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And then what about Rosemary? Certainly she had said that Martin couldn’t have known that she was coming to Fairhaven, but that didn’t alter the fact that it was, as Aunt Gina had said, an amazing coincidence that two people who had met, goodness knew where— the other side of the world, perhaps, should have converged on a tiny place like Fairhaven at exactly the same time. Of course, coincidences did happen, but—Fenella shook her head. Rosemary might deny it, but there
was
a mystery here, and Martin was deeply involved in it.

And yet, unlike Anthony and Aunt Gina, Fenella knew that she didn’t mistrust Martin. A mystery, yes, but not the sort of thing about which anyone need be ashamed. Of that she was sure.

And so, because she was so sure, back to the realisation that from now on she had got to do her own thinking, her own deciding. Aunt Gina and Anthony, much as she loved them, could make mistakes. It was a shattering discovery, and one for which, disconcertingly, she had to thank Martin.

That day of the garden party he’d asked her if she was free to make her own decisions, and at the time she had resented the question because he so clearly thought that she wasn’t and blamed Aunt Gina and Anthony for her lack of freedom. Yes, she’d resented it all right and she’d made that very clear to him. But later, when she’d had time to cool down, she’d ask herself the same question and realised that, in fact, she had very little freedom of action.

Oh, not because there was any sinister plot to deprive her of it, but simply because of circumstances. Anthony spoke of Aunt Gina and herself as being his family, and she was sure he felt that quite sincerely. None the less, Lyon House was
his
and consequently they were his guests. As such, there were naturally obligations. One couldn’t just ignore Anthony’s wishes. Then there was her indebtedness to Aunt Gina who had taken the place of her mother and given her so much love.

Love! Yes, that was it. When people loved you or you loved them, you were, in a way, a prisoner, because you didn’t want to hurt their feelings by not doing what they wished.

Until, quite suddenly, you found you’d
got
to do just that. It would be very difficult to explain why it had become so imperative, but you
knew
it so absolutely that the knowledge became part of you.

“It’s this growing up business,” Fenella thought rather dejectedly. “But what is so extraordinary is that it’s come about through me meeting a man just once or twice—a man who’ll go out of my life just as suddenly as he came into it—”

She had reached Lyon House now. The chairs under the big tree were vacant, but as she passed through the hall, she heard Aunt Gina’s voice coming from the little morning room, the door of which was open.

“But you
must
take this seriously, Anthony,” she was saying emphatically. “I am really very much concerned about Fenella and this man, Adair.”

“So am I,” Anthony replied briefly.

^€<
Yes, but you’re not
doing
anything about it!” The conversation had evidently been going on for some time and Aunt Gina was growing impatient.

“My dear aunt, what is there anyone can do about it?” Anthony too, was clearly running out of patience.

“Oh, don’t be absurd, Anthony! You know perfectly well that you, of all people,
can
do something!” Aunt Gina insisted.

There was a silence. Then Anthony said very quietly : “If you mean what I think you do, and which I heartily wish you didn’t, Aunt Gina, then we will not, if you please, discuss it any further.”

“But, Anthony—” Mrs. Trevose pleaded.

There was a sound of a chair being hastily pushed back and then Anthony spoke very firmly.

“Now look. Aunt Gina, for all our sakes, you must put that idea out of your head once and for all! And since I know it’s become an obsession with you, I suppose I’d better give you chapter and verse as to why it’s out of the question. In my opinion, if two people know that neither is in love with the other and
yet
they choose to get married, well, all right. That’s their look-out. It may work or it may not, but at least they’ve been honest with each other. But when one of the parties is in love and the other isn’t—then there’s only disaster ahead. Surely you can see that, Aunt Gina! And in case you can’t, here’s another reason—”

BUT Fenella didn’t wait to hear Anthony’s other reason, for his voice was becoming steadily more audible. With a gasp she realised that he was coming out of the room, and that if she didn’t want to be caught eavesdropping, she’d better do something about it quickly. Her footsteps silenced by the heavy carpet, she fled towards the staircase and ran up it two at a time. Only when she had reached the sanctuary of her little study and had shut and locked the door did she pause to think about what she had overheard.

Sitting at her desk, her burning face buried in her hands, she wondered how she could possibly face Anthony again.

He knew !
Had known for perhaps quite a long time that she had lost her heart to him. Whether he had realised it for himself, or whether Aunt Gina had told him she had no idea, but it didn’t really matter. What did matter was the appalling fact that the knowledge was an embarrassment to him, and to make matters worse must be the realisation that it was the kindness of his own heart in offering her a home that had placed him in this predicament. Nor could he rid himself of her constant presence without humiliating her by explaining why. And that, she was sure, he would never do.

She sat very still, the colour drained from her face. Until now, believing that her secret was her own, she had been able to hold her head erect, but now, knowing that Anthony knew all about it, he would surely see the shame she felt in her face because she had given her love unasked and unwanted.

“If only I could run away—now, this minute,” she thought desperately.

But of course, that wasn’t feasible. One needed money and the ability to support oneself to carry out a plan like that! If this had happened in a few months’ time, it might have been just possible, but—

“But I must go—or hide—or something!” she muttered, and suddenly, inspiration dawned.

Or
something!
If, somehow, she could convince Anthony and Aunt Gina that they had been mistaken, that what she felt for him was just what he felt for her— a friendly, almost brother-sister sort of affection that need not be an embarrassment to either of them—

But how—how? But that was easy to solve. Once again, Martin Adair had offered her the key of a door through which she could escape.

But if she was going to make use of it, she mustn’t waste time. Martin had, she remembered, a telephone beside his bed in hospital. Impulsively her hand went out to the instrument on her desk—and as quickly drew back. Hers was merely an extension line. Anyone who happened to lift the receiver either in Anthony’s study or Aunt Gina’s sitting room would be able to hear all that she said—and that was the last thing she wanted.

Cautiously she unlocked her door and went quietly out on to the landing. There was no sound anywhere, and after a few moments, she made her way down the back stairs that led to the kitchen quarters. Fortunately she met no one and made her escape through a back door and so, by skirting the kitchen garden, reached the little gate that led to the cliff path.

Glancing out to sea, she saw that the salvage vessel was still there, but there appeared to be no activity aboard. Just for a moment she paused. Was Anthony right? Was there something on the sunken
Nimrod
of considerable value? And did the Fairhaven men know about it? For that matter, did Martin know?

She shrugged her shoulders. At any other time, it would have been an interesting theme to pursue, but now more important things occupied her mind. She must telephone Martin as quickly as possible.

Unfortunately, when she reached the telephone kiosk it was occupied by Miss Prosser, of all people. Not wanting to arouse the lady's curiosity, Fenella walked past her and into the nearest shop. It happened to be a newsagent, so she was able, while pretending to choose a magazine, to keep an eye on Miss Prosser. At last she came out of the kiosk and hastily paying for a magazine, Fenella hurried out and took her place as soon as Miss Prosser was safely round the comer. A few moments later she was talking to Martin.

“Fenella?" He sounded surprised but pleased. “How nice! I was just wondering what on earth I could do to relieve my boredom—and now you've done it for me!''

“Yes," Fenella said, suddenly tongue-tied. How on earth could she possibly make the outrageous request that she planned to do ? Martin would think she was out of her mind! She'd have to make some excuse for ringing him up—but Martin was too quick for her.

“Something wrong, isn’t there?" he asked encouragingly. “Something you think I could help you about?''

“Perhaps—I don’t know—it depends—" Fenella stammered.

“On whether I really meant what I said?” He sounded completely unperturbed. “That you were to tell me if ever I can be of any use to you? Well, I certainly did mean it! So go ahead, Fenella!”

She swallowed convulsively,

“Then—then—can we be engaged—for a little while?”

There was the briefest of pauses. Then Martin said quietly:

“For as long or as short a time as you wish, Fenella. But on one condition—”

“Yes?” She waited fearfully. Was he going to ask why she’d made such a request so soon after having told him such a thing was out of the question? It would be only reasonable if he did, but how could she possibly explain?

But Martin had something quite different in mind,

“Just that you’ll tell me when you want to end the arrangement,” he explained coolly. “Or, on the other hand, if you’d like it to continue to its logical conclusion.”

"You
mean—that we—we should get married?” Fenella said breathlessly. “Oh, I—I hadn’t thought of that—”

“Then don’t,” Martin advised her comfortably. “Just —we get engaged and leave the future to take care of itself. Is that it?”

“Yes, please, Martin," Fenella said gratefully.

“Right! Now we know just where we are. At least, there is one other point I somehow gather that it isn’t to be a secret affair? You want it to be made public?”

“Oh yes, please, Martin!” Fenella said quickly. “The more public the—” and stopped short, realising just how completely she was giving herself away.

But Martin appeared to accept what she had said as being a perfectly natural state of affairs.

“In that case, since I’m confined to barracks at the moment, will you spread the good news? But if that seems to make for any problems, just refer the people concerned to me. Understand?”

“Yes, and thank you, Martin, for being so understanding. It’s marvellous of you!” She was almost in tears now, partly from relief, and partly because, really, he had been so wonderful.

“Hey, you’re not crying, are you?” Martin demanded with mock sternness. “I can’t have that, Fenella. I never allow the girls I get engaged to to do that! It’s not suitable!”

“And just how many girls have you been engaged to?” Fenella asked, trying to make the question sound perky. Martin, she realised, was doing his best to overcome the tension he could sense in her, and the least she could do was to try to second his efforts. Yet there was a spice of genuine curiosity in her question. She knew so very little about Martin. Far less, indeed, than he knew about her.

“That’s no business of yours, young woman,” Martin told her, primly smug. “Content yourself with knowing that you’re the last on the list!”

Fenella laughed. Up till now she had found Martin in turn annoying, obstinate and—interesting. It had never occurred to her before that he might be good fun as well.

“That’s a pretty sound,” Martin’s voice said approvingly. “You should make it more often. But now, for the moment, let’s get back to practical matters. You’ll tell your family our news at once?”

“Yes, please, Martin,” she replied in a small voice. “Of course. And you will come and see me tomorrow? I don’t want to be a bother to you, but it would add verisimilitude—”

“Oh, Martin!” She was almost in tears again. “After all you’ve done, how could you be a bother?”

“Well, that’s fine, then,” Martin said cheerfully. “I will then place my signet ring on the appropriate finger of your left hand, because I’m afraid that’ll have to do until we can go up to town and get a proper one.”

“Oh, but Martin, no, you mustn’t think of doing that!” Fenella exclaimed, distressed at the thought of having committed Martin to such an expense. “There’s no need, really—”

“There’s every need!” Martin informed her complacently. “Let me tell you, my girl, when I get engaged, I do it properly. Nothing stingy about me!”

“Oh, Martin!” Fenella’s spirits rose and she giggled appreciatively.

“I know! I’m what our old cook used to call a oner! But wait a minute—”

Fenella heard the slight confusion of a background voice and then Martin spoke again.

“Sorry, Fenella, I’ll have to ring off now. Sister says I’ve got to have another X-ray done. I’ve told her how shocked I am that she should deliberately attempt to part me from my fiancee, but she’s adamant. Personally, I think that instead of having ordinary photos of her pin-up boys, she uses X-ray negatives—”

There was the sound of giggles in the background, but Fenella hardly noticed that. With a sense of panic she realised that, already, the news was out now. There was no going back now.

“See you tomorrow, then,” Martin said. “So good-bye until then—” and then so softly that Fenella wasn’t sure if she had imagined it or not: “my
darling!
”

The telephone went dead, but for a moment Fenella stared at it as it lay in her hand.