Crescendo

'Something familiar about you,' she said. 'I'm certain I've seen your face somewhere before.'

He studied her. 'I hope the impression was a favourable one.'

It was an odd thing for him to say and she felt

that he was waiting almost with anxiety for her to reply.

'I don't feel like running away shrieking when­ever I see you,' she told him lightly.

'What do you feel like?'

Again that hard ring of question in his voice. Marina frowned, staring at him.

'Why won't you tell me? There's something, isn't there? You and Grandie are hiding something from me.'

He drew back then, smiling drily. 'What a vivid imagination you've got! Eat your cheese.' He prof­fered it again and she slowly took it, aware that he was avoiding any further discussion.

'What sort of businessman are you?' she asked him.

'The busy sort,' he said coolly. 'I've been working flat out for months. I'm mentally and physically exhausted.'

She considered him, nibbling her cheese. 'You look as if you're more at home in luxury hotels than little cottages.'

He grimaced. 'I see enough of hotels in the rest of the year. I travel widely and one can get very tired of hotel life.'

Marina sighed. 'Oh, I'd love to get tired of it.'

There was a curious silence. Gideon stared at the valley, his face rigid, the harsh bone structure dominant,-making his features seem fleshless like an eagle's hooked profile, the black hair blown back off his high forehead.

He raked a hand through it and she watched. 'You have a good span,' she told him suddenly. 'Do you play the piano?'

His mouth twisted. 'Slightly,' he said.

'You must play to me when we get back,' she said, delighted.

'I'd rather not,' Gideon said flatly. 'I'm not in your class.'

She seized one of his hands and laid it over her palm, surveying the sinewy length of it, studying the strong fingers.

'It's a powerful hand.'

'What are you? A palmist?' he asked derisively.

She began to laugh and turned his hand oyer to view the palm. It was smooth and pale, the lines bitten into it deeply. 'A good life line,' she told him. 'But very little heart line. On the other hand your head line is extra strong.'

He chuckled. 'Clever stuff! You forgot to ask me to cross your palm with silver.'

'All contributions received gratefully,' she re­torted with a smile.

He drew a fifty-pence piece out of his pocket and laid it on her hand.

'Thank you, little gypsy.'

She bit it. 'Not over-generous, but it will do. Thank you.' She slipped the coin into her pocket. 'I'll buy a new crystal ball.'

'Too late,' he mocked. 'You've already met the dark stranger.'

She looked at him through her lashes. 'But are you a stranger?'