Song of the Waves

Anne Hampson

At the age of twenty, Wendy Brown had embarked on a luxurious round-the-world cruise—an enviable position to be in, surely? And when she met a devastatingly attractive passenger, Garth Rivers, and a romance swiftly grew up between them, she would seem to be even luckier. But was she so lucky? For, although Wendy knew that Garth was the love of her life, only she knew the dreadful truth—that her life in fact had not much longer to go; she had been given four months to live. It would hurt Garth less, she felt, if she could manage to persuade him that she did not love him after all; but had she the strength of mind, for his sake, to carry out the deception?

All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the Author, and have no relation

whatsoever to anyone bearing the some name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the Author, and alt the incidents are pure invention.

First published 1976 This edition 1976

© Anne Hampson 1976

With only three months to live, Wendy knew that if love did come to her she must have the strength to reject it. A luxury liner on a world cruise pro­vided the background for her meeting with the handsome Garth Rivers ... and she found herself in the very situa­tion she wished so desperately to avoid.

CHAPTER ONE

Wendy sat upright on the chair, her icy hands gripping the arms. She was vaguely aware of the lined face before her, the compassionate eyes, the heavy grey eyebrows that had always given the man a ferocious appearance. She was aware of the clouds seen through the window—great cumulonimbus blotting out the sun; she was also aware of the slow and heavy ticking of the clock ... yes ... the ... slow ... tick ... Abruptly she dragged her mind away from it, as one drags at the bonds of a bad dream, jerking oneself awake. But with a bad dream there was the sigh of relief on the awakening ...

'Doctor Whittaker,' she said in a voice little above a whisper, 'you haven't yet told me what the specialist's verdict is. He himself refused to reveal the truth to me, saying that it would be best if my own doctor spoke to me. I've been here for about

five minutes ' She glanced at her wrist-watch.

'Yes, exactly five minutes, my appointment being for three o'clock.'

He seemed to swallow something terribly pain­ful in his throat.

'My dear,' he began. 'I've known you so long ...'

'Twenty years,' she said, 'you brought me into the world.'

Again he swallowed, but his voice became firm as he said,

'A brain tumour, Wendy ... the specialist holds out no hope whatsoever.' Swiftly he turned away;

she knew without any doubt at all that he would have tears in those kindly blue eyes when next he turned to face her.

'No hope.' Wendy's voice carried the unmistak­able evidence of despair. 'I knew, of course—by the expression on the specialist's face.'

'He wanted to operate, but realized that it wouldn't do any good. He was terribly frustrated at his own helplessness.'

She said, looking for the tears as the doctor turned to face her,

'How long have I got, Doctor Whittaker?'

'Four months—or perhaps a little longer.'

Her big violet eyes, haunted and protesting, stared into his across the big leather-topped desk that stood between her and the man who, through the years, had been her friend as well as her doctor.

'He means—I can be fairly sure of four months, is that it?'

Four months ... It was now December. She would never see another summer, or autumn— which was a time she loved—or another winter after this one. She would never see another birth­day.

'Yes, Wendy, that is what he means.'

She remained silent, aware that she was pale— her skin always did change when she was emotion­ally affected. It became white, and smooth as alabaster, she had been told. She said at last, spread­ing her hands,

'What does a doomed person do for four months? It might as well be now. I wish with all my heart it were now!' The cry came from the very depths of her, and it was sincere. She had no wish to live in a condemned cell for the next four months.

'What does one do?' he repeated, ignoring the rest of what she had said. 'What advice must I give you, Wendy?' His eyes were moist, as she had known they would be. His mouth, with those full lips that so often were pursed, was not quite still.

Her own lips trembled; her heartbeats were just a little quicker and more heavy than usual. She relaxed her grip on the arms of the chair and put them before her on the desk, clasping them lightly together.

'You've always given me the right advice,' she reminded him. 'You've always been there when I needed guidance.' 'She had never known her father, as he had died when she was less than a year old. Her mother had died just over a year ago. We're a short-lived family, she thought, trying to recall just when the headaches had begun. At first she had concluded they were the result of eye-strain because she had always done a good deal of reading, living alone as she did. But there was the accom­panying feeling of lethargy, and at last she had consulted the doctor. The specialist next, whose face had been so grim and whose eyes were brood­ing as he said,

'Go and see your doctor; he'll have heard from me by this time tomorrow.'

'But '

A restraining hand had been raised as she would have asked him questions.

'Your doctor has known you for many years; he's the man to speak to you about this.'

'It's ... something very serious ?' Another

interruption, and an abrupt dismissal. Wendy had risen unsteadily to her feet, and a moment later she found herself outside the door, acutely aware

that she was in the grip of a dreadful fear.

Doctor Whittaker's low cough brought her back from that terrible memory, to the present, and to the question she had asked, a question which, she knew, he had been pondering over, and that now he had the answer.

'Yes, Doctor Whittaker?' She managed a smile as her eyes questioned. 'You've thought of something for me to do?'

He nodded, and seemed a trifle happier, although the shadows still hovering in his eyes betrayed his inner emotion, and his deep regret.

'The maiden world cruise of the S.S. Fayson ... she sails at the beginning of January——'

'You're suggesting I take it?' Wendy blinked at him. 'I can't afford anything like that,' she gasped. 'My total assets are about two hundred pounds!'

'And the—house.' Difficult this word; she realized that he was wondering just how she was feeling.

'The house? Sell it, you mean?' He nodded and she thought: how final—how terribly, unbearably final. Her house, the home left to her by her mother. It was her property, and it was in good order. The furniture, too, was desirable, most of it being of good quality, and some of it being quite old and rare.

'It would fetch more than you'd need, my dear,' Doctor Whittaker was saying gently. 'Sufficient for the cruise—and I mean, for you to have top-priced accommodation. There would also be sufficient for your clothes, and the spending money you'd require on a three-month trip of that nature.'

She was frowning, and he reminded her, in the same gentle voice, that it was not as if she had some­one dear to her to whom she would wish to leave her property. She nodded and agreed with him. She had no one of her own—except a very distant cousin. Why, then, not take the doctor's advice?

Wendy stood looking over the side of the great ship as it moved slowly away from the docks at Southampton. Would she ever return? Three months only, she had now, or just over. The house had found a buyer in the first people to look at it, since Wendy had not asked anywhere near the true worth. She required the money quickly, she had explained, and as this particular couple had the cash, she took the offer they had made to her. A telephone call to the shipping office had followed and a stateroom designed for two people had been allocated to her on account of a last-minute cancel­lation. She had then rushed around buying clothes, seeing to inoculations against yellow fever and cholera, and while all this was going on she was having people call at the house to buy the furniture and other items which she was selling. No time to think ... yet behind all this activity was the black veil of doom, the finality of it all. Then the last turn of the key in the door as she had come out this morning, leaving Doctor Whittaker to carry on with the sale of those things which still remained. He was to do everything for her, and, if she did return, she would go into a nursing home, the doctor having previously arranged for her to do so.

She would not think of three months hence, she decided as, glancing round, she saw all the happy faces of the people taking the cruise of a lifetime. That old couple ... had they saved all their lives for this? That man there ... he was probably a maker of roads or a builder of public works. That woman ... a film star, perhaps, certainly rich, judg­ing by the diamonds and the mink coat she was wearing. That man over there, a Frenchman, she thought. And that one just along from her ... an­other business magnate. Those two by the rail ... one so tall and dark; she was fascinated by his good looks as in profile she noted the classical lines of his face, firm and clear cut. The nose was aquiline, the chin firm and thrust out. Hollow cheeks and a well- bronzed skin ... He turned his head, looked in­differently through her, then turned again to con­verse with his friend. Wendy took another look at the receding dock, then went down to her luxury stateroom on the Signal Deck. It was an outside stateroom with both bath and shower, the last word in comfort.

Once in her room she stood by the wardrobe, her eyes focused on the mirror, and yet they saw noth­ing. For suddenly the whole weight of her position took over and she felt she was being dragged down by sheer misery, dragged into a deep abyss where all was darkness, and all hope was lost. So over­powering was this sensation that she had a terrible urge to cry out in protest, imploring help.

The sensation passed slowly, leaving her drained and lethargic. The dull ache in her head thrust it­self invidiously into her consciousness ... She lay down on the bed and closed her eyes. Why had she come on this cruise? Why had she not seen that life would be sheer torture? Living among people who were on pleasure bent, people who would laugh and swim and dance, who would go off on the exotic trips arranged by the American Express Company for the passengers when, at the ports mentioned, the ship would dock for several hours or even days.

However, after a rest and a shower she felt sufficiently refreshed to go and take afternoon tea in the Queen's Room, a delightful lounge with bright orange-coloured upholstery and potted plants add­ing even more colour—exotic colour. She was served with tea and fresh cream cakes by a smiling steward in black trousers and a white coat. Bringing out her book, she settled down to enjoy her first snack aboard the ship.

She had scarcely opened the book when some instinct caused her to glance up; two men had entered—the two she had seen on deck just as the ship sailed. The tall handsome one looked at her, with that same glance of indifference with which he had looked at her before, but the other man, just as well-dressed but neither so tall nor so good looking as his friend, seemed to give a start as his eyes met those of Wendy. Words passed between the two men, after which the taller man glanced in her direction. They appeared to be talking about her and she flushed selfconsciously, suddenly experi­encing that sensation of total aloneness which cuts off the solitary traveller from the people who are with companions. Once again Wendy asked herself why she had come on this cruise. The ordeal of attempting to appear happy was too much.

She listened to their voices as they moved on, cultured voices with one slightly higher-pitched than the other. For no reason at all Wendy decided that the lower-toned voice belonged to the taller of the men. A moment or two later she was again hearing the voices, which now came from over her shoulder and she realized that the men were sitting at a table behind her, the high upholstered back of the couch forming a screen which afforded privacy

to those people sitting on either side of it.

'I'm quite sure it's her, Garth. It's Lenise Mavaro. That elfin face and those enormous violet eyes; that retrousse nose and that delectable mouth. I'd know them anywhere.'

'I thought Lenise Mavaro was an ash-blonde?'

'At times, she is. And always in her films, but if she's travelling incognito the first thing she'd do is hide that well-known head of hair of hers.'

'Why should she want to disguise herself?'

'You haven't heard of her eccentricities?'

'The only thing I ever hear about her,' came the cynical and contemptuous retort, 'is that she's found herself another lover.'

A laugh, and Wendy felt that this came from the smaller of the two men.

'Undoubtedly she does love to flaunt her im­morality, but also she does have this peculiar trait that leads her to take on the role of Little Miss Innocent. She then takes a cruise, disguising her­self and adopting a name that fits the role she's adopted. It might be Mary or Mandy—the sort of name you associate with the shy little thing who's never been kissed.'

'What a strange personality! I hadn't heard of this peculiarity, but then I don't take very much notice of people of her breed. I've never seen a film of hers, as you know.'

'I know someone who worked with her on a film; it was he who told me of her odd little traits, and that, between films, she was quite likely to go off all on her own, disguising herself in this way.'

Wendy poured her tea and put sugar into it, stirring absently as she found herself interested in their conversation, since she also had heard the

12

rumours that the world-famous film star, Lenise Mavaro, had a habit of travelling under an assumed name, and with her glorious platinum blonde hair hidden under a dark wig. What Wendy did not hear was that the star possessed this strange char­acteristic of desiring to appear innocent, and she wondered vaguely just what explanation the psycho­logists would produce, were they asked to give a reason for this desire„

Sipping her tea, Wendy heard the topic change, learning that one of the men was a partner in a firm of London estate agents; the other man made no mention of his occupation. He said little, seem­ing to be far more reserved than his friend. His voice portrayed boredom at times and she could almost see him lifting a languid hand to stifle a yawn. His friend was speaking again, but Wendy failed to catch his words. She thought she heard him mention something like '... hope you're able to keep it dark,' but she wasn't sure.

Smiling wryly at the interest she was evincing in the men's conversation, she told herself to mind her own business. And yet, for some indefinable reason she continued to think about the taller of the two men, bewildered that her mind should be occupied by thoughts of a man she had never met, a man who at this moment was not even identifi­able, since it was purely conjecture on her part that it was the taller of the two who was trying to keep something dark.

Her tea was almost finished when a young man was shown to the table next to hers. His eyes met hers and he smiled; Wendy responded, then picked up her book. Twenty minutes later, her tea finished, she rose with the intention of exploring part of the ship, but she had scarcely left the room when, feeling a light tap on her shoulder, she turned to see the young man holding out her book.

'You left this on the seat,' he smiled, his apprecia­tive eyes travelling from her face to her lovely dark hair and back again.

'Thank you. I completely forgot about it.'

A pause as the man seemed undecided whether, having handed her the book, he should go or stay.

'You're ... alone?' he ventured at length, and Wendy nodded her head.

'Yes, I am.' She looked swiftly at him, noting the clear open face, the eyes that stared straight into hers, the mouth that seemed a little too soft and compassionate to belong to a man.

'So am I.' Another hesitation and then, 'Mind if I walk on the deck with you?'

'Not at all.' Her easy reply to his request puzzled her for a moment, but as she realized that no tinge of resentment was felt at this intrusion into her privacy, she drew the conclusion that, subcon­sciously. she was desiring company.

'Good.' Falling into step beside her, he walked in silence for a few moments before saying, 'Have you, like me, been let down by the friend who was coming with you?'

'No; I made up my mind about the cruise only three weeks ago.'

'Three weeks! And you managed to get accom­modation?'

'A cancellation,' she explained. They had reached the rail and she stopped. 'You were coming with a friend, you said?'

'Yes. He booked last year, as I did, of course, but as the months passed he kept hinting that he couldn't really afford the trip. Then he definitely decided against it and got his deposit back. I've now got a stateroom to myself.'

'So have I; the room's a double; I understood that an elderly couple had originally booked it.'

'One of them might have died,' he mused un­concernedly. And then he added, 'Did you know that on almost every cruise of this duration someone dies and is buried at sea? You can understand it, though, because it's such an expensive cruise that a good proportion of the people are retired and in consequence, getting on in years. Take into con­sideration the number of people aboard, and you'll see that it's quite feasible that someone will die— more than one person, in all probability.' He paused, frowning a little, 'You've gone pale. Are you quite all right?'

She nodded, but no words left her lips; her mouth was so dry that she kept on swallowing over and over again, trying to moisten it.

'Have you been on cruises where people have died?' she managed at last.

'Yes, several times. I was on one last Christmas; it was only a three-week cruise, but there were over four thousand people aboard. Two passengers died —they were old, mind—and the ship's doctor as well. They were all buried at sea. They do it at night when the rest of the passengers are asleep.'

At night ... In the darkness, so that the other passengers should not have a blight put on their pleasure. Dropped into the sea ... To go down, down; into the blackness ... alone in the vast ocean. But what did it really matter, once you were dead?

'1 think I'll go to my room,' she said, trying to

offer a smile.

'Oh ' He looked a trifle downcast. 'Have I

upset you by that morbid digression? I'm so sorry.' His apology was genuine, deep regret written all over his face. 'How stupid of me!'

He would consider it even more stupid were he to know the truth.

'Don't think of it.' Her smile was easier now, and she decided not to go to her room; she would only brood on what he had said, and become the victim of anguished depression. 'It didn't upset me in any way,' she added, uncaring that she lied.

'I shouldn't expect it to.' He looked into her beautiful face and added, 'At eighteen or nineteen you don't think of such things as dying.' He paused a second. 'How close was I?' he wanted to know, amusement settling on his face.

'I'm twenty,' she said in reply.

'Wonderful age!'

'But you're not much older,' she stated.

'Twenty-six and a half, to be exact.'

'You've done a great deal of travelling?'

'Pretty fair. I usually work like a navvy for a couple of years or so, then take myself on a trip somewhere.'

'You must have worked hard for a trip like this.'

'Had a legacy,' he admitted. 'Father advised me to invest it; Mother said I ought to help my sister with the buying of her house. She's just married and they've taken on more than they ought—same as most young couples do nowadays. However, when I read the brochure about this cruise I decided that good advice was all very well for the stick-in-the- mud types. I wanted to see the world, and this cruise offered so much that I couldn't resist taking it.'

She nodded absently, aware that he would like to know the reason she was taking the cruise. She said after a pause,

'I'm here because my doctor advised it.'

His eyes opened wide.

'You've been ill?' His gaze was examining, his expression disbelieving. 'You look absolutely top- hole to me!'

She smiled and said,

'Thank you very much. Yes, I've been ill,' she added in answer to his question.

'Well, this'll do you good and no mistake.' His eyes scanned the horizon; clouds were forming, blotting out the sun. 'Which restaurant are you in?' he inquired after a while. 'I'm in the Britannia.'

'I'm in the Queen's Grill,' she returned, and saw his face fall.

'That's for the very elite. I'm in the cheapest accommodation on board.'

Wendy said nothing. She herself just happened to be in the higher category simply because this was where the cancellation happened to be. As with many ships, the Fayson had one class only. How­ever, there were three restaurants, and the seating was allocated according to the price paid for one's accommodation.

'Can I see you after dinner?'

Wendy smiled at the question, feeling oddly up­lifted that she was not to be wandering about alone.

'That would be nice,' she said, and the young man immediately introduced himself as Shaw Stacy.

'My name's Wendy,' she said. 'Wendy Brown.'

'A sweet and innocent name,' he laughed.

She merely smiled, but later, as they strolled to­gether around the ship, trying to discover where

everything was, Wendy found herself laughing on no less than three occasions, and mentally she thanked him for his own infectious humour. It was over three weeks since a laugh had risen to her lips.

The dress she wore for dinner that evening was in soft green velvet, high-waisted and fitting smoothly to her lovely figure. In her hair she wore a dainty little star made of seed pearls—a piece of antique jewellery handed down from her great-grand­mother's day. A modest bracelet of gold was her only other adornment, and yet, as she entered the restau­rant, many eyes turned in her direction, to follow her as, conducted by a steward, she proceeded to her table. It was a table for four and another woman was already sitting there, a middle-aged woman with a ready smile which revealed a row of pro­minent teeth.

'You alone, dearie?' she wanted to know im­mediately the steward had made his departure. 'My name's Margie—Margie Stromberg; nation­ality—American!'

No need to tell me that, thought Wendy with a sudden laugh. Yes, she said, she was alone. Her name was Wendy Brown. The woman nodded her head, as if to indicate her approval of the name. Wendy asked conversationally,

'What part of the States do you come from?'

'Connecticut, my dear. My husband grew to­bacco. Dead now! Pity—he'd have enjoyed a trip like this Ah, here are our companions!' An­other ready smile as the twa men sat down. Wendy also managed to produce a smile, but she felt in­explicably shy and any conversation she might have conducted with Mrs Stromberg dried up immedi- ately. For these were the same two men she had seen on deck, and again in the Queen's Room at teatime. Introductions were made all round; she found her eyes drawn to the handsome face of Garth Rivers; he looked indifferently through her, but his friend stared hard, a frown between his eyes.

'Wendy Brown,' he murmured almost to himself, and cast the oddest glance at his friend.

The meal progressed through seven courses, in an atmosphere of wine and candlelight and plea- sant-faced stewards who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying their work. What would they be like after three months? Wendy rather thought that, long before then, the crew would be tired of all this running around after those of their fellow men who happened to be more fortunately laden with the world's goods than they.

The conversation was a trifle stilted at first and Wendy decided that Garth Rivers was the cause of this. Certainly it was nothing to do with Margie Stromberg, since she chattered almost all the time. Fraser Goulden, the man who seemed unable to keep his eyes from Wendy's face for any length of time, was also fairly voluble, but Wendy and Garth were content to listen, neither being inclined to do much more than attend genteelly to the delicious food which was put before them. At the end of the meal polite 'good evenings' were said and Wendy found herself beside Margie as she left the restau­rant.

'What a pretty dress, dear,' gushed the American woman. 'And you're so slim you can carry it off to perfection. Me, now—I love my food far too much. A dreadful failing, my dear! Don't you ever get like that! Mind, you k ill right for twenty years at least, since one doesn't l>«gin to put on weight this side of forty.'

Forty...

Thinking of the ruthless passage of time since she had learned of her fate, Wendy wondered what the American woman would say were she to tell her that she would never see twenty-one, let alone forty.

The woman chattered on, and would have con­tinued to do so had not Wendy excused herself, saying that she had an appointment to keep.

'You've not found a boy-friend, by any chance?'

'Well ' Wendy hesitated a moment. 'Yes, as

a matter of fact, I have.' Saying good night, she wandered away, along the deck, to stand by the rail for a few moments, since she was not to meet Shaw for another quarter of an hour or so.

Someone else appeared, but for the moment he was in the shadows and Wendy saw him only in silhouette. His height and bearing were unmistak­able; she knew who he was even before his face became revealed as he passed through a shaft of light streaming out from the open window of one of the night clubs. Garth Rivers ... one of the two men who were to share her table for the rest of the voyage. Wendy frowned, resenting the fact that she had to suffer his company when she was sure it would begin to pall before even one week was out. He was too stiff and formal, too reserved in speech. His lean and handsome face had remained un­smiling no matter what was being discussed. In fact, he had appeared to be bored already and she did wonder what he would be like, by the time the ship docked again in Southampton at the begin­ning of April.

She watched him make for the side some few feet from where she herself stood, saw him lean his arms along the rail and stand, immobile as a statue, staring out into the sable night.

About to move away, Wendy saw Shaw approach­ing at a brisk pace.

'You're early!' he said, reaching her side. 'I was intending to walk along the deck for a few minutes.' Without a second's hesitation he tucked his arm into hers and steered her towards the night club. As they passed the tall man standing by the rail he turned his head and his dark eyes met those of Wendy. She saw a twisted smile touch his lips, saw his expression was one of contempt not unmingled with amusement. Her chin lifted and her eyes sparkled. What was he so amused about? she was asking herself as she entered the night club with her escort. If he looked at her like that again she would not hesitate to ask him!

CHAPTER TWO

The Fayson was heading for New York, on the first stage of its voyage, having been at sea for three days. Already Wendy saw that Shaw was becoming more attached to her than was good for him, and, determined that he should not be hurt, she was faced with the unpleasant task of dropping him before he actually became too involved. For even had she herself liked him in that particular way, she could not have encouraged him, not in these circumstances. If she were to be buried at sea, she did not want to leave a broken-hearted young man behind.

Her thoughts amazed her at this time; viewing the situation so calculatingly as she was, observing it objectively, as if it were not her own situation, but that of someone else. As she was meeting Shaw in a few minutes' time she made her way to the swimming pool, where they had met yesterday at this hour, and had drunk coffee together at one of the tables placed around the pool. He was already there, and his face confirmed her suspicions. His frank eyes lit up instantly they saw her approach­ing; his smile was spontaneous.

'You look stunning!' he exclaimed, uncaring that he might be heard by others around. 'Green suits you!'

She smiled and thanked him for the compliment, aware herself that she was looking particularly at­tractive in a brief pair of shorts, a sun-top and matching beach robe, this latter being flung care­lessly but seductively over her shoulders.

'Aren't you swimming this morning?' she asked, and was told that he had already been in the pool.

'I was thinking,' he said after the coffee had been ordered, 'we could play deck quoits this morning and, if it suits you of course, go together to the cold buffet in the Ocean Bar. This would mean that we don't have to go our separate ways for lunch.' Eager and very youthful, he waited rather breathlessly for her reply. She frowned inwardly, angry with herself for allowing all her time to be spent with him like this. For three whole days she and he had been together, three days in which they had talked and laughed, swum and danced and drunk cock­tails in the Theatre Bar. They had seen a film, explored the ship, had a flutter at the Casino. So much packed into three days ... and now ...

She looked at him and said,

'Shaw, I have a disappointment for you. I can't spend all my time with you like this. I want to be on my own sometimes.'

His face fell and she knew a deep regret already; he was too nice to be hurt. Yet if she allowed this to continue he would be in love with her in no time at all, which meant that, later, his hurt would be excruciating.

'Sometimes,' he murmured. And then, as if mak­ing a concession, 'It's all right, Wendy. I don't want

to monopolize you completely—but—' He broke

off as the steward appeared with the coffee and put it down before them. 'I like you, Wendy,' he said seriously, looking straight into her eyes. 'I like you very much indeed.'

She sighed, for that look held his hopes. Picking up her cup, she began to sip her coffee. So difficult, she admitted, but determinedly she said,

'We can't be anything more than acquaintances, Shaw.'

The half smile that hovered on his lips vanished.

'But—' He spread his hands. 'You're not in­volved with anyone else, you told me so.'

'And I don't intend to become involved,' she returned, and deliberately injected a note of cool­ness into her voice. 'I'm a loner, Shaw.'

'No!' He frowned heavily. 'I don't believe a girl like you could be a loner. Wendy,' he begged, hold­ing out a hand towards her across the table, 'please be my friend—my very dear friend.'

She shook her head; never in her life had she had to hurt anyone as she was hurting this young man. However, it had to be; his heart must not become deeply involved.

'I'm of the opinion, Shaw,' she told him, 'that it's best for us not to meet like this, or to go about together as we have been doing. As I've said, I'm a loner— No, please don't interrupt. I'm hap­pier that way and'—here she stared directly at him—'you yourself will be happier.' Again she forbade him to interrupt as she went on to say, 'I know what I'm talking about, Shaw, and so will you, one day.'

'I don't understand—' he began, when she in­terrupted him.

'You will, Shaw,' she told him, and now her voice had lost its cool edge and taken on a gentle tone. 'You will—and you'll thank me for what I'm doing '

'Explain,' he broke in. 'There's no need for this cryptic way of speaking!' Anger looked from his eyes, but she could not take offence. His anger sprang from hurt and she again spoke in soft and gentle tones,

'The only explanation I'm willing to offer, Shaw, is that I prefer to be on my own.'

This was a lie; she had no desire to be alone on this trip, alone for the last few weeks of her life.

'I see.' Bitterness edged his voice. 'I must accept your decision, Wendy, but I'll tell you quite honestly that I'd hoped we'd be—well, rather more than friends.'

She said, swallowing a lump that had risen in her throat,

'You haven't known me very long, Shaw. You don't know what sort of a person I am.'

He shook his head, and looked at her, looked deeply into her beautiful violet eyes.

'I do know what kind of a person you are, Wendy. And I also know that you could have been the girl for me.' He waited, obviously expectant, hoping perhaps that she would change, her mind. When she refrained from speaking he said again, 'I must accept your decision.' He paused a moment, toying with the spoon in his saucer. 'Can't we see each other now and then?—go to a dance or a him?'

She shook her head instantly.

'No, Shaw. I'm sorry, but it wouldn't work at all ...' Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of the man just about to dive into the pool. Garth Rivers, the man who sat opposite to her at meal­times. She had learned one or two things about him during the past few days, some of which she did not like at all. For one thing he was cold in manner and cynical where women were concerned. Where his friend was chatty he was reserved, where Fraser was ready to impart scraps of information about himself Garth was totally uncommunicative. A bachelor whose age—estimated Wendy—could have been anything between thirty and thirty-five, he invariably wore an air of arrogance and superior­ity which Wendy found intolerable, and in order to forget it she would enter into conversation with Margie Stromberg. When this happened she would on occasions surprise a frown on the face of the lordly Garth Rivers which was so very transparent that she could not for a moment misread it. He was immeasurably bored by the two women at his table; he considered their conversation inane and stupidly feminine, each topic being trivial, each comment without point. For her part Wendy wished he would request to be moved, but Margie was quite en­tranced by his good looks and his air of the aristo­crat.

'Aren't we lucky to have him at our table?' she had said to Wendy when one evening they walked from the restaurant together. 'Do you notice all the females ogling him? But he's totally immune to their enticing manoeuvres. I'll wager you and I are the envy of every woman in this restaurant!'

Wendy shrugged and said nothing. Disliking the man excessively, she decided that the path of diplo­macy was the most sensible one to follow.

'I don't know why you should be so sure that it wouldn't work,' Shaw was saying, breaking into Wendy's thought stream. 'Surely we can be sociable with one another?'

'Sociable, yes,' she agreed, her eyes still following Garth Rivers, who was swimming strongly now. 'But we mustn't go about together.'

Looking at her with an odd expression, Shaw opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again, his shoulders drooping resignedly. He then changed the subject, but what he said Wendy did not know, her whole attention being with Garth Rivers. He looked up suddenly, surprising her, and she felt herself colour faintly. His brows lifted a fraction before, turning in the water, he proceeded to make for the far end of the pool.

Returning her attention to Shaw, Wendy tried to listen to what he was saying, but she was strangely preoccupied and it was a relief to her when, his coffee finished, Shaw excused himself and left her sitting there on her own. After pouring herself another cup of coffee she let fall her robe and sat back, enjoying the warm sun on her arms and legs.

It was pleasant, watching the people in the pool, and she felt wholly relaxed. Yet she knew instinc­tively that she was in a state of limbo, that very soon she would desire company, to save her dwel­ling on the blackness ahead. She must choose a woman friend, she decided. However, for the moment she was content, living in this vacuum where neither the past nor the future had a place; now was now and she was alive to live it.

From time to time her eyes would catch sight of the handsome Garth Rivers and she would be. un­able to draw them away. He came out, sat on the side for a few moments and then, catching hold of a towel he had obviously brought with him and left on a chair, he proceeded to dry himself. This done, he glanced around, saw that Wendy was alone and, to her surprise, approached the table where she was sitting.

'All alone?' he inquired and, when she nodded, 'Mind if I sit down?'

'Not at all,' she replied, attempting to sound sociable while at the same time trying to quell the annoyance she felt at his intrusion into her privacy.

After ordering coffee Garth said,

'What happened to your boy-friend?' The ques­tion was a casual one and, she thought, a faintly sneering one.

'Shaw? He's gone off somewhere.' She, too, spoke casually and a slight frown touched his brow.

'I imagined it was becoming quite serious.' Again that half-sneer; it puzzled her that he should treat her like this. His attitude of faint contempt had existed from the first moment of meeting, at the dinner table on the evening the ship sailed. It was as if he knew something about her that he did not like. Fraser's attitude was different altogether, but equally puzzling. He also seemed to have some knowledge about her, but appeared to have ac­cepted it and made up his mind to be friendly in spite of it.

Inwardly, Wendy shrugged her shoulders; it was of no matter how they treated her ... and yet ... She looked at her companion, seeing him in profile as he turned on hearing laughter coming from the pool. How handsome he was! It seemed incredible that he had not been caught in the marriage net before now. He was looking, in an absorbed kind of way, at a fair girl, a lovely creature clad in the briefest of covering, who was sitting with a sort of languid grace on the side of the pool, dabbing at her hair with a gaily-coloured towel. Watching him, Wendy saw his face change and a smile touch his lips. She recalled that she had seen Garth Rivers dancing with the girl, and also playing deck games with her.

His coffee arrived and he thanked the steward for it. Absently he helped himself to sugar, then lifted the cup to his mouth. It was almost there when he stopped, conscious of Wendy's intense stare; he turned his head and his eyes met hers. For some indefinable reason she coloured, and lowered her long silken lashes. He seemed to make some sound with his mouth, a sound that might have been stifled.

She moved uneasily, feeling oddly breathless under this penetrating scrutiny, and realizing that although, a few minutes ago, she had been content to be alone for a while, she now knew a strange and obscure kind of pleasure that he was sitting there, at the other side of the table.

His dark eyes moved, to examine the lovely curve of her neck, and those lovely curves lower down. Her colour fluctuated and. to her surprise, the trace of a quiver dispelled the cool impassivity of his face. A moment elapsed before her own re­luctant smile broke; she saw his eyes widen, knew his interest was well and truly arrested.

'You haven't come out equipped for swimming,' he observed, 'but I do recommend a dip. How about one?'

Her surprise doubled by this invitation, she said, floundering a little,

'You m-mean, go and change?'

The quiver developed into a laugh.

'Obviously,' he replied, his glance flickering over her with undisguised appreciation now. 'You can scarcely go in like that.'

A quarter of an hour later she was in the pool, Garth swimming along beside her.

'It was marvellous!' she exclaimed when at length they came out and were sitting on the side, drying themselves. 'Thank you for your recom­mendation.'

'A pleasure,' suavely and with a hint of amuse­ment in his tone. 'We must do it again.'

Literally staggered by the fact that her pulse had quickened, Wendy glanced away, hoping he would not notice her lack of composure. And at that moment Fraser appeared, and asked if he could sit down. As always when first coming into her presence, he evinced a curious kind of interest in her, staring for a fleeting moment at her face and her eyes and especially at her hair, and frowning momentarily as if puzzled by something about her which he was trying to fathom. But as usual his studied interest soon passed off and he was chatting in the familiar way to which she had now become used. It was amazing, she thought, just how quickly people got to know one another on a cruise like this. It was of course owing to the continual contact of those into whose company one was thrown—either by circumstance, as in the case of one's table com­panions, or by choice, as in the case of those whom one had chosen to be one's friends. After only three days Wendy felt she had known these two men for weeks. From the first Christian names had been used at the table.

Fraser was talking to Garth and, content to listen, Wendy sat back in her chair, her eyes dropping to the hand that lay idly on the table. Garth's hand; long and slender, a hand that could have belonged to a pianist or an artist, she had already decided— but of course this was merely conjecture on her part.

Several times during the next few minutes she was profoundly conscious of Garth's eyes returning to her face again and again. Passing glances, but all the same. A strange tingling passed through her, a sensation she had never known before.

The conversation of the two men faded as, gazing around, she began to entertain herself by a con­jecture as to the various occupations of the people she saw. The stout man over there ... He could be a big business tycoon. That tall angular man—he was probably a retired bank manager. The young couple in the pool. Wendy shook her head in won­derment that people so young could afford the several thousand pounds which the cruise was cost­ing. The older people's presence on the ship could be explained in several ways. She herself knew a couple who, on retirement, had spent half their savings on a world cruise of this nature.

'What are you thinking, Wendy?' Garth's clip­ped, rather abrupt voice broke into her meditations and a smile fluttered involuntarily to her lips.

'I was playing a game of guesswork,' she replied and, noting the questioning lift of his eyebrows, she went on to explain just what she had been doing.

'You're wondering how and why all these people are aboard this vessel?' He nodded and without awaiting an answer he added, glancing round in a perfunctory manner, 'So many people with the money and the time to spend three months on a luxury liner.' He paused a moment and both he and his friend stared at her so intently that she began to feel a certain discomfiture, her mind grappling with the reason for the sudden stares.

'Some of them are obviously retired people,' she submitted, anxious to distract the men's interest from herself. 'Others are clearly as rich as a nabob.

But some of them puzzle me,' she added without thinking, and Garth immediately came in with,

'I expect you yourself puzzle some people.' His eyes were faintly narrowed all at once. 'Young women are not usually alone on a cruise of this magnitude.'

She coloured, but naturally refrained from vouchsafing any information about herself. And after a moment Garth said softly and—it seemed to her—most significantly,

'In all probability there are film stars aboard ... perhaps travelling incognito.'

She nodded her head, recalling that first con­versation she had overheard between the two men.

'Yes, it's possible.' She looked at Garth. 'I expect they strive for a little privacy sometimes, away from the limelight and continual publicity which sur­rounds a career like that.'

A strange silence followed, an unfathomable and profoundly intense silence. Something about the two men brought a sudden frown to Wendy's brow, although she could not in any way explain her feelings, or why she should be so deeply affected by the silence.

Garth said, in that clipped tone of his,

'If you were a film star. Wendy, would you strive for a little privacy?'

Again she nodded her head, and replied without hesitation,

'Yes, I think I would. After all, one is entitled to a life of one's own, no matter what one's occupation. Don't you agree?'

'Yes, I do agree.' His eyes remained on her face for a long moment, before, with a swift glance in his friend's direction, he turned away, to look around with a sort o£ bored curiosity at the people in his immediate vicinity. 'The big man to my right is Baldric Safford Ryeman, the textile tycoon.'

'And the woman with him is his secretary,' sup­plemented Fraser with a quick grin.

'The lady in the bright blue bikini is a million­airess; she lives on ships all the time.'

Turning her head, Wendy looked wonderingly at him.

'All the time!' she exclaimed. 'All the time?'

'That's right. She has all the sailings sent to her and as she steps off one ship she steps on to another. There are many people who do this,' he went on to explain, smiling faintly at Wendy's look of disbelief. 'People alone in the world find it a most attractive way of life.'

But Wendy was shaking her head in rejection of this statement.

'It couldn't be attractive all the time,' she asser­ted. 'They must be very lonely people who are try­ing to escape from their loneliness. It's—tragic,' she added, and quite unconsciously her voice be­came unsteady as a note of compassion entered into it.

A frown drew Garth's brows together as he sent her a searching look from narrowed eyes.

'You're obviously susceptible to outward im­pressions,' he said, but in that kind of tone which betrayed the fact that this particular trait amazed him. She frowned in puzzlement, but had nothing to say in reply to this. His very manner was cynical and she found herself colouring. Why should both he and Fraser adopt this particular attitude to­wards her? She not only saw amusement in their eyes at times, but she also sensed its presence all of the time. What was so tunny about her? She had already said she would ask Garth Rivers and now she determined to do so. if ever she should find her­self alone with him again.

But for the present she felt so uncomfortable that she excused herself and left them. As she reached the stairs Shaw came up to her.

'I thought you said you preferred to be alone,' he said accusingly. 'Yet you've been sitting with those two for twenty minutes—and before that you were with one of them.' His face was sulky, his voice edged with pique. She commiserated with him, aware of his dejection, but she decided that, for his own good, she must adopt a coolly impersonal manner with him.

'1 cannot help it, Shaw, if people come and sit with me. I don't happen to have booked a table exclusively for myself.'

He went red, looked at her for a few seconds, then turned away. Sadly she watched his retreating back. The break was painful to her, since she had thoroughly enjoyed the three days they had been going about together. To have it continue for the rest of the voyage would have suited her ideally, since she would have been sure of pleasant company, with the minimum amount of time to dwell on her hopeless situation. However, her own feelings had to be put aside in consideration of his. So charming a young man must not have a blight put on his life; and assuredly her death would be a blight on his life were he to fall in love with her.

The days passed relentlessly. New York was visited, then left behind; the same with Port Ever­glades, which was reached eight days after the ship sailed from England. Shaw had found another girl, and for this Wendy was glad. Garth Rivers spent some of his time with the girl she had seen him with before—Nicole Renton, who was without doubt be­coming attracted to him. Whether Garth was equally attracted was a debatable point; Fraser had laughed away the idea when, for no reason at all, Wendy had asked him about it.

'Garth—fall for anyone? Never! He's a bachelor born!'

Margie had found herself a boy-friend, an Ameri­can whose wife had died six years ago leaving him with two girls to bring up. They were both working now and had taken a flat between them, leaving their father free to take his first holiday in seven years. He had decided that it would be a good one when it came, he told Margie, hence his presence on the cruise ship.

As for Wendy, she was alone most of the time and in consequence she found herself looking forward to meal times, when she could be sure of company. Margie was always good fun: Fraser kept up his friendly, chatty manner, and even Garth seemed gradually to become human. True to his word, he had been at the pool once or twice when Wendy was there; they had swum together, come out, and ordered coffee. But that Avas all; for the rest of the lime she remained quite alone, taking a book with her wherever she went. Curious glances were often cast in her direction, glances which she began to resent, although at the same time she told herself that it was her own fault that she was subject to these curious eyes; she should never have come on the cruise in the first place. For to spend her last days on earth in total loneliness was stupid in the extreme. At home she could have carried on with her job, right up to the last. And in addition to her colleagues she had her friends. Well, it was too late now—unless she decided to leave the ship at one of the ports of call, in which case she would return to England with no home to go to and no money to provide herself with one, since all she had had left after paying for the cruise was her spending money. She supposed she could enter the nursing home earlier than arranged, but the idea had no appeal for her whatsoever.

'Curasao tomorrow morning early!' Margie ex­claimed in her customary accented tones. 'What shall you do, dearie?' she asked Wendy. 'You didn't take the tours at New York and Port Everglades, did you?'

'No; I didn't think they'd be all that interesting. I'm saving my money for something better,' she added with a smile, and wondered what she had said to cause the two men to glance so swiftly at her. They recovered instantly, but left her extremely puzzled by those unguarded seconds.

'Will you take the tour tomorrow? I've been in Curasao before and like the island very much in­deed.'

'I think I shall take it, yes.'

'You merely tour the capital,' Garth told her. 'It can be interesting, but don't forget, Curasao's main industry is oil refining.'

'So you see evidence of this all over the place?'

'Not all over the place, but certainly you see evidence of it.'

'In that case,' Wendy decided, 'I shall just wander about on my own, saving my money for the South American tours.'

'The tour for Curasao doesn't cost much,' said

Fraser in what could only be described as a depreca­ting tone, and he glanced at Garth who, Wendy noticed, had a faintly contemptuous curl to his lips. She frowned in puzzlement before realizing that the two men could be regarding this reluctance to spend as stinginess. Inwardly squirming at this idea, she cast Garth an angry glance, but after a brief space she was telling herself that it mattered little what they thought about her.

The ship docked at eight o'clock the following morning and by half-past nine Wendy was ashore, walking along streets burnished by the tropical sun, streets distinctly Netherlands in character, with Dutch architecture and eighteenth-century gabled buildings, story-book buildings where delightful use had been made of colour, the reason being that a one-time governor of the island, disliking the dazzling effect of the sun on the white buildings, ordered that the houses should be painted in various colours.

After strolling round the Wilhelmina Park Wendy decided to relax for a while with a cup of coffee and her book. She was in the coffee lounge of the Hotel Curasao Inter-Continental, a magnificent place cleverly built into the walls of a massive eighteenth-century fort at the entrance to the harbour of Willemstad, capital of the island, when glancing up, she encountered the tall figure of Garth Rivers standing some way from her, making a critical survey of the room. Her pulses quickened and she would have lowered her head, but he had already seen her and she was forced to acknowledge liis salute as he lifted a hand. A smile wavered on her lips as she watched him approach her table. So tall and good-looking, his long easy strides covering the distance far too quickly for her to regain her composure, and she was clasping and unclasping her hands a little nervously, although for the life of her she could not have given a reason for her ner­vousness.

'May I join you?' he asked suavely, and sat down without waiting for an answer. His long legs were soon stretched out before him; he leant back in the chair with that sort of languid grace she had ob­served before. 'Had a pleasant walk?'

'Yes, thank you.' Wendy paused a moment. 'Where's your friend?' she asked, and the merest smile touched the firm set mouth.

'He's found himself a girl,' was the sardonic reply as, lifting a hand with an imperative gesture, Garth attracted the attention of a passing waiter. 'Coffee, please,' he said, then turned to Wendy, his dark eyes lingering on her flushed face for a long and disconcerting moment before he said, 'Where have you been? Watching the famous pontoon bridge swinging open, I expect?'

'No,' she returned with a laugh, 'I haven't been watching the bridge. I've been walking in the park.'

'You have? But surely you know that the first thing a visitor to Willemstad does is to stand in awe­struck amazement, and watch the Queen Emma Bridge swing open to allow the ships to pass through?' Wendy said nothing to this and Garth went on to tell her that at one time it was a toll- bridge. 'It cost you two cents if you wore shoes, and was free for those who went barefoot.'

Wendy looked at him with interest.

'What a strange idea!'

'It was, as it happens. The original idea was good; you paid according to your position, but of course, you had those proud people who would borrow shoes just because they didn't want the disgrace of being considered paupers, while on the other hand you had the wealthy American tourists who, just for the fun of it, would carry their shoes under their arms and get away without paying.'

Wendy laughed, a carefree, rippling laugh which amazed her. As for Garth, his interest was arrested so that his eyes remained on her lovely mouth far too long for her comfort.

'You're a strange girl,' was his totally unexpected comment. 'A very strange girl indeed.'

Now, she thought, was the time to ask what was so funny about her, but all she said was,

'I don't understand you?'

His brows lifted a fraction. In this mood he was distinctly cynical, and faintly condescending.

'Tell me,' he said, again unexpectedly, 'do you not consider yourself to be a strange girl?'

She frowned over this, totally bewildered by his words.

'Do I appear strange?' she wanted to know, wondering for one wild moment if, owing to what was hanging over her, she did in fact act in a strange sort of way.

'On the surface, no,' he replied. 'But ...' A long hesitation and then, 'But all is not transparent, is it, Wendy?'

Again she frowned, for not only was his state­ment perplexing, but he had, for some obscure reason, hesitated before saying her name. If the idea had not been ridiculous she would almost have thought that he did not believe it was her name at all!

You're talking in riddles,' she said. 'I can't make

anything of what you say.'

'No?' His eyes met hers, challengingly. 'Never mind, then. We'll let the matter drop.' And he changed the subject before she could put another question, talking casually about the places of interest one should visit on the island. But, still absorbed by his cryptic words, she made little contribution and the conversation languished. He appeared to become bored; the atmosphere between them became op­pressive so that when she did speak her tones were constrained. At last he said, 'Well, I'll be off. Don't get lost and miss the boat.'

She sat where she was and watched his departing figure, noting the majestic way he walked, his long easy strides swiftly covering the distance between her and the door. Without a backward glance he was gone ... and she suddenly realized that a sen­sation of emptiness had come over her. She bit her lip, afraid of the loneliness of the day ahead. Should she return to the ship? It would not sail, though, until six o'clock, so there was no point in going aboard. A taxi... ? Yes, that was probably the answer, she decided, and as Garth had already paid for the coffee, she rose and left the hotel, to make for the nearest taxi-stand. It was empty, which was natural, she realized, after thinking about it. Hundreds of people had come off the ship; it was feasible that all the available taxis had been hired long ago.

Deciding to walk, she strolled to the Punda, the older part of the city, where she browsed among shops that varied between small places reminiscent of an eastern bazaar to those ultra-smart premises as streamlined as any she had seen. Prices were low, since Curasao was almost a free port. But Wendy

did not buy anything at all. What was the use? she asked herself. Depression set in and her feet dragged in consequence. What was the use of any­thing——? Her question was cut abruptly and startlingly by the sound of a car's horn as the vehicle drew alongside her as she was about to cross the road.

'Want to join me?' The invitation came from Garth Rivers who was seated at the steering-wheel. 'I've hired a car for the day.'

Her eyes lit up; if only he could know what a weight he had lifted from her heart! She said with a cracked little laugh,

'Thank you. Garth! Oh, thank you very much indeed. Yes, of course I'd like to join you. It's very - kind of you to ask me!' She was a little breathless and he looked down at her with a puzzled expres­sion as, having come round the car, he opened the door for her to get in.

'There's no need for such effusive thanks,' he said. 'I'm glad of the company.' And because she knew he meant it a swift wave of happiness and gratitude swept over her.

'I must thank you, Garth,' she murmured, rather shyly now because of the curious way he looked at her and because of the way she herself was feeling.

Don't ask me why,' she added swiftly as she noted his lips part as if he were intending to speak. 'No, please don't ask me why.' She could not possibly tell him that she had been in the depths of despair, wandering in a wilderness of fear, utterly lost and alone. Nor could she explain that his offer had come like a bright star, a reprieve from that loneliness. Unsmilingly he got into the car; without speaking he drove away, leaving the town behind and making

for the koenoekoe, the countryside where the vil­lagers lived, away from the bright lights and build­ings of the capital, away from the oil refineries and the tourist hotels.

'It's no use pretending that it has the glamorous and exotic atmosphere of islands like Barbados or St Thomas.' Garth broke the silence at last, going on to explain that, for the most part, Curasao was a brown and rocky island, barren in places, with water one of its greatest problems. 'Sea-water is dis­tilled, but this is extremely expensive. However, the government has worked hard on the problem and distilled sea-water is now available for the poorer groups on the island.'

'You know a lot about it,' she commented. 'And about the other islands. Have you travelled widely in the Caribbean?'

'It's some years since I travelled,' was his non­committal rejoinder, and something in his tone made her look at his hands, which lay with a sort of careless ease on the steering-wheel of the car. She did not think he was a pianist, for that kind of pro­fession seemed unsuited to his general appearance. Yet they were sensitive hands, with those long tapering fingers and nails cut very short. An artist, she had surmised, but now she thrust this away too. What, then, was his occupation? Suddenly she was smiling broadly to herself, wondering why she should be debating in this absurd manner upon his occupation. He was probably engaged on something which had nothing whatsoever to do with those long and sensitive hands.

CHAPTER THREE

Although Wendy enjoyed the day spent with Garth on the island of Curasao, she admitted to her­self that it could have been much better had his attitude to her been more friendly, and less cynical and tinged with that amused contempt which she had noticed from the first meeting with him. She wished she could find the reason for his manner with her; and also wished she might find a reason why his manner hurt—for it did hurt, in some strange indefinable way which had come to her very gradually, so that in its actual coming it had scarcely been noticed. Now, however, she knew a little catch of hurt every time he passed some cynical remark, or lifted those straight dark brows in that gesture of sardonic amusement at something she had said. She had the impression that he was branding her as the kind of girl who was assuming a naivete which was not in any way a true part of her nature. With this suspicion in her mind, Wendy found herself re­fraining from speaking spontaneously, or expressing delight at something which particularly interested or delighted. At times, though, she would forget to be guarded and come out with some innocent re­mark; his eyes would kindle with that expression of amused contempt and she would find herself colouring up, a circumstance which only served to increase his amusement, and on-a couple of oc­casions he had actually given a quick laugh on her naivete being portrayed. And once, as she was ex- pressing delight at the picturesque little huts in which some of the natives still lived, low thatched huts which were usually surrounded by exotic colour from the flowers and shrubs growing in the gardens, he turned his head for a second and said, 'There's something quite unfathomable about a girl like you, Wendy.'

'You've said something like that before,' was all she returned, for although she would not have been averse to asking him outright what he meant by these statements, she bore in mind that she was his guest, as it were, his having invited her to share this outing with him in the car he had hired.

'I believe I have,' he agreed, then lifted a hand to stifle a yawn. Was he really becoming bored—or was this gesture one intended purely to mislead her into believing that he was?

'If anyone is unfathomable,' she said without thinking, 'it's you!'

A rather astounded silence followed this before Garth broke it with a laugh and said,

'Apparently each of us finds something baffling about the other.'

She nodded in agreement, realizing that she had brightened because he had laughed. For that laugh changed him, producing something exceedingly attractive about him. She dwelt for a second or two on this change, and decided—as she had done before—that he was a strangely incalculable man, being cynical and brusque one moment, and noth­ing less than charming the next.

'Oh, look!' she exclaimed, forgetting altogether the topic of conversation as her eyes lit on the gigantic cactus growing in profusion on both sides of the road along which they were travelling. 'It

must be twenty feet high!'

'Prickly cactus.' He nodded his head. 'It does grow to about that height,' he told her, then pointed out the divi-divi trees in the field beyond the road­side. 'Notice their branches are all spread out at right angles on one side of the trunk?'

'Yes. How weird. What's the cause of that?'

'The branches are on the leeward side of the trunk. Caused by the trade winds.'

She nodded.

'Ah, yes, I understand now.'

The next bend was taken, and there, spread before them, was a lovely plantation house whose gardens, ablaze with tropical colour, brought a gasp of admiration to Wendy's lips.

'The trees are royal poincianas,' Garth eluci­dated. 'Or, if you prefer it, flamboyant trees. They grow to about sixty feet in height.' They drove on, past dazzling hibiscus hedges and lovely bougain­villaeas and oleanders and many other glorious flowers that thrived in this part of the world.

After a two-hour drive they returned to the capital and climbed a hill to take lunch at the Fort Nassau Restaurant where they sat on the terrace and enjoyed the cooling trade wind breeze while l hey ate Kapucijners—a mixture of meat and bacon, onions and beans, flavoured with piccalilli sauce and washed down with ice-cold Amstel beer.

After this they drove to the south-western part of the island to the lovely beaches of Knip Bay and Spanish Water. Then, after a quick tour of the city, Garth said it was time to return the car to its owner and by five o'clock they were back on board the Fayson. Wendy thanked Garth again, her voice low and sincere, her eyes more bright and appealing than she knew. Garth stared down at her and he seemed to be the victim of conflicting emotions, torn between the desire to like her, and the more potent one of keeping her at a distance.

A most singular impression to have gained, she mused when, much later, she was in her luxurious stateroom changing for dinner.

She did not think that he liked her at all at present, even though he had asked her to accompany him on his tour of the island. The offer had been made only because, his friend having deserted him for more attractive female company, he had found himself alone.

Margie was dazzling in a gown of multi-coloured lame, and her tongue was as loose as ever. The two men were also chatty, but something about Garth convinced her that his was a false affability, and she began to wonder if he would much rather be at a table at which there were all men.

After dinner Wendy wandered away on her own, but was eventually caught up by Margie and her friend Denby Norton, who invited her to go along to the Theatre Bar with them.

'We feel like dancing, dearie! Do come along; it's not right that you should be on your own.'

Were they sorry for her? She hated the idea, but, unwilling to offend the American woman, she agreed to accompany them. Couples already occu­pied the floor and, when Margie said she would like a drink first, Denby asked Wendy to dance.

Several minutes later she glanced over her shoulder to see Garth entering with Nicole; they went to the bar; Garth ordered drinks and after taking possession of a table adjacent to that at which Margie was sitting, he sat back and surveyed the dancers. Unsmilingly he lifted a hand in salute as Wendy nodded; then he turned to his companion and engaged her in conversation. Womanlike, Wendy assessed the girl's clothes and her make-up, deciding that although Nicole was undeniably beautiful there was a certain self-conceit about her face and a lack of finesse in the way she dressed. The gown of vivid midnight blue velvet had ob­viously cost a fortune, but the cut was wrong, the high waistline was unsuited to Nicole's rather vol­uptuous figure. The shoes were expensive, yet far too fragile for the material of which the dress was made.

Wendy grimaced to herself, wondering why she should be so interested in the girl. And yet she was interested, for, try as she would to resist the tempta­tion of glancing at her as she and Denby passed the table, she could not manage to do so.

Garth noticed this and his expression became in­scrutable as his eyes met hers for a fleeting moment as she glanced down at him. Wendy lowered her lashes, relieved when she was swung away, into the middle of the floor.

'Enjoy it?' asked Margie when they had returned to the table and sat down. 'My, but you dance well, dearie!'

'Thank you.' Wendy's voice was low, but she knew that Garth would catch it. 'Yes, I did enjoy it, thoroughly.'

The steward was not about and Denby rose to go and order drinks for Wendy and himself and another one for Margie. The two. were left alone, and Margie, glancing over Wendy's head towards the next table, said softly,

'Do you suppose our handsome Garth's been and gone and got himself caught?'

'I couldn't say,' frowningly and—to her own amazement—a little crossly.

'They've been together on several occasions now.'

'I shouldn't think that Garth would be serious with any woman.' Wendy kept her voice low, fear­ing he might hear.

'No? Perhaps you're right, dearie! After all, he's not been caught up till now, apparently.'

'Apparently?'

'You never can be sure. He's old enough to have been married and divorced several times.'

'How cynical you are!' laughed Wendy. And then, 'I'm sure he's never been married. Fraser says he's a born bachelor.'

'He does?' musingly as Margie glanced again at the dark head of the man under discussion. 'He's known him a long time, then?'

'He didn't say.'

'Did he tell you what Garth does for a living?'

Wendy shook her head.

'No; somehow, I wasn't able to ask him.' Wendy noticed the questioning look on her companion's face and added, 'If Garth had wanted us to know then he'd have made some mention of it before now, just as Fraser did, right at the beginning. I have a feeling that he doesn't want people to know what he does.'

'Funny, that's exactly the impression that I myself got! However, I'm becoming more and more curious, dearie—and so you can expect that I shall find out before very long just what our handsome table companion does for a living.'

I decided at one time that he was a pianist.'

'His hands, you mean? Very noticeable, aren't they?'

'I also thought he could be an artist,' supple­mented Wendy, nodding in agreement to Margie's remark about Garth's hands.

'Not an artist—not temperamental enough for that. A hard man, is our Mr Garth Rivers!'

'And cynical.'

'He certainly has a rather irritating way of making cynical remarks, I must agree. He also knows how to look superior and autocratic. Never­theless, there's something very attractive about him ...' A sudden pause as Margie's eyes widened; she was looking into Wendy's face, but then her glance went to Garth, whose back was fully towards her now. 'Don't you find him attractive, dearie?' she asked, an odd note to her voice.

'In looks? Most certainly.'

'Could you fall for him?'

Wendy coloured at this direct question, hastily saying no, she could not fall for him.

'A man so pompous as he is?' she added with dis­gust. 'Never, Margie!'

The older woman shrugged.

'It just occurred to me that you and he would make a most attractive and well-suited pair,' she murmured, and it did seem that there was the merest hint of regret in her tone. 'A shipboard romance—and a wedding! My, but it would be such a pretty thing to happen!'

Wendy's colour had increased and it was a relief to her to see Denby approaching, having ordered (he drinks at the bar.

'They'll be here in a few moments.' He sat down, smiling at Margie and Wendy. Catching sight of Garth and his glamorous companion he smiled at them too and said, 'Hello, do come and join us! The more the merrier!' His invitation and his manner were such that it would have been churlish to refuse, and Wendy actually found herself holding her breath, hoping that Garth would be gracious enough to accept. This he was, and the two men moved the chairs around so that they were evenly spaced about the table.

'I've just been talking to that chap—That one over there.' Denby pointed, and his companions looked at a small, stout man with greying hair and a good-natured smile. 'Guess what he does for a living?'

'Don't know,' from Margie without a second's hesitation. 'I give in; what does he do?' She was all agog for information.

Both Wendy and Denby laughed.

'He owns a bingo hall,' pronounced Denby dram­atically. 'How about that!'

'You mean—a bingo hall makes so much money that he can afford to come on a cruise like this?' Wendy stared disbelievingly. 'It doesn't seem possible!'

'Not only himself,' stated Denby, tapping the table as an emphasis to his words, 'but his wife and five children as well! They're all aboard 1'

'All out of bingo,' murmured Garth, and there was no mistaking the contempt in his tones. 'What makes people throw their money away on such things as bingo?'

'Escapism from the humdrum of everyday life.'

'And the gambling spirit that's in every one of us,' supplemented Margie knowledgeably. 'No use

denying it, dearies, we all like a flutter at times.'

Garth's companion turned her lovely head and stared hard at the American woman.

'I for one never gamble. And as for visiting a

bingo hall ' Disdainfully she broke off, and a

half sneer curved her lips. 'I'd never dream of such a thing.'

Although Wendy had never visited a bingo hall either, something made her say, in defence of those who did visit them,

'Perhaps you're one of the fortunate ones who have no need for escapism, Miss Renton?'

The girl's vivid green eyes glittered as they settled on Wendy's face. Margie, watching both her and Wendy, thought she had never before en­countered so vast a difference in two people of the same sex and of similar age. To her, one was totally unaffected and natural, a girl frank of nature and compassionate, a girl whom she had from the first found extremely puzzling, sensing some tragedy or loss or other emotional catastrophe. On hearing Wendy's comments as to her having to be careful with her money, Margie had conjectured about her presence here, but to her own surprise had not yet had the courage to venture even the most subtle question about Wendy's private life. Nicole Renton on the other hand, thought Margie, was a hardened case of the fortune-hunter—out to catch a million­aire at least, and a titled one if at all possible. Calculating and self-opinionated, she made the most startling contrast to Wendy who, even in dress, excelled the other girl in every way. Not, decided Margie, that Wendy's clothes cost one tenth that of Nicole's. It was just that Wendy had exquisite taste, whereas Nicole's sole object in dressing was to attract the full attention of as many male eyes as she could.

'I make it my business to find other entertain­ment,' almost snapped Nicole in reply to Wendy's question, and Wendy, happening to catch Margie's eye, actually saw forming on her lips the words,

'I'll bet you do, my girl!'

Her lips quivering as she strove to maintain a straight face, Wendy said, deciding to veer the subject,

'That man—he actually told you that he owned a bingo hall?'

'Bragged of it! Said it was just about the best business in the world! Easy money and all that! He's opening another when he gets back to England.'

'Everyone to his or her own choice.' Garth spoke disparagingly, his eyes moving to the man about whom he was speaking.

Wendy and Margie exchanged glances, both thinking of the same thing: what was Garth Rivers' occupation?

'I'm of the opinion,' Margie was confiding the following afternoon when, having come up to Wendy, sitting in a deck chair with her book, she herself sat down in the sun, 'that our Garth Rivers is somebody very important!'

Her interest caught, Wendy lowered her book on to her lap and looked inquiringly at the woman who was fast becoming her friend.

'What makes you say that?'

'Remember my saying I'd make it my business to find out what he did for a living?'

'Yes, of course.' 'I asked Fraser outright!'

Wendy said nothing to this, merely waiting for what was to come next. Margie shook her head in disgust, saying that Fraser had been most aggravatingly uncommunicative.

.'First of all he said he didn't quite know,' she added scathingly. 'But I said that was silly, since the two men were friends. Fraser then said that he was not in a position to divulge anything about Garth, but did say that he had been overworking for a number of years and that his doctor had warned him that, if he valued his health at all. then he must take a long rest—a sea voyage.' Margie stopped and a heavy frown puckered her good- natured face. 'Our Garth overworked ... but how and why and when? Oh, Wendy, I've never been so frustrated in my life!'

Wendy had to laugh.

'It doesn't really matter, does it, if you never learn what his occupation is?'

'Certainly it matters! He puzzles me—as you yourself——' She stopped, looking nothing less than comical as she thrust a hand to her lips. 'Oh, well,' she decided, shrugging resignedly, 'you might as well know, dearie, that you also puzzle me.'

Wendy said, after a small and doubtful silence,

'Do I, Margie?' Should she confide? But no! To have this woman pity her was something she would find wholly unbearable.

'Yes, dearie, you do,' was the frank and unhesita­ting rejoinder. 'You're not rich enough for a trip like this—not in the ordinary way, are you?'

'No, I'm not, Margie.'

'So?'

'I sold some property in order to come. A house, it was.'

'Sold ' This seemed to floor the other woman

and for a moment she did not speak. 'I see ...' she murmured at length. 'So you're quite comfortably off?'

Wendy shook her head.

'Not really,' she denied, and now her voice was easier, since she knew just how much she was in­tending to say. 'But I decided that the property would never do me as much good as the money, and so I decided to sell it and have a good holiday on the proceeds.'

'Good for you, dearie.' So far so good, thought Wendy as she watched the other's face clear. How­ever, a totally unexpected and disconcerting ques­tion followed, a question which required all Wendy's ingenuity to deal with.

'That explains why you're here, but the other thing that's puzzled me—and worried me, dearie, make no mistake that I'm just indulging in idle curiosity, will you?' Without waiting for an answer to this she continued, 'Yes, worried me—is this: why do you sometimes hold a secret in your eyes— oh, yes, they're sort of—of—haunting, dearie, just as if they looked down a long road, searching for something elusive '

'But how absurd!' broke in Wendy. 'Margie, your imagination runs away with you!' She laughed, a tinkling laugh that was meant to sound full of humour ... but it failed in its purpose even though its actual tone was deceiving.

Margie was shaking her head.

'My imagination never runs away with me,' she returned, and now her voice was grave and kindly, a far different voice from the deeply accented one she normally used at the table. 'However, I'll not ask you any more questions. All I will say is this; despite my rather frivolous exterior, I do possess a sympathetic ear—and I'm to be trusted!'

Wendy looked at her, saw the seriousness of her expression, the gentle nodding of the head as if to give illustration to the statement just made, that she could be trusted. Wendy did not for one moment doubt it and, aware that, much later, the time might arrive when she became desperate to confide in someone, she said quietly and gratefully,

'I'll remember, Margie—I promise.'

'Good! And now, back to the less personal mat­ter of our Mr Rivers whom I was talking about when I interrupted myself to talk about you, dearie.'

Wendy nodded her head.

'You were saying that you suspected he was some­one important?'

'That's right, I do think he's someone important.' Wendy said nothing, merely looking questioningly at her, and she continued, 'Only someone im­portant would have been working so hard that he required a three-month sea voyage. Isn't that logical?'

Wendy did not quite see this; however, all she replied was,

'It seems reasonable, I suppose.'

'Big executives and people in the public eye— those are the ones who overwork and have nervous breakdowns '

'I can't imagine Garth having a nervous break­down! ' Wendy couldn't help exclaiming.

'Nor I; nevertheless, we have that statement made by his friend, remember.'

'Yes ...' Musing over this Wendy searched her mind for Garth's probable occupation. 'I wonder why he hasn't mentioned it,' she murmured after a while, lifting her eyes to look at her friend.

'He's naturally reticent—that kind of man!'

'And the kind you are afraid to question.'

'Most certainly that,' agreed Margie. 'I myself can usually get by that sort of attitude, but with our Garth Rivers I wouldn't dare try, just in case I received a snub.'

'Which you undoubtedly would,' submitted Wendy with a wry grimace. 'He's merely been satirical and cynical and contemptuous up till now —when the occasion called for it, that is. But I do suspect that his voice could contain a very acid bite were one to ask him questions which he resented.'

'I'm sure I agree most heartily with you, Wendy! He's not a man I'd make the mistake of rubbing up the wrong way!'

'As to this suspicion of yours that he's someone important—I suppose he could be a big business tycoon, like so many of these men on board.'

'He could be a him star, if looks and physique are anything to go by, but he isn't—no, definitely he isn't, because, you see, I know all the film stars.'

'He could be travelling incognito,' suggested Wendy, reflecting on what she had overheard the two men say.

'He isn't. I know them all by sight.'

'You know all the female stars as well?'

'Most of them—although there are one or two I don't much care for, so I never go to see their films. Otherwise, I'm always at the films—I adore them!'

'Would you know Lenise Mavaro by sight?'

To this Margie answered no, as Lenise happened to be one of those stars she did not like.

'Not that her looks aren't pretty enough—from what I recall from photographs I've seen in the magazines and on posters,' she added. 'Elfin face and big eyes—don't know what colour, but they're big—like yours, maybe,' she put in, bringing delicate colour to her listener's cheeks. 'She has the most glorious platinum blonde hair—like yours, but this magnificent colour I've mentioned. Clear skin and beautiful features. Yes, a lovely girl to

look at—but her morals ! Well, one knows that

it's nothing these days, but for me, too much sordid scandal detracts from the image of a film star and I find myself unable to go and see their films. Why did you ask if I'd recognize her?' she queried, sud­denly aware that she had drifted away from the main line of the topic.

'She is probably on board this ship, disguised and having changed her character completely.'

Margie started, as well she might.

'Are you sure? How do you know?'

Wendy explained about overhearing the two men talking in the Queen's Room on the day the ship sailed.

'It was Fraser who had recognized the star,' she went on. 'He said that he was absolutely certain that he had recognized her. The story goes that Lenise Mavaro, in between the making of her films, likes to go off all by herself, on a cruise, taking on the role of the innocent little girl who, to quote Fraser's own words, has never been kissed.'

Margie's eyes opened wide.

'She does? Well, how very inexplicable. What sort of a character does a woman like that have?'

'A strange one, obviously ... and yet..Wendy's voice trailed off musingly and Margie looked inter­rogatingly at her. 'I feel sorry for her, Margie.'

'Yes,' thoughtfully and with a sudden frown. 'She doesn't really want to be the glad rag doll type at all, it would seem.'

'But the image has grown up and it's become part of her attraction.'

'True. That sort of reputation does switch some people on and in consequence she's enjoying enor­mous popularity. However, if she doesn't want to be the no-good type why did she indulge in the first place? I haven't any patience with her, Wendy!'

'No, I can understand that.'

'Have you yourself any ideas as to which one this Lenise might be?' Margie automatically looked around as she said this; Wendy was already shaking her head.

'None at all.'

'I must have a go to find out!' declared Margie, and Wendy had to laugh.

'You'll know all there is to know about everyone soon,' she declared, still laughing.

'By the time we dock at Southampton, yes, I will —or, if I don't, it won't be for the want of trying!'

By the time we dock at Southampton ... Wendy felt some of the colour leave her face and was not at all surprised to hear her companion ask if she was feeling unwell.

'I'm all right,' she murmured. 'I—I w-was just reminded of something.'

'Something unpleasant, by the look of you,' re­joined Margie with a curious expression.

'It's nothing,' hastily and with a distinct note of finality in her voice. Margie shrugged and before she had time to speak again Denby arrived on the scene. Tucking his arm in hers, he stood for a few minutes chatting to Wendy and then, flicking a hand and saying he was intending to walk Margie three times round the ship, he took her off.

CHAPTER FOUR

For a long while Wendy dwelt on what Margie had said about Garth Rivers being an important per­sonage. Overworked so that he had been ordered to take a long rest ... Somehow, Garth Rivers struck her as a man who could never be overworked, a man so strong both of character and stamina that he could endure almost anything. So, if he had been overworked, then his work must without question be of a kind that is exceedingly trying to the brain ...

Impatient with herself for her inability to come even to the point where she could suggest an occupation for him, Wendy decided not to think about it any more ... and proceeded to think about it to the exclusion of all else, and her book was not taken up again for a very long time. In fact, she was still thinking about it when, after dinner, she strolled on deck, enjoying the cool breeze on her face and in her hair and on her bare arms, arms already becoming beautifully tanned by the long hours she spent on the sun-deck of the ship.

The sea was a stainless mirror, silvered by a full moon flaring down from a sky of deepest purple.

All was so peaceful and for a few moments she herself was at peace, but then, like a flaming sword thrusting itself into the very heart of her, came the stark reality of her situation. The sea was no longer bright and gleaming. It was black! —and deep! It was no longer something to be admired—no! Some-

thing to be dreaded, since it would claim her— claim her mind and body and her heart. Down ... With a sudden rush of fear that was so wholly un­controllable that she actually cried out in anguish, she turned blindly, with the intention of fleeing to her room. But even as she swung around she was suddenly caught by a pair of strong arms and brought close to a hard and sinewed body.

'Oh ...!' She looked up into the angular, un­smiling face of Garth Rivers. 'I'm sorry ...' Vali­antly she attempted to regain her control. 'I w-was j-just going to—to m-ray room ...' Again her voice trailed off, for as she saw his fixed inscrutable eyes upon her she realized that the tears were streaming down her cheeks.

The sea was forgotten, the fate that was hers, the terrible doom of the dark prison from which there was no return ... yes, all this was forgotten in the instant of close proximity to this strange man whose hands were now so very gentle, whose body seemed to offer her untold comfort and warmth. She was safe! Secure within his arms; nothing could defy his authority! If only he would hold her like this for ever she could never come to harm.

'Poor little rich girl,' he murmured astonish­ingly. 'Why are you crying?' His hands did not relax their hold, but he did put some small distance between himself and her, this in order to see her more clearly, she thought.

'Poor little rich girl?' she repeated, brushing a hand across her face. 'What do you mean?'

A cynical smile then ... a smile that hurt un­bearably.

'I believe you know what I mean,' he said, and his voice was no longer gentle, although his hands

still were—those long slender hands, deceiving hands, she knew, for they were strong and capable —and once again the tantalizing question intruded: what was his occupation?

'I do not—believe me!'

He frowned and said again,

'Why were you crying, Wendy?'

The abrupt ignoring of her words, so sincerely spoken, was like a stab with a sharp needle and she wished she could have reintroduced the subject. However, despite the intimacy of the present situa­tion she was reminded that she and Garth had not even reached a stage of close acquaintanceship, much less real friendship, and therefore she could not beg him to be more explicit.

'It was nothing,' she began, when he interrupted her with,

'No nonsense, Wendy! It'll help if you talk!' His tones were authoritative, and a very short time ago she would have been nettled by them, but not now. 'I happen to be in a receptive mood, so you can be sure of having my full sympathetic atten­tion.'

A smile wavered on her lovely mouth; he re­minded her of Doctor Whittaker, who was always ready to listen to the troubles of any of his patients, and to Wendy's own in particular.

'I was feeling very depressed, Garth,' she told him. 'But I'm all right now.'

'Talk!' he commanded, but then added, glancing around, 'We'll find a comfortable place to sit, a private place.' And, actually taking her hand in his, he led her over to where a couple of deck chairs were discreetly placed in a shadowed spot at the end of the deck. 'Now,' he said briskly when she

and he were seated, 'out with it!'

'I—I've not been well,' she admitted, her mind working furiously in an effort to extract just enough information to satisfy him, without her going into detail—which she had no intention of doing any­way. For despite his apparent interest and under­standing she was by no means sure that he would care to know the whole truth about her plight.

He looked sharply at her on hearing her words.

'You've been ill?' Most disconcerting his exam­ination now, as his cold unsmiling eyes scanned every portion of her face and her forehead and then travelled down to her neck. She coloured vividly, finding that the palms of her hands were becoming warm and moist. 'What kind of an illness was it?'

She shrugged, playing for time.

'Nothing you would understand,' she said, and wondered if he really gave a slight start, or whether she had imagined it. His mouth went tight, that was for sure, and so it would appear that her words had not altogether pleased him.

'You can tell me, all the same.' Commanding the tone, and again she told herself that, not so long ago, she would have been nettled by it.

'I'm sorry, Garth,' she said after a small hesita­tion, 'but I prefer not to talk about it.'

'I see ...' He appeared to have some other thoughts about it—as if he believed her illness to be one she did not like to discuss with one of his sex. That he was satisfied was a relief to her ... and yet, as the last few moments had been passing, she had. subconsciously perhaps, been thinking that it would be a great lifting of the burden if she could confide in Garth, for she knew without any doubt at all that she could trust him implicitly not to speak, even to his friend. His eyes were all-examin- ing again. 'I can't see why you were crying, though?'

'Depression,' was her perfectly .truthful reply, and because she looked directly at him as she said this he accepted that it was the truth. And he nodded slowly, and thoughtfully, as if his mind had placed before him some other facts that nicely fitted to­gether. She frowned in puzzlement, but her present mood left no opening for mind-searching over troublesome things that had baffled her before. Both Garth and Fraser had acted strangely with her and by now she had become used to it, so used that she no longer intended to allow herself to be teased about it.

'Depression can be worse than actual pain at times,' he said sympathetically. 'However, one can do much to alleviate such a condition, as, for example, changing one's way of life.'

'You're suggesting I change my way of life?' What on earth was coming now? she wondered.

'Don't you think it would be a good idea, Wendy?'

'I ' She stopped in the process of saying she

did not know what he meant, for a slight pain had shot through her head, just as she had been warned of such an eventuality. The pains would recur from time to time, the specialist had informed her. They would pass ... until the final one which would precede a total black-out ... 'If you don't mind, Garth, I'd like to go to my room. I'm tired—'

'It's early,' he said, and so swiftly that it did seem he would like to have her company for a little while longer.

'All right, I'll not go right away,' she found her­self saying, a smile fluttering to her lips. Garth's eyes rested on her face for a long moment, and he seemed to sigh within him, as if at something he deeply regretted.

'Do you feel up to a dance or two?' was his sur­prising invitation. 'The bright lights and music will surely take away your depression.'

'Thank you—thank you very much, Garth.'

He frowned at this.

'There's no need to keep on thanking me, Wendy. I ... I enjoy your company very much indeed.'

The hesitation was not lost on her; she once again had the impression that his emotions were mixed, that one part of him wanted her while the other battled against it.

They danced together all the time, and she was acutely conscious of the many different eyes upon her—those of Nicole Renton darkened and mal­icious, which clearly meant that she was angry at the fact that someone else was receiving all Garth Rivers' attention. Then there was Margie, who was smiling and nodding—and it was not difficult to read her thoughts either, decided Wendy with a rueful little light in her eyes. Denby was whisper­ing to his lady-love and then he nodded too. Fraser, sitting at the bar with his girl-friend, seemed un­able to keep his eyes from following Garth and his partner; then there was the stout man with the bingo hall; he too seemed to be interested in the couple holding the centre of the floor. And then there was Shaw, looking darkly at.her, while the girl beside him casually sipped her drink.

'Most enjoyable,' declared Garth when eventually he and Wendy were back on deck, having decided that the cool fresh sea breeze would make a pleasant change from the heat and chatter of the Theatre Bar. 'Thank you, Wendy. Perhaps we shall do it again?' This time there was an unfamiliar spon­taneity in his voice, and in his eyes there was an expression of waiting, as if her answer were of the utmost importance to him.

'I'd love to, Garth,' she answered, sending him one of her very lovely smiles.

'Fixed, then; tomorrow evening after dinner we'll dance again.' They were by the rail and now Wendy could look at the sea without fear or dread. Relucent and star-spangled, it was a mosaic of light and shade caused by the gentle swell of the waves. The night itself was magical, with a million stars shining from a tropical sky, and the full moon in their midst. Wendy and Garth leant on the rail, a profound yet companionable silence between them. She was totally at peace again, her nerves restored and her panic stilled.

'What a beautiful night.' The words left her lips unknowingly and he turned his dark head and stared down into her face. 'I've never witnessed anything quite so romantic as this.'

'You haven't?' with some considerable surprise, and ... was it scepticism? The smile on his lips hovered, satirical and faintly contemptuous; she lost a fraction of her brightness, regretting his change of manner with her. 'I should have thought

you'd seen many such scenes as this ' He swept

a hand embracing the whole aspect of lustrous sea and spangled sky, and the luxury liner that sailed between them.

'I don't understand you, Garth,' she said in her soft and gentle tones, and looking at him with eyes that were shadowed. 'You say the strangest things to me. I sometimes gain the impression that you suspect I'm not all I appear to be—-on the surface, I mean.'

'And are you?' he inquired smoothly.

She thought of her condition and failed to pre­vent her colour from rising.

'None of us are ... really,' she answered, her eyes dropping to the hand that lay on the rail of the ship. 'We all have secret places within us that we keep from everyone else.'

'You have secret places?'

'Of course. I don't go telling everyone I meet all that's within me.' Her voice retained its gentle timbre, her eyes their shadows. Garth moved rest­lessly and she had the extrordinary impression that he was having the greatest difficulty in refraining from taking her in his arms. 'You yourself must have secret places,' she added when he did not speak, and he nodded his head at this and looked pensively out to sea. She stood beside him, close ... and yet not close enough! The realization—and the admission—that it would be bliss to be in his arms came to her so quietly and naturally that she remained untroubled by any staggering impact; the knowledge might always have been there for all the difference it made to her-—there in her sub­conscious but not demanding attention until this warm and intimate moment when she and he were standing alone beneath the stars, savouring the magic of the tropical night. Soft strains of music drifted from one of the night clubs, but that was the only sound to be heard, and it added to the romance rather than detracting from it.

'Yes, Wendy,' he admitted at last, 'I too have a secret place within me.' He seemed tired all at once, she thought, and wondered if he would soon suggest they went their separate ways. But he made no move to go and the silence fell once more.

'How long before we reach our next port of call?' she asked presently, for some inexplicable reason forced to break the silence. 'It's Salvador, isn't it?'

'That's right. We'll be there on Monday.' He paused. 'Are you going on the tour?' he added, and she shook her head without a moment's hesitation. It was a four-day tour, flying into the interior to the capital of Brazil—the famous Brasilia where the trippers would spend the night, after which they would fly to Manaus, the great rubber city that had its heyday more than eighty years ago. A cruise up the Amazon River was also part of this particular trip, which cost about three hundred pounds and was therefore impossible as far as Wendy was con­cerned. Her purse would not run to that kind of indulgence.

'No, I shall wait until we arrive at Rio. I'm really looking forward to that.'

He turned, and there was an odd expression on his face.

'Why aren't you taking the tour to Brasilia and Manaus?'

'I don't think I'd be interested,' she hedged, hop­ing this would satisfy him, which it did, much to her relief.

He was taking the tour, he said, and the news seemed to be devastating. For four whole days he would be away ... However, there were more than three days before then, she thought, her spirits lifting just as swiftly as they had fallen only a few

seconds ago.

'It's very late ...' The words came softly, then trailed away as, across the arc of the heavens, a star sailed swiftly, then fell below the vague and misted outline of the horizon. 'We must say good night, Wendy.' And he turned right around and before she knew it he had caught her gently to him, tilt­ing her face with a finger under her chin.

His kiss could be felt long long after she was in her bed, awake but relaxed, staring abstractedly at the line of light that filtrated the join between the door and the jamb.

Garth Rivers ... He would not be hurt, as Shaw would have been hurt. No, Garth was far too un­emotional, too intent on retaining his bachelor state to be drawn into an affair of the heart. She suspected he was using her, simply because his Iriend had deserted him, using her as a pleasant companion with whom he could spend some of his time. So she could use him, she decided reason­ably, could go about with him whenever he asked her to. She could allow him to kiss her if he wished —all this without one small degree of compunction, in the sure knowledge that, when the time came for her departure from the ship, he would scarcely do more than utter a little sigh of regret that she had died so young, and after that-—if there hap­pened to be much time left, he would find another girl to keep him company until the end of the cruise.

'Yes,' she whispered into her pillow, 'I need have no guilt-qualms in using him. As for me—I shan't be troubled any more about being lonely, for I'm .ure he likes to have my company, and will desire it right up until the end.'

The following three days passed blissfully for Wendy, and she was now more happy at her de­cision to take the cruise. That she was in love with Garth was an accepted fact which had come to her with such quiet simplicity that she had not been aware of its existence until it was there, and the admission made to herself that here was the one man who had ever meant anything to her. For his part—she knew this was an enjoyable shipboard flirtation, nothing more. He derived pleasure from her company, from the lighthearted lovemaking which she allowed, from her response to his kisses, from her understanding of his moods, be they gay or serious, flattering or—as was more familiar— faintly contemptuous and distinctly cynical. The reason for his adopting this attitude no longer vexed her; she took it for granted, and merely awaited its disappearance. For there was no time to waste pursuing idle discoveries that could come to nought; she was living for each day and giving thanks that it had passed so pleasantly for her. The position between herself and Garth suited her ideally; she loved him and in consequence thrilled to his kisses and his pleasanter moods; he had no love for her and never would have, and so she har­boured no anxieties about his future, about leaving him, heartbroken and floundering in a void of loneliness. Her passing would not affect him in the least.

Yes, it was an ideal situation, for she had loved at last, loved in a way that, a few months ago, had been a dream that she hoped would come true one day, when she met the right man. The dream had faded with the verdict of the doctor, but now the dream had come true. She had found the right man —at least where she herself was concerned—and she had learned to care with a love so intense and spiritual that, at times, she would know a tinge of regret at her own helplessness. She would have wished this to go on and on ... with Garth loving her as she loved him. But the regret would pass in a flood of gratitude that, in her last weeks, this miracle had happened to her.

'I've cancelled the tour, Wendy.' The informa­tion was received by her with a mingling of dis­belief and sheer undiluted joy.

'You have! But, Garth, are you sure ?'

'I'm sure I don't want to be away from you for four days, my love,' came the quiet, authoritative interruption from Garth. 'You might find someone else while I'm away,' he added on a teasing note, his dark eyes alight with amusement at her swift attempt at a denial.

'I wouldn't '

'You're far too beautiful for me to take any chances,' he said. They were on deck, sitting in the sun, clad in the very briefest of covering. Wendy had a beautiful tan now, rich and delightfully enhancing. Her hair, though dark, was beginning to succumb to the sun's fierce rays at the front and the temples, bringing forth some golden lights which she never even knew she possessed. Garth had remarked on this change of colour, she recalled, and said something cryptic and satirical. As usual, she had allowed this to fall away like water from a duck's back, knowing that, within a few minutes, lie would be teasing or flattering, his less attractive mood dispelled. 'For the rest of the trip you're my property, and no one is going to intrude.'

She glanced swiftly at him, but his face was

impassive.

'I don't think I like the word property,' she was forced to say, and his straight dark brows rose a fraction.

'What's wrong with it?'

'I can't explain.'

'You're a funny child,' he said, and then, as if the thought had just occurred to him, 'But you're not a child, are you? You merely appear to be one.'

Another cryptic remark, but one she could not ignore this time.

'You're of the opinion that I'm older than I look?'

'You look no more than nineteen,' he pro­nounced without answering her question.

'I'm twenty,' she told him, and her tone was just a little cool.

'And the rest?' His voice held an edge of amuse­ment which brought a glint of anger to her eyes.

'Tell me,' she invited, looking straight into his face, 'if I look a mere nineteen then what makes you think I'm older than twenty?'

'I've just said—your looks are deceiving.'

She frowned heavily at him, saw his brows crease in puzzlement as he noted this.

'I have no answer for that, Garth,' she said stiffly. 'So often you speak in riddles that I'm now at the stage when I don't trouble to try to fathom out just what you mean.'

Garth was shaking his head, as if he were en deavouring to discard some image he had formed.

'One day soon,' he said musingly, 'I shall ask you a question which will startle you,' and with that he changed the subject, not allowing her the time to pursue the matter, even if she wished to do so.

'About the visit to Salvador. We'll have plenty to do—and we'll do it together.'

'That'll be fun,' she said, but added after a slight hesitation, 'You'd been looking forward to the tour, surely?'

'Not so much that it'll be any hardship to forgo it,' was his most satisfactory answer, and one which swept away all the little hurts and perplexities caused by his less attractive manner of a few moments ago.

Salvador Bahia, one-time capital of Brazil, proved to be a city of churches and was on two levels, the lower section being called Baixa and the higher part called Alta, the latter being located on a plateau about two hundred feet above the lower city.

'We'll hire a taxi,' decided Garth as one caught his eye. 'It'll be far simpler than attempting to get around on our own.'

Trotting beside him as he walked briskly to the taxi-stand, Wendy felt quite exhilarated, having previously looked forward to nothing more exciting than her own company for the day. For Margie was having less and less time for anyone except Denby who, she had confided to Wendy, would not be long in asking her to marry him.

The taxi soon being procured, Wendy and Garth seated themselves in the back and were driven up to the higher city where the first stop was made at (he monastery of St Francis of Assisi. The interior of the monastery, decorated with beautiful gold leaf, drew forth from Wendy several little gasps of ad­miration, at which Garth, glancing down at her from his great height, would smile in some amuse- ment yet at the same time be exhibiting slight puzzlement at the naivete or her spontaneous ap­preciation of the beautiful. The taxi-driver, acting as guide, took them to the cloisters, erected around a paved garden. The grounds here being sacred, females were not permitted to enter, so both Garth and Wendy looked through the railings. Across the square was the cathedral, and here the monks lived in their bare cells, observing total silence.

'Seen enough?' asked Garth at length and, when Wendy nodded her head, 'Let's go, then.' The taxi- driver had already left them and they took their time strolling towards the place where the taxi was parked. Lovely poinsettias flaunted their bright scarlet blooms against the less showy foliage of the acacias; other exotic flowers draped walls and trel­lises and grew in pots and gardens everywhere.

'I'll buy you something,' offered Garth when some time later the driver had, at Garth's request dropped them in the Rua Conselh Dantas 19.

'Oh, no!' she began. 'It'll be such a waste—'

She stopped, almost clapping a hand to her mouth as she realized what she had said.

'Waste?' he repeated, slowly and uncomprehend- ingly. 'What on earth do you mean by that?' Garth had come to a stop outside a jewellers shop and she knew it was his intention to buy her something rather valuable.

'I never wear jewellery,' she said lamely. 'So it would be a waste of money to buy me anything from here.'

He was frowning heavily, his eyes flicking over her face as if he would find the answer to his puzzle­ment in some feature there.

'You'll wear what I shall buy you,' he declared in firm implacable tones. 'Come, we'll find you an aquamarine ring—they're very special here.'

'But '

'No argument, Wendy!'

She submitted, but not without qualms of con­science. It seemed morally wrong to allow him to spend money on her, buying presents which would soon be gathered together along with all her other possessions and sent home to her next of kin, that distant cousin of whom she had heard from her mother but had never met.

Garth chose a dark stone—which she later learned from Margie was far more expensive than a lighter one would have been—set in gold and which he placed on the third finger of her right hand.

She thanked him profusely until he told her al­most curtly to be quiet. Their next stop was at the covered market—the Mercado Modelo which Margie had said they must visit. Here could be bought anything from sacks of rice and grain to straw hats and dress materials.

Naturally Wendy had little interest in such things, nor did she look at souvenirs. Garth casually mentioned the several bargains that could be bought, but she passed off his comments; he drew her attention to some very lovely embroidered satin, suggesting she have a length for a dress.

'I'll buy it for you,' he offered, but she shook her head.

'I'd never wear it,' she said, and although he glanced curiously at her he said no more about it.

'Have you noticed the different kinds of people?' she said as they were strolling past a Spanish-looking woman buying coconuts from a man with negroid features. Close by was a woman who was clearly of Indian extraction, while some distance away was a group of Africans—descendants of the slaves, de­cided Wendy, since she knew that slaves had at one time been brought here from Africa, just as they had been brought to so many other parts of the world.

'Yes, it's most interesting, isn't it?' Garth seemed exceedingly happy, wandering about like this, and Wendy saw an altogether different side of him from any other she had seen before. And she came to the conclusion that this man whom she had grown to love had many facets to his personality, some un­attractive—even deplorable—while others were un­deniably charming. He had an air about him, a savoir-faire which put him far above the average of his sex.

'Oh, but I've had a marvellous day!' Wendy's exclamation came when at last they were back aboard the Fayson, about to separate to go to their respective staterooms. 'Thank you very much, Garth, for taking me.'

'I do wish you'd stop this profusion of thanks,' he almost snapped. 'We both enjoyed ourselves, and both contributed to the enjoyment of the other.'

'I must thank you all the same,' she returned earnestly, uncaring that a frown had settled on his forehead. 'You don't know w^That you've done for me, Garth—but one day you will.' She would have turned then and sped away, but a swiftly out­stretched hand caught her wrist and she was brought to an abrupt halt and swung round to face him all in one deft movement.

'You can't say things like that and then run off without giving me an explanation! What exactly did you mean by those words?'

'I can't tell you ! No, you can't make me! If you can talk in riddles then why not I?' and with a jerk that caught him unawares she freed herself from his grasp and the next moment Garth was standing alone staring at her swiftly retreating back, the frown on his brow deepened almost to a scowl.

CHAPTER FIVE

Once in her room, Wendy sat down on the bed, re­flecting on the day she had spent and feeling so happy she could have broken into song. Love ...

What a gloriously beautiful thing it was! She only hoped and prayed that, one day, Garth would love as deeply as she. She hoped he would live long, and happily, with some beautiful girl who would care for him as he cared for her ...

Suddenly, and quite without warning, for she was deliriously happy, she had told herself, she burst into a flood of weeping and, twisting round, buried her face in her pillow and for the next minute or so sobbed uncontrollably. But soon her tears ceased, and her cheeks were dried. How ungrateful she was—a van ting more when so much had been given. In any case, had she been able to look forward to a long life, she would be in for a terrible period of unbearable emptiness and unhappiness, loving Garth as she did, and he not caring at all for her. It would have been a cheerful goodbye on his part when the ship docked, a 'thank you, Wendy, for a wonderful time', and then the separate paths, never to cross again. For her it would have been shatter­ing; as it was, she would have Garth for as long as she had life.

A gentle tap on the door brought her unsteadily to her feet, but she stood irresolute, while she glanced in the mirror and debated whether or not to speak. The tap came again and Garth's voice said,

'Wendy, you've left your purse with me.'

Her purse. She hadn't taken a handbag, just a small purse which she had requested he put in his pocket for her.

'Oh—er—you can give it me again!'

'Again?' A small pause then, 'Can't you come to the door?' he wanted to know.

'Yes—no—I mean ...'

Fascinated, she saw the handle turn.

'I'm coming in,' he warned. 'So if you're not pre­pared to receive me you'd better hurry!' Teasing the tone; it thrilled her even while she desperately sought for words that would send him away.

'No!' she cried urgently. 'Leave it there—out­side, please!'

A long hesitation before he spoke.

'Very well.' He sounded curt, she thought, and there was certainly something abrupt about his foot­steps as he turned and swung away.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she went into the bath­room; sitting in the scented water a few moments later, she felt totally relaxed, and happy. Curt Garth had been, but far better that than have had him enter to discover she'd been crying. Questions would assuredly have been put to her, in that commanding autocratic tone; and his eyes would have examined her face, disconcerting her and causing her to fidget nervously. Yes, far better his anger than his curi­osity.

At dinner he was cool, but a deep puzzlement underlay his expression. Margie chattered inces­santly, totally oblivious of anything being amiss. Fraser,. whose glance went from Garth to Wendy several times, was clearly in possession of the fact that something was wrong between them. Wendy, however, was not unduly troubled by Garth's atti­tude, knowing as she did that he would very quickly resort to his natural self and put from him whatever he found so puzzling. And she was right; he eventually entered into the conversation. Nowa­days he seemed more resigned to Margie's chatter, in fact, he appeared to enjoy it at times.

Margie had earlier confided to Wendy that she was resolved to find out if the him star Lenise Mavaro really was on board; amused, but not in­terested, Wendy had not intended to say anything more on the subject, but Margie gave her a hint that she had a plan which could scarcely fail.

'You have?' Wendy then asked, interestedly.

'I have! But I'll not tell you what it is; you'll find out soon enough!'

Wendy laughed and allowed the matter to drop, and Margie went on to pass some teasing comment about Wendy's friendship with Garth.

'It's nothing,' Wendy began, but she was imme­diately interrupted.

'Nothing, dearie? Whose leg are you trying to pull? It's plain that you've fallen for one another— why, everyone's talking about it '

'Everyone?' with an onrush of dismay. 'But that's ridiculous!' Garth would hate this, she thought, apprehension and alarm welling up at the idea that he might react by dropping her altogether. She knew that, were this to happen, her heart would suffer a searing wound that would remain with her until the end.

'Ridiculous?' Margie shook her head admonishingly, and continued with her lighthearted banter, little knowing of its profound effect on the girl who was forced to listen to it. 'Why be shy about the fact, dearie? I'm not shy about my affair with Denby. We shall be married very soon, you'll see! Now, wouldn't it be fun if you and Garth were married too—a double wedding when we all get back to Southampton '

'Margie, please stop this utter nonsense! Garth doesn't love me—never could! He's a bachelor born! Ask Fraser if you don't believe me. Garth and I are just friends, good companions on this voyage.' She looked pleadingly and earnestly at her, her lovely violet eyes shadowed and afraid. 'Don't mention anything at all to Garth—promise me, Margie, promise faithfully!'

'Dearie ...' Margie looked at her in some conster­nation. 'You're all worked up. Is something the matter? One would think that your very life de­pended on his not hearing of the gossip that's going on about you two.'

'Gossip?' Wendy's mouth went dry. 'Is there really gossip going around, Margie?' she asked fear­fully.

'Well, of course there is. But there's gossip going on about a couple of dozen others who've got to­gether since coming on the ship. You always get shipboard romances, and engagements and wed­dings following. So I can't for the life of me see what you're so troubled about?'

'Garth would hate gossip of that kind. He'd throw me over!' There, it was out, and if Margie did not now realize that she must not mention any­thing to Garth then there was nothing Wendy could do about it.

'I see ...' A small silence and then, with her typical forthrightness, 'So it's one-sided, at the moment? But mark my words, dearie,' continued

Margie when Wendy would have spoken, 'it won't always be like that. You're far too beautiful for him not to fall for you. Surely he's told you that you're beautiful?'

'Yes—yes, he has.' Wendy wondered if she looked as pale as she felt; Margie's words had cer­tainly shaken her, and set her heart pounding in the most distressing way. If Garth should throw her over ... No, he must not! She would never be able to bear the hurt of losing him, the excruciating agony of seeing him turn his attention to another girl —perhaps to Nicole Renton.

'I knew it! No. dearie, I promise you I won't say one word that'd make him feel foolish, or decide to give you up—which is absurd, you know, because he definitely won't give you up, but you're afraid he will, and so, as I've said, I'll keep my mouth closed—difficult as it's going to be,' she thought to add. grinning so broadly that it infected Wendy and she herself responded and a swift smile broke from lips that a second before had been quivering, re­flecting the anxiety that had arisen within her on hearing the comments made by Margie.

True to her promise, Margie said nothing at the dinner table about the romance, as she later termed it, but she did spring a surprise on"Wendy by saying, with her eyes wide and innocent as she looked from Garth to Fraser,

'Has either of you two heard anything about the film star who's supposed to be aboard the Fayson— travelling in disguise?'

Wendy started visibly. So this was what Margie had in mind when she said that Wendy would find out soon enough just how she meant to go about learning something of the film star's presence on the ship.

Suddenly aware that both men were looking at her—Garth with an expression that caused her to suspect him of mockery—Wendy blushed vividly, the stares of the two men being too much for her composure not to collapse under them. She lowered her head, fumbling with the untouched bread roll on her side plate.

'You appear to be somewhat disconcerted, Wendy,' came the smooth comment from Garth. 'Is something wrong?'

Forced to look up, she returned his unsmiling stare and said, her tones halting and constrained,

'Nothing's wrong. Garth. I d-don't know why— why you should ask?'

'Curiosity,' he murmured amusedly. 'Nothing more nor less than curiosity, my dear.'

Margie, puzzled and frowning, glanced from one to the other, clearly at a loss as to what all this was about.

'You haven't answered the question,' she said. 'Do you know anything about this film star?'

Garth's eyes flickered humorously.

'Why not ask Wendy?' he suggested.

'Me?' she blinked. 'Why me?'

'I think,' decided Fraser, suddenly entering into the conversation, 'that we ought to change the subject. After all. it's no business of ours if Lenise Mavaro is on the ship or not. And if she is, and wishes to remain unknown, then what right have we to begin probing and investigating?' He looked directly at Garth. 'I'm sure you agree?' he added, and it did seem that Garth was suppressing laughter.

'Yes,' he returned at length, 'I do agree heartily. Sorry, Margie,' he added, looking at her across the table, 'but we can't say anything about the girl, and as you've heard, we don't think it right that her privacy should be intruded upon.' He looked at Wendy. 'More wine?' he asked, lifting the bottle. 'Come, drink up. What's wrong with you this evening?'

She made no answer, but took her glass and drank some of its rich red contents. Garth filled it up then, his dark eyes regarding her steadily as he did so. But if he meant to speak again his chance was interrupted by the appearance of the steward with the third course. This provided a diversion, and when the conversation was resumed exchanges followed more normal lines, centring on the ac­tivities of the day spent in Salvador.

As had become usual after dinner, Garth and Wendy went off to one of the night clubs and, later, to the Theatre Bar to dance. And as usual they ended the evening by a stroll on the deck, then spending a half-hour or so standing by the rail, Garth's arms about Wendy, his lips claiming hers from time to time. For Wendy it was all she desired —this 'affair', as people would call it. But to her it was the acme of bliss, the fulfilment of her heart's desire. Garth was her first love; he would be her last. She rested her head against his breast, vitally aware of his rapidly-beating heart, and she won­dered how he would react were he to know the truth.

'Wendy ... you're so very beautiful,' he mur­mured, his cool clean breath caressing her cheek. 'I

wish ' He stopped, and she leant away from

him, but his face was in the shadows cast by one of

the ship's lifeboats and she found herself trying to capture the illusive impression of his features. So dark they appeared, and indistinct. He suddenly seemed a million miles away and in her fright she instinctively pressed very close against him, her arms stealing about his neck. Her face was lifted, Iter beautiful lips parted, invitingly. He bent his head and his lips found hers in a kiss that was both passionate and gentle, demanding and tenderly re­strained. She thought of how his manner could change, but knew also that, very recently, it had become much more gentle and tolerant, the con­tempt and the cynicism being less in evidence than they were at first.

'Garth,' she whispered, the words being forced from her by some compulsion she could not restrain, 'I'm so very happy tonight.'

A little laugh escaped him.

'I'm glad, Wendy. I'm happy too.'

'You're glad we met?'

'How can you ask?'

She managed a laugh then, a tinkling, musical laugh that brought a sound from him like the quick catch of a breath.

'Perhaps I ask because I'm not sure.'

For this he gave her a little shake.

'You're very sure!'

'Look at the sea; it's phosphorescent.'

'I'm looking at the you, not the sea.'

The words were an exciting assurance that her attraction for him was still strong. Her eyes shone and the smile she offered was one of incredible beauty.

'I'm happy,' she sighed again, thinking how very far she and Garth had come since those first words of conventional politeness had passed between them.

Garth kissed her, his ardour no longer under complete control. Reciprocating, but guardedly, Wendy thrilled to the magic of the moment, send­ing up thanks to a fate that, in the end, had allowed her to know the beauty of love.

At length he held her from him and she noted the expression of tender amusement in his dark and penetrating eyes.

'My cautious child,' he admonished, 'haven't you learned by now that life is for living?'

She flinched within his embrace but was relieved to note that the action had escaped his attention. She said, holding his gaze, deeply and searchingly,

'I somehow don't believe your suggestion means what you would like me to think it means.'

A frown at this, and a twitch of those finely sculptured lips.

'I find your own meaning somewhat obscure, my dear.'

'Nonsense,' she laughed, 'you're not obtuse!'

Responding to her laugh, he said, a curious edge to his voice,

'What makes you suspect that I didn't really mean what my words implied?'

'I don't know ...' A slight pucker of her forehead portrayed the fact that she was searching for a comment. 'I think it's because you don't strike me as a man like that.'

Silence, but for one fleeting second only.

'All men are like that,' he assured her in some amusement. 'You learned that a long time ago.'

'I?' she gasped, her heartstrings catching as she saw with amazement the startling change that had

taken place in his expression. How very easily he could hurt her! 'Whatever are you accusing me of, , Garth?'

Again he shook her.

'Oh, come on,' he laughed, and now the laugh was cynical and edged with that familiar note of contempt. 'We've played a game of make-believe and it was fun—well,' he amended as if having thought about it, 'it was a change, a diversion for us both. But the make-believe can't last ... Wendy. Let's put our cards on the table, shall we?'

Distressed at the transformation, her heart throb­bing with the hurt she bore, Wendy lifted her face to his, a face tight with bewilderment and pain.

'Why did you hesitate before speaking my name?' she asked, leaving all else in abeyance for the time being.

Garth looked down at her, missing nothing, and he too assumed an expression of bewilderment. But it was only momentary; the familiar contempt was present in his voice when he said,

'I think you know why—' An imperious hand

was lifted as she opened her mouth to make some , protest. 'No, please don't carry on the farce any longer. You're an actress, a good one—'

'Actress? Oh, Garth, how can you accuse me of anything like that? Why should I act? There's no reason at all why I should!' Her wide innocent eyes, the tremulous quivering of her mouth, the dis­tracted movement of her fingers in his ... all these were there for him to see, but he only laughed, an amused laugh and, releasing her, he glanced at his watch. 'From the very first you've seemed to treat me with suspicion, adopting a contemptuous way with me, and—and laughing inwardly at me ...'

Her voice trailed off as a little ball of pain rose in her throat, and for the next few moments there was silence between her and the man she had so easily and quickly learned to love. 'I think I'd better leave you, Garth,' she faltered at last, holding her breath as she awaited words that would restore her happiness, words that would reassure her of his desire to be with her. But all she heard was,

'If that's what you wish, then we'll say good night. I'll see you to your stateroom.'

Dumbly she walked beside him along the deck, with the soft starry night all around them, and the music drifting out from some distant orchestra to which happy couples would be dancing.

At her stateroom door he paused only long enough to say good night before swinging around on his heel and walking away.

What had happened? she was asking herself, over and over again as she lay awake, tossing and turning in the bed. If her thoughts were not so chaotic she might be able to assemble the facts which led up to the incredible ending to what had been a perfect day and evening. Garth had been so tender—it was put on, his tenderness, of course; she had no illu­sions about this—and so gentle in his lovemaking. He had told her he was happy and she knew for sure that he had meant it at the time it was said. He had flattered her, telling her he was looking at her, not at the sea. And then there had been the little scene when he had become rather ardent, and accused her of being cautious. Yes, she had managed to order her thoughts to this point, but what had happened after that? Without warning, a sharp throb of pain shot through her head, causing her to start up, a tremb- ling hand going to her temple.

Inevitably she asked herself if this was it. Early, it would be, but with a case like hers it would have been difficult for the specialist to say with any real certainty just when it would happen. She rose from the bed and put on a neglige; her face when she looked into the mirror was white, like parch­ment, with tiny beads of perspiration standing out upon her forehead. The palms of her hands were wet and she went into the bathroom to wash them. Was this it? she asked herself again as another searing pain made its excruciating impact on her head. She walked about the room, lengthening the distance by going into the bathroom each time she reached the door. She could not lie down, yet this walking about seemed to accentuate the agony in her head. She had taken a tablet, and could not understand why it had not worked to relieve the pain.

Should she send for the ship's doctor? A glance at the clock telling her that it was past one o'clock, she put the idea from her. If this was the end he could do nothing anyway. So it was far better not to disturb him.

Mingling with the acute awareness of the pain was the scene out there, on the deck. In order to forget the pain she attempted once again to re- enact that scene, so as to satisfy herself as to the reason for its occurring in the first place.

'I told him I didn't believe that his suggestion had any real meaning,' she murmured, stopping to speak to her reflection in the mirror. 'And I still don't believe that, even had I offered myself, he would have accepted.' No, she was absolutely posi­tive that he would not have accepted what she had offered. But why had she gained this impression? He was like any other man, surely? Why ... why ... why ... ? The word hammered in her brain and she knew instinctively that if only she could come up with an answer to that question she would have answers to others.

Leaving this vexing question behind, she went on to deliberate on what had occurred after he had said that 'all men are like that'. He had followed this by the assertion—wholly unfounded—that she had learned this a long time ago. This brought to mind his previous suggestion that she was much older than she looked.

'It's almost as if he's got me mixed up with some­one else,' she said. 'But that's ridiculous, of course, for how can he have got me mixed up with someone else?' Turning from the mirror, she paced the room again, expecting to fall any moment ... expecting the terrible, inescapable blackness to envelop her, carrying her to her doom. She thought: tomorrow they will find me, and tomorrow night, about this time

She braked her thoughts, shivering violently, and with the perspiration shining on her forehead again. Tremblingly she took out a handkerchief and wiped her face. Her hands were icy cold; without any conscious thought of what she was doing she went into the bathroom and held them under the warm water tap. Still scarcely aware of what she did, she reached for a towel and dried them, re­turning the towel to the rail, after folding it with such extreme care that it hung, perfect, like some­thing brand new, just taken from a box. She stared at it, closed her eyes, then stared again. She knew she was very close to losing consciousness; knew also that if she did lose consciousness it might not be the end. She might come round ... and the whole thing would begin all over again.

Far better to go now, she thought dully—now, when Garth was lost to her, for ever, lost for no reason that she could determine, and not by any­thing which she herself had consciously done to him. His action in leaving her so abruptly proved that he knew none of the emotions with which she herself was affected. He had no love whatsoever for her, and this was good. Even now, when he had treated her so callously, returning only derision for her own pleading assertion that she was not acting a part, she was inordinately grateful that she had failed utterly to stir within him anything remotely akin to love.

At last the pain began to dull; she knew it would be gone quite soon. But she stayed up for another hour or more, pacing about, wondering how she was to spend the next two months.

She could of course leave the ship at Rio, she thought, after having calculated that she would have more than sufficient for her air fare, since she had budgeted for tours at several ports of call in­cluding those in South Africa, the Seychelles, Bali and Japan. This money would not be required for the tours, but on the other hand, if she spent some of it on her air fare home, she would not have enough left for her requirements of the next two months.

'I've been into this before,' she murmured im­patiently. 'And I decided it isn't sensible. I must stay aboard the ship.'

At seven-thirty the following morning she was on the deck; Garth was in one of the pools, with Fraser and Fraser's girl-friend. Wendy had nodded to Fraser, but turned away without even waiting for Garth to notice her. At breakfast she and Margie were alone and, glancing round the big restaurant, she saw that Garth was breakfasting with Nicole, at her table. This changing about at breakfast time was allowed, as many people never took breakfast anyway and in consequence there were vacancies at some of the tables. Nicole's table companions had obviously taken an early meal or had not bothered to come in to the restaurant at all.

Margie, having watched the expression in Wendy's eyes, looked sympathetically at her.

'Is it all over?' she just had to ask, and Wendy nodded dully.

'Yes, Margie, it's all over.' She could not hide the unhappiness in her eyes, but she did contrive to inject a light note into her voice as she decided to add, hoping to put a brake on Margie's tongue and so escape any further questioning on her part, 'It was just a light affair, Margie, which neither of us took seriously, not in any way at all.'

'Well said, dearie,' returned Margie in her blunt way, 'but I happen to know that you were very serious. We talked about it, remember, and I said it was one-sided—at present, that was—but that Garth would eventually fall for you.'

Moistening her lips before replying, Wendy said, still endeavouring to appear brighter than she felt, 'It was only your imagination, Margie; I never said I was serious.'

'All right,' after a pause in which it did seem that Margie would pursue the matter. 'It's a pity, just the same,' she added with a sigh. 'You and he are

just the cutest-looking couple on the entire ship!'

'Thank you, Margie.' In spite of herself Wendy had to smile. 'I dare say Garth is just about the handsomest man aboard, but I'm very sure there are some far prettier women aboard than I,' and as she said this Wendy automatically flicked a glance at the table at which sat Nicole, looking ravishingly beautiful in a flowered dress, the bodice held up by thin straps of contrasting material, this same material having been used to trim the pockets and the hem.

'I wouldn't say that she was prettier,' declared Margie on a note of disdain. 'That dress she's wear­ing now is the first I've liked. Her evening wear is just too awful for words!'

'Men like those daring clothes,' returned Wendy, concentrating on the grapefruit segments that the steward had placed before her.

'Some men, but by no means all.' Margie was watching Wendy now, her sharp eyes examining her face and eyes, and the dark rings left by a night of wakefulness and anxiety. 'What shall you do this morning?' she asked, and before the question could be answered she had gone on to say that she and Denby were intending to join in some organized deck games and suggested Wendy come along too. 'There are prizes for the various games,' she added. 'It'll be fun, dearie, so you'd better come and join the merry throng.'

'I think I will,' Wendy agreed, much to her sur­prise, since it had been her intention to return to her cabin and read until she could go off to sleep, making up for what she had lost last night.

'Splendid! Denby'll be delighted. He likes you no end!'

Again Wendy smiled. What charming people these two were! So open and unaffected, not like some of the passengers, those whose great wealth seemed to put them on a plain way above the ordi­nary run of their fellow-men. They were the ones who had no need to work for their money, merely employing others to earn it for them. These wandering thoughts fetched into focus Garth Rivers, and she dwelt for a few seconds on the infor­mation gleaned by Margie—that he had been over­working to such an extent, and over so long a period, that he had been ordered-by his doctor to take this cruise.

The deck games were just starting when Wendy arrived there with Margie and Denby. Expertly organized, they went smoothly, with those taking part enjoying themselves to the full. Wendy, play­ing deck quoits, found herself in the semi-final, much to her own surprise, since it was only the third time she had played, the previous two oc­casions being when she was with Garth, who beat her each time. After winning the semi-final she found herself the following morning, matched to Nicole ... and before she began she felt sure she must lose. For Garth was close by, an interested spectator, giving Nicole his mental support, no doubt. But to her amazement Wendy won ... and Garth was the first to congratulate her, much to the other girl's chagrin.

'Well done, Wendy!' he said. 'It was an excellent game!'

'Thank you, Garth, but there was more luck to it than anything else.'

'No such thing.' A small pause and then, 'How about a cup of coffee?'

His invitation naturally surprising her, she hesi­tated, but something in his expression caused her to say, without stopping to consider whether or not she was building up further misery for herself,

'I'd love one. Thank you, Garth. Where shall we go?' Conscious of Margie standing close by, she turned to smile at her. Margie said, sending a sur­reptitious glance at Garth from under her lashes,

'Congratulations, Wendy. I've only just come along, having been occupied with chatting with that bingo man, and trying to fathom how he can have made all the money he claims to have made. It al­most makes me wish I hadn't much myself, just so that Denby and I could open a bingo hall, for it does seem to me that it's money for nothing.' Another glance at Garth and then, 'So you're taking her off, Garth? Have a nice time together. See you both at lunch time.' Off she went, and then Shaw came up, extending a hand to Wendy.

^'Congratulations on your win,' he said, and he too sent Garth a glance—but his was anything but friendly. 'You played a marvellous game.'

Wendy frowned, not herself seeing anything very clever about her victory; she felt sure that, were she to play the game again, she would be just as likely to lose it. However, she thanked Shaw graciously and then, turning to Garth, indicated that she was ready to accompany him to wherever he wished to

'We'll try to find a table by the swimming-pool,' lie said. 'That is, if it's all right with you?'

She nodded her head.

'Yes, it's all right with me.' She went quiet then, itid so did he. But once they were seated in a fairly private place on the outer rim of the tables sur- rounding the pool, he leant over the table and said, in an unfathomable tone but one which, she felt sure, he had meant to be expressionless,

'About the other night, Wendy. Can we pick up from where we were just a little before I left you?' No humility, no apology. In fact, she sensed a dis­tinct stiffness in his demeanour which he was en­deavouring to hide. She was again aware of that strange impression that, while one part of him wished to like her, the other rebelled at the very- idea. In other words, she deduced, he would very much have liked to give her up altogether, but he was finding that he could not do so. Strange, these mixed emotions and sentiments in a man like Garth. What never struck Wendy at this time was that her attraction for him might be so strong that he could not overcome it, no matter how hard he tried. She was not sufficiently aware of her own beauty to entertain the idea that it could hold a man with so powerful a personality as that of Garth Rivers.

'I suppose we can go back,' she murmured at last, but doubtfully. 'I don't know why you were like that with me, Garth?'

'Nor do I,' he said, yet she had the impression that he was not being strictly honest with her.

What should she do? she asked herself, and with­out hesitation she told herself that there was only one sensible thing to do, and that was to take what life offered and be grateful for it. Had a future been hers then an altogether different answer would have come to her, since it was clear from Garth's general attitude that nothing permanent could come from this relationship they had with each other. He would never have married her, simply because for some reason best known to himself, he did not respect her sufficiently to want her for his wife. Should she insist on knowing the reason for this lack of respect? She shrugged instantly. She had already decided that there was no point in in­vestigations that could lead nowhere. Leave it; take what there was and try to enjoy every precious moment she had left. And so she smiled at him, one of her lovely smiles, and said in that soft and musical voice of hers,

'Never mind, then, Garth. It wasn't really im­portant. Yes, we can start all over again.'

What reaction she expected she did not know. Gratitude or profuse thanks would not come her way, and in fact she would only have been em­barrassed by them if they had.

'Fine, Wendy.' He smiled then, one of his rarer smiles that sent her heart leaping as sheer pleasure swept through her. 'And now, for the coffee.'

CHAPTER SIX

The rest of the day was spent in pleasant harmony, sunbathing on one of the several decks, sipping ice- cold drinks through straws, listening to the music in the Green Lounge, eating a delicious lunch and partaking of dainty afternoon tea of wafer-thin sandwiches, pastries filled with fresh fruit and cream, of chatting together; and then, about an hour before dinner, they stood by the rail for a few minutes before going off to their respective state­rooms. Nothing more had been said about the night before last; it was as if Garth intended it to be totally forgotten. No sign, either, of any of his customary cynical remarks or derisive glances. Wendy came to the conclusion that he, like her, was content to take what was offered, and to derive the maximum amount of enjoyment from her company just as she intended to derive the maxi­mum from his.

That evening there was to be a fancy dress ball and as all the passengers had received an intimation of this prior to the sailing, those intending to take part had come fully prepared. Wendy had at first decided not to bother, but on second thoughts she had taken out the sewing machine and made her­self a rather splendid Grecian robe, the saffron peplos which—after a magnificent procession—in ancient times was presented to Athene, goddess of war and wisdom and defender of the Athenian State. The robe, having been made by hand by dozens of Greek maidens, was given to her every fourth year, during a festival of magnificent splendour.

The wearing of the fancy dress at dinner was acceptable and most people came to the restaurant looking gay or drab, hilariously funny or elegantly dignified. Those already there would send up a roar of laughter on occasions or, alternatively, there would be a rather loud 'Oh!' as something special was seen. Wendy, having learned that all those at her table, and the one adjacent to it, were intend­ing to wear their fancy dresses for dinner, put hers on and after surveying herself in the mirror for rather longer than usual, decided without being immodest that she had never seen herself looking quite so attractive. The peplos, with its many delicate folds, suited to perfection the slender curves of her body; it made her appear taller than she was and it gave her a splendour and regality that could not have been surpassed even by the great goddess herself.

Although aware that her appearance was arrest­ing Wendy was totally unprepared for the reception she was to receive on entering the long, magnifi­cently-decorated restaurant, with its crystal chan­deliers and gleaming cutlery and glass. She had heard the noisy laughter as she approached the entrance, and had pictured some of the amusing costumes she would see—in fact a smile already hovered on her lips as she stepped through the high double doors and proceeded down the centre isle towards the far end of the restaurant where her three companions were already seated. At first she failed to realize that the sudden hush had anything to do with her, but, glancing around in some puzzle- ment as the last sound of laughter died, she realized with a great deal of embarrassment that every eye in the room was focused on her. Her head was held high, her body erect, which was her natural manner of carrying herself. She moved on. aware that she had coloured vividly, and arrived at last—and with a great sigh of relief—at her table. The steward had her chair pulled out and she sat down; her napkin was shaken out by the steward and flipped on to her knee.

She managed to glance up, and to produce a fluttering smile. Garth's were the only eyes in which she was interested, even though those of her two other companions were regarding her with equal admiration.

'You look fantastic!' It was Fraser who broke the silence. Margie echoed his words, but added,

'Dearie—when you came up that centre aisle! My, but I thought it was the Queen herself, come aboard as if by magic!' She stared a moment, her eyes full of admiration. 'Do you like me, by the way? Madame Pompadour,' she elucidated, gig¹ gling.

'Yes, you look perfect, Margie.' Then, turning to Fraser, she congratulated him on his pirate's costume, assuming a scared expression as she noticed the evil-looking dagger swinging from his belt. Garth was dressed rather splendidly as a Roman general, and she smiled at him wordlessly, for he was so intently regarding her, as if seeing her for the very first time. She lowered her lashes, feeling shy and unsure of herself, and wishing she had the poise and confidence displayed by the cool and self-possessed Nicole Renton.

'Congratulations,' said Garth softly at last. And that was all he did say until they were dancing together in the ballroom an hour and a half later, dancing in an atmosphere of haunting music and soft, hidden lighting which sent a rosy glow over the entire room.

'You look lovely,' he told her in his quiet, well- bred voice. 'Wherever did you manage to find something which suited you so perfectly?'

'I made it,' she replied, and then wondered why he should be regarding her with such surprise and disbelief.

'You made it?' He had almost stopped at her words but, aware that another couple were about to collide with them, he swung her away, towards the side of the room. 'You made it yourself!'

'Of course. What's so strange about that?' He said nothing and she went on, 'I'd seen a picture of one of these robes in a book on Greek art, and so I decided to have a try at making one for the trip.' She paused, then said, 'You seem surprised that I could make it. It was easy, really.'

'I must admit I am surprised,' He looked down at her and shook his head. 'It seems so complicated to the eyes of a mere male.' He swung her round and she knew the subject was dropped. She knew also that he was going to say something disdainful or derisive to her, but he had changed his mind.

The evening passed on golden wings after this, and when the winners were announced, at a few minutes to midnight, great applause went up as, blushing almost painfully, Wendy was led by Garth up to the platform where she received her prize from no less a personage than the captain himself.

'A fully fitted vanity case—and in beautiful embossed leather!' Margie was right there, almost taking the prize from Wendy's hand. 'Oh, my, but it's cost a fortune! It'll last a lifetime, dearie!'

'Y-yes—it—will.' A lifetime. Wendy knew she had gone pale and she swiftly lowered her head, unwilling that Garth should notice this.

'And that bingo man winning the first of the men's!' flashed Margie disgustedly. 'He said that his Pearly King outfit cost over three hundred pounds, and his wife's Pearly Queen costume fifty pounds more! I don't think he should have won, do you?'

Garth laughed and said,

'The judges must have considered his was the best of the men's costumes, Margie, otherwise they wouldn't have awarded him the first prize.'

'Well, I suppose you might be right,' grudgingly and with a disdainful glance in the offender's direction. He was delighted, showing everyone the gold cigarette lighter he had won.

Soon after all this was happening Wendy and Garth were up on deck, looking out upon the calm dark sea. All was quiet and Garth took her in his arms.

'Thank you for a wonderful day and evening,' he said, his mouth close to her face, his hand caressing her lovely silken hair. 'I'm going to let you go now, Wendy, because a little while ago, in the ballroom, you went quite pale, so I assume you're rather tired.' So soft the tones, and edged with concern. She wondered if all this was assumed, or if he really were anxious about her. What did it matter? She would not have been happy had she thought he was becoming too attached to her, too troubled about her welfare.

'I must admit I am rather tired,' she agreed, looking up at him and smiling into his face. 'Thank you for a wonderful day, Garth, and for a very happy evening.'

'A triumph for you,' he declared, his handsome lace now revealing a tinge of pride that sent her cheeks glowing with happiness. 'You were the object of everyone's eyes—and the envy of every female there.'

She laughed at this, and so did he. She recalled the dark and venomous glances cast at her by Nicole Renton at various intervals during the evening.

Garth was speaking again, saying flattering things which she loved to hear. And his hand holding hers was warm and strong and she felt so very safe. She thought: 'I wonder if he will be with me when it happens?' Perhaps he would; it was very possible, and she knew that if he were with her then it would not be so terrifying after all.

'I won't be so frightened then,' she whispered to herself, at the same time nestling her head against his breast. 'No, I'll be far braver if he is with me, holding me close like this.'

'Wendy dear—' He held her from him, and

looked at her in the most searching way. 'You trembled, dear. What is it?'

'The cold,' she lied, not having realized that she had trembled. 'It's a little chilly out here, don't you think?'

Garth frowned at this.

'You find it chilly?' He shook his head. 'It isn't, Wendy. Either you're very tired or you have a cold coming on. Let's hope it's the former.'

'I'm sure it will be,' she returned lightly. 'I don't very often catch a cold.'

'In you go, then,' he ordered in firm peremptory tones. 'To bed, young lady—and don't you dare to sit up and read!' How like a doctor he sounded, she thought, reflecting on the fact that she had noticed this on a previous occasion. 'I'd better have a promise about that,' he was saying in the same commanding voice. 'Well?'

She laughed and said,

'I promise I won't read, Garth.'

'Good girl!' Drawing her to him again, he kissed her gently on the lips.

And then he released her, but retained her hand in his, and her thoughts catapulted back and forth as one moment she revelled in this love that had come to her, and the next moment she was saying again,

'No, I won't be afraid if he is with me when it happens ...'

From the first one of the highlights of the cruise was the visit to Bali, and she was exhibiting some excitement for a couple of days before the ship's arrival there. Garth had said he would hire a car for the first day, while on the second day they could just wander at will, taking their sightseeing in an easy and more leisurely way.

The ship docked at eight in the morning and Wendy and Garth were ready to go ashore im­mediately. Half an hour later they were in the car, with Garth at the wheel, making first for Tjeluk and Mas, where Wendy wanted to see the famous hand-worked silverware and fabulous wood carv­ings of which she had heard from Margie. Garth, being almost as keen on seeing these handicrafts as she, had offered no demur. On the way, driving under a clear sunlit sky, Wendy gazed with spell- bound appreciation at the sheer unspoiled beauty of the island—the nearest place to paradise they would ever get—as Margie had told them the previous evening when the two couples had met in the bar for pre-dinner drinks. Despite the fact of its being just one small link in that chain of islands that are called Indonesia, Bali possessed a charm all its own, in its simplicity and sincerity, in its bright green vegetation and incredibly brilliant flowers, the perfume of which could be appreciated even from the car.

'Isn't it beautiful! Oh, I knew I wouldn't be disappointed in it!' Wendy spoke excitedly and Garth turned his dark head, glancing at her profile for one fleeting second before returning his atten­tion to his driving. He did not speak; she knew he was in one of those moods when he wished to be quiet, to look around and appreciate the country­side through which he was driving. He had been the same when they had hired a car at Rio and again when the ship docked at Mombasa and Bombay. Wendy, respecting his desire for a quiet interlude, had sat in silence, content to be with him, and happy to be alive and able to appreciate all that was around her.

The roads in Bali proved to be excellent; the one along which they were driving skirted the beautiful palm-fringed coastline and wound up into the hills above. After passing through a village Wendy saw the women, in the distance, working in the rice fields or climbing coconut trees.

'They're not slaves,' remarked Garth in some amusement when he thought he heard her make a little sound of disgust. 'Not like the women are in many other eastern parts of the world. Here, they like working with their men, and what they earn is their own.'

'It is? You mean they'll get a share of what the produce brings, when it's sold?'

'They have their own little businesses—if you can call them that. They rear and sell pigs and chickens; they also weave to make extra money.'

'They look happy enough, and they're so very graceful, aren't they?' She was watching a young girl, balancing a huge basket on her head, walking with perfect ease and grace, her lovely face impas­sive, her eyes looking straight ahead. Her feet were bare, her head very erect, her hips swaying rhythmi­cally.

'Very graceful indeed.' Garth rounded a bend and began to leave the village behind. At last they reached their destination. Garth bought her several exquisitely-carved figures and a silver bracelet, this after sternly silencing her attempts to protest. She wore the bracelet, which he fastened on to her wrist, smiling as he did so, then unexpectedly he kissed her softly parted lips.

'Oh ...!' she said because she was suddenly shy and exceedingly unsure of herself. 'Thank you!'

'For kissing you?' he laughed, and she shook her head indignantly and said no, of course not.

'For this beautiful bracelet—and all these other lovely presents you've given me.' She did wish, though, that he would listen to her and not buy her things. It all seemed such a waste of his money.

They got back into the car and drove across the beautiful countryside, passing through native villages where, through the open doorways of the primitive mud houses, could be seen the shadowy figures of women moving about inside, their shoulders bare, the lower parts of their bodies covered by long kains which came down almost to their feet. One or two came out, carrying on their heads a miscellany of offerings for the gods. Garth stopped the car for a few minutes and he and Wendy sat watching as, joined by others emerging from nearby houses, the women formed a proces­sion which began slowly to make its way towards an altar standing out in the open air. Here they stopped to lay down their offerings.

'Bali is a land of superstitions,' Garth was saying when presently they were on the move again. 'And so you have these numerous offerings to the gods. Nothing is so fearsome to a native as the idea of upsetting the gods. They do the most unbelievable things in order to ward off evil spirits, and if you were ever to live in Bali you'd be forever finding yourself doing things that are forbidden.'

'Such as?' she prompted, intrigued.

'You must not go to sleep with your feet point­ing north or east; you must not stroke a baby's head, nor waken a sleeping child too quickly.'

'Not !' She stared disbelievingly. 'Why must

you not waken a sleeping child too quickly?'

'Because its soul, which wanders about while the child sleeps, might not have time to rejoin its body.' His voice was edged with amusement as he con­tinued, 'If you cut down a coconut tree you must first kiss the trunk and beg the tree's forgiveness for what you are about to do. Never must you tread on any grains of rice you might see scattered just inside someone's door; it's a sacred offering. And, having managed to get inside the house without arousing the ire of the evil spirits, you must not, on any account, cross your legs. For if one of the soles of your feet is not touching the floor it enables numerous evil spirits to surround you.' By this time Wendy was in the throes of laughter, infectious laughter which was soon caught by her companion.

'Oh, dear,' she said at length, 'I always thought I'd like to live in Bali, but now I'm not at all sure that life would be very comfortable. Tell me some more, Garth?'

'I could go on forever,' he protested. 'The story of the taboos of Bali is endless.'

'This must greatly affect tourism, surely?'

'It does, and that's why the island's remained so attractive. As things are, with the existence of all these religious taboos, modernization can't possibly take place, simply because one can't do this or that. It's a land of gods and strange customs that originated way back in some obsure manner which has long been forgotten while the customs remain.'

'It's fascinating, but a little frightening as well.'

'It shouldn't be,' he assured her. 'There's nothing about the Balinese to frighten you. They're gentle people, and exceedingly happy people despite their weird customs and ancient religious rites.'

Garth had said he would take Wendy to the Bali Beach Hotel for lunch, and on their arrival they met many passengers from Fayson. A gay party was formed, and in consequence the lunch took longer than expected. However, it did not matter very much, said Garth, because there was another day tomorrow.

They stayed to see the performance of the Legong Dance, then went on their way again. In the even­ing, after taking dinner at the Bali Beach Hotel they went with Margie and Denby to a performance of another dance, the ketjak which was said to be the most vigorous of all Balinese dances. It was a sort of mimed chorus performed around a flaming torch and was supposed to drive away evil spirits.

'It's also called the Monkey Dance,' Garth in­formed Wendy as, having driven to a village, they were invited to join the villagers who were already assembling on the green, the torch in the middle being more like a fire.

'Good gracious, how many dancers are there?' Margie spoke loudly, as usual, and one or two of the villagers tittered among themselves.

'About a hundred and fifty,' estimated Denby, sitting down beside her. 'This looks as if it's going to be good!'

Garth sat with his arm about Wendy's waist; she rested her head on his shoulder, her whole mind and body relaxed. The dancers began their per­formance, making abrupt movements and chanting the choruses as they did so. Their' bodies swayed in perfect unison and their arms would, at intervals, be raised up towards the sky, the chants and gut­tural cries continuing. At last they all sank to the ground and remained motionless. The performance was over.

'I loved it!' declared Margie. 'Yes, I loved every single minute of it!' She turned, smiling, to Wendy and Garth. 'Didn't you just love it?' she asked, but gave them no time to reply. 'You must have done! My, but it was something to remember, wasn't it, dearies?'

'It was,' smiled Garth, taking hold of Wendy's hand as they all four left the village green and began to walk towards the place where the car was parked. 'I have heard,' he added, 'that there's a story to the dance. I'm beginning to remember it.'

'A story?' from Margie eagerly. 'Tell it to us, then, Garth—while we're driving back to the shipl It'll be mighty entertaining, I'm sure!'

Garth obliged and, as he drove them all back to the ship he told them, in his quiet cultured tones, of the legend—which was taken from the Hindu Rama Saga—of Prince Rama who one day was out hunting in the royal forest, chasing golden-horned stags, when his home was visited by Ravana, King of the Demons, who ran off with his wife, the beauti­ful Princess Sita. On discovering this the distracted prince gave chase, but was attacked by another demon who, releasing an arrow, turned it into a serpent which encircled Rama, making him its prisoner. But the gods came to his aid, sending the symbolic bird of Vishnu—Garuda—who gathered an army of monkeys who not only freed the prince but rescued the princess as well.

'So that's why it's called the Monkey Dance,' said Wendy. 'I can now see that the dancers' actions were quite often in imitation of an army of mon­keys.'

'So can I see it now,' put in Margie. 'My, but it was a pretty tale you told us, Garth. Thank you very much!'

'Don't mention it/ he responded quietly. '1 rather enjoyed telling it.'

They were approaching the dock and the great white liner came into view through a tangle of tall palm trees. The sea lay calm, the silver path made by the moonlight glittered like a myriad pure white diamonds beneath the star-spangled grandeur of the tropical sky.

Good nights were exchanged between the two couples; Margie and Denby went their way and

Garth and Wendy theirs, to the upper deck where .is usual they would spend a little time together before saying a final good night.

Wendy opened her mouth to thank Garth, but t lie palm of his hand came to her mouth before she could do so and the words hovering on her lips changed to a laugh. He bent his head and kissed lier on the lips, gently at first, and she waited for his ardour to become manifest, waited with familiar wild throbbing of her heart and the expectancy of being carried into the ecstatic realm of magic to which Garth could so easily transport her.

But to her surprise he drew away, and without reason she sensed a coolness come over him—no, it had not just come over him, she realized in a flash of insight; it had been there, on and off, for the past few hours, filtrating now and then into the friendly attitude she had come to take for granted. Had she offended him in any way? Her endeavours to bring to mind any such occurrence came to nought and she decided that this was just another mood of his that would eventually pass off. She had already decided not to allow his changes of mood and manner to affect her in any serious way, for they did not really matter in the present state of her own total insecurity. Each day, each hour, each second even, was of such value that she must not allow any small caprice of temperament on Garth's part to encroach upon her peace of mind. l^ror peace of mind she did have, thanks to him and the fact that she possessed enough attraction for him to ensure that her company on this cruise was preferable to that of any other girl aboard, no matter how beautiful that girl might be. Nicole had done her best to entice him away; of this

Wendy was vitally aware, but the girl failed. Garth was sociable with her and that was all.

'Is it going to rain?' she asked, just for some­thing to say, so intense, and uncomfortable, had become the silence.

'I don't think so.' He glanced up; the sky had changed dramatically, for now the moon was rolling through a trail of cloud. 'Perhaps it is,' he amended. 'The clouds look rather ominous.' A tinge of curt- ness to his voice, a slightly impersonal quality to the touch of his hands on her arms. Oh, well, tomorrow he would have fought off whatever it was that disturbed him. She said, lifting a hand daintily, pretending to stifle a yawn,

'Good night, Garth. Sleep well.'

His dark eyes found hers and she saw that in them, deep and baffling, was an expression of doubt and perplexity. He sighed a little sigh and then kissed her cheek.

'Good night, Wendy. We'll meet tomorrow as usual at breakfast.'

'We're having another trip out?'

'Of course.'

Relief! Another day accounted for, another day of his company.

He took her to her room and left her; she stood in the open doorway and watched him go. And then, as if impelled by some force she could not control, she turned and returned to the deck where, finding a chair in the shadows, she sat down, noting that several couples were standing by the rail some distance from her. Here, where she sat, it was quiet and peaceful and she leant back and gave up her mind to meditating on the outing she had had. Bali

had come up to expectations—and more. She was I',lad she had seen the island, as she had always wanted to.

She could not have said just how long she had l>een there when her thoughts were interrupted by the voices of Garth and Fraser; she shrank back .igainst the dark upholstery of the chair and re­mained still. The two men appeared and stood by I he rail; their figures were shadowy and their voices were not too clear, either. But the voice of Fraser was a little easier to catch than that of Garth who, in any case, always spoke in quiet, but clearly modulated tones.

'... it's the girl; I'm sure of it!'

Garth spoke in response to this; Wendy heard only the one word, 'doubts' which came to the end of the sentence.

'That's obvious; otherwise you wouldn't be Wendy failed to catch the rest. She glanced around, looking for some way in which she could escape unnoticed. But she had to own that it was im­possible and, being reluctant to reveal herself to Garth, who had so recently escorted her to her cabin, she had no option than to remain where she was until they themselves had made their de­parture.

'... fool, Garth.' Fraser's voice again; his tone seemed to convey that he was speaking words of warning to his friend.

'I know you're right, and yet ...' Wendy heard this quite plainly; words spoken by Garth. And with that the men began walking away from her, although they were still talking, for she could hear Fraser's voice until it faded to a mere murmur. It

was a relief to see them disappearing, for now she herself was free to go.

And although it had nothing at all to do with her, she fell asleep wondering what they had been talking about.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Wendy and Garth were in the Crimson Lounge, Wendy flicking through a magazine and Garth reading a copy of the ship's newspaper. She and Garth had been swimming for part of the morning, after which they had lain out in the sun for a couple of hours. When lunch was over they went to see a film, decided they were not interested enough to stay till the end and came out, going along to the Crimson Lounge where they expected to find Margie and Denby, who had said they were intending to have an hour or two scanning the newspapers.

Wendy, lowering her magazine to her lap, watched Garth in profile, noting the austere yet aristocratic features, the firm uncompromising lines of the chin and jaw, the implacable set of the mouth. His head was set nobly on wide straight shoulders, his dark hair was showing the merest dusting of grey at the temples.

Sensing her keen scrutiny he turned his head, and his eyes held hers for a long moment before, flushing slightly, she lowered her long silken lashes, hiding her expression from him.

'I didn't mean to stare,' she told him awkwardly, and picked up her magazine. She heard his paper being turned, then silence for a few minutes before another page was turned. Surreptitiously she looked over the top of her book, her eyes drawn to his face again despite her efforts to concentrate on her own reading. How tranquil his face, how totally relaxed, so that no semblance of a line creased his forehead ... She continued to flick the pages, glanc­ing casually at anything that might interest her, especially the intriguing advertisements inserted by the London fashion houses, and vaguely aware of the soft strains of Handel's Water Music filling the room from the loudspeakers set high in the corners. Suddenly the music stopped and the an­nouncer was heard giving the news headlines:

'In a plane crash this morning the film actress Lenise Mavaro -was one of the eighty-nine people who lost their lives ...' Aware of the start which Garth gave, Wendy flashed him a sideways glance. He turned at the same time and their eyes met. She could never have even attempted to read his ex­pression, so strange it had become. She turned her head, profoundly uncomfortable under that fixed unsmiling stare. She thought: so Fraser was wrong in believing Lenise Mavaro was on the Fayson, travelling under a disguise. '... a great loss to British films,' the announcer was saying. And then he went on to something else and Wendy did not trouble to listen, all her attention being with Garth who seemed to be evincing a disproportionate amount of emotion, seeing that he had not even seen one of the star's films.

He swallowed something that appeared to have lodged in his throat, and the hand that lay on the table clenched suddenly, another manifestation of his being deeply affected by the news that had just come over the radio. 'Is—anything wrong?' she was impelled to ask, if only to bring to an end that fixed and faintly remorseful stare he was directing at her. He made no reply and she decided to say, 'This Lenise Mavaro—on the day the ship sailed I overheard you and Fraser talking about her—'

'You did?' he cut in abruptly. 'What did you hear?'

'Fraser was saying that he thought she was travel­ling on this ship, disguised as a brunette.'

A muscle moved in Garth's throat.

'Don't you know what Lenise Mavaro looked like?' he asked—without reason as far as Wendy could see, so it was no wonder that she stared at him, a question in her lovely eyes.

'No, I've never seen any of her films.'

'You've never seen her photographs, either?'

She frowned in puzzlement.

'I don't understand you, Garth?' Unthinkingly she spread her hands. 'Why are you asking me these questions?'

He hesitated, then shook his head. He seemed to be carefully searching for the right words to use, and he took so long about it that she decided to answer his last question.

'I've seen a photograph, I expect, at some time or another.'

This appeared to offer the opening he had been searching for, because he spoke now, asking if she had never noticed the likeness to herself. It was a bombshell that left her dumbfounded as, lights of perception flashing from all corners of her mind, she found herself in the midst of a jigsaw where all the pieces were falling rapidly into place.

'Likeness ... to me ...' Dazedly she touched her hair. 'You—you th-thought it w-was m-me—what I mean is, you suspected that I was Lenise Mavaro?'

He was nodding long before she had managed to articulate the words. But he remained silent, and now the hesitation was disquieting, as if he were about to tell her something she would not like to hear. She was still very dazed, unable to believe that anyone could mistake her for the glamorous and incredibly beautiful Lenise Mavaro.

'Wendy,' he said at last, 'I've made a most unforgivable blunder where you're concerned; I did suspect you of being Lenise Mavaro—a woman for whom I could never have an atom of respect.'

Another silence, long and profound, while she stared at him, and as she did he moved, taking the chair opposite so that she and he were now facing one another.

'So much is explained,' was all she could find to say, and again he nodded his head. 'Yet if you could not respect me—her ...' Wendy floundered, stop­ped, and then began again, saying quite reasonably that, if Garth had felt that way about it. then why had he ever been involved with her in the first place. 'I should have thought,' she added, 'that you would have kept your distance right from the start.'

At this an odd little smile quivered at the corners of his mouth.

'You seem to forget, Wendy,' he said wryly, 'that you are my table companion.'

'Oh—well—yes, I had forgotten She broke off. 'No, how could I forget?'

'My dear, you're becoming very confused, and it's all my fault. What I was trying to say was that while I must come into contact with you at least twice a day, and that for rather more than an hour each time, I could scarcely keep my distance, as you have recommended.'

'But you had no need to spend all your time with me,' she pointed out. 'I can't understand—if as you say you couldn't respect this girl—how could you spend so much time with her—me, I mean.' Suddenly the whole thing became so humorous that she found herself on the verge of laughter. 'What a mix-up, Garth! And now I come to look at all the aspects of it I feel I should have guessed long ago what was going on, for Fraser, too, acted very strangely to me.'

'My dear ...' His hands were extended across the table and she gladly put hers into them. 'How be­wildered you must have been. I saw this so many times, in those beautiful eyes of yours, that I know it's I who ought to have known that I'd got it all wrong. After all, I'd no proof, had I? I took Fraser's word for it, which, now I look back, I hnd not only absurd but totally unforgivable.'

'I remember, on one particular occasion,' she mused, 'that something you said did make it occur to me that you could have got me mixed up with someone else, but the idea was too absurd and I thought no more about it.'

'It was probably when I accused you of being a good actress.' He stopped, shaking his head, and looking at her with an expression of deepest con­trition. 'Dear child, can you ever forgive me for the way I've treated you?' She had lifted a hand to stop him, but he continued to the end of the sentence.

'You've been wonderful to me, Garth,' she told him sincerely. And she would dearly have liked to add, 'One day, perhaps quite soon, you will know just what you have done for me, and I hope it will remain with you and afford you satisfaction that you've done so much for someone who was des- perately in need of your kindness.' But of course she refrained, chiefly because of the questions that must inevitably follow; she had no wish to put her­self in an embarrassing situation because, after all, to him this was just a very pleasant flirtation.

'Wonderful,' he repeated, frowning heavily. 'No, my dear, I've been churlish, and there wasn't any excuse at all. It's a wonder you didn't tell me to go to blazes—'

'I'd never have done that,' she broke in, 'I was far too happy in your company.' She could not help giving a thought to what he would be likely to say were she to have replied, 'A girl doesn't tell the man she loves to go to blazes, darling, for he might just take her at her word.' The idea touched her humour so that her eyes danced suddenly with laughter. His whole attention became fixed; she wondered if she had imagined it, or had she heard him catch his breath? 'I see now why you thought I was older,' she said when he did not speak. 'And also why you were so surprised when I said I could sew. And I know what the question was that you were going to ask me. You were going to ask me outright if I was Lenise Mavaro, weren't you?'

'Yes, Wendy, I was.'

'When I overheard you and Fraser talking, that first day, I heard him say that Lenise Mavaro was in the habit of going off on her own and acting as

if she were an innocent little girl—' Wendy broke

off and lifted a hand to her mouth. Garth's eyes lit with amusement for the first time, because she looked so comical.

'Yes, dear, you are the innocent little girl type—No, don't protest or deny it. You are you, and please don't ever try to change yourself.'

She had coloured, but daintily, and in her em­barrassment she could not find words, not just for the moment. However, she did eventually say,

'In that case, I must have fitted the picture per­fectly?'

He frowned and shook his head.

'I should have known,' he said, and his tone was distinctly irritable. 'I must have been blind!'

'Don't trouble yourself with it,' she begged. 'It isn't important now.'

I 'It's always important if you've hurt someone,' he said seriously. 'I've asked you to forgive me, Wendy.'

'But of course I forgive you,' came the spon­taneous rejoinder. 'I shan't think any more about it.'

He looked at her; there was something in his eyes that she failed to fathom, even though she made every effort to do so.

'You're something very special, Wendy,' he told her at last. 'You're not only over-endowed with physical attributes but you've a very beautiful per­sonality as well.'

She shook her head, lifting a protesting hand, then dropping it again.

'Please don't!' she implored. 'Have a thought for my blushes—and my modesty!'

'Sorry, dear. I won't—' He stopped and both

he and Wendy looked up as Fraser came up to them, his sun-tanned face troubled as he glanced from one to the other.

'Yes,' said Garth without giving him time to speak, 'I've heard the news of Lenise Mavaro's death in that plane crash.'

'You have?' A swift and guilty glance for Wendy

and then, 'Er—I'm so sorry, Garth. I really did believe I had my facts right.'

'Don't worry about a thing, Fraser,' interrupted Wendy with a smile. 'Garth and I have just been sorting it out.'

Fraser blinked, then stared unbelievingly at her. 'You've not quarrelled about it, then?'

'There's no reason why we should quarrel. It was an understandable mistake on Garth's part—'

'It was no such thing!' he cut in in that imperious tone she knew so well. 'Stop making excuses for me, Wendy.'

She subsided into silence, and listened while the men talked. A few more of the tangled skeins were unravelled before, offering her the most profuse apology, Fraser made a stiff and rather comical little bow and left them alone.

Wendy laughed, but Garth was obviously not so easily amused.

'I'm not feeling too well disposed towards him at the moment,' he stated, by the way of an excuse.

She said, giving him one of her lovely smiles,

'Can't we forget it, Garth? We both enjoy one another's company, and surely that's all that matters?'

He nodded then and murmured words of agree­ment. But they did continue to talk about it for some time, because there had been so many mis­understandings and both Garth and Wendy kept on recalling them. However, at last they allowed the matter to drop, and it was only when she had left him and was in her room taking a quiet rest before dinner that she recalled something that had been mentioned right in the beginning and then not dis­cussed again, and that was the reason why—believ- ing her to be the sort of woman he could never res­pect—he had not kept his distance from the start. This she had mentioned to him and his response had been to remind her that as she was his table companion he could scarcely do that.

'But he had no need to bother with me other­wise,' she murmured, then became lost in thought for a long time. Just why had he bothered with her? She recalled her impression, on more than one occasion, that he had been torn two ways, that while one part of him wanted to like her the other had very little time for her. That was why he treated her with such contempt at times, while at others he was all tenderness and concern.

He had been hghting against... what? Something twisted right round within her, and she found her­self trembling. He must not fall in love with her, she thought distractedly. No, he must never, never do that!

'Dearest Garth,' she whispered in an urgent tone, 'don't fall in love with me—please, please don't, for I can't bear the thought of your being hurt.'

During the next two days she was continually alert, looking out for any sign that would tell her that he was falling in love with her. She saw none, and by the time the ship docked at Hong Kong her mind had become wholly at ease again. It seemed now that she was having the very best of everything; the delight of her own love for him and the new pleasant attitude he had adopted towards her since the dis­covery of his mistake—and yet she had no fear that she would cause him pain by her departure. True, he would now regard her passing with rather more regret than before, but any distress would be super­ficial and, therefore, very soon forgotten. Yes, life had become perfect all at once and she hoped that she had at least another month left to her in which to enjoy it. But twice in four days she had been stricken down with a blinding pain in her head and she had been forced to stay in her room. On each occasion she had had a late night beforehand and so her explanation that she was tired and wished to rest was accepted without question by Garth.

Hong Kong being another of the highlights of the cruise as far as Wendy was concerned, she was again exhibiting excitement long before the day of arrival came along. She and Garth attended the lectures given about it-—as lectures were always given about the ports to be visited—discovering how best to spend the four days that they would have there. As always she and Garth were among the first passengers off the ship when it arrived at the island at eight o'clock in the morning, just about three and a half days after it had left Bali. They had arranged to take a trip by motor-coach the following morning, but for the first day they in­tended to find their own way about. And Garth, pandering to Wendy's request to be taken on a tour by motor junk around the lovely harbour, willingly booked, and by nine o'clock they were cruising among the tiny islands, and meandering among the bewildering array of big ships and junks and sam­pans.

They saw the fantastic floating community of the peoples of Yaumati Typhoon Shelter who had a school, a hospital and a church, all occupying sam­pans. Lunch was taken aboard one of the glossy dragon-decorated floating restaurants and was more like a feast than a meal. The afternoon was spent wandering around the shops where Wendy, search­ing for something to buy for Garth, discovered, to her great delight, a beautifully carved pair of ivory book-ends. They were expensive, and she was re­lieved when, seeing something at the other end of the shop, Garth moved away for just long enough for her to pay for her purchase without his having any idea how much it had cost.

She gave them to him immediately they got back to the ship, just as they were separating to go and wash and change for dinner. At dinner-time they were the first to occupy the table and it was then that he thanked her for the present.

'I'm delighted with them, Wendy,' he said. 'And I shall treasure them always.'

The words she had wanted to hear. It afforded her a strange sort of comfort to know that he had some­thing by which to remember her; it seemed to make her love for him a little less futile. He was looking at her across the table, deep admiration in his eyes. She was charmingly attired in a lacy white cotton dress with a high mandarin collar and long full sleeves tightly ruched into stiff wide cuffs. It was, basically, a simple dress, and the only jewellery she wore was a pair of drop earrings which she had once bought in a small antique shop in the town where she had worked. They were of gold, with a cluster of diamond chippings in the centre of each. Her hair, washed and set at the ship's hairdressing saloon the previous afternoon, shone in the warm glow from the branch of candles standing in the middle of the table. Her face, animated and happy from the pleasure of the day spent with Garth, glowed with such health that no one would have believed her had she told them just how short was her expectation of life.

Garth whispered, while they were still alone,

'Wendy ... you're so very beautiful. You must tell me about yourself, dear. I want to know every­thing about you.'

She lowered her lashes, relieved at the appearance of Margie and Fraser who, having met in the cock­tail bar, had left it together to come to dinner. Tell him about herself, thought Wendy, only now realiz­ing just how little they knew of one another. Yet that was not really surprising, since their kind of relationship—the shipboard friendship—was not of the intimate kind enjoyed by those whose friend­ships progress into deeper channels. Undoubtedly she would have to tell him something about her­self—but how much? And he ...? Would he tell her about himself? Possessing an innate superiority and arrogance, he struck her as the sort of man who would always be reticent about his affairs, about his life and work, his likes and dislikes. She imagined he would consider these things to be of no interest to anyone but himself, and in consequence he would retain that dignified mien which by its very charac­ter was sufficient to deter those whose curiosity might otherwise have got the better of them. An example was Margie who, Wendy suspected, went a little in awe of Garth, since she had never ven­tured even one question concerning his private life. Not so with Fraser; she had asked just about every question there was to ask!

'Well, dearies, did you have a marvellous day?' she was asking as she sat down, her shrewd eyes moving from Garth to Wendy. 'Yes, you did,' she stated with a laugh. 'So did we! And—look!' Hold­ing out her left hand, she flashed a beautiful diamond.

'Congratulations, Margie!' Garth and Wendy spoke together; Fraser had already congratulated both Margie and Denby when he was in the bar with them. 'It's beautiful!' breathed Wendy, put­ting out a finger to touch it. 'Very beautiful indeed.'

'We got engaged in a Chinese temple. How's that for being different?'

'A Chinese temple?'

'Denby bought the ring, and then started looking around at once for a quiet place so that he could give it to me. Well, as I'm not a starry-eyed teenager wanting to have it put on with an accompaniment of lovey-dovey nonsense I suggested we nip into the temple and he could put it on my finger there.'

This created laughter, and Garth, insisting on ordering champagne, asked if it were not possible for Denby to join them for dinner. The steward was consulted and after he himself consulted the chief steward another chair was produced and another cover laid while Garth got up and went to fetch Denby. After that it was a party, with every­one at nearby tables joining in the fun.

'It's been one of the happiest of many happy days,' Wendy was saying several hours later when she and Garth were dancing, very close together. 'Oh, but I've lived these past few weeks! Really and truly lived!'

He held her from him and she saw that a slight frown had settled on his brow.

'There's something strange in your tone when you say that, Wendy?' A question; she admonished

herself for her unthinking exclamation.

'I didn't mean there should be,' she returned lightly.

'Are you being evasive?' he demanded almost sharply.

'No—of course not.' They might almost be a married couple, she thought, talking to each other like this. He was still regarding her rather sternly, his eyes flickering over her face with a faintly puzzled expression in their dark and penetrating depths. 'Wh-why should I be evasive?' She just had to continue speaking and there was nothing else she could think of to say.

'That,' he said, 'is something I can't answer. If you are being evasive then you and you alone know why.' His brow was creased in a frown; he seemed to be suddenly deep in thought. She herself frowned at her own stupidity, remembering that, on two" occasions during the time she had known him, she had been in his company when the pain had come; she had winced, and on each occasion his swift perception had resulted in his asking—in the most commanding and businesslike way—what was the matter. He had without any doubt at all sensed her alarm, subjecting her to a most clinical scrutiny, even though she had unhesitatingly assured him that there was nothing wrong, and that she did not even know she had winced.

Of course, it had been lies on her part, simply because of her resolve not to have it known that she was going to die. As she had told herself on first deciding that Margie was a woman to be trusted, despite her frivolous exterior, the day might dawn when she just had to confide in her, but that day would be very near the end; Wendy had no inten- tion—and no need—to confide in anyone at present. Garth was her life, her all; she was happy and in consequence she was totally free from that desolate feeling which, from the moment she learned of her fate, she knew must come towards the end. 'Wendy ...' The soft and gentle tones of her partner came to her, drifting through her thoughts. 'What are you thinking?'

She glanced up, offered one of her beautiful smiles and replied,

'There are times, Garth, when a man shouldn't demand to know a woman's mind.' She was teasing; the light of amusement shone in her wide violet eyes. His own eyes flickered over her face, but then to her relief she saw by his changing expression that he was responding to her mood.

'All right, I concede the point,' he returned, laughing, and then he swung her lightly around and she found herself gently propelled towards the door. 'It's time I kissed you,' was all the explanation he gave for his action.

'Oh—'

'If you will persist in looking at me like that,' he broke in, 'then you have only yourself to blame, my love!'

CHAPTER EIGHT

The coach had taken them on a tour including a visit to Victoria Peak where they had a spectacular view of the island, and then an exciting drive into the teeming shopping streets of Kowloon, ending by dropping them off at Repulse Bay from where the passengers went their separate ways, Garth and Wendy having decided they would have lunch again on one of the floating restaurants. After that the shops drew them again and Garth bought several charming souvenirs.

'Aren't you buying anything?' he asked, and sent her a curiously puzzled glance when she shook her head.

'I warned you that I want to know more about you.' he was saying later in the afternoon when, after a tiring tour of the city, they were sitting in a cafe drinking delicious iced lemonade. 'Tell me about your relatives?' The question had naturally resulted from the fact of her not buying any souvenirs; she had known that it must come even­tually, as she had not bought one gift to take home since coming on the cruise.

'I have no relatives.' she told him, and saw a sudden frown knit his brows.

'None at all?'

'I have a cousin several times removed, I believe.'

'Your parents?'

She told him about them, noting the slight shak­ing of his head, a gesture of sympathy.

'I'd have liked to have had brothers and sisters,' she added. 'Do you have them?'

'I have two sisters and one brother. My parents are also living, and in good health, I'm pleased to say.' Picking up his glass, he took a drink. 'My elder sister, Vicky, is married with two charming children; my younger sister's recently become en­gaged. She's a nurse and is marrying a doctor.'

'And your brother?' she ventured, wondering if she were to be enlightened as to Garth's own occu­pation.

'He's only nineteen and still at university.'

She said, unaware of the little wistful note that had crept into her voice,

'They all sound great—just the sort of family I should have liked to be part of.'

He smiled a wry smile and returned,

'There were squabbles and enough when we were young, especially between Vicky and me; there's only just a year between us, you see.' He regarded Wendy over the rim of his glass for a long moment before asking, 'You live alone, then?'

'I did—' She stopped, floundering as she

realized with a little shock what she had been about to reveal. She had almost finished the sentence by saying that she had sold up her house and furniture before embarking on the cruise.

'You did?' softly and inquiringly as his concen­trated gaze remained on her face. 'Don't you now?'

Managing a rather shaky laugh, she replied,

'What I meant to say was that I did live alone until coming on this cruise.'

'I see.' Had he noticed her moment of confusion? It would appear that it had escaped him, she de­cided, much to her relief. 'Are you in a flat?'

'Mother left me a house,' she told him.

She held her breath, sure that he would ask more questions, but just at that moment there was a 'Hello, dearies!' and Margie and her fiance came and sat down on the two spare rattan chairs. 'Phew, but it's hot! Denby, do get me a drink, please!' Both Margie and Denby were loaded with parcels, in addition to two gigantic woven bags that were filled to overflowing. These they dropped on to the floor beside their chairs.

The Chinese waiter came at once and went off to order the drinks. 'What have you been doing all day?' Denby wanted to know, his plump face red and damp. 'How the dickens do you contrive to look so charmingly cool, my dear?' he asked Wendy.

She laughed and assured him that although she might appear to be cool she was in fact feeling very warm indeed.

'We've been on one of the coach tours,' Garth said, obligingly answering Denby's question. 'What have you been doing?'

'Shopping!' with a glance at Margie. 'The way we're going on we'll need to buy half a dozen extra suitcases in which to put everything! Just think, we've still to visit Japan, Hawaii, California ...' Dragging a handkerchief from his pocket, he began to mop his brow.

'... Mexico, Balboa, Cartagena,' continued Margie with an impish giggle. 'And then back to Port Everglades, New York, Cherbourg and Southampton!'

'And by that time the ship'll have to throw off some of its ballast!'

They all laughed at this, and Margie admitted that some of the things she had bought would turn

out to be white elephants.

The intervention of the other couple had for the time being rescued Wendy from more questions by Garth, but she knew that he meant to know more about her. Could she guard against his questioning without actually snubbing him, which was in any case unthinkable? She could only hope that the in­formation already imparted would be enough to satisfy him. After all, she meant nothing to him, so it was far from feasible that he would carry his interest beyond what he already knew.

Margie and Denby stayed with them for the rest of the day, and they all went back to the ship for dinner, but the next evening Wendy and Garth joined Fraser and his girl-friend for dinner—served Chinese style—on a launch which took them on a delightful cruise around the fantastic Hong Kong harbour. Lights shone everywhere, from buildings along the waterfront, from ships; from the sampans, junks and other craft on which thousands of Chinese lived and slept. It was the magical East—gaudy, glittering and bewildering.

On the fourth day they boarded a hydrofoil which took them from the harbour out to the open sea, for they had decided to take the day trip to Macao, in the Si-kiang Delta which, Garth had learned, was a seedy place connected with such things as drug smuggling and gambling casinos. Lunch was pro­vided and afterwards they were conducted to the Chinese temple. They were back on the ship by eight o'clock and three hours later were up on deck along with crowds of other people watching the lights of Hong Kong receding as the great white liner sailed away, heading for Japan, where it would arrive two and a half days later. By that time over two months would have elapsed since the ship left England ... and there was just about one month more until the end of the cruise. Would she see the end of the cruise? Wendy wondered. She had pre­pared for such an eventuality, of course, even though she had not really expected to see the shores of her homeland ever again when, on that day in January, she had stood on deck, just as she was doing now, with crowds of people around her, and watched the dock at Southampton fading into the distance. Well, if she did return, she would have no problems, Doctor Whittaker having made every­thing easy for her.

Deliberately shutting out these thoughts, she re­solved not to allow them access to her mind again. There was no profit in dwelling on her fate, whether she was to die on board the ship, or in England.

It was soon to be made clear that Garth was curious about her; he showed more interest than was comfortable, he asked questions which she was forced to evade answering; the result was that he became puzzled by her lack of frankness and on occasions a coolness would spring up between them. However, this would pass eventually and all Wendy's world would be rosy again.

'I'm sure, dearie,' pronounced Margie one day when she and Wendy were sitting side by side in the hairdressers, waiting for their hair to be shampooed, 'that Garth is in love with you. If he doesn't ask you to marry him very soon then my name's not Margie Stromberg!'

'He isn't in love with me,' returned Wendy. 'I've already told you what Fraser said—that Garth's a born bachelor.'

'You don't seem troubled that he might never love you,' said Margie in her customary and discon­certing way. 'Perhaps you don't care for him as strongly as I imagine?'

What to say to this? Wendy could not bring her­self to deny that she loved Garth, and yet the idea of admitting it was equally unacceptable. She com­promised by saying,

'Liking a person is not tantamount to loving him. I confess that I am very fond of Garth—but as to being madly in love with him ...' And she shrugged her shoulders to give an added effect to her words. Margie said it was a shame, and that she was most disappointed that there would be no engagement between the two while they were on board the ship.

At the ports of call they were together all the time, there was an exciting round of sightseeing. After docking at Kobe they drove up Mount Rokko for a bird's eye view of the city, saw temples and Buddhas. shrines and numerous other highlights. At Yokohama they attended a Sukiyaki dinner party and were entertained by the geisha girls who danced in their colourful kimonos and made deli­cate play with their stiff, brightly coloured fans.

All the time they were inseparable, yet it never occurred to Wendy that Garth regarded her as anything other than a pleasant companion with whom to enjoy the numerous pleasures which the cruise had to offer. After that confidence about his family he had never again mentioned anything about his own private life. And this, she guessed, was owing to her own reticence about hers. Yet he was curious; she sensed his curiosity about her presence on the cruise, but he did not question her about it. And so the days passed swiftly—all too swiftly—and now there were just two weeks left.

'I'm so looking forward to Honolulu,' she told him the day before they were due to arrive. She had been afraid she would not live to see it, for the headaches were becoming more severe, and they occurred more often. She was finding that her tablets were not so effective now as they had been at first, and she was resigned to the end coming at any time.

'So am I,' he said, and her eyes flew to his, so strange was the note in his voice, strange and un­fathomable. 'Yes, dear Wendy, I'm very much look­ing forward to it. I'm taking you to Hawaii,' he added still in that unfathomable tone of voice.

'To ? But I haven't booked, Garth,' she

began, in troubled tones. 'I thought I'd mentioned this to you?'

'You did.' He smiled at her and her heart turned a somersault. How wonderful her life would have been could it have been possible for her to become his wife. 'I've done the booking.'

She stared at him, then flushed at the idea that he had paid all that money out for her.

'You've booked the flight?'

He nodded, his face expressionless. She sensed that he was planning something and asked,

'Why are you doing this, Garth?'

'Why?' with a slight lift to his brows.

She paused a moment.

'I have a funny kind of feeling,' she confessed, a rather timid laugh escaping her as she noted that he was now displaying some amusement. 'I feel that you 're—you 're—er—plo t ting something.'

His eyes laughed and she caught her breath. How inordinately attractive he was when he looked like this!

'Not plotting, my dear.' And he lifted a hand imperiously on seeing her open her mouth to inter­rupt. 'Let's wait and see, shall we?'

Wait and see ... That the words had some special significance she had no doubt, but never in her wildest dreams could she have guessed what they actually meant.

And so she could only gasp, and stare at him disbelievingly when eventually his intention was made known to her.

They had flown to the island of Kauai—the Gar­den Isle—so called because it was the greenest of all the Hawaiian islands, and had travelled by launch to the beautiful Fern Grotto, a cave created by nature, set in lush tropical surroundings over­hung by ferns.

Here, in a quiet place, Garth asked her to marry him.

'I love you, Wendy,' he was saying in tones of tender emotion. 'I tried not to, at first, when I believed you to be Lenise Mavaro. Also I had no

desire to be married ' He stopped there and

smiled ruefully down at her. 'But I was learning to love you in spite of these things, yet at the same time fighting against it—against something that was fast becoming stronger than myself. You had me under your spell, Wendy, so you can imagine my relief on discovering that you were not Lenise Mavaro—-—' He paused a second. -'That's all past now, dear, and only the future matters.'

The future? Two weeks! Hysterical laughter rose to her lips, but she managed to suppress it. Two weeks!—or perhaps three. Four at the very outside.

Her heart was beating over-rate, and every nerve in her body fluttered, so disturbed were her emo­tions. Why, she now wondered, had she not seen this coming? Tenderness so often shone from his eyes, gentleness so often edged his voice—-and yet she had not guessed, believing that this particular attitude was adopted solely in order that he could derive every atom of pleasure from this shipboard flirtation. How blind she had been! Anger against herself rose within her, anger that she had done the very thing that she had desired so desperately not to do. She had let him fall in love with her. Shaw she had spared ... but Garth, whom she so dearly loved, she had hurt. But no! Even at this late stage she could do something. She could treat him badly, speak derisively of his assumption that she would accept his proposal of marriage. She would not let his love flourish; she would destroy it, trample on it—kill it!

It would hurt him temporarily, and his pride would undoubtedly suffer, but he would be spared a lasting hurt. It suddenly struck her that, when she died, he would then realize the reason for her treatment of him ... 'I must not die while I'm on this ship! I must leave it in four days' time, when we get to California.' Yes, that was the answer. She could cable Doctor Whittaker telling him she was coming home a little earlier than expected; he would then have everything ready for her to enter the nursing home. Would she have sufficient money for her fare? She estimated that she would have just about enough——

'Wendy, my dear, where are you? Surely my proposal hasn't come as too great a surprise; you must have known that I was growing to care for you?' He seemed faintly troubled, she thought, and her heart cried at what she was about to do to him. She looked up into his face and, afraid that her courage would fail her, she spoke swiftly, in­jecting a contemptuous note into her voice.

'Marry you? But what gave you the idea that I'd consider it? For one thing I'm not in love with you, and for another you're not my type at ail- not when it comes to choosing a husband, that is.' She adopted an expression of amazement that he should have taken it for granted that she cared. 'I never gave any indication that I had any deeper feeling for you than friendship—at least, not that I can think of,' she added for effect.

Bewilderment, disbelief and hurt were all in his expression as he looked down at her. They were standing in the cave, with the delicate ferns hung about them; it was a gentle, romantic scene ... Valiantly she held back the tears that had formed a cloud behind her eyes, but she had to blink rapidly in order to do so.

'You don't love me?' His voice was hollow; she knew he was having difficulty in speaking at all. 'You can say, with all honesty, that you don't love me?' He shook his head as if to throw off the devastating effects of a nightmare.

'Most certainly I can——!' How was her voice so steady? she wondered. 'Yes, most certainly. Oh, Garth, you've spoiled everything,' she cried angrily. 'It was so pleasant, the shipboard- flirtation which I thought we were both indulging in! Why did you have to spoil it by falling in love with me?'

A vein in his neck pulsated as the blood raced through it, and at the sides of his mouth little grey lines were creeping into the attractive bronze of his skin.

'Flirtation ...' His dark eyes were cold now, and glittering like points of newly-sharpened steel. 'So that's all it was to you?'

She swallowed convulsively, attempting to dis­lodge the terrible ache in her throat. Her head had begun to give her some pain, too, but it was a dull pain and one that she could bear without flinching.

'I've just said so,' she managed, marvelling at her outward composure. Inside, her heart was breaking. She whispered to herself, her whole mind and body in anguish,

'Dearest Garth, I have only a few weeks to live, at the most, but it could be only a few days. Why did you have to love me, and want to marry me?' Aloud she said, 'You've spoiled everything, Garth! We could have had a little longer together, enjoy­ing one another's company, but now ...' She allowed her voice to trail away, and she lowered her head, unable to bear the terrible expression in his eyes.

'It would appear,' he said stiffly at last, 'that I've been taking far too much for granted.'

'You have indeed!'

'Forgive me. And forget it!' He stood for one silent moment, looking around the beautiful grotto, looking around the lovely place to which he had brought her in order to propose. Her heart caught and it was only by a tremendous effort that she managed to refrain from telling him the truth. But she did refrain, convinced that this was the only way to save him pain. He must lose his love for her, lose it quickly. And there was only one way, which was to treat him coldly, to tell him she did not wish the friendship to continue ...

CHAPTER NINE

The following evening Wendy sat at the bar with Margie and Denby and watched Garth dancing with Nicole. Having received a devastating blow to his pride by Wendy's rejection of his proposal of marriage, and by her subsequent treatment of him, he was now assuaging his hurt by indulging in a flirtation with the girl who, almost from the first, had thrown herself at him. Nicole herself was plainly triumphant, a sneering expression crossing her face each time her eye caught that of Wendy. How little the girl knew! thought Wendy. How little she realized that Garth was using her, deriv­ing some small comfort from her company.

As for Garth—he never looked at Wendy other than when he was forced to do so—at the table. Margie, so distressed by the break that she was on the point of tears when questioning Wendy about it, tried in her clumsy misguided way to bring the two into conversation.

'The wine's especially good tonight. Don't you think so, Garth?—and Wendy?'

They both nodded and that was all. Margie tried again at lunch the next day and Wendy later spoke to her about this, telling her that she and Garth had quarrelled and that there was no ques­tion of a reconciliation.

'But, dearie, I'm sure it can be put right. You've both been so happy.' Her eyes, far too bright, looked curiously into Wendy's. 'There's something

you won't talk about, isn't there, Wendy?'

White, and in agony from the pain in her head, Wendy admitted, after a small hesitation, that there was something of which she did not wish to speak.

'But please don't ask me about it, Margie,' she beseeched. 'It isn't anything I could discuss—not at this time, anyway.'

Margie looked at her and suddenly a great com­passion entered her eyes.

'You've had some great tragedy in your life,' she asserted, ignoring Wendy's plea. 'I knew it, and I mentioned that haunting look in your eyes. You said you'd remember that I'd offered a sympathetic ear?' A question; Wendy knew for sure that this time Margie's curiosity was not of the idle kind. She was not at this moment the fussy, busybody sort of a person that she was normally. She was sincere, anxious, ready to offer comfort. Wendy hesitated a long while, fully acknowledging that it would be a great relief to talk to Margie, to confide, to ask her to be ready should something happen. But the moment of uncertainty passed; she shook her head and repeated,

'Don't ask me about it, Margie. I can't discuss it at the present time.' She little knew that the haunt­ing expression was once more in her beautiful eyes; she was beginning to be dazed by the pain in her head as the objects close at hand moved about be­fore her dark, indistinct vision. Was this it? No, she must not die on the ship. If she left it at California, telling no one except the purser, then Garth would never know why she had left, would never learn of her death. What would she tell the purser? She would say she had relatives in California and wished to disembark so that she could stay with them for a while. Yes, that would do very well, but she must remain behind when Margie and Denby had gone off to do their sightseeing. And that might be difficult since Margie was intent on having her with them.

'Because it isn't right for you to be on your own, dearie,' she said.

Well, there were still two days to go and Wendy felt sure she would produce some acceptable excuse for not accompanying Margie and her fiance to Beverley Hills and Hollywood on the day the ship docked. It was to sail the same evening at seven o'clock ... and at dinner time she would be missed...

They would wait for a while before starting to eat, then Margie—or perhaps Fraser—would ask the steward if Miss Brown was ill and confined to her stateroom. Having previously been informed that she had left the ship, the steward would pass on the information to those who had been her table companions. Margie would be dreadfully hurt; Fraser would not think much of Wendy either, going off without a word. What of Garth's feelings? Wendy decided he would be glad that he did not have to face her across the table any more, glad that the object of his folly had disappeared from his life for ever.

'Are you all right, dearie?' Margie's voice cut into her musings and Wendy turned her head, forcing a smile through lips that had gone stiff, for the pain in her head was excruciating now. It throbbed madly, affecting her eyesight still.

'I've a bit of a headache,' she returned, rising from her chair. 'I think I'll lie down for a while.'

'A headache? I've got the very thing, dearie!' Without a second's hesitation Margie opened her handbag and withdrew a small glass phial. 'Marvel­lous! never known them not to work! I'll get the steward to bring you a glass of water '

'No, thank you all the same, Margie, but I

mustn't take those I mean, I have some tablets

in my stateroom.'

'Couldn't be as good as these! Clear a headache in seconds. Steward!—Steward! Come over here '

'Margie, please.' Already on her feet, and feeling she might collapse any moment now, Wendy was for the very first time angry with the American woman. 'I would much rather take my own tablets.'

'You would?' Margie's good-natured face fell and Wendy wished she could have handled the situation a little more expertly. But she was stricken with pain and her one urgent wish was to get to her room and lay her head on the pillow. 'I'm sorry,' she murmured and, without another word, she turned on her heel and walked away.

Once in her room she wasted no time in taking the tablets. She must live for at least another two days—she must! Nothing in her whole life had taken on such urgency as this desire to leave the ship alive! Spare Garth she must, at all costs, even though she secretly owned that she was quite ready to go at this very moment ... for life had no mean­ing now that she and Garth had parted.

Exhausted by the pain, she lay for a long time, trying not to think of what could have been had she not been afflicted as she was. Garth loving her,

wanting her for his wife She cut the thoughts

and tried to sleep. But the errant wanderings of

her mind would not be subdued and she saw her­self, a shining bride in white, attended by Garth's sisters, and with his brother as best man. She was now part of a family, loved by them all, welcomed by her husband's parents ... her parents from now on. How blissful life could have been ...

'But I have lived,' she chided herself when at length the tears of despair made their escape and lingered on her white cheeks. 'I have lived since the moment Garth became interested in me.' True, those first weeks had been a little painful, when she had flinched under his sarcasm, his contempt, his arrogant air of superiority. He had been under a misapprehension, believing her to be none other than the notoriously immoral Lenise Mavaro. No wonder he had tried to break it off! But he had fallen under her spell; he had confided this when

they were together in the cave— Was it only two and a half days ago? It seemed like months since they had parted, since he had said that curt goodbye on the deck only seconds after they had boarded the ship on their return from Hawaii. Assuming an air of stiff and formal dignity, he had looked at her for one icy moment of silence before uttering his final goodbye. Final ... Ah, yes, final it was! He strode away, leaving her standing there, her heart so crushed that, in her terrible despair, she would have welcomed the end.

She slept at last, but immediately on wakening she was beset by her thoughts again. Yes, those first weeks had been rather painful, and yet she had been satisfied with the situation, content that although she had come to love Garth, he had no love for her. But after he learned that she was not Lenise Mavaro, Garth's whole attitude had changed

towards Wendy; and come to think of it now she told herself again that she should have seen what was happening. He was the perfect lover, the gentle, tender lover whose intention it was to make her his wife.

Determined not to cry again, she rose from the bed, washed and changed, determinedly applied some colour to her cheeks and mouth, brushed her hair vigorously, and left her stateroom to go along to the Queen's Room where she knew she would find Margie and Denby. Their company was wel­come, their smiles like balm to her misery. Margie, all concern still, examined her face critically after asking if the headache had gone.

'You've put colour on your face,' she observed accusingly. 'Are you ill, dearie?'

Wendy smiled. There was no doubt about it, there was something quite endearing about the fussy, inquisitive Margie Stromberg.

'No, Margie, I'm not ill. I did put some colour on my face, though, because I noticed I was a little pale, but then a headache does make you pale, doesn't it?'

'It never makes me pale-—not that I've noticed. However, so long as you're feeling well again that's all that matters. Here's the steward for your order. These sandwiches are delicious, and the pastries are always perfect. We ought to get some recipes from the chef, don't you think?—or perhaps you don't do much baking?'

'I used to, but .' Her voice trailed away to a silence as her eyes met those of Garth as he passed, Nicole walking by his side. Wendy's lips moved convulsively; Nicole's dark triumphant eyes flick­ered over her face and her own lips moved—but in

a curl of amusement. Wendy looked away swiftly, angry at the idea that she had, by the quivering of her mouth, betrayed the fact that she was hurt by Garth's being with another girl.

'You don't any longer?' from Margie who with swift perception saw how hurt Wendy was. 'I expect you buy nice confectionery, anyway.' It was not a very subtle effort, but Wendy, grateful for it, smiled at her, and thanked her with her eyes.

'It is easy, these days, to buy delicious pastries,' she said, aware that Denby was looking from one to the other in some perplexity.

'What's all this about?' he inquired bluntly. 'Who wants to talk about pastries anyway?'

Wendy scarcely heard him; her eyes were following Garth's broad straight back as he walked majestically towards a table at which stood an immaculately-uniformed steward, at the ready. Nicole was seated first and then Garth took posses­sion of his chair. Tea was ordered and Wendy could have cried as she recalled the quiet, intimate teas she and Garth had taken together in this lovely room. He might have felt her eyes upon him because he glanced her way. Cold his expression and compressed his mouth. Nicole turned her head, following the direction of his gaze. A sneering smile curved her lips; she spoke to Garth and he smiled at her, then turned in his chair—so that his back was to Wendy.

She swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat, aware that her appetite had gone, But she had to eat something, after ordering it, for Margie would be bound to comment if she suddenly said she was not hungry.

'Well,' Denby was saying later that evening,

when he and Margie and Wendy were in the night club, watching the floor show, 'only another fort­night. How quickly it's passed! When I first thought of over three months aboard a ship I felt I'd be bound to tire of the sea long before the end.'

'But then,' grinned Margie, 'you didn't know r you were going to meet me!'

He laughed, and looked affectionately at her.

'I wish we could have been married on the ship,' he said.

'We didn't have the required documents with us, | dear.'

'We'll be married immediately we get home,' he | asserted firmly.

'When are you returning to the States?' asked Wendy, feeling she should show some interest.

'We shall fly back in about a month's time,' Denby said, picking up a sandwich and taking a bite out of it. 'We're intending to tour England first.' A small pause and then, 'What are your plans, Wendy? Do you have anything special to do?'

She shook her head and said no, she had no special plans.

'We'd like you to pay us a visit,' said Margie, and Wendy turned, startled by this unexpected invitation. 'We're going to live in Texas; Denby has his children there, and he has a house. It has a. tenant at present, but they'll move when they know that Denby wants possession of it. Will you come out to us, Wendy?'

What must she say? The easiest way would be to say yes, she would, giving the answer which would make these two happy. But what were they going to think when she disappeared at California?

'I'm very flattered by your invitation,' she re- turned graciously, 'but I'm afraid I shan't have either the time or the money for a trip like that.' No lies here, she thought. No, this was the stark implacable truth ... she had neither the time nor the money ...

'What a pity.' Margie's eyes were all-searching as they rested on Wendy's face. 'We must keep in touch, though, dearie. And I think that now is the time to exchange addresses, don't you? We'll cor­respond, and when you do have the time and money you must come out to us. We'll probably be in England towards the end of next year, so we can perhaps stay with you for a while? You've sold one house, I know,' she added, 'but of course you still have the one you live in.' From her handbag she withdrew a small notebook and a pencil. 'Denby,' she said looking at him, 'you write down

our address for Wendy. I don't know it yet Oh,

yes, you did tell me what it was, but I've forgotten.' She returned her attention to Wendy, waiting with her pencil poised. Wendy moistened her lips, franti­cally searching her mind for a way out of this quandary. She gave Doctor Whittaker's address, realizing that this was the best thing she could do. On receiving a letter from Margie, he would write back and tell her what had happened ...

Being especially early at breakfast the following morning Wendy did not expect to see anyone she knew, but to her astonishment Margie was sitting at the table, chatting to the steward. He left on seeing Wendy approaching and scarcely had she sat down than Margie began to speak.

'You'll never guess, Wendy!' she exclaimed. 'You'll never guess what I've discovered!' Before

allowing Wendy any time to speak she went on, 'I've been up for ages '

'For ages? Why?'

'I've been wandering about the ship, having it to myself, so to speak. I've wanted to know what's at the other side of that door next to the purser's office.' She stopped, waiting for someone to pass the table. 'Don't want anyone to hear,' she ex­plained, then stopped again as another person came walking past on his way to his table further down the restaurant. 'It's intrigued me from the start.'

'But why, Margie ?'

'Hush ...' Margie put a finger to her lips, frown­ing as even yet another person came past the table. 'I thought I'd like to have a look beyond that door '

'It's marked private,' interrupted Wendy. 'You didn't go in, did you?'

'Private?' Margie raised her eyebrows, grinning wryly. 'You know me, dearie,' she said un­ashamedly. 'I just have to get to the bottom of anything that puzzles me—not that I always suc­ceed, mind, but it isn't for the want of trying; you'll have to give me that!' Wendy had to laugh despite her unhappiness. And she asked Margie to continue, which she did. 'Seeing that there was no one about at that hour of the morning, I pushed open the door—yes, it was unlocked—and slid through, closing it behind me. It's a passage in there, with doors on either side. Well, guess what? One of the rooms along there is the captain's little sanctum—no, not his official quarters; everyone knows where those are. But a little room where he can go off and be sure of being undisturbed.' She paused again while someone passed. Wendy

said-curiously,

'How did you know it was the captain's sanctum?'

'Because, sniffing the delicious aroma of coffee, I decided to peep through the door—it was slightly open. There sat the captain.'

'Well, what about it?' asked Wendy bewil­deredly.

'I was just coming away when I heard his voice and realized that someone must be with him.' She paused dramatically and Wendy frowned in puzzle­ment as she waited for what was to follow. 'I expect you're thinking that there's nothing strange in the captain's having someone in for early morning coffee?'

'Yes; that's exactly what I'm thinking.'

'Ah, but wait until you know who his guest was!' Another dramatic pause and then, 'Have you any idea who it was?'

'No,' replied Wendy, 'I haven't any idea at all.'

'You're laughing at me,' giggled Margie, for the moment diverted.

'On the contrary, I'm all agog with curiosity.'

Margie laughed and said, slowly and with emphasis on every word,

'Our Mr Garth Rivers!'

Wendy blinked at her.

'Garth?' she echoed. 'Garth was with the captain?'

'With the captain.' Margie tapped the table to give even more emphasis to her words. 'What have you to say about that? Didn't I tell you, right at the start, that Garth was someone important?'

'I don't see that you proved your point, Margie,' said Wendy apologetically. 'How can the fact of Garth's drinking coffee with the captain prove

that he's a personage of some importance?'

'Would you or I be invited into the captain's apartments?'

'Well ... no, but '

'Nor would ninety-nine point nine per cent of the other people on this ship. I tell you, Wendy, that Garth is someone important!'

'He might be a friend of the captain,' suggested Wendy. 'But that wouldn't automatically make him a man of importance,' she added reasonably.

'If he were a friend of the captain we'd have known about it before now.'

Wendy was inclined to agree with this state­ment, simply because, if Garth had been a friend of the captain, he would surely have been invited to dine at his table long before now. The various titled people aboard had dined at his table several times already.

'I still don't see how you can have reached the conclusion that Garth's someone important,' she said, although she was beginning to own to herself that it seemed more than likely that he was.

'An ordinary person on a ship of this fame and magnitude doesn't drop in to take early morning coffee with the captain, Wendy.' Margie was serious now, and all hint of the dramatic had left her voice.

'I don't expect he just dropped in—not at so early an hour. He must have been invited.'

Margie spread her hands at this, and agreed with what Wendy had said.

'So ... if he's not a friend of the captain, yet he was invited in for coffee, it proves that he's a man of some importance No, dearie, don't inter­rupt just yet, for something's come to me this very second. The captain's only just heard that Garth's an important person!' Delighted with her own deductions, Margie sat back and expanded her chest. 'I wonder just who Garth is?' she went on musingly. 'Wouldn't it be exciting if he were some famous person like a real duke—a millionaire duke!'

Wendy shook her head.

'He's not a duke,' she began emphatically.

'You can't be sure of that! Why, you must admit he has the most aristocratic way with him.'

Although agreeing wholeheartedly about this Wendy allowed it to pass.

'You seem to be forgetting what Fraser said about him, Margie, that he's been overworking for years.'

'Yes,' Margie admitted reluctantly, 'I do, dearie.' Pursing her lips, she added, after a small silence, 'I should have remembered that, shouldn't I?— especially as it's come into my mind several times —when I've been puzzling over Garth, that is.'

Amused that she had been puzzling over him, Wendy let that pass also.

'It's my opinion that Garth's a big business executive, or something like that,' she added vaguely.

'But in that case he wouldn't be famous,' argued Margie, unwilling to have her theories quashed altogether.

'It's only your idea that he's famous,' Wendy could not help reminding her.

'He has such an air about him,' frowned Margie, and Wendy had to laugh at her expression. 'It's not funny! I hate not being able to sort things out!' A dowdy woman of about fifty years of age passed the table and no sooner was she out of ear- shot than Margie, changing the subject, informed Wendy that she was on the ship because she had won over fifty thousand pounds on the football pools. 'So common, she is,' added Margie disdain­fully. 'A widow who's going to drink herself to an early grave. It's a crime that people like her should win money like that!'

Garth was approaching and no more was said, but all through breakfast Margie was sending sur­reptitious glances in his direction until at last he said, a hint of asperity in his voice,

'What's wrong with me, Margie? Have I left a dab of shaving soap on the end of my nose or some­thing?'

Margie blushed.

'That's not very kind of you, Garth,' complained Margie. 'I was only looking at you.'

'What for?' he asked disconcertingly.

'Oh, go on with you Ah, here's Fraser! Good

morning, Fraser. Did you sleep well?'

'Very well, Margie—as usual. A clear conscience, and all that, you know.' Sitting down, he shook out his napkin and put it on his knee. He then picked up the menu. 'Grapefruit, cornflakes, bacon and eggs; sausage and tomatoes, freshly baked rolls and butter, toast and marmalade—and I think I'll have some black cherry jam because I haven't tasted it yet—not on this ship, that is.'

'You're not going to eat all that!' exclaimed Margie. 'You'll not want anything else all day!'

'So I shall have more time to dig around the island. I'm looking for antiques.'

'Watch yourself,' advised Margie. 'Everything's faked nowadays.'

Garth was nodding his head at this, avoiding

Wendy's eyes, as usual.

'Buying antiques in any place other than from the reputable dealers is a very great risk today. The business of faking has reached a point where even the experts are deceived at times.'

'Do you collect antiques?' asked Margie cur­iously.

'I was fortunate to inherit all I require,' he replied, picking up a knife with which to butter his toast. He ate sparingly. Wendy had noticed from the start that he ate little, no matter what the meal happened to be. At breakfast he ate two small pieces of toast and drank one cup of coffee. 'I do sometimes pick up the odd piece, just to add to my collection, but antique collecting's by no means a hobby with me, as it is with some people.' Looking past Wendy as if she had not been there at all, he inquired of Margie if she indulged in antique collecting. She said no but, wanting to bring Wendy into the conversation, smiled at her and asked,

'Do you collect, dearie?'

Without thinking Wendy said that at one time she had begun collecting but that, a few months ago, she had decided not to buy anything else.

'I do have some pretty Rockingham pieces,' she added as an afterthought.

'Rockingham?' echoed Fraser. 'That's very hard to come by these days.'

'Yes, I believe so.' Her eyes shadowed for a second as she thought of the unknown cousin who would soon inherit the two boxes of possessions which she had left with Doctor Whittaker.

'What made you stop collecting?' inquired Fraser and it was only then that Wendy realized her slip.

'I—er—things are too expensive now,' she said rather lamely, 'so I don't bother any more.'

And as at that moment Fraser's breakfast arrived the subject was dropped and not re-introduced, much to Wendy's relief.

CHAPTER TEN

Immediately after breakfast Wendy went along to the purser's office and informed the official there of her intention to leave the ship at Los Angeles.

'This is sudden,' he said frowningly. 'Passengers intending to disembark at any of the ports usually inform the shipping company right at the begin­ning of the cruise.'

'I'm sorry for any inconvenience,' she said, 'but it's most important that I leave the ship tomorrow.'

'I see. Well, I'll do all I can. You'll have all your baggage packed and ready?'

She said yes, she would have it ready.

So final this time ... so very, very final.

Returning to her room, she began to pack, think­ing how futile it all was since she would never again need all these clothes. The evening dresses, for instance—she might as well take them out and throw them over the side; it would be less trouble for someone later on. But she packed them, leaving out the Grecian peplos, for there was another fancy dress ball tonight.

Where would she go when she disembarked at Los Angeles? A hotel was the answer, of course, but she was troubled about her money, not sure if she had enough for the air fare home, much less the money for expensive hotel accommodation.

'I'll think about it in the morning,' she said wearily. 'I can't think at all at present.'

The packing was taking a long time, so she did some of it and then went along to the Blue Lounge for morning coffee.

The first person she saw was Shaw; he came to her and said,

'So he's thrown you over? Well, you threw me over for him, so you've only got what you deserved.'

Pale but completely composed, she walked past him and sat down. Her coffee came within minutes of being ordered and she sat alone, drinking it and thinking about Garth and the happy weeks she and he had spent together. She thought of the lovely book-ends she had bought him and hoped that he would st ill keep them, and on occasions recall only the happy memories. She was wearing her bracelet; and her ring; Garth's presents to her ...

He came in, with Nicole; Wendy picked up her book, inordinately thankful that she had brought it with her. What comfort a book was in a situation like this! Calmly she opened it and began to read —or rather, to look at the printed page, for read­ing was impossible; there was so much to think about. Her packing bothered her and so did the idea of being all on her own in Los Angeles. She would have to send a cable to Dr Whittaker. would have to see about a flight, then get to the airport. And she had too much baggage, so what must she do? Best leave it behind in the hotel—if she went to an hotel, that was.

'I'll have to go to an hotel, because there won't be a flight tomorrow—I don't think there will.'

Then there was the facing of her friends, Margie and Denby, this evening at dinner, knowing that she was playing such a dirty trick on them.

Yes, it was all getting on top of her, and if that was not all she had the anxiety of being with total

strangers at the end. On board, she would have been sure of having someone she knew with her at the end—Garth, she had at one time hoped, but if it could not be him then she would want Margie.

'But I might manage to get back to England. I should be able to do so, because I still have about two weeks, perhaps a little more.'

However, she must be prepared, for, as the specialist had told Doctor Whittaker, it was not possible to predict exactly when the end would come.

A voice she recognized was heard and all her un­happy musings came to an end. The look she gave to Margie was one of deep gratitude, and it was accompanied by one of her delightful smiles.

'Oh, Margie, I am so glad to see you!'

'You are?' in some puzzlement as Margie looked at her with an odd expression. 'Is something wrong?' she added, taking a seat and flicking a hand for the steward.

'Not a thing; I was just a little fed up with my own company, that's all.'

'Denby's gone for a hair-cut, so I thought I'd come and have a cup of coffee. Oh, I knew I had something to tell you! The bingo man won over a thousand pounds last night, in one of the casinos. I found out quite by accident!'

Wendy had to laugh.

'Margie, you're incorrigible!' she declared.

The older woman grinned.

'Do you think Denby will eventually have had enough of me?'

'Not he. You'll keep him alive.'

'And informed,' Margie returned, laughing.

Her coffee arrived and she sat silently drinking

it for a few moments.

'I wish you were coming with us to Hollywood,' she said at last, a note of regret in her tones.

'I did explain, Margie. I want to be on my own for a little while.'

'We respect your wish, dearie, but we'd rather have you with us.'

'You're very kind, Margie.' Wendy was swallow­ing hard, feeling detestable for what she was doing to these wonderful people. Yet there was no other way, none at all. Margie and Denby would under­stand, later, when they received a letter from Doctor Whittaker.

'What are you going to do now?' Margie wanted to know when, having finished their coffee, they watched the steward take away the two trays. 'How about a look around the shops?'

'Yes, that'll be nice.' Anything to escape being alone; she wOuld be alone soon enough, when the ship sailed away without her, leaving her on a foreign shore.

The shops were a veritable paradise for anyone with money to spend, but both Wendy and Margie just wandered, not buying anything.

'I can't say I'll be sorry when this voyage comes to an end,' decided Margie, puckering her brows. 'The beginning's fine and so is the middle, but as you get towards the end you feel—sort of—well, not bored exactly, but you haven't the same feeling of excitement about the ports of call. Do you feel like that?'

Wendy nodded her head in agreement.

'Yes, I do.'

'California, for instance—I'm very much looking forward to Beverly Hills and Hollywood, because

I've never seen them, but it's not like Bali and Hong Kong, is it?'

No, for at those places Garth had been with her...

'It's not exotic, that's why,' she said, and Margie agreed.

'Do you remember Curasao? Doesn't it seem ages since we were there?'

'Yes.' That was when it all began, recalled Wendy. Garth had made her day by inviting her to share the car with him. 'It does seem ages ago.' Only a fortnight out of Southampton, and still over two wonderful months of Garth's company and friendship.

And now it was all over ...

Wendy decided to skip lunch, for she wanted to finish her packing before dinner. After dinner there was the fancy dress ball; it would not be over until after midnight and as she knew instinctively that she would not sleep very much that night, she decided it would be best to remain in the company of those she knew rather than retire early and lie awake, brooding on her situation, wondering just how she was going to manage on her own tomorrow.

As before she came in to dinner dressed in the peplos. And as before every head was turned. She walked serenely down the restaurant to her table, her head and shoulders erect, her lovely figure en­folded in the beautiful robe. The only difference about her was that this time that haunting look of which Margie had spoken was in her eyes, that dreamlike, elusive expression that hinted of a secret held deep within her heart. And there was a sort of dull resignation too, buried in the depths of her beautiful violet eyes ... a resignation that was also a hopelessness ...

Garth looked at her as she sat down; it was ob­vious to her that no matter how he might try he could not have kept his eyes from her. Her lips moved to allow a fleeting smile to appear. She saw his eyes narrow, his mouth tighten. He turned his head to speak to his friend.

'Dearie, but you look beautiful!' exclaimed Margie in tones of deepest admiration. 'Doesn't she, Garth?' she asked, just as if she had to. 'She's the most beautiful girl in this room!' It just so hap­pened that at that very moment Nicole happened to be passing and she almost stopped, a look of virulence on her face. But her expression changed miraculously when her eyes met Garth's; she smiled at him, displaying all the charm at her command. Not a muscle moved in his face and the girl moved on. An awkward silence followed, with Wendy be­coming warm with embarrassment. But the flush on her cheeks only served to enhance them, and when presently it faded the beauty remained, ethereal now as her skin, tightly drawn, took on the semblance of alabaster.

Dinner was a quiet meal, but all the time Wendy was conscious of Garth's eyes, flickering towards her at intervals; it seemed to her that he was strangely watchful—as if looking for something, but uncertainly. She had the curious and inexplicable impression that he was not quite as hostile towards her as he had been for the past three days. It was a baffling impression to have, simply because she had no transparent evidence for that impression.

Neither he nor Fraser were in fancy dress, each having decided to wear the traditional dinner jacket. Margie was in the same dress she had worn previously, that of Madame Pompadour, which suited her exceedingly.

It was during dinner that Wendy began to feel different from anything she had felt before. It wasn't her head that ached, on the contrary, it was clearer than it had been all day. But her limbs felt weak and picking up her fork she saw that her hand trembled. She sat very still, but nothing drastic happened and she felt fine during the rest of the meal. At the end she rose, looking regal and almost fragile, so pale was her face, so delicate her carriage.

In the ballroom she was instantly claimed by a young man who, although she did not know it, had looked with envy upon Garth all the time he had had a claim on Wendy.

'I've been wanting to dance with you for ages,' he told her frankly. 'And now at last I have the chance.'

She smiled at him, but her heart was with Garth; she glanced around, but he was nowhere to be seen. How handsome he had looked this evening, his snow-white shirt contrasting with the deep rich tan of his skin. He had been working too hard, Fraser had said, and this cruise was to put him right again. Well, it had certainly done that, for he could never look healthier than he did now.

The young man told her his name was Stephen and when the music stopped he stayed beside her, and she had to smile. He was clearly not intending to leave her unguarded, in case another should come and claim her.

The next dance was a waltz; Wendy noticed to her surprise that Nicole was standing, quite alone, at the side of the hall, and again she glanced around.

Garth was there, standing on one of the steps lead­ing up to the dais on which the dance band played. And he was talking to the captain. Had Margie seen them? she wondered, half expecting the American woman to appear suddenly, tap her on the shoulder and exclaim triumphantly,

'There you are, dearie! What did I tell you? He is someone important!'

Wendy's thoughts wandered from Garth and the man to whom he was speaking, wandered because the terrible weight of all she had to do was upon her again and try as she would, she could not keep herself from going over them. There was the actual difficulty of leaving the ship, and taking several trunks with her, a difficulty she had not had when embarking, because all her heavy baggage had gone on ahead and was in the ship's hold when she arrived at Southampton. Then there was the anxiety over money and whether or not she would have any left over for accommodation when she had taken out her air fare from what little she had in her possession. She had to cable the doctor ... Her thoughts seemed suddenly to stagger as with a little muffled moan she twisted round in Stephen's arms and pressed the palms of her hands to her head.

'I ... I ...' Pleadingly she looked at the man who held her. 'My room ... I must go ... to ... my ... room ...'

'You're ill!' He looked around frantically, and called out.

'Yes, I'm ... I'm ... ill. Pl-please get me ... to my room ...' A stifled scream escaped her as the fearful agony stabbed at her brain. She felt every vestige of colour leave her face and lips, saw through a blur the face of the man she loved, felt his arms catch her, sweeping her right off her feet. She was conscious of voices murmuring in consternation, of Margie and Denby pushing to the front, was aware that the lovely Grecian robe was trailing against the legs of the man who carried her, carried her so gently, as if she were a china doll. She allowed her head to fall on to his shoulder, crying out again as once more the agony pierced her brain.

'You have some tablets?' Garth's voice was brisk, but strangely hoarse as well. She thought: is it Garth? He sounds so different.

'Yes, in my room.'

She seemed to lose consciousness then, but not for long. She opened her eyes and asked,

'Where am I?'

'In the ship's hospital.' The voice was still hoarse; she looked up into his face and saw that it was grey and drawn. Someone was talking to him now ... The ship's doctor, and the captain himself ... A little guttural sound issued from her lips as she strove to hold back the cry of pain that forced it way past the little ball of fear that had settled in her throat. Yes, she was afraid.

'Garth,' she whispered. 'I want you near me when —when it happens.' She saw him through a darken­ing mist, a shape—no more. But she felt his arms about her, and his dear lips touching her cheek.

I'm not afraid any more,' she said, and even now, with the pain searing into her brain, she managed to give him one of her lovely smiles.

"... full steam ahead. We should make Los Angeles by about five in the morning.'

'If only I could operate here!'

'Impossible, Mr Rivers. We haven't the equip­ment for that kind of an operation.'

Words ... what did they mean? Garth was still a shape, but she had heard his voice saying something about operating.

'It's the end ...' Her voice slurred, but she per­severed. She had to make them understand. 'There's no hope ... it's the end ... but I'm not afraid ...'

An arm lifting her; she saw the shape of a glass.

'Your tablet, dear.'

She swallowed it, vaguely aware that someone must have been sent to her room for the tablets. Garth held a glass to her lips and she obediently took some of the water.

She was gently placed back on the pillow.

'I'm not afraid,' she said in a muffled tone. 'Not if you stay with me, Garth.' Was it Garth? 'I can't see you very well ... but it sounds like you ...'

'I'm here, my love. I'll not go away.'

'It's going dark.' She realized that her hand was in his. 'It's going dark,' she said again.

'Oh, Godl Why can't I operate here!' The words seemed to be wrung from deep within him.

Garth ... a surgeon ... ?

'I'm sorry, Mr Rivers, but there is nothing more we can do. The hospital at Los Angeles will have an ambulance at the dock—they've been alerted by radio, as you know.' Was that the captain's voice? Wendy decided it was.

'An operation's no good.' Was that her own voice? It sounded cracked and indistinct. She frowned as the pain came again; it was a dull throbbing pain now, for the tablet was doing its work. 'I was told there was nothing anyone could do ...' Her voice faded; she felt the grip of Garth's hand as his fingers closed over hers. The pain was fading too and she knew a deep peace within her.

This was the end, for darkness was coming down upon her more quickly now.

'Stay with me, Garth ...'

'I'll stay, my love.' His voice, unsteady and very low, drifted through a mist of descending uncon­sciousness. The other men in the room were now mere shadows, moving shadows passing across her hazy vision.

'The pain's gone,' she whispered, clinging tightly to Garth's hand. 'It'll not come back any more.'

'The tablet's taken away the pain, my love.'

She closed her eyes.

'I love you, Garth,' she said, and at the terrible despair in her voice he responded hoarsely,

'My darling—don't leave me! Hold on, my love, just for another few hours. Hold on, I say!' Fierce now the voice, and commanding. Even in her semi­conscious state she knew he was in the throes of great distress.

'Dearest Garth,' she said, and miraculously pro­duced one of the lovely smiles he knew so well, 'there's nothing anyone can do. I knew, when I came on the ship, that there was every chance that I wouldn't leave it alive—'

'Stop it! Stop it, I say—'

'Mr Rivers, I must ask you—'

'Be quiet—and for God's sake, get up more speed!'

Wendy opened her eyes. Was Garth speaking to the captain?

'He can put you in irons,' she warned, and a weak laugh forced itself through her lips.

Through the haze of her mind she realized that some sort of a commotion was going on outside the door. She then heard Margie's voice, demanding

entry.

'She's my little friend, so of course she'll want to see me! She said she'd confide, but it seems she didn't have time '

'Mrs Stromberg, I must ask you to go.' The cap­tain's voice? A deep frown creased Wendy's fore­head.

'I sensed there was something wrong, but never for one moment guessed that she was dying.' A pause and then, in softer, pleading tones, 'Let me see her—oh, please! She mustn't die without my seeing her.'

Garth spoke, in his quiet well-bred tones.

'Wendy is not going to die, Margie. However, with the captain's permission, you can come in for a moment. I think she would like you to.'

'But I am going to die!' Wendy cried. 'You mustn't hope like this, Garth. We're not meant to be together.' She could not see him, but she sensed that his face was greyer than ever. She must do something to make him realize the hopelessness of the situation. 'There's no one willing to operate, simply because I haven't a chance of surviving an operation.'

'Dearie ...' Margie's voice. Wendy was pleased that they had let her come in. 'I see now why you

sold your house—' She stopped, suddenly aware

that this was not the way to talk—at least, to Wendy. 'Garth, I'll tell you all about it later.'

Wendy frowned. Tell him about selling her house to come on this cruise? She didn't think that Garth would be interested in things like that.

Margie was speaking again, but her words were indistinct.

'... knew from the first that you were someone im- portant, but never dreamed o£ your being Sir James Rivers, the famous neuro-surgeon ..

Darkness was almost complete. Wendy clutched Garth's hand more tightly than ever.

'I'm going ...' Valiantly she produced a fluttering smile. A beautiful peace had fallen upon her, for she was in a void where no pain could touch her. Vaguely she thought: I haven't saved Garth after all. He's going to grieve for me.

But she was beyond any conscious state where dis­tress could dominate her emotions. She was sinking rapidly into oblivion where nothing could trouble her any more ... Her eyes closed and as the last thought faded she heard Garth say,

'Hold on, I tell you! You shall hold on!' and then she heard no more.

She opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling, her brow puckered in a frown as she tried to con­centrate. Ah, yes! She had had one of her black­outs ... But this one should have been the last ...

How long had she been unconscious? Not long, she thought; she was still on the ship. She noted the dim light, the white walls ... Darkness was descend­ing again. She turned her head to see Garth sitting there, on a chair beside the bed, his head between his hands. He had told her to hold on, she remem­bered ... he was the famous brain specialist, Sir James Rivers, the man who, because he had been working so hard over a number of years, had been ordered by his doctors to rest. He was too valuable to his fellow men ... She moved her hand and it was covered instantly and she felt the strength and warmth of Garth's touch. Garth ... His name must be Sir James Garth Rivers ... or had he merely assumed the name Garth? He had said he would operate ... at least, she thought he had ... but they must reach the hospital at Los Angeles first... The light was growing again, but it waved about, making shadows.

'Are you in any pain, dear?' Garth's voice drifted to her and she managed a twisted sort of smile.

'No, I'm feeling beautifully relaxed.' These words were meant to reassure him, but to her surprise he frowned, heavily.

'Just you hold on,' he said, and his voice did not sound at all gentle now. It was hard and stern and domineering. 'Another two hours or so and we shall be at Los Angeles. I'm going to operate, Wendy.'

' There's no hope. They assured me of that.'

'There's always hope,' he returned roughly.

'But, dear Garth ' Her words were stemmed

by the increased pressure on her hand as his fingers tightened around it.

'There's always hope,' he repeated. 'You should never give up! Despair is an attitude of mind that you should fight!'

She could understand his feelings and his fierce and strong emotions in this situation where the life of his loved one was at stake. He himself could not give up hope; she knew that he had sat there, un- moving ... willing her to hold on.

She must live! She would live!

'I'll hold on,' she promised. 'We'll be there in two hours, you say?'

'About that. And then we have to get you to hospital.' He looked at her, his expression one of love and tenderness, and deep admiration. 'You're a brave girl,' he said, and now his voice was husky and quivering with emotion.

'You will save me, I think.'

'Have confidence in me, my darling, for that will help me in my task.'

All those people concerned were at the alert as the ship docked, and no one was allowed to leave until Wendy was ashore, lying, half-conscious now, on the stretcher. Garth held her hand all the way to the hospital, his face taut, strained and rather pale. He looked ten years older than he had done this time yesterday, she thought, making a desperate effort to suppress the cries of pain that rose to her lips, for the tablet she had been given when the pain recurred about an hour ago was not doing its work. At times, however, she did allow a low moan to escape her, for the searing agony of the pressure on her brain was more than she could bear in silence.

Once inside the hospital she was taken away to be prepared for the X-rays, but, for some reason, she had been wheeled only about a yard or so along the corridor when the nurse pushing the stretcher stopped and went away for a few seconds. It was then that Wendy heard Garth's voice; he was talk­ing to one of the doctors.

'I've seen the X-rays she's had done before. They were sent to the captain by her doctor. To all ap­pearances it does seem that her case is hopeless, but I can see that there is a slight chance. I hope I shall be allowed to operate ...' The nurse returned and Wendy heard no more.

She drifted back to consciousness several hours later and lay for a while, dazed, uncomprehending. Then

she put a hand to her head ... and realized that it was swathed in bandages. But she remembered nothing that had occurred after the nurse had re­turned and began wheeling her away towards the X-ray theatre.

Her mind was still hazy, her thoughts flitting about in the most unruly fashion. But she did know that the operation had taken place ... and she was still alive!

Garth was there when at length she opened her eyes, his beloved face still grey and drawn, but his eyes were burning with a look of intense satisfaction. Triumph, exultation and deep humility were also written there, in his expression. Wendy fluttered a smile through lips that were stiff and dry.

'Thank you, Garth,' she said simply, and in a voice that was husky and faint.

'Thank you, my darling, for holding on.' The words came in a rush of gratitude. 'There's no danger now.'

No danger ... Were two words ever more grate­fully and joyously received? She lay quiet for a long moment, sending up a little prayer of thankfulness at her delivery.

'No danger,' she then repeated, and her eyes and her lips smiled in that very lovely way that was hers alone. Garth's own smile was not forthcoming and ; she knew instinctively that it was impossible for him to smile. He was too full, but it was not until later that she was to learn just how near to death she had been during the operation, just how slender the thread on which her life had hung. It was later, also, that she was told of the delirious state which had followed upon the operation, when once again her life had hung in the balance.

'There's a very special drug which, most fortu­nately, they happened to have, here in the hospital. That drug will ensure that you'll pull through quite safely now.' His voice was becoming more like his own, and the colour was coming back into his face. 'Go to sleep, my love,' he said tenderly. 'We'll talk when you're a little stronger,' he added on noting the change in her expression, and it was made clear to him that she wanted nothing so much as to ply him with questions. 'We've all the time in the world now.'

Her throat ached a little as these words pene­trated fully, ached with emotion and love, and the wonderful vision of a future with Garth.

'I'm sorry I hurt you,' she began as the memory came intruding into the pleasanter thoughts. 'It was necessary, you do see- ?'

'I said, go to sleep,' he cut in, firmly but very gently too. 'You need to sleep, my love.'

'Can I just ask how long I've been here?'

'Two days.'

'So long? I've been unconscious all that time?' Her eyelids were drooping; he watched her in silence and she realized that he would not answer any more questions. Sleep came quickly, in any case, enveloping her in peace, and aiding her re­covery.

It was some days before Garth would allow her to talk at any length; she was still under his care, al­though the neuro-surgeon at the hospital, reluctant to remain in the background even though he had permitted Garth to operate, visited her from time to time, just to mark her progress. She heard him conversing with Garth once, just outside the door of her ward. They must have thought she was asleep because they were talking of the 'miracle' that had taken place in the hospital—or rather, it was the resident surgeon who mentioned the word.

'She had the will to live,' was Garth's calm comment. 'I don't take undue credit for her salva­tion.'

'What about when she was unconscious? The will to live did not apply then.'

'Before that—I had made it clear to her that she must hold on, and she did.' Such a throb of pride in his voice! Wendy, looking at the door, which was slightly ajar, said softly,

'Don't give me too much credit for bravery, darling. I knew a great fear, believe me—but I knew I wouldn't be so afraid if you were with me

at the end ' And then she broke off, for this was

the beginning, and so her words had no meaning.

She was saying this to Garth that same evening when, after she had eaten sufficiently to satisfy him, he sent the tray away and settled down to spend an hour or so with her.

'Yes,' he agreed fervently, 'it's the beginning.' He had her hand in his and he raised it to his lips. 'Oh, my love, why didn't you confide in me?'

'I couldn't talk about it, Garth. Don't you see, I was grasping all that life could offer? To have talked about my fate would have spoiled every­thing '

'But it wouldn't,' he interrupted, 'not as things were.'

She had to smile in some amusement at this.

'You seem to forget, darling, that I didn't know who you were.' And she just had to add, some imp of mischief urging her on, 'It was you who were travelling incognito—and yet you were so dread- fully horrid with me when you suspected me of being Lenise Mavaro.'

'That,' he said, 'was very different.'

She had to laugh.

'How like a man to say that!'

'Lenise Mavaro was not the sort of woman I wished to make my wife, and as I was falling in love with her '

'Me,' she couldn't help interrupting, her eyes alight with humour.

He looked sternly at her.

'Remind me to beat you when you're fully re­covered,' he said.

Again she laughed.

'You can't frighten me with threats like that.'

His eyes narrowed.

'I can see that I'm in for trouble,' he said, but she could not fail to detect the teasing note in his voice.

'You still have time to change your mind about— about...' Her voice trailed away to an embarrassed silence as she realized just what she had been about to say.

'About asking you to become my wife?' He shook his head and added, his voice edged with the most tender inflection possible, 'There's no fear of that, Wendy. You're the girl for me.'

She lowered her beautiful lashes, and stared at the stiff white edge of the bed-cover, toying with the fringe that was blanket-stitched to it.

'I can't believe it's all true,' was the only thing she could find to say.

For answer he lifted her face, cupping her chin in the palm of his hand. She read in his eyes what he was about to convey with his lips.

'I love you, Wendy, and want you for my wife. There's no need to say you'll marry me because I know that you love me—have loved me for some time.' The sudden catch in his voice could not possibly be missed and she frowned at the memory of hurting him.

She tried to explain, to tell him how she had been forced to drop Shaw because he was becoming far too attached to her.

'With you,' she continued unthinkingly, 'I felt it didn't matter, as you wouldn't be hurt.'

'You did?' rather dryly when she paused a moment.

Soft colour diffused her cheeks.

'I believed you to be flirting, no more.'

'Perhaps I was, at first,' he conceded after think­ing about it for a few seconds.

'When you thought I was Lenise?'

'That's right.'

'Of course, I didn't at that time know that you believed me to be Lenise.'

'No, dear, you didn't.' Something in his tone caused her to glance uncertainly at him.

'You're deriving amusement at my expense,' she accused.

Garth never moved a muscle as he returned,

'No such thing, my love. I'm listening with all the interest at my command.'

Her lips quivered.

'If you're going to laugh at me ' she began,

when he interrupted her.

'With you, my sweet. But please continue; I'm most anxious to have several baffling questions answered. You were saying, before you digressed, that you believed me to be flirting with you.'

She paused, thinking that here was another facet of his personality which she had not encountered before. He had a profound sense of humour.

'So, because I believed you to be flirting, I felt I could use you—er—if you know what I mean?' she added, her colour increasing.

'I have a fairly clear idea of what you mean.'

'I thought you'd be able to say a lighthearted goodbye when the time arrived for us to part.'

'You believed, of course, that you would live until you got back to England?'

She remembered now that he had received some information about her from her doctor. She had meant to question him about this before, but it had slipped her memory, mainly because Garth had not given her much opportunity of carrying on a real conversation with him until this evening. A few words spoken several times a day, and then the peremptory order to her to lie back and sleep. So there had been little time for questions anyway.

'I wasn't sure,' she returned, for the moment living once again that terrible period of agony when she wondered if she would be buried at sea. She did not mention this to Garth, for it would not only sound dramatic, now that it was all over, but it might just cause him to feel sorry for her. And that she did not want at all—not when he had saved her life. 1 hoped I would, of course.'

'And what did you intend to do then? Margie told me you had sold your house to come on this trip,' he added when she evinced surprise at his question.

'I was going into a nursing home. My doctor was arranging everything for me.' Little did she know how deep was his admiration for the way she had accepted her fate, and had so calmly attended to the eventualities concerned with it.

'You obviously did not know that your doctor had informed the captain of your dangerous posi­tion?' Wendy shook her head and he went on to say that it was necessary that he should do so, in order that the ship's doctor could keep an unobtrusive eye on her.

'The doctor knew all the time—about me?'

'Both the doctor and the captain, yes, of course they did. Your report and X-rays were also passed on by your doctor.'

She was amazed at this, but on thinking about it realized that it was probably something to do with professional etiquette that the captain and doctor should be informed of the presence of anyone like her on board.

'I overheard you telling the doctor here that you'd seen my X-rays and I meant to ask you about it.'

He nodded and said,

'The captain had lately learned that he had on board a neuro surgeon and he asked me to see him. He has a little den, right away from his normal quarters, and he invited me there to take early morning coffee with him, when he saw me the night before. It was too late then to talk, but he said it was rather urgent and asked if I'd come to his den the following morning, which I did. I explained that I was travelling as plain Mr Rivers because I had no wish to be known on board, having come on the voyage for a rest.' He paused a moment and she told him how both she and Margie had been curious about his occupation.

'Fraser was asked outright Yes, by Margie,'

she laughed, seeing the question enter his eyes. 'He told her that you were on the ship because your own doctor had ordered a long rest.'

He seemed amused and expressed the opinion that Margie had obviously suffered from frustra­tion at being unable to discover more about him.

'You'd been working overtime for years, Fraser said.' Wendy looked at him, but he made no com­ment on this. Instead he reverted to his talk with the captain, saying that although he asked the captain for the name of the person under discussion, the captain refused to give it, saying that it was the wish of the person to have her condition kept a secret, but that, should anything happen to her on board, then he would ask Garth to be ready to assist if he could. 'I was intrigued, and I must con­fess I began looking at every female who came within examining distance.'

'There were times,' said Wendy, 'when you were quite clearly concerned about me—and I must admit that you did sound rather like a doctor on one or two occasions. But this was before you had this interview with the captain.'

'With !' He stared at her and only then did

she realize what she had given away. 'How the dickens do you know when the interview took place?' he queried, still staring at her.

She paused, but a chuckle escaped her and she told him that Margie, wandering about the ship early one morning, had decided to discover what was behind that particular door.

'She heard you with the captain,' she laughed, 'and at breakfast she told me that she'd always known you were someone important. She did sug­gest you might be a duke—'

'A duke!' He burst out laughing. 'The meddle- some old so-and-so,' he exclaimed, 'but one still has to like her 1'

'She didn't hear what the conversation was about, obviously.' Wendy paused reflectively. 'She said she was puzzled about me as well,' she told him, but he was already nodding his head.

'She and I had a long talk,' was all he said, but Wendy could imagine that Margie had told him just about everything that had been on her mind.

'Talking about those times when I was con­cerned,' mused Garth presently, 'that was merely the doctor in me. You would go pale on occasions and naturally I would notice this. However, it was impossible to tell that something was seriously wrong; you looked the picture of health ...' His voice trailed off as he frowned in thought. 'I sup­pose on those occasions when you stayed in your room you were suffering from pains in the head?'

'Yes, I was.'

He squeezed her hand and said chidingly,

'You shouldn't have kept it to yourself, dear. If

only you'd mentioned something to me—' He

stopped and shrugged his shoulders. 'Never mind; it's all in the past now.' His eyes looked tenderly into hers. 'You're going to make a rapid recovery, my darling, and then you shall be in my care for the rest of your life.'

Happily she returned his smile, shyly offering him her lips. He kissed her and for a long moment there was silence in the ward. After a while she said,

'I saw you with the captain just a few moments before I became ill. Was he—I mean——'

'Having been told that you were leaving the ship at Los Angeles he decided to inform me that you were the girl whom he had discussed with me. He was troubled at your sudden decision and that was his reason for consulting me. He thought you should be persuaded to remain on board because, apparently, your doctor had told him that you had no one except a distant cousin, and so he knew you were lying when you said you had relatives in Los Angeles.'

She glanced away, guiltily.

'I thought I was doing it for the best,' she told him. 'I didn't want you to be hurt, Garth.'

'By then, my darling, it was too late. I was al­ready hurt—damnably hurt.'

'I didn't want you to know that I'd died,' she said, turning now to look at him. He saw that her eyes were bright with tears. 'Dear Garth,' she quivered, 'I couldn't think of any other way.' A tear fell; he brought out a handkerchief and wiped it away; he then slid an arm around her and drew her close to his breast.

'Don't trouble yourself about it,' he murmured contritely. 'I shouldn't have said anything about being hurt.'

'But of course you should,' she protested. And, when he made no comment, but merely held her protectively against his heart, she told him about the way she had felt, later, when, half-conscious, she made the confession that she loved him. 'I knew by then that it was too late to protect you from hurt, and it seemed that I must tell you of my love for you ...' Her voice faded to silence as she saw the expression of tender amusement that had settled on his face.

'I already knew, my darling. Do you suppose I didn't see, in the swiftest moment imaginable, the

reason for your decision to leave the ship?'

Wendy nodded her head.

'With the knowledge that you had it must of course have been obvious,' she admitted.

Garth said nothing; he was content to hold her close to him, quietly, his cheek against hers. She thought of the future and marvelled all over again that she was alive and that she and Garth would soon become husband and wife.

A little deprecatingly she put a hand to the bandages that swathed her head.

'Have I any hair at all?' she asked, because she had in her mind's eye the vision of her wedding, and frowned when she thought of wearing a wig.

'I'm afraid, my dearest,' he said, 'that your head was shaved completely.'

'I thought so.'

His smile was one of amusement.

'It wasn't much to lose, sweetheart.'

She shook her head instantly.

'No, indeed it wasn't. I w-was just thinking of— of ...' Shyness gripped her and she fell silent. But Garth knew what she meant.

'The shock to the system, with an operation of this nature,' he said, 'is so great that it takes about six months for the patient to recover fully. We shall announce our engagement immediately we get back to England, but, much as I would like to be married sooner, we shall have to wait.' He held her from him, a great depth of love and adoration in his eyes. 'We'll have a wonderful courtship, Wendy, one we'll often want to recall.' A quizzical light entered his eyes now. 'It will also give you time both to grow your hair and also to get used to my domineering ways,' he teased.

'Shall you always work so hard as you have been doing?' she wanted to know, breaking a long silence during which she knew the thrill of his kisses and the strength of his embrace.

'No, Wendy, I shan't have to. There are two extra neuro surgeons in the hospital now, so it can't possibly be so demanding a job as it has been over these past four or five years.'

She felt happy about this answer, for she did not want his health to be impaired by overwork. And although she was honest enough to admit that it was perhaps a little selfish, she did want her hus­band with her as much as was possible.

'Fraser said you were working fourteen or sixteen hours a day, sometimes for seven days a week.'

'Fraser talks too much,' he said abruptly. But Wendy knew for sure that Fraser had spoken the truth. However, she sensed Garth's reluctance to hear anything more on the subject and so she let it drop, asking about the ship and the people with whom she had made friends.

'Margie was terribly distressed,' he told her, but added, 'I've sent a message to the captain and he'll have it broadcast that the operation was successful.'

She blinked at him.

'He will?'

'But of course. There are many people aboard who will be wanting to know how you are.'

'Yes,' she agreed after some thought. 'Fraser and his girl-friend, and Denby and Margie, of course.' She paused reflectively thinking of others with whom she had made friends. 'They'll all know about you,' she said.

Garth merely smiled and once again she was quick to sense that he would not welcome any more

on the subject.

'It's time you were lying down,' he said firmly after a while. 'Tomorrow I might let you get up.'

'You will?—already?'

'Only for about half an hour—and only if you'll be a good girl and lie down now.'

'I will,' she promised, and did so at once, even though she was far from tired. She could have had him stay with her until the nurse arrived to settle her down for the night, but she knew⁷ Garth well enough by now to be sure that if he meant her to rest then he would see that his word was obeyed.

'Good night, my dear, dear love.' Bending, he tucked her in before kissing her tenderly on the lips. 'I'll see you in the morning.'

'Good night,' she whispered huskily, shining up at him from the pillow. 'Oh, but life is good!'

He said nothing, but just smiled faintly as he stood for a moment, looking down into her lovely face. Then fleetingly his eyes moved to the bandages before, turning, he walked towards the door. Here he turned again, and glanced back. Her eyes were closed, and her beautiful long lashes cast shadows on her cheeks. Her lips moved; he saw the words they formed,

'Thank you, my beloved, for giving me back my life. I now dedicate it to you.'

'And I mine to you,' he whispered fervently and, passing through the doorway, he closed it softly behind him.

They were married six months later, in the pretty village church of Burtonwell, in Dorset, where Garth's parents lived. Garth had bought a lovely Portland stone house not far away, a house standing close to the swift flowing brook which tumbled down from the hills before flowing through the village. The sun was shining from a sky of purest blue as Wendy came from the church to face, with her husband, a battery of cameras, some in the hands of newspapermen, some in the hands of friends or relatives—and some in the hands of children.

'Stand to one side a bit, dearies! There—Oh,

but I always knew you'd make a delightful couple! Denby, you're just right to get them from that side angle! You did put a film in your camera, I hope!'

'Uncle Garth and Auntie Wendy—do you mind holding hands, please?'

'Wendy, you should be smiling!' Fraser's camera clicked as she obediently produced another smile.

'Can I just have one?' from Vicky apologetically. 'I'm sure you're both getting tired?'

'Not at all,' denied Garth in his quiet tones. Vicky gave a grimace which seemed to say,

'My dear brother, I know you far too well to be deceived.'

Garth's mother kissed the bride's cheek, while his father took a quick snapshot of them. And all the while the reporters were busy writing notes.

But at last it was all over and the bride and groom were alone in their room at the Savoy Hotel in London, where they "were spending the first night of their honeymoon before flying to Fiji, where they were to spend the next three weeks.

'What a wonderful day!' Wendy spoke, feeling she had to say something, so very shy had she be­come all at once. 'Everything went off so smoothly, and the sun shone, and everyone was so happy— and didn't your mother look lovely in that coral suit? The reception was ...' She allowed her voice to trail away as she saw the quizzical expression that came to her husband's eyes.

'Yes, my love,' he said in some amusement, 'it was all just perfect. However, I have other, far more interesting things to talk about at present ... my lovely bride, for instance,' he added softly, and he held out his arms so that she could come into them, and when she did, with a glad but shy little laugh, he held her close for a very long time before, tilting up her face with a gentle hand under her chin, he bent his head and kissed her passionately on the lips. 'How beautiful you were,' he breathed, his lips caressing her cheek and her eyes, and the delicate line of her forehead where it met the short dark curls which had earlier peeped so enchantingly from beneath the dainty white headdress she wore. 'I was never so proud in the whole of my life as when I came from the church, having made you my wife.' Pride was in his voice even now, and in his eyes. But in those eyes there was also a depth of love and tenderness that took her breath away.

Wendy slid her arms about his neck and, going up on tiptoe, kissed him on the lips. His arms tightened about her; she felt the warmth and the strength of his long slender hands ... hands whose skill had brought her back from the brink of that dark abyss into whose grim depths she had resigned herself to fall.

And because she was suddenly overcome with emotion she clung tightly to him and buried her face against his breast.

'Are you crying?' he asked perceptively, trying to hold her from him in order that he might see for himself whether or not there were tears in her eyes.

'No, of course not!' she denied—and surrep­titiously slid a finger across her lashes, just in case a stray tear had escaped from the cloud of emotion that was gathered behind her eyes.

'In that case,' he said, 'you can let me see one of your very alluring smiles!'

A moment's pause before she drew her head from his breast and looked up. The smile came, like a ray of sunshine that spread to her eyes.

'There you are,' she said triumphantly, 'I told you I wasn't crying!' But her lovely lips quivered for all that.

His mouth curved in a smile of tender amuse­ment, and he gave her a little shake before, bringing her to him again, he crushed those quivering lips with his own.