Alix expelled her breath on a sigh. That little bit was Willie's psychology, put in purposefully to stir her up, to make her envious. Linsey Morris was younger than she was, and had only been working for the magazine for about eighteen months. But already she had proved herself capable of asking the most outrageous questions of a number of prominent people, and Willie was already talking of creating a regular column for her. Alix, on the other hand, had worked her way up from being a very junior reporter, anxiously suspecting that she would never achieve that kind of insensitivity to other people's feel­ings. That was why she had been so keen to come here— to prove herself! And look what had happened.

  Willie's last words were typically insensitive:

  'Is it at all possible to give me a brief outline of what you've learned so far? Or has the whole exercise been a complete waste of time?'

  Alix finished reading, and allowed the hand holding the letter to fall on to the bed beside her. It was typical of Willie to hold a gun to her head, so to speak. Demand­ing a reply by return! He had no conception of the situation here.

  She got up off the bed and walked to the window. Frost had gilded the trees, creating a tracery of white, and there was something incredibly beautiful about fields rimed like the sprinkling of icing on a cake. Oh, God, she thought despairingly, what would Linsey do in her position?

  The answer was simple, of course. She would write to Willie, and get Lady Morgan to post the letter for her in Bridleburn.

  Alix turned hack to face the room. She had some writing paper and envelopes in her suitcase. She could write to her mother as well, and reassure her that she had not disappeared off the face of the earth. But what could she say to Willie?

  She was sitting at the table, chewing the end of her pen, when the bedroom door opened and Myra came inio the room. She looked surprised to see Alix, and then ges­tured sullenly towards the bed.

  'Didn't know you were here,' she mumbled. 'Came to make the bed.'

  Alix made an indifferent movement with her shoulders. 'Well, as you can see, it's made,' she said, although she was almost glad of the interruption. She would have thought Myra would have gathered that she always made her own bed by now, but the girl wasn't very bright, as Oliver had said, and her mother probably made her check every day.

  Myra departed again, and Alix returned to her letter Apart from 'Dear Willie' she had written nothing else, and it was galling to admit that she felt incapable of im­parting the startling information about Melissa's Japanese ancestry. She sighed. She was not the stuff of which re­porters were made, and perhaps a tendering of her resig­nation might be in order.

  Then she remembered Joanne Morgan's death and hardened her heart. Willie would say that the most villainous men in history had often been irresistibly attrac­tive to women, and here she was, jeopardising her career just because Oliver Morgan had displayed a physical attraction towards her. An attraction, moreover, which he had swiftly rejected. Was she so immature that she

  Couldn't see what he was doing? That by making love to her he might ensure a loyalty above and beyond the hounds of duty! Was that why he was prepared to take her to Bridleburn this morning, because he thought he had made a slave of her?

  And yet last night his attitude had hardly been that Of a lover. He had behaved as if he disliked her utterly, and Alix was not experienced enough to know whether that was a deliberate ploy or not. With a feeling of resignation, she wrote:

  'Sorry about the delay, but the situation isn't exactly as we expected. I can't explain now, but it's definitely going to take longer than we had anticipated. I'll let you know as soon as I have anything to report. Yours, etc...'

  It wasn't a very satisfactory letter, she knew that, and Willie would be furious at the innuendo, but she couldn't help it. She simply could not baldly put down the facts at this stage. He would write again, she had no doubts about that, and when he did, perhaps she would know better how to handle it. It was the coward's way out, and she knew it.

  Writing to her mother was easier. It wasn't difficult to Concoct some story to satisfy her, and at least she had the satisfaction of knowing that because of the situation here, she was not tarnishing her mother's reputation as a librarian.

  When the letters were sealed Alix went downstairs again, looking for Lady Morgan, and was disconcerted to find Oliver waiting in the hall. In a cream suede jerkin and matching pants, he looked darkly disturbing, his hawklike features drawing into a frown when he saw the | envelopes in her hand.

  'Going somewhere?' he inquired.

  Alix hesitated on the bottom stair. 'I was looking for Lady Morgan, actually.'

  ' 'Yes?'

  'Yes.' She met his eyes defiantly, and then looked away from their too-penetrating scrutiny. 'I—where is she?'

  'She'll be down directly,' he replied briefly. 'Why?'

  Alix cleared her throat. 'I—well, I wanted to ask her if she'd—do something for me.'

  'Post your letters?' he asked perceptively. 'Seth told mt you had a letter this morning. Do you always reply by return?'

  Alix hunched her shoulders. 'Not always. But I haven't written to my mother since I got here, and she was—concerned.'

  'So you've written her two letters,' he remarked point­edly.

  'No!' Alix glanced angrily at him. 'Really, this is ridiculous! I—I've written to my—uncle as well.'

  'Your mother's brother?' His scepticism was obvious.

  'No!' she declared hotly. 'My father's!' and then she realised what she had said. If he should see those two envelopes with different surnames he would know she was lying. And what was more upsetting still, her mother's name was Thornton, too, the same as hers, and she was supposed to be a married woman! Oh, lord, she thought sickly, what a tangled web!

  Realising there was only one way out of the mess, she said quickly: 'As—as a matter of fact, I think I will come with you into Bridleburn, if you don't mind.'

  'To post your letters?' he persisted.

  Alix seethed with frustration. 'Among other things.'

  'I'll post them for you,' he said, holding out his hand for the envelopes. 'There's no need for you to go.'

  Alix pressed the letters to her breast. If only she had put them in her pocket before coming downstairs, in- stead of advertising their presence to anyone who cared to see! But then she hadn't realised their importance, or how easily she could be exposed. And now she was faced with an impossible decision: if she gave him the letters he could read the inconsistencies in her story for himself, and if she didn't...

  With a gesture of defeat she handed the letters over, and he stufEed them carelessly into the pocket of his jerkin without even looking at the addresses written on them. Alix stared at him incredulously, and then realising how foolish she must appear, she turned back to the stairs again. A reprieve, but for how long? 'Alix!'

  I His voice halted her, and she turned to look at him reluctantly. 'Yes?'

  'Did you tell your mother about Melissa?' Alix's cheeks flamed. 'No!'

  'I'm glad,' he said, a faint smile of satisfaction crossing his face, and contrarily she wished she had. He was so smug!

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MELISSA was sitting at the table in the library when Alix entered the room on Monday morning. She had already set out her exercise books and her pencils, and although Alix suspected her motives she couldn't help admiring her unsmiling composure.

  The weekend had passed surprisingly quickly, consider­ing that Alix had lived in constant anticipation of being summoned to Oliver's study. But the summons had not come. Indeed, she had not laid eyes on him since Saturday morning when he took possession of her letters, and her conversations with Lady Morgan had only elicited the information that he was working once more.

  But she had learned a little more about the Morgan family. She had learned, for instance, that Lady Morgan's husband was dead, and that Joanne had been their only child. That would account for Joanne's personal fortune, Alix hazarded. Her father had obviously left her a con­siderable sum. Apart from this, she heard about Joanne's childhood and adolescence, the hundred and one things a mother would remember.

  Surprisingly enough, Lady Morgan could speak of her daughter's death without bitterness, and although Alix had heard it all before she listened intently when she was told how Joanne had skidded and crashed her car into a tree less than a mile from her home.

  'It must have been a terrible shock!' she offered awk­wardly, when Lady Morgan paused and stared rather sadly into space.

  'Yes, it was.' The older woman sighed. 'But Oliver has been a tower of strength. I don't know what I'd have done without him and Melissa.' That was Alix's opportunity to ask how long Lady Morgan had known about the child, but she couldn't do it. It sounded so blatant somehow, a deliberate statement that she knew that Melissa was not really her grandchild.

  And so the moment passed, and afterwards Alix had enough to do in answering the equally personal questions Lady Morgan addressed to her. It was awful having to describe a relationship with an unknown man, and then invent some reason why that relationship had broken down. It was easiest to pretend that another woman had been involved, and feeling a ridiculous sense of guilt, Alix conceded that her 'husband' had been unfaithful to hen

  Lady Morgan was very sympathetic, and that made things worse, so that Alix was incredibly relieved when the conversation moved to less personal matters.

  And now it was Monday morning, and her lessons with Melissa were to begin in earnest. There was no Makoto to interfere, and she had Lady Morgan's guarantee that she would not appear to distract the child.

  Deciding to return to the scheme of giving Melissa a story to write, Alix put the idea to her and suggested one or two titles gleaned from her small knowledge of the child's background.

  'You could write me a story about Yoko,' she proposed lightly. 'I'd love to hear all about him and his adventures. Do you think you could do that?'

  Melissa picked up her pencil. 'All right,' she said in­differently.

  'Good.' Alix's spirits rose a little. 'And do you think you could use some of these words in your story?'

  Melissa stared mutinously at the slip of paper Alix gave her. 'I don't know what all these words mean,' she said, after a few minutes.

  Alix came to look over her shoulder. 'Then just use

  those you do know,' she suggested.

  Melissa glanced up at her. 'How many words have I to use?'

  'As many as you like,' said Alix levelly. 'Now, go ahead. I'll be preparing some arithmetic for us to do later.'

  Melissa's dark head bent over the paper, and Alix re­sumed her seat at the opposite side of the table. But pre­paring a lesson of arithmetic took no time, and she found I herself staring out of the window at the mist which as yet lingered over the frosty ground. A few flakes of snow had fallen the night before and they still powdered the grass, frozen crystals that brought beauty to the hard-packed ground. The windowpane was frosted around its rim, and added its own illusive frame to the picture. She had never realised winter could be so beautiful, living as she did in an area where snow was immediately turned to slush by the passage of many feet, and where warm buildings were vastly preferable to the smoke-laden atmosphere outside. Here was all the magic of a picture postcard, and already she could feel its spell.

  Suddenly she became aware that Melissa had stopped writing and was watching her instead. The little girl's eyes were intent and rather thoughtful, and Alix fell embarrassment sweeping over her for no apparent reason.

  'Have you finished?' she asked hurriedly, but when Melissa spoke it was not to answer her.

  'Daddy invited you here, didn't he?' she said, through tight lips.

  Alix swallowed convulsively. 'I—yes, of course he did.'

  Melissa nodded. 'I guessed he did really. I just wanted to know.'

  She picked up her pencil again, and would have con­tinued writing, but Alix couldn't let it rest there. 'Why did you ask that, Melissa?' she probed. 'You know why I'm here, to teach you. And if your daddy hadn't told me

  about you, I shouldn't have known, should I?'

  Melissa's chin jutted. 'I don't know.'

  'Of course you do.'

  'You're not a teacher,' Melissa insisted, 'not really.'

  Alix frowned. 'Who told you that?'

  'It doesn't matter.' Melissa hunched her shoulders. 'But you're not, are you?'

  Alix sighed. 'No—'

  'You see!'

  'You don't understand, Melissa.' i Melissa shrugged her thin shoulders. '1 don't have to, do I?' she asked, unconsciously practical, and Alix won­dered who had put such thoughts into her head.

  She decided she would have to clear the air before she and Melissa could achieve any real understanding, and searching carefully for the right words, she said: 'Your daddy is a famous man, Melissa. You know that. And everything he does, people want to know about it.'

  'What has that got to do with anything?'

  'Well ...' Alix twisted her pen between her fingers. 'If he had advertised for a governess for you, there would have been lots of newspaper men wanting to know why.'

  'Why?'

  Alix baulked. Why indeed? Biting her lip, she said: 'As I told you, everything your daddy does gets into the newspapers, and if they found out that he had a little girl, they would want to know all about you, and take pictures of you, and make life very unpleasant for a time.'

  Melissa pursed her lips. 'I don't want anybody taking pictures of me,' she averted, glancing self-consciously down at her lameness.

  'No, well—you can't always stop it,' explained Alix, dryly, aware of her own duplicity in all this.

  Melissa's brows were drawn together. 'So Daddy asked you to come and teach me?'

  Alix nodded. 'Well, something like that,' she agreed uncomfortably.

  Melissa stared at her for a long moment. 'Why don't you live with your own husband?' she asked at last, and Alix felt an awful sense of inadequacy in the face of the child's frank curiosity.

  'I—we—we don't get on,' she ventured at last.

  'Why not?' Melissa was determined to know. 'Is it be­cause of Daddy?'

  Alix gasped. 'No!'

  'Is that why Mummy was so unhappy? Because she knew that Daddy wanted you?'

  'No!' Alix stared at her now. 'Good heavens, Melissa, where did you get all this?' Then a thought struck her forcibly. 'Was it from Mrs Brandon? Or Myra? Have they been talking to you?'

  Melissa's pale cheeks flushed with colour. 'Of course not,' she declared haughtily.

  Alix frowned. 'Makoto, then,' she averred. 'It has to be one or the other of them. You couldn't possibly have made this up on your own.'

  'It's not made up!' cried Melissa, throwing down her pencil and getting off her chair. 'Daddy brought you here, you said so. And I know he always does what you tell him to do! He has time for you, but .since you came here he never has time for me!'

  Alix was on her feet too, now. 'That's not true, Melissa I Your father's been working. That's why I'm here! That is—now that I'm here, he can get on with what he has to do!'

  'You were with him on Friday afternoon when Grand­mother arrived!' stated Melissa accusingly. 'You know you were!'

  Alix clenched her fists. 'I went riding and got lost. Your father found me.'

  Melissa sniffed. 'You went to the tower with him,' she declared bitterly.

  'Now how do you know that?' exclaimed Alix, aware of the weakness that still enveloped her whenever she thought of that afternoon. 'Did—did your father tell you?' Surely not!

  Melissa was silent, and with a feeling of relief Alix guessed that she had heard it from some other source. But how? And then she remembered Giles. Of course, he : could have told Mrs Brandon, and Mrs Brandon would pass it on to Makoto, no doubt. Alix ought to have real­ised how much the little Japanese woman would resent her for taking up so much of Melissa's time, for making her position insecure. But poisoning the child's mind was a horrible thing to do, unless she really believed it. It was possible, of course. If Melissa's mother had been unhappy, it was not unreasonable to speculate on the cause, and Alix was a convenient scapegoat. More than convenient, she thought, wondering whether she was being blamed for the breakdown of Oliver's marriage as well. But that ' couldn't be true, not if his Japanese mistress was still alive. Still, she could hardly say that to the child.

  Now she said quietly: 'I think someone has been trying to cause trouble, Melissa. Your father and I never met until I came here to look after you.'

  Melissa looked up at her suspiciously. 'I don't believe you.'

  'Why not?'

  'Because...'

  'Because what?' Alix was half impatient. 'Melissa, this is silly! If you won't tell me what—'

  'You don't sleep in your own bed,' declared the little girl tremulously. 'You sleep in Daddy's—when he's here!'

  Alix sat down rather suddenly on the edge of her chair.

  'What?' she asked faintly.

 

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