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As the plane rose into the cloudy skies, Deborah wondered for the first time if she had been wise to come. She went back over her interview with her father and wished she had waited long enough to find out what was at the bottom of his wanting to keep her at home. She should be used to his summing up people and relationships in terms of money by now. Her mother, who had suffered from it much more than Deborah ever would, was far more tolerant of her erstwhile husband.

'He can't help it, love. Don't expect more from him than he has to give. That was my mistake. I couldn't see the high price he put on me as a compliment, but there are people who do see it that way, and good luck to them!'

People like Agnes, for instance! Deborah had once seen her wheedle a fur coat out of her father and had felt nothing more than contempt for her. She had never pretended to her mother's easy tolerance of others' limitations. She was young enough to have no wish to compromise with the ideals that burned within her and, if others should fall by the wayside, she saw that as no excuse for herself—
she
was her own woman and she wouldn't crawl to anyone, not even her highly numerate father!

And this time he had to be joking! She was indistinguishable from her friends, dressed as she was in the uniform they all adopted of jeans and windcheaters, chunky, unisex jewellery, and hair that flopped about her shoulders and got in her eyes almost all the time. Good heavens, her own mother sometimes couldn't pick her out from the crowd, so how should anyone else be able to?

In that she was being less than honest with herself. Her hair was so fair as to be almost silver; and she was graced with a perfect complexion; pretty, neat features; and eyes that held a touch of mystery like the deep recesses of the sea. Once seen she was seldom forgotten and, in a place like Rome, her colouring if nothing else was bound to make her startling even to the casual observer.

She turned impulsively towards Michael. 'You won't go off by yourself without me, will you?' she pleaded with him. 'I don't mind at home, but I don't fancy being on my own in Rome.'

He grinned at her. 'Don't you like having your bottom pinched?'

That hadn't occurred to her. 'No, I don't,' she admitted, 'but it isn't that '

'So you do like it!' He made to attack her with an importunate finger and thumb, earning a sharp slap from her.

'Don't! That isn't what I was talking about! I just don't want to be alone in a strange city. I'm hopeless at finding my way about, if you must know!'

He laughed out loud. 'Oh, come on, Debbie! Who guides me on and off the London buses when I'm all set to go off in the opposite direction to the one I want to go?'

'But I know London! I don't know Rome.'

He cast her a thoughtful glance. 'Is something else worrying you? You came back from visiting your father looking grim, but I didn't think anything of it. Was it bad news?'

'I don't know. He didn't want me to come, and that annoyed me a bit. He didn't say why not, and then I lost my temper as I always do when we're together for longer than ten minutes put together. Mama says we're too alike, but I hope she's wrong. I'd hate to have his outlook on life!'

'Or have to live with the delectable Agnes!' Michael agreed with feeling. 'How d'you know she wasn't at the back of spoiling your holiday for you? It would be just like her, grudging every penny your old man gives to anyone else!'

Deborah looked at him in horror. 'You don't suppose my father
paid
for me to come, do you? I earned every penny myself! Why, I wouldn't touch his money with a barge-pole!'

'Wouldn't you? You may have to one day.'

Deborah was shocked. 'But I wouldn't!'

'You would if it were for your own family,' he told her stoutly. 'Imagine yourself as married with any number of children and your husband longing to do his own thing rather than make money for you all. You'd ask him soon enough then.'

'No, I wouldn't. I'd starve first.'

'Well, your husband wouldn't!' Michael maintained. 'At least, I wouldn't! With all that lovely money lying about, I'd make sure I got my hands on it one way or another.'

Deborah raised her eyebrows, 'Then it's a good thing you're not going to be my husband, isn't it?' she said as lightly as she could. 'Because I would never permit such a thing!'

'I could persuade you—you know I could!' Michael grinned.

Deborah moved a couple of inches away from him. 'No, you couldn't. Don't flatter yourself, Michael Doyle! I like you, but there are quite a lot of things I wouldn't do for you—and that's one of them!'

Michael shifted more comfortably in his seat. 'We'll see! One of these days we'll see if you don't, my love! I'm the biggest thing in your life and you know it.'

Deborah was silent. It was sad to think the horizons of her life were as limited as he suggested, but up to now it was probably true. Perhaps Rome would bring something new, only with Michael by her side she was beginning to doubt it. She felt as though she had never really seen Michael before, and she didn't much like what she saw now. The truth came to her like a blazing flash from heaven. Michael Doyle bored her ! He was nice and she liked him out of habit, but he bored her silly! She knew exactly what he was going to do at least two seconds before he knew it himself and for months now she had secretly resented the way he fiddled with his money in his wallet and pocket as if it hurt him physically to part with any of it.

She could only sigh with relief when they started to lose height, preparatory to landing at Rome Airport, called after Leonardo da Vinci. The tyres screeched against the ground and bounced uncomfortably as the engines were pushed into reverse thrust to brake the plane.

'Not the best landing ever!' Michael remarked.

Deborah wasn't experienced enough to judge. She undid her seat-belt with a rising sense of excitement and tried to push Michael's parcels back into his arms before she got landed with carrying them off the plane. He accepted them with such obvious reluctance that she was amused and made no comment when he pushed his way out ahead of her, jumping into the bus as fast as he could in order to acquire a seat where he could spread his possessions all round him.

They had a long wait for their luggage to come into the terminal building. In the face of the sharp elbows of the other passengers jostling for position by the moving belt where it was expected, the six of them knotted into a defensive group intent on keeping their place. That was, all of them except Deborah, who had a thing about people pressing against her and would willingly have left her suitcase going slowly round and round until every last piece had been collected sooner than have to fight for it in the general melee.

'Are you expecting me to get your suitcase for you with all these things in my hands?' Michael demanded, exasperated by her craven attitude.

'I'm not expecting you to get it at all,' she returned calmly. 'What's the hurry?'

This was too much for Michael. 'We have to catch the bus into Rome! We're in a
hurry!'

'I'm not. Okay, so we miss the first bus, there's bound to be another one.'

'But when? Debbie, do hurry yourself! You know I can't stand waiting around!'

Deborah allowed herself to be hung about once more with his possessions and watched with a suppressed shudder as he forced his way between two middle-aged women, knocking them sideways as he went, and emerged triumphant with her suitcase in his hand.

'It's heavy,' he told her. 'Look, you carry on with my stuff and I'll carry yours. Okay?'

Deborah didn't think much of the arrangement, particularly when she saw her suitcase being put into the luggage compartment of the bus by the driver. That was another thing that annoyed her about Michael. He was so pleased with himself when he thought he had got the better of someone else. He was pleased with himself now as his jaunty step bore witness. It was irresistible not to want to wipe the smile off his face.

'You have to buy the tickets inside,' she said. 'It says so on the notice. Eight hundred lire per passenger. Shall I give you mine now?'

'No.' His eyes didn't quite meet hers. 'I'll pay for you.'

'Why?'

He glared at her. 'Well, hang it all, Debbie, it's expected that the man should pay every now and then for his girl-friend. It makes him feel good.'

It was not Deborah's experience that parting with money ever made Michael feel good, but she didn't want to spoil his big moment for him.

'Thanks very much. I'll enjoy it twice as much as a gift from you.'

He smiled. 'That's the spirit! You're far too independent for a girl, my love!'

Deborah, still carrying his strange assortment of packages, climbed on to the bus and settled herself on a seat towards the rear. She made a pile of most of the bags on her knee, putting a stray and rather torn envelope into the pocket of her jacket in case it got lost. The others crowded round her, eager for their first sight of the Eternal City.

'Where's Michael?' they asked her.

'Getting the tickets.'

Mary, who was far more acute than she looked, winked deliberately at Deborah. 'For all of us?' she mocked.

'Good heavens, no!' Deborah answered.

'Perhaps he's lost himself. Would it be a terrible loss to you?'

'No,' said Deborah.

'If you're wise, you'll tell him that before you're much older,' Mary advised. 'He's far too fond of money ever to let you go easily.'

'But I haven't any money!' Deborah said.

'You don't have to pretend with us, Debbie. We all know who your father is, and that you've never been short of a penny in your whole life! We admire you for not ramming it down our throats, but don't kid yourself that you've ever deceived Michael! He wouldn't pass the time of day with you if you were as poor as we are!'

Patty stopped admiring herself in the mirror of her flapjack and turned her face towards the other two girls. 'You worry too much, Mary. If I were Deborah, I'd admire Michael for trying to insure his future properly.

That lad's going far, and he'll take his wife with him. What more can anyone ask?'

'Is that all you ask of Jerry?' Mary drawled.

Patty looked smug. 'Jerry and I will make out,' she claimed.

Nobody doubted it, though Mary was far too nice to say so. Deborah saw the quiet exchange between her and John as he came on to the bus and felt a sharp pang of jealousy at their obvious contentment in each other. What was the matter with her, she wondered, that nobody seemed to want her for herself? She would have to make it quite clear that her father's money was nothing to do with her and she didn't think Michael would linger long in her company after that. It was bound to leave a gap in her life, but although she couldn't quite believe it, she was beginning to think it would be a nice miss not to have him around.

He hurried on to the bus just as it was pulling out of the terminal. There was a short delay as it went round to another building where the national flights came in and they picked up another couple of passengers. Then, almost immediately, they were on the road for Rome, rushing through the countryside and the coral pink blocks of flats that made up the most modern and least attractive of the suburbs.

Rome itself came as a surprise. Suddenly the Colosseum was before them, the upper floors caved in and sadly pockmarked where the bronze pins had been removed by later builders too idle to quarry and shape their own marble. Only on one side did the amphitheatre still retain its original height, but even so, it was hard to imagine how it had looked when covered with white and gleaming marble and with a statue looking outwards from each of the upper arches.

It was not long after that that they arrived at
the
main railway station. Everyone piled out into the roadway, dodging the oncoming traffic as best they could. Deborah made a dash for the pavement, leaving Michael to retrieve her suitcase. She placed his collection of paper bags between her feet, leaving her hands free to search in her handbag for the address of the apartment where they were to stay.

'Miss Beaumont?'

She looked up quickly, marginally surprised to be accosted by the smartly dressed chauffeur who addressed her. Her father again!

'How did you know?' she asked him.

He pointed across to Michael. 'I asked your friends. You, Miss Beaumont, are to come with me. I have instructions '

'Oh no!' she exclaimed. 'I'm staying with my friends! Tell my father that, will you? And while you're about it, tell him to leave me alone!'

The chauffeur looked almost sorry for her. 'I'm sorry, Miss Beaumont, I have my instructions to collect you and deliver you to the Palazzo Manzu. No doubt you will have every opportunity to voice your objections to the Signor Manzu himself. Please step into the car?'

Deborah braced her feet against the pavement.
'Michael!'
she yelled.

Michael came reluctantly over to her. 'Don't shout, Debbie! Can't you see everyone is looking at you!'

Deborah drew herself up to her full height. 'Michael, this man has been sent to fetch me by my father's
friends.
Will you please tell him that I'm staying where I am!'

'But, Debbie '

She sighed, exasperated by his spinelessness. 'But what?'

'Don't you think you ought to go with him? What good will it do to antagonise your old man? You can always come back to us as soon as you've got everything sorted out. You've got the address where we're staying, haven't you?'

'I suppose so.' She cast a rebellious look in his direction. 'Don't you understand? I don't want to go!'

Silently he held out her suitcase to her, but she refused to take it. 'Whatever happens, I won't need that!' she declared. She hesitated. 'Michael, don't make me go!'

'But if your father '

She bit her lip. 'Supposing it isn't my father? Supposing it has nothing to do with him?'

Some emotion she couldn't put a name to flickered for an instant in Michael's eyes. 'It has to be your father,' he said.