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‘There is one little thing that’s been bothering me,’ said Steve, delaying the man’s departure. Sara knew her brother well and her ears perked up as she caught the subtle undertone in his voice. ‘The woman who called you ... are you sure she didn’t say who she was or what unit she lived in?’

‘She was pretty hysterical,’ Brad replied, shaking his head in a negative gesture. ‘She could barely get out the information that she was at The Pines. Why?’

‘I did some door-to-door canvassing this afternoon,’ Steve frowned. ‘And I couldn’t find a single tenant who was willing to admit to having made either phone call.’

‘Were you able to question all of them?’ Brad questioned.

‘No, not everyone was at home,’ Steve admitted, adding, ‘And it could have been one of them who called or it could be that the person who called didn’t want to admit the fact. They could be afraid that the vandals might find out who reported them and harass them. It’s just that I don’t like loose ends.’

‘As long as no harm was done, I’m satisfied,’ Brad said tersely, obviously anxious to return to his work. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you to visit with your sister.’

‘I wouldn’t exactly say no harm was done,’ Sara muttered as the door swung closed following his departure.

‘No, not exactly,’ Steve agreed quietly. Then coming to stand by his sister, he said, ‘I think it’s time for you to tell me what was going on when I arrived.’

‘The Fallons came,’ she replied sharply.

‘That part I know. What I don’t know is what happened while they were here that set both you and Brad on edge. Did they recognise you?’

‘Monica didn’t. Marc did, but he didn’t give me away to his sister. Brad told them both that he was friendly with my family and had given me this job as a temporary measure when I lost my apartment. Anyway, later, Marc followed me down to the kitchen and demanded to know the truth. I told him that Brad was a friend of my family just like he’d said and that he’d recognised me at the party and had given me this job in exchange for my word that I wouldn’t write any stories about Monica and her friends. Remember, the reason he took me into the ball was that he thought I was writing for one of those yellow tabloids.'

'And he bought it?’

‘He wasn’t totally convinced that Brad wasn’t attempting to take advantage of me while I was under his roof, but he bought the rest of the story. He thinks Brad wants to marry his sister, so it would only follow that he would do what he could to protect her.’

Although Sara tried to keep her manner and tone indifferent, Steve knew her too well not to recognise that something was bothering her. ‘If you’re worried about what Marc Fallon thinks of you, don’t be,’ he said. ‘The man is a useless lush.’

‘What Marc thinks of me doesn’t matter,’ she frowned. ‘Then what’s causing that dark cloud hanging over your head?’ he persisted.

‘It’s not a dark cloud. It’s just some confusion,’ she replied defensively. ‘I simply don’t understand what a man like Brad Garwood, who’s worked hard all his life, can see in a woman whose whole life is spent worrying about what dress she’s going to wear to her next party or who’ll sit next to whom at dinner.’

‘I think you’re being a little rough on Monica Fallon,’ Steve cautioned. ‘I understand she does a great deal of charity work. As far as the attraction between men and women is concerned, it’s not based on reason. It’s just something that happens.’

‘Apparently,’ she muttered, pushing the chicken into the oven and washing her hands. Then, beginning to feel uncomfortable under Steve’s continued scrutiny, she decided to change the direction of the conversation before she admitted more than she wanted to. ‘There was something else that happened during the Fallons’ visit that disturbed me,’ she began, then hesitated, suddenly feeling very guilty about telling Steve any details of Brad’s private life. It made it look as if she was in his house to provide her brother with information.

‘And what was that?’ he coaxed, as her hesitation lengthened into a prolonged silence. ‘You have good instincts, Sis. If something has upset you, you should tell me.’

‘It’s probably nothing,’ she hedged. Then because it really was bothering her and because she knew Steve would not give up until she told him, she said slowly, ‘Marc went into a detailed account of how his grand-mother had placed a deathbed curse on anyone who was not a Halloway or married to a Halloway who attempted to live at Cyprus Point. He seemed determined to create the impression that Brad could be in danger.’

‘Then there actually is a curse,’ Steve mused. ‘Apparently so. It seems that their father had sworn them to secrecy because he was afraid he might not be able to sell the place.’

‘You know I don’t believe in curses and superstitions, but I have to admit that two prior deaths does make me a bit uneasy,’ said Steve, deep furrows creasing his brow as he added, ‘I wonder why Fallon brought up the curse.’

‘I had the distinct impression that he was trying to warn Brad. He was not particularly subtle in his insinuation that the accident could have had something to do with the purchase of Cyprus Point. He even suggested that if Brad wanted to remain safe he should marry Monica.’ Sara’s mouth tightened at the remembered suggestion.

‘What did Monica have to say about all this?’ Steve questioned.

‘She was embarrassed by her brother’s remarks. I guess she’s afraid people will think he’s a bit eccentric.’

‘What he is, is an alcoholic,’ Steve stated with disgust. ‘You would think that someone with his opportunities in life would have made something better of himself.’

‘True,’ Sara admitted. ‘Now, so that I don’t feel like a spy, could we change the subject? Why did you come by to see me? Surely you aren’t checking up on me?’

‘The weekly letter from Mom came today.’ A playfully remorseful expression appeared on his face as he handed her the two neatly written pages.

Reading through it quickly. Sara paled as she reached the last paragraph. ‘She’s coming home two weeks from yesterday?’ she muttered.

‘You’re going to have to do some fast apartment hunting,’ he nodded.

‘I’d planned to be out of here by the end of next week, anyway, I had just hoped to have a little more time for Joanie and Tommy to have forgotten about Brad Garwood,’ she sighed. ‘You know what chatterboxes they are.’

‘Just so you’re out of here before it’s more than Tommy and Joanie who are doing the talking,’ Steve warned.

Sara merely grimaced, not having the nerve to tell him about the policeman and the cleaning service people.

Following Steve’s departure, she went up to the living room to collect the coffee and tea things left from the afternoon visitors. As she replaced the cup used by Monica on the tray, she wished she hadn’t mentioned the business about the curse to Steve. It made her feel like a child carrying tales. But then there had been a flavour to Marc’s remarks that had left her feeling edgy.

Frowning introspectively, she sat down in one of the graceful Victorian chairs near the fireplace and stared with unseeing eyes at the empty hearth. It wasn’t Marc who had made her edgy. It was Monica. Monica and Brad. She remembered what a handsome couple they made, in their nineteenth-century costumes, floating across the floor to the strains of a waltz. Grudgingly she admitted that Monica would be the perfect wife for a successful businessman. She knew all the right people and how to entertain them. In addition to which, there was the prestige of the Fallon name.

Slowly a tear trickled down her cheek. How could she care so deeply for a man who had come into her life only days earlier and who treated her as if she were a child who needed constant guidance?

‘For Pete’s sake, what’s wrong?’ Brad’s voice sliced through the air as he strode across the room and knelt in front of her. ‘Did Steve bring some bad news?’

‘No/ she managed to choke out as she brushed away the tear with a quick, nervous gesture. ‘I had something in my eye, but it’s gone.’

His hand came up to touch the still damp flesh, then immediately breaking the contact, he straightened and moved away to stand leaning against the mantel above the fireplace.

‘I’m sorry if my presence embarrassed you today,’ she said stiffly. ‘I hope Monica wasn’t upset.’

‘Monica is a very generous and understanding woman,’ he replied, hooking his thumbs in his pockets as he faced her. ‘And I told no lies. I consider Steve a friend as well as a valued employee, and you did lose your apartment and needed a place to stay until you were resettled.’

Sara thought that she would not have been so understanding if the roles had been reversed, but she said nothing. The truth could be that Monica was simply better at hiding her emotions than most women.

Brad continued to watch her. It was obvious he had not believed the ‘something in the eye’ story. ‘Did Steve come by for some special reason, or does he always check up on you once a day?’

‘He brought over the weekly letter from our mother. She’s coming home in a few days. But you don’t have to worry, I’ll be out of here by then,’ she replied tightly, wondering if Brad was again going to accuse her of working for her brother and suggest that Steve’s appearance was more of a business call than a brother-sister visit. Then realising that it was her own conscience that was bothering her, she said, ‘I did mention the story Marc told about his grandmother placing a curse on Cyprus Point to Steve.’

‘You did?’ A sardonic smile curled his lips as if she was verifying his suspicion that she was her brother’s spy.

‘Yes, I did,’ she glared up at him defensively. ‘He seemed to be warning you.’

‘Did it ever occur to you that he was merely putting on a show for your benefit?’ Brad questioned drily.

‘A show for my benefit?!’ Her eyes widened as she stared at the man incredulously.

‘I noticed he found it impossible to stay away from you. Perhaps he wanted to be certain you understood how extensive his bloodlines are.’

‘I’m not a social climber, Mr Garwood. The Fallon and Halloway names hold no importance for me.’ She faced him haughtily, her mouth tightening into a hard line as she bit back the words which threatened to follow as an image of Monica flashed through her mind. Rising abruptly from the chair, she retrieved the tray and strode from the room.

During dinner, she single-mindedly perused the classified adds, circling even those that looked only halfway promising.

‘Find anything?’ Brad broke into her concentration as he entered the kitchen.

‘Several possibilities,’ she replied, then demanded as he started pouring himself a cup of coffee, ‘Why didn’t you ring?’

‘I didn’t see any reason to get used to being waited on hand and foot when I’ll be losing my housekeeper one day soon.’

There was an underlying hint of anticipation in his voice that rankled. ‘I’m certain you’ll find someone who can do a much better job than I’ve done,’ she returned frostily.

‘Actually,’ he said, pausing at the door to give her his full attention, ‘I’m considering a more permanent type of arrangement, which is another reason for not allowing myself to get too used to being waited on. I understand the modern female doesn’t believe in subservience to her spouse.’

Acid rose in Sara’s throat. So he was planning to ask Monica to marry him. Well, if he thought Monica Fallon was going to live without both a cook and a maid to wait on her hand and foot, he was in for a shock, Sara thought sarcastically. Not trusting the pain to be totally removed from her eyes, she picked up her newspaper and, feigning intense interest in the printed page, said in an indifferent tone, ‘Then it’s a good thing I’m moving out very soon. I wouldn’t want to complicate your plans by my presence.’

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as she felt his eyes on her for a long moment, then abruptly he left.

As the door swung closed behind him, her shoulders sagged and she squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to block out the image of him and Monica together. ‘I wonder how old Hanna will feel about having little half-Yankees running around her plantation,’ she muttered hostilely, brushing away an offensive tear that had somehow escaped.

Clearing away the dishes, she told herself for the thousandth time that she was being ridiculous to allow herself to react so strongly to a man she had known for only days. The problem was that she didn’t feel as if she had known him for only a few days. She felt as if she had always known him. It was as if he was the missing piece of her world which she had been searching for all this time; a necessary integral to make her existence complete.

‘A person would think you were a schoolgirl, the way you’re overreacting to the man,’ she scolded herself as she finished the last pan and dried her hands.

Tossing the newspaper on to her bed, she went up to her studio, intent on finishing the bust and putting Brad Garwood behind her for ever. Once she was gone from his house, she was determined that he would be gone from her life.

However, as she worked and reworked the clay, the task began to feel impossible. The problem was the ears; no matter what she did they still didn’t look right. Finally she admitted defeat and knocked on Brad’s workroom door.

‘What is it?’ he asked, glancing up impatiently from his draught board.

‘Nothing. Excuse me for interrupting,’ she flushed, suddenly willing to give up totally on the sculpture rather than spend any length of time studying the man’s features in the flesh. Closing the door, she walked rapidly back into her studio and began wrapping the clay. Tomorrow was Saturday, and she would find a new place to live and be rid of Brad Garwood.

A knock on the studio door followed by Brad’s entrance brought her to a stop in mid-motion. ‘Do you need me to sit again?’ he asked, his manner controlled and she guessed that he was tiring of her presence rapidly.

‘I didn’t mean to interrupt,’ she apologised tightly.

‘I needed to take a break anyway. Shall I use the same stool as before?’

Sara had a tremendous urge to tell him to go away. But realising how foolish that would make her look since she had been the one to seek him out in the first place, she said, ‘Yes, that will be fine.’

As she began to work, she discovered to her dismay that even her art was no protection against the force of Brad’s presence. With him so near, she could not concentrate and the ears still refused to look correct. As a last resort, in an effort to understand the shape, she walked over to him and ran her fingers along the contours of the lobe.