We'll meet again

The Night Comers

ON THAT MARCH MORNING, I arose at dawn. I had slept little during the night. Old Mrs. Jermyn had given a dinner party at Jermyn Priory to celebrate my engagement to her grandson—though perhaps it could scarcely be called a celebration in every way as Jowan was to leave for the Front the following day.

I had known he would ask me to marry him from that September day soon after war had been declared and he told me he was going to join the army.

We had been drawn to each other since our first meeting when, trespassing on Jermyn land, I fell from my horse and he came along to rescue me. One might say that that was the beginning of the end of the feud between the Tregarland and Jermyn families. I was not, however, a Tregarland, my connection with the family being only through my twin sister, Dorabella, who had married into it and whom I was visiting at the time.

Not that Jowan was concerned about the feud. He laughed at it as a piece of nonsense beloved and preserved by the local people. Yet it had kept the families apart for many years—and now here we were, about to be joined in holy matrimony.

As soon as the war was over we were to be married.

“Another six months perhaps,” said Jowan. “Maybe earlier.”

Sometimes it seemed to me that Jowan went through life taking what was and making it acceptable. Perhaps that was why he had been such a great help to me during the terrifying time through which I had passed.

Jowan had been brought up by his grandmother, for his mother had died when he was very young; he had inherited Jermyn Priory only a few years ago. His somewhat dissolute uncle had neglected the property, and since Jowan came into possession of it he had been attempting to put it in order. This he was doing with great success. He loved the house in which he had spent his early years before joining his father in New Zealand. His father had died before his uncle, and the estate had passed to Jowan.

I admired him for his single-minded purpose. So did his grandmother. She could never speak of him without betraying her pride.

“Jowan always sees what has to be done,” she told me. “And he never says ‘can’t.’ He loves this place as I did and it is right and proper that it should be his.”

That was why I was rather taken aback when he immediately decided to leave Jermyn’s and go into the army; but as he saw it, the war had to be won for the prosperity of the entire country and that included Jermyn’s. He had an excellent manager who had a good assistant. They were both considerably older than he was and married with families to support. He could be better spared, he said, and he could trust them to look after the place in his absence.

“We’ll settle the Germans in no time,” he said.

I had not seen much of him during the last months. There were his leaves, but they were never very long. This was one of the reasons why I stayed in Cornwall—another was that my sister refused to hear of my leaving.

Jowan had joined the Royal Field Artillery, whose training ground was at Lark Hill on Salisbury Plain, which was no great distance from Tregarland.

How we cherished those leaves! How we planned for the future! I felt uplifted by them while they lasted, but I was filled with foreboding after he had gone back to camp, knowing that the day for his departure was growing nearer.

Now it had come.

My parents were delighted with the match and Jowan’s grandmother and I were already good friends. Everything should have been perfect, but how could it be with the menace of war hanging over us?

On that morning, when I was washed and dressed, it was still very early and I felt a need to be out in the fresh morning air so I put on a coat and went out to my favorite seat in the garden.

Tregarland had been built on the top of a cliff, like a fortress overlooking the sea. The gardens stretched out down to a beach which was originally a private one, but it had been necessary for there to be a right of way through it, otherwise people walking along the beach would have to scale the cliff to get round, and, as I had once discovered, when caught by the tide, this was almost an impossibility.

I sat down on a bench which had been placed conveniently among the flowering shrubs and looked across the sea. Very soon Jowan would be somewhere on the other side of that strip of water. Destination unknown. It was no use trying to delude myself that he was not going into danger.

I heard a footstep and, looking up, saw my sister, Dorabella, coming towards me. She was smiling.

“I heard you,” she said. “I looked out of my window and there you were. So I followed.”

“It’s very early,” I said.

“The best part of the day, I’ve heard. What’s the matter, Vee?”

She occasionally used the shortened version of my name, which was Violetta; and this morning there was a note of tenderness in her voice. She knew what I was feeling.

Dorabella and I were not identical twins, but there was a firm bond between us. She had once called it “the gossamer cord.”

“It is strong,” she had said. She believed it was unbreakable, but so fine that no one knew it was there except us. But it always had been and it always would be. I think she was right in that.

She was rather frivolous and charming; I was reckoned to be the sensible, practical one. There was about her a misleading air of fragility which had always appealed to the opposite sex. I had always been conscious of her superior attractions but never—or possibly rarely—jealous.

When I considered where her impulsive actions led her, I was fearful for her and I felt sure that the most recent one must have had a lasting effect on her. She had rashly married and then rashly abandoned Dermot Tregarland, and so set in motion consequences which had affected us all deeply. In fact, but for that marriage, I should never have met Jowan. I should not have been sitting in that place at that moment.

I glanced at her. Yes, what had happened had had a sobering effect even on her. I was afraid for her, but whatever she did, I would never stop loving her. Nothing could change that.

She took my hand and said: “Don’t worry. He’ll be all right. I know it in my bones. He’s a survivor. I’m one myself and I recognize a kindred spirit.”

“You’re certainly right about yourself,” I said.

She looked at me ruefully, telling me with her eyes that she was sorry for all the anxiety she had caused us. I had forgiven her, as our parents had.

“Of course I am,” she said. “The war will soon be over. He’ll be back … a hero. There will be wedding bells. The gathering of the clans. That stupid feud between the Tregarlands and the Jermyns at an end forever. It was all rather ridiculous, wasn’t it?”

“And you, Dorabella, what shall you do? Shall you stay at Tregarland’s?”

She was thoughtful, so I knew the idea of getting away had occurred to her.

“It will be different,” she said. “You’ll be the Lady of Jermyn Priory.”

“That is old Mrs. Jermyn.”

“Oh, she will graciously step aside. She is so pleased that you are going to marry her bonny boy. When this miserable war is over, I think I shall be able to bear it if you are not far away. We’re all living in a sort of limbo now, aren’t we? Nobody can make any plans. We don’t know what will happen from one minute to the next. This war… how long do you really think it will go on?”

“I don’t know. We’re constantly hearing that we are doing well, but the Germans seem to be very strong. It is difficult to know whether we are hearing everything or if things are being kept from us.”

“You are getting morbid, Vee.”

“I like to know the truth.”

“Ignorance is bliss, remember.”

“Less so when the truth is forced upon us, as it could be in some circumstances.”

“Snap out of it! I know Jowan’s going and you are naturally worried, but we are here together. I can’t tell you how pleased I am about that. The best thing for me is that you and I will be neighbors. Think of that.”

“And you have Tristan.”

“Auntie Violetta has a proprietary interest and Nanny Crabtree believes, I am sure, that he is more hers than mine. I wonder if that child realizes how many lay claim to him. I pick him up and Nanny Crabtree thinks I am going to drop him.” She was sober suddenly. “After what happened, she probably feels I’m not to be trusted. It was she—and you—who saved him from Mad Matilda when I was not there … as I should have been.”

“It’s all in the past.”

“Is it? Don’t you think the things we do—the really important things—never really go away? They leave their effect behind forever after.”

“You have to stop thinking like that.”

“I do most of the time, but sometimes it comes back and haunts me. I went off with a lover. I left my husband and child … and now I’m back. My husband died, my child might have been murdered but for you and Nanny Crabtree. You see how it feels sometimes.”

“As long as you have learned your lesson…”

Her mood changed and she burst out laughing.

“I can’t help it,” she said. “Always the same old Violetta. Preaching the truth, grappling heroically with the problems of the wayward twin—and never forgetting to point to the moral.”

“Someone has to do it with people like you around!”

“And you do. You always have. Don’t think I forget. I don’t ever. That’s why I have to have you near me and if you are not there I get a bit panicky. I shall never forget how you told the tale for me. And I know how you hate to lie. I had run away with my lover. I had staged my departure to look like a drowning … as though I had gone down to swim, leaving my wrap and slippers there on the beach … and all the time I was crossing the Channel on my way to Paris. And what did you do? You worked out a tale for me. I had gone swimming, lost consciousness, been picked up by a yacht. Oh … it was wonderful!”

“It was quite implausible and we should never have got away with it if war had not been declared just at that time, and if people had not had other things to think about than the wayward wanton conduct of a frivolous young woman.”

“You are right, dear sister, as always. You see why I can’t live without you? Even Tregarland’s is tolerable because you will be my neighbor when you marry your Jowan. Your name Jermyn, mine Tregarland. It worked out quite neatly in the end, didn’t it?”

“We can’t know that yet.”

“You are determined to be morbid. Surely one of your maxims tells you that is not very helpful.”

“I just want to face facts.”

“I know. But sometimes I feel the past will never go away. It’s here in this house. Matilda Lewyth with her madness. She seems to be still here. And there is Gordon. How does he feel? His own mother a murderess … living out her life in an asylum …”

“Gordon is one of the most sensible men I know. He will see everything clearly as it really is. His mother wanted Tregarland’s for him and she allowed that desire to become an obsession. Old James Tregarland teased her. He was mischievous. He wanted to see how she would act. Well, he saw, and he wishes now that it was something he had never seen. He blames himself in a way—and he certainly did play a part in the drama. But it is over. Thank God Matilda was prevented from harming Tristan. Matilda is now in safe care and Tristan has Nanny Crabtree and the whole household to dote on him. Even old Mr. Tregarland thinks his grandson is the most wonderful child that ever was. Tristan is safe. We have to go on from there.”

“But I can’t rid myself of guilt. I should have been there. Dermot should be alive.”

“Dermot was badly injured. He knew he would never recover. So he took his life. It’s all in the past.”

“What do people think about me? They must suspect.”

“They don’t think much about you. They are concerned with more important matters. What is happening on the Continent, for instance. Where will Hitler turn next? We are at war. The actions of Mrs. Dermot Tregarland with a French artist are trivial compared with the affairs of Europe. They are prepared to accept your story of loss of memory, implausible as it is, because they are not really greatly concerned.”

“You are right,” she said. “You are always right. And, best of all, you are here. You are going to marry Jowan Jermyn and the star-crossed lover of a hundred years ago can rest in peace. My dear sister Violetta came to Tregarland and set it all right.”

We laughed and sat in silence for a while. I drew comfort from her and I know she did from me. It is wonderful to have another human being who is so close to you as to be almost a part of yourself. It had been so from the beginning of our lives and would remain so.

She knew what I was thinking, as she often did. There had been few periods in our lives when we had been apart—the longest being when she had eloped with the French artist and had staged an “accident” to cover up the truth.

I was convinced that she would never do anything so foolish again. I think it had taught her that she should never allow us to be parted again.

“Let’s go in to breakfast,” she said at length.

Breakfast at Tregarland’s extended over two hours so that we could take it according to our plans for the day. James Tregarland rarely appeared for meals nowadays. He had been greatly shaken by the death of his son and what had happened to his mistress-housekeeper. He was well aware that he shared some blame for that bizarre affair. It had affected us all, though it appeared to have the least effect on Matilda’s son, Gordon. He was practical in the extreme and on him depended the prosperity of the Tregarland estate. He carried on as though little had changed. I had always known he was a remarkable man.

However, we rarely saw him at breakfast, and on that morning Dorabella and I were alone.

The post was brought in by one of the maids. There were letters from my mother—one for each of us. She always wrote to us both, even though the contents were similar.

We opened them and I read:

My dearest Violetta,

Life is uncertain here and I am a little anxious about Gretchen. It is a miserable time for her. She is so anxious for her family in Germany. Goodness knows what is happening to them, and with Edward going overseas soon … Well, imagine, he will be fighting her fellow countrymen. Poor Gretchen, she is most unsettled and unhappy. You can imagine how it is with her. Of course, she has little Hildegarde. I am so pleased about that. The child is such a comfort to her.

She has been staying with us. It is not easy being in a country which is at war with her own.

I was wondering whether you would ask her down to Cornwall for a spell. I am writing of this to Dorabella, as it will be for her to give the invitation. Gretchen was always so fond of you two, and it would be good for her to be with people of her own age. Of course, it is difficult traveling in these days of black-outs and all that—especially with children—but if you could have her and little Hildegarde for a while, I am sure that would cheer her up.

Hildegarde would be company for Tristan, of course, and I am sure Nanny Crabtree would be delighted to cope.

Poor Gretchen! People know she is German. Her accent, of course, and with Edward away … well, you can see how difficult it is.

Talk it over with Dorabella. I do hope you will have her.

I was sorry, and so was your father, that we could not be there for the engagement party. We are so happy about it. Both of us are so fond of Jowan. Your father thinks he is an excellent manager and we both know that you and he will be very happy together. It will be so nice for you to be near Dorabella.

With lots of love from Daddy and me,

Mummy

Dorabella looked up from her letter.

“Gretchen,” she said.

I nodded.

“Of course she must come,” she said.

“Of course,” I echoed.

Gretchen arrived about two weeks later. Dorabella drove to the station to meet her and I went with her.

I could see that Gretchen was a little distraught. She was as anxious for Edward as I was for Jowan, and neither of us could get any news of what was happening on the Front. Moreover, she had the additional anxiety of her family in Bavaria, of whom she had heard nothing for a very long time.

Little Hildegarde was an enchanting child. Tristan would be three years old in November and Hildegarde was about five months younger. She was an only child, dark like her mother and with none of Edward’s fairness.

Nanny Crabtree pounced on her with glee, and, as for Tristan, he was obviously glad to have her company.

Nanny Crabtree was at this time in a state of mild rebellion because of what she referred to as “them imps upstairs.”

Because it was feared that the enemy would attack from the air, children throughout the country had been evacuated from the big towns and billeted in country houses. Two of these children had been assigned to us, and they were Nanny Crabtree’s “imps.”

Above the nursery were the attics, some of which were occupied by servants. They were large rambling rooms, oddly shaped with sloping roofs. Two of these were used as bedrooms for the young evacuees, who were two brothers from London’s East End, Charley and Bert Trimmell, aged eleven and eight. Nanny Crabtree kept an eye on them, supervising their meals, making sure that they washed regularly and went to school in East Poldown with the others who had been billeted in the Poldowns or the surrounding neighborhood. As the school in Poldown was not big enough to accommodate all the children, some rooms in the town hall had been given over to the schoolmasters and -mistresses who had accompanied their pupils; and all the newcomers could go to school with their friends.

We were sorry for these children, who looked very forlorn when they arrived with labels bearing their names and gas masks over their shoulders.

Gordon had gone down to the town hall where they were all assembled and came back with the Trimmells.

Nanny Crabtree’s rebellion was only on the surface. Where children were concerned, she would be the first to care for them; but she always disliked change, so it was only a natural reaction.

“Poor little mites,” she said of the evacuees. “It’s no picnic for them being taken away from their homes. Still, they’ve got to learn the way we do things here and the sooner the better. I could murder that Hitler.”

When Charley came home with bruises on his face and a torn jacket, she was most displeased—particularly when he stubbornly refused to tell her how he had come to be in such a state.

“We don’t have that sort of goings-on down here, you know. You have to behave. You’re not in the back streets now.”

Charley remained silent, giving her that look of veiled contempt which she had seen before and was the easiest way to irritate Nanny Crabtree because she could not complain of insolence when the boy had said nothing.

She told me about it afterwards.

“‘Charley Trimmell,’ I said, ‘you’ll have to learn, that’s what you’ll have to do.’ And there he stood, defying me … without raying a word.”

“It must be dreadful for those children,” I said. “Just imagine, being taken away from your home and family and sent to strangers.”

Nanny nodded. “Poor mites, but they’ve got to learn life’s not all beer and skittles.”

I think she was rather contrite when she heard the way in which Charley had acquired his scars.

She heard it through Bert, with whom it was easier to communicate. He told her how the boys in East Poldown had set on him, teasing him. They were going to throw him into the river because he couldn’t swim like they could, and he talked in a funny way. They were all round Bert, who shouted for his brother, and then Charley appeared—stalwart Charley—who dashed into the crowd of jeering boys and, according to Bert, gave them such a going-over that they all ran away, but only after inflicting some battle scars on the noble defender.

“Why didn’t he tell me what it was all about,” demanded Nanny Crabtree, “instead of just giving me that look of his?”

“Children don’t always act reasonably,” I said.

After that there was a truce between Nanny and Charley. No. There was more than that. They were both Londoners; they shared a knowledge of the metropolis, and that special shrewdness and the unshakable belief that, because they were citizens of the greatest city in the world, they could only feel a certain pity for those who did not share that privilege.

In due course, Charley talked to Nanny about his home. He would sit in her room with his brother Bert, for Bert never liked to be far away from Charley, and Nanny discovered that the boys’ father was at sea. He had been a sailor before the war and had been away from home most of the time, a fact which had given the boys little cause for regret; their mother worked as a barmaid and, as she was out late at night, Charley had to look after Bert.

“They’re not a bad pair,” said Nanny. “There’s a lot of good in Charley, and of course Bert thinks the sun, moon, and stars shine out of his eyes. I’m not sorry we got them two. Could have done a lot worse.”

So, with Tristan and Hildegarde in the main nursery and the Trimmells in their attic rooms above, Nanny Crabtree, as she said, “had her work cut out,” and we all knew that her occasional murmurings against her lot were not to be taken seriously.

Meanwhile, the weeks were passing. The campaign in Norway was not going well and there was no news of Jowan. One day was very like another. Dorabella, Gretchen, and I would take the children onto the beach and watch them building sandcastles. They liked to build close to the water and watch the incoming tide make moats in the channels round the edge of the piles of sand. It was pleasant to hear their shrieks of laughter.

When we went into Poldown the streets seemed crowded. We had a much greater population now. It was amusing to hear the mingling of the Cockney and Cornish accents. At first the children had some difficulty in understanding each other, but the original antagonism and suspicion of strangers, I fancied, had disappeared to some extent.

There was change and I often thought of the days when I had first come here before Dorabella’s marriage, how quaint it had all seemed, and how my mother and I had laughed at the old Cornish superstitions. Then there had been my meeting with Jowan … I always came back to Jowan.

Sometimes Dorabella did not come to the beach and Gretchen and I would take the children. We could talk to each other freely. There was no need to hide our fears because we shared them.

Often I would catch her looking across the sea with that look of sadness in her eyes. Gretchen had suffered so much in her life that she expected disaster. It had been different with me. I had been brought up by doting parents in an atmosphere of love and tenderness. Life had gone smoothly until that visit to Bavaria. That had been the key that had opened the door leading to the drama.

How different everything might have been if we had never gone there! I might have known Gretchen, because Edward had already met her and been attracted to her; but Dorabella and I would never have met Dermot Tregarland. I should never have seen this place. I had to remember, too, that I should never have known Jowan.

It was hard to believe that it was only five years ago that we had sat in the cafe near the schloss and Dermot had sauntered by. An Englishman in a foreign land meets fellow countrywomen—and, of course, he stops to talk. That might have been the end of it. But then there was that fearful night when the Hitler Youth had invaded the schloss and tried to wreck it and insult its owners because they were of the Jewish race. It was horror such as I could not have believed existed. It was my first experience of mindless cruelty and bestiality. Never, never would I forget it.

Gretchen put her hand over mine suddenly.

“I know what you are thinking,” she said.

I turned to her and said: “I wish we could get some news. What do you think is happening over there?”

She shook her head. “I cannot guess. I just hope they will be all right. Perhaps we shall soon hear something.”

“I was thinking, if they fall into the hands of those people … those who were in the schloss that night.”

“They would be prisoners of war. My family is Jewish. That was what that was all about. Dear Violetta, you can never forget it, can you?”

“No,” I said. “Never.”

“I fear I shall never see my family again.”

“You have Edward now, Gretchen—Edward and Hildegarde.”

She nodded.

But the sadness stayed with her and I realized afresh that, because so much tragedy had touched her, she would always be fearful that she would lose the happiness she had gained.

We both sat for some time looking at the sea, thinking of our loved ones, until Tristan came up. He was near to tears because the handle had come off the pail of his bucket.

“Auntie Vee make well,” he said.

I took the pail and saw that all that was needed was to slip the wire back into the loop. I did it with ease and Tristan smiled broadly, accepting my cleverness as something he had never doubted.

If only our problems could be so easily solved!

May had come. The weather was perfect. The Cornish countryside was at its best at this time of the year. The sea, calm and benign, seemed to caress the rocks as it crept up the beach at high tide. The peaceful scene was in contrast to the apprehension in our minds. There was no disguising the fact that the war was not going well. There was no more talk of its being over in the next few weeks.

We had been driven out of Norway and it was clear that the storm was about to break over Western Europe. The Prime Minister, Mr. Neville Chamberlain, had resigned and Mr. Winston Churchill had taken his place. The retiring Prime Minister made a stirring speech in which he asked us to rally round our new leader. But when our newly appointed Prime Minister spoke, he told us that he had nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears, and sweat, and that we had a grievous task before us and months of struggle and suffering.

I well remember listening to that speech. It did not contain lists of our triumphs. It came over as stark reality, and I think it was what we needed at the time. I still remembered parts of it through the years to come.

“You say, what is our policy? It is to make war by sea, land and air with all the might and strength that God can give us; to wage war against a monstrous tyranny never surpassed in the dark, lamentable catalogue of human crime.”

Then I was transplanted to that room in the schloss, and I remembered the look on the face of the young man who had led in his band of ruffians. It was dark, it was lamentable; it had never been surpassed in the catalogue of human crime.

“And what is our true aim?” went on the Prime Minister. “It is victory … victory at all cost. Come, let us go forward in our united strength.”

It was a taste of that inspiration which was to hold us up and give us courage through the dark years to come.

But at least now we were prepared for bad tidings which might come. And we needed to be. The news went from bad to worse. The Germans were advancing through Flanders while the sun shone brilliantly and the countryside seemed more beautiful than ever before.

In the first six months the war had taken on a meaning for us which we would never have believed to be possible. We ourselves were in acute danger and we could not evade the possibility that our precious island might be threatened.

And Jowan and Edward, all those who were in the thick of the fight, what of them?

Each day increased our gloom.

I felt an urge to be alone. I often took out Starlight, the mare I had ridden in those days when I used to go and meet Jowan.

I wanted to escape from the present. I liked to ride to those places I had visited with Jowan. I remembered our first meeting so well, when I had trespassed on Jermyn land. I rode to the field where I had fallen. There we had walked to an inn called Smithy’s into which Jowan had insisted on taking me for a brandy to steady me. The inn was so called because it was next to the blacksmith’s shop.

How I longed to be back in those days!

As I was about to ride past, Gordon Lewyth came out of the blacksmith’s shop.

“Good morning,” he said. “What are you doing in this part of the world? No trouble with Starlight, I hope?”

“No,” I replied. “’Twas just riding past.”

“I’ve taken Samson in. He’s cast a shoe.”

“Are you going back now?” I asked.

“I thought I might have a light lunch and wait for him. Why not join me?”

I was poignantly reminded of that other occasion, only it was Gordon who sat opposite me now in place of Jowan. Mrs. Brodie, the wife of the landlord, came to us just as she had on that other occasion. I remembered how interested she had been. The visitor who was the sister of the new Mrs. Tregarland and Jowan Jermyn! A meeting of the enemy families! She would know now, of course, of my engagement to Jowan. Such matters would be frequently discussed in this place.

She said: “Good day to you, Miss Denver, and Mr. Lewyth. There’s meat loaf. I can recommend it. They tell me it is one of my best. The best you can hope for these days, I’m afraid.”

“Would you like wine or cider?” asked Gordon.

I asked for cider.

“Any news of Mr. Jermyn, Miss Denver?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Well, they’ll have their hands full over there, I reckon. They’ve got to send them Germans back where they belong to be. It won’t be long now, you mark my words.”

I smiled at her. Gordon’s eyes met mine and I was aware of his sympathy.

“She must notice the changes these days,” I said when Mrs. Brodie had gone.

“As we all do.”

I could see the sadness in his eyes and for the moment I was back to that night in the nursery when Nanny Crabtree and I had prevented his mother from carrying out her obvious intention to murder Tristan. I remembered how, when we had called him in, he had stood there, stunned by the revelation.

I felt a deep sympathy for him, and I remembered with admiration how he had recovered from the shock and quickly taken charge of the situation, how stoically he had done what had to be done, how tender he had been towards his poor demented mother.

I heard myself saying: “And how was she when you visited her?” before I realized we had not been speaking of her; but he showed no surprise. I supposed she was rarely out of his thoughts.

He replied: “Her condition does not change much, though there are times when she knows me and at others…”

“I am sorry. I should not have spoken of it. It is very upsetting for you.”

“It does no good to keep silent,” he went on. “It is something which is on our minds whether we talk of it or not.” He smiled at me. “I can talk to you, Violetta. In fact, it helps in a way.”

I was a little taken aback. I had not thought of his needing help. He always seemed so self-sufficient. But how upsetting it must be, even to the most self-reliant person, to discover that his mother is a murderess.

“It is hard to see her so,” he went on. “Her poor lost mind wandering, trying to grasp reality. And, Violetta, I can only hope that she never does. It is better for her to go on like this than remember the truth.”

I nodded. “And she did it all for you, Gordon. All that plotting … all that obsession grew out of her love for you.”

“I do not forget it,” he replied. “I never shall. If only she had confided in me. I hoped, with her, that my father would recognize me. It was true that I had improved the estate, that I was the one who cared for it. But my mother was not his wife, and there was Dermot … and then Tristan. I wanted a place of my own. I could have found something, I suppose. It would not have been an estate like Jermyn’s or Tregarland’s, of course. But there is something about a place of one’s own, however small.”

“You are part of Tregarland’s, Gordon. You love it. It has been your life.”

“If only…”

I touched his hand lightly.

“It is no use looking back. We have to go on, and we are in the midst of this dreadful war. None of us knows from one day to the next what is going to happen. It isn’t going very well, is it?”

“Grim,” he said. “The Germans are flooding into Holland and Belgium. Next it will be France.”

“They seem to be succeeding all along the line.”

“They were prepared. We were not. All during that decade when the Labour and Liberal parties were preaching disarmament, Hitler was laughing at our blind folly and building up his weapons, waiting for the moment to attack. It came. They were ready and we were not.”

“But we are preparing now.”

“Ever heard of shutting the stable door after the horse has run away?”

“Yes. But we are going to fight now.”

“We shall succeed in the end, and I believe that, now we realize the danger, we are of one mind. But we have to suffer for the blindness of people in the past. But for them, there might not have been a war at all. If only we could go back and do it all again! What we can do is face the facts. If only I had been wiser, I might have seen what was happening to my mother. Alas, the power to see into the future is not given us. I think we should always be ready to look at the truth and not delude ourselves to gain a little comfort temporarily.”

“Is it really very bad, do you think?”

“As bad as it could be, short of defeat, I imagine. But there is a fine spirit in the country, no doubt of that, and when we have our backs to the wall we can stand up as well as any. But let’s face it. The Germans have trumped up a story that Britain and France intend to invade Holland and Belgium, and Germany is going to ‘protect’ them. The Dutch and Belgians have different ideas and are standing out against them, but, of course, they are small and unprepared and the Germans are well equipped and disciplined. One can have no doubt that with little difficulty they will soon subdue them.”

“Our men are over there,” I said with a shudder.

Gordon’s eyes did not meet mine.

“Oh, Gordon, what can be happening?” I asked.

“Those people are fighting for the homeland. That gives them extra strength,” he said. “The tide will turn one day. Sometimes I feel I should be there, but we need to keep the estate going. Some of us have to stay. You will know, of course, that there is a fear that Germany might not only subdue the Netherlands, but France as well.”

“There is the Maginot Line.”

“That has not been tested yet, but the situation looks very bad. You know there is an organization being formed to protect our own country?”

“Is it the Local Defence Volunteers?”

“Anthony Eden is the new Secretary of War and he was talking about it the other day. You know what it means?”

“To protect us against invasion?”

“If France falls …”

“Surely that can’t be!”

“As you say, there is the Maginot Line. But Belgium and Holland, in spite of the bravery of their people, cannot be a difficult conquest, and as France, like ourselves, was not prepared beforehand … we must be ready for anything.”

“Surely Hitler could never succeed in invading England?”

“It would not be easy. There is the Channel.”

“Thank God for the Channel.”

“Well, we are preparing now. That is why the Local Defence Volunteers are being formed. You know how I feel about being at home, so … I have joined.”

“I do know. But you could not have been spared, Gordon.”

“That was pointed out to me. So I have joined this new organization. It will be run like an army. I am to be in charge of our group in this area.”

“I am glad, Gordon. I know you will do it very well.”

“I hope it never comes to invasion. But perhaps it is best to be realistic and look on the dark side, as well as the bright.”

“I agree with you. Just because we are preparing for an invasion does not mean that it will come.”

“The more prepared we are, the less likely it is to happen.”

I fell silent, thinking, as always, of Jowan and Edward who were out there. I tried not to imagine the hardships they might be suffering, what danger they were in. But that was not possible.

Gordon knew this. It was typical of him that he did not attempt to make light conversation as many would have done. He understood too well that that would not turn my mind from my anxieties. Instead, he went on to talk of the new organization and how enthusiastic were those men who were too old for, or were otherwise not eligible for, active service.

And when we came out of Smithy’s, Samson was ready and we returned to Tregarland’s together.

There is no need for me to say much of what happened during the rest of that beautiful May month. It is well known that disaster followed disaster. The Germans passed the much-vaunted Maginot Line quickly. They made their way across France and were in Boulogne by the last Sunday of the month.

We all went to church on that day. It was a day of prayer throughout the country and the Empire; the King and Queen, with the Queen of the Netherlands, who had sought refuge in England when her country was invaded, attended a service in Westminster Abbey.

The British Expeditionary Force and other Allied troops had been driven towards the town of Dunkirk by the advancing Germans and were cut off from the rest of the armies; the historic rescue had begun. The navy sent all available ships to bring the men home and hundreds of civilian boats joined in the rescue.

There followed a time of deep anxiety and a fierce determination among all who could be of help to bring our men home.

What happened in those never-to-be-forgotten days was little short of a miracle. The sea was calm and it was as though our prayers were being answered. The Germans were broadcasting that the British Army had been annihilated and victory was in their grasp, and that the British Isles would soon be under their domination as well as France, Belgium, Holland, and the whole of Western Europe.

The story of the determination and valor, the fight against desperate odds, is well known in our history—and the name of Dunkirk will always be remembered with reverence.

There was subdued rejoicing when the Prime Minister told us that nearly three-quarters of a million men had been brought safely back to Britain. It was no victory, he told us in somber tones. It was a miracle of deliverance. But we had to face the facts. The French were collapsing; eventually they would give way to German dominance to ensure peace. The Netherlands were in the hands of the enemy, and the battle for Britain was inevitable.

The Prime Minister spoke with all that fiery eloquence which was characteristic of him and an inspiration to us all. “Britain will never surrender,” he declared.

Our men were coming home. There was a hope in my heart that Jowan would be one of those who had been picked up at Dunkirk and brought back to safety.

And so I waited.

The days were passing and there was no news of Jowan. Dorabella said: “You can imagine the confusion. Three-quarters of a million men arriving suddenly. Of course there will be delays.”

My mother was on the telephone. She had great news. Gretchen must be told at once. Edward was home. He had been evacuated with the Expeditionary Force from Dunkirk. He was in hospital at this very moment in Sussex.

“Gretchen! Gretchen!” I cried. “Edward is home!”

She was beside me, crying: “What? What?”

“Gretchen must come home at once,” my mother was saying. “Yes, yes, Gretchen, isn’t it wonderful news?” No, she had not seen him yet. They would go to the hospital in Horsham. No, he was not badly hurt. Some little thing. Gretchen must not worry. My mother was planning practically. Perhaps we could keep Hildegarde down at Tregarland’s for the time being. Then Gretchen could come straight to Caddington and they would arrange everything from there.

Gretchen looked bewildered but blissful. Dorabella was hugging her. I was loath to let my mother go.

She was saying: “No … no news of Jowan yet?”

“No,” I replied.

“It will come,” she said brightly.

“I pray so.”

“Darling,” said my mother, “we are all with you. Let us know if there is any news … at once. Things are changing. I’m sure we’re going to get some good news soon.”

I smiled wanly. With the enemy on our doorstep? With the country on the alert for invasion? With the might of Germany facing us across a strip of water?

Still, I had to remember that Edward was home. Edward was safe.

“Please God,” I prayed, “let Jowan come back to me.”

Gretchen left that day and the waiting went on. I lifted my face to the clear blue sky and felt a vague annoyance because the world was so beautiful at this time. It was as though we were being told: this is how it could have been but for the folly of men.

Each day I waited. Where was Jowan? Had he been one of the men who had died before he could be rescued? Was he with the remains of the army who had been left behind?

Edward was not badly wounded. He had some shrapnel lodged in his right arm which had to be taken out. Then, after a brief leave which he and Gretchen could spend together, he would join his regiment in the West Country.

If this proved to be so, my mother said, it would be better for Gretchen to rejoin us so she would be nearer to him. She was sure her stay with us had done her good.

Lucky Gretchen! Lucky Edward! And still there was no news of Jowan.

How the days dragged on! Each morning when I awoke after a generally restless night, tormented by dreams which reflected my daytime fears, I wondered what the day held. Events were moving rapidly, but I was obsessed by one thing. Where was Jowan? What if I should never know! How could fate be so cruel as to show me what happiness I might have had and then snatch it away from me!

The French were fast collapsing; the myth of the impassable Maginot Line was destroyed; Marshal Pétain had asked for an armistice; we stood alone.

I was beginning to fear that Jowan would never return.

The position was grim. The Germans had control of the Channel ports and the Battle of Britain had started. We were in constant danger, not knowing from one moment to the next whether this would be our last.

Dorabella and I came down to breakfast one morning, finding Gordon drinking a cup of coffee before leaving.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he said. “There is a possibility of enemy agents coming into the country disguised as refugees. Small boats are still getting across the Channel. We have to watch. The idea is that when these boats come in, we will examine everyone in them before they are allowed to land. It is tricky because they will, in the main, be genuine refugees, but there will no doubt be people who would do a great deal to get through. We are setting up a watch along the coast. The most likely spots will be farther east, of course, as the distance is so much shorter there. But some might try Cornwall in spite of that because it would be easier to be undetected. Anyway, we have to be prepared.”

“This gets more and more fantastic,” said Dorabella.

Gordon gave her a slightly exasperated look.

“Fantastic indeed,” he said. “And more than that. We are in acute danger, you know. We have to be prepared night and day. During the day any boats could be seen. Fortunately, there are not many places along this coast where it would be easy to land. However, the beach below this house is certainly one of them and this little stretch of coast is our responsibility. I am preparing a rota and the beach will be watched throughout the hours of darkness by two observers. You two will naturally want to do your part. With the servants and the people from the cottages around here there will be several available, so your periods of duty will not come round so frequently.”

“Certainly we shall do our share,” I said. “Tell us more.”

“We shall watch in pairs for two hours each night. Fortunately at this time of year there are not many hours of darkness. You and Dorabella can watch together. Some of the older couples can join in. It will give them the satisfaction of helping the war effort.”

Charley and Bert Trimmell wanted to be on the rota and Gordon thought it was a good idea that they should be. He had discovered that Charley was quite interested in the estate and he was giving him tasks now and then for which he was receiving small payments. He and Gordon seemed to get on very well together.

Dorabella and I quite looked forward to those nocturnal duties. It was good to have something worthwhile to do and be able to do it together.

It was one o’clock in the morning. We had been on duty since midnight and at two o’clock the next pair would come to take over.

We sat looking across the sea, talking desultorily.

“How strange life has become,” said Dorabella. “At least it’s not exactly boring. I found it so once …”

“That was when you had the urge to run away with your Frenchman,” I said.

“You wouldn’t understand. I saw life stretching out before me … year after year … the same old thing day after day. And the impulse came. Oh, no, you wouldn’t understand. Violetta would always do her duty.”

“You left Tristan,” I said. “That was what I could not understand.”

“He was only a child. Oh, it’s no use trying to explain. I thought I’d settle in Paris, and Dermot would divorce me. I would marry Jacques Dubois and you would come over to see me. I thought it would work somehow.”

“That’s just like you. You make a wild plan and then imagine everything is going to work out to make it come right.”

“Don’t scold.”

“Well, it was all rather stupid, as it turned out.”

“You’ll never understand.”

“I think I do … quite well.”

Then suddenly I saw the light on the water. It was a long way out, almost on the horizon. It flickered for a moment and then went out.

“Did you see that?” I whispered.

“Where?”

“Look. No. Towards the horizon there. It’s gone. No. There it is again.”

Dorabella was staring ahead of her. “Lights,” she whispered. “Oh, Violetta, they’ve come. The invasion has started!”

“Wait a minute,” I whispered. “It’s gone. No, there it is.”

For a few seconds we watched the unearthly lights on the water.

“There’s another, and another,” I cried.

It was light and then dark; the lights seemed to be bobbing on the water.

I said: “We must give the alarm at once. I’ll call Gordon. You wait here and watch.”

I hurried to the house and up to Gordon’s room. I knocked on his door. There was no answer, so I went in.

He was fast asleep.

“Gordon!” I cried. “They’ve come. It’s the invasion.”

Within seconds he was out of bed and pulling on some clothes.

As we came out of his room, one of the servants appeared.

“Wake everyone up,” cried Gordon. “Raise the alarm!”

We hurried down. Dorabella came to meet us.

The sea was dark now. I wondered whether the enemy had realized their lights had been seen.

There were voices everywhere, and several people on the cliff looking out to sea. The whole company of the Local Defence Volunteers had arrived.

“Should us alert them in Plymouth, sir?” asked one.

“We’m getting the church bells ringing down in Poldown, sir,” said another.

And then we heard the bells ringing out.

Dorabella and I were aghast, because the sea was in darkness and the lights we had seen seemed to have disappeared entirely. We looked at each other in dismay. We could not have been mistaken. We had seen them clearly.

And then suddenly there was a flash of brightness.

We were vindicated. They were really there. For a moment I felt almost a relief, and then immediately I was ashamed of myself.

There were several fishermen in the crowd of watchers. I heard one of them laugh and the others joined in.

“They be fish,” cried one of them. “They Germans be naught but a shoal of fish.”

There was a deep silence, and then everyone started to laugh with relief.

Dorabella and I could not hide the fact that we were deeply mortified.

“Don’t ’ee fret, Miss,” said one of the old men. “Couldn’t be expected to know ’em … not coming from these parts. Us ’as seen ’em time and time again. ’Tis familiar like to us.”

Gordon said: “You did well.” And raising his voice, he added: “We have been shown tonight that we are well protected. If anything should happen we should have had our warning.”

It was something which would never be forgotten. Of course, it was the phosphorescence of fishes’ scales we had seen and which had deluded us into thinking they were lights on boats. It was something of a joke but people tittered when they saw us.

We knew what they were saying. “What could ’ee expect from a batch of foreigners? Didn’t know the difference between fish and Germans.”

But everyone was delighted, of course, that it had been a false alarm and the night we called out the guard for a shoal of fish would never be forgotten.

We could scarcely believe what was happening. Across that strip of water, which mercifully divided us from the scene of disaster, the Germans were occupying more than half of France, including all the ports; the army was demobilized, the fleet in enemy hands. The French, who had agreed not to make a separate peace, were now being required by the Germans not only to surrender, but to help them in the war against Britain.

All through the days we waited for fresh disasters.

We heard the Prime Minister express his grief and amazement that our onetime allies could have accepted such terms.

One evening there was a broadcast by General de Gaulle, who was in England and determined to free his country; his plan was to preserve the independence of France and help Britain in the war against Germany. Only an actual invasion could have made the situation worse.

I think we were all in a state of shock listening to the rallying call of our Prime Minister, which never failed to bring us out of our despondency and give hope—and a touch of excitement—to us all. He assured us that we would be ready. We would fight the enemy in any place on our island, wherever he dared to show his face. We would succeed—and somehow he made us believe that.

Gretchen came down. She had a great deal to tell us. There was a change in her. Edward was home and the immediate terror of imagined disaster was lifted. His wound had been slight and she admitted that she had wished it had not healed so quickly. Now he had rejoined his regiment and was ready to defend the country, but at least he would be here, on our own soil, and not in some foreign land.

She was very careful in what she said. I knew she was afraid to appear too happy at Edward’s return because she feared that would call attention to the fact that Jowan had not been one of those who came back. I could read her thoughts as I knew she did mine, and I could feel closer to her at that time than I could even to Dorabella.

One day Gretchen said to me: “What is the matter with that boy—I mean Charley, the one from London?”

“What do you mean, Gretchen? Gordon thinks he is rather bright.”

“He certainly seems very bright. I find him watching me. I suddenly look up and find his eyes on me, and he is giving me such a strange look. He turns away when he realizes I am looking at him and tries to pretend he was doing no such thing. Do you know, it’s a little upsetting.”

“Perhaps you are imagining it.”

“At first I thought so, but it happens all the time. I was just in the garden and looked up at a window. And I saw him there … watching. What can it mean? I thought perhaps you could find out.”

“I’ll try, but I can’t imagine what.”

“The young boy is doing it, too.”

“Bert?”

“The brother, yes. It is like some game. I can’t explain it. It’s creepy in a way.”

“I’ll see if I can find out what it’s all about.”

“I somehow feel they don’t like me.”

“Why should they not? They are just interested in everybody and everything here. It must be such a change for them. I think they have settled in rather well.”

Nothing would convince Gretchen that there was not something behind the boys’ behavior.

I decided the easiest way would be to try Bert, who might betray something more readily than his brother would.

I found him alone and said: “Bert, do you like Mrs. Denver?”

Bert opened his eyes wide, caught his breath, and put on an air of wariness.

“Well, Miss …” he began and stopped.

“What is it? What don’t you like about her? Why are you always watching her?”

“Well,” said Bert, “you’ve got to watch ’em, ain’t you?”

“Have you? Why?”

“Well, ’cos …”

“Because what?” I asked.

“Well, you know, Miss, we go to watch out for ’em every night, don’t we? Charley says …”

“Yes, what does Charley say?”

Bert wriggled a little.

“Charley says you’ve got to watch ’em. You never know what they’ll be up to.”

“What do you think Mrs. Denver will be ‘up to’?”

“Well, she’s one of ’em, ain’t she? She’s a German.”

I felt sick. I was reminded of that scene in the schloss when those violent young men had tried to break up the furniture.

I said: “Listen, Bert. Mrs. Denver is our friend. In a way she is related to me. She is good and kind and this war has nothing to do with her. She is on our side. She wants us to win this war. It is very important to her and her family that we do.”

“But we watch out for ’em, don’t we? And she’s one of them. Charley says we ought to watch her.”

“I must talk to Charley,” I said. “Will you bring him to me?”

Bert nodded and willingly ran off. Soon after he returned with his brother.

“Charley,” I said. “I want to talk to you about Mrs. Denver.”

Charley’s eyes narrowed and he looked wise.

“She’s on our side, Charley,” I said.

Charley looked disbelieving and gave me a look of mild contempt.

“I have to explain something to you,” I said. “It is true that Mrs. Denver is a German.” I went on: “But they are not all bad, you know. Moreover, she and her family have been treated very badly by them. Hitler is as much her enemy as ours—perhaps more so.” I tried to explain briefly and vividly what had happened at the schloss on that never-to-be-forgotten night, and I think I must have done so effectively. His eyes narrowed. He was a shrewd boy. He understood something about violence, I could see.

I finished: “You see, Charley, it is of as great importance to her as to us that we win this war.”

He nodded gravely and I knew that I had brought home my point.

It must have been a month after the incident of the phosphorescent fish, and Dorabella and I were on one of our seats in the garden watching the sea. A dark night, with a thin crescent moon, a midnight blue sky, and a smooth, almost silent sea.

The first fears of invasion no longer enveloped us. It is amazing how quickly one can become accustomed to disaster. Our spirits had been considerably lifted by the Prime Minister’s frequent broadcasts to the nation, and each passing week meant that we were more prepared. We were told that the nine divisions brought back from Dunkirk were now reinforced and at full strength. Here, in our country, there were forces from the Colonies, also Poles, Norwegians, Dutch, and French—the latter being built up by General de Gaulle. All over Britain men were rallying to the Local Defence Volunteers, and even in the last few weeks our position had improved considerably.

We were by no means lulled into security, but we were optimistic and we were certain that, when it came to conflict, we would stand firm and win.

“Do you realize,” Dorabella said to me, “it is nearly a year since all this started? It seems it has been going on forever.”

She smiled wistfully. She knew I was thinking of Jowan, as I always must be. Where was he? Should I ever see him again?

Then suddenly I noticed it. It was a faint light, not on the horizon, as we had seen with the fish, but much nearer to land.

“Do you see … ?” I began.

Dorabella was staring out to sea.

“Fish?” she said.

“Yes, perhaps it is …”

The light disappeared and then there was darkness.

“They are still laughing at us because of that night,” said Dorabella. “Only the other day … oh, look, there it is again!”

It was there and then gone. There was darkness and no sound but the gentle swishing of the waves on the beach below.

Dorabella yawned.

“Well,” she said, “we learned our lesson. No more raising the alarm for a shoal of fish.”

“They all enjoyed it and the locals were glad to have a laugh at our expense.”

“There’s something in that. Anything that can make people laugh these days can’t be all bad.”

“Gretchen is happier now.”

“It must be wonderful for her. I wish …”

She stopped, and I said: “I know. I’ve just got to go on hoping.”

“There’ll be some news soon. I feel it in my bones. I’ve got some very reliable bones.”

She was trying to cheer me. I wondered if she really believed that Jowan would come back safely.

Then I was back again, thinking of those places where we had met, going over what had been said between us, how we had gradually become aware of our feelings for each other. I remembered how unhappy I had been when I thought Dorabella was dead, and how he had comforted me and how different I had been then. Experiences change people, force them into maturity. How young I must have been before that visit to Germany!

Dorabella gave a sudden start.

“Look! Down there! I saw it on the water, a dark object bobbing about on the tide.”

“It’s a boat,” I said, and I heard the drumming of an engine.

“Probably one of the fishermen coming in late,” replied Dorabella.

We waited for a few seconds. We could not see the boat coming into the beach.

“Should we give the alarm?” I asked.

“And make ourselves a laughingstock again?”

“It’s what we’re supposed to do.”

“Gordon said we did the right thing. How were we to know about those wretched fishes?”

“Let’s go down and see who it is,” I said. “I bet it’s old Jim Treglow or Harry Penlore, or one of them. They might be just doing it to catch us … to get another laugh at the expense of ‘they foreigners.’”

“Suppose it’s some secret agent?”

“Don’t make me laugh! That’s one of the old fishing boats. There are lots of them in the harbor.”

I hesitated. We must not call the alarm again unless it was really necessary. If we had waited a while on that other occasion, we might have realized what we had seen was a shoal of fish and not an invading army.

“Come on,” said Dorabella. “We’ll watch them come in and, if it is anyone we don’t know, we’ll run up and give the alarm. There’ll be time.”

We sped down the path to the beach and stood close together in the shelter of an overhanging rock. The engine had been shut off and there were no lights showing now. Nearer and nearer came the boat. It touched the sand and then I heard a man’s voice say something in French.

Dorabella caught her breath as the man looked up at the cliff face towards the house. He had not seen us.

Then he turned and another slight figure wrapped in a cloak had started to climb out of the boat. A woman, I thought.

We had to act. We had to slip away unseen. We had to give the alarm. No one must be allowed to come ashore without some interrogation.

The man was looking our way. He had seen us. He spoke almost in a whisper but his voice was clear on the night air.

Dorabella said: “Jacques …”

The man heard. He stepped towards us, the girl beside him.

Dorabella came out of the shelter of the rock. She walked towards the pair.

She said: “Jacques, what are you doing here?”

He turned and faced her.

“Dorabella, ma petite …” Then he held out his hands.

They stood facing each other, then he turned to his companion and said: “This is my sister, Simone.”

I knew who he was now. I had seen him before at the Christmas party at Jermyn’s Priory when he had first met Dorabella. He was the French artist who had been painting the Cornish coast, and for the sake of whom she had faked a drowning accident and fled to France, leaving her husband and her little son Tristan.

He released her and turned to me, stretching out a hand and taking mine in his.

“I am so glad to see you,” he said in his accented English. “I did not think we would arrive. The sea is calm but the craft is frail … and it is a long way to come.”

“Why … why?” stammered Dorabella.

“You ask that. We cannot live in France … not till we are free again. Neither Simone nor I. It is impossible. We are two of many who are making this journey. They take to the sea … they take the small boat… and they risk their lives …but what good is life as slaves, eh? So, we escape.”

“I see,” said Dorabella. “It was very brave of you.”

She was studying Simone, a small, dark girl who looked romantically beautiful in the darkness of the night. I noticed she was shaking, and I said: “You must be cold.”

“We had long at sea,” she answered. “It is not easy … this Manche. No … even on such a night as this. We are cold and hungry but we rejoice to have succeed. We are here … as we planned to be.”

“We can give you some food and something to drink,” I said. “Come up to the house. You can tell us all about what is happening over there.”

“And you … out at this time?” asked Jacques.

“On the watch,” replied Dorabella. “For people like you. No, really, we are looking for Germans.”

“The enemy … you expect … ?”

“Any minute,” said Dorabella. “We are on watch every night.”

“And you find us! I did not expect to see you so soon. I planned to land and wait till morning somewhere along the coast. Then we should throw ourselves on your mercy. We want to work for the overthrow of these tyrants who have taken our country. I shall join General de Gaulle as soon as possible … and there will be some work Simone can do.”

I said: “I think you had better tie up your boat. I’ll go and tell Gordon what has happened.”

“My sister is so practical,” Dorabella told them.

“Ah, yes,” said Jacques. “I remember this Gordon. The good manager, is that not so? You must tell him?”

“Yes. He is in control here and you will understand we have to report to him.”

“Of course, of course.”

I left them and went ahead into the house. My thoughts were in a whirl. What a coincidence! Dorabella’s lover, escaping and coming to our beach! But then, I supposed he had made for it, thinking how much easier it would be to explain himself to those who already knew him than to strangers.

It was all very strange, but then so many strange things were happening now.