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Fenella—Gina’s heart contracted with fear. How could she possibly find happiness with a man who, while everybody acclaimed him as a wonderful writer, had, none the less, not what could possibly be regarded as a reliable occupation. Suppose his skill should fail him? Or that, though he continued writing, he lost the ability to please his readers? Either could happen, one gathered. And then the sort of books he wrote—oh, exciting to read, of course. But—the Amazon as a background for one book, the Sahara for another! All very well for a bachelor, but most certainly not for a married man! Because what would it mean? Either that Fenella would have to go rag-tagging after the man on these appallingly uncomfortable trips of his, losing her youth and her looks—and perhaps even her life. Or she would have to stay behind, lonely and neglected, looking after any children they might have—no, it just wasn’t good enough!

Almost without conscious thought she said slowly:

“I wonder just why he came to Fairhaven?”

“Do you?” Anthony’s voice asked from the doorway. “Well, I think I can give you the answer to that! Because his name is—Adair! ”

Both Mrs. Trevose and Fenella, so immersed in their conversation that they hadn’t been aware of Anthony’s arrival, gave a little scream.

“Really, Anthony—” Mrs. Trevose said reproachfully. And then, blankly: “Because his name is Adair? What on earth do you mean?”

“No, I’ve said enough—if not too much,” Anthony told her, and turned to Fenella. “I dropped in to see Adair on my way back, and he told me your news! He was on top of the world—and no wonder! ” He pulled Fenella towards him and kissed her heartily. “The very best of happiness and good luck, Fen!”

Fenella murmured something—she hardly knew what. After what she had overheard, she didn’t expect Anthony to mind her having got engaged to Martin, whatever Rosemary might think, but if anything had been needed to make it absolutely clear what his feelings towards her were, then it was this warm, brotherly kiss. It seemed to Fenella that at that moment something died in her.

Mrs. Trevose made a sharp, wordless sound of protest, and Anthony turned to her.

“It’s all right, Aunt Gina,” he told her reassuringly, “Martin and I had a long talk, and from what he says, I think we’ve probably been worrying needlessly. He’s got a pretty shrewd idea why he was batted over the head—not because someone had a personal spite against him as an individual and wanted to hurt him as—” He stopped short and shook his head. “No, I’ll leave him to tell his own story and I’m giving him an opportunity of doing so as soon as he leaves hospital. I’ve asked him to stay here for a while. How does that suit you, Fen?” he asked, smiling as if he felt very sure of her approval.

Fenella caught her breath. If only she and Martin were really in love with one another, of course she would have been delighted at this news, but as it was—how would it be possible to hide the fact that nothing of the sort was the case when they saw them together? But Anthony was waiting for an answer—

“It’s a marvellous idea, Anthony,” she gulped. "When—?”

“If the X-ray they took this afternoon is satisfactory— then practically at once,” Anthony explained. “As a matter of fact, they’re pretty sure now that it’s a far more superficial business than they’d thought at first. And that,” he added reflectively, “is what makes Martin think that all his assailant wanted was to lay him out temporarily while he had a good search—however, as I said, it’s Martin’s prerogative to tell us all about it, not mine. But one thing I do think we might decide. He was a bit reluctant about coming here because he said that, once he was on his feet again, he’d want to get down to work—and, of course, for a job like his, that means a place where he can rely on peace and quiet. So I wondered—how do you feel about letting him work here, Fen?”

“Oh yes, of course,” Fenella said quickly—what else was there she could say?

“And I thought the bedroom next door,” Anthony went on. “That will make it all compact and convenient for him—” he glanced smilingly across at Mrs. Trevose. “If you don’t mind giving orders to that effect, Aunt Gina?”

“Certainly, if that is what you wish, Anthony,” Mrs. Trevose said frigidly. “It is, after all, for you to say seeing that it is your home—”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Anthony remarked matter-of-factly.

Without comment, her lips pressed close together, Mrs. Trevose walked out of the room.

For a moment neither of them spoke. Fenella fidgeted restlessly with the papers on her desk, her eyes carefully averted from Anthony’s. After what seemed an eternity to her, Anthony spoke.

“Don’t worry, Fen,” he said as if, despite his advice, he himself was put out. “Aunt Gina’s going to take a bit of time to come round to accepting this, but she will in the end, you know! It’s just that—well, I suppose at her age, it isn’t easy to adapt one’s self to a new idea. But Martin’s a good chap. He’ll get round her!”

“Yes,” Fenella said mechanically. “I suppose so.”

“Of course!” Anthony insisted. “And who knows, we may be dancing at her wedding even before we do at yours!

“I feel an awful fraud," Martin remarked ruefully as they sat over their coffee under the big tree after his first dinner at Lyon House.

Anthony had insisted on making something of an occasion of it by inviting Rosemary and Captain Franks. Fenella had been glad of their presence because it had meant conversation had been of a more general character than it might well have been had there been only four of them.

But now Fenella moved uneasily. She wished Martin hadn’t said that because really it was true since it was unlikely that Anthony would have asked him to stay if it hadn’t been for their “ engagement” which she had thought would simplify everything. Instead, life was becoming more and more difficult, even without Martin saying things like that!

It had begun when she went to see Martin the day after her telephone call to him. Over the phone he had sounded so kind and helpful and understanding that she had taken it for granted he would be just the same when they met. But she had been wrong.

Martin was up and dressed when she arrived, and that in itself had been a surprise, but what really made her feel tongue-tied and unsure of herself was that he seemed so
different
. She hadn’t realised, for one thing, that he was so tall or that, while he wasn’t outstandingly good looking, he none the less had an attractively strong face.

Attractive—yes, but that firm jaw and clean cut mouth made it also somewhat formidable. Martin, she realised with a quickening pulse, was not the sort of man who would allow anyone to take advantage of him. And yet wasn’t that just what he had let her do? Then why? Why should he do such a thing for a girl who was almost a stranger?

Martin must have seen the puzzlement in her face, for he took her hand in his as he lifted his heavy brows questioningly.

“Yes?” he asked, and when she didn’t reply, he went on quietly but with unmistakable firmness: “But you must tell me, Fenella! This is a partnership affair, and I can’t have you looking like that because of something I have done or not done! And it was one or other of them, wasn’t it?”

"Yes,” Fenella admitted, and then, as he waited: “I was wondering why you—why you didn’t mind us pretending—”

“Because it suited me very well to do so,” Martin said unhesitatingly. “And do try to forget about the pretences aspect, Fenella, because if you don’t, you won’t convince anyone that it isn’t so!”

“And
you
want them to be convinced?” she asked uncertainly.

“I certainly do,” he replied crisply. “The exercise loses its whole point if they aren’t, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, I suppose it does,” Fenella agreed.

“Well then—?” He put a finger under her chin and turned her face up. “Honey, don’t look so troubled! I told you—and I meant it—that you can call this off whenever you choose. None the less, I do think it would be better not to do that just yet awhile! It would demand explanations that I don’t think either of us want to give. Isn’t that so, Fenella?”

Of course it was! She couldn’t possibly deny it. But Martin had made something more than that very clear.

He had told her, just as emphatically as if he had put it into so many words, that he had no intention of asking her why she had made that extraordinary request of him—but on one condition. That she would not demand an explanation as to why he had fallen in with her wishes so readily.

And what could she do but accept his terms? But the knowledge that she was to that extent under his domination had an odd effect on her. At one and the same time she was defiant and apprehensive. Her defiance took the form of making her determined not to give him further reason for implying that she wasn’t playing her part adequately.

As for the apprehension—it was rather more difficult [to explain that to herself, but in general terms, it meant that she knew she had given him the whip hand and she wasn’t at all sure how he was going to use it.

So now, with that remark of his hanging on the still evening air, she waited helplessly for whatever might be coming.

“Do you, Mr. Adair?” Mrs. Trevose said in a voice which suggested to Fenella, at least, that while she agreed with Martin’s statement, she very much doubted if he would give what she felt to be the true reason for it. “Why?”

“Just that I feel as fit as a fiddle, Mrs. Trevose,” Martin explained diffidently. “Perfectly capable of looking after myself, in fact. So really I ought not to be wallowing in the lap of luxury like this, waited on hand and foot and making a thorough nuisance of myself!” Mrs. Trevose said nothing though she looked as if she quite agreed with him. It was Anthony who said, breezily:

“My dear chap, don’t be a chump! You’re more than welcome, admittedly partly on Fen’s account, but also very certainly on your own! Besides, we can’t have you being attacked again—”

“I very much doubt if I would be,” Martin assured him. “You see, I’m convinced that if the intention had been to lay me out permanently, he’d have made a more thorough job of it! No, that I was there was bad luck for the chap, whoever he was.”

“And for you,” Rosemary suggested drily.

“Oh yes, and for me. But the real purpose of the chap was to make a thorough search of the cabin—and that he certainly did! ” Martin spoke feelingly. “He practically tore the place to pieces! ”

“You mean, he was looking for something specific?'’ Captain Franks asked with interest. “Something of considerable value?”

“Oh yes, valuable all right,” Martin told him. “But a cabin cruiser isn’t the sort of place to keep valuables—as my assailant now knows That’s why I say there wouldn’t be a second attempt.”

“You may be right—” Anthony said thoughtfully.

A little silence fell over the little group. Then Mrs.

Trevose leaned forward and very deliberately addressed herself to Martin.

“Mr. Adair, I wonder if you will gratify the curiosity of an elderly woman by answering a question?" she asked.

“I will if I possibly can, Mrs. Trevose," he replied politely.

“It’s just this—why did you decide to come to Fairhaven in the first place?”

Again there was a little silence. A flicker of vexation passed over Anthony’s face, and suddenly Fenella could stand the silence no longer.

“Anthony said that he thought it was because your name is Martin Adair,” she said breathlessly.

Martin looked at Anthony with very real respect. “Bang on target!” he announced.

“BANG on target,” Martin repeated. And then, curiously : “How was it done?”

“First, your very evident interest in
Nimrod,
to say nothing of all the questions you asked,” Anthony explained. “And then a hunch which prompted me to write to a friend in the Admiralty. He dug out some interesting information which only reached me a few days ago. It included the name of the First Officer— Martin Adair.”

“After whom I was named,” Martin nodded. Then he grinned. “All the same, you reached the right conclusion for the wrong reason. Although my namesake did sail in
Nimrod
I haven’t been interested in her, or what might be found on her.”

“No?” Anthony said in surprise. “That wasn’t the impression you gave.”

“So I hoped. You see, my apparent interest in
Nimrod
as such and what they found on her was my second line of deception. My first, of course, was that I wanted information about skin-diving for my book. Well, it’s true, skin-diving does feature in it, but I’ve already had sufficient experience in Australia for my purpose."

“Then, if neither was your real reason—?” Mrs. Trevose asked.

“What was?” Martin hesitated as if he was choosing his words very carefully, "A very deep interest in something which
had
been on Nimrod in the earlier Martin’s possession, but which I know he had brought ashore.”

“Then there
was
a survivor!” Anthony exclaimed triumphantly, “I’ve always said—sorry, Adair! Carry on!

“Yes, there was a survivor. My several times over great-grandfather, who left an account of what happened. I haven’t got it with me—as a matter of fact, it’s securely locked up at a safe deposit, so I’ll have to tell you in my own words—” he looked round the little group, “if it won’t bore you?”

“Oh, Martin, don’t be silly! ” Rosemary advised him. ‘You know we’re simply hanging on to every word you utter! ”

“Well, here goes, then! Martin Adair number one was the First Officer aboard
Nimrod,
an English ship just as he was an Englishman. He’d done several trips across the Atlantic in her and his account goes back to the eve of
Nimrod’s
departure from New England on what turned out to be her last trip. Apparently he’d made several friends on the other side and he had a farewell dinner at the house of a married friend who, just as he was leaving, asked him to perform a small service for him. He wanted a little package to be taken to England and handed over to a relative. He showed Martin what it was—a very charming miniature of his wife and their year-old child. It was to go to the wife’s parents as an olive branch since it had been a runaway marriage resulting in a complete breach—yes, sir, you were going to say something?” as Captain Franks suddenly leaned forward.