Heart's Fury

HER RELUCTANCE CHANGED INTO PASSIONATE LONGING The perfumed flowers of the shore mingled with salt air and the cries of seabirds. Gregory's skin smelled sun-warmed, masculine, heady. 'Polly...." His hands moved down her back, spanned her waist, then reached up. The thought of his lips against her bare skin made her weak with desire. She stepped back, but he caught her to him with a groan and planted his strong, firm lips on her longing mouth. She must push him away - because if she didn't, in another second she would pull him still closer.... He was like a bronzed Neptune ruling his sea kingdom - and Polly found herself wishing that his small island could be her entire world. Harlequin first edition. December 1981 ISBN 0-373-70.010-5 Copyright (c)I98I by Lucy Lee. All rights reserved. Philippine copyright 1981. Australian copyright 1981. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanicaJ or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher. Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9. All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly-inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention. The Harlequin trademark, consisting of the words SUPER?OMANCE, HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE and the portrayal of a Harlequin, is registered in the United States Patent Office and in the Canada Trade Marks Office. Printed in U.S.A. CHAPTER ONE

DAYLIGHT STILL LINGERED and cuckoos were calling. The beauty of the April evening made Polly Drake's blood surge. Crossing the grounds of the Victorian mansion that housed the Mansard School she drew a deep breath, savoring her happiness. The perfect spring evening, her job as junior mistress, the fact that the children had been put to bed and this was time of her own everything added up to pure enjoyment, though all she had actually done was walk to the village library. A wisp of sadness also drifted through the trees like mist. Spring was made for lovers. A beautiful evening like this one begged to be shared. Not for the first time Polly wondered if she should stop being so single-minded about her career. She had taken this job in the depths of the Lincolnshire Wolds because there was no temptation to spend money, nothing to spend money on, and scant chance of meeting a young man who might sidetrack her. What if it was all a mistake? Was she missing something that could never be recovered? She sighed. She knew she had done the right thing, but sticking to the decision was hard. Soon she would have the money she needed for her final year at the Institute of Interior Design. By autumn she would have time to make friends. In the meantime her job here was a satisfying one. She entered the rambling old house by a side door and climbed the stairs. In the lounge the two older teachers were seated before the television screen.

The volume of sound drowned the cuckoo's call. Luckily the solid walls of the old house kept the noise from reaching Miss Mansard, whose room was down the hall, or the children who should have been asleep by now on the floor above. Polly went on up the next flight to where Anne, the other junior mistress, sat curled in a wicker rocker at the head of the stairs. She was on duty, making sure the school's pupils - sixteen lively little boys - settled into their beds. Anne, a lovely girl from the Midlands and a born teacher, was knitting sleeves for a pullover while she did guard duty. She dropped the work when Polly appeared. "Did you get the one I wanted?" she demanded, eyeing Polly's armload of books. With a smile of triumph Polly handed her the top book. "Ah!" Without more ado Anne flipped to the first page and began reading. Polly strolled to the room they shared. She hung up her coat and prepared to relax, but instead of settling into the room's ancient chaise longue she wandered to the window. She felt edgy. It must be the spring evening, she supposed, sighing again. She picked up the two books she had chosen for herself and tried to decide which to read first. Now that she had them, neither looked interesting. However.... She dropped into the chair at her desk and turned on the desk lamp. She read two pages before she lost interest, and in response to a restless urge began pacing the floor. "I'm nervous as a cat," she said aloud. But it wasn't nerves. She felt an inner excitement that demanded something more lively than reading. With the idea of finding that "something," she opened the door and stepped into the corridor. A faint acrid odor reached her nostrils. Smoke! Was Anne smoking? She did sometimes. But this wasn't cigarette smoke. Her feet were carrying her along the corridor. No, Anne wasn't smoking. Immersed in her story, she was oblivious to everything. No sound came from the open door of the dormitory. Were the boys asleep, or were some of them huddled under a bed playing with matches? "I smell smoke," Polly said tautly. "Yeah?" Anne tore her attention from the page. Polly stuck her head into the dorm. "It's not in here." "I don't smell anything," Anne said. "The gardener was burning leaves this afternoon." "He's gone home," Polly said. "I saw him outside his cottage." She walked to the far end of the corridor, sniffing, and returned. "Nothing there." "Maybe it's from the kitchen." "It smells like scorched wood," Polly worried. "I'm going to look in the attic." "At this time of night?" Anne shivered. "It's dark up there!" Polly walked to the narrow door that closed off the attic stairs. She turned the knob. "Oh, it's locked, of course. Should I bother Miss Mansard?" "No." Anne didn't bother to lift her head. "This is such a good book! You have to read it." Polly put her nose to the door crack. "I smell it!" she exclaimed. "This is where it's coming from. Something's burning in the attic!" "Really?" Reluctantly Anne laid her book aside. "Yes, really!" Polly's voice rose in alarm. "Quick, wake up the boys! I'll tell Miss Mansard." "Oh, my God!" Anne gasped and turned pale. "Polly, wait!" But Polly was already running down the stairs. She pounded on Miss Mansard's door. The door opened. Miss Mansard's startled face appeared in the opening. "There's smoke upstairs - fire in the attic, I think," Polly cried. "Very well, I'll ring up the firehouse." Despite her apparent frailty, Miss Mansard's control was like iron. "Go shut off that dreadful television," she ordered, "and alert the other mistresses. All of you go straight upstairs and help Anne with the children. Remember our fire drills and do exactly the same.

Once everyone's out, make sure they stay out. Do you understand?" "Yes!" Polly flew along the corridor. She turned off the set, startling the two women, then repeated Miss Mansard's order. She left them twittering and pulling themselves together, and flew back to Anne. The evening was chilly. Anne had sensibly ordered each child to put on his shoes, though that procedure was not in the drill. By the time the two elderly mistresses joined them, the boys were lining up in the corridor with blankets wrapped around their shoulders. Quickly each senior mistress led away the four boys in her charge, most of whom were unusually quiet because of the seriousness of the situation. Thank heavens it's still daylight, Polly had time to think. The smell of burning grew stronger. Smoke was beginning to swirl into the dormitory. Anne called her own four boys to attention, and began marching them toward the fire escape. "Miss Drake! Miss Drake!" Hands waved wildly, demanding Polly's attention. "Robbie's not here!" Plainly only three boys remained. "Anne, wait!" Calm but authoritative, that's the way she must keep her voice. "Where is he?" she asked her three charges. "Did you see him?" Anne halted her little party and looked back. "Robbie's missing," Polly called. "I saw him!" A boy's shrill voice beat on her ears. "He was still in bed." Still in bed? "Anne! Take these boys, too. I have to find Robbie." With a little shove she started the six-year-olds along the corridor. "Go with Anne," she directed. "Walk. Don't run." One child was opening his mouth and screwing up his eyes, about to let out a howl of terror. Now they'd all start crying. Anne was going to have her hands full, guiding seven tear-blinded little boys down two flights of iron steps. "Robbie!" Polly ran back into the dormitory. "Robbie, where are you?" Before she could look around, the lights failed. The cavernous room was immediately filled with darkness despite the lingering daylight outside. It was impossible to discern more than the white shapes of the beds. Any pile of tossed bedclothes might conceal a frightened child. "Robbie, answer me!" She coughed. The room was growing thick with smoke. Fear clutched the pit of her stomach. "Robbie!" She must keep from sounding hysterical. Which bed was his? Was this it? "Robbie!" She flung covers aside. Was it the next one? Had she come too far? She tried to peer under the whole row, but it was so dark...! Could she see a crouched child? Oh, God, it was dark and smoky! Why had she not thought to grab the flashlight from the night table in the corridor? "Robbie!" Methodically she moved from bed to bed, lifting covers, peering underneath. Her heart constricted more with each step. Had he slipped out with one of the other teachers? She tried coaxing. "Robbie, dear, it's Polly. Nothing terrible is going to happen. Tell Polly where you are. Just give one little squeak. Everyone's gone. You don't want to be left behind." He must have slipped out with the other children. She had looked everywhere. She was within one step of giving up when she remembered the linen closets. Surely he wouldn't be there! Thank the Lord she'd thought of them, though. She opened one - empty - and the other---Something light-colored lay in a heap on the floor. The huddle of clothes took shape; was warm, alive. But why so still? She prodded him urgently. "Robbie, wake up!" The child made no move. He appeared to have fainted. Swiftly she gathered him up in her arms. A normal-sized six-year-old, he made a heavy burden for a girl of Polly's slight build. She ran staggering from the room. At the top of the stairs she paused. Smoke was thick. Was it safe to start down, or should she make for the fire escape? Burdened as she was it would be

impossible to climb down the steep iron stairs. Whichever way, she must contrive to carry Robbie over her shoulder. She needed one hand free. The wail of a siren broke through the crackling dark. Her heart lifted at its wail. "Everything's going to be all right," she muttered. Somehow she gained the strength to shift the boy's dead weight to her shoulder. During her moment's indecision she glimpsed tongues of black-veiled red at the attic door. She dared not attempt the long corridor to the fire escape. With one hand free to hold the banister of the wide main staircase she began her descent. Creeping downward step-by-step, she heard a trampling below and felt cheered. A deep voice shouted, "Anyone up there?" "Yes!" She filled her lungs in order to shout the reply, but smoke clutched her throat and she began to cough. She felt rather than heard the heavy tread of boots on the stairs. Flashlights probed the darkness. "Here," she choked. Big hands clutched her arm. Other hands removed the burden from her shoulder. "All right now," a man's voice said. "Just a few more steps." The light beamed through the swirling smoke. Her burning eyes caught glimpses of the steps below. A moment later she was through the door and stumbling across the flagged terrace, gasping the fresh air. "Polly!" Anne took one arm, Miss Mansard the other. "Robbie - " Polly choked. "What's wrong with him?" "He's merely fainted." Miss Mansard's voice was as dry and detached as ever. Polly wanted to fling herself on the woman's spare bosom and give way to hysteria, but awe of Miss Mansard kept her from doing anything so shocking. "If I hadn't remembered to look in the linen closets...." Polly's teeth began to chatter. Suddenly her whole body was shaking, and her knees threatened to fold. "Take her over to the children and make her sit down," Miss Mansard directed Anne. "Find a blanket. Someone's bringing tea. Make sure she has the first cup." Anne led Polly away. They stumbled over the fire hoses. Crackling flames and shouts of the fire fighters filled the darkness. Sparks flew across their path. Anne found her a spot next to the children and wrapped a blanket around her. "I'm all right. Go look after Miss Mansard," Polly begged. Someone was thrusting a steaming cup into her hands, and she knew she could overcome her terror. Robbie was safe; everyone was safe. That was the one thing that mattered. Events blurred after that. More help arrived, the fire was put out. Polly drank another steaming mug of tea, content to let other willing hands deal with the problems. Passively she allowed Anne to lead her and four of the little boys fco the village inn, where they rested until neighbors offered accommodation. Forty-eight hours later the shock had pretty well worn off. Polly and everyone else had begun to adjust to the change the fire had brought into their lives. One after another the other teachers, including Anne, had bidden Polly farewell. It was obvious that the school would have to be closed for some time. That afternoon Miss Mansard's secretary phoned Polly to ask her to bring Robbie Godwin to the temporary office in the gatehouse. Polly was feeling more herself. She had begun to plan for the future. She called Robbie and they set out to walk the half mile to the school. "Please, Miss Polly, I don't want to go back there!" They had walked most of the way before Robbie began scuffing his feet and pulling back on Polly's hand. "We're not going where the fire was, darling," Polly reassured him. "We're only going to the gatehouse to talk to Miss Mansard. Look how pretty this lane is in the sunshine. Did you ever see anything prettier?"

"Yes," Robbie said, moving reluctantly forward. "My uncle's house. But he sold it and bought an island." "Did he, dear?" Polly asked absentmindedly. Her thoughts were elsewhere, with good reason. Almost no clothing or furniture had survived the fire. Until Polly could get to London or at least to some shop that carried small sizes, she was making do with the plain navy skirt and tunic that she had been wearing when the fire broke out. The simplicity of the costume made her look like a schoolgirl. Big dark-blue eyes in a piquant face framed with tied-back dark hair added to the illusion. Anyone seeing them together might have been excused for taking her for Robbie's somewhat older sister, whereas in reality she was twenty-one and had been on her own since her parents' untimely death four years before. The village women, all kindness, had come forward after the fire, had taken the teachers and the little boys - disregarded children of the very rich into their homes and had clad the youngsters in the spare garments of their own offspring. By last night everyone except Robbie had been returned to his parents. Polly hoped to learn when she reached the gatehouse that the headmistress had heard from Robbie's mother. Until the boy could be returned to somebody, Polly was not free to pursue her own plans. Some of the other children had told Robbie that Polly had rescued him. Now he refused to let her out of his sight. Poor little rich boy, Polly thought. He was a sensitive child, lovable and confiding. What could his mother possibly find more compelling than that childish handclasp, those serious gray eyes now turned up to Polly with a question? "What if she can't find my mother?" "Miss Mansard will find her," Polly replied, more firmly than she felt. They were nearing the gatehouse. Polly could see the blackened limbs of the trees that had grown too close to the house. "Race you to the gate!" she challenged. While busy running he wouldn't have time to think about the burned-out walls behind the shrubbery. They reached the gatehouse door, breathless and laughing. Miss Mansard opened it herself, looking rather appalled by such high spirits, but Polly had no opportunity to explain. Her secretary, Miss Mansard said, had bicycled to the village to post letters and should be back any moment with buns for tea. She tried to coax Robbie to play outside so that she and Polly could talk, but he refused to leave his rescuer. Miss Mansard sighed. "I hope you don't encourage him." "No, ma'am, I don't," Polly assured her, "but I haven't discouraged him, either, since he's had good reason to be frightened. We all have." "Yes, indeed," Miss Mansard said and frowned. Robbie was fingering one of the desk ornaments, and appeared to be uninterested in the adults' conversation. Polly felt he probably was listening, but he would have to know sooner or later how he was to be disposed of. "I'm glad you do feel responsibility for him," Miss Mansard said, "because I'm going to have to ask you to take him to his guardian. You could do it, couldn't you, before you go to London?" "His guardian!" Polly exclaimed. "You don't mean his mother?" "No...." Miss Mansard made a disapproving face above Robbie's head. "I'm afraid his mother can't be reached. She's on a yacht in the Mediterranean. Neither she nor the owner saw fit to let anyone in England know their itinerary." "According to our records, which, I'm eternally thankful, survived the blaze, the boy's guardian is his uncle, Gregory Godwin. Godwin Publishing, you know. He seems to be as out-of-reach as the boy's mother, but at least I know where he is. His office told me he's working - I can't imagine what at - on an island off the Northumberland coast. They gave me the island's name, and I've telegraphed to say the boy will arrive tomorrow. I've looked up train schedules and written everything down for you. You'll be paid for your time, of course, but not soon, I'm afraid. Everything must wait on the insurance

settlement. There's a bus from the station to the coastal village, Birdsea. There must be some kind of boat service. You can turn over the boy and get a later train to London. I believe that should be fairly simple." Her look was a question. Polly said, "Yes, Miss Mansard," and kept her doubts to herself. The headmistress had aged overnight, and though she had explained to her staff that it was time she retired, no one liked being forced to make such a move. At any rate, Polly was not going to complicate her problems. She herself would cope with any unexpected hitch that came up. Miss Mansard's secretary returned, and they all had tea. Robbie seemed pleased at the idea of visiting his uncle. "But you won't leave me, Miss Polly, will you?" he asked, sitting as close to her as he dared with the headmistress's eye upon him. "No, darling," Polly assured him again. "Not until I've taken you to your uncle. Think what fun you'll have visiting a small island. What do you suppose he's doing there?" Robbie shrugged. Obviously he had no idea how the adults in his family spent their time. None of them had ever cared to explain. He could not say, "My father's a carpenter," or even "My uncle goes to an office." Polly felt contempt for people so selfish they had no time for their own flesh and blood. After tea she took the instructions and the ticket money from Miss Mansard and made her farewells. "You'll be all right?" Miss Mansard was asking for reassurance. "You have enough money to tide you over?" "Yes, ma'am, I do." Polly smiled at her. "As you know, I took this job in order to save so I could finish my interior decorating course. I would have been leaving at the end of term anyhow. I'll fill in with a temporary typing job till I resume my studies." "Bless you, my dear, for taking it so well! You've been one of our best teachers, because you really loved the poor mites." Miss Mansard extended her hand, but Polly could not resist giving the spare upright figure a quick hug. "Thank you," she said. "I'll write, of course." She snatched Robbie's hand and hurried him away before the tears blurring her eyes could overflow. She'd been happy teaching here. Working conditions had been pleasant; she had shared a room with Anne, and the "poor mites," as Miss Mansard called them, had been so hungry for a little love. Now she herself would soon be out in the cold world again, an orphan as lonely for love as the mites, though at her age she had to conceal it. Before returning to the home of the elderly couple who had taken them in, Polly bought a cheap suitcase in the village. Back in their room she settled Robbie with a reading lesson while she packed her scanty belongings. She had a string bag for Robbie's pajamas and toothbrush. Their hostess was sorry to see them go and insisted on packing them a box lunch, which she tucked into the bag as well. Miss Mansard had scheduled them to leave the next morning on the early train. Travel from the Lincolnshire Wolds to Northumberland involved enough train transfers to consume the whole day. Polly realized she would get to London at some unearthly hour, but that couldn't be helped. The first thing she would do the day after tomorrow would be to replenish her wardrobe. She was looking forward to an orgy of clothes-buying. Next day things went smoothly. The two of them looked like such waifs that people went out of their way to be kind. Polly was wearing an ancient parka that had been among the clothing collected for the children. Robbie was squeezed into an often-laundered tweed coat. But he enjoyed the train ride, and Polly felt pleased that it was adding to his experience. Everything went well until they reached the fishing village and inquired for Mr. Godwin. "Oh, my dear, there's no telephone on Kittiwake Island," the postmistress said, a fact that Polly already knew. "Angus Moreton comes across for post and supplies every day or so. There are quite a lot of letters here now... even a

telegram. He may still come today." Polly's heart sank. She knew whose telegram that was! "If he doesn't come, could someone take us there?" "No doubt, when the men come in from fishing. But Angus may be along before then, dear. It's early yet." Polly saw herself catching a midnight train to London. Well, it couldn't be helped. Meanwhile both she and Robbie would feel the better for a meal at the tearoom down the street. She explained who Robbie was, and told the postmistress they would be in the tearoom if anyone from Kittiwake Island turned up. CHAPTER TWO

POLLY AND ROBBIE had just finished eating when a middle-aged man stalked into the tearoom and approached their table. He removed his cap. Polly saw gray hair above a weather-beaten complexion. His faded blue eyes wore a distrustful expression. "Postmistress said you was wishful to see me, miss.'" Polly summoned a friendly smile. "Yes! Are you from the island?" "That's right. Angus Moreton." He shifted uncomfortably, as though tearooms were out of his element and he was prepared to leave this one at the slightest sign of trouble. "Polly Drake here." She extended her hand and he shook it, after which he looked less suspicious. She explained why they had come and that a telegram had been sent, which she knew hadn't been received. "Aye," Angus Moreton said. "I have it." He indicated the bag he carried. "You'd better come along if you've finished eating." He picked up Polly's suitcase and waited while she paid for the tea. With Robbie's hand in hers, Polly followed him down the sloping street to where a smart motor cruiser was tied against the sea wall. Polly stopped him from putting her suitcase aboard. "I'm not going, Mr. Moreton. Just the boy. There's no problem, is there? You do work for Mr. Godwin?" Before the man could answer, Robbie flung himself upon her, arms around her waist, face buried against her ribs. "No!" he cried. "Polly! Don't leave me! You promised!" Dismay spread across Polly's winsome face. "Robbie! I promised you I wouldn't leave you until I'd taken you to your uncle. And now you're here." Gently removing his arms, she sat down on the low wall so she could look into his face. "But you haven't taken me to him yet," Robbie stated with irrefutable logic. "He's across that ocean." "That's not the ocean, darling, that's just a little strip of water." She spoke as urgently as she dared. "How far is the island?" she called to Angus, who was untying a mooring line. "Kittiwake? Six miles, you could say. Half an hour's sailing." "Look, darling," Polly coaxed. "You'll be going in that nice boat." But Robbie only pressed his face into her shoulder. "Sorry, miss," Angus interrupted, "but we'll have to go if he's going. Fog's creeping in." "Robbie, love, you have to go, there's no help for it." Polly made as if to stand up, and Robbie pulled the trick she'd been afraid of. With a despairing cry he fainted dead away. Polly caught him in her arms. If she hadn't been so annoyed she would have been amused. Robbie had succeeded in startling the laconic boatman. His weather-beaten cheeks actually paled. "Lord, miss, what's wrong with the nipper?" He stepped forward to peer at Robbie's white face. "He takes these fainting spells when he's frightened. The doctor says it's a trick he's learned for when he can't get his own way or when he feels

threatened. Nevertheless, they're real - dangerous when he takes one at the wrong time. If I could stretch him out...." He was too heavy for Polly to hold for long. "There's bunks in the cabin. Better take him in there. What should I do, miss? Should I start the engine?" Polly smiled wryly. "I suppose you'll have to, if we're to get him to Kittiwake. Will you be able to bring me back once his uncle's in charge?" "Aye, miss. Mebbe that's the best thing." He sprang down onto the deck. Polly handed him Robbie's limp form and then leaped down herself,'following him down a short flight of steps to a cheery cabin bright with varnish and polished brass. Angus laid Robbie on a bunk. Straightening, he said, "I'll set a kettle to boil on the galley stove. Perhaps he'd like a cup of tea when he comes round." Aboard the boat the man had a more positive air. "I know I would," Polly said fervently. I did promise to see him to his uncle, she thought as she sat beside Robbie, listening to the motor and beginning to feel the slap of waves against the prow. Robbie opened gray eyes to gaze blankly at her. "Do you feel the sea rocking you?" she asked. "We're on the boat." He sighed and fell into a light sleep, worn out by traveling and his bout of emotion. Polly made two cups of tea and carried one to Mr. Moreton. The boat was encircled by thin mist. "How many people live on the island?" she asked above the roar of the engine. Angus shouted an unintelligible reply. She gave up on conversation and stared at the water. The boat bounced through the waves. The island that rose out of the mist looked like a single storm-swept rock, the edges of which were sheer greenish black cliffs. Atop the cliffs Polly could see a little low greenery. The only building stood stark against the gray sky - a rectangular tower of the same greenish black stone. Could there really be a landing place along such abrupt cliffs? The thought of leaving Robbie in such inhospitable surroundings made her uneasy. Angus finished his tea. She gathered up his cup and her own, suddenly anxious to get back to Robbie. Her anxiety was well-founded. He was leaning over the edge of the bunk, upchucking everything he'd so recently eaten. Poor baby! She brought a towel from the galley and washed his face. Then she cleaned up the mess. Removing his coat she covered him with a blanket pulled from under the bunk, and sat smoothing his fair hair. "Think how surprised your uncle will be to see you," she told him before she realized how ominous the words sounded. All she needed was a surprised uncle! At last the tossing of the boat became less violent. Polly peered from the porthole. They were close to the island, threading their way among tall black columns of rock that seemed to be splinters of the cliff. The columns were squared off at the top like chimney stacks. The boat chugged among them as though homeward bound, but to Polly the surroundings were utterly strange the mist, the greenish black chimneys, the nearly black water. In that walled space the crashing waves, the chugging engine were almost deafening. She put Robbie back into his coat, and was sponging the results of his recent illness off the front of it when the cruiser bounced alongside something solid. Polly glanced through the porthole again to see a wooden wharf nestled in the shelter of an overhanging cliff. A rocky ledge appeared to make a kind of natural landing spot. She heard Angus shout. A man's voice answered and feet thudded on deck. "Come, dear, you'll feel better as soon as you land," she said gently. She was starting up the steps from the galley, with Robbie reluctantly following, when she heard the voice raised in astonishment. "You brought whom?"

Polly stepped through the swinging door and confronted the man. He was big. He seemed lordly standing there, his feet planted wide apart for balance. She knew immediately that he must be Gregory Godwin. His pale gray eyes and the fair hair falling across his forehead were amazingly like Robbie's, but the resemblance ended there. She had never seen Robbie looking thoroughly bad-tempered. This man was more than six feet tall, broad-shouldered, and about as welcoming as an iceberg. More like the island's forbidding cliffs, Polly thought, covered as he was in a black waterproof. She took a step backward, and felt Robbie clutch her hand. Polly pushed him in front of her, aware that she was using him as a shield. But after all, he was the reason she was there. "I've brought your nephew, Mr. Godwin. We - the headmistress - tried to telegraph you but didn't get through. At least, the message got through to Birdsea, but you haven't received it yet because we're bringing it...." She paused for breath and tried again. "The school burned down. We weren't able to get in touch with Robbie's mother." She was aware of Angus in the back> ground doing things with ropes. Gregory Godwin simply loomed there, scowling, not saying a word, making her feel compelled to go on babbling. "We tried... Miss Mansard did, but Robbie's mother seems to be on a yacht...? Robbie, say hello to your uncle." Robbie hung back. The man scowled. "My God, what next?" he grated. Polly blinked. "You are his uncle, aren't you? His guardian?" "I suppose so," he admitted ungraciously. Polly was taken aback. She felt her temper rising. "Just a minute...." She paused to urge Robbie to climb over the cruiser's polished wooden rail to the wharf. "Go ashore, dear, you'll feel better when you get off the boat." Then she turned back to deal with the hunk of granite who was making her feel like a wave-tossed piece of driftwood. "That's no way to talk in front of a child," she snapped. "You're all he has in the world right now!" The man turned his back on her and climbed easily to the wharf. Then he turned and reached down a hand. The long fingers were brown and callused, not the hand of a rich idle man. He said, "You'd better come ashore, too, Miss...?" "Drake," Polly said frostily, compelled to accept his help because there was no other graceful way of landing. As she stepped onto the wooden platform she realized that the mist was thicker here, almost a light rain. "You'd better come up," the man said grudgingly. "Angus," he shouted over his shoulder, "bring their bags." "You needn't bring mine," Polly called to Angus. "I'll be going back with you." "In this fog?" Gregory Godwin scoffed. "Angus was lucky he got the boat through the pinnacles when he did." "But I must!" Polly exclaimed. "I'm on my way to London!" Gregory Godwin sneered again. "Can you disperse the fog?" Polly decided she'd never met such a disobliging man. He was a little frightening. She hoped he wouldn't make things more difficult than they already were. She was glad to know that Angus would be around someplace. He, at least, had seemed reasonably normal. The light was dim because of the mist and the overshadowing cliffs. Polly and Robbie followed Gregory Godwin along a gravel path to a staircase cut in the stone. It shone wet and slippery in the failing light. Gregory Godwin made a sound under his breath remarkably like swearing. "I'll take the boy up," he told Polly. "You'd better wait and come with Angus. Don't try it alone, even though there's a railing." "I don't want to go up it at all," Polly said. "Why can't we talk here? I haven't anything more to say. If I have to wait, I can wait on the boat." "Polly!" With a cry Robbie whirled and ran back to cling to her. Gregory Godwin shook his head, glaring like a bull at bay. "What in God's name made you bring the boy here - some scheme of his mother's? Well, now that

you are here, you're stuck!" "Stuck?" Polly cried. "What do you mean?" Without answering, the man lifted Robbie and set his feet on the bottom step. "March up there, and no more nonsense," he ordered. Even as he did so Polly cried, "Don't!" If Robbie should take a fainting spell here on the steps...! This was just the kind of situation the doctor had warned of. "I'm coming, Robbie. I'll be right behind you," she called urgently. What choice did she have? With relief she saw Angus coming along the path, carrying her suitcase and Robbie's string bag. The mail bag was slung over his shoulder. She reached for the string bag but Angus motioned her ahead. "No trouble, miss. You hold the rail and. watch your step." From under her lashes she studied him, wondering if she had somehow failed to assess his character correctly back there in Birdsea. He had seemed a bit grouchy, but she had thought his face open and honest. But if he worked for this madman.... A quick study of his features reassured her. Perhaps Robbie's uncle wasn't dangerously mad, only very eccentric. He certainly was that! Why else, would he have chosen to live on an inaccessible island? Reluctantly she climbed to the top of the stone staircase, her feet dragging every step of the way. She'd already had more to do with Robbie's uncle than she wished. His behavior worried her. Crazily she found herself wishing she wasn't wearing the shabby parka. True, it suited the weather, but for some reason she wished she were looking her best and carrying attractive luggage. For one thing, it would have given her confidence to face this arrogant male. She was cross and out of breath when she reached the top. The sight of Robbie waiting to take her hand gave her a momentary good feeling, though Gregory Godwin clearly did not approve of his ward's babyish behavior. "This way," he barked, and set off at a brisk pace toward the stark building that loomed out of the gray-ness. Close up, it looked like an ancient peel tower. She didn't know how far this island was from the Scottish border, but it was enough that it was Northumberland. She knew a little of the county's wild history. Pledged to defend the Border area against the Scots, and open to raiders from across the North Sea, Northumbrians for centuries had fortified their dwellings, living in a state of warfare from one generation to the next. The tower's three stories all had modern glass windows. Polly felt a little better. She followed the ungracious man, trying to see where she was. They were high above the sea. Apparently the tower was built near the edge of the cliff. The mist obscured everything but path and bracken. Now and again a bird swung out of the grayness and back into it. Robbie had said that his uncle had bought the island. That meant, she supposed, that it had been uninhabited. Imagine being rich enough to buy an island, or to go yachting in the Mediterranean and abandon the responsibility of your child! Gregory Godwin stalked across a wide flagged terrace and between folded-back oaken doors set in an archway. Following, Polly found herself in the tower's vaulted lower level, dimly lit by slits in the stone walls. She knew from her design course in the history of living spaces that if this was a peel tower, the lower part had been used as a lodging for cattle in times of unrest. Now it echoed with emptiness, save for a battered-looking jeep and boxes of supplies stacked along one wall. To the right and left of the archway, flights of stone steps led upward. Gregory Godwin took the right-hand flight. A turning at the top brought them through a door into a stone-floored kitchen lighted by small windows. A tidy fire burned in an immense fireplace. A comfortable-looking woman was kneading dough at a deal table. "Mrs. Angus," Gregory Godwin said, "I'm afraid we have some uninvited guests."

The woman shook her hands free of flour. A smile lighted her face - a welcome sight to Polly. "This is my nephew Robbie," Gregory Godwin said, "and this is Miss Drake. Will you arrange to give Robbie his tea, please, while I speak with Miss Drake?" He stalked through a door at the other end of the room. Unaware of how pretty she appeared, Polly stood biting her lip to keep it from trembling, and looked around her. She thought it was probably a good thing that she had come the whole way with Robbie. Alone, he would have been terrified, and who could blame him? She found the place rather frightening herself. Angus set Polly's suitcase on the floor and balanced the string bag atop it. Robbie's pajamas, Polly noticed, had soaked up their share of moisture. She took them fromtne bag and asked permission to hang them on the towel rack near the fire. "To be sure, you may," Mrs. Angus told her, and as Polly crossed the room she said in a lowered voice to her husband, "What's his lordship in such a temper about?" Her husband tried to hush her up, but Mrs. Angus spoke her mind. "Well, he thinks he's lord of this island, doesn't he? Arid you can't deny he's in a temper, can you?" Polly finished arranging the pajamas and turned. "I don't know whether Robbie should eat. Perhaps just milk. He was ill on the boat." Mrs. Angus's round face softened. "I'll be bound he was, poor wean." "Robbie," Polly coaxed, "you stay here like a good boy, and I'll be back when I've spoken to your uncle. Mrs. Angus will give you some warm milk perhaps a muffin if you fancy it." Robbie seemed doubtful whether to let her go, but luckily his attention was diverted by the kitchen cat. Polly slipped out the door through which Gregory Godwin had disappeared. She found herself in a wide passage with an open door near the far end. She walked toward it, feeling absurdly like a schoolgirl called to the headmaster's office. She entered a big room furnished with little besides an aluminum folding table and a pair of canvas chairs that might have come off the cruiser. The table was cluttered with papers and books. Empty bookshelves lined two walls. Gregory Godwin had stirred the fire and was making himself a drink. He looked up as she entered. "Sherry, Miss Drake, or whiskey?" "Whiskey," she said, and felt a strong sense of satisfaction at his frown of disapproval. His black waterproof had been thrown onto a bench, and he was wearing sturdy whipcord breeches and a green wool pullover. Polly hugged her parka more tightly around her. His light eyes - were they blue or gray? - made her think again of the depths of icebergs. "Sit down, Miss Drake," he ordered, and leaned negligently against the mantelshelf. "Am I to understand that this irresponsible adventure into progressive education has really come to its inevitable end?" His deliberately insulting attack took away Polly's breath. "Why else would I have come?" she asked. "God knows," he said gloomily. "The place seems to have an infallible attraction. So now that it's no longer convenient for you to run the school, you're ready to dispose of the children in whatever way suits your fancy preferably unannounced to someone who can't refuse to accept them." Polly's jaw dropped. She swallowed, and tried to speak reasonably. "The school building burned down. I thought I made that clear." "Oh, you did, you made it clear," he sneered. "Whose irresponsibility caused that?" "No one's!" She fought to keep from showing her indignation. Controlling her voice she said, "They thought it was the wiring." "Oh, did they? An old building, a gaggle of old maids and dreamers, and this is the result! How many children were burned?"

"None!" Color flooded her cheeks. "How can you ask such a question? You're not asking because you care! You only want to throw it up to me!" He tossed his head and snorted. "I warned Robbie's mother what kind of a place it was, but all she cared about was getting him off her hands!" Why did he keep staring at her like that? Polly felt she had never been so furious in her whole life. She was glad she had chosen whiskey; she needed it to give her courage to face this overbearing autocrat. Just because he owned the island, he wasn't Lord Almighty. She took a defiant swig and choked. "I offered you sherry." His eyes glinted with triumph or amusement. Thinking of Miss Mansard's tenderness for each of those neglected rich children, she -wanted to hit him. Every mistress there had felt the same way! But she didn't have to prove anything to him. He wasn't the child's father. He wasn't even much of a guardian if he had no say in the child's education. Besides, he wasn't giving her a chance to speak, let alone prove anything. "Who but a woolly-minded dreamer," he was demanding, "would send a telegram to an island the size of this one? But you didn't know the size of it, did you? I might have been here alone, for all you knew. Or not here at all! Were you in such a hurry to get rid of him that you couldn't wait for a reply before tearing off to Northumberland?" He didn't wait for a reply, but threw more questions at her. "Who do you think is going to take care of him as it is? You've seen the help I have Angus and his wife. She has her hands full cooking for half a dozen plumbers and carpenters and glaziers, besides her husband and myself. Though of course that doesn't interest you. You're no different from his mother - get rid of him and get back to London as fast as your legs will carry you!" The unfairness of his accusations made Polly wonder about his sanity. To abandon Robbie to such an ogre was downright cruel, but she had no rights over the child. "Miss Mansard sent a letter to Mrs. Godwin's solicitor." Polly tried to speak reasonably. "Surely she'll come here as soon as the letter reaches her." He snorted again. "If you believe that, you're even further up in the clouds than I thought!" How did one answer such an accusation? Why should he keep storming at her? With something of relief she heard a door being flung open and the scurry of small feet in the passage. "Polly!" She set her glass on the littered table. Throwing Gregory Godwin a glance of dislike she moved to the door. "Here I am, dear." Robbie clutched her hand and looked defiantly at his uncle, as though he sensed the man's disapproval of all Polly represented. Gregory Godwin crossed to the room's other door. "You'll both have to sleep in here," he said ungraciously. "It's the only usable bed in the place. The glaziers finished the windows today. Mrs. Angus will make you as comfortable as possible." "I suppose you mean I'm taking your bed," Polly said coldly. "No, I'm using my sleeping bag in one of the rooms above. The room was to be for - never mind that now." His eyes traveled over her, disdainfully, she felt. She was acutely aware of her disheveled curls, uncombed since the tearoom in Birdsea, her crumpled navy skirt, her sturdy thick-soled shoes. He plucked his oilskin off the bench and strode out. Polly wondered if the explanation about the bed was meant to be gracious. Maybe this man's bite was worse than his bark, she thought, and realized with a laugh that she had turned the phrase around. She hoped she hadn't unconsciously hit on the truth! Her eye fell on the now-empty bench where his oilskin had been lying. Of blackened oak, it looked old enough to have been there from the time the room was built. She touched its surface. Surely it was authentic. Was Mr. Godwin aware of the fact? If not, he didn't deserve to be told. She held out her hand to Robbie. "Come, darling, let's go back to the kitchen."

Mrs. Angus proffered a cup of tea, which Polly accepted gratefully. While Robbie tried to make the cat drink its milk, Polly repeated what Gregory Godwin had said about the bed, and then explained why she had come to Kittiwake. "Don't you worry," Mrs. Angus said when she finished, "we've a folding cot at the croft for when my nephew visits. Angus has gone to get it. He'll bring the blankets from the boat. Don't take anything Mr. Gregory says to heart. He don't have much use for women, that's a fact. It makes him mean, because, I ask you, how can a man get along without a woman to make him comfortable?" Polly was so grateful for a friendly word that she agreed. Secretly she felt Gregory Godwin deserved his discomfort. By the time Angus had set up the cot and brought the blankets, Robbie was ready to be put to bed. Off the bedroom Polly found a newly installed bathroom. After tucking Robbie in bed she washed her face, applied new makeup and smoothed back the unruly dark waves that persisted in escaping their pins. She would have liked to put on a fresh blouse. She sighed and wished she had something breathtaking to wear. The peel tower made her think of velvet and lace. When she returned to the kitchen, the men working on the building were gathering for their tea. "Mr. Gregory's dinner stays warm on the back of the stove till he's ready for it," Mrs. Angus explained. "He said you're to eat with him." The arrangement made Polly uneasy, but she was obviously out of place in the kitchen, so she took herself back to the room where she and Gregory Godwin had * had their "talk." She looked at the littered camp table. Pleased to have a reason to clear it off, she stacked the papers and books on an empty shelf. That accomplished, she sat in a chair before the fire. While she waited for her dinner companion, she considered the clothes she would buy in London. Miss Mansard had assured her that the fire insurance would cover part of the cost. Before she knew it, she was falling asleep. Sometime later she opened her eyes and gasped. The room was dark, but Gregory Godwin was standing over her holding a lighted oil lamp. He was looking at her with an expression her tired mind refused to interpret, but it made her feel foolish. She glared, angry at being stared at while asleep. "I trust you haven't been here long!" "No. But I thought you might be really tired; I was hesitating to wake you." His tone was cynical. "Really tired! You thought I might be faking sleep?" She sought for words with which to puncture his complacency. "Mr. Godwin, what a suspicious man you are!" "With reason. Robbie's mother would go to any lengths to dump that boy on me - even to going where she can't be reached. I fear I did you an injustice. I suspected it was on her orders you were bringing him here." Polly looked her astonishment, but she felt too drowsy to remain angry. "All right," he said, permitting himself a faint smile, "let's cry truce. Thank you for clearing the table. I'll go see what Mrs. Angus has left us. Will you come along and carry the plates?" Another lamp had been left burning in the kitchen. "Electric lighting is being installed on this floor," he offered by way of explanation. "Wall sconces. They should be ready any day now." Lined up along the back of the stove were a steak-and-kidney pie, asparagus tips from a can, and bannocks. In the fridge was a blancmange. From some secret store Gregory Godwin produced a bottle of vintage wine. Although he himself had not changed for dinner, Polly bit her tongue to keep from apologizing for the plainness of her skirt and tunic. She contented herself with remarking, "I can't wait to get to London. I lost all the clothes I owned." Somewhat to her surprise they had a pleasant meal. Perhaps the pie put him in a good mood. At any rate he began to tell her his plans for the island. "Several species of seabirds share these cliffs - auks, kittiwakes, fulmars

and puffins. Eider ducks breed in the heather. The far end is low-lying and sandy. Four varieties of terns nest there. I plan to make the island a refuge. This tower could accommodate bird-watchers overnight. I have in mind to turn it into a kind of guest house; charge enough to cover expenses. Seabirds would be the main attraction, but there are plenty of other species." "However, my main object is to learn more about colonizing seabirds. I want to find out what threats offshore drilling for oil is going to pose." "How is that a threat?" "The noise of the drilling may upset them. They haven't chosen these isolated cliffs for nothing. Or the activity may drive away the schools of small fish they use to feed their young. I don't know. Nobody knows. But if we have more information, we can make compromises with the drilling companies." "How will you get the information?" she asked with interest. He twirled his wineglass with one shapely hand. "Keeping an accurate count is one way." "Counting them!" Polly could not keep her astonishment from showing. Gregory Godwin's eyes glinted at her amazement. "It's possible to count a colony with fair accuracy simply by counting the nests and multiplying by two. Over a few years one can tell whether numbers are declining or remaining steady. We'll also study the kinds of fish they bring to their nestlings, how many eggs hatch, that sort of thing. A lot can be learned just by watching and keeping notes." The idea of spending one's days peering at a cliff full of birds was so far removed from Polly's experience that she was speechless. The vicar in her village had been a bird-watcher, but he was an old man. Everyone had thought it the ideal recreation for him, calling as it did for a little mild exercise. But the idea of making a scientific study of birds' habits seemed utterly frivolous. Perhaps Gregory Godwin had had a mental breakdown and was taking a resi from the world of publishing. She could understand that. After her parents were killed in a car collision she had gone to live with her aunt in London. Her first job had been in an office where the head of the firm was practically a raving maniac-chain-smoking and screaming at his secretary. It had been her aunt who encouraged her to go to decorating school, refusing to let her pay anything toward the household expenses. And the world of interior decorating was so... so interior. Not that she didn't like the outdoors - she did. But outdoors to her meant the gentle countryside of Bucks where she had grown up, the quiet reaches of the Thames. To choose to work on a windswept island in the North Sea, even in spring with summer coming, was something she couldn't fathom. He must have another reason for being here. But what? Gregory Godwin was still talking enthusiastically. He's lonely, she thought with surprise. "Over several years we can find out a lot by banding as many birds as possible," he was saying. "Information as to the length of life of most wild birds is very scarce. This work isn't as meaningless to the ordinary person as you might think, either. Seabirds are low on the food chain. Dangerous pollution can show up in one season - soft-shelled eggs, no shells at all, deformed chicks. That's how ecologists were able to detect the damage from DDT. There are other dangerous chemicals we have to look out for, too, before they poison the higher animals." "A watchman for the planet!" Polly was inspired to say. "Like a lighthouse keeper." Gregory Godwin gave a contemptuous snort. "That's a little too romantic." Nettled, Polly said, "It sounds as though you plan to spend a great deal of time here." "I do. Unlike some people, who can't wait to get to London." His blue gray eyes held a hint of amusement. Was he actually teasing her? "But - " She stopped short. "But what?" He smiled. The harsh lines of his face softened. Shadows hid

the icy color of his eyes. For the first time she saw how very good-looking he was when he chose to look pleasant. "Nothing. I was going to ask something that's none of my business." She had been going to ask how he looked after his business - publishing. "Then I'll ask one that's none of mine." Again he smiled. "What will you do now your job has ended?" Her eyes narrowed. Why should he ask that? Very much on the alert, she explained that she intended to finish her course in interior decoration. Gregory Godwin merely said, "I see." They had eaten and were moving to the fire with their coffee when their peace was shattered by a wail. "Polly! Polly!" came the hysterical shrieks from the next room. Polly's cup and saucer clattered as she dumped them on the bare floor and ran into the bedroom. "You're all right, darling. Polly's here!" she called, hurrying to the child's bedside. "It's all over, my dear." She folded him in her arms. "You were having a bad dream." Slowly Robbie's screams subsided. "Don't leave," he wept, burying his face against her shoulder. "I won't, darling. Not tonight. I'll be sleeping in this very room. For now, we're right next door." The light from the adjoining room dimmed. Polly looked up to see Gregory Godwin silhouetted in the doorway, watching her soothe Robbie and coax him to lie back and be covered. "Look," Polly told the little boy. "Here's your uncle. He'll think you don't like his island if you make such a fuss." She glanced at the man, but with his back to the light she could see nothing of his expression. After a time Robbie dozed off, and she returned to the other room and cold coffee. She returned to a cold man, too. His lips were white, his eyes icy-gray. "I wouldn't have believed it!" he said through gritted teeth. "How dare you bring a child in that condition to a place like this?" "I - we didn't know - " she stammered, shocked by his attack. "And it was too much trouble to find out! I suppose I should be grateful he's no longer in the care of such irresponsible females." "The fire wasn't our fault!" Polly whispered savagely, stung into replying to his gross accusations. "And what better place for a traumatized child than with his family?" "You're not going to get away with it!" His voice rose. His eyes were like chips of steel. "You've made him dependent on you, so you can damned well stay here till his mother comes!" "Keep your voice down," Polly ordered. "Of course I'm not going to stay!" Even as she said the words she realized she would have liked to stay. Why, for heaven's sake? Did she enjoy being browbeaten by this bully? "Like it or not - " he spoke softly but his jaw jutted like the cliffs of his island " - you're staying." Polly essayed a mirthless laugh, which emerged as a squeak. "You can't keep me prisoner!" "Can't I? Wait and see!" With a final angry glance he stalked out the door, leaving her doubly furious. She hated a man who wouldn't stay and fight! CHAPTER THREE

POLLY LIGHTED A CANDLE and carried it to the bathroom. One thing the tower had was plenty of hot water. She wondered how they managed it. She drew a bath and lay luxuriating in it. The Mansard School had never had enough hot water to go around. Her small shapely body stretched almost full length in the big tub, and she began to relax. She wriggled her toes and realized her hair was probably curling madly in the steam, but it didn't matter; she would wash it and in the morning pin it back into a bun.

By the time she blew out the candle and slipped into bed she felt quite cheerful. Gregory Godwin was a cross-grained eccentric who couldn't possibly mean everything he said. He was a businessman, president of a huge publishing company. Company presidents might be used to shouting at their secretaries and other employees, but they didn't go around keeping people prisoner. She awoke next morning to the sound of hammering from the floor above. She opened her eyes to the solid whiteness of fog outside the windows. Robbie sat up with a cry soon after, and she hastened to his bed to remind him where he was. She listened for sounds from the next room. It was late, if the carpenters were already at work. She helped Robbie into his clothes, which in the stark morning light looked disgraceful. She sent him to the kitchen to alert Mrs. Angus that they had risen. Once again she donned the navy skirt and tunic and pinned back her hair. She studied herself in the bathroom mirror and decided that she looked responsible and mature. As soon as she turned from the mirror, however, the stern look vanished. Her eyes resumed their usual engaging twinkle, and her soft mouth relaxed into happy curves. In the kitchen Mrs. Angus was adding warmed plates to covered dishes already on a tray. She greeted Polly kindly. "The laddie tells me he's right hungry this morning, which seems a good sign. I hope he is. I've given you a Northumberland breakfast with Craster kippers. Craster's just down the coast." "And famous!" Polly agreed cheerfully. "Let me take the tray." "Very well." Mrs. Angus handed it to Polly. "I'll bring along the tea as soon as the water boils." "Everything's delicious," Polly declared some minutes later when Mrs. Angus came in with the teapot. Mrs. Angus looked gratified. "Is this your first trip to Northumbria, miss?" She stood with her hands in her apron pockets, looking pleased to have someone to talk to. "Yes, it is," Polly said brightly, pouring her tea^ "Angus says you're leaving today." Mrs. Angus sounded regretful. "Too bad about this nasty fog. You won't have seen anything of the island." Robbie stopped chewing and eyed Polly reproachfully over a forkful of egg. "It isn't quite decided yet," Polly said hastily. "I have to speak to Mr. Godwin. Can you tell me where to find him?" Oh, Lord, she thought, don't let Robbie pull his fainting trick now! Gregory Godwin will.never let me go. Upon waking she had decided that he had been taunting her; this morning he would pretend to have forgotten his absurd pronouncement. She was prepared to meet him halfway, and meant to offer a goodwill gesture. If he would tell her at what London shops he had accounts, the moment she got to town she would pick out a whole new wardrobe for Robbie and have it sent. What could be fairer than that? A bar of sunlight slanted through the window. Mrs. Angus said, "Ach, it will be clearing soon. Mr. Gregory's down at the boat, doubtless getting ready to take you across." Robbie dropped his fork and sat back in his chair, looking tearful. "You're not going to leave, are you, Polly?" "Robbie, you know I must! I have to go to London and go to work. You'll have your uncle and Mrs. Angus, and you don't want them to think you're not a big boy, do you?" Robbie swung his foot against the chair leg and looked unhappy. Mrs. Angus spoke with apparent reluctance. "I suppose I'd best be getting the men's lunch, if you've everything you want." "Everything's fine, thank you." Polly could have wished Mrs. Angus had not mentioned her leaving, but it had to be faced. When they carried their breakfast things back to the kitchen, Polly received a pleasant surprise. A boxful of black-and-white kittens had been placed beside the hearth. Robbie was transported with delight. "I thought that would please him," Mrs. Angus said with satisfaction. "I had Angus bring them up from the byre. The kitchen cat goes to the straw for

her lying-in." Polly fetched her parka from her room. The month-old kittens were tottering around the floor. Robbie became absorbed in putting them back in their box. Polly ran lightly down the steps and onto the terrace, feeling unaccountably carefree. Perhaps it was because for the moment all decisions were out of her hands. She was waiting on Gregory Godwin and the weather. In the fog the tower and nearby bracken floated like a fairy isle in a circle of mist. It was uncanny. London, even Birdsea, was another world. She crossed to where the terrace wall overlooked the cliffs. They, too, were enveloped in mist. From below came the cries of disembodied spirits, or perhaps the sounds merely came from seabirds. She gave herself a mental shake and returned to reality. She must confront Mr. Godwin and find out when he meant to return her to the mainland. As she recrossed the terrace and started along the gravel path she could hear men's voices. The fog seemed to be thickening again, but she walked confidently onward, expecting every moment to see Angus and Gregory Godwin emerge from the shrouding white. The path took a sharp dip, and the voices grew more distant. She halted, confused. How far had she come? The crash of waves on rocks seemed ominously near. She could scarcely see beyond her next footstep. From the sound of the breakers, the path ran right along the cliff's edge. Despite what Gregory Godwin thought, she was not an impractical dreamer. She knew when to turn around and go back. There was no problem in doing that. She could tell by the feel of gravel underfoot that she was following the path. Cloudy shadows became vague rocks and then startlingly clear rocks, shining blackly wet. When she had covered some distance she began to think it was time she came to the terrace. After a few more steps, however, the path began once more to descend. The sound of crashing waves grew even louder. A queer panic made her turn to look behind her, where an invisible presence seemed to be hovering. At any moment it might reveal itself. Obviously she was lost. Equally obviously, it was not wise to wander along clifftops in a fog. At the side of the path away from the cliff she chose one of the wet black stones and sat down to wait. Someone would come along, or the mist would clear. Again she felt carefree, suspended between the Mansard School and London. A strange soprano note drifted through the whiteness. Another note, not quite the same tone, joined it, like someone crying. The wind against the rocks? But there was no wind! Mermaids! This rocky island, the North Sea, the tower - these were their haunts! Or at any rate, it was in places like this where men's minds had conceived them. No wonder! There was something otherworldly in the eerie cries, for that was what they were - sounds made by some living thing. A bird? She sat dreamily thinking how the singing of mermaids had supposedly lured sailors onto rocks. She felt warm, for the fog was not cold. However, the dampness was making strands of her hair slip loose from their confinement and curl madly. She pulled out the pins and shook her head, intending to pin her hair up tighter. The curls were still around her shoulders when she heard quick footsteps on the gravel. An instant later Gregory Godwin emerged from the fog. Surrounded only by grayness, every detail of his face and clothing seemed to stand out clearly, as though yesterday she had looked at him through a pane of glass. He was handsome! Though his hair was light and his eyes the icy blue gray of a Viking, his brows and lashes were dark. Droplets of dew had collected on his tweed hat. He was wearing a coat of some gray green material that repelled the wet. Beneath it a rollneck pullover of dark green made his eyes look even icier, His square chin appeared freshly shaven. "Here you are!" he almost scolded, and then stood like a man stunned. For once he had lost his tongue. Perhaps he was seeing her in an eerie light, too

- perhaps even as a mermaid.... Polly shook herself free of such fancy, sweeping her dark locks together and giving them a twist. Taking the pins one by'one from her lap, she pinned her hair up in a bun while watching him doubtfully. Had she put him in a temper again? "1---That is, I thought - " He drew a deep breath and seemed to come to himself. "To walk out on these cliffs in a fog! What were you thinking of?" he began to storm. "London, I suppose!" "Nonsense!" Polly tucked the last pin into her hair and stood up. Determined to be amicable, she decided to explain. "The fog wasn't dense when I started out. When I realized I had missed the path, I sat down to wait. So here I am, perfectly safe. As a matter of fact, I've been listening to the mermaids." She lifted her chin challengingly. Again the strange keening drifted up from below. "Seals." Gregory Godwin appeared not the least mollified. "You may count yourself lucky I went to the kitchen and learned you'd gone out. Do you know how near the edge you are?" he rasped. "Look!" Grabbing her arm, he tugged her across the strip of gravel. "One step beyond that stone and there'd have been no question of keeping you here. You'd have been listening to mermaids with harps!" His grasp on her arm tightened. He jerked her roughly forward into the whiteness, so that for an instant she thought she would overbalance and topple headfirst into the gray emptiness. Almost before she could react he pulled her back. Her feet scuffled on the gravel path as she regained her balance. Eyes wide with fear, she stared at him. He grinned nastily. She felt her fear turn to rage. How dare he try to frighten her like that! And push her around! Worse, the shock that ran through her body at his touch was not caused entirely by fright. His strength held a thrill of excitement, too. In that instant she understood how such a response could lure a woman, uncaring, to her own destruction. "Let go of me!" she snapped, pulling her arm free. Her heart was pounding. She struggled to control her breathing. Again he was looking at her strangely, almost as if he'd never seen a woman before. Her anger had sharpened to caution. He was so big; the cliff was so close. "All right, show me the way back," she snapped, setting off the way he had come. In one stride he caught up with her. He chose to walk between her and the drop-off. Perhaps he wasn't inhuman, after all. "You're not really k-keeping me here?" she stammered. "You - I can understand that you're angry. You should have been notified." She glanced at him side-wise, her heart still thumping. He glared. "Do you know what was happening in the kitchen when I walked in? Robbie was proceeding to pull his fainting trick. Yes, Angus told me about it. Mrs. Angus was beside herself. She's cooking for eight men. Do you think she has time to look after a small boy, too?" "Oh, dear!" Polly would have increased her speed, but his voice stopped her. "We'll walk back slowly, if you please. I have more to say to you. You're too fanciful to have charge of a child. What's more, you take foolish risks. But you've made that boy dependent on you - " "I did not!" she interrupted. "It simply happened." Not for the world would she tell him she had saved Robbie's life. She didn't have to prove anything to this man. "All right," he was saying, "I absolve you of deliberately making him dependent, but if you have any sense of responsibility, you won't leave him now." "But I have no clothes!" His lip curled. "Is that more important?"

"Of course not! But I literally have nothing but what I'm wearing! I would have been in London now...!" she almost wailed. "I was going to offer to shop for Robbie and send what he needs." "I daresay Alnwick sells children's clothing. And for you - " He looked her up and down. "As a resort town, it undoubtedly has exclusive shops." "I don't need exclusive shops!" Polly stormed. "I just need clothing - in my size! Which isn't to be had everywhere." "Not even in the children's section?" To her annoyance he was smiling. "And what about Robbie's mother?" she lashed out, aware that his smile was making her determination waver. "You said yourself she might not come." "The more reason for you to stay until I can arrange something." They reached the terrace. Furious at him and at herself, Polly flew across it and up the stairs. She paused to assume a calm expression before she entered the kitchen. Mrs. Angus had collapsed into a chair before the fire and was reinforcing herself with tea. At the sight of Polly she started up. "Thank heavens you've come, miss! I don't know what to do with the boy! Mr. Gregory put him in the bedroom, and he's crying fit to burst. What we'll do after you leave I don't know!" Polly's heart sank, and she hurried to the bedroom. There she talked bracingly to Robbie, well aware that he must not become more dependent on her. He had been traumatized by the fire! Didn't Gregory understand that? Before the blaze Polly had thought him sturdily independent. It was a trait he would need - with such uncaring relatives. For his own sake, as much as she yearned to cuddle him she didn't dare. He must recover his courage. The Mansard School had taught him to be obedient; he would stay where he was told. He should actually be given the run of the tower and the terrace, she decided, for it seemed the kind of place to promote high spirits in any child. If his uncle would only spare the time to take him around a bit and show him where it was safe to play, the island could be a paradise for a boy Robbie's age. Then Gregory would see what a charming child he really was. She returned to the kitchen, intent on explaining this to Gregory Godwin, only to learn that he had taken a packet of sandwiches and gone. Something to do with the refuge, Mrs. Angus said. Pride kept Polly from asking about the boat. Luckily her underclothing was sheer and dried overnight, but she was getting heartily sick of navy blue! Her skirt and tunic felt like a prison uniform already. She bit her full underlip and allowed herself to consider the possibility of staying. A few weeks on Kitti-wake would be like a holiday, certainly preferable to a series of dreary typing jobs. But at what risk? Despite his forbidding aspect, or perhaps because of it, Polly was aware of Gregory Godwin to her fingertips. Her skin prickled when he was nearby, keeping her on edge. Even now when he wasn't in sight, when she didn't know where he was except for somewhere on the island, he was never quite out of her mind. He engendered a kind of excitement in her. She seemed to be waiting for what he'd do next. Her mind sheered away from thinking more specifically about her reaction to him. Nevertheless, she sensed that when she returned to London and her aunt's tiny apartment, the letdown might be acute. She had only been here overnight, yet she didn't want to leave. Before coming to Kittiwake she had looked forward eagerly to pursuing her studies. What had happened to that eagerness? Was it because her horizons had been suddenly broadened? She had never considered living on an island in the North Sea before. But now that she was out here she loved the feeling of freedom, a feeling that came with the fresh wind. Her reluctance to go back to a regulated round of work and classes in the city had nothing to do with Gregory Godwin. BY AFTERNOON THE SUN was beginning to burn off the fog, and Polly took Robbie out onto the terrace. For a while they hung over the wall, trying to convince themselves that some of the brown rocks below were basking seals.

She wanted to tell Robbie about their singing, but she didn't know enough to answer his inevitable questions. She was conscious of a wish to ask Gregory Godwin more about them. Some puffins flew past - sea parrots, Angus called them, because of their colorful beaks. She and Robbie crossed the terrace to look landward. The curtaining fog still shrouded everything beyond a stone's throw. Within the visible circle lay a grass-tufted meadow scattered with outcrops of greenish black rock. "Right on the edge of that fog is a cliff," Robbie told her, adding ghoulishly, "If you walk into the fog you'll fall down...smash!" Polly was silent. Should she explain that most of the island lay in the direction he was pointing, or would it be better not to contradict his cautious attitude? Before she could decide she heard footsteps on the flagstones, and turned to see Gregory Godwin coming from the tower. Field glasses hung from a strap around his neck. "Oh," she exclaimed. "Mrs. Angus said you'd already gone." He looked at her with raised eyebrows. "Not here!" she muttered in answer to his unspoken question. "Very well, we'll talk later. As long as this fog lasts all discussion is meaningless." "Uncle Gregory!" Robbie was leaning over the wall. "There's a bird!" Gregory moved to lean on his forearms beside Robbie. "That's a female eider duck. See, she's made a nest in the bracken." Polly turned to see, too. The bird's Havana-brown plumage blended into its background. "Long ago Saint Cuthbert lived north of here on Lindisfarne Island," Gregory told his nephew. "They say he loved these little ducks and gave them his protection. People here call them Cuddy's ducks." "Is 'Cuddy' short for 'Saint Cuthbert'?" Polly asked for Robbie's sake. "Yes," Gregory replied almost sharply, as if resenting her entry into the conversation. The duck began vigorously preening her breast. "See what she's doing?" Gregory directed. "She's pulling out her own soft feathers to line her nest. When she leaves to eat or drink, she'll pull the feathers over the eggs to keep them warm and hidden." "Like a quilt!" Robbie exclaimed. "Exactly. That's where eiderdown for our quilts and jackets comes from. In some places men come with bags and take the down, but not here. These birds are protected." "Is that why you're watching them?" "In a way. We're learning more about them." "Why?" Robbie looked shyly up at the man beside him. The two of them made a charming picture, Polly thought, despite her dislike of Gregory Godwin. She was again struck by the family resemblance. "They help us understand more about the world we live in. Can you find any more nests?" Gregory Godwin appeared good-humored and patient, hardly the same person who had materialized out of the fog this morning and upbraided her. Robbie studied the meadow. "There, by that other rock?" Gregory nodded. Polly felt a wave of gratitude, which was absurd, considering the fact he was Robbie's uncle and guardian. He owed the child some attention. "And there, and there!" Robbie began pointing excitedly. "Yes. You see how they're not afraid to nest close to the building. That's because no one disturbs them. We never walk across the meadow. We stay on the road, or the paths." Gregory turned to Polly. "If you'd like to take him for a walk, you can't come to any harm in that direction." He indicated a wheel-rutted track that crossed the meadow and disappeared in the mist. "That goes to Moreton's cottage and what's left of three others. The workmen are sleeping in one. They go home to the mainland on weekends." "Perhaps we will." Polly glanced at Robbie. It would be a chance for him to

see there was more to the island than dangerous cliffs. "Shall we go?" "No...." The boy hung back. With a contemptuous glance at Polly, Gregory turned on his heel and strode purposefully down the track. Where was he going? Did he watch birds in the fog? Polly felt annoyed with Robbie. "That's no way to behave when your uncle suggests a nice walk," she told him. Robbie hung his head and scuffed one toe on the flagstones. Polly said, "I'm going to do what he suggested. Do you want to come?" "No." "What are you afraid of?" "We'll get lost." "Nonsense." Should she insist on his coming with her to overcome his fear? As she stood undecided, an angry shout pierced the silence surrounding the tower. Robbie clutched her hand. Was that Gregory? A second shout ended abruptly, cut off in mid-breath. Another voice seemed to cry a warning. Other cries answered. A moment later silence again wrapped the island. The brooding ducks appeared undisturbed. Far away a motor spluttered, droned, and grew fainter until it faded away. Polly stood listening to the pounding of her heart. Had that been Gregory who shouted? Who else was on the island? The fog made everything seem unnatural and eerie. Robbie began tugging her toward the tower entrance. He looked frightened. "What do you suppose that was all about?" Polly made herself ask calmly. She let him pull her to the archway. "Would you rather go in and play with the kittens?" "They need me to play with them," Robbie said urgently, "otherwise they quarrel." In the kitchen he made for their box. In low tones Polly told Mrs. Angus about the shouting. Mrs. Angus was unconcerned. "That would be the workmen upstairs shouting at each other," she explained. "Fog does strange things to voices. Bounces them about, like." "It didn't seem to come from overhead," Polly puzzled. "Someone sounded angry, and then it seemed as though men were calling each other." "Leave the wean with me and go see for yourself. You'll find nothing but birds out there," Mrs. Angus said placidly. "Unless you go all the way to the beach where the terns nest. There you'll find Mr. Gregory. But I wouldn't advise it. They do be nasty quarrelsome birds who like nothing better than to dive-bomb ye." "Maybe I will...." Polly started for the door. "Just to put my mind at ease," she added with a laugh. Going down the winding stone stairs, she questioned Mrs. Angus's easy explanation. I won't be comfortable till I see for myself, she thought. That shout - chopped off as it was - had had a tone of anger and surprise. She found herself walking briskly, as if making for a certain destination. In a way she was. She wanted to prove that the fog had warped her hearing. She turned once to look back, but the tower was lost in gray vapor. Ahead of her, white walls of two roofless cottages were taking shape. There was no movement, no sound, except for a white hen pecking aimlessly beside the track. She turned back, convinced. However weird it seemed, Mrs. Angus was right. The shouts must have come from the workmen. She nearly stumbled over the figure sprawled among the grass tufts. He was lying face down, his hat missing. Blood oozed through the blond hair. With a cry she dropped to her knees. "Mr. Godwin!" He had been struck from behind. Her heart lurched. He was too heavy for her to move, but she managed to lift his shoulders and turn his face to one side. His eyelids fluttered and he groaned. He was alive, then, thank God. She peered around at the dark rocks, the shrouding fog. What now? Was it safe to leave him and go for help? No, she would not do that. She would stay

here and keep guard over him, in case the assailants returned. If she hadn't come in by teatime, surely Mrs. Angus would send someone to find her. It looked as though the wound was the kind best left to nature to heal. The bleeding had stopped. But of course the fog was not really a wall. Other shouts had penetrated it, so hers would, too. She raised her voice and called, "Help! Help!" "Help! Help!" came the echo. She might have been at the bottom of a valley instead of on a rocky islet in the North Sea. Would anyone hear? If they did, they couldn't possibly attribute the sound of her voice to workmen upstairs, she thought wryly. Who had attacked him? And why? She shivered though the morning was not chilly. Still, she thought, he shouldn't be lying there uncovered. She pulled off her parka and laid it over him. He was breathing heavily. She sought something to put under his head and reached for his hat, which was lying to one side. Then she stood up. Drawing a deep breath, she shouted with all her might. Her only answer was the cry of a gull from the mist overhead. However, she seemed to have roused Gregory. With a groan he heaved himself to his hands and knees. Catching sight of her, he sat back on his heels. Her parka fell to the ground and she picked it up. "What happened?" He rubbed a hand across his eyes and looked puzzled. "Someone hit you. I heard shouts and found you lying here. Do you remember anything?" He frowned in concentration, or pain. "They were stealing the eiderdown." "Who was?" "I don't know!" he growled impatiently. "I saw one man. Another one must have hit me. It was just luck that I ran across them. The one fellow had almost a full sack. Lord knows how many nests they robbed." "How wicked!" Polly's cry came from her heart. How evil to rob these poor birds, who sacrificed their own feathers to protect their ducklings. Gregory managed a lopsided grin. "Are you concerned for me or the eiders? It's not the end of the world. They'll simply pluck out more. They can spare it. But disturbing them like that - they may fail to nest, or abandon their eggs. This disruption adds another dimension to our guesswork." He tried to shake his head. A wave of nausea struck him. He groaned and retched. "I should have expected trouble," he gasped. "Down jackets have become so popular. A bag of eiderdown must be worth a fortune these days." It began to seem obvious that no one was coming in answer to Polly's cry for help. Gregory climbed painfully to his feet, swayed, and moved to lean against a rocky outcrop. "I'm lucky you came along," he said dazedly. "Where's my nephew?" She smiled slightly. "He elected to play inside." Gregory grinned humorlessly. "Takes after his mother, all right. She's a winner for disappearing when there's trouble." "He's only a little boy!" Polly scolded. "I daresay he was never away from his nurse before he went to school." Gregory grunted. "And you - how'd you happen to come along?" "I heard you shout," Polly explained. "When I told Mrs. Angus, she said the fog was distorting the workmen's voices. But I couldn't accept that. She was in the kitchen and didn't hear what I heard." "I'm obliged to you," he said stiffly. "You needn't be," she replied in a voice as stiff as his. "Will they come back?" "Not if the fog clears off. I guess they counted on that to keep from being seen. There's only one beach here where a boat can land easily. Next time there's fog I'll have it patrolled." "How's your head?" "Feels like someone's hammering on it. I also feel I might be sick at any moment."

"I could go and get someone to bring the jeep." "No, thanks." He started to shake his head and winced. "I'll be better off walking." "Is there anything I can do?" He looked amused. His face was pale - greenish, even - but for an instant his eyes looked less wintry. "Pick me up if I fall down. Know anything about concussion?" Polly shook her head. "Mrs. Angus will. She raised a family here with no doctor closer than the mainland." The way he staggered along the track made Polly want to put a supporting arm around his waist, but she shrank from suggesting it. Her fingers still tingled from touching his hair. She glanced again at the spot on his head where the blow had fallen. The fine strands of his hair had the color and shine of new straw. At the crown, however, they were tousled and dark with dried blood. Her glance took in the way his hair ended in curling wisps against his sun-browned neck. The breath caught in her throat. She looked quickly down at the path in front of her. She had no business looking at a man so intimately. Don't be a fool! she admonished herself. Gregory was silent, all his concentration bent on putting one foot ahead of the other. She realized it was touching to see such a self-sufficient man apparently helpless. Her fear of him had faded; he was as vulnerable as anyone else. "There it is," she encouraged him as the tower emerged from the mist. "I think the fog's clearing, too." "None too soon," he muttered. He sent Polly ahead to warn Mrs. Angus. "Lord have mercy!" the housekeeper exclaimed. "Whatever next? Why, I haven't heard of down thieves in years. I never would have believed it." She bustled around, making a fresh pot of tea. Robbie came to lean elbows on the table, his eyes round. "Some bad men came to steal the eiderdown," Polly explained. "They hit your uncle and ran away." "What he needs is to go straight to bed and stay there till tomorrow," Mrs. Angus decreed. "Go straight to bed and stay there!" she repeated as Gregory came through the door. "And absolutely no spirits. Nothing but tea, and maybe some soup if you fancy it." "All I fancy is getting to bed," he growled. Polly could see it was ass effort for him to walk. Mrs. Angus nodded to her. "You see him up. I'll bring the tea." Wordlessly Polly followed him up a flight of stairs and down a corridor to a corner bedroom. Stepping over the threshold, she was brought up short at the sight of an immense and ancient oak bed, which was standing sentinel in an otherwise empty room. Its solid carved headboard and handsome turned and carved footposts supported a rooflike wooden canopy. Wooden slats meant to hold a mattress yawned vacantly. She thought it must date from about the seventeenth century. "Sorry I'm not better company," Gregory muttered feebly. Polly blinked. Did he think he'd been good company before? Maybe he was growing light-headed. He sank onto a sleeping bag that lay crumpled atop an air mattress, and began tearing at the knots in his shoelaces. She had to hold herself back to keep from helping him. Such help would not be welcomed. She looked around the bare room. A jumble of shirts and socks spilled from an expensive leather suitcase. Pajamas hung on a doorknob. Windows in two walls looked out into gray fog. Outside one window she glimpsed the stone balustrade of a narrow balcony. An open door showed a connecting room with new plumbing fixtures like the bath downstairs. Gregory kicked off his shoes and stretched out with a groan.

Her mind seething with questions about the bed, Polly looked for something to put over him, but the room contained no extra covers. Mrs. Angus soon bustled in with the tea tray and a cold compress for his head, and Polly slipped away to fetch one of the blankets from her own bed. He wasn't going to feel like crawling in and out of a sleeping bag for a while. He groaned his thanks for the tea and the blanket. Mrs. Angus expressed her disapproval of such heathen sleeping arrangements, and ordered him on no account to come downstairs. Polly promised to look in on him once every hour. Then she followed Mrs. Angus back to the kitchen. She felt at loose ends, more out of place than ever. If the fog was clearing, there was no reason why the boat couldn't make it to Birdsea. Could she ask Angus to take her, or must Gregory give his permission? How awkward! Even if Angus would oblige, she could hardly go without informing Mr. Godwin. Since she was here anyway, she could keep Robbie entertained. And she could offer to help Mrs. Angus. When she was a little girl her father had taught her something she'd never forgotten. "Whenever you're unhappy," he'd instructed, "help someone else. I'm not saying that will make you happy, but at least you'll be doing something positive. Your unhappiness won't hurt quite so much." Not that she was unhappy. On the contrary, the island was very interesting. She could see how it would be easy to get caught up in this little world and not want to leave, if it weren't for her own affairs.... She had never hung around an airport waiting for fog to clear, but it must be like this. She could either spend the time bemoaning her boredom, or she could take some of the pressure off Mrs. Angus. The housekeeper accepted her help gratefully. Gregory's accident had thrown her off schedule. Together she and Polly sat down to peel potatoes for dinner. Robbie was allowed to go upstairs and watch the workmen. "Mr. Gregory tells me he's asked you to stay and take care of the wean," Mrs. Angus said. "Asked is hardly the word." Polly gave a wry smile. Something about Mrs. Angus made her feel the woman would take her side. "He's threatened to keep me here." "He never did!" Polly nodded. "Why, there's no telling when that flighty woman may turn up. I never said I couldn't look after the wean, once he settles down. He seems a good quiet laddie." "He is," Polly assured her. Mrs. Angus chuckled. "I never thought I'd see the day when his lordship would have to force a girl to stay here. Only last week he was trying to drive one away." "Really?" That one word was all that was needed to start Mrs. Angus off. "Why, he and his brother hadn't been here a fortnight. They came - let's see - the last week in March. Angus and me helped clean up in here, and they began bringing supplies. And don't you know, one morning - the sea was very rough, too, just after a storm - this girl turns up. Her own boat, mind you! Well, her husband's perhaps, but I was never supposed to know that. She'd come to see Mr. Gregory. And she stayed. She slept aboard her boat, so there wasn't much he could do. I mean, he could hardly order her to leave. Well, maybe he did. Anyhow, she didn't go. Every evening when Mr. Gregory finished his bird-watching there she was, waiting for him. I guess he shared his dinner with her. I don't know what else he shared, but I'll say this - he didn't encourage her. Mr. Lance told me she was the wife of one of their best-selling authors, so Mr. Gregory had an awkward situation on his hands." "Some women won't stop at anything. His sister-in-law's another. At the moment she's off on a yacht, but I'll lay you odds she'll be back here before the cat can lick its ear." "Robbie's father...?"

"Dead. Killed himself in a car race." "What made the author's wife leave?" Mrs. Angus smirked. "Ran out of brandy. Mr. Gregory told Angus not to buy her any when he went in. I guess she finally took the hint." "No wonder he thinks well of himself," Polly ventured. Mrs. Angus's button-bright eyes shot her a meaningful look. "He needs a wife to take him down a notch." Polly laughed. Mrs. Angus permitted herself a smile. "Where does all the lovely hot water come from?" Polly asked. "The sun!" Mrs. Angus cocked an eye to watch Polly's reaction. "Really?" Mrs. Angus nodded solemnly. "Solar collectors, they're called. He spent a fortune putting them on the roof, and then he had to have a coal-burning system to back them up." She shook her head at the extravagance. "Does it work?" "So far.... He tried windmills, too, but he had to take them down." "Windmills?" Polly repeated. Mrs. Angus made a face. "To make electricity. The birds kept flying into them. Every morning there'd be dead birds all over the ground around them. He had to settle for a plain old generator that runs on oil. He finally realized the best way of going on is to do what we've always done on Kittiwake - use oil lamps or go to bed. So the upstairs won't have electricity for a while, if ever." Polly felt glad she wasn't going to have to endure such privation. Luckily, this far north the days were very long in summer, but when winter came.... She had a crazy vision of herself carrying a lamp down a long dark corridor toward a room lit only by a blazing fireplace. Gregory was there, waiting for her.... "That'll do, miss," Mrs. Angus's voice broke into her vision. Polly looked down to find she had peeled the last potato. Conversation was at an end until the midday meal was over and the men had returned to work. Twice Polly looked in on Gregory. Both times he was asleep and breathing heavily. She oversaw Robbie's bath, put him to bed, then washed his shorts and shirt and hung them to dry before the kitchen fire. She was facing a lonely dinner in the room with the empty bookshelves when Gregory appeared. Holding his head, he made for the shelf on which the bottle of whiskey sat. "Mrs. Angus said no spirits," Polly reminded him. He paused, scowling. "I suppose she wouldn't object to an aspirin?" He changed direction, making toward another shelf holding first-aid supplies. Polly brought a glass of water from the kitchen and asked how he felt, aside from the headache. Gregory sat before the fire and considered. "Furious at those damned thieves," he answered. "Also hungry. What has Mrs. Angus left us?" Polly told him. Then she set the table and brought in the hot casserole. The blow seemed not to have affected his appetite, but Polly was pretty sure his head was throbbing despite the aspirin, and she made no attempt at conversation. The sooner he finished eating, she reasoned, the sooner he could go back to bed. However, when they had eaten he said, "Come, I want to show you something." "Where?" she asked in surprise. He was picking up a flashlight from one of the bookshelves. "Right out here." Thinking it best to humor him, she let him lead her along the passage to a door opposite the kitchen. He fumbled in his pocket and brought out keys. Selecting one, he unlocked the door and threw it open. "This should interest you." The light played over stacked furniture. Shapes emerged: benches such as the one in the sitting room, oak chairs. A massive oak dresser! She drew a deep breath. "Antiques! What is all this?" She turned shining

eyes on Gregory. "They tell me the former owner collected Jacobean oak." His eyes glinted. "That's how the bed got here!" she exclaimed. "The one upstairs? Maybe. Certainly it would have been too heavy to bother moving down here when the rest of the furniture was stored." He closed the door and relocked it. "Tempted, Miss Drake?" His voice was mocking. "Tempted? I don't know what you mean." "To do a little decorating. Someone's got to take charge of distributing that furniture. I thought you might like to do it." Polly gasped. "Me?" He held up a hand. "My head's splitting. Will you forgive me if I go back to bed?" He smiled wanly and turned toward the stairs without waiting for an answer. She stood in the passage, frowning after the flashlight until Gregory turned the corner and she heard his footsteps on the stairs. Why had he shown her that furniture? What did he have in mind? She had never met such a maddening man. She returned to the sitting room and sat before the snug little fire, thinking of the antiques. In her mind's eye she tried to sort the jumble into actual pieces. Had she really glimpsed a Jacobean triangular chair? Distributing furniture wasn't decorating. Still, it would be the greatest fun in the world to go through a collection of stored antiques. She went to bed wondering. Could that whole room possibly be filled with antique oak? CHAPTER FOUR

GREGORY GODWIN COULD NOT HAVE FOUND a better way to intrigue Polly. She dreamed of the furniture. Her first thought on waking was of him. If the concussion was not severe, he should feel better today. If he didn't - would he submit to going to Birdsea to a doctor? Not that his welfare had anything to do with her. She would listen to his suggestion for "decorating" politely, decline with thanks, and be on her way. Robbie would soon settle down. She donned the navy skirt and tunic as though it were a uniform, refusing to count the days she had been forced to wear it. Today was another. Bright eyes above pink cheeks sparkled back at her as she pinned up her hair before the small mirror. Actually, if Gregory really wanted her to spend a day or two going over his furniture for distribution to the various rooms, she might do it. She wouldn't risk losing her heart to this place in two days. Robbie raced down the long corridor to the kitchen in his pajamas, retrieved his clean clothes from the rack before the fire and returned. "I told Mrs. Angus I could eat a seal," he exclaimed, scrambling into his underwear. "A seal!" "That's what Angus says. He says, 'I'm so hungry I could eat a seal'." "I see. So you like it here?" she said, keeping her voice affirmative and cheerful. "Not without you," came the stubborn reply. Polly sighed. She had finished her breakfast and was waiting for Robbie to finish his when Gregory appeared. He came in smelling faintly of seaweed. His light tan and his ice-gray eyes made him look aristocratic. He appeared buoyant with health. "I feel fine," he replied to her query. "As long as I don't touch the top of my head." He turned to Robbie, speaking so austerely that the child shrank into his chair. "If you think you can let Miss Drake out of your sight for a few minutes, I'm going to show her through the house." "Robbie, when you've finished you can come find us," Polly said. "But not until you've eaten every scrap."

When they were in the passage, Gregory said critically, "You shouldn't encourage him to follow you around." "And you shouldn't use sarcasm on a six-year-old!" Polly said sharply. He had the grace to look a little ashamed. He opened a door directly across the passage. Polly gazed into a big, empty, echoing room graced with shoulder-high oak paneling. "This will be the dining room. And this - " he went along the passage to the door across from the kitchen that he had unlocked the night before " - should be the hall, since the other stairs come out into it. The room we've been dining in will be the library eventually, but for now, we'll use it as a common room or sitting room. The small one you're using will be my office." They climbed the winding stone staircase to the second floor, where a carpenter was hanging doors. "Up here are seven bedrooms and two baths," Gregory said, watching her closely. Polly glanced into one of the rooms. She saw bare walls, a small fireplace and a breathtaking view from the single window. "All the rooms are similar," Gregory told her, "except the two at the far end. Not exactly homey; most don't have fireplaces, either." He studied her face, waiting for her reaction. "The views must be magnificent!" she said politely. Gregory looked gratified. "A great deal of sky and-birds, at least. This place was used as a monastery near the end of the last century. Originally it was a square peel tower. When the Church took over they doubled the size by extending the square tower into a rectangle." "And put in the baths, I guess," Polly added. He laughed, the first time she had seen him do so. Despite his handsome features, his dour expression had repelled her. Now she felt her breath catch as she realized just how attractive he was. "The baths are my addition." He led the way up the next round of stairs. "Up here the glaziers are at work. Eight more bedrooms and two more baths. The ceilings here are lower, otherwise the rooms are the same as those below. Come along, I want you to look thoroughly." He marched her down the passage, pausing to let her peer into each cell-like room. The walls were white, newly plastered. The wooden floors would take a high polish. "Doesn't so much space appeal to a decorator?" he asked, leading her down another flight of stairs. She halted on the step and stared fixedly at him. "What are you getting at?" But he would only say, "Let's have coffee first." He continued on down the next flight. They were met by Robbie, coming to look for them. "I'll ask Mrs. Angus to bring coffee," Gregory said, proceeding on to the kitchen. "Robbie, why don't you go play with the kittens," Polly suggested. "Your uncle and I want to talk." Robbie thrust out his underlip and scuffed his feet, but when he saw his uncle holding open the kitchen door and waiting for him, he went through it at a run. Polly marched into the sitting room, telling herself she would not be talked into anything she didn't want to do. No matter how he frowned. He came back looking fairly pleasant. "I have a proposition," he said. "First, I'm asking, not ordering. I beg your pardon for whatever I said yesterday. Robbie seems happy enough, and I daresay we could rub along without you. But it occurred to me that since you've had some training you might be willing to take on the decorating of this place." Before she could speak he held up one hand. "It involves a little more than moving that furniture." He stopped pacing and sat in the other chair. "I've ordered beds and mattresses, which should arrive any day. But I haven't taken time to buy anything else, and two more people are coming in a few days -

about the time the workmen are finished. Two scientists. I'd pay you, you understand. You could be finished in time to get to London before your course starts." Polly gasped. "The whole tower?" "Could you do it? The bedrooms can all be alike. Curtains, bedspreads - " he flung out a hand " - whatever. The common rooms aren't important. These people will be out watching birds; when they come in they can go to bed." He was watching her closely. The unsocial attitude seemed typical of him, and Polly bristled. "They'll have to eat; and they'll want to sit somewhere, if only to wait for dinner." "Will you do it?" His eyebrows arched as he waited for her answer. The gray eyes held a hint of anxiety. She didn't reply immediately. She wanted to pay him back for locking up the'antiques and making her wait overnight to find out what he had in mind. Mrs. Angus came in with the coffee, and while Polly set out the cups, she made her decision. First he must let her shop, and then.... Oh, it was a heavenly offer! To decorate a whole dwelling practically from scratch except for the antique furniture! She couldn't help smiling. "If you'll take us to Alnwick to shop tomorrow, I'd be delighted to accept." She was unaware that her smile was the first she'd given him since necessity had brought her to Kittiwake. He tore his eyes from her face and looked down at his cup, but not before she read satisfaction in his gaze. His firm lips twitched. All right, she thought, so he's won. He's got somebody to look after Robbie and cozy up his castle. If you think there's more to it, my girl, or ever will be, you'll deserve everything you get. And she promised herself she would keep her mind on her work. At least she would get to ferret through the antiques. "The first thing I should do is take a look at the furniture." He had the audacity to laugh as he fished in his pocket for the ring of keys. He took one key off and handed it to her. "You can inspect to your heart's content tomorrow. The first thing you should do is your shopping. If you're ready, Angus will take you now." How easy he could make things when he wanted to! She felt her temper rise. Determined not to show it, she pursed her lips as if in thought. His eyes were on her mouth, but he said dispassionately, "Just promise me to be careful, and use a flashlight. I don't know how well the furniture has been stacked. It wouldn't do to have any of it fall, not on such a bit of a thing as you." She felt he spoke contemptuously. Late that afternoon, with a sense of accomplishment Polly watched the cruiser's white bow cut through the choppy waves. She had completed her shopping expedition, and was returning to the island in triumph. Certainly this trip was different from the last! For one thing, she was sitting on deck this time and could watch the approach to Kittiwake. Robbie was up in the wheel-house, following Angus's every move with worshipful attention. She had bought adequate clothing for Robbie, paid for by his uncle, and a wardrobe for herself, paid for out of her savings. She had thrown caution to the wind and indulged in some really nice things. For Robbie she had bought rugged outdoor clothing. For herself she'd found well-fitting jeans to work in, a locally knit pullover of natural wool to defy the mists, a wraparound corduroy skirt and matching jacket in soft blue that made her eyes look as dark as the evening sky. Also a pink dress. In buying the little dress she had been extravagant, but who could tell? A prince really might come to deliver her from the tower and her wicked jailer. She gave herself a mental shake. She was not living in a fairy tale! Angus had been a saint - driving the car, keeping Robbie in line, taking him to Alnwick Castle so Polly could shop at leisure. His two sons, he told Polly, had grown up on Kittiwake. One had emigrated to Australia, the other to New Zealand. As the boat neared the island, Polly noticed more and more birds. Some,

stately in white plumage with black wing tips, were plunging into the sea to fish. A cormorant flew by carrying a bundle of seaweed, and she found herself wishing she could ask Gregory about it. She knew what gulls looked like, and there were eider ducks floating on the water. And puffins. No one who had ever seen a picture of puffins could mistake them. But she kept seeing other birds, too. She hoped that while she stayed on the island she might learn to recognize them. Soon the boat was chugging among the free-standing rocks that appeared like splinters of the island. The tops of these rocks, called pinnacles, were the breeding grounds of hundreds of guillemots. Angus pointed them out. They stood around like penguins, Polly thought. The sound of their mutterings reached her ears after Angus cut the engine. The cruiser drifted to the wharf. When the boat was moored, Polly carried as many of the parcels as she could while leaving one hand free to clutch the iron railing of the steps. Angus brought the rest. Robbie carried the box containing his corduroy safari jacket. "Bless us!" Mrs. Angus exclaimed when they paraded in. "That looks like enough clothes for a lifetime!" Angus followed as far as the sitting room and deposited his armload of parcels on the camp table. Robbie lingered in the kitchen to show his new jacket. While Mrs. Angus laid a belated tea for Robbie, Polly began the pleasant task of unwrapping her purchases, only to realize there was no place to put them. She hoped wardrobes would be among the stored furniture, for they would be some of the first items needed. She would mention them at dinner for something to talk about. Humming a little tune, she stripped off the hated skirt and tunic and slid into prewashed and softened jeans. They fit her like skin over an apple. From the blouses she had bought she chose a crisp white one with strips of blue embroidery around the collar and down the front. Gregory came in eventually looking cold. His face was drawn despite the color the wind had whipped into his cheeks. His greeting was brusque. Polly wondered if his headache had returned, but he didn't seem to be in a talkative mood and she hesitated to question him. Even the before-dinner whiskey did not loosen his tongue. Now that she had agreed to work for him, he apparently had decided he didn't need to be sociable. His cold behavior angered her. How dare he treat her as part of the furniture? She wondered if he behaved differently with his friends - or if he had any. He could at least have commented on her change of costume. Her situation seemed like some classic fairy tale - "Beauty and the Beast"? She smiled to herself. No! She didn't want Gregory in the role of the beast; the beast became lovable in the end. Perhaps she was thinking of "Rapunzel." Rapunzel was imprisoned in a tower, and the old witch had caught her letting down her long hair for the prince to climb. The trouble was, Polly's mind kept suggesting Gregory Godwin as the prince. He looked so much like a hero, like a Norse god - fair-haired, with fearless gray eyes and the build of a slim young Viking. However, nothing in the world would induce her to give him such a role. He was the wicked lord who kept the princess prisoner. In this story the princess would free herself...when she chose to do so. At last she broke the silence to say she hoped to find wardrobes among the stored furniture. His reply was brief. "If not, you'll have to buy some. The rooms in the built-on part have narrow closets." "Wardrobes will be expensive." Polly did not trouble to hide her worry. He looked sardonic. "Come, now! An interior decorator must urge her clients to spend money! You'll be out of work otherwise." Thoughtfully she agreed. She was learning quickly that an actual decorating job involved more than choosing fabrics and recognizing furniture periods. Over the roast chicken he came out of his abstraction to say: "When you're ready to start moving the furniture, I'll put two of the workmen at your disposal."

"I'll draw a plan first. After I look over the furniture I'll sketch in where I think it should all go, and I'll submit the proposal to you before I move anything." "Remember we don't have much time. We need four bedrooms immediately, including ones for you and Robbie. The room across from mine will stay vacant. I haven't decided what to do with it. Perhaps a second-floor sitting room." Or a bedroom for your wife, Polly thought. "Robbie's room ought to be near the other bath," he directed. "You might want your room next to his." So if he gets frightened during the night, he'll not disturb you, she thought resentfully. I wonder if he has someone in mind for the other bedroom. Poor girl, how lonely she'll be! Aloud she said, "The furniture to be bought should also be old, if possible, but not any one period. An accumulation of centuries, don't you think?" He nodded coolly. "See what you can come up with. I realize you'll need to scour the county." "Would you consider reproductions?" "Not unless I have to." He named what seemed a vast sum of money. "See how far that goes, and we'll work from there. Meantime I'll arrange for you to draw on my bank for cash. The draper's bills can be sent to my London office. I'll give you the address." The remainder of the meal was eaten in silence, an uneasy silence that became more and more awkward. Polly found herself eating quickly, so as to be finished when he was. If he were to finish first and sit there watching her eat, she knew she couldn't endure it. She didn't want him to pay special attention to her. She felt much more comfortable when he was looking elsewhere, and yet... she wanted to be in his presence, like a rabbit mesmerized by danger. She had never been more out of her element, had never been in a peel tower echoing with emptiness, had never been so alone with such a breathtaking man. She wanted to run away. She ought to take the boat back to Birdsea and get the train to London first thing tomorrow. Before anything happened. Such as what? Such as - well, anything. Anything might happen around this man. She stole a look at his tight-lipped mouth. He might... he might try to make a pass at her, and what would she say? How could she defend herself when she had agreed to stay, had placed herself in his power so to speak? Her appetite had vanished, but she forced herself to go on eating until Gregory laid down his fork. He looked across the table straight into her eyes. His gaze was an icicle, pinning her to the wall. Her first feeling was of fear, then guilt - what have I done? But she hadn't done anything to be blamed for! Such a reaction was nonsense. His words proved it to be nonsense. "I'll remove the dishes. Mrs. Angus will do them in the morning. You must be tired." "No, I'm not," she denied. "Bring the platter, then." With practiced skill he stacked the tray with all the other dishes they had used, and led the way to the kitchen. Except for firelight, the cavernous room was dark. Gregory placed the tray on the table, and Polly took the remains of the chicken to the pantry. She turned back from the door of the pantry to see Gregory lounging against the heavy table, his figure outlined by the orange glow. He was waiting for her. Suddenly something about his stance seemed ominous. Her breath caught. Except for his sleeping nephew, she was alone with him in this great empty building. Her heart thumped so loudly she thought he must hear it. With a start she realized it wasn't fear that was making her blood run faster. It was excitement! Such an intimate situation was fraught with endless romantic possibilities. Or danger. A man and a girl alone in what was almost a castle. Gregory Godwin was cross-grained, but she had no doubt that he was

red-blooded. Well, just look at the way that writer's wife had pursued him. The woman must have got some reward for her effort, even though Mrs. Angus didn't want to think the worst. In a flash Polly found herself wondering what it would be like to be kissed by him. At some point in making love to a woman he must lower his defenses, become less austere. For an instant she was wickedly tempted to try to make him react to her, even bring him to his knees, but she rejected the thought as quickly as it came. Nice girls didn't think like that! It would be unkind and unnecessary to wield that kind of power out of pique---And probably impossible. No, not impossible. A little secret smile curved the corners of her soft mouth. Some instinct, until now quiescent as a sleeping serpent, stirred in the depths of her self-understanding, telling her she had the power to make a man kneel. Hastily she turned her mind away from such knowledge. She had placed herself in this intimate situation. Thinking clearly, she realized it would not do! She had believed that her one miserable love affair, with an instructor at the institute, had taught her caution. He had not found her irresistible. Speaking honestly, one could say he had brought her to her knees. She had been merely one in a long line of conquests. What burst of imag- ination made her think she could cut into Gregory's polished shell? Even when a fellow student had warned her that the instructor had a reputation for brief casual affairs, Polly had not listened. She had attributed the warning to jealousy. She had been so sure that the attraction, the love that flashed between her and the instructor was different than what he had found before. Only it hadn't been different.... His kisses and caresses had been so adroit! No lies, no promises...yet she had imagined a whole life for them together. After a few weeks she had joined the ranks of his discarded girl friends, just as her friend had prophesied. Chin up, Polly had had to continue attending his classes, her blank face hiding her agony while she watched him lavish attention on her successor. She decided that the effect of the lesson the instructor had taught her must be wearing off. She had foolishly stepped into this predicament. Why shouldn't Gregory think she was making herself available? Who was to know how she and Gregory Godwin spent the wee small hours of the night? Yet doing her best, she couldn't transfer the instructor's deceit onto this man. Life didn't teach the same lesson twice. Or did it? Time seemed to stand still while these thoughts stampeded through her mind. In the fireplace a log broke apart. The fire flared, lighting her face, silhouetting in black the man at the table. Instinctively she lowered her eyes to keep him from reading her whirling thoughts, but the very act of doing so presented him with a challenge. She was showing him that her reflections were secret. What were they, he would be wondering. She was thinking, I shouldn 't have come out to the kitchen with him. I was too friendly, too eager to oblige. But where could one expect to be safer, more down-to-earth than in a kitchen? "Ready to go?" His words were ordinary enough, but his voice cracked, startling Polly further. It seemed to mean that his thoughts were running along the same lines as hers. Was it possible he could read her mind? Did he want to make love to her? A pleasant warmth began creeping through Polly's limbs, unexpected and frightening. Would he move toward her? She wished she could read his face, but it was completely shadowed, his back to the fire. All she could discern was the shape of him - tall, male, casually leaning against the heavy table - a shape beautiful in its pure strong lines. Beautiful, but not safe. He straightened up and took a step in her direction. Her throat constricted uncontrollably. A squeak of terror issued from it. Too late her hands flew to her mouth in an attempt to halt the sound. With three angry strides he was standing in front of her. "What was that for?" he demanded, his voice hoarse with an emotion she could not put a name

to. "Do you think I'm going to attack you?" Long fingers fastened around her wrists like steel bands as he pulled her hands away from her face. Her lips felt terribly exposed. She tightened them in an effort to stop their quivering. Firelight glinting off the copper pots ranged on the wall behind her reflected in his eyes as twin orange sparks. Those two points of light were all she could see in the shadow of his face. "No!" Her answer sounded to her own ears as though she was begging him not to attack her. Shivering, she tried to pull away. His fingers tightened. She choked on an indrawn breath. "You're hurting me." Heat suffused her face. "Please let me go," she whispered. "I didn't mean to screech like that." "I'd like to know what you were thinking." His husky voice warned her that something was happening for him, too. Letting go of her wrists, he took her by the shoulders. Quickly she placed her hands against his chest, ready to ward him off. "Nothing, I tell you!" She mustn't do anything to encourage him or she would be sorry - she knew that in her bones. She turned her face aside to hide her inner turmoil from his searching eyes. His strong fingers were biting into her flesh, holding her unfairly. If only she could get away from him, get out of the room, she could take herself in hand and master her crazy reactions. But he didn't let go. Suddenly her bosom heaved with an emotion over which she had no control. As he drew her closer, the realization came to her startlingly: she had made him break his reserve! The next moment her response to him, her quickened breathing, terrified her. Her own body was betraying her, letting Gregory know what a throbbing in her veins his touch had started. He couldn't help but know! Her heart seemed to be shaking her with its thunderous pounding. With an effort she pulled herself together. "I'm sorry I shrieked like that," she whispered. "You looked at me as though I were an ogre," he rasped. With a shaken laugh he took his hands from her shoulders, and then didn't seem to know what to do with them. He took a step backward. His hands fell to his sides. "My God, am I so frightening?" "No," she whispered, dropping her hands, too. Her mouth had gone dry. She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. How could she say she had frightened herself, had let her imagination run riot? "Look at me," he ordered, closing in on her again. "You act like you've never been alone with a man before." Obediently she raised her face, but refused to meet his eyes. Her gaze locked on his wide hard mouth. At once she realized her mistake. Sliding an arm around her shoulders, he pulled her to him. His face came down to hers. With his free hand he tilted her chin, and his lips methers. Tentatively. "Polly?" he murmured, as though seeking permission. Her knees were trembling. This mustn't be allowed - not before she'd had time to consider. There was something dangerous in what they were doing. She couldn't think what it was, but the danger was there. If he would let her go for a moment, let her collect her scattered wits "No," she said again, as though it were the only word she knew. "Please don't...." She tried to twist away from him, but he turned with her. Firelight fell on his face, and she seemed to read there a cynical masculine awareness that made her feel awkward and inexperienced. She had just enough sense left to say, "I don't want you to," and was chilled by his low laugh. "Don't want me to what?" He regarded her intently. "What is it you don't want me to do?" he demanded when she didn't answer. "This?" The warm rush of his breath fanned her cheek, his lips closed over hers. Joy flared within her at being overridden. His lips were cool on hers, firm and tender. Since her tarnished affair with the instructor she hadn't,let any man kiss her, almost as a punishment to herself. Thankfully she realized that this kiss, from a stranger so far from

London, brought back no painful memories. She felt herself to be wiser. Indeed, wise enough to exchange a light kiss without going off the deep end. If he would just stop now, everything could be as before. Maybe they would feel more friendly toward each other. But he wasn't stopping. His hand was behind her head, his fingers entangled in her soft hair. His lips became demanding; their pressure increased. Their demand made her blood leap. Defensively she slid her hands, palms open, between his body and hers. Through the thick wool of his sweater she felt his chest rise and fall. She heard his shallow eager breath, and against her will her own breathing sharpened. She must stop him, must pull away. This was crazy, to make herself so available. He didn't even like her! But he was holding her so tightly--- She squirmed. Instantly he raised his head. "What now?" If she expected him to court her, to pay her compliments, to lead up to a moment such as this, she ought to know better. Gregory Godwin was a man who took what he wanted, who had probably never been repulsed. How could she explain that she wanted time to consider, that she didn't want to be rushed into something she'd regret? He didn't even like her! He was egocentric, autocratic, arrogant! "What now?" he repeated. "Nothing," she muttered, despite the fact that she knew perfectly well she must be the one to halt this madness. One more kiss - surely just one more wouldn't make any difference. One more kiss and she would bring this whole thing to a stop. His arms slid around her, his mouth came down on hers again as if he knew his actions were more seductive than words. She realized she hardly knew the man, and the sudden realization brought her to her senses. She made herself go limp and unresisting, for in the past she had found that to be the best way to repulse unwanted caresses. But were these unwanted? She had reckoned without the reaction of her own betraying body. Captured and held by his persistent lips, she felt reason desert her. Her mind went limp instead of her eager limbs. With a tiny moan she leaned toward him. Of their own volition her arms found their way around his muscular shoulders, which seemed remarkably strong for a man who spent his days studying birds! As he drew closer to her she could actually feel the beat of his heart against her breast. And suddenly she felt a kind of pride in the fact that she had brought him to such a display of passion. His rugged face, dark in the waning firelight, descended toward her neck, peppering her throat with rapid eager kisses, leaving momentarily bereft the lips that had felt his. Sighing, she laid her trembling cheek against the thick tousled strands of his fair hair. He smelled of salt spray and the wind, of the great wilderness that surrounded them, while warm in the kitchen of his castle their mutual fire eclipsed all other heat. She found herself exulting in his sure masculine dominance. His silence seemed to add wickedness and secrecy to what they were doing. She felt impelled to speak, only to find her mind totally blank. She could only glory in the wonder of his wanting her. Words might break the spell, might make him stop the wonderful way he was making her weak with his caresses. With a groan he pulled her closer to his thudding chest. His lips returned to hers, and it was like a homecoming. She began to feel a little more in control of her body. Afraid of what those other kisses could do to her, she let her lips respond to the pressure of his. "Mmm!" The sound came from the back of his throat, as though he were tasting the sweetness of a ripe pear. Poily felt suddenly so very safe. Strong arms encircled her. The whole length of his body felt iron-hard, as strong and capable of protection as the thick stone walls of his castle.

He took his mouth from hers. "I couldn't let you leave," he muttered, kissing the corners of her lips. She wanted to reply, but again words deserted her. Everything would be all right.... At the moment it seemed that any price was worth paying for the privilege of his kisses. She breathed-deeply, inhaling the heady masculine odor that was like a drug to her senses. His mouth was on hers again, devouring her will. She gloried in his power to do so. His weather-hardened fingers brushed her silky throat. He was fumbling with the tiny buttons of her blouse, unfastening them, baring her shoulder for his kisses. Before she could catch her breath and object he was pushing aside the flimsy straps of her bra. Deft cool fingers cupped her exposed breast, explored its round firmness, and she found that she adored the touch of his hands. His mouth left hers; she felt the scrape of his day's beard against her breast. Then his tongue touched her taut nipple. An unwilling moan of pleasure escaped her lips. She began to feel powerless to control the wanton sensations he was unleashing. "Baby, baby," he muttered as his tongue teased her quivering flesh. The words brought her to herself like a splash of ice water. She was staring across a dark kitchen while the master of the house used her body. Some sterner part of her mind upbraided the irresponsible simpleton that was her other impetuous self. In one fierce motion, still quivering from his touch, she pushed Gregory away. "This wasn't in the agreement," she snapped. She strode round the table to the door. In the dark she stumbled over a chair. "Polly?" His voice was hoarse. "Polly, what's the matter?" "Everything!" she cried. "You think everything here is for your own use!" She stormed down the passage and into her room. Mindful of Robbie, she stopped herself from slamming the bedroom door. Grateful for its existence, she closed it quietly and shot the bolt. Then she flung herself onto her bed and wept hot angry tears. He had behaved like a lout, grabbing her with hardly a word. She shuddered at the memory of his touch, then lay quiescent, recalling it - his kisses, the feel of his lean body, everything. Her head throbbed. If he were to come into the room now - lie down beside her, coax her, call her by name or even "baby," which no doubt he called every female he seduced---If he were to knock on the door now--She had never guessed herself capable of feeling such flames as had blazed at his touch. Madness! What must he think of her? The way she had responded to him made her feel hot all over. And unfulfilled, wanting more---The only thing she could do now was to leave. Tomorrow. After leading him on and then repulsing him as she had, she knew he would let her go. Sleep did not come for a long time. Thoughts of him battered her overwrought mind, and the memory of his hands, his lips, seared her body. She lay tense and miserable, almost regretting having said no. But her logical mind wouldn't allow regret. He obviously had no respect for her. Because she had a goal and was working toward it, he believed her to be an opportunist, ready to clutch at anything that would boost her up. In return for the chance to decorate his tower, he expected her to sleep with him. And she had acted as though she had enjoyed his advances - up to a point. Next time he would be even more confident. Furious again at the thought, she tossed her pillow to the floor and flounced onto her stomach. He had no respect for her. He had shown that by all his actions. He had shouted at her, growled at her, had even made as if to toss her over the cliff! Nor did he seem grateful to her for coming to find him after the thieves had struck him down. At the thought of the antiques her heart sank. No, she wouldn't let herself consider the beautiful old furniture! But she had thought of it, and a wistful sadness came over her like a pall. Nevertheless, tomorrow morning she would tell him she was leaving. Exhausted by the turmoil of her emotions and the bitterness of her regret, at

last she fell asleep. IN THE BLEAK LIGHT of morning her decision to go seemed the only possible one. Gregory's arrival while she and Robbie were finishing breakfast reinforced it. His gray blue eyes were as bleak as the gray dawn, his face a mask of austerity. He poured tea for himself. Robbie was eyeing him doubtfully over a glass of milk. How sensitive some children are to adults' moods, Polly thought. "Take your milk to the kitchen," Gregory ordered his nephew. "I want to talk to Miss Drake. Here, take your empty bowl, too." Robbie flashed a look at Polly, and she nodded. Luckily the boy's sensitivity made him see that Gregory's anger was not over something he had done. He disappeared with alacrity. "And I want to talk to you!" Polly exclaimed as soon as the door closed. "I've changed my mind about working for you. I'm leaving. Today." Gregory dropped into the chair across the table. "Polly, I'm sorry about last night. I don't know what came over me." "I do. You considered sex as part of the bargain." "No, I didn't! I didn't." He shook his head and looked puzzled. "It was the furthest thing from my mind. It just happened. Believe me!" If she believed him her resolve would weaken. "I want to leave today," she repeated stubbornly. "Polly, please---" He leaned across the table, and his face looked strained. Perhaps he, too, had not slept right away. Surrounded by dark lashes, his gray blue eyes were really very attractive. And honest. She looked down at her teacup, but too late. "I...." Her tongue refused to say the words again. "I never meant to insult you!" he exclaimed. "I didn't even mean to touch you. But, well...it happened. I'm not sorry I kissed you...." His voice changed. She stole a glance at his face. His eyes had narrowed with amusement. "But I'm sorry you didn't like it. I'm sorry about my approach." Her resolve was not proof against an apparently honest apology. She felt her face relax, her determination weaken. "I promise you it won't happen again," he said earnestly. She smothered an unruly spark of disappointment and glared at him. "How can you be sure, if you didn't know it was going to happen last night?" "You don't think I act that way all the time, do you - pouncing on every unwary female?" His tone was testy. She opened her eyes at him. "You mean last night wasn't a sample of your usual behavior?" With a sigh he stood up and went over to the high narrow window, which he stared out of, unseeing. "You v must do as you think best." He turned and came back to the table. Oddly, that didn't please her either, but she raised her chin. "Then tell Angus to take me to Birdsea." "No!" He dropped back into the chair. "Please... give it a chance! Surely the opportunity to decorate this place will be good experience for you. The island grows on you, too, if you let it. London isn't everything." "I never said it was!" She kept her voice under control with an effort. "No, but you think it." He spoke positively. She wasn't going to argue with him. Besides, she couldn't bear the picture of him being reasonable, stooping to coax her. It didn't go with his personality; it actually belittled him. To keep on quarreling would be safer.... But she capitulated, "Oh, all right," and felt her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. If satisfaction flashed in his eyes, it disappeared before she recognized it. His eyes turned dark gray, stormy. "That's the first sensible thing you've said since you came here!" He strode from the room before she could say a word in answer.

His abrupt reversion to autocrat struck her with such surprise that she was betrayed into laughter. Still laughing, she poured herself a second cup of tea. Perhaps her sudden lift of spirits also came from relief. She didn't have to leave Kittiwake. CHAPTER FIVE

WHEN POLLY WENT TO THE KITCHEN a short time later, she learned that Gregory had gone to the far end of the island and wouldn't be back till evening. She left Robbie playing with the kittens, and with a thrill of excitement unlocked the door to the stored furniture. Overhead she heard the carpenters at work. Turning on her flashlight, she entered the tantalizing room. Step-by-step she made her way through narrow aisles, peering over and around antique pieces to see what was behind. Presently, she told herself, she would make an orderly survey and list each item as nearly as possible with its measurements, but first she had to explore. Here was a great oak chest, with another behind it - or was it two smaller ones? There was a pair of three-cornered chairs, and many of Restoration design. Imagine having so much money you could buy a house with a whole collection like this "thrown in!" She found tallboys and chest-on-chests. Wardrobes and armoires filled a quarter of the room, like a herd of baby elephants. At last she took up pad and pencil, and began her list. By the time Robbie came to tell her it was lunch-time, she had almost finished. "This house can't burn down, can it, Polly?" he asked. "No, dear," she told him lightly but firmly. "No fires here." "I think I'll always live in a stone house," he confided. "When can we go for a walk, Polly?" "After lunch," she promised. She had decided to devote mornings to decorating and afternoons to Robbie. Evenings she could busy herself with paperwork - drawing plans of rooms, fitting in furniture. She and Robbie had barely started on their walk some time later when Gregory appeared. She had not expected to see him before their evening meal together-one could hardly call it dinner. "Going for a walk?" he asked pleasantly. "I'll show you around." He was evidently trying to be open and friendly with his nephew. He took them down the track past the fishermen's cottages and along a rough road between a marsh and a rocky plateau. From the road the land stretched seaward to where the water at high tide splashed against the tumbled rocks. "I thought you might like to see where the terns nest." Gregory was watching her with an expression she could not interpret, almost as though he were challenging her to be interested. "Of course we would," she told him. "Those are terns out there, fishing." He pointed. They paused to watch a dozen fairylike white birds flit back and forth over the water. From time to time one would halt in the air, hover with widespread tail, then plunge into the water with a silvery splash. Suddenly Polly became self-conscious. She glanced sideways to find Gregory watching her, not the terns. His eyes, squinted against the wind, were like chips of the blue gray sky. She could read no admiration there. Perhaps he didn't admire windblown tresses. She was unaware that the wind had also brightened her eyes and brought a glow to her cheeks. Gregory promptly turned around and called to his nephew. "Robbie, come this way!" They had left the rutted track. The rocky ground was almost bare of vegetation, but here and there clumps of tough grass survived and flourished. "From here on you'll have to watch where you walk," Gregory said as the boy came running up. "Tern eggs look just like rounded stones. All the females do

is scratch a hollow in the ground, line it with pebbles, grass, or bits of shell or sticks, and call that a nest." Gregory raised cold gray eyes to Polly, as though as a female she were somehow at fault. She ground her teeth and refused to be goaded. "These birds nest on the ground, too," she explained to Robbie. "Birds are supposed to nest in trees." Robbie's voice was disapproving. "But here there are no trees," Gregory said. "So they've learned to make the best of it. Their nesting season has barely begun," he told Polly. "In another two weeks I'll hardly be able to walk here at all, the nests will be so thick. The birds will attack any intruder. Oh, oh! We may stir up a couple of angry ones now. There's a nest, see?" He pointed toward a clump of grass. As Polly gazed at the spot, two egg shapes, cream splotched with brown, became visible against the pebbly ground. "I see them!" she exciaimed in wonder. "I do, too!" Robbie cried. "And here come mama and papa." Gregory raised his voice to shout above the shrill cries of a pair of terns frantically wheeling and dipping overhead. Robbie shrank against Polly. Polly would have liked to shrink against Gregory, but of course she didn't. "Don't be frightened. They won't hurt you." Gregory made his voice heard above the birds' angry screams. "They're merely warning us to get away from their nest. We'd better go." Robbie went back to the track at a run. Polly's step was quick as she followed, ducking her head when she felt the rush of air from an especially daring dive. Back in the rutted road they paused, laughing a little breathlessly at their escape. Gregory was taking his time, refusing to be hurried. "They'll have to get used to me," he said when he came up. "I plan to band as many chicks as I can. But I'll wear old clothes. They're expert dive-bombers." "I don't like them!" Robbie announced. "They're afraid you'll like their eggs," Gregory said. Robbie's mouth gaped. "To eat? Yuck!" "Robbie!" Polly said hastily. "That is not a word we use." "People have eaten terns' eggs for centuries," Gregory told them. "I'll wager you couldn't tell the difference, if they were scrambled." "Have you eaten them?" Polly asked in surprise. Gregory's eyes glinted as if at an amusing memory. "Not since I was a boy." His face changed. He seemed suddenly to regret their moment of friendliness, or perhaps he felt he shouldn't be wasting his time. He set them on a different path back to the peel tower, and Polly didn't see him again until evening. They dined in silence. Afterward he covered the table with papers and books. He lit a lamp and lost himself in the reports he was writing. Polly was left to carry the dishes back to the kitchen by herself. She wrote a brief noncommittal letter to Miss Mansard and a similar one to her aunt. She wasn't ready yet to begin drawing plans. However, while in town she had provided herself with wool for a shawl, so she sat before the fire, knitting and thinking. The equipping of Gregory's study should come first after the bedrooms, she decided. Then he could work there undisturbed. Her idea of a pleasant evening was not one in which she sat feeling deliberately ignored. Why couldn't Gregory treat her with ordinary politeness, she wondered. THE FOLLOWING MORNING it occurred to Gregory to send one of the workmen through the stacked furniture to open the high shuttered windows. In the increased light Polly was quickly able to finish her inventory. She then took her pad and went up to the third floor. She felt awkward about peering into Gregory's room, a reaction she decided was ridiculous. The room was not yet a bedroom in a private sense. Her business was to find furniture for it. Besides, she wanted to take a better

look at the bed. There it was - magnificent and valuable. It was out-sized, too, but the room was so large that it didn't seem so. The chance to devise curtains and a coverlet to complete such grandeur made her heady with anticipation. She smiled as she pictured Gregory climbing into it, wearing the expensive striped pajamas that hung from the doorknob. A bed fit for a king; it would make him seem more autocratic than ever. She sat on the wide wooden slats and studied the carving. The scrolls on either side were similar, but one of them appeared to be carved into the headboard itself. The other side showed a crack - almost as if a panel had been set in. She explored it with her fingertips. How odd! Perhaps dry rot or worms had got into the wood at some time, and this strip of scrollwork had been replaced. It seemed a little loose, and probably ought to be glued. Idly, as one lays together the edges of a tear, she tried to push it back into place. Instead of falling back as it should, the piece slid sideways. A larger crack opened. She'd made it worse! Annoyed at her carelessness, she peered more closely at the panel. Perhaps it was meant to slide. She pushed at it with gentle fingertips. Wood rubbed against wood. It began to move, revealing a hidden compartment - a hideaway for jewels and coins. Something was in it! A black velvet box. Without a second thought Polly reached for it, no more able to resist than a child reaching for a toy. Before she realized that what she was doing could be called snooping, she had the box out and open. On the yellowed satin lining lay a necklace of red stones - rubies! Inside the lid the jeweler's address was printed. London, S.W.I. So the box couldn't have been hidden away for centuries. Gregory must be keeping it for someone. Great heavens! She had no business to have discovered it! Hurriedly she put it back and closed the sliding door. Why was he keeping it there and not in a bank vault? She realized she didn't have any business even conjecturing about it. She ought never to have found the hiding place to begin with. Deliberately putting it from her mind, she stood up and looked around the rest of the room. Besides Gregory's sleeping bag and air mattress, it contained nothing more than a pair of shoes and the suitcase. The window overlooking the sea also looked down onto the rocks where the seals sang. At the horizon's edge lay the line of the coast. The Victorian builders who had expanded the original tower had given this room and the next one narrow Italianate balconies outside one window, which offered a view across the island to the North Sea. Polly passed through the bath to the matching room on the other side, the one Gregory was holding vacant. It had the same view, balcony and fireplace. One of its windows also overlooked the island and beyond. She stepped through the newly glazed French windows onto the balcony. The invigorating salty air was sun-warmed and scented with sea campion. She leaned against the stone balustrade and gazed seaward. Except for one white sail the water was empty. The view would have been the same to a girl centuries ago. The girl would have wondered whom the sail was bringing - rescuer? Knight? The sailboat's course, however, was away from the island. She watched it grow smaller and smaller. This emptiness, she thought, pretending to be the long-ago maid, will go on and on, with no one coming until I'm old and bent and gray. With a laugh at her fancies, she turned from the balcony and heard footsteps - light steps in the passage. Her heartbeat increased, even though she knew Gregory had gone to the other end of the island to band terns. Nor was it the heavy tread of workmen's boots. Could it be a daytime ghost? In some apprehension she stared through the doorway at the passage. The young man who appeared, hands in pockets, was certainly handsome enough to be anybody's dream prince. He was wearing blue jeans and boating shoes, which explained his light tread. His brown hair was wavy. Above tanned

cheekbones very blue eyes danced as he caught Polly's expression. "I've frightened you! I'm sorry!" Flushing with embarrassment, Polly forced a smile to her lips. "Not really frightened. I was daydreaming." "Were you expecting a ghost?" he asked with a chuckle. Meanwhile his eyes darted over her face and figure. "Perhaps," she admitted, a little frostiness coming into her voice. "But you couldn't be less ghostlike." He laughed and crossed the room to her, offering his hand. "I'm Lance Godwin. I've been sailing for a few days with a couple of friends. We've been over to Fries-land. They dropped me off just now." Gregory's brother? And wasn't it like Gregory never to have mentioned him! Polly's tone was a little more friendly as she said, "That must have been the sailboat I just saw." "Schooner? Bermuda rigged?" His eyebrows arched. "Heavens, I don't know! It had two sails." "That was it." He spoke with smiling enthusiasm, his eyes dancing. "I got quite a surprise when Mrs. Angus told me we have two more people here - young Robbie and a pretty lady he can't bear to be separated from." "He's bearing it this morning." Polly returned the smile. "I've been supplanted by kittens." Lance shook his head in mocking admiration. "Trust my brother to attract pretty ladies, even to a deserted island!" Polly corrected him hastily. "If you mean me, I was not attracted by your brother. I am here because of Robbie. His school was gutted by fire. I appeared to be the one stable thing in his life, so he clung to me. Your brother has asked me to stay till we hear from Robbie's mother. In the meantime he's commissioned me to furnish these rooms." Lance looked thoughtful. "I say, that's a good idea! Do you know how?" "I was on my way to finish decorating school when he constrained me to stay here - Oh!" She broke off in confusion, wishing she had spoken less impulsively. Lance burst out laughing. "Not Greg! You mean he actually coaxed you to stay?" "Forced is a better word." Polly glowered at the memory of that first evening. "He blamed the school for the fire and Robbie's reaction. Then he realized he needed help to make the place livable, so now he's killing two birds with one stone - if you'll pardon the expression." Lance grinned appreciatively, but his eyes reflected a puzzled expression. "Must be the first time in his life he ever asked a woman to stay around." "No doubt it's the first time he ever had his nephew on his hands," Polly suggested dryly. "Could be. One of his reasons for coming here, he says, is that he was bored to death with being chased." "Of all the arrogant...!" Polly started to exclaim before realizing she would do better to hold her tongue. "It's the truth, I promise you," Lance interposed. "Mrs. Angus told me about the writer's wife," Polly admitted. Lance nodded cheerfully. "You'd be surprised how many predatory females throw themselves in his way. Why not? He's wealthy, good-looking, eligible as hell...." He paused as though waiting for Polly to agree. "That's as may be," she said primly. "Handsome is as handsome does," her tone implied. "Are you a bird person, too?" she asked, to change the subject. "Yes. I combine it with travel. Serious birders go on special tours, you know. I arrange the tours, find the birds, that sort of thing." His eyes sparkled. "It must be interesting." He said lightheartedly, "It's better than running a corporation, like Gregory used to do. He worked devilishly hard. Never had time for anything else. Nothing but meetings and decisions. I'd be no good at that. He's the

serious one, the eldest. Robbie's father, Alfred, was the ne'er-do-well - fast cars and speedy women. I'm the young and carefree one - here today, off tomorrow to view the quetzal." At any rate, you're the talkative one, Polly thought. A pleasant change from Gregory. "Who's taking this room?" he asked. "Your brother says it's to stay vacant. Oh, the fourth room he told me to get ready must be for you!" He smiled down at her with an impish expression. He was as tall as Gregory, slimmer, smaller boned. "Do I get to choose the room? Where will you be?" She turned away and made her voice casual while she took a measurement. "Next to Robbie at the other end." "Make mine across the passage. In case of burglars," he added virtuously when she eyed him askance. "Come." He took her arm. "I'm supposed to be calling you to lunch." "You should have said so!" Polly exclaimed. "Yes. Mrs. Angus will wonder what's keeping us." His eyes twinkled expressively. "Mrs. Angus has enough to do without our being late to meals," Polly scolded. "Ah - she has help now. Angus fetched his niece from Birdsea this morning." They went down to a luncheon of sliced roast beef, ham, cheese, and pints of Angus's home brew. Robbie joined them, holding back a little when he saw Lance. "Don't you remember your Uncle Lance?" Polly asked him. Robbie shook his head. "He hasn't seen much of me," Lance admitted. "Polly and I go exploring after lunch," Robbie said gravely. "Perhaps you'd like to come." Lance winked cheerily. "Thanks, old chap. I will." Over the meal Polly described some of her finds among the furniture. The existence of a roomful of stored furniture was news to Lance. "He's kept it a dark secret!" he exclaimed when Robbie had been excused. "Otherwise our beloved sister-in-law would never have left us alone. Robbie's mother. She's one of those women who doesn't know a damned thing about furniture but believes she has a flair - noses out the great find. Ha, ha! Clever old Greg for keeping the secret till he's ready. Wait till you meet her." "What makes you think I will?" "Dash it, she's the boy's mother! Thought you were staying till she comes back." "But Gregory seemed to think she might not - " "Don't believe him! She's another one who has her sights on him. And she is very, very rich. Alfred ran through his money, but he couldn't lay hands on hers. She may have a chance with Greg. She's kind of a challenge: beautiful and willful. Makes a man want to tame her. Not me; I know my limitations. Poor but happy. My share of the family fortune is tied up till I'm twenty-five." His openness made Polly smile. At the same time she was aware of a feeling of disappointment and envy on hearing about Robbie's mother. Determinedly she shoved it from her mind. How totally opposite Lance was from Gregory! Moreover, he was interested in her plan drawings and where the different pieces of furniture would fit. "What is your work here?" she asked when the subject of furnishings was exhausted. "Greg wants me to take photographs and make film records of the breeding cycle of the kittiwakes this year. I also run errands, do whatever Greg says needs doing. I'll be around till mid-July, when I lead the next tour." For a moment Polly felt envious of him. Then she realized she was in more or less the same situation: running errands, doing what Gregory said was necessary, such as furnishing the tower. But it wasn't the same; Lance could

come back when his tour was over. She caught herself up. Dangerous thinking! Under no circumstances did she want to return, not even in the unlikely event that Gregory Godwin became good company. Robbie was waiting impatiently on the terrace. "Let's go this way," he greeted them when they emerged into the sunny afternoon. He would have set off toward the end of the island where the terns were nesting, but Polly stopped him. "That's where your uncle's working," she demurred. "I don't think we ought to go there unless we're invited. Let's explore another way." Lance said, "Have you seen the cliffs where the kitti-wakes nest? The tide should be out now. Wait till I get my field glasses." They followed the broad path through the gorse to the cottages, but once past them, instead of turning toward the salt meadows Lance led them straight ahead. The island's rocky edge here was barely head high. At its base the receding tide had left a strip of shingle. From here the island seemed shaped like a wedge of cheese lying on its side, with the salt marshes and beach the thin edge and the tower at the highest part. Lance waited for Polly and Robbie to clamber down after him before he set out along the shingle. As they trudged over the slippery stones the rocky island wall grew higher. Wherever they looked there were birds - overhead, landing, departing, resting on the waves. "The tide won't come rushing back and catch us out here, will it?" Polly asked. Lance laughed at her caution. "This won't take that long. It's not possible to go far because the cliffs jut out, and the birds are right up ahead. There, see where the cliff is splashed with white? See the birds sitting there?" He handed Polly the field glasses; she looked through them and gasped. The narrow ledges were dotted with nests of seaweed and moss, and thousands of birds shrieking and quarreling. "Oh, Robbie, look!" She passed him the glasses and tried to help adjust them. "I would never have imagined anything could nest on such sheer cliffs. The tiniest outcrop seems to be in use." "Those are your kittiwakes." "They look like gulls." "They are, of a sort. See that huge nest? That belongs to a pair of shags small cormorants." "That's the kind of bird I saw yesterday from the boat! It was carrying seaweed or something." "Probably. They're forever adding to their nests. I say, I have a spare pair of glasses. You might as well use them while you're here." "Yes, Polly! Please!" Robbie looked up at her with begging eyes. "Like Uncle Gregory." "Hardly like Uncle Gregory, I'm afraid." Her lips quirked in amusement. "However, we can begin." "You'll never have a better opportunity," Lance agreed. They retraced their steps and then followed a sheep track along the top of the cliff; not too close to be dangerous, but Polly pointed out to Robbie that running would be foolish. Even walking there could be dangerous in bad weather. Lance took them to a jagged notch in the line of cliffs, where they could see the nesting birds on the opposite wall. The colony was busy and noisy. The raucous cries echoed from wall to wall. Lance showed them guillemots, razorbills and a colony of the gaudy clownlike puffins. After that the path angled away from the cliff. Robbie skipped ahead among the stony outcrops or tagged behind. In a sunny vale sheltered from the wind his attention was claimed by some lambs. Polly and Lance sat on a ledge and admired the view. "Have you been bird-watching in many countries?" Polly asked. "A few. It's like playing golf, or climbing mountains over two thousand feet - people try to up their score of birds."

"And that's what this island will be? A place for people to come for a night or two till they've seen all the kinds here?" "In part. Greg wants to make it self-sustaining, if possible." "At first he spoke of using it for a refuge." Polly was puzzled. "A refuge!" Lance burst out laughing. "He meant a refuge for wildfowl. He'd like to make it self-supporting so he can put a manager in charge, someone who doesn't mind the loneliness, and maybe do the same thing elsewhere, a sort of bar to the encroachment of seaside hotels and that muck." "How does he have the time? Doesn't he run the publishing house?" "Not anymore! It belongs to a conglomerate. The family's sitting pretty, thanks to Greg. What was left of Alfred's share went into a trust for Robbie. Greg saw to that. Greg himself is called a consultant. He draws a handsome salary and goes to the office when they want to consult him - which ain't often. He always wanted to be a naturalist. Now he's made enough money from the family business so we can all sit back and enjoy it. You can see why he trusts his business judgment. But he doesn't trust his judgment of women, so he steers clear of them." "That sounds like a good way to buy stocks," Polly mused, "but you can't steer clear of people." "Greg can." "I suppose he can, if he's going to spend the rest of his life on deserted islands. What makes him think he can't judge women?" Lance shrugged. "He got thrown over for a sheikh's son from one of the Arab Emirates. I'll wager you've heard of them?" "Yes." "They're on the Arabian peninsula - miles of sand on top of miles of oil. This girl, Heather, and Gregory practically grew up together. Her father was a director of Godwin's. You'd think he'd know her if he knew anybody. They were engaged. A year later she married her sheikh, and Greg became a woman-hater. That was...oh...ten years ago. He's thirty-five. At least he says he's a woman-hater. Maybe he's found that that's the way to make them come running, I don't know. He's not talkative." "Too true!" Polly brightened. Lance would be there now. The evenings would no longer be strained. He enlivened the rest of the walk by imitating various bird-watchers - the timid man, the know-it-all, the intense lady staring skyward and falling into a hole. Polly giggled and then chuckled. When Gregory appeared both she and Robbie were laughing heartily. "Here you are!" Gregory barked. "I'm glad Angus informed me of your arrival, Lance, since you couldn't be bothered to." "You'd have seen me at dinner," Lance said with a grin. "Why postpone such a delightful surprise?" "All right," Lance admitted defeat. "I should have checked in, I suppose. You've got work for me, right?" "Yes. I'm banding terns. One adult to entertain this boy should be sufficient. No wonder he's spoiled." He glared at Polly. She caught her breath, but before she could think of an answer he stalked off. Lance looked at her and shrugged. He took his orders with careless grace. "See you at dinner." With a wave he plunged after his brother. Polly felt herself grow hot with anger, especially when she saw the hurt look on Robbie's face. "You are not spoiled, Robbie," she told him. "And he is mad at me, not you." "Why is he mad at you, Polly?" "It's too complicated to explain." How could she, when she didn't understand it herself? Nevertheless she felt reproved. She tried to think what she might have done wrong. Lured Lance from his work? From the way Lance talked, he never worked very hard anyway. The afternoon was wearing on. It was time for Robbie's tea, so they returned to the tower.

CHAPTER SIX

WHEN THEY ASSEMBLED in the sitting room before dinner, Lance did not appear in the least downcast. Polly concluded that Gregory had neither growled at him nor worked him very hard. The younger brother talked cheerfully about the terns. Gregory's comments were short. Polly sipped sherry and listened. She found everything about the island unaccountably engrossing. After dinner she and Lance carried their coffee to the chairs in front of the fire, where Polly started knitting. Gregory cleared the table, spread out his charts, and drank coffee while he worked. With Robbie in bed, Lance was able to ask about the school and Robbie's strong reaction to the fire. Gregory kept his head bent over his charts, but Polly was very aware of his presence. So, apparently, was Lance. He swallowed the last of his coffee, set the cup aside and said, "Would you like to go for a walk? It won't be dark for hours yet, and we can talk without disturbing Greg. Perhaps we'll hear the seals singing. Have you heard them yet?" She smiled. "The morning after I came. I thought they were mermaids." Gregory raised his head. "And she might have been lured to her death by them, too," he growled. "She was wandering in the mist like a Victorian heroine." Their conversation was obviously disturbing him. Polly ground her teeth and made haste to get her parka. When she returned Gregory said laconically, "Bring her back by nine, will you? I'll be ready to turn in by then, and the boy really mustn't be left alone. He still hasn't recovered from his fright." "Righto," Lance promised. Outside, the long summer evening gave an aura of timelessness to the island. Polly thought she might have been a Norse maiden leaving her kinsman's crowded hall to stroll with a young stranger, hearing him tell of the lands he had visited. The empty sea, the constant overhead passing of birds would have been the same in the year 800. "Do you know anything about the seals?" Polly asked. Lance quirked an eyebrow. "What do you want to know?" "Everything! I've never seen wild seals before. Have they always been here?" "Yes. This is their territory. They're Atlantic Grey Seals, the largest carnivore in the British Isles. Fishermen hate them because they eat salmon and mackerel and herring; the general public is passionate about protecting them. When adult seals haul out on the rocks, they make the kind of sounds you heard. They're more numerous along the west coast, actually, and around Ireland. All the Celtic people have stories about seal women, and about seals talking and singing, and saving the lives of fishermen. In reality the sounds are made by mothers communicating with their pups. To me they sound like moans, but I guess if you stretch your imagination you could say they were singing. Some people claim they sound human. How would you describe them?" Polly thought about it. They had paused and were looking down at the waves breaking at the foot of the cliff. "Like a lament, I guess. I wonder if they'll sound different now that I know what they are." "Depends on how much Celtic blood you have," Lance suggested. "None that I know of." "And you with black hair and blue eyes? I'd say - " he studied her features " - you have about two pints." "Ugh! What a way to put it!" He grinned, and went on to tell her how seals had to be studied on their breeding grounds, too, because that was almost the only time they settled in one place. Those places were usually on rocky islets. Naturalists had to take camping gear, fresh water and extra supplies in case they were stranded by bad weather. Absorbed in what he was saying, Polly paid no attention to how far their

stroll was carrying them, until she realized they were approaching the sandy beach. They had walked clear to the other end of the island. Her first thought was that Lance must make a wonderful tour guide; he obviously had the ability to make time fly. Even on tours there must be long dull stretches that had to be got over. Then she remembered what Gregory had said about getting back by nine o'clock and she gasped. "What time is it?" "Not to worry." Lance squinted at his watch. "I make it eight-thirty." "Hadn't we better go back?" Polly indicated the track that led across the middle of the island. Lance made a face. "Let's stroll on around the cliffs. You can go anywhere on this island in half an hour." Polly was not convinced, but she could do little other than walk faster. When the path narrowed, Lance took the lead, and she couldn't hurry without treading on his heels. When it broadened again, he dropped back beside her. "An interesting thing happened on this last trip. My two friends and I were wandering about the Frisian Islands looking for birds. One day we followed a path through a marsh to a grove of trees. First thing we knew we were in an overgrown garden of an old manor house. An old man popped up. We expected him to give us hell for trespassing, but he didn't. He insisted we join him for tea. The day was filthy, and the mist was turning to rain, so we followed him inside. Well, he took us into a great empty hail with a few chairs grouped around a fire at one end. He gave us Dutch gin, cake and coffee. He told us that, what with inflation in Holland, he'd had to sell off the family furniture. He showed us what he had left - the tapestries on the walls. Big faded things. What do I know about tapestries? But my friend Harry, who owns the boat, knows something about antiques. He whispered that we ought to buy them. So we did!" "How exciting!" Polly exclaimed. "But now I'm responsible for them. Harry couldn't take them back himself because he had no way to get them on to London. It will be easy to. get them insured and shipped from Birdsea. I promised to keep them here till Harry can make the arrangements. The problem is, where? I don't want to tell my brother about them." "Why not?" A twinge of suspicion stabbed Polly. Lance hunched his shoulders. "Oh, he won't understand. Naturally the old man didn't have any of the usual documents. I daresay the things had been in the house forever. Greg will say the old man set us up, or that the tapestries are not old, or that they're stolen or smuggled. But they're not contraband, and anybody can see they're old! But he'll say something blighting. I know they're all right. I say, you won't tell him?" "Of course not." Polly automatically spoke words of assurance, but as soon as they left her mouth she realized she'd been cornered. She'd be a tattletale if she told Gregory; if she didn't, Lance had made her an accomplice. Darn! A feeling of distaste for the whole thing rose in her breast. Still, if Gregory couldn't keep his younger brotherln line, how could she? Resignedly she asked, "How big are they?" "About ten by ten." "Feet?" Polly's blue eyes flew wide in astonishment. "That's nothing for tapestries. Matter of fact, they're on the small side." "I know how big tapestries are! I thought you had to be talking about small wall hangings." Polly tried not to let her exasperation show. "How can you think of trying to hide something ten feet long? How many are there, for heaven's sake?" "Three. Rolled up together they're not so big. Well, the roll is ten feet long, as you say. Harry and I wrapped them in plastic. Anybody who didn't know would think it was a rolled carpet. I was hoping you'd let me slip them in among that stored furniture. Luckily they're not as heavy as a carpet." "Where are they now?" Lance looked pleased with himself. "Out in the bracken."

A gasp escaped Polly's lips. "They're safe enough for tonight," Lance assured her blithely. "Nobody's going to run off with them. It's just that I don't want Greg to know about them yet," he repeated stubbornly. "But the furniture's going to be moved out of that room! That's what I'm working on - where to put it." Polly looked as perplexed as she felt. "It'll take a couple of days before it's all moved. Let me put them in there till I think of something," Lance coaxed. "Oh, very well," Polly said crossly. She still had the key to the room. If she locked up when she stopped work in the evenings, Gregory would never have occasion to enter it. And if Lance would truly find another hiding place quickly "Great!" Lance gave her hand a friendly squeeze. "Believe me, I'll tell Gregory when it's time." Polly had no choice but to believe him. There couldn't be anything shady about the tapestries or Lance wouldn't be talking so freely. Nevertheless she felt ill at ease. For another thing, she was sure their walk had lasted far too long. The tower loomed out of the twilight. "I'm sure we're late," she said in obvious worry, and hastened across the terrace. With long strides Lance kept at her heels. He squinted at his watch again. "Oh, oh, it's stopped." "I knew it felt late!" Polly ran up the stairs, pursued by guilt. Gregory was standing before the fire. The table had been cleared, his papers and notebooks stacked neatly on the shelves. He scowled as she came breathlessly through the door. "I'm sorry," she cried. "Lance's watch stopped." "And you had so much to say to each other that the time simply flew," he added sarcastically. "No, but...." How could she say Lance had talked her into taking the long way around? "That must have been the reason." He looked at her. "Otherwise you'd have been back in good time." "I thought Lance was keeping track," she protested. "Lance hasn't agreed to look after Robbie, Miss Drake. You have. Please take over now." He scowled again as Lance appeared in the doorway, but his voice held brotherly tolerance. "I should have known I couldn't depend on you, Brat. Come along now and let Miss Drake get to her bed. She has plenty ahead of her tomorrow. You can sleep in the room where your gear is tonight, but tomorrow I want you to move your sleeping bag and everything to the top floor." Lance reared back in mock horror. "You're assigning your own brother to servants' quarters?" Gregory flashed his rare grin. "I've invited important guests for a July weekend. If they accept I want to give them first-class treatment." "Should Robbie and I move, too?" Polly asked diffidently. "That won't be necessary." Gregory barely glanced at her. "Robbie's too young to be sent up there." Since that was exactly what Polly was thinking, she couldn't understand why Gregory's answer annoyed her so. While she readied herself for bed, her thoughts kept returning to the conversation. Why did he blame her every time something went wrong? Why, for that matter, did he dislike her? Not that she cared! Whether she got along with him or not, it was a pleasure to be on the island. In addition to her fascinating mornings with the antiques, she was enjoying her afternoons of exploring with Robbie. She donned the pink pajamas that she had chosen even though they didn't fit the ancient tower background. At least they were better than the old borrowed nightgown she had been using. Looking after Robbie meant checking on him during the night. She would have loved to flit down the stone corridors in a

filmy white dressing gown, but if she happened to encounter Gregory Godwin by accident, he would be sure to think she was wearing it to attract him. Annoying man! He was arrogant enough already. The pink pajamas made her feel like a simpleminded schoolgirl. She slipped into bed, resolutely putting him out of her mind. AT BREAKFAST Polly reluctantly asked Gregory for men to move the wardrobes out into the passage. "I'll do it," Lance said promptly. "I'll get one of the chaps upstairs to help me." Gregory threw his brother an impatient look. "I thought you were going to photograph puffins." "I will! How long does it take to move a few wardrobes?" He bubbled with enthusiasm even early in the morning. Gregory pushed his chair back from the table. "You might take Robbie when you go out," he suggested. "Show him what you're doing. Miss Drake has her mornings pretty well mapped out." "Aye, aye, sir." Lance saluted mockingly. Gregory left the room, donning his field jacket as he went. "I thought it would be a good time to bring in the tapestries," Lance explained unnecessarily. Polly hated underhanded doings. Yet how easily she had been maneuvered into this situation. They carried the breakfast things to the kitchen. "Come," she said briskly. "I'll show you the pieces to be moved." He followed her down the passage. She walked quickly, feverish to get the business of the tapestries settled so she could put it out of her mind. "The room is quite full of furniture," she heard herself say nervously. "I'm sure that before they made the tower bigger this room was both hall and dining room. Because it has the other flight of stairs down to the terrace, we'll receive visitors here. I mean - " she stammered and felt her face grow hot " - your brother - that is, the sanctuary - will receive visitors here." Reluctantly, knowing she was taking her first step in deceiving Gregory, she opened the door. She had not kept it locked; there had been no need. Lance looked thunderstruck at the bulky shapes filling the space from wall to wall. "Gosh, what a collection!" "You haven't seen it before?" Polly watched him curiously. "No! We've been busy with the basics - bringing in food and counting birds. I say, I'm glad you fell into Gregory's clutches. Otherwise I might have been stuck with this job of playing house. Are these the wardrobes you want moved?" "Yes. There are six of them." In the gray light of morning the room looked cavernous and forlorn, despite the furniture that had been pushed into it helter-skelter. "My God!" Lance exclaimed involuntarily. "It looks like a parish hall. You can't do anything with this." "Wait and see." Polly spoke with confidence. The room had basic possibilities. Windows high in the outside wall were designed to let in light but keep out North Sea gales. With a fire in the fireplace arid curtains of bright velvet, the room could be elegant. A white stone mantel set off the ample fireplace. Admittedly the room looked grim the way it was now, with the wan light filtering through cobwebbed panes showing the dust, and the pieces of furniture casting bulky shadows. A pair of beautiful old doors closed off the stone staircase that led down to the terrace. Polly glanced over her shoulder to see if they were alone. Then she whispered, "Look!" and pointed to the double doors. "If you can fight your way through and open those doors, you could bring the tapestries in that way." "Righto." Lance flashed her a conspiratorial grin. "You're a great sport, Poily." He looked so fresh- faced and lighthearted that it was impossible to connect him with skulduggery. He began worming his way between bulky wardrobes and stacked chairs. I'm prejudiced, Polly thought. I want to disapprove of these people. Why?

Because of the offhanded way they treat Robbie, or because I envy the life they lead? The doors were secured by an oak bar. With a grunt and a heave Lance removed it and opened one door. "I'll be back with the goods," he called across the room to Polly before he disappeared down the unused staircase. Doggedly Polly took out her tape measure and began work. She had measured all the wardrobes and written the figures in her notebook by the time Lance reappeared. He put his head around the door to see if the coast was clear and surreptitiously slid a long plastic-wrapped bundle into the room. "I'll put them next to the wall behind this chest," he said, keeping his voice low and conspiratorial. Grunting and puffing, he moved the box to where it partially hid the roll. "If only that chest were longer," he said regretfully, "I could lock the tapestries in it." "You might cut them in two," Polly said with what she meant to be slashing irony. "Cut them in two!" For an instant Lance stared across the room at her. "Oh! Very funny." He began to chuckle as he moved through the furniture. "I see you've a devil in you, Polly Drake." To her annoyance Polly found herself chuckling, too, as though she and Lance shared a joke. Quickly she wiped the smile from her face. "It's no laughing matter," she scolded. Lance's expression became sober, too, though his eyes still sparkled with mischief. He said smartly, "Now I'll get someone to help me move those wardrobes." He went out into the passage, and Polly heard him whistling on his way upstairs to summon a workman. Minutes later he returned, accompanied by the carpenter's helper. Lance hefted a corner of the nearest wardrobe and eyed his fellow mover. "Wait'll you try to lift this!" Heaving and grunting, they shifted it into the passage. "They weren't meant to be moved," Polly said apologetically. "They were meant to stay in place forever." "Too bad the chaps who put them in here didn't know that," came Lance's cheerful reply. When they had moved the last one out, Lance came puffing back into the room. "We've lined them all up in the passage. I figure it's going to take four men to get them upstairs." He lowered his voice. "Sorry I can't unroll the tapestries and let you look at them." Polly's eyes were roaming over the bare stone walls. "Maybe your brother would like to buy them," she suggested, curious to see Lance's reaction. Lance shook his head. "He collects oil paintings." Her red lips parted in astonishment. "Not here?" Lance nodded. "I think he has them crated in the storeroom." If that wasn't like Gregory not to tell her, Polly thought angrily. No doubt he believed a painting could be slapped on any blank wall, with no consideration as to the other furnishings. She forced herself to speak mildly. "I'd better ask to have them uncrated." Lance was gazing across the room in the direction of the tapestries. The plastic-wrapped roll was well hidden by furniture, even from the middle of the room. Polly had already assured herself of that. "You won't forget to lock the door?" Lance prompted. "Just incase." "And you won't forget that this is only temporary," Polly urged. "I already have another place in mind," Lance told her airily. "But it's not available yet." Polly frowned. "If you'd tell your brother, there wouldn't be any problem." "There won't be." His grin was meant to be reassuring. "Where's Robbie? In the kitchen?" "Yes...." Apparently she still looked troubled, because Lance patted her

arm reassuringly. "There's no problem, I promise you." If only she could believe him. She saw no more of him until lunchtime, when he brought Robbie in looking bright-eyed and excited. The child was obviously thrilled with helping his uncle take pictures. Lance was clearly a good person, and Polly decided her worries were groundless. After lunch he took Robbie out again, so Polly continued working. She spent a lot of time standing around the various rooms, trying to imagine which piece would look best where even before she drew it on her plan. Visualizing was necessary. Oak furniture was too heavy to be moved casually around if one didn't get it right the first time. It was late afternoon as she stood in the open doorway of Gregory's balcony, deciding which pieces should go in his room. There was a huge armoire, simple and beautiful, dating from the fifteenth century. He must have that, and a chest to hold extra sheets and blankets for the king-size mattress he had on order. He would need a chair, one of the fine old chest-on-chests and a bedside table. What about a writing table? Would he want to make notes here when he came back from a midnight expedition to the nests? Or was he the kind of person who ripped off his clothes and fell into bed? She pictured him dressed in pajamas, his fair hair rumpled from pulling his shirt over his head - she felt sure he would be too impatient to unbutton it. He would be jotting down things he'd remembered from his day's work - questions or theories to explore. Her thoughts made the room seem full of him. How she wished she could tell him about the tapestries! Surely Lance would do so soon. The tapestries reminded her of the necklace, something else she ought to tell him. If she had discovered the hidden compartment, someone else might, too. But who else would be snooping around his room? The question added to her guilt. She turned her back on the room and went out onto the balcony, intending to admire the view and try for an impersonal perspective regarding the room. She was planning a bedroom for a man she hardly knew. There was absolutely no reason at all to feel personal. But it was impossible to decorate any room without thinking of the person who would use it. Thin sunshine filtering through haze gave a dreamy softness to the island. The sea glimmered mistily. A gentle breeze caressed her face, bringing the scent of wild flowers. In the olden days sailors far out at sea had been able to smell the fragrance of certain lands even before they appeared on the horizon. She turned and focused her eyes again, in order to visualize the room with chest, armoire, the curtained and covered bed. But in the center of the room stood Gregory. She blinked, thinking for an instant that he had materialized out of her daydreaming. But he exclaimed, "Polly!" and for a moment appeared as taken aback as she. Then he came through the French doors and joined her on the balcony. "Lovely afternoon," he said shortly. She caught her breath and laughed a bit shakily. "For a moment I thought you were part of the room I was visualizing." "Should I take that as a compliment?" He was actually smiling. "No! I mean - uh - that's the way I work," she stammered, making it worse and feeling the blood stain her cheeks. "Are you working?" He was still smiling. "I had every impression you were loafing in the sunshine." "Maybe a bit," she admitted, casting her gaze out over the island. "Who could blame you?" He leaned his forearms on the balustrade and drew a deep breath of the scented air. Polly knew she should sidle past him and get back to work. She should ask him whether he wanted a writing table, but she felt oddly bound until he said something to release her. The word "enchanted" came to her mind. She struggled

against the idea. It was the riskiest thing in the world to allow such a mood in Gregory's presence. That seemed to be his chief criticism of her, that she was romantic. "Enchanted," he said suddenly. "What?" she faltered. "From here the island almost looks enchanted." He cleared his throat as though the word choked him. "Yes, it does," Polly agreed breathlessly. He went on staring out over his domain. "One always assumes that enchantments happen in the gloaming, as they say, or in a mist, not in a fresh southwest breeze, but there's something now...the haze...." He turned to her, one corner of his firm mouth quirked into a questioning smile. "Do you feel it?" "Yes, but I think it's the room." Polly held her voice under control. "No." His eyes were narrowed against the sun so that she could not see into their depths, even if she had had the courage to give him more than a fleeting look. "Not the room. It's never given me this feeling of nostalgic sweetness." He was looking down at her, and her heart jumped. "Perhaps your romanticism is catching." His intent look, however, was that of a scientist examining some new creature. Curiosity was in his gaze, not admiration. Nevertheless, Polly continued to find herself short of breath. Was romanticism catching? If so, Gregory was immune. His curious look turned into a glare. "Do you realize," he rasped, "that three hundred and sixty days of the year the wind up here will blow you right off the balcony? These doors had to be specially made, with extra strong latches. I made the mistake of removing the shutters before these were installed, and the wind practically blew me out of my sleeping bag!" He gave a derisive laugh. "The Victorian who designed this nonsense would have been just your cup of tea. He was probably picturing scenes like you and me standing here now. He'd be very happy if he could see us." "As long as he can't hear what you're saying!" Polly replied with a sinking heart. "Too right." The corner of Gregory's mouth quirked again. "Perhaps we ought to make him happy." "What do you mean?" Could he tell how her heart was racing? "Use his balcony for the purpose he meant it for," He moved closer. His arm encircled her shoulders, his free hand tilted her chin. Light gray eyes looked down into hers. She stood as if under a spell. "No," she managed to whisper. "You promised!" "What did I promise?" "You - you promised this wouldn't happen again." "Oh, no, my dear!" A wry smile twisted one side of his mouth, making him look faintly satanic. "I promised I wouldn't again make such an inept approach." She tried to step back from his embrace. "That isn't what I understood!" She dared to give him a straight glance. His gray eyes now appeared smoky, smoldering. He was using them to hypnotize her. "I couldn't promise to resist you. By definition you are irresistible." His words were too glib. They frightened instead of reassured her. "Please, Gregory, I - " "I'll bet Lance kissed you." His voice was steely. "No, he didn't!" "Little liar." Seductively his hand slid from her chin along the line of her cheek. She tried to turn her face away from his touch. His fingers gripped her jaw like steel clamps. Iron hand in velvet glove, she thought hysterically. His fingertips, not velvet at all but masculine and roughened by outdoor work, sent chills down her spine. His hand moved to the back of her neck, where his fingers entwined

themselves in her hair, stroking, smoothing. His other hand came up to bury itself, too, in her dark shining tresses. With both hands he grasped the back of her head, turning up her face. "Look at me!" Mesmerized, Polly raised her thick black lashes and returned his gaze. Gregory stared into her eyes. "There are black flecks in your irises," he pronounced with scientific accuracy. "That's what makes them such a dark blue." He dropped a kiss on her nose. "Little goose! Did you think I'd be able to keep my hands off you entirely?" The tip of her tongue touched her lips. "I...that's what I understood," she breathed. "That's what you want me to do - keep my hands off?" he asked quizzically. She tried to remember why he wasn't supposed to kiss her. There had been reasons - several - but she couldn't put her mind on even one! She placed her hands against his chest to push him away before she lost every shred of willpower, but her arms were curiously weak. Beneath her palms she felt the throbbing of his heart. "Polly," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her, gathering her against his ribs. The feeling was so deliriously satisfying, so much like a safe haven from the storms of life, that Polly found herself utterly unresisting. With a sigh she closed her eyes and ordered her mind to stop thinking. The whole lower part of her body was exuding a warmth, a glow never before experienced, as though his flesh and bones, hips and thighs had become a magnetic force to which all the atoms of her body were pulled; as though her flesh was only half a being, and his the other half. The perfumed flowers of sea campion mingled with salt air, the steady murmur of waves breaking on rocks with the cries of seabirds. Gregory's skin smelled of himself, sun-warmed, masculine, heady. Time stood still. It might have been the seventh century or the seventeenth. His lips touched hers, sweetly, reassuringly, and only this moment existed. The pressure of his mouth grew firmer. The touch of those strong handsome lips pressing hers made her blood leap. It was all she could do to keep from responding, to keep from melting against him. She wanted to kiss him back, longed to. But was it wise? She could think of nothing, feel nothing, but Gregory. Wisdom was something that didn't belong to this moment, and she wanted this moment never to end. He was sheltering her head in the crook of his arm so that she could not escape the increasing urgency of his kiss. She could only twist her head to one side. She did that, trying to catch her breath at the same time as she tried to think what to say to him. But in freeing her lips she had exposed other vulnerable areas. Gregory's mouth teased the corner of her own, and suddenly that spot seemed the most vulnerable of all. Fire burned along her veins. Then his lips were discovering her cheek and her ear. The next instant he found the secret places of her neck. Her eyes flew open. "Stop! Wait! Please..." she begged. "Polly, Polly...." He raised his head to gaze into her face. His gray eyes smoldered like white-hot metal. For a moment she thought he was going to let her go, and regret washed over her, but the look of tenderness on his rugged features told her she was wrong. She was gasping for breath. His burning eyes held hers, and she could only gaze dumbly at him, her mind a blank. Her racing blood seemed to have drained all thought. Her body had seized control, telling her it was all right to enjoy herself. How could she refuse his look, which didn't trouble to hide his desire for her? His hands moved down her back, spread to span her waist, moved up her ribs until his thumbs came under her breasts, raising them. His fingers moved to cup them. He dropped his face to include them in his kisses, muttering an imprecation when his lips met the material of her blouse. The thought of how his lips would feel if only her breasts were bare made

her weaker than ever. Yet somehow she managed to grasp the fringes of sanity. With his arms no longer circling her, she was able to step away from him, to almost free herself. "Please let me go," she whispered. But he caught her to him with a groan and planted strong firm lips to her longing mouth. Her eyelids fluttered down, the black fringe of her lashes sweeping her pale cheeks. "Why?" he whispered against her ear. Her answer was an instinctive turning of her mouth to find his lips and be kissed again. That kiss became the most beautiful thing that had ever happened to Polly. He held her lovingly, as though he, too, were enjoying the moment without thought of demanding more, content to keep her in his arms and hold her mouth a captive of his own. At last her hands fluttered against his shoulders, feebly pushing him away. In another second, with every ounce of her strength, she would pull him closer. Her attempt at resistance made him raise his head. "What is it, angel?" He stiffened. "I must be mad!" he cried, suddenly aware of their surroundings. "Carrying on in plain sight of the whole island! Come inside." His words restored her sanity. He didn't want to be seen kissing her. Any more than he'd want to be seen kissing the cook or the nanny. He tugged her back into the room so that she was facing the bed's great oaken headboard. The sight of it prompted a stirring of common sense in one corner of her brain. "I wanted to tell you," she babbled, "that I discovered the hiding place in the bed. Because if I could find it, anybody might...." Her voice dwindled to a thread as she watched his dark brows draw together. "What are you talking about?" He was still breathing heavily. "The necklace." And when he still frowned she said, "The necklace hidden in the compartment." His face cleared. "Oh, that! I'd forgotten." His glance shifted from Polly's face to the headboard. "What about it?" "It's not a safe place to keep valuable jewelry. If I discovered the hiding place, anyone might. Lots of these old pieces had cubbyholes built into them." "But I don't let just anyone snoop around my bed." A sparkle lurked in his gray eyes, but she chose to resent the implication. "I wasn't snooping! I merely inspected the carving! It's slightly warped, and I tried to see if it could be made to fit again." She scanned his face to see if he believed her. Lines of determination were there in his rugged good looks, and crow's feet from squinting into field glasses. His features were no longer soft, as when he had looked at her on the balcony. His face tightened further as he said, "It's not mine, and I'm not responsible for it." Polly stared up at him, her soft lips parted. "Did you know it was there?" He made an impatient gesture. "Of course I knew it was there!" "Oh." Polly began to feel she had blundered into something she'd have been better out of. Gregory continued to stare through the window. What was he thinking? Was he watching something out there, or waiting for her to leave? She knew she ought to walk out of the room, but her knees were still trembling. Her emotions were still in turmoil. Nor could she silence the question thumping in her mind. "Whose is it?" she asked in a small voice. "Whose? Oh, my sister-in-law's. I'm supposed to be guarding it while she's cavorting about the Mediterranean." His voice was resentful. A cruelly blazing light suddenly switched on in Polly's brain. Gregory was in love with his sister-in-law! He was furious because she was presumably off having a good time without him. That would explain the angry way he talked about her! There was no reason for Polly to feel she'd been turned to stone. So he was in love with Robbie's mother. It had nothing to do with her. In fact, it was

probably to the good. The barrier she had tried to keep between herself and Gregory showed every promise of collapsing. As though he sensed her wish to escape, he slid a hand around her waist and pulled her to him. "Oh, don't," she breathed. "Why not?" He was no longer focusing his attention on something outside the window. He brought his gaze to bear on Polly, and the look was devastating. She loved the fringe of dark lashes around his gray eyes, the brown planes of his cheeks, the hard strong jaw so different from her own, his mouth.... She watched it move toward her own. Why not let him kiss her? Why should Robbie's mother have it all - a darling son, jewelry, and Gregory, too? The woman must be crazy to be so careless. Willingly Polly turned up her face. Her eyes closed. Gregory's lips toyed with hers, and she heard his sharply indrawn breath. She thrilled as the pressure of his mouth grew stronger. "Gregory!" A shout from the passage followed by hurried footsteps brought their kiss to an abrupt end. Gregory barely had time to move away from Polly before the bedroom door burst open. Hand on knob, Lance peered in. "Greg? Oh, am I interrupting?" His eyes danced wickedly. Gregory crossed the room and closed the French windows. "Not at all. We were discussing furniture. But we'd pretty well finished, hadn't we?" He turned to Polly. His eyes still smoldered, but his mouth was a hard line. "Yes." Polly spoke stoutly, though she feared the beating of her heart was reverberating through the room. "Were you looking for me?" Gregory used his company-president's voice. In his haste Lance forgot his suspicions. "The boat's back. Angus has half the beds and mattresses aboard." "Where's he tied up?" "At the wharf, of course." Gregory looked disgusted. "Does he think we're going to carry that lot up the steps? No, he doesn't think at all!" He flicked a look at Polly as though he suddenly remembered she was listening. Then he surprised her by saying in a softened tone, "It's my fault. I should have thought to tell him to tie up at the old wharf at the beach - the one the crofters used." "It's nothing but a wreck," Lance objected. "No, it isn't," Gregory said patiently. "I looked at it last week. It'll do for this job if we're careful. You'd better go tell him. I'll meet you down there with the jeep." As she listened to their retreating footsteps, Polly clutched the great carved bedpost for support. She tried to focus her swirling thoughts. Was her flash of intuition correct? Was Gregory in love with Robbie's mother? Lance had said their widowed sister-in-law was beautiful, willful and rich. He had also said she had set her sights on Gregory. But that didn't mean Gregory felt anything about her---Still, he seemed to be abnormally angry whenever he spoke of her. Today he had acted very strangely about the necklace, staring out the window as though Polly didn't exist. And keeping the necklace in his bed! Even if he didn't sleep there yet, it implied an intimacy that made Polly bite her lip. She thought of the way she had submitted to his lovemaking and squirmed with embarrassment. What must he think of her? Another female easily devastated by his charm. She wouldn't be surprised if he believed unconsciously that she had schemed to bring Robbie to Kittiwake, trusting that something would happen to keep her here. And of course, he probably thought that any normal un- attached male would be a fool not to accept the situation and make the most of it; that a woman who put herself in such a position was asking for anything she got. How could she ever convince Gregory that her motives were honest? Only by leaving him strictly alone and tending to her work. And she'd made a good job of that, hadn't she? Her pretty mouth twisted ironically. A vivid memory of that last interrupted kiss invaded her thoughts, sweeping away vain regrets. She closed her eyes, the better to remember. His mouth,

tender yet firm, had not been the least bit arrogant in those moments. Ruefully she admitted to herself that she had enjoyed his kisses. She wanted more. But common sense wouldn't let her enjoy the memory for long. What are you, she scolded herself, some Victorian heroine who thinks it's romantic to be unhappy? Later she sat with Robbie while he had his tea, and she was tucking him in bed by the time she heard the jeep snarling along the bumpy track. Robbie heard it, too. He streaked across the passage to one of the empty rooms and hung out the window. Polly followed him. Gregory was driving, Lance riding atop a stack of four mattresses, a sight Robbie found immensely entertaining. The jeep bounced out of sight around the corner, and Polly coaxed Robbie back to bed. Later she heard it roar away for another load. Both men were tired and quiet when they came in for dinner. Beds and mattresses were ready to be carried upstairs. Except for Gregory's and Lance's, they could be set up on Monday. The workmen had gone for the weekend. Angus, Lance said, was bringing the boat back around to the wharf at the foot of the cliffs. If the weather held, Angus would fetch the other half of the shipment tomorrow. During the meal Gregory announced that Polly should go to Newcastle on Monday to buy sheets, blankets and pillows. "Why didn't you order those when you bought the beds?" Lance asked. "I did," Gregory said flatly. "As you see, they haven't arrived. Polly will have to check into it. Also, we're going to need a dinner service for about thirty people, I believe." "Thirty!" Lance exclaimed, his fork suspended over his plate. Gregory slanted a quelling look at his brother and directed his explanation to Polly. "I considered the number of bedrooms available and multiplied by two. And allowed for breakage. Does that sound right?" Polly nodded, well aware that she knew no more than he did about how to order china. "If they only come in multiples of four, or something like that," he added, "you can settle for twenty-eight." "I haven't had a chance to tell you," Polly said, "but I haven't come across a dining table. It's been worrying me. There aren't many dining chairs, either." Gregory looked unbelieving. "There must be something! This place was a retreat for priests, after all." "Maybe they wore it out," Lance suggested. "The groaning board, chairs tilted back after meals while the port went around." Ignoring Lance, Gregory said, "Then we'll have to find one on the mainland." "That should be entertaining," Lance exclaimed. "I'll drive Polly to town Monday." "It won't be easy to find one," Polly declared. "And who's to look after Robbie?" She felt piqued at being ordered off to Newcastle just like that, though the trip was obviously necessary if the men were to move out of their sleeping bags into beds. Gregory frowned at the problem of Robbie. "Maybe I'll go, too," he said after due thought. "I have some business to attend to. We'll take my car, and Robbie can come along." Polly rewarded his unexpected kindness with a warm smile, but it was wiped from her winsome face as he added, "Otherwise you two may get to talking and forget all about dinnerware." "It's easy to forget business when you're around Polly," Lance quipped, a remark she appreciated though it didn't make her feel better. Gregory thought her irresponsible. Darn it, she wasn't! CHAPTER SEVEN

ON SUNDAY Mrs. Angus informed Polly that, the sea being calm, she was taking the opportunity to go to church when Angus went in to Birdsea to get the rest of the shipment of beds and mattresses. "I'd like to go, too," Polly said quickly. She enjoyed the excitement of the island with Gregory and Lance, but the chance to get away from it - or them - for a few hours was appealing. And attending the church service would be good training for Robbie, who wasn't used to sitting quietly for an hour. She pinned back her hair in a no-nonsense style that seemed suitable for churchgoing, and donned her new blue suit. It was a pity Gregory was already out with the birds when she left, because she looked exactly like a very responsible nanny. Lance laughed when he saw her, and said she looked too respectable to be real. Mrs. Angus left Sunday dinner cooking on the back of the stove, and together the two women and the boy climbed down the cliff stairs to where Angus was waiting for them. THEY RETURNED with the boat filled with beds and mattresses. Angus tied up at the rickety wharf off the beach, and they all crept ashore over bleached timbers that threatened to collapse at any moment. Robbie seemed to enjoy the danger, which was more than could be said of Polly or Mrs. Angus. In the tower sitting room Polly readied the table as usual, placed the food on the electric warmers and wondered when the men would come to eat it. Lance appeared promptly, and Gregory soon followed. Polly wanted to talk about the parish church with its Saxon tower, but Gregory's frowning abstraction put a damper on conversation. When the meal was over he left, taking Lance and Robbie with him. As he went out he said, "Breeding birds don't observe Sunday." Perhaps he meant it as an apology for being so unsociable, but Polly doubted it. She found the afternoon long and lonely. She read and knitted, and wished they had invited her, too, to help with their work. But she understood from Lance's offhand remarks that Gregory considered women in field work a distraction and a nuisance. Why, then, she asked herself, did she even wish for their company? But she did. She found herself looking forward with pleasure to the next day's jaunt. The afternoon was exceptionally warm and sunny. She decided to investigate the swimming possibilities. Gregory had never mentioned swimming off the sandy strip where the boat was now beached. Probably he had never given a thought to such frivolity. In the bedroom she still shared with Robbie, she went through the packages that she had never unwrapped because there wasn't anyplace to hang clothes. She opened the bag containing the sleek silver one-piece swimsuit she had bought. After all, the island was surrounded by the sea, she had told herself while shopping. She had chosen the silver suit more for the sake of modesty than for its color. A bikini might be all right for a populated beach where everyone was similarly undressed, but here - She stopped her thoughts from going further. Not even Mrs. Angus could disapprove of this outfit. She laughed to herself. Perhaps it was for Mrs. Angus's approval she had bought it. No one seeing her could have withheld approval. The creamy whiteness of her small shapely body seemed to shimmer against the tower's stark walls. With her black locks spilling sweetly over her shoulders she looked like a fairy-tale creature. She slipped into the long white terrycloth caftan she had bought to go over the suit. It covered her demurely, except for seductive slits up the sides. Tossing her book and a cheerful beach towel into her bag, she was leaving the room when she thought of Robbie. She hunted for his new trunks and popped them into her bag, too. Then she left the tower and picked her way along the rutted path. She reached the beach in time to see Lance and Gregory sling the last mattress onto the jeep, and Lance clamber atop. The gleaming white cruiser

backed away from the wooden wharf and chugged off to its regular mooring. Robbie was seated in the jeep's front seat. Gregory swung himself behind the wheel. As the vehicle approached, Lance saw her first. "Polly!" he shouted. "Where do you think you're going?" "Over there!" She pointed to a strip of sandy beach broken by chunks of rock. Lance's gaze followed her pointing finger. "Good choice! The terns don't nest there, so you won't be attacked by irate mamas and papas. Soon as we get rid of this load, I'll join you." "I want to go swimming," Robbie piped. "In the North Sea in April? It may be exceptionally warm today but you'll catch your death of cold," Gregory told his nephew. But he was smiling, so Polly pulled from her bag the funny little square of red that was Robbie's new swimsuit and laid it in his lap. "Come on, then - " Gregory's words were lost in a spluttering roar as the jeep sped up the track. Lance swiveled to catch a last glance of Polly, and waved. She dropped her bag beside a rocky outcrop that reflected the sun and provided shelter from the wind. She spread her beach towel and unfastened the caftan. She was content simply to feel the sun warming her skin and to watch the lapping waves. Where the rock jutted into the sea the receding waves bared a cluster of shellfish. She must ask Gregory what they were so she could show them to Robbie. Why was she thinking of asking Gregory? Lance probably knew as well. She had fallen into a doze when something grabbed her foot roughly. "Ah, ha!" a voice crowed. "I've caught a mermaid!" Her startled shriek bubbled into a laugh as she sat up to see Lance's grinning face peering around the rock. One brown arm was reaching out to squeeze her toes. Robbie clambered over the rock and dropped down beside her. Lance, attired in swimming trunks, strolled from behind the outcrop and stretched out nearby. Beyond the outcrop, to her surprise, she saw Gregory. So he had come, too! Instead of joining them he stood aloof, looking out to sea. Polly observed him from under her brows. The light from the sun-splashed sea made a silhouette of his lean fawn-colored body. It turned the fine brown hair of his chest, arms and legs to gold. Unmoving, naked except for black trunks, he might have been a bronze statue, something the sea rovers had cast into the sea to propitiate their gods. It was no more than a trick of the light. He moved, started toward them. Lance raised his voice above the sound of the rolling waves. "We truly thought it was a mermaid, didn't we, Greg? That's why we came creeping up. Your silver suit shines like fish scales." His laughing glance was all admiration. Gregory's eyes were narrowed against the sun, his face unsmiling. "To look like a mermaid she needs a looking glass," he said critically. "And a comb," Polly added. "But I have that in my bag." She began to comb the tangled silken strands of her hair while Lance lounged beside her. Gregory, with something of a glare at the two of them, walked over to Robbie, who stood at the water's edge crying, "Uncle Greg! Look, I've found something!" Why was he acting so standoffish? Was he regretting that he'd kissed her, or afraid someone had seen them? And what if they had? Robbie got wet as far as his knees before running back to her, shivering. From her veil of hair she saw Gregory take a smooth flat dive that was almost perfection. He came up like a seal, water streaming from his hair, the sun glinting on his burnished skin. If we are to talk of mermaids, she thought, what about mermen? Her heart betrayed her. It was Gregory she would have placed in the role, not Lance. But of course the whole idea was silly. She wasn't a mermaid, and Gregory was her

self-esteeming, autocratic employer. The water was freezing cold, too. If he wasn't careful, he'd get a cramp. NEXT MORNING Polly put on her blue skirt and jacket again, but left her hair swinging free and waving. Then she hurried to tell Angus which beds to set up first. What a pleasure it would be to have a bedroom of her own, not a make-do cubicle usurped from Gregory. The wardrobes had been installed. When she returned from Newcastle all four beds could be made up. In the common room she found Robbie in a state of rebellion. He had not dressed for the outing because, he said, he wasn't going. Lance was arguing with him. "I don't want to go, Polly," the boy cried on seeing her. "Uncle Lance says I must, and Uncle Gregory doesn't say anything. I want to help the carpenters. They call me 'mate' and say I help like anything." Polly's heart leaped. She threw Gregory a challenging look. See, she wanted to say, he is a healthy little boy after all! Gregory refused to meet her glance. He turned toward the door with a shrug. "Let's go, those who are going." Polly took this to mean that Robbie could stay. She lingered behind to give him explicit instructions. He must mind Mrs. Angus. And he was to stay either with her or with the carpenters. The brothers were waiting for her on the wharf when she hurried down the steps. Gregory took her arm, more as if he wished to hurry her aboard than to be helpful. If she felt breathless at his touch, it was because she had been rushing - though in his beautifully cut dark suit he looked imposing enough to take away one's breath. Never mind saying handsome is as handsome does; Gregory was handsome no matter how he behaved. Lance was dressed more casually in a navy blazer that looked good with his golden tan. Plenty of girls would envy her, setting off to spend the day with two good-looking men. However, she reminded herself, her reason for being with them was strictly business. Angus delivered them to Birdsea, and they picked up Gregory's Bentley at the garage. He seated Polly beside him in front, rather to Lance's annoyance. "Since the nipper didn't come, there was hardly any point in your coming, either," Lance grumbled from the back. Over his shoulder Gregory said, "You forget I have business to transact." "As if you couldn't do it by telephone," Lance muttered. "Set up shop at the pub in Birdsea? No, thanks. Besides, though the Bentley wasn't designed as a delivery van, there's more space in it for parcels than in yourMG." Polly intervened. "He's right, Lance. Blankets and covers for four beds, plus the other things we need, will take up a lot of room." The morning was still fresh. Polly's spirits lifted responsively as the big car gathered speed. They traveled down the Great North Road with its miles of flat coastal plain to the east, and to the west bare uplands of wide windy fields and small hedgerows. Entering Alnwick, Gregory broke his silence to ask smilingly, "Did Angus tell you about the Farmers' Folly when you were here?" He indicated the column that dominated the approach to the town. It was topped by a poker-tailed lion. "He said it was the Percy Column," Polly.remembered, "dedicated to the Duke of Northumberland." Gregory laughed. "The duke's tenants put it up in 1814 because he lowered their rents during a depression. When the duke saw the column, he decided they couldn't be so badly off after all, so he raised their rents again." Polly smiled at the naivete of the farmers, and thought how charming Gregory could be when he chose. From the back seat Lance pointed out scenic views. Over the next miles she caught glimpses of the sea as they crossed the moors and passed through estate hamlets of sandstone houses with red and brown red pantile roofs. "Those old tiles came from Holland," Gregory told her. "The colliery barges carried them as ballast so they wouldn't return empty from delivering coal to

Holland. You'll see them all up and down this coast." After Felton and the wooded banks of the Coquet River, the coalfield area began to intrude. Morpeth was a market town for the western part of the coalfields, Gregory said. He pointed out Morpeth Castle overlooking both town and river. At Wide Open, little more than a wide open place in the road with an inn, they stopped for coffee. As they drove on, the urban sprawl of Newcastle engulfed them. Gregory drove the car into the center of town and parked. "Now you both know where it is," he said as they prepared to go their separate ways. "Let's say we meet here at three o'clock. That ought to give you time to buy everything. Agreed?" Polly nodded. "And I'll find out what happened to the bedding you ordered." "Lance?" Gregory persisted. "Righto!" Lance gave a mock salute. "Three o'clock." "My business isn't going to take long, and there's plenty of work waiting on the island." All the interest in sightseeing had gone from Gregory's face. He seemed displeased. "Maybe we can get through sooner..." Polly offered. "Take your time," he said resignedly, "but try to get it done today so we won't have to make more trips. The shops are that way." He pointed, and then strode off briskly in the opposite direction. Dismayed by his changed manner, Polly gazed after his retreating form. The sun struck golden on his fair hair. She felt dazed. One moment he was friendly, even warm; the next he was coldly indifferent. "Let's go," Lance said. They set off along the sidewalk. She soon noticed Lance looking at her curiously. She laughed up at him. "What are you staring at?" "Greg asked me to keep an eye on you. I was wondering why." "Keep an eye on me!" she exclaimed. "What did he mean?" "That's what I'm asking." He tilted one eyebrow. "I have no idea," she puzzled. "He must have meant you should help me; not let me get lost in the big city of Newcastle." "I must say, it rather ties me up," Lance complained. "I had some shopping of my own to do." "Then by all means do it," Polly urged him. "I'm not going to get lost. And I'm not going to take the first train to London, either," she added testily. "That's probably what your brother's afraid of." Did he think her such a fool she'd leave all her new clothes behind? Perhaps the very rich, willful girls he knew wouldn't give such considerations a second thought. Lance led her to the shop where Gregory had placed his unfilled order. They canceled it, and he took her to a large department store. There, happily, her mind cleared. With Lance trailing after her she headed for the linens department. Before leaving Kittiwake she had decided to use a different color for each room. Sheets, blankets, towels and quilted bedcovers - they would all match, and if she were lucky the sample books from the draper's would enable her to repeat the colors in curtains. Sorting linen for each room would then take very little time, and Polly believed it would make the maid's job more pleasant. She had queried Mrs. Angus's niece on this point, but the girl was too shy to do more than agree in her musical Northumbrian accent. Gregory's color, Polly had already decided, was to be brown - rich, masculine, no-nonsense. The shade, when she found it, was called Indian Sand. There were actually sheets in all colors of the rainbow. Lance chose Royal Navy for his room. She picked a lemon yellow tone for her own, and a warm autumn orange for Robbie's. For every color there were matching quilts, blankets and towels available. The delighted saleswoman helped her set aside what she needed immediately, and promised to have the packages wrapped, ready

to be picked up. Next Polly chose colors for the other bedrooms. What a delight! Lance's comments and company added to the fun. They settled for names like Avocado Leaf, Jungle Moss, Fiesta Red - strong tones. Anything pale would look weak against the tower's solid walls. Buying so much at once was a heady experience, one she'd get used to if she succeeded as a decorator; this first time she enjoyed every minute, however. And there was still the china. By the end she was exhausted, and gratefully let Lance bear her away to a late luncheon. The restaurant where Lance took her had gone all out to be in the latest fashion. The music was too loud for Polly's mood. The decor jarred against her mental pictures of the tower bedrooms. "You seem very preoccupied," Lance complained at last. "I'm sorry." Polly focused on his face. "I have to admit my mind's on what I'm doing." "But right now you're with me," Lance objected. "Besides, we've finished, haven't we?" "Not quite." She smiled placatingly. "What next?" he asked when he had settled the check. "I have to pick up the sample books. And if I have time I'd like to buy a skirt and blouse." "Perhaps we'd better part company, then. I need photographic supplies." He looked at his watch. "We have an hour and a half. You do know your way back to the car?" "Of course." She hesitated, and then reminded him, "Don't forget we still have to collect the parcels." "We'll do that with the car." Blithely Lance struck off down the street. Polly had a feeling she shouldn't let him go, but after all she wasn't his keeper. And he wasn't Robbie. The first drapers she visited would not even consider coming to Kittiwake. At last she found one who agreed to - under certain conditions - after which Polly spent an enjoyable half hour with Mr. Soltrani in his storeroom, unearthing bolts of velvet left by his predecessor. She collected the sample books and started back to the car. On the way she spotted the perfect skirt in a window display - a soft heathery plaid to be worn with a matching bulky pullover of plain mauve. She arrived at the car in good time, her face glowing with the day's success. Gregory was there reading a newspaper. When he looked up to find her smiling at him, he was quick to get out and relieve her of her packages. Then he glanced at his watch. "Where's Lance?" She explained he had gone for photographic supplies. Gregory groaned. "That means we won't get out before the rush hour." "We could save time by picking up the parcels," Polly suggested. Briskly she told him, "I had everything we don't need immediately sent to Birdsea. They promised Friday." Gregory's face cleared. "Good girl!" He jingled the car keys. "Let's get the parcels. If Lance arrives while we're gone, he can wait." "You were early, too," she remarked as he threaded his way through the traffic. He nodded. "Did you have a good time?" "I've never had so much fun!" she bubbled, shifting sideways in her seat so she could speak to him directly. "I do love shopping." He frowned. Maybe he was thinking she'd gone overboard in spending his money. Silently he negotiated around a stalled truck. But when he did comment, his thoughts were far from her own. "I suppose a city like this spells life to you." For a moment she thought she must have misunderstood. How could noisy, busy, dirty Newcastle spell life for someone who'd been having such a wonderful time on Kittiwake Island? The sudden insight that she had been

having the time of her life took her breath away. Before she could speak, he braked with what would have been a screech of tires in anything other than the sedate Bentley. "There's Lance!" he exclaimed, sounding the horn. Lance threaded his way through the traffic and swung himself and his bundles into the rear seat, asking suspiciously, "Where do you two think you're going?" "To pick up the merchandise," Gregory told him. "We weren't abandoning you." "I should hope not! After I spent the entire morning helping Polly pick brown sheets and blankets and towels for your bedroom." "Brown!" Gregory exclaimed. "What's wrong with white?" Polly felt her face grow warm. "These decorators, you know!" Lance popped his head over the back of the seat. "They never settle for white." In what Polly felt was a very weak voice, she began to explain her color scheme. "I must say, it sounds colorful," Gregory commented, somewhat redundantly. "Did you order dishes?" "I did," Polly said in a satisfied tone. "One of the packages contains two samples. If you don't like the one I prefer, I hope you'll like the other, which is plain white. I arranged that if you didn't like the first one, someone would telephone from Birdsea. Angus can do it if necessary." "Why shouldn't I like the first pattern?" Gregory was busy negotiating traffic, so it was impossible to tell by his profile what he meant by the question. "You might not," Polly said feebly. "When you see it...." Gregory looked amused. "Have you chosen solid black, symbolic of prisoners?" He spared her a twinkling gray-eyed glance that told her plainly he was referring to the fact he had threatened to keep her prisoner. "After all, you're the decorator." "I chose a pattern called 'Midnight Sun.'" Enthusiastically she tried to describe it. "It has wide cobalt-blue and brown stripes around the edges, and a design that made me think of cloisters. It seemed perfect for a dining room that was once a refectory." He took his eyes from the traffic to give her a fleeting smile. "You do sound like a decorator." Polly wasn't sure why the comment displeased her. After all, a decorator was what she wanted to be. "Today's the first of May," Gregory said when they had left most of the traffic behind. " 'Tis May, 'tis May, the merry month of May," Lance caroled from the rear. Gregory's lips quirked. He said, "I looked at the map while I was waiting. I think we should go home by way of Warkworth Castle. Polly mustn't go back to London without seeing the best of Northumberland. Were you ever there, Lance?" "Uncle George took us one summer when he visited usatBlyth." "Do you remember that?" Gregory sounded surprised. "You were only about five. Nanny almost didn't let you go." Lance chuckled. "Of course, I remember. Oh, nothing about the castle. But I remember the thrill of going with you and Alfred." A shadow crossed Gregory's face. "That was a happy summer." Polly wondered what sad events had occurred afterward. She would like him to have memories of other happy summers. Perhaps this one.... Except she wouldn't be around long enough to see whether it turned out happy or not. "Anyway, it's on our way if we take the other road," Gregory was explaining. The coastal road was interesting in itself. The miles flew by. Before they reached the little gray town of Warkworth, which was looped by the Coquet River, Warkworth Castle shouldered above the flat coastline. Gregory said, "I'm going to park on the other side of town. We can walk

back." They crossed the narrow medieval bridge on foot and passed through the arch that was all that remained of an old gatehouse. A short street opened into a small marketplace before leading steeply uphill. At the top stood the walls of the great castle. "According to the guidebooks, this is the most impressive ruin in Northumbria," Gregory told them, "and Lord knows the county is dotted with ruined castles - Bamburgh, Dunstanburgh, Norham, Tynemouth, to name a few. Someone told me once that there are sixty or more. Many are still inhabited." "Did you grow up in Northumberland?" Polly asked. "No, we lived in London, but we spent some summers here. The family owned a house in Blyth. Don't ask me why." "Grandmother came from Blyth," Lance said. "It was her house." "I guess it was," Gregory agreed. "Lance spent more time here than I did. Dad was a great sailor. I spent days, weeks, becalmed on the Norfolk Broads. I grew up hating sailboats, but I could never bring myself to tell him." Gregory smiled reminiscently. "Lance was always considered too young to go sailing. Now he'd rather do that than anything." "Almost anything," Lance corrected with a grin, to which Gregory did not respond. As they strolled up the hill, gray clouds drifting in from the sea made a gloomy but appropriate backdrop to the great keep. Lance pointed out figures of the Percy lion sculptured on the walls. "How old would you say the castle is?" he asked. "Late fourteenth century, I believe," Gregory said. A path along the west wall enticed them to follow it. The men walked on either side of Polly. Gregory behaved charmingly, taking his part in the light conversation, ready to stop and admire the steep wooded glen of the Coquet, the beech trees that overhung the still river. "Let's go and look at the Hermitage," Gregory suggested. "You didn't see it the day we came with Uncle George, Lance. I remember because Alfred and I almost didn't get to go on account of you. You were too small to walk that far. It's about a mile. Is that too far for you, Polly?" With a smile she said, "I think I can manage." "There's a poem about the Hermit of Warkworth by one of the Percys," Gregory told them. "The story is that a knight by the name of Sir Bertram of Bothal loved Isabel Widdrington - " "Widdrington!" Lance exclaimed. "The ballad of Chevy Chase?" "The same family." Lance rattled off the stanza from that poem: " 'For Widdrington my heart was woe, that ever slain he should be; for when both his legs were hewn in two, yet he kneeled and fought on his knee!' One of my favorite verses!" "Oh!" Polly repressed a shudder. "Very good!" Gregory complimented his brother's memory for trivia. "Poor Isabel was no winner, either. She sent Bertram a message that she wouldn't marry him until he proved himself in battle. He received the message while he was dining with Lord Percy at Alnwick Castle. So the two of them spurred off to Scotland to look for a fight. Bertram was wounded and taken to the castle of Wark on the Tweed. When the news reached Widdrington Castle, Isabel was sorry for her foolish message, like a typical woman---" Polly bridled. Gregory gave her a sidewise look that was devastating, and continued his story. "So Isabel set out to visit him, but on the way she was captured by a Scotsman who was also in love with her. He imprisoned her in his peel tower, I might add." Polly kept her eyes on the view ahead and did her best to keep from smiling. "That's an idea," Lance quipped. "What if we captured a few maidens for your tower?" Gregory's lips quivered. "We already have one. Anyhow, when Bertram

recovered he went to rescue poor Isabel. When he got there, she was leaning from a window, speaking to a man in Highland dress who was climbing up a rope ladder to rescue her. As the two of them came down, Bertram drew his sword and attacked. Somehow Isabel couldn't make Bertram understand that the man was her brother. She threw herself between them, and Bertram killed them both. Isabel died at his feet. Bertram is supposed to have come here, cut this cave out of the solid rock and lived here for the rest of his life. He also gave away everything he owned. How's that for romance, Polly?" His tone was ironical. "It's sad." Polly looked up at him defiantly, only to find him looking down at her with such an expression of amused benevolence that her heart lurched. She felt color flooding her face. Luckily Lance didn't notice. He had spied a flight of steps ahead of them, and began to walk more quickly. "Don't believe him, Polly," he said over his shoulder. "The guidebook says the place was made by an earl of Northumberland." True enough, the Hermitage at the top of the steps hardly seemed the work of a distraught lover. A door cut in the rock led to three rooms: chapel, confessional and dormitory. "This groined ceiling was made by someone who knew what he was doing," Polly stated. "Perhaps Bertram became skilled," Gregory teased. "The poor fellow had to pass the time somehow. This female effigy is no doubt Isabel." Polly shook her head. "I'm sorry, but Lance's story is more believable." "But not so romantic." "Contrary to what you keep insisting, I am not romantic!" Polly spoke through her teeth, not wishing Lance to overhear. He was standing in the doorway. "Look at this view!" he called. Polly stepped quickly to join him. Downriver the castle in its great height looked threatening and majestic. "Lovely!" She gave a blissful sigh. At the same time her shoulder blades prickled at the knowledge that Gregory was standing behind her. She seemed to feel his warm breath on her neck. He spoke in her ear. "You are a romantic, heart and soul." Lance had started down the steps. Without replying because she felt suddenly shy, Polly followed him. By the time Lance reached the path at the bottom she was right behind him, and together they turned and watched Gregory's leisurely descent. The afternoon had come to an end while they were inside the Hermitage. Gregory's face now seemed to reflect the chill rising from the river. Involuntarily Polly shivered. What made him look like that? Did he think she had gone skipping off after Lance? "Let's go," he said, setting a brisk pace. "We'll be lucky to get to Kittiwake before dark." CHAPTER EIGHT

AT THE TOWER the beds had been set up. Polly and Mrs. Angus's niece spent an exuberant evening opening packages of colorful sheets and unwrapping blankets, matching them to the rooms and making beds. Polly cleared her clothing and Robbie's out of the room that would become Gregory's office. Until they found a dining table they still needed his work table in the common room to eat on. She located among the stored furniture a marvelous old desk that might have been a monk's, and had it moved into the room they had vacated. She fell asleep in her new bed, happily conscious that she had accomplished much and that plenty of fascinating work still awaited her. What a pleasant day it had been! Each morning for the rest of the week she worked at diagrams, and at

getting the furniture moved into place. She often wanted to consult Gregory, which she decided was ridiculous. A decorator had to make her own decisions. Nevertheless she imagined him sitting in the chairs she arranged, or looking critically over her shoulder. She also developed a bad habit of gazing out of windows and wondering on what part of the island he was working. That, she told herself, was because she didn't want to run into him during her walks with Robbie. Gregory rose regularly before daybreak. With a cup of tea and a slice, of bread to sustain him, he set off for the cliffs. No matter what the weather, he stayed there with notebook and field glasses through the early morning hours. He came in for breakfast, and then he and Lance, with sandwiches in their pockets, spent the day photographing or banding birds, or simply observing them from the cliff tops. Polly enjoyed the afternoon walks as much as Robbie, except when he wanted to go where the men were. Then she dissuaded him, because she felt they weren't welcome. A pity, because he could have learned so much. However, she found a wild-flower field guide and one on insects among Gregory's books, and borrowed them with his permission. Robbie enjoyed scouting around for bugs, but Polly preferred identifying the island's flora. Flowers stayed put while one looked them up; they didn't scuttle into the bracken or under rocks. The weather stayed warm for May. No driving storms came to disrupt the island's feathered inhabitants in their business of breeding. Gregory and Lance often worked through the long twilight, and did not come in to eat until Robbie had long been in bed. Polly ate with them and then cleared up, putting the dishes into the new electric dishwasher for Mrs. Angus to deal with in the morning. Predinner drinks were dispensed with. Too much was happening with the birds. The long hours in the fresh air made even Lance too sleepy to talk, so there were no social moments before or after dinner. Polly, her head full of curtain measurements and color schemes, told herself it was just as well. She did not belong to this background. She was there as part-time nanny and part-time decorator, and she must not forget it. But something had to be resolved about the tapestries! Every day she was having the workmen move a few more pieces of furniture out of the hall and into the upstairs bedrooms. She kept waiting for Lance to tell her he had found another place to put the long roll, but he seemed to have dismissed the problem from his mind. At last after dinner one evening Polly met him coming along the passage as she was leaving the kitchen. Not sure where Gregory was, she kept her voice low. "Come in here a minute," she urged, holding the door open. Lance looked pleasantly surprised. With raised eyebrows he stepped into the room. "We have to talk about those tapestries!" Polly whispered sharpiy as she closed the door behind him. "Oh? What about them?" Lance yawned. "I was on my way up to bed." "Almost all the furniture has been moved out of the room! There's not enough left to hide that roll. I can't keep the room locked up forever. What are you going to do with them? When are you going to tell your brother?" Lance looked uncomfortable. "Not yet." "Then you have to find another place to put them." "I suppose so." he said reluctantly. "You've had days to think of a place," Polly scolded. "If you can't think of one, then you'd better tell Gregory." "No." He scowied. "I don't want to do that. Not yet." "Then what are you going to do?" Lance squinted thoughtfully. "Actually, I have thought of a place - the croft where the workmen sleep. But I can't put anything there till they leave Kittiwake. Once the building's empty nobody will have reason to go in there,

particularly upstairs. Can't you keep the hall locked up a few days longer?" "No, I can't!" Polly almost stamped her foot. "Gregory's going Xo want to see what it looks like now that it's almost empty." "You have a point," Lance admitted. "All right, I'll think of something." He turned toward the door. "Tomorrow," Polly insisted. "It has to be tomorrow. Because I warn you, if Gregory sees that roll and asks me what's in it, I'm not going to lie." "All right, all right!" Lance grumbled. His hand was on the knob when the door was pulled open from the other side and Gregory faced them. Gregory's eyes went from Lance to Polly and back to Lance. "Now it appears I'm interrupting something." "Not at all!" Lance unconsciously echoed his brother's words. "I was helping Polly put things in the dishwasher." Gregory's rugged features hardened. "The dishwasher's on the other side of the room," he pointed out. "We were just leaving." Polly felt herself flushing guiltily. She was resigned by now to having Gregory put the worst possible meaning on her behavior. "Good night." She slipped past both men and tripped up the stairs, enjoying a wicked satisfaction in having irritated Gregory. At least he had been forced to notice her, and he hadn't liked finding her with Lance. NEXT DAY AT BREAKFAST Gregory merely grunted when Polly said hello. Furiously she made up her mind never to speak to him again until he spoke first. In the afternoon a rainstorm blew in from the North Sea, forcing her to keep Robbie entertained indoors. By evening her head was throbbing mercilessly. She bade the men an early good-night and slipped away to her bedroom. The low clouds made her room almost dark, but in deference to her headache she didn't light a lamp. So far her bedroom contained nothing more than the bed, a bedside table and a monstrous wardrobe. Nothing to stumble over, and yet as she walked around the end of the bed to get out her pajamas, she tripped over something on the floor, landing against the wardrobe with a thud that rattled her teeth and made her headache worse than ever. In the dim light she made out a long, plastic-wrapped roll. Of its ten-foot length, six feet were under her bed. The other four feet stuck out in plain sight. Polly dropped onto the bed with a laugh that was close to hysterical. She had asked Lance to move the tapestries, so he had put them in here! But what was the point of hiding six feet of the roll under her bed if the other four feet stuck out? Lance must be part ostrich! How had he got the tapestries out of the hall? He must have removed them sometime during the morning while the men were moving out furniture and the door was unlocked. He appeared determined to involve her in his scheme. Polly held her aching head in her hands, too wretched to be angry. When the pain behind her eyes slacked off to a dull pounding, she made herself get up and close the door. She was in the middle of undressing when someone tapped on it. Lance! Coming to explain. At least she could tell him what she thought of him, and order him to remove the tapestries. "Just a minute," she called. Hurriedly she climbed into her pink pajamas and donned the matching pink dressing gown. Afterward she thanked her stars that her headache kept her from doing anything dramatic like flinging wide the door and demanding that Lance remove the incriminating roll then and there. Because it was Gregory who was standing outside. Polly stifled a gasp and moved to fill the narrow opening. But of course he could look over her shoulder. Thank heaven the room was dark! She had no idea whether the end of the roll could be seen from the door or not. Anyhow, Gregory wasn't looking over her shoulder. He was looking at her. "Don't you feel well?" he asked. He sounded really concerned.

"Just a headache," she told him, trying to erase the lines of tension from her face and look merely pathetic. "Can I get you something for it?" "I took some aspirin," she asserted. "I'll make you a cup of tea," he offered, quirking one eyebrow in a way uniquely his. "No...no! Thank you, anyhow." It was a shame to turn down his first offer of kindness, but she had to keep him out of her room. "I owe you some first aid," he said, smiling. The smile smote her to the heart. How had she ever let herself be pushed into deceiving him? "I - I just need some rest," she choked. "I'll be all right tomorrow." She closed the door in his face, and stood behind it holding her breath until she heard him walking away. Before she slipped into bed she reopened the door a crack so that she'd hear Robbie if he woke. Next morning her headache was gone, but her dismay at being saddled with the tapestries had turned to anger. At breakfast Lance avoided her eye. After breakfast she snatched her parka from its hook, and when he left the tower she followed him at a distance. She was determined to talk to him this time without worrying that Gregory would come upon them; in a place where if she wanted to shout at him, she could do so without fear of being overheard. She found him setting up his tripod near the edge of the cliff. He grinned when he saw her, but she was in no smiling mood. She came straight to the point. "What was the idea of putting those things in my room?" She had to shout to make herself heard above the crashing of the waves against the cliffs and the cries of the kitti-wakes. "No good?" Lance eyes, squinted against the sun, twinkled impishly. "I figured it was the one place Gregory wouldn't go. Was I wrong?" "No, you were not wrong!" Polly shouted. "But I told you I didn't want to be involved. Now I'm more mixed up in your skulduggery than ever." Lance was merely grinning at her anger. He shook his head at her accusation. "I promise you it's not skulduggery." "I don't care what it is, I want them out of my room!" "As soon as the workmen go, I'll put them in the old croft. If you'll just keep them till then - " "I can't!" Polly wailed. Lance bent toward her. "Do you mean Greg really might come to your room?" "No, I don't mean that!" Polly shrilled. "I just don't want to face him with that on my conscience." "Why should it be on your conscience?" he asked, looking like a lawyer for the prosecution. Polly shook her head. "It - it just is," she stammered. Somehow her case seemed suddenly weak. "Aw, come on, Polly, be a sport," Lance coaxed. "The men will be leaving at the end of this week." Polly's shoulders sagged. He was like a little boy determined to get his way by hook or crook. Did it matter? He certainly knew his brother better than she did. If anyone was deceiving Gregory, it was Lance, not her, really. If only she didn't have to be a part of it! But what difference did that make? She mattered nothing to Gregory, after all. "You could have asked me first, not left me to stumble over them," she grumbled, aware that she had weak-mindedly given in. "I never thought about that. Forgive me?" He looked contrite. "Thanks a lot, Polly." He gave her a winning smile. "You won't be sorry!" he called as she walked away. "I am sorry," she said to herself. "Only I don't know what to do about it." THAT SATURDAY AFTERNOON Angus took the workmen back to the mainland for the last time. The renovations were finished. From now on the tower's appearance

was Polly's responsibility. Somewhat to her surprise Lance was true to his word. When she had occasion to go to her room after lunch, the tapestries were gone. Her sigh of relief was heartfelt. Feeling lighthearted she danced downstairs to thank Lance, but he had already gone out, taking Robbie with him. Polly began to think she had been too hard on Lance. She and the two brothers were still at dinner on Saturday evening when Angus returned with the mail as well as the information that two crates of dinnerware and a few other boxes were still on board. "We'll unload tomorrow," Gregory told him. Polly could hardly wait to see the dinnerware unpacked, though she couldn't set it out till they had a dining table. Gregory sorted the letters. There were none for Polly, but she wasn't surprised. Her aunt was no letter-writer, and she hadn't expected a reply to her missive about the fire. Lance always received business mail from his tourist agency, and Gregory seemed to correspond with naturalists all over northern Europe. He also received journals full of fine prints and graphs. Polly didn't know whether any of his mail concerned the publishing business. This evening Gregory raised his head from one of his letters and caught Polly watching. "The ornithology students are coming Monday," he said as though she would know what he was talking about. "Monday?" she repeated. Gregory raised a haughty eyebrow. "Is there some problem?" How infuriating his attitude was, as though she were the housekeeper! She wondered if he took the same tone with his secretary. Probably, Did he have to be so aloof? Of course, that was his problem as a person. Maddening, but it made him no less attractive. "I was merely surprised," she retorted. "Are those the scientists you mentioned before?" "They are." Lance put down his letters. "They're really coming, eh?" he interjected. "Good, good." "A man and a woman," Gregory said. "A woman?" Lance looked at his brother open-mouthed. "You're having me on! Oh, a couple!" "I don't believe so," Gregory said in what Polly considered a stuffy voice. "Women are into everything these days." "What are you setting them to work at?" Lance asked. "The young man will do the management survey for the Wildfowl Trust, and then study puffins. The young woman is going to help me band birds." He turned back to Polly. "We have beds and bedclothes, so I assume we're ready for them." "They'll need some other furniture," Polly said reprovingly. Gregory looked surprised. "Haven't you distributed all the furniture?" "It takes time to do it right." He dismissed such care with a shrug. "It's not necessary to get too domestic." "If you want the furniture tossed around any which way, you don't need a decorator." Polly's voice had an edge to it. Gregory got up from the table and gathered his opened letters. "They won't have much use for furniture," he said. "We'll all be out from dawn to dusk. But Lance can help you, if necessary, and Angus. Let me know when you need them." He strode into his study. Polly stared after him, wondering what she'd said wrong. Lance winked and lowered his voice. "Greg feels threatened - with all your curtains and bedsheets." "Of all the - " Polly exploded. Lance laughed. "Let's face it, he's no homemaker!"

Polly's agreement was heartfelt. The weather next morning was too bad to take the boat to the mainland for church. Gregory did paperwork, Lance wrote letters and Robbie played with the kittens. Polly chose rooms for the scientists and made up their beds. The woman's room looked austere with only a bed and a chair. There wasn't even a wardrobe because that room had one of the narrow closets. "Find small table," she wrote in her notebook. Once the curtains are up, she said to herself, all the rooms will look delightful. For tea Mrs. Angus made singing hinnies, since everyone was there to enjoy these Northumbrian griddle cakes as they came hot from the pan. After tea Gregory went out on the terrace to check the weather. "The rain has stopped," he announced when he returned. "The clouds are blowing away. Come on, everybody! A little exercise and fresh air will do you good. Polly, may I fetch your coat and Robbie's?" Polly felt a sudden glow. For once she, too, was to be included in an island activity. "I'll get my coat and pick up theirs on the way down," Lance offered. Lance was back first, wearing his everyday Wind-breaker. Gregory came back dressed in a smart corduroy jacket with leather trim, which Polly had not seen before. She regretted her shabby parka, but she had nothing else. In her circles a new coat was not something one bought in a rush. Lance whistled at his brother's appearance. "Playing lord of the island?" Gregory grinned. "Trying to impress my subjects so they'll obey." Despite herself, Polly was impressed. Gregory was so attractive it wasn't fair, At least it wasn't fair to be stuck on an island with him. How could any normal woman fail to lose her heart? For her own sake she had to keep from doing so. "I want you and Robbie to see the seabird ledges," he told her. She hung back, waiting to walk with Lance. Gregory wasn't going to have any call to say that she was running after him. Taking no notice of her, he held out his hand to Robbie. That pleased Polly. It was the kind of attention Robbie needed - a Sunday stroll with uncles, even if the surroundings were a little unusual. They walked along the clifftops, pausing often while Gregory or Lance pointed out something of interest. Polly was amazed to realize that the ledges had become even more crowded with nesting birds. The path ran among dense carpets of thrift and sea campion. The birds showed little fear. They had become used to being gaped at. In the lower cliffs the puffins had established family life in burrows worked into the turf. Polly was content merely to be there, enjoying the sweep of the limitless view, the waves breaking over rocks, the salty air, the sense of being part of the whole. How could Gregory think she preferred city life? She watched the shiny bobbing heads of seals floating in the smooth water beyond the breakers, staring curiously back at the beings on the cliff. After a while they walked single file, Robbie straggling at the rear. Polly waited for him twice. The second time Gregory said, "Robbie, if you can't keep up, you'd better go back." "My stomach aches," he complained. Polly felt his forehead, but could tell nothing in the chill wind. "He's been listless all day," she said. "I'd better take him back." "Lance can do that," Gregory decided. "You deserve an evening off. Sorry I can't offer better entertainment, but we can finish our walk." Lance lowered his field glasses. "I don't know how to put children to bed," he objected. "Then it's time you learned," Gregory told him. "He puts himself to bed," Polly interjected. "All you have to do is keep him company and give encouragement." "All right, nipper...." Lance held out a hand. "Let's see what kind of

nanny I make." With a farewell wave he led Robbie away. Gregory was following the flight of a line of birds over the water. "You don't have to go on because of me," Polly said. "I don't mind going back, honestly." "You're really the fireside type, aren't you?" His eyes raked her critically. "No!" Her answer was sharp. "Then why are you so willing to go back?" he asked, looking unsmilingly down on her. "If it's Lance, it won't do to run after him. Men don't like being chased, you know." Polly choked. What a thing to say! As if she were some young girl just out of the nest. As if she had to run after men! As if she wouldl Gregory Godwin was the most arrogant male she had ever met. Most men didn't think a woman was running after them simply because fate threw them together. She was sure Lance didn't think she was running after him just because she found him easier to talk to than his preoccupied brother. Gregory was walking on. Seething, she stalked in his wake, and took satisfaction in saying nothing but "Indeed?" to his every comment. At last the coldness of her manner got through to him. He halted in the path, turned and frowned at her. "I've annoyed you, I can tell." As well he might, she thought, stifling an urge to laugh. Talk about people's minds being in the air; she was certainly more in touch with reality - the reality of people's feelings - than was His Lordship of Kittiwake. She lifted her chin and stared at the sea. "I've hurt your feelings," he said. "I didn't mean to do that. But I know Lance. He's apt to say more than he means." Polly was still silent, because she was trying to think of a stinging retort. "I'm sorry I had to bring it up," he went on stiffly, "but I think you should know. Lance has no more intention of getting married than I have." He was insufferable! It was strange what a thud Polly's heart made as it hit bottom. Not that she cared in the least about Lance's intentions. Or Gregory's, either! But no woman wanted to be told that a man's intentions didn't include marriage. It was a slap at all women. It was rude! "I never gave it a thought," she said at last, truthfully. She hadn't, either. Her mind had been devoted entirely to keeping Gregory out of her thoughts. "I hate you!" she whispered, stomping behind him. If there had been another way back that was shorter, she would have taken it. She stalked along, trying to make her face emotionless so that if he noticed the tears in her eyes he would think the wind had brought them. Tears of anger, she told herself. How dare he accuse me of running after his brother! Is this his idea of an evening off? To be taken out and scolded? The path along the southern side of the island was rough and irregular, ascending and descending through a series of guilies. It was no place to walk with tear-blurred eyes, and Polly missed her footing. Small stones rolled beneath her shoes like marbles. With a gasp she began to slide down the incline. Before she could stop she was catapulting toward Gregory. He turned at the scuffling sound, crying, "Watch it!" But she couldn't stop her fall. She tripped over a root, and would have tumbled headfirst down the stony hillside had his arms not been there to stop her. "All right?" He dropped his arms as though she were contaminating. She stood shaken, catching her breath. "Yes, I - " Before she could say more, he clasped her to him with a groan. His mouth came down on hers with a hunger totally opposite to all he had been saying. Feeling hurt and inadequate as she did, Polly was unprepared to resist. Perhaps he was trying to tell her he hadn't meant what he said. He raised his head. She opened her blue eyes and looked into glittering gray ones. "I guess I should have let you go back with Lance," he growled. "That's

what you wanted, isn't it?" "No, it's not...." Her fingers pushed against the soft corduroy of his jacket. Under the thick cloth the muscles of his chest were rock-hard. Her fingertips registered the strong thudding of his heart. Quickly she pulled them back. His heartbeats betrayed his excitement, disclosing feelings she didn't want to acknowledge. If she acknowledged them she might respond. "I know more about everything than Lance does." Gregory's voice came from deep in his throat. "He's only a kid. Try me!" His lips covered hers. His tongue drove between her teeth, probing, demanding capitulation. Polly's flesh responded as though she had no will, no thought except to do as he wanted, to please him, to answer his needs. Her bones melted against him. She forgave him for talking so cruelly, even for the rough way he was treating her. He was jealous! That could be the only explanation! His hands moved beneath her coat, rounding the pliant flesh that filled her jeans, pulling her hips closer to his. Her body relaxed against him as though her mind had nothing to say in the matter. He raised his head to glance around them. "Come over here," he mumbled. Before she could guess what he meant to do, he crouched slightly and put his arms behind her knees, lifting her. Straightening, he carried her to the side of a gully, where the steep bank provided shelter from the wind. The dry stalks of last year's grasses covered the stony ground in a thin mat. Lifted like that, she felt like a child - and frightened. In his arms she could neither think nor get away. At last she found her voice. "Put me down!" she ordered, pounding his shoulders with her fists. He set her on her feet against the wall. His gray eyes searched hers. "Now tell me you don't want to be here! Tell me!" "No!" She glared back at him, her kiss-reddened lips pouting stubbornly. Her expression made his own lips quirk. His mouth softened. Dark lashes swept tanned cheeks as he bent his head to kiss her again. "No, what?" he whispered against her mouth. His lips touched hers with unbearable sweetness. She struggled to keep from closing her eyes and letting the kiss take her over. "No, I won't tell you!" she muttered, turning her face away. She felt she must resist him somehow. He used his body to pin her against the rock wall while he captured her face with his hands and turned it to meet his kisses. "Is this what you don't like?" he asked, punctuating each word with a kiss. "Ohhh!" The sound came from her throat like a purr. The weight of his chest against her bosom drove the air from her lungs. Gregory's fingers moved against her neck. Her skin tingled, her heart pounded. His voice was tender when he raised his lips far enough from hers to murmur, "You don't have to tell me. I know you like it. We both like it." The vibration of his lips against the corner of her mouth gave her a shiver clear to her toes. She wrenched her mouth free of his lips only to have his tongue trail tantalizingly over her face, slide maddeningly into her ear. What was he trying to do, subjugate her entirely? He'd already found her convenient as nanny, as homemaker. Had he decided she'd be convenient in bed, too? She steeled herself not to respond. And immediately suffered his reaction. Grabbing her shoulders, he shook her. "Relax! Do you think I'm going to rape you?" Her temper flared, its flame ignited by the passion he had aroused. "Let go of me!" she shrieked at him. He glared back with equal anger, which came from the same source as her own - from surging emotion that demanded outlet. "I didn't mean to start this!" he practically growled. "If you hadn't fallen on me--- But now that it is started - " his mouth, generous, firm-lipped, totally masculine, hovered over hers " - let's make the most of it." She understood what he meant. She hadn't wanted it, either, yet their

bodies, thrown into contact, had responded in ways the mind could never control. With a moan she let him lower her onto the dried grass. All the while some voice in her brain was telling her that this was no scene to be enacted on the springtime shores of the North Sea. This was a scene for midsummer sun. Gregory, too, seemed to sense the voice. One of the things that drew her to him was his ability to read her mind with such accuracy. Immediately after that thought came the wish to succumb - to fulfill his desire, his need. The island was his idea; he had everything planned. Surely he knew what he was doing to her, to her ambitions, her future. She closed her eyes and lay limply against his beating heart, waiting for him to use her as he would. At last, when he made no move, she dared to open her eyes. He was supporting himself on one elbow, holding her with his free arm and staring blindly into the distance. "What's wrong?" she asked, hating the quaver in her voice. He shook his head without speaking. Gently she freed herself from his embrace. She sat up, smoothed her hair and buttoned her parka, doing her best to keep from feeling foolish, hurt, rejected. Gregory turned his head to look at her. His eyes were pale blue gray, like a cold spring sky. His smile was wintry, but a tiny pulse pounding at his temple belied his frozen demeanor. "The wrong time, the wrong place - perhaps the wrong person." His tone ended in a question. "I don't know what you mean," she whispered, refusing even to guess. "No matter." In one lithe movement he rose to his feet and reached for her hand. "Come. It will be getting dark shortly. Lance will wonder what's become of us." As soon as she was on her feet he set off. She had no recourse but to follow. She had been afraid of what would happen the next time he touched her. Now he had, and nothing had happened. She felt more desolate than ever. She pictured herself throwing back her head and wailing her woe to the low-flying clouds. She wondered if that's what mermaids did on the days when no sailors sailed by. She felt used and abused. If she survived this sojourn without heartbreak it would be a miracle. She ought to be angry. She remembered how he had spoken to her so coldly. "The wrong person..." he'd said. He still thought she preferred Lance, and he had been hurt. That knowledge took the sting from his rejection, and made his iciness almost meaningless. Gregory had nothing to say until they were crossing the terrace. "Just a minute." He touched her arm and his smile was rueful. "I wish you'd forget what happened - if you can." "Nothing happened!" she said stolidly. His touch was making her pulse race again. "I mean, forget what I said. About you and Lance. You can see why I'm better off on an island. I don't know how to talk to people, except when they work for me." He grimaced. "I'm rather good as an executive, but that's no help when I'm off the job. I wish you'd forget what I said." Gregory being humble! To her dismay, Polly's heart turned over. "I'll try," she said gruffly. She slipped through the archway and up the stairs before he should see that his words had softened her. At the top she paused only long enough to say good-night. "Good night," Gregory echoed. She went on upstairs. If only she could get away from Kittiwake without causing a stir! CHAPTER NINE

NEXT MORNING Gregory was all business as he asked Polly to be on hand to welcome the students. "There's no need for me to hang around. I'll watch for

the boat while I'm working and come in after they're settled." He tramped out, taking her compliance for granted. Behind his back she made a face at him. After breakfast, in the nick of time, she found the parts to a trestle table. The boards for the top had been shoved against the fireplace wall, and the ancient oaken trestles were stacked behind the last chest of drawers. Set up, it would be larger and more solid than the camp table currently serving as dining table. Lance came in to get more film; Polly caught Angus before he went off to fetch the students, and together the men set up the table. The heavy benches had been distributed to various rooms. They had probably been the original seating. Lance came in again for lunch and helped her carry the benches back to the common room. "These students will think they're living in a castle," he commented. Polly welcomed the opportunity to speak to him alone. "Have you told your brother about the tapestries?" she demanded. He shifted from one foot to the other, but managed a winning smile. "When have I had the chance? You see how it is - students with breakfast, birds with dinner. Anyway, those tapestries aren't such a big deal." Yet Lance had involved her. She knew full well Gregory would be angry to learn she'd helped hide them. That was the bottom line: Lance was hiding the tapestries. Oh, well, he'd have to tell Gregory sooner or later. Catching some of Lance's optimism, Polly decided to stop worrying. The tapestries weren't going anywhere, and Gregory wouldn't be any angrier if Lance didn't tell him till next week. Perhaps something would happen to make it easier to tell him then. Waiting on the terrace with Robbie, watching the white boat cut through the sea, Polly found herself wondering if the tower in its past glory had had a chatelaine. She wished she could reach back across the intervening centuries and speak with the woman, who would also have known the problem of providing for extra guests at a sudden order from her lord and husband. Furnishings had been sparse then, too. This is not your castle, and you do not have a lord and husband, her sterner self cautioned, but she bade it be silent. Surely it didn't hurt to indulge one's imagination now and then. It didn't take much imagining to see Gregory Godwin as a medieval lord, haughtily ordering people around. Angus and the newcomers were walking up the path. The woman was in the lead, dressed in rugged outdoor clothing and carrying a canvas bag. Rough clothing, however, couldn't conceal her statuesque figure. Polly knew she must be about twenty-two, since she was working for a master's degree. Her khaki shirt was open at the throat, her neck and face golden except for the rose in her cheeks. The sun had bleached interesting streaks in her brown hair. She was wearing no makeup and needed none. Her smile was repeated in her golden eyes. "Hello, I'm Tess Bonnard." With a sinking feeling Polly introduced herself and Robbie. Tess indicated her companion. "James Jamison." The young man was slight and bearded. Except for a brief nod, he avoided Polly's eye. James's tan matched his hair and beard. He was good-looking in a monkish way. His brown eyes stared into the distance, on the lookout for birds. "It's lovely to be here," Tess enthused. "I can't wait to meet Mr. Godwin and find out about the work." Lucky you! Polly thought. Tess was too pretty ever to know rejection, and no one would assign her the dirty work, either. Polly liked her. Certainly she put on no airs. When she was shown her room, she dropped her luggage and went immediately to the window. Polly had given her the corner room above Gregory's, and Tess exclaimed at the marvelous view, then asked about Polly's particular interest. When Polly explained she was the decorator and nanny, the new arrival looked sorry for her. Tess was clearly dedicated. Gregory ought to like that!

He did. He took one look at Tess when he came in and grinned like a frog. So did Lance. James Jamison had nothing to say - luckily for him, because both men ignored him. Their attention was on Tess. To be fair, they talked about birds and common acquaintances in the various fields of natural science. It was just that they enjoyed it so much! Remembering all the silent dinners she had been subjected to, Polly ground her teeth. She wished she weren't so ignorant. Never mind, in a few weeks she would be back with people who talked about normal things - television, the weather, the neighbors. She tried to draw James out, but it was steep going. After Kittiwake, he said, he was going to one of the isolated Faeroe Islands to pursue his studies of puffins. So perhaps his antisocial personality was an asset to him, she decided. He wasn't even interested in the others' conversation. The evening flew by. At the end Gregory smiled at Polly as they walked upstairs together. "Amazing how new faces enliven the place." Especially Tess's face, Polly thought as she murmured a polite agreement. "I hope we didn't bore you with our shop talk," he apologized. "You seemed to be chatting up James." Polly laughed. "I was chatting at James. He has about as much interest in conversation as an owl." Gregory's gray eyes twinkled. "Less, I imagine. He doesn't even ask, 'Who?'" At her bedroom door he paused, looking serious. "I have an errand for you tomorrow if the weather permits. The table you discovered is excellent for now, but it won't be big enough when the celebrities arrive. I'd like you to hunt for a bigger one. Now that I have more help I can send Lance with you. If you see any other suitable pieces, you have a free hand. I want the place furnished like a home, not a hotel, even though the beds are alike. And I've been meaning to tell you, I like your color-schemes for the bedrooms." Polly felt her cheeks glow with pleasure. "I'm glad," she said shyly. For a moment she thought he was becoming more human, but then she realized he was being a good executive, commending his underlings. "The trouble is," she said slowly, "to make a place this size look the way you want needs more than a decorator. It needs time." He looked surprised. "How much time?" Polly gave him a straightforward smile. "A lifetime. It needs to be lived in by someone who cares." A light flashed in his eyes. His look puzzled her. Then his words drove all else from her mind. "Are you suggesting you want a permanent job?" "No!" She felt her face grow hot, and was grateful for the darkness of the passage. With the briefest of nods he stalked away before she could explain what she had meant. In her bedroom with her back to the door she faced the alarming truth: she did want to stay. Blast Gregory! He seemed to turn the conversation to a personal level just to watch her squirm. What other reason could he have? Remembering the look that had flickered in his eyes, she decided it had been a flash of malicious triumph. But why should he feel triumphant? He had thought she was interested in Lance, but she had denied it. Now, because she had responded to his lovemaking on a purely physical level, he thought she was after him. He must be the most conceited man alive! Imagine hiding off on a remote island because you were irresistible to women! Well, she could resist him. She had every intention of showing him so. She came down to breakfast early next morning in the hope that she and Lance might get away before Gregory and the others straggled in from their sunrise stint on the cliffs. However, they all came in together, including Lance. The night had done nothing to cool Polly's anger. Lance appeared delighted to drive her around the county. "I must say, I'd rather spend the day with pretty Polly than with terns," he said with a grin.

Polly sparkled wickedly. "You have such good taste." And she wasn't going to say a word about tapestries. "Try to make your day worthwhile by having something to show for it," Gregory said repressively. "You'd better take Robbie, too." He then turned to Tess and began to explain the system he was using to band various species. Terns were harmlessly trapped and a band placed on one leg when they came to feed their nestlings. The smaller migrating birds were caught in fine nets. Constant watch had to be kept on the nets so that each bird could be removed and banded before it hurt itself. Listening in spite of herself, PoHy was struck by Gregory's uncharacteristic eagerness to talk. All it had taken was the right woman. Tess was female, beautiful, and a scientist. She didn't seem to be very warm, but that was just as well. Her cool personality matched the ice water in Gregory's veins. Then why, Polly asked herself, did the sight of them talking together make her feel angry? Not angry - belittled. Gregory hadn't thought that she, Polly, was worth talking to. How she disliked the man! She turned and gave Lance a winning smile. "How soon can we get away?" Gregory heard her question despite his deep conversation with Tess. He threw her a glance of thinly veiled dislike. That hurt. "Isn't that what you wanted?" Polly demanded of him. "That we not waste time?" "Quite right. The sooner you go, the sooner you'll be back. With a table." "I hope so," she said seriously. Gregory stood up. "Let's get started. Jamison, you can help us set up nets, and then I'll show you where the puffins are and you'll be on your own." And you'll be on your own with Tess, Polly thought, with all of us conveniently out of the way. Darn it, what made her think like that? Why should the fact that Gregory and Tess got along well together make her feel disagreeable? The fact that she didn't like him didn't mean that no one else should. She was being unjust. Blast him, he did get under her skin! In Alnwick Lance procured a list of Northumbrian antique dealers. Before the day was over they had visited or telephoned every single one. No table of large proportions was to be had. Polly's only hope, several dealers told her, was to attend the annual antiques fair next weekend near Berwick-on-Tweed. "You have plenty to show for the day," Lance consoled her as they drove back to Birdsea. "Those oak pieces you found are first class." Polly peered over her shoulder at the three-legged stool and the chair reposing on the seat behind her. A chest-on-chest she had bought would be delivered to Birdsea during the week. She sighed even though she had enjoyed every minute of it. Antique-hunting was tiring. She and Lance had wandered down winding lanes in pursuit of out-of-the-way shops. She was exhausted from trying to see everything along the route - windswept Cheviot Hills, estate hamlets, glimpses of castles. She envied Robbie, napping beside her. "Then we'll go to the fair on Saturday," Gregory said when she repeated the day's adventures to him and Tess over predinner drinks. With the coming of the students that custom had been reestablished - not that James attended. He turned up for dinner, and immediately afterward returned to his puffins. "We?" Polly echoed slowly. Gregory spared her a glance. "Someone from Kitti-wake had better go and find a table, or our guests will be eating off their laps." "Pity you didn't think of that when you invited them," Polly snapped. He gave her an enigmatic look. "Pity you weren't here to advise me." Tess interrupted their wrangle to continue the subject she was discussing. "I believe we should try to band oystercatchers, too. I was watching them today, and the fledglings - " Polly stalked off to fetch her knitting. She hadn't expected Gregory to ask if she had found any other things worth buying, but it would have been nice if

he had. She liked to discuss her work, too. She spent the rest of the week getting the hall ready for use. The common room was no place in which to entertain guests. Interested though they might be in the everyday workings of the bird refuge, after a day in the field Polly thought they would expect and appreciate the comforts of a country house. There was no reason why Gregory's staff couldn't provide them. Bathrooms and linens were adequate; she was ready to send in measurements for curtains and rugs. As far as help went, Mrs. Angus had her niece. If only a wretched table would turn up, everything would be in order by the time the visitors came. Indeed, the tower would be a home Gregory could be proud of. Polly knew she had done good work - thanks in great part to the furniture already there, of course. But still, she had used it to its best advantage. The hall tended to be gloomy. It was in the original half of the tower, its windows set high in the north wall. It was no drawing room, but the fabrics she was buying would do a lot to soften it and make it a room in which guests could gather comfortably. A pity, however, that one couldn't see out of the windows on this floor. She had become accustomed to looking out - to seeing Lance and Angus at work, or Gregory out on the cliffs. No doubt that was where he was now...with Tess. They probably shared their noontime sandwiches and compared notes. And why do you care? Polly asked herself. So that she wouldn't have to answer, she made elaborate work of measuring the odd little windows that lighted the staircase. A sudden gust of wind rattled the small panes. Glancing out, Polly was surprised to see the sky empty of birds. Usually they were present at all levels - puffins coming and going to their burrows, Cuddy's ducks waddling about their nests in the bracken, land birds flitting in the bushes. Higher overhead kittiwakes crossed and recrossed on their way to and from fishing grounds. Usually gulls were to be seen circling on the updraft like ashes from a chimney. Now through the pane she saw only a single kittiwakc blown like a scrap of paper across the dark face of the low clouds. Where was Robbie? He was supposed to be somewhere inside. A moment ago she had heard his piping voice in the kitchen, but that didn't mean he was still there. She knew from experience that what seemed like a moment of close concentration to her could sometimes eclipse half an hour. She rolled up her tape measure, went to the kitchen and peered in the door. He was there helping Mrs. Angus roll pastry. As she watched him another gust struck the tower. It roared inside the chimney, erupting as a puff of smoke and ashes. "Mercy!" Mrs. Angus exclaimed. Polly smiled and returned to work. The weather had broken. The storm came churning out of the North Sea, determined to have another try at wiping the peel tower out of existence. By teatime the wind had become a continuous buffeting force, a constant irritation. Robbie whined over his tea and declared he was too frightened to go to sleep. Polly took him to his room and read him a soothing story. By the end of it his eyes were closed and he was breathing gently. Polly herself found the rising storm exciting. Leaving Robbie she hurried to the common room, which was still empty. Apparently the wind had not driven in any of the dedicated scientists. Polly plucked her parka from the row of hooks put up to hold the array of outdoor clothing constantly in use. Slipping into it, she dashed downstairs and out onto the terrace. The wind nearly knocked her from her feet. But the excitement of the elements at war drew her spellbound to the wall overlooking the sea. The water below was in tumult. Waves crept in endlessly, black beneath their white crests. They shattered against the cliff and fell back to be smothered by the next assault. Wind whipped the tossing spray, splashing it higher. How quickly the water could change! Yesterday it had lapped gently at the base of these rocks, and the seals had sunned themselves there. Where were the animals now? Safe in the depths of the ocean, she supposed, "rocked in the cradle of the deep."

What would this do to the birds? Would their nests and eggs be blown away, or washed away by leaping water? Suddenly the wind tossed a plume of spray high enough to splatter the terrace. Polly leaped back, startled at the elemental power. "Enjoying the storm?" At the sound of Gregory's voice Polly's heart leaped like the spray. She turned to find him behind her. The sound of his approaching footsteps had been lost in the howling wind. A blue watch cap covered his fair hair. The wind had reddened his cheeks and brightened his gray eyes. He was smiling. It didn't occur to her that her cheeks, too, were rosy, her blue eyes bright. Her dark waving hair streaming back from her face gave her the mysterious attraction of a ship's figurehead, calmly breasting the tempest. "Yes!" She raised her voice to a shout, putting up a hand to hold her whipping locks. "What will it do to the birds - the nests and the eggs?" Gregory shrugged. "Nature allows for losses. The fittest survive. The kittiwakes build deep nests and glue them to the ledges with excreta. The puffins are underground, the terns have hardly begun nesting. The guillemots over on the pinnacles - we don't know much about them. That's something I ought to do - go and take a look. Thanks for reminding me." Polly realized with astonishment that he was serious. "You needn't wait dinner," he shouted, turning away. Polly climbed the stairs to the kitchen, grateful for the thick stone walls. She felt battered by her short exposure. She imagined Gregory sitting in the wind and rain, field glasses glued to the pinnacles as waves lashed the rocks far below. It would be exhausting, with the wind continuously plucking and pulling at hair and clothing, battering one's eyelids. She could still hear the waves pounding the cliffs. She set the teakettle on to boil, rejoicing that her chosen profession did not require her to battle the elements, except in a reverse way. Interior design consisted of denying the elements, of lining one's nest with feathers: rugs, curtains, tapestries.... Tapestries! She would rather not think about those. Had Lance told Gregory yet? The wind grew rougher. Rain was lashing at the windows when Lance and Tess arrived. Gregory and James came in soon after. They reported that the gale was increasing in force. Conversation at dinner was minimal. The continual creakings and whinings above the steady roar of wind and tumbling waves made everyone nervous. The meal was nearly over when Gregory announced that he had decided to go to the antiques fair himself. "Good luck!" Polly said flippantly. "Oh, you're coming, too. I wouldn't go without my consultant." He crinkled his eyes at her, reminding her of chipped ice. "I've invited some influential birders," he told Tess, "for the second weekend in July. We're searching for a refectory table." "You could buy a new one, suitably antiqued." Lance winked at Polly. "Nonsense." Gregory was not amused. "There must be dozens of huge old tables about the county stored in stables or outbuildings. One needs persistence, that's all." "It's not necessary to take you away from your work," Polly murmured, flustered at the thought of spending a day alone with him - or nearly alone, if Robbie came with them. "Lance and I got along very well." "I'm sure you did." Gregory's tone was sardonic. Lance laughed. "I warn you, Polly, brother Greg won't approve of everything you buy, the way I do." "Indeed, why shouldn't you approve?" Gregory sounded nettled. Because it's not Lance's money I'm spending. That's what he means, Polly thought. But he told me to spend as much as I needed! How can he object now? With a shrug she gave up trying to fathom Gregory Godwin's mind. In her bedroom it was impossible to shut her ears against the wind. It howled around the stone walls, found its way in, whistled down the stairs.

When she opened her bedroom window a crack she could hear the angry sea below, crashing against the rocks. The white frothing water was easily visible in the darkness. She shivered and latched the window. Before undressing she got out an extra blanket for herself, then went next door to put another blanket over Robbie. He was sleeping peacefully. She returned to her room, undressed and climbed into bed. It was pleasant to lie there snugly, listening to the storm. The wind hurled itself against the window. She smiled, remembering what Gregory had said about the wind up here - that it had tried to blow him out of his sleeping bag. Now he would be stretched out long and lean in the great bed.... She refused to think about the projected trip with him. There would be no outing in this weather. The next thing she knew, something made her wake up with a start. The storm's fury seemed to have heightened. Robbie! She flicked on her flashlight and hurried next door, slipping into her dressing gown as she went. The child was clutching the bedclothes around him, shivering with terror. "Robbie! It's just a storm." She lit the candle on his bedside table, and the flame flickered wildly. "It's going to blow the house down!" Robbie burst into tears and hugged her tenaciously. At that moment a gust grabbed the tower and seemed to shake it. "Not this house," Polly said. "It's seen too many storms to be frightened of a noisy little Maytime rumpus. What do you suppose the young puffins are doing? Do you suppose they can hear the storm down in their burrows? I bet they think it's a braw, bricht, moonlicht nicht outside." Robbie sniffed. "They're not Scottish puffins, Polly. They're Northumbrian. You talk to them like this." He imitated Angus Moreton's dialect so perfectly that Polly burst into delighted laughter. That made Robbie laugh, too. She was able to free herself from his clutch to go to the window, close and latch it. Enough fresh air was already swooping through the tower without the window being open. She then announced that she was going to get him a glass of warm milk. In the kitchen she poured milk into a pan, which she set on the stove, in all she was gone perhaps fifteen minutes. She half expected to find Robbie asleep when she returned. Therefore, on opening his bedroom door she was unprepared for the empty bed, the empty room, the gaping window, Her heart thudded into her throat. With a gasp she dropped tray and glass onto the bedside table and dashed white-faced into the corridor. Robbie must have gone to the bathroom! The window was too high for him to fall out. But why was it open again? On that thought she collided with a stalwart, pajama-clad figure. Warm arms encircled her, and even in the darkness she had no doubt whose they were. Despite her fear and worry she felt comforted. "Robbie!" she cried. "The window - " She felt herself gently shaken. "Robbie's here." He emerged from behind Gregory. "Oh, Robbie!" Polly heard- herself laughing and wailing at the same time. "You frightened me!" "The window blew open again," Robbie said staunchly. "My uncle knows how to fix things, so I went to get him." "I told you I'd be right back! You shouldn't have wakened him." "I wasn't asleep." Gregory put her gently aside and strode to the window. Closing it, he forced the latch down as far as it would go. Now that she knew Robbie was safe, why was she still tingling as if the air were charged with electricity? Gregory turned from the window and faced her. The soft blue gray of his pajamas matched his eyes, which for once looked soft blue, too. Some woman must have given him those pajamas! He wasn't the type to match his clothes to his eyes. She was stunned by the wave of jealousy that swept over her. "Into bed, Robbie," Gregory ordered. Polly watched bemused as the boy complied without a murmur. Gregory picked up the glass and handed it to the

child, who drank the milk eagerly. Blowing out the candle, Gregory said, "I'll come back and check on you in a bit." He looked gravely down at Polly. "Come, I'll see you to your room." He put out a hand as if to touch her shoulder, then quickly withdrew it as though afraid of being scorched. Polly felt embarrassed by the sturdy practicality of her dressing gown, a long pink shirt with curved shirt-tails. The steps to her room seemed a thousand. She was acutely aware of him behind her, of the warmth of his body.... But that must be her imagination, because a perceptible draft was sweeping the corridor. Night surrounded them - windy darkness swirling around the tower, around her and Gregory, whirling them in its vortex. With every heartbeat her emotions swirled faster until the blood raced through her veins. And nothing had happened! He had barely touched her. If he were to do more she would be lost, and she knew it. She turned at her door to say good-night, striving to keep her breathing normal. Her bosom under the thin pajamas and cotton dressing gown betrayed her, rising and falling as though she had run around the island. "I was so sure I'd closed his window," she gabbled. "Then to come back and find it open, and him gone - " Gregory's look was still warm. "No wonder you prefer city life. This is the first storm since you've been here." "Do you mean you get used to them?" She dared to glance up at his face. The sight of him smiling warmly down at her made her feel overwhelmed and even more short of breath. "Some people do," he was saying. "Some people love this life." Give me a chance, Polly wanted to say. I could love it. The storm didn't frighten me, it was Robbie disappearing like that. "It kept you awake," she pointed out. "Not the storm. I was...thinking." He looked down at her in such a way that the thought flicked through her mind that he had been thinking about her. She desperately wished he'd leave. His presence was more intimacy than she could bear. She couldn't breathe right, and her mind refused to allow ordinary conversation. "Good night; young Polly." Gregory's voice was actually tender. "You'll be as snug as the puffins." "That's what I told Robbie," she said with satisfaction. "Do you know he's learned to mimic Angus's accent perfectly?" Gregory chuckled. "I suppose that was inevitable." He jeaned forward and kissed her lightly on the forehead, as though she were a child. Her breath caught at his nearness, at the sturdy column of his neck, and crisp hair at the vee of his pajamas. Oh, she was no child! She heard his own sharply indrawn breath. As his hands reached for her she backed away. Somehow, in two steps they were both inside her room. He closed the door. Speechlessly she let him remove the flashlight from her limp fingers and switch it off. The faintest of light from the storm-battered windows enabled her to see the shape of him as he moved closer to her. She was absolutely incapable of retreat. Darkness and secrecy surrounded them. And she wanted him so badly. Who was to know? Tomorrow they themselves could pretend it hadn't happened. His arms reached out, and she let herself be pulled against him. Springing hairs on his chest tickled her face as she pressed her lips to the hollow of his throat. In the darkness her sense of touch had become her whole being. She was nothing but awareness of feeling - his sinews, his muscles, his bones, the rise and fall of his chest, the wet hot brand of his lips on hers. Holding her close, he freed one hand to fumble with the tiny feminine buttons of her dressing gown. Despite the intensity of the moment, a gurgle of laughter bubbled in her throat.

His lips on hers muttered an expletive. Impatient fingers tore buttons from buttonholes. The fastenings of her pajama top suffered the same fate. "What are you doing]" she protested. "Losing my mind!" he groaned. He clasped her to him and buried his face in her hair. She felt his chest rise and heard him taking deep breaths as he kissed her temples. "You smell like heather," he whispered wonderingly. Polly smiled to herself. Before going to bed she had sprinkled a few drops of cologne on her skin, simply because the bottle was on her table and she hadn't used it that day. Gregory's lips covered hers, preventing outcry as he swept her from her feet and laid her on her bed. In one swift motion he slipped in beside her. She gasped, but there was no way she could slither out the other side, for the covers were bunched and tangled. "Relax," he whispered. His work-roughened hand felt masculine and comforting as he stroked her hair and then her cheek. His palm brushed down the column of her neck, and she next felt his fingers trace her collarbone. His head dipped to place a kiss in the vee of her throat, and then his lips were dropping kisses across her breast. He slid one strong hand, one muscular forearm under her back, straining her body closer to his lips, while his other hand fumbled for her face. His fingers outlined her lips, and she found herself kissing his fingertips. Exultantly she gave herself up to her feelings. Nothing in the world mattered except her wild desire to respond to his urgent love. In the tumult of the storm, in the tumult of her body, reason was drowning. "Just a minute," he whispered. "Let me get rid of this." She realized he was pulling his pajama top over his head. A draft of cold air swept her naked breasts as he flung the garment aside. Then was she crushed against him, his chest bare against her skin. The sensation of his hair tickling the sensitive buds of her breasts was like an entry to paradise. She knew only that she wanted to step farther into the garden, experience other delights. "Polly!" His soft voice was jubilant. "You want me as much as I want you!" With one arm around her he held her against his heart. With his other hand he smoothed her hair. Their lips found each other by instinct. Polly let herself be lost in their kiss, responding with no other thought in mind. But slowly in her reeling brain his words gained meaning. "You want me as much as I want you!" That wasn't the language of love. Without love, she didn't want him at all! Her body was betraying her, but her mind and her heart, allied, knew how to rule. "You're wrong," she said coldly, pulling away. "You forced me to stay on Kittiwake. Now you're forcing me to have sex." "I've never forced a woman in my life!" He rolled off her and onto his back. His arms no longer chained her, his fingers no longer stroked. She didn't have to see his eyes to know they would be the color of ice. Her breasts yearned for his hands, but she forced herself to ask, "Then why begin now?" She made her voice cold as the North Sea. "Because you drive me wild! Are you satisfied?" Before she could reply, a wailing cry reached them. "Uncle Gregory! Uncle Gregory!" "My God, I forgot all about him!" Gregory stiffened and sat up on the edge of the bed. He found his pajama top and pulled it on. "Sorry, my dear." Reaching under the covers, he patted Polly's hip. He dropped a swift kiss on her throbbing mouth - almost as a promise to return - and left the room. She buttoned her pajamas, pulled the blanket over her and lay waiting, trying to collect her scattered wits. She ought to get up and bar the door.... After a moment she made herself do it. Then she lay listening for him. But if he returned, she didn't hear him. He, too, had probably regained control over his turbulent desires. It wasn't fair! He must know the effect he had on women if he'd really come

here to escape them as Lance claimed. Darn him, darn him! Polly lay wakeful in the storm-filled darkness, unable to bar the door on her own self-knowledge. Fool that she was, she had fallen in love with Gregory Godwin. CHAPTER TEN

BY MORNING the storm had blown itself out. Polly and Robbie came down to breakfast to find everyone gone to work as usual. The sea was still rough, too rough for small boats though Polly saw a tanker passing on the horizon. That afternoon on their walk she made sure to steer clear of the tern colony where she understood Gregory and Tess were working. Gregory was to be given no reason to think she was chasing him, or that she wanted a repeat of last night. She was no fool; she had no intention of .allowing herself to hope that he cared for her. He didn't. He had merely acted like the virile man he was. Between them had flared the natural springtime urges of a male and female. Otherwise their antagonism had not changed or gone away. She must remember that! Last night she had said to herself that she loved him, but that didn't change facts. He and she belonged to different worlds. Her world was London, with school and hard work ahead. His world was here, with scientists and people of his own social level. The tapestries came back to haunt her thoughts, despite her determination not to involve herself with them. In those moments of intimacy with Gregory last night she should have told him about the tapestries, her daytime mind accused. To which her nighttime mind acidly commented, "There wasn't time for conversation." She strolled through the gorse with Robbie, enjoying the clarity of the rain-washed air. Today one could see the flat horizon unobscured by mist. Everything was flat - the sea, the thin gray layer of cloud overhead, the island's vegetation of low-growing bushes. Except for the tower she was the tallest thing in her circle of visibility. Minutes later her care to avoid Gregory came to naught. Polly and Robbie were loitering along a little-used path on the island's south edge, which ended in sand dunes. Following in Robbie's footsteps, she heard voices. Then below in a sandy valley full of bushes and beach grass she saw Tess and Gregory. They were working with oystercatchers that day instead of terns! Gregory was writing on a clipboard as Tess talked and laughed. He made a laughing rejoinder, and Polly had never seen him so happy and at ease. What a suitable pair they made, she decided - both interested in birds, both tall and aristocratic. Before Robbie could cry out a greeting Polly clapped a hand over his mouth. "Shh, don't bother them," she said in his ear, "you'll frighten the chicks they're trying to catch. Come away." Taking his hand she hurried him back to the path among the rocks. Unshed tears filled her eyes, and she let him lead the way. Even with blurred vision she could follow the sturdy little shoulders in the red pullover. However, she overlooked the stones underfoot. When she stepped on one it rolled, and her foot rolled with it. She flung out both hands to stop herself from falling headlong and came up short against a sharp rock, cruelly scraping her forearm and twisting her wrist. Smothering a cry she sat where she had fallen, holding her wrenched wrist and waiting for the sharp pain to subside. The tears already in her eyes spilled over, rolling down her cheeks. She bent her head over the throbbing arm and bit her full lower lip to keep from sobbing. Her hair fell across her cheeks, screening her face. Robbie came running back. "Are you hurt, Polly?" She choked. "I'll be all right in a minute." She froze at the sound of other hurrying footsteps, and then Gregory's

voice: "You didn't have to run away! What's wrong?" She heard Robbie say tremulously, "She fell, Uncle Gregory." Polly raised her head, wiped her eyes on her sleeve and essayed a shaky smile. "I'm not badly hurt. I simply stumbled." "Let's see." He squatted beside her and took her hand, turning it palm upward to look at her arm. "And got yourself a nasty scrape. Robbie, ask Miss Bonnard to give you my first-aid kit. It's in the bag with my field glasses." She heard Robbie scamper away, and tried desperately to think of something to say. The silence, too, seemed painful. Gregory dropped down beside her and brought out his handkerchief. Tilting her face, he began to wipe away the tears still slipping down her cheeks. Once started they had been impossible to check. His unexpected tenderness only added to her misery. He and Tess had been behaving so naturally and happily, in the way of two people whose interests and affections were entwined. "My little brave soldier," he was saying. Did he think he was still talking to Tess? "Even your stout heart can't tackle a stone and win." His puzzling words made her forget the ache of her wrist. When he spoke like that, even if he didn't mean it, she could put out of mind the sting of his easy relationship with Tess. Polly peeped sidewise at him from under her lashes, raising her eyes only as far as his mobile mouth, which quirked with amusement. "You look as if you think I've switched personalities. Perhaps I have!" His hold on her hand tightened, but loosened almost immediately. "Robbie. High time!" He sounded relieved. Polly heard the scuff of small sturdy shoes, the panting of small lungs. "I hurried, Uncle Gregory!" He held out the first-aid kit. "I'm sure you did. Thank you." A moment later Polly felt something cool being sprayed over her scraped skin. "This may sting a bit. We won't bandage it. Let the air get to it." He bent his blond head and placed a kiss in her upturned palm. "There, isn't that what you'd recommend, Dr. Rob?" he asked. Robbie nodded solemnly. "You should kiss her on the forehead,too." "So I should!" Gregory sprang to his feet and pulled Polly lightly to hers. Before she could toss back her hair and move away she felt his lips gently touch her forehead, and then her nose, and then - With a sharply indrawn breath Gregory gave her a little push toward the tower. "You must take better care of her, Robbie lad," she heard him say. Feeling terribly shaken and weak around the knees, Polly started up the path, not daring to look back. For the first time he had been tender. With such a small gesture he had made her so happy. If he saw her face, he would see how much she loved him. GREGORY ANNOUNCED AT DINNER that they would all take the next day off and go to the fair. Later as she undressed for bed Polly wondered what had made him declare such a holiday. Was he afraid that because he'd been gentle with her for a moment she would fall for him head over heels if they went alone together? Or had Tess objected to his spending a day with Polly? She wouldn't have had to spell it out; she might simply have expressed a wish to go, too. That was probably the case. With everyone going, Gregory could take Tess and make sure that Lance didn't get involved with Polly at the same time. And he'd get his beastly table, too. "Even your stout heart," he'd said, "can't take on a stone and win." Had he been telling her not to tackle hearts of stone? His or Lance's? She wished she need not go. It would be miserable to watch Gregory pair off with Tess. The boatload Sunday morning included the More-tons. Angus and Mrs. Angus were going to church, and would visit relatives until the fairgoers returned. Mrs. Angus had supplied them with a great hamper filled with lunch. Only James elected to remain on duty. At the car Lance opened the rear door. Robbie bounced in, so Polly followed. Tess naturally sat up front with Gregory. Polly permitted herself a

tiny sigh. She had known it would be like this. Tess was wearing elegantly tailored brown trousers and a crocheted top. Polly derived some pleasure at having the opportunity to wear her new heathery tweed skirt and mauve pullover. Lance enlivened the drive up the Great North Road with good-natured banter, and even Gregory took part. Turning off before Berwick, they threaded their way up the valley of the Tweed to the hamlet that was their goal, and left the Bentley in a field designated for parking. The rest of the day did not go at all according to Polly's expectations. The antiques fair had attracted more than county wide attention. A great many people had gathered, and more were arriving. In a large field outside the village, swings and merry-go-rounds were set up, as well as booths selling handicrafts and offering games of chance. "Look, Polly!" Robbie began pulling in that direction as though drawn by a magnet. Lance and Tess stopped as though they, too, felt the tug. Gregory gave his nephew a push toward Lance. "You three go amuse yourselves. Polly and I will do the antiques. It doesn't take five people to hunt for a table." Polly smiled at the eagerness that lit their faces. "Lance, do you have your key to the car?" Gregory asked as they separated. "If you get hungry, get out the hamper and eat. We'll find you before the day's over." That, to Polly's surprise, sounded like a dismissal. "The high street is this way." He took her elbow. The shops there were given over to antiques. Even the greengrocer's window sported a collection of pewter. The sidewalks were displaying everything from jewelry to headboards. "I wonder if an old-time fair was anything like this," Polly said. "Probably. The sellers, anyway. Sellers are alike in all times and places. The Romans knew it. Caveat emptor; let the buyer beware. And they probably weren't the first to say it. But the buyers are different. Half this crowd seems to be American, judging from the accents." "I noticed," Polly agreed. "But I don't think they'll be after what we're after." "No." Gregory smiled. "I daresay we're the only ones looking for a refectory table. One of these dealers must have such a monstrosity stored somewhere." They walked up one side of the street, making inquiries. It was slow going. The crowd was good-sized, and the dealers seemed relaxed by the village atmosphere. They were in no hurry to break off a conversation to answer other questioners. "You know what's wrong with us?" Gregory said when they had found a sidewalk table and ordered coffee. "We're top intense." Polly studied him. "Why do you say that?" "We're hurrying. My idea was to enjoy ourselves, even though we have an objective." His eyes narrowed and glinted, studying her face. He smiled, his mobile mouth quirked. "You like to be fanciful. Suppose we pretend we're a seventeenth-century couple shopping at this furniture fair. We're -engaged - " he raised her hand in his, resting his elbow on the table " - we've planned for months to attend this fair, and we rode a long way to get here. Now we're going to enjoy ourselves. My father has given me a small estate. The mason is building us a house. We must wait to marry till it's finished. Only I don't want to wait...." With his lips against her fingers, he was looking deeply into her dark blue eyes. Polly felt strangely caught up in his fantasy. His gray eyes were so piercing, it almost seemed as though he could make anything he said be true. She struggled against the feeling. "Stop it!" she exclaimed between laughter and determination. "You're mesmerizing me!" Gregory burst out laughing and broke the spell. "You are a dreamer! All right, only enough mesmerizing to slow down our thinking. We haven't come to

buy. We've just come to look over the skills of the various cabinetmakers and order a bed. We can't get married until we have a bed!" Only banter, but Polly felt herself blushing. She forced herself to raise her eyes to meet Gregory's and spoke saucily, " Tis not a bed we're looking for, Master Gregory, 'tis a great board, large and long enough to accommodate all your family when they descend upon us." "And all our family when they arrive one-by-one." It was too much! He must not see how she longed for some magic to make his words true - in this century. She jumped to her feet. "Let's get started. People had more time in those days." "And their women weren't off and away to London, either," he said softly, with a look that was almost accusing. "No! They had to stay and be browbeaten!" He grinned. "Do I browbeat you?" "You try! Now let's look for a table." Gregory gave a mock sigh as they started down the other side of the street. "Damn the table! Let's see if that lane leads to the river." Polly shook her head. "First, the table." She knew he didn't want to go ambling off with her. He was worried and nervous because he'd sent Tess off with his brother, and now he wanted to circle back there. Tomorrow on Kittiwake he'd be furious that he still had no table. "You go find the others," she said stolidly. "I don't need help, honestly. If by some miracle I find a table for sale, I can always fetch you." "Certainly not, Miss Drake," he said, mocking her attempt at formality. "I won't abandon you. Business before pleasure, reality before fantasy. But once the business is done, I shall insist upon the pleasure." Melting under his warm smile, she noticed again how long his eyelashes were. By lunchtime they had made their way back down the other side of the street without success. One dealer after another shook his head discouragingly. The last small booth on the street was selling old jewelry. "Come, I shall buy you a fairing." Gregory propelled her toward the tray full of items. "You needn't do that..." Polly was protesting, when her eye fell on a pendant of lapis lazuli in a silver frame of art-nouveau design. Of their own accord her fingers reached to touch it. She drew back quickly, but Gregory had not missed her gesture. "This?" He picked it up and smiled down at her, swinging it by its silver chain. Polly made the mistake of meeting his eyes, and again felt herself drowning in his gaze. "No," she protested. "That's not a trinket! A fairing's a small thing, 'a bunch of blue ribbon,'" she quoted. "'To tie up her bonnie black hair.'" Gregory changed the words to suit the girl. He pushed her waving locks over her shoulder and held the pendant to her neck. Ignoring her continued protest, he turned to the Gypsylike woman presiding over the wares. Out of Polly's hearing they settled the price. Turning back, Gregory fastened the pendant around her neck. She stood as though turned to stone, but nothing could control her thudding heart. The soft majuve of her pullover seemed to welcome the vivid blue accent. Gregory stepped back to admire. "It suits you - a shining beautiful blue just like your eyes." How she would treasure it! Her stay on Kittiwake had to end, but the pendant would be hers forever, like the memory of this day. "And now lunch," he was saying. Instead of leading her to the parking field he steered her across the green. "Here?" Polly exclaimed when he stopped in front of the village inn. "Don't you want to join the others?" "Not particularly. I thought you might enjoy this. Besides, I do enough squatting on the ground and eating out of my hand."

It was true. He ate most of his lunches while he continued to do his field work, but Polly suspected he had another reason. Had he and Tess quarreled? She hoped Robbie wouldn't fuss over her long absence. Gregory read her mind. "You're not worried about that boy, are you?" "No, he'll be all right." "What is it, then?" "Nothing! I just - " She felt her cheeks growing rosy at the pleasurable prospect of having him all to herself. "Won't the others expect us?" "I told Lance not to wait. Of course, if you're worried about him...." Gregory's tone was lightly sarcastic. "Not if you're not worried about Tess." Polly's tone matched his. He looked at her from the corner of his eye. "Should I be?" "You'd have to be the judge of that," she parried. He gave an elaborate shrug. "Let's not worry about any of them. They can't get into trouble in one day." Polly decided he had quarreled with Tess and was now showing how little she meant to him, how easily he could get another woman to accept his attention and fairings. He seated Polly at a table in a charming garden that looked out upon the Cheviot and the Border. "How about slices of leek pudding and a salad?" he suggested. "It's what we might have eaten if we really were back in the seventeenth century. Whole leeks in a long suet roll. Or would you rather have something lighter?" "No, the leek pudding! Please!" "Good! It's a true Northumbrian dish. Isn't it?" he asked the waitress. "Yes, sirrr," she said, rolling the "r" in true Northumbrian style. "Looks like I'd better tell Angus to make a trestle table after all," Gregory said while they waited to be served. Polly smiled. His seventeenth-century counterpart might have spoken those very words. "You'll still need chairs," she said, relentlessly keeping her mind on business. "I think you should buy the highbaeked ones we saw. They're not antiques, but they're good copies." "I think you're right." Lunch came, and for the first time Gregory seemed interested in Polly's background. "You were teaching in Lincolnshire," he said. "Is your home there?" "No, Bucks. My father was bailiff for Lord Hurley's estate," she added. "What made you decide on a career as a decorator?" His voice held nothing but kind interest. Polly's blue eyes were dreaming as she looked into the past. "My mother used to take me with her when she went to call on Lord Hurley's housekeeper. The house was open to the public. Besides that I was allowed to peek into the family apartments. I loved going there. When I grew older I was allowed to work as a guide. But I was equally interested in the homes of my school chums." She smiled. "I used to think how I'd change things around! My mother let me rearrange our house time and again. It annoyed my father, though." She giggled. "He always said he had to look behind him before he dared to sit down! I spent all my money on magazines like Country Life and House Beautiful." "You sound very dedicated." "I am," she declared, with a gulp she hoped he didn't notice. She had almost said, "I was." "What about you?" she asked, needing to change the subject. "Did you always want to be a naturalist?" Gregory sighed. She loved his serious expression - solemn, wistful and so handsome! He said, "I studied to be a field zoologist, but I gave it up for a number of years. The girl I was planning to marry announced she wouldn't spend her life in odd corners of the world with no company but wild animals. So I joined my father's firm. It's as well I did," he admitted bleakly. "My father died the next year. He'd been a prisoner in World War II, and his health was

bad. Then other things happened. I didn't get married...." Polly remembered what Lance had told her about Gregory's fiancee marrying a sheikh's son. "Anyway, a conglomerate offered to buy us out at a fantastic price, and here I am - free to do my own thing!" He smiled derisively at his use of the cant phrase. "That's wonderful!" Polly's enthusiasm was sincere. A little nagging thought made her wonder why he was going out of his way to be agreeable. She was glad she'd realized he might have quarreled with Tess. It kept her from relaxing her carefulness. She wouldn't feel so silly when he changed back tomorrow to the aloof autocratic Lord of Kittiwake. The joy of being with him in public, as if they belonged together, affected her appetite. She was too nervous to eat much, but she insisted when asked that she was enjoying the food. He didn't press her to eat more. "Do your parents still live in Bucks?" he asked. She shook her head. "They were killed in an auto accident four years ago." "Then you're all alone?" His voice held concern. "I have an aunt in London. Who never writes," she added with studied indifference. "Sounds like my mother." Gregory snorted. "She was over fifty when my father died. But young at heart. A lot of men were after her. She married a New Zea-lander. I wish she lived nearer, because I think Lance needs a home, some place to consider a base, anyhow. I encourage him to feel that way about Kittiwake, and maybe it's better this way. It's no life for a mother to be keeping a nest for a son who's three-and-twenty." Polly agreed. Was Gregory trying to tell her something? Did he want to encourage Lance to marry? They left the restaurant and retraced their steps. Gregory bought the chairs and arranged their delivery to Birdsea. At the village edge the remains of a fourteenth-century castle were attracting sightseers. Gregory and Polly walked in that direction also, and there they came upon the rest of their party. "Polly!" Robbie raced to her side. "Look what Uncle Lance won!" He held up a glass bowl of water which held a frantically swimming goldfish. "My goodness, what a prize!" Polly exclaimed. "Careful, don't shake him." "He pitched a hoop over it! It looked ever so easy, but nobody else could do it." "I did it for Tess," Lance announced unblushingly. "I offered her my heart with the goldfish, but she wanted neither." "She gave me the goldfish!" Robbie piped. "I can keep him, can't I, Polly?" "Certainly." "And Lance had better keep his heart." Tess sounded not a whit embarrassed. "Did you two find what you came for?" Lance asked as they started toward the car. "No," Gregory said. "You had all the luck." "Meaning what?" Lance asked suspiciously. "Meaning the goldfish, what else?" But Polly suspected he meant that Lance had had the luck to spend the day with Tess instead of searching fruitlessly for a table. "How pretty!" Tess exclaimed when her eye fell on Polly's pendant. "Did you find that here?" "Yes," Polly muttered, refusing to meet Gregory's eyes. If he wanted Tess to know more, he could explain. He did so. "A fairing," he told Tess. "Did Lance not get you one?" "What's a fairing, Uncle Gregory?" Robbie asked. "Something you buy the lady you're with." Polly admired his definition. It let him out of saying "girl friend" or "sweetheart" or any similar term that could lead to trouble. "Yes, he did," Tess said a little shyly. "This." She indicated a silver brooch in the shape of a duck. Polly admired it, wondering if calling

attention to Polly's pendant was Tess's roundabout way of making Gregory notice her pin. In the car Gregory studied the map. "Let's go home by Kirknewton. Read what the guidebook says about it." He held a slim volume over his shoulder. Taking it from him, Lance read: " 'A small village under the hills near the Border. The church has - hmm, hmm - a remarkable chancel - hmm, hmm - also a rude twelfth-century carving depicting the presentation of the magi, with the wise men wearing kilts.' Is that what you want to see?" "If you read on, it says that the hill of Yeavering Bell is one of the most rewarding climbs in the county, with great views and the remains of a prehistoric camp. I thought we might take a look." But when they arrived at the hamlet of Yeavering and saw the height of the hill, they hesitated. They got out of the car, and Lance looked about critically. "The book says this place was the royal residence of the Saxon King, Edwin of Northumbria. Not exactly Brighton, is it?" "Robbie's already had a full day," Polly told Gregory. "I'll stay with him." Gregory was looking at his watch. "I think we've all had a full day. We'll climb it another time. The More-tons will be anxious to get home." Polly was astonished. She had never known Gregory to be so considerate. Could it be that off his island he didn't feel so high and mighty? Lance had drawn Tess to one side. Perhaps Gregory wanted to break that up, but then it seemed not, for suddenly he said, "Lance, you drive," and got into the back seat beside Polly. Robbie fell asleep as soon as they started, his head against Polly's shoulder. She put an arm around him to make him more comfortable. The next instant Gregory was putting his arm around her, pulling her into the hollow of his shoulder. She would have sat instantly upright would it not have disturbed Robbie. She threw Gregory an angry glance, but he smiled blandly back at her and did not change position. She pretended to subside, but every muscle was alert. Up front Lance was driving with one hand. Polly had the strong impression that his other hand was holding Tess's. And that was why Gregory had put his arm around her. He was getting even. Oddly, the thought that his caress didn't mean anything personal set her at ease, even while it hurt to think he was only holding her to make Tess jealous. What would Tess think if she knew that two nights ago Gregory had pushed his way into Polly's bedroom, saying he wanted her, that she drove him wild? But who could understand men? Perhaps the following night he'd said the same thing to Tess. Perhaps that was when they had quarreled. Anyhow, whatever was between Gregory and Tess had nothing to do with her. She had spent a perfect day, and his arm now snuggled her against him much as she was holding Robbie. This day, and the pendant, were hers to keep. She let herself drift into a dream in which he was holding her because he loved her. In the dream he kissed the top of her head and laid his cheek against her hair. CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE LAST WEEK OF MAY and the first half of June slid by, the days almost uncounted. Everyone was busy from dawn till late twilight. Breeding was at its height. Eider ducks nested on the flat ground by the tower, and soon became quite tame. All day their monotonous cooing came from the bracken. Polly and Robbie had to walk carefully to keep from stepping on brooding females blending cleverly with their background. Seen from nearby, their brown feathers showed lovely mottled patterns of quiet beauty. The colors of the drakes were bold and impressive - jet black and pure white, with a touch of green on the back of the head and delicate pink on the breast. Sometimes ducks and drakes were to be seen browsing among the seaweed along the shore or diving in the deep

water at the foot of the cliffs. Lance said, "Wait till the ducklings hatch! They look like toys, and they leave the nest and learn to swim in the space of a few hours." Gregory, Tess, Lance and James all went out before dawn. They came in cold, cramped and hungry, ate a quick breakfast, and with a packet of sandwiches went' out again until dinnertime. Before-dinner drinks again ceased. On their afternoon walks Polly and Robbie sometimes talked to Lance, who sat day after day taking notes on the behavior of a particular pair of kittiwakes. Occasionally they came across Tess or Gregory and stopped to see what they were working at that day. They gave the belligerent terns a wide berth, however, and avoided the deafening racket alotig the cliffs, where gulls screamed, "k'yow, k'yow, ki-och-ki-och," and kittiwakes called "kitti-way-ake" continually. Even the usually silent puffins occasionally growled, "ar-harr-harr, ar-harr-harr," when they broke into territorial fights. Robbie and Polly preferred the quiet eiders, but if they wanted to look for seals they had to put up with the screaming of the kittiwakes and gulls. When they came inside for tea, the thick stone walls of the tower made a welcome quiet. At night the others came in tired and wind-whipped. Polly gladly made herself useful, setting out the meal and clearing up afterward. The order for curtains had been sent. The draper wrote to say he would come to hang them the first week in July. Polly looked forward to the evenings. To set out Gregory's plate, to listen for his footsteps in the passage, to see him and be in the same room with him was happiness enough to last until the next evening. Hungrily she watched his behavior with Tess. His attitude was businesslike. His mind seemed to be on nothing but birds. Tess's, too. James, of course, never thought of anything else, and even Lance was taking his job seriously. "We can study kittiwakes only these few weeks while they rear their young," he explained to Robbie and Polly. "The rest of the year they spend at sea." "Where do they sleep?" Robbie asked. "They fold their wings and sleep on the waves." Lance could certainly make the subject interesting. "Don't they get lonesome?" Robbie asked wonderingly. "Birds don't have feelings like we do," Polly told him. Dinner over, Polly usually knitted while the others chatted or read for an hour before dragging off to bed. Sometimes she felt Gregory's gray eyes upon her, but if she looked up he turned away as though anxious to avoid contact. Nevertheless, Polly wished their tight little group could go on forever. Such a wish could never be granted. With every day that passed, chicks and ducklings were hatching, gobbling tiny silver fish, growing, becoming fledglings. Ducklings and puffins took to the water and swam away. Young kittiwakes and gulls learned to fly by tumbling off their nesting ledges. One afternoon toward the end of June a white sailing yacht slipped along the island's south coast, passing the seal rocks. Polly and Robbie watched from the terrace. "Polly, they're coming here! Maybe it's my mother!" Polly tried to calm him, but the yacht swung around to the west side of the island and threaded its way among the tall-standing rocks, and she was unable to control the boy's excitement. "It's her! I know it is!" He dragged Polly as far as the terrace steps, and then raced off to the cliff stairs. Polly followed, calling to him to take care. The boat made fast to the wharf. By the time Robbie and Polly reached the foot of the steps three white-clad figures were lounging in the stern. The fourth, a woman in close-fitting boating pants, was crossing the gangplank. "Mummy!" Robbie shouted. "Robbie, my darling boy! I was sure you'd be here." She snatched him up, regardless of dusty shoes against her white dungarees, and hugged and kissed him so dramatically that he wriggled to be free. Then she set him down,

adjusted her snappy yachting cap on shoulder-length red hair and looked at Polly. "You're Miss - " "Drake." "Oh, yes. You were at the school and brought Robbie here. Miss Mansard's letter finally caught up with me." She laughed lightly. "And Gregory has kept you on. How clever of him!" She turned to Robbie. "Have you had a good time, darling?" He started to tell her but she turned away, calling to her companions. "Come ashore! This old tower is fabulous! So are my brothers-in-law, when they're not up to their ears in birds." "Dearest," the other woman called, "I saw enough old towers in the Mediterranean." "Invite them for cocktails," shouted the man whose cap bore a stripe of gold braid. "And we'll join them for dinner should they ask." Alexandra Godwin held out her hand to her son. "Let's go find Uncle Gregory." She turned toward the steps. Polly followed, feeling like a nursemaid. Alexandra had the assurance of a rich attractive woman. It never occurred to her that Gregory might not want to stop work for cocktails. Over her shoulder she asked Polly, "Where will we find him?" "He might be anywhere." "I know where he is!" Robbie piped. "All right, darling, you show me." In the kitchen Mrs. Angus frowned when Polly told her guests had arrived, but then her face brightened. "It's to be supposed they'll take some interest in their food and not be thinking of nothing but nasty birds," she grumbled, and set about planning a chafing-dish menu that would be a credit to her. Gregory did indeed bow to Alexandra's demands. He and Tess stopped work early enough to make themselves presentable for drinks aboard the yacht. Lance came in soon after. No one expected James to socialize, and he didn't. Polly studied her wardrobe. She had considered buying a dinner dress, but it had seemed an extravagance at the time. Anyway, it wouldn't have been suitable for climbing down the cliff stairs. She wondered what Tess would wear. Robbie had gone to the boat with his mother. Much as Polly enjoyed him, it was good to be free of responsibility for a few hours. She trod happily upstairs to consult Tess. She was passing Lance's room when he stepped out of it. He had changed from blue dungarees to white ones, and was wearing boating shoes. "You look very nautical," Polly greeted him. "Oh, sure thing!" He threw a glance over his shoulder, apparently to make sure he and Polly were alone. "Listen, if Alexandra decides to stay, you won't mention the tapestries to her, will you?" "Not if you tell me not to," Polly said gravely. "Please don't!" Lance urged. "She collects tapestries. She wouldn't give up till she had all three away from me. Harry wouldn't have a chance to make a deal with anyone else." "I take it you haven't told your brother yet, either." Polly kept her voice even. "You see how right I was?" Lance's optimism came bouncing back. "The fewer people who know, the better." "I wish I didn't," Polly muttered, going on her way. She found Tess laying out luscious green suede trousers. "Is that what you're wearing? They're beautiful." "With this." Tess was her usual calm smiling self. She held up a matching boatnecked pullover that was surely cashmere. In its way, the outfit looked as expensive as the yacht. Polly realized that Tess, too, came from a moneyed background. "I tucked them in on the off-chance. I absolutely refuse to wear dresses." Being beautiful and a scientist, she can get away with it, Polly thought.

But that doesn't help me. In a way it did, because Polly's only possible choice was informal, also the saucy little dress of shocking pink cotton that only someone with her white skin and black hair could look good in. Under the black shawl she had knitted it assumed quite a party air, she thought as she surveyed herself in the antique looking glass in the passage. In fact she looked devastatingly pretty, as she might have realized from the way the yachtsmen made a point of talking to her. Not being conceited, she thought they were being nice to keep her from feeling an outsider because she had never been on a sailboat before. Everyone else had apparently learned to sail at about age ten. Outstanding in her memory of the evening was a conversation begun by Alexandra. "Gregory tells me he's having you decorate the tower." "That's right," Polly agreed warily. "I do hope you won't mind a wee bit of help. He's asked me to stay on. I don't have anyone to take care of Robbie, so I may do so. For a few weeks." With sinking heart Polly knew the peaceful evenings in the common room were gone for good. Anyone could see that Alexandra would not be content with peaceful evenings. She was wearing a silk harem-style outfit, the trousers of which were bound around her ankles above very high-heeled sandals. The shimmering tan color was a marvelous foil for her auburn hair. "Gregory tells me he's looking for a refectory table," she was now saying. "You should have gone to York! Antique shows are a waste of time for something that big." Polly smiled to herself. That day she would never consider a waste of time. She sipped nervously at her drink, and tried to think how she could tell Alexandra politely that she didn't need help. Gregory was watching her from where he and Lance were talking with the boat's captain. She gave him a fleeting smile meant to indicate that she was enjoying herself. Apparently he misinterpreted her look, because he broke away from his conversation and came toward her. As soon as he crossed the narrow deck, Alexandra grasped his arm. "Gregory, darling, you look marvelous! A tan is so much more virile than that boardroom pallor. I've been telling Molly - no, Polly, isn't it - we'll be sure to find a table in York. York has marvelous antique shops. We could come back with a truckload of things. I've been telling her you've asked me to stay and take a hand in the decorating." Gregory smiled blandly. "My dear sister, I said you could take Robbie in hand." "Oh, of course! But he's no trouble, a great boy of his age. I'll need something more to occupy my time, or else you'll say I'm indulging him. What better thing can I do than help poor Polly?" "Polly's doing all right without your help, Alexandra." "Is she?" Alexandra's lovely brows arched. Her green eyes looked guileless. "You seem to be in a dither about a table." Polly's temper began to smolder. Whatever Gregory had said about needing a table had nothing to do with her. Being a decorator didn't mean one could produce furniture out Of thin air. "Very well," she heard him say, "we'll drive to York tomorrow. Your friends tell me they're sailing in the morning. We can afford another day off." He turned to Polly. "I'm going up. I have some things to do before dinner." "Me, too." She grasped at the chance to leave. "I promised Mrs. Angus-----" Gregory thanked their host. Lance assured Polly he would bring the party along in good time. As she went up the steps ahead of Gregory, he said, "Did you buy that dress in Alnwick?" "Yes," she said, her heart thudding. She should not have left the party with him. He would think she had snatched at the opportunity to be alone with him.

"I like it. You look good in pink." For a moment she was speechless. He couldn't be referring to her pink pajamas! The memory of that night made her cringe. "Thank you," she managed, breathless not from the climb, but from the presence of Gregory behind her. This was the first time she had been alone with him since the fair. And now Robbie's mother had arrived. Ought she to think about leaving? They reached the top and started along the path. He seemed to read her mind. "I'm sorry Alexandra's come. We've all made such a good team I'm sorry to have it interrupted. I suppose it was inevitable." Polly's heart sank. A good teammate! That's how he thought of her. "Anyway," he went on, "I hope you won't start thinking of leaving. There's still plenty to do, isn't there?" Despite her underlying sadness, Gregory's uncertainty made Polly smile. He really had no idea how much work furnishing the tower involved. "There's still plenty to do," she assured him. "The curtains, of course, and I really haven't begun on the hall or the dining room." His face cleared. "Good. I hope she does find us a table. You don't mind, do you?" "Gracious, no! I never pretended to know it all." "That's right, you haven't finished school, you said." "Is it so obvious?" she asked sharply. "I never meant to say it was." Polly was silent, appalled at herself. She didn't want to quarrel with Gregory. Why was she doing it? "Why do you persist in taking a perfectly plain statement and twisting it?" he demanded. "Persist?" Polly gasped. "I've hardly spoken to you in days!" "That's true enough!" He was scowling. "Every time you catch sight of me you go the other way." "I'm always afraid I'll disturb the birds or something." "There were no birds in the kitchen this morning." "This morning - " Polly faltered. "I guess I didn't see you." "Or you don't want to talk to me. Which is it?" She was silent, disconcerted, and unable to repeat her lie about fearing to disturb the birds. His face hardened. "When we do talk, we disagree. As now." "Too right!" Polly affirmed, suddenly angry. Now he was trying to force a quarrel. They crossed the terrace in silence. In the doorway he frowned down at her. "It's quite apparent that you find me some kind of ogre." "No, I don't!" Polly exclaimed, surprised out of her temper. "I think you do," he said in his don't-argue-with-me voice. He opened the door for her. Before she could contradict him - again - he was taking the steps to the second floor two at a time. What a difficult man! She shook her head and went to see if Mrs. Angus needed either help or moral support. Dinner went off well. After eating all they could hold, the diners were too comfortable to do more than stagger drowsily to their bedrooms or back to the yacht. CHAPTER TWELVE

NEXT MORNING, however, the mood in the common room was far from sunny. Polly came down to find Alexandra drinking coffee unsmilingly, and Robbie sulking. The reason soon became clear. Alexandra intended to leave him in the care of Mrs. Angus. "What will he do all day?" Polly expostulated when the boy had been sent to play on the terrace.

"He has the whole island! I can't see how Gregory has the gall to accuse me of indulging him, when everyone here has clearly made a fuss over him." "We don't let him rove the island, if that's what you mean," Polly replied severely. "Then he can stay in the kitchen with Mrs. Angus." "He won't like that! Nor will she. Baby-sitting isn't part of her job. She has enough to do, cooking for all of us." "Surely you don't expect me to drag him to antique shops?" "No," Polly said, weary of argument. "That wouldn't do, either. It's too bad the workmen are gone. He enjoyed following them around. There's Angus, but he doesn't have much patience with small boys." "Perhaps you'd like to stay with him," Alexandra suggested sweetly. Resolutely Polly agreed. "That might be best." She looked up to see Gregory in the doorway. Despite the fact that they were taking the day off, everyone had gone out to do his early-morning stint. Gregory looked cold and beset by the weather, which the radio promised would be windy and rainy. Polly poured coffee. He carried his cup to the mantelpiece and stood warming his hands at the welcome flame. "What might be best?" "It might be best if I stayed herewith Robbie." "Nonsense!" "That's what I said," Alexandra told him. Polly closed her lips firmly. She had no intention of arguing with either of them. Gregory had no more understanding of a small boy's needs than, seemingly, did Alexandra. "If you don't want to go, that's another matter," Gregory said. Polly thought quickly. "I do have a bit of a headache this morning." Gregory bent a gaze on her that was both frowning and suspicious. "I wouldn't have thought you were the headache type." I'm not, she wanted to tell him, but it's the only graceful way out. "Tess doesn't want to go, either, so you two girls can stay here and shift for yourselves. With James's help, of course." Despite her wish to appear in pain, Polly could not repress a giggle at the idea of James helping them with anything. Gregory's eyes held a hint of laughter. "Gregory, darling, I'm going to hunt out something to wear. I'll be down by the time you've finished your hearty breakfast." Gregory watched her leave, then looked at Polly. "What's the real reason you don't want to go?" It was the kind of impossibly direct question she might have expected of him. "Oh, I - I really do have a headache," she replied lamely. "Besides, it doesn't seem right to leave Robbie by himself." "I thought that was it. If you think you can get Alexandra to recognize her responsibilities, you're doomed to disappointment. However, if she can find a table, more power to her." "Yes," Polly agreed, "and you won't need me. I'd be more useful here." Gregory gave an annoyed sigh. "So would I. I wish I hadn't agreed to the expedition, but now I'm committed." Before he could say more, the voices of Lance and Tess were heard in the passage. Followed by James, they came in filled with early-morning jollity fostered by the promise of a hot drink and a big breakfast. "Why don't you want to go, Tess?" Lance was asking as they entered. "She's not going, Greg, did you know?" Gregory nodded. "The expedition is fast losing members." "Why not?" Lance again demanded. Tess said, "I hate antique shops. If you'd spent your school holidays dragged from one to the next the way I did, you'd never enter another one, either." "You and James ought to get together," Lance muttered, suddenly angry. "You both have birds on the brain."

Polly had never seen him so cross-tempered. He, too, was smitten by the beautiful Tess. She sighed. What must it be like to be both rich and beautiful? It meant you did exactly what suited you, she concluded, judging by Tess and Alexandra, who were alike in that. Were they spoiled or were they independent? Whichever it was, Polly knew she could never be that way. She was incapable of going her own path without taking others into account - Robbie, Mrs. Angus. Angus, too, had rights, such as not having to mind a chattering little boy. "I'm not going, either," Polly said quietly. "I woke up with a headache." "No more cocktail parties for you," Lance teased. Tess gave her a long straight look but did not comment. Robbie slipped back into the room just as Alexandra returned, and he ran over to her. "Robbie, stop it!" the woman exclaimed when he leaned against her. "Polly's going to stay with you, so you've nothing to sniffle about." How COULD ROBBIE'S MOTHER be so unsympathetic, Polly wondered later. She was standing with the boy on the wharf, waiting as the boat got ready to leave. It rocked alone at its mooring. The yacht had sailed at first light. Naturally Robbie was unhappy. His mother had just arrived yesterday, and today she was leaving. What if it was only for one day? His childish mind understood well enough that she could have taken him with her if she'd wanted to. He was close to tears when the cruiser departed. Lessons and a walk before lunch would help pass the morning, Polly decided. After lunch he could play on the terrace and watch for his mother's return. They worked for an hour on numbers and sums, and then went outside. Robbie chose to visit Tess at the kitti-wake lookout on the cliffs. Clouds hung low in the sky and the strong wind fluttered the dense carpet of wild flowers, but the rain held off. So many birds now had nesting sites on the island or nearby rocks that humans seemed like intruders. Tess was not at the lookout. "Where can she be?" Robbie worried. "Maybe helping James. Let's go look. James says people don't disturb the puffins." They had to pass the head of a small cove where the path ran close to the cliff's edge. Polly walked behind Robbie to keep an eye on him. The birds nesting along the walls of the cove were making more fuss than usual, screaming and spiraling up in a flying cloud. What was bothering them? "Wait," Polly said. Gradually the birds settled down or flew away, and there, balanced on a narrow ledge above the strip of rocky beach, was Tess. Below her a man waited, arms raised. Gregory! Tess jumped into his embrace. Laughing, they staggered a few steps together until over Gregory's shoulder Tess caught sight of Polly. She waved, and Gregory looked up, too. He shouted, but no human voice could carry above the booming breakers echoing between the high cliffs, and the screaming of the gulls. Polly waved her hand. Her feet propelled her on along the path even though she didn't want to tear her eyes from the scene. She saw a rowboat filled with gear drawn up on the sand. "I thought Uncle Gregory went with my mother." Robbie took Polly's hand. "I did, too." "Now let's find James," he insisted. The path turned inland, and he dropped her hand and skipped ahead. Polly envied him. How quickly he had forgotten his unhappiness. She could hardly keep her own mind off what she'd seen long enough to answer his questions. If only she had some answers for her own! The only possible answer was that Gregory must have planned this. He had maneuvered Lance into going with Alexandra, leaving Tess to himself. No wonder Tess had given her an odd look when she announced her intention of staying home, too. I expected it, she reminded herself. They have everything in common. Only I so wished nothing would happen to change things. I didn't want to watch him

falling in love with someone else. Robbie grew tired of hobnobbing with James, and said pointedly that he thought it must be lunchtime. Polly wanted to stay as far as possible from the tower and a chance meeting with Gregory' and Tess, but she had to go back. Robbie was hungry. She knew that the first bite would choke her. As it happened, no one came in for lunch. James and Tess had taken sandwiches with them as usual. Gregory must have shared Tess's. Polly geared herself for some hard work, but she couldn't entirely control her thoughts. By midafternoon she was able to put the scene into different perspective. Tess and Gregory had spent days working together; they didn't have to plot to be alone. There might be some other explanation. If Tess were in love with Gregory, she kept it well hidden. Polly enjoyed a moment of unworthy triumph at the thought that Gregory might find his love unrequited. The triumph was short-lived when she thought of the scene by the cliffs - Tess in his arms. How could any woman not love him? She tried to put him out of her mind and concentrate on her work. She had never had a prayer of a chance, anyway. In two weeks or so she would leave. The memory of him and Tess together would make him easier to forget. She was working on the dining room when the shopping expedition returned. Lance put his head in the door. "Polly, I'm pouring sherry. Where's Gregory?" "Out somewhere with Tess." Lance made a face. "He found a shipment of traps and bands waiting in Birdsea. He sent Alexandra and me for the table. Naturally he came back with the new gear." Polly was thoughtful as she followed him into the common room and accepted a glass of sherry. Alexandra was seated before the fire, pretending interest in a book Robbie was showing her. "Look, Polly!" he cried. "My mother brought me this!" Alexandra could not keep the boredom from her voice. "You can show it to Polly tomorrow, darling. Run out to the kitchen now and have your tea with Mrs. Angus." "Did you find a table?" Polly could not keep from asking. "We did," Alexandra pouted. "A huge one. Lance wouldn't let me buy it." "Whyevernot?" Lance said, "It seats twenty people! It's not cheap, either. I told 'Sandra she'd be crazy to buy it without Gregory seeing it, even if he has to take a day off. He got out of going today, after all. Here - " he took a slip of paper from his jacket " - the measurements." Polly put down her glass and hurried back to the dining room. Alexandra and Lance followed, watching' critically while she lightly chalked the table's dimensions on the bare floor. It must be a grand table! It would fill the room from end to end. They were standing around considering the chalked rectangle when Gregory and Tess appeared in the doorway. "So you found one," Gregory said. "And Lance wouldn't let me buy it," Alexandra complained. "I felt you ought to look at it," Lance said. "We weren't even sure it would fit." "Now you know it fits," Gregory said resignedly. "I can see I'll have to go to York. Did you ask them to hold it? There are more than a dozen bedrooms here. It's conceivable I might easily entertain enough guests to fill the table." Alexandra's affirmative was drowned by Lance's crack of laughter. "That shopkeeper couldn't believe his luck! I wonder how many years he's been storing it." "Really, it's beautiful." Alexandra moved to the door and took Gregory's arm. "Come and have some sherry. It's exactly what I envisioned for the room. Polly agrees with me." "The size is all right," Polly said cautiously. "You haven't told me

anything else." "It's perfect," Alexandra pronounced. "Lance, are you pouring sherry? I'm sure Tess and Oregory are ready for a glass. Did you have an exhausting day, bird-lovers?" Lovers! The word struck Polly like a knife. So Alexandra had noticed, too! "Not as exhausting as tomorrow will be," Gregory said. "You and I will take Robbie and give Polly a rest." "He's so happy here," Alexandra protested, "and he doesn't behave well in shops. I'd like to do a little shopping - " "I'll see he behaves." Gregory cut Alexandra short and turned to Polly. "A message from the draper was waiting in Birdsea. He's arriving tomorrow." Polly caught her breath. Was this the time to tell Gregory of the conditions she'd agreed to with Mr. Soltrani? It was innocuous enough. Why was she hesitating? She wasn't; she would speak to Gregory after dinner. He was talking about the weather. Tonight the moon would be full. If the sky remained clear, many birds would continue to be active throughout the hours of semidarkness. Polly finished her sherry and readied the table for the meal. How thoughtful of Gregory to take Robbie tomorrow. The draper would be staying over; she had better make up his bed tonight. Immediately after dinner, before she could speak to him, Gregory disappeared with Tess. He did not ask Lance or James to accompany them. Alexandra carried her coffee to the fire while Lance helped Polly remove the dinner things. "Alexandra's charming James now," Lance remarked in the kitchen. "Why not?" James was good-looking in a spiritual way. "She won't get to the first wicket," Lance prophesied. Polly's heartache was more than she could bear. Tess and Gregory...in the moonlight. She went upstairs to check on Robbie, since his mother showed no sign of doing so. Moonlight was streaming through the bare window, brightening the room. Robbie was sound asleep. The silvery light lured her. She made up a bed across the passage for Mr. Soltrani and then ran lightly downstairs and outside. On the terrace she knew she need not fear running into Tess and Gregory. From the wall she watched the sea foaming white and luminescent below. The sharp edge of the stone pressing against her diaphragm warned her not to breathe too deeply of regret. Slowly the breaking waves soothed her. The inexorable motion had been going on for million of years, would continue for millions more. In that span of time, whether Gregory loved Tess mattered little. Why, then, must her heart ache? The moonlight caressed the ancient stones. It silvered the gorse and turned the night sounds into what could have been the eerie cries of spirits. Perhaps the cries did come from spirits. For Polly the tower was never quite free of its previous dwellers. Tonight the past seemed at her elbow, and in the long span of human emotions the edge was taken off her pain. Unrequited love was one of the ingredients of life. The solitude soothed her heart, smoothing the ache to a bearable poignancy. Resting her forearms on the high parapet, she let the waves hypnotize her. Their measured reverberation masked the sound of footfalls. Coming up the terrace steps, Gregory was not sure whether he saw or merely wished to see the small figure in moon-whitened jeans and sweater. "Polly?" He kept his voice low. She swung around, her newfound peace whisked away at the sound of his voice. He was alone. "What are you doing out here?" he demanded. Was he implying she shouldn't be there? "Nothing!" Her voice sounded thin with nervousness. "Why?" "I didn't expect to find you here, that's all." The nearness of him and the solitude had taken her breath away. She should

tell him about the agreement with Mr. Soltrani. Instead she temporized. "I was enjoying the moonlight. Like the birds - " "I don't know that they're enjoying it. It's useful for them." Couldn't he tell she was speaking lightly? She exclaimed, too sharply, "Pardon me! I forgot we must always be scientific." "You could never always be scientific!" He sounded amused. "No," she agreed. "Don't you feel an aura of the past here at all? I know it can't be measured or metered, but don't you feel it?" "I can't say I do. Maybe because my own feelings are overwhelming it at the moment." He moved closer. "Where's Tess?" Polly took a backward step along the wall. "Gone in. Why?" "Nothing." She could have bitten her tongue. Did she want him to think she was jealous? She should make an aloof excuse and go in, too. Instead she allowed herself a glance at him from under her eyelashes, one disastrous look. He so needed loving, softening. How could she refuse him anything? She gazed unseeingly at the moon-dappled water. "It must be something," he was insisting. "Ah! You saw me with Tess." He snorted. "What could I do but catch her? I'm too clumsy to scale those cliffs myself. She's an intrepid climber." Polly knew she should let it go, but she was feeling too desperate. "I've been wanting an opportunity to talk to you," she heard herself say. "I want to leave here." The words truly echoed her heart's desire. If he was going to make up to her when Tess was out of sight, she couldn't stand it. If he was that kind of man, she didn't want to know. She was determined to keep her ideal of him. "Leave?" His mouth became a straight line, his eyes were shadowed. "There's no reason for me to stay," she urged. "The curtains will be hung by the end of the week, and Alexandra's here to look after Robbie." "You've seen how she does that!" "She'd do better if I weren't here. And you have to admit she found a table." "Because she knew where to shop. Polly, I know you don't like it here, or me, either, much, but - " "Is this what bird-banding is about?" Alexandra's amused voice cut between them like a whip. Gregory's face hardened. "This is what it's about." He slipped his arm around Polly. When she tried to pull away his arm tightened, pinning her to his side. Alexandra came sinuously across the rough stones wearing a silken evening wrap edged with ostrich feathers. It shimmered in the moonlight. "I always suspected as much," she drawled. "I hope it's put you in a good mood, because I want to ask a favor. Gregory, dear, that north bedroom where Polly put me is too depressing. With the moonlight outside, it's like nothing I can describe." She shivered. "Would you mind if I moved to the south room next to you?" Polly held her breath, awaiting his answer. "There's no furniture there," he said. "Not tonight, of course. Polly could arrange it tomorrow." "Sorry, 'Sandra. Not that room." "What are you saving it for?" "My wife." He smiled enigmatically down on her, withdrew his arm from Polly's shoulder and walked toward the door. Alexandra tossed her head. "That, my dear, is going to be me!" She gave Polly an aggressive look and followed Gregory inside. Polly was left looking at the very cold face of the moon. What had she accomplished? Nothing. And now she had two secrets: she hadn't told him about Mr. Soltrani's conditions and she hadn't told him about those wretched tapestries. When these things came out, Gregory would think her as devious and cheating as he believed all women to be. Why hadn't she insisted that she had to talk to him?

The answer was stunningly clear - because all she could think about when she was alone with him was how she longed to be taken in his arms the way he had done the other night in her bedroom. Around him her brain might as well be bran, for all the use she made of it. She looked again at the path the moon made across the waves. The moon, the tide...why didn't she stop fretting and let events take their course? Her conscience bothered her, that was why. It kept demanding that she do something, despite her conviction that she'd do better to mind her own business. CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE FOLLOWING MORNING Angus took Gregory, Alexandra and Robbie into Birdsea and returned with the draper. Mr. Soltrani was a small dark man whose brown complexion the rough sea had turned to a sickly sallow. "I doubt we'll get Mr. Gregory back here tonight," Angus announced to his wife and Polly, who were having a cup of tea in the kitchen. Mr. Soltrani thajikfully accepted a cup while Lance and Angus brought up the packages of curtains and the accompanying hardware. When the draper had recovered his color, Polly showed him over the building. "Now I understand!" he exclaimed. "I understand your choices. Very good." It was one long day of unpacking heavy curtains, pressing out creases and adjusting hems while Mr. Soltrani climbed the stepladder and attached the rods. When Mrs. Angus brought afternoon tea she announced that Angus had gone after all to fetch Mr. Gregory, Miss Alexandra and the boy. There was no reason why Polly's spirits should lift, but they did. She and Mr. Soltrani were putting the finishing touches on Gregory's room when a movement in the doorway caught her eyes. She looked up to see Gregory there. "The room looks fit for a castle!" he exclaimed. Was that good or bad? Polly held her breath and waited. Mr. Soltrani climbed down from his stepladder. Gregory approached the bed and touched the blue-and-goid brocade hangings. "This looks just like the films." "Yes, sir, she's done a find job," Mr. Soltrani said. Polly introduced him. Gregory said, "Of course the bed must have looked this way originally, but I never thought of reproducing it. What holds these things up?" Mr. Soltrani demonstrated how the curtains could be pulled around the bed if the sleeper wished. "I'm not as much afraid of night air as that." Gregory smiled at Polly. His smile seemed ample reward for her work. He looked at the matching bedspread, at the rich blue velvet curtaining the windows. "I didn't expect such splendor," he said hesitantly. "The bed gets only the treatment it deserves," Mr. Soltrani assured him. "And the window curtains had to go along with it," Polly added. "I'm not complaining." Gregory smiled again. "Everything has been so austere, it takes getting used to. But I like it, really I do." Mr. Soltrani smiled knowingly. "A man always takes longer to accept these things, I don't know why - unless it's because his wife has been imagining new curtains for many months before she begins to talk to him about it." Gregory grinned. "It's true I haven't spent much time imagining curtains." Mr. Soltrani excused himself and went away to begin the next room. "Is everything going all right?" Gregory asked. "Yes, it is," Polly said stoutly. "Have you seen the other rooms?" She caught her underlip between her teeth. "No, I came up to change my clothes." He was again wearing a dark suit, which made Polly feel she was talking to a stranger, and made her even more hesitant to explain the scrape she now knew she was in.

He was still gazing around the room. Polly was trying to slip out the door when his voice stopped her. "Polly?" With a nervous start she paused on the threshold. "These hangings are obviously expensive. The bedcover, too." "Well, yes. But this is your room, and the bed is such an antique...." The arrangement had seemed unobjectionable when Mr. Soltrani suggested it. Should she make a clean breast now? Better prepare Gregory first.... He said, "I hope you didn't skimp on the guest rooms. I don't want Spartan conditions for my guests while I loll on brocades." He walked to the window and studied his domain as though he expected to find it altered because he'd been away eight hours. "They're not Spartan, I promise. It's all good material, and the hall and dining-room curtains are velvet, too." "Velvet! No owner of this place could ever have afforded velvet. Unless they were smugglers." "But times change - " "All right," he said resignedly. "So you got carried away. How much over the estimate? I'm sure it will be worth the cost." Nevertheless, he looked a little frayed at the edges. Now was an abominable time to spring the terms on him. "I didn't exceed the estimate," she insisted. She turned toward the door with a forced laugh. "Mr. Soltrani's waiting for me, and he'll think - " "I know. He already thinks - " "What?" She blinked up at him. His words had nothing to do with what she'd been about to say - that Mr. Soltrani would think she was wasting time. "Thinks you're to become my wife." Gregory was looking at her with a questioning half-smile quirking one corner of his straight mouth. "No!" Polly exclaimed in sheer embarrassment. "Is that bad?" A flush crept under the clear tan of Gregory's cheeks. "I mean, he doesn't think that!" She spoke hastily to cover his embarrassment and her own. "Please don't worry. I'll explain later. I made a little deal." He crossed the room in two strides and caught her wrist as she stepped into the corridor. The grip of his fingers sent a tingle racing up her arm. The tingle skipped down her backbone with joyous abandon, as though the words the two of them were speaking were no more than the formal opening of a game; where the real action was between their bodies, between flesh and blood and heartbeats. "What kind of deal?" he rasped. He tugged her back into the room and closed the door in a businesslike way. She was dismayed to find herself both frightened and exultant. Gregory's face grew dark, not with embarrassment but with anger. "What little deal?" "I---" She felt she might faint. She was suddenly not thrilled to be the object of his attention. The idea that this was a game deserted her, and regret paralyzed her mind. She realized now that she had probably done the worst thing a decorator could do, without the owner's permission. Had she known it all the time? Was that why she had kept it a secret as long as possible? She was standing with her back against the solid oak door and she took a deep breath. "I promised him he could photograph the bed... and your bedroom... and use the photos to publicize his shop." "You what!" "Not your name, or where it's located! But to let people see he gets the so-called carriage trade as well as the cottage trade." "My God!" He was as angry as he'd been that first evening when he'd realized what a handful his nephew had become. "Polly, I could wring your neck! I'm under contract not to be involved directly or indirectly with any other publishing business." "But what's that got to do with - "

"Publishing includes photography as well as printing. And selling photographs - that's what this amounts to - in exchange for having my home redecorated is business. I'll agree it's indirect, but that's the way my contract reads." Polly had hard work to keep from hanging her head. "I'm sorry," she gulped. She dared a glance at him. His scowl looked less ferocious. "I'm not so impoverished I can't pay for curtains," he grated. "I thought a decorator could make inexpensive fabrics look top-notch." "No decorator can do the impossible! You told me you didn't want to be bothered - not with the decorating, not with your nephew. I did the best I could and used my own j udgment." "Which turns out to be lousy! You tell him no publicity photographs. I'll pay the full price, and gladly!" He held open the door. "What are you waiting for?" "I can't," she declared, standing her ground. "I promised. He wouldn't take the job otherwise." Gregory looked taken aback. Then he said, "Nonsense," and strode purposefully forward, expecting Polly to move out of his way. But this she did not do. "Please wait!" she cried. "You don't understand! He only took the work on that condition." "There were other shops, I suppose. I should have known you were too young for the responsibility. He thought he could bully you, and he did." "You're wrong! He was the only one who would do the work at all. The other shops said they couldn't get a man to come out here, except for a monstrous sum. Mr. Soltrani knew he couldn't get his men to come out, either. That's why he came himself." "It didn't occur to you that perhaps I'd rather not have curtains?" Gregory stormed. His eyes narrowed. "Are you planning to use the photographs, too?" The insult stunned her. Without thinking - because if she'd thought, she'd never have had the courage - Polly's hand flew up to deliver a stinging slap across his sneering face. "No, you don't!" Pale with anger, he caught her wrist before her hand made contact. For a timeless moment they glared at each other, Gregory's eyes like pack ice except for black pupils like pinpoints of hostility. Then the tension exploded. His free arm circled her shoulders with a strength there was no gainsaying, and he pulled her against his chest. She fluttered uselessly, a bird caught in a net. He was showing her what he thought of her. A clever little nobody who made under-the-table deals must expect behind-the-door kisses. She closed her eyes to shut out the picture of his features twisted by harsh thoughts, and awaited his kiss with what she told herself was resignation. When he didn't kiss her immediately, anticipation began to make her breath come faster. Her eyes flew open again to search his face, seeking to understand the sudden withholding of his lips. His mouth had softened, but his eyes were still forbiddingly bleak. Polly gazed questioningly into them until his dark-lashed lids closed, hiding their expression - but not before she caught a spark of satisfaction replacing the bleakness. He, too, was capable of dismissing everything from his thoughts but the fact of their being together. His face hovered over hers. It was impossible not to relax just a little against him, because she so loved the feel of his strong lean body. When his kiss came it was sweet. Polly easily forgot that the same lips could say such angry words. "Polly," he whispered, covering her mouth with eager kisses. "Oh, Polly!" He buried his face in the warm skin of her neck. Her uneven breath panted against his cheek. Her lips moved to touch the intricate design of flesh and cartilage that was his ear. Irresistibly her tongue crept between her teeth. Its tip touched his ear, fitted into a curving hollow. His gasp made her realize how she was teasing him. Quickly she drew away.

He released her with a groan. "What are we doing? My God, you drive a man clear out of his mind!" He let her go and she fell back against the door. He barely seemed to notice, so taken up was'he in attempting to deal with his own emotions. He strode heavily across the room and took a swing at the solid oak bedpost. Polly cringed as fist met iron-hard wood. The pain brought him to his senses. He stared at his knuckles, watching them began to bleed. He swallowed and spoke in a deliberately lowered voice. "Look, I'm a mild-mannered man. Wouldn't you say I've been a mild-mannered man since you've been here - until today?" Scenes flashed through Polly's mind - Gregory furious at having responsibility for his nephew thrust on him; Gregory in a temper because she'd walked into the fog; Gregory storming because she and Lance hadn't returned on time. "Have you ever seen me lose my temper before?" he almost shouted. Not trusting herself to speak, she shook her head, stifling a hysterical giggle. "All you want to do is get to London," he railed. "Believe me, that's what I want for you." He drew a deep breath. "All right, I'll honor your promise to the draper, though heaven knows how it will embroil me. In return you'll do one more thing for me - act as hostess for these guests. Their letter came today. They're coming this weekend. Then you'll be off Kittiwake forever." He watched her strangely, angrily, as though daring her to object. For a moment she feared her eyes would fill with tears. Pride came to her rescue. She raised her chin and gave him back stare for stare. "Why can't Alexandra act as hostess?" "I can't depend on her, that's why. She'll be too busy making an impression." "I suppose I should thank you for backing me up," Polly said stiffly. "All right, I agree." "Don't worry about it." Gregory's voice was bleak. "We must hope Soltrani holds to his part of the bargain." Again she started for the door. This time his voice stopped her. "One more thing. I want you to go to Lindisfarne with me tomorrow." "Lindisfarne?" "That's right. I have to go there to turn in some reports, and I want you to come along." Polly's heart leaped. He couldn't be totally angry with her if he wanted to take her with him. Then her delight drained away. "I can't," she whispered. "I have to be here to help Mr. Soltrani." "Damn Soltrani! Was that in the bargain, too - that you'd be his helper? You're working for me, remember? Let me talk to him!" He charged out of the room and into the one next door. Mr. Soltrani looked down from his stepladder. "I'll be needing Miss Drake tomorrow," Gregory announced belligerently. "If you want a helper, I'll arrange for my brother to be available." Mr. Soltrani flashed white teeth. "No, no! I often work alone." Gregory threw Polly, who had followed, a look that said, "See what happens when you're firm?" Then with a nod he stated, "Very good. See you both at dinner." With another ironic glance at Polly he left them. Polly felt almost too shaken to continue working. Mr. Soltrani was watching her, however, so she began pinning up the hem of the curtain he'd hung. She wondered if he had heard their angry voices. Probably. The walls weren't that thick. He climbed the stepladder, looked at her over his ' shoulder and clucked. "Changes like curtains upset a husband. He will recover, you'll see." Mr. Soltrani's English was good, but sometimes he chose the wrong word. Polly summoned a wintry smile. "I'll remember that, if ever I have a husband." Mr. Soltrani said, "I think you'll have one very soon." She opened her mouth and then closed it. Making Mr. Soltrani understand the real situation was too tedious to attempt. She herself didn't know why Gregory

behaved so erratically, aloof one moment, then passionate, the next. CHAPTER FOURTEEN

POLLY SAT IN THE BACK SEAT of Gregory's Bentley, her temper at boiling point. At the same time she had to keep from showing it because Robbie was seated beside her. Up front Alexandra was talking with great animation, but only for Gregory's ear. She was not bothering to include Polly in the conversation. At dinner the night before Gregory had announced that he intended to go to Lindisfarne. This morning Alexandra had come down to breakfast wearing a straw boater, beige linen trousers and a blazer over a summer tunic of silk. Polly had thought that jeans, a crisp gingham shirt and her suit jacket would be appropriate for the outing. The silk scarf Alexandra was wearing, with the name of a famous designer scrawled in one corner, had probably cost as much as Polly's jacket. Polly had envisioned Gregory and herself wandering through bracken and along beaches littered with sea wrack. Alexandra had chosen to wear high-heeled sandals. But she was also resourceful where her own purpose was concerned. She would have forgotten a pullover for Robbie in case the weather changed, but she hadn't overlooked packing flat sandals for herself. And she and Gregory hadn't overlooked bringing a nurse for Robbie. Polly could only assume that, despite Gregory's boast that he could handle his nephew, he had had enough of handling him on the second trip to York, so on this trip Polly's presence was required. What an idiot she'd been to think he meant anything else yesterday! "You're working for me," he'd said, and to Mr. Soltrani, "I'll be needing Miss Drake tomorrow." Early in the conversation he'd said he wanted her to come along, but that had been meant as treacle, to sweeten the fact he was assigning her to full-time nursemaid. He was speaking now over his shoulder, patronizingly. "I'm taking the coastal road through Bamburgh. The ruins of Bamburgh Castle are worth seeing." They passed first through the fishing village of Seahouses, surrounded now by villas and bungalows. Gregory drove slowly through the old part and showed them the pier from which boats left for the Fame Islands. "The Fames are the most famous bird sanctuary in Britain," he said. "When I wanted to make Kittiwake a sanctuary everyone said, 'why do you need another bird island when we have the Fames?'" Alexandra turned her head to speak directly to Gregory. "And what did you say, darling?" Gregory shrugged. "I don't recall. I was trying to show you how well-known the Fames are." Alexandra laughed lightly. "No doubt you told them you'd do as you pleased with your own island." "I wasn't quite so outspoken. Polly, you've heard of Grace Darling, haven't you?" "Yes. Did she live here?" Gregory stopped the car. "I don't know whether we can see the Longstone lighthouse from here. That's where her father kept the light." Robbie's head was in Polly's line of vision. He was pressing his nose against the window. "Where, Uncle Gregory?" Polly peered over his shoulder. The sky was clear except for whitecapped clouds strung along the horizon. Gregory said, "If it was dark, I expect we could see the light." "And who was Grace Darling, love?" Alexandra's manicured fingers lightly clasped Gregory's shoulder. "She was a lighthouse keeper's daughter in the early nineteenth century. She became famous when she helped row a lifeboat to rescue sailors from a shipwreck. You must have seen the etching of her and her father in the boat. She's buried in the little church at Bamburgh."

"Did she drown?" Robbie's voice was tremulous. "Not she! She lived to be a famous lady," Gregory said. Despite her annoyance with him Polly couldn't keep from being touched by his quick sensitivity to Robbie's fears. A short drive brought them to Bamburgh. Several miles before they reached the village the enormous castle began to dominate the countryside. "Lance thinks Bamburgh is the most tremendous sight in Britain," Gregory said. "Bamburgh was the capital seat of the kings of Northumbria from about the year 550. Too bad we don't have time to go through it. It's supposed to have been Lancelot's Joyous Garde, to which he carried Guinevere." "This?" Polly exclaimed. "The ruins don't look that old." "No. What you see is from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, but it's still spectacular." They stopped for refreshments at an inn near the ancient church by the green. "This church is from the thirteenth century," Gregory told them. "But there's been a church here since the seventh. The area is full of the history of early Christianity - Saint Aidan and Saint Cuthbert both lived on the Fames. Saint Aidan is supposed to have died in the Saxon church near Bamburgh." "Who was Saint Aidan?" Alexandra asked in a bored voice. "An early Christian missionary, the first to bring Christianity to Northumbria." "Oh." She began to chatter about her recent cruise. Gregory looked put out, Polly thought, unable to repress a spurt of wicked glee. At the first chance he brought the conversation back to their present tour. "The castle is a quarter of a mile long and covers eight acres," he informed them. Certainly it dominated the village. With the view from where they sat, words like "enormous" and "tremendous" came to mind. Alexandra, momentarily sensitive to the atmosphere, spoke for all of them when she said, "I don't think I could live in the shadow of that. I'd feel like a mouse." Gregory nodded. "I daresay that's what the builders had in mind." From Bamburgh the road swung inland, though seldom out of sight of the sea. "Lindisfarne is only a part-time island." Gregory looked at his watch. "The sea surrounds it only twice a day at high tide. I hope I've timed it so we won't have to wait." The tide was ebbing as they joined the short line of waiting autos. Slowly the causeway emerged from the receding waters. Gregory waved his hand toward a line of poles. "See those? They marked the Pilgrim's Way before the causeway was built. For hundreds of years oxcarts and foot travelers crossed over the sands." Mud now glittered where minutes before the water had lapped. On their left rose sand dunes that were part of the island. "Why do they call it 'holy'?" Robbie asked. "Because holy men lived there a long time ago when most of Britain was still wild," Polly explained. "Look, the water's gone from both ends of the pavement. As soon as the middle is clear we can drive across." A moment later Gregory started the Bentley. The auto rolled over the sea wrack left by the retreating tide, crunching shells and popping seaweed bladders beneath the wheels. The smell of tidal flats was strong. Gregory drove slowly, his attention claimed by running shore-birds. He pointed out an owl hovering over the grassy dunes. Polly wished she were crossing the Holy Island sands on foot. The three-mile journey was like passing back through the centuries to an island in time. To have walked to it would have been completely appropriate. Even Alexandra was quiet. Gregory broke the silence to say, "The monks here produced the Lindisfarne Gospels, you know. The manuscript is illuminated with birds and animals. Too bad they can't keep it here, but it's safer in the British Museum. Robbie - "

Gregory glanced over his shoulder " - this is where Saint Cuthbert lived as a hermit. He's supposed to have worn skin leggings and clothes of un-dyed wool. His only company was gray seals and eider ducks." "Was he a prisoner - like Polly?" Polly's hand flew to her mouth, but a gurgle of laughter escaped her nevertheless. Alexandra turned to stare at her son. "Polly's not a prisoner! What makes you say that?" Looking up; Polly met Gregory's sardonic eyes in the rearview mirror. Thankfully she heard Robbie mumble, "I don't know." The sudden attention from his mother confused him. Quietly Polly explained to him what a hermit was. "People used to believe it made them good to live in some lonely place and pray a lot." They drove along the island's road to stop at a red sandstone ruin. "This was a priory in the eleventh century," Gregory told them. "Let's get out." They walked toward it along a path through the high grass. A brooding, centuries-old air seemed to hang about it. "All the building material was hauled by oxcart from the mainland." Gregory ran his hand over a thin pencil of stone. "Look how the wind can erode. These were once heavy columns. A good many monasteries have been built on Lindisfarne, but time after time they were destroyed by pagans or Danish pirates." "You know a lot about the history," Polly commented in a politely impersonal voice. "Oh, Gregory knows everything," Alexandra cooed, making Polly want to slap her. Gregory's blue gray eyes held a hint of amusement, as though he understood Polly's annoyance. "We were brought here as children whenever we had visitors. Even then I was interested in the birds." Polly stared gloomily seaward. Perhaps in her role as nanny she should only speak when spoken to. Then she glimpsed the great hump of Bamburgh Castle jutting into the sea. Forgetting her determination to remain silent, she pointed it out. "Northumbria doesn't lack for castles," Gregory said. "There to the right that high keep among the trees - is what's left of Haggerstone Castle." Glimpsed between the priory's crumbling walls, about three-quarters of a mile to the east across the empty sands a pile of rock rose to a peak above the water. Atop it stood another castle, towering above the salt flats like a picture from a storybook. "Perfection!" Alexandra cried. Silently Polly agreed. Even on closer approach it was a castle' as a castle should be. "The Elizabethans built it for use as a fort," Gregory told them. "One of the early governors used to sign himself, 'The Great Commander of the Cormorants, the Geese and Ganders of These Hallowed Lands.'" "You should use that* Gregory!" Alexandra enthused. "The castle belongs to the National Trust now." He was speaking for Polly's benefit, disregarding his sister-in-law. "This is the one day a week it's open." As they strolled up the cobblestone ramp and wandered amid long corridors and low-ceilinged rooms, Alexandra clung to Gregory's arm. "I like our castle better, Uncle Gregory," Robbie piped. Gregory laughed and took his hand. "Ours isn't a castle, but I like it better, too. There's something here I want you to see." He led them to a deeply recessed window and freed himself from Alexandra's clutch. "Almost every year a fulmar nests right outside here. The others nest farther down the cliff, but this one.... Let's see if she's here...." He peeped out and drew quickly back. "She's there," he whispered. "Look right down below," he told Robbie. "People around here call them mollymawks," he informed Polly and Alexandra in an undertone while Robbie peered over the windowsill.

"It looks like a gull," Alexandra said with a shrug after she and Polly had gazed down at the gray-and-white creature with a gull-like yellow beak. "Not quite. These birds spend their lives at sea. They never come to land except to nest." "Like kittiwakes," Polly suggested. "Yes, except that fulmars range all over the North Atlantic and North Pacific. Their name means "foul gull." They're so hardy that sailors see them abroad in the foulest weather. They've been found in the Arctic and among icebergs." The birds' guttural growls and chuckles echoed through the castle's rooms. Gregory said, "Come, we'll have lunch at the inn, and I'll get my business done with the bird wardens." Aside to Polly he added, "One of the things I'm going to do is find out whether the bird wardens have had more reports of eiderdown thieves, or whether they've been caught. Let's hope they have." It was still too early in the season for the inn to be crowded. They ended the meal with "Berwick cockles," shell-shaped mints from Berwick-on-Tweed. Before leaving to attend to his business, Gregory looked at his watch. "This shouldn't take more than an hour. You might like to go down to the tide flats and hunt for Saint Cuthbert's beads. Take a look in the' souvenir shops first. You'll see strings of them - made of round white plates with a hole in the center. They're segments of a primitive sea animal. Some call them sea lilies. Saint Cuthbert's rosary was supposedly made of them. The great thing is to find enough to make a graduated necklace, like pearls." Polly and Alexandra duly took Robbie to look at the beads and then, with the boy tugging Polly's hand to hurry her, they strolled to the tidal flats to try their luck. Alexandra soon gave up and went to sit in the dry sand, where Polly reluctantly joined her. Robbie continued to search hopefully over the muddy flats. "He's going to be too filthy to get in the car," Alexandra grumbled. She had changed to low-heeled sandals. Now she took these off and slid her lacquered toes into the warm sand. "He may be a bit sandy," Polly said. "Gregory won't mind. It was his idea, after all." "True." Alexandra smiled a satisfied smile. "He's so sweet with Robbie. He'll make a wonderful father." "Father for whom?" Polly's face betrayed her astonishment. "For Robbie, of course," Alexandra said smugly. Polly sat as though turned to stone. Inside her breast her heart was flopping like a mackerel in a net. It couldn't be true - what Alexandra's words implied! "Are you two getting married?" she asked breathlessly. She had not forgotten Alexandra's previous comment on the subject, but she had not taken the woman seriously. Alexandra said, "Oh, yes. I thought everyone knew. We've been lovers for ages." Her smile was silky, as if she were pleased with the effect of her announcement. Polly had done her best not to show emotion, but she could not stop herself from turning pale. Alexandra seemed to know her bombshell had found a target. Polly was feeling as though her world had been blown to bits. She tried to keep her voice from showing it. "Ages?" she asked, lifting her brows. "But weren't you married to his brother?" Alexandra condescended to explain. "Oh, not then, of course. I went with Gregory before I married Alfred." Polly sat motionless, breathing shallowly. Nothing as painful as this had ever happened to her. After what seemed like minutes but was surely no longer than a few seconds she was able to breathe normally again, and able to doubt. Alexandra would say anything to further her ends. Polly remembered the infuriating Sunday evening when she, Lance, Gregory and Robbie had gone for a walk, and Gregory had told her not to run after Lance. Recalling his patronizing comments, she still felt anger. Nevertheless, he had said at that

time, "Lance has no more intentions of getting married than I have." So----Married, no! But lovers - that was something else... and probably true. A woman would hardly go around broadcasting that fact about herself if it weren't true, would she? Yes, Alexandra probably would. But the necklace Gregory was keeping for her... in his bed.... Polly almost groaned from the sharp pain that pierced her middle, making her want to fold her arms protectively across her midriff and rock backward and forward. Of course that was out of the question. Into the silence Alexandra said, "I'm just waiting for him to get tired of that island." She leaned back on her elbows against the sand dune and gazed toward the mainland. That remark had a ring of falsity! It didn't look to Polly as though Gregory would ever get tired of his island. Still, Alexandra had known him longer and better than she. Taking advantage of Alexandra's confidential mood, Polly asked evenly, "Why did you marry Alfred?" "Oh, why does one do anything? Gregory and I quarreled, and I married Alfred in a pet. He had a lot to offer. He was a racing driver, you know. We traveled from one exciting place to another, and he had marvelous wild friends. Gregory is a stick-in-the-mud compared to Alfred." "Then I shouldn't think you'd want him." Alexandra shrugged. She gave Polly a shrewd look. "He has oodles of money, I'm sure you know. Poor Alfred threw his around dreadfully. Of course, I have some, but one never has enough, has one? Then, of course, Gregory is terribly handsome, the best-looking of the three, I always said. And Robbie needs a father - " "Robbie does need someone!" Polly agreed. Alexandra did not appear to notice the barb. She was combing her auburn hair preparatory to tying it up in the designer scarf. If Alexandra wasn't going to marry Gregory until he tired of Kittiwake Island, she might wait a long time. From what he'd said to Polly, he never expected to tire of it. But lovers! Her mind kept coming back to that. Despite her determination not to be wounded by Alexandra's information, Polly's insides had grown numb. All she wanted to do was get back to Kittiwake, to be alone in a place where she could face up to the fact that Gregory and Alexandra probably were lovers. Where she would be able to accept that and the best thing she could do was put him out of her mind, Meantime, pride demanded that she keep up her end. Polly was relieved when Robbie came running up with a small handful of Saint Cuihbert's beads. She promised to find something to string them on. "Then you can wear them about your neck, Polly," he told her, "because boys can't wear necklaces." "Yes, they can! A medal on a chain like Uncle Lance wears. You can put these on two strings - one for you and one for Uncle Gregory." "What's being planned for Uncle Gregory?" He had come up quietly behind them. Polly jumped at the sound of his voice, keeping herself from trembling only by intense effort. "I found some, Uncle Gregory!" Robbie opened his hand to show five white discs lying sandy and wet on his small palm. "Good for you, old man. Polly should have these to remember us by. I have a few more back at the tower. Added to yours and strung on a pretty string, they'll make a respectable necklace." The last thing Polly wanted was a reminder of that day, unless it was to keep her from ever again letting her expectations rise to such dizzy heights. What a fool she'd been, thinking Gregory wanted her and her alone to accompany him to Lindisfarne! Alexandra put on her sandals, and the little party walked back along the edge of the dunes to the auto. Gregory attempted to drop back and walk with

Polly. "I'm sorry about today," he began. Before he could say more, Alexandra stopped to wait for him, claiming the support of his arm. She claimed the front seat going home, too, saying that riding in back made her ill. Gregory shot Polly a helpless look, but Polly turned away. All her life Alexandra had been practicing the tricks needed to get her way. Polly hadn't the slightest doubt that she would maneuver Gregory, too, into her net. In the cruiser going back to Kittiwake he managed a moment alone with Polly. "Did you enjoy the trip?" he asked, smiling warmly. The question took her aback. But of course, he didn't know what Alexandra had told her. "Y-yes," she stammered, hating to lie to him but seeing no alternative. "It was - quite nice." She felt herself drowning in the depths of his eyes - blue gray pools fringed with long lashes. "You're worrying about Soltrani, aren't you?" "A bit," she admitted. "Well, you needn't. He's carried on his business up to now without your help." "It's not that. The work simply goes faster with two people." "But you wouldn't have had such a nice day." She gazed at him wonderingly. How could he suppose it was possible to have a nice day with Alexandra - unless one were as brittle and uncaring as she? If he thought she'd had nice day, he must be quite as insensitive as Alexandra herself. It was time, Poiiy realized, that she stopped seeing him as a tower of perfection. "Did you find out anything about the down thieves?" she managed. Gregory shook his head. "One other report, but nothing concrete. The weather has been unusual - no fog. Perhaps they've decided to stick to honest work like fishing." At that moment Alexandra called him to light the galley stove and make tea. "The only way to get along with her," he muttered, "is to wring her neck!" Nevertheless, he disappeared into the cabin to do her bidding. Soon, Polly told herself, she would be freed of this spell and sent back to London. Nothing could prevent the time of her captivity from running out. CHAPTER FIFTEEN

THE TABLE WAS DULY DELIVERED to Birdsea. Angus and three helpers brought it to the island. Poliy was generous with her praise. Though not ancient, it was a handsome piece with a beautifully waxed surface. The men set it up, with Alexandra hovering over them. She stood by and criticized while Mr. Soltrani and Polly hung blue velvet curtains. Alexandra thought the curtains should have been another color, and perhaps a bit more material should have gone into them, and wasn't this length of velvet just a shade off? She took over the placement of chairs around "her" table, and made decisions about hanging the paintings Gregory had had uncrated. Polly left her to it. I might as well, she thought forlornly. She'll get her way anyhow as soon as I'm gone. Alexandra didn't stop with the dining room; she followed them into the hall. Polly was proud of the curtains for the hall. From a back shelf she and Mr. Soltrani had ferreted out some bolts of cut velvet left by his predecessor. The pattern was on a tremendous scale, unsuitable for any window less than twelve feet high. And who these days was buying curtains of such dimensions? The color was deep pink. Daring for a hall, but why not, with all that somber oak and wainscoting? Pink would liven it up. And Gregory had two cheerful abstract paintings with reds and blues that would be just the thing. The hall was to be a gathering place for guests to talk over the day's experiences. With Alexandra making a nuisance of herself, Polly began to think she would

be glad to leave Kittiwake. Almost immediately, however, her heart thudded into her shoes. How could she be happy leaving them all here with no one but Mrs. Angus to make them comfortable? Mrs. Angus did her best, but she had her own home, too. And who would look after Robbie? Of course, his mother ought to look after him, and his uncles ought to pay him some attention. But the probable outlook was bleak; he would be neglected. Well, there was nothing she could do. Gregory had decided she was eager to get to London, and nothing, apparently, would change his belief. She had done as much as her pride would allow to convince him otherwise. And Alexandra was eager to be rid of her. Polly's feelings for Gregory had not changed. She still loved him, despite what Alexandra had told her. Perhaps they had been lovers at one time, but surely not now. Gregory had regretted Alexandra's arrival at Kittiwake and had refused to let her move into the room next to his. He was careful to show no special feelings for Tess, either. Polly determined to treat each day left as one of a small string of jewels - too precious to allow Alexandra to spoil. Graciously she said, "Alexandra, if you want to carry on in the hall, Mr. Soltrani and I will finish the top floor." But Alexandra seemed set on making Polly's days difficult. "What more is there to do?" she asked. Polly could see a dozen things, in addition to hanging the paintings. Before she could mention any of them Alexandra said, "Really, Polly, this is your job." Polly bit back a retort. She understood why Gregory had begged her to act as hostess. His sister-in-law was one of those people who preferred to stand by and point out flaws in others' work. "Sorry," Polly apologized, "I was under the impression you wanted to help." "No, I'm just a guest." Alexandra's voice was airy. To Polly's relief, Robbie coaxed his mother into taking him for a walk. Gregory chose dinnertime to discuss the weekend. Permanent seating had evolved in the common room, more or less from habit, with Gregory, Tess and Lance on one side of the table and Polly, James and Alexandra on the other. Polly had worried that Mr. Soltrani would feel out of place, but hadn't known what to do about it short of asking him whether he wanted to eat in the kitchen or in his room. However, he had turned out to be an avid birdwatcher, and everything had gone smoothly. "There are going to be nine people," Gregory announced. "Two couples and five singles. Seven bedrooms." He looked at Polly. "Seven bedrooms!" "Will they be ready?" "Yes. We finished today. Mr. Soltrani is leaving tomorrow." She did not add, "After he takes the pictures." Gregory must have told his brother about the draper's plans because Lance unhesitatingly brought up the subject. "Have you taken your pictures?" he asked the little man. "In the morning." Mr. Soltrani laid his knife on his plate and looked almost shyly around the table. "Photographs!" Alexandra's voice reflected amazement. "Don't tell me you're going to publicize the island?" "No, he's not," Gregory stated flatly. "Then, why - " "To continue what I was saying - " Gregory's voice overrode Alexandra's question " - these people are extremely influential. Two of them are on the board of directors of a charitable foundation. That foundation is considering giving our sanctuary a large grant. I trust you understand how important their visit it. I want their stay to be as pleasant as possible, and I want them to see the work we're doing, to the last detail. I also want them to go back with a good list of birds, which means going out with the boat - maybe to the Fame Islands - if the weather's good. Hopefully we'll spot some of the rarer

pelagic birds." "Pelagic?" Alexandra murmured. "Oceanic, like petrels and skuas. The party will arrive on Friday afternoon and leave Sunday afternoon, if the weather cooperates. The forecast is promising. A trio is coming Saturday night to play for dancing." Smilingly he accepted the general astonishment. "Where are the musicians going to sleep?" Lance asked the question that leaped to Polly's mind. "On their boat. They'll go back Sunday morning." "Music business must be good." Gregory permitted himself another smile. "The father-in-law of one of them lives in Birdsea. It's his boat." He's always relaxed with Lance, even more than with Tess, Polly thought. I wonder why he's so stiff with other people. Is it a holdover from his days as president of a corporation? She knew Gregory considered the weekend important for the island's future, and she made up her mind that the part she was in charge of - food and comfort - should go smoothly. Mrs. Angus would need help in working out a menu, and supplies must be on hand. Saturday-night supper would have to include the musicians, too, but probably not breakfast. They'd be leaving first thing, unless the weather turned bad. That must be considered! We'd better be prepared for extra days, she thought. Half rations for marooned guests would spoil any good impression. Except for a great oak chest, what little furniture the hall boasted was grouped at one end around the fireplace. Gregory had bought two leather couches from the dealer who had sold him the dining table. There were chairs and a couple of small tables. For dancing they need simply take up the rug. She and Angus could manage that. I don't have a dinner dress! She drew a sharp breath as the thought struck. "All right, Polly?" Gregory was staring at her again. "Yes." "Here are the names of the guests." He tossed a paper into the middle of the table. "Polly, if you're through eating, let's look at the bedrooms. I want to see them all now that they're ready." "They're not exactly ready," Polly murmured. "The beds have to be made up, and I thought...well, wild flowers, if I can improvise vases." "Let's go take a look." Gregory's voice held an undercurrent of laughter. "I'll imagine the beds made." He motioned for her to follow him. At the stairs he waited for her to go first, and she started up, conscious of him close behind her. She tried to think. Wasn't there some way she could escape, say she was needed elsewhere? She could simply suggest he go alone to inspect the rooms, but the thought occurred only to be rejected. He wouldn't accept such a feeble excuse. He would think she had some reason to be ashamed of the job she had done. No, she must simply behave in such a businesslike way that he wouldn't think of touching her. However, he gave her no chance to be businesslike. They barely reached the long empty corridor at the top of the stairs when he slid his arm around her waist and pulled her back against his chest. She felt his heart hammering against her shoulder. "No!" she protested, trying to pull away. His lips touched her neck, sending shivers to her nerve ends. The delight of knowing that he wanted her drowned every other thought. Willingly she melted against him. His free hand fondled her breast, but gently, stroking her as though she were precious. She wanted to respond, to caress him, too. He understood her want from the way she fitted herself against him. He loosened his grip enough for her to twist around to face him, and lock her body against his. For a time they stood like that holding each other, excited simply by each other's nearness. "Polly," Gregory whispered at last. "Why can't I keep my hands off you?" The question made her remember Tess...and Alexandra. Anger rose within her, dominating all other emotion. "Because you can't keep your hands off any

woman!" she hissed. Her eyes, raking him furiously, did not miss the dumbfounded expression that came over his features. His hands dropped to his sides. "What are you saying?" She was trembling with anger, yet she couldn't blind herself to the hurt in his eyes, the tightening of his lips. "I'm saying I won't be one of your women! Yes, you needn't look so stunned! I know about you and Alexandra." His eyes gleamed like icicles. Before she could turn on her heel his hands shot out, grabbing her shoulders. "You don't know anything about me and Alexandra! There's nothing to know! I thought you would have more sense than to listen to her!" Unwaveringly his eyes bored into hers until her glance fell. Curling black lashes swept across her blue gaze, to hide a sudden mistiness. Her lips trembled. To her shame two tears escaped from beneath her eyelids. Gregory groaned. His hands on her shoulders tightened. "You're crying!" He sounded exasperated. "I am not!" Angrily she turned her face away. One of his arms encircled her shoulders, pulling her against him. The other hand cupped her chin. Rough strong fingers brushed her lips, sending a shiver all the way down her body. "What did I say to make you cry, Polly, dear?" He wasn't exasperated, not now. He sounded concerned. Wordlessly she shook her head. "Please tell me," he begged. "You make me feel like an overbearing bastard." "It wasn't anything you said," she whispered. "But Alexandra seemed so sure." Gregory laughed roughly. "God knows, I'm no angel, but anything between Alexandra and me ended when she married my brother. I'm not interested in my brother's widow, no matter what she says." Polly wanted to believe him. The memory of the ruby necklace stored in his bed jumped to mind, but she hastily pushed it away. Gregory pulled her against him, wrapping her in his arms and hugging her so fiercely she gave a squeak of surprise. "Oh, Polly, you pretty little idiot," he growled, loosing her with a little shake but keeping her in his arms. "How could you listen to her?" "You took her to Lindisfarne," Polly murmured. Her cheek against his chest reveled in the rough feel of his sweater, the confident thump of his heart. He smelled of shaving lotion and windswept air. His arms offered wonderful strength and protection. It seemed natural to put her arms around him. She felt his voice rumble in his chest. "Took her! She came along! What could I do?" True, a man was often helpless in such a situation. Polly determined to think no more about Alexandra. "Polly...." Gregory's body became taut. His breathing quickened, and slowly, seductively, his kisses fell on her forehead, her temple, her ear. She gasped and longed hungrily for the touch of his mouth on her own. When at last his eager lips covered hers, she trembled in his embrace and met his kiss with a passion she had never before allowed herself to release. Indeed, until Gregory had first kissed her, she had never suspected she possessed such dangerous urges. Now she felt a longing to drown herself in his desire. His kiss fired an electric response in her that leaped back and forth between them, her excitement firing his. Desire whispered to her that all she ever wanted was to exist in this man's arms. His tongue slipped between her teeth. Involuntarily she stiffened, but at that moment she would have done anything in the world to please him. Eagerly, she let the tip of her tongue move to touch his, almost fainting at the sensuous bliss of this intimacy. Her heart hammered in her ears, muffling the thud of footsteps on the stairs, but the sound of voices slowly entered her

consciousness. Lance was speaking, Tess answering. With a gasp that shook his body Gregory took his lips from hers. "In here!" he whispered, his voice ragged, his breathing as uneven as Polly's. He swept her into the nearest bedroom, and she heard him kick the door closed. Dropping onto the bed, he pulled her down beside him on the bare mattress. The bed groaned as it took their weight. He began to kiss her again, but the magic had gone. They were two people, forever separate. Polly struggled to free herself, and his arms loosened. She sat up, tossing her hair out of her eyes and trying to recover her breath. Why must it always be this way - as though he wanted her against his will? Gregory swung his feet to the floor and sat up beside her. With one square hand he swept the fair hair back from his forehead and laughed shakily. "I don't exactly pick the best time or the best places, do I?" Polly's heart smote her, even though she had been thinking along the same lines. She couldn't bear to see her arrogant, proud-spirited Gregory become humble and self-critical. "I can't explain it," he said mildly. Then he gave her a quick hug and stood up. Polly's stomach contracted with disappointment. But the kiss they had given each other was unforgettable. Surely he couldn't just dismiss it. Apparently he could. He said, "Come, let's get this inspection over with. I promise to control myself. I know your plans don't include becoming a birdwatcher. All I need is another involvement with someone who hates the outdoors." I don't hate the outdoors! Polly wanted to cry, but Gregory was already opening the door, standing back to let her proceed him. He made the tour of the upper floors so quickly that Polly wondered whether he had seen anything at all. For all the emotion he showed, he might have been the Man in the Iron Mask. "I take it they're ready to be photographed," he remarked dryly when he had looked into the last room on the top floor and they were starting back down. Polly bit her lip. "I do think they look nice," she asserted, "but Mr. Soltrani doesn't want to photograph these. It's your bed hangings he wants a picture of, and the hall. Perhaps the dining room. Uh...have you seen the hall?" Maybe he hated the curtains there and was too polite to say so. "I did see the hall. It looked fine, Polly. These rooms do, too. Now that I see them, I know they're what I had in mind." The way he said it made her breath catch. Couldn't he understand that she had been able to do the rooms so well because she had put her heart into the work? "Are you pleased with the way they came out?" he asked. She nodded, lowering lashes over her vivid blue eyes to keep him from reading her thoughts. She said, "The paintings helped downstairs, of course." "But you were the one who accomplished so much. Under your budget, too! Even your 'deal' couldn't have accounted for all of it. Now I've seen more of Soltrani, I'm sorry about the fuss I made. He'll keep his word. Your work's done, too. From now on I hope you'll rest on your laurels and have a good time." Polly was hard put to keep from smiling. He didn't know much about being a hostess if he thought it restful. She found the moment opportune to say, "I don't have a dinner dress, you know. I thought Mrs. Angus and I could be busy behind the scenes." He had paused by the window at the top of the stairs. As usual he had directed his searching glance over the island. Now he turned his steel-gray eyes at her. "A hostess can't be invisible!" "I don't mind, honestly. I don't know how to talk about birds." "How can I dance with you if you're in the kitchen playing Cinderella?" He looked down at her gravely, in a way that made her heart begin beating wildly again. "Lance will drive you to Newcastle Friday morning. Will that be time

enough?" "With luck." There were always last-minute things to be seen to, but either they'd get done or they wouldn't. If Gregory wanted to dance with her, he should have his chance. And she would have the memory. She would buy a gown to set off the lapis lazuli pendant. How he had mellowed! She remembered all the trouble she'd had those weeks ago, when she'd really needed to go shopping and he'd been determined to keep her on Kittiwake. "You must make sure Lance gets back in time," Gregory cautioned. "Angus is making two runs with the boat. As soon as the guests have seen their rooms, we're going on the pelagic trip. Tell Mrs. Angus I'd like to have drinks and sandwiches on board, and then a few dishes on the electric dishwarmers for supper when we get back. After that I hope the guests will be ready for bed. We'll make an early start Saturday morning." How easily he issued orders! Polly felt sure Mrs. Angus had no more idea of gourmet sandwiches and late suppers than she had. Alexandra might have some suggestions. When asked, however, Alexandra claimed with probable honesty that she had no idea what people served. On the verge of panic, Mrs. Angus remembered that her sister in Birdsea was saving a stack of women's magazines for her. When Angus set Mr. Soltrani ashore, he brought the magazines on his return. Polly found a recipe telling how to slice a loaf of bread lengthwise and roll the slices into pinwheel sandwiches filled with pate and onion or cream cheese with ham. For supper she chose chipped beef in sour cream, with artichoke hearts providing a new twist to an old standby. For the other meals Mrs. Angus planned to serve the kind of hearty fare that would be welcomed by people who had spent the day outdoors. Refreshment at the dance would be oyster stew and a savory. Wednesday and Thursday passed in a flurry of preparation. Friday morning Polly woke an hour before her usual time. She leaped out of bed and went to call Robbie, who still slept next door. They had made containers for wild flowers by wrapping and gluing hemp around all the jars they could find. This morning they were going to collect the flowers before she went to Newcastle. Being out so early was heavenly, with the sun emerging from the mists, and birds and insects already going noisily about their day's work. The flowers were gathered almost before they had opened for the day. They were filling the jars at one end of the kitchen table when Gregory came to get the breakfast porridge from the back of the stove, where it had been cooking all night. His eyes widened. At first Polly thought he was pleased. "Look!" Robbie cried by way of greeting. "We're making bouquets." "So I see. You must have been out early." "We were," Robbie said with smug complacency. Polly kept her eyes on her flower arrangements. Gregory was not an early-morning conversationalist, but his steps paused. She looked up to see him standing beside the table watching her adjust sprays of bracken. "Polly, I'm depending on you to get back to Birdsea by three o'clock. I've instructed Angus to leave as soon as the guests are on board. I'd take you myself if I could. I know I can't depend on Lance." "Maybe I shouldn't go," she muttered. "I want you to go. Just get back on time." "Yes, sir." For some reason she felt offended. She let her voice show it. She pulled another vase toward her and began the next arrangement. Gregory made an exasperated noise. "Why didn't you buy vases instead of fooling around with this?" He seemed determined to get under her skin. "Because we like these better." Why didn't he go about his business? "Robbie, please help your uncle set out breakfast." "Here, take this into the common room." Gregory handed him the porridge. "I'll be along in a minute." Robbie moved snaillike toward the corridor.

"What I meant to express was that, much as I know you want to escape from Kittiwake, I also know I can count on your cooperation." Was he deliberately mocking her? He turned away and saw Robbie lingering in the doorway. He scowled with mock ferocity and ordered, "To the dining room!" Robbie giggled and scampered off. Gregory followed him without a backward glance. Polly let her eyes follow him wistfully. She had so little time left. She'd foolishly let herself fall in love. She could do no further harm by indulging herself in the sight of him. Robbie returned in no time. "I'm having breakfast with you, Polly. Are you sure you're not a prisoner? Prisoners have to escape." Polly managed to laugh. "Of course not. I like it here as much as you do, only I don't belong the way you do." Robbie sighed. "I wish I could live here all the time. Mummy says I must go to school some more. Do you have to go to school?" "Yes." Polly finished the last vase. "If you're not going to help with breakfast, you can help me take these around." She put two into his hands. "Polly - " his clear voice carried along the passage " - wouldn't you rather stay here?" "Yes," Polly whispered, aware that Gregory was coming back from the common room. "But it's a secret," she added lightly. "I won't tell anybody," Robbie promised, springing up the stairs. She followed, knowing Gregory was watching. Probably thinking of calling off the trip, she said to herself. I'm lucky the curtains are new! Otherwise he might have made me sew them into a dress, like Scarlett O'Hara in Gone With The Wind. The idea made her laugh aloud. Robbie bubbled with natural high spirits. The sound of their lighthearted laughter echoed down the staircase to the man standing below. CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THE DRIVE THROUGH the July countryside was lovely most of the way to Newcastle. Polly's companion, however, seemed gloomy. He followed her from shop to shop like a lamb. In the third one she found the dress she wanted. A matte jersey, its pearly softness made the perfect background for the shimmering blue pendant. She clasped the chain around her neck and studied the effect in the fitting-room mirror. The supple material clung to her small shapely figure, making her look as petite and willowy as a dancer. Studying the dress, she didn't notice how her dark blue eyes reflected the pendant's color, or that her smile did more for her appearance than any designer could hope to accomplish. Recklessly she counted out notes to pay for the dress. She was spending money she had saved for school, but she felt strongly that the peel tower deserved her best. They ate an early lunch. Polly assumed they would then start back. Instead Lance announced he had to have his hair cut and buy a dress shirt. Polly wondered aloud why he hadn't done that while she was shopping. His blithe reply was that he hadn't thought of it. Besides, it would take no more than thirty minutes. It took over an hour. On the clocks of All Saints Church the minute hand crept inexorably around while Polly wondered whether Gregory would expect her to drag Lance from the barber's chair. When Lance returned she spoke rather sharply about the time, but he confidently promised they would reach Birdsea early. Then he lapsed into moody silence. While they sped out of town, Polly found herself worrying that Gregory would feel she was making too much of his gift by buying a dress to wear with it. Or would he be pleased? Actually, of course, it would never occur to him she had done so. She imagined his bewildered expression if told, and a giggle

escaped her. "What's so amusing?" Lance growled. "Nothing." Polly stifled another giggle. "I wish you'd tell me. Lord knows, I need a laugh." "I've noticed you do. What's wrong?" When he didn't answer, she said, "Did you by any chance tell Gregory about those tapestries?" "No!" He sounded startled, almost as though he had forgotten about them. "Then what is it?" "Nothing." "Very well. I merely thought- - " "That it would make me feel better to talk? You think it will make me feel better to tell the world Tess doesn't want to marry me?" "Oh, Lance! I'm sorry. But telling me isn't telling the world. You might feel better talking it over with a sympathetic friend." "Or I might cry...." He gave her a bitter smile. "All I have to say is, if she's holding out for my brother she's wasting her time." Polly's heart thumped. "Why?" It hadn't appeared to her that Tess was attempting to charm Gregory. If she did make the attempt.... All Polly's former fears came flooding back. If Tess decided she wanted Gregory, in her graceful straightforward way she would tell him so. He would probably swoon with delight. The two of them, she thought enviously, could spend the rest of their lives bird-watching on Kittiwake, She was silent, trying to master her flaming jealousy. She realized Lance was answering her question. "If Greg marries anyone, it'll be Alexandra. He pretends to ignore her because he's paying her back for marrying Alfred. Greg went out with her first. He was pretty disappointed when she left him." Polly was tempted to pry further into their relationship, to find out how much Lance knew, but she rejected the temptation. She wouldn't stoop to prying. Instead she said honestly, "That doesn't mean he's still in love with her." "Do you think he wants Tess?" "How should I know? You're the one who said she's wasting her time!" "I might be wrong," he replied simply. Polly felt out of breath. Lance had led her in a circle! He was charming and likable, but exasperating! She shouldn't blame him. He was hopelessly in love, like herself. Heaven knew she had spent enough hours arguing in circles. So now she was right back where she had been - with two threats, Tess and Alexandra. She wished she'd never begun this conversation. Obviously Lance didn't consider her in the running, or he wouldn't talk this way. She sighed inwardly. The way Gregory behaved sometimes, the way he spoke of finding her irresistible, made her hope a little. Mostly her good sense let her know how foolish such hopes were. Men like Gregory didn't marry girls because they found them irresistible. They married girls who could meet their friends as social equals, who had been abroad to the correct places and could talk about sailing and mutual acquaintances. A man of Gregory's status wouldn't let himself fall in love with a waif still studying to earn her living, no matter how much she might excite him. At least, not a man of Gregory's character. Besides, she remembered, he was determined not to get caught. Now she, too, was arguing in a circle, but she couldn't stop herself. Of course Tess would prefer Gregory! And why shouldn't Alexandra make a push to correct her original mistake? Gregory was the answer to any girl's wish. He had enough of an unpredictable temper to create fireworks now and then, but mostly he was amiable and happily absorbed in his work. Not to mention his adorable smile and the way his eyes softened when he was pleased. However, she had better put her own feelings aside and seek to comfort Lance. "What exactly did Tess say?" "She said she wasn't ready to get married." "But that doesn't mean..." Polly hesitated.

"When Gregory asks her she'll be ready." "You don't know that. She may want to finish getting her degree." "I wouldn't stop her. She wouldn't even say she loved me." "Perhaps she wants more time." "Why?" Lance demanded. "Some people do. Not everyone's a head-over-heels romantic like you and me." Polly knew her words were a mistake the moment they left her mouth. He took his eyes from the road to give her an attentive look. "Am I a romantic? I never thought of myself that way. However, Tess is a scientist, and she's certainly as cool as the proverbial cucumber. Perhaps she does want to think things over." "It's a strong possibility," Polly said encouragingly. "And you?" He glanced sidewise. "On whom is your romantic heart set?" Polly had gathered her wits and was ready for the question. At all costs he mustn't think it was Gregory. With her fingers crossed she said, "James Jamison, who doesn't know I exist." She wanted to laugh, but managed a hopeless sigh instead. "Poor Polly. I couldn't honestly encourage you. All Jamison thinks about is puffins." "Your brother's not much different." "No, he thinks about women. He draws up good points and bad points like he was making an investment, and then decides not to invest." "I'm not going to break my heart," she said lightly. "I'll be leaving after this weekend." "Gregory told me. He seemed to think I might coax you to stay." Polly said gloomily, "Not very perceptive, is he?" "Not about women." That ended their conversation. Lance was glumly thinking over his new insight, and Polly was too put out with Gregory to speak. How could he be so blind? He was unable to see that Lance was in love with Tess and that Polly wouldn't stay a minute for all Lance's asking. She watched the road and tried not to think at all. Lance swung the car off the A-l, announcing the time to be two-thirty. At least she could feel relieved. Another ten miles would see them at the quay. She was still watching the road when they rounded a sharp bend to find two cars drawn up on opposite sides of the road. The motorists were gathered around something on the asphalt. "Someone's hurt!" Polly exclaimed. Lance got out to investigate. In a moment he returned. "It's a greylag goose! Don't ask me what it's doing here in summer. Must have wandered away from a private aviary. It's stunned, and I think its wing is broken. It collided with the Austin. The driver says the goose flew up from the side of the road. Come on, I need help." He took a blanket from the trunk. Polly slipped out the passenger side, waded through a brushy ditch and hurried to catch up. "What are you going to do?" she asked breathlessly. "Take it to a vet. These fools act like they never saw a goose before." "Do you know where a vet is?" "In one of the villages on the moor. Someone's writing down directions." "That's miles away!" "We've got time if we hurry. Just let me get the bird...." He made his way through the gathering, tossed a blanket over the goose and scooped it up. A man handed Polly a piece of paper and began explaining what he had written. Lance was striding to the car. Polly hastily thanked the man and hurried after Lance. "Be ready to close the trunk," he directed, "as soon as I lay it down. There! It can't struggle too much in that space, and the darkness should calm it down. Get in the car." "Shouldn't we go to Birdsea first and leave a message?" Polly urged. "I tell you we won't be late." Lance swung the car around as he spoke. Polly knew it was useless to continue protesting, but her remembered

promise to Gregory made her try. "Lance, we can't go off like this! Maybe Gregory could fix its wing - or Tess, or James." "They don't have that kind of experience." "Maybe one of the guests - " Lance snorted. "They didn't get that rich by being veterinarians." "We should have driven into Birdsea and left a message," she repeated pointlessly as they crossed the A-l and headed into the hills. "If we'd stopped to do that, we would be late. This way we'll make it. We'll hand over the bird, promise to pay and split." "What if he's not there?" Lance was silent. "Perhaps you'll be lucky," Polly said philosophically. Lance was lucky. The veterinarian was in, his waiting room miraculously empty. Leaving Polly to explain, Lance went to fetch the goose. He held it on the examining table while the vet gave it a tranquilizing shot. Polly made agitated trips to the waiting-room clock. "Lance," she urged, "we have to go!" The vet looked up. "Don't you want the bird?" "We were hoping you'd keep it," Lance said uncomfortably. "We're due in Birdsea at three-thirty." "You'll never make it if you want this wing splinted. My assistant's not here, so I'll need your help. Then you'll have to take it along. I'm about to leave on holiday." He looked from one to the other, "Unless you want me to wring its neck." He poked the plump breast. "Seems in prime condition. Ever eaten roast goose?" "We'll wait!" Polly exclaimed. "Lance, while you help, I'll telephone the pub and leave a message. If we aren't there, Gregory will know something important held us up, won't he?" Lance looked up from the table with a wicked grin. "I hope so." She dialed and redialed, getting nothing but busy signals. "Talking that long on a business phone!" she stormed. Meanwhile, working with precision the vet splinted and bandaged the broken wing. He produced a cardboard box lined with straw to serve as a traveling case. Lance gladly paid the small fee. They packed the box into the narrow back seat, covered it with the blanket and sped away. "Don't worry," Lance soothed. "Gregory won't be angry when he knows what held us up." She repeated Lance's assurances to herself as they sped toward the coast. It was four o'clock when they pulled alongside the quay. The gray>waters were empty. "We blew it," Lance said. "What will he do?" "Send someone eventually. Meanwhile I'm ready for a drink. Are you?" "Shouldn't we wait here?" "They won't come now till after the pelagic trip. After dark...ten o'clock maybe. I'll leave the car here. Angus will know we're at the pub." "What about the goose?" "It will sleep as long as it's covered." "Ohhh!" Polly wailed. "I know he'll blame me. But what else could we do?" "Why should he blame you?" "He always does." "Perhaps he'll think we've run away together," Lance offered with more cheer than he'd shown all day. Polly's heart sank. That was just what Gregory would think, she told herself as Lance locked the car and they walked to the pub. He'd think that she and Lance were enjoying themselves too much to remember the time. She wondered again how Lance ever managed a tour when he was so irresponsible. She supposed his clients must realize he wouldn't notice if they lagged behind and

got lost, so they were careful not to do so. "Angus may have left us a message," Lance suggested I but the barmaid said he hadn't been in. Lance led Polly to a corner table and ordered sherry for her and beer for himself. "We can't sit here drinking until ten o'clock," Polly objected. "We'll go for a walk, come back and have dinner. They do a fairly good steak-and-kidney. After that we can play darts." It was horrible, idling away the hours while Gregory's temper no doubt mounted as he tried to guess what kept them. If Tess cared about Lance, she'd be seething, too. Heaven knew they had a good excuse. But meanwhile.... Polly could almost feel the angry vibrations. It was ten o'clock when Angus, grouchy at being kept from his bed, came to fetch them. Lance subsided again into gloom, and Polly could feel nothing but guilt. One greylag goose was important to her, but how would Gregory feel about it? His counts of various species ran into the high thousands. Certainly greylag geese were not as rare as influential sponsors. She drank a cup of Angus's tea and brooded. As the boat chugged across the dark water, her pleasure in her new dress was all but forgotten. They arrived and tied up. Angus announced he had an empty chicken coop in which to pen the goose. Wearily they climbed the steps. Balancing the boxed bird on his shoulder, Lance turned off on the path to the croft with Angus. Polly was left to creep into the tower alone. The high windows of the dining room were blazing with light. Good, that must mean the party was at supper. She would be able to slip up to her room. She would meet the guests tomorrow morning. She and Lance had the goose, thank heaven, as proof of what had delayed them. She felt pleased to be back on Kitti-wake and no harm done. Looking ahead, she saw someone on the terrace, sitting on the parapet. The three-quarter moon silvered neatly combed hair and a dinner jacket. Gregory! Why wasn't he inside entertaining his guests? He was angry; she could tell by the rigid set of his shoulders against the moonlit sky. Her heart lurched. She put one foot on the terrace and froze, unable to take another step. As he slid off the stone wall and came toward her, she knew an absurd wish to run. Why hadn't she gone with Lance and Angus? She must have been mad to risk facing Gregory alone. At last he spoke. His voice was icy. "You couldn't do the one thing I asked." Polly shivered as though confronting a cold shower. He hadn't been concerned or worried. He hadn't even given them the benefit of the doubt, hadn't even asked what had happened. He was so sure they - correction, she had deliberately flouted his wishes. Her trepidation at finding him waiting for her turned to slow-burning anger. At his question the anger flared. "No, I couldn't!" she flashed. "How do you know we weren't in a collision? Or hurt? If we didn't make the boat, you should have known we had a good reason. But, no! You don't trust me. Ail you think about are your precious plans for a bunch of birds! They don*t even know you exist!" She brushed past him, crossed the flagstones at a run and stormed into the tower. Panting up the stairs to her room she realized ruefully that by going with Angus, Lance had left her to explain. From the terrace Gregory must have seen the two men turn off down the track toward the croft. He should have guessed that something unusual had happened. How he must dislike her, always thinking the worst as he did! She made up her mind to leave as soon as she could. Instead of undressing, she began furiously to pack. After the way she'd spoken, he might ask her to go. She was not surprised when the knock came. She had almost finished throwing things into her suitcase. "Who is it?" she asked levelly.

"Gregory. May I come in?" "What do you want?" "I've come to apologize. Polly - " He looked surprised when she promptly flung open the door. He stepped in and saw the suitcase on the bed. "Oh, now...." He took the door from her hand and gently closed it. "Lance told me what made you late." "You didn't trust us," she repeated. "An apology can't mend that." "I know I can't trust Lance." A smile crinkled his eyes, then his face became serious. "I was wrong to put you in charge when you weren't the driver. What can I say? I was wrong." He reached for her. She stepped back, and he dropped his hands with a gesture of resignation. "I don't know why, but I assumed you missed the boat because you and Lance were having such a good time." Her anger at his unfairness overwhelmed her determination not to wrangle. "How could you hold me responsible when Lance was driving? I think I'd better leave tomorrow. Then you can stop assuming the worst." "You can't leave now. I'm counting on you. Lance told me you bought a dress." At the thought of how happy she'd been to find the dress, and how it set off the blue pendant, tears filled Polly's eyes. As soon as Gregory saw them, his face softened. "My darling girl! What a browbeater you make me! Don't let me make you cry...." If I had any choice in the matter, I wouldn 't, she wanted to scream at him. I wouldn't let you affect me at all! Again he reached for her. She moved quickly, intending to put the bed between them, but his scowl froze her. "Stop running away!" he growled. "You act as though I mistreat you." Of their own accord her legs obeyed him. The next instant his hands grasped her and held her at arm's length. Frowningly he studied her face. "In this light you look nearly as young as Robbie. Thank you for being so tenderhearted...." "About the goose," he added in response to her puzzled look. "It was Lance," Polly faltered. "I'm sure his feelings on the matter matched your own. Oh, my dear, I know I'm an impatient beast with a one-track mind, but, oh, I wish you could put up with me. Polly...?" He had pulled her against his chest. One long-fingered hand began to trace her spine in a way that sent shivers all the way to her toes. His touch set up a clamor in her blood that seemed to center in a part of her body she didn't want to think about. His hands, exploring the curves and valleys of her flesh, were making her feel things it wasn't safe to feel. She raised her face for his kiss, enjoying for a delicious instant the cool starched touch of his shirt collar against her chin. Gone was the faint tang of salt spray that nearly always surrounded him from his hours on the cliffs. A heady after-shave cologne, no doubt expensive, had replaced it. She longed for him to kiss her, to go on kissing her for hours. Instead he was staring over her shoulder. "Polly.... Could you?" Reluctantly she drew her attention away from the new sensations his fingers were awakening. What was he asking? Such a strange question could mean anything. "Could I what?" He took his eyes from the far wall and glanced down at her. Almost shyly he studied her face. His gaze moved over her features like a caress. She met his eyes, saw herself reflected there. Tonight the irises were light blue and unfathomable. He seemed so remote, yet here she was being taken in his arms and her heart thumped at the thrill of it. His glance went to her lips. She let herself study his, on a level with her eyes. His rnasculine mouth was beautifully formed. In a moment those lips would touch hers and heaven would

open. She could almost feel sorry for the people downstairs, who couldn't share him. Instead of kissing her, he let her go. She reeled, and would have lost her balance but for the solidity of the bed against her legs. "I said, could you put up with me?" he rasped. Still not sure of his meaning, she stalled for time. "I have been putting up with you. Lance said you wouldn't be angry when you knew what held us up." The instant the words left her tongue she knew she had been stupid to mention Lance. But what did Gregory mean? Did he want her to stay on here? He was frowning again. His eyes became piercing. "Stop pretending you don't know what I mean!" he thundered. He dropped his hands from her shoulders and stalked to the window, staring into the darkness for a moment before turning back to the room. With cold determination, as though to change the subject, he asked, "What did you and Lance talk about all day?" "Nothing! I - I mean, everything!" She laughed nervously. "Why?" Had Lance chosen this evening to tell Gregory about the tapestries... about her complicity? Surely not! Hot color flooded her cheeks, advertising her nagging guilt. "It must have been pretty interesting, to make you blush like that." His handsome mouth had hardened, the mobile lips thinned. "Look," Polly said curtly. "I don't know what you're talking about, and I'm too tired to puzzle it out. You came to apologize and I've accepted your apology. Now if you don't mind---" Instead of leaving, Gregory took another turn around the room. "I asked you an important question, and I guess that's my answer, right? You're looking forward to your career and you're good at it." He moved to the door. "Gregory, I..." Polly put out a hand to stop him. Her heart was thudding so heavily she could scarcely think, but he mustn't go like this. She had to say something. He mustn't leave, thinking she cared nothing for him, even if she could never tell him she did care. "I never figured out the question," she said wistfully. They stared at one another, Gregory so handsome and distant in his dinner clothes that Polly's breath caught. Voices and laughter echoed in the corridor below. The guests were leaving the dining room. The sounds recalled him to a sense of his duties. Heavily he said, "I can't explain now. I must get back to the guests. I've been away too long as it is. Get some rest. We'll talk in the morning." He left the room without a backward glance, and she heard him hurrying down the stairs. Polly dropped wearily onto the bed. She couldn't go, and she couldn't bear to stay. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

POLLY LAY AWAKE for a long time pondering the scene with Gregory, going over and over his words as she tried to extract some meaning from his behavior. Could she put up with him? By the intensity with which he had asked it, he had obviously meant more than the words conveyed. Hadn't she been putting up with him all along, difficult though he was? Did he... could he have meant... live with him? Marry him? He'd have to be more explicit, she thought grimly. But somehow she knew he wasn't asking about marriage. A man who had marriage in mind said so - at least according to all the romances Polly had read. Her face grew hot with shame at the way she had received his question. Wasn't that exactly what she had always feared - that she would behave inanely in his presence? She'd always known it would take only an unexpected word or look from Gregory to put her in a dither, to make her replies sound silly. He was right about one thing: the day had been a long one, and fraught with emotion. She was awakened before daylight by the sound of the birding people going

downstairs. She lay in bed deciding to let bygones be bygones. Gregory had admitted he should not have scolded her about the goose. How could she stay angry in the face of his apology? If his question about if she could stand him had been meant as a proposal that they live together, he had provided his own answer. He believed she was looking forward to London, school, her career. Neither of them had said anything that need embarrass them today. She sprang from bed almost cheerfully. Despite yesterday's upset, her relationship with Gregory was unchanged. She dressed and hurried down to the kitchen to help Mrs. Angus. By the time the guests came trooping in to breakfast, the food was on the sideboard and Polly was standing at the dining-room door to welcome them. They had been out on the cliffs before sunrise, and they came in red-faced from the damp wind and smelling of salt air. The men were gray-haired and balding, the women almost frumpy in their outdoor gear, but all of them were good-natured, even jolly. Gregory, too, was red-cheeked and bright-eyed. He introduced Polly and she understood a little better his fury last night. Detailing the reason for her absence made too much of it. On the other hand her unexpected appearance called for some explanation. However, the ice was broken when the guests quickly made plans to go and look at the goose after breakfast. There were four women and five men. Try as she would, all the names blurred in Polly's mind except one: Prince Victor Montagnardi. Anyone in the design and decorating field knew that name. When Gregory made the introduction, Polly was nearly speechless with astonishment. Why hadn't Gregory told her? Was it possible he didn't know Montagnardi was a famous designer? Polly was surprised that the prince made birdwatching a hobby, but of course there was no reason why he shouldn't. Tess, Lance and James came in from their early-morning posts, and conversation was brisk across the bowls of steaming porridge. Gregory took his seat at the head of the board. Polly watched in fascination as he laughed and chatted. Greatly at ease, he was in no need of a hostess. He only needed someone in the background to make domestic arrangements run smoothly. No one lingered. As soon as breakfast was over they went out again, laden with telescopes. Alexandra appeared only after they had gone. Mercifully she had decided her role should be that of young widow mothering her child, which left Polly free to work wherever she was needed. In the afternoon Polly and Angus rearranged the hall furniture in readiness for the dance, and made the common room into a place where the musicians could retire. Around midafternoon rain began to drift down. A hardly noticeable soft spring mist, it didn't send the party inside until their field glasses began to get too wet to use. Alexandra and Robbie were playing backgammon in the hall. Gregory set up a telescope in one of the windows of the empty room next to his, but the guests soon disappeared into their own rooms for naps. "Bird-watchers must be the most single-minded creatures in the world," Alexandra muttered darkly. Polly was quite ready to agree. "Do you think they'll dance?" she questioned. Alexandra shrugged. "Perhaps - if it's too dark to see birds. I suppose Gregory knows what he's doing," she added grudgingly. Polly made a final check of the hall to make sure that all the arrangements for the dance had been accomplished, after which she intended to disappear into her room to snatch half an hour's rest. She stepped into the corridor to find Gregory and Prince Montagnardi strolling toward her. The prince was in his sixties - tall, erect, his hair and mustache shiny black. His bright eyes missed nothing. In his charmingly accented voice he was saying, "I must congratulate you, Godwin, on your peel tower." "Thank you, Prince Victor."

Catching sight of Polly, they paused and smiled but continued their chat. "I suppose the furniture came with the building," the prince said. "The oak, yes." "But not the rest," Montagnardi stated. "The rooms have been put together with great taste - the right combination of old and new that's difficult to do." Gregory bowed. "Thank you. I appreciate the compliment, particularly from you. So does my decorator, I'm sure. Miss Drake...." He extended his arm as though to bring her closer, and she moved toward him. "Miss Drake, you'll like to hear what Prince Montagnardi has been saying. He thinks the rooms have been done with the right combination of old and new---Do I have that correct, Prince Victor?" "You do." He bowed to Polly. "Is this young lady your decorator?" He looked from Gregory to Polly as though he suspected romance. "Not only my decorator. She has kindly agreed to act as hostess this weekend." The prince's eyes sparkled. "Perhaps she would be kind enough to show me what she has accomplished. I should like to see all the rooms. All those not occupied, of course." "Polly - " Gregory's cocked eyebrow conveyed slightly frantic appeal. "I'd be very pleased to, sir." Polly heard herself answer solemnly. She looked to Gregory for reassurance, but he was looking merely relieved. He was probably laughing up his sleeve, anyway, thinking her bowled over by royalty. It wasn't the fact that Montagnardi was a prince; it was his reputation. She would be showing her first attempt at decorating to a master. "Would you like to look around now?" she asked, gathering courage. She knew she had done a good job. "Excuse me, Prince Victor, Polly...." Gregory's face was a polite mask. "I have something to attend to." The prince inclined his head. "By all means. This young lady and I will find plenty to talk about." He smiled at Polly in a way that was at once fatherly and faintly rakish. "We shall spend a very pleasant afternoon, despite the rain." Gregory looked suddenly annoyed, but the prince was waiting for Polly to lead the way and she turned toward the stairs. As they climbed, he asked, "Where did you study decorating?" Polly told him the name of her school, expecting the discussion to end there, but the prince wanted to know what she had been doing since she'd left. She explained how she had taught at the Mansard School to earn the institute fees, and how that had led to Kittiwake Island. "I expect to return to London in a day or so and look for a job," she ended. "In the autumn I'll start my last year at the institute." "What a very decided young lady!" the prince exclaimed. "That is good. A decorator must not shillyshally. He or she must say, 'This goes here, that goes there,' and mean it." "I'll remember that," Polly promised. Montagnardi praised the way she had made the bedrooms individual and colorful while still retaining the seventeenth-century flavor. He pronounced Gregory's bed magnificent. Shyness prevented Polly from asking whether he meant the bed itself and its carving, or whether he was including the bedspread and hangings. By the time they arrived back at the hall she was more at ease. She hesitated only a moment before asking him what he thought of the pink velvet curtains. "A daring treatment," he stated. "It works. You have in part the paintings to thank, but no doubt that is why you chose the color." Polly shook her head. "I had not then been told they existed." The prince smiled his admiration. "You have the kind of luck decorators pray for. I hope it will happen to you again and again." His gaze became abstract. When he looked at her again, his eyes held a bright, almost

mischievous look. "Tell me, why is your employer storing what appears to be a roll of tapestries in an abandoned building?" Polly felt the blood leave her face. Her forehead grew clammy. "You didn't ask him?" she gasped. The prince smiled expansively. "No-o-o. I am never as direct as that." Polly felt limp with relief, though she couldn't have explained why. Perhaps it was not totally honest, but she couldn't help thinking that it might be a good thing for Gregory to find out about those tapestries in a way that didn't involve her. But how had the prince found them? These guests were supposed to be looking for birds, not snooping through old crofts! How many people had been with him? Who else knew? As though reading her mind he said simply, "I was interested in seeing how the peasants once lived here." "Oh," Polly gulped, trying desperately to gather her scattered wits. "He Gregory - doesn't know." "I see." The prince kept his bright eyes fastened on hers, waiting for her to explain. She began to understand something of princely power. His suave unquestionable self-confidence made her feel like a lowly subject before majesty. "It's - it's not my secret," she stammered. "Am I right? They are tapestries?" Polly could only nod. "If Mr. Gregory does not know about them, whose are they, may I ask?" May I ask? He was asking, she thought resentfully, without anybody's by-your-leave. "They belong to Gregory's brother, Lance, and a friend of his," she muttered. "They brought them from Holland. No one here is supposed to know." "But he has told you. What is the word - embroiled?" Polly bobbed her head. The word fitted exactly. The prince looked worldly-wise. "Ah! That is the kind of problem we decorators occasionally face." He discarded the princely air and became again the master designer of wide experience. Polly gave him a wide-eyed look. "Ah, yes! You do not understand what I am talking about, but I will tell you. Let us sit over there on that comfortable couch." Polly sat primly at one end. The prince established himself at his ease in the opposite corner and crossed his legs. One arm rested along the back. "You see," he began, "when a decorator is called in to refurbish a mansion, it is often filled with fine antiques and paintings, no?" His eyes fixed her so hypnotically that she almost repeated his "no." She caught the word back. "Yes," she agreed. Would her career ever rise to such'a height? "So the decorator must be very careful. What must he do if he recognizes a painting, or a piece of furniture, let us say, that is known to be missing from somewhere else?" "Wh-what do you mean?" Polly's eyes grew round. She thought she understood what he meant, but surely she was mistaken. "Let us say, the not-so-honest owner has died, and his heirs - totally innocent - have inherited a stolen object. Should he warn the present owner who might, incidentally already he know of the dishonesty of his ancestor? Should the heir be told of the doubtful background - the provenance, as we say - of his possession?" "I don't know," Polly whispered. Guilt lay coiled in her breast like a serpent. "Well, I will tell you of a Matisse. First of all, you understand that a decorator who keeps silent risks the loss of his reputation if the dishonesty is discovered. People who own stolen paintings should not employ decorators to hang them, eh? Well, a friend of mine came across this painting by Matisse in the country house of a fine old family. When he returned to London he made discreet inquiries. Matisse had painted only one such picture. It had

disappeared many years ago at the time of the German Occupation, I think." Polly licked dry lips. "What did your friend do?" she asked. What, she wondered sickly, should she do? "He took his courage in his hands and confronted the owner of the country house. After he had collected his fee." The prince's mustache quirked. "What happened?" "The gentleman was sad to lose his painting, but it was not really his, after all. My friend acquired a great reputation as a specialist on Matisse." He looked expectantly at Polly. She knew he wanted her to tell him all she knew about the tapestries, but again she felt like a very lowly peasant. He was waiting, so she spoke as if mesmerized, relieved to pass her problem on to this higher authority, this man who was master designer-decorator and who carried the aura of royal protection. Low-voiced she said, "Lance Godwin brought them from Holland by sailboat. He needed me to help find a safe place for them, but he won't tell his brother." The prince appeared thoughtful. After a pause he asked, "Do you know what their subjects are, or when they were woven?" "No. I tried not to know anything about them." The prince sighed. "Very few fine tapestries come on the market. I should like to see them. If they are honestly obtained, I think your employer owes me an option to buy them. I have been the one to push the directors to give him the grant." Polly nearly choked. Those tapestries were going to get everyone in trouble. The prince smiled at her expression. "Don't worry, I will not mention them to Godwin. A bird-watcher is supposed to watch birds, no? But you could perhaps say . to young Lance that I am interested. After I leave." He shook his head gloomily. "It is a bad sign that he does not want to tell his brother. You will+ie leaving soon, will you not? Then you may send Gregory Godwin a letter, telling him about the tapestries and my interest. Then your conscience will be clear." Not exactly, Polly thought. The prince might be royalty but apparently he didn't understand about fair play. One either faced a problem directly or minded one's business. "Thank you," she said, getting to her feet, determined to take the latter course. "You have been most helpful with my problem - " she nodded " - and I'm happy you like what I've done to the tower." Suddenly it occurred to her that it probably wasn't proper etiquette to walk away from a prince, but Victor Montagnardi was on his feet, bowing. "Thank you, Miss Polly, for sparing me a little of your busy day. Perhaps we will speak again later." She flitted away. The prince sank back onto the couch. His face was thoughtful. Two hours later, looking at herself full length in the pier glass at the end of the passage, Polly let her spirits soar. Her hair, washed and dried, waved thick and glinting about her shoulders. Her blue eyes sparkled with anticipation, her lips quirked in a smile. The blue pendant blazed against the white dress like a pledge of love. If only it were! However, she didn't intend to let hopeless wishes spoil the evening. The girl in the mirror received a level, admonishing look. Polly turned at the sound of footsteps. Gregory! The sight of him made her breath catch. In a white shirt and black dinner jacket he was handsome! He was exceedingly good-looking in anything he chose to wear, but the dark jacket emphasized the Viking blond-ness of his hair, and the white shirt brought out the healthy tan glow of his skin. She hadn't been alone with him since their strange quarrel last nig'ht. Would he bring it up? "Polly...." "Yes?" She looked at him over her shoulder. Perhaps she had overlooked something about the arrangements.

"Against that arched window you look like someone in a painting." And you are the embodiment of Prince Charming, she thought. At the moment, she added with an inward giggle, remembering how often the sight of her seemed to make him lose his temper. "Thank you," she whispered, relieved that his mood appeared benevolent. "Is that the pendant from the fair?" She nodded, asking boldly, "Doesn't it go well with this dress?" "Very well, but you deserve better." He was looking her over in a way she couldn't interpret. "I'd like to see diamonds in your hair." "So would I!" she responded with a laugh. "What girl wouldn't?" "Most, I suppose. Diamonds don't become everyone." He turned toward the stairs. "Shall we go down?" She went before him down the winding staircase, thinking of all the rich women he must know. "It takes someone soft and gentle and dark-haired to wear diamonds well," he continued. "They're too hard and glittering for most women." Mischievously she said, "Next time I come I'll bring the family jewels." His mutter sounded oddly like, "Maybe you'll have the family jewels." Before Polly could sort meaning from his words she heard Robbie calling her. She paused and looked up. He was standing on the top step in his pajamas, still wearing one boot. "Polly, I can't untie my shoelace." Gregory grunted in make-believe annoyance. "I've begun to understand what life was like in a medieval castle. No privacy unless a man took his lady out riding. Go fix his shoe," he added as she gave him a look of surprise. "Come down as soon as you can." She went up to Robbie with a feeling of relief. Being alone with Gregory was too intoxicating. She was always afraid of stammering, and now she shrank from the thought that he might again bring up his proposition of last night, making it all too clear that he wanted her to live with him. "Someone to cozy up his castle-----" Tess already might have made it plain that she wasn't available. Then, too, Polly's guilty knowledge of the tapestries weighed heavily. To herself she had repeatedly used the excuse that she hadn't had the opportunity to tell him. Alone with him, the opportunity might arise. Yet as soon as he left her side she felt bereft. The guests had assembled in the hall. Polly was amazed to see the dowdy windblown women transformed into well-groomed ladies in dinner dresses. The weathered faces of the men looked richly healthy above white shirts and magnificently tailored evening clothes. The tower had taken on the air of a wealthy man's residence, which of course it was. The guests all seemed to be acquainted. Over sherry and whiskey they talked about birding clubs and expeditions. Polly was sipping sherry and listening to two of the women recalling the horrid accommodations during a trip to the Hebrides when Prince Montagnardi came in. When he was dressed in evening clothes his nobility was evident, Polly thought. He wore them with such grace. Gregory was standing beside the fireplace, and the famous designer went to stand beside him. "I must again congratulate you, Godwin," the prince said, and the other guests made little murmurs of agreement. Montagnardi beamed. "Your island not only has birds, it has beautiful women. Do you know it?" He glanced across the room toward Tess, who was looking terribly chic in her green trouser suit and some lavish gold chains. "Quite." Gregory smiled. The prince beckoned to Polly, but no sooner had she joined the two men than Gregory said, "Excuse me, please. I hear the musicians arriving." He set his glass on the mantelshelf and disappeared into the corridor. Polly was left to entertain the prince. For a moment he was silent, staring abstractedly at one of the high windows as though listening for the cries of nocturnal birds. Suddenly he looked down at Polly.

"I have been thinking what kind of position my firm could offer you," he said. "We are always able to use young persons with talent. I could offer you an apprenticeship that would leave you free hours to finish school. How does that sound to you?" It was an extraordinary offer, one that took Polly's breath away. Before she could recover, Alexandra materialized beside the prince. Her gown was a drift of deep purple gauze falling in gathers from a low round neckline, and she was wearing the ruby necklace. The red stones and the gold links lay against her white skin, and her auburn hair glowed daringly. The combination of colors was dramatic. "Polly, you've monopolized Prince Montagnardi long enough," Alexandra chided playfully. "Victor, darling, you promised to tell me what you think of the refectory table I found in York." She slipped her arm through his and he smiled fondly down at her. She was from his world, after all, Polly managed to reflect. Before allowing himself to be borne away, he turned back to Polly. "Please think about what I have said, Miss Drake. We will talk again before I leave, yes?" "Yes," Polly agreed numbly. His offer exceeded her wildest dreams. To say one worked with Montagnardi was to say one was a success. Before she came to Kittiwake - before she met Gregory - such an offer as Prince Montagnardi's would have made her deliriously happy. Now she saw it as the future forcing itself upon her. Leaving Kittiwake was a grim reality. She was staring bleakly at that probable future when Gregory spoke in her ear. "You look unhappy. Surely the prince didn't say anything...?" Polly managed a wavery smile. "He offered me an apprenticeship." "Oh?" Gregory sounded as enthusiastic as if she'd been offered a dead fish. "You don't seem pleased." "I am!" she affirmed. "Won't you miss Kittiwake?" His voice was suddenly sardonic. His gray eyes when she met his glance were impersonal. "Who wouldn't miss it?" She kept her voice light. He mustn't glimpse her irrational feeling that she belonged here. He looked thoughtful. "I suppose decorators become attached to the places they decorate." His words were like a cold shower. Of course! She wouldn't even be here if it weren't for her job as decorator and baby-sitter. "That's right," she said evenly. "What other reason would there be? I'm not a bird." "I'm not a bird, either," he gritted. "But I have to confess I'm attached to the island." "You own it; that's different." "Do you have to own something in order to love it, Miss Drake?" Gregory looked disdainful. Angus rang the gong. The others began filing out of the hall toward the dining room. "No!" she exclaimed, and turned her back on him, hoping he'd walk away from her rudeness and go in to dinner. Must he always take her words and warp them into something unrecognizable? "Polly!" She felt his hands on her shoulders. "You said you'd miss Kittiwake. Did you mean it?" His voice was soft, almpst seductive. The pressure of her love was more than she could bear. She turned on him in a temper. "Of course I'll miss it! Do you think you have to be rich in order to be sensitive to nature? Or that one can't be awed by a bird unless one knows its name and breeding habits? I'll be sorry to leave! Are you satisfied?" She swept past him and into the corridor. On impulse she turned toward the kitchen, where she pretended to be looking for another serving spoon until the blood stopped singing in her ears and she could join the lingerers at the

dining-room sideboard. During dinner the man on her right droned on about sparrows. The man on her left had nothing to say at all. At the end of the table Gregory was charming and chatty. Just to look at him made her heart ache. Afterward he invited everyone back to the hall. Polly seized the opportunity to run upstairs and check on Robbie. By the time she returned the party was going well. The trio of musicians had set up at the far end of the room, leaving the center clear. Outside darkness was gathering. The hall in its new guise looked like an exclusive club, which it was - a club for birders. Three couples were dancing - Lance with one of the ladies, Tess with one of the men, Alexandra with the prince. Robbie had seemed feverish; ought she to tell his mother? Gregory was standing with his shoulders propped against the mantelshelf, his eyes on the dancers. Polly had no more than time to look around, to assure herself that all was going according to plan, when he made his way to her. "Would you care to dance?" She looked at him in surprise. "Shouldn't you dance with the guests?" "The first dance is for the host and hostess." Polly had never heard of such a rule, but Gregory didn't look as if he would be denied. He took her elbow in a viselike grip and steered her onto the floor as the music broke into a waltz. His arm went around her waist, and he swung her effortlessly into gliding steps that made her feel as if she weighed nothing. He held her so closely that she could feel his heart pounding. Unaccountably her mood changed. She felt suddenly carefree, as carefree as the butterfly swoops of the dance. Glancing up, she could see only the hard line of his jaw. This is the most beautiful moment of my life, she told herself as they floated about the room. She caught glimpses of the prince and Alexandra, spinning around on the far side of the circle. Other couples had dropped out to give them room. The music came to an end, despite Polly's wish that it would never do so. For a second Gregory continued to hold her. He was looking down at her, waiting for her to say something, but she dared not raise her eyes for him to read. A spatter of applause made him let go of her. The prince was bowing to Alexandra, then to the rest of the party. Alexandra curtsied. Gregory merely propelled Polly off the floor. "I have to talk to you," he muttered. "Obviously I can't do it now, but don't take up the prince's offer yet, will you?" "I have to tell him something." "Tell him you're thinking it over." . Impossible, of course, to say any such thing to the prince, but just then she would have said yes to whatever Gregory asked. To have her hand held in his, to be guided this way with his arm around her, to have his whole attention in public was so fulfilling that she thought she would sail for days on the flood of happiness. He was - oh, he was Gregory, and no other man could hold a candle to him. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

POLLY SAT IN AN AURA of delight, watching the dancers and not even trying to keep her eyes off Gregory. No one would notice, she told herself. If she didn't move her head, but merely let her eyes follow him, no one could tell. Turning his partner to the beat of the music, his eyes met hers. He did not smile, but something in his gaze seemed to reach out and gather her in. After that she was careful not to gaze openly at him, and it seemed to her he no longer looked at her. She danced with Lance and then with the prince, who to her relief did not bring up the subject of her career. One after another the male guests danced with her - even James Jamison.

Just before supper Gregory asked her again, but it was a fast modern tune to which they jigged and gyrated without touching each other. Confidence deserted her the moment she stepped onto the floor. The Mansard School did not encourage its staff to go disco dancing on weekends. She was sure Gregory must be despising her because of the way she danced. He, on the other hand, was exciting to dance with. One moment he moved like a savage chieftain. Firelight on his bare body would have revealed a play of muscle upon muscle. The next moment he looked unbearably sophisticated, his eyes staring trancelike over her shoulder. Her happy heart thudded into her high-heeled sandals. What would he say if he knew the power he had over her emotions? He would feel pity and embarrassment and put her out of his mind. That was why he must never guess how she really felt. The music ended with a crescendo. The musicians stood up and stretched. Gregory glanced briefly at her and swept the hair out of his eyes. "Thank you. It's time to herd our guests in to supper," he said in the voice of a perfect host. She followed, still under his spell. Lance was filling a soup plate with the oyster stew Polly and Mrs. Angus had planned. He beckoned cheerfully. "Polly, this looks delicious! Here, you take it. I'll get another plate. Come sit with Tess and me. We were just saying we've hardly spokento you today." Polly's heart was still in her throat. Why had Gregory gone back to being impersonal? After telling her he had something to say. She had pretty well guessed what it was he wanted to talk to her about. He was going to try to coax her to stay on, perhaps until the others left at the end of July or perhaps until whatever time Alexandra left with Robbie. Gregory wouldn't step so far out of character as to urge her to stay longer than that. He didn't trust himself with women, so he certainly wouldn't chance getting into a long-term affair. He might be unable to extricate himself. She sighed, allowing her glance to touch him for an instant where he stood at the buffet, plate in hand and laughing with two guests. There was no denying that in evening clothes he looked lordly. She would remember him like this: Lord of Kittiwake Island. Yet his expression held poignancy, too - a sweetness that had been trodden on too often by women in stiletto heels. Would he ever believe himself to be loved again? Would he ever love? "Are you all right, Polly?" Lance was asking with an air of concern. "You haven't eaten two bites." "I'm a little worried about Robbie," Polly replied nervously. It was true, she should have been worrying about Robbie instead of concentrating on Gregory. She had let a few moments on a dance floor drive Robbie right out of her mind. He had felt feverish when she had last looked at him. "I'm going up and check on him now," she whispered. "I'll eat when I come back." Lance grasped her arm. "Let Alexandra check. She's his mother." Smiling slightly, Polly slipped from his hold. "I'm the one who worries." She left the room, aware as always of the wrench she felt when leaving a room where Gregory was. She climbed the stairs, at first thinking of Robbie. His forehead had felt too warm, but that might have been because her own hands were icy with nervousness. Soon, however, her thoughts turned to Gregory. He had admired her dress, had said she'd look good in diamonds. She forced a laugh. He had danced with her first, had held her so close they moved like one being, heart beating against heart, and then he had turned cold as only he could. She would never understand him, and she would never forget him. With a sigh she opened the door of Robbie's room. The next moment her mind was swept bare of everything except the child. His skin was hot to her fingers, no imagining it now! He was tossing and turning, and woke immediately at her touch. "Polly," he wailed, "when's my mother coming? She didn't say goodnight." Polly smoothed back the fair hair from his flushed forehead and bent to

kiss his cheek. Tears burned her eyes. She blinked them away. Her heart ached for him. She knew what it was to want someone's love, to be kept at arm's length, dealt with when necessary and then ignored. But Robbie was Alexandra's son; it was she who owed him care and attention. For once she was not going to shrug out of it. If Polly announced in front of everyone that Robbie was sick and wanted his mother, Alexandra would have to go to him. "I'll get her," she promised aloud. "Tell Polly where you hurt, darling. I believe one of those bird-watchers is a doctor. I'll fetch him, too." "I just want mummy. I hurt everywhere!" He had thrashed around until the blankets were sliding off the bed. Polly paused to straighten them before hurrying away. Most of the guests were still in the dining room, but Alexandra was not among them. Neither was Gregory. Polly looked into the hall. The musicians were taking up their instruments, ready to start playing again. Someone had switched off the great chandelier, leaving only wall sconces to light the room. Polly's glance swept the men, not consciously seeking Gregory, but expecting to see Alexandra hobnobbing with one or more of them - talking, laughing, the rubies at her throat throwing red darts of light. Her auburn head should show anywhere. She was not to be seen. Polly was turning away when Lance came from the dining room, a glass in one hand. He, too was looking extremely handsome in evening dress, though not, of course, as heart-stopping as Gregory. He quirked an eyebrow. "You look distraught. Is something wrong?" "I was looking for Alexandra." Polly kept her voice carefully expressionless. "Robbie's sick." Lance looked sympathetic. "Poor little chap! Probably something he ate. At teatime she was feeding him some of the junk reserved for the party." "Junk!" Polly bristled. "You know what I mean. Too rich for the nipper." "I hope you're right. I hope that's all it is." Lance gestured with his chin. "Try the terrace." "The terrace!" Lance flicked a look at Tess before he nodded. Polly was too concerned to notice. She hurried down the stairs, through the archway of the great door and out into the July night. At the sound of her footsteps the couple by the balustrade broke apart. Too late Polly understood why Lance had hesitated. Of course Alexandra had not come outside alone. The man was Gregory. Even by starlight Polly knew the shape of him. She felt herself turning to stone - no pain, just numbness. Her heart seemed to shrivel. Gripping her hands into fists at her sides, she forced her mind to concentrate on why she had come. "Alexandra!" The cool authority in her voice surprised her. Gregory was removing Alexandra's arms from his shoulders, black suiting separating from gauze. Polly was surprised to find her mind dwelling on the way the gauze had the effect of a veil, tantalizing the viewer, hiding Alexandra's curves. It must make a man want to reach for the body beneath, to discover by touch where under the filmy curtain one would find firm flesh. Polly could not bring herself to look at Gregory's face. Alexandra's was a blur as Polly spoke to her, but' Polly's voice was steady. "Robbie has a fever. He's crying for you." "Oh, Polly! He runs a temperature at the least little thing." Gregory gave Alexandra what looked like a reluctant push. "You'd better go to him." "I think you should ask that doctor to look at him, too." Polly's tone was firm. She was determined to make the woman feel some concern. "Dr. Hawthorne?" Alexandra's laugh tinkled. "You ask him." She flounced toward the door. "Gregory," she said over her shoulder, "don't go 'way. I'll be right back." "I will ask the doctor!" Polly cried, ready to hasten after her. "Wait." Gregory put out a hand. Polly eluded it, and would have hurried OH

had he not caught her roughly by the arm. He whirled her around to face him. "Will you listen? Hawthorne's not a medical doctor. He's a geo-physicist!" Polly felt her face grow hot. Blood sang in her ears. It wasn't devastating enough to find Alexandra in Gregory's arms. She had to make a fool of herself, too. "Polly," Gregory urged, "stay a moment. Robbie doesn't need you both. When am I going to get a chance to talk to you?" "Not now! I have to find out what's wrong with him." She allowed herself one look into his concerned face. What a fool he was! Alexandra would hurt him again and again. Couldn't he see that? A dear, sweet fool! He let his hand drop. She picked up her skirts and ran up the stairs. Whatever he had to say could not be anything she wanted to hear. He must have thought up some new assignment for her. Maybe he wanted her to act as hostess at an engagement party. Or a wedding! Who knew? She caught back a sob and forced her mind back to Robbie. What would they do if he was really sick? All these well-educated people, and not one of them knew how to help a little boy! The image of a plump motherly woman rose before Polly's eyes. Mrs. Angus! Of course! Mrs. Angus would know what to do. This time Polly really did sob, in sheer relief. Alexandra met her at the door of Robbie's bedroom, for once looking concerned. "He's so hot!" she exclaimed. "I don't know what he needs! I've always had a nanny before. All he does is cry and say his stomach hurts." Polly stepped into the room. Robbie was wailing fretfully and rolling from side to side, so she sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed his brow. "Your mummy's here, dearest. She's going to stay with you till you feel better." Polly stood up and motioned to Alexandra to take her place. In her jewels and party dress, Alexandra looked more like a fairy godmother than a flesh-and-blood mother of a son. "Sit with him till I get back," Polly whispered. "Try to keep him quiet. I'm going to get Mrs. Angus. She raised two boys out here without a doctor. She'll know what to do. I'll be back as soon as I can." Passing her own room, Polly wondered if she should change her shoes, but there wasn't time. The path was smooth, she remembered. Ought she to ask Lance or James to go? No, that might raise a fuss. Better to slip out quietly and not disrupt the party for what might be nothing more than an upset stomach. Alexandra, she thought wryly, would never forgive her. Polly knew she could never learn to be as cool as these people if she practiced for a hundred years. She paused only to fling her knitted shawl about her shoulders. Her exit was not to go unnoticed. Lance and Tess, deep in conversation, were standing in the corridor outside the hall when Polly came flitting down from the third floor. The two of them looked as though they were arguing. Perhaps Lance, who had another drink in his hand, had tried again to persuade Tess to marry him. Polly would have passed without speaking, but Lance stepped in front of her. "Heading for the terrace?" He put his arm through Tess's. "Come along. I'll serenade both you girls." Tess swept the serious expression from her face with a sudden smile. "I'm going to get Mrs. Angus." In low tones Polly explained her mission. Lance was prompt. "I'll go with you." "Good idea," Tess said approvingly. "You go back and keep the party going," he told her. "Can't have all the pretty young women disappear." "Righto," Tess said, and turned back toward the hall. "What a trump she is!" Lance pronounced as he and Polly sped down the stairs. Crossing the terrace, he slipped his arm about her shoulders, a genuinely brotherly gesture aimed at keeping her from tripping on the flagstones. They were unaware that Gregory, moodily stargazing, saw them go. He stiffened and looked as though he might call after them. Then his shoulders

slumped. He turned back to lean his forearms on the balustrade and look down at the water. Starlight silvered his hair. Polly scurried along the path, with Lance's firm hand beneath her elbow in case the tiny straps of her sandals proved unreliable. She said, "I brought a flashlight, but I don't think we need it." "I say," Lance worried, "children get sick like this all the time, don't they? Isolated as we are, I shouldn't think there would be any germs. The wind always seems so fresh." "I hope you're right." No point in telling him that she feared not germs but appendicitis or a virus. The windows of the croft were dark, making Polly particularly glad that Lance had come. She needed, his backing. Rousing the Moretons from bed was like waking one's grandparents, not something to be done lightly. Apparently unbothered by such doubts, Lance pounded on the door. After a long moment Angus opened it, still hitching his trousers over his nightshirt. Lance explained their errand. When Mrs. Angus was heard to exclakn, "Oh, the poor laddie," Polly listed Robbie's symptoms from the doorstep. "She'll be along," Angus told them. "Let me light the lamp and ye can come in." Lance refused to put him to the trouble. "Party over?" Angus inquired. "Still going." "Is it, indeed?" Angus said politely. "Well, if you won't come in, I'll be getting back to bed. 'Tis drafty standing about." He retreated, leaving the door ajar. Polly was thinking what a relief it was to shift the burden to someone knowledgeable. Aloud she said, "Lance, do you mind waiting alone? I want to get back. Not that I think Alexandra can't cope...." She hesitated, wishing to be tactful, but Lance cheerfully finished the sentence. "It's not that you think she can't cope, you know she can't. Sure, go ahead." "Thanks. Here, Mrs. Angus may want the flashlight." Polly sped up the path, careless of probably ruined nylons. At the terrace she paused to recover her breath. She couldn't go flying through the passage looking like a herald of doom if she wanted this emergency to go unnoticed. She was smoothing her hair when a shadow loomed beside her. She choked back a shriek. "Oh, it's you!" "Where have you been?" Scowling fiercely, Gregory grabbed her by the shoulders, his fingers biting cruelly into her flesh. "Mrs. Angus's," she gasped. "Don't lie! You went off with Lance! I saw you. Why back so soon? Are you playing games with him, too?" "No! You don't understand!" "I understand, all right! Where'd he take you? Couldn't he find some place better than a half-ruined croft?" She took a step backward, inflaming his anger. Savagely he pulled her toward him. The thin high heel of her sandal turned treacherously. She lost her balance and fell against his hard chest, infuriating him further. "Stand up!" he growled. She attempted to do so, her hands gripping his arms. She felt rock-hard biceps beneath the cloth of his coat, and pushed desperately against them. At the same time his hands moved to her elbows, steadying her. He smelled strongly of spirits, causing her breath to catch. She said as vehemently as possible while keeping her voice down, "You must be drunk!" "I don't have to be drunk to see what's before my eyes!" "You're also out of your mind!" Polly jerked her arms from his grasp. She tried to brush past him, but she wasn't quick enough. With an oath he seized her. An arm as tough as an oak limb clamped across her back, yanking her against his body, driving the air from her lungs in one whistling breath.

"That's right - out of my mind and drunk. But not so drunk I don't understand you're passing out your favors, you sneaky little bitch. Now it's my turn!" Before she could breathe again his mouth came over hers in a hard grinding pressure that crushed her lips against her teeth. She moaned in protest, wriggling and twisting her hips in an effort to escape until Gregory's sinewy left hand clenched her buttocks. She recoiled. He felt the movement and pressed her closer. With a gasp she stiffened the muscles of her belly, fighting against the sensation that flooded her. Her struggle tightened hundreds of nerve endings, making the warmth of this closeness even more alarming. Before she could protest again he removed his left hand. He seemed to know he had overpowered her determination to resist. She remained locked against him, delighting in the hard shape of his body despite herself. His hand moved to cup her face. Taking his lips from hers, he growled, "I'll chase you all over this island if I have to." His fingers wonderingly traveled the shape of her jaw, the line of her brow, the rim of her ear. His touch belied the fierceness in his voice. "We have a kiss to finish," he muttered. His mouth covered hers. His tongue seduced her in a secret caress that turned her knees to jelly. Wantonly she responded. The smell of whiskey, the lingering scent of shaving cologne, the racing of her own blood - together these were sapping her strength. The knowledge that he wanted her, on whatever level, gave her such a sense of triumph that she let one delicious moment pass before gathering herself to pull away. Then she moaned in protest and tried to turn her head aside, away from his warm determined lips and his wicked insinuating tongue. She felt besmirched. At the same time she wanted more, wanted the wild moment to go on forever. Feebly she pushed against him. He yielded angrily, moving back a bit but keeping his hands on her shoulders. "There!" he snarled. "Compare that to my brother's kisses! For two pennies I'd drag you down to the boat and show you how I make love, too. Only I mustn't forget the guests, must I?" His voice was vicious. "Tell me - " he gave her a shake that made the pendant bounce on her breast " - what's so damn marvelous about Lance?" At last she found her breath'. "How dare you!" she almost screeched. In an instant his hand covered her mouth. "Shh! Do you want the whole crowd out here?" She fastened her teeth on the thick callused pad of his palm and bit as hard as she dared. He swore and snatched his hand away, letting it fall once more to her shoulder. "You little she-devil! Tell me! What's so marvelous about Lance?" The struggle had shaken loose a lock of his fine hair, which fanned across his brow. He tossed his head, trying to fling the lock out of his eyes without letting go of her. For an instant the rising moon glinted in his eyes. It highlighted the passion-deepened lines of his face. Polly fought back an urge to use her fingertips to smooth them away. Recovering from her moment of softheartedness, she flung at him, "He's a gentleman!" "Then he can't be much of a lover!" Once more Gregory's mouth covered hers, making it unnecessary to reply. She welcomed his kiss, which put an end to their wrangling. The way he was holding her changed. He no longer clutched her as though he were angry and wanted to punish her. Instead his hands moved seductively over herbody. The thin material of her dress might have been nonexistent. Her skin tingled in response to his touch. His kiss grew deeper, sweeter. His arms held her lovingly. Only his ragged breathing betrayed the depth of his passion. Abruptly, like the striking of a match, Polly's quiet submission turned to molten desire. She had told herself that in a moment she would push him away. Instead she became unconscious of everything except his kiss, his arms. She could not bring herself to end the moment.

Then she felt him stiffen. Something - the slight movement of his facial muscles - told her he had opened his eyes and was looking beyond her into the darkness. He took his lips from hers. Involuntarily she drew a sharp breath of disappointment. "Who's coming with a flashlight?" he muttered in a hoarse unnatural voice. She recoiled with a speed that surprised both of them. "It's your brother and Mrs. Angus," she gritted. "Coming to look at Robbie. Now will you let me go?" Her eyes flashed with indignation at the thought of how he had forced himself on her, of what he had made her feel. His arms loosened in sheer surprise, and she flung herself from him with a fury that shocked her, expressing by her actions the passion he had aroused. How dare he treat her like a rag doll, to be hauled this way and that, quarreled over by brothers! She slipped from his grasp and stormed across the terrace. He had the grace not to follow. As she entered the tower, she thought she heard his footsteps on the gravel path. He might have gone to meet Lance and Mrs. Angus. At the top of the stairs Polly came face to face with the prince. "Miss Drake! I was going out to smoke a cigar. Will you not turn back and accompany me? We can talk further about our little plan." "Thank you, sir." She strove to control her breathing, but her breast was rising and falling in a way that drew the prince's gaze. "I'm on my way to deliver a message." "Perhaps when you have done so?" "Yes, sir, I'd be very pleased." She found Alexandra sitting beside the bed, and Robbie dozing. "I was good with him," Alexandra whispered, her tone triumphant. "It's the first time I ever had charge of hirn when he was sick." "Wonderful! Mrs. Angus is coming. With Lance. I'm going to check on the party," she added, keeping her voice bright. "Yes, do." Alexandra ran a hand through her disheveled locks. "If anyone asks for me, tell them I'm looking after my child." Heartsick though she was over Gregory's behavior, Polly's spirits lifted slightly. If Alexandra could change, anything could happen. On the way down she met Lance and Mrs. Angus. Gregory was behind them. "I'm going to see to the guests," she announced. Lance said, "Good girl." Mrs. Angus had no breath for speech. At sight of Gregory's troubled face Polly felt she could forgive him anything, but she steeled herself and pushed past. He made no effort to touch or delay her. She half expected him to turn around and follow her, but he continued on up the stairs. She wondered what his thoughts were now that he knew she had spoken the truth, now that he knew the crazy scene on the terrace had been pointless. In the hall the trio was playing something dreamy. Two couples drifted about the floor. Tess and a male guest were discussing penguins. Everyone seemed tolerably entertained. Polly went decisively down to the terrace. The prince was alone, strolling back and forth along the balustrade. He discerned Polly's white dress against the dark building and came to meet her. They resumed the stroll together. "Have you spoken of my offer to Godwin?" "Shouldn't I have?" Polly countered anxiously. The prince waved his cigar and looked amused. "Why not? To check on my credentials, even." Polly smiled. "As if I'm not familiar with your credentials, sir! I did mention that you'd offered me work." "Ahhh...." The sound was one of satisfaction. "That is why he has given me the cold shoulder." "Oh, no, not that! His nephew - the little boy you saw - has taken ill. We're concerned because there's no doctor we can call. But our cook raised two boys out here, and she's looking at him now." "Perhaps that's it," the prince said dubiously.

"He knows I need a job." "Perhaps he would rather not know it." The prince's dark eyes twinkled with amusement. "I don't understand." Polly tried to keep her voice indifferent. "It may be that Gregory himself does not understand. He does not wish you to be good enough as a decorator to be hired by me." Polly decided the conversation was getting out of hand. She said with finality, "I don't think he cares one way or the other." "We shall see." The prince tucked her hand under his arm. "Meanwhile, let us talk about it. I believe I can offer you a salary of - " The sum he named was close to what Polly believed she would need in order to support herself, which made her feel the offer was realistic. The prince obviously appreciated her talent but recognized her lack of training. She could only pray that life in London would be so demanding she would be able to put Gregory and this island out of her mind. By the time school started he wouldn't be living on Kittiwake. Or would he? With a pang she realized she didn't know if he'd be spending the-winter on the island or not. So I'll be unable to think of him anywhere, she told herself, knowing perfectly well that at the first undisciplined moment her mind would conjure up a dozen memories of him on Kittiwake Island. By the time the prince finished his cigar, matters were settled. Polly would work full time in his workshop until her classes started. Then a new schedule would be arranged. They returned to the hall, where the musicians were packing up their instruments. The longest evening Polly had ever spent was at last coming to a close. Her eyes fell immediately on Gregory. He had been pulled into the discussion of penguins, but he stood facing the door. Did he look pale, or did she imagine it? He saw the prince and Polly enter, and came to meet them. "I hope you've enjoyed the evening, Prince Victor," he said suavely. "Very much, thank you." Prince Montagnardi beamed. "I've also taken advantage of your hospitality. I've hired your decorator. I hope you do not take offense?" "None at all." Icicles dripped from Gregory's voice. "She's her own woman. Quite free to come and go." His words seemed to cut Polly in two. It was all she could do not to gasp at the pain. She had not been free to go! If she could have gone the morning after she came, she'd be heart-whole now. She'd have had no memories of his dear handsome face - austere, tender, amused, eyes narrowed in little-boy confusion, or wide open, staring into the future, envisioning the perfect sanctuary and haven for increasingly harassed seabirds. Gregory was a man who cared about the world he lived in. If he had let her go, her heart would not have learned to do flip-flops. "Good night, sir," she managed to say to Prince Montagnardi before her throat constricted. "Good night, all." She hurried from the room. Gregory could tend to whatever chores remained to wind up the evening. Upstairs Alexandra was alone with Robbie. "Mrs. Angus says there's no need to worry," she told Polly. "His stomach was upset, that's all. He upchucked, and the fever's gone." CHAPTER NINETEEN

To POLLY'S SURPRISE, the guests went out again at daybreak next morning. When she came down they had not yet come in for breakfast. She helped herself to cereal and tea. Alexandra appeared, poured herself coffee and brought it to the table. She sat down beside Polly and smiled selfconsciously. "I looked in on Robbie just now, but his room was empty. He's already dressed and eating breakfast in the kitchen."

Polly, who besides looking in on him twice during the night had helped him dress, nodded amicably. "Yes, he seems to have recovered. Thank goodness." Alexandra next indicated that she knew about the prince's offer. Probably the designer himself had told her. "How very fine for you, Polly." Alexandra expressed more cordiality than she had yet shown. "When do you go?" Polly shook her head. "I haven't had time to sort myself out." "Is your work here finished?" Alexandra was all but purring. You know it is, Polly thought. Magnanimously she decided that Alexandra probably wanted to take over Robbie's care, now she'd discovered she could cope. Aloud Polly agreed that her work was indeed finished. "Then you could ride to London with Mr. Bushnell this afternoon if you want to. He offered to run me in, so I know he has room. He's the bald-headed man with the beard. Perfectly safe." Why not, Polly thought. To continue to see Gregory could only be painful for her and embarrassing for him. During some sleepless hours she had concluded that in working at being a good host he must have drunk too much. A few moments later Mr. Bushnell and two of the ladies came in, exuding heartiness. Alexandra arranged Polly's trip with such brisk competence that Polly felt short of breath. Could she possibiy get packed at such short notice? She realized that she had very little to pack. She saw no point in consulting Gregory. She was damned if she'd help him give any more parties. And she certainly didn't intend to continue their crazy relationship on any terms he was likely to offer. After the way he'd treated her last night, the best thing she could do was take her pride and disappear. After a midday dinner the guests were to board the boat with their luggage. Before disembarking at Birdsea they would be given a last tour of the neighboring islands. Breakfast over, Polly went upstairs. Mr. Soltrani had promised her prints of the photographs he had taken. She would give Mrs. Angus her aunt's London address and ask her to forward them. The pictures, the lapis-lazuli pendant, five St. Cuthbert's beads and a few feathers that Robbie had found and pressed on her would be her souvenirs. She was taking these and leaving her heart hardly a fair exchange. But when was love fair? Stoically she packed her clothes, promising herself that when she got to London, when she had been put to bed in her aunt's living room, she would have a good cry. In the same spirit she made her goodbyes. It had not been necessary to tell Gregory. Alexandra had done that as soon as he entered the dining room. He had raised his chin, a characteristic gesture that meant something had taken his attention. He had stared angrily, not icily, at Polly, but all he said was, "I see." She decided to leave her aunt's address with him; he could send her last salary check there. Tess was the only person who seemed sorry. "Going!" she exclaimed. "But I thought.... Well, I guess I thought wrong. I wish you weren't going. I'll miss you...but we'll all be leaving soon, including the birds." Polly derived a little pleasure from the other girl's obviously sincere regard. Everyone but James came down to the wharf for a general farewell. Lance spoke blithely. "Of course it's not goodbye, Polly. We'll meet again, here or in London. Maybe you'll come on one of my birding expeditions." She knew how unlikely that was! Mrs. Angus gave her a hug and a thank-you for all her help, and admonished her to have a care in London. Robbie looked downhearted, but he clung possessively to his mother's hand, and for once Alexandra did not reject him. His months of outdoor activity had browned his skin and put roses into his cheeks. Remembering what he'd been like when he arrived, Polly threw Gregory a challenging look. But the luggage that was being put aboard appeared to demand

his concentration. With sinking heart Polly realized that this was, indeed, the end. Gregory hadn't even tried to think up a new reason for her to stay. Instead he was letting Alexandra manage her departure. Polly's face burned with humiliation. Jealousy should be beneath her. She tried to suppress it, but failed. If Gregory had nothing to say to her, she had nothing to say to him. Perhaps when she was settled in London she would write a letter as the prince had suggested, informing him of the tapestries. Loving him as she did, she owed him that. She would be out of touch with everyone on Kitti-wake, so she need never know in what spirit he received the information. He could cope with the tapestries and his brother however he pleased. If he dismissed her let-, ter by saying to himself, "Why is she bothering with this when I know all about it?" she need never know. All she wanted from Gregory was her final salary check and silence. The bird-watching part of the trip passed in a blur. On deck the wind whipped Polly's hot cheeks. If her eyes filled with tears, that, too, could be attributed to the wind. Gregory once more acted the cheerful host, calling everyone to look at petrels near the boat, a fulmar perched on a floating board. Once she caught him watching her, but as soon as she met his eyes he tightened his lips and looked away. Her face looked as though it were carved in stone. She had to keep telling herself that this nearly unbearable pain need only be borne another hour. Then she would be on her way to London. Her pride must support her for another hour. The guests disembarked with frantic last-minute conversations and invitations, and hurried transferring of luggage. In the confusion Polly lost track of her suitcase. She was standing on the quay distractedly wondering what could have happened to it when Gregory paused beside her, his hair wind-tossed, his bronzed cheeks pink from the brisk breeze. "Polly...." She gulped. The time had come to say goodbye. Her throat ached, making the words impossible to form. She exclaimed instead, "I can't find my bag!" "I put it where it goes. Listen, I have one last favor to ask. Would you measure the bunks in the cabin and send me some better-looking covers? And perhaps a curtain for the galley? Please?" The cruel simplicity of his request staggered her, but the stark reality of it helped her play her part. "Did you say my suitcase is in the car?" she asked. "Don't worry about it. Will you measure the bunks?" She realized she wanted to do this last thing for him despite the pain. Nevertheless, consideration of the driver made her hesitate. "Mr. Bushnell may not like to wait." Gregory said, "I'll talk to him and be back in a minute." Heartache made Polly turn away. Her eyes wanted to follow him across the parking lot, wanted to see once more the seductive line of his back, the trim hips. The moment was filled with the agony of loving where she wasn't loved, with the bitterness of farewell. And all Gregory could think of was bedspreads for his boat! Aboard she took notebook and tape from her purse. The bunks were alike, so she need measure only one. Quickly she set to work. She was measuring the dimensions for the galley curtain when she heard Gregory's footsteps on deck. Then he was ducking his head to enter the cabin. Instantly she was sorry she'd allowed him to cajole her into this. With shaking fingers she wrote the last figure. Gregory stood in the doorway, watching. The boat's engine roared into life, and Polly thought he was waiting to hand her ashore. Even her goodbye to him must be hurried, flustered. The deck beneath her feet trembled and lurched. She glanced through the porthole. The stone wall of the quay was receding! "Angus is leaving!" she gasped. "Gregory! Tell him to stop!"

To her dismay, Gregory merely sat down on one of the bunks. "My orders." Unsmiling as usual, he leaned back and crossed his legs. His steel-gray eyes gleamed. She stared at him in consternation. "Why?" "I'm taking you back to Kittiwake." "Oh, you are not!" she exclaimed unbelievingly, trying to read his expression. "This is some kind of joke." "I told Bushnell you'd changed your mind." Did his eyes hold a hint of anxiety? Such a last-minute reprieve was too astonishing to absorb. The boat began to toss as they left the harbor. Polly dropped onto the other bunk, mainly because her knees threatened to buckle. Gregory had not taken his eyes from her. He seemed to be looking at her almost hungrily, but the idea was absurd. Her confused feelings were beclouding her judgment. "Why?" she repeated. "I don't understand - " "You're not angry?" "Not yet." Her spirits were lifting, and she couldn't repress the spark of humor. She was alone with Gregory. It was terrible that such a simple thing completely out of her control could suddenly make her whole world brighter. "This is pretty damned high-handed of me, but you wouldn't let me talk to you. Why wouldn't you wait?" "I - I thought I'd better go. Before the prince changed his mind." She essayed a laugh, but Gregory was determined to probe deeper. "You knew the prince wasn't in any hurry!" "Alexandra was! She arranged my ride." "She's not the commissar of transportation. Admit it, you couldn't wait to get to London." "We're back to that, are we?" Resolutely she folded her arms and sat back. She was determined not to give him the satisfaction of admitting she loved the island, hated London. They sat in silence glaring at one another. Perhaps she was being silly. Why not say she liked Kittiwake? Was she trying to prove she could be more stubborn than he? Perhaps. She felt too roiled up to submit tamely to his never-ending tyranny. He had disrupted all her plans. What was he offering in return? "What are you planning to do with me?" she demanded, trying not to let her dismay show. Gregory's face lightened, apparently relieved that she was willing to discuss the situation. His lips curved. His light gray eyes began to sparkle like a sunlit sea. "I don't know!" He burst out laughing. "Take you to my lair, perhaps. Make you say you like Kittiwake and wouldn't mind living there.... I don't know!" He rubbed one hand across his forehead like someone roused from a dream. "It well, it's crazy, but Polly, when it came to your actually leaving, I couldn't let you go!" He groaned with the effort to communicate his feelings. "I thought we could talk.... I thought all the time you had fallen for Lance. He's such a good-looking kid - light-hearted, not driven like I am to save the environment. If you really don't care about him - " Polly drew a sharp breath, prepared to shout denial, her temper rising again at Gregory's determination to pair her with Lance. He held up one hand. "I believe you." "Once and for all," she shrilled, "I have not fallen for Lance! I'm not going to!" Gregory's eyes met hers in serious appeal. "That's why I thought that...well, if you'd stay longer.... I won't be so busy with the birds from now on. The nesting season is nearly over. I'd have more time. More time to spend with you." He paused and stared at his hands. All his smooth sophistication seemed to have deserted him. "Perhaps I could make you love the island. Perhaps - " he looked up, meeting her astonished eyes " - perhaps I could make you love me...." From under lowered brows he watched for her reaction.

Polly's heart surged, expanding to take in the whole of Kittiwake. "Gregory," she said, as though taking a vow, "I love Kittiwake." "You do?" An expression of gentle surprise came into his eyes, turning them to gray velvet. "Why didn't you ever say so?" Polly smiled wistfully. "I said I'd miss it. Couldn't you guess from that?" He looked suddenly indignant. "How can a man guess what's in a woman's mind? You should have told me!" he accused in a much less gentle voice. "I didn't dare." Polly hunched one shoulder and smiled mischievously. "You were so sure I didn't like the island. I didn't like to contradict you." That made him laugh. "As if you haven't been contradicting me ever since you came!" He reached across the narrow built-in coffee table to take her hands. His eyes searched her face. "If you love Kittiwake...is it possible you could learn to love me?" "It's possible." She turned her head, not meeting his eyes. Shyly she bit her lip to keep from smiling. "Darling!" In a bound he was beside her and sweeping her into his arms. She had felt his strength before, but this time she felt it as a bulwark, as something that would protect her from the world whenever she needed protection, that would support her whenever she wished to sally forth. His kiss when it came was unlike his previous ones - neither savage nor contemptuous nor cynical. It was a happy kiss. He grabbed her and held her and kissed her as if she were something long lost that had come into his arms again. Enfolded against him, Polly felt a chuckle rise in his chest. She raised her head to look into his face. His light gray eyes were merry. Kissing her at every word, he said, "I - have - so - much - to - say - to you! It's hard to decide whether to kiss - or - talk." Her mouth curved upward, her gaze roved across his features, loving them. But her voice was curious, wanting to share the joke. "What made you laugh?" "I'm finally going to have a reason to close my bed curtains!" She stiffened infinitesimally, but her movement communicated itself. Gregory's own body tensed, his voice grew humble. "You will marry me, won't you?" Joy rose in Polly's bosom as the final barriers of her reserve slipped away. He wasn't going to suggest some vague maybe-we-will, maybe-we-won't relationship. He loved her! The knowledge gave her courage to be herself. Her dark blue eyes opened wide and twinkled. Saucily she said, "You're sure you're not making a bad investment?" He laughed back at her and crushed her against him. "Not this time! And you've been talking to Lance!" Polly snuggled her dark head into the hollow of his shoulder. "Lance says you're better at investing in the stock market," she murmured. "Forget Lance!" His voice turned suddenly harsh, and Polly knew that he had not yet got over his jealousy. Almost savagely he pulled her against him and covered her mouth with a rough possessive kiss. She responded freely, gaily, well aware that here on the boat, with Angus above, the situation could not get out of hand. The crushing pressure of his lips immediately lightened. "Little tease," he muttered against her skin. Gently he nibbled her lower lip. Then again he squeezed her unmercifully. She squeaked a protest, and he loosed her with a laugh. "I can't believe I actually have you here, all to myself," he exulted. "I can't believe it, either," Polly admitted, savoring the sheer unexpectedness of being here with Gregory instead of in a car speeding toward London. With happy abandon she wrapped her arms around him and raised her face for another long kiss. Now I know what complete bliss is, she thought. At last, freeing one hand, she traced the hard outline of his square jaw, thrilling at the intimacy. How often she had yearned to stroke those stern handsome features. "Oh, my darling!" Gregory took his mouth from hers with a groan. He began kissing her eyes, her ears, the sides of her neck where the dark hair grew in

soft tiny tendrils. "How did I ever get so lucky?" he muttered. He drew back to look at Polly, his eyes sparkling. "Shall I get Angus to marry us?" "Angus!" Astonishment held Polly rigid. "He's the captain." Gregory's eyes laughed into hers. "I thought it had to be a big ship." "Does it?" "You know it does! Think how shocked he'd be." The thought of Angus made Polly sit up. She raised a hand to brush ineffectually at her disheveled hair. "Well, we wouldn't want to shock Angus," Gregory said dryly. "A lot of people are going to be surprised when I bring you back." "Alexandra for one." Polly's eyes shadowed with something akin to dread. Gregory stopped kissing her fingertips and frowned. "What makes you say that? I wasn't kissing her last night, you know, she was kissing me." "And you were too weak to stop her!" Polly's blue eyes kindled. "Perhaps I felt in need of solace." Gregory made his face impassive, but his eyes belied his prim mouth. "Poor you!" Gregory nodded ruefully. "She was trying to get my attention. I had gone outside to try to straighten myself out. Your fine offer from the prince hit me like an ultimatum. I had to make up my mind what I wanted to do about you let you go or coax you to stay. I wanted to coax you, of course, but I didn't have much hope I could bring it off, believing as I did that you preferred Lance to me. And London to either of us." "What finally made you realize I didn't have a crush on Lance?" Polly asked curiously. Gregory smiled fondly into her eyes. "He did. We were having a nightcap last night, and he suddenly said, 'I believe that girl's in love with you.' You wouldn't believe how that charged me up! Then this morning, when I found you were leaving, I realized drastic action was called for." With a happy sigh Polly took up one of the strong gentle hands that were holding her. It was a hand she intended to cherish; a hand that, God willing, would clasp hers the rest of her life. It was shapely and lean, the fingers long and blunt-ended, capably ready to take hold of a fluttering bird or a boat's wheel or a woman. Gregory studied his hand, too. "Soon this will know every inch of your body," he whispered. Polly dropped a kiss in the palm and looked up at him, her eyes shadowed. "Alexandra told me soon after she came that she was going to be your wife." "And you believed her?" He shook his head. "Lance said more or less the same thing." Gregory scowled playfully down at her. "I could bite you for believing I'd be so stupid. I think I will!" He nipped her ear, making her squeal. "Lance talks a great deal of nonsense," he pointed out. "But last night well, I wanted to believe him." "You said yourself you used to go with her," Polly reminded him. "And you were keeping her necklace for her in your bed." Gregory's smile held regret. "How was I to know anyone would be clever enough to discover that cubbyhole? And you of all people! Then Alexandra had to lie about us being lovers. No wonder you were angry. It made me furious that you believed her, but after all, you'd never heard my side of the story. You had a right to question me. The fact is - you can prove it by Lance - I only went out with her a couple of times. Then she met Alfred. They fit together like two teacups from the same set. Ten months after they were married Robbie was born." Polly sighed in happy relief. Gregory snuggled her closer under his arm. "Foolish little one. I thought everyone, including you, must see how I was bowled over. I couldn't keep my eyes off you, even when I was sure you'd disrupt all my plans." "I'd never do that." "I began to hope you wouldn't when you forgot yourself in your enthusiasm

and said it would take years to furnish the tower properly. Will you go on working on it, my darling?" "If you wish." She remembered something she had never heard him mention. "Do you plan to live here the year round?" she queried. "Do you think you could stand it? I'd like to try." His gaze seemed to be seeing storms or snow geese, or both. "Yes, I could stand it. I would certainly have plenty indoors to keep me busy. But what will you do when the birds are gone?" "I don't know. It's something I have to think about. I have an apartment in London, you know. We could go there in the autumn. You could finish your course, and I could show up at the publishing company now and again. Let them see I'm taking my position as consultant seriously." He laughed. "A month or two of that and they might offer me money to stay away." Polly didn't exactly understand what he was getting paid for. The recognition of the fact that she had so much to learn about him made her shiver with rapturous contentment. She contemplated the many evenings that stretched ahead when she would have hours alone with him and time to ask all the questions that came to mind. They need never run out of conversation. "One of your admirers will be glad I'm bringing-you back." In response to her puzzled look he added, "Robbie." "Gregory...." "What is it, my darling?" At his smile her heart did a flip-flop worthy of an Olympic gymnast. "Do you think he'll be happy with his mother now? It seems to me she's changed, but of course I don't know her all that well." Gregory's gray eyes were thoughtful. For an instant Polly forgot the subject of their conversation while she thought happily of how relaxed his face looked. Then her mind skipped back to the subject under discussion. "I, too, think she's changed," Gregory agreed. "That fire at the school made her do some thinking. She told me she could never have forgiven herself if anything had happened to him. Not that her being in England could have helped in such a situation, but she realized she was pretty irresponsible to go off like she did, where she was completely out of touch. We can but hope." "As Robbie's guardian," Polly said sternly, "you must pay more attention to him, too. Perhaps he could Visit us from time to time." "We'll see, my sweet. I appreciate your concern for Robbie, as long as you don't become too concerned with any of my other relatives. Lance, for instance." He grinned at her. A little sadly she said, "He's in love with Tess, did you know?" "What makes you think so?" "He told me on our last trip back from Newcastle. He asked her to marry him, but she turned him down. He thought she was hoping you'd ask her." Gregory smiled into Polly's eyes. "I never gave her a thought. I was too busy trying to get you out of my mind." "Really? But you have so much in common - " "Too much." He laughed. "Deliver me from other scientists. Working with them all day is enough. Without you to keep me human, I can s"e myself becoming another James J. I need a woman who likes people, and children, and animals and homemaking." "When did you first know?" she asked shyly. "That I loved you? I knew I couldn't think about anything else from the moment you arrived. It finally dawned on me that I was in love with you that day at the fair. And from then on you turned so cool...." He kissed first one corner of her mouth and then the other. She sighed. "I thought you were heartbroken because Tess seemed to care for Lance." "Poor old Lance." He clucked and held her close. "As it turns out, nobody loves him. He has plenty of time, though." Half-heartedly Polly agreed. Something was nagging at the back of her mind - two things, really - but she couldn't quite put a finger on them. Suddenly

one came to the fore and she gasped. "Gregory! I'm going to arrive at Kittiwake again without anything to wear!" "I was wondering when you'd think of that." Gregory began to laugh. "Not to worry. I couldn't go through that again myself. Next time you might really get away from me!" He pulled her to her feet, balancing easily against the sway of the boat, and locked her in his arms. "Your suitcase is in the galley there. I was afraid you'd notice it when you measured for the curtain. That's why I was blocking your escape." "Oh, you!" It was even longer this time before he let her go. When at last they separated, she glanced vaguely out of the porthole. "We must be almost there." Gregory's grin was shaded with guilt. "I'll go up and tell Angus we're ready." "Ready for what?" His words seemed suspicious. "To go to Kittiwake." Gregory looked extremely self-conscious. "I gave him orders to steer in circles until I convinced you to return with me." "You mean I had a choice?" Polly's eyebrows went up. "Not if there was a chance you'd ever love me." Joyously they went to the wheelhouse together. Kittiwake was close by. Looking at the island, Polly knew she had never had a choice, not from the first moment she had confronted Gregory. CHAPTER TWENTY

ANGUS WAS STEERING THE BOAT through the pinnacles when a vision of the plastic-wrapped roll of tapestries belatedly flashed into Polly's consciousness. A lead weight descended on her stomach. Gregory must be told! He would never forgive her if he found out some other way. Returning to the island was not, after all, the perfect happening she had been envisioning. Lance should be the one to tell him. In a flash Polly made up her mind to give Lance one more opportunity to make a clean breast of the business. If he didn't, she would. When Lance knew that she and Gregory were getting married, he would understand that she could no longer keep his secret. Oh, yes, everything was bound to work out! If the most wonderful thing in the world could happen to her, nothing could go wrong. She dismissed her worry and smiled at Gregory. "Let me help Angus tie up," Gregory said, looking at her with his heart in his eyes. "Then you and I will go up and surprise everyone with our news." Polly stood watching the process. How dreamlike her first arrival now seemed. Delighted as she was to be back on Kittiwake, she dreaded returning to the tower. Alexandra would be furious. Robbie's joy at seeing her again would make Alexandra even more resentful. Tess would welcome her, of course. Lance was the unknown quantity. Polly had never seen him lose his temper, but that didn't mean he couldn't do so if crossed. On the other hand, he might meekly agree that it was time Gregory was told. It was time, for heaven's sake, for here was the prince, wanting to buy the tapestries if Lance's possession of them was legal. She knew the prince expected her to present his request, either personally or by letter. But the first thing was to talk to Lance. Reaching for Polly's hand, Gregory helped her ashore, his mouth sober as he brought her suitcase from the cabin. But nothing could hide the wicked sparkle in his eyes. A gurgle of laughter escaped Polly, but it quickly perished as she thought again of the ordeal ahead. If only Alexandra weren't going to be there. But she was.... Polly went first up the steep stairway. Gregory made her self-conscious by saying, "I prefer to follow you. I like keeping you in view." She was self-conscious, yet took delight in the fact that her shape pleased him. At the top he slipped an arm around her waist. His gaze went to her mouth. "I haven't kissed you for at least fifteen minutes," he whispered, his lips

brushing hers. More than anything else she wanted to let herself go and fall into his arms. But until she had faced Alexandra and the surprised exclamations of the others, she would not feel that she had really come back. "Let's go in and get it over with," she whispered. "Please, Gregory." "Whatever you say, my love." To hear those words on Gregory's lips was enough magic for the present. Polly heaved a sigh. "I'll feel better when they know." "You'll never feel better than you do now." Teasing-ly Gregory ran his hand over her breasts. Color flooded her cheeks. "Who can marry us?" she whispered. "The seals." Gregory's mouth was on hers. "Are you going to make me wait till it's all legal?" She hid her face against his chest. "You might change your mind if I don't." She said the words lightly, but her lower lip jutted just the slightest. Her jaw came forward the tiniest bit. Gregory forced her chin up and looked into her face. Gray eyes laughed into deep blue ones. "I. get the message. Come on, let's go tell the good news." As they crossed the terrace she looked hopefully around, wishing they might meet Lance before going inside instead of bursting in on everyone at once. But the evening was well-advanced. The guests hadn't been delivered to Birdsea until nearly five o'clock. And though the midsummer light would linger for two hours yet, it was Sunday evening. Polly and Gregory could expect to find their colleagues gathered before a small fire in the common room, talking over the weekend's events. Gregory set her bag at the foot of the stairs. She would have taken it on up to her bedroom with the excuse that she was tired, but he demurred. "No, you don't," he said, grabbing her arm. The look in his gray blue eyes was unreadable. "Couldn't you just tell them you brought me back?" she begged. "I want you to be there," he said decidedly. She gave way with a sigh. He wasn't going to change his tyrannical streak overnight. Bemusedly she realized that without it he wouldn't be quite her adored Gregory. Polly tried to hang back, but he wouldn't allow that, either. Holding her by one arm he thrust her ahead of him, like a captured specimen he was intent on showing to his colleagues. At the door she stole a glance at his face. His jaw was thrust forward, his mouth straight. Determination sparked in his eyes. Voices, laughter and the clink of glasses echoed down the passage. "While the cat's away," Gregory murmured dryly. He thrust her through the door just as Lance, hearing their footsteps, said, "Here he is!" All eyes were suddenly upon Polly. Tess was first to break the astonished silence. "You're back!" She smiled delightedly. "So she is," Lance drawled, coming to his feet. Polly's eyes flew to Alexandra, who swirled the whiskey in her glass. "Didn't the prince want you, after all?" Her low-pitched voice held a sour note. Before Polly could answer, Gregory spoke. "I decided the prince couldn't have her." His arm circled Polly and hugged her against him. The whiskey stopped swirling as Alexandra realized her defeat. Her hand and face froze. An angry flush rose in her cheeks. Unworthy though Polly knew it to be, her triumph in the face of Alexandra's chagrin was sweet. Gregory removed his arm from around Polly and crossed the room. Without consulting her he poured two glasses of sherry, while everyone watched more or less spellbound. A bubble of amusement rose in Polly's throat. Overbearing, protective, beloved.... His goodness far outweighed his bad habits. All he needed was a little softening of the edges, something she looked forward to

working at. The three people lounging before the fire had indeed been comparing notes on the weekend - the guests, the birds sighted, how well the various kinds of entertainment had succeeded. Polly learned that Robbie, bathed and content, had been put to bed by his mother. James Jamison was still out, presumably still gathering material on puffins. Mrs. Angus had gone home in a satisfied glow, her apron pocket bulky with the visible signs of the guests' appreciation of her cooking. Altogether it had been a satisfying weekend. "It's so great you've come back to share our satisfaction," Tess told Polly, her golden eyes glowing with goodwill. A beautiful girl with beautiful manners, Polly thought, consciously wishing her the best of everything, except Gregory. Gregory brought Polly the sherry he had poured for her. Then he proceeded to refill the others' glasses. Alexandra had recovered from her surprise. Her face was no longer flushed, though her sharp eyes still sparkled with anger. "I turned him down years ago," she whispered to Tess. Polly kept her gaze on her glass. She didn't want the others to see the glow of happiness in her eyes. It seemed a bit unfair to have cornered it all for herself. However, Gregory had no intention of keeping their love a secret. "I have an announcement to make," he said formally. "I am happy to tell you that Polly has consented to marry me." A smile spread across Lance's face. "Congratulations, big brother!" Gracefully he crossed the room to give Polly a hug and a kiss. "My dear sister-to-be! Welcome to the family." Alexandra's nod was clearly meant to recognize Polly's success at ensnaring Gregory. "Congratulations, dear Polly," she said coldly. But Polly hardly cared. Tess was hugging her, and speaking warm words of congratulations. Then Gregory clasped one strong arm around her and held her to his side. Raising his glass he said happily, "A toast to my wife-to-be." Polly blushed and laughed, and shut out everyone else in the room by gazing deep into Gregory's eyes. How wonderful to be able to let her love show! But nothing is perfect, her conscience reminded her. He still had not been told about the tapestries. She must talk to Lance. There would be no chance to do that this evening, so her conscience must go on hurting until morning. She couldn't keep from thinking that Lance might not be so welcoming after she talked to him. Oh, well. She set her teeth. It had to be done. And until it was, she felt she had no right to enjoy Gregory's love freely. His gaze seemed caught by her lips. Then his dark-lashed lids lowered over gray velvet irises, and his hands gripped hers. When he looked at her again his eyes gleamed. "Come to my room after dinner." "No." She hung her head. "Don't tell me you're going to be stuffy!" He sounded amused and sophisticated. She dared not raise her eyes to his face for fear she would agree to go to him. "It's not stuffy," she insisted. How could she tell him what was really holding her back? Dishonesty, deceit, cheating...none of those words quite fit. Yet what she had done by withholding information seemed shadowed by all of those words. "Perhaps I am stuffy," she whispered. Without exactly turning his back on her he strolled away to pour himself another drink. The setting of the table, the bringing of the food from the kitchen, the eating of it, the clearing up all progressed so slowly that by the time it was over Polly was frantic with impatience. She needed to be alone. What if Gregory changed his mind because she had refused to go to his room? Had he really told everyone they were to be married? She was dithering in the kitchen, wondering if she should go back to the

common room or if she should join him on the terrace where he gone with Lance, when he appeared in the doorway. "Coming?" He offered his hand. She placed hers in it, smiling shyly up into his gray eyes. Her hand tucked in his, he led her up the stairs. "Where are we going?" she questioned, puzzled by his air of decision. "I'm going to see you to your room and kiss you good-night. I'm going to be a perfect gentleman. See if I'm not." To her disappointment, he was. POLLY WOKE to gray light and vast quiet. Fog, she decided immediately. It must be thick fog to keep the island as quiet as this. How lucky for Gregory that it hadn't happened while the guests were here! Gregory.... Her mind dwelled lovingly on the way he had looked yesterday. First in the boat, like a guilty, stubborn little boy determined to have his way. Then the proud handsome Lord of Kittiwake as he proposed the toast to her. And finally the dear gentle strength of him when he bade her good-night and marched off to his room. Joyously she bounded from bed, impatient to feast her eyes on him again. While she dressed it occurred to her that no one had asked when she and Gregory were getting married. Wasn't that a little strange? Mulling it over, she decided it wasn't. The chief focus of the island was birds, and until the breeding season ended, Gregory's mind wouldn't be free. Polly smiled to herself. What would it be like, living with a man totally committed to a dream as elusive as the care and welfare of birds? The answer was in her heart: it would be exciting and glorious. Skipping downstairs she recalled her determination to speak to Lance, and her steps slowed. By the time she reached the common room her expression was sober. She was given no time for reflection, however. As soon as she stepped through the door Robbie abandoned his breakfast and flung himself at her, screeching, "Polly! Polly! Tess said you came back!" Tess smiled at Polly over Robbie's head. "I don't think he quite believed me. Want some tea?" "Yes, please," Polly said, returning Robbie's fierce hug. "Yes, my friend, you see I'm back. Not only back, but I'm going to be your auntie." Robbie's eyes widened, but it was obvious he didn't understand the process. He pulled her to the table to sit beside him on his bench. Happily Polly explained; he was the first person she herself had told. "I'm going to marry your Uncle Gregory." "Oh." Robbie returned to his breakfast as though short of time. "Don't eat so fast," Polly admonished him. Then she asked Tess, "Where's everyone else?" Tess shrugged. "Sleeping in, I guess. Except James. He's going out to his puffins." "I'm going with him!" Robbie said importantly. "That's why I must hurry, Polly. Aunt Polly?" he said experimentally. "Not yet." Oh, when could she talk to Lance so that she could face Gregory with a clear conscience? This morning, surely. James appeared in the doorway. Robbie took this as his signal to abandon the rest of his cereal, and snatched his jacket from its hook. With a silent salute directed at both Tess and Polly, James disappeared, his footsteps and Robbie's quickly fading. The fog seemed to muffle sounds indoors, too. Tess and Polly looked at one another and burst into giggles. "James didn't seem the least surprised to see me," Polly managed to say, her voice trembling with laughter. At that moment Gregory came in. Polly's breath caught at the sight of him. His fair hair, grown longer during these last busy weeks, his light eyes, his strong handsome features, the commanding way he carried himself - all these things together made him absolutely stunning. Now, a little groggy, he looked like a sleepy knight soon to don mail and sword and go off raiding the Border.

A bubble of happiness rose in Polly's throat at the thought that he wasn't going anywhere. His fight was a different kind, though it still called for courage and persistence. "What's so funny at this time of day?" he grumbled, sitting down across from Polly and accepting the cup of tea she poured for him. "James," Polly explained. "He didn't seem the least surprised to see me back." "He probably wasn't aware you'd left." Tess's tawny eyes held amusement. "Lance not down yet?" Gregory asked, and he and Tess began to plan how best to make use of the day. Polly busied herself setting out breakfast. Lance appeared, followed by Alexandra, who looked surprised to see everyone still lingering around the table. Gregory had just remarked that he intended to catch up on paperwork when all heads were suddenly lifted at the sound of running footsteps in the corridor. It was Robbie. "Uncle Gregory! Uncle Lance!" He burst through the door, red-cheeked and breathless. "Those bad men are here! James wants you to come quick." "Where?" Gregory was already thrusting his arms into his coat. "To the beach!" Robbie panted. "James is trying to catch them!" "Great! You did well, Robbie." Gregory spared the child a quick pat on the head. "If we can get to their boat before they do, we'll have them. If I can just get a look at them...! Come on!" He ran out the door, with Lance at his heels. "I'm coming, too!" Robbie cried, tearing after them. "Robbie! Comeback here!" Alexandra screeched. Polly leaped to her feet to go after the little boy. On her way out she snatched her parka from its hook by the door. It was well she did, for Robbie was already outside and halfway across the terrace before she caught up with him. "Robbie, wait," she pleaded, grabbing his arm. "No!" he cried, pulling away from her. "I have to help!" Polly threw a look over her shoulder in the hope that Alexandra had followed her. Now that his mother was on Kittiwake, Polly had no right to tell him what to do, and he had been quick to realize it. He was still fond of Polly, but he was shrewd enough to grasp the fact that she no longer had complete authority over him. He was about to put it to the test. As soon as Polly let go of him he raced on across the terrace. "Robbie!" she shrilled, real fear in her voice. He must not go running off into the fog. He paused on the steps of the terrace and looked warily over his shoulder at her. "Uncle Gregory needs me," he said urgently as Polly hurried over to him. But he hesitated to plunge into the white nothingness beyond the stone wall. "You're too little to be of any help," Polly said bluntly. "So am I. Don't you think I'd like to help, too?" "But you're a girl!" "And you're a child. These are probably the same men who hit your uncle over the head the first day we were here. Remember? They'd make short work of you." "But I just want to go and see," Robbie argued. "What can you see in this fog?" "I think I'll just walk down the track a way," he said decidedly, and suited his action to the words. Polly threw a despairing glance over her shoulder. She couldn't pick him up bodily and carry him back inside kicking and screaming. It had been all she could do to carry him when he had fainted and put up no objection. The door to the tower was lost in fog, but if Alexandra had come downstairs they would have heard her. She would have called out, surely. "All right," Polly said reluctantly. "We'll walk down the track a way. Give

me your hand so we won't lose each other." To go with Robbie seemed the best thing to do. She didn't want to repress his eagerness and courage. Going for a little stroll along the track would surely satisfy him, and one could reasonably suppose that the thieves would avoid the road. The truth was that she didn't want to wait inside for the men to come back, either. It would be safe to go as far as the crofts. The thieves knew that people were living on the island; they would take care to avoid the buildings. The quiet was eerie. Their footsteps sounded abnormally loud. Polly heard the waves thundering at the base of the cliffs, and a gull called faintly, but that was all. She saw Robbie glance over his shoulder. The tower and the terrace wall had faded out of existence. The world was a ten-foot circle of which Polly and Robbie were the center. "Want to go back?" she asked hopefully. "No." Robbie shook his head and trudged stubbornly ahead. We're safe enough, Polly kept telling herself. We can 't have come far from the tower. I know we're on the jeep track, so we can't get lost. "I'll go as far as Angus's croft with you," she said, "and then we'll go back. Is that fair?" Robbie nodded, his lower lip thrust determinedly forward as he strained to see through the shrouding whiteness. Once they thought they heard shouts. They paused, ears cocked. The sounds didn't come again. It might have been ducks quacking, the noise distorted by the fog. "What do you expect to see?" Polly asked at last. "Uncle Gregory." "Well, you won't." "Why?" Robbie looked at her doubtfully. "They're clear down at the beach. You told them to go there yourself. Don't you remember? I'm going as far as Angus's croft," she repeated, "and then I'm going back." She began to walk more briskly, with the idea of getting there and turning around. Except for those faint shouts - or quacks - they had heard nothing. What could be happening? She hoped any minute to meet Gregory, Lance and James returning. Could they still be lying in wait? The first of the crofts, no more than a broken and roofless wall, loomed up beside the way. Robbie's hand clenched Polly's tighter, but his steps never faltered. The vague bulk of the second croft, where the workmen had camped, became visible as they approached it. Then a thudding sound came from inside, as of footsteps on the stairs. Someone was in there! Lance? Angus? Polly halted, with all her weight on one foot. Robbie shrank against her. They could barely make out the black rectangles of the door and the shuttered windows through the mist. Suddenly the door was flung open. The figure of a man emerged - someone Polly had never seen before. He was carrying a long roll doubled over one shoulder. Polly opened her mouth to shout at him. Before uttering a sound she realized that he might turn and attack them. What good would a scream or shout do? She and Robbie were helpless to stop him from getting away. She closed her mouth and stood listening to his footsteps grow fainter and finally fade out altogether. Unhappily she recognized that she didn't have the stuff of heroes. Robbie apparently reached the same conclusion with regard to himself. "Let's go back," he urged in a whisper. "Yes, let's," Polly replied low-voiced. With one accord they turned toward the tower, walking faster and faster. They stumbled up the steps and almost ran across the terrace. "That was one of them, wasn't it?" Robbie said. "Yes. We weren't much help at catching him, were we? We'll just have to hope your uncles catch him...." Polly's voice was suddenly suspended. She was struck by a thought that brought her to a halt. Robbie ran ahead up the stairs. If the tapestries were stolen, Gregory would never have to know about them!

She would never have to confess her involvement. What a marvelous end to her worry! But she couldn't, of course, really hope for such a solution. She knew the tapestries would continue to haunt her. Mrs. Angus greeted Polly with relief and doubt as she passed through the kitchen. "Robbie says you saw one of the men!" "Just a glimpse, thank goodness," she managed to say lightly. "Robbie was determined to go out there. I didn't want to make him more fearful than he is. I thought we'd be safe if we stayed on the track." Mrs. Angus was shaking her head. "What's the world coming to? God be praised Angus is down at the boat. He's too old to play hide-and-seek in this nasty weather, and I know he'd be all for chasing after trespassers. He'll be sorry he missed all the running about, but I'm glad they didn't fetch him to help. Angus told me last night that he'd brought you back, Miss Polly. He told me the glad news, too. You and Mr. Gregory are getting married, is that right?" "Yes, indeed," Polly said, happily reminded of the fact. "Lucky Mr. Gregory," Mrs. Angus declared. "I told you he needed a woman who could make him comfortable, didn't I?" "You did," Polly said, and escaped into the passage. She had had little time lately to talk with Mrs. Angus. She was looking forward to getting better acquainted with the woman now that her own work on the tower was finished, but at the moment she was too concerned with what was happening outside to give her mind to anything else, even marriage. First the question of the tapestries had to be resolved. She would have to admit to seeing the man take off with them. It would be best to alert Gregory at once, but under the circumstances, that was impossible. In the common room Robbie was excitedly telling his mother and Tess that he had seen one of the robbers. "Polly! You took him out there!" Alexandra accused. Polly stared at the older woman, but no withering comment came to mind. Regretfully she realized that even if she had been able to think of something she wouldn't have said it. Without answering she turned on her heel. She would have left the room but for the sound of men's voices in the passage. They sounded triumphant. Robbie ran out to meet them. Gregory came through the door first, his hand ruffling Robbie's hair. James and Lance followed. All three men were red-cheeked and bright-eyed, and they exuded fresh air. One might have thought they had been out playing some exhilarating game. "What happened?" Polly demanded. "Did you catch them?" Tess was asking. "No, we didn't catch them," Lance told her. Gregory was looking at Polly. "Back from the wars to my lady," he said, kissing her hand. "Victorious?" she smiled for him alone. "I think so," he said, looking so handsome her heart seemed to stop. "James and I got a good look at them. Good enough to describe them to the local authorities. I'm sure the police will recognize them from our descriptions. I'll wager they already have local reputations as thieves or smugglers." "I saw one! I saw one!" Robbie cried, jumping up and down and plucking Gregory's sleeve. "Yes, he did!" Alexandra put in furiously. "He and Polly were out cavorting around in the fog." Gregory frowned. "That wasn't a good idea." "I couldn't agree more!" Polly's voice was low and intense. "But if his mother can't control him, what makes you think I can? I'll tell you later what happened." "How many men were there?" Tess was asking Lance. Polly heard him say, "Three. Two to rob the nests and one to run the boat. We caught one of them making off with the tapestries." "What?" Polly's eyes flew to Lance. Too late she realized she should have

said, "What tapestries?" "Exactly," Lance said. "I think they figured the roll was a carpet. They passed right by us, actually. We were crouched in the beach grass, and they practically stumbled over us. The one chap dropped the tapestries and ran. The other hung onto his bags of down, but that's okay. You can't give it back to the ducks, and there's a chance that the police will catch them with the goods." "Did you say 'tapestries'?" Alexandra cried. Polly felt Gregory's eyes upon her. She faced him, fear turning her cheeks pale. Why did Lance have to be so stupid? Why did he have to talk as though she knew all about them? Couldn't he pretend that she, like Alexandra, knew nothing? "He's telling this as though you know what he's talking about," Gregory said. His eyes were accusing. Polly nodded, feeling the floor tremble beneath her feet. "But I wasn't supposed to know," Gregory went on. "Why?" He sounded incredulous, but Polly knew that would soon change to cold anger. "Lance kept promising to tell you," she managed to say. "Whose are they, and what are they doing here?" Gregory asked grimly. "They're mine," Lance said. "And Harry's." Gregory frowned. "Harry? One of those suspicious characters you went to Holland with?" "He's not suspicious!" Lance made an annoyed gesture. "You just don't like him." "Tapestries!" Alexandra was pulling Lance's sleeve. "Where are they? Oh, Lance! You know I'm always trying to add to my collection. Are they for me? A surprise?" "No, they aren't for you!" Lance muttered. "Harry's going to sell them. I'm merely keeping them for him till we can get them to London." "Oh, jthey're hot!" Alexandra's lips were smiling now, her eyes very bright. "No, they're not!" Lance almost shouted defensively. Alexandra raised one shoulder. "You needn't shout. It's no disgrace if they are. Everyone knows you don't get good antiques out of Europe any other way." Keeping his voice level, Gregory said, "Apparently Lance does not know." "They're not hot, I tell you!" Lance's face was flushed. From under his brows he glanced at Tess. Polly, following his glance, saw no censure in Tess's face. As always, she appeared calm and composed. "Well, where are they?" Alexandra demanded. "Can we see them?" "They're downstairs - " Lance gritted his teeth " - and no, you cannot see them. They're rolled up and wrapped in plastic." "Why are they hot, Polly?" Robbie's piping voice filled the moment of silence. "Polly, take him out of here," Gregory ordered furiously. "Robbie, go to the kitchen. I'll deal with you later. You had no business running out into the fog, and you know it! Polly should have known it, too." "I did know it," Polly declared through her teeth. "I'll deal with^ow later, Gregory Godwin!" She swept Robbie into the passage before Gregory could answer. "Hot doesn't mean what you think," she told Robbie. "And Uncle Gregory's upset about those down thieves. Let's go tell Mrs. Angus that our men saw them. Did you tell her how you gave the alarm in the first place?" She left him chatting happily about his morning's experience, and started back to the common room with a fresh pot of tea. In the passage she met Lance. "I'm going upstairs to get the damned bill of sale," he said furiously. "Gregory won't take my word for it." The voices coming from the room had quieted, as though lost tempers had been retrieved. Polly, too, had had a chance to calm down. There was nothing about the tapestries, or about the freedom she had allowed Robbie this morning, that could not be explained in a reasonable manner. The important

thing was not to get angry. As she entered the room, James was starting a small fire to dispel the clamminess and dry the men's damp outdoor clothing. Alexandra accepted a cup of tea and took it to one of the camp chairs beside the fire. Tess lounged on one of the benches at the table. Having done his bit by building the fire, James started getting ready to go out again. Gregory was still standing in the middle of the floor, looking angry. Polly handed him a teacup. "So you've known about these tapestries all along?" he said accusingly. Polly tightened her lips and made herself look him straight in the eye. "Yes." "When was Lance so obliging as to tell you?" She ignored the sarcasm and reminded herself to keep calm. She hated having to "confess" before Tess and Alexandra, but there was no way out. "He told me the first evening he came back," she stated. "When we went out for a walk to keep from bothering you. He asked me where he could hide them." Gregory's eyes had turned to gray steel. "He made me promise not to tell you," she cried, forgetting her determination to remain calm. "So of course you did what he asked." Gregory's cold voice made Polly's heart sink even lower. She felt like a schoolgirl up before the headmaster for her misdeeds. Angrily she stood up for herself. "He promised to tell you himself! He kept saying he couldn't do it right away, that you wouldn't understand, that you'd say they were fakes or stolen. Just what you are doing, in fact." She dared to raise her eyes from his grim mouth to his icy stare. Could he ever have said he loved her? His features had assumed an impassive mask. He said levelly, "And no doubt they are either fake or stolen." "It's impossible to fake a tapestry," Alexandra interrupted. "I wouldn't be too sure about that," Gregory said, his voice a little less harsh. "Did he tell you where he got them, Polly?" "He and his friends were out looking for birds and they wandered into the garden of an old manor house. The owner invited them in for tea." Polly bit her lip. "It does sound a little unusual - " "Go on," Gregory drawled. "The old man sold them these tapestries----That's all." Gregory was frowning. "Wait a minute! The workmen were sleeping in that croft for several weeks after Lance returned." Polly nodded miserably. "In the meantime I let him store them in the hall with the other furniture." The disbelief and hurt that crossed Gregory's face made Polly want to die. How could he ever trust her after a start like this? Thank heaven it wasn't necessary to tell him that Lance had also stored them in her room. After all, he'd put them there without her consent. Lance erupted into the room before Gregory could question her further. "There!" He removed a folded paper from an envelope and shoved it at Gregory. "Tell me that's not a proper bill of sale! The other chap with us Christopher - said it was. He's an attorney...or as good as. He soon will be. And here are the papers from customs as well." Gregory stood with his back to the fire and read the handwriting on the bill. His face changed, relaxed. "Pretty good English for a Dutchman," he commented, handing it back to Lance. "When do we get to see them?" Alexandra cried. The brothers ignored her. Gregory's eyes were on Lance. "I'm sorry you felt you had to hide them from me," he said, looking hurt. "Oh, not you exactly." A bit shamefacedly Lance flung himself into a camp chair. "But I wanted to handle something on my own for once. Also I knew Montagnardi was coming. I thought if he got wind of them, it might put you in an awkward position. I couldn't sell them to him, you see. Harry wants to

handle the deal, and I'm sure he can do better by selling directly to a collector. That's what Montagnardi will do - sell them again. So, well, I thought the less known, the better. I was trying to save you embarrassment." "I may want to buy them," Alexandra announced. "That was the other reason," Lance said under his breath. Polly saw his eyes meet Gregory's. A rueful smile of understanding passed between them. Polly was still holding her breath. The secret of the tapestries was out, and no great harm had been done. As soon as he had time to think about it, Gregory would understand why she had not carried the tale to thim. But now she had to confess something even stickier. In a hollow voice she blurted the truth. "The prince knows about the tapestries." Gregory said, " What!" Lance said, "How?" Tess said, "I'm glad it's foggy out. I'd hate to be out on the cliffs while all this is going on." Polly was gratefully aware that Tess was trying to lighten the atmosphere. She was somewhat successful, for Lance grinned at her. Gregory stalked to the table and refilled his cup, as though he needed a boost for the next round. "The prince came and asked me what was in the roll," Polly said simply. "How did he find it?" Lance looked dumbfounded. "He said - " serious as the situation was Polly could not repress a giggle " - he said he was interested in seeing how the peasants lived." Lance gave a shout of laughter. Even Gregory's troubled face broke into a grin. Alexandra was not amused. "I can pay you or Harry just as much as the prince can," she said haughtily. Still grinning, Lance raised his hands, palms out. "That's up to Harry, thank goodness. I'm strictly a silent partner." "What exactly did the prince say?" Gregory was looking grave again. "He was pretty understanding," Polly recalled. "But he asked me straight out. He wanted to know why you were storing what appeared to be a roll of tapestries." "What did you say?" Gregory's eyebrow quirked. "I told him, after I recovered my breath, that you knew nothing about them; that they belonged to Lance. He gave me a long talk about the problems decorators have if they suspect a painting or an antique may not have been honestly come by... say a client has inherited it...." Gregory snorted. "He must have some rum clients! Well, these aren't stolen. Thank God for that!" "Montagnardi was supposed to be looking for birds," Lance grumbled. "He knew that," Polly said hastily. "He didn't want to embarrass anyone. But he did ask me to tell you after he was gone that he was interested. He didn't know I'd be leaving at the same time." Polly couldn't keep from glancing at Alexandra as she spoke, but it was obvious that the spoiled rich girl was not listening. She was tapping her foot and looking mulish. "I have a right to see them," she told Lance. "Think what an inheritance they'll be for Robbie." "Robbie has a fine inheritance without tapestries," Gregory told her. "Lance, the prince has to be offered the tapestries now. You see that, don't you? Otherwise he'll still believe there's something fishy about them. And there goes the sanctuary's grant." "Yes, I see that," Lance agreed. "All right. I'll drop Harry a note. Maybe - maybe if Harry loses on the deal, you could make up the difference?" Gregory threw up his hands with a mirthless laugh. "Some businessman you are! Do me a favor; stay with being a tour leader." Whatever Lance's faults as a businessman, he knew how to handle a social situation to advantage, and when to steer the conversation in a different direction. "Where are you and Polly getting married?" he asked winningly.

Gregory flashed Polly a look of surprise. He appeared to have forgotten all thoughts of marriage. Polly felt faint. What if he said he'd changed his mind? What if he said, "I don't know," and walked out of the room? He did neither. He tucked the envelope with the papers into Lance's breast pocket. "You'd better take good care of these," he cautioned. Then he crossed the room to Polly. His voice was as soft and gentle as she had ever heard it. His look made her bones melt. He slid his arm around her waist, and his attention was all for her. They might have been the only people in the room. "Do you still want to marry me," he asked playfully, "knowing you'll get Lance as a brother?" A great gladness filled Polly as she looked up into Gregory's velvety gray eyes fringed with dark lashes. It was heaven to know he still loved her after all he'd learned this morning. "Of course I do," she whispered. "When? And where?" Polly hadn't thought about the future because she hadn't dared. Now she could. All the underhandedness about the tapestries was in the past. With Gregory looking lovingly down at her, it was easy to answer his question. "Here," she breathed. "Let's get married here. Before Tess and James leave. Before the birds leave. If you have time, that is," she faltered. "Wonderful! I'll take time." Gregory's eyes devoured her lips. He tore his gaze away from her mouth and forced himself to speak reasonably. "If we can get a vicar. But what can we promise him in return for coming out here?" His dancing eyes met her startled ones; he was referring to her deal with Mr. Soltrani. Recovering, she suggested merrily, "You must find one who's a bird-watcher." "We can," Lance exclaimed, looking startled at the thought. "Our Uncle Charles, who's a bishop! He'd come, Greg." "So he might," Gregory agreed. "If mother prodded him. But that would mean waiting." "You can't get married in a day or two anyway, can you?" Lance looked at Tess and Alexandra for confirmation. Tess shrugged, but Alexandra said in her haughtiest voice, "I had banns and a church wedding." Lance rolled his eyes ceilingward. "You can have banns and a church wedding in Bird-sea if you want, Polly," Gregory told her. Polly shook her head, but Alexandra said critically, "If you're going to have a bishop, you should have a church." "I owe it to mother to give her a chance to attend." Gregory pursued his own line of thought. "Of course you do," Polly agreed. Gregory looked speculative. "I can't see her flying all the way from New Zealand. After all, she was just here in March. But she might." Polly began to realize some of the side effects of marriage to Gregory Godwin. It meant acquiring a mother-in-law, and Alexandra as a sister-in-law. It meant getting used to a family who traveled around the world, a family whose social position was higher than Polly had ever thought of attaining. "I'd like to invite my aunt," she told Gregory. "She probably won't come, as she's not fond of traveling. But she's my only relative, I'm afraid." "You can have all of ours," Lance said cheerfully. "You will have them, of course, once you marry Greg." "Wasn't this building once a monastery or something?" Tess asked. "The Church owned it at one time," Gregory admitted. "Then they must have had a chapel." "By George, she's right!" Lance exclaimed. "It must have been one of these very rooms." They looked blankly at each other, considering the rooms in their minds.

"The hall?" Polly finally suggested. "But the fireplace is where the altar ought to be. Perhaps the dining room?" "Mrs. Angus would know." Lance spoke confidently. "Don't they unbless a building or something when they sell it for a worldly purpose?" Alexandra drawled in a bored tone. Gregory shook his head. "Why should they? This whole island has been blessed by the men who came here to commune with their souls. No scientific proof, but I feel it." He looked at Polly for approval of his stand. She gave it with a loving smile. "Let's ask Mrs. Angus," Lance pursued. "Anyway, you can't carry off a wedding without her help." "He's perfectly right," Polly agreed. "Let's go talk to her." They marched down the corridor to the kitchen. Even Alexandra trailed along. "Ach, no, my dears, there was never a chapel in this building," Mrs. Angus told them, her faded blue eyes looking into the past. "We had our own small church here. Unfortunately it was already falling to wrack and ruin when I was a wean. During the war there was no one here to repair the roof, and it collapsed one stormy winter. The man who owned the island afore ye used most of the stone from the walls to repair the terrace. I said bad luck would come to him, and it did. He overturned his sailboat, you know. He and his lady were both drowned." "Are you referring to that outline of stones this side of the crofts?" Gregory asked in astonishment. "Aye. That was the church." "I never knew." Gregory turned to Polly with bright eyes. "We could still get married in it!" "What a lovely idea!" Tess seconded. "Oh, yes!" Polly breathed. "Polly wants to get married here on the island," Gregory explained to Mrs. Angus. "I've an uncle who's a bishop. Now, it seems, we have a church." Mrs. Angus looked doubtful for a moment, and then her face cleared. "Aye, it's still a holy place. The arch over the doorway still stands, too. Ye'd look lovely there." "Then can I call her auntie?" Robbie piped up. He had been sitting quietly at the kitchen table, putting raisin buttons on a row of gingerbread men. "Then you can call her your auntie," Gregory confirmed. "And I can call you my wife," he murmured for Polly's ear alone. "I'll write mother and Uncle Charles this morning. I'm going to Birdsea as soon as the fog clears to report the eiderdown thieves to the police. Come along with me, Polly. We'll see about obtaining a license." In a daze Polly followed the others back to the common room. Then she remembered that she, too, had a letter to write. Perhaps she would also write to Miss Mansard. Perhaps she would invite her! With no school to run, Miss Mansard might be free to come. What fun it would be for her to visit the place to which she'd sent her telegram those long weeks ago, and to see what had transpired! CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

WHEN POLLY WOKE on her wedding morning, her first sleepy thoughts were of Gregory. With a thrill of pure joy she remembered what was to happen this day, and her eyes flew open. What if it rained? They had been mad to plan a wedding in a roofless church! Why hadn't she settled for the little church at Birdsea? She leaped out of bed and ran barefoot to the window. The sun was rising out of the mist over the North Sea and was turning the sea to a rose color. The early-dawn gray of the sky was turning to blue. She closed her eyes in happy thankfulness. She looked next at her dress, hanging in a lacy cloud from the door of fhe

wardrobe. She had tried it on yesterday. It fitted her to perfection. When Gregory's uncle, the bishop, had written back that he would be pleased to officiate, and had listed the dates on which he would be free, Gregory had insisted that Polly have the dress of her dreams. Alexandra, accepting the situation, had accompanied her to Newcastle, where they found a marvelous dressmaker. All Polly had had to do was choose the pattern and the lacy cloth. The next time she went to Newcastle the dress had materialized, as if from the wand of a fairy godmother. Polly's breast lifted in a long sigh of satisfaction and delight. It's going to be a perfect day, her heart sang as she sat on the end of her bed and contemplated the dress. What was Gregory doing, she wondered. Was he suffering last-minute qualms? Or had he gone out on the cliffs to make his early-morning observations? Probably the latter. She giggled. From now on, she thought blissfully, they would share a bedroom. They would share their lives. It seemed incredible that she could be so perfectly happy. Only a few short weeks ago she had been in such doubt, and the future had looked so lonely. And now.... She sat quietly, contemplating her happiness. The bishop was here, and Gregory's mother and stepfather, and Miss Mansard, all to help celebrate her wedding day. The wedding ceremony was to be early, followed by a champagne breakfast. At midday, contrary to wedding etiquette, the guests instead of the bride and groom were leaving. Most of them were bound for London. Lance and the bishop were traveling in Lance's car. The other relatives were all piling into the stepfather's limousine, which was large enough to take the tapestries, too. They would be delivering Miss Mansard to her door. That left James, who was bound for the Faeroe Islands, and Tess, who was going home to Cheshire. "It will be like when you first arrived," Gregory had exulted to Polly. "Just us, alone in the tower. Only you'll be sleeping with me instead of with Robbie." His eyes had gleamed. "You don't think they'll feel we're rushing them off?" Polly had worried. Gregory had shaken his head emphatically. "Mother's not the outdoor type, and my uncle can only spare the one day. Lance has a tour to lead, and Alexandra's going to arrange for the prince to look at the tapestries. I suspect she hopes to charm him into letting her buy them, but that's not my affair." A tap on the door heralded Tess, who was carrying two cups of tea. She had offered to help Polly dress, and she was already wearing her green suede pants and cashmere sweater. "I'm glad you don't mind a bridesmaid in trousers," she said by way of greeting. "It's going to be a beautiful day." "I thought so, too, when I saw the sun." Polly smiled. "You look like an attendant sprite." Tess wrinkled her forehead. "That sounds like Shakespeare." "I don't know," Polly said. "It just popped into my head." "Your mother-in-law seems perfectly charming," Tess confided. "Too bad she lives so far away." "The Godwins don't seem to consider any place far away," Polly said with a laugh. "Gregory says we'll visit them next winter." "Polly Godwin," Tess pronounced. "Sounds lovely." It did sound lovely! Polly felt herself blushing. Tess noticed and laughed at her. In no time the two of them were giggling like schoolgirls. "Go have your bath," Tess recommended breathlessly. "Anyone hearing us will think we're up here drinking." Dreamily Polly bathed and dressed. She was putting on makeup when she glimpsed Tess consulting her watch. "Are we late?" she gasped, suddenly coming out of her trance. "No, no. Everything's fine. The timing is perfect. Everyone's supposed to be going down to the church about now. You and I are to walk down in twenty

minutes. You'll be ready by then." The corridors echoed emptily when Polly and Tess set out. In the pier glass at the head of the stairs Polly glimpsed a fairylike creature in sparkling white, black hair curling winsomely about her shoulders beneath a short white veil. A star-tipped wand seemed the only thing missing. With a start she realized it was her own image she was looking at. She felt stunned by the unreality of what was happening to her. It really was like a fairy tale. Gregory was the perfect fairy-tale hero. Tripping down the stairs she felt bemused, spellbound. Her own story had turned out to be like "Beauty and the Beast" after all. As they crossed the terrace they could look down the sloping meadow to where the company was assembled in front of the rectangle of weathered stones that formed the outline of the church. Polly looked for Gregory in the group, but the sunlight glinting on the meadow was so bright it brought the sting of tears to her eyes. The track was as rough and stony as ever. In her high-heeled sandals she had no time to grow frightened at the ceremony ahead. She was too busy watching where she stepped. Tess linked her elbow in Polly's. Arm in arm they walked gracefully toward the guests. Gregory saw only Polly, and he watched her coming with his heart in his eyes. The others saw a lovely picture that would have made a perfect subject for a tapestry. A maiden in white carrying a sheaf of daisies, skirt billowed by the wind, accompanied by a slim figure in green. Around the two figures the meadow burgeoned with verdure - grasses and bracken dotted here and there with pink sea campion, the yellow flowers of silverweed, the white of Queen Anne's lace and drifts of purple heather. In the sky above, gulls and kittiwakes circled. From a nearby twig a robin whistled. Polly's heart threatened to burst from her bosom when she came close enough to distinguish Gregory. He and Lance were wearing the black suits they had worn at the dance. The bishop's embroidered white cassock seemed to link him with churchmen all the way back to Saint Cuthbert. As Polly drew near, Gregory held out his hand. They followed the bishop through the archway, with Tess and Lance coming after. Behind those two came the guests, their footsteps muffled by a carpet of thrift growing everywhere inside the walls. The notes of a violin filled the clear air - Angus, playing the wedding march. The bishop led them to the far end, where the altar had once stood. Someone had decorated the ruined walls with lavish bouquets of wild flowers set in the holders Polly and Robbie had made. In one corner a late-brooding eider calmly sat on her nest, as though she knew she had chosen a sanctuary within a sanctuary. Polly stole a glance at Gregory, and had hard work to tear her eyes away. The sun on his fair hair made it look like spun gold. Sportively the breeze tossed a lock across his brow. His dark-fringed eyes seemed to be focused on something out to sea. She thought she had never seen him look more handsome lord of all he surveyed. Her pulse fluttered. She stared hard at a vine climbing the stone wall, telling herself that all this was no dream. "Gregory Charles, wilt thou take this woman to be thy wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward---" "I will," he responded. Somewhere above them a lark began to sing. Polly's spirit sang along with it. Polly repeated her vows in a valiant little voice that the faint breeze tried to blow away. But the bishop heard, and Gregory heard, and almost before she knew it Lance was handing Gregory the gold band, and he was slipping it on her finger. He kissed her then. The marriage was accomplished; they were man and wife. Angus's violin broke into joyful and exuberant trills, and the guests crowded around. Gregory's hand was being shaken, and Polly was being kissed.

No one noticed that the sunshine had disappeared until thunder suddenly rumbled. All heads turned toward the east, where a determined blanket of gray hovered over the horizon. "You certainly timed this right!" someone exclaimed. Everyone agreed, and there was a general feeling that the wedding party had somehow got the better of nature. Still in a dream, Polly walked back to the tower on Gregory's arm. The dream continued throughout the merry champagne breakfast. She wakened to reality, however, when the time came for everyone to troop down to the boat, and it was found to be raining. Gregory and Polly stood on the wharf, their arms around each other while goodbyes were shouted and the guests embarked. Polly had changed into her pink dress, which was more suitable for going up and down cliff stairs. "We're rid of them all in one boatload," Gregory exulted as the white launch threaded its way through the pinnacles. "And now...." He turned to Polly ardently. Regardless of the fact that it was raining harder every minute, he gave her a long eager kiss that left her reeling. "That's just a promise of things to come," he said. "Let's go. I'm sure Mrs. Angus has left. We'll have the tower all to ourselves. And if you think I'm going to wait till tonight to exercise my rights, Mrs. Godwin - " He broke off, laughing down into her startled eyes. "I'm going to strip you naked and take you to bed." His eyes roamed over her. "Immediately." Polly looked shyly up at him, unsure whether he was teasing. She allowed herself to be drawn up the stone staircase and along the path. My home, Polly thought. They entered the tower by way of the kitchen stairs. Mrs. Angus was nowhere to be seen, but a casserole on the back of the stove awaited their appetites. In the bedroom that was now theirs Gregory said, "Let me help you take off your dress, now that I have you in my power. Did I tell you how beautiful you look?" "Several times," Polly affirmed. "Darling...." He wrapped her in his arms and buried his face in her soft thick hair. "That was the longest breakfast I ever endured." Polly arched her back so she could look into his face. "You thought so, too?" She smiled lovingly. Arching her back like that had thrust her body against his in a way that was arousing sensations neither of them was quite ready for. Polly pulled away, and he let her go, "Take off your shoes and sit on the bed," he directed. With what seemed great daring, Polly climbed up into the middle of Gregory's huge bed, after removing her high-heeled sandals and carefully placing them side by side on the floor. Gregory meanwhile cleared off the antique chessboard Polly had placed in his room, set it in the center of the bedspread, and added a candlestick. "Weil have to be careful," he warned, "but this once I want to try something." He unlaced his shoes and put them beside Polly's where they sat looking intimate. Padding about in stocking feet, Gregory drew the beautiful brocade curtains around the bed. The curtains slid smoothly on their brass rings, enveloping the interior in nearly total darkness. Polly stifled a protest. The next instant Gregory was beside her, closing the slit by which he had entered. Polly's heart pounded. This was their marriage bed. At present they were fully clothed. Nevertheless, the excitement was almost unbearable. A match flared, shattering the darkness. "Where's the candle?" Gregory's voice was low. Wordlessly Polly handed it to him. He lit it and blew out the match. The folds of brocade shimmered blue and gold in the candlelight. Gregory looked at her and grinned. The yellow flame turned his hair gold. Twin flames reflected in his eyes. Polly thought of a golden lion, and then of a young lord, at home for the first time with his lady. She laughed back at

him, her heart ready to burst with happiness. There was plenty of room on the big bed. Polly sat with her knees drawn up, her back against the carved-oak headboard padded by pillows. Outside the thick walls, thunder rumbled. The sky had grown very dark. Inside was gray and quiet. They were the only people in the building; except for one other, they were the only people on the island. Polly shivered in anticipation. "I have another secret hiding place." Gregory was on his hands and knees, fumbling with something at the bed's foot. Wood scraped on wood. A darker rectangle appeared in the footboard. "What's that?" Polly exclaimed. Candle flame glinted on a bottle and two glasses. Gregory swung around to place them on the chessboard before closing the panel. His mobile lips quirked with pleased amusement at Polly's surprise. Sitting cross-legged, he uncorked the bottle and poured fine old brandy into the glasses. Polly's blue eyes smiled into Gregory's gray ones. "I would never have thought of looking for a second hiding place." He handed her a glass. He raised the other in an ageless gesture. "To us." They drank, drinking in each other over the rims of their glasses. The fiery liquid rolled across Polly's tongue like an alchemist's elixir. Time ceased. If someone had asked her to name the century, she could not have done so. Gregory set his glass on the chessboard. Moving carefully, he slid around to sit beside her. He slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. "I love you, Polly...my sweet...my little mermaid that I found in the fog." "I feel more like a princess in this bed," Polly said. A giggle rose in her chest. She tried to smother it and failed. "I'm sorry," she gasped. "I couldn't help laughing. I feel like we're two naughty children." She felt Gregory chuckle. "Don't ever apologize for laughing, my love. That's one of the things that first attracted me - your laughter. I'd come upon you and Robbie laughing, but you'd see me and quit, as though I were some wicked baron who terrified you. Don't ever let me frighten you. I want to laugh when you laugh. I love the merry, lighthearted way you have of going about everything you do." "You didn't terrify me," Polly tried to explain. "I thought you disapproved." "And since I was Lord of Kittiwake - " Polly gasped. " - you had to do my bidding. Oh, yes," Gregory grinned in answer to her gasp. "I knew you called me that. And now I have you in my clutches---" He set down his glass and blew out the candle. His hand came up to turn her face to meet his kiss. "Polly," he breathed at last. "I hope you'll never want to escape." His hand slipped beneath her blouse. "No," she whispered huskily. He was the Lord of Kittiwake; it would be wicked and disloyal to deny him anything. His mouth was hovering over hers. Her lips trembled with desire. His fingertips began stroking her shoulder blades, the valley of her spine. She felt as though her whole being was concentrated there beneath his touch. She could only think how that touch would feel on her bare breasts, on other secret hiding places. His leg came up across hers, holding her in a scissorslike grip until she thrilled to the hard strength of his thighs. His hands smoothed the hair at her temples. He smiled into her eyes. "Did you ever think," he murmured, his lips against hers, "when you were planning the hangings for this bed, that someday you'd be in it?" "I wouldn't have dared." "I thought of nothing else!" Gregory's voice was husky. "Oh, my love...."

Slowly, with infinite tenderness, he began to undress her, kissing each part of her body as he bared it. Then in one swift gesture he removed the chessboard, bottle, glasses and candlestick. He slid aside the curtains and threw off his clothes. Polly watched him. In the semidarkness of that ancient room, his naked beauty was a timeless symbol. That symbol, that beauty was hers. Life was so short, and meant to be lived. Love was the most glorious part of it. "I promise to love you forever," Gregory crooned as she opened her arms to him.