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Fortunately at that moment some more people arrived and there was no further time to discuss Miss Prosser, but to Fenella, who knew his every mood so well, it was clear that Anthony was under a considerable strain. It wasn’t to be wondered at really since, for the first time since their broken engagement, he was on the point of meeting Rosemary again.

Fenella felt her own nerves tense. What would the outcome of Rosemary’s return be? When, as she had planned, she had first spoken of the Lancings’ return to Anthony, it had been impossible to decide whether it was new to him or not, so entirely indifferent did he seem. And even when she had said that, of course, they must be asked to the party, he had simply said : “Of course— if that’s what you’d like! ”

So the invitation had been sent, and for a day or two Fenella kept her fingers crossed, hoping against hope that it would be refused. Of course it was out of the question that Anthony and Rosemary shouldn’t meet, but although she herself had realised that the Lancings must be asked, oh, how she wished it hadn’t had to be in this public way with everybody watching not only the two principal characters in the little drama, but herself as well!

Still, there was no backing out now, and doing her best not to let her welcoming smile become too fixed, she shook hands or kissed their guests.

The Rector and Mrs. Enderby. Captain Franks who, Fenella noticed sympathetically, held Aunt Gina’s hand just that little bit longer than was really necessary. Then the Venns followed by such a rush of people that Fenella lost count. Dr. and Mrs. Mallory. And then quite a long pause.

Fenella felt her hands grow sticky. After all, weren’t the Lancings coming? Almost everyone else was here. Then suddenly she saw them arriving, not by the more formal entrance through the house, but along the garden path that led to Pay-off Cove and the village.

Sir Geoffrey, tall, grey-haired and with a presence even in the comparatively informal garb permissible at a country garden-party. Lady Lancing, slim, elegant, and still looking incredibly young. Hugh and his wife, and finally—Rosemary.

Unmistakably Rosemary. No one could possibly mistake that perfect oval face, the smooth, silvery fair hair and the deep blue eyes, any more than they could forget the elegance which she had inherited from her mother or the lovely, gliding walk which was all her own.

And yet this wasn’t the Rosemary Fenella had known.
She
had been a joyous, fun-loving girl.

The woman who had returned was no less beautiful— perhaps even more so—but it was a frozen, lifeless beauty, and with a little shiver Fenella. saw that the smile on the beautifully chiselled lips went no further. The blue eyes were completely lacking in expression of any sort.

Then Fenella’s attention was diverted from Rosemary because she saw that just behind her, but still obviously one of the party, was—Martin Adair.

IT was no exaggeration to say that Martin Adair’s presence was almost as disturbing to Fenella as Rosemary’s changed appearance.

Since her encounter with him on the cliff path she hadn’t set eyes on him, and Anthony, who had, without seeking him out too obviously, none the less frequented places where he was likely to come across Martin, had met with no success. It seemed reasonably sure that Martin had left the district.

“So that’s that,” Anthony remarked, apparently relieved by his lack of success. “Either he’s taken the hint —and he did tell you he realised he wasn’t welcome, Fen. Or else he’s got all the information he wanted about skin-diving and, no doubt as he’d planned all along, has left Fairhaven. Either way, there’s not a sign of him, so there’s no need to feel concerned about Polwyn’s unpleasant manner.”

And Fenella agreed with him that the matter could be dropped though it had surprised her that she felt a little disappointed in Martin. Anthony might, of course, be quite right in saying that he had gone because he’d learned all he needed to. But somehow the impression she had had that there was something more to his being here than the reason he gave still lingered. And somehow, she hadn’t thought that Martin was the sort of person to give up what he had planned to do quite so easily just because of a nebulous atmosphere of threat.

However, the last few weeks had really been too busy for her to think of anything but the coming garden-party. She had hardly had time, even, to think about Rosemary’s return and what it might mean.

Now, suddenly, she was face to face with an utterly unforeseen situation. Here was Rosemary, an entirely different person from the one Fenella had remembered, and Martin, who instead of having finally left the neighbourhood was, on the contrary here, and on an established footing, a friend of the Lancings. She knew that was so because, as Lady Lancing greeted Aunt Gina, she said quietly:

“So understanding of you, Gina dear, to let us bring Martin! It’s so rarely, these days, that Rosemary seems to enjoy anyone’s company that when she does suggest—”

“Yes, I quite understand, Eleanor,” Aunt Gina said hurriedly in the same cautious undertone. “And please don’t give it another thought. We’re delighted to have Mr. Adair here! ”

That brief exchange left Fenella completely unsure of herself, for it made it clear that Aunt Gina had known of Martin’s impending visit and had kept the knowledge to herself. But why? It simply didn’t make sense, for it was so utterly pointless.

A moment or so later Fenella felt Rosemary’s unresponsive hand touch hers very briefly. Then Aunt Gina was greeting Martin.

“What a pleasant surprise that you know the Lancings. Mr. Adair! Such old friends of ours. Now, you’ve already met my niece, I believe, but not my nephew, Anthony Trevose. He is a great admirer of your work—” A few more straggling guests to greet and then the party proper began. Mrs. Trevose went off to talk to her guests. Anthony and Martin became immersed in a discussion on sailing boats and finally drifted into the house to settle a point of disagreement. The two girls were left together.

Fenella, tongue-tied and ill at ease, broke the silence between them with the first remark that came into her head.

“I didn’t know you knew Mr. Adair,” she blurted out, and saw that Rosemary was faintly amused at what was really an idiotic remark.

“How could you?” Rosemary asked casually. “I didn’t meet him until after I left Fairhaven.”

“Oh, I see,” Fenella said hurriedly, and then, remembering Aunt Gina’s remark which Rosemary must have heard, she went on: “I’ve only met him once, by chance, before this afternoon. We happened to meet on the cliff path and walked down to the village together.”

“Yes?” Rosemary said indifferently, and gave Fenella a casual look that missed nothing from head to heels. ‘You’ve grown into a very pretty girl, Fenella!”

“Oh, do you think so?” Fenella felt the colour rising to the roots of her hair. She laughed uncertainly. “Well, perhaps I might just get by! But you—you’re absolutely lovely, Rosemary. More so even than I remembered you!”

Rosemary, showing no sign of either embarrassment or pleasure at the compliment, shrugged her shoulders.

“Only skin-deep, you know, my dear! And sometimes more of a liability than an asset, so I’ve found. But never mind that. Tell me about yourself. What have you been doing all these years besides growing up?”

“Nothing very much, I’m afraid,” Fenella confessed apologetically. “I don’t think Fairhaven’s the sort of place where much ever does happen, you know.”

“Then, my dear, you should make it happen,” Rosemary declared lightly. “With a pretty face like that you could set all the young men by the ears if you took a little trouble, I’m quite sure!”

“I don’t know whether I could or I couldn’t,” Fenella said emphatically. “But I do know I don’t want to find out. And now, if you’ll excuse me, Rosemary, I must go and talk to people—”

“No, wait a minute.” Rosemary laid a restraining hand on her arm. “I’m sorry, Fenella, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. But I’m afraid I’m rather envious of you. You’re still so at the beginning of life while I—” and again that shrug of the shoulders.

“But you’re only about five years older than I am,” Fenella pointed out. “Surely—”

Rosemary shook her head and her hand dropped to her side.

“Oh no,” she said matter-of-factly. “There’s no question of a fresh start for me. There never can be for anyone, you know, because it would only be possible if one could wipe out the past. Turn time backwards— dear me, what nonsense I’m talking! Run along and do your duty by your guests, Fenella! I’m going to find Miss Prosser so that I can get up to date with all the local gossip—at least, I’ll be able to if she hasn’t changed. And I don’t suppose she has?”

“Not in the least,” Fenella said feelingly. “She always knows everything—and she’s always right!”

“She always was! That’s what’s made her so fiendishly dangerous,” Rosemary remarked with more animation than she had yet shown. “But for her, Anthony and I would probably never have broken our engagement. You knew we were engaged?” She paused, and Fenella nodded a brief "yes.” “Mother and I went up to town and I met Geoff—” she brought out the name without the least sign of emotion. “It was at a cocktail party and he was great fun. In the next few days I managed to sneak out quite a lot of times to meet him, partly because, I suppose, I was suffering from pre-wedding nerves, and the sheer boredom of being fitted for so many clothes. Well, one day, it just happened that Miss Prosser was up in town for some W.I. affair or other. Among other treats, they had an evening tour of the West End, and of course, there was a traffic jam that held up the coach she was in so that she had plenty of time to see Geoff and me going into a night club. Of course she told Anthony. You know
—
⁽
so nice for dear Miss Rosemary to have a friend to take her out as you couldn’t be there!'
So Anthony came steaming up to town and tried to lay the law down—Does he still do that, by the way?”

“No,” Fenella said curtly. “He doesn’t! ” Which wasn’t quite true, but she certainly wasn’t going to let Anthony down!

Rosemary’s brows lifted slightly.

“Dear me, still hero-worshipping?” she drawled. “Really, Fenella, haven’t you realised yet how that sort of thing bores men—"

Without answering, Fenella turned her back on Rosemary, and skirting the edge of the lawn, managed to get into the house without being detained for more than a moment or two.

When she reached the cool sanctuary of Aunt Gina’s sitting room, she dropped into an easy chair, lay back and dosed her eyes.

Quite soon, she knew, she would have to go back and play her part as young hostess, but just for a few minutes she must make the most of this opportunity of pulling herself together.

So much had happened in the last half-hour. The shock of Rosemary’s changed appearance, of Martin Adair’s unexpected presence, and perhaps, in a way most of all, Aunt Gina’s secretiveness about his impending visit.

Why on earth hadn’t she said anything? It seemed so silly, and yet, when Fenella remembered that until only a few weeks ago, Aunt Gina hadn’t told her anything about Anthony and Rosemary having once been engaged, this later evidence of secretiveness seemed to assume a very real importance. Perhaps, when she was a child, it had been understandable enough, but not now. It wasn’t only rather humiliating but just rather frightening as well. It wasn’t that her nearest and dearest had lied to her, but the truth had certainly been kept from her, which was, surely, almost as bad? It meant that either she wasn’t regarded as being sufficiently adult to be able to make a realistic assessment of a situation or else that she was being deliberately kept in ignorance so mind her feelings were dear enough, but it would be that she couldn’t do just that. And neither was a state of affairs that she was willing to accept.

But what was there she could do about it? In her own quite a different matter finding the words to make anyone else understand.

She moved restlessly, her eyes still closed. In the distance she heard the telephone bell ring, but before she could make up her mind to answer it the sound stopped. Unconsciously she gave a little sigh of relief and turned back to her own thoughts.

Whose fault was it that she felt like this—as if, because the people she had known so long seemed now to be entirely different from what she had believed them to be, she herself didn’t belong any more. She felt herself to be alien in what had, until now, been home.

Whose fault was it? Her own, perhaps, for having lived in a fool’s paradise. And was it now that it was she herself who had changed? Were Anthony and Aunt Gina and Rosemary just as they had always been though she had only so recently seen them in their true light? Despite the heat of the day she shivered. Anthony, whom she had always thought of as an essentially warmhearted and kindly man, frankly admitting that he had no use for love. Aunt Gina always so gentle and understanding yet now so secretive—

“As if she doesn’t trust me—or else doesn’t want me to know things in case they might influence me in a way she doesn’t want them to—” Fenella brooded.

And Rosemary? Aunt Gina had said that Rosemary had always been heartless. And it might be true. Yet surely she had some excuse for that frozen beauty and cynical outlook on life. Yes, perhaps the change in her was understandable. All the same, when, quite suddenly, your world has turned upside down, it isn’t very easy to draw such fine distinctions.

Then another interruption. The sound of footsteps in the polished hall. Light, but unmistakably those of a man. Sudden resentment surged up in Fenella. Couldn’t she be left to her own devices even for a minute?

“All right, Anthony, I’ll go out and do my duty in a few minutes!” she said impatiently as the door opened, and kept her eyes closed to show that she meant what she was saying. “But I’m tired and hot, and you’ll just have to do without me for the present! ”

“I’m sorry about that,” said a pleasant and slightly amused voice. “But I’m not Anthony!”

Fenella’s eyes opened and she was on her feet in a matter of seconds—so quickly, in fact, that she would have lost her balance if Martin Adair hadn’t put out a steadying hand.