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“Well—yes. I was coming up the path from Pay-Off Gove and some quite big stones began to rumble down the slope of the cliff. They missed me by inches.”

Fenella’s forehead creased.

“Yes, I see. But again, you see, that sort of thing does happen quite naturally sometimes, though more in the winter than at this time of year. Of course, there was no one about?”

“Not a soul, so far as I could see,” Martin admitted. “But then, if it was deliberate, there wouldn’t be, would there? Someone would take good care of that!”

“Yes,” Fenella agreed with a sigh. “They would. That’s what’s so worrying—”

Martin looked at her with his head on one side.

“What a nice person you are!” he said, a small, quizzical smile curving his lips. “You don’t like me, as you told me quite frankly only a few hours ago, and yet you’re genuinely concerned for my safety!”

“But being annoyed with someone doesn’t mean you want them to get hit over the head!” Fenella pointed out.

“It would—with some people ! ” Martin insisted.

“Well, it doesn’t with me,” Fenella said emphatically. “Besides, if anything did happen to you, the police might start making enquiries and some of our people would get into trouble—and I don’t want that! They’re silly and obstinate, but I don’t really think anything worse than that! ”

“No, I see what you mean,” Martin said so meekly that Fenella looked at him suspiciously. Was he laughing at her again? But there was no hint of a smile on his face.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Then the sound of the church clock striking floated across the still air and Fenella glanced incredulously at her watch.

“Good gracious, it’s seven o’clock!” she exclaimed, jumping up. “Aunt Gina will be in a flat spin if I don’t get back soon! She probably will be anyhow! Goodbye, Mr. Adair. And thank you!”

“What for?” he asked, taking the hand she offered in his. “I’ve done nothing but refuse your request! It’s I who am obliged for your warning!”

“Yes,” Fenella said slowly. “Mr. Adair, how long are you going to stay here? I mean, will it be much longer before you’ve got all the information you want about skin-diving?”

“That’s very difficult to say,” Martin said slowly. “There’s more to it than I’d thought.
Nimrod
is lying at a very awkward angle—and she didn’t break up, you know. That, I should say, is why one can hope to find it intact—that and the fact that she’s in water too deep for ordinary diving. Even with modern gear it’s quite tricky. So I’m afraid I can’t answer your question except to say that I’ve no intention of being scared away by people who have no mortal right to attempt to control my actions nor any claim to anything that may be found.”

Fenella nodded, not in the least surprised that he took this attitude. It was exactly the way she would have felt had she been in his place.

“Anthony thinks there
must
be something of unusual value somewhere in the ship,” she remarked on a sudden impulse. “He thinks that’s why nobody will ever talk about the wreck.”

Immediately she regretted her lack of caution, for she saw a sudden gleam in Martin’s eye which, although she couldn’t interpret it, was none the less faintly alarming, particularly as it faded as quickly as it had come. So quickly, in fact, as to suggest that it had been deliberately and consciously suppressed, an impression which gained colour from the casual way in which he said :

“Oh? Interesting. But not conclusive, surely? I mean, I’d say that taciturnity was a natural state locally in any circumstances, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, perhaps,” Fenella agreed hurriedly. “And now I really must go, Mr. Adair, or they’ll be sending out a search party for me! ”

Without comment Martin hauled the
Golden Hind
round to a more convenient position, gave her a hand as she made the transfer and silently waved a farewell as she pulled away.

Only as the distance between them was sufficiently great for him to need to raise his voice so that she could hear did he cup his hands round his mouth and call out:

“Don’t forget—that job’s still at your disposal if you should change your mind! ”

She took a hand off her oar and raised it in acknowledgement, and then, as she settled down to a good, steady stroke, her thoughts were deflected from Martin to Anthony.

What, she wondered, had been the outcome of his solitary deliberations? Had he been fortunate in finding the answer to the problems she was sure he had? Or, like her, was he still floundering in a morass of uncertainty and doubt?

Whatever the answer to that might be, as soon as she reached Lyon House she became very sure of one thing. Anthony was extremely angry—with her.

“Where the deuce have you been, Fen?” he demanded explosively, emerging so unexpectedly from behind a hedge that she jumped and gave a little scream.

“Good gracious, Anthony, do you have to behave like a jack-in-the-box because I happen to be a bit late?” she asked with an exasperation which surprised her almost as much as it did Anthony. “And what’s all the excitement about, anyway? I’m quite old enough to look after myself, you know!”

He stared at her as if he couldn’t believe his ears. “What on earth’s got into you, Fen?” he asked anxiously. “It’s not like you—”

And suddenly Fenella rebelled, perhaps because she remembered what Rosemary had said that afternoon :

“Does Anthony still lay down the law ?”

Or perhaps because the chaotic state of her mind made it all too easy to lose her temper.

“How do you know it’s not like me?” she blazed. “What do you know about me, really? For all the years I can remember, you’ve said :
‘Do this, Fen!’
or
‘Don’t do that, Fen!'
and I’ve said :
‘Yes, Anthony'
and
‘No, Anthony!’
and you’ve never given me a chance to be
me
—you don’t even know that there
is
a me—or care! Well, I’m tired of it, do you understand? From now on, I’m not always going to be at your beck and call—and anyway, what was all the excitement about? I've been late to meals before—”

Even then, if he’d told her that he was really anxious, she would have forgiven him, but instead he said mildly : “Aunt Gina was worried—”

Fenella laughed, on the verge of hysterics.

“Aunt Gina was worried!” she repeated. “That sounds rather funny, coming from you, Anthony! ”

“And just what do you mean by that?” he asked with a hint of belligerence which brought an instant spark from Fenella.

“Just what I say!” she retorted. “How many times have you said you’d be home during the evening and then you’ve changed your plans and perhaps put into another harbour if you’re in
Wild Rose
or stayed overnight when you’ve been dining out with friends?”

“Well, what if I have?” Anthony wanted to know. “I’m a man—”

“All right, so you’re a man! But does that alter the fact that men can be drowned at sea or killed in a car crash?” she demanded. “And isn’t Aunt Gina just as fond of you as she is of me? Well then, don’t you think she worried over you? Because if not, I can tell you she did—to the point of staying up all night sometimes so that she wouldn’t miss hearing the telephone if it rang. But of course, it didn’t. You just didn’t bother—oh, you make me furious, Anthony!”

“Yes, I can see I do,” he said in a way which suggested he didn’t enjoy the experience. “And I see what you mean—I have perhaps been a bit thoughtless, but then it’s always been so late at night when I changed my plans that I thought I'd disturb the household if I rang through.”

Fenella sniffed in a way that made it perfectly clear that she didn’t think much of the explanation, and Anthony scowled. As Mrs. Trevose had remarked more than once, he had been used to giving orders, not explanations for his behaviour. And it was a habit difficult to overcome. He admitted that, but he wasn’t going to let Fenella confuse the issue in this way for her own sake. But he could see he’d have to be tactful—

“I’m afraid, Fen, whether you like it or not, a girl on her own out no one knows where is exposed to more danger than a man is. And that’s not just my idea, you know. It’s plain, cold, beastly fact. And I’ve been honestly anxious. So will you let that be an excuse for me going off the deep end? Rather on the lines of a mother spanking a kid that almost gets run over because she’s so thankful he hasn’t!”

Fenella could never stay angry with people she cared for very long, and lame though the excuse was, she accepted it.

“All right, Anthony—only we’ve got to talk this over, sooner or later, because it really is time I grew up and stood on my own feet. Don’t you honestly think so?”

“Yes, perhaps you’re right," he admitted reluctantly. “But you know, Fen, it’s only natural that Aunt Gina and I should want to look after you—cherish you—” Cherish! What a lovely word, she thought a little wistfully. It came in the Marriage Service, and if only Anthony hadn’t included Aunt Gina’s name with his own, she would have thrilled to his use of it. As it was— “Yes, I do understand that, Anthony,” she said gently. “But you know, too much shielding can turn into possessiveness. And that can have an imprisoning effect—”

“As bad as that?” He was really shocked now. “Yes, you’re right, we have got to talk things over! But not just now, I think. We’re both a bit on edge, and this is something that’s got to be discussed rationally, don’t you think?”

“Could be,” she agreed listlessly. Rationally—rationally! Why not emotionally, seeing that whatever was said might possibly affect the rest of their lives? But obviously such a thing hadn’t occurred to Anthony, and she could certainly not suggest such a point of view. Then, feeling that his dispassionate attitude was the last straw, she changed the subject abruptly.

“Have you and Aunt Gina had your dinner?”

“Yes, some time ago. Do you want something got for you?”

“I’ll get it myself,” she told him, seizing the opportunity of making an easy escape. “And then I shall go to bed. I’m tired.”

Anthony nodded. It certainly had, one way and another, been a demanding day. And not the least surprising and perplexing event had been this utterly uncharacteristic outburst of Fen’s. Yes, he’d got plenty to think about!

*

Tired Fenella undoubtedly was, but that didn’t make it any easier for her to go to sleep.

She lay restless and with nerves on edge, her thoughts spinning like a squirrel in a wheel. And the longer she tried to decide just what was going to happen, the more elusive any solution seemed to be. There were so many imponderables—she tried to tabulate them in her mind.

First and foremost, of course, there was Anthony to be considered. Either he did still love Rosemary, or he didn’t.

If he didn’t, well, that would be that. But if he did, then what about Rosemary? Why had she come back to Fairhaven? Who was the attraction, Anthony or Martin Adair? Or neither. Was it no more than a coincidence that Martin and she were here at the same time?

Fenella sighed impatiently. How could she come to any worthwhile conclusion? Or could she?

What other people might do was beyond her control. But what she could make definite decisions about was what she herself intended doing.

Just stay around doing nothing at all? Or should she fight Rosemary for Anthony’s love?

In the darkness she grimaced distastefully at the thought of taking either course. The one seemed so flabby, the other so cheap and crude that decent pride could not accept it.

“If ever I marry a man, it will have to be because I’m
me,
not because I’ve plotted and planned so that he could make up his mind which of us he preferred,” she told herself fiercely. “I wouldn’t want to marry a man on those terms—”

Or on Anthony’s terms? She turned restlessly, remembering what he had said weeks ago when the idea of the garden party had first been discussed. He didn’t believe in love. He’d described it as an irrational emotion to be avoided if it was humanly possible. And as an alternative, he had preferred friendship, understanding and tastes in common.

Yes, those things, of course—but love as well! Yet Anthony had spoken of love as a crazy passion that burnt out and left nothing but ashes.

As had happened to him over what he had felt for Rosemary? That could be. All right, then, supposing, just supposing Anthony asked her, Fenella, to marry him. Would she? Could she?

And she knew, beyond all doubt, that it was out of the question. She would be cheating Anthony if she let him think she looked at marriage as he did. And she—

“I think I'd get frozen as well, just like Rosemary,” Fenella thought, shivering. “I want more, so much more than friendship—”

So what was she going to do? Her first thought was that she must go right away from Fairhaven. Perhaps persuade Aunt Gina to take one of those trips she had suggested. Or perhaps go alone—

Only that seemed like running away—Miss Prosser would be sure that it was. And really, it would be true.

But something she must do. Something that would fill her time and give her the sense of freedom that just lately, she had felt was so lacking in her life.

Difficult. Perhaps even impossible.

Or was it?

“Of
course,
” Fenella bounced up in bed.

There was a door through which she could escape, and twice that day Martin Adair had offered her the key of it.

Fenella wasn't quite sure if she was relieved or apprehensive when, the following morning, immediately after they had had breakfast, Anthony brought up the question of the talk they had decided they must have.

“And if you’re agreeable, Fen, what about having it away from the house—and the possibility of interruption?” he suggested.

Fenella nodded. She had been glad when Aunt Gina had decided to have her breakfast in bed that morning, and it was even more of a relief that Anthony, like herself, had felt that this was something they had to thrash out for themselves without the presence of another person, however dear, to complicate matters. Fenella at least was sure that there were some things which she had to make a stand about which would have hurt Aunt Gina’s feelings.