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“She won’t like it if you do refuse,” Rosamund commented. “I mean, people who are very, very beautiful so often do expect to have their own way, don’t they?”

“They do,” Miss Alice agreed drily, not very much surprised at Rosamund’s appreciation of such a situation She could well imagine that the child had come across many such women in her aunt’s salon! “Now, I expect to be home in the late afternoon—I certainly intend to get away as early as I can. Are you sure you’ll be all right? John won’t be here either for part of the day, you know so you’ll be all alone.”

“Of course I’ll be all right,” Rosamund assured her confidently. “And John won’t be away so very long—only an hour or so, he thinks. He’s going into Bath to get his signature witnessed on some papers, that’s all.”

She didn’t sound in the least curious as to what the papers were, Miss Alice noticed. Of course, they might simply be that John had told her already, but somehow Miss Alice didn’t think so. It was, she thought, far more likely that it simply didn’t occur to Rosamund to question anything John did or said. Which was natural enough when one was in love, but whether it was wise or not was another question.

As soon as both Miss Alice and John had left Rosamund became very busy. She had made up her mind that this was an ideal opportunity for doing various jobs without making a nuisance of herself. Neither Miss Alice nor John seemed to think it necessary to do more in the way of cleaning than to flick round with a duster and mop the bits of floor that showed. Rosamund had different ideas.

She worked quickly because she knew that John would be back just as soon as possible and her plans took in the cleaning of the
Seven Stars
as well as of the
Pride of London.
She did John’s boat first because she wanted to make sure that she had finished before he got back. That way, although he was sure to tell her that she shouldn’t have done it, it would be too late to argue!

However, he still hadn’t arrived by the time she had finished, so she returned to the
Pride of London
and set to work, though without the same enthusiasm. It was an extremely hot day, the sun, by now, was high in the sky and there wasn’t a breath of wind. Rosamund decided that she had taken on rather too much and catching sight of herself in a mirror, saw that unless she wanted John to see her looking an absolute sketch, she’d have to leave the rest for another day. There were smears of dirt on her face, her hair, damp with the heat, was sticking to her head in streaky strands and how she wanted a bath, or at least a shower!

But she had only got as far as putting away her cleaning materials when she heard footsteps outside on the deck.

“Is that you, John?” she called out, wishing devoutly that she’d stopped work a quarter of an hour earlier. “I won’t be long—I’m just tidying up—”

But John didn’t answer, though he must have heard her, and after a moment or two, convinced that something must be wrong, she went out to investigate.

And there was, indeed, something very wrong. For it wasn’t John. It was her aunt, Ruth Hastings, who stood within a few feet of her.

WHITE-FACED, Rosamund stared incredulously at her aunt.

“How did you—how did you—?” she stammered.

“Find out where you were?” Ruth smiled derisively. “Oh, that was quite simple!”

That wasn’t true, but she was convinced that the more she could impress upon Rosamund that she had not only been stupid to run away but also far from clever in covering her tracks, the easier it would be to regain her hold over the girl. But she had no intention of telling Rosamund just how she came to be here. That would mean telling her something which she sincerely hoped Rosamund hadn’t already found out.

It had not needed Dr. Rob’s attempt to see her to suggest to Ruth that he might be involved in Rosamund’s disappearance, for it never occurred to her that she would take the risk of leaving the security she had always known if she hadn’t some definite haven available.

But if, by chance, Rosamund had met her father, and as Ruth had always feared, he had appreciated the significance of her striking likeness to his dead wife, then there was the answer! And the most likely one.

But it hadn’t been quite as straightforward as that. Ruth felt it was reasonable to assume that if Rosamund had gone to her father, then she would no longer be in London. Much as she detested Dr. Rob, she didn’t underrate his brain. He’d be quick to realise that she wouldn’t let Rosamund go without a struggle and so he would bundle the hysterical little fool out of the way to some place or other where she couldn’t be easily found.

But that might be anywhere! It would be like looking for a needle in a bundle of hay! Or would it? Ruth had always been on the alert at any chance mention of Dr. Rob’s name. Now she recalled a conversation between two of her clients which she had overheard. It was to the effect that he had some retreat out of London to which he went as often as possible at weekends. Just where it was, was apparently a jealously guarded secret for which the two women had a simple, and to them, an obvious solution.

“A woman,” they agreed with meaningful nods of their heads. “Someone he can’t acknowledge publicly—”

Ruth didn’t care what the reason was for the secretiveness. All she cared about was
where?
She acted promptly. Apparently Dr. Rob rarely had a professional appointment after lunch on Friday. She would have him watched and followed.

And she was lucky. The weekend when Miss Alice had summoned Dr. Rob was the first occasion on which her watchdog was on duty. His report gave Ruth all the information she needed for it even included an unmistakable description of Rosamund.

That she had had to delay her visit until now had been annoying but unavoidable. Her doctor had insisted that the cause of the periodic bouts of pain she was experiencing must be investigated at once. Annoyed, as only a person who has never known bad health can be in such circumstances, Ruth had agreed to go into a nursing home. The verdict—she had insisted on being told the absolute truth— was unequivocal. The condition of her heart was such that, at the best, she could not expect to live much more than a year—and then only if she lived a quieter, less demanding life. But she had little use for life on those terms and she ignored the warning.

“Easy?” Rosamund repeated, and shook her head emphatically. “No, it couldn’t have been. I didn’t tell anyone where I was coming. I didn’t even know myself until—” she stopped short, deciding that the less she told her aunt the better. “So how
did
you find me?”

“Does that really matter?” Ruth asked with a shrug.

Ruth would have given a lot to know how that unfinished sentence was to have finished, but she had no intention of asking. Even in these few minutes she had discovered that there was a radical change in Rosamund. She had been startled, but she hadn’t been scared by Ruth’s unexpected appearance. That was clear from the mulish obstinacy of her expression and the defensive way in which she stood blocking the doorway.

Ruth sank down in one of the deck chairs. She was tired and that wretched pain was beginning to make itself felt, but not for anything in the world would she have confessed to either. One didn’t dominate people by parading one’s own frailties.

“What matters,” she went on dogmatically, “is that I
am
here and that you are coming back to London with me!”

“No,” Rosamund contradicted quietly but very firmly.

Ruth regarded her thoughtfully. She sounded completely sure of herself. There must be someone backing her in her rebellion. An idea occurred to her.

“This man, John,” she said curiously. “Are you living with him?”

The bright, angry colour flamed to Rosamund’s face, but she knew that she must not lose her temper. That would only give Aunt Ruth the advantage.

“No,” she denied briefly.

Ruth believed her. Rosamund, she knew, was not naturally a liar. Besides, she had complete faith in her own ability to detect a lie.

“No? Then who are you staying with?”

“With an artist—a lady—” Once again Rosamund left her sentence unfinished and shook her head. “No, Aunt Ruth, I’m not going to tell you anything else. What I do is my own affair, and though I’m sorry if it annoys you, I’ve got to make you understand that it’s not your concern at all. Please do accept that—and the fact that in no circumstances will I ever come back to work for you or live with you! That’s finished completely.”

Almost Ruth gave up. Despite Rosamund’s almost uncanny resemblance to her mother, there was something of her father in her, too. His obstinacy, his inability to see anything except from his own point of view—

Her father! Had Rosamund and Dr. Rob discovered one another? Surely, if they had, Rosamund would have been told the whole story and would have used it to justify herself. But she hadn’t and Ruth was puzzled. Rob simply couldn’t have missed the likeness.

And, of course, he hadn’t, but he wanted to make quite sure of his facts before he claimed his daughter. That was why he had tried to see her—and how lucky she had been that his visit had coincided with her stay in the nursing home!

But in that case one had to accept it that Rosamund coming to this out-of-the-way spot where she was bound to meet her father was sheer coincidence, and that Ruth found disconcerting. It was as if a stronger force than herself was playing a part! She discarded the idea impatiently.

“Now, don’t waste any more time,” she ordered imperiously. “Get your things together—”

“No!” Rosamund squared her shoulders and met her aunt’s eyes squarely. “You’ve got to understand, Aunt Ruth, that I’m not coming either now or at any other time! ”

Suddenly the pain took command and it was all that Ruth could do to keep from crying out. Strangely, it didn’t occur to her that if she had, if Rosamund knew, she would almost certainly have given in out of sheer pity. But at least it could be said for Ruth that she was as hard to herself as she was to anyone over whom she had authority. For a moment or two her hands gripped the arms of the chair until her knuckles were white. Then, as the pain receded a little, she spoke in almost her usual manner.

“You must be crazy!” she announced with conviction. “With me you’ve got prospects that most girls would give their eyes to have! I—I won’t be able to keep on indefinitely, and then you will take over the Salon.”

“But I don’t want to, Aunt Ruth,” Rosamund insisted earnestly. “I know it means a great deal to you, but it doesn’t to me.”

“But why not, Rosamund?” For the first time there was something like a plea in Ruth’s voice.

Rosamund hesitated and then shook her head. She knew only too well why she had to make this stand and she had tried more than once to explain to her aunt, though always without success. That, she felt, might be because, however strongly one may feel, it is never easy to tell someone that they themselves are to blame for your actions. Now she must tell the brutal truth or, once again, fail to be convincing.

“Go on,” Ruth said ironically. “Don’t trouble to spare my feelings! ”

“I don’t find—” Rosamund began, and started again. “To me, it isn’t a satisfying job. It’s all so artificial and—and shallow. And so are so many of our—of your clients.”

“They pay well,” Ruth commented laconically.

“I think that’s just it,” Rosamund said eagerly. “They’ve got lots of money and they think that’s everything. Oh, I know what you’re going to say—” as Ruth’s lips parted. “That there are very few things that money can’t buy. But I think the things it can’t buy are the most important ones.”

“Such as?”

“Love, loyalty, common honesty,” Rosamund explained diffidently, well aware that she was making no impression whatever. “Aunt Ruth, you
do
know what I mean! You know as well as I do how vain and silly so many of the women who come to the Salon are! And I’m so tired of having to flatter and fawn on people like that as if they were something special and wonderful! It’s—it’s degrading!”

“What a shocking little prig you are, Rosamund!” Ruth exclaimed irritably. “Let me tell you, my dear, if it wasn’t for these women whom you despise so, you would have had to go without a lot of the things you’ve taken for granted all these years !”

“I know,” Rosamund admitted distastefully.

Ruth’s eyes narrowed. This was going to be more difficult than she had expected. But not impossible, of course.

“And that is all?” she asked indifferently.

“No,” Rosamund said slowly. “There are other reasons. One is that I want to be myself. I can’t go on making the Salon my whole life. I want to be free at least sometimes to have interests of my own.” She paused. “That’s one thing. The other—”

“Yes?” Ruth encouraged drily.

“The other is—”

“Well?” impatiently.

“Oh, Aunt Ruth, you must surely know!” Rosamund protested. “The Salon is such an unhappy place! Behind the scenes, I mean. Everybody grumbles and quarrels and gets upset—don’t you realise that I’ve been spending half my time to help people and smooth things over! And I can’t stand any more of it! I simply can’t!”

Ruth didn’t reply. She knew just how much truth there was in what Rosamund said, and though even to herself she wouldn’t admit that her own aggressive, domineering manner was at the bottom of the troubles, she did acknowledge that Rosamund had got a knack of soothing frayed nerves and keeping the peace. That, in fact, was one of her biggest reasons for determining to take Rosamund back with her.

“So you see, Aunt Ruth, I
can’t
come back with you,”

Rosamund went on, her face tense at the mere thought of doing such a thing. “I truly think I should be ill if I did! And now—if you’d like it, I’ll get you a cup of tea, and then you must go, please.”

Ruth stood up.

“Tea!” she almost spat the word at Rosamund. “Do you think I’ll accept even a cup of tea at your hands after this? I’ve more pride than that! No, if that’s how you feel, you’re no use to me! With all these high-falutin' notions of yours you’d be more trouble than you’d be worth! I’ve no wish to have my clients upset by your offensiveness, and that’s what would happen, sooner or later. So just consider this—if you don’t promise to behave and come with me now, you don’t come at all! I’ve finished with you! Is that clear?”