"It isn't like that, Grand'mere. I know now that you sought him out just for this. You were determined to find him because we needed this money to open the Paris branch. Confess."

"I meet him. He wants to know what his daughter is doing. I tell him . . . and how could I not tell him of this? He listens . . . most intently . . . and he says to himself, 'Ah, here is a chance for me to right the wrong I did to my poor Marie Louise.

This is her daughter . . . hers and mine ... I will make her happy. I will give her this money for her business. I have plenty. I can do this with ease. But alas she will not take it. Her pride stops her.' Never mind his remorse, his sadness. That must not be helped because of this pride . . . this strong stubborn pride. . . .

I could not help laughing and very soon the others joined in.

The Countess wanted one of her celebrations. "Cassie," she called, "bring a bottle of champagne."

"But I have not agreed. ..."

"This is too great an opportunity to miss. You could not be so cruel to us all."

"But don't you see?"

"I see the future. I see that Paris salon. What we have always lacked can be ours."

Cassie came in with the champagne.

"What's happened?"

"Lenore's father has offered to put up the money for the Paris salon."

Cassie's face was alight with joy. She put down the tray and turned to me.

"Lenore," she said, "it's wonderful."

I thought: You, too, Cassie. And in the end I gave way.

Now there was bustle and excitement. I was gradually being convinced that I had done the right thing. My father was constantly at the salon. He listened to our plans with enthusiasm.

Julia called.

"The most wonderful thing has happened," the Countess told her. "We are going to open in Paris."

Julia listened wide-eyed.

"We have a benefactor," said the Countess gaily. "Lenore's father is putting up the money."

"Lenore's father!"

"Yes, he has appeared ... out of the blue. He is charming and generous."

My father came in while Julia was there and was introduced to her.

"I've seen you before," she said.

"You were with us in the park," I reminded her.

"Oh yes, I remember. The admirer. We joked about it. We said Lenore had an admirer.''

"So she has," said my father.

"How wonderful! You must tell me all about it."

The Countess could not stop talking. Even I was quite caught up in the project now, and when I saw the joy my acceptance had brought my father, I began to think they were all right.

"You are wise," said Julia. "Most of the houses have Paris branches. You will go zooming ahead now."

She talked of Christmas. "It was a pleasant time, wasn't it . . . until that girl had hysterics in the gallery. Everyone seemed to take that to heart. I suppose they think a lot about that sort of thing in the country. I expect Drake is working hard down there. He said he had to do a bit of 'nursing.' This is the time to do it. He has to be ready for this election . . . letting them all know how much he cares about them."

She kissed me effusively and went off.

That very day it was arranged that I should go with the Countess and my father to Paris. We were going to stay there until we had found the premises and set things in motion.

I was now as eager as any of them; my father was so happy. He would be of great help, said the Countess; not only was he a business man, but he was also French, and we should have to remember that we were in France.

"We are not likely to forget it," I told her.

She clapped her hands and murmured: "Paris"-as though Paris was heaven.

So I left Katie in the charge of Grand'mere and Cassie and with my father and the Countess I set out. From the moment we left the Gare du Nord, I was caught up in the excitement of that most enchanting of cities and I was convinced-as was the Countess-that our venture was going to be a success. It was comforting to be in the care of my father, for the city was a little bewildering. He had taken on all the arrangements; he knew exactly what we should do first. He was in high spirits and I realized how happy I had made him-as well as the others-by accepting this offer.

He hustled us into a cab and gave the cocher instructions to take us to our hotel in the Rue de la Fayette. I shall never forget that ride through the streets of Paris where everyone seemed so full of vitality. We passed markets where I glimpsed barrows on the pavements; the cafes and restaurants where, in the summer, my lather told me, I should see people eating and drinking at the tables in the open air as they liked to live out of doors. The traffic seemed to move in all directions and the drivers shouted to each other above the hubbub of the streets.

My father pointed out landmarks as we went along.

"Oh, you will love exploring Paris. I shall show you Montmartre . . . Notre Dame. . . . Oh, there is so much I shall show you."

"First," the Countess reminded him, "we have to find our premises."

"Ah yes, I do not forget, dear Countess, that is the object of our visit."

Soon we were installed in our hotel. I had a large high-ceilinged room with a balcony from which I could look down on the street. We should retire early, my father suggested, and tomorrow we would begin the search.

I was excited to be here but at the same time I was thinking of Katie and wondering whether she was missing me. I was thinking of Drake and that Christmas visit which had turned out so differently from what I had expected. I was, of course, thrilled by the prospect of the opening in Paris but my home and my heart were in London. Was that because Drake was there? Oddly my feelings for him seemed to have intensified since Christmas. Before that I had been uncertain, but the overwhelming disappointment I had known when he did not ask me to marry him, had shown me my true feelings. Julia's arrival had spoilt everything-as had that strange matter of the girl who had thought she saw a ghost.

Now I must give my mind to this Paris project. I thought: I will see them set up and then ... I will marry Drake. I would always have an interest in the business, but my first and foremost care would be for my family. Katie . . . and Drake. I looked forward to more children ... a son . . . another daughter. My life would be with my family. I would be a politician's wife; and I had heard someone say once that if a marriage was to be n success there was not room in it for two careers.

We were up early next morning. Coffee and brioches had been sent to our rooms, so we were soon ready to venture out on our search. My father had secured the addresses of one or two properties and we sallied forth. One was not very far from our hotel and we walked to it.

There is something invigorating about the streets of Paris. It was a bright morning, quite warm for the time of the year. There was a smell of coffee in the air; people were already in the streets and the traffic was building up.

My father said: "Are you beginning to get the feel of Paris? As soon as the opportunity arises I shall take you to one of the highest points in the lie de la Cite-that is the top of Notre Dame, and from there you will be able to look down on the centre of Paris."

"Thank you," I said, "that would be wonderful."

The Countess was impatient. We had come here for business and she was anxious for us to get on with that.

During the days that followed we looked at several premises-all of which were not quite suitable. My father did take me to a number of interesting places and sometimes the Countess accompanied us, but more often she was looking at shops and studying fashions. She was always bursting with ideas of what she should do.

"She is a very invigorating lady," said my father, "but sometimes it is well to escape from her. Yes?"

I agreed with him. I found his company very pleasant. We were discovering each other. He was very tender to me, always anxious to make up for the years of neglect; and I was beginning to admire him, for he was undoubtedly a man of great ability. The Countess thought so. She demanded a certain amount of his time when they talked business with intensity . . . costings ... possibilities of starting and increasing business. It was quite fascinating to hear them and I realized more and more that I should never be as dedicated as she was. She had one interest: the success of business; I had others.

I was able to give myself up to the pleasures of Paris. We walked a great deal together-my father and I. We would stroll arm in in arm along the banks of the Seine and he would talk to me of the history of the country he loved so much. He showed me the Palace of the Tuileries and that exciting monument which Gustave Eiffel had set up only a few years before. It seemed enormous towering over Paris-its chief landmark now.

"Only a part of the high cost was borne by the state,'' he said in his practical businesslike manner, "the remainder by Mon-sieur Eiffel. He hopes, I hear, to get the money back-and of course more in admission fees-over the next twenty years."

"Do you think he will?"

"I am not sure. He is now in trouble over some breach of trust over the Panama Canal. Monsieur Eiffel is a speculator ... and that can be a dangerous thing to be."

"I do agree. That is why . . ."

"I understand, it is wise to be cautious . . . and rather than speculate and lose it is better not to speculate at all. Then some say . . . nothing venture nothing have."

"There is a homily for every kind of action," lagreed. "That is why it is difficult to choose the right thing to do."

He told me a little about his family-which was, after all, my own.

"My father is a very hard man," he said. "He has ruled the family for many years . . . and he still does. He believes himself to be just and acts according to his beliefs. But he has little pity for anyone . . . and little understanding of human frailties. He is a tragic man, really. He is the most powerful man in Villers-Mure and surely the most unloved. Everyone goes in fear of him . . . even now, I could tremble before him. I become a different person in his presence. That is why I rarely go to Villers-Mure now. I have a vineyard bordering on it. It is one of my best vineyards. I think he has a little respect for me now as I have broken away from the family and done well in my own way without his help. He wouldn't admit it... but it is there. It is for that reason that I am received at his house."

"After all these years he still remembers!"

"He will remember for ever. He never forgives or forgets. One has to displease him once and that is enough. My sisters and my brothers were all in awe of him . . . still are. The villagers tremble at his approach and get out of the way as quickly as possible.''

"He sounds like a monster. Surely nowadays ..."

"He lives in the past. His great preoccupation is silk. He is the greatest silk producer in the world. That is what he has always aimed to be and that is what he intends to remain."

"He must be getting old now."

"He is seventy."

"And he still behaves like a tyrant." He nodded. "It is a sort of tradition throughout the village and the factories. After all Villers-Mure is the silk works. People depend on him. If they lose their livelihood they will starve. So he has become the master of them all."

"He sounds like a monster," I said. "I had hoped to meet him one day.''

"That is hardly likely. He would never receive you."

"Would he not want to see his granddaughter?"

''He would not recognize you as such. He is strictly religious ... if you can call what he has religion. He will not tolerate what he calls immorality. He says he is determined to keep Villers-Mure pure. When the girls marry he calculates the time elapsing between the ceremony and the birth of the first child. If it is not nine months there is an enquiry."

"I do not feel exactly endeared to him."

"That matters not as you will never meet him."

"It's a pity. I should have liked to see Villers-Mure."

"You will come very close to it when you visit me in my vineyard. My sister who is married and lives close by will welcome you."

"So it is just this old man whom I shall not see?"

He nodded. "Cheer up. You are happier without seeing him. He spends a great deal of time in church . . . goes to Mass every day and twice on Sundays. It is a strange view he has of what is right. It hardly conforms to the Christian Faith. I believe he would like to set up the Inquisition in France. He thinks that all those who are not members of the Catholic Church are sinners, He has never forgiven that branch of the family which broke away all those years ago . . . they were the Huguenots . . . though he is following what they are doing in England. Oh, he is still aware of the family . . . even though they have gone away and adopted another country and even call themselves Sallongers. He will see them when they come to France. He always hopes to bring them back to the Catholic Church."

"It is always very interesting to hear about one's family, and before this I had had only Grand'mere."

'' She is a good woman," he said. "She stood up to my father. The only person who ever has. I think he has a grudging admiration for her. He it was who sent you with her into England to be with that branch of the family there who call themselves Sallongers. And now . . . you have married one of them."

Each day I learned more and we grew closer.

Meanwhile the Countess had found exactly what she wanted, It was a shop, small but elegant and close to the Champs-Elysees.

"A good spot," declared the Countess. "It is just the thing."

She was eager for my father to see it, which he did and approved wholeheartedly.

I loved the Champs-Elysees, the Cours la Reine and the magnificent Arc de Triomphe. I loved to see the children at play in the gardens. I thought: I will take Katie there. She shall have a hoop to bowl. It must be beautiful in the summer when the little tables with their brightly coloured umbrellas are brought out.

I was drawn into the excitement of planning for the salon. There were fewer jaunts. My father was almost as excited as the Countess. She herself was working tirelessly. She could not wait to get everything in motion; she chafed against the delays; she wanted to see those splendid creations of Grand'mere's in that window and several seamstresses working away in the room behind the showroom.

Completing negotiations took longer than we had thought it would. We had been away for six weeks. I felt it was an age since I had seen Katie and I was longing to get back. I had bought her several presents including a big doll which was unlike any doll I had seen before. It was an elegant Parisian lady with clothes which came off and on; and when she closed her eyes, which she did when she was held back-wards, her beautiful lashes lay luxuriantly against her pink-tinted china cheeks.

It was wonderful to be going home. I was on deck for the first glimpse of the white cliffs.

Then there was the journey to London.

They were waiting for us when we arrived. Katie flung herself into my arms.

"Oh Mama ... it has been such a long time!"

"We shall never be parted again for so long," I promised her.

And there was Grand'mere ready to welcome me ... but all was not well. Grand'mere's looks betrayed that.

"How is everything?" I demanded.

"Very well. Very well," she replied too vehemently, so that I knew that she was not telling the truth. Grand'mere's face always betrayed her.

There was a great deal of talk. The Countess was bursting with news of our wonderful find in Paris. Soon we should be opening. The formalities drove her mad. Why could not the buying of premises be a straightforward affair? There had to be this . . . and that . . . and it was all quite maddening.

Cassie was delighted to see us.

"We've been waiting and waiting to hear that you were coming home, haven't we, Katie?"

Katie nodded. She kept close to me holding my hand as though to prevent my going away again. I was very touched.