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Katie got to her feet and crossed the room. “I expect Aunt Cora is giving him back his coat,” she said, and “opened the door as the canvas jacket changed hands. John Miller turned his vivid blue eyes on her as she appeared in the doorway.

He had bathed and changed into a neat dark suit that made him look more business man than artist, and she smiled slowly at the thought. “I was going to return your coat via Jamie,” she told him. “I know it’s the one you use for painting, isn’t it?”

"Yes.” He turned back to her aunt. “It was good of you to return it so quickly, Miss Manson. Thank you.”

“I called you because I wanted to thank
you,”
Aunt Cora said, “for helping Katherine as you did. It must have been a very dangerous situation and I’m grateful to you; I hope my niece was suitably thankful.”

For a moment the blue eyes were fixed on her as he spoke. “She was
most
suitably grateful, Miss Manson, thank you.” He brushed his fingers along his jaw briefly. “I was thanked most charmingly.”

“Oh, I’m glad.” Aunt Cora sought the reason for Katie’s flushed cheeks. “Your brother is here enquiring after Katherine—it is really most good of you all to be so kind.”

“Not at all,” he dismissed the thanks with a cool smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I must hurry, I have a lunch appointment in Sea Bar.”

With Eleanor Barlow, I suppose, Katie thought, watching the straight, arrogant figure disappear down the path and remembering Fran’s worry over the model’s possessive way with her cousin.

Aunt Cora closed the door as the Humber purred away from the kerb, and turned to her niece, her eyes narrowed shrewdly. “John Miller is not all he pretends to be,” she said with certainty, and returned to the dining-room and the shrill enquiries of Bridie.

Katie smiled at her aunt’s pronouncement and went back into the lounge where Jamie looked up enquiringly as she came in. “What
did
big brother want?” he asked curiously.

“Aunt Cora called him in to fetch his coat,” Katie explained, “and to thank him for rescuing me.”

“He was all dressed up,” said Jamie. “I thought he’d become human and had come to ask you out to lunch. I suppose he’s got a lunch date with the Barlow.”

“He has a lunch date,” Katie said thoughtfully. “I supposed it might be with Eleanor Barlow.”

“Bound to be,” he grinned wolfishly. ‘The fair Eleanor has ambitions in that direction, and if big brother doesn’t watch his step he’ll find himself walking down the aisle with her.”

It was as hot as ever the following day and Katie felt like doing nothing at all except seek out the coolest spot she could find and close her eyes against the fierce sun. Remembering the cool breeze to be found usually on the cliff tops above the quay, she set off, minus Bridie, to enjoy the high solitude. No one appeared as she passed Coral House, except the amiable Goliath, who watched her, his tail drooping disappointedly after a frantic welcome, as she climbed the cliff path, the slight breeze off the sea already increasing as she went higher.

A thick, sturdy gorse bush offered shade and the springy, warm-scented turf was as comfortable as many a chair as she sat down facing the placid sea, as shining and gentle as blue silk. She sat hugging her knees, her chin resting on her folded arms, black-fringed grey eyes half closed against the dazzle of the water, and became lost in her thoughts.

Aunt Cora had been evasive when Katie had mentioned the length of her stay. “I must find a job,” she had told the old lady. “I can’t be a lady of leisure all my days, Aunt Cora.”

“But I like your company,” her aunt had said. “There is no need for you to look for work, I like you here with me.” The usually unrelenting features had softened as she took Katie’s hands in hers. “You’re my only family, Katherine, and I’m not a poor woman by any means, nor a young one. I should like you to live here with me and simply enjoy yourself, be my family.”

“But it isn’t fair,” Katie pointed gently, ‘You can’t keep me—it wouldn’t be right.”

“If I choose to do it, it
is
right,” Aunt Cora had insisted firmly. ‘You don’t have to stay in with me, I don’t expect you to; you have good friends in the Dennisons. I want you to come and go as you please, make this your home.”

Her feelings aroused by something unspoken but understood, Katie had hugged the stem-looking old lady and kissed her affectionately. “Thank you, Aunt Cora, I shall love being here for as long as you want me.

She blinked back a sentimental tear as she looked down on the silken sea and absently brushed the thick black hair from her face. She had thought herself alone on the cliff top until a movement caught her eye and she turned her head. Perched on an uncomfortable-looking folding stool, John Miller concentrated on the painting he was working on, flicking an occasional glance at the scene before him; a fair-sized canvas propped on an easel and an open box beside him. He was half facing her, but looking out over the sea and the harbour, and Katie could not imagine why she had not seen him when she arrived there, concluding that she must have been so engrossed in her own thoughts that she had been oblivious of anyone else.

He seemed not to mind the blazing sun, in fact he did not even look over-warm, though he sat in the full heat of the sun, his bronzed face distant with concentration. She wondered whether she should make some sign of recognition, or even if he would see her if she did ; some artists hated to be interrupted while they were working. As if he read her thoughts he turned his head in her direction, the blue eyes glinting recognition, and she raised one hand to let him know that she had seen him.

To her surprise he left his stool and walked over to her, lighting a cigarette as he came. “Good morning,” she said, uncertain of her reception.

“Good morning, may I join you?” He cast an envious eye at her patch of shade. “It’s rather too hot for comfort in the sun.” He sat down beside her on the springy turf, hugging his knees as she did, the cigarette apparently forgotten between his fingers. He turned his disconcertingly steady gaze on her critically. “I gather you’re fully recovered this morning,” he said.

“Yes, quite, thanks.” She wished she did not always feel so much like a schoolgirl whenever he spoke to her. “I hope you had no ill-effects.”

“
I
wasn’t nearly buried alive,” he said with a return to his old manner. “I haven’t seen Fran this morning, so she’s probably avoiding me.”

“Poor Fran!” She saw his brows tilt enquiringly as she spoke.

“Why poor Fran?” he asked sharply.

Katie tugged at the short grass beside her, not looking at him, “Oh,” she said casually, “it’s just that Jamie said he’d given her a telling off yesterday and it isn’t fair that Fran should get all the blame.”

“Perhaps not, but it’s no more than she deserves,” he said unsympathetically, and Katie felt her temper rise at his callousness.

“Oh, you’re far worse than Jamie,” she said crossly. “You’re as heartless and unfeeling as—as—”

“An iceberg?” he supplied, remembering her accusation at Fran’s party, and she flushed, recalling instead the comforting strength of his arms the previous day when she had cried like a baby against his dusty shirt, as he held her close.

“I’m sorry,” she flicked a glance at him, but meeting the steady gaze, lowered her own hastily. “I shouldn’t have said that, not about—about the iceberg either. I’m sorry.”

He looked a little surprised at her apology. “You have a temper,” he said quietly. “It could get you into trouble.”

She smiled ruefully despite the sting of the words. “It has been known to happen,” she admitted, and, seeking a change of subject, caught sight of his easel. “May I see what you’re doing?” she asked.

“No.” The answer was uncompromising, and she felt her face colour.

“Don’t you let anyone see your work?" she asked. “Or am I singled out for refusal?”

“I don’t like anyone to see anything only half finished,” he said shortly, and added, “And it isn’t my work, it’s my hobby.”

“Oh!” His abrupt refusal put her at a loss and she fell silent, uncomfortably aware of his nearness and the unbending arrogance of his manner that forbade any attempt at familiarity.

For perhaps three or four minutes they sat side by side, sharing the sheltering shade of the gorse, silent but with a wealth of unspoken thoughts between them, until he glanced at his wrist watch and got to his feet, looking down at her small and rather downhearted, hugging her knees. “It’s almost eleven,” he said in his usual clipped, precise way. “Are you coming down for coffee?”

She looked up at him, her grey eyes cloudy and rather soulful, looking and feeling more than a little sorry for herself. “Do you think I should ?” she asked.

“If I say I’ve seen you, the family will wonder why you didn’t come in,” he answered shortly, and strode off to recover his painting gear. “Well?” he asked as he rejoined her, now standing on the path.

“Thank you,” she said, more meekly than she intended, and added, “Only please don’t be horrible to poor Fran, she’s already been scolded by Jamie.” She cast a surreptitious glance at him from the comer of her eye. “It must be awful to have two such great bullies for cousins!”

He made no reply, to her relief, she had to admit, but slowed his usual stride to keep pace with her as they walked down the cliff path and turned into the drive of Coral House. Goliath gave them an enthusiastic welcome and preceded them into the house, his ungainly tail waving happily.

Fran came out of the lounge as they entered the front doors and smiled her pleasure at their arrival, her expressive eyebrows lifted in surprise and, Katie thought, approval. “Katie!” she cried delightedly, “how are you? Are you feeling better this morning?” She cast her cousin an apprehensive look which he warmed with a smile, so she hugged him gratefully.

“Miss Roberts was on the cliff walk,” he told Fran, “so I brought her along for coffee.”

“Of course you did.” She smiled at him, but made a moue of disappointment. “But couldn’t you bring yourself to call her Katie like the rest of us do? After all, you’ve known each other long enough now for any etiquette to be satisfied, I should think.”

Katie, looking at the fine-boned, attractive little face of her friend, realised suddenly that her description of her as ‘poor Fran' was not really applicable, for while there was a great deal of sensitivity in the girl there was also a good streak of the Dennison strength. Knowing his cousin as well as he did probably accounted for John Miller’s surprise at her choice of words earlier.

He hugged her to him with the gentleness he almost always displayed towards Fran. “That depends on Miss Roberts, surely,” he looked at Katie directly as Fran smiled.

“Of course you’d rather, wouldn’t you, Katie?” she insisted.

“Yes, of course,” Katie agreed, not meeting his eyes.

“There you are,” Fran told him triumphantly. “You shouldn’t be so old-fashioned, John,” adding as he frowned, “Come and get your coffee, Peggy’s already brought it through, and we’ve got company.”

“Oh?” He halted in mid-stride. “Who?”

Fran tried not to look too disdainful as she answered, “Eleanor Barlow,” and Katie’s heart sank at the thought of meeting again that tall, cool blonde who would, so Jamie predicted, eventually lead John Miller to the altar.

Fran dropped back slightly to join Katie. “I wish she’d stay at home,” she confided in a stage whisper that must have been audible to her cousin. “I detest that toffee-nosed female, she fills me with all sorts of horrible ideas for murder!”

Katie laughed at her prickly malice, but wondered how much of it she meant.

Eleanor Barlow was elegantly posed, there was no other word for it, Katie felt, on one of the wrought iron chairs, her long model’s legs crossed at the knee and showing enough of them for any fashion picture. The catlike eyes went straight to John Miller and she smiled, a slow, inviting smile that showed her excellent teeth.

“Katie!” Sir Janus rose to greet her, genuinely glad to see her. “How are you, my dear?” John Dennison too greeted her fulsomely and led her, with a moistly unpleasant hand, to a chair between himself and Jamie. Everyone expressed concern over her wellbeing except Eleanor Barlow, who viewed the family’s obviously genuine pleasure at her arrival with an expression only just short of a sneer. She patted the seat of the chair next to her own and John Miller, carrying a cup of coffee, joined her.

Sir Janus occupied his usual chair on the other side of Jamie and presided like a patriarch over his family. Several times, it seemed to Katie, she caught the old man frowning at his elder grandson and Eleanor Barlow as if the sight of them together displeased, or at least concerned him, but he gave no other sign that he disapproved of the match, if indeed he did.

“The fair Eleanor is paving the way,” Jamie murmured, for Katie’s ear alone. “I don’t think even big brother can hold out much longer in the face of the big guns! ”

Katie smiled and sipped her coffee, watching the sleek self-confidence of the woman as she used her long, elegant hands to emphasise some point in her conversation. She tried to see some trace of the doctor’s gentleness on his daughter’s face, but failed to find it and decided that the word that best described Eleanor Barlow was ruthless.

“Penny for them!” Jamie’s voice jolted her back to reality. “You were miles away from us,” he told her teasingly. “Where were you?”

“Not very far away,” she replied truthfully. “I’m sorry, Jamie, it was rude of me.”

“Not at all.” It was John Dennison who spoke, having followed their conversation. “Daydreaming is a pretty girl’s prerogative, my dear, isn’t it, Jamie?”

“Of course.” Jamie tilted his impudent eyebrows. “As long as you were dreaming about me and not big brother !”

Katie flushed at the near accuracy of the words, and saw John Dennison smile to himself as he sipped his coffee. “It was neither,” she said hastily. “I wasn’t really daydreaming at all, I was just thinking,” she smiled at her admission, “and it wasn’t really very complimentary! ”