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“At first I thought we might go out in
Wild Rose,”
Anthony went on. “But actually, one is too busy at sea to do anything but attend to the job. So what about making some excuse or other to pop up to Lostwithiel and then, on the way back, parking somewhere?"

“Yes, we could do that," Fenella agreed, and half an hour later they were on their way. They made the call which had been the excuse for the trip, had a cup of coffee and turned for home. A mile or so away from Fairhaven, Anthony turned along a by-road which took them to a headland. He stopped the car and got out. Rather more slowly, Fenella followed suit.

They had the place to themselves—blue sky and sea, craggy rocks, wheeling gulls—but much as both of them loved it all, neither of them was particularly conscious of all the beauty around them just now. Anthony led the way to a convenient lichen-covered rock, warm in the sunshine, and gave Fenella a hand up on to it. For a moment neither of them spoke. Then Anthony asked: “Well?”

Fenella drew a deep breath.

“Anthony, how much money have I got? I don’t mean capital, but how much money that can actually be spent after taxes have been paid?”

It was the last thing he had expected her to say, but he answered without hesitation.

“Between two hundred and two hundred and fifty pounds a year. You ought to know—I explained everything to you when you came of age.”

“I know you did,” Fenella confessed. “But Fm afraid I’m not very clever at understanding finance and so I got bored—”

“Yes? Then why have you suddenly become interested now?” he wanted to know.

“Because though I’d forgotten how much you told me it was, I did realise that it wouldn’t be nearly enough for me to live as comfortably as I do if I had to pay for everything myself,” she explained seriously. “In fact, I said something like that to you at the time, but you—”

“I told you not to be a chump,” Anthony interrupted her cheerfully. “You—and Aunt Gina—are my family, and anyway, it would cost me just as much to run the place even if neither of you lived with me. More, probably, because no housekeeper would ever manage half so well as Aunt Gina and you do.”

“I don’t suppose they would," Fenella agreed. “But all the same, the present arrangement won’t of a necessity last permanently, will it?”

“Won’t it?” Anthony asked guardedly. “And why not?”

Should she repeat what Aunt Gina had already said— that if Anthony got married, neither of them could stay ? It was just rather too direct, she decided, and seized on an alternative answer.

“For one thing, Aunt Gina might get married again,” she pointed out, watching Anthony’s face closely through her thick lashes. He was startled, she was sure of that, and wondered if it was because he had expected her to say something quite different, or whether this was an idea which had never occurred to him. It would seem that the latter was the case, for he positively shot at her: “Aunt Gina marry again! Nonsense—particularly if you’re thinking of Franks?”

“Of course,” Fenella replied matter-of-factly.

Anthony frowned.

“Oh, rubbish, Fenella. They’re good friends, of course, but surely if they’d ever thought of getting married they’d have done so long ago! They’re neither of them getting any younger.”

“No, and nor am I,” Fenella reminded him. “Oh, don’t you see, Anthony, Aunt Gina and Uncle Hugh practically adopted me. Then he died and we came to live with you. So Aunt Gina has always seen to it that there was a real home for me. But if she’d married Captain Franks, nice though he is, he wouldn’t have wanted to take over a gawky schoolgirl as a permanent member of his household.”

“You were never gawky,” Anthony declared indignantly. “Aunt Gina and I saw to that! ”

“Well, not as bad as some, perhaps,” Fenella conceded. “But everyone goes through that stage in their teens. I expect you did as well, Anthony.”

“If I did, at least you weren’t old enough to know anything about it,” Anthony retorted with satisfaction. “But we’re getting away from the point. You were saying—?”

For a moment Fenella was silent. Not for the first time Anthony had made a remark which, though that hadn’t been its real purpose, had none the less brought home the amount of the gap between their ages. Twenty-two—thirty-four. Did it seem so much to him that he would never be able to regard her as anything but a child? The possibility drove her on to be more outspoken than she might otherwise have had the courage to be.

“I think that while Aunt Gina probably felt it wasn’t fair to me for her to marry again before I was grown up, she might feel it was different now.”

“Oh? And why?”

“Because she knew that I’d have fallen between two stools,” Fenella explained. “Not really welcome in Captain Franks’ home, and yet not able to stay on here without her.”

“Oh!” Anthony looked thoughtful. “Yes, I see what you mean. But if that applied when you were a youngster, isn’t it even more pertinent now you’re grown up?” '

“Of course it is. Much more,” Fenella agreed, wondering how on earth she could speak so calmly. “But on the other hand, now I'm old enough to stand on my own feet. And that’s exactly what I intend doing. And why I asked you what my income is. Fm really being very practical, don’t you think?” she added with a touch of pride.

“Possibly,” Anthony said grimly. “I’ll know more about that when I know what your plans are. Some sort of training?”

“Oh no,” Fenella explained earnestly. “I don’t need to do anything like that.”

“You don’t? You know, Fenella, you’re looking very much too pleased with yourself for my liking,” Anthony told her accusingly. “What have you been up to?”

“Nothing!” Fenella declared indignantly. “Nothing to be ashamed of, anyway. It’s just—I’ve been offered the job of illustrating a book! ”

“Have you, indeed!” Anthony said softly, his expression suddenly very alert. “And may one ask who has made that offer?”

“Certainly.” Fenella spoke very calmly. “Mr. Adair!” There was a silence. Then Anthony said curtly :

“I don’t like it, Fenella! I’ll be glad if you’ll turn it down!”

“But I don’t want to," Fenella told him gently, and wondered how in the world she could be sitting there defying Anthony whose word, until now, had been law to her. “I think it’s a marvellous idea. And I really must thank you, Anthony, because but for you, Mr. Adair would never have thought of it.”

“Now what the devil are you getting at?” Anthony exploded. “I never said a word—”

“Perhaps not. But you did show him my book of sketches, didn’t you?” she reminded him. “And that was what put the idea into his head.”

“I see,” Anthony said grimly. “So I’m to blame, am I?”

“Oh no,” Fenella said lightly. “There’s no question of anyone being to blame. I might perhaps have felt a little bit vexed with you for showing Mr. Adair my book without asking me if I minded, but since this wonderful offer has come as a result of it, we won’t talk about that. But please do understand, Anthony, I’m going to do it!”

“No !” Anthony said firmly.

For a moment Fenella didn’t reply. Then she said very quietly : “You’ll have to give me a very good reason for refusing, Anthony, because I meant what I said last night. I’m tired of always being told what I can and can’t do. That doesn’t mean that I won’t listen to what you and Aunt Gina think. But all the same, in future, I’m going to make my own decisions. And I’ve made this one!”

Fenella won—or did she?

It was true that since Anthony could produce no new arguments and no very specific objections to Martin, she had been able to tell him that she had heard all that before.

“So, Anthony, you’ll have to find some better reason than that if you want me to change my mind," she told him gravely. “Have you got one?”

She held her breath. There was one argument he could have used which would have made her give up the whole thing without so much as a twinge of regret.

If Anthony had said :

“Yes, I have! I love you and I can’t stand you working for this chap or anyone else ! You’re my girl and I’m not sharing you with anyone ! Is that clear ?”
she’d have capitulated joyfully. But he didn’t. He simply shrugged his shoulders and said:

“You’re more difficult to get on with than you used to be, Fen!”

It was all she could do not to say:

“Yes, and where did all that docility get me ? Just nowhere ! In your eyes I’ve stayed Young Fen, a nice kid but no more than that! Now I'm going to be me ! You may like me or you may not, but at least you’re going to notice me!”

But of course, to say that was out of the question, so taking a leaf from his book, she shrugged her shoulders.

“You know, Anthony, you really must get over this habit of laying down the law as if it’s impossible for you to make a mistake,” she told him warningly. “It won’t be easy, of course, because you’ve always been like that, I suppose. At any rate, Rosemary asked me if you still did it, and though I said you didn’t, I’m afraid it wasn’t really true!”

Her voice trailed away. There was an expression on Anthony’s face—or perhaps, lack of expression would be a better description. Yes, that was it—absolutely blank so that one couldn’t tell what he was thinking—or feeling. Fenella, stricken to miserable silence, swallowed a lump in her throat and waited for judgment. She had gone too far, and she knew it.

Anthony stood up.

“We’ll go home now,” he said curtly. “I’ve work to do—”

She followed him silently and in silence they drove to Lyon House. Anthony stopped at the front door for her to get out, and then, still without a word, drove round to the old stables where he garaged the car.

Fenella went indoors. She was as sure as she could be of anything that Anthony wouldn’t put any more obstacles in the way of her working for Martin. So she’d gained her point. But at the cost of finding out that Anthony wasn’t—and never would be—in love with her. If he had been, he’d have jumped at the chance of making use of the rather obvious opening she’d given him. And he hadn’t.

“So now I know," she told herself wistfully. And then, tempestuously: “Oh, if only they’d never come here— Rosemary and Mr. Adair! Something might have happened then—but not now!"

She might wish that Martin had never come to Fairhaven, but none the less, that afternoon she rowed up to his mooring and tied up beside his boat. Then she scrambled aboard. There was no sign of Martin, so she called his name.

Still no sound, and Fenella frowned uneasily. It was odd that he didn’t answer because the double doors leading to the little saloon were open—and these days one didn’t leave anything not locked up. Of course, he might be sleeping—

Her uneasiness increasing with the conviction that she was being watched, she tiptoed across the deck and peered into the saloon.

Martin was there. His back was to her and he was sprawled forward across the table, his arms dangling limply by his sides.

Then, as she came nearer, she saw that there was an angry purple weal across the back of his head and from it blood was slowly oozing.

FOR. one ghastly moment Fenella thought that Martin was dead. Then he moved very slightly and gave a little moan.

But with that reassurance came panic of another sort.

A wound like that couldn’t have been self-inflicted, which meant that someone else must have done it—a confirmation, if she needed one, of her conviction that someone had been watching her.

Then, as Martin moaned again, panic subsided and in its place came cold, hard reason. At whatever risk, Martin must have medical attention as quickly as possible—and she was the only person who could see that he got it. What was more, the longer she delayed, the greater the risk, for whoever had done this to Martin was, she was sure, still hanging around ashore, and when they realised that it was only a girl whom they had to deal with, might well make a second attack.

Setting her teeth, she looked around for some sort of weapon with which to defend herself, grabbed up the heavy spanner that lay beside Martin’s head, and despite the ominous stains on it, felt thankful that she wasn’t quite defenceless.

And that might be a good thing, because the boat was moored fore and aft to posts a few feet in from the water’s edge. She’d simply got to go ashore to release them.

With desperate speed she walked the narrow plank that served Martin as a gangway and untied the forward rope without trouble. But somehow she bungled her efforts with the knots of the stern rope and everything she did seemed to make it more and more resistant. With her heart in her mouth she persisted, certain that quite near at hand she heard twigs and dried leaves crackling as if some heavy feet were treading on them. Then, as if by magic, the knots seemed to come undone of their own volition and with a little sob of relief, she scrambled aboard again and pulled the plank after her. To her relief the boat began to drift away from the shore on the outgoing tide even before she had had time to start up and for the first time she had time to think coherently.

Should she let the boat drift while she tried to bandage Martin’s head and perhaps get him on to one of the bunks? Or should she concentrate on getting him to the harbour so that he could have proper treatment as quickly as possible?

She took another look at Martin and decided on the latter course. There was very little bleeding now, and in any case Martin was a sturdily built man. She was not at all sure she could move him without help.

No, the best thing was to get him to Fairhaven without delay. She left him and went on deck. With a sigh of relief she saw that they had now drifted a sufficient distance from the bank for it to be impossible for anyone to jump aboard. It meant that she could take just those few extra moments to examine the engine controls before starting up.

Fortunately, however, they proved to be of a sort familiar to her, and the engine started up at her first attempt. As it happened there were no other craft about and she put on all the speed she dared until she was within sight of the harbour. Then, slowing down, she pressed her hand on the hooter and kept it there. It had the desired effect. A group of men scattered along the jetty coalesced at the point where she came alongside and one of them, she was thankful to see, was Mr. Phillips, the Quaymaster.