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There was no doubt about it, she felt on the defensive, and there was a crispness in her speech that made her voice sound rather hard and waspish. She was wearing a slim dress of light blue silk, and her small feet were encased in neat white shoes with a medium heel. She had decided against the sort of beach-kit she had brought with her, and which she had intended to wear on such a delightful June day, because somehow she had suspected that Richard was looking upon this visit as a formal affair. And as the new mistress of Tremarth she wanted to be formal, too.

“Will you come this way,” she said. She led the way through open French windows into the drawing-room. It was the loveliest room in the house, and he must have remembered it. She saw his eyes rove round it appreciatively, and his head went back restlessly. The room was in shadow, for that side of the house did not get the full blaze of the sun until the afternoon, but dimness suited this room, for it was a kind of oasis of tranquillity, with white-panelled walls and a quiet grey carpet covering every inch of the floor space.

There were chairs and couches upholstered in silvery-grey damask and brocade, a waterfall of silver-grey damask at each of the windows, and some delightful side tables and charming pictures on the walls.. There were- cabinets full of china and the kind of bric-a-brac a house accumulates over the years, a chessboard with carved ivory pieces set out on one of the tables, and a baby grand piano.

Tremarth walked up to it and tried the notes, with a smile of appreciation curving his lips.

“I remember this,” he said. “I remember strumming on it on several occasions when your aunt was out of the room.”

Charlotte did not answer.

“The room is very much as it always was,” was all she said.

Then she turned and led the way into the dining-room, which adjoined at right angles the drawing-room. It, too, was very much as it had always been — except that some of the more valuable pictures had been sold in recent years. There was a magnificent long dining-table of highly polished mahogany, a side-board that should have gleamed with Georgian silver only most of it was badly tarnished and awaiting the ministrations of someone who loved silver, and a very handsome fireplace with a portrait above it.

Richard Tremarth glanced up at the portrait, and then stood rather rigidly in front of it for several seconds. Charlotte glanced at him almost apprehensively, for she knew that the portrait above the mantelpiece represented a Tremarth — one of Richard’s direct ancestors.

He was a portly gentleman in an eighteenth-century wig, and from the uniform he wore he must have been an admiral. Richard appeared transfixed by him and his florid complexion and light grey eyes — actually not at all unlike Richard’s own, save that they held rather more of a nautical twinkle. Charlotte could picture him inhaling snuff and being very gallant to the ladies. Richard Tremarth had his back to her, and so far he seemed scarcely aware of her presence.

“I think my Great-Aunt Jane must have bought Tremarth complete with contents when she took it over,” she observed. “A lot of the things here she added to it, of course, but much of the furniture went with the house.”

Tremarth nodded — a little grimly, she thought.

“That is correct,” he-said. “Miss Woodford took the place over lock, stock and barrel. My Great-Uncle Joseph was in financial difficulties, and he had to part with the place.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, and then it occurred to her that really she was not sorry.

Waterloo accompanied them from room to room as they made their inspection of the house. Charlotte was very devoted to her dog, whom she had rescued from rather an unhappy way of life, and she had felt her spine stiffen with resentment when Tremarth had at first ignored her favourite companion. But after padding behind them up the stairs on their way to the first floor, Waterloo managed to insinuate himself alongside the tall, aloof figure in immaculate grey, and when they looked into the magnificent master suite which Aunt Jane herself had occupied before she went into the nursing home, the dog’s cold nose accidentally brushed against Tremarth’s hand, and he looked down in surprise that resulted in his whole face becoming illuminated by a smile.

“Hullo, old chap,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“Waterloo,” Charlotte answered for him.

Richard’s eyes gleamed, and his white teeth flashed engagingly in contrast with his deeply- tanned skin.

“An unusual name for a dog,” he remarked, “but highly suitable for an occupant of this house.”

And Charlotte knew he was thinking of the admiral downstairs, and of the various military gentlemen whose portraits adorned the walls, and perhaps of one or two of the very elegant Regency ladies who must have tripped up and down the stairs — such a splendid curving staircase. She went ahead of Tremarth into the nursery wing, and showed him the room in which she herself had once slept. There was an old rocking-chair leaning a little decrepitly in front of the nursery fireguard, and on the bookshelves there were still dogeared copies of the books she had thumbed years ago while searching eagerly for the colourful prints they contained.

Richard, in very much the same manner that he had tried the keys of the piano, selected one of the books and opened it at random. It was a very early copy of Through The Looking Glass, and Charlotte felt ashamed when she recognised her own handiwork with a crayon. Almost defiantly — because she felt sure he would be critical — she told him:

“I did that! ”

Very much to her surprise he looked up at her and smiled — and it was the nicest smile she had yet seen on his face.

“You would,” he said, almost as if he was humouring her. “You were a very diligent young woman with a pencil, I remember. Only unfortunately you didn’t make much sense! ” They returned to the ground floor of the house, and she had the feeling that he was clearing the decks for action, as it were, and getting down to the real reason

why he had happened to visit Cornwall at the same time as herself.

He started to prowl restlessly up and down the hall, which was now flooded with sunshine because the front door was standing wide open to all the brilliance of the morning. He had a habit of taking long strides, and his footfalls rang firmly on the floorboards. The long shafts of sunlight played over him and his erect figure. Charlotte was, in spite of herself, fascinated by the shimmer of his sleek dark hair and the faint ripple of a wave that there was in it. She experienced a fancy that one of his forebears on the wall appeared to be looking down at him with benevolence.

“Well now,” he said, stopping short in his pacing and swinging round to confront her, “I might as well tell you why I’ve taken up so much of your time this morning. It wasn’t solely because I wanted to renew my association with Tremarth.”

“No?” She looked up at him in a very level and direct way, while almost absent-mindedly one of her hands played with Waterloo’s ears.

“No,” The light friendliness had gone, and his expression was purely businesslike. “I won’t beat about the bush, because no doubt your time is valuable as well as my own. I want to buy Tremarth — and I want to get the details settled up as quickly as possible.” “What!”

She looked as if she was not entirely certain she had heard him right.

He repeated:

“I want to buy Tremarth. I’ll give you any price you care to ask for it. You may or may not know that I’m not a poor man, and money as such means little to me. Just name your price, and you can have it. Of course I’d like to have the furniture, too — or most of it!

— and your price must cover that. It might be better if you get someone to value it for you, although my firm, which deals in priceless antiques and distributes them all over the world, can undertake that job for you. I give you my word they will be completely fair and there is no possible danger that your interests will be disregarded. They will, in fact, have instructions beforehand to be meticulously fair, and after that I can assure you I shall be over-generous rather than under. So how soon would it be convenient for me to send someone down?”

Charlotte was more fascinated by his flood of eloquence than by what he was saying. He had conducted his tour of the house in almost oppressive silence — apart from the one or two observations he had made and the remarks he had flung at Waterloo; but now, it seemed, he could not repeat himself too often, and it was his repetitions that finally secured Charlotte’s full and amazed attention.

She took Waterloo by the collar and shut him out on the terrace; then she said to Tremarth that he had better-return with her to the drawing-room. A little impatiently, for one who admired the place so much, he accompanied her.

Once inside the room Charlotte assembled her brightest wits and delivered what she personally considered a particularly final type of speech.

“I don’t know what gave you the idea that I might be willing to sell this house, Mr. Tremarth, but I do assure you I have no such intention of parting with it. At any rate not for the moment. A few

months from now I may have come to some decision about the house, but for the present I’m well content to try living in it — despite the fact that they may be a little difficult.”

“It will certainly be extremely difficult.” His brows were bent and he was gazing at her as if he simply could not credit the evidence of his ears. “For one thing, it badly needs modernisation ... and I don’t suppose you have any domestic staff available?”

“I believe there’s a daily woman who comes up from the village to open the windows and remove the surplus dust — that sort of thing.” She smiled at him as if she fully realised how inadequate that kind of assistance might turn out to be. “And a friend is coming to stay with me for a few weeks, so between us we shall manage. In fact, I’m looking forward to giving the place a magnificent spring-clean.”

She walked across to the piano and ran her finger across the ebony top of it. She held it up for his inspection.

“See? The daily woman isn’t all that good.” “Good?” His voice sounded explosive. “You could hardly expect a village woman to keep this place as it should be kept — ”

“I don’t.” She continued to smile at him, almost sweetly. “That’s why I’m looking forward to the arrival of Hannah Cootes. As a matter of fact, she’s on her way down from London at this very minute... I’m picking her up at the station this afternoon.”

“And you won’t sell?”’ His voice was hard and icy.

“I’ve told you, not at the moment. If you like to contact the local estate agent in, say, three months’ time, you might possibly discover that I’m open to offers.”

“I can make you my offer here and now. You’ll never get anyone else to be so generous !”

“Why not?” She leaned against the piano and. regarded him with a bright and curious gleam in her eyes. “After all, you may be rich

— and presumably because you’re rich you don’t want to do anything with the house, such as turn it into a hotel — but there are all sorts of people motivated solely by the eagerness to make money who might see in Tremarth a very valuable property. You must admit it would make a wonderful hotel or country club — ”

She was quite alarmed by the bleak ferocity of his expression.

“If you turn Tremarth into something of that sort, I — ” He drew a long breath. “I simply won’t allow it! ”

“You can’t prevent me, Mr. Tremarth,” she reminded him sweetly.

He took a few obviously agitated turns up and down the room, and then returned to her with his pocketbook in his hand. From it he removed an impeccable slip of pasteboard and placed it in front of her on the piano. She saw that it was beautifully engraved with his name and address in Grosvenor Square, London.

“I don’t think either you or your friend will find it very much fun housekeeping in a house with twenty bedrooms,” he observed in such a tight voice that she realised he was having difficulty controlling his temper. “At any rate, not after the first couple of weeks. So I’m leaving you my card in order that you can get in touch with me. I shall not get in touch with you again myself... but I feel fairly confident you will have a change of heart in a very short time from now — possibly within the next forty-eight hours! — and I have no doubt at all that I shall be hearing from you! It’s fortunate for you that I am a fairly patient man!”

It was not what Charlotte herself would have described him as, seeing the taut look about his mouth and the frustrated gleam in his eyes, but it was his impudent assumption at that moment that impressed her most, and because of the unmistakable red in her hair her temper rose.

“I think it is quite unlikely that you will be hearing from me, Mr. Tremarth,” she emphasised, “either within the next forty-eight hours or the next six months.”

He shrugged his shapely shoulders.

“I have warned you that I’m a patient man.” As if he had suddenly realised that his time was valuable and he was actually wasting some of it he turned away and headed for the drawing-room door. But before he reached it he remembered that he owed her something, and turned and delivered himself of some slightly acid thanks.

“It was good of you to show me over the house,” he pronounced stiffly. “I was not surprised to discover that it’s exactly as I remembered it — even to that coating of dust on the piano. I don’t think your Great-Aunt Jane was exactly well served by her domestics, but at least they were hardly a problem in her way.”

He strode out into the hall, and she followed him more slowly. Just before he disappeared into the blaze of sunshine on the terrace he cast his glance in her direction and wished her a formal good-bye.

She answered mechanically:

“Goodbye....” And then, with a dimple appearing at one comer of her mouth, she added, “Richard!”

Tremarth paused for a moment as if in surprise, and then continued on his way out to his car.

Charlotte drove into Truro that afternoon and met the London train, and the slight gloom that had held her since the morning evaporated when she caught her first glimpse of Hannah’s cheerful countenance.

Hannah Cootes had been her friend since her schooldays, and there was virtually no difference between them in age. But Hannah looked several years older, and she was one of those people who always struck everyone else as ‘sensible’. She had an outdoor complexion, short dark hair, and because of the closeness of her work she invariably wore glasses. She painted miniatures, and was already acclaimed as quite a competent artist. Charlotte, who always itched to take her in hand and dress her just a little bit more smartly, as well as set her hair for her and get her to experiment with one of the more reliable brands of cosmetics, felt her lips curving in amusement when she realised that Hannah had left London in the same old paint-stained corduroy slacks she used when she was working, and for luggage she had only a single suitcase.