CHAPTER FOUR

Rachael timed her entrance to the very last moment, coming in through the French doors and taking the seat reserved for her at the very back of the room. The auction was due to start at ten a. m., leaving her precisely three minutes to look completely around the room. Not a seat had been missed. It was almost a crush. She wouldn't have minded, only this was the end of life at Swans' Reach as she had known it. She caught sight of Nick Retford's distinguished head, Mrs Maybury actually smiling, a change from the icy, emotionless blonde goddess, at his side.

Sparks flashed in Rachael's eyes. I haven't the strength, she thought. I can't take it! Not that Gran hadn't warned her, accepting Maggie's kind-hearted invitation to stay over a few days and get away from it all. Why hadn't she been sensible and joined them? This was as bad as a wake, and so crowded. There were undoubtedly many genuine buyers scattered about the room; the dealers, collectors or their agents, the amateur experts; but most of the crowd had come for some exhilarating free entertainment and the opportunity to see over the house and grounds. Three days had been set aside for pre-sale viewing, enough time surely to satisfy the curious, but now everyone had turned out to be in on the excitement of the actual sale even when they knew perfectly well they wouldn't make a bid.

The rich connoisseurs were there in strength. Rachael knew quite a few of them from the old days with her grandfather. There was a goodly sprinkling of her friends' parents. The Ross collection was known to be valuable and extensive. It was no place for the enthusiastic bargain hunter. The real experts lounged in their chairs with faces of utter, indifference, little fever waves of buyer's frenzy inside them, conveniently hidden. In the old days this had been the ballroom. Now it provided maximum space for displaying the various collections and containing the crowd. Security men had jostled along with the rest for days, making things more difficult for the auctioneers and their busy staff. Rachael nearly cringed when Pru Maugham, the society journalist, recognised her and waved an uninhibited greeting. She wanted to remain anonymous. A T. V. 'In Town' programme had asked permission to film a segment of the auction for their show and the camera team were in place as well.

Rachael's fingers tightened around her catalogue and she shifted her chair back, ostensibly to catch the breeze. She had dressed to be inconspicuous, but her beautiful flamboyant hair alone would have made that impossible. Many a person dressed up to the nines turned back to stare at her with a: 'Surely that's the Ross girl, and where is her grandmother? ' Well, the grandmother had more sense. ' Less wear and tear on the nervous system, as she explained it to her impulsive granddaughter.

The auctioneer rapped the gavel on his rostrum and suddenly there was silence except for the high-pitched laugh of some unstoppable lady who behaved exactly the same everywhere. The sale had begun. Rachael found herself unable to take a cool balanced view of anything. That very same morning she had sworn to Gran she would be perfectly all right. In any case she wanted to put in a bid for a very few items in this morning's Oriental collection. She had not mentioned that to her grandmother in case Lady Ross withdrew the pieces from the sale and gave them to her. She could ask no more of her grandmother. Gran had reserved enough for her in the way of several beautiful pieces of furniture, the pick of the porcelain and a few cherished, very valuable paintings. In time they would come to her, but for now she had a little money of her own, a legacy from her dear, sweet, unknown little mother. She had only photographs of her parents, no memories. Had she been an older child she would have perished with them.

From where she was sitting now, she had a clear view of Nick Retford and his companion. They had a perfect right to be there. It was his home already, save for the legalities. Why should that silly blonde woman achieve the impossible? she thought passionately. To replace Gran as mistress of Swans' Reach. If they served coffee later, she would poison it. Gran would be appalled. Hating was a madness, reserved for the thoroughly uncivilised: She would have to stop it. She subsided, vehemently determined to be strong and brave. The house she loved with all her heart, and it didn't seem possible she no longer lived in it. If she gave way to her anguish she would start howling and startle this sophisticated, well-dressed crowd. It was Mrs Maybury who jarred on her so frightfully—that patrician ivory countenance, so cool and impassive. Mrs Maybury was about to be lifted to the skies. Rachael couldn't applaud her. How much wiser to have gone to Maggie's with Gran. This was like tearing one's heart out.

While Rachael sat there warring with herself, various lots had gone swiftly. The bidding had been immediate and brisk, in marked contrast to many an auction Rachael had attended with her grandfather when everyone remained mute waiting to see what Sir Lewis would do. The methods of communication were still the same, the unobtrusive nod, the falling finger, the shake of a page, the more open crisp tone, and occasionally someone like Grandfather who frightened off the opposition on his manner alone. The psychological aspect was important. Bidding was strongly influenced by action and reaction. At least Grandfather's things were being sold to the satisfaction of the auctioneers. Mr Edwards, the head of the firm, had already directed towards her a bracing, encouraging glance.

Rachael jotted down the prices on her catalogue, her passion so forcibly restrained that her pen kept piercing the paper. Gran had said emphatically: 'I can't go and I won't go! ' Why hadn't she said the same? It was clear this was exacting too much from her. Grandfather would turn in his grave at some of the prices. How she had loved him, and he had gone and left them. By the end of the day she would be a raving lunatic. This was not a happy occasion, yet from the sudden radiance on Mrs Maybury's face, Rachael guessed that the new owner had just asked him to marry her. At least they wouldn't have all the furniture. That would have been too much of a good thing. The most valuable and rare pieces had a reserve price on them, but Gran had instructed the auctioneers to let most of the things go. They had nowhere to put them in any case.

To her astonished realisation she succeeded in getting the lavender jade vase. The next items were glazed pottery from the T'ang Dynasty, temporarily taking up the attention of the big dealers and collectors. A pair of pottery horses followed the vase. Now she wanted the famille verte vases, the blanc-de-chine seated Bodhisattva and perhaps, if she had any money left, the blue and white covered jar with the dragon chasing the pearl. It was a kind of madness, this collecting, and now it seemed she was into it, with Grandfather sitting not very far away from her regarding her with his fine dark humour-filled eyes.

'I told you so! ' Her eyes filled with tears at the thought and she blinked them away fiercely, her glowing head down. Someone from the floor made a witty remark and everyone laughed, but Rachael looked neither left nor right, not even hearing. Later she found out it had been Nick Retford, the legal lion. There was all the time in the world to laugh once she had recovered from the shock of losing her grandfather, then losing her home. She must try now in every way to make Gran feel protected and secure. There would be money enough. They could pay off the government and thank them for ruining them. Or as Nick Retford had been at pains to point out, they still would be living in some style but not on the scale they were used to.

Especially her grandmother, who had enjoyed sixty years of it.

The vases came up in an hour's time. The bidding got out of hand immediately. Rachael had to forgo them. The Bodhisattva should come up shortly before the noon break. An eighteenth-century Kuan Yin, the most beautiful white porcelain ever made. Number 184 seemed to be buying a good deal, she thought, and marked down a price. The Ming jar for that price was a real victory. It had been one of her grandfather's favourites, nearly fifteen inches high. Mrs Maybury, she noticed, had bid for and had marked down to her an octagonal jardiniere. Rachael wondered briefly where she might put it. Why limit herself to a jardiniere? In a very short time she would be the wife of a rich man. The Judge too was old and ailing, and hadn't he vowed Nick Retford would be his heir?

There was something very noble and sad about forgoing all this. Maybe it would have been better for her character had she come up the hard way. What were possessions anyway? By the time she could work out an answer the Bodhisattva had come up for sale. The family compulsion, only just realised, drove her. She went much higher than she intended, carried away by her desire to have it. Damn it all, didn't it belong to her? This auction was an upsetting, unforeseen element. Significant glances burned in the air at the sight of her lovely, at that moment imperious face. A lot of them weren't in the least kindly but chiding. In fact she was attracting so much attention that all of a sudden she gave it up. She just wanted to fold into a cupboard where she could do a great deal more good than silting here with every eye and ear on her.

Let someone else have it. In time, she reminded herself hotly, she would own far more valuable pieces, but she had so wanted that piece, bought with her own money. The delicate, detailed modelling of the goddess was exquisite. At the very last moment, Number 184 pounced again. Rachael didn't approve of his hit-and-run tactics. His call sign must have been worked out in advance. At the very least it was heartening to know Mrs Maybury hadn't got it. She had turned her blonde head to stare at Rachael in utter amazement as though denying her the freedom to bid for anything. Rachael had bleakly acknowledged Nick Retford's grave, somehow sympathetic salute. Perhaps he had had a change of heart or was moved to despair by her problems and family predicament. What was most perturbing was that Gran considered him a fine man, a state of affairs Rachael didn't find in the least cheering. He would be a fool to let Mrs Maybury get away. She was without doubt the most beautifully groomed woman in the room, though there were quite a few who usually graced the society pages. She would even make a very good mistress of a home like Swans' Reach. A joyless thought, but there it was.

By the noon break Rachael had a thumping headache. The auction seemed like the ultimate unreality. It couldn't be happening. She was living a bad dream and in the morning it would go up in smoke. It was a good deal harder again to avoid the friends and acquaintances, the name-droppers, who now seemed to swarm around her like soldier ants. Her creamy skin was too pale and her amber eyes had darkened. Here she was with her heart torn and she had to behave congenially, like a clown. This one and that one insisted she sit with them. Sally's mother was there like a gorgeous plump hummingbird, bent on supporting her little girl's dearest friend. It was a moment of horror until she heard a well-known voice at her side.

'How are you, Rachael? ' A very blue gaze swept the small gathering, charming them with a quite insincere apology. 'You'll excuse us, won't you? Rachael has promised to share the coffee break with me. '

Mrs Logan, Sally's mother, was about to say something, but she gave up after a moment's hesitation, seeing she couldn't win anyway. It would have been very pleasant indeed to join Nick Retford for coffee, but obviously he wasn't offering to invite her. What could he possibly have in common with Rachael? She was only a child, very pretty certainly, if you liked redheads, but no more pretty than Sally, who had a different, more effervescent quality inherited from herself. Not for, a moment was Mrs Logan going to open her eyes to Rachael's extraordinary beauty, unlike Vanessa Maybury, who was regarding the girl with anger as well as frustration. It was inevitable that Nick would wish to shield the girl. He was that type of man, the old school. The ruthless look he assumed from time to time was only a mask. Nick was unique, a very clever and exciting man, but he was also a man who responded to beauty.

Vanessa had worked on her own appearance nearly twenty-four hours a day for the past eight and a half months. She couldn't be detached about the way Nick looked at any other woman. He had his dark head inclined almost protectively towards the Ross girl, who already had too many of the good things in life. So they had lost the house, what of it? What was so mystical about a house? Vanessa's pale grey eyes brooded over the little tableau in front of her. She simply couldn't back away from Nick Retford. She would be thirty-one in December and her own beauty would begin to shrivel. For a very cool-looking woman, Vanessa was moved quickly to anger and aggression. Why, she would be perfect for all this, and not one of her friends disagreed with her. When Nick had told her he was thinking of buying the old place, she was thrilled out of her mind, seeing herself immediately in just such a garden setting. This idiotic Ross girl wasn't going to make her the laughing stock of her circle, for Vanessa, in the way of all women with something to lose, had seized on the curious affinity between Rachael and Nick Retford, for all their supposed differences. They even looked as if they were conspiring against her. It was not to be borne. Vanessa broke away from her own chattering friends, with a simple nod and a wave of her hand, drifting elegantly in the direction of the recalcitrant pair.

Rachael, in turn, was at that very moment declining an invitation to meet Vanessa, whom she was prepared to detest, for all her fashionable and glossy appearance.

'I'm sorry, ' she said in answer to Nick's suggestion. 'Don't ask me to meet your future bride. '

'Why ever would you mind? '

'It's silly, I know, but I can't take any of this gracefully. I'd have to be Gran's age. '

'I can't begin to interpret that literally, Rachael. '

'I mean I don't see Mrs Maybury as Gran's successor. '

'That's natural enough. Meet her, you'll adore her. '

'Not in a lifetime. '

'Well, you'll have to! ' he said, looking over his shoulder. 'She's coming this way. '

Rachael, of course, had been brought up to maintain her good manners even under attack, but she wasn't in the least blinded by the apparent charm in Vanessa's smile. The pale grey eyes took Rachael apart and put her neatly together again. Nick introduced them and did it well. He was very good at that sort of thing, Rachael conceded, briefly returning Vanessa's smile. Somehow by just being there he was achieving an unjustified impression that this was a friendly group full of mutual goodwill.

Used to dissecting and analysing people, Nick knew at once that Vanessa had formed the more thorough dislike of the two, though she struck just the right note of friendly sympathy for Rachael's personal crisis, losing Swans' Reach, the symbol of the Ross family's wealth and position. She even asked after Lady Ross in a very soft, confidential tone. It couldn't have been bettered, the reassurance and the empathy in the face of suffering, and Rachael was suffering in her way. In time she might adapt herself to the changing scheme of things, but for now she had to get as far away from this auction as possible. Just to confirm his impression she murmured apologetically:

'It was very nice to have met you, Mrs Maybury. I wonder if you would excuse me. I have a headache. I feel I need an aspirin or something. '

'Poor dear! ' Vanessa said instantly. 'How terrible! I wish I could get you something, but I don't carry aspirin or anything like that. '

'Well, don't take it too seriously, ' Rachael said in the pause.

'I'll walk down with you to the Lodge, ' Nick offered. 'You'll feel better when you've had something to eat. '

'What about me? ' Vanessa smilingly inquired.

'Your friend Ronald is trying to engage your attention now. He'll gladly look after you. I won't be long, Vanessa. Sit back and relax for ten minutes. '

'I suppose I could try, but it's difficult when you're not there, darling. '

Keep that up and you'll lose him altogether, Rachael thought, looking from one to the other. Not that she cared, she just wanted to race right through the door, out of this close atmosphere of amiable chat. Not one of them rightfully belonged there. In no time at all the whole place could go to the devil.

Vanessa's punishing gaze met that of the younger woman. How awful to feel the way you do! it said plainly. But don't blame me, dear. Make a clean break, and don't consider for a moment associating with my soon-to-be-fiancé. That would be the sublime folly.

'No doubt we'll meet again, my dear, ' she said, turning at last to rejoin her friends, most of them with a fortifying cup of coffee in their hands.

'I'm afraid Mrs Maybury doesn't like me, ' Rachael said simply.

'If you want to put it that way. You don't like her. '

'I like your frankness anyway. I really do have a headache, and you don't have to come with me. '

'It's as plain as the nose on your face you're only just standing up. Why did you come, anyway? '

'There were a few things I wanted. '

Nick took her by the elbow and led her with great concentration through the crowd, most of them looking on with penetrating interest. When they were out in the garden he turned to her again, picking up the conversation. 'Such as? '

'Oh, mostly the Kuan Yin, you know, the blanc-de-chine Bodhisattva. '

'Why didn't you withdraw it from the auction? '

'Gran has given me enough. I wouldn't dream of asking for another thing. This was with my own money. My mother's money really. All I have left of her. '

'Do you still want it? '

'Of course I do, but the bad guy got it. Number 184. He'll have the best collection in town. '

'Surely he's acting according to the rules? '

'I think he might be a crook. '

'How characteristically violent! Actually I couldn't help noticing him. I don't think you'll have any worries on that score. '

'Then I'll abandon my irresponsible opinions! ' Rachael said wryly, not liking the feeling of deep depression she was sinking into.

'Hey! ' he said, looking down at her.

She turned her face up and suddenly, for no good reason, immediately felt better. 'I know, don't tell me. I look how I feel. '

'Have dinner with me tonight? ' Nick invited.

'You're joking! '

'Vanessa's being here with me today doesn't necessarily mean I'm getting married tomorrow. In actual fact I didn't invite Vanessa. She had every intention of coming along. '

'I didn't expect such disloyalty. Surely she'll mind? '

'It's all very well for her to mind, Rachael, but as it so happens I'm a free agent. Would you have me marry Vanessa to oblige her? '

'On the contrary. I'd very much like to come to dinner. '

'I didn't expect such instant compliance from you. You usually give me a fight. '

'Not today, ' she said rather sadly. 'Gran has gone to Maggie MacAdam's for a few days. '

'Very wise. Actually I spoke to her on the telephone this morning. '

'I'm amazed. '

'Really? An ordinary, everyday occurrence. She wanted me to keep an eye on you, though she naturally didn't put it in those very words. '

'Why, that's simply not necessary! ' Rachael said indignantly. 'I suppose the invitation to dinner is part of it? '

'No. I really want to take you to dinner, for my own selfish reasons. After all, what have you got to lose, Rachael? ' He brought her to a halt for a moment, looking down into her face.

She said nothing, his hands on her shoulders. Finally she pulled away from him. She could not meet those very blue eyes. They were shattering. Still later, she would find them even more so.

Allie fussed over her the minute she saw her, affected herself by the enormous upheaval in their lives. Also, for a near-stranger, she got on splendidly with Nick Retford, whipping up instant delicious sandwiches and joining him for a third cup of tea. No one could have wished for a more friendly reception. Allie sat there, chatting on as though she had known him for years, something Allie didn't do all that easily, but obviously, Rachael concluded, Allie felt free to invite Nick Retford's opinion and offer her own on a broad sweep of subjects. To put it mildly, Allie had almost celebrated Nick Retford's arrival and just to make the happy occasion complete, he had invited Rachael to dinner.

With Lady Ross in town there was no point in Rachael's sitting about moping. That was no fun and Allie was adamant, stuck with the picture of Rachael pining away because she couldn't eat the sandwiches for lunch. Allie felt like going out herself, but there were too many things to lock up. In the late afternoon she went over to the big house herself to collect Rachael's purchases. When Rachael came downstairs she would show her where she had displayed them. Rachael wasn't so very different from her grandfather after all. No matter how much they had in the way of antiques, there was always room for one more.

When Rachael finally came downstairs, dressed for her evening out, Allie sprang to her feet happily.

'Cheers! ' she cried, flashing the bottle of wine she had opened earlier on and had to finish all by herself. 'You look lovely in white. '

'I thought I looked like a ghost. '

'A ghost with red hair? ' Allie almost screeched, as prejudiced about Rachael as Mrs Logan was about Sally.

'I was going to ask you if I'd better change it. '

'You'd better be quick, but no! Honestly, love, you look something else again. '

'What's that? ' asked Rachael.

'Perhaps Mr Retford will explain to you, ' Allie said slyly.

'What I can't understand is how you and Gran have almost clutched him to your hearts. '

'Maybe we're trying to get you back to the house by fair means or foul. '

'Oh, Allie, stop fooling! '

'My mother was on the English stage. You didn't know that, did you? '

'You've told us a million times, ' smiled Rachael.

'Your grandmother always accepts it without comment. You're always trying to trip me up. '

'I believe you, Allie, but how do you know? You always said you were an orphan. '

'There, what did I tell you? You think I'm only inventing her. By the way, I picked up your things. '

'Things? I only bought one—the jade vase. '

'They had two items put aside for Miss Ross, ' Allie told her.

'Two? '

'This is getting tiresome. '

Rachael turned about. 'Tiresome? Alarming, more like it. Could I have scratched my nose and had something knocked down to me I actually didn't want? It's happened before. Remember when Grandfather came home with the Lord John Russell. He never meant to buy him. '

'Well, the vase is here. I think you'll like where I put it. However, I can shift it if you don't! '

'I don't know what you're talking about, Allie, ' said Rachael. 'Where's the other? '

'Come and see. What's the matter with you, for heaven's sake? '

'You're not talking my language. I only bought the vase, I'm telling you, and it does look nice there. '

'Well, here's die surprise packet! ' Allie led the way into the library-sitting-room and switched on the light, then she walked across the room and turned on the table lamp on a small, elaborately carved wood desk. The light spilled in a golden pool over the porcelain Kuan Yin, a small work of art against the gleaming Chinese screen with its peacocks parading in a garden of flowers, and the ceiling-high alcoves of leather-bound books, rich red, black or brown withhold tooling.

'I don't believe it! ' Rachael said faintly.

'Go back and tell that to Mr Edwards. He gave them to me, and he doesn't seem the man to make mistakes. '

'I can't imagine how this happened! '

'Oh? ' Allie's round face quivered suspiciously. 'You must have had a very interesting morning. Any admirers you don't know about? '

Soft bell tones pealed through the house and Allie came briskly to attention, marching out of the room as though she couldn't embarrass Nick Retford another moment by leaving him out in the night air. They were standing in front of the open doorway when Rachael went through to the foyer. Allie was pink with pleasure at the unexpected gift of a hard-to-come-by recording she had only briefly mentioned at lunch. Nick Retford swung around, his blue eyes appraising the magical bloom of youth, both innocent and seductive.

'You look very beautiful, Rachael, like someone out of a painting. Turn of the century. Just a little unfamiliar. '

'I'm exactly the same, ' she assured him.

He continued to look at her and it seemed to her no man had ever looked at her in that way before, eyes touching on the sudden flare of colour in her cheeks, her upswept hair with loose tendrils, the white silk georgette dress with a huge ruffled hand-made peony on one narrow shoulder strap, Gran's lovely old Victorian choker of pearls and dark purple amethysts linked with soft gold. She felt dangerously out of her depth. This was serious. He wasn't a boy but a brilliant, mature man, and he had been married, before Mrs Maybury and others, as Maggie had hastened to mention. His glance troubled her. There would be no peace with Nick Retford. He had too much insight and he could make her miserable.

Allie nodded vigorously at his remark about the painting. That's exactly what Rachael looked like. Something by Sargent, perhaps, a beautiful Edwardian girl. 'It seems we've got this little problem, ' Allie began, looking up at Retford confidingly.

'It's all right, Allie, ' Rachael suddenly came to life. 'I've disposed of it! ' She looked straight into Nick Retford's blue eyes. 'Number 184? '

'I thought you'd never ask, ' he drawled.

'Shall we go? '

'Only mention the word. '

Allie looked from one to the other as if they were characters on the stage. 'It's depressing, ' she complained, 'but I don't know what either of you are talking about. ' She turned around and collected Rachael's gold evening purse, putting it into her hand, implying that Rachael would forget it if she didn't.

Rachael bent and kissed her. 'Don't fret. I'll tell you later on. '

Allie's homely beam was very nearly shy. 'Thank you once again for the recording. I'll put it on now. '

'A pleasure! ' Nick bowed slightly, very easy and elegant.

'Shall I wait up? '

'What? ' Rachael looked back in blank surprise.

'It was only a suggestion. Let it pass. '

They walked out into the cool scented air with Allie etched in the doorway, waving.

'I suppose she does normally? ' Nick asked, as they walked to his car.

'Oddly enough, no. I suppose she knows you're dangerous. '

'In what way? '

'Every way. My well-being is very important to Allie. She was my nurse. '

'And she raised you to your present impeccable standard. '

'Are you laughing at me? '

'Why, Rachael! ' He put her into the car, then moved around to the other door and slid in behind the wheel, very tall and sure of himself. It was suddenly like being confined in a lift, and Rachael caught her breath.

'Well, it wouldn't be the first time. '

The car purred to life and he swung it about, heading for the great wrought-iron gates which now, mercifully, hung secure.

'What a beautiful car, ' she said, leaning her head against the pigskin upholstery. 'It must have been very expensive. '

'I hadn't thought of that, ' he said mildly. 'Its performance is just several notches higher than its competitors'. I haven't the time for breakdowns and mechanical faults and such like. '

'Fine, ' she smiled. 'If I could afford one I'd get the same. '

'Your grandfather had a Hispano Suiza, ' he pointed out gently.

'Heavens! he bought it in the '20s, and he was still using it until last year. Then he couldn't get his licence renewed, for which we were alt grateful. He always drove it as if it were a horse. '

He laughed, such an attractive sound. Rachael looked out the window at the speeding miles, the sickle moon and the windy stars. 'I can't accept the Kuan Yin, you know. '

'Why ever not? ' He glanced at her profile. 'Would it damage your reputation? '

'Among other things! '

'Don't be ridiculous, Rachael. You wanted it badly, that was plain to tell. I want you to have it. I have no use for it myself. '

'Then why did you tad for it? '

'Perhaps you turn all men into slaves. '

'I'm sorry I asked, ' she said crossly.

'Well, let it rest now. The Kuan Yin is yours. '

'Then you're not altogether heartless. '

'I'm altogether in earnest. We're going to enjoy ourselves. No contrary little heiress routine. '

'Not any more. '

'I haven't seen any trace of a struggle. ' His glance brushed her beautiful model dress, the lustrous gleaming choker.

'That's Gran's, ' she said, and touched it. 'You're not sure if you approve of me, are you? '

'No. '

'That sounded as if it came from the very depths of your very masculine nature. Would you have me scrubbing floors? '

'Well, not in that dress. '

'I just thought I'd bring the matter up. Most men would like to put us on our knees. '

'What? ' He considered her profile and smiled. 'The outraged feminist? '

'Why not? '

'From such a female woman. '

'I'm not violently Women's Lib, if that's what you mean, but I'm certainly not going to live out my life in a man's shadow. '

'Jung. Didn't he say that? '

'I don't know. I just read a lot. '

'Most women accept it, ' he said, expertly passing the car in front of them, an erratic learner-driver.

'They've had to in the past, ' said Rachael. 'This generation won't. '

'So I see from the divorce rate! '

'The logical mind again! '

'What is it you want, Rachael? ' Nick asked.

'I just want to be me. To be allowed the full expression of my own personality. '

'Well, it's an intoxicating idea. What happens when you marry and have children? A mother's role must be the most completely unselfish one there is—day in, day out caring, constant demands from her family. It's a prison of a kind, but love imposes it. In the course of a lifetime there couldn't be any greater happiness than a rewarding home life, surely? Seeing one's children grow. They don't have to be brilliant. It's character that counts, high principles. I see so much tragedy and violence among our young people and nine times out of ten they're the products of a very unhappy home environment, from every social stratum. The rich man's child can be just as badly off as your battler. '

'Yes, I know. ' An immediate instance came to mind, in this case drugs, a promising law student, with plenty of money and mostly absentee parents. She sighed, a very real distressed little sigh, and immediately he changed the subject.

'Where would you like to go? '

'Oh, somewhere very quiet. '

'Fashionable or broken down? '

'You don't look like an habitué of broken-down restaurants, ' she said drily.

'Well then, Adriano's. I've booked there. '

'Perfect! ' she said, her eyes full of a soft golden light.

She turned her head sideways along the back of the seat. 'You have the most interesting face I've ever seen. '

'Oh? I thought I was only dreaming you. '

'So rarely we're in accord. '

Nick reached out a hand and lightly brushed her cheek. 'Let's stay that way. '

He sounded mocking and indulgent at once and Rachael couldn't deny the sparkling jet of pleasure and excitement that stayed with her for the rest of the night. She had no sense of conflict or inconsistency, just the marvellous, absolutely essential feeling of knowing herself a woman, not just a young face and a slender body. The real thing.

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