CHAPTER EIGHT

Felicity missed her father during the next few weeks. She made one visit to Norton Towers when he had gone, because Anna wanted to know what to do with Blain's clothes. The gardens were more lovely than ever that summer, but Felicity could not bear to look at them when she arrived. She stood for a long time with Blain's uniform hat in her hands, remembering how he had worn it rakishly on his fair curls. It was hard to believe even now that he was lying still and lifeless, he who had been so full of life. Strange how her mother's possession of him had triumphed even in death.

She had gone with her father to the old church in the village to see the family vault, more precious now since it contained two beloved people. And as Felicity had looked down at the cool harmony of flowers and sunlight filtering' through stained glass beneath which they lay, she was soothed and the bitter resentment against a cruel fate that had seen fit to part them gradually disappeared.

Blain's clothes were given away, but his uniform was kept in his wardrobe. Some day, Felicity thought, her son would march about with the uniform hat on his small head and she would tell him all about the uncle he would never see. Elvira's clothes went too, and the room was made solely her father's for when he returned.

Felicity took long walks in the woods and fields around Cherry Trees during her convalescence and the colour gradually returned to her pale cheeks. Her maternity clothes were put away and she shopped for new outfits, lunching in town with Curt on the days that she did so. He was up to his ears in work, and most evenings he was late coming home. He was on a difficult case and during this time he did not return home for three days and slept at his chambers in Lincolns Inn.

Felicity missed him dreadfully, and lived for his telephone calls each night. On the second night he was away the phone rang a little earlier than his usual time for ringing.

'Hello, is that you, Curt? ' said a woman's voice.

Taken aback, Felicity replied, 'Curt isn't here. Can I give him a message? '

The reply came quickly, too quickly. 'No, no. It isn't important. '

Putting down the receiver, Felicity knew that the voice had been that of Nora Staffordly. She did not call again, and after her third night without him, Felicity went to lunch with him. Although she had never doubted Curt's faithfulness, Nora Staffordly's dulcet tones on the telephone had filled her with unrest. While she was confident of her husband's love, Felicity had never fooled herself that as a man of great driving force and ability he wouldn't demand far more from life, indeed expect it, than she did. His abundant energy had to have an outlet, and a brilliant career was the only answer.

She had decided while driving up to London not to tell him of Nora Staffordly's phone call, in case he should think she had come to catch him unawares. He had sounded surprised on the telephone when she had called him up this morning, but he had been quite pleasant about it and not in the least put out.

He was waiting for her at the entrance to the restaurant and as he strode forward to greet her, her heart swelled with love and pride at his bronzed fitness and splendid physique. He strode through life with a very decisive vitality stamped on his dark arresting face; it was very easy to imagine the flutter he could cause in other feminine hearts beside her own. Mrs Staffordly's for example.

He had everything arranged even at short notice; he had booked a table in a corner of the room where they could talk intimately and he had ordered all her favourite dishes. His eyes appraised her smart little cream suit and the wispy hat set deliciously on her fair hair.

He looked at her for a long time. 'Miss me? ' he asked.

'So much, ' she replied. 'I almost came to your chambers to creep into bed beside you. '

'Why didn't you? ' Curt said approvingly, and a charming smile transformed his whole face. 'My poor sweet, I'm afraid I've neglected you shockingly. But today sees the end of my enforced absence. ' He leaned across the table, vital and challenging. 'How about coming to court to hear the verdict? I need hardly tell you I'm banking upon winning the case. '

'I couldn't, Curt! Not in a public courtroom, ' she gasped.

'And why not? ' demanded Curt. Then he grinned. 'Judge Greatman is presiding. He's a wit. You want to hear him, don't you? '

She said simply, 'I want to hear you. '

So she went into the court after lunch and saw Curt in action. He was as sleek as a seal in his black silk, and Felicity decided that the court wig suited his saturnine features, while the breadth of his shoulders beneath the fine cloth made him look, as always, an arresting figure.

Quietly, with every word a punch below the belt, he tore the prosecution's case to ribbons. The verdict was never in doubt. Judge Greatman summed up the case and the jury retired to reach a verdict. Felicity enjoyed the afternoon, since the verdict was the right one of not guilty. She had tea with the Judge and Curt and, after he had changed, they made for home.

'How would you like to go to Paris for a while? ' They were on a stretch of road with very little traffic, and Curt tossed her a questioning glance.

Felicity was some seconds collecting her thoughts. It was a dreamy sort of evening, and the fact that Curt was coming home again had filled her with a blissful content.

'You mean for a holiday? ' she asked.

'No. I've been asked to take on a case in Paris, and if I consent it will mean leaving you at Cherry Trees alone. I won't take it unless you want me to. '

The question had put Felicity slightly off her stroke. 'Why ask me, since I know nothing about it? Is it very important to you? '

'Actually it's an honour to be asked to take it on, since there are admirable advocates in Paris who could do the job just as well. '

Felicity looked down at her wedding ring gleaming softly against the slim white hand and kept her head obstinately lowered so that he could not see her face.

'Then it is important to you, isn't it? You'd better go. '

The words were forced from her lips, almost choking her. Her eyes were filled with tears, but her voice remained steady.

'Do I go with your blessing? ' he asked mockingly, and she tried to harden herself against; the very attractive quality in his voice, never so lethal as when he teased her.

'How long will you be gone? ' The inevitable question which left her on tenterhooks waiting for his answer.

'About six months, ' laconically.

Felicity did not answer, and Curt drove for a while in silence. Then suddenly he drove the car into a lay-by at the side of the road, shut off the engine and, with masterful deliberation, laid his hands on her shoulders, turning her until she faced him. Her eyes were still lowered, her wet lashes dark against the paleness of her face.

'Felicity. Look at me, ' he commanded, and waited while she slowly raised eyes drowned in tears.

'Your eyes are like drenched violets, ' he said. 'Poor sweet, I'm a beast. Does my going away mean so much to you? '

She did not answer.

He repeated the last question insistently, demandingly, twisting the knife in the wound.

'Go on, ' he ordered her. 'Does it hurt for me to leave you? because it's hell for me to leave you. '

'Oh, Curt, you idiot, ' she said at last on a broken laugh. 'It's like dying. Why did you have to ask? '

'Because I wanted to hear you admit it, ' he answered, hauling her fast against him and crushing his mouth on her quivering one.

Felicity gave a helpless gasp and clung to the curve of his wide shoulders with the strength of despair. She was panting for breath when he let her go and she put her hands against him, holding him away.

'When... are... you leaving? ' she said dully.

'When are we leaving, ' he corrected her.

'You mean... both of us? Shan't I be in the way? '

'No, you will not. '

'But I can't leave Daddy that long, ' she told him piteously. 'He's all I have now. '

'Your father left you, remember? He's at his club and enjoying it too. We're dining with him this evening to set your mind at rest. '

The Colonel looked much better when they met him that evening at his club. He said with a twinkle, 'I'm enjoying myself with old cronies, talking over old times. I shall probably stay here during the summer, and go back to Norton Towers before the London fogs. ' Then he smiled on them both paternally. 'So you're off to Paris! Well, it's a city for the young. '

'The young in heart, sir, ' Curt corrected him with a twinkle. 'I wish you would go for a visit. My mother would be delighted to have you. '

The Colonel nodded. 'A delightful woman, your mother. You must thank her for being so good to my little girl. ' He smiled fondly at Felicity. 'Have a good time, my dear, and don't worry about me. I shall be all right. '

'Daddy's right about your mother, Curt, ' Felicity said when they were on their way back to Cherry Trees. 'She wrote me beautiful letters after I'd lost the babies—which reminds me, I didn't know you had a brother. '

'Did Mother tell you? ' he asked unemotionally.

'Yes. She said he was her firstborn, and he was five years older than you. What was he like? '

'Like Mother, ' he answered. 'He liked city life. '

He said no more, and there was that in his voice forbidding further questioning. Felicity felt his sudden withdrawal like a blast of cold air, a small shadow over the brightness of the day. She had reminded him of the past about which he no longer wanted to know, and she moved her slim shoulders as though to shrug off the curiosity burning inside her as to why he should be so offhand about a beloved brother. What did it matter in any case? She was going to Paris with Curt on a second honeymoon.

Still drowning in a pool of bliss, Felicity undressed and got into bed. Presently the vibrant warmth of Curt's lips was at her temple, and she closed her eyes in the heaven of his embrace. Suddenly the sense of depression against fate for robbing her of two beloved people and her babies, which had seized her waking hours, fell away from her in the ecstasy of belonging to Curt.

'What a heavenly villa! ' cried Felicity, looking round a spacious room of white and gold built-in furniture, leading into a bathroom of shell pink marble with a sunken bath.

'Like it? ' Curt asked from the doorway, leaning against the doorpost, hands deep in pockets, a mocking smile in his eyes.

'Like it? ' she echoed on a gurgle of delight as she threw her hat down on to a chair and patted the neat golden fold of hair at the back of her head with a gesture he knew so well. 'It's fabulous! All this light, air and space, and these lovely flowers. '

She looked up at him with sparkling eyes as he strode lazily across the deep carpet to gaze down into her enchanting face.

'Come and see the view, ' he said, drawing her out on to the balcony.

Below them the sunken Italian garden was bathed in the golden glow of the evening sun, wisps of pink clouds drifted in an azure sky and were mirrored in the lake fringed by trees. Felicity stood for a moment looking down at the still surface of the water, silent and enchanted.

She looked very young and intensely, glowingly alive. Her violet eyes were clear and bright and she looked palpitatingly happy.

'You look really happy, my sweet, for the first time for weeks. This is how I always want to see you, not as a child of the shadows, but as a creature of sunlight with the beams trapped in your lovely golden hair, ' said Curt, his eyes roving her face and appraising the halo of hair.

She laughed, answered him inconsequently.

'How sweet of you to think of taking a villa. But I would have been happy to stay with your mother. ' She sighed with pure happiness. 'You're right, though, about living in the country, and I'm glad you're not a town owl like your mother. There's such a different atmosphere out in the country, an atmosphere which seems to me to cleanse the system of all town ills. Don't you agree? '

She sparkled up at him as he sat down sideways on the balustrade, and went willingly into the circle of the arms he held out to her.

'Darling, ' he said slowly, the look in his eyes making her heart beat alarmingly fast, 'anywhere is heaven where you are. I know what you mean, though. There's an extraordinary atmosphere of timelessness, as if all those years since Adam and Eve had never happened. This luxurious villa and the fact that Henri will cook us a delicious dinner are material things compared with the spiritual needs. '

'Is that why you brought me here? ' she asked him softly, framing his face with tender hands. 'Because I needed the peace of fresh surroundings to heal my broken heart? '

He reached for her wrists and, turning her hands, kissed each in turn before he spoke.

'I'm very proud of you, my sweet. You've suffered two terrible blows and have come up smiling. You've never gone around with a long face and bemoaned your loss. ' He tweaked her small ear—his touch was very gentle—before he went on. 'Furthermore, you've never created a scene when I haven't been able to return home. I'm grateful, too, that tragedy hasn't made you bitter m any way. You're still soft and cuddly and beautifully wistful. Never change, my darling. '

'I won't, ' she promised, winding her arms around his neck.

'Don't you want to see the other rooms? ' he murmured against her mouth.

'We have all the time in the world to see them, ' Felicity answered.

The villa was half an hour's run from Paris. Curt had rented it from a French sculptor of some repute, and his work was in alcoves throughout the villa and the gardens in perfect settings, where each work would show up to the best advantage. To Felicity, who was sensitive to beauty, the place was a never-ending source of delight.

Knowing how seldom Madame Moreau saw her son, she had insisted upon Curt going to fetch her to dine with them that evening. They had called on his mother on their arrival, also at Felicity's request, since she wished to thank his mother for her gifts and letters during the awful time she had spent in hospital and later after her other great loss.

Felicity knew Curt was pleased about it, and her reward was great to see him visibly relax in the company of the two most important women in his life. When she arrived, Madame Moreau looked beautifully chic and alluring in a little model dress in green velvet with emeralds at her throat and in her ears. She was enthusiastic about the villa; she knew the sculptor who owned it well.

'He's a genius, of course, ' she said. 'He charges the earth to do a bust, but he'd probably want to do one of you free, Felicity. You have that kind of face. ' She paused, and broke into a little laugh. 'Incidentally, he's crazy about beautiful women—but then he's got lots of charm that keeps them equally interested in him. '

'Sounds a real dish. Pity I shan't see the man, ' Felicity said lightly.

'No, you won't. Curt didn't tell him he was bringing his wife. Did you, dear? ' Madame Moreau teased.

'No. Being a Frenchman, he would probably want to sculpt her in the nude, and nobody is going to do that with my wife, ' Curt answered with a deceptively lazy drawl.

They had coffee on the stone terrace after dinner, sitting in deep, low comfortable chairs piled with cushions, while Henri handed round the fragrant drink. It was a warm night, scented and mysterious, and away on the lake someone was playing a very French tune on an accordion. Felicity glanced at Curt seated on her left with his mother between them, and was vividly conscious of his presence and responsive to it. The tune floating across to them had changed to a romantic, dreamy but evocative note, and she watched him as he blew out grey scented wreaths of cigar smoke as she reclined in her chair.

There was something sphinx-like about his utter stillness as he. sat there scarcely moving. She watched the clean-cut line of his jaw, seeing, with a thrill of pleasure, the hint of brutality, the arrogance to which she surrendered ecstatically. The light was changing almost imperceptibly until the lake was glossed with a luminous glow, and the villa and garden gradually took on an unearthly beauty.

'Who's for an hour on the lake? ' asked Curt, and they rose eagerly.

At the boathouse, Curt strongly pulled out the boat on to the water and helped them in, tucking the cushions he had brought from the villa behind them. Then he boarded the craft agilely, steadying it as he sat down to reach for the oars. Peals of laughter came across to them from the far side of the lake where people were bathing; many like themselves had taken boats and were drifting idly on the calm water. There was a couple in a canoe, and Felicity thought they looked like honeymooners as they looked intently at each other, oblivious of the world about them.

The water had a dreamlike quality about it in the strange light shining on Curt's face and outlining the wide shoulders. Felicity leaned back, watching him pull steadily at the oars, aware that his mother was doing the same. She was obviously proud of her son and Felicity longed to ask about the other who had died, but she dropped the thought, seeing it as disloyal to Curt.

Presently they were drifting to the bank on the opposite side of the lake oars pulled in, the water lapping the sides of the boat. The laughing, splashing group of swimmers was very near, their voices ringing in the air with a joyful note. Then they were out of the boat on the bank and Curt was dragging it up on to the sandy earth. Together, they strolled to the gay little cafe painted white, with a flat roof where tubs of flowers could be seen decorating the edge.

The local wine was very palatable and they sat enjoying it and looking over the lake. Presently Felicity's eyes focused on a slender figure standing with her back to them looking across the water; something familiar in the poise of the uncovered red head reminded her of Nora Staffordly.

Felicity held her breath. Curt and his mother were talking together of some mutual friends who had taken a villa in Cannes. The woman's hair stirred gently in the breeze, and the profile she turned to Felicity as a man strolled up to join her left no doubt as to her identity. The couple turned and slowly made their way towards the cafe and she watched them approach wonderingly.

The man, heavily-built, had an insipid blondness. He seemed to have an air of boredom about him, Felicity caught herself thinking, and disliked him on sight. She could not have said who was first aware of the other, but the next moment the couple was there at their table, greeting Curt and Madame Moreau like old friends.

'Do join us, ' Curt was saying. 'I believe you haven't yet met my wife, Clifford; Felicity, Clifford and Nora Staffordly. '

He was on his feet, drawing up two extra chairs to their table and signalling a waiter.

Felicity found herself looking into two rather small eyes set too close together, which looked her over appraisingly. For a moment she felt herself held by his gaze and the warm colour rushed up into her face. His pale grey eyes rested on her golden hair and traced the lines of her piquant face in a manner which she resented, but she greeted him charmingly, hoping that the casual meeting would not be repeated in the future.

'Enchante, Madame Moreau, ' he said, holding her slender hand closely in his grip. 'We have a villa here, our summer retreat, and I should be very happy if you would come and join us at one of our weekend parties. I'm sure Curt would enjoy the fishing. And you, madame, would find our swimming pool delightfully relaxing. '

'Our villa is on this side of the lake, ' explained Nora. She was looking at Felicity kindly as. she added, 'You would either have to come across the lake or drive round it in the car. However, I'm sure Curt will take it in his stride. I must say marriage suits him. ' She turned to Curt, who was taking a bottle of wine and glasses from a hovering waiter. 'I've never seen him looking so well and relaxed. '

Felicity, seeing that look, wondered just how well Nora Staffordly did know Curt. Anyone of the dimmest intelligence could see the woman was shrewd, clever and calculating; whatever relationship Mrs Staffordly had with any man would be one that she could turn easily to her own account. Felicity knew she was no match for the woman and never would be. Consequently, her reply was rather stilted.

'As Curt has come here to work, I'm afraid we shan't be free to partake in much social life. His work is very demanding and it's for him to decide what we do with our leisure, ' she said quietly.

Nora's laugh grated. 'Curt is never tired. I've never known a man of such abundant energy. Believe me, Curt can play as hard as he works. You don't know him yet. '

'Touche, Nora, ' Curt grinned, passing her a glass of wine. 'You mustn't tell tales out of school. '

Fleeting Felicity recalled Blain's face on the day he had met her to say that Clifford Staffordly was divorcing his wife. Nora might be a friend of Curt's, but any friendship she herself had with the woman would only renew the heartache. She could not help but blame the woman for Blain's involvement into the whole affair. Fiercely she envied Nora Staffordly's friendship with Curt because it dated back long before she herself had known him. Did she really know her husband? Felicity was beginning to doubt it. It was Clifford Staffordly who spoke next, with his gaze on her flushed face.

'Marriage seems to suit your wife too, Curt, ' he drawled. 'She's so fresh and sweet that I feel about ninety just looking at her. '

Madame Moreau smiled and chipped in, 'Yes, I have a lovely daughter-in-law. I hope Curt realizes how lucky he is. '

'Why should he? ' Nora Staffordly leaned forward to the lighter Curt had flicked on for her cigarette. 'He has the natural instinct to choose the pick of everything. His valet Henri is perfection, like his clothes and his manners. Everyone always flocked to the parties he gave in his bachelor days, and he's made few mistakes. On the rare occasions that he has he hasn't hesitated to forget that mistake and cut his losses. ' She blew out a line of smoke and watched it rise, her eyes hard. 'In fact, he can be quite ruthless once a venture has proved a failure, in immediately tossing it aside. '

'You appear to have me pretty well taped, Nora, ' Curt said lightly. 'A man never amounts to much unless he does everything deliberately. '

Felicity had watched his face and he seemed in no way put out by the rather caustic Statement. Was Nora's friendship with her husband the deep, long-lasting kind which allowed for such comments to be given and taken lightly? Or was there something at the bottom of it that was more deep-grained than Curt would have his listeners believe? He was not a man to wear his feelings in an expression for all to see. Felicity quelled a shiver. Had Mrs Staffordly been one of his mistakes which he had cast aside? There was no answer to that, nor likely to be.

Clifford Staffordly changed the conversation as he accepted another glass of wine, to satisfy what appeared to Felicity to be an insatiable thirst. He had listened silently to his wife's outburst with a cynical twist to his sensual mouth. He had admitted to feeling ninety earlier on, but it was a. question if he would reach sixty at the rate he was going, the lines of dissipation around his thick jowl said that clearly, and he looked anything but a happy man. In fact, Felicity decided, they were a distinctly odd couple.

Neither of them stayed long, and they left repeating the invitation to pay them a visit at their villa. Upon returning across the lake Curt got out the car to take his mother back to Paris. Felicity did not offer to accompany them, thinking generously that his mother might care to have her son to herself once in a while, if only for a short time. But when they had gone she wandered about the bedroom consumed with a strange restlessness; suddenly she felt a strong nostalgia for the past as she had known it, with Blain and her parents at Norton Towers. There had been no problems there other than what to get for parties or birthday presents.

Tears rose weakly in her eyes as she clasped her elbows, mandarin fashion, in her pacing. She wanted Curt, of course, but she wanted her brother and mother too. Anna was always telling her that she could not have her cake. and eat it, and she was doing just that. Poor Anna. No doubt she was missing the old life too, with Norton Towers so deserted.

How beautiful the garden was from the balcony of the room! When she had been young with Blain a garden was something of a challenge because there was such a lot to be discovered by the young in heart. Actually she was on a voyage of discovery and a kind of second honeymoon. What she had to discover was her real self; that self that existed without the family. She had to discover an entirely new person, who not only existed for Curt but for herself as well. It wasn't going to be easy, but her life now beckoned along strange paths which she must follow. There was no turning back since marriage to Curt had committed her to them.

And with this knowledge came the possibility that there would be things about Curt that she would discover too. But however unpalatable they might be she loved him, and with every nerve in her body wanted his lovemaking. Simply thinking about him brought a second rush of tears hurting her throat. Sleepily now, for the local wine was having its effect, Felicity prepared for bed. In spite of a troubled mind she was asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow, and never felt Curt slip into bed beside her much later.

They were having breakfast the next morning when Curt said casually,

'How did you feel meeting Nora Staffordly last night? '

Felicity gave her attention to her fruit juice. 'Not exactly delighted. Which isn't surprising, seeing what she did to Blain. '

Curt drank the last of his coffee and used the table napkin.

'I understand a little of what your feelings are, my sweet, ' he answered evenly. 'However, the fact remains that, as Nora and I are old friends, it's essential for you to be friends with her also. '

Felicity put down her empty glass carefully. 'How long have you known her? '

'Since she was so high. ' He gestured with a lean brown hand vaguely. 'We grew up together. Nora is three years older than I. You'll like her when you know her. '

'Will I? '

She looked at him with clear dark blue eyes and he shrugged, rising to his feet. Putting his chair against the table, he stood looking down at her with his hands curled around the back. Her golden hair was tied back with a blue ribbon, her wrap was blue with white nylon ruffles at her young throat and slender wrists. She looked very young and sweet, and very stubborn.

Very quietly he said, 'The past is past. Let it lie. '

Felicity trembled inwardly. 'There are things one can never forget. Nora Staffordly might be a friend of yours, but she can never be a friend of mine. '

His look hardened. 'You don't know the lady at all. Why not meet her with an open mind? She would be a good friend to you. '

Felicity left her chair and went to the balustrade of the terrace to grip it with trembling hands, presenting him with her slim back. Her voice was as low and controlled as she could make it.

'I understood that you brought me here to help me to forget the past, yet you're asking me to do the very thing which will bring it all back again. How dare you ask me to be friends with a woman of her character? Not only did she do harm to my father by causing him endless worry, she almost wrecked Blain's life. '

'Blain was already wrecking his own life, or have you forgotten? '

Felicity swung round then, eyes blazing in a face pale as a magnolia. Her small nostrils dilated with anger. Curt had moved behind her and she looked up at him tense and quivering.

'I've forgotten nothing, ' she blazed. 'I know you never liked Blain, but he was my brother and I loved him. Maybe you had good reason not to like him. '

'I had, ' he answered laconically.

' There was an electric silence, during which she stared up at his stern dark face.

'Because you were jealous. ' The words tumbled from her lips without her being aware of speaking them.

Curt paled beneath his tan. 'Define " jealous", ' he ordered.

Felicity stood her ground having gone beyond caution. 'You were jealous because he was Nora Staffordly's lover. '

Her wrist was suddenly seized in fingers of steel. 'Repeat what you've just said, ' he demanded, and his tones were dangerously low. The blood had crept up beneath his tan and suddenly she was afraid, because he looked ready to do violence. Numb with terror, she watched him beat back the fury until there was nothing left but contempt in his eyes. His voice chilled her.

'Don't you ever judge me by that brother of yours again. I won't bother to deny what you've accused me of, but I shall demand an apology when I come back this evening to find you in a more normal frame of mind. ' He flung her wrist out of his grasp and the imprint of his fingers was still there long after he strode away.

Standing there cold as a marble statue, Felicity heard him talking briefly to Henri, and soon after the roar of his car gradually hummed away into silence. Presently she groped for a chair at the table, and dropped into it, white and trembling. It was a long time before her eyes rested on her untouched breakfast. Her throat was dry and throbbing and her wrist, when she looked at it, bore the imprint of Curt's fingers in angry red marks.

'Fresh coffee, madame? '

Henri was there, his face enigmatic, with the fragrant brew, pouring out a cup for her. Then as discreetly as he had appeared, he left and went indoors. Felicity was too choked to eat, but she drank the coffee thirstily. After the second cup she felt better and made her way slowly to the bedroom.

Worn out emotionally as she was, it was not surprising that she slept at last, lying on the top of the bedclothes. Voices coming through her open window aroused her mid-morning—Clifford Staffordly enquiring if she was at home, and Henri replying that Madame's day was filled with engagements, but he would tell her of his visit. Felicity lay staring up at the ceiling as an intolerable weight of depression settled upon her, crushing her spirit. Her thoughts winged to her father and the ache to be with him was almost unbearable. Life suddenly seemed terribly hard and without purpose. Tears of self-pity rose to her eyes, and she brushed them away with an impatient hand. The four walls became a prison shutting her in and it was imperative to get out into the clear air. Yes, Henri told her, when later, she faced him Cool and composed in a neat little safari-styled suit, there was a bus to Paris within the half hour.

The bus was filled with laughing, chattering people, making her feel her loneliness more acutely, but the winding road lay peaceful under the sun, the meadows sweet and colourful with flowers. Paris was as usual, a Circe whose beauty was a cure for all ills. The elegant Rue de Rivoli beckoned, but Felicity decided first to have lunch. By Metro she made her way to a charming place where Curt had taken her, where the walls were hung with sporting prints, in the Rue Duvivier which, she remembered, was dose to the Ecole Militaire. Lunch was barbecued steak, cooked deliciously while you waited and served with potatoes done in their jackets.

Felicity had never felt less like eating, but at least it occupied her mind giving her no time for thought. Nevertheless, it was Curt's lean, dark face she saw in front of her as she ate mechanically. The red wine supplied with the lunch warmed her heart and she began to feel less melancholy.

Feeling much better with a satisfying meal inside her, Felicity strolled from the restaurant and passing the Ecole Militaire, continued down the green enchantment of the Champ de Mars beneath the arch of the Eiffel Tower and across the Pont d'Iena. Then from the terrace of the Palais de Chaillot she gazed back enthralled on a very lovely view of the city. The shopping precincts occupied her thoughts for the rest of the afternoon and at last Felicity found herself on the bus returning once more to the villa.

She had left herself plenty of time to wash and change for dinner before Curt arrived home and, having done so, took a book and went out into the garden. It was impossible to read or even focus on anything apart from the fact that he would soon be home and he had to be faced. Their first quarrel and a very shattering one, since she had said unforgivable things. Her nerves were all wires stretched to snapping point when the sound of his car broke the stillness, and slowly the time passed during which her heart beat time to the ritual he went through, of washing and changing for the evening meal.

They met in the lounge. Wide-shouldered and elegant in evening dress, his skin deep brown, glowingly rich in health, Curt looked heartbreakingly dear. His cool glance at her slim figure in the simple white dress showing the apricot tan of her slender arms and youthful, bare neck was enigmatic. There was no anger in his voice when he greeted her.

'Had a nice day? ' he asked on the lift of an attractive brow.

Felicity swallowed on a dry throat, and felt the little hard core of stubbornness melt away inside her. 'Oh, Curt darling, ' she whispered, and the next moment his arms were around her as she crumpled against him.

'I'm sorry for what I said, ' she mumbled as they stood there close, his cheek against her hair. 'Please say you're not angry any more. '

'I will be if you don't stop crying, ' he murmured, kissing the tip of her small ear and moving his mouth down to her trembling lips.

His embrace was enchanting, his face firm and cool, his mouth warm and demanding. The old magic was there and he caught her up into his arms knowing that she was the most seductive woman he had ever known. He had known many beautiful women and he was too experienced—too down-to-earth—to admit that she was the most beautiful. But she was the most exciting, most beautiful being that had ever happened to him. She satisfied him in every way and was an unending delight with her elusive, feminine charm.

Taking her with him to the nearest chair he sat down, pulling her on to his lap, and his mouth moved caressingly again over her neck and face.

'You're as fresh as spring water, ' he said, kissing a truant curl in her neck. 'There's a delicacy and fragrance about you, a natural sweetness. You're a witch, my sweet, luring me on until I'm not myself any mote. '

She wound her arms around his neck, her heart a crazy machine out of control. 'That makes two of us, ' she breathed against his mouth, moving her hands over his powerful shoulders. 'I love you. '

'You can say that again, ' he said, then his mouth was burning hers with all the passionate longings and needs of a strong, virile man.

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