Stranger on the Beach

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STRANGER ON THE BEACH Lilian Peake

I WILL PRETEND YOU DON'T EVEN EXIST! Mr. Farrant, her only neighbor, was quite indignant that his solitude had been interrupted by Anna's arrival to stay at her ex-employer's beach cottage. She knew that to stay out of this man's way would be wise, but perversely, Anna wanted him to notice her. She wanted to upset him, if he upset so easily! Never did it occur to her that she might fall in love with this chauvinistic and arrogant, moody artist -- but fall she did...

CHAPTER ONE THE farmer braked and prepared to get out of his van. 'Here we are,' he said, looking about him. 'Sooner you than me.' Anna had gladly accepted his offer to drive her to her destination from the village nearly a mile away, but now his words stirred within her a mixture of apprehension and defiance. 'I never expected it to be a cosy place,' she answered. 'Anyway, it's only temporary.' 'Just as well,' the farmer commented. 'It's not unknown hereabouts for the North Sea to forget itself now and then and break its bonds. I can remember the times in the past when it's overrun the whole beach and hurled itself against the foot of those cliffs.' 'But,' Anna said, 'the beach hut's on a higher level than the beach itself, or so the lady who owns the place told me.' 'Maybe so,' the farmer replied, 'but the North Sea has a mind of its own. If it clamours to come in, there's not much the likes of you or me can do about it.' He unloaded Anna's two suitcases from the rear of the van, then lifted out her holdall and rucksack. He looked round again. 'You could catch your death living here, or at best, pneumonia. But you young uns, think you're immortal, don't you?' 'Personally' said Anna, looking round and shivering as the strong wind penetrated her jacket and slacks, 'I think it'll be fun.' 'Fun!' the farmer exclaimed, starting the engine. 'Living at the foot of the cliffs overlooking the North Sea! Good luck; anyway, miss. You'll need it.'

As the van drew away, the driver called out to Anna, but she could hardly hear for the noise of the wind and the cry of the gulls. His words, as they drifted back, sounded like, 'Well, at least you won't be lonely.' Puzzled, Anna looked around, then decided that the farmer must have meant that she would have as company the seabirds, the song of the wind, the hush of the sea and, in bad weather, the pounding of the waves. In every direction, fields and moorland dipped and rose austerely. A feeling of great loneliness gripped her. Had she been right to accept Mrs Warne's offer of the free and temporary use of her beach hut? Wouldn't the corner of an old barn have been better than this? At least, she thought, I wouldn't have been so far from other human beings. As she approached the cliff-edge, her courage nearly failed her. It might have been late April as far as the calendar was concerned, but the grey, billowing sea told her that winter temperatures and moods still prevailed. In normal circumstances, it took a great deal to blunt her optimism and dull her adventurous spirit. It was the sight of the roughly-hewn steps cut into the steep gradient of the rock face that almost had her retracing her steps, trudging back to the village and waiting until the bus came by on its return journey to the city she had left behind. The thought of having nowhere else to go restored her balance and revived her fading courage. The steps were wet with recently fallen rain and Anna knew that to descend them laden with cases would be to ask for trouble. So she. shook herself free of her rucksack and with one suitcase and the holdall over her shoulder, she began the slow descent.

It was as she rounded a bend that the full effect of the untamed grandeur of the place had her gasping. The coastline stretched north and south, the rugged headlands reaching out to sea as if glorying in the wash of white foam and the crash of wild waves against their impregnable sides. Anna continued down and the roof of a wooden building appeared. It seemed to be a beach hut which had grown a little in size and importance. To one side a room had been extended, while to the rear another had been added. There were steps leading upwards to an entrance porch. The building stood on a grassy plateau jutting shelflike from the cliffside, high enough to be well clear of the groping, invading sea. A few steps distant was a smaller wooden building. There was no doubt about its being a beach hut. Nothing had been added, nothing extended, nor did it possess a porch. Only wooden steps led to the front entrance. Did Mrs Warne own them both, Anna wondered, and if so which of the two was intended for her? As she reached the plateau, she paused. Since Mrs Warne was abroad for a year, which was the reason for her being granted use of the place, Anna recognised that she would have to come to her own decision. She knew which of the two places she would prefer. Putting down her case and pushing her wind-tossed hair from her eyes, she approached the larger residence and tried the door. It was, of course, locked, but to her dismay it did not yield even when she used the key Mrs Warne had given her. A glance through a window revealed undoubted evidence of occupation, recent and most certainly human. It was a small room she looked into. It possessed a folding bed which had been used but not re-made. There were bookshelves around the walls. A few toilet

articles, too indistinct to be identified, were scattered over a flap table attached to a wall. Something about the place attracted her. Maybe the essence of the recent occupant still lingered, arousing her curiosity and, strangely, a feeling of excitement. She sensed that the smaller of the two huts, which it seemed was meant for her, would be less inviting and certainly devoid of the 'lived in' atmosphere which the larger hut plainly possessed. More in optimism than hope, she inserted the key in the lock again and turned it, first one way then the other. 'What are you aiming to do, break the key or the lock?' Anna swung round and, her heart drumming with fright, found herself gazing into the remote, amber, eyes of the man who, it seemed, had been watching her. In one hand he held the suitcase she had left on the cliff-top, in the other her rucksack. 'Wouldn't it be simpler,' he went on, 'if you put a shoulder or a foot to the door and just broke it down?' Anna opened her mouth to apologise, but the man stopped her by indicating the baggage he was holding. He said, 'I assume these are yours?' She nodded. 'Intending staying long?' The sarcasm lurked, grating like the bristles of a brush run over sensitive skin. There, standing tall and commanding on the lowest of the steps leading to the porch, was surely the reason for the farmer's comment that 'she wouldn't be lonely'. When Anna had accepted Mrs Warne's offer, she would not have been so grateful had she known that she would have a neighbour like this. 'Rest assured, Mr -' Tarrant.'

'Mr Farrant, I won't be staying any longer than necessary.' Their eyes clashed, hers defiant, his narrowing a little. 'I can't say I'm heartbroken.' Again the sarcasm, and she pushed her hair from her eyes with an angry movement. 'Whatever you do,' she caught his acrimony and flung it back like a snowball, 'don't let my presence disturb what I'm sure must be the well-plotted course of your life!' He smiled faintly and lowered her belongings to the grassy surface of the plateau. 'The likelihood of that is nil. I give due warning of the fact that I have every intention of pretending you don't exist.' Anna jerked the key from the lock and descended the steps. It was necessary to ease past the man, who did not move a muscle, and picked up her rucksack. Swinging it over her shoulder, she turned to look at the man who, inexplicably and on sight, had made himself into her instant adversary. She found herself gazing at the most rigidly masculine jawline, the most obstinate chin and the most fascinating bone structure she had ever seen. At the end of a well-fashioned nose, nostrils flared as if anger was never far away. The lips were full and uncompromising, the mouth curving downwards a little and touched fleetingly with a hint of cruelty which would surely come into play if the possessor of that mouth were ever diverted from his set purpose. The man both irritated and fascinated her. There was about him such an air of arrogance and self- containment that she knew without any doubt that he neither worried nor cared about the effect he might have on any other living creature. The brown suede jacket he wore looked as if it had been around for a long time. It was open to reveal a once-white chunky roll-necked

sweater. His pants, which were also brown, followed faithfully the line of long legs and lean thighs. The man did not return her scrutiny. Instead, he sprinted up the steps, found his key and used it. Without a glance back, he went inside. Anna felt unaccountably lonely and walked slowly away towards the other beach hut, unaware that the day was brightening. It was not until the evening sun neared the horizon, taking the sparkle from the sea and dulling the white foam to grey, that Anna realised she had no means of lighting the place. The interior was sparse. There was a bed opened out for sleeping. There were folding chairs, a picnic table and a small chest containing cutlery, mugs and cooking utensils. Against a wall stood a stove with two burners fed by gas from a container. The place was clearly meant for summer use, a fine-weather summer when heating and light would come from a benevolent sun. By the time darkness came the hut would certainly have been vacated. A rear window looked out on to the cliff face. Across the top of its small frame a wire was stretched between hooks. On the wire a crude curtain had been made from a striped beach towel. Also at the back of the hut, added as if it had been an afterthought, was a small extension containing a chemical toilet and washbasin. The water seemed to be supplied from an outside tank, filled when it rained by rainwater. In order to catch the last of the daylight, Anna opened the door and prepared her evening meal. She had brought with her only a few packets and cans of food, having been told by Mrs Warne that the village store would stock most of the items she might need. The meal was light but nourishing and she heated milk, adding powdered chocolate.

It was growing dark and in order to read the book she had brought she moved the picnic table to the open door. The peace and calm of the place pleased her intensely. She leant forward, elbows on table, and gazed out. Birds dived and soared over the darkening waves, shadows lengthened as the sun hovered, half below the horizon, half above. Gulls made anxious last-minute calls before settling for the night. Footsteps crunched, setting her heartbeats hammering. A tall, powerful figure came by, momentarily blotting out the wild beauty. His eyes stayed down, his hands rammed into pockets. The sweater he wore showed up whitely against the grey descent of night. The booted feet quickened in their stride as their owner negotiated the slope of the beach. Disappointment, quite irrational but nonetheless keen, brought her senses tumbling from the heights to which the pleasures of the new and untried environment had lifted her. He was keeping his word. He had fulfilled his promise of pretending she did not exist. When darkness had blanketed everything until not a trace of light was left, Anna experienced for the first time a sense of fear rising to a choking claustrophobia. It had not occurred to her to bring a flashlight to show the way across the room, and an increasing panic gripped her. She hugged herself, fighting it, compressing her lips. In the end she had to acknowledge that it would be necessary to seek help. She could not spend all night in such a state of primitive terror, battling with the terrifying blackness. It meant that she would' have to overcome her pride and seek the assistance of her aloof, indifferent neighbour. Using her hands as her eyes, she groped her way to the door, and before she could change her mind, she was walking carefully across the distance that divided the buildings and stumbling upwards to her neighbour's porch. Her hand rose, then, with a daring which surprised

her, knocked decisively. Defiantly she squared her shoulders. She refused to be thrown off balance by the man's crushing manner. As the door opened, the lighted room behind him almost blinded her night-accustomed eyes. The face into which she looked almost made her abandon her quest and run back to the enveloping darkness, but remembrance of her terror forced her to remain. 'I'm sorry to trouble you,' she said, with a touch of brightness to cover her nervousness, 'but I'm in the dark.' Not a muscle of his hard face moved. 'Completely. No light, not even a match.' He looked coldly down at her. She drew a deep breath. 'Not even a candle. Haven't I been silly?' 'Very,' was the dry reply. Must she sound so foolish? Although at least it had gained some response. However, he remained where he was. She tried again, gazing meaningfully past him. 'Is there any possibility -? I mean, is it possible for you to -?' She breathed out impatiently. 'Have you got -?' 'Room for you in here?' A twisted smile tugged at his wide, sensual mouth. His appraising eyes assessed, roaming the length of her. It skimmed the fair hair which tumbled to her shoulders, lingered on the round-necked sweater she had pulled over her shirt, moved past the neat waist and firmly rounded hips to reach her slender ankles. 'I think that could be arranged, Miss -?' 'Hartley,' she said angrily, 'Anna Hartley. All I'm asking for, Mr Farrant, is a helping hand.' His smile grew mocking. His hand came out, his left hand. 'You have it, Miss Hartley.' He bent his tall frame and lifted her right hand into

his. 'Take it while it's offered. I'm rarely neighbourly. It may never happen again.' He tugged a little at her arm. 'Light, warmth and comfort await you in my humble residence.' He lowered his voice to a taunting whisper. 'All night long.' She said fiercely, 'If this is your way of testing my "yes-no" potential, then this,' she snatched back her hand, 'is your answer!' She turned and ran down the steps. 'I'd sooner spend all night in the pitch dark,' she called back, 'groping my way in the darkness, than with a useless, dishonest, worthless hunk of a man like you!' She sped back to her own hut, found the key and in her agitation failed to open the door. A tall, shadowy figure appeared beside her, put his hand over hers which was trembling and a moment later the door gave. He withdrew the key and slipped it into her pocket. Anna stepped in and swung round to shut the door in his face. His foot came out and with consummate ease his shoulder urged the door sufficiently open to allow his solidly constructed frame to enter. She drew back, stiff with fear. She could not help it. The outline of him, from head to foot, stood out so menacingly against the faint light which lingered over the horizon long after the disappearance of the sun. 'What do you want?' she whispered hoarsely. 'You said you weren't prepared to help me.' 'I said nothing of the sort.' He moved forward, leaving the door open. 'Let's discuss the situation, talk it over, get things straight. Then we'll know where we stand.' He looked around. 'Got another chair?' 'A folding one against the wall.' She motioned with her arm but did not move. She was too afraid, in spite of her reason urging her back to rationality.

There was nothing about this man to make her fear him, yet she did. He found the chair and unfolded it, placing it beside hers near the door. He stood by the chair and, with a politeness which surprised her in view of his apparent lack of conformity in all other respects, waited until she was seated. Then he too sat. 'First,' he said, 'I'll tell you why I'm living here. Then you tell me your reason for appearing on this tranquil scene and,' he paused and Anna was sure he was smiling in his irritatingly ironic way, 'disrupting the calm of my sanctuary.' Anna shot to her feet. 'It wasn't through any choice of mine -' His hand came out and again she felt his touch. Remembering his reason the last time he had touched her, she jerked away. He said, in a low voice which she was sure was accustomed to giving orders, 'Sit down. Miss Hartley, and just listen.' She dropped irritably into her chair. He continued, 'I'm here to paint.' She waited for more. When it did not come, she said, 'You're an artist?' A thoughtful pause, then, 'You could say that.' His reply nettled her. 'Either you are or you aren't.' His only response was to say, 'What's your story?' The tone he used was so peremptory—she had not dreamed an artist could be so businesslike, so detached —she said sharply, 'Why should I tell you anything about myself?' He maintained his silence. He must, at some time in the past, have found it an excellent weapon for revealing to people their own stupidity. She went on a little lamely, 'I lost my job and with it my

place to live. I was offered the temporary use of this place by my exemployer. I had to go somewhere, so I came here. She's gone abroad for a year or two.' Still no comment from her listener. 'I'm here rentfree. She—Mrs Warne —argued that since I'd be keeping the place clean and preventing it from deteriorating in her absence, I'd be a kind of caretaker, which would help her, too.' Anna waited. The sound of the sea had receded. The tide, she thought, must be going out. At last he said, 'There must be more to come.' 'How far back shall I go?' she asked, with an effort at sarcasm. 'The moment I issued forth from my mother's——?' His loud laughter checked her. 'The image that conjures up in my artist's mind is delightful, but—- no. Come just a little nearer to the present day.' 'All right. I have a mother and a father. They're still together. They love each other.' 'Now that is unusual,' he commented, matching her sarcasm, 'in this enlightened day and age.' 'I also have twin sisters, younger than I am. They're nearly eighteen—I'm six years older. They're beautiful, I'm not. My parents love them. They merely tolerate me.' She had spoken in a colourless tone. 'Come now, you're surely past the jealous older sister stage.' 'I'm not jealous, nor am I envious. I'm speaking the truth. I've been through my agonies and I've lost my old bitterness. I now accept the situation. Shall I go on?' There was a movement of his head and she assumed it to be a nod. 'I trained as a nursery nurse.

My employer ran a private nursery until it became too much for her. She had to close it, which meant that my job disappeared with it. I tried to find a similar post, but there weren't any.' 'Now you're unemployed?' 'No. I'm a filing clerk in the offices of a fairly large company manufacturing machine tools.' A short pause, then, 'Name of -?' 'Nordon Machine Tools.' 'Do you like the work? It must be very different from nursery nursing.' She hated talking to him without seeing him. 'No, I don't like the work. I do photocopying, make tea, frank the outgoing mail. I wasn't trained for that.' The grasses outside rustled in the breeze, which caught the door, swinging it closed. Anna jumped up and pushed it open again. 'I hate this darkness. Mr Farrant,' he moved in response, 'I was going to ask you if you could lend me a candle or something, but you pretended to misunderstand me, and -' 'And you ran away.' There was the scraping of a chair. He was going. He was leaving her, and the thought dismayed her. She had never told a man so much about herself, but it had been so easy to talk to him. Was it, perhaps, because he was a complete stranger, and moreover, just a shape in the darkness? 'I have a spare oil lamp. You can borrow it for tonight. Tomorrow you should be able to get one at the camping shop in the village.'

As he returned, the oil Tamp cast a glow around him. He entered the hut and set the lamp on the table which Anna had lifted away from the door. The angles of his face seemed even sharper now than in daylight. He wore an open-necked shirt, partly unbuttoned, revealing the beginnings of a spread of brown hair. As she gazed up at him, she saw again, as she had in the daylight, how unsmiling he was, how detached and hard the expression in his eyes. After pouring out her secrets to him under the cover of darkness, and sensing, as she had thought, the arousal of his sympathy, it came as a shock to see the man to whom she had really been talking. If she had indeed touched him in any way, it would have been the impersonal sympathy of his intellect and not his emotions at all. Spontaneously she laughed. 'Allow me to share the joke,' he said coldly. 'I was just thinking. You must be a phenomenon, a kind of artistic oddity.' 'How so?' Her statement had plainly not amused him. 'A painter without feelings, understanding and certainly no emotions.' He moved swiftly towards her and she felt a return of the terror she had felt in the total darkness. He reached out to catch at her shoulders, but she twisted away. 'I'm sorry,' she gasped. 'Save your apologies, I don't need them. I've given you the help you Wanted. Kindly return the lamp tomorrow when you've bought one of your own. Put it in my porch. Don't bother to knock—I won't answer the door to someone who, for me, doesn't exist.'

He went out, and she listened to the hard strides which were taking him away.

To Anna's surprise she slept well and woke to a sparkling morning. From her door she watched the sea, as calm as she had ever seen it. Her eyes scanned the horizon for ships, found none, then swooped, like the gulls, nearer home. A brown head bobbed in the sea, giving her a shock. It reminded her about the lamp. It seemed that the time was right to return it, since the man who had so ungraciously lent it to her was not at home to ignore her existence. Holding the lamp by the loop at the top, Anna walked carefully from her hut to her neighbour's, lowering the lamp to the floor of his porch. From the raised platform she saw that the man Farrant was emerging from the sea, the water running off him. To her surprise, she saw he was wearing swimming briefs. She was sure that he was the kind of man who, when alone, did not bother with such conventional things. As he walked up the beach, pushing fingers through his dripping hair, Anna wandered back to her hut, but keeping her eyes on him all the while. Then she stood and stared again, openly and uninhibitedly, hoping that her scrutiny was annoying him. If to him she did not exist, then where he was concerned she could behave exactly as she liked! And at that moment she liked to watch him. The nearer he came, the more virile and athletic his body appeared, the more the muscles rippled down • his thighs and legs. Like lightning striking a tree, an unfamiliar shiver coursed through her, sparking off alien and primitive desires. The shock was even greater when his eyes met hers. Instead of the reprimand she had expected at her audacity, he looked through her.

Even on this golden morning he was keeping his twice-made promise. He was pretending yet. again that she was not there. When, after breakfast, she emerged from the hut with her rucksack, the man called Farrant was standing in his porch looking out to sea. Slowly his "head turned and he watched as she locked her door. His face was without expression. So she was 'invisible' again, was she? Contrarily, she gave him a broad, mischievous smile. If he chose to regard it as provocative, she thought,. as she made her way to the carved-out step, then that was his worry! The walk to the village was invigorating and enjoyable. At the village store Anna bought food and cans of drink. Then she found her way to the camping shop to buy a pocket flashlight and, most important of all, the lantern she had needed so urgently the night before. When the rucksack was full to overflowing, the shopkeeper tied string around the lantern so that it could be carried separately. The walk back seemed unending. When she was halfway there, a man on a bicycle approached from the opposite direction, and her heart bumped painfully when she realised who the cyclist was. She stopped, full of hope, certain that he would offer to relieve her of some of her burdens. He not only passed her by, he did not even look at her. She compressed her lower lip which, to her astonishment, had begun to tremble. All the rest of the way, she pacified her hurt feelings by telling herself that the man was callous and hard and that she hated him with all her strength. From then on, she vowed, she would do her best to disturb his tranquil way of life to such an extent that he would pack up and leave and never .return ... It was not until the afternoon was almost over that she remembered she should have added drinking water to her shopping list. Since it was a Saturday, it was essential that she should obtain water from the

camping shop as they were certain to be closed next day. The thought of walking to the village yet again, in the warm sun and having to carry back more heavy containers, made her hold her head—but only for a moment. The man next door owned a bicycle! If she knocked on his door she was convinced that he would not open it; he would know at once it was his new neighbour come to 'pester' him again. Even as she stood uncertainly, she heard footsteps go by. She pushed open the door and saw to her joy that her adversary was making his way among the rocks which were scattered along the foot of the cliffs. He was going for a walk. The bicycle leant invitingly against the wooden wall of his' beach house. Anna glanced at the bicycle, then at the steep steps which led to the clifftop. Even if it killed her she would get that two-wheeled machine up that slope! As for its owner discovering that it was missing, she would be back before he returned. The bicycle was heavier than she had estimated, but by the time she had reached the top she was too pleased with her success to give a thought to the effort it had cost her. The camping shop supplied her with two containers of fresh water. One of them they put into a carrier bag which would hang from the bicycle's handlebars, the other would be held in her left hand. This would leave only one hand free to steer the bicycle, but she was certain she would be able to manage. She had, however, forgotten the obstacles strewn about the cliffhead track and remembered too late the way the farmer's van had bumped and rolled along it the day before. Keeping the bicycle steady and upright as she pedalled was more difficult than she had anticipated. Inevitably the front wheel hit a stone. It had not looked threatening from her distance above it, but it had proved large enough to throw her disastrously off balance.

Loaded as she was, she was unable to save herself. She fell sideways, hitting the gravel with her bare arm, her cheek and side of her head. Involuntarily she cried out, but there were only the seabirds to hear. The momentum at which she had been travelling propelled her forward and she felt a burning pain on the exposed areas of her skin. Stunned, she lay still. Then she lifted her head and saw that the bicycle lay on its side, the water containers scattered nearby. Easing herself up, she felt her arm and cheek and saw that blood had come away with her fingers: For a few seconds she felt like crying, but checked the tears and scrambled to her feet. She picked up the bicycle, inspecting it anxiously. She could cope with the injuries to herself but dreaded to think what her neighbour would have said if she had damaged his property. The plastic water containers had fortunately remained closed. Anna replaced one of them inside the carrier bag, slipping it on to the handlebars, and carried the other, wheeling the bicycle the rest of the way. Her leg must have been hurt in the fall, too, because she found herself limping. When she reached the top of the steps, injured as she was she shrank from the thought of carrying the bicycle down the steep gradient. First she would take the water containers down, then she would go back for the bicycle. When she had placed the water near the hut door she climbed slowly to the top, pausing now and then to catch her breath. She must, she thought, have been more shaken up than she had realised. Also her grazed cheek and arm were giving her pain, untreated as they still were. On reaching the clifftop, she paused again, then, lifting the bicycle a little awkwardly and trying to ignore her throbbing injuries, she went step by slow step downwards. With every move the machine seemed to grow heavier and she was forced to pause and grit her ' teeth.

Again she started on her downward journey, unable to see where she was putting her feet. Misjudging, she missed a step, her foot finding the next but one. She lost her balance and disaster followed. The bicycle slipped from her grasp and went plunging and bouncing the. rest of the way while she stood, helpless and aghast, watching its calamitous descent. 'No,' she shrieked, 'no, no!' She sank down, pressing her hands to her head, staring horrified and unbelieving at the twisted mass of metal at the foot of the steps.

CHAPTER TWO IN one thing Anna had been correct: she had returned from her trip to the village before the owner of the bicycle had returned from his walk. Now her reprieve from his wrath was over. He was coming. Her heartbeats thudded with each heavy step that crunched along the beach. She hugged her waist with one arm, resting an elbow on it and spreading a hand over her face, bracing herself for the verbal storm which would break at any moment now. 'It can't be.' The words were spoken quietly. 'It cannot be my bicycle.' A long pause followed. 'A wheel —two wheels, a saddle, handlebars ...' He must have seen her. 'You, woman, sitting up there, look at me!' It's no use, Anna thought, making indentations in her forehead with her fingertips, I dare not look at him ... Booted feet took the steps quickly, coming to an abrupt halt. A trembling shook her body, a combination of events both physical and emotional, but by tensing her muscles she was able to disguise it. Nor would he be able to hear the chattering of her teeth over the sound of the sea birds' cries. 'I'm s-sorry, Mr Farrant.' Still she could not look at him. 'I j-just borrowed it. I d-didn't think you'd mind. You were out..." He grasped her wrist and wrenched the hand from her face. Swiftly she turned so that he would not see the damage to her face and arm. His fists went to his hips, his legs stiffly apart. 'Bent and twisted almost beyond recognition,' he grated. 'Did you hold it high and hurl it down in your fury against the male of the species and me in particular? They ought to change the old saying to "Hell hath no fury

like a woman ignored." So you don't like the way I pretend you're simply not around?' Still she could not look at him. If she did he would see her wounds, which would reveal to him her double foolishness—trying to ride a bicycle while carrying two heavy containers. If he knew about that, he would use the fact to torment her even more. 'You've got it all wrong, Mr Farrant. It was an emergency. I'd forgotten something essential, so I had to rush to the shop before it closed. Tomorrow's Sunday, so ...' 'Emergency. Essential. Dare I ask what it was?' She was silent. 'I see, something purely womanly.' She coloured at his knowledge of women's needs but nodded, as it provided her with an excellent excuse. 'Something—personal.' She took a breath. 'I'm desperately sorry about the bike, Mr Farrant. I was carrying it down -' 'And found it so heavy you dropped it.' 'No—I mean, yes. I'll pay. I'll give you whatever you need to replace it.' 'You realise how much those things cost these days?' She shook her head. When he told her, she gasped. It would take her weeks, months ... 'I don't earn much, but I'll pay you back, every penny.' She glanced at him, relieved that at that moment his mind seemed to be on the bicycle. 'Fortunately for you,' he went on, 'I hired the bike from the camping shop. It was well used by other people before they rented it to me. I'll pay whatever they ask, then give you the bill.'

His hardness, even in matters financial, took her breath away. But if he was an artist, maybe he had even less money than she had, and that was little enough. 'What will you do?' she asked tremulously, suffering now from untreated wounds and a debilitating weariness of body and spirit. 'Hire another bicycle?' 'That's my business.' She snapped back, 'For an unworldly, dreamy artist- type, you certainly know how to put people in their place!' 'I do, don't I?' She was sure he was smiling. He turned away. 'The least you could do is to come and help me pick up the bits and pieces that have fallen off.' Go and help him? she thought with alarm. When even the act of sitting was becoming painful and her bruised limbs were growing stiff? He had gone down to the foot of the steps and was surveying the damaged machine. Impatiently, as if waiting for her to join him, he looked up. Short Of telling him the truth, there was little else she could do but agree to his suggestion. When his attention had returned to the bicycle, Anna stood and made her painful way down. All her injuries were throbbing and it was agony to move. Unthinkingly, she reached out with her damaged arm and he saw it. He took her wrist in his hand and looked at the grazed skin and the drying blood, then he saw the state of her cheek. 'What the hell have you done to yourself?' he asked. Her legs gave way and she dropped to the lowest step. 'Don't worry,' she murmured, 'I just—fell on to something.'

With his long fingers he caught at her chin and turned her face to examine her more closely. 'Don't you mean fell off something?' He looked at her sharply. 'The bike? You fell off the bike up there? After which you tried to carry it down? You must have been crazy, girl. No wonder you dropped it!' The shaking started again and Anna covered her face. 'If I tell you,' she answered, her voice muffled, 'you'll only shout at me again.' 'I won't shout at you.' His voice had grown a trace more gentle. 'At least, not now. Maybe later ...' 'I was carrying something,' she said at last, paused, then went on, 'something heavy.' 'Heavy? Then it was not what I assumed. Heavy .... Add urgent, add essential and what do you get?' His eye caught the containers standing outside her hut. 'Water? You carried water while riding a bike?' She nodded unhappily. 'One on the handlebars, one in my hand and -' 'Over you went. Looking at the state you're in, I can imagine the rest. Just like a woman to imagine she can do the impossible! Come on, we'll leave the bike and attend to you first. I assume you've got a first aid box?' 'No. I didn't think -' 'Show me a woman who does,' he said cuttingly. 'If I were to paint her, at the end there wouldn't be a single brush stroke. And why? Because she doesn't exist.' 'Male chauvinist -'

'Call me all the names you like, it won't alter my opinion.' He pulled her up by her undamaged right arm. 'Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you ?' She tried to pull away. 'I don't want you to do anything. I refuse to allow a man who dismisses half the human race as brainless and stupid and unthinking to touch me.' He retained his grip on her. 'Would it help if you tried to look on me as a kindly well-wisher and, as far as my physiology is concerned, completely neuter?' Look upon this towering, dominating, totally male creature as sexless? If her injuries were not hurting so much, and if she hadn't just smashed up his hired bicycle, she would have laughed. Again she attempted to retrieve her arm. 'I couldn't even begin to try,' she snapped. He smiled broadly. 'Thank God for that. If you'd agreed, I'd have begun to have serious doubts about the effects of my self-imposed solitude on my masculinity.' He led her to his beach house, his fingers loosely, almost caressingly, around her wrist. She did not understand the man. Most of the time he pretended she did not exist, yet here he was, burdening himself with her, overriding her objections and tending her injuries. It was not as though he was to blame for anything. From start to finish, it was she who was in the wrong. He took her to a small kitchen which was an extension to the building. It contained a stove, larger than her own, fed by gas. There was a stainless steel sink unit supplied by a water container again similar to hers but larger, with a tap attached to it. This he turned and, after washing his hands, used cotton wool to swab her arm. Then, with a lightness of touch which she guessed arose from his artistic

delicacy, he attended to her cheek. He applied healing cream and, where possible, adhesive plasters, then washed his hands again. 'Is that all?' he asked, throwing the hand towel over a rail. 'No more damage?' For a moment Anna allowed herself to feel the throbbing soreness of the hip and thigh which had hit the ground during her fall. She couldn't allow him access to that area! 'There's more, isn't there?' he said. His hand came out. 'Come on.' Instinctively her palm lowered to protect the forbidden area and she knew by his mocking smile that she had given herself away. 'Too shy, Miss Hartley?' he taunted. 'You can't expect me to believe that.' Deliberately his gaze settled on the most feminine parts of her and by the gleam in his eyes she knew that the fullness of her shape and the soft womanliness of her curves did not displease him. 'A girl like, you untouched by manly hands? Oh ho, that I won't accept: Come now, stop this imitation of an untouched virgin and let me…' 'I won't let you touch anything. Not there. I'll do it myself, thank you.' She looked at the door. 'If—if you'll -' 'Turn my back? What do you think I am—some kind of lecher?' 'Yes.' The word escaped her before she could catch it. She hadn't really thought he would overstep the limits, but events were proving too much, one piling on the other. His mouth' set in a line and he came to stand a stride away. He did not speak, he acted. Before her uninjured arm could move, he had unfastened the button at her waist and unzipped her slacks. She cried out indignantly at the audacity of his action. 'Leave it, leave it!' Now

he was peeling the slacks down, over her hips, her thighs to her ankles. 'Step out,' he ordered, and there was nothing for it but to obey. From his crouched position he looked up the length of her. 'Delectable,' he murmured. 'My artistic eye is indulged and satisfied. One day I must paint you for all posterity to see. Minus this,' he pulled at her shirtblouse, 'and these,' fleetingly his hand touched her pale pink stretch underpants, 'delightful though they are.' She slapped his hand, which only succeeded in pressing it more closely against her, and he laughed loudly. 'Objecting to my comments on your physical charms?' 'Yes. They're unnecessarily crude.' 'You really think,' he commented with a glint, 'that I don't know that a woman consists of a hell of a lot more than sugar and spice? I'm an artist. Sorry to offend your sensibilities, but I paint nudes in addition to landscapes, seascapes and still life. Without much effort,' he said, with slitted, assessing eyes, 'and from my imagination, I could paint you minus covering with almost one hundred per cent accuracy.' He straightened, towering over her. Her face was flushed from indignation, embarrassment and—she could not deny it—a strange kind of excitement. From the moment she had met him, there had been something about this man that had disturbed her. His height, the hard substance of him, his intense maleness all combined to make him, not only to herself but to any woman, dangerously attractive. And as if the visual impact he had on her was not enough, she had now experienced the agitation aroused by his touch. Together they made a formidable and exquisitely palatable mixture. She gazed up at him, searching his hard, handsome features, momentarily forgetful of her injuries. She was scarcely aware of the

way her body swayed towards him—until his eyes narrowed, his lips thinned and his hands took her shoulders, easing her firmly away. 'Oh no, my friend,' he said, to her lasting humiliation, 'seductive and alluring you may be, but this is not a prelude to a night in my arms. I treat your injuries and out you go. No involvement for me with a woman, however tantalising her attractions. I've had it up to here,' he lifted straightened fingers to his neck, 'as far as the female of the species is concerned. I've had my fill, enough to last a long, long time. And it's going to take more than a slender, tender and somewhat foolhardy young woman to upset the mental equilibrium I've attained since coming here to live, in what promised to be,' he gave her a caustic, sideways glance, 'before your arrival, splendid isolation.' 'I didn't ask you to act the nursemaid,' she responded tartly. 'Nor did I ask you to half undress me.' 'All part of the service, madam.' His smile was taunting, but it did not last. He gave his attention to cleaning the grazed areas on her thigh and knee. He did not mention her hip, although he glanced at it. Anna told herself she was glad that he possessed some sensibilities and would have said so, had he not forestalled her by saying, 'I'll spare your feelings and leave your hip, although it must have taken quite a hammering when you fell.' 'I'll have to put up with the bruises, won't I?' she commented, wishing his fingers on her thigh did not linger so caressingly. All the while he had been touching her she had tensed her muscles and breathed deeply to control the flashes of excitement which sped continually through her. At last all contact between them was broken and she asked stiffly, 'Have you finished now? I'm very grateful.' He handed her her slacks. 'Think nothing of it.' His smile was insincere. 'On the other hand,' he washed and dried with the towel,

'think before you act next time you contemplate stealing someone's bike. Life has a way of paying one back for one's indiscretions.' She had turned from him to step into her slacks and fasten them. 'You sound as if you speak from experience.' It was anger she had expected from him, not the remote tone he used in reply. 'Do I? Maybe I should have added, "And other people's."' 'Thank you again, Mr Farrant.' Anna hoped the coolness of her reply matched his. 'I'll help with the bicycle now.' 'You've had enough for today. Go back to your own place. I'll do what I can with the bike.' Again there was the note of authority. It grated because it did not go with her idea of how an unworldly artist, as he claimed to be, would behave. Much to her surprise she found herself doing exactly as he had ordered. Maybe, she reflected with a smile as she walked slowly back, he was a born leader and had missed his vocation! Did he, she mused, unlocking the door and carrying in the drinking water, treat all women as he had treated her? If so, no wonder he lived here in loneliness and isolation. No woman with any selfrespect would tolerate such a man.

Sleep did not come easily that night. The wounds were painful and the only comfortable position she could find to lie in was on her back. It was still early morning when she eased herself upright and rose from the bed. Washing and dressing were difficult with limbs which had had stiffness added to their soreness. After breakfast, Anna sat on the doorstep and eyed longingly the waves breaking on the golden shore.

In the circumstances, it was impossible to swim. Even sunbathing was impracticable with plasters covering her arm. She had hoped that she would not see her neighbour, but it seemed he had remembered something essential that she had forgotten. The sound of his footsteps stirred within her a curious conflict. Half of her dreaded his appearance, the other half groped like a hand in the dark, desperate to make contact. To hide the turmoil his appearance was creating, she took refuge in ill-temper, asking, 'What do you want?' 'I want nothing. I'm simply doing my duty like a good neighbour. I've come to attend to your injuries.' He held out his first aid box. 'I wish I'd remembered to bring one of my own,' she said ungraciously. 'I agree with you one hundred per cent. Come on, let's get this over. I have work to do.' Her mood-change was mercurial. 'Yes, sir.' She gave him an impish smile. 'M'm,' he was considerate as he pulled away the plaster strips, 'the girl shows a spark of impudence that intrigues.' She jerked, half wincing from the pain caused by the reluctance of the adhesive to let go, half from irritation at his words. 'If you think I'm trying to provoke you into noticing me -' 'I don't. Not at this particular moment.' 'But at other moments?' 'Only you know the answer to that. Will you let me keep my mind on my task?' His hand around her leg was gentle but firm, sending

tingles disconcertingly through her nervous system. His touch again ... What troubled her deeply was that, like each successive bee sting, every time it pierced her senses, its effect became more potent and more dangerous. 'What did that statement mean?' He did not answer, so she continued, 'When you said, "not at this particular moment"? It doesn't matter to me,' she bluffed, 'whether you treat me like a speck of dirt or not. Ow, that hurt!' He ripped away the final piece of plaster. He did not apologise and she went on, 'I told you, I'm used to being ignored. My family position has conditioned me to it.' 'So why that impudent inspection of my torso as I walked up the beach yesterday after my morning swim? Not to mention that provocative smile you gave me later as you went off to the village?' He smiled, eyes on his work. 'You see, I've got a memory store like an electronic calculator.' She coloured at the fact that he should have noticed, and remembered, such things. 'I didn't say I actually liked being ignored. I said I was used to it.' 'Ah,' applying cream and fresh plaster, 'now we're getting to the root of the matter. If I were to conduct an artist's analysis of your personality, I wonder what I'd discover? A bubbling cauldron of repressed aggression, not to mention a frustrated and clamouring passion?' 'Your artistic imagination is running away with you,' she commented coldly. 'Have you finished doing your duty as a good neighbour?' He closed the lid of the first aid box and straightened, his eyes narrowing as she gazed defiantly up at him. 'Do you know what you are, Miss Hartley? An ungrateful, uncivil, discourteous little madam. No wonder your family have as good as disowned you.'

It was about the most unkind thing he could have said to her. It reopened old wounds, paining her just as intolerably as her new ones. 'Why don't you cut me out of your will?' she hurled after him. He stopped, turning at the door. 'Since I'm likely to be alive for some while yet, I've thought of a better idea. I'll cut you out of my mind.'

The day passed slowly. There was little Anna could do. All her activities were limited by a painful arm and leg and by deep bruising, of which she had not so far been conscious, making its way to the surface. At low tide, she wandered listlessly down to the water's edge, wondering at how tame and gentle the wild North Sea could sometimes become. She would dearly love to plunge in, immersing her whole body, but all she could do at that moment was to remove her sandals and swish her feet carefully so that none of the water splashed on to her wounds. Then she wandered back and sank down, using the sweater tied by its sleeves around her neck to cover the patch of sand where she chose to sit. The paperback she had brought with her held her attention for a while, but she tired of reading and opened the book wide to form a headrest. Stretched full-length, she thought about the struggle it would be to get to work next day. The few hours that would pass before morning would bring a small alleviation of her discomfort but not enough to make the mile-long walk to catch the bus an easy matter. She could, of course, telephone the office to say she had had an accident and could not make it to work that day ...

She slept, only faintly aware of footsteps approaching but too far gone into unconsciousness to arouse herself to discover whether the newcomer was friend or foe. Foe, more likely, she thought drowsily, for who but her arrogant neighbour would be around these parts outside the holiday season? When she stirred to wakefulness, it was an hour later and the clouds had piled one on the other, allowing the sun to break through only when they chose. She re-tied her sweater round her neck—she still could not bear any covering on her arm—and trod upwards to the beach hut. Her neighbour was working on the damaged bicycle. Astonishment turned her footsteps to approach him, taking away her vow of silence and withdrawal into herself where he was concerned. The machine bore only a few scars—dents and scratches here and there. Now he was hammering something into place, light strokes calculated to apply only the exact amount of pressure needed. . 'You've performed a miracle, Mr Farrant!' Anna exclaimed. He stopped work, looking up at her, an eyebrow ironically raised. 'Not my line, miracles. Blood, sweat and the occasional tear, not to mention sheer brute force when needed.' Looking at the muscles revealed by his rolled-up shirt sleeves, she did not doubt that he possessed plenty of that commodity when called upon to use it. She smiled. 'Strength of body as well as mind, Mr Farrant? You're the answer to most women's prayers. You're just too good to be true.' He straightened, forcing her to gaze up at him. The hammer was raised threateningly above her head and she cowered in mock apprehension. 'Good?' he said. 'I shouldn't count on it. There have

been times in these last two days on which I would have loved to have exterminated a pest of a young woman called Anna Hartley.' He lowered the hammer. 'I came to this retreat for the good of my soul, that precious but elusive thing we all possess but which modern life is doing its utmost to grind out of existence. I came here to listen to myself think. All I've listened to since Friday night is Anna Hartley, Anna Hartley,' he dropped the hammer and with angry hands round her shoulders, then her throat, 'Anna Hartley,' his fingers tightened, 'and she's nearly driven me to drink!' She wanted to cover his dark-haired arms with her outspread fingers. There was a curious weakening of her legs, not from fear but a strange delight. 'I'm sorry,' she whispered. 'I never intended to spoil things for you. If you want, I'll pack my things and find a park, bench, a station waiting room…' His eyes were fixed on hers. There seemed to be something in them that transfixed him, drawing him slowly, slowly down. When their lips met there was a small explosion inside her and she went limp. He jerked his head away, taking his hard lips with him. She felt deprived, robbed of something she had never had. Did the disappointment show? Maybe it did, because his expression changed from anger to a muted triumph. His hands moved. Avoiding her injured arm, they found her armpits, sliding over her, moulding the shape of her beneath his palms—her breasts, her waist, her hips, lingering there familiarly. And this time it did not enter her head to slap his hands for their impudence. He urged her nearer until their knees and thighs made contact. 'For months,' he murmured, 'I've lived a monkish existence. Just think of it, Anna—all that unutilised virility and male drive—the slightest thing, say a lift of your eyebrow, the swish of your corn- coloured

hair, a special kind of smile, a certain, if unconscious, movement of your attractively feminine body—any one of those could spark off inside me a great conflagration of desire. All concentrated on you, Anna Hartley, and no one within miles to come to your aid.' Panic rose within her. 'I'm sorry, Mr Farrant,' she moistened her lips, 'you've got the wrong girl. That's way outside my life-style. It might be how others live, but—me?' She shook her head vigorously and her hair swirled. His hand reached out and gathered her hair, pulling it tightly. 'Then don't provoke me, lady.. And the name's Roc.' 'Roc? Nothing else?' 'Roc.' A faint smile, then he returned to his work.

That night Anna set her alarm to waken her early. In the morning she would go to the office. Even if the stiffness and discomfort still lingered, she would struggle to walk the mile to the village and catch the bus. It took her so long to dress there was no time for more than a cup of coffee and a plain cracker. Looping her bag over her shoulder, she locked the hut door and descended the two steps to the grassy plateau on which the two dwellings stood. A quick glance at her neighbour's place showed that all windows and doors were closed. Then she saw him at the foot of the long flight of steps which led to the clifftop. Roc Farrant lowered the bicycle which he had lifted to rest on his shoulder for easier carrying. 'Where do you think you're going?' he asked. 'That's my business.'

'That's where you're wrong, my girl. If you're going where I think you are, then it's very much my business. Since at this particular point in time I'm your neighbour, I shall have the job of repairing the damage a day's work will have done to you. In short, in no time at all I'd be acting the tame nurse again. And I'm damned if I'm going to waste yet more of my time repairing an injured female called Anna Hartley. She's given me enough trouble already.' 'You're under no obligation to look after me, Mr Farrant.' 'Roc.' 'Roc yourself! I'm not your responsibility.' 'Agreed. But common humanity wouldn't let me rest if I knew that the girl next door was alone and in pain. So we'll avoid such a situation developing, shall we? It would only aggravate both of us, especially as we seem to have conceived the same liking for each other as a rabbit does towards a fox that's about to exterminate it.' Anna winced at the image his words conjured up in her curiously disappointed thoughts. Roc Farrant went on, 'You can't bear me to touch you -' Anna so nearly cried out, That's not true, I enjoy it ... but managed to check the outburst. Seconds later, she was glad she did. 'And likewise I can hardly tolerate touching you.' Her eyes fell away from his and he said with a malicious twist to his mouth, 'I see I've hit the target. So get out of your working clothes, will you, and climb into whatever you laze around in. I'll call your place of work, if you'll tell me their phone number.' 'Suppose I don't?'

'No trouble. You told me the name of your employers. That's sufficient.' 'You can't keep me here against my will.' The moment she said it she knew it was a foolish remark to make to this man. His smile was taut. 'No?' He began to roll up his shirt sleeves. 'Want a demonstration of the tactics as used by prehistoric man towards his woman?' Anna jerked out an irritated sigh. 'You win. Just this once.' He smiled as he wrote down the number she gave him. As she watched him climb the steps, bicycle on his shoulder, she thought, I should have thanked him. When he reached the cliff top, he lowered the bicycle, sat astride it and gave an ironic salute before riding away. While he was gone, Anna ate the breakfast she had not had. time to eat earlier. Her injuries did not pain her quite so much, but she was still conscious of the soreness. She was glad Roc Farrant had forgotten about them. It meant that she had not had to tolerate his touch yet again. But she had underestimated the man's memory. Time passed slowly in his absence. It was after lunch that she heard the hard beat of feet descending from the clifftop. And, to her dismay, with each step he took down, her heart made a thumping ascent of its own. She told herself she was crazy to be so pleased at her neighbour's return. To him she was a nuisance—-a 'pest', he had called her. Yet here she was, welcoming him silently like a dog madly wagging its tail 1 Well, she would not show it. She would be cool and calm ... He stood in her doorway, his head almost hit- . ting the top. It became only too

clear that her pulse rate had listened to her heart instead of her head, which was perfectly natural, she reasoned—if only her heart had not been beating so fast at the sight of him. He held out a box. 'One first aid kit, for you.' A mocking smile, then, 'With your neighbour's love.' Anna did not return his smile. 'Thank you for bringing it.' She reached for her purse. 'How much was it?' He ran a hand round an unshaven chin. 'Would you believe—I've completely forgotten!' 'You must remember. I insist, Mr Farrant.' 'Roc, I said. Insist as much as you like, I still won't take the money. Come on, honey,' his tone change completely disarmed her, 'I'm giving it to you out of the goodness of my heart and, believe me. there is some goodness left in it.' 'All right, but the bill for the damaged bike. I'm paying that, whatever you say,' 'Okay.' He reached into his pants pocket. 'But don't say I didn't warn you.' He handed over a piece of paper. Anna unfolded it—and gasped. Eyes wide, she gazed at him. 'Three figures—for the repair of a bicycle?' His face became blank, suspiciously so. 'You think that's expensive?' She was too flabbergasted to answer: When she had collected her wits, she said with a painful swallow, 'I've got some money in the bank, but not nearly enough to pay this bill. I hope you don't mind waiting for the rest.'

He lifted his shoulders. 'I'm a patient man.' Anna moistened her lips. 'You can't honestly mean you've paid all this? I mean—well, you might be artistic and dreamy and out-of-thisworld where practical matters are concerned, but surely you could see -' 'Now you've looked at the figures,' he broke in, 'look at the words written in front of them.' She did as he suggested and flung the bill down. 'It's not for a bicycle at all. It's for a car! You don't really expect me to pay for a -' 'Not a car, a truck, a small one, second-hand.' He laughed and bent to pick up the bill. 'And no, I don't expect you to pay for that. If you want the truth, the camping shop praised my efforts in repairing the bike and said it was in a good enough condition to hire out again. They just asked me to pay for one or two items like paint and a new foot pedal. So, Miss Anna Hartley, that's you let off the hook. Aren't you pleased your bank account won't be drained after all?' Her sigh of relief was so deep he laughed again. 'Very glad,' she said. 'My salary has never been very high even in the work I was trained to do. They pay me even less at Nordon Machine Tools.' Roc Farrant pushed the bill into his pocket. 'Not that I can really complain,' she went on. 'When I' got the job through an employment agency, they told me there were dozens of filing clerks looking for work. Nordon Machine Tools only took me on because they said they were fed up with dim-witted females being appointed to do the work after saying they'd had experience and then making a bigger mess of the filing than if a dumb animal had been let loose among it!'

He laughed loudly. 'Who said that, the boss or one of his subordinates?' She frowned. 'How do I know? I don't even know the boss's name. Miss Disley, the woman in charge of the office, told me that since I'd had no real experience at all, at least they could train me properly from the start. All the same, I don't like it there.' 'You'd prefer to be back in your own line—looking after young children?' 'Yes.' Her eyes sought his anxiously. 'What did Miss Disley say?.' 'She took the information like a lamb. I said you'd be away three days.' 'I can't be away that long. She hates people being away, even when they're really ill. She'd dismiss a few cuts and bruises as being no reason at all for missing a day's work.' 'Too bad,' he commented carelessly. Anna shook her head. 'I don't understand it. She usually hates people staying away.' 'As you said before.' He smiled. 'I must have caught her in a good mood.' Anna made a face. 'She doesn't have many of those.' She looked up at him. 'Why did you decide to buy something on four wheels instead of two?' 'Maybe because -' he held up the ignition key, 'this is needed to make it go.'

'So I won't be able to borrow it -' 'Without permission. Or hurl it down the steps.' She grinned. 'I could always drive it over the cliff.' He came at her and grabbed her hair, at which she squealed, begging him to release her. 'Only if you exchange a kiss for your freedom.' He took her silence and stillness as agreement and eased back her head. Their eyes locked and she could not have objected even if she had wanted to. He held her spellbound. His kiss was hard, although he seemed to be taking care not to harm her grazed cheek. Slowly her hair was released and he moved away, yet still she could find nothing to say. He filled the silence but his tone was abrupt. 'Now you've got a first aid box, will you be able to attend to your own injuries?' She nodded. 'Good. I'll be going.' Her lips still tingled from the pressure of his and she did not want it to stop. 'Back to your solitude?' she asked, delaying his departure by a few seconds. 'Where else?' When he had gone, she thought, The dividing line is back. The wall has been rebuilt. And he seems determined from now on to stay firmly on his side of it.

It was next morning before she saw Roc Farrant again. He sat on a stool on the beach, an easel in front of him, brush in hand. For the first time since she came, Anna saw him painting.

Curiosity tugged at her like a kite lifting in a strong breeze, but for the moment she managed to resist its persistent pull. There was breakfast to be eaten and her injuries to be inspected. Having washed the dishes in the usual primitive fashion, she peeled off the dressings from her grazed skin and found to her relief that the wounds were healing well. She was able to pull on a thin cardigan without wincing. A jacket was necessary that morning. A strong breeze blew along the shore and her hair spread across her face. The skirt she wore wrapped itself around her and spurts of • sand hit her legs as she scuffed barefoot along the beach. The lone figure drew her powerfully, but she came to rest some distance from him. A sense of elation coursed through her. The sun was out, evading clouds that sought now and then to hide it. Seabirds, ever- present, flew and perched and called to each other. Roc Farrant's back was so implacably towards her that she wondered whether he knew she was there. She managed a cough, a loud one which he could not have missed, but his attention did not stray from his work. Anna ventured nearer, stopping within speaking distance, then dropping to the sand and leaning back on her palms and stiffened arms. Pretending to survey the scene, she let her head swing slowly right and left, finally coming to rest in his direction. A noisy clearing of her throat produced no effect, nor did an exaggerated sigh of contentment. Plainly more positive action was required. She scrambled up, dusted her brightly-coloured skirt, straightened her white top beneath the summerweight jacket and, folding her arms, wandered with a false casualness to his side. It appeared, on the surface, to be the act of an audacious, highly confident young woman, but in reality, the girl who stood beside the dauntingly silent man was quivering inside at her own boldness. The

driving force behind her action had come from deep inside, a craving to be noticed and acknowledged which sprang from half-buried memories of hurtful parental dismissals. Was this man, with his artistic understanding, psychologist enough to sense this? By his resolutely averted head and his refusal even to reply to her morning greeting, it seemed he was not. Anna clasped her arms around her waist and looked at the painting on the easel. She gasped, but dared not make a sound for fear of disturbing his concentration. It was not, as she had expected, a portrayal of sea, sand and rocks. The picture which was emerging from the painter's manipulating hands was completely beyond her comprehension. Those hands captured her attention. Long-fingered, with a deep tan which hours in the open air had given to his face and shoulders and the rest of his powerfully- built body. He wore a green, opentextured, short- sleeved shirt and sand-coloured pants, belted at the waist. Anna sat on the sand, encircling her knees with her arms. 'Roc?' Unthinkingly she addressed him, the wish to make contact overcoming her instinct to leave him alone. 'Are you really an abstract painter?' The question was seriously meant, expecting an equally serious answer. But there was no answer. It seemed she was still at the foot of the other side of the wall he had built between them. 'Do you,' Anna persisted, 'draw all the time on your inner resources? Do you go out of your way to avoid depicting real life in your work?' He remained silent, and she persevered, determined to draw from him some response. 'Do you consciously dose your eyes to the people around you? People like——' she paused, 'like the villagers, the storekeepers, the farmers in the district?'

He did not even show irritation at her questions. It was as if, for him, she had less substance than a grain of sand. Twin sparks of defiance lit her eyes. If sincerity did not move him, she would goad. Her head turned, her hair swung wide, settling in a cloud of fairness about her neck. She looked up at him. 'Do you only want to express all the time your own selfish ideas, your emotions—if you have any? That,' she jabbed a finger towards his work, 'that's just painting out your inner tensions and your aggressions, purging yourself of them. That,' she pointed again, 'is just burdening your fellow human beings with your problems, with no intention of giving them pleasure, or of stirring them, or—or making them think profoundly.' Without hurry, he set down his brush, put aside his paints and stood, the stool on which he had been sitting tipping over. With the same deliberation he stood it upright. Then he swung towards her, crouched, slipped arms of steel beneath her bent knees and under her armpits and lifted her. - 'No,' she shrieked, 'let me be!' Purposefully he strode across the beach. 'I only wanted to talk. A serious discussion ... I was asking sensible questions ... You annoyed me by ignoring me, so in the end I decided to annoy you ...' She looked round. They were approaching the sea's edge. 'No!' she cried again". 'My cuts and grazes—I mustn't get them wet.' His arms drew her closer, tightening as for a throw. She shrieked again, this time in real fear, clinging to him, wrapping her arms round his neck and turning her face into his shoulder. 'Not in the water,' she pleaded, her voice muffled. 'Any other time I wouldn't mind, but now it might open up the wounds, even make them bleed again.' Her undamaged cheek pressed against his granite hardness, then her forehead, then her lips.

The scent of him was there, in the fabric of his shirt, in the skin beneath it, the smell of the sea from his early morning swim. Involuntarily, her arms around him tightened, her breasts urging on to the broadness of his chest. She became aware that they had stopped. They were like a statue of lovers carved by the hand of a romantic sculptor, etched against the restless blue-greyness of the sea. Yet not a word had passed his lips. Slowly she loosened her hold, found her eyes creeping up to seek his. There was the prodding obstinacy of an unshaven chin, the thick, sensual lips with their cynically downward curve, the rigid jawline, the tantalising eyes. She wanted to put up a hand and push at his windblown hair, stroke his cheek ... Not even the hint of a smile softened his mouth, there was only the hard intensity of his gaze, the fierce grip which plainly still longed to throw her bodily into the water. 'Roc,' she whispered, pushing back her own hair instead, 'please put me down. I'll stay away. I'll try to keep my promise.' His hold slackened. He lowered her and she slid from him. Striding feet took him away and she sank on to the sand, legs pulled up and crossed, head drooping into .shaking hands. All that time he had stayed silent, while she, with her eyes, had told him that, uncaring though he was, he held her heart in his hands.

CHAPTER THREE IT was about the same time the. following morning that Anna picked up her purse and her haversack and went outside. As she approached the steps her neighbour appeared. 'Where are you going?' he asked curtly. Anna turned to face him, raising her eyebrows into a supercilious arc. She pointed to her slacks which were creased and worn and indicated her brief white top. This she immediately regretted because of the way his eyes lingered on the undoubted femininity of the shape beneath. Hoping to avert in advance the caustic comments which she knew by experience that he delighted in making, Anna swung to face the upward slope of the steps. Her hope that he would repeat his question so that she could crush him yet again with her calculated silence, thus having her revenge, was not fulfilled. Nor did he follow. The walk to the village, which she had accomplished so easily two days before, seemed endless. The material of her slacks rubbed against the sore place on her leg and it was not long before she was limping. When the sound of an engine and the crunch of wheels moving slowly over the rocky clifftop track approached from behind, Anna gritted her teeth and did her best to eliminate the limp from her walk. The small truck drove by and, thinking that the danger of the driver's stopping to speak to her had passed, she reverted to limping. The vehicle slowed to a stop, there was a pause, then the driver, who must have been watching her through the driving mirror, swung out. Anna was almost level with the truck. Roc Farrant was making straight for her and she knew that if she did not take avoiding action,

her vow of treating him with the silent contempt with which he had treated her would be broken. Bracing herself for the pain she knew would follow, she limped quickly towards the other side of the truck—but it was a hopeless gesture on her part. In a few strides he was beside her, she was being scooped into his arms and carried towards the truck. 'I didn't ask for help!' she cried, furious that she had been forced to speak. 'So you can just put me right back where you found me!' His response was to glance impassively into her angry eyes and continue walking. While he opened the truck door he rested her on his knee, then placed her, none too gently, on the hard passenger seat. The journey to the village was over in a few minutes. He braked and leaned across her to open the door. Then he straightened and said expressionlessly, 'Your destination, I believe.' 'I could have walked,' she snapped. 'You were limping. Even a complete stranger would have offered you a lift.' He lifted a hand, cutting off her protest. 'All right, so I didn't offer. I knew you'd refuse, so I took more positive action.' He drew back his cuff and Anna noticed with surprise that not only had he shaved, but he wore more formal clothes. There was no doubting their quality or their cost. Also, for the first time since they had met, he was .wearing a tie. 'I have someone to see. If I don't move on I'll be late.' This was a dismissal, no doubt about it. This was also a different man from the lazy artist-type who moved indolently in and around his beach house, or walked with easy, flowing strides along the shore, hurling the occasional stone into the sea. This was a person she had glimpsed now and then in the three or so days since making his

acquaintance—withdrawn, aloof, with a mind which was preoccupied with thoughts which she was convinced had taken him far from sun, sea and sand. It was a man with whom she did not argue, did not provoke, did not attempt to annoy. She thanked him for bringing her and got out, lifting up the haversack and closing the door. He drove away and she was left to do her shopping wondering where he had gone, and when he would be back.

Anna bought food and tins of dried milk, crisp- bread which would keep better than fresh bread. She remembered to add fruit to her list. It seemed a long walk back to the beach hut. The sun was climbing in a cloudless sky and cast down its heat unremittingly. It was a day to be enjoyed, which meant taking a beach towel to lie on, a two-piece swim- suit to wear to allow the sun to toast every exposed area of the skin, aided by a protective layer of lotion. A day to dream in, of sundrenched places far away, expensive hotels, of lakes and candlelight and a lover's loving eyes at a table for two ... A picture, like a painted portrait, of a hard-jawed face and unsmiling amber eyes, imprinted itself on to her vision as she stared across to the horizon. No lover, that man, no tenderness to be enhanced by flickering candles and masses of unperfumed but exotic flowers; no hand-in-hand partner and equal, with laughter in his heart to kindle answering laughter in hers ... She spread the towel and lowered herself on to it, lying face to the sky, lifting sand with restless fingers. Was she doing Roc Farrant an injustice? She recalled .the times he had laughed, head back, white teeth flashing, eyes alight, enjoying the joke. She sighed, luxuriating in the frequent bursts of intense sun-heat. The man was an enigma, a

puzzle which she acknowledged with reluctance would never be hers to solve. After a while she turned on to her front, resting her undamaged cheek on the backs of her hands. She lay thus for some time, crossing her feet at her ankles and almost feeling her wounds healing under the warmth of the sun. It would be nice, she thought, to turn the whiteness of her skin to a gentle brown. There would be white marks here and there, of course ... If she undid the swimsuit top the sun could reach the part the material covered. There was no one about, was there? This was not an area where the campers from the site near the village strayed. Roc Farrant had gone out. Her hands felt for the back fastening. She glanced up to check that her neighbour was still not around and saw, with a shock, that he had returned. What was more, he was on his porch platform, watching her. With a sigh, she left the bra catch as it was and returned to her former position. A surge of annoyance swept her at being prevented, by the presence of a man and one who was, moreover, insolent enough to be staring at her—with the intention, she was certain, of irritating her— from taking a course of action which was riot only harmless in itself, but also possibly beneficial. Her second glance held defiance with a dash of impudence. Yes, he was still staring, but he would not inhibit her from doing as she pleased. Her fingers found their way back to the fastening. It opened and parted. Her recumbent body held the swimming top in place. She lay quietly for a few minutes, soaking up the sun, then some instinct had her lifting her head and glancing at Roc's beach house again. Anna gasped at his audacity. He was not only still in his porch, he had a pair of binoculars trained on her. That they were powerful, she had no doubt. A man such as he, she sensed, would have nothing but the best, even though he had to scrape together all his savings to buy it.

Her head bent and she saw what he, through the magnification of the lenses, would be seeing. Her immediate instinct was to fumble and refasten the catch. Then she thought, Why should I? The beach doesn't belong to him. And she lowered her head again. However, it was impossible to. relax. The mere fact that, without looking up yet again, she could not know whether his gaze was still on her or whether he had given up and gone inside was sufficient to sweep all else from her mind. It was when she heard footsteps approaching, scuffing the sand, that the tension in her limbs became unbearable. When the footsteps stopped beside her, she held her breath. He did not move and she let her breath out slowly, turning her head but looking no higher than his taut thighs. Had she allowed her eyes to wander upwards to his face, the brief piece of fabric which stood between respectability and indignity would have fallen away, leaving her completely vulnerable. It seemed, however, that he had ideas of his own. He crouched down and she pressed even harder into the two shapes which were her only barriers against his scorching eyes. 'This is what you wanted, isn't it?' he said softly. 'This is what you've been asking me to do from the moment you knew I was watching you.' 'Will you please go away?' she muttered into her hands. 'All the time,' he persisted, 'you've done more and more to entice my interest. First, lying there - 'I have every right. It's not your beach.' 'Then a series of mock-coy glances- -' 'I was trying to tell you how much you annoyed me!' 'Then, as a last resort, brazenly displaying your attractions.'

Anna, tried to deny his assertions, but part of her whispered that he was right. 'Well,' he went on, 'I'm here. What do you want?' His voice was silky soft. 'Name it, honey, and it's yours. A kiss or two, a few caresses or even the great seduction scene with the sea lapping at our feet.' She twisted round and saw with horror how far the tide had come in. As she had turned, so the swimming top had fallen free. Her gasp of horror turned into a cry of annoyance at herself, at the sea, at the man crouching so tauntingly next to her. 'Now I see behind the sixth veil.' His eyes, as they traced her shape, were that of a man, not a painter. 'One day the seventh will fall and you'll be mine.' Before she could open her lips to answer, he was fulllength beside her. He tugged her. on to her side and crushed her against him, his arms sliding round her unresisting body. His lips began a voyage of exploration, burning their way around her throat, and down, down to the hollow between her breasts, even trespassing on the womanly shapeliness she had tried in vain to hide. He held her from him at last and she struggled successfully to lift a corner of the towel to form a barrier. His eyes held an ardour, but an inner whisper told her it was desire and not love that caused it. Her cheeks were flushed and she was radiant with her first intimate encounter with the man she had grown so swiftly to love. From the moment they had met, she had been drawn to him, like a nomad to an oasis. Well, she had drunk, hadn't she? But her thirst had not only not been satiated, it had intensified. She wanted more, and yet more of him ... He stood looking down at her, and from the mocking amusement in his smile she knew that for him it had been just one of many

encounters with a woman. He was not for her. He had built a wall, hadn't he? She must never forget that wall. 'The next time,' he murmured, his eyes caressing her shoulders and thighs, 'you decide to make me notice you, remember what I said about that stored-up virility inside me. The slightest provocation on your part—and you could hardly call the invitation you were giving me "slight", or even "subtle"—could set my libido alight and you would be consumed by the fires in my loins.' He began to walk away, -then glanced back. 'Watch out, honey,' he called, 'because any moment you could be all at sea—literally!' The water lapped at her feet and she drew them away quickly, rising and wrapping the large towel about her and collecting her belongings. 'I didn't ask you to spy on me with binoculars,' she threw after him. 'That was the act of an inhibited, frustrated man with a twisted mind!' He swung round as if to return, and she drew back. 'Just Watch it, my girl,' he muttered between his teeth, 'unless you want the full works? Just say so and I'll oblige.' Slowly she shook her head. 'Only for us to be friends. Roc.' His eyes darkened as they dwelt on her. 'Friends? What man would want to be friends with you?' He continued to walk up the beach. The towel trailed as she followed him, fitting her footsteps into the larger ones he left behind. It was the pain inside she could hardly stand. His rejection hurt more than her injuries had ever done. She had been slighted and repudiated by her family, so she should, she told herself severely, be used to it by now. But this was different.

This was like being thrown off a ship in mid-ocean and being left to drown.

Anna dressed carefully next morning. She hoped .to slip out and reach freedom before her next-door neighbour was stirring from his bed. She had hoped in vain. He was walking back from his morning swim. He had come to a stop and she watched him in the bright clear air. Water trickled down him, over his chest and arms, forming large, fleeting droplets on the hard muscles of his legs. His powerful frame drew, his maleness stirred wanton feelings. A wet hand lifted to run through water-flattened hair. Before he could interrogate her, she said, 'I'm going to work—I'm quite fit now. I don't care if they're not expecting me back yet. You can't stop me.' He did not respond. The maddening silence which he was so expert in applying in order to make people listen to the stupidity of their own words was brought into play. Anna felt as he had intended her to feel— small and tiresome. 'Oh!' she snapped, sweeping towards the steps. 'I don't know why I bother about you. You're nothing to me.' His laughter mocked her all the way to the top. Miss Disley's mood, it seemed, was 'good' again. 'Back a day early!' the small, thin woman said. 'You're an example to us all, Miss Hartley. That gentleman who phoned—he wouldn't give his name— said you'd been quite badly injured. And—oh, your cheek! You poor girl! Are you sure—?'

The other girls were staring. 'Quite sure,' Anna said firmly, hoping to stop the flow of Miss Disley's astonishing outburst. 'Just a fall from a bike, nothing serious. I'm back to normal.' Fearing another onslaught of sympathy, she greeted her colleagues, smiling and lifting her hand. 'Hi!' they called out, one by one. Miss Disley came up to her as she settled at her desk. Anna's heart sank. 'Such a nice man he seemed—I assumed he was young?' So she had gone up in Miss Disley's estimation, since it was now assumed that she had a boy-friend. 'Yes,' said Anna resignedly, 'he's young. Thirties,' she added. 'And what's his name?' Miss Disley persisted. The other girls continued to stare. Anna frowned. 'Name?' Why should she tell this normally brusque and irritable woman about her private business? 'Roc.' Miss Disley seemed taken aback. 'Just—Roc?' Anna smiled. She remembered saying the same thing herself. 'Just Roc.' A moment's hesitation, then Miss Disley left her, having plainly decided that no further information was forthcoming. Later, when Miss Disley was out of the office, some of the girls crowded round. 'Who is he?' one asked. 'Where did you meet him?' Anna shrugged .'No one special,' she bluffed. 'My next-door neighbour, if you must know.' 'What's he like? Come on,' said a girl called Eileen, 'tell us.'

'A man,' Anna parried, smiling. 'Tall—well, you know the rest. Some might call him that, anyway.' She added, hoping to put them off, 'He's not interested in me. He likes the older, sophisticated types.' 'Did he tell you?' another asked. 'No.' Anna frowned, trying to push the memories out of reach in case they showed in her expression. 'I just know. He's an artist.' A cry of interest greeted her words, but to her relief, Miss Disley returned and the girls scrambled back to their seats. That evening it was like returning home, a real home, where friendship and warmth awaited her. As she walked the distance from the village where the bus had dropped her, Anna felt the stirrings of excitement. How would Roc greet her? Would he be painting, swimming or just lounging? She made her way down to the grassy plateau and looked expectantly at his beach house. There was no sign of life. Then she remembered that the truck he had bought had not been parked in its place at the top of the cliff. He was out. Dreaming her way back, it had not occurred to her that he might not be there.' She swallowed her disappointment, had her supper and went for a walk, removing her sandals and splashing at the edge of the sea. She inhaled, loving the smell of the fresh air on the breeze, the pungent odour of the seaweed. Her eyed roamed constantly to the horizon, seeking ships but finding none. Clambering round a rocky promontory, she heard voices drifting on the wind. There was a large bay and above it she could see the shapes of orange-coloured tents. It must, she decided, be the camping site of which she had heard and the voices those of the campers. Treading over pools left by the ebbing tide, she stood in the wet sand and watched the people, most of them young, who, she assumed, came from the camping site.

There was a powerful feeling inside her to make herself known, to wave, to be noticed by someone and invited to join them. Groups played with beach balls, others sat talking. Couples wandered hand in hand and now and then kissed. Turning away, she found herself envying them their easy friendships, recalling vividly the intimate and infinitely pleasurable embrace between Roc Farrant and herself on the beach the day before. It was a strange relationship that had developed between them. More than acquaintances now, yet not lovers, nor even loving—on his part. Nor were they friends, really—just two people thrown together by fate and no doubt torn apart just as easily by the same thing. When she crossed the beach on her return, sand clinging to her damp feet, sandals swinging from her fingers, she saw that her neighbour had returned. He was descending the steps and her heart beat faster the lower he came. His appearance was untidy, his jaw darkened as though he had not bothered that morning to shave. He wore an opennecked summer shirt and slacks which were creased as though he had spent much of the day seated—probably painting. This he confirmed by holding up his outspread hands. 'Today I've had a surge of inspiration. Must have been the peace and quiet your absence left behind.' He grinned at her pouting mouth and went on, 'I haven't eaten all day—too busy.' He turned back to his porch and stepped on to it. 'Like some coffee, honey?' The sweet yet careless endearment closed her mouth on her refusal. She would love a cup of coffee, especially in this man's company. She told him so, although omitting the second of her thoughts. Entering his beach house a little shyly, she watched with surprise as he unpacked a rucksack and extracted a vacuum flask and rolls.

'Is the coffee in there?' she asked, puzzled. He nodded. 'Packed it all, then forgot to take the darned thing.' She smiled. 'You need a woman to keep you in order.' He stood like a statue. 'No woman, thanks. I told you when we first met that I've had more than my fill of womankind.' He turned in the act of pouring the coffee into mugs and looked at her, narrow-eyed. 'And don't start putting on the good-neighbourly act for me, will you? Whatever I did for you was out of necessity, with no emotional motivation whatsoever. Your coffee.' She took it. 'I've a good mind to throw it in your face!' 'You do that—and I'll hit you so hard you'll think a meteorite has hurtled from the skies and homed in on you. Now, having got that settled, will you let me eat?' 'Who's stopping you?' she retorted. He smiled at her sour tone. Taking up a roll, he broke it in half, spread it liberally, added a hunk of cheese and sank his teeth into the food. Fascinated, Anna watched as he half-sat on a corner of the plain wooden table, leg swinging, tearing at the food as though he had not eaten for days. He was entirely uninhibited and she had an intuitive glimpse into his performance as a lover, demanding, ardent, accomplished and passionate in the extreme, taking his pleasure and giving it back a thousandfold to the woman at that moment in his life. The thought brought colour to her cheeks and she hoped that with his preoccupation in satisfying his hunger he would not notice. She had underestimated his perception. His eyebrow lifted. 'Daring thoughts for an untried young girl? They wouldn't be connected with me?' Her colour deepened as her eyes lowered to the leanness of his hips, the

whipcord strength of his thighs. His eyes glinted. 'Was my aim good and true? Did I hit dead centre?' She sought to divert his attention. 'I'm not in my teens,' she responded sharply. 'Twenty-four is hardly a "young girl".' She shot him a smiling glance. 'I know how babies are made.' 'Boy-friends by the dozen?' He extracted another roll and gave it the same treatment, filling his mouth again.. 'A whole long line of them.' She was still smiling. , 'Nobody really special, except maybe one.' She sighed and shrugged. 'He's passed out of my life now—found someone else. I've no hard • feelings where he's concerned, no feelings at all, really.' She added, after a pause filled with the liberated chewing sound made by her companion,. 'He was the son of Mrs Warne, my ex- employer,' the lady who ran the nursery which was closed down. The hut I'm living in is hers. Kevin went abroad with his mother.' 'More coffee?' It was the only comment he made. He found a packet of cream-filled biscuits, offering her one which she accepted. He then proceeded to eat his way through more than half the packet. Thoughtfully he commented, 'Odd feeling, being hungry. It does you good now and then, makes you realise how people must feel when they really are too ^ poverty-stricken to buy the absolute necessities, let alone luxuries.' He threw the half-finished packet on to the table and brushed away the crumbs from" his lap. 'Lets you know what it's really like to be a starving artist.' . He threw her a quick glance, which she answered with a frown. What it's really like ... What did he mean? He straightened slowly. 'Want to see today's effort? It might please you more than the other which you criticised so severely.'

Anna looked at the painting, seeing a seascape that delighted her. He must have gone some distance to discover a new angle of cliffs, sea and shore. She looked up at him, a wish in her .eyes. 'If I had the money, I'd buy it.' 'Glad I've earned your approval in something,' he said blandly. 'I'd give it to you if I could, but it was commissioned by a client.' 'Are you well known in the art world?' He tossed a coin from his pocket. 'My work sells. To the general public, largely, through art shops, booksellers and the like.' He pushed the coin into his pocket and retrieved the painting, placing it on the table. 'Well,' he asked, with his back to her, 'have you told your colleagues at work about me?' He turned, resting against the table. 'No, only that I have a neighbour called Roc.' His eyes flickered. 'Why? Ashamed of me?' 'Yes,' she answered impishly, and he lunged at her, gripping her arm. He pulled her from the chair and seized her shoulders. 'You'll pay the penalty for that impudence, Anna Hartley!' His hands fitted round her waist and she knew the feel of him again, his length against her length, hips touching hers, hands sliding upwards over throat and cheeks to entangle with her hair. He turned her face until his mouth fitted over hers and the force of his kiss, breaking through the barrier of her teeth, had her head reeling, her body melting. To hide her shaking limbs when his mouth released hers, she managed a smile and said cheekily, 'Seems like you missed me, Mr Farrant.'

His hands still imprisoned her head and his eyes locked with hers. 'As one misses a badly fitting shoe, Miss Hartley.' She shook her head to free herself and he let her go. 'Look at you,' she challenged, smoothing her hair, 'untidy, haven't shaved, undisciplined!' His. hands found his pockets, his eyes dropped familiarly to appreciate the sight of her breasts rising and falling against the stretched material of her sleeveless summer top. It was as though he had every right to look at her in that way. 'Why should I care?' he answered her taunts. 'There's no one else to see me—except you.' 'And I don't matter?' 'Not much.' It was the answer she should have anticipated. All the same, it hurt. Roc went on, 'Why should I worry about conventional manners ? I live as I want. I keep my own hours —sleep, eat, work when I like. I also have my own moral standards.' Again his eyes skimmed her body. An indignant flush crept over her cheeks. 'So I've noticed. But don't involve me with your decadent way of living. And I hate low moral standards.' 'You're talking like a puritan and a prude, but I forgive you because I know by experience that you're neither.' Hands on hips, he went towards her. 'Which means that you're already involved with my ways, doesn't it?' His eyes raked her. 'We're not exactly— unacquainted.'

Her pulses raced and she snapped, afraid that his effect on her would show, 'What's a kiss or two?' To a man like Roc Farrant, the question was provocation, and she trembled inwardly, knowing how weak she was where he was concerned. 'It's like that, is it?' He stood firmly in front of her and she could almost feel his anger. Before he could reach out, she turned and fled through the open door. 'Mend the wall you built between us,' she called over her shoulder. 'If you don't, I will.' 'I'll not only mend it, lady,' he shouted after her, 'I'll build it higher!' His door slammed.

It was two days later that Miss Disley came bustling up to Anna. 'Drop everything, Miss Hartley. Mr Cornwell wants to see you.' She seemed so excited Anna was puzzled. 'Go at once, dear. You mustn't keep him waiting.' The curiously respectful way the woman in charge of the office had treated her since her return to work had mystified Anna. Had the supposed acquisition of a boy-friend really lifted her in Miss Disley's esteem to such an extent that the woman felt it necessary to turn on her most deferential manner every time she spoke to her? And now here she was, treating her with more deference than ever! 'Who—who is Mr Cornwell, Miss Disley?' It was Miss Disley's turn to look puzzled, but only for a moment. She smiled, a little simperingly. 'You're teasing me, aren't you, Miss Hartley? Mr Cornwell is, as I'm sure you know, the chairman of the company.'

'The chairman!' Anna half rose, asking, 'What have I done, Miss Disley, that he should want to see me? Anyway, it's coffee-time now and -' 'Oh, Mr Cornwell will give you coffee, Miss Hartley. Off you go.' As Anna walked from the office, her friends stared, smiling uncertainly as she lifted her shoulders at them, trying to tell them that she was as surprised as they were. It was with a shaking hand that she tapped on the door of the chairman's secretary's office. Miss White called, 'Please come -in,' and smiled as Anna, nervousness showing, stood near the door she had closed behind her. 'Miss Hartley?' the secretary asked. 'Good. Please go in.' She indicated a connecting door. 'I'm just about to make the coffee. With cream or without?' 'With, please,' Anna replied. 'And sugar.' The young woman looked pleasantly understanding. 'To give me confidence,' Anna confided. 'Honestly, I'm shaking.' 'Afraid of Mr Cornwell?' Miss White laughed. 'He's a lamb. It's his— —' Whatever she had been going to say, Miss White must have thought better of it. 'He's waiting,' she finished. 'Don't worry, I'll be quick with the coffee!' Cecil Cornwell was a smiling man, not very tall, white-haired and, Anna guessed, around sixty. His kindly manner as he went round his large desk and extended his hand put Anna at her ease. He gave a small tug to the comfortable visitor's chair, indicating that she should occupy it. Despite his secretary's words, she still wondered what she had done to deserve this interview. She was, after all, a very insignificant filing clerk. Even if she were being promoted, which was impossible, as she had no secretarial training, it would be

handled by Miss Disley and certainly not by the chairman of the company! Mr Cornwell seated himself in his swivel chair. 'I expect you're wondering,' he said, 'what this is all about?' 'Yes, I -' The chairman's secretary knocked, bringing in two steaming cups of coffee. 'With cream for Miss Hartley,' said Miss White, handing a cup to each of them, 'without for Mr Cornwell.' She retreated, followed by Mr Cornwell's grateful thanks. 'Yes, I am,' Anna said expectantly, answering her host's question. 'I do hope I haven't done anything -?' 'Wrong?' Mr Cornwell laughed. 'No, my dear, it's not like that at all. It's something that may surprise you, but also, I hope, please you. I— er -' He looked over the top of his spectacles which had slipped part way down his nose. He gazed in an avuncular way at her open, attractive face, the fair hair which curled round her shoulders, her trusting eyes which contained an unconscious touch of fight and defiance. The chairman of the company seemed to like what he saw, even the faint flush of embarrassment which coloured her cheeks. 'Yes, yes,' he muttered, 'an excellent choice.' Anna could not relax. What, she wondered, was coming now? She did not have long to wait. 'A lamb' he might be in his secretary's eyes—and, on first acquaintance, Anna had found no reason to doubt her word— but he did not skip around the subject. 'I hear,' he said, 'that your true vocation is that of a nursery nurse.' Anna nodded, then she frowned. How did Mr Cornwell know? He

had seen the question in her eyes. 'The details of your past training are on your application form,' he reminded her gently, at which statement understanding dawned. 'Of course!' she said, and he smiled. The next item of information Mr Cornwell did not find easy to convey. 'It—ah—has been suggested to me -' he uncrossed his legs and recrossed them. 'We—that is, the company, I mean the board of management, are considering the—er—-possibility of reopening the day nursery which was recently closed in this town.' Anna stared. 'You mean—Mrs Warne's?' 'The same.' 'But the day nursery occupied part of her house and she sold her house He held up his hand. 'No,' he corrected, 'the sale fell through. We, that is, the company, have made Mrs Warne an offer for the premises and its entire contents, including the existing nursery school equipment. Mrs Warne has today cabled an acceptance of our offer.' Anna could scarcely breathe for astonishment. It had not yet been explained to her where she fitted into this venture. She said faintly, 'You want my advice on how to re-start the nursery?' Cecil Cornwell leant forward, hands flat on the desk. 'No, Miss Hartley. We would like you to take over the running of the place.' He stirred his coffee and drank. Anna took an enormous breath. 'Me? But -'

'You have the qualifications. Mrs Warne has spoken very highly of you.' He went on, as if he knew Anna needed time to recover from her surprise, 'The reason we are undertaking this—I suppose you might call it philanthropic—venture is partly because we feel it will improve the company's image in the town, but mainly to fill the gap left by the closure of Mrs Warne's nursery. Since,' he went on, 'we feel that a young woman of your ability is wasted in your present work, and since there exists a real need for such an establishment to ease the burden of the mothers of young children in the area -' Anna thought, with a bubble of amusement, that it was almost as though Mr Cornwell had rehearsed his speech. She emptied her cup and put it down. 'We decided,' he went on, 'to take steps to remedy the position. The purchase of the house itself has not meant a great financial struggle for the company.' The chairman smiled at his own mild irony. 'The upstairs floor, which would not be utilised by the day nursery, could well be rented to a tenant.' He paused, turning a pencil from point to end, point to end. He glanced at Anna and it was as if he were waiting for something. At last he said, 'Well, Miss Hartley, would the post appeal to you?' 'I'd be in charge, do you mean?' 'If you're as well qualified as your application form tells us,' Anna nodded vigorously, 'then I see no reason why you shouldn't be in charge, do you? Of course, if you need help—and I imagine at some time you might—we would have to advertise.' Anna stumbled over her thanks, finding it impossible to express in words the extent of her gratitude.

He rose. 'Well, that's settled, I think.' He escorted her to the door, and again she tried to thank him, but he took her hand between both of his and told her he hoped sincerely that she would be happier in her new work than her old. How he was aware that she had been dissatisfied with her job as a filing clerk she did not know, and could only hazard a guess that it had been Miss Disley who had told him. As she returned to the general office, still bemused by the sudden change in her fortunes, Anna thought about Mr Cornwell. His courtesy, she reflected, came from a time long past. After the tough, blunt manner of the man of her own generation with whom she had recently come into daily contact, Cecil Cornwell's politeness was disarming. He was indeed a 'lamb', as his secretary had claimed. But a 'Iamb' could not run a flourishing, prosperous organisation in this hard, competitive world. So who was the lion' behind him?

CHAPTER FOUR ANNA accomplished the descent of the steps from the clifftop in record time. She was buoyant with delight, spilling over with an excitement which made her want to communicate to someone, anyone prepared to listen. The first fellow human to come into her line of vision was her neighbour. His quick, slightly caustic look at the girl whose face, flushed and smiling,, told of her happiness without a word being spoken, was not encouraging. Roc Farrant was on the beach, easel assembled, his painting accessories around him. His foot rested on the folding stool, his elbow on his bent knee. He gazed out to sea, but Anna doubted whether, he saw what his eyes were showing him. Nor was he looking inward at images his mind had conjured out of nothing, shapes he might paint, colours he might use. His preoccupation with whatever it was was profound. In her excitement, it was a preoccupation she dared to disturb. 'Roc?' With a slow sigh which indicated he had been expecting the intrusion, he turned. 'You know what? I've been given a new job. Mr Cornwell -' At his frown, she explained, 'He's the company chairman. Mr Cornwell's put me in charge of the day nursery Nordon Machine Tools are starting—or rather, re-starting—in the town.' He raised his eyebrows, showing mild surprise. Far from discouraged by his indifference—she had expected it, anyway—she told him about Mrs Warne's house and how the company had bought it. 'They're probably going to let the upper floor.' 'Interested?' Roc asked, glancing half-smilingly at her beach hut and back to her.

The idea shocked her. 'Me—take on the tenancy of the flat?' It was, she had to accept, a perfectly reasonable proposition. But—leave this man who, within a week, had come to mean, so much to her, despite his coldness, his detachment and—fleetingly, devastatingly —his bursts of passion? 'N-no,' she answered, thinking quickly, 'I—I couldn't afford the rent.' 'Maybe not now, but your income is bound to go up with your promotion.' 'Promotion? It hadn't occurred to me. I suppose it is. But when I worked for Mrs Warne, the money she gave me was only just enough to live on.' 'Ah, but,' his smile was hard, 'this will be different. You'll be working for a company with far more in the way of finance at its disposal. Your standard of living will be able to rise to meet your higher salary. Somehow,' sarcastically, 'it always does.' 'How do you know?' she challenged. 'You're just a penniless artist— or so you've implied.' 'Not so penniless today. I've sold a picture.' A flash of disappointment registered even before she asked the question. 'Not—not the one I liked?' 'The one you liked.' He was- smiling, as if it pleased him to see her sadness. 'Sorry, honey. But I've got money, enough to buy us a drink to celebrate your step up the career ladder.' 'Hardly. I've been a nursery nurse before.' 'Maybe, but this time you'll be in charge. No Mrs Warne to give you orders.'

'Yes, I see what you mean.. All right,' she smiled dazzlingly into his eyes, 'let's celebrate our achievements, yours and mine.'

It was dark when they returned. The truck bumped and bounced along the rough clifftop track and Anna let herself move with it. She was relaxed and warm inside. The celebration was over, but the happy feeling lived on. The cause, she sensed, in her dazed state, was not entirely her new job within the Nordon company. It lay mainly in the fact that she had spent an evening with the man who had come to mean more to her than any other. They had talked about whatever subject had entered their minds, they had laughed and chatted with the other customers in the ancient low- beamed inn to. which they had driven a few miles inland. They had sat side by side in an alcove, dining truly tête-à-tête. Now and then Roc's arm had crept round her waist and held her firmly to his side. His manner when giving their order, his summoning of the wine waiter and his knowledgeable attitude when choosing a particular vintage had puzzled her at first. It was, she eventually decided, a spin-off from the world of art and artists in which he moved. It must arise, her mind elaborated, as a result of lunching with art gallery owners and other such connoisseurs. Roc locked the truck and followed Anna down the steps. He saw her to her beach hut and, as she was about to step inside, pulled her back and into his arms. 'Payment,' he said, and his mouth swooped at once, imprisoning hers, easing back her head and with his hands caressing her shoulders, breasts and hips. She knew by his body's response to hers that he desired her, but a great sadness arose, restricting her breathing, knowing that no sweep of emotion had brought this embrace about. It

was torment restraining her impulse to yield, to show him her love, the depth and strength of it. He urged her away and looked down into her star- flecked eyes. 'Why so stiff, honey girl?' The endearment that sprang so easily from his lips, as easily as his kisses; his arrogant assumption that she would allow him any intimacy he wished because they had become rather more familiar with each other than mere neighbours, struck a jarring note. Something in her face must have re-triggered his demands because he said sharply, pulling her the length of him, 'Don't play with me. I know you want me as much as I want you.' How could she escape the fast-closing net? 'Of course you want me,' she retorted, struggling to free herself, 'but only because I'm a woman, You're so desperate, any woman, even a pick-up at the pub we've just been in, would suit your purpose.' With some violence, he thrust her from him. 'You can't fool me with your soft talk, Mr Roc Farrant. I'm no green, starry-eyed fourteen-year-old!' In the darkness she could not see his eyes, but the ridged outline of his body conveyed his feelings. 'I not only know the facts of life, but the facts of sex!' She moved backwards through the door. 'Well,' he drawled, his body relaxing indolently, 'did you have me fooled! And I was handling you with kid gloves because I thought you'd never known a man. So much for Miss Hartley's high moral standards !' He had misunderstood, but she was past caring. 'It doesn't matter to me what you think. But I do know you're not going to use me to relieve the boredom of your woman-empty life!'

Rock strode away, anger in every movement. 'Thank you for this evening,' she called after him, reproaching herself for the waver in her voice. The slam of his door was her answer.

Anna rose late the next morning. It was Saturday and the air was cool. The clouds were high, however, giving promise of warmer hours to come. Wearing a sleeveless dress with a thin jacket pulled over it, she closed the door and looked around. The sea air, filling her lungs, went to her head like strong wine, the breeze caught up strands of hair and threw them across her face. The sound of the incoming waves breaking on the shore, the call of the gulls, the distant cries of the campers carried on the wind from around the headland—the whole filled her with a kind of abandoned delight. Cramped though her living quarters were, she would find it difficult now to tear herself away from this place, but she knew that winter would bring its awn hazards and difficulties. She refused, on such a wonderful morning, to think beyond the present moment. As she turned to approach the steps, she saw that Roc Farrant stood in the porch again, leaning on the rail. He glanced her way. Anna's smile began to grow —until she found she was smiling at his profile. She gritted her teeth, determined to give him no reason for taunting her once again about her 'determination to be noticed', so she climbed the steps without a word and began her walk to the village. Having visited the general store and bought the items on her shopping list, she went into the camping shop. There was nothing she

really wanted, but the bright colours of the cooking accessories, tartan rugs and sleeping equipment caught her eye. As she inspected the many different kinds of equipment the store stocked for the benefit of the occupants of the camping site, the door opened and a crowd of young people made a noisy entrance. They saw Anna and there were shouts of 'Hi' and 'How's life treating you?' She smiled in response and wished she had worn jeans and shirt instead of a dress. Then she would have felt it easier to communicate, to pretend she was one of them, easy, free and accepted, instead of rejected as her neighbour rejected her. The group split up and they wandered round individually. A young man stood beside her. He was no taller than she was, possessed untidy brown hair and a winning smile. 'Dick!' a girl called sharply from the other side of the shop. The young man's back remained towards the girl, and his smile stayed on Anne. 'That's Ellie. Take no notice,' he said in a voice which carried. 'We've split up—it was her idea. What's your name, love?' Anna told him. She could not be annoyed about his familiar manner because there was no more than an offer of friendship in his enquiring eyes. 'Got a caravan somewhere, or are you camping?' 'Neither. I'm living here. No, not in this village, along the cliffs,' she gestured in the right direction, 'in a beach hut.' His eyes widened. 'Living in a beach hut? Hey, mates, here's someone who really loves the open-air existence!' His friends gathered round, the girl who had called to him remaining on the edge

of the circle. 'She's just told me,' he joked, 'she's living it up in a hut on the beach.' Anna corrected, 'I don't live on the beach, but above it. In a beach hut.' 'This should be seen,' said Dick to the others. On impulse, and because they were such nice people, she said, 'Come and see it, if you want. It's nothing much, really. Just a roof over my head.' She looked around them. 'I can't give you all coffee ...' 'We'll bring our own drink. Come on.' They crowded into shop next door and bought tins of Coke and beer, pushing them into pockets and packs. They walked, along the clifftop track, Anna with the young man called Dick beside her. There were about ten in the group and as they clambered down the steps, Anna wondered what her neighbour's reaction would be. He was sunbathing halfway down the beach, stretched full-length. Anna, who led the way, stopped momentarily. He seemed to be wearing nothing—except for a length of towel on which he lay twitched carelessly across him to cover the areas of his body which were normally covered by swimming briefs. 'Hey,' said Dick in his loud voice, 'is this a nudist camp or something? Who's that guy down there? Your boy-friend?' Confused, Anna steered them away from Roc's beach house which they had assumed was hers. 'Not that one. This little one's mine. And no, he's nothing to do with me, Dick.' Anna hoped her voice carried too. From the way Roc's head lifted and turned, it seemed he had heard. 'No connection whatsoever between me arid the man next door.'

The crowd invaded her' hut, filling it and spilling over on to the step. Since there were chairs for only two, they cheerfully lowered themselves to the floor. They took out their cans of drink, tore them open and tipped back their heads, savouring the cool, bubble- filled liquid. The girl called Ellie stayed on the fringe, watching every move Dick made. Dick, conscious of her gaze, put himself out to be pleasant to Anna. He said, extending his hand and hauling her to her feet, 'Come for a walk. Show me your special bit of territory.' He pulled her behind him and the others laughed, exchanging banter about switching girlfriends and trying out fresh pastures. After pushing through to the doorway and descending to the beach, Anna looked hurriedly for the sunbathing figure. It had gone, but a dark head was moving in a straight line off-shore. Dick sobered, having left the larger part of his audience behind. 'You know what I said about Ellie, about us splitting up? Well, it was her suggestion. I didn't Really want to. In fact, I still like her a lot." Anna listened in surprise at Dick's confiding in her so suddenly, and wondered what it was leading up to. 'Look, Anna,' Dick put a hand on her arm, 'could you help me? I want to get Ellie back.' Anna thought with a secret smile that, as far as she could judge, it would not be very difficult for Dick to get Ellie back, but plainly Dick, as a very interested and involved party, could not see the situation as impartially as she did. He scuffed the sand and his hands made bulges in his jacket pockets. 'But,' Anna answered, 'you've only just met me, Dick, so how can I help you?' The brown head in the sea was ahead of them now. Roc Farrant, Anna thought abstractedly, must be a very fast swimmer indeed.

'There is a way,' Dick was saying, 'as long as it doesn't mess up your relationship with your neighbour.' 'I haven't got a relationship with my neighbour,' she said stiffly. He gave her a sideways look. 'No?' he said, a little unbelieving. 'No,' she answered firmly, turning automatically to look at the brown head in the sea. As the swimmer changed direction and made for the shore, Anna stopped. Roc was coming in, out of the sea. Water cascaded from him. His briefs clung, hiding nothing of his maleness. His hands lifted to ease the hair , from his face and after a sarcastic glance which took in her fascinated scrutiny and her companion's stare, he continued up the beach. He gave the impression of being deep in thought, as though, Anna mused, artist that he was, he was studying the shape and composition of every grain of sand that the beach contained. 'I see how it is,' Dick said quietly, startling her back to life. 'Girl wants man. Man doesn't want girl.' Anna winced. Spoken with such brutal frankness, the truth hurt. 'The opposite of me,' Dick was saying. Hardly, Anna thought. Ellie wants you back as much as you want her back, only neither of you can see it. She heard Dick saying, 'If I came tonight and pitched my tent outside your beach hut, would you object? I'll wait until it's dark, as long as you don't mind if I join you in the hut in the meantime. Then I could tell Ellie I spent the night with you and make her jealous, whereas I shall have slept in the tent. I promise to leave early, so that your neighbour won't see me.'

It wouldn't matter, Anna thought despondently, if he did. It certainly wouldn't make him jealous! She sighed. If by agreeing she could help the two friends to come together again ... 'I'll be here,' she agreed. 'I hope for your sake that it works.' 'It will,' said Dick happily. 'And Anna—thanks!'

Things did not go according to plan. Dick arrived as arranged and when it was dark he put up -his tent on the plateau of grassy land on which the beach hut stood. When the time came for sleeping, he carried out his sleeping bag and said goodnight. It was far from a 'good night'. A wind rose in the early hours, and a drenching rain fell. Anna, wakeful and worried about Dick, could hear the drops hitting the roof of the hut. It was not long before Dick, soaked to the skin, knocked on her door. Anna pulled on, a robe, unlocked and let him in. He apologised profusely, told her even his sleeping bag was wet and could he please dry off himself, his quilted bag and his groundsheet in the comparative warmth of her hut? He had dismantled the tent too, so could he bring that in? She said resignedly, 'Bring everything,' and while he was gone, pulled on some clothes. They sat on the floor and talked until morning. Anna made coffee -and they chewed a couple of rolls, then Dick packed his rucksack in preparation for a quiet leave-taking. It was six o'clock, too early, he guessed, for her neighbour to be around, but not too soon for the camp to be stirring and for Ellie to have missed him. He was wrong, it appeared,, on both counts. There was a hammering at the door. Anna and Dick looked at each other, Anna with fear,

Dick with delight but endeavouring to hide it. Anna went to open the door, but Dick beat her to it. Anna's heart pounded. In a few seconds, would she have to face Roc? How could she possibly explain the situation? It was a furious bundle of raging femininity that hurled itself inside, knocking the breath out of Dick and, accompanied by screams, tearing the hair from Anna's head. 'No!' Anna cried, bending and trying to fight off the female ball of fire that had hurled itself at her. 'You don't understand!' 'I understand all right,' Ellie shrieked, 'you're trying to take away my man! Well, you can't have him, see?' With each word she pulled at a handful of hair. 'He's mine, mine!' Anna began shrieking now. 'Dick, do something, for heaven's sake'!' It was not Dick who untangled the two women. It was a tall, hard, teeth-gritted hunk of a man who effected the parting, firmly putting the aggressor into the arms of the man she had claimed and pushing the object of her assault against a wall of the hut and keeping her upright by the pressure of his hands against her shoulders. The tears raining down her cheeks at the pain Ellie had inflicted did not affect him. The sobs that tore at her as a result of shock did not move him to compassion, pity or, it seemed, forgiveness. 'D-Dick,' she appealed to the young man's bent figure as he gathered his damp belongings, 'p-please -—' Explain, she had been going to say. But he was plainly determined to carry through the charade. It had brought him undreamed-of rewards which he was determined not to throw away.

'I've got to go, love,' he said with a convincing reluctance to act on his word. 'You heard what Ellie said. She wants me back.' Eyes wide with disbelief, Anna watched him through her tears, so stunned by his treachery she failed to realise that her rescuer's grip on her shoulders was inflicting bruises of its own. It was only later that she reasoned that Dick was no traitor. In agreeing to his plan, she should have taken into account the possibility of discovery and its consequences. The door closed and Anna's knees sagged. She looked into the hard face above her own, seeing the wide, cynical mouth, the inflexibility of the jawline, the flaring nostrils breathing deeply with a simmering anger. 'Please, Roc,' she shook her head, 'you've got the wrong idea. It was all a plan, to—to get back Dick's -' 'How much did he pay you?' he grated. 'Whatever it was, I'll treble it.' Roc jerked his hands away, and she fell forward with the action, hitting the floor with her hands and staying there, curling her legs tinder her. 'It wasn't like that -' 'So you're free?' He stood, legs stiffly apart, arms folded. 'You give yourself away? Then why am I waiting? I'm full of early morning virility. I'm more mature than that kid you've just spent the night with.' He crouched and fitted his hands under her armpits, dragging her to her feet. 'I can give you a hell of a lot more—satisfaction, pleasure, a glimpse of Paradise— no, I'm not modest. I know my own potential in that respect.' He began pushing her towards the low bed.

'For God's sake!', she screamed, losing control. 'Leave me alone, can't you? Haven't I been through enough for one morning? Don't add rape to the list!' He threw her from him and she collapsed on to the bed. A couple of strides took him to the door and it closed behind him. Some time later Anna crawled into, bed, nursing her bruises. She stayed there most of the day. Sometimes she read, occasionally she slept as the broken night caught up with her. Now and then she listened to her pocket radio. When the sky grew, dark, she dressed and went for a short, brisk walk. The rain had gone, only a stiff breeze remained. Next morning she rose early, walked to the village and caught the bus to work. No sooner had she arrived than Miss Disley approached. 'Mr Cornwell wishes to see you again, Miss Hartley. .My goodness, we are popular with the people at the top, aren't we?' Anna looked at her, suspecting jealousy, but .there was none in the woman's expression. So for the second time she was summoned to Mr Cornwell's presence. Her hands were not shaking on this occasion as- they had been before. She knew now that the chairman of the company was a gentle, kindly person, instead of the hard-headed business man she had originally imagined him to be. He welcomed her as courteously as before, inviting her just a little fussily to be seated. 'As from today,' he said without preamble, 'your salary is increased.' He named a sum and Anna caught her breath. It was far too much, but she could hardly tell the chairman of the company so! 'This morning,' he went on, 'you will begin your duties as the organiser of the day nursery. No doubt you remember the plan of the house/he smiled charmingly, 'having worked there. I don't suppose you will yet have forgotten the equipment and the layout of the

house. I've found a little room in this building which you can use as a temporary office.' 'An office to myself?' Anna exclaimed. 'Why not? You'll probably need a quiet corner in which to draw up plans, decide upon the hours, estimate the numbers of children the facilities can cater for and so on.' 'Yes, that's true,' Anna agreed eagerly. 'At first,' the chairman went on, 'I visualise offering places to the women employees of the company. Some of them have young children and I'm sure they would be delighted to take advantage of the facilities the nursery school will offer. And, I might add, at a very reasonable fee. The company has no wish,' he added jovially, 'to make a profit out of its own employees while they're busy making profits for. the company !' Anna laughed, enthusiasm heightening her colour. . 'By the way,' Mr Cornwell went on, 'we already have our first infant member of the school—the baby son of one of the firm's late directors. Unfortunately he died last year of heart trouble. His wife has a small boy, about eighteen months old, I think. Her name is Meldon—Leora Meldon.' He rubbed his brow. 'Can't remember the child's name. But never mind, she'll tell you when the time comes.' Mr Cornwell rose, indicating that the interview was over. 'Do I start my duties today?' Anna asked. 'This very moment,' he said, with his illuminating smile. He was such a dear, Anna thought. However did he manage to maintain his good humour and kindliness in the harsh world of business and commerce? Maybe there was another side to him she

had not discovered: But no, she decided, this soft-hearted man most certainly did not hide a creature of the jungle beneath the skin of his cuddly lamb's wool personality! She dismissed the puzzle and faced the problems of the moment. 'I'll have' to tell Miss Disley,' she said. 'She'll be.. wondering what's happened to me.' 'No, no, my dear,' Mr Cornwell answered. 'I'll see to that.' He called for his secretary. 'Janis will show you to your new office. It's not far from here. Just two doors away, in fact, next to -' he checked himself. 'Next to an empty one which will be filled again before long, I expect.' He gave her a quick smile as his secretary entered. As Anna left the chairman's office, she turned impulsively. 'Thank you, Mr Cornwell, for—well, everything. I've been hoping—against hope, really—to get- back to my real job. Now you've made it possible ... I can't thank you enough.' Cecil Cornwell waved away her gratitude. 'Don't thank me, my dear. It was -' he paused, fighting a frown, 'It was a decision taken by the board of directors.' His smile returned. 'I'm just the chairman.' The smile widened into a grin. 'I do what I'm told!' Anna laughed, communicating her happiness. She was happy, too, about her office. It was, she thought, looking round when Janis had left, probably an interview room. It would, of course, be hers only until the nursery-school began in earnest. Then she would move across to the house, occupying the office which once belonged to Mrs Warne. By the time the afternoon was over Anna congratulated herself on the progress she had made- with the paperwork. She thought of the evening stretching in front of her, sitting reading or walking on the beach, wondering where her neighbour was and what he was doing.

She was bubbling over with plans and ideas, and the sheer joy of being in charge, instead of being compelled to follow the opinions and schemes worked out in someone else's mind. All she wanted was someone to listen to her, to tell her whether, in their opinion, what she was planning was right, or too ambitious or even not ambitious enough. Her book snapped shut. She found it impossible to concentrate. Where's Roc Farrant? The question repeated itself over and over in her mind. She didn't care that they had parted on bad terms the day before, or that he probably hated her by now for what he thought she was, a girl who would take on any man for fun, or—the accusation still stung—for money. She didn't care about any of that. She just wanted to speak to him. Hopefully, she gazed across at his beach house, but the place was as uncommunicative as the man himself. He might—just might—be inside it. Anna hesitated. What if he greeted her with that cold, aloof mask she had grown to dread? There was a way to make him look at her—the way a girl persuaded any woman-aware male to register her presence. Rivalling the speed of sound, she changed out of her working dress and pulled on a scarlet and white button-through patterned skirt. The separate but matching sun-top was squared-necked and low-cut, buttoning in the centre and leaving her midriff bare. Her knuckles grew sore with making pointless contact with his door. She turned, scanned the beach and found him. He reclined on the sand, supporting himself on his elbow. Anna narrowed her eyes against the evening sun and saw that he was gazing out to sea and at the same time devouring a bar of chocolate. He seemed totally preoccupied and oblivious to everything but his own thoughts. She walked slowly over the sand towards him, her sandals catching up and puffing out the yellow grains with each footstep. If he heard

her approaching, he gave no indication, nor did he show any interest in who the new arrival might be. He must have known that she was beside him, but the mental barriers he had erected around himself must have been as thick as castle .walls—and, she found to her dismay, as impossible to penetrate. Her feet and ankles were a hand's stretch from him, but the remains of the chocolate bar were more to his taste. Her eyes scanned the view he was studying, but she saw nothing. In the cauldron of her brain, the excitements of the day still simmered. If she sank to the sand it would bring her physically nearer, wouldn't it? Her eyes, now level with his, studied his impassive profile, the long nose, the angular, jutting jaw, the uncompromising mouth with its derisive curve. 'Roc?' The silence was invaded by the white-crested wash of the waves, the hiss of pebbles as the water withdrew, only to come again. 'I was promoted today.' She did not wait for the response that would not come. 'My salary was increased. Isn't that wonderful?' He licked his lips free of lingering chocolate. 'I've got an office of my own,' Anna went on, lifting handfuls of sand and trickling it back. 'We've already got one child on our list, son of a director of the firm who died. The name is Meldon. I haven't met the mother yet.' The chocolate wrapper was crushed and pushed into a pocket. Was her chatter annoying him? If so, she didn't care. The hand that had destroyed the wrapper scrabbled for a pebble, hurling it seawards. 'Today I've been working on the accommodation.' She looked at him, smiling winningly at his uninterested profile. 'You see, I know the house well, having worked there before.'

Her listener continued to display a complete lack of concern. Her past experiences caught up with her— family rejection, parental dismissal in preference to adored younger sisters. She scrambled to her feet, lifted both her hands to flip back her straying hair and shouted, 'All right, you're deaf, dumb and blind when I'm around. So I've suddenly turned invisible!' Roc lowered himself from his elbow and cushioned his head with his hands. His green, short-sleeved shirt was partly open, his darker green pants creased from the taut pulling of his wide-boned hips. On his feet he wore tattered sandals, on his face a faint but unmistakably pleased smile. He had intended to get under her skin—and she had let him ... 'You won't talk to me? I'll go somewhere I'll be welcome—over there,' she pointed across the bay, 'to the camping site. They're my age,' she hoped the taunt would remind him of the ten years or so that divided them, but the smile remained, 'they're on my wavelength.' He spoke at last, slowly and sarcastically. 'Go ahead, lower yourself into their waveband. Tune in especially to your touchingly ardent lover. But hurry,' he taunted, 'get there before his batteries run down. Such violent passion as you two share can't last. Believe me, at your tender age it burns up and starts corroding in no time at all.' 'And you know all about tender young love, of course.' His eyes narrowed reminiscently. 'I sometimes wonder how I used to keep up the pace I set.' Girl after girl -' Anna stooped, grabbed two handfuls of sand and flung them at him. He turned his head just in time to shield his eyes. The sand scattered over his hair, invading his shirt, covering his clothes. He jack-knifed to a sitting position, made as if to spring at her, changed his mind and proceeded to brush away the yellow grains.

He eyed her minutely, dwelling on the lift and fall of her breasts, the uncovered skin. 'You're appropriately dressed. Buttons on a woman were made to be undone—by a man. Find a quiet corner ...' He grinned, ran a long tongue over sensual lips, then wiped them with the back of his hand. 'Even the thought makes my mouth water. Stay there much longer, my pretty maid, and I'll do to you what your lover did to you last night.' 'Which would be nothing, nothing ... Oh, why should I explain to you? You don't even have a regular job. You couldn't hold one down even if you did have one. All you can do is splash paint on a bit of board and call it canvas -' He tensed, prior to a spring, and she turned and ran. When she arrived at the camp site, it was empty. The orange and blue tents were still in place, but the site was deserted. The occupants had plainly gone somewhere for the evening, into town, maybe. She was left with no one to talk to but herself.

Anna enjoyed the hours she spent at work. Mr Corn- well had given her the keys and allowed her free and unlimited access to the house which now belonged to Nordon Machine Tools. Once Mrs Warne had owned it and Anna had been just an employee. She could not then have foreseen that circumstances would change so much that one day she would be in charge, with no one to say 'yes' or 'no'. The idea still moved her to a kind of dazzled disbelief. She walked around the executive office suite, from which she still operated, in a kind of dream. Cecil Corn well's invitation on the last day of that week to dine with his wife and himself at their home the following Tuesday was part of that dream. 'Just an informal meal,' the chairman said. 'If I don't

sound too old-fashioned, a cosy evening of chat and gossip, the sort that my wife loves!' Anna wanted to ask 'Why? Why me?' Mr Cornwell answered the unspoken question. 'She's so very interested in this day nursery idea, you see. She loves children and, tell you a secret,' he smiled and put a finger to his lips, 'she's longing to become a grandmother, but our daughter's away abroad and all tied up with her medical career, and our son—well, I -' he rubbed his balding head, 'I really think he's seeking perfection. Says he hasn't found a girl yet who comes up to his high standards!' Anna thought it an extremely arrogant comment for the son of such a nice man to make and was glad that she would not be meeting him. She wondered from which parent he had inherited his arrogance; certainly not his father, which only left his mother. Her anticipation of pleasure in spending the evening talking to Mr Cornwell's wife about the subject currently nearest to her heart dimmed a little. If the woman was overbearing, she would dry up conversationally as she always did with such people. The sky was cloudy, the breeze chill, but on her return home from work Anna noticed none of this. Descending the steps, she glanced, as she usually did, at Roc Farrant's place. Most days his truck was missing, but it was always there on the clifftop next morning. She could only assume that he spent every evening elsewhere. The thought of a woman occupying his leisure hours sent a flame of jealousy licking through her body. She told herself severely that she and Roc Far- rant went together just about as fittingly as a table knife and garden fork! Next day was Saturday, but perversely, she wished it were Monday, the start of another week's work. As she washed and dressed the following morning, she thought, There's nothing to stop me working here on my plans for the day nursery even though it is the weekend.

After breakfast she spread out a tartan rug on the beach. In a large bag were sketches and calculations and lists of items required for use in the day nursery. Anna sat on the rug and rested sideways on her thigh, curling her legs under her. The breeze was strong and blowing from the sea. The sun appeared now and then from behind white clouds. Anna scanned the view, loving the smell of seaweed carried on the wind, the caress of sunbursts on her slowly browning skin. It would be a long time, she reflected, before she achieved the deep tan that darkened Roc Farrant's body. The thought of him brought her head round to glance at his beach house. Was it coldly anonymous, as it had so often been lately—windows lifeless and unreceptive like blind eyes? . He stood on his porch, watching her. Embarrassed at being caught looking for him, she put a hand to her streaming hair and turned to gaze resolutely sideways, giving him her profile to study as he so often gave her his. When, a few minutes later, she stole another glance his way, she discovered that his eyes had not wavered from her. Annoyed that yet again she had given herself away, she seized the bag and delved into it, bringing out pencils, a large writing pad and a folder. It was difficult to achieve complete concentration, knowing that her neighbour was in residence, but she managed, in the end, to collect her thoughts sufficiently to give her work most of her attention. The sundress she wore left her shoulders and arms uncovered. Its neckline both back and front was square and low-cut. She shivered, wishing she had remembered to bring a jacket. The sun's irregular appearances could not counteract the effect of the strong breeze.

So deeply was she concentrating, she did not know that Roc Farrant had joined her and was standing only a short distance away. He sat on a jacket and balanced on his bent knees a board to which a large sheet of cartridge paper had been pinned. His hand held a pencil which moved, now fast, now painstakingly, over the paper. His head turned, their eyes met, yet not a word passed between them. That wall of silence remained, invisible yet strong enough to withstand the severest verbal battering. While the rock-hard jaw jutted, and the full lips curved forbiddingly, one dark eyebrow arched in insolent invitation. So the nocturnal visit of Dick Stoner, camper and sweetheart of another, had not been forgotten by the great Roc Farrant—nor had it, apparently, been forgiven. Had she the inclination, she was being asked wordlessly, to oblige him as she had her guest from the camp site? Anna swung her head seawards, hoping the slight toss of it and the sight of her back angled momentarily towards him gave him an unequivocal answer. But nature let her down. At that moment the breeze chose to sharpen, lifting three or four sheets from the pile of paper at her side. Since it was blowing from her to her neighbour, she watched in horror as they glided downwind to scatter themselves about him. Instinctively Anna dived, throwing herself after them, hoping to capture them from the whim of the wind before they were lost to her in the depths of the North Sea. It was with a profound shock that she found herself sprawled over the solid, bone-ridged body of the man who lately had treated her as if she were of less importance than a speck of dust. All but one of the sheets of paper had been recovered by him, so effortlessly that he had not found it necessary to move from his place. The single elusive paper lay to the other side of him and Anna made

a wild grab, missed and grabbed a second time, only to find it held high once again out of her reach. 'Give it to me!' she cried, but he put it behind him with the others, placing his sketch book face down on the pile to prevent their second escape. With one hand he grasped her upper arm. The other he raised menacingly above her seat as if to pound it unmercifully. 'No, no,' she shrieked, 'you've got no right to do that! I've done nothing!' 'No?' His hand lowered. 'Acted the camp follower for a man for a night, and you call that nothing?' 'I didn't—and you don't understand. Will you let me go?' 'You threw yourself on me. Can't you go even a day without a man?' he taunted. 'You're insulting and offensive and loathsome,' she struggled and wriggled with every word, 'and I order you to let me go.' He gave one short, derisive laugh and lightened his touch, but it was not with the intention of releasing her. The palm of his hand moved feather-light across her shoulders, bringing her writhing movements to a slow but certain end. As his hand slipped into the back of her dress, stroking the silk-smooth skin, finding her spine and moulding it with experienced fingers, a series of shivering movements over which she had no control ran through her. Against all her inclinations she began to relax, to yield, to grow pliant and malleable with desire. Her head turned and lifted, her flushed cheeks and bright eyes giving away her deepest longings. When his other hand found 'the front opening of her neckline, creeping caressingly lower, seeking and finding the tempting and delectable

peaks and valleys beneath her dress, she gazed helplessly and with near-despair at his mouth and then his eyes, wondering, wondering when he would turn her round and take her lips with his. His mouth stayed above her, his eyes blazed with cold fire. This was not, as she had thought, an indication of any softening on his part. It was contempt, pure and simple. He moved his hands and placed them on her shoulders, lifting her until she was in a kneeling position beside him. His anger had infected her and she sought frantically in her mind for a means of retaliation. In a few seconds she had scrambled behind him, picked up his drawing board and put a restraining knee on her pile of papers. There was only one way to hit him where it hurt— and that was to destroy his morning's work. Turning the board over, she slipped her fingers under the large sheet of paper—then she was still, looking at the drawing. There was no doubt about it, it was a picture of herself gazing sideways, legs curled round, holding back her hair, but—and a shock went through her— the figure was unclothed. She breathed deeply, teeth snapping together, her eyes wide with a wild fury. 'What were you doing just now?' she asked scathingly. 'Getting the "feel" of your model to make sure you got the proportions right?' She gripped the front of her dress as if attempting to exorcise the memory of his straying hands. 'Doing some on-site research, or,' she spat out, throwing the board away, 'paying your model in kind instead of money?' His lips thinned and he dived for the sketch board, whipped the drawing from it and, with both hands, crushed it into a ball, hurling it with all his strength towards the oncoming tide.

CHAPTER FIVE THE afternoon sun glowed from a sky from which the clouds had long ago cleared. The intense blue above persisted into the evening, while the sun continued obligingly to pour out its warmth on to a grateful earth. Anna had changed into her button-through skirt and matching suntop. Already her shoulders were browning, her fair hair turned even fairer by the sun's rays. She relaxed on the beach, enjoying the seashore sounds. There had been no sign of her neighbour since their morning quarrel. She told herself she did not care, not even if he had packed up and gone away and she never saw him again. But a dip of her heart told her she was lying to herself. A sound of a different kind had her sitting up and listening. It was a shout followed by others, the noise coming from the clifftop. She strained to see and was overjoyed to know she was not alone any more. Her friends from the camp site had come to see her! They followed each other down the steps, arms waving, greeting her with smiles and Victory salutes. Dick led the way. 'This is our last day,' he called. 'We're off back home in the morning. Thought we'd join you. Hope you don't mind.' 'We've brought our own food and drink,' a girl said. Anna noticed that Ellie, Dick's girl-friend, hung behind. Dick's arm went round Anna's shoulders and he hugged her to him. 'Missed me?' he asked, his voice unnecessarily loud. 'Ellie will hear,' Anna cautioned, one glance at the girl's face telling her that Ellie had clearly heard. 'I thought the night you spent here brought you together again.'

Dick shook his head. 'We had a colossal row after we left you.' 'So it didn't help?' 'No and yes. Since then I've been ignoring her, and she's been chasing after me. One more evening of uncertainty won't do her any harm.' 'So you want me to play decoy again to make her come running?' His round, boyish face looked so appealing she could only laugh. 'After what that night did to my friendship with my neighbour, I ought to say no, but -' 'I thought you said you didn't have a relationship with your neighbour?' Anna coloured. 'Well ...' Dick laughed. 'Anyway, even if I had, it's non-existent now. He thinks I'm— well, you can guess.' 'Want me to tell him the truth?' 'He wouldn't believe you. I tried to tell him, but he wouldn't listen. The evidence was—to him—so undeniable, it's a closed case as far as he's concerned.' 'Sorry about that. But after tonight, you can put things right with him, can't you? After all, I'll be gone out of your life -' 'And into Ellie's, I hope. Look at her staring. I'm sure she's about to burst into tears.' 'More likely into a tantrum. Come on, let's join the others.' Dick's friends sprawled over the beach in an assortment of attitudes. Two or three of the. young men unpacked rucksacks, spreading out

the contents which consisted of packets of bread rolls, sandwiches and cans of Coke and beer. A little bemused, Anna watched as the crowd, about ten or eleven of them, made dives at whatever food and drink they wanted. 'Come on,' one of the girls called to Anna, 'help yourself. It's free. Grab yourself a sandwich. Like some Coke?' Anna walked a few steps and collapsed to the sand under the weight that had been thrust into her arms. In a moment Dick was beside her. 'Have a beer?' He held out a can. 'Look, have the Coke later. This'll loosen you up, make you forget your inhibitions—not to mention that next-door neighbour of yours.' Anna accepted the beer, tearing open the top. 'The way you keep looking at his place, I'd say he worries you. Take my advice, love. Do what I'm doing to my girl-friend, make him come running after you.' Anna's head went back and she drank. The tang of the liquid had a disconcerting effect on her nervous system. Unused as she was to alcohol, even a mouthful of beer had registered, fretting at her taste buds until she swallowed more liquid—and even more. First her mouth tingled—she mopped it with a tissue —then a strange sensation crept along her shoulders and back. If she objected to the stuff, the others would probably laugh. She was in no mood to be laughed at by people who, if only for a few hours, were her friends. It was enough that her neighbour mocked and insulted her almost every time they met. When the can was finished, Anna asked Dick for another. He laughed and held it back, telling her to take some food. 'Can't have you drunk,' he said. 'What would your neighbour say?' 'Do you know,' she said, a small fire springing to life in her eyes, 'I don't care a damn what my neighbour thinks!'

Dick laughed again. 'That's right, fight him! But you'll need food -' he held out a sandwich which Anna took, eating it quickly, 'to give you strength, and this -' he held out the beer can, 'to give you courage.' Anna ripped open the can and drank again. Ellie hovered, glaring first at Dick, then at Anna. It's all right, Anna wanted to say, Dick's just .playing with you. After this evening he'll relent. You'll be walking back to the camp site with your boy-friend's arm around you. But since she was unable to say the words aloud, Ellie continued to glare and Dick continued to provoke her. Anna was beginning to feel a little light-headed. Her mouth felt stretched, as though she had been smiling to widely. Someone began to strum a guitar. He played well—Dick told her the player was a music student— and the evening air was filled with plaintive sounds. Dick leaned towards Anna. 'Kiss?' he said, puckering his lips. 'Come on, don't be shy.' 'It's not really necessary, Dick. You've got Ellie eating, out of your hand.' 'I know that, and she's got me eating out of hers. I'm crazy about her. But what's a kiss between friends? Come on,' he repeated, 'your neighbour's over there leaning on his rail and staring. I. don't think he approves of us, but what the hell? Make him jealous, kid.' Anna kissed Dick, telling herself, 'Why should I care what Roc Farrant thinks of me? He's already decided I'm any man's for the asking.' The melody changed to country music, appealing, evocative, inviting listeners to add their voices to the sound. Another song followed, louder this time, with a lively rhythm. The crowd sang and clapped to

it, some banging empty cans together, others beating with palms on their knees. The sun was setting and the air had grown cool. Anna shivered and Dick, who sat beside her, removed his jacket, draping it round her shoulders. She protested that he would be cold, but he pulled a sweater from a bag. As the music began again, Dick handed Anna another can of beer. 'My fourth,' she said. 'Should I?' 'Why not?' he urged. 'It's free.' That was not what she had meant, but she shrugged and drank the contents thirstily. 'It's strange,' she said, her thoughts crowding in on her, 'but the more I drink, the more I want.' She seized another can. 'That's life,' said Dick, and went on clapping to the music. The singing had grown so loud Anna had had to raise her voice to make herself heard by him. Two sandalled feet at the end of two stiff legs came into her blurring line of vision. Above them were tough-muscled thighs topped by hard, wide hips. Somehow Anna could not force her eyes above the low- belted waistline of the tightly-fitting slacks. She told herself that it wasn't because she was afraid—although a whisper nagging at her told her she was—it was just that her eyes would not do her bidding. The man in front of her crouched down and reached out to take away the unopened can clasped in her hands. There was a struggle. Refusing, to concede victory to his stronger fingers, she threw the can down. 'You've had enough,' snapped the man who, in a curious way, resembled Roc Farrant. 'And so have I, of this noise. Would you tell

your friends,' he eyed Dick coldly, 'to take their rock concert to their own camp site and leave me in peace.' 'It's not rock, it's .country music.' Anna wondered why her own voice sounded so strange. 'And I like it, we all like it,' her hand wandered to her forehead, then covered her eyes, 'and we're going right on singing. Aren't we, Dick?' She turned, but Dick had gone. His jacket was no longer round her shoulders. 'I'm c-cold, and it's all your fault,' she accused Roc Farrant. 'Everything's your fault.' To her surprise, tears began to form in her eyes. 'You've messed up my life. I don't know why you h-had to come and live here,' she paused, frowned and thought a moment. 'No, it was the other -' she hiccupped, 'other way round.' She lifted wondering eyes to Roc's. 'Wasn't it? Why,' she mumbled, 'do you keep fading away and coming back?' She looked around at the crowd who had mostly drifted into twos, girls and young men, holding hands, or lying passively in each other's arms. The music went on, cheering or stirring or moving to passion as the player chose. 'Them,' Anna pointed, unable to hold her arm steady, 'they're floating on a cloud.' Then the man who looked like Roc Farrant was beside her, pushing her back. 'I'm cold,' Anna whispered, 'please make me warm.' Arms went round her and she struggled to make herself understood. 'Not— not in that way. The rug,' she tugged at the tartan blanket beneath them, 'wrap it round me. Not your arms.' The strong arms stayed round her, pulling her to him. Bemused, with events swiftly slipping from her control, she gazed up at the face that hovered over her. Against the pearl-blue of the late evening sky, his head seemed carved like an inspired piece of sculpture. Brown hair lit with gold from the fiery glow of the sun, square chin, hard jaws, eyes in shadow and therefore keeping their secrets, this was the face of the

man she loved. It should be possible, surely, to get nearer to him emotionally, not just physically. 'There's not a wall between us, Roc,' she murmured. 'I just thought there was. See?' Her hand pressed gently against his chest. The buttons of his shirt were opened and her hand was curiously reluctant to lose contact with the soft layer of hair in which it found itself resting. Her other hand curled round his neck, pulling gently at the hairs which grew low, in need of trimming. There was no give in him, no relenting of his hardness which pressed against her, imprisoning her hand between them. Why wasn't he softening?. she wondered. Was it the names she had called him? His face was close, but still he held away. Stars were sparkling all around his head in the dark blue sky. 'I didn't mean it when I said those things to you. You're not a layabout artist just splashing paint. I—I liked that sketch you did of me. You used your imagination about how I look without -' even in her fuddled state, her inhibitions conquered, 'underneath,' she compromised. Then, with a frown, she remembered the day she had sunbathed, unfastening her swimming top, and how he had seen her through his binoculars, and then had come down to the beach and seen her as the top had fallen free ... and he had kissed her ... Which meant he had used his memory, not his imagination. He was looking down at her, still silent. The music went on, softly, seductively, and the others were humming and whispering the words. 'You made me look beautiful, Roc, although really I'm not. Not like my sisters. They're golden-haired and take men's breath away—my mother said so. Roc,' her fingers tangled in his chest hair, the hand round his neck tightened, 'I don't like it when you don't talk to me.' There was a lump in her throat. Was she going to cry again? 'I'm used

to being rejected, but when you do it,' she buried her face where her fingers had pulled away, 'it hurts.' For a long moment she stayed with her cheek pressed against him, savouring the rough masculinity, the smell of the sea which still clung to his skin from that morning's swim. He seemed so tense she was afraid she had said too much. What had she said? She couldn't remember. Her brain wasn't working properly, her memory was dulled by—by something, she couldn't think what it was. He eased her away, but not very far. His lips brushed her ear and he said, 'I know something better than talking. You're wearing it again, aren't you? All those buttons—I told you before that they were made to be undone.' Action followed the words and his fingers, experienced, not fumbling, moved down the suntop to the last of the buttons. Anna's hand clamped over his. It was a final effort on the part of her inhibitions to act as a dam to the tide of feeling that was rushing from her head to her heart to her limbs, to encompass the whole of her body. His hand found its freedom from the obstruction of hers and began its profligate wanderings, caressing, fondling, playing on the nervestrings of her emotions like a virtuoso musician. She had no thoughts, only feelings, and she followed wherever they took her. Her arms abandoned all attempts to protect her body from his lovemaking, curving round him in a passion of clinging and giving and receiving. The kiss his mouth was implanting probed deeply into the secrets of hers. A blissful lethargy slid over her and she felt that she, too, like the others, was floating on a cloud. Some time she would wake up and find that she was not lying there in Roc's arms, that her hands had not crept under his shirt to press against his shoulder blades, running over

the ridges of his spine or teasing the fine hairs which sprang here and there from the hard-muscled parts of his back. Right now she was in those arms, and even if it was only a dream, she hadn't yet awoken to the stark cruelty of reality. There was a warmth about her that came not only from the rug that had miraculously appeared to cover them, but from the fiery throbbing of desire. With the lethargy came lassitude, a depletion of energy that deadened all response and sensation except the feel of the man beside her. Cradled in his arms, she slept.

She awoke to find the black of the sky illuminated by an almost full moon. Diamond-chips of stars sparkled overhead and on the shore the waves curled and broke in mock-anger like a dog growling in play. Her shiver woke the man beside her and in response his arms tightened and pulled her closer. Their legs seemed to have forgotten to which person they really belonged and as Roc Farrant stirred to consciousness, so did his desire on waking to find a woman in his arms. In the moonlight his eyes glittered like the stars above them, and his head lowered to seek the enticements of her shapeliness. A shock of delight made her pulses leap and she felt more aware at that moment than after waking from a full night's sleep in her own bed. More than anything in the whole world she wanted to do what he was asking of her—yield to his demands, surrendering herself body and soul, smashing for ever that wall between them, the wall that he had built. He had built —and all she had ever done was to hammer on it, to clamber up it, surmounting it by whatever means she could discover. All she had ever done ... Dismay had her limbs stiffening, her face

twisted from his seeking lips, her muscles straining to pull from his grasp. The memory was returning of how she came to be there, on the beach, under the night sky, entwined with him as if they were one. The struggle did not last. He let her go, resting indolently on his elbow. Even in the light from the moon her skin gleamed whitely and she almost choked on her gasp of dismay. Before she could cover herself his hand came out possessively and his touch almost made her scream. Why did her fingers fumble in her panic action to rid herself of his lingering hand? At last he drew away, watching her with a touch of mockery. When she had finished she fidgeted with her hair, looking everywhere but at him. His hand came out, lifting her chin. 'Look, honey,' he said softly, 'I haven't done a thing to you. You're intact, uriviolated. I just kissed the sweetness of you, wherever you'd let me. I've held you, slept beside you under the stars for half the night You can't condemn me for any action I've taken, because it was all with your complete cooperation. You agree with that?' It was all so true Anna had to nod. 'And you enjoyed the lovemaking, as far as it went, as much as I did. Deny that if you can.' 'I don't deny it.' She freed her chin from his clasp. The handful of sand which trickled through her fingers looked silver in the moonlight. Roc stood, brushing back his hair and buttoning his shirt. 'What's more, sweetheart, you're not going to tell me you've never spent the night with a man before, not when I've seen, with my own eyes -'

'You've seen nothing with your own eyes!' He lifted his wrist. 'Three o'clock. Three hours into Sunday. It's the wrong time of day for an argument.' He crouched down, lifted her into his arms and straightened. 'Come on, I'll take you to bed. What's more,' he smiled, 'with great reluctance, I'll leave you there.' 'The rugs,' she said, stretching out her hand, 'if it rains -' 'I'll attend to those. One's yours, one's mine. We'll sort them out in the morning.' With his foot he pushed at her door, which stood partly open. He lowered her to the bed, kissed her, his lips lingering momentarily, and left her. It was midday when Anna awoke. She washed away the sleep from her face, splashing with cold water. As she dried herself, she saw a note on her table. Anna, it said, thanks for having us. Anna thought, I did nothing. I didn't make any contribution ... The note went on, the party was great and you're a fantastic girl. Hope your neighbour appreciates you. See you again some time. The note was signed, 'Dick', followed by the words, 'and Ellie'. Anna was moved. She smiled as she folded the paper. Her neighbour—had he 'appreciated' her? It was something she doubted greatly. Where was he, the man in whose arms she had slept for much of the night? When she saw him what would he do, what would he say? How would he treat her after those hours together under the stars? All day she waited to know the answer. He had gone out. Even his truck was missing from the clifftop. As the empty hours passed, she grew more restless. The kisses, the intimacies they had shared had plainly meant nothing to him. Even if she had submitted completely

as she was sure he had wished her to do, he would have treated the matter merely as a challenge and herself as just another woman he had pursued and conquered. The thought depressed her deeply, although she reproached herself for being a fool. She had known instinctively and from the start that any involvement with Roc Farrant must inevitably be of a temporary nature, infinitely pleasurable while it lasted but bringing only misery in its wake. After an early supper she went for a walk along the shore, treading the wet sand where the innocent- seeming waves had so recently spilled their contents and retreated on the ebbing tide. Since the beginning of her stay she had seen the North Sea tamed and amenable. Standing there and contemplating its unbelievable calmness, it was impossible to visualise it as wild and dangerous as it was reputed to be. Walking back, she climbed to the drier sand. Her hands were in her jacket pockets, her slacks damp at the hems. Her hair blew free, her cheeks were pale and her eyes heavy. Something made her lift her head and she saw coming towards her the man for whom she had been waiting during all the long hours of the day. Almost home, her steps quickened involuntarily. His eyes were narrowed, his expression unsmiling and beyond her ability to decipher. He slowed to a standstill and she, uncertain now, stopped, facing him. Her smile flickered, then faded. Her instinct was to stretch out her hand and touch him. She followed that instinct, closing the gap, pressing her palm against the part-buttoned shirt beneath his unzipped jacket. His breathing seemed to deepen and his rib cage expanded and contracted beneath her hand. 'Roc?' she whispered. It was a question because she did not know his thoughts, whether he condemned her

for drinking the relatively small quantity of alcohol which had had such a devastating effect on her inbuilt repressions; whether he still thought badly about her where Dick was concerned. There were so many things she did not know. He moved suddenly, grasping the wrist of the hand that touched him, pulling her hard against him. Then she was enclosed in his arms, straining to return the branding ardour of his kiss, trying to tell him how her love for him was as deep as the sea behind them. It was almost as if he could not have enough of her and that, even pulled to touch the length and breadth of him, she was, for him, too far away. When the kissing stopped and her mouth felt on fire, his eyes devoured her, running over her features, the oval shape of her face, the parted lips still hungry for his. Shyly her hand lifted, pushing from his forehead a straying piece of hair, running a finger down his bristle- sharpened cheeks to rest on the corner of his mouth. 'Roc,' she said, 'I've missed you so.' 'A long day without me?' he queried, smiling. He put his lips to her ear, and her body tingled in response. 'We could,' he whispered, 'make it a long night together.' 'Under the stars again?' She tried to treat it as a joke. 'Under my roof.' She pulled at the dark hairs beneath his shirt. 'Roc, I -' His hand at the. small of her back pressed her to him and she felt the desire in him setting her on fire. Another night in his arms, but. this would be different. He thought that to her such an occurrence would be commonplace. She knew that to him she would be just another woman.

She shook her head. 'In my world, that's for lovers.' 'And we aren't?' Again her head moved negatively, but he persisted, 'We could make it so that we are.' There had to be an acceptable excuse. Swiftly it came to her. 'I have to go to work in the morning and .I don't want the chairman of the company finding me —well,' a quick glance at his face took in only the hard jaw, 'worn out, do I?' There was a perceptible slackening of his hold. 'You know all about it, don't you?' Now her eyes reached his and there was no doubting the glint they held. His voice, too, was just a little abrasive. 'No, I don't. Do you know,' she rushed on, putting a space between them, 'I've been honoured by an invitation from the chairman himself? To his home, no less—to meet his wife.' Roc's eyebrows arched, his mouth had resumed its cynical curve. Anna did not care. By insinuating that her experience of men was as wide as he believed, she had succeeded in evading his pursuit of her. He regarded her with detachment. His hands were thrust into his pockets and he waited for her to speak. 'Mr Cornwell's a dear,' Anna went on. 'I wonder what his wife is like? If it's true that opposites attract, then she must be unbearable!' She laughed, hoping he would laugh with her. But Roc Farrant was far from amused. Anna plunged on, 'He told me they've got a daughter who's away and also a son. Do you know what Mr Cornwell said? That his son hadn't found a woman yet who came up to his high standards. He was

seeking perfection, he said. I've never heard anything so—so arrogant and conceited in my life!' 'Then it's as well you haven't been invited to meet him, too, isn't it? Or,' his eyes hardened, 'would it appeal to you to marry the chairman's son, despite the conceit? Just imagine—if he chose you, it would make you "perfection", wouldn't it? Not to mention assuring you of a life of luxury for the rest of your days. Even if you were eventually to get divorced, think of the alimony you'd be able to squeeze out of the man.' Anna knew her smile would annoy him. 'Mm,' she pretended to consider his suggestion, 'it's not a bad idea.' She grinned up at him impishly. 'Maybe I will put on the charm and get a marriage proposal out of him.' She pushed at her hair affectedly and smoothed her slacks over her hips. 'Do you think I have charm, Mr Farrant?' His eyes raked her and his hands came out, taking her by the shoulders. With a jolt her body hit his and he said through his teeth, 'I think you've got cheek and effrontery and impudence and -' His mouth on hers finished the sentence. Her lips parted under the pressure of his to admit the searching, punishing kiss. When he released her she staggered and put the back of her hand to her throbbing mouth. 'That,' he grated, 'is what you get when you deliberately provoke. And next time, if there is a next time, I won't stop at a mere kiss. There's a hell of a lot under those clothes you're wearing that I'd dearly love to make use of. One day I will. And that's a promise!'

CHAPTER SIX 'Miss HARTLEY?' Anna straightened from her task of placing a child's- height table at the correct angle and turned to look at the newcomer. A woman stood at the door holding a young child, plainly her own. The boy had inherited the woman's blonde hair, her blue eyes—Anna thought, Much bluer than mine— and her heart-shaped face, except that his was plump and creased with smiles. His mother was smiling, too, vivacious and charming but with a hint of brittleness which the discerning would not miss. 'I'm Miss Hartley, yes,' said Anna, 'but I'm sorry, the clay nursery isn't due to open until the day after tomorrow. If you'd like to come back then and register your little' boy ...' The woman stepped into the room. T should have introduced myself. My husband was overseas sales director of the company before he died.' 'Which means you must be Mrs Meldon,' said Anna. The woman's hand came out. 'Please call me Leora. And you, I believe, are Anna?' The little boy reached out, too—to grab Anna's hair. Leora Meldon laughed delightedly. 'Oh, dear, he's after the ladies again—just like his father I' If Anna had not been so busily engaged in trying to free herself from the young, sticky fingers, she would not have laughed at the comment. But when the little boy had been persuaded to free her, the indiscretion of the remark made an impact on her mind. It surprised

and, just a little, shocked her that a woman could talk so freely about her late husband's weakness. Leora Meldon shook her son playfully. 'Say you're sorry, darling.' 'I forgive you,' said Anna, smoothing her hair. To his mother she said, 'He's really beautiful. He's almost a carbon copy of you.' 'Now there's a nice compliment, darling,' Leora Meldon said to the child. Then, to Anna, 'Facially, yes, but in personality he has certain characteristics I simply don't possess.' 'Yes, well,' Anna began to feel uncomfortable, 'that's only natural, isn't it?' She changed the subject. 'I think it would be a good idea if I showed you the rooms the day nursery will occupy.' She looked at the little boy. 'How old is he, Mrs Meldon?' 'Please—Leora. Fourteen months. My husband died before he was born.' 'How sad! So he never saw his son? May I hold him?' Anna held opt her arms. 'Would he come?' His mother handed over the child. 'He'll go to anyone, won't you, Roddi?' 'Roddi? Is that his name?' 'It's Roderick really, but we've shortened it.' The little boy turned shy in Anna's arms, but only for a moment. 'Was Roderick your husband's name?' 'No. It was Hal.' She seemed unwilling to explain.

After the tour of the house, Anna handed Roddi back to his. mother. The child made a fuss and Leora said, 'You've made a conquest. If you're as successful with all the children as you've been with my son, the nursery should do well. Talking of conquests, how's the boyfriend?' Anna frowned. 'There isn't one at the moment.' 'Sorry, I didn't want to insult you by asking if you had one. I just took it for granted that a girl as attractive as you -' 'Compliments all round,' Anna interrupted, colouring. 'There was one, but we agreed to go our own ways. It wasn't serious, anyway.' 'So you're living alone at present?' It seemed that in Leora Meldon's world having a boy-friend implied living with him. Anna explained how her former employer had closed the day nursery and gone abroad. 'Now,' she said, 'the wheel has turned full circle and I'm back where I started, working in the same place. The difference is that now I'm my own boss—that is, as far as the day nursery is concerned.' 'Will the nursery occupy the whole house?' Leora Meldon asked. Anna told her that the upstairs rooms might be let as an apartment. 'Will you live there?' Leora wanted to know. 'I doubt it. At present I'm perfectly happy where I live—in a beach hut at the foot of some cliffs.' ' Leora was intrigued. 'All alone on the beach? How do you manage?' 'With food and things? There's a village about a mile away.' Anna named the village.

'Doesn't it scare you being alone at night?' Anna shrugged. 'Maybe it would if I——' She paused, wishing in a curious way that she had not said so much to such an inquisitive woman? 'Do go on,' Leora urged. 'Well, if I hadn't got a neighbour.' Now it was out it was as though she had just given away a precious secret. 'Female?' When will her questions stop? Anna wondered desperately. She shook her head, then tried to create a diversion by walking her fingers along the child's chubby arm. The little boy squealed, but his mother was not diverted. Her eyebrows rose. 'Male? Now there's a chance for you. Unless --' she made a face, 'he's old enough to be your grandfather?' Anna shook her head. 'In his thirties. He's an artist.' She tried to sound casual. 'He likes the isolation, I imagine. That is, until I came!' 'I suppose he's got the usual artistic temperament?' Anna sighed. Still the questions were coming! 'He's moody and difficult,' she replied resignedly. 'Sometimes he just won't speak to me.' 'Don't tell me,' Leora commented sarcastically, 'that he's tall, dark and -' 'Good-looking,' Anna finished. She frowned, wishing the conversation would end. 'He's all those things, but he's made it quite clear that he's finished with women.'

Leora laughed. 'My dear girl, you don't really believe—-' Her expression changed and when she spoke, her voice was high. 'Do you know his name?' Anna swallowed another sigh. 'It's Roc.' Leora seemed to sway and Anna put out her arms again. 'Can I relieve you of your lovable burden? He must be heavy for you to hold for so long.' Leora shook her head. 'Just—Roc?' she asked. 'Just—Roc.' As Leora Meldon turned to go, having thanked Anna for showing her over the house, Anna thought, Strange how she asked that question. I did, too.

Anna reversed her usual routine that evening. Before eating her supper she went for a walk along the beach. All the time she told herself she was not hoping to see Roc, she did not want him to come out and stand by. the rails of his beach house, she did not want him to join her ... It was a waste of time, since they were a pack of lies. She wanted every one of them to happen, but none did. It wasn't that. Roc was out, because his truck stood on the clifftop. He had not even gone for a walk, because as Anna drew near she heard the chink of crockery from inside the wooden building. The fact, was staring her in the face and she had to recognise it for what it was—a calculated snub. Strangely, it soothed her to tell herself this. If it were not a snub, it could only mean that he was not even sufficiently interested in her to

keep track of her movements which, loving him as she did, would be intolerable to contemplate. It was while she was clearing away the dishes that she heard footsteps descending from the clifftop. The steps were not Roc's, because she knew the sound of those by heart. They were too light and quick for a man's, which could mean only one thing: they belonged to a woman. Anna waited, her breath held, for a knock on her door. It did not come. There was, however, the sound of talking from her neighbour's house. By listening hard, Anna could distinguish Roc's low-pitched voice. The other was high- sounding and persuasive. It was not long, it seemed, before Roc Farrant's visitor's coaxing tactics prevailed, because a door closed and there was no more talking. Anna's legs had grown so weak she was forced to find a chair. There were two possibilities as to who' the visitor might be—a customer talking Roc into allowing her to look at his paintings with a view to buying or—and the thought made her cover her eyes—he had a girlfriend after all.

When Mr Cornwell had given Anna directions as to how to reach his house, he had told her that the evening was to be informal—just a cosy chat over a meal. Nevertheless Anna, who was unfamiliar with the private lives of chairmen of companies, chose a dress that would suit either a formal or an informal occasion. It was a deep pink in colour, round-necked and low- cut, with sleeves reaching to the elbows. The top followed closely the shape of her body, the skirt hanging freely from a neat waistline to end well above her ankles. The dress was cunningly simple, the cleverness being in

the cut. Round her neck she wore a short necklace of imitation pearls, with earclips to match. Her hair hung silkily to brush her neck, curling here and there to nestle around her chin. A cream cotton jacket swung from her shoulders and her sandals and purse were cream-coloured, too. A quick glance in the small mirror that hung over her bed gave her the courage to hope that in appearance she came up to the standard expected of any employee invited to dine with the company chairman and his wife. As she emerged from the hut and turned to lock the door, Roc came on to his porch, locking his door too. Anna's heart scurried and lifted like a leaf in the breeze. She had never seen him look so tidy, so cleanshaven, so handsome. His brown pants and linen jacket fitted him to perfection and the high-necked silk shirt echoed the brown of his carefully groomed hair. They faced each other across the sandy space and his eyes moved slowly, thoroughly, over her slim figure, her hair and last of all her face. A lazy smile lifted one corner of his mouth and the gleam in his eyes mocked her. 'Going places, Anna Hartley?' he asked. 'Yes,' she answered shortly, 'somewhere that you can't follow.' His eyebrows lifted as he considered the statement. 'You're going out, too, aren't you?' she said, hoping that the challenge in her voice would hide the note of jealousy. 'Lucky woman,' she added sarcastically, 'whoever she is. It wouldn't be the customer who called on you last night, by any chance?' The question seemed to puzzle him.

'At least,' Anna went on, 'that was who I assumed it to be, unless -' 'Oh,' he broke in, as if he had remembered the event with difficulty, 'the woman who——' 'Who called to inspect your paintings.' He seemed amused. 'Ah, yes. It was the right time of day to come and see my paintings, wasn't it?' Annoyed beyond retaliation by his teasing,. Anna said a curt goodbye and made her way to the steps. To her annoyance, he followed. When she reached the top, she stared. The truck was gone, and in its place stood a shining, brown, sleekly-designed sports car. Roc sprinted up the last few steps and joined her, hands in pockets, smiling like a child with a new toy. 'Yours?' Anna breathed, eyes wide. 'Mine,' he answered gloatingly. 'By courtesy of last night's customer?' 'Customer?' He frowned with mock distaste. 'Too coarse a word, surely. For such a lady, I think I would use the word "patron". In the circumstances it sounds so—correct.' He was playing with her, but she swallowed the bait. 'But she must have paid you a fortune for you to have been able to afford that.' 'Well,' he gave the statement some consideration, 'maybe my artistic ability is rated higher by others than by you. My work isn't cheap to buy, and half a dozen of the fruits of my genius——' 'Six?' Anna stared up at him. 'She bought six paintings?'

He lifted a shoulder. 'Maybe give or take a few.' 'You're teasing!' He looked down at her, a strange gleam in his eyes which did not entirely come from the sinking sun. 'Am I ?' He pulled at his jacket. 'Can I give you a lift?' Anna looked at the car, thought about the walk to the village, the wait for the bus and the walk at the other end. She took a breath to overcome her pride and accept the offer—then remembered the date Roc had with another woman. Keeping her face averted so that he could not see the longing in her eyes, she started to walk away. 'No, thanks. Show off your car to your new girl-friend.' In a few strides he was behind her, catching her by the upper arms and pulling her against him. Her body was swung round and she was lifted bodily to the passenger door of the car. He opened it, pressed her head down and bundled her on to the seat. She struggled to get out. 'You're committing abduction,' she raged, 'and I won't allow -' 'I'll commit something else if you don't sit quiet!' Again she made as if to get out, but he pushed her back, pulled on the seat belt and extended it across her. His actions were rough, his arm pressing her against the seat back. I refuse to ask him to be gentle, she told herself, sinking her teeth into her lip. He'll press all the harder if I do. Slowly the pressure eased and he smiled into her rebellious face. Then his eyes lowered, a hand lifted and eased the crosspiece of the seat belt away from her body. Taken by surprise, Anna sat passively

while, with his other hand, he found the neckline of her dress, hooking a finger inside and letting it linger tantalisingly as he made contact with the softly inviting hollow. His hand moved at last to straighten the wrinkles in the dress material which the roughlyfastened safety belt had caused. Annoyed by his audacity, yet tingling with the excitement which only he, of all men, could arouse in her, she tried to rebuke him with a glare. But she could not find within her the anger to give backing to the reproach she attempted to express. He must have read the emotional struggle through the windows of her eyes, because he laughed and bent to refasten the seat belt with exaggerated care. He drove fast, keeping within the speed limit with obvious impatience. Anna felt the remark rise inside her like a cresting wave, and like a wave it would not be halted. 'This date you've got tonight must be very promising—you're in such a hurry to get there.' Her companion laughed loudly. 'You're in such a good mood, too,' Anna went on. 'Is it because she's just been added to your list and you find her exciting because she's a new and untried female to conquer?' 'What an excellent psychologist you are,' he jeered. 'Did your training as a nursery nurse also include the study and analysis of the male sex drive?' Anna could not prevent the colour from rising in her cheeks. 'You're being stupid and you know it.' He contented himself with a smile and there was silence between them until they Approached the town. 'You haven't asked me for directions yet,' Anna reminded him. 'Correct as usual, Miss Hartley,' he mocked. 'But I was about to do so.' He flicked her a glance. 'Did you think I would leave you waiting

in the car twiddling your thumbs while I made love to my new girlfriend inside her house?' 'I wouldn't put it past you,' Anna retorted. 'I wouldn't put anything past you!' He smiled, easing his foot from the accelerator. 'Come on, direct me.' She pulled a piece of crumpled paper from her bag. She read out Mr Cornwall's instructions arid her companion followed them, pulling up at last outside a large but unassuming house built some decades before. 'Thank -' Anna began, but a hand came out to prevent her from opening the door. She looked at Roc, startled, watching as he scanned the quiet road for other traffic, then reversed a short distance. 'What are you doing?' Anna asked indignantly. 'I'm facing the wrong way, so I'm turning into your host's drive. Then I can reverse out and face the right way.' He gave her a quick smile. 'Simple, isn't it, when it's explained in words of no more than two syllables.' Anna gave him a look which might have quelled him if he had been looking her. way. Instead, he was concentrating on swinging the car in a wide arc to enter Mr Cornwell's drive. 'Thanks for the lift,' said Anna, getting out. 'Enjoy your evening. Or,' now that she was safely on the other side of the door, 'should I say "night"?' He grinned. 'Say what you like. It won't make any difference to the— er—entertainment value of the evening that stretches invitingly before me.'

Furious with his taunts, with the woman who had so cleverly captured his interest, and angry most of all with herself for letting her jealousy show, Anna walked along the path to the front of the company chairman's matured but unintimidating house. The company chairman himself opened the door, giving her a warm welcome. At his side was a slim and smiling middle-aged woman who, it appeared, was Cecil Cornwell's wife. Oh dear, Anna thought, shaking the outstretched hands, did I really call her "unbearable", assuming she must be her husband's opposite? Mrs Cornwell was the perfect hostess, sincere and completely natural. She put Anna at her ease immediately, inviting her into their main living-room and seating her at one end of a dark-blue velvetcovered couch. The other end she occupied herself, sitting at an angle so that she could look into her visitor's face as they talked. The nervousness which had gripped Anna after leaving Roc Farrant's car—during the journey their slightly acid conversation had succeeded in keeping the apprehension at bay—eased slowly away. Mr Corn- well entered, going to a drinks cabinet and chinking glasses. 'Sherry, my dear?' he asked. 'Medium or dry? Medium? Daphne—the usual?' His wife nodded and as Mr Cornwell handed out the drinks, he asked if Anna had found his directions easy to follow. 'Very,' she answered, still a little tense. 'As a matter of fact, I -' There was a noise at the front door, as if it were being opened with a key and closed again. Anna frowned, her nervousness intensifying. Had her host invited others? Was it, after all, to be a more formal affair? Mrs Cornwell listened, then smiled serenely. 'Our son,' she said.

With a shaking hand Anna placed her glass on a low table. Her heart had begun to race and she was forced to moisten her lips before she asked, 'The one who -?' She stopped, wishing she had not spoken. They were listening intently, forcing her to complete the sentence. 'Who,' she went on in almost a whisper, 'hasn't found a—a girl to—to marry because he's -' she looked at Mr Cornwell who had originally spoken the words, 'he's seeking perfection.' They burst into laughter and Mr Cornwell nodded. 'You remember what I said about him?' 'You said that, dear?' his wife reproached gently. 'What an impression to give Miss Hartley!' 'Please call me Anna,' Anna murmured, and the door opened. 'Meet our son,' said Mrs Cornwell, and Anna, a hand to her throat, felt the room spin.

'Roc?' she whispered. He answered with a low, mocking bow. 'You—Mr and Mrs Cornwall's son?' 'I plead guilty to being that—what was it?—arrogant, conceited individual you referred to when you did a long-distance analysis of the character of the man you'd never—to your knowledge—met.' His parents laughed. 'Is that what she called you, son?' Cecil Cornwell asked. 'You should hear some of the things she's called me,' his son replied. 'Unrepeatable, some of them.'

'That's not true!' Anna exclaimed indignantly. She put a hand to her cheek. 'Nor is it true that you're a painter!' Roc answered good-humouredly, 'Now that's what I call a calculated insult. You've seen my work -' Anna turned pink and Mr Cornwell urged, 'Don't tease her, son. Tell her the truth.' 'The truth?' He strolled towards Anna. 'Now let me see, what is the truth?' His father grew a little agitated. 'You know perfectly well -' 'Anna,' it was his mother speaking, 'he took a kind of year's sabbatical from work. He wanted to paint— he always was good at it -' her son winced at the expression, 'so we said we could spare him—just. We told him to have his year.' 'A year's peace and quiet,' her son took her up, 'hidden away, in my house by the sea, isolated and in complete anonymity—until I got myself -' he moved to stand in front of Anna, raising his hands and fitting them round her neck, 'a neighbour.' He spoke with mock menace through clenched teeth. 'An irritating, maddening, invading pest of a neighbour who at times I could cheerfully choke,' his fingers tightened a little round her neck. 'Ease off, son,' his father warned. 'And who at times,' Roc continued, 'I could, with the greatest happiness, his voice softened and his fingers caressed her throat, 'kiss all night long.' Time stood still, the world seemed to have stopped going round. 'Roc,' Anna whispered, 'please don't...' Her hands lifted to his shoulders.

'Please do, don't you mean?' His fingers linked behind her waist, pulling her against him. 'Please do— kiss you?' 'Oh, Roc, I -' 'Love me?' he asked, and she nodded. The door closed and they were alone. The kiss went on and on and it was almost a pledge in itself, a promise of lifelong love and devotion, exclusive of all others. Anna tried to reason with herself. It's one-sided, he knows I love him, but he doesn't love me in return ... His lips found her ear, skimming its surface. 'Marry me, Anna?' She was as still as a tree before a storm. 'Marry you? Become your wife?' 'That's what it usually means when a man proposes,' he said, smiling. 'Roc,' her forehead rested momentarily against his chest, then she sought his eyes, 'we don't know each other.' 'We don't?' A quizzical eyebrow rose. 'Haven't we lived next door? Haven't we kissed, made love?' His voice lowered. 'Haven't we slept beside each other under the stars?' He pulled her into his arms and cradled her head, holding her bright gaze with his. His hand ran over her, like a sculptor lovingly appreciating the lines of a shape he had created. His palm moulded itself over her breasts, moved to her waist,, slid over a hip and rested lightly on her thigh. 'I feel I know you,' he murmured, 'as I know myself. Even if you went away and I never saw you again, you would always be there in my mind.'

'Once,' she reminded him, running her finger round his jaw, 'you said you'd shut me out of your mind.' He laughed, remembering. 'It was so easy to say but, as I found, impossible to do. I did shut the door on you—but I shut you in, not out!' 'Roc, I can't believe -' 'Then believe this.' His mouth swooped on hers and - clung, forcing her lips to part to his. When at last he lifted his head, his gaze lingered on her shining eyes and flushed face. He lifted her hand and looked at her empty wedding finger. 'I'll give you a ring.' It was still all so unbelievable that she frowned. Something inside her said, If you wear his ring, everyone will know, and when that happens the dream will break, smashing into little pieces at your feet. 'Let's—let's keep it a secret, Roc,' she pleaded. 'Only until I get the day nursery going. Please ...' He shook his head. 'I intend to tell the world, sweetheart, so unless you want everyone to think we're having an affair, you'll wear my ring. Do you understand?' She nodded, smiling. 'Shall we buy it together, or -?' 'No need to buy one. The ring I shall give you is an heirloom. It's been in the family for generations.' 'But, Roc -' She was puzzled but could not put her feelings into words. Roc pressed a finger to her mouth and, with his arm around her waist, took her to the door. His parents emerged from another room and it was almost as if they had sensed that something of importance had

happened. Their smiles were lit with expectation, their hands lifting in greeting even as their son, - having drawn Anna back into the living-room, told them, 'Anna and I are going to be married.' Mrs Cornwell hugged Anna, her happiness illuminating her face. 'We hoped, oh, we did so hope you would accept him, my dear.' Cecil Cornwell kissed both Anna's cheeks and, hands on her shoulders, held her from him. 'Roderick has delighted us in at last finding the right girl. He told us there was someone, the one he'd been looking for, and when he said you were actually one of our employees—I truly couldn't believe it. And when I met you, my dear, that day in my office -' 'You knew then?' He laughed, a little embarrassed. 'Let's say Roderick told us he -' 'That I was working on you,' Roc interrupted, and Anna made a face at him. Then her memory stirred. 'No wonder Miss Disley wasn't annoyed with me for staying away when I fell and hurt myself!' Cecil and his wife laughed. 'Yes, we heard about the bicycle you dropped.' Anna thought wonderingly, Even then they had known about their son's new neighbour! ' 'Now I understand,' she remarked, 'why Miss Disley was so polite to me, so—Well, deferential almost.' Roc was puzzled. 'I didn't announce my identity.'

His mother answered, 'She must have recognised your voice. It's quite distinctive.' 'Incidentally,' Cecil commented, 'you have Roderick to thank for the day nursery.' Anna was startled. 'But you said -' 'It was the Board of Directors—that was what Roderick told me to say. Don't forget that he wanted to keep his identity a secret.' 'Why, Roc?' Anna could not suppress the sudden apprehension. Roc raised a fist and brushed her chin. 'I've told you so many times. I was after peace and quiet, which I had—until you came.' He softened the words with a smile. Anna said, 'Once, you nearly dumped me in the sea.' His parents laughed. 'Now I know why,' Anna went on. 'To get rid of me. But,' she grinned impishly, 'I would have swum back and annoyed you all over again.' Once more there was general laughter and Roc said, 'I'll get that ring.' 'That's a good idea, Roderick,' said his mother watching him leave, 'before you two start scrapping in front of our very eyes.! Anna found herself thinking, 'Roderick'? Where have I heard the name? 'Mrs Meldon's little boy!' There was a puzzled silence. 'That's where I've heard the name. He's called Roderick, only his mother calls him Roddi.'

Mr Cornwell said, with a frown, 'Her husband was not only a director of the company, he was also a great friend of ours. He was, you see, some years older than his wife. Always he was fond of our son and he and his wife decided that if their baby was a boy, he would' be named after our son.' Anna's brow cleared. 'I call him Roc.' She looked shyly at her fiancé, who had returned holding a small velvet-covered box in his hand. 'Roc Farrant.' She paused, frowned and asked, 'Is that the name you use as a painter, or -?' 'No, my dear,' his mother answered. 'Farrant is his name. You see, when I married Cecil I was a widow and Roderick a small boy. Roderick was his father's name.' Cecil said, 'I. look upon both Roderick, and Jane, his sister, as my own two children.' Once again Anna's heart went out to him. Once again she wondered how such a kindly and humane man could be tough enough to withstand the stresses and difficulties of running such a large organisation as Nordon Machine Tools. On her first meeting with the company chairman she had agreed with his secretary that he was a 'lamb'. There must, she had decided, be a 'lion' behind him. Again she thought, So who could that 'lion' -? Eyes wide, she swung to face her fiancé. 'You're the missing link in the chain. You're the one who runs the company. You're the lion behind the Iambi'

CHAPTER SEVEN 'PENNY for them.' The evening was over and they were driving back to their respective homes at the foot of the cliffs. Anna rested her head against the seat back. 'I just can't take it all in— that you're the managing director of Nordon Machine tools, that you bought Mrs Warne's house so that I could return to nursery nursing.' She paused and examined the ring he had pushed on to her finger earlier that evening. 'I want more for my money than that,' he teased. 'All right, I still can't believe we're engaged. It's a beautiful ring, Roc.' She pressed it to her cheek and he gave a quick, sideways glance to see her examining the ring again. The light from the full moon came through the windscreen and turned the yellow gold paler. Embedded in the delicately engraved base were cultured pearls, turquoises and in the centre, a diamond. She _tore her eyes from the ring and said, 'Have I forgotten to tell you I love you?' The car swerved fractionally off course. 'Hey, you can't say a thing like that to a man when he's driving!' 'You did that deliberately,' she accused, laughing. 'You had the car completely under control.' Roc drew up in his usual parking place on the cliff- top. 'Just like I've got you completely under control,' he retaliated, reaching out for her.

'No, you haven't!' She unfastened the door catch and was out and going down the steps before he could stop her. By the time he had locked the car and followed, she was on the beach and running down to the water's edge. Her heart was pounding, her mind like a whirlpool, and she sought a few seconds' inner tranquillity from the rippling moon-path thrown across the sea. He joined her and his arm pulled her close, hers lifting to seek the hard, lean waist beneath his jacket. Together they stood, in a starlit world of their own, watching the never-ceasing movement of the waves. Anna sighed, breaking the silence. 'Once you nearly threw me in,' she reminded him again. He laughed, making as if to scoop her up. 'Shall I now?' 'No!' she cried in mock-alarm. 'Just -' she gazed up at him, 'just hold me.' He drew off his jacket and spread it on the dry sand, then eased her down beside him. He pulled her close and kissed her, holding her to him. Both her arms went round his waist and her cheek found his chesty feeling the rough hairs pushing through the silk of his shirt. Close though they were, he seemed to hold himself a little remote, drifting out of reach. Anna wanted to make contact not only with his body, but his mind, but all she could hear was the steady beating of his heart beneath her ear. Somehow she would make him notice her, make that heart beat faster ... Carefully she stretched out her hand and took up a handful of sand from behind them. Slowly she lifted her arm, putting it into position. Moving quickly now, she twisted to bring both hands together. One

pulled at the high collar of his shirt while the other trickled sand down the back of his neck. 'Hey!' he shouted. 'What the .. . You little minx!' She was on her feet and running, running to escape him, but she could hear the pounding of his feet drawing nearer. He brought her down by throwing himself full-length and grabbing her ankle. She hit the soft sand harmlessly. Roc moved and was on to her, pushing her arms back and up so that she was helpless beneath him. Twisting and struggling was useless, he held her so firmly. 'You'll pay,' he said through his teeth, 'by heaven, you'll pay. You're mine now, sweetness. My heart's ease and soon, my body's ease.' Urgent fingers slipped aside the wide shoulder strap of her dress. His lips trailed the skin, her throat, her ear, leaving her on fire. 'Now,' he whispered, his hand smoothing her hips, her thigh, 'I'll take you ...' The moonlight played on his brown hair, paling strands to silver, bringing into sharp relief the outline of his cheekbones, the sensual curve to his lips, the obstinate hardness of his jaw. It drew a veil over the expression in his eyes, hiding his thoughts. Cupping his face, she whispered, 'I want you as much as you want me, Roc -' 'Then, give, honey, give ...' His hand eased over her breast, moulding, fondling. 'No, no, you give,' she said urgently, 'give me time. It's happened so quickly. Meeting your family, finding out who you really are, your proposal, your ring.' She held it out and it flashed in the moon's light.

'Did you plead for time with that camper?' His voice had become hard, like his jutting jaw. 'Were his persuasive powers more potent? Or did he plunder first, asking after his objective had been achieved?' She stiffened, pressing together her trembling lips. 'You mean you think, you really think that I—that Dick -' 'Convince me otherwise.' His tone conveyed the fact that it would be an almost impossible task. Her head moved sideways on the jacket that protected her hair from the grains of sand. 'There must be trust in marriage, Roc.' Her hands lifted high, clear of his back, and she began to ease the ring from her finger. His head jerked backwards and he saw the action. 'Leave it,' he commanded. 'Let it stay where it is.' 'If I do, will you trust me?' There was a pause so long that she started to despair. Was her happiness over even before it had begun? He answered at last, 'So long as you'll trust me, no matter what you might be told about me.' Now she was silent, trying to assimilate the slow shock of his words. Not knowing what he meant, she said, 'I'll trust you. I love you, Roc, so I've no alternative, have I?' His body stiffened, then, as suddenly, relaxed, pressing her down into the hollow the combined weight of their bodies had made in the sand. 'Love, love,' he murmured. 'You put love into my veins like a slow but steady life-giving drip, revitalising my desires and my passions, and then you say, "No, wait, hold back He buried his face in the

hollows of her neck and she gazed ecstatically at the stars in the black sky, seeing yet not seeing their diamond-like glitter. 'You're imposing impossible conditions, Anna,' he went on, 'but I'll agree.' He raised his head, seeking her eyes. 'You know why? Only because of that love you talk about. Only because of the indescribable sensation I get each time we kiss, and I touch you, and I feel you under me, only because of those am I holding back now. But not for long, I promise, because already you're becoming part of me.' Her throat tightened, the tears sprang and her frantic fingers dug into his shoulders. 'Oh-, Roc, I want... I want...' His mouth came down on hers and she let him drain from her the sweetness it contained, taking with it her energy and her will to resist. 'Stay mine, do you hear?' Her arms locked round his neck and she laughed . softly. 'How could I do otherwise? You're as conceited and arrogant as I guessed you were and I wouldn't dare disobey -' His mouth, returning to hers, stopped all the talking.

Anna was at her desk next morning when she heard two sets of footsteps echoing along the corridor. A key turned in the lock of the empty room next to hers and the voice she knew so well faded as its owner entered the carpeted office. Roc had returned to work and yet he had not told her. Not even when their lingering goodnight had ended the night before had he mentioned a word. It must, she comforted herself, have been a lightning decision on his part and there had been no time to tell her.

Then she recalled that, as she had climbed the stone steps that morning, his new car had been missing from the cliff-top. Concentrating on the lists of equipment on which she had been working became almost impossible. Her mind was only half on her work because part of it listened to the drone of voices. Each time Roc's voice was raised above the others, her pulse rate raced a little. Mr Cornwell seemed to be there, but speaking rarely, usually to support his stepson. There were other men, too, the discussion only quietening down when the telephone rang, and then it was Roc who always seemed to answer the call. When the phone rang on her own desk, Anna nearly jumped to ceiling-height. 'You're lunching with me,' the voice said in her ear. 'Who -?' she answered, knowing she sounded foolish. 'You know I'm here just as much as I know you're there. One o'clock sharp. Be ready.' 'But I -' 'But what?' The voice sounded impatient. 'Usually eat much earlier,' she finished weakly. If she lunched with him, all the world would know ... I intend to tell the world, he had said. 'You're arrogant and overbearing, but -' she exhaled a deep sigh straight into the receiver, 'I'll be ready.' He laughed softly and rang off. It was some time later that the door opened. There had been no knock, no request for admittance. Assuming the visitor to be the managing director himself and —her mind reeled—who was also her

fiancé, Anna began to rise, a smile .lighting her face. It was not the person she had expected. The smile faded like a sunset from her eyes but her lips stayed locked .in its shadow. Leora Meldon entered with her son, as usual, in her arms. 'Anna, good morning? Or so my offspring tells me it is.' It was as though she had right of entry to any office in the executive block. I wouldn't put it past her, Anna thought fleetingly, to walk as familiarly into the chairman's room, or the managing director's ... 'I'm so sorry to interrupt you, my dear,' she glanced at the papers strewn over the desk, 'but I had to bring Roddi. He's said nothing but Ann-ah, Ann-ah since the time we first met.' Anna knew it couldn't possibly be true, but she smiled. The child's arms came out and her response in reaching over the desk and taking him in her arms was pure reflex, despite her wish to continue working. Roddi's target was her hair, as it had been before, and as her left hand lifted to defend herself, Leora must have seen the flash of the diamond. She gave a low disbelieving whistle, reached into her pocket and found a sweet which she handed to her son. It was . clearly a move designed to keep him quiet. 'Your luck must have been in the day you played. that card game! Quiet little Miss Hartley catches herself a very big fish indeed. Who's the lucky guy?' Anna, curiously reluctant to answer the question, hoped to put her off the scent by saying, 'You call me quiet? Ask my sisters—they'll tell you otherwise. They say I do nothing but shout and argue and fight.' Roddi made a grab at her imitation pearl necklace and caused another diversion. Anna had just managed to disentangle him from them when the door opened and Roc came in.

'Come on, light of my life. I took pity on your rumbling stomach and escaped from the meeting early -' Seeing the visitor, he stopped. It seemed from his frown and the sardonic curve of his mouth that the woman was not only unwelcome, but that she was known to the chairman's son. How well known it was difficult to guess—until she spoke. 'Roc!' Her arms stayed at her sides but it was almost as if she were reaching out to him. 'We meet again.' Roc was unmoved. To Anna it seemed that he had changed into a statue carved out of ice. She shivered and was glad that the child in her arms disguised the fact. She hoped that she would never be on the receiving end of such a look. 'Why are you here?' Leora gestured towards her son in Anna's arms. 'Isn't it obvious?' she asked with a tight smile. 'Roderick is a fully registered member of the new day nursery your father dreamed up.' 'It was a decision of the Board of Directors,' Anna put in defensively, although why she should be so escaped her comprehension. 'Of course.' Leora's brilliant smile swung from Anna to Roc. 'Please excuse my very natural mistake. I expect the Board considered it a charitable way of using up some of the enormous profits made last year by Nordon Machine Tools.' Anna, rubbing her cheek against the soft baby arm which wound round her neck, wondered if Roc had missed the sarcasm of was deliberately ignoring it. Knowing how shrewd he really was, she suspected the latter.

Roc's eyes swung to Anna, seeming to note with a cool detachment, her affectionate yet skilled handling of a normally mischievous child. The look chilled her. It's as though, she thought, he's assessing my capabilities as a nursery nurse from the point of view of a managing director towards an employee, instead of an engaged man towards his fiancée. His attitude both hurt and rankled. His tone on speaking to her did nothing to soothe. 'Give Mrs Meldon's child back to her.' Roddi was passed over as ordered. The boy's thumb went into his mouth and he regarded Roc with big eyes. His mother said, her voice insinuating, 'So it's formality in front of an employee, is it, darling? Once, it was not only Leora, it was -' 'Miss Hartley is my fiancée,' was the curt reply. Leora drew a sharp breath and swung to face Anna." 'So he's the man! And it's his ring. You bitch, you little bitch!' She turned at the door. 'One of these days I'll tell you just how much "the light of his life" you really are!' The door slammed on the pulsing silence. Forcing herself to meet his eyes, Anna said, 'Roc?' The eyes on her flickered, but did not soften. 'Trust, remember? That little but vital thing we talked about between engaged and married couples?' It was all, it seemed, she was going to get in the way of explanation. As she went to the door, she knew that in her fear of waking from a dream, it was all she really wanted.

They lunched in the directors' and executives' dining room. On entering, Roc had paused at the door and gazed around, then seeing his stepfather, he took Anna's hand and led her across the room. Cecil Cornwell rose and put his hands on Anna's shoulders, kissing her cheek. He turned to the two men who shared his table. 'This is Anna, Anna Hartley. She's -' The two men rose, holding out their hands. 'Ah,' said the man Cecil Cornwell had introduced as Tim Smith, head of overseas sales, and who had taken Hal Meldon's place, 'I've heard of you. My wife calls you x the answer to a young mother's prayer.' There was laughter. 'She had a letter from you -' 'So did mine,' the second man interrupted. 'About the opening of a day nursery sponsored by the company. It seems you're going to be in charge. Happy to meet you, Miss Hartley. You've got yourself at least one eager customer -' Roc's arm lifted to Anna's waist and pulled her close. 'Your services are in demand, darling. Remember I have first claim.' The two men looked curiously at the managing director and Cecil Cornwell said, 'Tell them the news, Roderick.' Roc lifted Anna's engagement hand and said, 'We're going to be married.' His voice had risen slightly, like the chairman of a particularly noisy committee meeting trying to make himself heard. The effect on the assembled company was electric. It was as though an announcement of considerable importance had been made. And, Anna thought with some surprise, she supposed it had. Becoming the fiancée of the managing director of a business concern the size of Nordon Machine Tools, after occupying the position of a lowly-

placed employee, was like leaping from the foot of a mountain to the summit. At a corner table from which the two other place settings had been swiftly removed, Roc said, his smile a little twisted as in the early days of their acquaintance, 'Are you enjoying the role of bride-to-be of the chairman's son? You should be. It's attracting a tremendous amount of notice, and being noticed is your confessed aim in life, isn't it?' She frowned, making a play of unfolding her table napkin. 'Why are you suddenly unpleasant? I don't think I like you as' a very important person. I prefer you as a rough, tough artist, like you were when I first met you.' He smiled, reaching out and taking her hand. 'Criticism .noted. I'll instruct my secretary to type a memo to that effect and tape it to my desk.' Her eyes grew bright with deep-down hurt. 'That's exactly what I mean. Once you would have said, I'll write it in the sand.' His response was to lift her hand and brush it with his lips. 'What is all this?' she queried. 'Part of the publicity campaign you promised to carry out to "tell the world", as you called it, about our engagement?' 'Sour little puss, aren't you? I- know the way to sweeten you, but,' he pushed at the table, 'unfortunately there's this between us.' 'And protocol—you know, deference to rank.' He did not look pleased, but she continued to goad. 'And status, and money and -' 'Either you close that inviting mouth of yours,' he said between his teeth, 'or I seize you and put you across my knee here and now -'

'Too late,' her lips widened in a strained smile, 'the waiter's coming.' 'Lucky for you, Anna Hartley.' As he studied the menu, his manner changed. He was the managing director again, and she wanted to kick him under the table to bring back his anger and the conventionspurning artist she first knew. It was on the way home that Roc told Anna that he would for the next few days be away in London. She wanted to cry out, Don't go, please stay! A day away from you is almost more than I can bear, so how will a few days feel? 'Roc, I -' I won't be able to stand it, she had been going to say, but she could not reveal to him how much her happiness depended on his nearness, not when it was as clear as the sea far below them that his happiness did not depend on her proximity to him. Moistening her lips, she said tonelessly, 'I understand.' There was a brief silence, then, 'You've taken the news very calmly. I thought you'd be throwing your arms round my neck and pleading with me to stay.' Now she was silent, thinking frantically of an acceptable explanation for her apparent indifference. 'I have a job to do, haven't I?' He braked above the stone steps. 'And you regard that of greater importance to you than I am?' Anna opened the car door. 'That,' she threw over her shoulder as she walked down the steps, 'is such a stupid question it doesn't deserve an answer.' She swept down on to the beach, turning to face him as he joined her. 'Anyway, you were driving, so how could I fling my arms round your neck?'

His jacket came open in the breeze, and his hands fisted on his hardboned hips. 'I'm not driving now, light of my life.' Light of my life ... Words enough to melt the ice that seemed to have been mixed with her blood all afternoon. Those empty days in front of her, without even a sight of him, let alone the sound of his voice ... Her control broke, her arms imprisoned his neck, pulling him down to seek and find his full-lipped mouth. Once she kissed him, twice— then he took over, his arms pressing the breath from her body, his lips pushing into hers until their teeth met and she gave and gave. Roc lifted his head at last, leaving her breathless and laughing up at him in the setting sun's orange-red glow. It deepened the tan on his face, gave glinting lights to his hair. 'I love you, I love you,' she cried. 'Don't you love me?' She could not keep out the touch of desperation, but did her urgency to be reassured reach him? He held her away, taking her hand and leading her down the beach. He crouched low, pulling her down and with his right hand, held hers. Forefinger extended, his hand securely over hers, he wrote thewords, I Love You, in the sand. 'Now do you believe me?' 'I want to so much,' she answered, then looked at the flowing tide'But how long will it last?' 'For ever,' he said simply. 'Can't you see—it's above the high water mark. The sea won't reach it.' With that she had to be content. After their final kiss she could hardly bear to let him go. 'It's hot for ever,' he said gently. 'Only a few days.'

'Without you,' she whispered as he walked her to the hut, 'a few days is for ever.' Next morning she rose early, hoping to see him before he went, but she was too late. She walked down the slope of the beach to look again at the words he had written—the only time he had ever told her of his love. He had been wrong about the sea never going beyond the high water mark. In the night it must have crept unusually high, swirling relentlessly upwards, taking the magic message with it. The words 'I Love You' had gone.

Hoping to minimise the pain of Roc's absence and to escape from the silence of his empty office next to hers, Anna spent most of the day at the house which, in two days' time, was due to open its doors as a day nursery. Enough equipment had arrived to keep the children occupied. Anna had estimated the first intake of children to be no more than seven or eight. It was when she was upstairs looking round the rooms set aside for living accommodation that a woman's voice called her name. She went to the top of the stairs, expecting to see yet another hopeful mother asking to register her child, but it was Leora Meldon who stared up at her, Leora for the first time without her child. From the expression on her face, Anna knew that she had come as enemy, not as friend. Reluctantly she went down to meet her. Leora, dark eyes flashing, her head held imperiously high, said, 'I want to have a private talk with you.'

'Talk away,' said Anna, pretending to a casualness she did not feel. 'If it's to tell me why I'm not the "light of Roc's life", as you threatened, please,' with a studied glance at her watch, 'make it brief. I have work to do.' Why, she thought, shouldn't she for once assume the airs of the managing director's fiancée? Something had to quell this woman and put her in her place. 'Please come into my office,' Anna said coolly, leading the way. She wished her heart would not give all the signs of plunging like a boulder from a mountain-top. The telephone rang and, her sixth sense working, Anna knew in advance who the caller was. She dived for the phone and listened, holding her breath. 'Anna?' 'Roc! Oh, darling, how -' 'Missing me?' 'With every bone in my body. When are you coming -?' 'Now that I can't answer. Sweetheart, I'm calling long-distance.' Her heart was a boulder again and racing downward through the air. 'Not London?' 'Not London. Mannheim, and at this moment I can't tell you how long I'll be staying.' Her heart hit rock-bottom and bounced on the valley floor. No limit to her waiting, no end in sight. 'No days to count,' she was thinking aloud, 'no numbers to cross off on a calendar. Oh, Roc!' 'You're tearing me apart, love. Come over here and join me. Catch a plane. I've got a double room.'

Why did the suggestion come as such a shock? 'We're only engaged, Roc.' Remembering Leora's presence, she looked furtively over her shoulder. She was there, taking in every word. She had not had the courtesy to wait outside during the very private conversation. 'For God's, sake, girl, we'll be married soon—this week if I hadn't gone away. Anyway, which decade are you living in? Don't react like an uninitiated young innocent, which is something I know you aren't.' Tears started to Anna's eyes. 'When have I ever given you cause to think that?' Then she remembered the many times in his arms, her near-abandoned behaviour in trying to express her love for him. The day he found Dick's tent outside, and Dick in her hut... 'Do you really want me to answer that?' 'Did you call me just to quarrel?' she asked, her voice wavering. 'Darling,' she went on, hoping a change of subject would soften his mood, 'those words you wrote—they'd gone by this morning.' 'That's life,' he said. 'Sometimes the tide runs high.' She was silent. He added, and miraculously her heart began to lift, 'Next time I'll carve them in stone, then even the centuries will pass them by.' There was a high-pitched cough from behind her. It was intended to be heard. 'Who's in the room with you?' Roc asked sharply. 'My mother?' 'Leora,' she told him. 'Why is she there?' 'It's a private matter, apparently,' said Anna, surprised by his curt reaction.

'Put her on to me. Please,' he added as an after thought. Anna wondered unhappily, Am I an afterthought too? 'Darling,' Leora purred. into the telephone, 'how nice to know I'm still wanted!' Anna walked out. When she returned, Leora was Waiting for her, her eyes shining with triumph, her mouth wide with an exultant smile. 'He said I could tell you,' Leora said. 'Roc gave me permission to let you into the secret. You see, he's the father of my child.'

CHAPTER EIGHT 'I DON'T believe it!' Anna gripped the edge of the desk, leaning forward slightly as if a sudden weakness had hit her. 'No?' Leora challenged, her body tense and shaking like someone at the height of a fever. She was in a fever —of malicious pleasure at Anna's distress. 'We lived together. It was well known.' Anna had found a seat. 'But you were married. Your husband…' 'Was over twenty years my senior with a serious heart ailment. What use was he to me?' 'Then why -' 'Did I marry him? He offered position, money. You still don't believe me, do you? Why do you think I called Roddi Roderick, when my husband's name was Hal?' 'Your husband was a family friend—Mr Cornwell told me.' Why was her voice growing weaker when she knew this woman was "telling her a pack of lies? Or was she? The doubts could not be denied. 'It was a good story. It's one they've stuck to and probably will to their dying day. Why do you think Roc disappeared from view—until you found him?' 'He told me.' Anna rubbed her pale cheek. 'To paint, indulge a whim, to get away from the stresses and find tranquillity.' Leora laughed, high-pitched and bordering on the hysterical. 'You're gullible, but then you would swallow that story, I suppose, being a complete stranger. Now tell me why he's going to marry you? Don't say "because he loves me".'

Anna wasn't going to, because she didn't know. 'I'll tell you something. He didn't love me—me, the mother of his child. He used me, just as he's using you now.' 'Using me?' Anna said faintly. 'To throw me off his back once and for all. To bring back the family's respectability which he threw away when the world came to know who Roddi's father really was.' Anna tried to rally her defences. 'Your husband died. If Roc really fathered your child, why didn't he marry you when you became free?' 'That would be admitting responsibility, wouldn't it, something he's denied all along.' Her manner changed. Things were going her way. She could afford to appear sympathetic. 'I'm sorry my dear, but work it out for yourself. You were an easy catch,' Anna flinched at the truth of the words, 'being such a newcomer to the area and the company and thus unlikely to have heard of Roc's past love-life—and its byproduct.' 'Easy catch'. Yes, she had been easy. She remembered how she had provoked and driven him into noticing her, forcing herself on him and—as he had bluntly told her—spoiling his solitude. She had persistently refused to be ignored even when he had built that mental wall, because his rejection of her had hurt so much. Leora went on, a false smile softening the normally petulant mouth, 'Think about it. It's not unusual for "a family to close ranks in such a situation. That ring he gave you—-it's a family heirloom. His family connived to help him keep his name clear of my accusations. How did they do it? By jumping at the chance of welcoming a nice, uncomplicated girl into the family as the wife of their own particular black sheep.'

'Connived', 'closed ranks', Anna thought later, walking under a clouddarkened sky and feeling on her face the spray from a roughening sea. Hands in pockets, jacket collar upturned, she wandered broodingly, unseeingly over the damp sand. The words Leora Meldon had used were like ill-fitting pieces in a jigsaw puzzle— wrongly placed. You couldn't call the welcome she had received from Cecil Cornwell and his wife forced, nor could you describe their delight at the announcement of their son's engagement as anything but sincere. They hadn't closed ranks, they had opened their arms and admitted her delightedly, watching with pleasure as Roc had pushed the family ring on to her finger. Yet, she had to remind herself, she remembered thinking how strange the evening had been in the way everything had seemed so— rehearsed and foreseen and predicted. Could it be that Leora was right, after all? If only Roc's beach house was not empty. If only she could run there to him, tell him of her doubts, seeking reassurances from his kisses and his arms ... All next day she hoped for a phone call. It did not come and she was forced to go home, taking with her her doubts and fears. The weather was no longer fine. Heavy clouds hung over the sea and the waves plunged and rose like restless animals scenting danger. The evenings were the worst, when she tried to read or listen to the radio in a vain attempt to turn her mind away from Leora's accusation. She recalled Roddi's bright, laughing face, his fair hair— Roc's was dark—the child's blue eyes—Roc's were amber. There was not a single feature that resembled the man who Leora had alleged was the child's father. In fact, although the thought did nothing to reassure, Roddi Meldon was the image of his mother.

It was late the following afternoon that the telephone in Anna's office electrified the nerves of her body. It was Roc—it must be! Now was the moment of release from the agony of uncertainty that had gripped her for days—or was it years? 'Anna? Are you alone?' 'Yes. Oh, darling, it's so good to hear from you. I've been waiting and -' 'It's been impossible,' was his answer. 'The pressure ... I nearly called you in the early hours, but only when I had the phone in my hand did I realise there was nothing to dial. For God's sake, come to me, join" me here—get away somehow. Charge it to the company.' His words provoked such a turmoil in Anna's mind she could not find the words to answer. His need of her warmed her heart, yet the fact that it was, it must be only a physical need made it go cold. He was regarding her as if she already belonged to him, yet his possessiveness angered her because, in the light of what Leora had told her, she knew his demands were motivated by purely selfish needs. 'I need you, girl. I need you to go back to at the end of the day, to make love to you, relax and revitalise me.' When she still did not answer, he persisted, 'Anna, grow up, for pity's sake. Act like a woman, be my woman -' 'Is that what you said to Leora Meldon when she conceived your child?' It was her own voice, so hard and abrasive she scarcely recognised it. The words, which had been simmering silently in her brain, had boiled over and spilled out, taking even herself by 'surprise. He said at last, slowly, tonelessly, 'So she told you?'"

It was an admission in itself and Anna wanted to, go away and quietly die. Instead she replied, 'Yes, she told me. She said you gave her permission.' 'I did. I'll even tell you what she said—that Roddi was my child and also that she and I had lived together in her husband's lifetime. She told .you I'd denied the child was mine and that I'd gone into hiding until it had all blown over. And you believed her?' -Anna took a long breath, letting it out slowly. Her silence seemed to goad him. 'You believed her?' he repeated. 'I—I didn't want to, Roc, but -' There was the hammer of the receiver and the silence went on for ever.

The day nursery opened and seven mothers gladly deposited their offspring on the doorstep, driving away with a wave and a happy smile—happy because they knew just by looking at the girl in charge that their children would be well cared for in their absence. At first the children were shy with each other, but one or two bolder ones broke the ice by pulling a pile of books to the floor. The others, taking courage from such an action, and sensing that they would not be reprimanded, reached out and took a book or two from the pile and looked at the pictures. Anna coaxed others towards the large sand tray, with its half-buried cups and spoons and talc tins. Two tiny girls wearing outsize aprons climbed on to chairs at the sink and washed dolls-house dishes, drying them with meticulous care. Two small boys seated themselves at a small piano and pounded notes. The noise level was rising, which

pleased Anna greatly, since it indicated that the day nursery had been successfully launched. An hour after the nursery had opened, the front entrance door was pushed open and Leora Meldon walked in, holding her son. She gave Anna a falsely bright smile, said with heavy sarcasm, 'Enjoying yourself?' and lowered Roddi to the floor. As she looked around, seeing the sand stains on the children's clothes, the damp patches on skirts and boys' shorts, she wrinkled her nose. 'Sooner you than me,' she commented, and walked out. Roddi shrieked. Anna thought with dismay that he was missing his mother, but it was no such thing. He was pulling at a spade which another child held and would not give up. It was Anna's first quarrel of the day, and she found herself thinking, It would have to be Roc's child who—She checked her thoughts, holding her throat. She had condemned Roc without a trial and without giving him a chance to defend himself. On the other hand, if he had not been responsible for Roddi's birth, then he should have told her so outright. If she had accepted Leora's story without question, she could not really be blamed. Hadn't he urged her to go out to him, acting as his wife in every respect, without giving a thought to her social position when mixing with the families of those with whom he was doing business? If something whispered that, despite his unmistakable need of her, she herself was being selfish in refusing to agree to his suggestion then she did not listen. As the week had passed, the number of children at the nursery had increased by three. Handling ten children unaided was beginning to tell on her, yet in the past Mrs Warne had often left her for days to cope with two separate classes of pre-school children and she had felt

no ill effects. Every evening she spent alone, she knew a weariness of body and spirit she had never experienced before. It was the weekend at last. Anna had been looking forward all week to swimming and sunbathing, trusting the sun's warmth would ease away her. underlying sadness. Each hour of Roc's absence had assumed the length of a day, and it seemed like weeks, instead of eight days, since their acrimonious exchange of words on the telephone. However, the sun did not shine all day. When she walked to the village for more supplies of food and water, the wind almost blew her off her feet. As she reached the village shop the rain began and the shop's owner asked if she had brought with her any protection from it. When she told him 'no', he advised her to visit the camping shop and buy herself an oilskin cape and hood. 'You need things like that in these parts,' he said. 'Town raincoats and suchlike are useless in the storms we get on this coast sometimes, even in the summer months.' As she emerged from the shop, carrying a zipped shopping bag and a water container, the rain increased. Anna decided to take the man's advice and visit the camping shop. It did not take long for her to be fitted with a rain-repellant outfit, which, after paying for it, she decided to put on there and then. As she was zipping the cape to her neck and finding the slits through which to push her arms, the shop door bell jangled and a young man, windblown and puffing, walked in. 'Dick!' Anna cried, delighted to see a familiar face.

'What are you doing here? Where's Ellie? Have all the others come back, too?' She visualised another happy evening of songs and laughter. 'Nope.' His voice was flat. 'I'm on my own. I was coming to see you, Anna. Can you wait for me?' Together they battled against the gale. Talking was difficult since they had to use their breath to keep walking against the wind-speed. Laden as they were— Anna with her shopping and Dick with his rucksack almost bending him double—descending the stone steps was far from easy, too. They made it to the beach hut breathless and windblown and laughing with the exhilaration of their triumphant battle with nature. Anna put on a kettle for coffee while Dick slid his wet rucksack to the floor. As they drank their coffee, Dick told Anna, 'I just , couldn't forget you. That's why I came back.' Momentarily thrown off balance, Anna was silent, but her thoughts were busy. She said at last, 'That's a very nice compliment, Dick, and I appreciate it very much. But -' He looked up expectantly and, as she had guessed, there was no love in his expression, as there would have been had his words been true. There was, instead, a kind of mute pleading for understanding, plus an underlying, unmistakable unhappiness. The thought flashed through her mind, 'He looks the way I feel.' Which could only mean that they shared a common problem. She urged softly, 'Now tell me the real reason you're here.' He was silent, staring into his coffee, mug. 'Is it Ellie?'

'How did you guess?' he said dully. Then, 'Sorry, Anna. You're too nice and too intelligent to fool.' Anna smiled and waited. 'Well,' Dick went on with a sigh, 'Ellie's got herself another boy-friend.' 'But I thought your quarrel was all patched up after that night on the beach?' He lifted a shoulder. 'It didn't stay that way. There's something wrong with our relationship. Or me, I don't know which.' Anna thought, Shall I tell him? Why not? He came to me for help, even if he pretended otherwise at first. Probably to save his masculine pride ... She took a breath and said, 'Want to know what I think? Well, I don't think you're assertive enough.' Dick stirred agitatedly, drank some coffee and listened again. 'What I mean is—well, there's something of the primitive in every woman, just as there is—or so I'm told—in every man. Ellie's trying to tell you something, Dick.' He sighed, putting down his empty mug. 'You can say that again, but I just don't get the message. What do you mean, "not assertive enough" ? You mean dragging a woman off by the hair -' Anna laughed. 'Well, that kind of thing, perhaps, but not quite so drastic.' He took his cup to the wash bowl and turned the tap, watching the water flow from the storage container. 'I'm not made that way, Anna. You can't change your character, can you?' He washed his coffee mug slowly, standing it upside down on the grooved board to drain. 'Of course you can,' said Anna, 'anybody can if they try. It might take some -'

'Hey, what's this pretty bauble?' Anna crossed to his side, turning a deep pink and cursing herself for leaving Roc's ring by the wash bowl. 'It's mine—it's Roc's—-I mean it's -' Automatically she pushed it on to her engagement finger, pulled it off agitatedly, and Dick said, smiling, 'Come clean! Put it on the proper finger. You're engaged, aren't you? Is it your neighbour, that handsome guy you were well away with that night of the beach party?' She turned aside and he thought it was with embarrassment. 'Did he decide to make an honest woman of you, as they used to say, and propose? Did -' She faced him. 'It's not funny, Dick. I—we -' Her lips refused to speak, and trembled instead. Her eyes overflowed and she said, sitting on the floor, holding her head, 'Oh, Dick, we've quarrelled and everything's gone wrong, and I've heard things about him and he's abroad, and now we just can't get married…' The wind which, in their exchange of confidences, they had forgotten, blew in a fierce gust. Sand beat against the wooden walls of the beach hut. In the anger of the elements, the hutch-sized hut felt puny and insignificant and frighteningly vulnerable. Surprisingly, Dick laughed. 'A lot of good it was coming to see you, Anna Hartley! We're in the same rocky boat and we both need help. What advice can Uncle Dick give you, being male as he is and having an insight small though it may be, into the mind of a man?' Anna smiled through her tears, mopping them on a tissue and stuffing it into her pants pocket. 'It's something I must solve for myself, but thanks all the same.' She got to her feet, found a comb and ran it through her hair. Dick looked at the ring. 'Bet that's worth something. He must think a lot of you -'

'It's a family heirloom,' she stated unemotionally. 'Passed down from bride to bride? You chose the right man there, Anna. Must be worth a hell of a lot to have a family ,who owns a ring like—Hey, I thought he was a poverty-stricken painter?' 'So did I—once. Let's change the subject, Dick,' she pleaded, and looked around. 'Wish I had some more chairs. What did you plan to do?' He glanced out of the window. 'To be honest, I had it in mind to do what I did before—-put up a tent outside and sleep there for the night.' Anna shook her head, smiling. 'Trying to get Ellie back that way again? It didn't work before, did it? I mean, she returned to you for a while, but -' 'It didn't last. All right, don't rub it in. Anyway, the weather's taken a hand this time. No tent would stand up to that wind. But -' he went to the window, 'what's that golden circular object up in the sky? Don't they call it the sun? Let's go for a walk before it takes shelter behind the clouds again.' So they walked along the beach, keeping back from the sea's edge and the clutching fingers of the breaking waves, fighting the wind, but enjoying the battle as they had before. They talked, Dick about his work as a television engineer, Anna about the day nursery and the children—about everything but the personal troubles that were at the backs of both their minds. They had a midday meal of canned fish and fried potatoes, followed by jam tarts which Dick had brought with him. They washed it down with cups of milk. It was towards evening that Anna thought she heard footsteps outside, but the wind was making such a noise it was

difficult to identify any particular sound. It was not until there was a rapping at the door that she knew she had been right. And there was only one person in the world who had the audacity—and the right— to knock in that demanding way. She paled and exclaimed, hand to her head, 'Dick, it's Roc. What shall I——?' 'Why be scared? We've done nothing wrong.' 'I know, but he—I -' She was never to finish the sentence. Roc flung the door wide and stepped into the hut. His eyes were on Anna, unrelenting as the wind outside. Then he saw Dick and his temper snapped. 'You again!' he rasped, giving Dick a scathing look. 'So,' he snarled, looking at Anna, 'you couldn't wait until my return. You had to have a man. No wonder you wouldn't join me in Germany, knowing he was coming to stay!' Anna opened her mouth to say he wasn't going to stay, but Roc broke in, 'You miserable little tramp!' In two strides he was in front of her, hands on her shoulders shaking her, hands round her neck pressing, as if he were near to losing control. He turned, dropping his hands. 'You,' to Dick, 'get out. I don't care what's taken place between you, she's still mine. So -' with a movement of his head towards the door, 'out!' Anna, hands soothing her bruised neck, looked anxiously at Dick. To her astonishment he was smiling broadly. 'Okay,' he said cheerfully, picking up his rucksack. 'And for what it's worth, nothing's happened between us. We've just cried on each other's shoulders, that's all.' In a kind of victory salute, he raised clasped hands above his head, then pointed at his own chest. 'Me,' he mouthed, then towards the door, 'Ellie. I get the message loud and clear.' Aloud, he said, ' 'Bye, Anna. See you some time somewhere on this planet.' He went out.

'You heard what he said,' Anna mumbled, still nursing her throat. 'There's nothing between us.' , Roc stood, hands slipped into jacket pockets, legs aggressively apart. It was the look in his eyes that implanted fear in Anna's heart. He still wore a suit, having, it seemed, flown from the Continent and come straight from the airport. His hair had been disarranged by the wind and he pushed back a straying strand from his forehead. His good looks, his fine features and proud bearing had Anna's heart throbbing with love and longing, but it seemed that there was to be no way in which she could close the gap between their minds and bodies and erase all that had gone before. The silence held. He was, it seemed, determined not to ease the way to a reconciliation. On the contrary, he was hellbent on a head-on crash. All right, she thought, smarting under the accusation which lingered in his eyes, if he wanted a collision he would get one. 'You called me a tramp,' she accused, 'which in other words means a sleep-around girl. I demand that you retract that statement I' 'And you as good as accused me of being a lecher, of cuckolding an ailing husband, who was moreover an old family friend, and of procreating an illegitimate child. Not to mention of trying to deny paternity and taking to my heels when the rumour came into the open. So why the hell should I retract one single word I said about you?' 'Dick told you what happened—we wept on each other's -'

'You chose to believe the slander Leora Meldon made about me. I choose to disbelieve what your male visitor said about you. Quits,' he sneered. His intractable attitude goaded and maddened, like arrows tipped with poison. 'What else do you expect me to do but believe the rumours about you, when you used every weapon you could think of to persuade me to go out to Mannheim and stay with you as your wife!' Roc wandered to the window and stared out at the foaming sea. He turned and leant against the sill, legs crossed, hands still in pockets. 'Let's not go into that again,' he said. 'We both know why you refused -' 'No, we don't both know why,' she cried. 'Dick means nothing to me nor I to him. But I do know that all this time you've been using me, proposing marriage, giving me the family ring ... I suppose I can't really blame you for what you did. When I came on the scene, you must have seen me as a golden opportunity to help you out of the tangle you'd got your life into.' His eyes turned to ice and Anna was on the receiving end of the look he had once given Leora and which she had thought at the time she would hate ever to have directed at her. Involuntarily, she shivered, but she went intrepidly on. 'Let me see,' she forced herself to appear detached, 'when did you actually propose? Ah, yes,' her eyes flashed, 'it was the day after Leora's secret visit to you and you pretended she was a customer looking at your paintings. You must have sat up half the night working out how to get out of your troubles, now that Leora had discovered where you'd run to.'

He tore off his jacket and threw it on a chair, advancing towards her, head down. 'Say much more to goad me, young woman ...' Anna backed away, but she went on talking. 'Then you found a way out. Propose to the naive girl next door—she's so simple she'll swallow anything, even the thought that I want to marry her—and my troubles are over.' She came up against the table and rested against it, gripping its edge. 'But you gambled, didn't you? You gambled on my accepting.' He had stopped a few feet away, hands thrust in pockets. 'Oh no, I didn't gamble. I knew you would accept. After all,' nastily, 'we got pretty close in our relationship, didn't we, even when marriage wasn't even a distant possibility as far as you were concerned? An ambitious girl like you would hardly tie herself legally to a poverty-stricken painter.' He smiled derisively at her anger. 'No, you were easy, easy with any man—even young Dick whatever-his-name-is. And when I proposed marriage at my parents' house you knew I was no longer just an unknown, struggling artist. I had status, position, a good family background. And I certainly wasn't poor. Need I say more?' 'You're being insulting and abusive.' Her lips trembled. 'You tried to make me believe you wanted to marry me because you loved me.' Her voice faltered. 'Well, I've thought and thought about everything and decided it was all arranged in advance. Your parents connived with you to find a suitable girl you could marry and put an end to all speculation about Leora's claim that you were her child's father.' Under his icy scrutiny she grew cold inside, but she did not stop. All the accusations had to be pulled out one by one, like ridding a garden of weeds. "I couldn't understand why your parents showed me such favour out of all the other employees.' Roc's hands were on his hips. His tie had been loosened. A black anger was darkening his eyes. '.There was the creating of the nursery and my promotion to being in charge of it, the

invitation to dine.' Anne hesitated, fear drying her mouth as he began slowly to advance. 'The—the office they gave me all to myself and— and -' He was in front of her now. She felt herself swaying towards him, drawn by his magnetism, by the faint hint of perspiration on his body after a long journey. She ran her tongue over her lips' although there was no moisture to dampen them. But all the time something impelled her to go on. Her voice had lowered, her limbs growing weaker the nearer he came. 'That evening you—you proposed and they'd asked me to dine with them, it all seemed so—so prearranged,' his hands came out and grasped her upper arms, 'so set up as though they expected it ...' Her voice tailed off, silenced at last by the pain of his savage hold on her which deepened by the second. He jerked her and she hit his body so hard she cried out. He bent his head and put his mouth over hers as it opened to plead for clemency. His hands moved and he swung her sideways to lie in his arms, but it was not with gentleness that having plundered her mouth he lifted his head and looked at her, but with a cold, implacable fury. 'Attack me if you like,' he rasped, 'but leave my family alone. Yours may have rejected you— and I can't say I blame them -' 'No!' she cried out at the pain, the greater pain of his statement blotting out for a few seconds the physical hurt his hands were imposing. 'But,' he went on, 'my parents care deeply for me and for my sister, and we reciprocate that affection. So say another word against them and I'll -' His hand took a grasp on her hair and with it tugged' back her head. This kiss he implanted, savaging her mouth, must have been an expression of wrath which had been building up inside him since that angry conversation on the telephone a week before.

He pressed her against the table and she was more conscious than ever before of his hard, full-muscled hips, thighs and legs. He was humiliating her, treating her like the tramp he had called her. She felt his hand seek hers, but she was so consumed by the longing to submit to him completely that she was unaware of what he had done until he released her and stepped back as though he could no longer bear to touch her. He had retrieved his ring, slipping it from her finger. As he pulled on his jacket and smoothed his hair, he said cruelly, 'It's as well the tide rose high and washed away those words I wrote. If it hadn't I would have gone out there and wiped them away myself.' Moments later he was gone, sprinting up the stone steps and revving the engine of his car. In the silence he left behind, Anna remembered the words he had spoken when she had asked him if he would trust her where Dick was concerned. So long as you'll trust me, he had said, no matter what you might be told about me.

CHAPTER NINE As the week progressed, Anna was dismayed to feel a return of the strain of coping with the children. It had never happened to her before and she began to despair, wondering if she was losing her touch. When the opening of a day nursery was first raised and Mr Cornwell had said that he would be willing to allow her to have an assistant, Anna had never dreamed that she would need to ask him to fulfil his promise. On Friday afternoon, when the children had been especially quarrelsome—Anna blamed herself for mismanaging them—she felt she could take no more. It did occur to her that she might be ill, but deep down, she knew the real cause of her state of exhaustion. It had no remedy, for a cure had never been discovered for a broken heart. She would either have to call on all her reserves of mental strength, or leave. Since she was aware that either course might prove too painful to carry out, there was only one thing to do. She would have to see the chairman of the company, since it was he who had been handling the matter from the start. At the end of the day, when the mothers had called for their children and Leora, coming herself for her son instead of sending a friend, made a spitefully smiling appearance—having no doubt heard of the broken engagement—Anna made her way across the town to the administrative offices of Nordon Machine Tools. Since she had once been the fiancée of the managing director, her name was well known and she found no difficulty in obtaining an interview with his father. She was even accompanied by the chief receptionist to the door of the chairman's office. In the doorway she halted, dismayed. It was not the chairman who occupied the swivel chair. It was the chairman's son. He did not rise to his feet in greeting as his father would have done. He remained as

he was, leaning back, legs crossed, moving his body slightly from side to side. After a cursory glance, he told his visitor to close the door. Then he asked her what she wanted. His voice was toneless, his face blank. Seeing him for the first time for some days, her nervous system, already under considerable strain, wanted to cry out in protest at his coldness. Cool eyes rested on hers. Slow, merciless fingers twisted a paper clip into an unrecognisable shape. Plainly impatient at her silence, he snapped, 'Well?' 'I—I would like to see your father.' 'He's not available. You'll have to see me.' 'I refuse to discuss the matter with you.' She took a deep breath. 'Your answer will be prejudiced and warped.' Eyebrows rose. 'Insubordination? You could be fired for less.' 'Go ahead—fire me.' He uncrossed his legs and sat squarely to the desk. He meant business. So did she. 'All right,' she challenged, 'if your father's not around, I'll have to make do with you. I want -' A muscle-moved in his jaw. 'You're still an employee. Promoted maybe, but not yet of executive status.' Anna took a deep breath, willing herself not to hit out under the provocation of his sarcasm. 'When your 1 father first raised with me the idea of the day nursery,' she paused to control the falter in her voice, 'he said if I wanted an assistant, he would let me have one.' Another steadying breath, then, 'I should like an assistant.'

Her eyes lowered to the breadth of shoulder beneath the jacket of his suit. Once she had had the right to cling to the solidity and security those shoulders had offered, to rest her cheek against his bristleroughened jaw ... He moved, his impatience persisting. His eyebrows lifted again, this time in mocking surprise. 'You want help with—how many?—nine, ten children?' 'Ten. It doesn't sound many, but they're very young and I want help with them because—because -' Her voice wavered. 'Well, I don't know why, but -' Why did her voice tremble? 'I just don't seem to have as much energy as I used to have.' The strain of restraint in the presence of the man she loved was proving too much. Her hand went to her forehead, hiding her eyes. 'Sometimes I w-wonder if I'm ill -' 'If you can't take it, we'll have to replace you.' Her head came up, her eyes burned. 'You!' she choked. 'You're callous and cruel and completely without feeling.' She ignored her better judgment which told her to stop. 'I can just imagine you being told by a woman that she was going to have your child and you denying responsibility and—and—running away.' Even before he stood, crashing his chair to the ground, Anna knew she had gone too far. He was round the desk and spinning her so that her back was to him. His hand clapped over her mouth, pressing her lips against her teeth until she could have sobbed with pain. He clamped his other hand round her waist and half-lifted, half-pushed her towards the door. This he opened, then flung her into the corridor. If a startled young male employee had not been there to catch her as she staggered, she would have hit the tiled floor with a damaging impact.

The young man was so confused by the experience of a young woman being hurled out of the chairman's office straight into his arms, he apologised humbly as he went on his way as if he had been responsible for the incident. "If you have any more insults to hurl at me,' Roc bit out, 'don't do it in my presence, because next time I'll make quite sure there won't be anyone walking past to save you when I chuck you out. Got it?' He slammed the door, opened it again and threw out Anna's purse. She picked it up, rammed open the door again and cried, 'It's a good thing I discovered you had two personalities before I married you. The one I wanted to live with for the rest of my life lived like a recluse in a house on the beach. He was tolerant and tender and passionate and—and lovable. The man that person turned into I've learnt to hate with all my heart.' Her lips quivered. 'It wasn't your arms I slept in under the stars,' she went on, her voice thick with tears, 'it was his. And it was the other one, the man I fell in love with, who wrote,' the words were spoken in a whisper, 'I Love You in the sand.'

That evening, the strong wind that had been blowing all day swelled into a gale. The waves leapt and frothed under its influence, dancing helplessly to its tune. All next day the gale raged, and no sooner had the tide receded than it came swirling in again. Anna stood on the raised ground on which the beach hut stood and was glad that, although the sea gave the impression of being all-powerful and all-engulfing, it could not touch her. It was then that she recalled the words of the farmer who had given her a lift along the clifftop from the village the day she had arrived.

'It's not unknown,' he had said, 'for the North Sea to break its bonds and overrun the entire beach and hurl itself at the foot of those cliffs. If it clamours to come in' there's not much the likes of you or me can do about it.' The words, as she recalled them, made her uneasy and she looked with a kind of craving at the empty beach house a few yards distant. Once it had been filled with the dominating, vital presence of the man called Roc Farrant. Now it was empty. Even his paintings had gone. She knew because a few evenings before she had looked in the windows. Now, with the whining of the wind, the roaring sea and the chill which had made her pile on warm sweaters and jackets, her sensibilities were heightened and she thought she saw a movement inside. She raced across the space that divided the dwellings, staring through the glass and, in her longing to see the object for which she was seeking, summoned up the face and body of Roc Farrant. As she moved, so the apparition moved and she was forced to acknowledge that it was her own reflection at which she had been staring, filling in the rest with fantasy and dreams. She had never felt so alone in her life. The tide was low but turning. It was mid-afternoon and, having nothing better to do, she walked down the beach towards the sea. Her arms were wrapped around her, her hair whipping across her face. For some time she stood there, feeling herself to be at the mercy of the elements, yet out of their ruthless reach. But when she thought of the night to come, when the wind would be whining round the beach hut as it had the night before, stealing rest from her mind and sleep from her body, she shivered uncontrollably. Night was a blackness and the clamour of the waves, the rising to a screeching whine of the gale. Constantly Anna denied the terror

which must not for one second be admitted, otherwise she would have to pack her things and run—to where, to whom? She knew the answer but banned the name from her thoughts. That night she got into her sleeping bag on the folding bed dressed in her day clothes. The gale had intensified instead of dying down and she lay open- eyed, an oil lamp burning because she had been afraid to plunge herself into the dark. Fear ... it simmered below the surface of her consciousness. Then, as the hut began to shift restlessly on its foundations as if it, too, was afraid, her own fear started rising and could no longer be ignored. The shaking began when the roof rattled and some objects on a shelf rolled to hit the floor. Under the shrieking wildness of the wind came the roar of the rushing tide. It was then that Anna knew, instinctively, that one of those times the farmer had spoken about had come— when the North Sea forgot itself and broke its bonds. What would she find, she wondered, if she opened the door? Just in time she remembered that if she had done so, it would have been torn from its hinges. Once the gale had got a foothold in that flimsy hut she called home, it would have ransacked the place from wall to wall, roof to floor, and her shelter would have disappeared for ever. When the first spray of water pelted against the wooden walls, telling that the sea had broken through and was indeed hurling itself at the hut, her terror knew no limits. It was not long before a lick of sea found its way under the door. Anna strained to see out of the side window, but there was nothing but a rising and falling blackness. The sea was just a step away! She folded the bed, rolled up her sleeping bag and in a desperate attempt to save some of her possessions, lifted them to high shelves. When the hut creaked and seemed to sway like a boat tied to its moorings, she clapped both hands over her mouth.

When with one triumphant swirl water covered the entire floor, lapping against the wooden sides and saturating her feet and ankles, hysteria gripped her and she screamed louder than the wind. The door burst open and she thought it was the end. It was Roc Farrant.

He turned and rammed the door shut, bolting it. He wore oilskins and knee-high rubber boots. He tore off his hat, letting it fall. They stared at each other and the hysteria within her was suspended, like the lull in the storm. In the light of the oil lamp hanging from the rafters, he saw a terrified, cowering girl. In him she saw safety and security and an anchor in her crazy World. She saw also the man who, earlier that evening, she had so longed to see that she had summoned his image from her deepest being, only to stand helplessly watching that image fade. The hysteria began to rise again and she shrieked like the gale. 'Get out, I hate you! I'd rather die than be with you ..." 'Thanks for the touching gratitude,' he snapped. 'I've fought my way through hell to get here, not to mention one of the worst gales and highest tides within living memory, or so the villagers informed me.' He made his way towards the corner to which she had retreated. He was tight-lipped, implacable. 'So if there's any dying to be done, we'll do it together.' As his hands came out to fasten on her shoulders, a wave of water came gushing under the door, spreading itself and forming a pool. Anna stared, watching the Water creep into the fabric of the sleeping bag, soaking a small pile of clothes she had forgotten to remove from

the floor. Roc did not react, except to look round as if searching for something. At the moment he saw the length of rope belonging to the owner of the hut, another wave dashed against the fragile framework of wood. The lamp hissed and swung. As the wave receded, it did its utmost to take the beach hut with it, as if hungry for prey. The hut moved and Anna screamed, thinking it was the end, but it seemed that this time the hungry sea had spared it, leaving it where it was, but tilted as if the place was poised on the edge of the plateau. 'It's hopeless,' she cried over the noise. 'Get out of here! You must, even if I don't. You're stronger than I am, you'll manage to get away. I'll just get under your feet.' His answer was slowly and deliberately to peel off his oilskin and throw it aside. As he walked back to her, the hut shifted again. A cry escaped her and she reached out towards him. His arms went round her and they stood, locked together, waiting for the final breakthrough of the sea. Another wave lifted and hurtled itself against the tilting hut and they felt the floor sliding beneath them, but once again the final plunge was postponed. The sea came bursting through the spaces around the windows, drenching them until they ran with water. 'Anna?' The lamp now hung at a crazy angle, but unfalteringly it continued to give out its light. 'We're fighting every inch of the way. I'm going across to that door and getting it open somehow. If the water rushes in—and the chances are that it will—we'll get through that opening with all our strength.' She closed her eyes, hoping to hide the tears. 'I'll never make it. You're a stronger swimmer—I know because I've watched you in the sea. So just leave me, do you hear?'

'I hear—and yes, I'm a stronger swimmer. So I take you with me. Understand?' The hut slipped again and he braced himself against the slope, supporting them both. Anna did not dare to ask, Has the time come? Roc murmured, partly to himself, 'Some time very soon, the tide must turn.' The sea, almost as if it had heard, lifted itself and cast a great wave towards them. The hut slid and slithered forward. They gazed at each other and Roc said, 'Now!' He paused in the act of moving and looked down at himself, releasing her. He peeled off his sweater and threw it on to a shelf. He inspected Anna, saw that she, too, was wearing clothing which, when battling against the sea, would weigh her down. He tugged the jacket from her shoulders while she stood as trusting and as helpless as a young child. He removed the sweater from her, too, throwing the garments to join his. She understood his actions and did not question them. Long ago, so long she could hardly remember, he had taken charge of her heart. He might as well finish the job, she thought resignedly, and take charge of her life, too. She was certain there was not much of that left, anyway. He reached for the rope, tying it round his waist, paying it out and tying the other end round hers. 'Your boots,' she said. 'They'll drag you down.' 'I hadn't forgotten,' he said sharply, and proceeded to take them off. Even now, she thought with a sigh, he can't resist putting me in my place. 'Brace yourself,' he said through teeth that were gritted in advance of the deluge, 'and,' with a narrow glance over his shoulder, 'for God's sake let me take over. Just don't fight me, that's all.'

'What do you think I am?' she asked indignantly. 'One day I'll tell you,' was his curt reply, and he opened the door.

How they reached the beach house Anna could never afterwards clearly remember. They made it finally up the steps to the porch, Roc standing, hands on hips -and gulping deep breaths of spray-spattered air, Anna bent double with exhaustion. She did not even have the energy to take avoiding action when the giant waves drew back and curled and hurled themselves in fury at the porch on which they stood, only to draw back raging at having failed yet again to claim a victim. Roc put his shoulder to the entrance door and it soon gave, letting them in. The building being more strongly built and higher off the ground than Anna's, had escaped almost unscathed, except that the floor was wet and the grass matting inside squelched underfoot. Swiftly Roc turned, securing the door, while Anna sank, head in .hands, to the wooden planks which formed the floor. Slowly the terror and the weakness drained away. But the images remained, of mountainous seas and gasps for breath and near-bursting lungs; of shouts of encouragement from the man who part dragged, part lifted her through the waves and across the space that divided their dwellings. It was space which, at normal times, seemed a few steps away but which, in such conditions, seemed as far as the other side of the world. They were soaked, their clothes clinging to every angle and curve. Anna began to shiver, with reaction and cold. Roc filled a kettle and put it on to heat. He threw Anna a towel and grabbed one himself, stripping off his shirt and rubbing himself vigorously.

He unfastened the buckle of his belt, checked himself, looked at Anna, then went into the small room which contained his bed. While Anna slowly, miserably, rubbed her hair, Roc emerged, having dried himself and changed. The kettle boiled and he made some tea, allowing it to stand. Then he turned his attention to his companion. He watched her, arms folded, smiling ironically. 'Why is it,' he said at last, 'that the first thing a woman thinks of, no matter what the circumstances, is her hair?' He saw the tightly contained shivering and knew that she was endeavouring to hide her distress. She looked up at him indignantly. 'I can dry myself how I want.' He looked her over. 'But you're not drying yourself. You're as wet as you were when I dragged you through those waves.' He crouched. 'Give me the towel.' He tugged it from her resisting fingers-. He ran the towel round her neck, then stopped. 'I'll have to do the job properly, otherwise it's hopeless. ' 'What do you mean—properly? I won't let you-- -' There was no alternative. She was forced to allow him to dry her. His fingers undid her shirt buttons— until she gripped his wrist and cried to him to stop. He looked at her narrowly, as if trying to assess whether or not her resistance was genuine. His hand went to his neck and he reached inside his half-unfastened shirt. He twisted a cotton thread and broke it, pulling it out to reveal what it had held so securely in place round his throat. Dazed, Anna looked first at the object, then at him. When he said, 'Give me your hand,' she obeyed, but he was irritated by her bewildered action. 'No, the other hand.' Slowly the hand he wanted

lifted and he held it, pushing the family heirloom on to her engagement finger. To Anna, it felt as if it had never been removed. 'There now,' Roc said with a cynical smile, 'does that make everything between us legal and permitted?' He did not wait for an answer. He unfastened the final button and slipped the shirt from her shoulders. Eyes large with shock and reaction, plus extreme fatigue, she felt the roughness of the towel restoring her circulation and slowly bringing her back to life. When his hand reached behind to the other fastening, she pressed her hands against herself, saying, 'Roc, no.,.' 'I'm hardly unfamiliar with your body, my love.' He spoke ironically. 'It's been in my arms, I've kissed and stroked it, it has responded delightfully to me on many occasions.' While he talked, the bra fell away and he rubbed her body. The shiver that shook her under his touch was not entirely due to the cold. He went on with a half-smile, 'I know its piquancy, the way the silkiness of its skin lingers on my lips long after they have left it.' He turned her so that her back was to him and he rubbed it briskly. 'I remember how I longed for it when I was abroad, how I wanted the comfort and release from tension which only its owner could give me —and which she so selfishly denied me, engaged to me though she was.' He turned her to face him again. He produced one of his own shirts from a chair behind him and pulled the garment over her shoulders. He rolled up each sleeve, buttoned the front halfway and said, 'Now for the rest of you.' He stood and pulled her to her feet. The soaking jeans still clung and followed every curve of hip and thigh. Anna looked at the ring, then gazed at him steadily. 'You

haven't bought me with this, Roc.' She waited for the anger that never came. He looked expressionlessly back at her. 'With your permission, I'll borrow your bedroom and dry the rest of me there.' His extended hand indicated that the room was hers to use. 'You'll find a dry pair of pants in the cupboard. They might just fit you. I washed them and they shrank.' They fitted her loosely but a belt she found on a chair kept them in place. The shirt hung loose and her feet were bare. Rock came to stand in the doorway. 'Tea's poured out.' He eyed her with male appreciation. 'A touch of the mermaid,' he watched as she pushed at her tangled hair, 'a touch of the waif. What more could a man want in a woman?' Not 'his woman', Anna noted. So, even wearing the family ring, she still did not belong to him. He approached and put his arms round her, urging her back. She knew the bed was behind them and she resisted. 'I told you,' she said, hiding her apprehension with an irritated tone, 'you haven't bought me body and soul because you placed a valuable ring on my finger.' 'Don't worry, my pet. I'd never make love to a woman who said she hated me with such venom as you used when I arrived to save your life.' If only she hadn't screamed those words at him. If only she hadn't grown hysterical and, instead of abuse, had welcomed him with the relief and delight she had felt ... He looked down at her, playing his fingers along her spine, making her press against him and tip back her head. Her lips parted and he gazed at them as if to him they represented a portion of heaven.' His own lips lowered—then he pulled away and she could have cried with disappointment.

'Now you know,' he said roughly, 'how I felt that day I urged you to fly to join me, and your answer was "no".' He pushed her away and she choked back her protest at his cruel rejection. 'Come and have that tea,' he said coldly. Silently they sat, Anna on the floor, Roc on the chair, drinking from mugs. Roc had found a loaf of bread and he offered her a slice, but she refused. 'Please yourself,' he said laconically. 'I know it's dry, but I'm eating it.' And he did, ravenously, spreading it generously with butter and tearing large bites from it. Watching him, Anna recalled the day she had watched him eat a snack of rolls and cheese in between bouts of painting. He had intrigued her then with his apparently rough-hewn personality, but at that time she had not known he possessed any other. Well, he was back in that same skin. Did she like him again now? Was this the man she loved, as she had told him when they had quarrelled, or was it the other, more conventional, highly educated and undoubtedly successful businessman to whom she had given her heart? It was time for honesty, not equivocation. It was the whole of him she loved, every single part, each different angle of his personality and brain. And, through believing a lying, vicious woman, she had lost him. Roc Farrant, artist of immense sensibility and integrity; Roc Farrant, man of education, culture and achievement, would never forget and never forgive. * 'Changed your mind?' Anna surfaced and blinked. Roc was holding out a hunk of bread, thick with butter. 'You've been watching me

indulge my appetite for so long, I decided you must have .developed an appetite after all.' She took the bread and chewed it quickly. She had just discovered how hungry she was. He handed her another piece. This she also accepted and he laughed. 'Like feeding the lions at a zoo! With great care, of course, in case I get my fingers bitten off.' 'I'd never hurt you,' she said, then looked up at him. 'No?' His narrowed eyes told her his thoughts were not pleasant. 'You hurt me like hell the day you stopped trusting me, which was the day you lapped up the lies that embittered woman Leora Meldon poured into your incredibly receptive ear. Didn't I tell you to trust me, no matter what you heard?' 'You were as bad,' she accused, but without much conviction. 'What about Dick? I told you all he did was cry on my shoulder, yet you accused me of unmentionable activities -' 'Wasn't I allowed to retaliate? He was the only weapon I had against you. I knew all along he was a pleasant enough guy with a girl of his own. That beach party—I was there, remember?' It was something she would never forget. She looked at the ring on her finger. 'Yet you broke off our engagement.' 'I wanted to hurt you like hell, just like you were hurting me.' There was silence between them—and a strange calmness Outside. The wind had dropped. The tide had turned. Roc said abruptly, 'Leora's marriage was a failure. Hal, her husband, couldn't give her a child, so she tried to revive an old affair we'd once had when we were a good deal younger. She asked me to give her a

child. I refused.' He walked to the window and daylight was casting off the clouds as if they were trespassing on its allotted span of time. 'She even pleaded with me, at which I told her exactly what I thought of her.' His hands found his pockets and he pressed back his shoulders, flexing his muscles and massaging round his neck. He, like the daylight, was casting off the darkness of the past as if it would never again be allowed to weigh him down. After a while he went on, 'Leora took a lover. Who he was no one will ever know— someone from her distant past, she said. She became pregnant and her husband was delighted, assuming it was his—until she lied to him, telling him the father was the son of his lifelong friend, Cecil Cornwell.' 'In other words,' Anna whispered hoarsely, 'you?' 'Me. The lie triggered off a heart attack in Hal— he'd suffered from the trouble for some years—and it killed him.' He turned, leaning back, blotting out the increasing daylight. 'Her husband's death didn't stop her. She went around telling everyone that I'd fathered the child and that I had tried to persuade her to "lose" it. The child was born a few months after her husband died.' He stopped, then continued, 'I should like, to get one thing straight. I took a year off because I wanted a year off. I have this painting thing inside me and now and then it demands to break free. I'm lucky enough to be in a position in life to allow it to do so. With my father's help, that is.' He was silent for some time. Then Anna said, 'Thank you for telling me.' He did not respond. 'Roddi's a beautiful child.' Roc still did not react. 'But I searched and searched in his face for the slightest resemblance to you after Leora had told me that he was yours.' She paused. 'I couldn't find the slightest trace.' Another short silence,

then, 'That was when I began to think—to hope—she might be wrong.' 'Thanks.' He spoke dryly. 'But when I asked you,' she lifted her head and challenged, 'you wouldn't tell me the truth.' 'Because I was so mad with you, that's why. Because of your lack of trust in me.' He came towards her then. 'And because,' he lifted her from the floor and fitted his hands around her neck, 'I wanted to throttle some sense into you, you little idiot,' his arms slipped around her, 'you mad, gullible, beautiful little fool.' His lips possessed hers and his hands found the warmth and womanliness they were seeking beneath the loosely fitting shirt. He murmured against her lips, 'I feel I know you as well as I know one of my own paintings, as if I had conjured you from my subconscious mind and formed you into a living being.' He spread out his fingers against the back of her head and whispered, 'You're an extension of me, so much a part of me I couldn't live without you. What more can I say?' Anna clung to him, feeling the hard muscles of his back and shoulders beneath her curling fingers, responding without reserve as he moulded her to him. 'I love you, I want you,' he murmured, 'here and now, I want you.' He held her away. 'Would you give if I asked?' 'With every single part of me,' she replied; her eyes alight with love. He laughed and whispered, 'Soon, soon, when there's a good bed to lie' on, in our own home or, on the day of our wedding,' he smiled down at her, 'out there on the sand.'

'Here,' she agreed, clinging to him, 'where it all began.'