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It did not rain, it was a mild and sunny afternoon. Frances found the pool, which was, in a fold of the hillside, sparkling in the sunshine. The deeper end of it was completely clear and to the side of it was a small log cabin roofed with turf where bathers could leave their clothes. It was surrounded on three sides by rhododendron bushes, which grew well in that country, and the huge magenta heads were coming into bloom. At the further end of the pool, where the water oozed into marsh, was a spread of yellow waterlilies. It was a favourite resort of the twins, whom she had yet to meet, and they must have spent some time and effort in embellishing it, for there was even a plank pier running out into the water.

Frances arrived first, wearing the swimsuit Lesley had provided under her dress and carrying a towel. Her hair was confined in a rubber cap. She stood by the water feeling a little foolish, for it did not seem as if Gray were going to turn up. Then she saw him coming striding down the hillside with Caesar bounding beside him, and her heart gave a lurch. Bareheaded, in casual shirt and slacks, his throat exposed, the sun gilding his hair, he again reminded her of some Nordic god or mythological hero— Baldur the Beautiful, or Siegfried of the sagas.

He came to stand beside her and looked with amusement at the pool.

‘Those young hussies made themselves very free with my property,’ he remarked. ‘You haven’t met them yet. They’re nice kids, but a bit presumptuous. They must have got round old Murdoch to do all
that work for them, unbeknown to me. Well, it’s going to be useful to us now.'

He produced a couple of armbands which he inflated.

‘These will help you to keep up,’ he explained. ‘I'll just drop my clothes in the hut and then we’ll get going.’

It took Frances a week to acquire a modest breaststroke. They were lucky to have a period of real summer weather, all too rare in Scotland. All her life Frances was to look back on those golden afternoons with nostalgia—the blue water and bluer sky, the flamboyant blooms of the rhododendrons, the frieze of waterlilies, and Gray Crawford, bare arid bronzed except for his trunks, his strong hands ever ready to support her when she threatened to sink, his low encouraging voice, his endless patience, which was surprising, for he was not a patient man. She had feared he would quickly become irritated with her feeble efforts, though actually they were not feeble at all. She had long arms and a good breadth of shoulder, and he instilled such confidence into her that she made fast progress. It seemed as if he were willing her to swim, so swim she did. At the end of the week he told her:

'I have to go to Glasgow tomorrow, but you can manage on your own now. Don’t let it drop. Bring Caesar with you when you come to practise. He’ll guard you and pull you out if you get into difficulties, but you won’t. Swimming is something which once acquired you never forget.’

They had come out of the water, and pulling off her cap, Frances let her hair fall about her shoul
ders. It fell nearly to her waist, covering her like a cloak. She had wrapped her towel about her middle.

‘I seem to be forever in your debt,' she said gratefully. ‘You're very good to me, Gray, and I don't know why.’

Why indeed should he concern himself with his dependents' home help?

‘It’s nothing,' he said lightly. ‘People who live near water should be able to swim, but if you really feel indebted to me,' he came closer with his eyes on her mouth, ‘there’s a graceful way of saying thank you.’

Her heart began to race suffocatingly fast.

‘You mean . . . you’d like me to kiss you?’

He laughed, amused by her naiveté.

‘I don’t usually ask, I take, but I’d like you to give.’

It cost her an effort to raise her arms and put them around his neck. A kiss meant nothing, but she was strangely reluctant, perhaps because to her it would mean something. She had never been free with her kisses, even with Tony she had been reserved. But Tony had never been demanding; he had thought passion was something that should be restrained until after the wedding. Gray, she felt instinctively, had no inhibitions, and she might be starting what she could not control. The towel slipped from about her-—she always seemed to be in a state of undress when she contacted Gray—and as his arms closed round her there was only the thin top of her swimsuit between their bodies. He held her tightly against him, and her hair enveloped them, as their lips met m a long, close pressure. Her
whole body seemed to melt into his, and she could feel the hard muscles of his thighs against her softer flesh. Then, almost violently, he pushed her away from him.

‘Thank you . . . Fran . . he said shakily. 'That was . . . very sweet, but . . . Oh, go and put your clothes on, girl, or I won’t answer for myself!’

Feeling vaguely rebuffed, she ran from him into the shelter of the log hut. She was shaking, and her whole body seemed aflame. Gray Crawford was dynamite!

When she had managed to compose herself, donned her clothes, and come out again, she found that he had gone.

Dutifully Frances came again the next afternoon, but the sun went in and the mere seemed unbearably melancholy under a grey sky without his presence. Caesar too seemed to miss him, for he prowled along the water’s edge whimpering. The plaintive cry of a curlew added to her feeling of desolation. She stayed in the water for only a short while, as it was cold, and they returned together a disconsolate pair. She would not come again unless she could persuade Ian or Lesley to accompany her. The place was too empty when she was on her own.

Gray was gone two days and returned in the Lamberts' super launch. This time he invited the Fergusons and Frances to join the party for drinks. Margaret excused herself, saying she did not like the stairs up to Gray’s eyrie, and she felt out of place among the jet set.

‘But you go, Fran,' she bade her, when Frances suggested she should stay with her. ‘You’re young, you can take it, and it’ll be an education for you to meet Gray’s pals.’

Was there a subtle meaning behind her words? Frances had noticed Gray seemed to be partial to her help, and she wanted her to realise she had no part in his world.

Frances wanted to go, not to meet the Lamberts, but to see Gray’s quarters which were out of bounds to any but Murdoch, except by invitation. They were in the top half of the old tower, the most ancient part of the building, approach by the original stone spiral stairs. The accommodation comprised two floors, the lower portion being divided into his bedroom, Murdoch’s cubbyhole, a kitchen and a bathroom. The upper one was one big sitting room, the enlarged windows looking out on all four sides over the loch and hills. It was simply furnished with a couple of oak settles, leather-covered armchairs, a large desk and a handsome Turkey red carpet. Above the desk was a large framed photograph of Silver Arrow, There was a telescope on a tripod trained upon the loch. The Lamberts were assembled when the three young people came in and Gray introduced them with a wave of his hand towards them. ‘My assistants, Ian, Lesley and Frances.’ And to them, ‘Meet the Lamberts, Stu, Brett, Carrie and Sam.’

The Americans said ‘Hi!’ and the assistants murmured vaguely, then the buzz of conversation broke out again. Frances sought the seclusion of a deep window embrasure and from that vantage point tried to identify who was who. Stuart Lambert was undoubtedly ‘Pop', as his offspring called him, a stout genial personage, very much the successful business man, but he had kind eyes, and made a point of addressing a few words to each of them. His wife, Caroline, was also plump, her opulent figure moulded by her foundation garment, expensively dressed and coiffured, her manner aggressive, as was that of her son Brett, a mean-faced man, whose eyes were too close together. His mother had spoiled him utterly, bringing him up to believe that anything he wanted he must have, by fair means or foul. Frances instinctively distrusted him.

The girl, Samantha, would have been pretty but for her petulant expression and slightly prominent front teeth. She had obviously tinted brassy hair, and hard blue eyes. She affected a nautical outfit, a sailor’s blouse over wide navy slacks with a yachting cap perched jauntily on her curls. She called Gray ‘darling’ and touched him whenever opportunity offered. She gave both the other girls an appraising stare. Lesley she dismissed as negligible, Frances’ good looks caused her a qualm, especially as Gray’s eyes kept straying towards her, where she sat, a silent lavender-clad figure on the window seat, but she consoled herself by reflecting the girl was probably penniless while she herself was an heiress, and few men could resist the lure of wealth.

Murdoch handed round the trays of glasses with disapproval written all over him. He was a grizzled Highlander, who had served Gray since he was a boy and adored him.

After several whiskies, Brett began to boast.

‘My old man’s backing the wrong horse,’ he declared. ‘Silver Arrow hasn’t a chance against my Sea Witch. All the wise guys are putting their dough on me.' He glanced at Gray and Frances sensed he hated and feared him. and he was not nearly as confident as he pretended.

‘You’re wasting your time competing,’ he went on, ‘and it’ll cost you a packet to get your craft across the Atlantic.’

Gray smiled serenely. ‘Your victory wouldn't be worth much if you had no serious competition.'

‘And it’s by no means a certainty,’ Brett’s father remarked.

A glance passed between the two, and Frances suspected that there was little sympathy between father and son and that was why Stu was sponsoring Gray. Brett weaved his way across to Frances, much to her dismay. He stood in front of her with a leer in his close set eyes.

‘Some assistant!’ he exclaimed. ‘Sure Gray knows how to pick his dames, but you’re wasted in this backwater.’ His manner become confidential. Say, sister, why don’t you come over to the States,' That’s a country fit to live in. I'd look after you, find you a job if you want one.’

Frances shrank from his bold gaze, which seemed to be undressing her.

‘Thank you, but I’m quite content where I am, she returned, aware that Gray was watching them with smouldering eyes. Evidently he did not approve of Brett’s admiration, if it could be called that, but it was not her fault the young man had singled her out.

Brett sniggered. ‘You another fan of. his?’ He jerked his head towards Gray. ‘Nothing doing for you there. Sam’s got her hooks into him and she don’t like competition, so hands off if you know what’s good for you. But he isn’t the only guy around. I’d be happy to console you.’

Gray made a movement towards them, but Sam put a restraining hand on his arm as she put a question to him.

Frances said coldly:

‘You’re under a misapprehension, Mr Lambert. I’m employed here, but not by Mr Crawford. His friendships are of no interest to me,’

But she was conscious of an ache in her heart. That brassy woman would not make a good wife and she was surprised Gray was attracted by her, but she was very rich and Gray was extravagant. She did not like to think that he could be mercenary-minded, but there had been a time when she would have denied furiously that Tony could be so, and she had been proved wrong, and she knew Gray less well than she had known Tony. If he were prepared to sell himself to the infatuated Miss Lambert, it was no concern of hers, and he was shrewd enough to know what to expect. Presumably he had counted the cost. She did not like these friends of Gray's, with the exception of the father, who seemed to be a good sort, and she wished he were not involved with them. Intuitively she was sure they would do him no good.

‘You don’t say?’ Brett obviously did not believe her. ‘But why so starchy? All these Misters! My name’s Brett.’

Ian came to her rescue, distracting Brett with some query about his speedboat, and imperceptibly edged him away. Frances flashed him a grateful look and caught Gray’s baleful eye. She lifted her head defiantly, as their glances locked. Re had exposed her to the attentions of his obnoxious acquaintance and had no right to object to Ian’s kindly intervention. Samantha again took possession of him, and soon after the party broke up.

Lesley was no more enamoured of the Lamberts than was Frances, and as they descended the spiral stair she said to her:

‘That Brett’s a nasty piece of work, and he’d do Gray an injury if he could, while as for that bitch of a girl . . .’ She sighed. ‘Pray God he keeps out of her clutches!’

‘I suppose it would be a good match for him?’ Frances asked tentatively.

‘Good lord, no, he’d end by murdering her, money or no money,’ Lesley
declared emphatically. ‘Even if she loves him, and she’s one who can only love herself, he can’t stand cloying women or suffer fools gladly.’

Lesley’s attitude towards Frances had changed since her immersion in the loch, she was no longer antagonistic, and now they were united by their dislike of Samantha Lambert. Subconsciously they were united also by their regard for Gray, but with a difference. Lesley's feeling was obvious, but Frances was unsure about hers. The man drew her strongly and when he left he would leave a gap in her life, but she was not in love with him, she assured herself almost feverishly. She would not let herself fall in love with him; she had experienced the pain of rejection once, and though Gray seemed to like her, he had no stronger feeling for her. Perhaps it was a good thing for her that he was going away, hut she wished she could eliminate Samantha Lambert. She could sympathise now with the urge which had prompted Lesley to push her off the quay, it would give her immense satisfaction to do the same to Samantha, but being of a gentler disposition than Miss Ferguson, she was immediately ashamed of the thought. It might be Sam had a genuine affection for Gray, and her dislike was prompted by secret jealousy, which she could not justify. For she had no pretensions to have won Gray's love, it was presumptuous to even think of it. That kiss by the mere had only been a diversion to him. He had no doubt kissed Samantha too, and more wholeheartedly than he had her, if he were seriously thinking of marrying her. Frances went in to Margaret to give her an account of the party with a heavy heart.