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Fran sat up, shaking back her long fair hair, her eyes bright with curiosity. “I don’t doubt that, I don’t know what you were doing or where you were, but I do know where you were at ten minutes to two this morning. Give or take a couple of minutes,” she added generously. “You were with John at the bottom of the cliff path and your actions were, if I may say so, highly suspicious. You were trying not to be seen.”

“Fran!” She would have sought refuge in denial, but knew it would be no use. Fran was in a mood when she would not be put off.

“Fran nothing!” the other girl retorted. “I saw you. Jamie didn’t believe me at first, so we got out of the car and waited until you went past the top of the drive.” She smiled in triumph. “You glanced down the driveway, I presume to make sure the coast
was
clear, but we were well hidden in the shadows and you were under the street lamp. John was holding your hand,” she added.

“Oh!” Katie wished desperately that John was there; he would have known how to carry this off, no doubt, but Katie was at a loss and for the first time she realised just how complicated her life could become, trying to preserve his secret.

“You’re not going to deny it, are you, Katie?” Fran watched her friend with a mixture of impatience and affection. “We
saw
you, love, and anyway where’s the harm in it? There’s only la Barlow can possibly object, and who cares about her feelings?”

“Where
is
Jamie?” Katie asked, a sudden awful feeling in her stomach as she thought of Fran lying in wait for her that morning.

“Oh,” Fran was too casual, “he went to find John.”

"Oh, no!” said Katie. “Fran, please couldn’t you have not said anything? You know what John’s like—”

“What can it matter?” Fran asked, puzzled by her anxiety. “I told you, it could only upset la Barlow, and who cares about her?”

It was Golly’s frenzied departure from the terrace that announced the arrival of the brothers, Jamie looking cross and a little shame-faced as he followed John on to the terrace. John who looked so coldly furious that even Fran lost her smile and Katie felt a chill chase through her heart as the vivid blue eyes blazed at her.

“I don’t know what cock and bull story Fran may have told you, Katie,” he said without preliminaries, the words clipped and decisive, “but both Jamie and Fran appear to be under some misapprehension about our relationship. It seems that they saw us together last night and, being the irresponsible pair they are, immediately put the wrong construction on what they saw.”

Katie lowered her own gaze before the icy fury of his, but made no comment. “I’ve told Jamie exactly what happened,” he continued, “and I should be obliged if you’ll confirm it.” Katie nodded, the chill still in her as she listened to him. He turned to Fran. “Katie was out walking last night because she was unable to sleep,” he said, “and I was out for the same reason. The fact that we happened to take the same route was pure coincidence, but having met we naturally returned
together. That’s all there is to the affair that matters, but if one word of this,” he glared down at the hapless Fran, “gets back to Eleanor by any means at all, I shall take steps to ensure that no one in this family ever meddles in my life again, do you understand?”

Fran swallowed hard and flicked a brief glance at Katie. “There’s no harm done, John, we meant none,” she said defensively.

“Only because Jamie couldn’t resist mentioning it to me first thing this morning,” he retorted, “and I presume that you were trying to prise anything you could out of Katie.”

“There was nothing to prise out of me,” Katie said, the leaden feeling in her heart lending dullness to her voice. “You said yourself that you had told them all that mattered. What could I tell Fran when nothing happened other than as you said?” She was aware of his steady gaze, but could not meet it. “I’m sure your—friendship with Miss Barlow is in no danger whatever.”

“I’m glad someone has a little sense of responsibility,” he said, and she looked at him then with the angriest eyes he had ever seen so that he shook his head regretfully. “I’m sorry you got involved in this, Katie, really sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” she retorted lightly. “We live and learn.”

“So we do.” He moved and stood by her chair. “But you will realise that this was scarcely my fault!”

“Oh, no! Of course not,” she raised her stormy grey eyes her face flushed angrily. “I
quite
realise where the blame lies.”

She thought there was a fleeting moment of regret across the cold, angry face as he turned away, but if she had not imagined it, it was so brief as to be almost non-existent.

“Well,” said Fran, as he went across the terrace and through the house from their sight, “when cousin John explodes everybody catches the blast!” She turned enquiring eyes to Katie.
“Is
he telling the truth, Katie?”

Katie had never felt nearer explosion point herself as she faced her. “Of course,” she said with something of John Miller’s coldness in her voice. “You shouldn’t try making mountains out of molehills, Fran. John’s life is his own affair and so for that matter, is mine. I don’t relish being used by you and Jamie as a means of breaking up John and Eleanor Barlow, as far as I’m concerned he’s very welcome to her and vice versa. He’s not my type at all. Now please leave the subject alone Fran,
please
!” She felt that tears were very near and that weeping would almost certainly set the two of them doubting the truth of the story. As for John Miller, at that moment she hated him.

“If we promise not to mention it again and apologise most humbly, will you come with us to Sea Bar?” Jamie asked, his expression of contrition almost comical, and Katie found herself smiling at him, if rather wanly.

“I’d love to,” she said. “And you’ve no need to apologise humbly.”

“Well, we do,” said Jamie, and bent over her, a hand on each arm of her chair. “You’re so much more forgiving than big brother,” he told her solemnly, and kissed her on the tip of her nose, “and so much more beautiful, too! ”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she told him lightly and looked down at her sleeveless cotton dress, enchantingly brief. “Am I suitably dressed?”

“Always,” he assured her, then turned to Fran, in shorts and a very abbreviated sun-top. “Get some more clothes on, infant, and we’ll go.”

“I
have
some clothes on,” Fran protested, using his arm to pull herself out of her chair. “Anything goes in Sea Bar.”

“Not with me it doesn’t!" Jamie slapped her bottom hard as she stood up. “Just because we’re going where the other half lives, you’re not going dressed like that !"

“I’ve been to St. Miram dressed like this,” Fran told him, “and that’s far more elite than Sea Bar.”

“Exactly.” As he propelled her towards the doors into the lounge. “In St. Miram you only get raised eyebrows, in Sea Bar you’d get pinched by men in paper hats, and I don’t feel inclined to do battle on your behalf this morning, so shoo! Get dressed and we'll wait here for you.”

“Brute!’ She wrinkled her nose at him and laughed, but went without further argument, and Katie, watching them, felt a pang of envy at their lightheartedness.

“Hopeless!” Jamie shook his head as he came back to Katie and sat in Fran’s vacated chair.

“But enchanting,” said Katie, watching his good-looking face, so like his brother’s, yet so much more expressive. He raised surprised eyes and smiled as he absorbed her meaning.

“It’s your turn now, is it?” he asked softly.

“Revenge is sweet,” said Katie.

“So is Fran,” he looked suddenly serious. ‘It's not the generally accepted thing that marriage between first cousins is a good idea, Katie, is it? You know why we never let it get that far.”

Katie nodded, looking across the terrace to where Fran had disappeared. “It’s not a theory I subscribe to personally,” she said. “If it goes no further than one generation I can’t see that it’s wrong at all.”

“Hmm,” he looked at her earnestly. “I’ve given it a lot of thought,” he said, “but I’ve never been bold enough to broach the subject to Fran.”

“Poor Fran,” Katie said softly, almost to herself.

“Poor Katie!” he challenged, his eyes gleaming, as if he had never been serious. He slid down to the foot rest of the chair and leaned towards her, his elbows on his knees. “Big brother is a liar,” he said, watching her closely.

“Jamie!” She refused to meet his eyes. “You promised not to mention it again—you promised!”

“Very well.” He sighed deeply, spreading his hands. “I promised, so I’ll keep the promise; but,” he warned, semi-serious, “you can’t stop me from thinking, and I know John better than he thinks I do.” .

“I expect you do,” said Katie, her eyes suspiciously moist. “You
are
brothers and a lot more alike than you’d have people think.”

“Really?” He looked genuinely surprised. “In what way?”

She plucked at the skirt of her dress absently, her eyes averted. “You’re both very good at concealing your true feelings,” she said flatly. “It must be a very useful ability.”

“It must be,” he said softly. “And I have a feeling that your remark is less of a compliment to big brother than it is to me.”

Although it was two days since her midnight walk along the cliff tops, Katie still felt an odd reluctance about going along the path again. It reminded her, she thought, of an unpleasant experience, though she never mentally specified the unpleasant aspect of it. Stung to anger as she had been by John Miller’s coldly practical dismissal of their walk and his fear of it reaching Eleanor Barlow’s ears, she nevertheless remembered periodically Jamie’s doubts as to his brother’s truthfulness. She had not seen John since that morning, not to speak to, but she had heard his car leave the following night, presumably on some expedition connected with his illicit business, or on a date with Eleanor Barlow, she told herself.

A smuggler! And she had promised never to give him away, had complicated her life beyond reason to keep his secret. She curled her Lip in self-derision. Fran and Jamie, she realised, knew that there had been more between them that night than an innocent walk; she knew it from the way they watched her whenever his name was mentioned and the way she avoided any talk of him or Eleanor Barlow.

Fran and Jamie had gone to London for the day, a trip she could have taken with them, but realising what their true feelings for each other were she felt that they should have more time to themselves than they normally did. She passed Coral House, and almost unconsciously walked up the cliff path, the sun blazing down on her bare arms and head with almost tropical intensity. At her favourite gorse bush she paused, its patch of shade looked invitingly cool, but she could see, farther along, that John Miller sat in his customary spot working at a picture which apparently absorbed all his interest, for he made no sign that he had seen her.

She sat down facing the sea, but with her back half turned to him, so that she would not be constantly aware of him from the comer of her eye. She opened the book she had brought with her and began to read, . but the words made no sort of sense, becoming mingled in her mind with the desire growing stronger every minute to tell him that she could no longer keep his secret, that she would go the police and inform them, give them names. Three names she knew; Eleanor Barlow, Kuran Bey and John Miller. She had names, she realised miserably, but no other useful evidence; they would not, could not do anything with only what she had to offer.

She became aware of him when his shadow fell across the ground in front of her and without turning her head, she waited for him to speak, the book held stiffly between tensed fingers. “Katie.” It could almost have been Jamie’s contrite voice, but she made no move, and the long shadow shortened abruptly and vanished as he sat down on the turf beside her. “Do you intend
keeping
your back turned?” There was a trace of the old impatience in the question and her anger flared.

“Aren’t you taking a chance that someone might see us and report back to Miss Barlow?” she asked, turning her stormy grey eyes on him.

“Don’t lose your temper with me,” he said coldly, so close she could see the tiny lines round his eyes.

“Why not?” She turned right round to face him, with only inches between them. “Or are you the only one privileged to give way to bad temper? After your display the other morning I’m surprised you have the gall to call mine a temper.”

“Be quiet and listen to me!” he snapped, gripping her arms, his eyes blazing and vividly blue as he looked at her. There were two people coming along the path from the quay and he released her, setting his features into the hard bleakness she had seen so often before. “Come down to the house with me,” he said, getting to his feet. “I can talk to you there.”

“No!” she glared at him stubbornly. “I have nothing to say to you!”

He stood over her, feet apart, his hands held down to her. “If you don’t, Katie, I’ll
really
do something that can get back to Eleanor. Now give me your hands.” Furious at her own weakness, she allowed him to pull her to her feet and stood watching resentfully while he went back for his painting gear. They passed the couple coming up the path, who interpreted their angry faces and icy silence with knowing looks.

“There’s only Janus here,” said Katie. “Are you sure you’re not afraid of
him
telling Miss Barlow?”

He did not answer her, but strode through to the lounge, absently acknowledging Golly’s greeting with a brief pat. “Come in here,” he said. “It’s cooler.”

“I’m cool enough,” she said untruthfully, her features set obstinately. She sat on the very edge of the long settee, watching Golly stretch out on the terrace in the sun.

“I suppose," John said, still on his feet, “that you’ve decided to do something rash like telling the police?” His guess was so accurate that she glanced up at him guiltily, and he looked down at her shaking his head. “So much for your promises!” he said.