; She put on a raincoat with a hood and slipped down for it. Good job the house lay so close to the road.

Heavens, but it was eerie! How still everything was, just the sound of ceaseless dripping from the vine twigs on to the verandah, and the constant running of water down the spouts.

If only a wind would spring up and disperse the mist. Her torch made hardly any impression, its beam was suffused and lost in the swirling sea-mist. She got the paper and thankfully closed and locked the door on the elements without.

She sat down by the huge fire to read, and there was a picture of Jeremy, with the new lady editor, Meriel Anderson. Elizabeth closed her eyes against it for a moment, then forced herself to read. There had been a welcoming function. There were others in the picture too, but Elizabeth had eyes only for the two of them. Jeremy Ffoulkes and Meriel Anderson were a little apart from the others, glasses in-their hands. She was soignee to the last degree, sparkling-eyed, vivacious. She wore black and long, dangling earrings. One forefinger was raised admonishingly to Jeremy. No doubt he was being typically audacious. Oh well, Meriel was more his type than Elizabeth was. She had the air of a woman of experience, there wouldn't be any untidy ends in her life, no awkward family differences to bore Jeremy with. Neither did she look conventional.

Elizabeth told herself she was glad. That she had wanted to write finish to that chapter in her life. It had been short and ... her mind balked at finishing that. Short and sweet?

She drew in a deep breath, decided on honesty even with herself and admitted it. Certain moments, admittedly few and far between, had

been . . . almost enchanted. Even the fighting had been in the nature of battles royal. She read on, became conscious that she was biting her lip. Reason? He'd been back three whole days.

That meant he'd arrived back the day after she had left the Argus and hadn't as much as rung her. Even if he hadn't realized she wasn't moving quarters right away, he could have inquired.

Well, she could get on fine without him.

At that moment the telephone rang, nearly startling her out of her wits.

She recovered, snatched it up. Perhaps he had looked up her new phone number. Perhaps he'd been overwhelmingly busy since getting back ... strange voice came along the line to her.

"My name's Aaron Copperfield, the blacksmith. I've got something to deliver to you. I thought I'd ring in case you got a scare, someone knocking on your door in the dark on a night like this, in a place you won't used to yet. I meant to come earlier, but I got held up Will it be convenient now?"

Very mysterious. But perhaps it would turn out to be something very ordinary. Elizabeth's mind harked back to the days of her childhood when you always called on a new neighbour with a gift of new-laid eggs or a sponge-cake or something. Probably his wife had baked something.

In less than ten minutes she heard his whistle. Rather kindly that, giving her warning of his approach. She switched on the outside light and opened the door. Mist swirled in with the smith, and his companion, a three-quarter grown bull-terrier brindled brown, with a great ugly mug of a face and a white shirt front.

"Oh, isn't he beautiful!" cried Elizabeth. "My favourite kind - of dog, bull-terriers. I heard you bred them. John Bull told me.'-

The blacksmith didn't appear to be carrying a parcel, so she must have been mistaken. Perhaps it was a new padlock or some- such thing John Bull had ordered him to replace.

Aaron Copperfield was holding out the leash to her, a brand- new leash.

"He's yours," he grinned. "A present from a friend. He ordered him more than two weeks ago."

Elizabeth stared, then smiled. "Oh, John Bull, of course. He's a pet!"

The smith's heavy brows lifted. "John Bull? That's not the name. I knew this chap when he was a boy. It's here in this envelope. I was to give it to you." He handed it over with the benevolent air of a Saint Nicholas and stood watching her.

Elizabeth slit the envelope, drew out a card. It said: "A handsel for your new home. His name is Drummond. - Jeremy."

For one betraying moment the lines shimmered in front of her eyes. He had remembered her. A handsel, the first gift to a new home... Her eyes dropped to the dog. Drummond.

Elizabeth's laughter rang out. "Of course! How absolutely right. He couldn't be anything else but Bulldog Drummond. Come on. Captain."

"He'll be a good watchdog if you train him right. Don't make him too soft. It's what you need. That's what Jeremy Ffoulkes said. A woman living alone needs a dog. Actually he's got the heart of a lamb, but he looks a man-eater, doesn't he? He'll probably fret for a day or two - we've kept him a bit longer than most, but he'll soon get over it. Now,

any chance of my borrowing a book or two out of the library? My wife and I are both out of something to read. We missed our trip to town this week."

He got the books and went away.

Gone was all Elizabeth's depression, solely due, she told herself sternly, to the fact that now something living was in the house with her. You could talk to a dog, and it did give you a better feeling to know that if anyone came Drummond would give tongue.

She gave Drummond some of the meat the smith had brought with him and a dish of milk and began to rinse the sink out preparatory to the washing-up. To her dismay it did not rim away this time, but gurgled and bubbled in a most disgusting manner.

She heaved a sigh. It was only to be expected when a house had been unused for so long that there would be minor setbacks like this, but it was a nuisance. She dared not use it. Given time and with no more water added, this lot might drain away. She'd better wash up in that big enamel bowl beneath the sink.

She arranged the dishes back on the really quite fine Welsh dresser in the chimney recess. This house suited her, belonged with her. All these things would have a history. They were old willow-ware cups and saucers, a bit chipped and a few missing, but charming.

Drummond took up a position on the thick rag-rug in front of the range, sniffed at it, turned himself round half a dozen times and flopped with a contented and exhausted snort. It looked as it he felt at home already.

Elizabeth picked up the dish, steadied it on her hip with one hand as she opened the door, took it in both hands again and walked to the edge of the verandah and flung it out into the murky night.

There was a gasp, a muttered imprecation, a splutter. Elizabeth grasped the verandah post, let the bowl go, her heart thumping, and a man staggered out of the mist and up to her. -

Elizabeth yelped then, with dismay and chagrin, not fear.

"Oh dear, oh dear, what have I done! Oh, come in ... out of the wet. I'll mop you up. I'm terribly sorry. You see, my sink's blocked."

He had his handkerchief out, was wiping his face.

She drew him in. The ferocious-looking watchdog sat up, wagged his tail, slumped down again, put his nose neatly into the angle of his hind leg, and went back to sleep.

Elizabeth pushed her visitor into an extremely ancient and creaky rattan chair and seized a tea-towel. She was uttering, little squeaks of distress and apology. He really was a mess. His face and shoulders were covered with a sort of flotsam of sodden crumbs, bits of poached egg and spaghetti and tea-leaves.

He was laughing exhaustedly. "Well, I'm darned! I came down to pay a formal call on someone I'm told is an author, no less - and look what happens!"

Elizabeth shook her head distractedly. "I'm not really. I'm just a journalist... at least I've written two books, but only one out so far ... one swallow doesn't make a summer. Well, I suppose I am, but you don't feel you are till you have a row."

She stopped dabbing at his overcoat to pick off a few stubborn bits of spaghetti. "I'll send this to the cleaners for you. I'm afraid it's a mess. You'll think writers are daft creatures, and I'm not really. I'm very staid and practical. Really, the things that have happened to me today! But I didn't hear anyone coming." She stopped to glare at

Drummond, blissfully snoozing. "And that thing's supposed to be a watchdog!"

Suddenly both of them stopped, stared at each other, grey eyes meeting blue with the same dazed, incredulous expression.

Elizabeth managed; "Haven't I done this before? Somewhere - some time? Mopped you up, I mean, but - but how could I? But I have. It's like dreaming the same dream over again, or seeing a film you've seen before. I must be going mad. How in - " He sat up, his eyes widening. "You have. You aren't mad. What an extraordinary thing! We were both in that train derailment ... remember? Up North. In the Whaiti Gorge:"

Elizabeth's bewilderment fled. "That's right. That case flew off the opposite rack and caught you on the temple. It knocked you out, but only momentarily. I wiped the blood away with a hand-towel I had in my overnight bag." Her eyes narrowed. "You were a doctor. As soon as you recovered you did a great job. Then - "

"You did a great job yourself. So did the girl sitting next to you. Was she a friend?"

"No, just a ship passing in the night. I've never seen her again. Does that mean you're the - "

"Yes, I'm the doctor at Cherrington House. I live in the Dower House. Good place for a bachelor. My name's Andrew Carmichael and yours, of course, is Elizabeth Stirling. We shouldn't be astounded by coincidences, of course, they're happening all the time, but we invariably are."

He got up, still chuckling, removed the gaberdine coat, hung it on the kitchen door. "Now let's have a look at your sink."

He hunted up some wire, probed, then found a wrench in the wash-house, and managed to undo the washer on the S-bend, empty the water into a bowl, remove a blockage and fit the washer back, twisting some teased-out twine round it in approved fashion. He turned on the hot tap, almost boiling now, and swilled it thoroughly.

"I must suppose you've deputized as a plumber before now,"

said Elizabeth. "You seem to have the knack for being iii the right place at the right moment."

"That's one thing about the country, you've got to be a jack-of-all-trades. Mind if I use your bathroom ? I can still smell dishwater on my face."

Suddenly it was all glorious fun.

Elizabeth stirred the coals to a blaze in the garden room, switched the percolator on, and began making chicken sandwiches. :

"I hope," he said, eyeing them when he returned, "that I'm to be asked to partake."

"I could hardly do less after drenching you with dishwater. The coffee is almost ready. How do you like it?"

"Black with a drop of cream... oh, sorry, you probably won't have cream. Milk will do, just a small amount."

"I'll put the top of the milk in."

They talked, inevitably, of the accident they had shared all those years ago.

The train had been derailed by a quite small landslip, but £t la very, awkward place, just as they were running through a valley. There had

been only two fatalities, and less than a score, of injuries serious enough to warrant hospitalization.

"Then there was that big chap who helped. Remember him? He wasn't a passenger, was he? He arrived later. He was tremendously strong. He lifted up that great mass of metal so we could crawl underneath to get those two people out who were only dazed. And as he let it fall back a piece sprang up and gashed his forearm."

Elizabeth winced at the memory. "Yes, and by that time you were out of local, and had to stitch it without. The engine-driver held his arm and he carried on just the same. It was horrible, wasn't it, working without adequate lights. But it had been too much for him just the same."

"You mean because he keeled over suddenly - just as we got those two people out of the front coach ?"

"Yes, he seemed so tough. Some of the injuries we'd seen had been much more nauseating than that. I wonder if he'd never seen death before."

"Oh, he probably had at his age. I expect it was reaction from the stitching. After all, I've known chaps go out to it for an injection, and been mad about it afterwards... felt sissy."

They fell silent, remembering. Those two people had been sitting together, evidently, and had been thrown forward, and the heavy weight that had killed them had struck them across the backs of their necks so there was no apparent damage from in front. They had merely looked a little surprised.

The woman had been strikingly beautiful, blonde, blue-eyed, exquisitely dressed in a black suit, with pearls and with pearl bubbles

at her ears. Her features had been perfect, cameo-like. It had seemed so wrong that anyone so beautiful should have been deprived of life.

The doctor, this same Andrew Carmichael who was now - incredible as it seemed - sitting opposite her drinking his third cup of coffee, and the man with the stitched tan, and Elizabeth, had all gazed silently down on the dead couple, and suddenly Elizabeth had been almost knocked off her feet. The big man had crumpled against her.

The doctor caught him before he reached the ground and had sent him away in one of the ambulances.

Andrew Carmichael took out his pipe. "May I?" and lit it. Elizabeth knew a strange contentment. This venture of hers had been such a bow at a venture. She'd known many doubts. But now, in the linking-up of an incident almost forgotten, she felt as she had not done for a long time ... as if there was more of a pattern in life than she had thought…

Presently the doctor rose. "Well, I must be on my way. I want to call at the hospital on my way back. Mind if I hunt one or two old favourites out of the library? I'm a great one for reading books over and over."

He took longer over choosing them than she'd thought he would, looked at the time, said, "Mind if I use your phone? I'll ring Sister Murchison and find out if she's got my patient bedded down. I won't disturb her if she has." He added to Elizabeth, "Don't go away, it's nothing private."

He said inter the phone, "Sister Murchison? Oh, Carmichael here. Is Eunice asleep yet? Right, I'll be up shortly. Yes, I know it's a stinking night and she's in good hands, but I'm out anyway. Down at Janet Cherrington's. I called for some books and to meet this Elizabeth Stirling of the Argus, and blow me down, we discovered we'd met

before. Remember I once told you and Matron about that train accident in the Whaiti Gorge? Well, this girl was in the same carriage. Brought me round when I was knocked out, then helped me. You'll like her, Sister. Well, see you soon."

Up at Cherrington Hospital Sister Innis Murchison put the phone back on its cradle and stared unseeingly at it. So she'd like her, would she? Well, certainly the doctor sounded as if he did. She shrugged and turned away.

CHAPTER SIX

ELIZABETH slept dreamlessly, relaxed and happy. Whether it was due to the fact that Drummond was there, reminding her of the fact that Jeremy Ffoulkes had not quite forgotten her, or because in meeting Andrew Carmichael from the past she felt she linked her old life with the new in a very stimulating and unexpected way, she did not know.

She woke to find the sun streaming through the chinks that the blinds did not quite cover, so she knew she had overslept. Well, it would not matter for once, but eight o'clock starts were no use if you wanted to succeed in a career. Tomorrow she'd have to set her alarm as usual for six-thirty. There was a house and garden to look after as well as a typing day of at least six hours if she were to earn her living by her pen-

As soon as she reluctantly slid a foot out of bed she realized the mist had given place to a record frost. She pulled up the blind and stayed perfectly still with absolute enchantment. It was almost like the famed hoar-frosts of Central Otago. The mist had pearled pn every bare twig and frozen. Every gorse bush, and every foot of the dense green macrocarpa hedge that sheltered the Orchard from the sou'-westerlies, was spangled with spider- webs, glinting like diamonds, each one a miracle of symmetry. No filigree work ever had such magic or artistry as this.

Yesterday the all-over tinge had been a dull grey, today the sun picked out patches of colour all over the garden . . . pink and white shasta daisies still bloomed, against the old outhouses overgrown geraniums showed here and there scarlet and magenta; briar roses on the hillside were red with hips, the weight of haws on the hawthorn hedges bore the branches down. Seedling violas made blue patches everywhere, and above them, were slightly frost-bitten roses, always ready to bloom at the slightest encouragement in this climate.

She resisted the temptation to spring back into bed, and went out to light the range. Drummond leapt up with an ecstatic bark, trying to lick her face and going into a frenzy of welcome.

She looked at him severely, even while fondling the great head. "Nothing less like fretting could be imagined! You're no one- man dog! You're everybody's pal, probably including burglars. Just like the one who gave you to me... off with the old, on with the new."

What a difference the sun made. Elizabeth made great progress. What a thrill it was to own a house. She scrubbed, polished, black-leaded and found by four o'clock she had time to stroll down to the village, Drummond on his lead, one of Janet Cherrington's huge baskets on her arm.

How much nicer than the anonymous shopping of the city. As she neared the blacksmith's, out came the storekeeper, the butcher, the lady who ran an icecream and fruit and sweet shop and the wife of the publican. They advanced upon her, greeted her.

Elizabeth realized as never before that when you were something of a newspaper figure you had already made your place in the homes of people you had never met. You had sat by their hearthsides. Any loneliness she might have been feeling fled. Gestures like this warmed the heart.

The next day Elizabeth's book advance arrived. She gazed down at the communication from the Bank of New Zealand in Christchurch and knew a great leap of the heart. This was one Maida could not whittle down. It was hers.

Her clothes, surely, would last a year till she was on her feet. At the thought of having to resist new spring suits and summer frocks

Elizabeth felt a pang of real feminine dismay, then took herself to task. She would make good. And here, nestled into this lovely curve of hill and shore, she would find inspiration as never before, when tied to her office desk.

In a week's time Elizabeth knew she had done the right thing, that this was the life for her.

The library was proving a great success. It took up rather a lot of time, but it brought in a regular, if small income, which, combined with her regular Sketch column, was enough for her simple needs. It meant that, freed from the anxiety of wondering could she manage, she wrote better and more speedily.

"And it provides me with a legitimate excuse for visiting you," said Andrew Carmichael, laughing.

Elizabeth looked at him inquiringly.

He said, "You know what a small place is ... a lot of quite pleasant but speculative talk. Sometimes a little malice, but there's not much here. But while my visits aren't always in library hours, you'll notice I never come down without books under my arm or leave without some, prominently displayed. I always got my books from old Janet after hours, so they'll excuse it on the grounds that a doctor's time is never his own."

Elizabeth found her cheeks were going pink.

She had resisted the temptation to reply to Jeremy immediately and ecstatically about his gift of the bull-terrier. How badly she wanted to she would not admit, even to herself. At the time it had touched her to the heart. It had given her the feeling of being protected, something she had so missed since her father died and she had had to be mainstay. But her reason told her that Jeremy Ffoulkes wasn't

good husband material. As long as he found pursuit hard, he would be interested in her, no longer. These wolf types were like that, a girl had to be sensible, to recognize their charm, to know they had no lasting qualities, that their greatest gift was to say the right thing at the right moment in just the right meaning tone.

And she was sure she was out of sight, out of mind. He would be finding the widow, sophisticated and experienced, good company right now. He hadn't as much as rung.

She felt a little churlish. But sometimes one had to be hard. Men who gave you gifts used them as part of their technique. It made it difficult for you to drop them.

She would write, in exactly a week and a day. She would be slightly offhand, say it ought to have been written before, but so many exciting things had happened, quite apart from settling into the house, so that she'd not really had time. She might even say that country life wasn't at all dull and leisurely, that there was always something happening and the library took up a lot of time. *

She had had the phone moved into the little study so she could answer it without getting up from her typewriter.

It rang. A voice said, "The Canterbury Argus here. Is that Miss Stirling? Hold the line, please." (Elizabeth held her breath, she instantly wished she'd got the letter written. He'd think her unmannerly.) The next moment she was glad she hadn't, for the voice continued, "The lady editor, Mrs. Meriel Anderson, wishes to speak to you... yes, Mrs. Anderson, coming now."

Meriel Anderson's voice was all she would have imagined to match her photogenic personality and her reputation. Low, husky, charming.

"Good morning, Miss Stirling. How nice to meet you, even if it's only over the phone. I hope to rectify that very soon if you're willing."

The voice didn't express any doubt but that Elizabeth would be willing. It was supremely confident.

It went on: "You've been an extremely popular person to follow, you know (was that a little patronizing, a little amused?) and we've had such a lot of mail about you. Some have expressed a wish that you'd carried on your Thursday column." With scarcely a pause she went on: "Well, I naturally understand your wishes in that, you wanted to be quite free of all obligations and editors' deadlines for a bit/' (Elizabeth thought: Ah, she's glad I didn't continue with it. I'm glad the suggestion I finished came from me.) She missed the next thing Meriel said and had to beg her pardon. "But we do feel the readers would appreciate it Miss Stirling, if we could do a feature article on your new venture. Mr. Ffoulkes assures me it's in a very picturesque spot, Cherrington Inlet, and that your home, which he has seen from the outside, is simply charming. I'd bring a photographer over, of course."

Elizabeth said, "I believe he did know this part of the world years ago - but I fancy when he was just a boy - it's just a shabby old house really." (She didn't really think so, but didn't want Meriel Anderson over here, patronizing it.)

"Oh, not when he was just a boy." Meriel Anderson laughed a little. "I believe he spent his courting days there. He tells me it's more like an English village than any place he's ever seen here, and that in cherry-blossom time it's an idyll."

Elizabeth was conscious of something that was almost a physical pain. His courting days ... cherry-blossom time... an idyll... she pulled herself together.

"I didn't realize he knew it quite so well. Mrs. Anderson, I hate to seem disobliging, but I'm afraid I'm going to say no. And mean it. I wanted to make a complete break. I feel it's wise. I'm most frightfully busy, running a library for the village, doing short stories and articles as pot-boilers and putting regular hours in on the rough draft of my next novel, to say nothing of trying to resist spending long hours in the garden. Without wanting to sound self-important, if an article like that gets loose in the Argus, I'll have hordes of people descend upon me. All nice to meet, no doubt, but as a sum total, a great time-user."

Elizabeth felt pleased with herself as she hung up. Now Jeremy Ffoulkes would realize that she was no longer interested. He could concentrate on his Meriel and not think she - Elizabeth - had any lingering thoughts about him.

So Meriel knew all about Jeremy's life ... if she knew about his courting days she must have known him for many years. All his talk about a coincidence that she had happened to be in Christchurch. She'd probably followed him up. And Elizabeth had played into her hands by giving up her job. Elizabeth drew a pad towards her, wrote,

Dear Mr. Ffoulkes,

Hearing from your lady editor reminded me that in all the excitement of settling in, meeting new people and living a new and much more satisfying life, I appear to have overlooked thanking you for your kindly thought in providing me with a watchdog. He has settled in very nicely, thank you.

I feel, too, that I should thank you for resolving me in a decision I should have taken years ago, that of living my own life. It was very, kind of you, and though our association as editor and lady editor was so brief, I appreciated being able to work with you, and I will always be interested in reading your editorial opinions in the Argus.

Yours most sincerely, Elizabeth Stirling.

She felt very satisfied as she read it over. "That puts a period to that," she said to herself. "Much better for the morale than, having him drop me" And off she went to post it, thankful for the convenience of living next to the hospital and therefore having a letter-box at the gate.

He rang her next day, and this time there was no Argus switchboard girl to warn her.

"It's Jeremy here. Not Mr. Ffoulkes, not Jeremy Ffoulkes, even! Just Jeremy. What the devil do you mean by a cold letter like that! And an overdue one, Elizabeth Stirling!"

She was glad her voice didn't seem to betray the fact that her heart was thudding against her ribs.

"Why, what was wrong with my letter? It was just a perfectly ordinary letter of thanks. I - "

"Exactly. Is there any need of an exchange like that between you and me? Have you no good red-blooded reactions at all?"

Elizabeth strove to keep cool. One felt so undignified if one lost one's temper.

"I can't think what you mean. I expressed my thanks for Drummond and for you rescuing me, as it were, from Maida. What more can - "

He snorted. "What more can I want? For a writer you're completely and utterly devoid of heart, Elizabeth. Good lord ... to hark back to good old St. George. That maiden he rescued .., what was her name? Come to think of it, I don't believe she had name. Anyway, do you

suppose she simply said, 'Thank you, Mr. England, I never did lake dragons, I really am obliged. But I must get back to my spinning!'"

In spite of herself, Elizabeth laughed.

"That's better," he said, then in a different tone, "Elizabeth, didn't you think I'd be looking for a letter? I'd arranged with Aaron to bring Drummond down for your first night. I thought your pleasure would have been spontaneous enough to ring me or write me immediately. I was just back from Malaya."

Elizabeth was silent. Then she recovered enough to say with spirit, "Well, what about you? I've been here over a week and never a word from you. And anyway, Singapore may sound along way off, but in these days of quick airmails it's only a day or so from one letter-box to another! You didn't send as much as a postcard!" She recovered quickly enough to realize that might sound as if she had been languishing for him and added quickly, "Not that I really expected it... in a place like Singapore."

"What do you mean... in a place like Singapore?"

She said slowly, "There are - distractions in Singapore. Night clubs and - and all sorts of attractions."

His voice was grim. "I'll have to give you credit for having some imagination after all. I don't appreciate what you've just said. I know what you were thinking… a lot of tough newspaper men all off the chain together, hitting the high spots. There was a dinner, yes. Very lavish ... some beautiful dancers and a fair bit of drinking. So I heardj I didn't happen to be there. I was up country in a trouble-spot* then, owing to the generosity and interest of a Christchurch business man, I was able to go to another area and interview half a dozen students he'd interested in bringing to New Zealand for special studies/ I'd no time for any social life at all."

Elizabeth felt very small, but she wasn't one to surrender easily.

"Well, you've been back ten days, so - "

"Yes, and I've been involved in a domestic crisis. I've had worries at home, I've been tied up at night and hellishly busy the rest of the time with these reports, and besides I was getting increasingly stubborn about thinking you ought to contact me first for very manners' sake!"

"Oh, I didn't know you'd had domestic worries. I - I - "

He cut in again, "put if you've missed me .. . well, that's all to the good. You didn't really imagine I was going to lose touch just because you're the other side of the Cashmeres, did you?"

Elizabeth couldn't think of a thing to say. Here they were, back on the old footing, yet she'd been determined to break away.

"Are you there, Elizabeth?"

"Yes . . . I .. well, I felt I wanted to make a break with my old life altogether. What did you say ?"

"You heard me. But I don't mind repeating it. I said I'm part of your hew life. Not the old."

Elizabeth felt the conversation had got beyond her, therefore she blundered. She said: "I thought you might have wanted it that way too." ^

"Why?"

"Because I'm not really your type."

He sighed. "I could be the better judge of that."

She rushed on unthinkingly, "And I had an idea you might not want to come to Ngahuru-Marama."

"Why not?"

"Because . . . well, you did say you wished it hadn't been exactly here. I would have thought you wouldn't have wanted to revive old... unhappy memories."

She heard him draw in a breath. Then he said in a flat, even tone: "I see. The did village grapevine, what? Who was telling you - and how much - about me and Sybil and Lenore?"

She hadn't even known their names. The coupling was significant. Two sisters. What had Millicent said? Played fast and loose with two sisters. Married one and broke the other's heart.

No wonder he'd wished she'd gone somewhere else. Was it all old folly? Did he know regret now? Did a gay philanderer ever reform?

These thoughts flashed through her mind as she replied, "No.

They seem kindly folk here. You'll have to "blame the Argus grapevine. Though in a way it wasn't that. Your new lady editor told me yesterday on the phone. Naturally she'd know. You are old friends, aren't you?"

"We are not. Did she claim we were?"

Elizabeth, in fairness to Meriel Anderson, had to be truthful.

"Not in so many words. I'm afraid I inferred it. I thought you must have known her fairly well to have told her you spent your courting days at Ngahuru."

"I didn't tell her. I don't know how she knew. I met her once, many years ago, at a journalist's dinner. Not enough to even recognize her again."

Elizabeth put her tongue in her cheek. From Meriel Anderson's photo and the personality conveyed in her telephone voice, she very much doubted a man could fail to recognize her.

Jeremy's voice had changed, become savage. "But she probably knew all about-it before she came here just the sitae. The newspaper world is a very small one in a country with less than three million people. And when a man's marriage has smashed up everyone in his line knows. And talks. Oh, well, let it go. I can't undo the past - or live it down, it seems. I'll come over for dinner tomorrow night, Elizabeth. Make it a good one. I've not had a decent meal - or a leisurely one - for ages."

"You aren't asking if it's convenient. I could have something on."

"At Ngahuru-Marama? The place where time stands still?"

"That's horribly patronizing. A city slicker sort of Remark, Quite a lot of functions are already catching up on me. I've been asked to join the Church, the Drama Group, the Women's Institute, even the Country Girls' Club. And with the hospital at my back door nurses are always coming to the library and dropping in for a chat."

He chuckled. "Sounds a bit like a nunnery to me. I guess you'll enjoy some masculine company for a change."

Stung; Elizabeth replied, "I'm actually suffering from too much of it at the moment. I've had to tell the doctor I'm not a lady of leisure, that I have a living taearn."

"Doctor? Some old buffer like yon John Bull?"

"That's not a flattering remark, Mr. F-Ffoulkes .... all right then, Jeremy. No, Andrew Carmichael is about your age . . . on second thoughts a little younger."

He chuckled. "I believe you're roasting me... and I deserve it. I hope he's well and truly married."

"He's single." That gave her great satisfaction.

"And a fast worker by the sound of him. Known you a week and spending so much time with you, you've had to brush him off!"

"He's known me a lot longer than that. We had met before. Jeremy, there's someone at the back door. I must go."

"Hang on, you can expect me by six. Don't forget to make it a good dinner."

Elizabeth hung up and, glaring at the phone, said out loud: "I've a good mind to feed you on bubble-and-squeak, you great, self-opinionated, conceited, philandering lump!"

Then she went to the door, brought in some children, said it wasn't a library day but she'd let them have some books just this once, and gave them biscuits and lemon squash, just to prove to herself she really wasn't a cruel-tongued female who'd been goaded into saying things she should not.

She despised herself because she felt so light-hearted and gay and couldn't stop singing as she fed the few laying hens she had managed to buy, clipped the edges of the lawn and decided to take the whole day off writing tomorrow to put more spit and polish on the house.

The butcher had some really choice pork ... he and his sons had gone pig-hunting across the plains into the foothills last weekend. She planned it all . . . crisp, brown crackling on succulent white meat,

apple sauce, baked potatoes, a lovely dry orange pumpkin, sweet corn. Oyster soup first, chocolate mousse and caramel cream for a sweet, biscuits and cheese and coffee. Andrew had a clinic on Tuesday night. It was usually pretty late. With a bit of luck, seeing it wasn't a library night, she might have Jeremy Ffoulkes to herself. There was no denying he was a pleasant and stimulating companion; he would bring her news of the newspaper world. And of course, this time she was armoured against falling in love.

As he came in, tall, broad, against the lighted verandah, unbuttoning his coat and unwinding his scarf, bringing with him the male odours of pipe smoke, shaving lotion and hair oil, Elizabeth realized vividly how much women liked the indefinable stimulation of a man coming in for a meal.

He was so pleasant they might never have quarrelled in their lives. It was disarming.

He looked about him in delighted appreciation of the room; a coal fire topped with driftwood and banked with slack glowed in the old fireplace. He looked down on it. "Nothing like driftwood on a fire, is there? Look at those flames . . . copper, green, sulphur, blue."

He glanced up and let his eyes go over Elizabeth standing on the hearthrug. There was that in his eyes that made Elizabeth feel weak.

"Pity you can't see your own hair at the moment, girl. It's full of burnished fights in the firelight. I do like people who are able to give surprises. Not showing up as perfection at first, which can be very boring. You have nothing to do but look, for flaws."

Elizabeth felt breathless. She looked up at the picture over the mantel and met Old Obadiah's stern gaze. He was so uncompromisingly king of the castle. She said so to get control of herself.

Jeremy said, "But he suits the room so well. Promise me you'll never banish him, Elizabeth," and his gesture took in the lot, the old-fashioned bellows hanging up, the ancient rocking- chair, bookcases filled with the books of yesteryear, a shabby barometer hanging at the far end near the glass doors.

"It gives me the most extraordinary feeling of security," said Jeremy.

For a moment a scalding pity touched Elizabeth's heart for him. Perhaps it was only after he'd shipwrecked his life that he'd learned the value of permanent things.

It was dark outside, but far down the harbour they could see the lights of the shipping, the lit windows of Charteris Bay and Diamond Harbour. "What a view that will be on summer evenings," said Jeremy, and carefully drew down the blinds and pulled the rosy curtains across.

She had an oval mahogany table pulled close to the fire. She had a lace cloth on it and a tiny posy bowl of some violets she had found in a: sheltered nook, blooming under the impression that it was August and not early July.

Sitting opposite him, sparkling a little with enjoyment in spite of herself, Elizabeth felt a wild regret that she knew so much about him. She wished that, like Andrew, he was uncomplicated, free of any follied past. She pulled herself up with a jerk. She wished she'd never met Jeremy Ffoulkes. If she had never met him, she might have appreciated the true, solid worth of the doctor. But all conversation was dull after Jeremy's. Why, oh, why were women such fools as to fall headlong for such bounders?

They talked, inevitably, of the Argus, its personalities, of Meriel Anderson.

"I must say I admire her," said Jeremy. "She's brought a family up single-handed. And had a successful career of her own. No mean feat."

Elizabeth felt her hackles rise. She changed the subject.

Drummond came over and lay under the table, his head on Jeremy's foot. "Well, at least he's accepted me," said Jeremy, stooping to fondle his ears.

"He's everybody's pal, I'm afraid. He greets them all rapturously, the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker. If Drummond saw a burglar come and try to get in a window, he'd crawl happily in with him, licking his face in welcome. But he's a darling." She stirred him gently with her foot.

Jeremy laughed. "He'll get over that, become discriminating, and anyway, one sight of his ugly mug is enough to put any prowler off. He looks as if he means business . . . and once he did get a grip, with that mouth, you'd never prise him off."

Drummond gave a gusty sigh of endorsement and went to sleep.

They washed the dishes. It was all curiously domestic. Elizabeth, for the first time, felt completely at ease with him. He carefully hung the tea-towels on the rack over the range, said, "Now, let's scrub up in the bathroom to get the dish-pan odour off our hands and go for a walk. I know it's nippy, but there's a moon to guide our feet, and I've a yen to see its reflection in the harbour waters again."

Elizabeth turned away from him a little. He pulled her back, looked down into her eyes and with an unreadable expression said, "That's a

memory of my boyhood when I used to stay with my cousin here. Moonlight hikes. Not a memory of my courting days, if that's what you were thinking."

"I wasn't," said Elizabeth hotly and untruthfully. "I'll show you where the bathroom is."

As they came back through the hall he said, "I'll be all right in this Harris tweed jacket, but you'll need a coat, Elizabeth."

She was wearing a dress of midnight blue velvet, beautifully shaped in at the waist, moulding her hips and caught in a draping at one side. It had a simple oval neck that was edged with the white fur that also ringed her elbows.

She nodded, opened the cloak cupboard, said, "I got myself a cape early this winter and I find I use it a lot here."

She slipped into it, a plainly-cut black-and-white check. He buttoned the collar for her, put his hand under her elbow.

It had been a lovely day, with the snow gone from Mount Herbert but still a tinge of frost in the air. They went down towards the inlet, but instead of going to the shore Jeremy said, "Where does this fascinating path go?"

"Round the shoulder of the hill. It's a lovely view day or night. You look down on a tiny bay that would be gloriously private for bathing. The paddocks that lead down to it belong to the Lodge, but they're let to someone for grazing his cows and he keeps me in milk and the occasional drop of cream when. I want it. There's a lovely old stone wall. A dry-stone one, And a few walnut trees,"

They breasted the hill, came to the stone wall, stopped, leaning on it in silence, looking up-harbour.

"We'll see the steamer ferry go out if we wait long enough/1 said Jeremy. "Meanwhile ... since you seem to be in a remarkably mellow mood, my dear virago... we could use the time."

He drew her round, feeling for her elbows through the thick tweed.

He sounded mock severe. "I'm not sure I like cloaks, on women in such circumstances. You feel miles away, Elizabeth, bring your hands out so I can hold them."

Bemused, she did as she was bid. His hands were warm, large, strong. She clasped hers over them. She liked the feel of the coarse black hairs on the backs of them. He gathered her against him very gently yet confidently. He kissed her. Not a demanding kiss. Elizabeth felt magic tingle right through her, course in her Veins. She moved a little restlessly, even shyly, and, unsure of what to do next, ran her fingers up his wrists. Her fingers encountered a thick scar running up from his cuffs.

She said spontaneously, "Why, Jeremy, what an injury that must have been!"

He turned around a little towards the light of the moon, laid his arm underside up on the old loose-stone wall, deftly flicked his paua-shell cufflinks out, pushed up his sleeve for her to see.

She took his arm, saw that it ran jaggedly to the elbow, ran a finger absently along it, looked up, caught a strange expression on his face and gasped out, "That's it! It was you - too - at the train wreck. That's when we met!"

His laugh was a little exultant. "I thought you must remember some day."

She said quickly, "I didn't really see your face in full light at all, you know, Jeremy, or I might have remembered you sooner. I was conscious only of your build and your strength when you lifted that mass of metal off those people for us to get them out."

"No, I realized that you wouldn't have seen my features clearly. But I saw yours in the light of that big lamp one of the farmers finally brought. When that doctor chap was bandaging some of the kids and you were holding them." He smiled down on her. "Well, I'm glad you've remembered. Might be a good idea to talk about it now;''

Funny thing to say. As if it were important.

Suddenly Elizabeth heard the sound again. She cocked her head to listen, said reluctantly, "Someone's calling me, and it looks as if he's going to go on calling. It's Andrew Carmichael, that doctor I told you about. We'd better go down."

"Right. Hope he doesn't stay long. Blast him, coming just now!"

Elizabeth's mind was busy with the problem of whether or not to tell him that Andrew Carmicha'el had been at the wreck too. For a reason she could not fathom, she thought she'd have liked to talk it out with Jeremy first. But that was mad. But it would seem strange not to mention it now, and anyway, Andrew just might recognize Jeremy, or Jeremy him.

As they came past the old stable she said quickly, nervously, "Jeremy, it's the queerest thing. I'd better tell you. Andrew Carmichael was the doctor at the wreck. We recognized each other the moment we met."

"Then he must have made a greater impression on you than I did."

Elizabeth said warningly, "Now, Jeremy, don't be ridiculous. I worked on with him for at least two hours after you'd gone away in the ambulance. Besides, we'd been in the same carriage for about four hours and he'd opened a window for me, earlier. I'd every reason to recognize him."

She led the way in, trembling a little and wondering why.

Andrew Carmichael looked very much at home, lying back in one of the chairs, filling his pipe. He sprang to his feet, said, "Ah, there you are, Elizabeth. I yelled my head off thinking you must be somewhere near when the door was open and the fire made up. Where've you been?"

At that moment lie caught sight of someone behind her. Elizabeth said in a carefully casual tone, "Oh, we went for a stroll. This is my editor. He - "

Her editor's voice struck in. "We had an appointment with the moon. And - as you've just found out, Elizabeth - there's no need to introduce us formally. We've met before, Carmichael. Four years ago. At that railway smash in the Whaiti Gorge. I was the chap who keeled over."

Carmichael's face broke into a wide grin. "For heaven's sake! You don't say! You've just found out, Elizabeth? Yes, of course, or you'd have told me the night we first met here. But did you ever hear of such a three-cornered coincidence?"

Jeremy Ffoulkes shook his head. "It's not a three-pointer. It was a coincidence that you and Elizabeth met again. It was quite deliberate that she and I did. That Thursday Argus column of hers was always published in the Bay of Plenty Sketch too ,.. my old paper. I was attracted to her personality as expressed in that column for more than

three years before I found out I had actually met her. She suddenly wrote about that smash. That's why I took the job in Christchurch."

Elizabeth felt utterly dismayed. He ought not to do these * things. It was one thing making up a ridiculous story on the spur of the moment to string Maida on and another to keep trotting it out. He'd believe it himself soon.

Andrew Carmichael blinked. "Well, I still think it's extraordinary. Though coincidences are always happening. Friend of mine went to England last year. Christmas Day he happened to be passing Buckingham Palace when suddenly he and a girl stopped dead and asked each other uncertainly did they know each other. Turned out they'd gone to school together, but hadn't seen each other since she was in Standard Three and he was in Standard Six."

He chuckled. "Then fate got in touch with Cupid, and now they're engaged."

Jeremy said, "I never believe in leaving things to fate. I decided to chase Elizabeth up."

Elizabeth gave him a quelling look. "Jeremy! How ridiculous. You took nearly a year!"

"Well, I was making my mind up slowly."

She said to Andrew, "Don't take any notice of him, Doctor. Newspaper men are like that! They're so used to 'extravagating everything for dear art's sake' as the saying is, that they don't know where truth ends and imagination starts, let alone rims riot. He may have known who I was from that article, but that wasn't why he took the job. He was looking for advancement. The Argus is bigger than the Sketch."

Jeremy said smoothly, "It's always so nice to have one's inner motives analysed and tabbed for one."

Elizabeth said quickly, "Andrew, I'll heat up some coffee. There's plenty left in the percolator."

Andrew's eyes, gleaming with mischief, met hers. He said, "Good show . . . if you can be bothered. I mean I haven't just dropped in for a moment. I'll be staying on for supper. Had no patients at clinic tonight. The Peninsula this end must have a clean bill."

Elizabeth realized with dismay that these two men would , probably try to sit each other out. And while she felt she could control Andrew, she was sure she couldn't control Jeremy.

As she bent to switch the percolator on, she had to struggle against sudden laughter. If only Maida could see her ... it did something for a girl's ego, this .. . quite as boosting as a wolf- whistle!

Naturally talk turned to their first encounter. Jeremy had never heard the inner story of what had happened immediately prior to hitting the landslide and the consequent happenings before he himself came on the scene.

Andrew Carmichael said, "How did you happen to be there if you lived in the Bay of Plenty area?"

"I'd been having a weekend off to visit some people who were looking after my - after a relation of mine. My car broke down on the way home in that gorge. I had to have it towed to the nearest township and I put tip at the pub. That farmer rang the police-station and the policeman naturally came into the pub to see who he could raise to help with the rescue." He smiled, a little apologetically. Elizabeth had never seen him other than confident before. "I'm afraid my motives were not all humane, I wanted to help, naturally, but the

newspaper side of me appreciated the thought of being able to report the thing firsthand. That was my first reaction. But I never did get that report in, of course."

The doctor said, "You wouldn't. You certainly copped a packet when you injured your arm. And we never appreciate having to stitch anything like that without anaesthetics. No wonder you flaked out."

Jeremy Ffoulkes looked at them steadily, said, without any hint of his feelings, "Oh, that wasn't what made me flake out. That woman who was killed was my wife. I hadn't known she was on the train, even. You see, we were divorced."

Elizabeth was tremendously grateful to Andrew Carmichael then for making some sort of reply. She just couldn't speak. What a ghastly thing. No matter what had happened between them, if Jeremy Ffoulkes carried a burden of remorse, perhaps an intolerable one, one would not wonder. He might even have been haunted by the thought that had he not played ducks and drakes with his marriage, she might not have been on that particular train.

Jeremy added, and the tired, world-weary lines were deep about his mouth again, and the cynical note back in his voice, "Sorry to create such an embarrassing situation. It's just that much harder to express normal sympathy when you know we were divorced, but I had to tell you both, because even if you are newcomers here, you're bound to hear it sooner or later. My wife and her twin sister were well known around the Peninsula.

"I used to stay here for my holidays, my uncle was manager on the Trevelyan estate and my wife and her sister were nieces of the Tenterfields at Governor's Bay." He turned and looked directly at Elizabeth. "That's why, while I was glad you didn't go hiving off to Auckland or the far South, I wasn't best pleased it should be here."

Elizabeth was still trying to gather her wits together. She must. She said, "Well, Jeremy, it was a good thing you let us know. We might have blundered had we not known, and started discussing the fatalities. And, as you say, living in a small, closely-knit community, someone would have been bound to come out with it, some time. We don't need to talk about it any more. It's in the past."

At that moment the doctor bent to knock the ash out of his pipe into the hearth and above his bent head Jeremy's eyes met Elizabeth's and smiled. Inwardly she shrank from that look. It meant he was taking it that she thought that his past no longer mattered... and it did.

She made supper, managed to keep the talk light and succeeded fairly well.

Jeremy said, "How about meeting me for dinner on Thursday night and doing a film after? You could stay the night with your sister or up at the Cashmere Hills House, couldn't you?"

Before she could reply the doctor said, "Sorry, afraid I got in first. I've a doctor friend staying for a few days from tomorrow and I'm having Thursday night off and taking Elizabeth to see a film."

Fortunately Jeremy did not look at Elizabeth. He took it quite good-humouredly and said, "Well, next week? What about Tuesday?"

Elizabeth agreed. She dared do nothing else. The phone rang.

"Yes, Sister Murchison, he is here. I've got another friend her from Christchurch, and oddly enough they'd met before. Quite a coincidence. Just a moment and he'll speak to you."

She had had an extension put in the garden room. It was too big a house to economize on those things and go chasing from one end of the house to the other.

Jeremy said under cover of the conversation Andrew was having, "That puts me in the chaperon class, doesn't it? Got to Watch your step in a small village, eh?" His eyes were brightly mocking.

They heard Andrew say, "What, Aaron's daughter? Then I'd better come. Last time she nearly beat the gun and scared seven bells out of her husband. I'll be right up, Sister."

He put the receiver down, said, "It's Naomi Dryden, Aaron's daughter. Never knew anyone to have babies so easily or so quickly in my life."

Elizabeth got up. "And you're going too, Jeremy. A girl , living alone has to watch her step. Safety in numbers!" She grinned at Andrew. "No need to go off tonight with a bunch of books under your arm. You leave together." She looked at Jeremy with a twinkle. "The books are meant for camouflage, she said.

"And will deceive no one."

She said wickedly, "Perhaps you could make a point of coming together, that would solve the problem."

They both ignored that. Elizabeth hoped he thought over the whole evening very thoroughly and realized what Andrew's frequent visits meant. Elizabeth knew she'd be foolish not to know herself what they meant. And she was grateful for them. His quiet companionship was acting like a brake on her feelings for Jeremy. There, she'd admitted she knew she was in danger of becoming infatuated. She found Jeremy's attentions heady.

For some reason Elizabeth had to take aspirin before she could sleep. Something most unusual.

CHAPTER SEVEN

ON Thursday night Andrew Carmichael invited himself to dinner before their outing. His doctor friend and his wife with him and Andrew's housekeeper was away.

Elizabeth took herself to task because she didn't throw herself into the dinner preparations as she had for Jeremy. She tried to tell herself that it was because Andrew was in so often. That in any case, she couldn't afford the time twice in one week to spend all afternoon on fixing a meal.

In truth Elizabeth was finding out things about herself that she didn't like. She, who had always been so scornful about women who got fascinated with charming, unstable men, was now falling for one herself. The experiences of the last two years had been most salutary. Of course with Stephen she'd just not realized he could be fickle. But this time she ought to have known better.

The times she had said: "I'm sure I'd never let my heart overrule my reason. I'd have to like a man as well as love him. Being fascinated by a man is no basis for marriage. You need to be kindred spirits as well as in love!"

The trouble was, she reflected, setting the table for Andrew in an uncaring sort of way, that Jeremy seemed a kindred spirit. Apart from the times they clashed - which was pretty often - she had a sense of comradeship with him she had never found with Stephen. With Jeremy she was completely natural. Even losing her temper with him didn't seem to matter. Which could be important. Quarrels were bound to spring up. Yet her judgment or something must be at fault. Probably her instincts. To know what she knew about him yet to long for him like some moonstruck teenager was almost galling. It was certainly ridiculous.

Yet, since Tuesday night, when Jeremy had told them how his wife bad died, her mind had been busy manufacturing excused for him, but the only thing that must soften her was the fact that he might have reformed since his wild days. That he might have realized he had ruined lives and was now prepared to settle down. But it was all so cheap and shoddy, and Elizabeth hated it.

"Couldn't make up which sister he wanted," Millicent had said, "even after he was married. Bound to be found out, of course, though I believe it went on longer than it should simply because the two girls were identical twins and people were never sure if he was off with his wife or her sister." *

How utterly horrible. Would she ever summon up enough courage to ask him? Would he ever tell her about it, frankly, with remorse? Because if he did ... if he did, she might, she just might be brave enough to risk putting the pieces together again. But what peace of mind would she ever know then ?

Yet even so, just thinking about the possibility made her spirits rise. It said something for Jeremy Ffoulkes that this time he hadn't gone for glamour. As he might have done. Because certainly that girl who had died in the smash had been strikingly beautiful. For the first time Elizabeth wondered what had happened to the twin. Where was she now? Was she Sybil or Lenore? Would she ever come back into Jeremy's life again? Elizabeth shivered.

The bell rang. Andrew.

Dispelling all morbid thoughts, in he came, clean-cut, bright- eyed, erect, with an off-the-chain hilarity that made her realize how hard he worked and how rewarding life with such a man could be.

"I didn't manage to get seats for the Regent, Elizabeth. It was booked out, I got them for the Avon. But they tell me it's a fine picture. Story of a boy and his dog."

"That reminds me. I'm too scared to leave Drummond in the house all locked up in case it catches fire - as bad as leaving a child alone, it would be. Do you mind if he comes with us ?"

Drummond was all for it. He loved cars.

It was during the interval that Andrew said suddenly, "Look over there... buying icecreams ... isn't that Ffoulkes ?"

It was. Elizabeth watched him as he went back to his seat, carrying two icecreams. He handed them to two boys. One had a black-and-white Christ's College tie and looked about thirteen and the other was a boy about nine whose leg was swathed in -plaster and stuck out in front of him on a stool. That was why they were in the front row of the circle, she supposed.

Jeremy handed the boys their ices and took his seat past them, next to a most elegant woman with chestnut hair piled high and long, dangling earrings. She smiled up at Jeremy, seemed to be thanking him. Jeremy was looking down on her, naturally. Elizabeth was amazed at herself, she just had to admit it . . . she was actually jealous of an exchange of glances. How - how ridiculous!

She quelled her turbulence of feelings, managed to say quite lightly, "That's the new lady editor of the Argus. Meriel Anderson. Quite a light in the newspaper world."

"Is she?" asked Andrew. "Never heard of her. Bit brassy, isn't she? That kind of woman scares hell out of me. Good- looking, I suppose, but too sophisticated by far."

"She must have two sons. I'd thought there was only one. She came down here because her son was going to Christ's College. I suppose the other one will go later."

She couldn't keep her eyes off the party. They seemed to be having a good time. Jeremy was certainly making a fuss of the younger boy.

Elizabeth told herself it was a good reminder not to soften towards him. Supper back at Meriel's flat, no doubt, and with the boys off to bed, no doubt Jeremy Ffoulkes would spend a pleasant hour or so. Well, it was a warning, my girl, not to take him seriously. Not to pass over the gold for the dross. Heavens, even in her thoughts she was dropping into cliches. But then cliches were comforting, even if you avoided them like the very devil in writing. And Elizabeth felt very forlorn and in need of comfort. She allowed Andrew to hold her hand during the main picture. It was a heavenly night, with a sky of navy-blue satin jewelled with stars like fireflies and with iittle puffs of cloud drifting across them. As they purred up the lonfely road to the summit of the hills, Andrew said: "We may have more snow yet, I know, but a night like this makes you feel spring is just round the corner. Spring is very lovely at Ngahuru-Marama, Elizabeth. I'm looking forward to showing it to you. You must come with me on some of my over-harbour visiting. And moonlight on the acres of cherry-blossom on the hill behind the hospital is really something."

"It must be. I feel I've only just started to live since I came to the Bay of the Harvest Moon."

He turned his head, smiled at her. "Any particular reason for that?"

She turned her gaze away and looked down. They were descending the Question-Mark Road towards Governor's Bay. She kept her tone light. "I think it must "be the sense of being free to live my own life, Andrew."

She knew from his voice he was smiling. "A tame sort of reason that, surely?" He put his hand out, laid it on hers as it lay on her lap. "I'd like to think it was a little more personal than that."

Because Jeremy had been at the theatre with Meriel Anderson, Elizabeth left her hand beneath his. There was something comforting in his nearness. But no magic. Drummond snored softly from the back seat.

They pulled up at the verandah. Andrew switched off the engine, moved closer. His right hand came across to her left one, guided her round to face him, he bent his head....

The next instant a hard, bony head was thrust between them and Drummond, soft, placid, foolish Drummond, was growling menacingly, deep in his throat.

They were both completely startled, then laughed, their mirth dispelling all thoughts of romance.

"Great snakes!" said Andrew, "I thought that animal was the tamest thing I'd ever met in the canine world. Whatever's come over him?"

Elizabeth subdued her laughter, tried to push Drummond back, said, "I think he must have been sound asleep on the back seat and woke up to find you - er - "

Andrew finished it for her. "Bending over you in a threatening attitude. Drummond, get out of it! Lie down thisi moment." He pushed at the great head. Drummond stayed there, his head thrust forward over the seat, as unresisting as Gibraltar.

Andrew said, half exasperated, "Hanged if I'll ever take you to the flicks again, Drummond, my boy. Never knew such a stupid

spoilsport of a dog. I'll light up for you, Elizabeth, and try my luck inside."

Elizabeth, still laughing, took Drummond's collar, let Andrew unlock the door. As he switched on the hall light she said, "I won't ask you to supper, Andrew, it wouldn't be wise. The lights of the nurses' home look this way. And while they'd perhaps mean no harm, we don't want to give them food for talk."

His mouth quirked upwards. "Soul of discretion, aren't you? All right. Goodnight, Elizabeth." He bent ,towards her, and another distinctly menacing growl came from Drummond.

Andrew looked completely exasperated. "I thought all dogs liked me. That animal will give me an inferiority complex, to say nothing of ruining my evening. Elizabeth, shove him in that little cloakroom."

Elizabeth, chuckling, swung the lead, opening the door at the back of her, and, taking Drummond by surprise, got the bull- terrier in. Andrew, his eyes smiling, caught her by the elbows ... then the most blood-curdling howls broke out from behind the cloakroom door and all Drummond's might and muscle were hurled against it in attack after attack.

Elizabeth had never heard such a hideous din. It was no use shouting at him to lie down, he couldn't hear her above his own noise.

She said despairingly to Andrew, "Look, you'll have to go - and go quickly. They'll hear him up at the hospital, and the night staff will tome rushing down thinking I'm being murdered in my bed. For heaven's sake, Andrew, go!"

Drummond's howls and huntings were frenzied now, hut Andrew said firmly, "Not without kissing you goodnight." He bent again, but it was no use. Elizabeth collapsed with laughter.

Andrew was disgusted and chagrined and furious. He shook his head at Elizabeth. "Now you've ruined it. No one can kiss a girl who's got the giggles. That dog's cooked his own goose. Never again will he go out with us. All right, Drummond, I'm going! Goodnight, Elizabeth!" and he departed, leaving Elizabeth helpless with laughter to open the cloakroom door and get almost knocked down by Drummond, who promptly rushed at the door and hurled loud canine abuse through it as Andrew's car could be heard driving off.

The telephone rang. Sister Innis Murchison whom Elizabeth, by now, had met and liked.

' In her agitation Sister used Elizabeth's first name.

"Elizabeth... oh, you are all right? You don't want help?"

"No-no," said Elizabeth, still gasping, "it's all right. It's just this stupid dog. He's not an intelligent one like yours. He hasn't had - till now - the faintest idea that he's supposed to be a watchdog, but he didn't like Andrew switching on the lights for me when he brought me home and went for him."

It was the only thing to do. The night staff were bound to see the doctor's lights coming from here to the Dower House.

"Oh, I see." From Sister Murchison's tone no one could have told what that particular piece of news meant to her. "Then that's all right. We were planning to dash down, armed to the teeth, to rescue you. But how odd . . . my Corgi's not got half the nice nature that Drummond has, and he sneaks into the doctor's car whenever he gets the chance."

"Yes. Dogs are mad creatures. He's never been like this with the doctor before. Sorry for the disturbance, goodnight, Innis."

Innis Murchison put the receiver down, stared at it blankly. She'd just have to get used to it. One thing, Andrew had never guessed. To him she was just something efficient and obedient in a white overall and a cap. Someone who handed him the right things at the right .time, was never temperamental or unpredictable. She had none of the glamour of a writer. And she was a spineless, ridiculous creature to go on caring for a man who had never, in three years, seen her as a woman. Well, this finished it. From now on she would not care.

Elizabeth heard nothing of Jeremy for a week, a week in which she was forced to the conclusion that he was becoming very interested in Meriel Anderson. One night out with her, and Elizabeth was just someone who lived over the hills and far away.

It didn't matter, she was going to stop hankering after that moon. If Andrew had only known, she was prepared to meet him halfway, but there was an outbreak of measles and mumps on the Peninsula and he was hardly to be seen. Elizabeth told herself it was a darned good thing. Love was too disrupting. She must get on with her writing.

She was enjoying the library work, especially among the children. It was bringing in more than she thought, and she had managed to sell several articles and short stories in New Zealand and Australia.

The nights were beginning to lengthen, the green spears of bulbs were pushing up in the garden and down the hollow the willows were taking on a golden radiance.

This night Elizabeth looked up from stamping books to see Jeremy's big frame filling the door. For one unguarded moment she failed to cloak her instinctive pleasure at seeing him. Then her colour rose and she looked down and tried to pick up her thread of conversation with the publican's wife.

Jeremy looked very much at home. He came and chatted in a low voice to Elizabeth, greeted each person who came up with their books, making it necessary for Elizabeth to introduce him. They were all delighted to meet the new editor of the Argus, of course. She didn't need to make him known to Aaron. They greeted each other as old friends. Aaron had said he had known him as a lad. Aaron said, "Well, when you were a wild young lad round at Trevelyans' I'd never have dreamed that you'd turn out so well - an editor, no less. You must have changed."

Jeremy laughed, held up his hand. "Don't hold up my past against me, Aaron, it's not cricket. Most of us manage to live things down."

"You've more to live down than most. We never knew what you or your cousin would do next. I'll never forget you and Gerald tearing through the village on those steers. Wild West wasn't in it. I thought you'd be killed long before you got to Governor's Bay. I don't know now how you managed to stay on. Happen your guardian angels were working overtime. It's a wonder your uncle didn't tan the hides off you. He had to bring those animals home on a truck. I vowed that neither of you would live to grow up. Has young Gerald done as well for ' himself in life? I never heard about him - or about you for that matter - after his father left .Trevelyans' and went to the Waikato."

Jeremy's face was suddenly all planes and angles. He looked drawn. He said slowly, "Gerald was killed in an accident. Some years ago."

The big blacksmith nodded. "Was he so? Hard to imagine anyone so full of life dead." He seemed as if he were going to ask some questions, but, on locking keenly at Jeremy Ffoulkes, changed the subject. Elizabeth thought he'd very likely wait till he and Jeremy were alone some time before probing further. It looked to her as if his cousin's death had hit the editor badly.

The library gradually began to empty. Jeremy said quite openly, "I'll go through and wait till you've finished, Elizabeth. Any coffee left? Oh, good. I'll heat it up and have it ready for you."

"I've got the fire on in the wee study tonight. We'll have it there." She kept her voice matter-of-fact too. Perhaps no one would think anything of it. There were just two of the nurses left, and the smith. The door opened and in came Andrew.

He nodded to everyone, looked across, said, "Oh, hullo, Ffoulkes. Are you staying on after the library closes?"

"Yes, for the evening."

"Good, I'll stay too. I'll use your phone and let Matron know I'm here if wanted."

Jeremy was equally polite. "Will there be enough coffee left for three, Elizabeth?"

She could have smacked them both. "I doubt it. Better make a fresh brew."

Jeremy sounded most domesticated. "Which cupboard is the coffee in?"

"The one next to the stove,"

"And what have you got in the tins?"

"Very little. I've been fiat to the boards writing. In fact I meant to do some typing tonight."

"You can catch up tomorrow. Mustn't turn into a recluse. Would you like me to do some savoury toast? Got any bacon? And cheese?"

"Yes. If you can be bothered."

"Oh, nothing's too small or too humble.- That's me. If you haven't any dragons to slay today then at least I can give you a tasty supper after your exhausting labours in the library."

The blacksmith guffawed, "He always talked like that," he said.

Elizabeth said sharply, "Then he must have been a most precocious and exasperating small boy!"

This conversation would be repeated word for word in the nurses' common-room tonight, she knew. She was still wondering what the blacksmith had meant when he had said a wild young lad. Had he meant an adventurous young boy, or a young man sowing wild oats ? Maybe both.

She said to Aaron hopefully, "Could you stay for coffee, too, Aaron?" but he said no, he'd promised his wife he'd help her with the crossword.

She left Andrew to stamp his own books and went through to see how Jeremy had got on, eventually. He was sitting in the chair reading the typescript she'd left lying by her typewriter.

What a nerve! And that darned Drummond was sitting up with his head on Jeremy's knee!

The percolator was switched off, and sitting on the hearth was a dish with a lid that evidently concealed a pile of savoury toast.

She said coolly: "You've not been over for some time?"

"No, I've been busy at home. Did you miss me?"

"No."

"Shame on you."

She said, indignantly, "Jeremy Ffoulkes! I don't like people reading my stuff in the rough."

He looked up from it. "Eh? What? Oh, no, neither do I. Not all and sundry. But it doesn't matter about me, surely? No, no, don't bother to answer that. I can see you're in a prickly mood. I'm your editor, girl. Elizabeth, this is superb. Let me have it for the Argus?"

"No. It's not fair to Meriel. Let her run her pages without having to accommodate stuff from her predecessor. How is she getting on?"

"Fair enough. I wouldn't say she's taken your place, though. I think our readers preferred your unsophisticated style."

"Thanks. Is that meant to be a compliment? It makes me sound like a little ingénue. An innocent."

The way he smiled at her made her heart turn over, she thought indignantly. Jeremy Ffoulkes was all things to all women. Well, at least she had her blinkers off.

"I didn't mean that, my darling termagant, and well you know it'. Ingenues and innocents don't have tongues like yours, my love. Your writing's deeper than Meriel's for ail her experience. She's just a little too glittery and slick for the Argus"

(Is she, though? Elizabeth's heart asked Elizabeth's mind. And her mind answered back: For the Argus, yes, but for Jeremy Ffoulkes ? Just right, I would think.)

She wished he wouldn't keep on looking at her like that. She wanted to smile back. He added: "She's the real orchid type, Elizabeth. You've got what Canterbury people like, the wild flower touch . . .

the blossoms of orchard and meadow - remember your poem? - '... fragrant and lasting, to have and to hold'."

Shifting Drummond off his feet, he got up, came towards her ... the door opened and in came Andrew.

And just as well, Elizabeth told herself. Jeremy was hard to resist in such a mood. And ... he didn't mean a word of it. He just said what he thought a woman would like to hear. He'd evidently always been the same from what Aaron had said. He'd kissed the blarney stone and, being a writer himself, knew how to choose his words. Elizabeth had no time for it. Not really, she assured herself. Only because she loved words so much herself, because her daily living was to do with words, they had the power, when so beautifully expressed, to move her.

She held out a hand to Andrew. "Come and sit down, Andrew, you look completely fagged out. Had another hectic day?"

"Yes, Sister and I had twins last night." He grinned as he let himself down into his chair. "This is good. Thank you, Elizabeth."

She put a heaped spoonful of sugar into his coffee, stirred it for him. Drummond was now on the hearthrug. Andrew leaned forward and prodded him gently with a toe. "Slothful beast. I reckon he sleeps twelve hours a day, that animal!"

Jeremy said idly, "Is he still everybody's pal, or has he learned a bit of discrimination? Does he utter a bark now and again?"

Elizabeth tried to avoid Andrew's eye, tried not to laugh, but it was no good, they both succumbed. Then Elizabeth crimsoned. She tried to warn Andrew with a shake of her head, but the doctor came straight out with it.

"We took that idiot of a dog to the cinema the other night and he wouldn't let me kiss her goodnight! Never heard such a hullabaloo!"

Elizabeth burned. That was downright mean of Andrew. The trouble was these two men had recognized each other as rivals and were being reprehensibly audacious. She didn't know what to do. But what did it matter? She had decided Jeremy wasn't for her. Not a man to be trusted. Out with Merie! as soon as her back was turned. Her reason quite disregarded the fact that she had been out with Andrew.

She bent hastily to Drummond to hide her face, caressed his ears and said, trying to keep it light, "You're just a crazy, mixed- up dog, aren't you? I'll get a psychiatrist to sort you out some day."

"I doubt if he needs it," said Jeremy in a drawl. "He could be developing discrimination."

Oh dear.

Elizabeth said hastily, "I find this conversation distinctly embarrassing. Sis humour is on a schoolboy level. Let's talk about something else."

Drummond sat bang upright, without warning, bumped her nose quite painfully and sprang to the door uttering little woofs, i of pleasure.

She said, rubbing her nose, but with great-relief, "That could be Innis taking Taffy for his nightly walk. I'll see."

She dashed out into the library and through the door and the two men heard her calling: "Innis, come and have some coffee? Bring Taffy in."

Innis wore a black jacket and a black-and-white checked skirt and above it a bright ski jersey in scarlet, patterned in Fair Isle. Her

creamy matt skin was for once flushed, a lovely poppy-bright colour that lit her up.

Before there was time for an introduction Taffy's lead got entangled round the exuberant bull-terrier and both dogs collapsed in a friendly but excited and yapping heap. It took the four of them to separate them.

Then Innis pulled the leash up short, tugged Taffy, took a step backwards and crashed over a hassock behind her that was almost the colour of the carpet. Andrew lunged, caught her, tried to steady her, failed, lost his own balance and fell back into his easy chair with Innis on top of him.

Jeremy and Elizabeth howled .with laughter, and Taffy, released, made a playful dart at Drummond. Jeremy smartly, grabbed him, unhooked the leash and prevented any more tangles.

Andrew, laughing, said to Innis, sprawled precariously across his knee, "Something to be said for mufti moments, Sister, you never get into interesting situations like this on duty!"

Innis chuckled, clambering hastily off, "Just as well ... it wouldn't be too good if I went reeling all over the nursery with a baby under each arm. These animals! What did I trip over?"

"A hassock, above all things," said Jeremy. "Who'd expect a modern writer to have a hassock in her study? It sounds more like East Lynne. Elizabeth's .the most contradictory person I know."

Elizabeth laughed. "It's Janet's, of course, and it beats any modern invention hollow. I find I type much more comfortably With my feet on one."

Andrew said, "Where've you been, Sister?"

"To Four Winds Headland and back. It's a glorious night. Makes me feel spring's just round the corner."

Andrew said slowly, "That's a mighty lonely sort of walk for a girl on her own. It's very rough going. If you tripped and fell you could lie there for ages."

Innis shrugged. "Taffy would raise the alarm. I daresay it is a bit adventurous, but Elizabeth's the "only one round here who cares for long walks at night and she's busy with the library often. We go together other times."

Jeremy said, twinkling, "Can't think what the young bloods of the community are thinking of. A girl like you oughtn't to lack escorts."

Innis lifted one beautifully winged brow at him. "I prefer my own company to most of the male variety round here, I believe. I'd much rather walk by myself than with someone less than a kindred spirit."

Jeremy looked at her with interest. "I like a woman to be fond of .her own company. It means she has inner resources, which I'm sure you have, Miss Murchison. And also one who likes the company of her own sex."

Innis added, almost as if he hadn't spoken, "And in any case, how many of the men here enjoy walking? Take the doctor, for instance, I've never seen him in anything but a car or a hospital ward!"

Andrew leapt as if stung. "What a thing to say-, Sister! Of all the dirty cracks! I'm very fond of walking. You know darned well I've never got a minute to call my own. It's a matter of time. Not how many miles between houses but of how long it will take to get there."

"In your professional life, yes. But after all, you do have time off. This is a paradise for people fond of tramping. A great pity when the locals ignore it."

Andrew stared at her. "What's come over you? I've always looked upon you as a co-operative creature, not in the least self- opinionated."

Innis twinkled. "Ah, but in the hospital the doctor is the king-pin. His is the final say-so. You can't expect the same deferential treament outside. And I have thought of late, Doctor, that you could be putting on weight. You're a bit flabby."

Andrew's look was ludicrous. "Hell . . . you're advising me to take exercise!"

Jeremy laughed out loud. "Turning the tables, in fact. Andrew, to save our manhood from such disparagement, I suggest we join the girls on their next jaunt if we can all manage it."

Innis said coolly, "Not our next jaunt. You might be, able to take it, Mr. Ffoulkes, you look pretty fit to me, but I'm sure the doctor wouldn't be able to take it. You'd have to break your muscles in gradually, Doctor. It gets the muscles of the calves of the legs.

"Elizabeth and I are planning to walk to Purau on my next long off-duty period. We're going to spend a night there with friends of mine, walk to Camp Bay where the road ends, the next day, and then the following one, walk back."

"If I saw any chance of getting three days off at once," said Andrew grumpily, "I'd come with you just to show you. But having had another doctor in recently I'll have to wait."

"Besides," said Innis reflectively, "I could scarcely ask my friends to put up a perfect stranger."

Andrew shot her a glance from beneath his scowling brows. "Has Elizabeth met them yet?"

Innis smiled maddeningly. "They said that having read her column for at least three years, she's like an old and valued friend."

Andrew glared. "Know all the answers, don't you?"

Innis exchanged a mischievous glance with Elizabeth. "Only out of hospital hours, Doctor. During them you always have the last word."

Andrew stared. He'd never seen his cool, starchy sister like this before. He shot a glance at Jeremy. "You aren't doing much to save me from this barrage of feminine disapproval. Bet you don't do much tramping either. You won't have time for it, like me."

Jeremy said, with a show of mock reluctance, "Sorry, old chap, to let you down in face of such an attack, but honesty bids me admit I was out with a class of Christ's College boys last Saturday afternoon. We walked from the Takahe up to the Summit Road, right round to Witch Hill and the Giant's Causeway and dropped down to St. Martin's and walked home from there."

"Just my luck," said Andrew gloomily.

Talk became general. It was more relaxing once Innis and Andrew had stopped arguing. Finally Innis, yawning, said, "I must away. I've sleep to make up."

"So've I," said Andrew, rising. "You aren't on call tonight, though, are you, Sister? Heaven help the poor doctor, he's always on call."

Elizabeth, with no hint of apology, said, "And you must go too, Jeremy. I've been getting up at five lately to type without interruption."

He grimaced, looked at Andrew and said, "Do you notice she has no finer feelings? There are ways of speeding the parting guest? Elizabeth Stirling, without throwing him out on his ear. A gracious hint, perhaps."

She shrugged. "You told me once you didn't like evasiveness. That you liked people to be direct, frank,"

He shook his head over her, sorrowfully, "I can't think what women are coming to. Between you and Miss Murchison tonight, you've just ridden rough-shod over our feelings."

Elizabeth, looking at Innis, was suddenly aware that she had thoroughly enjoyed all this, that she liked being coupled with than in this teasing, man-woman sparring.

Jeremy said to Andrew, "I'll run you and Miss Murchison up to the hospital."

Andrew said promptly, "No, thanks, I need the exercise, I'm told. Sister and Taffy and I will walk I"

They all laughed, and Elizabeth and Drummond went to the door with them. Elizabeth intended to wave them off, but Drummond was tugging to be away with Taffy and she was stooping with her hand in his collar to restrain him. She scooped him inside and shut the door, Jeremy, Innis and Andrew stood for a few moments by the car, chatting. Then Jeremy said, "Well, I've a long way to go, so I'd better be off," and opened his door. As the other two moved off he uttered an exclamation. They turned. "It's all right. I've just forgotten my

pipe. Daresay I left it on the mantelpiece. I'll have to go back for it. Goodnight again," They moved off.

They heard him tap at the door, say, "It's just me, Elizabeth. May I get my pipe?" and heard the door open.

They were well up the hospital drive before Andrew became aware that Innis was struggling with the giggles.

"What are you laughing at?" he demanded. "At me walking? Well, let me remind you I walked down."

"So you did... and it's all of half a mile, too! I wasn't thinking of you at all but of Mr. Ffoulkes. What a man!"

"What do you mean?"

"His pipe is in his pocket! It so happens I saw him put it in and thought idly it's a wonder men don't set fire to their jackets more often."

"Well! So much for Elizabeth trying to speed the parting guest."

Down at the lodge Elizabeth was hunting for Jeremy's pipe. She looked on the mantelpiece, the bookcase tops, her desk, moving papers and books. She looked up from the search. "Why don't you look for it yourself? It can't be far away. After supper you were never - "

She stopped as Jeremy drew it out of his pocket. "Well, what do you know?" he asked innocently.

Then he looked up to meet Elizabeth's accusing eyes and chuckled most unrepentantly. He stepped to her, caught her elbows, said, "I

think I'd do well in high intrigue. A good diplomat was lost in me. Now I can bid you goodnight properly."

Quick as thought Elizabeth stepped behind the rocking- chair, said wickedly, "Drummond... here, boy!"

Jeremy pulled the chair away, seized her, kissed her, looked down on Drummond, sleepily regarding them with one eye.

"Attaboy! Didn't I say he was a dog of discrimination? I'll look on you as my stand-in, Drummond."

Drummond lifted the end of his tail, tried to wag it, didn't have the energy, uttered a contented sigh, and flopped.:

Elizabeth said, "Now get going, Jeremy Ffoulkes. And listen. I'll be away for three days next week, as Innis said. The minister's wife, Miranda Johnston, is going to do my library duty for me. So you'll only waste your time if you come over. We'll be away Wednesday, Thursday, Friday."

"H'mm. Pity. I've got that blasted journalists' dinner on Saturday night. Hate the things. I heard you turned down your invitation. I don't blame you. Monday night I'm speaking at the (christian Business Men's Club, Sunday is absolutely booked up and Tuesday night I'm to take part in a radio debate. But-"

Elizabeth held up her hand. "Let's not make any arrangements, I can't get you to take seriously the fact that I'm in love with life as lived at Ngahuru-Marama . , . the easy pace, the pleasant days. I want to be able to concentrate on my new book after the trip to Purau. And there are a dozen lovely things to fill up the time, anyway, I haven't time for all I long to do, even."

Jeremy's brown eyes were serious for once. He stood looking down on her, his hat in his hands. "You don't miss the throb and bustle of the newspaper world at all?" His tone was a little incredulous.

Elizabeth chose to be wilful. "I miss my old friends. But they come over in batches, you know. Saturdays and Sundays mostly. That's why I can't spare time - much time - for - for a new friend. This sort of life is my life. I'd rather have liked to shut the door altogether on the old life."

He was still grave. "You can't, you know. The old life dovetails into the new. What was it Rachel Levin said? Ever hear it? 'The future does not come from before to meet us, but comes streaming up from behind, over our heads'."

Elizabeth said slowly, "That's just the trouble. It ought to be possible to start anew. That's why I hadn't wanted you to follow me up here."

Her eyes had been on the dog, whuffing in his dreams, but when Jeremy didn't answer, she looked up suddenly. Once more his face was all planes and angles, slightly haggard and very grim.

His voice was carefully controlled. "I get what you mean. You don't care for my past, do you? You don't care enough to even ask one small question about it."

Elizabeth, rather white herself, said, "Isn't it better that way? I'm not taking you seriously. I'm just not interested in your earlier life."

She'd never thought Jeremy Ffoulkes's eyes could be cold. They had been full of mischief, audacious, tenderly warm ... never like this. As coldly brown as stones under the icy waters of a mountain stream....

He said, "That's something I had never suspected you of, Elizabeth Stirling. Such intolerances such utter hardness. Goodnight."

Elizabeth watched him go, quietly closing the door behind him, not allowing himself the justifiable outlet of a slam, even. She went across, turned the key, shot the bolt that Aaron had insisted on attaching to it, said goodnight to Drummond rather forlornly, and went to bed.

CHAPTER EIGHT

SHE remained deeply ashamed of her words, yet made no move to ring Jeremy. She had decided to manage her life sensibly and never again to be swayed by a man's wayward charm, so it would be foolish and wrong to encourage him. And you couldn't get through fife, she supposed, without hurting someone somewhere, some time.

Anyway, Jeremy Ffoulkes was indubitably resilient and confident. Over-confident, she told herself. He wouldn't remain crushed for long. In fact, even now, he was probably toting Meriel round. It was better to be firm.

Why then must she hastily scan her mail each day, always with an unnamed hope in her heart that she might see his black writing? Why must she answer the telephone so eagerly, stop in her typing at the sound of every car? What fools women were ... they deserved most things that happened to them!

Cousin Louisa came over for the weekend Maida had gone to stay with friends in Geraldine. "It's done her a world of good. She was on the way to becoming a complete hypochondriac. I've felt a little hard, but sometimes you have to be for the person's own good. I've stopped giving her breakfast in bed so much. I've complained about my arthritis, hinted I'll have to take things easier as time goes on. You need have no regrets there, Elizabeth, it's straightened out a situation that ought never to have risen."

Elizabeth seized on one thing. "Louisa, you think that sometimes you just have to be hard?"

Louisa looked at her sharply. "Now, don't tell me you're suffering qualms of remorse about standing up to Maida? I'm only sorry you didn't do it years ago."

"I didn't mean Maida. Just that I thought I'd been a bit tough to someone else."

Louisa laughed, picked up a dropped stitch, "Not you, child.

You couldn't be hard if you tried. Too much like your father. He had a heart of butter."

"Somebody told me I was hard."

"Want to tell me about it?"

"I'd rather not."

"That's all right. But any time you want to, I'll understand."

"I think this could be one time when you wouldn't, darling. I think that as far as - as this person is concerned - I - that you wear rose-coloured spectacles."

Louisa didn't look up. She means Jeremy Ffoulkes, of course. But better not to interfere. They'll resolve their differences. He's not the man to let a grievance rankle. He knows what he wants and will get it.

Elizabeth said, "I'll run you home when you go, Louisa. No need to take the bus. I'm having tea with Josie and Don and die children, and going on to the Canterbury Public Library. I've a whole lot of references to check."

Elizabeth came out of the library, reversed her car out of its parking place by the Avon, came over the Worcester Street bridge and. glanced over, as she always did, at the Robert Falcon Scott monument. Something familiar about the cut of a man sitting on a

seat nearby caught her attention. He'd been in the beam of light from one of the standards on the bridge.

She came towards the bridge once more along Oxford Terrace. As she took the turn over she looked and was practically sure. She found her former parking place in Cambridge Terrace had not been snapped up, locked the car and came back to the bridge.

Halfway over she paused, looked over the parapet into the shallow water that reflected the neon lights of the city in gold and red and green and the stars in silver, then took a long look across at the man.

He was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, gazing down at the turf, and there was utter dejection and a hint of hopelessness about his attitude. It resolved the half-formed purpose in Elizabeth's mind.

She crossed the rest of the way, turned along the bank, step- , ping softly, and came right up to him before he was aware.

He was only starting to lift his head wheit she said: "Jeremy, what are you doing here... and like this ?"

He was so surprised he didn't even think about rising at first.

"Elizabeth!" There was no gladness in it. "Where have you come from?"

"From the library. I was checking some references. And saw you."

She put her hand on his shoulder. "No, don't get up. Jeremy, what's wrong?"

The bitterness in his voice startled and reproached her, "Would you care? It comes up out of my past."

She put a hand to her mouth, swallowed, said hastily, "I do care. I can't take back what I said, Jeremy, but I've been very sorry I did say it. I've never seen you dejected before, and I just can't stand it."

His eyes met hers. "Feeling all Mother Eve, aren't you? Strong maternal streak. I don't want anything to do with it. If there's one thing I don't want from you, Elizabeth Stirling, it's pity.

"I did want all the other things most men want from one particular woman, but you don't want to play ball. You aren't as mature as I thought you were. You still want a boy-meets- girl type of romance. You wanted someone not cluttered up with old agonies out of the past. Somebody who'd conform to your callow ideas of romance ... young Lochinvar riding out of the west. His first love, not his last. Didn't you? You're too idealistic by far!"

She said slowly, "I don't think it was pity brought me over here, Jeremy. I just saw you and came. It was sheerly instinctive. You helped me once, very much. Can't I help you now? Now, for heaven's sake don't tell me you don't want gratitude from me or we'll both get flaming mad with each other - though if it. comes to that, I'd rather have you flaming mad with me than looking like - like this."

He didn't answer. She went on, a hint of desperation in her voice, "Jeremy, try to understand. I don't want to get involved with anyone emotionally. Only couldn't we be pals, not - Jeremy, this man-woman business gets a -bit complicated at times. It seems to me as if you've either had a blow or you're desperately worried over something. Care to tell? If you won't - and I don't want to intrude - I shall have to go away and leave you here, and I won't be very happy. Nor will I sleep tonight."

Into the succeeding silence he said, "All right, Elizabeth. Briefly it's this. I'm worried about my son, Roderick. He's nine. My old aunt keeps house for us. It's better than nothing, or having a stranger, but

she's no earthly good with little boys. A few weeks ago Roddy developed some trouble with his leg. It's a bit unusual, and they're trying it out in plaster. There's now no reason at all, the doctor says, why it shouldn't heal. But Roddy's not making the slightest effort to get better. You'd almost think he wanted to stay in hospital. I'm at my wits' end."

Elizabeth said, "Jeremy, if I say the wrong thing, don't jump down my throat or be hurt, will you? Can he be missing his mother?"

"He couldn't be. He doesn't even remember her. Except that he misses having a mother. But not personally. My aunt cares for him well in a physical way. But that isn't enough."

Elizabeth was a little puzzled. Jeremy's wife had died four years ago. His son would have been five. Wouldn't a child of five remember faintly?

Something struck her. "Jeremy, you said he seemed to want to stay in hospital. Could it be that he doesn't want to go back to school?"

He turned and looked at her then, his hands hanging between his knees. "You've probably got something there. He's never settled at his school. I know moves are tough on children, but I have the feeling that if he were happier at home he'd settle. Aunt Betty is so impatient with him. I try to stay home with him as often as possible, help him. with his homework and so on and try to enter into all his interests, but it's not enough. He feels a nuisance. I've had a run of housekeepers, none of them very wonderful."

Elizabeth was silent . . . that time he'd said he'd homework to do, he'd meant it literally. When he'd mentioned not being able to get over to Cherrington Lodge he'd said it was due to a domestic crisis. It had been true. His Sunday must have been booked up visiting hospital.

She said slowly, "Jeremy, he's well enough to be out of hospital, isn't he?"

"Yes. But my aunt is dreading him coming home. Says they're; hard to entertain when they're convalescent. That she doesn't mind sq much when he's out at school all day. I suppose she's just past it."

Elizabeth reached across and took one of his hands, "Jeremy, do you think a small boy could be happy at Ngahuru? The hills and the bays, the blacksmith's forge, the old orchard? I'd give a lot for some company. I had Josie's two children over for a few days recently. It gave me company and gave Josie the chance to go to Nelson with Don for a business conference. I've had a lot to do with her children. Couldn't Roderick convalesce at the Lodge? Would you trust him to me?"

His other hand came automatically to sandwich hers between both of his. The contact was warm, comforting. She hoped it was to him too. There in the lamplight he looked into her eyes searchingly.

"I don't want to set you back, Elizabeth, it's a mighty generous offer, but for Roddy's sake I've got to be sure. Will that generous impulse wear off? Will he find in time that you're tiring of him too? It will interfere with your work. It's not as if you're married and just keeping house. You've a living to earn. I would like it very much, especially as it would give me a much-needed excuse to visit you often, but I mustn't take the selfish view. Roddy is the one that matters most. It's certainly true that the sins of the fathers are visited on the children. Not purposely but inevitably.

He's been knocked around from pillar to post. He's never known a normal life. And it can all be traced back to my own incredible and headstrong folly of years ago."

At the sound of the pain in his voice something in Elizabeth throbbed in sympathy. She felt that in all her twenty-five years she had no experience to help her deal with this.

She said slowly, "Jeremy, I'm frightened I might blunder, that I might say the wrong thing. I - I do admire you for putting Roderick's need first. It's correct. He's the only one who matters in this. I meant what I said, I am lonely. I've got my book finished. I've worked long hours at it. It only needs correcting. I want a break, more exercise. If you would allow me I'd like to help. But if you feel Roderick wouldn't adjust to a perfect stranger, then we'll have to let it go."

"He's done so much adjusting in his small life I think he'd just accept it. I can't imagine him not liking you."

Elizabeth felt warmth flooding her heart.

He added: "You remember Mere Harawira saying she thought it was good for a child to have an adult all to itself once in a while? I think that's what Roderick wants. Okay. Will you want a few days to get things in order?"

"No. Are you going to see him tomorrow afternoon? Could I come with you and see how he takes the idea? Not to burst it on him as soon as he's met me, but say at the end of half an hour's visiting."

"And bring him over the day after, you mean? Saturday? It sounds pretty good to me."

Elizabeth said, "Louisa will be on her own again this weekend. Maida was staying in Geraldine and has decided not to come home yet. If I asked Louisa to come over, you could stay too. I'd be sorry for any little boy dumped among strangers and left. We wouldn't be strangers by the time you went back on Monday."

She could almost see the load of care lifting off him. She was certainly seeing a new side to Jeremy Ffoulkes this night.

He said in a different tone, "Elizabeth, must you go back tonight? I hate to think of you driving over the hills so late. Why not stay with Louisa?"

"I'll go to Josie's, I think. She never minds. How about coming with me for supper? Have you got your car?"

"No. I got a flat just as I was leaving to visit Roddy tonight, so I took a taxi. I hadn't even time to change the wheel."

Drummond, in the back seat, sat up and licked Jeremy's car affectionately.

She said to Jeremy, "Josie lives on Huntsbury Hill."

They drove up to the wide patio. Elizabeth turned to Jeremy as she switched off the lights. "Jeremy, why didn't you tell me you had a son?"

He looked down on her as she rested her arms on the wheel, looking up at him, her eyes searching his face.

He smiled wryly. "You can lay the blame of that at the door of that hefty inferiority complex you were cherishing, thanks to your stepmother and that incredible fool of a Stephen."

She looked completely puzzled. "What can you mean ?"

His eyes were very serious. "You were doubting your own powers of attraction, Elizabeth, so I didn't want anything to make you feel I was merely looking for a mother for a small boy who badly needs one,"

It got Elizabeth by the throat. She swallowed. She looked down, said, striving to attain a lighter note, "Careful, Jeremy, I could almost regard that as a proposal."

"You needn't. When I propose you'll be in no doubt about it."

Elizabeth's heart felt so assailed by the potency of his words that she could not answer. It was like giving due notice of the fact that at a more appropriate season he would propose to her.

Her sister and brother-in-law were pleased. "Of course you can stay the night, Lindy-Lu. You don't stay often enough."

Josie put on a delightful supper, bringing in a covered dish of hot, bacon-and-egg pies, and some mushroom strips, hot and spicy. Elizabeth noticed Jeremy ate as if he were famished. She guessed he'd worked late at the office, had just a snack and gone to the hospital.

She said to him, sitting beside him on the couch in a clever reshuffle Josie had made, "Jeremy, don't bother to ring for a taxi. Take my car. Use it for the day. You won't want to spend time changing your wheel before work tomorrow. I'll meet you at the hospital to save you time calling here for me. It's not so far from here, either. Josie will drop me there."

When Jeremy was leaving she dropped the car-keys into his palm. He looked at her. "You'll have to come to show me where the gears are, Elizabeth."

She looked surprised, said, "I thought men always knew by instinct where the gears on a strange car are."

Don said, "Don't be stupid, Elizabeth. It's much quicker for you to show Jeremy where they are than for him to sit there experimenting. Off you go."

Off they went.

She got into the driver's seat, Jeremy in the passenger's.

Elizabeth switched the lights on, put her foot on the clutch, demonstrated.

Jeremy said, "Right. Thank you." He slid out of the passenger seat, came round to her side, opened the door for her.

They stood facing each other. Elizabeth had the queerest feeling - breathless.

Suddenly she could recall with extreme vividness the utter wretchedness this man had experienced there on the seat beside the river. It swept her with an intensity of feeling. It had got pushed to the background in that warm, friendly atmosphere of this hour with Don and Josie.

She suddenly knew she could not send this man away tonight without the contact of something warmly personal to reassure him.

She looked up. He was watching her from under lowered brows.

She smiled a little uncertainly, said, "Jeremy?" on a breath, knew other words wouldn't come, put her hand on his arm, slightly tilted her face.

He remained quite unmoved and shook his head at her.

"I've mentioned I've no use for pity, Elizabeth. I don't want that sort of kiss. A kiss between a man and a woman should be mutual. Not a

kiss taken by a man . . . not a kiss given by a woman, but something shared. Something spontaneous. Each giving, each receiving. A peak experience." He added, as she did not answer, "Even kisses can be peak experiences, you know."

Elizabeth said, "Yes," in a voice that was only a whisper. Then, "Goodnight, Jeremy, I'm sorry." And turned away.

She didn't know what she was sorry for. Perhaps she was sorry that she'd offered him a second-best caress. Perhaps she was sorry for herself that she was experiencing jealousy. Only a very experienced man would speak like that. It was true that she was immature where love was concerned, as Jeremy had said. But she was suddenly jealous of all those other women who had added up the sum of his experience.

CHAPTER NINE

WHAT a good job there was always a tomorrow. You couldn't stay in the depths on a day like this. Life carried you along at a tremendous rate. Elizabeth did the washing for Josie, hung it out, battling against the strong, quite hot nor'wester that had dropped its rains on the Alps and was now rushing across the plains, drying the paddocks and saving the sheep from foot-rot.

Life was very complicated. She wanted to look after a small boy who'd apparently had a thin time of it so far, but she didn't want to encourage the father, even if she thought - at the moment - that she loved him. Elizabeth was clinging desperately to common sense. And it wasn't common sense to marry a man who couldn't be trusted. Many a woman had married a man thinking she could reform him and had lived to regret it. Fascination, charm, isn't enough. Not for a lifetime. And Jeremy Ffoulkes had ruined one woman's life. In fact two, if Millicent Dorset was right. Where was that other sister?

She did realize that the little boy with the plaster on his leg at the Avon that night must have been Jeremy's son. Had he and Meriel wondered if their two sons might get to like each other and - Elizabeth stopped her racing thoughts. She was weary of them.

The hospital was new and sunny, against the hills. She knew Jeremy would be conscious of work awaiting him at the office, so it was up to her to be there first. Josie didn't want to come but told Elizabeth to take her Mini.

It was quite ridiculous that her heart should turn over as he got out of the car, and he came swiftly to greet her. He had magnificent shoulders and walked lithely. Good, clean-cut lines about him. He ought to have looked dissipated, as a warning. But of course there was that weary-looking mouth.

Now he smiled, and Elizabeth smiled back. In this today, at least, they were partners.

He touched her hand briefly. "A new suit? How nice you look. And how clever of you. Little boys always like , women in blue."

Elizabeth stared. "How would you know a thing like that?"

He said, "Ha! That proves you don't read the Woman's Page now! Meriel's just started a half-column: 'Things every woman should know', and that was in last night."

"My paper will be sitting in my mailbox till I get home. Yes, it's a new suit. I got it last week, but it needed taking in in the skirt, so they sent it to Josie's for pie. She was going to bring it over. Rather fortunate."

That was so he should not think she'd rushed to buy something new for him.

She said, "Jeremy?"

"Yes, Elizabeth?"

"Remember what I said about not rushing Roddy, won't you? I'm a stranger to him. We'll find some way to tell him towards the end of the hour."

"Bless you, Elizabeth, that's most understanding. I will."

"And - and if he should not seem grateful, you won't be sharp with him, will you? I mean, children's reactions are so natural. It wouldn't set me back. I hate kids to be too inhibited. We learn all too soon to conceal our feelings, and it makes life very complicated."

His eyes met hers. "What feelings are you hiding, Elizabeth?"

She said, "I was speaking broadly. Let's go in. I've a puzzle for him. It's not new. Mark brought it to me. He's had a lot of fun out of it. Don sent to England for it."

Roderick was out on the balcony. Elizabeth had prepared, even steeled herself, to see a resemblance to the beautiful, golden- haired girl who had been Jeremy's wife and whose face was etched upon Elizabeth's mind.

But even some distance away she could see how like Jeremy he was. A little pale from his hospital stay, he still had a brown skin, the same shaped head, thick tawny hair springing up from his forehead and, just to be different, a scattering of freckles.

"Yes, he is like me," said Jeremy, "but even more like my sister in Australia. Actually she wanted him," he had lowered his voice as they approached, "but I couldn't part with him."

Roddy was lying staring out of the window.

He smiled politely as Jeremy said, "Roddy, this is Elizabeth Stirling, who used to be lady editor. The one whose place Mrs. Anderson took." He said to Elizabeth, unnecessarily had he but known, "I took Roddy and Mrs. Anderson and her boy to the cinema one night. Elizabeth lives at Ngahuru-Marama, the Bay of the Harvest Moon, Roddy."

The boy was faintly interested. "Is that round the Peninsula?" ] Elizabeth said, "Yes, it's at the head of the harbour, just past the turn-off for Gebbie's Pass that leads through to Motukarara. My property goes right down to the bay. It's going to be good for swimming when summer comes. And there's a wee island that you can cross to when the tide's out."

They talked on, sometimes to each other, sometimes to Roderick. Jeremy was right, the boy was listless. He was just answering his father's questions, not volunteering anything. He was faintly interested in the puzzle, no more.

Suddenly Elizabeth noticed he was looking more intently over her shoulder. She turned her head.

Roderick said, "See that cock-sparrow? ... he comes every day for crumbs. Yesterday he almost took a crust from my hand."

Elizabeth said, "How do you know he's a cock, Roderick ?"

"Because he's a more reddy-brown and he's got a bib. The hens are more grey or fawn, with no bib."

Elizabeth said casually, "I'd like to know about birds ... but I've never had anyone to tell me. There are some down on the beach I can't identify. They are something like stilts, only bigger. Black-and-white with very distinctive wing markings. And red and orange bills. They sort of wade about at low tide picking among the shells."

"Oyster-catchers for a cert," said Roddy, sitting up.

Elizabeth caught a faint look of surprise on his father's face and remembered he'd been studying her books and had commented on her shelf of bird books.

She forestalled comment by saying, "I've invested in some bird books since I went to live there, but I haven't had time to look them up yet. It'll be much better if someone can point them out."

She paused and added: "But your father is coming over to, visit me tomorrow, he might be able to identify some forme. I've never seen so many native birds. Some I know. We get wax-eyes and bell-birds

and tuis in the garden, of course, I put honey out for them, but others I don't know."

Roddy said, "Wax-eyes aren't native. They came from Australia - all that way, those tiny birds - and stayed here."

"Well, k just goes to show how little I do know. And there's a tiny bird that sings after rain. Seems to be a lot of them in a bit of bush in the gully past the house. It sort of trills and chirps."

"That'll be the grey warbler. The riroriro ." Roderick was warming up. "That's the nest the shining cuckoo puts her egg into."

Elizabeth turned to Jeremy. "I do hope you'll be able to identify some for me this weekend."

He said carelessly, "I might. But I'm nowhere near as good as v

Roddy. Still, when he's out of hospital I'll bring him down some Saturday."

"M'm. Pity it couldn't have been tomorrow. I'm correcting my book and I left a few spaces in it for the bird-names I didn't know. Mostly sea-birds. I get so bogged down in the different kinds - mollymawks and black-headed gulls and sooty shearwaters and muttonbirds and - "

She was interrupted scornfully. "Sooty shearwaters are muttonbirds. Puffinus griseus"

Elizabeth said, "Oh dear, I have got myself in a muddle, haven't I? I'll have to get stuck right into that book. I think I'd better cut out the bits about the birds altogether, hadn't I?"

Roderick hesitated, then said, "Well, I'll come when I'm better."

Elizabeth didn't follow it up. She looked across at Jeremy. "You know those huge old macrocarpas up beyond the orchard? They ought to have been clipped into a hedge in their youth, but they got away. Well, there's an owl lives in one of them. I've tried to find out where, but I always miss seeing it."

"Is it a morepork? A ruru?" demanded Roddy. His face was flushed.

"I wouldn't know, Roddy. I'm a dill when it comes to birds. I've just had a faint glimpse of it, and always in the dusk. It makes the queerest noise. It scares the life out of me. Almost like a laugh. The sort of laugh you could imagine a ghost making. Very eerie."

Jeremy looked sharply at Elizabeth, sitting on the bed, looking as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. He'd heard an owl the night Innis had been there. A perfectly ordinary morepork.

Roderick clutched ^Elizabeth's arm. "You mean it sort of laughs} Fair go?"

"Fair go. At least it sounds like that to me. But I could be wrong."

Roderick said, "You sure are a dill about birds all right. Don't you realize it's probably the very rare laughing owl? Gee willi-kins, imagine if it was and I - we - located it!" He turned to his father. "Dad, do you think I could come tomorrow? I mean they did say I might be able to go home soon."

Jeremy was purposely doubtful. "You said yesterday that your leg felt too sore."

"But it doesn't today. Honest. It feels- real good. Dad, could you ask Sister? I'd be awfully good. I'd rest it all I can. I mean you mightn't go over to Ngahuru for ages again."

Elizabeth said: "Jeremy, if you asked the sister if he'd be well enough to come across with you tomorrow and said we have a hospital and doctor right next door, it might help. And staying the weekend wouldn't be as tiring as there and back in the one day" „

Roderick looked at his father. "Spin Sister a good yarn, Dad."

Elizabeth thought Jeremy would handle it all right. Sister would probably be wax in his hands.

He was away quite a few moments, but had evidently used them well. The sister came back with him.

She said: "Now look, young man, I'm not too sure. You may be more tired than you think after the drive. If it's just for the weekend, it means over one day and back the next. It would be different if you were going for a week or two."

Roderick swallowed.

He and Elizabeth looked at each other. She smiled. They were allies from that moment.

She said, as if the idea had just struck her, "Why shouldn't he stay a week or two ? In fact as long as he likes. I live alone, but a cousin of mine is coming to stay this weekend, so Roddy's father could stay too. Roddy, I'd be awfully glad of your company if you wouldn't be bored."

The sister pretended to consider it, then said: "Well, I think we'll risk it. Doctor Carmichael can keep an eye on you and I'll make out a list of the remedial exercises we consider necessary and perhaps someone from the hospital could supervise them. You'll know them, I suppose, Miss Stirling ?"

"Yes, I'm very friendly with Sister Murchison."

"Oh, Innis Murchison? Nobody better. We trained together. Well, young man, you'll be all right if you do exactly as you're told. We'll have him ready at ten tomorrow morning, Mr. Ffoulkes."

When she and Jeremy came out into the courtyard again, Elizabeth felt quite limp. But happy.

She looked up and decided that Jeremy Ffoulkes looked ten years younger.

She said, "You'll keep up the pretence that I'm woefully ignorant about birds, won't you? Heavens, I feel a liar!"

Warmth sprang into his eyes as he bade her goodbye. "I've an idea that that particular lie will be just one more star in your crown some day."

Roderick Ffoulkes took to Cousin Louisa at once. She sat in the back of his father's car with him. Josie had said she'd bring Elizabeth's car across to the Bay on Monday and come back with the bus.

She had never seen Jeremy as relaxed as that weekend. It was obvious Roddy wouldn't need his crutches for long, that he had been putting it on. Elizabeth felt a real pang at the vulnerability of children. Shrinking from returning to a great-aunt who didn't want him and from a strange new school, he had taken refuge in a hospital bed, in prolonging his recovery. And it all stemmed from a broken home.

He must have been with his mother to begin with, then when she had been killed, his father must have taken him. There might even have been an interim period when he had been with someone else, till a man could cope with a small boy.

Elizabeth was glad that she had, soon after coming here, cleared out a small room and set it up in a sparse sort of way, as a room for Mark and Beth to occupy.

It had a couple of iron bedsteads in it that were Obadiah's vintage, she supposed, but now they were coming back they didn't look too out of date. There was a sturdy Scots chest, with drawers with round wooden knobs and a mirror stand in mahogany. She'd bring in a bookcase and Roddy could fill it with books of his choice from the library. There was also something else in it that Mark had taken a fancy to and which would fill Roddy with delight-a glass case of incredible age, with stuffed birds in it and sea-shells.

He was almost speechless. "When I grow up," he told Elizabeth, "I'm going to go down to the Antarctic during the summers and study penguins. That's why I'm glad we're in Christ- church, it's the hopping-off place for the Antarctic flights."

Mindful of what Sister had said, he was on his best behaviour, not demurring when he was told to lie down on his bed for two hours after lunch, but up as soon as his father went in to tell him he could get up. When finally he was bedded down for the night it was evident the leg was really on the mend and must have been better for some time.

When Elizabeth and Jeremy came back from getting him to bed, €ousin Louisa looked up from her knitting. "That's a very nice small boy you've got there, Mr. Ffoulkes, he's a credit to you."

For the first time ever Elizabeth saw Jeremy flush. She realized it was with pleasure.

"Make it Jeremy, would you? Yes, he's a bit tied up inside, of course. Natural under the circumstances, but he could be on the up-grade now."

Cousin Louisa said placidly, "I think I'll give Maida a ring and tell her to stay on at Geraldine all next week at the least. I'll stay here and then Mr. Foulkes - whoops,1 mean Jeremy - can stay with his son whenever he can get over for the night."

Elizabeth said, "Oh, Louisa, that would be just lovely. But what about the people Maida's staying with? You know she wears out her welcome so quickly, she has to be waited on so much."

Cousin Louisa purled two, knitted two, slipped one and said, "Oh, she's not still staying with the same family. She's at a hotel now, and was last time."

"Is she? I hope she's not running up bills she can't pay."

Cousin Louisa chuckled. "It's all for free. Maida is courting again. The hotel-keeper is a widower. He's fallen for Maida in a big way. Maida is the type he likes, clinging, decorative, charmingly helpless. It will suit very well. I must hurry it on."

She yawned. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take a bath and go to bed. I'll read for a while. I always do. I'll hear Roddy if he calls if you two should want to take a walk. It would do you both good. You both work too hard." And she got up.

After she left the room Elizabeth said ruefully, "My whole darned family is matchmaking."

Jeremy Ffoulkes made no move to go to her. He said idly, his leg swinging, "Do you hate it so much?"

"Hate what?"

"Well, it could be either of two things - the idea of match makings or of marrying someone with a very untidy, unhappy past."

Elizabeth leaned forward and covered her face with her hands. "Jeremy, let's leave it. I don't know what I think or what I want. I wish life wasn't so complicated. I just wanted to settle down here, take roots, write. Instead of which I'm all churned up. I'd like just to concentrate on getting Roddy well now. I've fallen for him in a big way. If you push this matter too far it could complicate things. Getting him, well is a challenge. I'd like to keep it as simple as possible."

She looked across at him, smiled beseechingly. "Please, Jeremy - no decisions just now?"

His smile was reserved and unwilling. "All right, Elizabeth. I have practically declared myself, and it stands, but there are a lot of things I don't understand about you . . . things I can't square with what I thought I knew about you. Let's just be pals for a bit. Now, let's go for this walk and blow the cobwebs away."

"You don't have to. Just because Cousin Louisa suggested it you needn't feel duty bound."

He sighed. "Oh, Elizabeth, Elizabeth! Don't be so prickly. You're just like a hedgehog. Of course I want to walk with you. Nothing I'd like better. And don't worry, I shan't make love to you."

They went through the orchard, over the stile on the loose- stone wall and began to take the track to the headland.

Elizabeth said, "Church is in the morning this week. You could stay with Roddy, couldn't you?"

"What's wrong with my coming with you?"

"Do you go to church?"

"I'm a member of St. Stephen's, Bryndwyr. Why shouldn't I be?"

"I didn't mean to sound like that."

"Well, you did, my darling shrew."

"Sorry. That was horribly smug of me, Jeremy."

He laughed. "What's the matter with you? I'm so used to you fighting over every issue I feel you can't be well if you don't want to."

She didn't answer.

He said, "I can't see why we can't all go to the service. Roddy comes with me every Sunday morning. It won't hurt his leg. It's obviously better than he'd made out. He'll want to prove to/us he's well enough to be on it for a bit, because he'll want to explore the shore before too long,"

Elizabeth said, "There's just one thing. I've got Miss Middle- ton, the reviser in the reading-room, coming down op Wednesday for the day. It's her day off. Do you mind? Should I put her off?"

"What for?"

"Because Roddy is here. I mean, it sort of underlines the fact' that we - that you - that I - "

He chuckled. "Developed an impediment, Elizabeth? Dope! Better to be quite open about it. After all, Louisa is here."

"But I know so well the gossip and speculation that goes on among the staff - it could be embarrassing for an editor."*

"It won't embarrass me. Will it you?"

"No."

They stopped, watched the harbour lights. He said, "How does it affect you here? How will Andrew react?"

Her voice sharpened. "How will Andrew react? He'll simply be the doctor friend called in to keep an eye on Roderick."

"Is that all he is to you, Elizabeth ?"

She clenched her hands inside her coat pockets. "You haven't any right to ask me that."

"I have, you know."

She sighed.

He said, mockingly, "Poor Elizabeth! You feel Andrew has all the makings of a good husband. No hideously complicated past, a thoroughly decent chap, and apart from anything else, all the girls fall for doctors."

Elizabeth drew in her breath, said passionately, "If you only knew how I hate you when you talk like that. Why should you sneer at Andrew's goodness, the fact that his life has run on , conventional lines?"

His hands were like iron on her shoulders. His fingers bit in. "I didn't sneer at goodness. I only sneered at your hidebound ideas of an ideal man. To measure up to your requirements one has to be the sort who has never put a foot wrong, never been foolish, never made a mistake. Sometimes I wish I'd never fallen in love with you."

Elizabeth tried to speak, failed, tried again.

"Jeremy Ffoulkes! What I'd like to do is run. Run right back to the Lodge and hop into bed and never see you again, But I can't give way to my feelings, because there's Roddy to consider. You and I have

got to be pals - outwardly - for his sake and Cousin Louisa's. She's expecting me to take her supper in to her and she has an eagle eye for distress of any kind. Let's get Roddy better and fight things out afterwards."

He said mildly, "All right. That's a good idea. It will be quite a pleasant change to have you all sweetness and light, believe me."

They didn't exchange another word till they reached the house. He helped her cut sandwiches, put out biscuits, and then, when she had taken Louisa's tray in, said, "I'll get myself a book from the library and read. Do you mind? I find it so relaxing to read to my supper. It's a firm habit."

"Thank heaven," said Elizabeth. "My chief objection to visitors is that I can't read over my supper."

They read steadily for half an hour, said goodnight and went to bed.

Under Cousin Louisa's eagle eye they spent the most pleasant of Sundays. Elizabeth was glad of her presence. Odd how one's mood could change. Last night she had wanted never to see Jeremy again. Today she was thankful they were observing a truce.

Andrew came down very early and inspected Roddy's leg, examined the notes the hospital in Christchurch had sent, and said he'd see Sister about the exercises tomorrow.

Roderick quite enjoyed the experience of going to church on crutches. The minister's two children gathered round him, and Peter, a little older than Roddy, asked if he could try the crutches.

Roderick leaned against his father's car, parked in the church grounds, and handed them over. "There's quite a knack," he said, nonchalantly, "a sort of regular beat. Swing yourself well forward."

Peter swung, and next moment was sitting hard on the turf amid great laughter from everyone, including his father. He got up, seized the crutches, tried again, a little more successfully. He handed them to Roderick. "Let's see you, mate, then I might get the idea."

Roderick swung expertly along, watched by a few more children.

Peter sighed. "You're grouse on them. Beats me. And you've got one crook leg, I've got two good ones and I can't do it."

Elizabeth caught Jeremy's eye and didn't need to comment.

Peter said eagerly, "Can I come down to the Lodge after school tomorrow and practise?"

His sister said quickly, "Me too. I'd like to have a go."

The minister was chuckling. "Poor Elizabeth! You're going to have a queue. Don't let them waste your tithe. Pack them off when you've had enough." He turned to Jeremy. "Last season the craze was for stilts. Your son has probably started a new fashion. What do you bet that all the fathers will be forced into making amateur crutches?"

Miranda, the minister's wife, groaned. "I can foresee us having to reinforce their clothing under the armpits. It could be as tough on their cardigans as hopscotch is on their shoes."

Jeremy said to Elizabeth later, "Much better than purposely inviting children down. There has been a certain self-sufficiency in Roddy due to being an only child, and that in itself has made it harder for him settle in to a new school."

Cousin Louisa, of course, was maddeningly complacent. Said after supper, "Well, I'm for bed. You'll see Jeremy off. Elizabeth? Goodnight, Jeremy, come over as often as you like."

Elizabeth got up. She wanted no long serious conversations with Jeremy. Best to keep it on the level it had been on today. Until she could sort herself out.

"You put all your things in the hall so you wouldn't disturb Roddy, didn't you?"

He nodded, got up too. In the hall she held his coat for him, rather despising herself for liking to do it. He turned round and said, "At least Cousin Louisa likes me as I am."

Elizabeth, exasperated, said, "That's hardly fair. I like you -1 like you - of course I like you - only - " Her voice tailed off.

He said, "I mean Louisa likes me as life has shaped me. You don't. Louisa even likes the idea of me as a prospective husband for you... and it's obvious she loves you dearly."

Elizabeth wanted to shout: "Cousin Louisa doesn't know what I know about you," but she mustn't lose her temper.

She said instead, "I like you very well as a friend, Jeremy."

He said promptly, his eyes boring into hers, "You like me much more than that."

Elizabeth stepped back. "Talk about audacity! Honestly, Jeremy, any woman would resent that. It's sheer vanity."

"It isn't, you know. It's just knowing. It's recognizing something in you that matches something in me. Only because of all sorts of things ... the things that have happened in my life ..., the fact that I'm a

widower and a father, my marriage; its breakup, that I can't bring you a boy's springtime love ... oh, everything ... Roddy ... I add up to less than your ideal man. Grow up, Elizabeth."

She was stung to a reply then. "Not Roddy. Roddy isn't a stumbling-block. Never Roddy."

He shrugged. "Well, that's something. But it only underlines the fact that you regard me as a poor marriage risk. The sort of husband who drove one woman to run away from him. Goodnight, Elizabeth."

She took a step after him, held out a hand, half drew it back.

"Jeremy, please?"

A slight, very slight, smile softened the severity of his expression.

"Poor Elizabeth! You hate, normally, to hurt people, don't you? I'm sorry things haven't gone more ideally for you. Perhaps it's right that true love doesn't. Think on that. But perhaps Andrew would suit you better." He looked down on her searchingly. "But don't run away with the idea that he would. He's a good chap, but not for you. He'd never understand you. Never tread the heights or plumb the depths. We'd do both. He'd never satisfy you. You'd be bored to tears. All right, all right. More evidence that I'm vain." His mood changed again. He drew her against him, patted her hair. "Don't look like that, Elizabeth. Perhaps I'm expecting too much of you. I've had so much experience in my life that I can't realize you haven't. It's big of you to take Roddy. I'll get over as often as I can. Goodnight," He dropped a kiss on her hair, and was gone.

Elizabeth went to bed feeling battered.

CHAPTER TEN

SHE had not dreamed she could enjoy a child's companionship so much. Elizabeth thought it was just as well that Jeremy should have to fly up to Wellington on Parliamentary business. He rang up to tell them. When he spoke to Roddy Elizabeth felt it was a pity the boy didn't sound more regretful he'd not be seeing his father for a while. ^

But he was full of all their doings and she had an idea that whatever his shortcomings as a husband had been, he was pretty good as a father. And so he wouldn't be hurt, only glad the boy had settled.

Jeremy spoke to Elizabeth last. "You're doing a great job, girl. I can tell. It means a lot to me."

Sarah Middleton was charmed with Roderick. Sarah's fiance had been killed in a car crash just before their wedding. She said, "I've got over that long since, but sometimes when I see a youngster like this, I know I've missed a lot. This is a nice boy."

They were sitting out on an old rustic seat, gazing up the sapphire of the harbour. Roderick had gone down for his after- lunch rest.

Sarah continued, "He's very like his father."

Elizabeth said, before she thought, "But much more blunt, he doesn't turn his charm on like a tap. It's most refreshing."

Sarah looked at her sharply, then away.

Finally she said slowly, "Elizabeth, I've not noticed that about Mr. Ffoulkes. Evidently he had that reputation years ago, according to Milly, but he's not that way at the Argus. He never says a word out of place to the girls or makes any passes at them either. You probably weren't there long enough with him to realize that. Perhaps having a child to bring up sobered him."

Elizabeth picked a stalk of rye grass and began absently pulling at the tinker-tailor-soldier-sailor heads.

She'said casually, "Then it's quite true that he was a gay Lothario ? That that was why his marriage smashed up ?"

Sarah's voice was reluctant. "Yes. Though it's a pity it had to follow him down here. I daresay he's paid for all that."

Elizabeth said, "I've never heard the full story. What did happen? I only know he was divorced and his wife was killed in a train accident."

She said nothing about being on the spot.

Sarah said, "Millicent was full of it. She met someone up North who'd known them, or known someone who had. You know the sort of thing. There were two sisters, twins, very beautiful, evidently" - Elizabeth could have told her that - "and there were two cousins. Jeremy Ffoulkes was one. They used to spend their holidays together over here. Bit further on than this Bay, I think. Evidently they were broths of boys. They fell in love with the sisters. Millicent said Mr. Ffoulkes couldn't make up his mind which one he loved... I daresay it could be difficult with identical twins. He married one, but later ran away with the other. The other one had married the cousin. So it wrecked four lives. I don't know what became of the cousin, or the cousin's wife. I suppose that attraction didn't last."

Elizabeth felt as if it didn't register at the moment. Later it would hurt as nothing had ever hurt before. It was much worse than she had imagined, yet she had asked because she had told herself that when she knew the circumstances she might find them mitigating. She had to make some sort of answer. "I don't know where the other sister is, but I heard Mr. Ffoulkes tell the smith here that the cousin was dead."

Sarah said, "I've always wished I hadn't heard that gossip. He'd never have struck me as that type had I not. But you asked me so I had to tell you. He's never told you anything about it ?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "No, but then a man with all that in his past wouldn't, would he?"

Sarah said slowly, "But he must have changed."

"Why?"

"Haven't you read his letters, Elizabeth? And you'd be able to pick which were his, wouldn't you?"

Elizabeth nodded.

"They couldn't be written by a man who was still a lightweight. And he doesn't pander to policy, either. He had a rare go with the management once when they wanted him to express something he didn't agree with. It didn't appear. And he has several times suppressed lurid, sensational stuff."

Elizabeth said, "As to that last, it could be that he himself has suffered a certain amount of publicity and has sympathy with people similarly involved."

"M'm. Could be. But whatever he's done or been, I'm sure he's a fine man now." When Elizabeth didn't answer, Sarah turned to her. "Elizabeth, I'm an awful lot older than you. It seems to me that you and the editor - that your lives are somehow interwoven. I'd not think too much about his past if I were you. Take him as he is, as life has made him."

"Sarah, I don't know. I'm so unsure of my own feelings I can't talk about it. But this has helped. And I know you'll keep it to yourself. You know what the old grapevine at the Argus is like."

"Well, I know what Millicent Dorset is like. I won't say a word." She stopped, said, "But I suppose you know how open the editor is about it? He's told several of them that you're looking after his son."

"I was afraid of that. Well, that's all, Sarah. The plaster's off Roddy's leg. It will soon be as good as new. I'm just helping out as any friend would. Jeremy has so few friends in Christ- church. I daresay if Meriel Anderson hadn't been so tied up in her job, he'd have got her to do it."

"Maybe." Sarah's tone was dry and disbelieving.

Elizabeth, trying to look at things sensibly, which meant, in this case, thinking of Jeremy as Roddy's father and not as a prospective husband at all, was glad he was away, because it would be all the greater surprise to him to find his son so much better. It was hard now to keep Roddy off it at all. But she did insist, finding he rested better outside if she went out with him.

Jeremy rang them when he got back on the Tuesday night and hoped he'd see them on Saturday. They realized he'd be frantically busy till then. Somewhere, deep down in Elizabeth, was an ache that never stopped. Knowing the truth hadn't helped at all. She was glad Roddy took up so much time.

On Friday, just before lunch, Jeremy Ffoulkes arrived at the Lodge to find Elizabeth and Roddy in the garden studying a book on insects.

"Hullo!" he greeted them.

His eyes were busy noting that Roderick had regained his tan, that his cheeks had filled out, that he had a confidence that had hitherto been lacking.

Roderick said, "Dad, I hope that now you're here Elizabeth won't feel she's got to give you dinner inside. We were going to eat put here."

Elizabeth said rebukingly, "Rod! Your dad's not a spoilsport. He'll love eating out here, won't you, Jeremy?"

Jeremy's eyes took in the scene, the old wall, Elizabeth in her blue-and-white, up the hill a wattle-tree bursting into fluffy gold. Below them the blue-green of the harbour, above them cottonwool clouds scattering and amassing against the blue, sea-birds gleaming silver against the sun.

"I couldn't think of anything more delightful," said Jeremy.

"And you don't mind eating with your fingers, Dad? We're not having knives and forks."

Jeremy laughed. "I see! Working on the principle that fish- and-chips taste better out of newspaper."

This was the Jeremy that Elizabeth liked . . . not that other younger philandering one. She said consolingly, "It's not too bad. We're having Cornish pasties with plenty of veg in, and potatoes done in ashes. You'll notice I've got a bonfire going up the hill. We'll have to have spoons for those, though, Roddy, How did you manage to get away, Jeremy?"

"Put in a bit of extra work last night. It means I'll have to work Saturday afternoon, though, so I won't be over till evening."

Roderick said anxiously, "I hope now Dad's here you two aren't going to talk shop all the time."

Jeremy regarded his son in surprise. "Don't you think you've had a pretty fair go? You've had her to yourself for over a week." His son had the grace to look ashamed.

Elizabeth said soothingly, "Anyway, Roddy's old enough to hold his own in grown-up conversation." She added, "I remember how I used to hate it when grown-ups used to talk among themselves and ignore me. Jeremy, we've a lot to tell you."

"Yep, look, Dad." He got up, took a few steps, limping very little. "I've been up to the smithy, up to the school. We visited the manse one day. They've got ponies. They have a manse with a glebe, you see. About eleven acres. They used to have those glebes in the days when the minister had a horse and trap, not a car. And me and Innis and Elizabeth have been down to Blowhole Beach and seen a seagull sitting."

"Blowhole Beach? How in the world did you make it?"

Elizabeth said, "The answer is over the wall... just behind you, Jeremy. Just poking its head over. Our Fifi."

He saw a beige-coloured donkey with dark mane, regarding him curiously. He got up, went to fondle the soft nose. "One of Aaron's?" he guessed.

"How did you know, Dad?"

"He bred them when I was a boy."

Elizabeth felt as if a slight shadow passed over the sun.

She said, "I must go and see if those pasties are hot. Good job I made so many."

Jeremy said to his son, "Is Cousin Louisa having dinner out here too?"

"No, she's away into town by the bus. Know what, Dad? Old Obadiah left a lot of diaries. Elizabeth's going through them with me, for her articles on pioneer days, but honest, you'd never guess ... he was mad on birds! He stuffed those ones himself. He's got in lots of things about introducing the English birds here and all about native birds too. We saw pukekos in the swamp yesterday. Know what? I think they're nicer-looking than takahes."

"You're right. Much more graceful. We make more fuss about the takahes because they were thought to be extinct for so long. I'd better help Elizabeth carry out the feast."

Elizabeth was drawing the pasties out of the oven. "We've had half our meals out of doors. It's been as good for me as Roddy. I've been cooped up so long, finishing that book, it has been heaven. It's corrected and away, though. Roddy's awfully good at understanding you've got to get on sometimes. Put the bread-and-butter on the tray, will you? We'll take the potatoes out of the hot ashes after we take this up."

They held the potatoes in paper bags so the blackened skins wouldn't burn their fingers. They put dobs of butter on them and salt. With the tang of the sea-air to sharpen their appetites, it was a feast for the gods.

"A woman who can turn out pastry like this is a real acquisition," said Jeremy solemnly. Elizabeth felt such a glow of pleasure at this that she had to hastily disengage her eyes. She'd brought out the old basket chaise-longue and Jeremy was lying back on it, drinking tea and looking completely relaxed.

She went down to get Roderick settled for his rest and came back to find Jeremy, his hands behind his head, yawning. "I know how you got today off," she accused him, "by working half the night."

He grinned. "I worked all the night, but I consider it worth it!"

"I think you'd better doze off for an hour or two. It would do you all the good in the world."

"Never in your life. My one chance to have you to myself. Roddy wants us to go down to the beach later."

She was sitting beside him. She smiled to herself. He'd be asleep before he knew it in this drowsy, sun-hot atmosphere. Somewhere crickets were shrilling, a sleepy-hollow sound. Above them a lark Soared and sang. Even the sharper sound of sea- birds crying was far off. Behind them, in the kowhai, drunken on the honey from its golden blooms, a bellbird began to chime.

Enchantment to seep into you. Jeremy talked of his recent trip, the fireworks among the debating in the House, the VIPs, the promising ones among the lesser lights whose speeches he had enjoyed. Jeremy yawned again, and next time Elizabeth looked, he was asleep.

She rose, spread Roderick's rug over him as he lay relaxed, one arm behind his head. Asleep, his mouth didn't look so worldly-wise, only weary. In fact, his whole face looked younger. Most people's did, she reminded herself.

It was rather . well, what? Rather a relief to be able to study his face without him knowing. Jeremy was so quick to seize every advantage, to answer look with look, to kindle warmth in his smile to her, to try to kindle an answering warmth in her.

The sun was still high in the sky when he woke. He reproached her. "An hour and a half out of my day!"

"An hour and a half out of your lost night's sleep. That still owes you about six hours."

They had a cup of tea at the house, put Roderick on the donkey and led it, sure-footed, down to the beach. There was a primal simplicity about the whole day, full of small joys.

An idyllic sort of day, nothing remarkable, yet one to remember all your life in nostalgic moments. It could almost make you imagine life could always be like this . . . with this man. But would it? If you took on a man you could not trust, wouldn't you often have tormenting doubts? If he were late sometimes, if he were away, if some new, exciting creature came within his orbit?

They turned the donkey loose. Louisa would soon be home. They must have tea ready.

"Are you staying the night, Dad?"

"No. Wish I could, but I've got a meeting. I sent an apology last time, so I can't this."

Roddy said, "Cousin Louisa and I are going to play dominoes tonight. Elizabeth's going to the minister's with the doctor."

Jeremy's eyes met Elizabeth's. "People starting to ask you out together?"

Roddy had gone off to his room with his shells.

"No reason why they shouldn't," returned Elizabeth.

"Possibly not, but I'm sorry for Innis."

"Sorry for Innis?" She was completely surprised.

"Haven't you noticed? She's carrying a torch for him."

"How would you know? You've only met her once."

"Twice. I had lunch with her yesterday." He laughed. "Ha, do I detect a look of jealousy? Dog in the manger!"

"You don't. I was merely surprised."

"Don't worry, my love, we met by accident. But I enjoyed it just the same." The old audacious light was back.

"But how would you pick it? That she likes Andrew?"

"Likes! Oh, Elizabeth, the pallid words you use! Not like your prose, which is vivid and warm and unrestrained. Innis doesn't like Andrew. She loves him. She's burning up for him."

"Innis couldn't possibly have told you all this. She's a very reserved, cool sort of person."

Jeremy put a hand under Elizabeth's chin. "Elizabeth, you know different from that, don't you? You aren't blind. Where's your writer's perception? There's fire under the ice. And I'd ' say the ice is only there because Andrew has never noticed her. He sees Innis simply as a nursing sister. No, of course she didn't tell me, but it's there in her voice when she speaks of him."

Cousin Louisa greeted Jeremy warmly. Innis came down after tea to give Roderick some massage. Andrew arrived early.

Elizabeth, not at ease because of what Jeremy had said, looked up to find Jeremy's eyes on her in the most annoyingly sardonic look.

Andrew was unaware of any undercurrents. He inspected Roddy's leg, seemed satisfied.

He turned to Elizabeth, said, "I know I'm early, but it so happens Matron rang to warn me that Mrs. Martin might be in later in the evening. It's her first, so it probably won't be quick, but you never know. I rang Miranda and she said to come early. that it was all the same to them. If you like to get ready now, Elizabeth, we'll be off."

He turned to Innis. "Are you off tonight, Sister, does that mean I'll have Matron?"

"It does." She was very aloof.

Jeremy said, "What day are you off next week, Innis ?"

"Monday. I'm going to town, Jeremy."

Elizabeth was conscious of surprise. But of course Jeremy was the type of man who would call women by their first names. No need to wonder at that. But she hadn't thought Innis would have got on to first names so quickly.

Jeremy went on, "Then how about having lunch with me again? Same place, same time?"

Andrew swung round from examining Roderick's knee again, then hastily turned back to the boy.

Innis's tone had no-surprise in it, but certainly pleasure. "I'd love to. I'll meet you in the lounge, then."

Elizabeth slipped out to change. Jeremy said as she left the room, "I'll see Roderick to bed, seeing you're going out early. Innis can help."

"But you'll come in to say goodnight, won't you, Elizabeth?" asked Roddy. He added: "Cousin Louisa, don't forget to bring the tray in for the dominoes, will you?"

When she went in to say goodnight, Jeremy was sitting on the bed putting the first stage of a new Meccano model together.

"There, I reckon you can manage it for yourself from there, son."

Elizabeth kissed Roddy, said, "I'll give those shells to Peter and those stamps to Mandy."

Jeremy walked into the hall with her. "No need to feel jealous of Innis, of course, this is solely to make Andrew realize there's more to her than starched veil and uniform."

Elizabeth's eyes sparked. "I am not jealous, Jeremy Ffoulkes. There are times when I could throttle you!"

"I know. Ever feel that way about Andrew? Of course not. Doesn't make your blood leap at all, does he?"

"I'm glad he doesn't. You send my blood pressure up."

"Well, isn't life supposed to be measured in heartbeats, not minutes?"

She continued as if she had not heard. "And I detest the way you sneer at Andrew."

His tone changed instantly. "I don't. If you really want to know I'm envious of him. Oh, not because of you, but because he can offer any woman he loves an unsullied life. A life uncluttered with old miseries and heartbreaks, old regrets."

They heard Roddy calling. Jeremy put his head on one side. "Yes, Roderick, what is it? Oh, that parcel, yes, I'll get it. Sorry I forgot to

tell you sooner." He said to Elizabeth, "There was a parcel for Roderick from his aunt in Australia."

"Your sister?"

"No. On the other side. His Aunt Lenore."

Elizabeth swallowed. Lenore. Then Roderick's mother must have been Sybil. Lenore was the one Jeremy had played the fool with. His past was back between them immediately.

Jeremy said, "She's had an extremely sad life. She's a widow, and a wonderful person. She's very fond of Roddy. I saw her on my way to Singapore. She told me she was sending him. a ! book on Australian birds. She's coming on a visit soon. You'll meet her if Roddy's still here. Her aunt lives at Governor's Bay, a very old lady."

Elizabeth nodded. She must say something, "What does she do in Sydney?"

"Fashion designing. She's in the top class. Looks and brains. Right, Roddy, I'm coming." He hesitated. "Elizabeth, did you - have to put on that dress to go out with Andrew? It's my favourite."

It was the blue velvet with the edging of white fur at neck and elbows.

Elizabeth ignored that, said goodnight, and went back to the living-room. Jeremy wouldn't know she knew that old story. There was nothing open about him.

She was ill at ease since Jeremy had told her Innis carried a torch for Andrew, and it looked as if, since Jeremy had asked her out, Innis was just as uncomfortable with her.

Elizabeth was glad to be out of the house and walking along the tree-bordered lane to the manse, the air spicy with blue-gums and sweet with birds twittering.

These encounters with Jeremy left her so exhausted. Andrew was a restful companion, better for a lifetime.

She'd said as they left the house, "Not got the car tonight?" 1 He'd grinned. "I thought lately I'd better do more walking. Sister was right. I was getting lazy. I've felt better for it. If I did have to dash back tonight, Gordon Johnston would run me down."

Andrew went on, "I didn't realize Jeremy Ffoulkes was on such terms with Sister Murchison. I always thought she was a bit strait-laced."

Elizabeth glanced at him, said casually, "Jeremy tells me there's fire under the ice."

Andrew stiffened. "What? I say, what is this Jeremy Ffoulkes really like? I heard once that his cousin was a very gay dog. Is he the same?"

Elizabeth couldn't understand what made her answer, "Oh, I hardly think so. There's no harm in him, it's just his manner. He's very informal and friendly."

She couldn't, she just couldn't say to Andrew: "It wasn't his cousin, it was him."

"Because Innis may never have met up with anyone like him before. She's very quiet," Andrew persisted.

Elizabeth said gently, "Andrew, I know Innis far better than you do, and she's pot likely to be bowled over by a man-of-the- world type. She must be fairly choosey, or anyone as lovely as she is would have been married long ago."

It was a pleasant evening, but Elizabeth was harried all the time by realizing that in accepting invitations out with Andrew she was putting herself in a false position.

It was quite evident what the manse folk thought. Miranda Johnston was a happily married woman who'd probably been dying to marry off this bachelor doctor in her husband's parish' for years. She was so happy in her own gloriously normal existence of a home, husband, two children, just like Josie was, that she could not conceive that anyone could be happy outside the married state.

Lucky, lucky Miranda who'd never had to cope with the shadow of a past in the background of the man she loved!

Elizabeth was facing the truth. She loved Jeremy but couldn't trust him enough to marry him.

Good heavens, she mustn't day-dream. What was Miranda saying?

"I'm sorry, do forgive me. All writers are absent-minded. What did you say, Miranda ?"

"I asked if you knew Roderick's auntie at all. We were visiting at Governor's Bay this afternoon and Mrs. Tenterfield - she's nearly eighty - said her niece was coming, home next week. Lenore Ffoulkes. I met her once some years ago. She's bewitching. All gold and blue like a Norse goddess. I'm sure it will be Scandinavian. I think the family originally came from the Orkneys. They got well mixed up with Vikings and whatnot, didn't they?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Yes, I believe so. No, I've never met her, but Mr. Ffoulkes mentioned her tonight. I didn't even know Mr. Ffoulkes till he came to the Argus; at least," she glanced at Andrew, "I had met him briefly but didn't even know his name. I only sound like an old family friend because I'm looking after Roddy, but it's only that he's

got no relations down here other than an aunt who keeps house for him but who's no earthly use with children."

She hoped Andrew wouldn't mention the circumstances of their meeting. He didn't.

Miranda said, "Well, perhaps Lenore Ffoulkes will take Roddy off your hands for a bit. She's a lovely person. I mean she seems to have a nature to match her looks."

Elizabeth felt as if she walked among quicksands. A lovely person! She wanted to laugh sarcastically. That was the trouble with being beautiful. People wanted to think you had a nature to match. But fancy Miranda being taken in ... a lovely person . . . who'd once run away with her brother-in-law. All sorts of emotions were warring within Elizabeth and she couldn't. .. wouldn't... analyse any of them.

She said, with a panicky feeling her voice sounded hoarse, "I shouldn't think she could take Roddy, she's got a very responsible job."

Miranda, all unknowing, said, "The ideal would be if she married the father. You never know ... when they meet again...."

Gordon chuckled. "My dear Miranda, the born matchmaker!"

Elizabeth suddenly felt desperately tired. She stood up. "Andrew, it's time we were going. We came early in case you got called out, but that doesn't mean we can outstay our welcome."

It was a lovely night, star-spangled, with a white moon riding high. It might just as well have been thick with mist for all Elizabeth appreciated it. Lenore Ffoulkes - Jeremy's cousin's widow - was coming here next week. Her mouth twisted wryly. How convenient it must have been when they ran away together that her name was

Ffoulkes too. Well, she had been right not to let herself be talked into marriage with Jeremy.

Andrew noticed nothing wrong. For a doctor he was curiously unperceptive. She pulled herself up. She ought not to be disparaging about him even in her thoughts. His sort were more comfortable to live with, were not always disturbed by undercurrents, swayed by some new, pretty face. Quick as a flash her heart said to her mind, but are they as satisfying?

Oh, damn Jeremy Ffoulkes! Why had he come into her life, disrupting it? Why must he put these thoughts into her mind? Why must he be so quick-witted, so rapier-sharp, so kindred, so dexterous with words ... all the things so calculated to appeal to a writer .. . and be so untrustworthy? Not the sort of man into whose hands a woman could place her life, her heart. Yet he was the sort of man to make all other men seem savourless after him.

She hardly knew Andrew had paused on the bridge over Wishing Creek. She automatically leaned her elbows on the rail too. The soft light of the moon had lit the whole scene with unearthly radiance. Willows clustered close.

Whimsically Andrew said, gravely picking two leaves, "Might as well conform to tradition, Elizabeth. One for you, one for me. Drop them in. If they float through you get your wish. They don't often."

Elizabeth chuckled. "Fat lot of hope with all those stones and twigs and just a trickle of water!"

She dropped hers. It landed right in the middle of the centre trickle, swirled, steadied, then bobbed under the bridge. They crossed to the other side, waited. Out it came, sailing gaily like a canoe, its ends curled up. It whisked downstream and was borne over the rocks to a deeper pool further on.

Andrew said, "First time I've 'seen it happen. Though the kids always reckon some make it. A good omen. Now mine."

Elizabeth reflected sombrely that it didn't mean a thing. Her wish had been like wishing for the moon. In fact, even more foolish, because these days the moon was within reach for astronauts, but no one could undo the past. And that was what she had wished .. . that Jeremy Ffoulkes could have come to her with his life unsullied....

Andrew's leaf hit a rock, blew off, Sailed along a side channel for a yard, got caught up against a whole heap of debris, became part of it.

He laughed, turned to her, said, "Elizabeth, would it be possible that your wish might serve both of us, that you could have wished the same thing ?"

Elizabeth thought: Here it comes. Oh, confound these snarled relationships !_We all live at such close quarters . . . he's got to come to see to Roddy's leg...

She said, interrupting his next word, "Heavens, no. Ir was a right daft wish, mine. Andrew, race you to the corner!" and she was off like a hare, her white shoes sending up puffs of dust in the moonlight.

Andrew caught her before she got to the corner, though. The doctor could move when he wanted to. He halted her, turned her round, looked stern. "Here, what's all this about? What a girl you are! You know darned well I was about to propose to you."

He caught the' glint of tears in Elizabeth's eyes. She said miserably, "Yes, I know. I tried to head you off. . . why didn't you take the chance ?"

Andrew couldn't help laughing. "What man would?"

She sighed. "I suppose not. Andrew, it is a compliment when a man wants to propose to a woman, and I suppose she always treasures the memory. But you and I are not made for each other. I'm too highly geared. A bit temperamental - I suppose all writers are. They feel things too deeply. I think it's just that you were jogging along in a bit of a rut and suddenly I came on the horizons, somebody a bit different. I'm not the one to share your interests, Andrew. I don't like to be tied. And you are, tied night and day to>the hospital. It's not my sort of life and I'm sensible enough to know it."

He looked down, traced a triangle in the dust with the toe of his shoe, looked up, said directly, with the hint of a strained smile, "None of that would matter if you cared, would it? Be honest, now."

She couldn't speak.

He said, "It's Jeremy Ffoulkes, isn't it?"

(And she'd said to herself that he wasn't perceptive!)

She bit her lip, said unhappily, "Yes."

Andrew said, "Why aren't you happy about it? It's been obvious he wants you. But because you seemed to be stalling in that direction, I thought I'd have a shot myself."

There was a shake in her voice. "It's not as straightforward as that. There are barriers."

"Such as?"

"I can't tell you, Andrew. I don't want to discuss Jeremy and his affairs."

"You wouldn't find Roddy a barrier, would you? It's patent the boy adores you."

"No. How could you think such a thing?"

"Some girls don't fancy being stepmothers. Like to fee! they've been first in a man's life. But we can't always have things as perfect as that." He stopped. "What the devil's come over me? I'm almost recommending Ffoulkes to you. I must be mad. See what you've done to me!"

Impulsively Elizabeth reached out her hands to him, then jerked them back. That was hardly fair to a man. "Andrew, I'm sorry about this. It would have been far, far better had I fallen in love with a man like you."

He said swiftly: "I say, that business about taking Innis to lunch. Has it upset you? Is he falling for her? And are you hurt?"

She spoke without thinking, "Oh, no, he only did that - " She cut the words off. What an escape! Oh dear, Andrew was such a dear, so frank and sensible, that one forgot to watch one's words. She had nearly betrayed Innis. How horrible!

He looked at her curiously. "He only did that - why?"

She floundered. "I must be tired. I'm using all the wrong words. I - "

Andrew's brow cleared. "I get it. He was taking Innis out to make you jealous. But you've seen through it. But what a technique! Perhaps I could do the same."

Elizabeth found her palms were bedewed with perspiration. She mustn't give Innis away, She was suddenly sure Jeremy was right about Innis.

She said slowly, "That's not very complimentary to Innis. I think any man would be glad to take her out. That black hair and the pansy eyes. And the nattiest figure I've seen."

There! Now perhaps that big, slow hulk of a doctor would see her in mind's eye... and not in uniform.

He said equally slowly, "I suppose you're right."

Elizabeth wanted no more delving. "Let's get home."

As they hesitated at her door they heard a car go up the hospital drive. Andrew swung round. "Oh-oh, there it goes! My night's sleep. That's the Martin car for a dead cert." He took her hands, said, "Elizabeth, it didn't come off. But don't feel bad about it. I've an idea that you aren't a hard-boiled newspaper woman at all but very tender-hearted. Don't lose any sleep about me. And who knows, if you don't intend to marry Ffoulkes, and - get over him - we might find life has something for the two of us together."

She shook her head, said mistily, "No. It couldn't be. But thank you, Andrew."

He bent swiftly, kissed her cheek, and at that moment came the thud of a body against the door and a deep growling.

Andrew burst out laughing. "That thrice-damned dog! Well, I suppose Ffoulkes did buy him for you." He went off whistling.

Whistling.

How romantic! In the days of chivalry they blew their brains out, rejected suitors. Must have been very uncomfortable, though. It would sort of hamper a girl, refusing them.

Andrew called at the nursing-home, found, to his surprise, Sister Murchison in charge.

"I thought you were off, Innis, that Matron was on call."

"She's developed a tickly throat, it could be 'flu." She thought: Innis. First time ever.

"Pity to miss your beauty sleep. Not that you need it."

"Oh, I'll lie down for an hour or two. She'll be a little while yet. Probably almost morning. Nurse Redway is preparing her and is on duty. She'll call me. But I thought I'd stay round a wee while. I'm not sleepy, and you know how it is with a first, they're so apprehensive, poor darlings. Going to examine her?"

Andrew nodded. Innis led the way. Mindful of what Elizabeth had said, he took a good look at her. The clipped-in waist, the slight but not exaggerated swing of the hips, the dark hair under the neat cap. And of course she had a delightful voice. He'd always thought that. He caught her arm. "Innis, I . . . you . .. just wanted to say, as a brother might, you know, watch your step with Ffoulkes. He's evidently a gay dog . . . according to Elizabeth."

He'd never seen Innis blush before. The scarlet ran right up from the collar of her uniform. But it wasn't embarrassment, it was anger.

Her eyes flashed-and dark eyes could. "I beg your pardon, Doctor. That was quite uncalled-for. I'd trust Jeremy Ffoulkes to the ends of the earth and back. I don't know what's come over you, or Elizabeth Stirling either." Then she grinned. "Perhaps I do, though. She's jealous ... for the best of all possible reasons."

Andrew Carmichael felt distinctly disgruntled when he got home. Turned down by Elizabeth Stirling, laughed at by Innis Murchison. Oh, to hell with all women. Anyway, he'd probably not be disturbed till morning. He'd go to bed.

He didn't sleep. He wondered what Innis had meant, "For the best of all possible reasons." Did she mean Elizabeth had just cause to be jealous of her... or merely that she knew Elizabeth was in love with Jeremy? Andrew was still reading when Innis rang.

"Doctor, I think we need you." He was glad to be up and doing.

First light was just breaking when the job was over. Hugh Martin was with his wife and a much relieved man. Now Andrew had scrubbed up and was leaving. He stopped at the door of the nursery. Innis was just tucking the baby down, rolling him into a compact, secure bundle before doing so. She had no idea Andrew was watching.

She held the baby in front of her, looked into the little face and Andrew saw her lips move. He pushed the door open.

"What did you say, Innis?"

Again he saw colour rush up into her face. "I - nothing." She bait over the bassinet. Andrew leaned over, removed the hot- water bottle for her, turned the covers well back.

He said, "You did, you know. I thought it could have been worth repeating." His eyes held hers.

The vivid colour faded. She said simply, "You'll think me a sentimentalist. I say it to them all. Just: 'May life be kind to you'." She added, almost dreamily, "And I often pray when I'm in the nursery that their feet may be kept from deep pools, their eyes and limbs from harm and danger. That they may have parents who are careful about fires and scaldings, and never leave them alone in the house. That they may be loved as every child deserves to be loved."

She tucked the infant down. His eyes were puffy, he'd been so long in the birth, and it made him look drowsy. She looked up to find Andrew's eyes still on her.

He said, "Thanks, Innis. Pity we doctors and nurses don't share our thoughts more often." And went away.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

FOR Elizabeth it was quite an eventful Saturday. If Jeremy was coming for the weekend she must fill the tins, make up his bed in Roddy's room. She didn't want to encourage him, but he had the right of easy access to his son.

They had a spectacular thunderstorm about noon. It whipped the petals off the cherry-trees, filled up all the old gutters of the stables, did the same to the house and caused a leak in the hall. Elizabeth had to struggle with a ladder, mount it, and crawl up the roof on hands and knees and with a coal-rake she used for sooting the stove, scrape out tightly-packed hailstones from the gulley of the roof and throw them on to the flower-beds, trying to miss her beloved fuchsias lest the ice-coldness would kill the warmth-loving bushes.

Louisa made her take a hot bath and shampoo her soaked head and she was sitting in front of the range towelling her hair vigorously when she felt two hands come over her own and add energy to the task.

She peeped up through the tangled mass and uttered a shriek.

"Jeremy ... oh, you beast! What a mess I must look. How did you get here so early ?"

He pushed the hair back over her ears, held his hands there, regarding her critically. He said, "I just wish Josie could hear you now. She thinks her little sister is the soul of hospitality."

"Well, there are moments when it falls down. No girl likes to be caught like this and without a speck of make-up."

"Correction there," he said. "No girl likes to be caught out by a stranger. But I don't come into that category. What does it matter how you look? You're you."

When she said nothing, caught off balance by the sweetness of that remark, he added, "This isn't infatuation, you know, it's for keeps."

The phone rang. He answered it, came back into the kitchen from the study, said, "For you. Christchurch. Josie."

She went through, he followed her, switched her heater on, put it near her.

Hearing her startled, "What? Married?" He stayed there, unashamedly listening as a husband might have.

By the time Elizabeth and Josie had finished their talk,, she had no need to tell him.

"Maida? She's married the inn-keeper? Good show! Now Louisa won't have to dash back to Cashmere. She can stay on as your duenna... and mine,"

Elizabeth bustled off and changed into a green pleated skirt, a summer one, and a matching blouse in a thin cotton. She pulled a bright scarlet cardigan over it. This chilly atmosphere would not last long. Already the! clouds were piling together like white candy-floss, leaving huge patches of blue sky. Down at the Bay the spray was dashing against the headlands, and they could see what was almost a geyser from the Blowhole. You could almost feel the shaking of the rocks from here. But it would be over soon.

They stood and watched it. "Does something for you, doesn't it?" Jeremy asked. "Gets rid of one's own inhibitions."

Elizabeth swung away from the window, looked at him squarely.

"Do you have any, Jeremy? I thought you were never conscious of any. Nothing seems to hamper you in your reaching out for what you want."

He said slowly, "Oh yes, some things bother me. Only I don't let them get me down."

"Such as?"

"Such as Lenore coming here week after next. I'd rather she'd stayed away just now. But she wants to see her aunt - and Roddy - and her holidays were due."

It gave Elizabeth a queer feeling that he should admit to this. A pity it ha'd to be now, for Cousin Louisa was coming back from hanging her wet things in the wash-house and Roddy would be up from his rest any moment.

She turned and fell over Drummond, who had moved as close to her feet and Jeremy's as he possibly could.

"That dog! Forever under my feet."

She had said to Drummond, after last night, "You're the maddest thing in dogs I've ever known. If you had any right instincts at all, this famous sixth sense or what-have-you, you'd welcome Andrew and snail at Jeremy. Instead of which, you ridiculous animal, you're positively besotted with him. Some people say children and animals know, but I've never believed that.. Even criminals have dogs that break their hearts while the criminals are inside."

But the weekend passed without further incident. Elizabeth knew a tremendous relief that Maida was no longer any responsibility. She'd been like an old man of the sea round Elizabeth's neck so long. That life would suit Maida perfectly. They would have to put the family

house on the market, give Maida anything she wanted from the furnishings. Apart from one of two things that had belonged to her mother and should come to her and Josie, Maida could have the lot. But no doubt she'd have to do the sorting. It would make her fairly busy. Good thing Louisa was here to look after Roddy.

She must remember to ask Jeremy to come to the hospital party at the Nurses' Home next week as Matron and Innis had made such a thing about his being there. And she must ask Jeremy about Ngahuru school. She was rather worried about that.

She broached the subject when Louisa went off to bed.

"I'm a bit worried about Roddy."

Jeremy sat up, his pipe in his hand. His eyes were instantly alert.

"He's dying to go to school - here."

Jeremy relaxed. "What worries you about that?"

"Well, while it would be a good thing to get him to school while he still has to be here, I don't want to divide his loyalties. As he doesn't like the Christchurch one, he might get attached to this and it would make another break, which would be tough on him.

Jeremy's eyes were thoughtful He picked up his pipe, relit it, his features outlined by the glow of the match, Elizabeth looked away sharply. Moments like these she-knew full well how she loved him. They swept over you, almost consumed you. and destroyed your judgment.

He said slowly, "Am I to understand by this that you think, if he's ready for school, that you'd like me to take him back home now? I'll quite understand if you feel that way. You've got your work. No apologies needed."

Elizabeth leaned forward, her hands clasped in front of her, the pleated skirt fanning out. "Oh, no, a thousand times no! When he does go I'm going to miss him horribly. But it's not enough merely to love a child, to be sentimental about him. You've got to think how much his present happy state is going to affect his future.

"To get too attached to this school now might make another adjustment harder still. You see, last week Mr. Willand, the Standard Three teacher, asked Roddy to come along and bring his case of stuffed birds. He came and got him in his station wagon. And Roddy gave a talk on Old Obadiah's bird-notes. Roddy and I took extracts from them some time ago. Roddy stayed on for the afternoon. He liked it and is itching to, go back. I said I'd ask you because I knew it would be hard for you to refuse him anything. Because you'd need time to think it over."

Jeremy lay back for a long time.

Then, "I'm inclined to think it wouldn't hurt till the end of this year. By then he'll have found out that one can adjust oneself. This has been his first change of school. And he'll be in better form physically. And Innis is doing a lot for him with exercise and massage. I suppose with Louisa here it hasn't been all time-consuming as it might have been. Would you be prepared to keep him that long?"

Elizabeth looked down because she had an idea she might get dewy-eyed. What a nuisance tear-ducts were. But she couldn't keep her voice from shaking.

"I hate the thought of parting with him. Not just for his own sake but for mine too."

Jeremy didn't reply, but she heard him get up. When she could look up he was standing by the mantelpiece placing his pipe very carefully against Janet's funny old, but reliable, clock.

His tone was very even. "Then we'll leave it at that. I won't embarrass you with fulsome thanks, Elizabeth, but - it means a lot. Till now Rod's been an unfortunate little boy. He picked the wrong parents."

Elizabeth stood up too, said over her shoulder, because these wretched tears were going to betray her, "Then that's settled. Goodnight, Jeremy. I'll start him at school on Monday morning. I'll leave you to tell him he can."

She lay in bed thinking. Things were moving to a conclusion. But not a clear-cut one. There were going to be a lot of raggedy ends. But she'd have to put up with those if she took it on. Perhaps, as Jeremy had suggested she needed to, she was growing up. She'd looked for a fairy-tale ending, the ideal man. He was far from that. She'd have to take his broken life and put it together again. He needed her. So did Roddy. And she would just have to school herself not to look for signs of unfaithfulness. A man could not suffer remorse for ever. It was evident he loved his son dearly and had suffered too in knowing the child had suffered through his father's misdeeds. Just as she, Elizabeth, would suffer. Had suffered.

But she'd not take any decisive step till after Lenore's visit. She owed herself that much. She had to be quite sure the old attraction existed no longer. Lenore would have to come here to see her nephew, and when Elizabeth saw Jeremy and Lenore together she would know.

The nurses were immensely excited over the party. Matron put on two or three a year in the less busy times. "One must provide a bit of social life. Most of these girls are worth trying to keep, or they'd not come so far from town. Not that it's so far in actual miles ... in Auckland or in Wellington people live as far out, but they have good bus services. We have only one a day. It makes the girls so restricted in their off hours. However, with a party like this their Christchurch

boy-friends usually jack up a couple of car-loads and they're back in the city in half an hour." One or two of the nurses had boy-friends who were local farmers.

They'd got down to two patients and babies, all almost at the going-home stage, and there were no more booked in for a week. "Though," said Innis, "that's usually the signal for a rush of prems."

Cherrington Hospital had been the old homestead, but modern wings had been added for wards, theatre, and the casualty ward, so the old homestead itself served as a nurses' home and was admirably suited, with its lovely reception rooms, for anything of a social nature.

Elizabeth was wearing her blue velvet. Jeremy had rung to ask so he could order flowers, and on hearing she intended wearing the goldy-green and black had said a firm no. "Keep that frock for the theatre world, Elizabeth Lucinda. That's where orchids belong. Wear that blue velvet. It matches your eyes."

His compliments always made Elizabeth feel weak.

He continued: "You were right, you know, the old-fashioned flowers suit you best. And I'm not really fond of orchids myself. I'll have to bring the flowers with me. You can't get them sent to a remote place like Harvest Moon. How's my son?"

"Extremely fit and immensely popular. The kids here have given up bird-nesting in favour of bird-watching. They're all pestering their parents for binoculars and microscopes. Catapults are out!"

As a rule Elizabeth wasn't fond of parties. She preferred people singly. But she knew all these girls, respected the job they did, and Matron and Innis and Andrew so wanted her and Jeremy there. Most

of the girls were eighteen to twenty. They liked someone a little older.

It was a delightful old-time party, with both dancing and games. Matron had roped in some of the village youths for the unattached girls and not one of them was sticking fast to a partner.

Elizabeth wondered how long it was since she had played hide-and-seek. Though this was hide-and-seek with a difference - played in the dark and in pairs. The stairs went up from the big drawing-room and someone played the piano while they all held hands. The lights were to go out, they were to dance round till the music stopped, each man to grab a girl and rush off to hide. Matron and the porter were to be the seekers.

As Elizabeth was whisked by Jeremy into a place she had spotted earlier, she whispered to him, "Oh, I do hope Andrew seized Innis. I'm sure he'd rather have her than some of the younger lasses, even if he hasn't wakened up to her charms yet."

Jeremy said, "So you're coming round to my way of thinking, are you? You're in a most malleable frame of mind tonight, my love. I must take full advantage of it." He did, §o much so that Elizabeth said reproachfully, "Jeremy, you're crushing my lovely anemones. They're beautiful but frail."

He chuckled. "Not a good choice . . . you're beautiful too, but far from frail. In fact, a girl of iron will: Elizabeth, when will - " He was stopped with a hand over his mouth.

"Sh - sh! I can hear someone coming." She was too late. They had been heard and were dragged out.

Andrew too had made up his mind to be hidden with Elizabeth. After all, that darned Drummond was safely home with Louisa. He'd a fair idea whereabouts in the circle she was and had plotted how to distinguish her.

He felt velvet under his fingers, said, "Ah ... got the girl I wanted," and rushed her upstairs. He hissed: "Thought of a good place," and went down a corridor, a couple of steps, along Another passage to a small recess between the cupboard and the corner. He opened the tall cupboard, pulled the door back till it formed a triangle.

"In the dark," he whispered, "it will feel like an extension of the wall."

Innis found her heart was beating as if she had run a mile. She knew who she was hiding with, all right. She knew every tone of his voice. She had not said a word.

Andrew Carmichael bent his head, felt cool lips under his, lips that trembled for a moment, then kissed back. He was enchanted. Perhaps after all she - then Sister Murchison's voice said, a little shaken, "Doctor, I can't breathe. In about two minutes you'll be applying artificial respiration."

For one mad moment Andrew nearly gave the show away. Afterwards he felt weak with relief that he had not. That would be for ever unforgivable. To let a girl know you thought you were kissing someone else. Especially when she had responded ,.. like that.

He clutched at his wits, said lightly, "No objection to doing that, either, as long as it's mouth-to-mouth," and suited the action to the words.

Dazedly, Innis recollected that she hadn't looked forward to this party much.

Andrew heard himself say, "And another thing, all this talk about my needing more exercise and you aren't doing a thing about it... let's take a walk to Four Winds Headland tomorrow night?"

They were the last pair to be found, and Andrew hadn't wasted a moment of it.

They came down the big staircase, lighted again, to receive the prize, an enormous box of chocolates, when the front door pealed.

The nurses groaned as one. "Something sticky, I'll bet," said one. "Twins or triplets or something."

Innis went across, opened the door, and Elizabeth knew in a moment who it was.

She wore a white coat, with a scarf collar fringed at the ends with black. Great pearl bubbles gleamed at her tiny ears. The swept-up hair was wheaten-gold, her eyes were as blue as the harbour on a summer day and the chandelier above her was kind to her, giving her a sort of jewelled radiance. No wonder the nurses gasped, a tribute in itself.

She was rose and snow and . . . and every man's. dream, thought Elizabeth. The living counterpart of the dead girl in the train wreck. For the first time in her life Elizabeth knew what it was to taste dust and ashes.

Jeremy let Elizabeth's hand go, moved forward, said on a note of glad welcome, "Lenore!" and kissed her cheek. He looked down on her and said, "And all dressed for a party too, how clever of you."

She shrugged, looked charmingly confused, said, looking up at him, "I rang your home earlier tonight and was told you were at Cherrington Lodge. I couldn't wait to see Roddy, so I rang there. A

Mrs. Stirling told me you'd be here and assured me I'd be welcome and to put on a party dress. I called in and saw Roddy first. But I feel-"

Before she could offer any apologies, Matron, the soul of hospitality, was welcoming her. She was introduced, taken to a bedroom, came back without the coat. It was so simply cut, her dress, that you knew it must have cost the earth. It was embroidered in silver thread right from the shoulder to the hem on one side and Elizabeth noticed with wry amusement that the design was orchids.

She was positively an orchid person . . . orchids and pearls and mink summed up her personality. And she was wearing a wickedly subtle perfume Elizabeth couldn't put a name to.

But no one could deny her charm. No wonder Jeremy had gone overboard. Her thoughts stopped with a jerk. Heavens, how ridiculous! Because Sybil, of course, had been a replica. What had it been, then? Some magic this sister alone possessed? Something indefinable . . . personality . . . charm . . . magnetism? What had someone said of Mary, Queen of Scots, asked was she beautiful? ... "I do not know ... I only know that some women walk in a glory."

Elizabeth shook herself mentally. Stupid . . . that wasn't really said of the ill-fated queen. It was just what some novelist, centuries later, put into someone's mouth.

Something had gone out of the evening for Elizabeth. She felt deadly tired, almost sick. She'd been very wise to wait till she had seen Lenore.

Lenore said she was staying ten days. Well, ten days wasn't long to wait. At the end, Elizabeth would know. In any case, who was to know whether or not Lenore Ffoulkes would ever return to Sydney?

Elizabeth thought, with the almost detached amusement that usually got her through emotional upheavals, that at least when this was over she would be able to write more deeply, more poignantly. She now had first-hand knowledge of jealousy, for instance.

The supper was a delicious one, but Elizabeth might just as well have been eating sawdust, though for everyone's sake she gave the appearance of enjoying it. Lenore sat on Jeremy's right hand, Elizabeth on his left.

Lenore said she was delighted with Roddy. "He's so grownup. He used to be so diffident."

Jeremy said: "Did you borrow a car to get here, Lenore?"

She shook her head. "I managed to get the Bay taxi. I'll ring for him to come back."

Elizabeth held her breath. Jeremy said, "No fear. I'll rim you back. Although it's next door, we came up in the car. Elizabeth had ridiculous heels, like you all."

Elizabeth still knew a faint hope that there would be room for Lenore in the cars that were going back to town, but there wasn't. Then that Jeremy would ask her to go with them, for the ride. But he didn't.

He saw Elizabeth into the hall at the Lodge, brushed his lips across her forehead... what an insufferable nerve... and said, "Night-night. I'd have asked you to go along with us, but my sister-in-law and I have a few private things to say to each other."

"Of coulee," Elizabeth managed lightly. "And I'm almost asleep on my feet. Goodnight."

In the morning Jeremy had to leave so early for the office there was tio time for much conversation. Besides, what could she say? What

could she ask? It had been more than an hour before die car had come back last night.

As he was leaving Jeremy said, "I told Lenore she could spend all the time she wanted to with Roddy. After all, Roddy's the only blood-relation she's got now apart from this very ancient aunt."

(No, you don't come in that category, Jeremy Ffoulkes, you're only the man she once loved, the man she wrecked her marriage for. Perhaps the man she still loves.)

He added: "I told her you'd make her very welcome, that you're that sort of person."

Sort of person. How glamorous a description!

She thought the week that followed was the most difficult she had ever put in. Even Cousin Louisa was bowled over by Lenore. And that silly Drummond followed her everywhere.

Cousin Louisa said, "It just doesn't seem right that anyone so lovely should have had such a sad life. She lost her husband whea she was only twenty-seven. She was married at twenty- two."

Elizabeth could have screamed, even when she was making all the correct rejoinders, smiling the right kind of smiles.

, Every time she looked at Lenore she could see her in Jeremy's arms, wonder if it had been very clandestine, or openly brazen. She tortured herself in imagination.

She wondered that they had not married long since. Had they - after the deaths of their respective partners - waited for the scandal to die down? It could have affected Jeremy's career of course. She wondered which one had been free first.

But why, she wondered, had Jeremy paid court to herself? Her knowledge of his past life gave her the answer. Because be was the type of man who always had to have some woman in his life, and she'd only lasted because she had kept him at arm's length . . , most of the time. Had Lenore and Jeremy tired of each other? But they were most amicable now. It was strange.

The nights Jeremy did not drive over to see his son were the worst. Then she could imagine him and Lenore together. Together and alone, free of all family responsibilities.

Cousin Louisa said quite sharply one morning: "Elizabeth, what's the matter with you? You're looking quite peaky. Your face has always been an oval, I know, but it's practically a triangle at the moment."

Elizabeth smiled as if she didn't care. "I suppose I'm a bit tired. Life's been hectic, hasn't it?" Then, thankfully changing the subject, "Oh, that sounds like the mail-man. He must be early."

She went across to the gate, no spring in her step.

The mail-man said: "I'm early, but as this chap made a particular point of my getting this to you, today - he asked me to hand it to you personally - I thought I'd do this round first." He grinned. "I actually accepted a bribe from him!"

He handed her a small, square parcel, neatly tied, and an envelope. It was addressed in Jeremy's black positive writing and was quite thick. It wasn't posted. He'd actually gone to the mail-man and asked him to take it. Probably breaking regulations. The envelope said: "Read This First".

She told herself it was clean crazy to know such a leap of the heart. It would be something for Roddy, urgent, and the fat letter would mean explanations.

Yet she instantly decided she must read it where she would not be disturbed. No one must come to the door, the telephone must not ring, or Cousin Louisa come to ask her if they would have mashed carrots and parsnips or would she prefer peals and spinach. She'd go up the hill behind the old stables to where she and Jeremy and Roddy had once had a meal.

Suddenly, as she reached there, it dawned on her what it would be.

Jeremy was going to marry Lenore, and as he'd left a proposal to Elizabeth hanging fire, as it were, he was taking the cowardly way of writing to tell her. They would take Roddy away from her too, eventually . . . perhaps they would expect her to look after him while they were on their honeymoon... or till the end of the year. Well, she would do it for Roddy's sake.

The letter lay on her lap. She was just plain terrified to open it. Now that she knew she had probably lost him, she realized his past didn't matter ... or at least didn't matter enough to have kept them apart. It would always matter to a certain degree.

When she did decide to open it, her fingers shook so much she almost destroyed the envelope.

Elizabeth had always had the faculty of taking in almost a whole paragraph at a glance. She did so now, and for one incredible moment the whole sheet blurred. Then her vision cleared and she read it again slowly:

Elizabeth darling,

We always get at cross-purposes when I try to propose to you ... or someone comes, or the telephone rings, or Roddy wants

me. Interruptions, interruptions, interruptions! I've decided the only thing to do is to do it like this. In black-and-white and so I can get it all out in one go. So I can make myself plain. Besides, words - written words, I mean - are my medium, and they are yours too.

I shall be in a cold sweat until I get your answer. But I want - it to be that way, no matter how I may long to pick up the telephone tonight, or to come. I want you to write back - and for pity's sake post it so I get it tomorrow lunch-time - at home. You're not on any account to send it to the Argus. Even marked private all over, it might get into the wrong hands and appear in the agony column!

I've been very patient, Elizabeth, waiting for you to adjust your mind to the idea of marrying someone so far removed from your ideal man. But no one could understand you or make you as happy as I can. That sounds arrogant, I know. Love does make one arrogant. But if I didn't believe that with all my heart and soul I'd not have the nerve to sit down and pen this.

I can't offer you a boy's first love, Elizabeth. I wish I could ... though thinking back to the boy I was, you might not have liked me. My life's been a bit seamy, any man's life would be, dragged through the mire of the divorce courts, but - oh, look, Elizabeth, I can't explain all that on paper. I'll hope to do so at closer quarters. But just let me say this ... I've paid very dearly for any infatuation of the past, for any mistake. I can only bring you my life as it is now and ask you tq make something out of it. I once called you hard. Forgive me for that - I said it in anger. I know you aren't. I only want you to take me as I am and let yourself love me. I want you to make of me what only you can.

I've loved you so long. Those articles you wrote, coming at a very difficult time in my life, restored my faith in woman. You'll never know what they meant to me. To begin with I thought they were written by! someone much older. Then, miraculously, it seemed, came the knowledge through the article you wrote on the smash that I had seen you, spoken to you, that you were young. It was like having your ideal woman parcelled up and handed to you on a platter. Though even then I was cautious. I was going to be sure. And when I did take the plunge I found my wretched story had preceded me and prejudiced you against me.

I'd like to tear this up and start again... but I've done that five times now. Either I say too little or I say too much. Darling, please read between the lines all my love and longing for you. There are so many things I could say better. But I can't wait any longer. I was trying to wait till Lenore went back to Sydney, but she's staying on for a bit. She has persuaded her aunt to go over and take a flat near her in Sydney. Lenore feels she owes a lot to the old lady. She brought her and Sybil up, and she's so old now. And once Lenore is married again - I suppose she's told you she's marrying her boss - she might not be able to get across the Tasman so often.

I want your answer by tomorrow lunch-hour, Elizabeth. I'll work till five and come straight over to you. I'll have a snack at my desk so we won't need to bother with a meal. And, Eliza- bejfi, arrange somewhere for us to meet without anyone around.

Sit down and write that letter, Elizabeth Lucinda Stirling. Make it brief. We'll ratify all that needs ratifying tomorrow night. It will be yes, won't it? I love you, Elizabeth.

Jeremy

The letter dropped from her nerveless fingers. And she cried. Cried for her own previous hardness of heart. Cried for the relief of knowing he did not love Lenore ... now. Cried because she was so glad Lenore was marrying someone else... cried for the foolish, vulnerable boy he had been.

When she at last mopped up her tears she knew one thing. That she had, at last, grown up. That Jeremy's present was what mattered to her, not his past.

Not till then did she open the box. Under the brown paper was a florist's box, but the Cellophane top was covered with a note. She snatched it up, but before she could read it she gazed in amazement at the flowers. They were exquisitely arranged into a star-shaped spray, but they were . . . daisies, common white daisies . . . clover, buttercups . . . good heavens, scarlet pimpernel, bluebells and... bang in the centre... a sprig of golden gorse. Gorse!

She unfolded the note.

"Bring me the flowers of everyday living, fragrant and lasting ... to have and to hold." - The florist thought I was clean mad, Elizabeth, when I brought these to her to make into a spray. I had to hunt all round the Hoon Hay Valley for them. Can you guess the significance of the gorse? Do you know that old jingle ?...' When the gorse is out of blossom, then kissing's out of season'. Because there's never a time when you can't find one odd bloom! But I am remembering the gorse on the hillside above the old stone wall, Elizabeth. I'd say by that the kissing season is in full swing. That's an idea... meet me there. I'll come up to you. Sit down and write that letter, girl.

Jeremy

She walked' down the hillside on feet that wanted .to run. She stepped over Drummond, dozing on the verandah, and didn't know she had. She said to Louisa, darning Roddy's socks in the kitchen, "I'm not to be disturbed for anything. Jeremy's proposed by letter and I'm accepting by letter," and walked through, shut the door and took the receiver off the hook.

Cousin Louisa got up and took a chair on to the verandah. If anyone got in it would be only over her dead body.

When Elizabeth finally appeared, letter in hand, and walked across to the post-office, she recovered enough to say, "Elizabeth, surely you aren't going to take the car just to the post-office?"

Elizabeth turned, smiled. "Not to Ngahuru post-office, dearest of cousins, but to Christchurch post-office. I want to make sure of it." ,

Cousin Louisa chuckled. "What do you bet you stop off at the Argus with it ? You won't be able to resist it."

Elizabeth shook her head. "No, he wants it especially by lunch-time tomorrow and will be here tomorrow night."

Nevertheless she looked longingly at the Argus building from the steps of the post office. She could even see the corner curved t window of the editor's office.

She stopped in town long enough to buy a bewitching dress of deep blue linen, sleeveless, with white bands and a white embroidered panel down the left side. It would be too hot for Jeremy's favourite velvet, but this was exactly the shade and did things, she knew, for her eyes.

She sang as she crested the hill, but there was just one shadow on her heart. There were things Jeremy had said he must talk out, and she

felt like thrusting them away. They would intrude on what should be a perfect hour. She pulled herself up; she must stop reaching out for perfection.

But she wished she'd never met Lenore in the flesh. It was one thing being big about a man's past and another meeting the woman concerned, imagining all that had happened between them. She was going to have to handle it very delicately with Jeremy. Part of his pain was that he would know that the memory of his former folly was shadowing her own happiness.

She could see every word of the letter she had written. He had asked for brevity, but he hadn't got it. She had torn up almost as many attempts as he had. Then had produced:

Jeremy: The answer is yes. I know I've hurt you by my refusal to accept you as you are, past and all. I couldn't quite forgive - till now. But I do, I love you with all there is of me. The trouble was I couldn't quite reconcile the man you are now with the younger man who'd slipped up on his marriage vows.

It might have been better had I known nothing when I first met you and you could have told me yourself and in the telling I might have understood how it came about. I do realize there could be two sides to a marriage break-up. Perhaps your wife was cold, or bad-tempered or something, and drove you to run away with Lenore. I don't know. But I'm prepared to listen, if I must. I was so prejudiced against you from the start. I heard the gossip in the cloakroom. One of the girls - I won't say who - had been north for a holiday and got the whole story.

I think, since you've been so casual about Lenore's visit, that , you don't realize I know who it was. This girl simply said you'd fallen for two sisters, married one, broke her heart, and ran away with the other. It's been hard to take, caring for you

as I do. I've tried to tell myself it wouldn't work, that I wouldn't be able to forget and so would make both of us miserable, but I can't help it. I'll make up my mind, Jeremy, that you won't let me down. I can't write any more. For a writer this is horribly clumsy, Jeremy. Please, darling, don't let's fight about it when you come. I'll wait up by the old stone wall. . . below the gorse ... till you come. Don't be late, but don't have an accident rushing. I love you whatever, you did . . . and I love Roddy partly for himself and partly because he's yours. And whatever sort of a husband you were, you are a wonderful father.

She slept the sleep of the exhausted that night. But it would be a long day tomorrow.

Never had the harbour looked so beautiful. Shadows lay in the folds of the hills . . . the tussocks bent silver in the most gentle of zephyrs, the forecast was excellent. Oh yes, it must not rain tonight. Please, God!

It would still be light. She would wait for him up there by the old stone wall, under the walnut. They would be .screened by the corner of the stables. They would come down and tell Louisa and Roddy. Later a moon would rise....

Meanwhile she'd not tried on her dress to show Louisa. She looked at the clock . . . two o'clock. Three and a half hours to go. She did hope that she made no blunders out of sheer nervousness. They had hurt each other enough. She loved this dress. Just as she finished brushing the hair back from her ears, she heard a woman's footsteps. Wouldn't it! How shocking if Josie or Maida or someone arrived and stayed to tea.

She knew Louisa was resting. She'd show her the dress afterwards. If possible she'd get rid of this visitor promptly.

The verandah door was open. Elizabeth stopped, completely dismayed . . . there, framed in it, was Lenore. Lenore in a cotton suit in a vivid and unusual Hawaiian design. Oh, no, not Lenore! She mustn't stay....

Elizabeth felt as if huge fingers were constricting her heart. She put a hand up to stop it hurting.

Lenore said breathlessly, "Elizabeth, I've got to see you. Very privately. Can we go into the orchard or somewhere?"

"Yes." Elizabeth's throat was so dry she could scarcely get the word out. The orchard would do very well. Not the hill, that was where she and Jeremy were to keep a tryst .,. if ever they did. Elizabeth had an idea that what Lenore was going to say would shatter for ever that which had been about to come true.

They reached the old orchard. It was a canopy of bloom where the bees were busy, a happy, contented sound. On the hill above below the gorse, lambs were bleating. A tui sang. Below the house the harbour waters creamed and foamed on the rocks.

A lovely getting for what she was about to hear!

When she was quite sure they would be private, Elizabeth turned, her hands clenched at her sides, said through her teeth. "Yes, Lenore?"

Lenore looked at her with a look Elizabeth could not read.

"Elizabeth, Jeremy rang me... he told me about your letter."

The pain in Elizabeth's throat was a burning one. She could not speak.

Lenore continued: "He can't get away yet. He couldn't let you - " She broke off, tried again, stopped, then said simply: "It wasn't Jeremy

who was unfaithful to his wife. It was his cousin. Gerry Ffoulkes, not Jeremy Ffoulkes! My husband, not Sybil's. She ran away with him."

She was snow-white with remembered pain.

"Jeremy was magnificent through it all, Elizabeth. I had a breakdown over it I had so loved Gerry. When I say a breakdown, I don't mean physically. But for Jeremy I'd never have faced the world again, nor gone back to my job and have risen, as I have done, to the top.

"My sister was always like that, Elizabeth. Always wanting what she couldn't have. Gerry was a spendthrift. She thought Jeremy would rise higher. He did. And Gerry was weak, weak and wild. Sybil was wicked, really wicked. I hated her most of all for what she did to Jeremy. I wish you'd known him as he was. A man with dreams in his eyes, a fine young man. He was so idealistic. He couldn't believe - at first - that so much loveliness could cover so much rottenness. His only folly was his infatuation with her. He has rued that often. For Roddy's sake.

"His disillusionment was even greater than mine, Elizabeth. I'd always known Gerry was weak, but loved him in spite of it. Jeremy did all he could to save his marriage. Because those things are what he believes in ... constancy, faithfulness. But in the end he consented to divorce her so that Gerry and Sybil need not go on living as they were. He got the custody of Roddy, of course. Not that Sybil wanted him. She never had. And then they didn't get married. Just stayed together. I think they both felt it wouldn't last. It was quite horrible..."

"Jeremy thought you wouldn't take him on because he was a bad marriage risk. That you had the idea that if a man couldn't keep one marriage together it must, in some way, be partly his fault. Their names were so similar, of course. Jeremy and Gerry. Somebody mixed them for you."

Joy was flooding over Elizabeth in a happy, almost frightening succession of waves ... Andrew had said: "I believe his cousin was a gay dog ... is he the same?" She'd thought that after Sybil's death, the custody of the child had reverted to Jeremy ... instead he had always been with his father. Elizabeth knew a moment of utter shame and horror as she remembered some of the things she had said to Jeremy. Would she ever be able to make them up?

Lenore was watching the changing expressions flit over her face. She said gently, "Let me do the explaining, Elizabeth, then you and Jeremy won't have to let the ugliness, the sordidness spoil your betrothal. Jeremy said you were at the train wreck when he keeled over when he saw Sybil and Gerry."

"And Gerry? The man who was with her - " Suddenly Elizabeth put her arms out to Lenore, held her close, tears running down her face. "Lenore, it must have brought it all back to you, coming here like this. I can't even begin to thank you. I - "

Lenore said softly, "I'd do more than that for Jeremy. The way he brought Roddy up. Few men could have done it." She smiled at Elizabeth, patted her cheek, said, "And I was glad to do it for you, too. You've done wonders for Roddy."

She ran her fingers through her beautiful hair, hanging free today, tossed it back in a sudden carefree fashion, said, "I feel so free, so healed. Jeremy said he'd told you in the letter that I'm marrying my boss next month. I just can't believe my good fortune in having someone like Alan love me. He's like the Rock of Gibraltar. I must go. I've promised to take my aunt on the first of a round of farewell visits. I've hired a car for it. But when she heard what had happened she said not to worry about her. If there was any chance of happiness for Jeremy nothing else mattered. You'll come and see her before she leaves, won't you, both of you? It will make her so happy." She smiled, added, "It will seem an awfully long time for you before

Jeremy gets here, but every moment will be happy, won't it, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth heard the car drive off. Presently, still in a daze, she saw Cousin Louisa come out, her shopping basket on her arm.

Elizabeth was pleased she would be out. She'd not be able to conceal from Cousin Louisa the fact that something had happened ... Cousin Louisa would trounce her soundly for thinking such things of Jeremy. Drummond wasn't with her. She must have left him shut up inside.

Almost without thinking Elizabeth made her way uphill to the old dry-stone wall, leaned against it, tall and slim in her blue linen, dreams in her eyes.

Jeremy was bound to want to keep this house. Only half an hour to Christchurch. He would want to for Roddy's sake and because the boy loved this school so much.

He could continue his studies of sea-birds here. That boy would be a famous naturalist some day . . . roam all over the Peninsula . . . grow tall and strong ... it was three o'clock. What an eternity to wait.

She saw a cloud of dust through the blue-gums that marked the road. Black. Andrew's car, she supposed. But it didn't slacken at the hospital gates. It came on. It wasn't Andrew's ... it was a Jaguar. It was Jeremy's!

He leapt out, the man she loved... tall, debonair, honourable .. . and hers. She was as still as a statue, waves of happiness breaking over her.

She didn't have any voice to call him. She swallowed. Tried.

She heard him shout, a great, happy, confident shout.

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth, where are you?" and thrust open the door.

There was a joyous bark, rapturous squeals and yelpings, and she knew Jeremy was trying to push down a great exuberant mass of bull-terrier. She heard him say, "Where is she, boy? Where's Elizabeth, Drummond?" And the next moment a brindled streak shot round the corner of the house and up the hill. Jeremy stopped, shielded his eyes against the sun and the brightness of the apple- blossom. Then he saw her.

Halfway up the hill he took off his hat and cast it away from him. She guessed he didn't know he'd done it.

Drummond reached her first, leapt madly up at her, was pushed down.

Jeremy didn't stop his mad charge till, six feet from her, he came to a sudden stop and just looked, looked as if he could never take his fill. As if he must postpone for one moment of glorious anticipation, the supreme moment.

He gave his tawny head a little shake as if to clear it.

"Elizabeth," he started, "I couldn't wait. I - "

He stopped, said, ''Elizabeth ..." Then he grinned, the old, audacious Jeremy that Elizabeth loved, coming to the surface, "Woman, remind me to beat you some time;.. believing such a thing about me! When I think what I've been through! I-"

He gave that up too, reached her, took her hands, said,

"Elizabeth, darling, darling!"

The dancing brown eyes looked down into the blue eyes starry with unshed tears, they sobered, searched, found....

In the silence that followed, a long, lasting silence, Drummond decided that all was right with his little world and that he need bother no longer. He yawned widely, gave the gustiest sigh of his whole career and flopped at their feet.