“First,” I replied. “I have to have one from you. Mummy wants to hear all about you—a truthful account.”

“My life is full of action. You’ll never tell it all in one letter. I lie in bed until they bring my breakfast. I rise, bathe, and amble round the gardens. Lunch and rest. Doctor’s orders. I may go down, or have it in my room. Then I sit in the garden perhaps, discuss layettes and nursery furniture with Matilda, see the midwife if it is her day to call: Then dinner and bed. You see, it is a riotous existence.”

“Well, it won’t be very long now before the great day arrives.”

“It approaches inexorably and fills me with both longing and dread.”

“It will soon be over and then we shall have the marvelous child.”

“You mean I shall.”

“We’ve always shared.”

“You’ll be a doting aunt.”

“I daresay.”

“You must see that man again…the enemy in the feud.”

“Perhaps I shall.”

“What do you mean by perhaps you will? I shall insist. You have come down here to amuse me, remember.”

“I promise I will.”

“Amuse me and see him again?”

“I am determined to do that.”

“What? Amuse me? Or see him?”

“Both,” I replied.

“Oh, Vee, how wonderful that you have come.”

I was with her all that day.

During the next morning the doctor came to see her and said she was a little tired and must rest more.

She scowled but obeyed the rules, and that gave me an opportunity to be alone.

I wondered whether the news of my arrival had reached Jowan Jermyn, and I turned over in my mind whether I should take Starlight to the field and hope to see him there or walk to Cliff Cottage.

Dorabella’s talk about Richard Dorrington and Jowan Jermyn had made me feel a little uncomfortable about both men. It was rather disconcerting to contemplate that because one was growing up and unattached, people always wanted to link one with some prospective husband. It made plain friendship difficult.

I decided, however, that I would pay a call on Cliff Cottage. I remembered then that the last time I had been there I had met Gordon Lewyth on the dangerous part of the cliff path on the way back.

I had seen him briefly when I arrived, and I had thought his attitude had seemed a little warmer toward me than previously. During that walk down to the town he had unbent considerably. I was rather glad that we had made some advance—albeit small—in our relationship.

I had been with Dorabella all the morning and after lunch she had her rest. I set out for Cliff Cottage.

I had not told her where I was going. In fact, I was still uncertain as to her reaction to Dermot’s first marriage. I think it was one of those subjects which were vaguely unpleasant, to be thrust aside and not spoken of.

It was a warm day, but there was little sunshine. The sea was a dullish gray color, quiet but with a sullen look about it.

The gulls were noisy. When I came down the east cliff into Poldown and walked along the harbor I saw the fishermen there mending their nets. Some people were buying fish that had come in that morning and the gulls were screeching wildly, looking for tidbits which, for some reason, could not be sold and were flung back into the river, where they were immediately seized on by the swooping birds.

One or two people recognized me.

“Oh, ’ee be back then?”

“Not much sun about today.”

“Nice to see ’ee, Miss. Lady up house well, I hope?”

It was rather pleasant to be remembered.

I thought of what Jowan had said about the news service. I expected they were all well informed.

I crossed the ancient thirteenth-century bridge to the west side and started to climb up the cliff. It was steep and I paused every now and then, not so much to get my breath as to admire the weird formation of the black rocks with the waves gently swirling around them.

I came to Cliff Cottage. It looked as neat as ever. Boldly I opened the wooden gate and went up the short path. There was a porch on which were stone containers in which flowers grew. The front door had frosted glass panels.

I rang the bell and waited.

There was a short pause. I could see her through the glass peering at me. I wondered if she would recognize me. After a few seconds, when I feared I might not be let in, the door opened and Mrs. Pardell stood facing me.

“Oh,” she said. “It’s you. So you’re back, then.”

“Yes. How are you?”

“I’m all right, thanks.”

“And…er…the…”

Her face was illuminated by a smile. “It took,” she said. “It took a treat.”

“Oh, I am so relieved.”

She looked at me for a moment and I thought her Northern shrewdness would reject my enthusiasm for the gushing insincerity it was. But, like most people with obsessions, she could not believe that they were anything but marvelous in the eyes of all.

“You like to see it?” she asked.

“Oh, I should love to.”

“Come on, then.”

Proudly she took me to it. I was shown the spot. It was like a shrine. The plant looked bigger than when I had brought it. I thought to myself, Thank you, little plant. It is clever of you. Through you I have gone up in the estimation of this uncommunicative lady.

“It’s done wonders,” I said.

“I can tell you I’ve taken a bit of trouble. I saw where it was up at that place, and I reckoned I knew the spot to put it. Gets the sun—but not too much—and there’s shelter…”

“Oh, yes. This sturdy plant here…protects it in a way.”

“That’s so.”

“I am so glad.”

She nodded. “It was thoughtful of you to bring it. I was that pleased…”

“I could see how much you wanted it. And why shouldn’t you share it? I knew you would appreciate it.”

“Well, thank you.”

Was that to be all? I wondered. The end of the mission?

I felt deflated.

I said desperately: “If there is anything else you liked, I daresay I could get it for you.”

It was the right note. I could see the cupidity in her eyes. I had offered the irresistible.

“That’s gradely, that is. There might be one or two.”

“Well, you mustn’t hesitate to ask.”

“I take that as a real kind thought.”

I was glowing with confidence.

“Your garden is a picture,” I said. “This is the best time of the year, I suppose.”

“Spring is better,” she said. “Least I think so.”

“Yes, spring. We’re getting on in the year now.” I inhaled the air. “It’s gloomy today. It makes one thirsty.”

It was a hint and she hesitated for a moment. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Oh, that would be wonderful.”

So once more I had effected an entrance and I was in the sitting room with the picture of Annette of the saucy smile and ample bosom smiling at me.

Then I thought, go carefully. I was not going to give up now, if I could help it. That offer of more plants had been a good one. It was irresistible to her, and it was becoming something of a passion with me to discover more of Annette, and her mother could surely tell me as much as anybody.

She came in with a tea tray on which were two cups, milk, sugar, and a teapot over which was a cosy of pink and beige wool, obviously homemade.

She was a knitter then. That might be a subject to embark on, but alas one of which I was abysmally ignorant, as I was of gardening.

She poured out the tea.

I said: “This is very pleasant.”

She did not comment, but she did not look displeased.

“What an interesting teacosy,” I went on.

That was the right approach.

“You have to make these things yourself if you’re going to get what you want.”

“So you knitted that?”

“It’s not knitted. It’s crocheted. I do knit a bit, though.”

“Are you knitting at the moment?”

“A jersey,” she said tersely.

“That sounds interesting.”

“Had trouble getting the wool. This place…”

“You’d probably get what you want in Plymouth.”