'I was merely judging by your expression,' he informed her, the satire in his voice matching to perfection the glance he had given her.

'I'm sure there was nothing in my expression that could be described as pained!'

'But you can't see your expression,' he pointed out. 'I can-and it most certainly is one of pained embarra.s.sment.'

Was he teasing her? she wondered, incredulity in the look she directed at him. He most certainly had never been in a teasing mood before... at least, not with her.

'I don't understand you, Mr van der Linden,' she said on a note of complaint. 'You talk in riddles.'

The lazy amber eyes became veiled for a moment, their depths enigmatic. It seemed that, for some obscure reason of his own, he had drifted momentarily on to another plane of thought... and Sara felt unaccountably that Irma was in some way concerned. She looked at him, saw the tightness of the olive skin over a jaw that had suddenly flexed, and her pulses quickened with vexation because she found him so unfathomable. What was he thinking? The last words she had spoken to him came back to her: she had said she did not understand him, that he talked in riddles. And immediately on this recapture of memory came the words which he had spoken earlier, concerning Irma's plight and making the subtle suggestion that she might take her own life, '... if her position becomes unbearable.'

Sara had it! Like a flash she knew what Carl was thinking. He, too, was recalling the phrase, and dwelling on the fact that Sara had not understood what lay behind those actual words. But he was wrong, of course: she had understood, very plainly indeed. He had been blaming her, but he had been warning her too... warning her that, should her sister take her own life, then Sara would be the one on whose shoulders lay the blame.

Unconsciously she gave a deep sigh, which Carl heard, and he looked at her. She knew she was pale, most of the colour having left her cheeks. She saw his eyes flicker, noted their slow movement from her face to her hair-which was still falling in damp tendrils on to her shoulders. He seemed to realise that she was uncomfortable under his prolonged unsmiling scrutiny and he spoke, lightly remarking on the fact that the storm seemed to be abating.

'But you'll not be able to get home tonight,' he added, seeing Sara's eyes widen instinctively with hope. 'It's not the rain, Miss Morgan, it's the state of that road.'

'Yes, of course.' She glanced through the window. Dusk was falling, and the gardens, already looking forlorn beneath the sombre sky, were losing what little colour they had retained in the face of so much destruction. 'Will it take long for it all to dry up once the storm's over?' Sara turned her head to look up into those lazy amber eyes of his. 'I haven't had any experience of a really bad storm since coming here. Normally, the ground begins to steam immediately the rain stops and within a very short time the sun's dried up most of the surface water.'

'This time it'll take much longer, especially on that path, which always becomes impa.s.sable in a really heavy downpour.'

She bit her lip.

'Shall I get home tomorrow?' she asked anxiously.

'I should think so.'

'And the ranch wagon...?'

'Don't worry about it. My boys will soon have it out of the mud.'

'Will it have taken any harm? It seemed to have sunk quite some way into the mud.'

'We shall have to see. However, it isn't your worry,' he added casually. 'I shall drive you home, and the rest will be left to Ray.'

The conversation became inconsequential from then on and Sara wondered whether Carl was as bored as she. Earlier Anna, one of Carl's maids, had shown her to a very attractive bedroom whose colour-scheme of dove-grey and lilac, with bird's-eye maple furniture, seemed to have been the work of a woman's hand rather than that of a man of such austere personality as that of Carl van der Linden. Thinking about the bedroom now Sara waited an opportunity to break the boredom of the conversation to ask if she might go and lie down for an hour as she had a slight headache. This excuse was a white lie, but she had no qualms about voicing it, since she was convinced that Carl was just as anxious to rid himself of her company as she was to rid herself of his. She and he would never get along, she decided, not if they knew each other for a hundred years. They had nothing in common...

Nothing in common... She was musing on this as she went to her room. The truth was that they had one very important thing in common: Irma's welfare. Not for the first time Sara was searching her mind for some logical reason for Carl's interest in her sister. Had he been a long-standing friend of Ray it would have been understandable, but he had known him for little more than five months. It was so puzzling, and Sara felt impatient at her inability to understand Carl's obvious concern for her sister. True, it was natural that the idea of her inflicting harm on herself should trouble him, just as it would trouble anyone else, but Carl was showing something far more personal than mere neighbourly concern.

'The man's an enigma!' she exclaimed almost angrily. 'I wish I could understand his mind!'

Dismissing him from her thoughts, she went into the mauve and white bathroom, deciding to take advantage of what it had to offer. The bath was oval-shaped, and sunken into a carpeted floor. The taps, towel-rails and other fitments were gold-plated. A huge oval mirror practically covered one wall, while on another was a scene-in tiles-of an underwater garden, with trees and flowers in coral, and brilliantly-coloured fish swimming in their midst.

Here again was the hand of a woman, and a clever woman at that. Was it his mother? Sara shook her head, deciding that he had no parents living. Perhaps he had a sister. How little she knew about him-not that she wanted to know much at all. Mere acquaintanceship with a man like Carl was more than enough for anyone!

She stooped to turn on the taps, standing still and watching the bath fill up. She found scented bath salts, a very expensive-and very feminine-brand of talc.u.m powder on a shelf above the wash-hand basin. She supposed these were there for use, and yet she hesitated, feeling she might be taking a liberty. However, she did use the bath salts, luxuriously enjoying their subtle perfume as she lay in languid comfort in the big bath. That feeling of well-being crept over her again, as it had crept over her downstairs, when she had been in the cloakroom. This house was restful; it had the same sort of tranquil atmosphere which Sara had encountered in the home of her employer, the charming t.i.tled lady who had conquered adversity by the determination to retain her cheerful personality. It had been a real pleasure to work for her, and as she lay here, in i he bath, Sara could not help sighing for what she had given up, could not control the nostalgia which filled her as the vision of her past life rose up before her.

Her job had been so easy, with many words of praise, and little rewards which, though of scant material value, meant such a lot to Sara. She still had several small bottles of perfume, some dainty lace handkerchiefs, a few pretty pieces of costume jewellery. These all had their own individual meanings; they had been given to Sara as tokens of appreciation when, for some reason or another, she had had to put herself out a little for her employer.

'You shouldn't feel you have to reward me,' Sara had at first protested, but she had not known her employer very well at that time. Later, she understood her personality so well that she recognised the genuine pleasure which the woman was deriving from the giving of these little presents.

Another sigh escaped her, but she was at the same lime telling herself that she could not have acted in any other way than she had. Irma needed her and that was why she was here. It was both love and duty which had brought her, and despite the emotional disturbances caused by her own love for Ray, Sara knew she would do the same again; she would answer her sister's call without the slightest hesitation.

But what of the future? The problems loomed larger than ever now owing to the way Irma's mind was beginning to work. Yet Sara felt there was some way out of the 'difficulty. She had never looked on the black side, merely because she had realised the futility of it. She did have a happy knack of looking on the bright side of everything, just as Irma had said, and she was even now visualising a cure-if not a complete cure, then one which would enable her sister to get about, to leave that bed and that room, and the scene from the window which must already be so familiar as to be totally without interest. Meanwhile, there was the more immediate possibility of persuading Irma to try out a wheelchair. Sara's employer had had one before she became so crippled that she had to keep to her bed. She had told Sara how wonderful the chair had been, how it had helped her to get about the house and do certain things for herself. Sara's own visions extended to an invalid carriage which Irma could drive, taking herself to town, perhaps.

'If some of this can materialise, then Irma won't be thinking of such things as oblivion,' Sara decided, speaking her thoughts aloud. She was still fully relaxed, enjoying the warmth of the scented water, the peace, the feeling of aloneness which she had not experienced since coming to Africa. She liked being alone sometimes; her employer had instilled into her the necessity of this, saying, quite definitely, 'Everyone who is intelligent needs to be alone on occasions. We have thinking power, and private thoughts are to be indulged in when we're on our own. All my life I have insisted on having my own company for at least an hour each day.'

Yes, it certainly was nice to be alone. Sara prolonged her stay in the bath, and even when she did come out she lingered over getting dressed. She thought of hav- ing dinner with Carl and, being all woman-and despite her dislike of her host-she wished she had something more appropriate than the denims and the shirt. The ends of her hair had become wet again, but the rest was dry, and shining. She combed it, then used the blusher on her cheeks and the lip-rouge on her mouth.

The mirror sent back her reflection; she found her thoughts going to Irma, and the real beauty that was hers. Ray had been bowled over the moment he had set eyes on her, and no wonder. Irma had had many boy-friends, being more fond of the social life than Sara. Her job, too, brought her into contact with young men, as she had worked in the office of a large insurance company. Sara on the other hand had worked first In a hospital, and then had been persuaded to take the post of private nurse, and although a little doubtful at first as to whether she wanted to be on call all the time, she was soon admitting that she had no regrets about taking the job, and she never would have.

But this demanding kind of job allowed little time lor socialising, and the only occasions when Sara really went out to dances and parties was during her holiday breaks, which were fairly often, her employer insisting on her having four breaks a year of one week each. During these times another nurse took over Sara's duties, and so Sara had no qualms about leaving her employer and going to stay with Irma in the smart little house she had been left by their uncle who, though he liked Sara and left her a small legacy, had always favoured Irma.

It was on these visits that Sara began to realise just how beautiful her sister was. The young men swarmed around her at every party or dance; she could have had HI many dates as she could fix into her leisure time. But she had never been serious with any man until she met Ray; it was love at first sight for both of them, and despite her own breaking heart Sara had to admit that they were ideally suited to one another.

With a last glance in the mirror she turned away, her thoughts still with Irma and Ray, the picture uppermost in her mental vision that of the wedding, when the glowing bride in white had walked down the aisle on the arm of her handsome husband. Everyone had gasped at the sight; there had been exclamations and soulful sighs. No one had had any eyes for the bride's sister; no perceptive glance had caught the shadows of unhappiness on her face, or the tremulous movement of her expressive mouth. Outside the church Sara had smiled for the photographer; her eyes had glowed in the sunshine. No one would have guessed that beneath her outward show of gaiety Sara's heart was almost breaking.

Carl was not in the sitting-room when Sara entered, a circ.u.mstance for which she was glad. Trying to keep up a conversation with a man she so disliked was an intolerable strain, and she hoped he would keep away until dinner-time. Immediately the meal was over she could bid him good night and go to bed.

She walked over to the window, greatly relieved to see that the rain had stopped altogether. But the dusk had long since given way to night and all was dark beyond the half-circle of light cast by powerful electric lamps fixed to the roof of the house. From where she stood Sara could see, to her right, the tall white gables of the dining-room, which was, she thought, an addition to the original homestead in that it lay at right angles to the main building and was of a slightly different type of architecture. The windows were long, with white shutters, and they faced a marble-floored verandah trellised with grapevines. Lights of subtle colours from golden-yellow through saffron to orange and amber illuminated the verandah, though the source of these lights was hidden, being cleverly masked within the foliage of the vines. Decorative pots held a variety of flowers-amaryllis and arum lilies, tuberoses, verbenas, coreopsis and several others which Sara could not make out, as they were at the far end of the verandah.

A light step behind her made Sara turn; Carl had entered the room and was now standing by the fireplace, his keen eyes taking in the fact that she had done her best to look respectable for the evening meal. He himself had changed into nothing more formal than a pair of brown linen slacks, a country-style shirt in handkerchief check and a tie with a heraldic design. It was obvious that he had considered her feelings and, quite unconsciously, she shot him a grateful glance. He smiled faintly and said, 'Dinner will be ready in about half an hour or so. Perhaps you would like a drink of something?'

'Yes, please.' Sara suddenly felt shy, but contrived a smile for all that. 'A dry sherry, I think.'

As he turned to go over to the c.o.c.ktail cabinet she watched him, impressed by his air of confidence, the mastery displayed in his tall lean frame and the distinguished manner in which he carried it. She had already admitted to the superlative qualities of his looks and his physique, and she found herself making the same admission now. But this time, for some reason she could not explain, there was not the same reluctance in her admission.

He brought her the drink, contained in a delightful hand-engraved crystal gla.s.s. She smiled her thanks, saw to her surprise that his response came spontaneously. The interlude before dinner might not be so unpleasant after all, she thought.

CHAPTER FOUR.

The dinner was served at eight o'clock, in an atmosphere of quiet elegance cleverly combined with sophistication. Apart from the two standard lamps giving out a muted rose-amber glow, the only illumination was from the candles set high in an ornate silver candelabrum in the centre of the table. Quiet music of the light cla.s.sical kind was coming from a tape recorder in the hi-fi cabinet; suitably fine wines were on the sideboard, ready to be opened, while a bottle of champagne had been put into the ice bucket. Sara, conducted to her chair by Carl, who drew it out for her, found herself again in a state of unreality, her mind confused as it jostled with conflicting thoughts stimulated by the various aspects of Carl's character which she had seen today. From being a man unapproachable, austere, and almost rude in his att.i.tude towards her, he had become thoughtful for her comfort, understanding of her embarra.s.sment, gallant in his role as her host.

The first course, brought in by Anna on a silver tray, was shrimps mariette served piping hot. This was followed by loin of pork alsacienne; the sweet was apricot souffle, accompanied by iced champagne. Then came coffee and liqueurs served in the sitting-room, where the soft music could still be heard, extra speakers having been fitted in the four corners of the room. Sara, amazed at the cordiality existing between Carl and herself, could have wished the evening to go on for at least twice as long as it did. With a faint smile she recalled her previous intention of making her excuses immediately dinner was over and going to bed. Now, as she sat in the comfortable armchair drinking steaming coffee and sipping a liqueur, nothing was farther from her thoughts than putting an abrupt end to this most pleasant interlude. All her problems and heartaches had dissolved; she was in another world... a world of peace where nothing or no one could ever hurt her again.

Her thoughts brought a smile to her lips and Carl, happening to glance at her from over the rim of his brandy gla.s.s, asked her softly what she was feeling so happy about.

'It's the peace,' she answered at once, without really thinking that perhaps such a reply would puzzle him.

He lifted his eyebrows inquiringly.

'That's not very clear,' he said.

'There are no problems here,' she returned with a little sigh in her voice.

The lazy amber eyes flickered with an odd expression.

'Problems,' he said, 'are very often of one's own making.' Although he spoke mildly, enough, there was an undertone of contempt in his voice that could not possibly escape Sara's ears. She knew what he meant, and was angry with herself for her unthinking remark. To mention problems was to give him an opening to I)ring up the subject of Irma again.

'I wouldn't argue with you wholly, Mr van der Linden,' she said, offering him a smile in the hope that he would revert to his former pleasant manner with her. 'But I must say that many problems we encounter in life are definitely not of our own making.'

The amber eyes glinted, then scanned her face in a way that could only be described as censorious.

'It's my belief,' he said slowly and emphatically, 'that in your particular case the problems you have are of your own making.' So subtle the implication; this was a tactful approach but a direct one nevertheless. Disconcerted, Sara averted her head, sipping her liqueur. How long before he took the liberty of informing her that he knew she was in love with her sister's husband? Well, she intended to leave the ball in his court, but if ever he did decide to tell her what he knew, then she would most certainly take advantage of the opening and tell him the truth. He would learn that she had not come out to Njangola Farm in order to be near to Ray, but in answer to the appeal made by Irma; he would surely grasp, then, that all Sara's solicitude was centred on her unfortunate sister, that Irma's welfare was her chief concern and always would be. Carl would have to admit that Sara was neither so designing nor so b.i.t.c.hy as he had branded her.

She took another sip of her liqueur, her mind dwelling on what she had been thinking, going over it... and slowly, almost imperceptibly, the knowledge was borne upon her that she wanted Carl to change his opinion of her! Gone was her indifference regarding his conception of her character. What he thought of her really mattered!

Staggered by this admission, she looked covertly at him, seeing him differently from how she had seen him before, noting his chiselled good looks with a new kind of interest. What was wrong with her? she asked herself with slight impatience. Why should she have changed in her att.i.tude towards him? Hitherto, he had merely been the neighbour who was proving useful to her brother-in-law, helping him over difficulties connected with the farm. As such, it was inc.u.mbent on Sara to extend to him a measure of politeness, which she dutifully did extend, but with an even greater measure of reluctance.

But now...

She sipped her liqueur again, aware that she was lightheaded. A swift calculation-which took her from the aperitif to the full-bodied Burgundy and on to the iced champagne and, lastly, to the Grand Marnier which she was now drinking-gave her rather a shock and she found herself asking the question, 'Am I tipsy?' Disgusted, she laid down the gla.s.s and picked up her coffee. Yes, she was tipsy, without a doubt, and that was the reason why she was feeling less hostile towards the man sitting there, looking so languidly comfortable, with his back against the soft velvet cushions, his long legs stretched out in front of him, and his half- narrowed eyes studying the tracery of light that marbled the surface of his cognac. She watched him tilt the gla.s.s; she looked at his eyes again and wondered what he was thinking. An enigmatic man, cool and confident and totally self-sufficient, he seemed to live for his work, although he did allow himself the recreation of playing polo and of attending the various functions which were held at the Glenview Club. Ray had said that he had a tennis court and a swimming- pool in his grounds here, but whether or not he used them Sara did not know.

Sensing her interest, he glanced her way. She coloured daintily and a smile fluttered. How charming lie seemed! His severe features had softened, his eyes were smiling at her. She no longer found his mouth thin and ruthless, or his demeanour arrogant. In fact... she rather liked the man! Yes, he was quite nice, pleasant--- Her thoughts cut as she realised just how greatly affected she was by the alcohol she had consumed. Carl van der Linden was no different now from what he was at any other time! It was just that her vision was blurred!

Deciding that she could do worse than make a speedy retreat to her bedroom, she drained her coffee cup, placed it on the saucer, and a moment later she was murmuring a few quiet words which she fervently hoped did not betray the state she was in. Carl looked a little surprised, glancing at the clock as he said, 'Going to bed, at this time?'

She nodded as she rose from her chair.

'I'm very tired,' she returned, and took a couple of steps towards the door. Good lord! Her legs had never felt so weak!

'Goodnight, then---- ' Carl's voice checked; and saw his fine lips twitch, his eyes glimmer with amus.e.m.e.nt. Automatically she put cool hands to her cheeks. Why on earth hadn't she remembered that she was unused to taking more than one small sherry and one gla.s.s of table wine? How many times had Carl refilled her gla.s.s? She had no recollection of his refilling it at all, but she did remember drinking the wine-and thoroughly enjoying it! 'You-er-know the way to your room?' No mistaking the dry amus.e.m.e.nt now. The insufferable man was laughing at her! She tilted her chin, and at the same time sent him a sparkling glance.

'I should hope so! I've been to it twice already!'

'Of course. However, just call out if you happen to get lost.' He watched the tightening of her mouth and gave a brief laugh as, leaning forward, he placed his brandy gla.s.s on the table in front of him. 'Do you know, Miss Morgan, anger makes you appear quite pretty.'

'You--- !' She stopped, terrified that her legs would give way. 'Goodnight!' she said, and managed somehow to reach the door without losing one sc.r.a.p of her dignity. Once through it she hastened away, thankful to be reaching her room without mishap. 'It was his fault,' she seethed as she stepped out of her denims and laid them over a chair. 'He did it on purpose!'

Which of course was not true, and she was soon admitting it. For how was he to know she couldn't take more than one gla.s.s of wine? It was the champagne, she decided, sitting on the edge of the bed and unb.u.t.toning her shirt. It was very good, though, that sparkling wine they had drunk with the dessert. Did Carl always have it, even when he was alone? He had certainly drawn that cork with the expertise of one to whom the task was a regular occurrence.

Sara made her way to the bathroom, where she drank two gla.s.ses of cold water. That seemed better, but she was now conscious of a headache. Convinced that she would have difficulty in getting to sleep, she got dressed again, deciding that some fresh air would not come amiss.

The window of her room opened on to a verandah from where steps led to the patio fronting the room which she knew to be Carl's study. Would he be there? ft was unlikely, she thought, seeing that she had left him comfortably relaxing in the sitting-room, listening to the music and enjoying his brandy.

The air was deliriously fresh and cool after the rain and the sky, which had so recently been cloud-laden, was filled with stars, and the crescent moon shone in their midst. Relieved to find that the effects of the wine were wearing off, Sara decided to take a short stroll in the grounds, but she had not gone very far when she became conscious of a sound behind her. She wheeled about, and came face to face with Carl.

'Oh...!' Her heartbeats increased, though she could see no reason why they should. 'I-I'm just taking the air.'

'Sobering up,' he suggested, uncaring for her feelings. ' I saw you come down the steps and felt I ought to keep an eye on you.' So casual! He might have been used to keeping an eye on females who'd had too much to drink!

Naturally Sara was embarra.s.sed, but she contrived to sound as casual as he as she said, 'I have no idea why you should feel I need watching. I a.s.sure you I'm not sobering up, as you so impolitely put it.'

'Liar,' he returned softly. 'Why didn't you tell me you weren't used to it?'

She bit her lip. He was far too perceptive, this one!

'I think I shall return to my room,' she began, when he interrupted her.

'What made you come out? A headache?'

Sara gave a sigh of resignation. No use trying to fob him off, she decided, and said yes, she had a headache.

'I thought the fresh air would cure it,' she added, her eyes caught by fireflies glowing luminous in one of the bushes not far from where she and Carl were standing.

'A couple of tablets would be much more effective,' he told her. 'Come on back inside and I'll give you some.'

She hesitated, for although she had mentioned returning to her room, she was enjoying the fresh air, and the scent of the garden after the rain. It promised to be the kind of night she had so very much enjoyed when first she came to the farm. She had not slept very well, and would get up from her bed and go on to the stoep, her dressing-gown wrapped snugly around her. She had been excited by the magic of the African night with its velvet sky spangled with stars, with the enormous moon sailing among the wispy clouds, its argent light spraying the slumbering bushveld.

She looked up at Carl and said quietly, 'I'd rather stay out here for a while, if you don't mind?'

He seemed to frown in the darkness.

'But you've just expressed the intention of returning to your room,' he reminded her.

'I've changed my mind,' she said on a note of defiance.

'How like a woman! Still, it's her prerogative, so it's said. I shall walk with you,' he added, and fell into step beside her as she moved away.

They continued along the flagged path which eventually led to the swimming-pool. Sara stopped, her every nerve tensed. She had never felt quite like this, never been so profoundly aware of the attractiveness of a man. Ray had lit emotions she had never known before, but those were the kind of emotions she had been able to explain. These which she experienced now baffled her. She was excited, expectant, conscious of her heart beating a little too quickly. There was a strange inexplicable yearning within her which seemed all mixed up with the magic and the mystery of the night-the stars flaring in the sky and that clear-cut crescent moon, the whirring of cicadas in the trees, the distant drumbeat which only now penetrated her consciousness. It was just an echo, really, but primitive, haunting...

'Are you intending to remain here all night?' The voice, closer than she expected, drifted gently into her thoughts and she looked up into Carl's face. This was too unreal! She had no right to be here, in this magical setting, with a man as attractive as Carl van der Linden!

'No-er-no,' she stammered. 'I ought to-to be going back.'

'Ought?' with a faint lifting of his brows. 'What exactly does that mean?' He came closer; he was above her looking down and she knew instinctively that were she to move away he would reach out and bring her back. Every nerve quivered; she was vaguely aware that the effects of the wine had not worn off-no, not by my means! 'You haven't answered me,' said Carl very softly. 'Are you going back or aren't you?'

She swallowed, wondering why her throat felt so dry.

'I'm going back, of course,' and determinedly she moved, stepping to one side of the path so as to get past him. The atmosphere between them was electric, and her nerves were taut as, breathless, she prepared herself to resist should he act in the way she fully expected him to act.

'Not quite yet, my dear.' The voice seemed to be edged with sardonic amus.e.m.e.nt as his hand came forward to grasp her wrist. She twisted about in an attempt to release herself, but his strong brown fingers closed more firmly and a low, amused laugh escaped him as, with a swift and masterful jerk, he brought her protesting body close to his. Her mind was still fuddled, her thoughts hazy as a result, but she did make some effort to escape his lips as they came down to meet hers. With another masterful gesture Carl took her chin in his hand and forced her head up. She saw laughter in his eyes, felt the sensuous pressure of his body against hers, the commanding strength of the hand that was forcing her head up. And then his mouth touched hers, gently at first, caressing in its movement as he invited reciprocation. She swallowed hard, and made another feeble effort to free herself. And then she accepted that she was helpless in his embrace; she steeled herself for his kiss, one part of her angrily determined to allow him no satisfaction at all... but the other half actually contemplating surrender.

And surrender it was to be. His mouth, hard and sensuous, forced her lips apart in a kiss so ruthless and primitive that her already heightened emotions seemed to be set on fire. His arms about her, hard and inflexible as steel, crushed her tender body so that she felt sure it must be bruised. The strength of him was incredible; she made no attempt to combat it, but allowed his ardour to conquer any small mental resistance she might have been trying to sustain. She was soon carried to blissful heights, thrilling in the end to the sort of magnificent domination which he was so easily exerting, making her feel small and helpless... and yet she liked the sensation! Vaguely there flitted through her mind such things as common sense and rational thought, but these prosaic expressions were soon crushed beneath the rapture surging through her whole being.

'I rather thought I'd enjoy doing that,' said Carl when at last he held her at arms' length and regarded her with a sort of lazy satire from that incredible height of his. 'And it's easy to see that you derived a similar pleasure. We must do it again some time.' So casual! He was amused, too, and she had the humiliating impression that he had done this kind of thing many times before. His expression was clearly one of contempt-yes, even in this half-light she could make out that sneering curl of his mouth. Anger surged within her; her eyes blazed as she said, tilting her head to meet his gaze, 'You hateful cad! I hope you're proud of yourself!'

Carl gave a brief laugh, releasing her from the grip of his hands.

'Are you going to deny that you enjoyed that little interlude, Miss Morgan?'

Miss Morgan... How utterly absurd that sounded after what had taken place! And yet she would not have him address her in any other way. What had happened to her during those few irrevocable moments? She must have been mad-quite out of her senses... Yes, she admitted, colouring with shame, she had been out of her senses. She thought: I'll never touch a drop of wine again!