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She knew she was babbling on, but she didn't seem able to stop—not with the nub of the whole matter looming large.

  `Anyway,' she resumed, Grant sitting quietly watching, but this time not interrupting, `I'd done too much. I know I shouldn't have lugged my cases from the bus stop,

  but . . .' She stopped when his face took on a tight-lipped expression again. 'Well, anyway,' she said, feeling all hot and clammy, 'I haven't felt even the smallest niggle in nearly a week now.'

  `So . . . ?' he enquired, being obtuse on purpose, she was certain.

  And that just about did it. Here she was going under at what she was trying to tell him, and when his brain was always about ten steps ahead of hers, here he was making out he didn't have an idea what she was talking about. .

  `Damn you!' she exploded, embarrassment flying in the face of provoked rage. 'What I'm trying to tell you is that since I'm not in any pain now, there's no need for you to sleep in that big bed alone.'

  She was crimson-faced as those last words left her. And she was struggling desperately for control when Grant looked at her for long moments without speaking. And then he had her fighting with all she had not to physically lash out at him, when slowly he drawled:

  `Now how about that for an invitation!'

  Taking a mammoth breath for control, aware of his eyes on her heaving bosom, Devon stayed in there as though glued.

  `But an invitation you're not going to take up tonight?' she questioned tautly.

  For a moment, as she saw his eyes start to smoulder as they left their fascination with her rising and falling breasts, and returned to her face, Devon thought she had won. She even began to feel that thrill of a different panic as Grant rose' from his chair, and looked as though he would come over to her.

  But she was staggered when, expecting to feel his arms around her at any moment, she saw him half turn away, and heard his curt, 'Tonight my fancy is, for a more experienced woman.' And as she stood and stared stupi-

  fied, he strode across to the door, and had one last instruction for her. 'Leave the washing up—Mrs Podmore will see to it in the morning.'

  Militantly, Devon slammed into the washing up. Damn him, damn him! she thought, unintentionally breaking a plate and not caring, hoping it was part of his best dinner service, damn his eyes!

  Having gone to bed and lain there, positive she wasn't at all interested in what time he got back from his `experienced woman', a picture of the stunning Vivien came to her and just would not leave. Damn him, she thought again—and was certain it was not pique that she felt. He could take himself off with a dozen Viviens and she still wouldn't care.

  Again Devon had a wakeful night, but it was not until halfway through the next morning that it came to her, impossible though it seemed, that it had not been worry over her father's peace of mind that had kept her awake this time!

  By midday of the following Monday, she had just about had it with Grant Harrington's vow of celibacy—where she was concerned—Mrs Podmore's fussing, and The Limes convalescent home in general.

  Last Monday had not been the only evening Grant had gone out. She had tried again on Thursday to get through to him, and again he had gone out. No wonder he wasn't champing at the bit to get her into bed with him, she thought sourly.

  For a further ten minutes Devon 'railed against Grant Harrington and the fact that she would not feel her father secure until she had let that swine of a man have his wicked way with her. Then, moved by a spirit that said 'Who did he think he was?' and recalling clearly that he had not liked it that day she hadn't answered the telephone and he had thought she had gone out, she waited only until Mrs

  Podmore had gone for the day—then she too left The Limes.

  She let herself into her own home, delighted to see that her father had managed to find time to drop her a note. He was well, he said, but was busy. Reading between the lines, she guessed he would work himself to a standstill to do a good job to prove to Grant that he would not let him down a second time. She would write him a chatty letter back, she thought, seeing that his scribbled communication must have lain on the hall carpet for a week now, according to the postmark. He would only start to fret if he didn't hear from her soon.

  Her feelings of defiance against Grant Harrington had been weakened by a few hours in the sanctuary of her own home. But at five, and because she had no alternative, Devon went to catch a bus back to The Limes. And having swung round from being ready to look for a fight with him, luckier with public transport than she had been before, in a much less contentious frame of mind, she made it to the foot of the drive with about fifteen minutes to spare before he usually came home.

  To see his car parked outside the front door was enough to tell her that today he had broken from routine. Anticipating trouble, her chin tilted—she wasn't a prisoner, for goodness' sake, she thought, but she knew that was exactly what she was. A prisoner to the dictates of the man who would surely have her father incarcerated in a prison with bars, if she did not jump when he said 'jump'.

  His glowering expression when she went in said it all. 'I didn't expect you home yet,' she heard herself get in first. Then she realised she was sounding guilty, and came quickly off the defensive. 'I went home—to see if there was any mail,' she tacked on, hating that her offensive had soon crumpled in the face of his furious look, and that she had quickly invented an excuse.

  `You went by taxi, of course?' he asked shortly. `It didn't occur to me to . .

  `You took a bus—you walked to and from the bus stop! That's a good half mile, plus the distance the other end.'

  To Devon it seemed that he was more concerned that she had walked anywhere than he was that she hadn't been there when he had got in. And she was just about fed up with the way she, in her view, was being overprotected.

  `Exercise is good for me,' she snapped in a spurt of temper.

  `I'll remember that,' he said, fire lighting his eyes as he took in the blue flame in hers. But she noted, for all that fire, he made no move to come anywhere near her. Though he did manage to confuse her when he held out his hand, palm uppermost, and said, 'Keys.'

  'Keys?' she questioned, her brow wrinkling.

  `The keys to your house. I'll collect any mail that arrives for you.'

  Devon was back to thinking Swine, swine, swine! when she went to bed that night. Of course she'd had to hand over her keys, he'd been adamant about that. Though she did have a small victory in that she knew exactly under which plant pot in the garden shed a spare key to the front door was hidden.

  Nursing her small feeling of triumph the next day, Devon felt less mutinous when she got up. But when Grant arrived home a little later than usual that night, and handed her a picture postcard from her father, then told her that her father had chanced to telephone while he was there, she was back to wanting to take a sledgehammer to him.

  `You answered the phone!' she squeaked. And rapidly, `What did he say? What did you tell him?' Vivid pictures of her father's peace of mind going up in smoke beset her.

  And it didn't help one iota that Grant was calm where she was threatening to blow a fuse, as he chose to answer her second question.

  told him I was taking you out to dinner, and that you were upstairs getting ready.'

  `What—did he say?' she asked, her first rush of panic on the wane.

  `He said that he'd phoned a couple of times and that you must have been out,' Grant replied evenly. And, a devil lighting his eyes so she just knew she wasn't going to like what was coming, he added, told him we were seeing a lot of each other, but that I hoped—to see a lot more of you.'

  `That's not funny,' she retorted acidly, and could have hit him when all she had for a reply was an infuriating grin. 'What did he say to that?' she asked him freezingly.

  `What you'd expect,' he said. 'Came on the heavy parent, forgot I was his employer, and told me you weren't like other girls.' He paused, then had her staring at him wide-eyed when he revealed, told him I knew all about your surgery.'

/>   `But not,' she swallowed, 'but not that you knew why he had—stolen from you?'

  His grin disappeared, and if she had tried to freeze him, his voice was hard and like ice when he rapped back, 'The money wasn't discussed.' Flattened, she saw his expression change again, even if he was carelessly studying the headlines in the evening paper draped over the back of the settee, as he said, 'Though he did seem to think, since you must have told me the dark secret of your operation, that you must think quite something of me.'

  She wasn't that flattened. And when Grant had raised his eyes to look at her, as lofty as he occasionally was, she tossed at him:

  `What quaint ideas parents sometimes get!'

  And he had bounced back, not entirely unexpectedly, `Don't they, though—I'm sure he thinks my intentions are honourable.'

  That night Devon wrote a long and happy-sounding letter to her parent. And because, in the light of Grant's telephone conversation with him, he would suspect something was wrong if she didn't mention it, she told him how she had gone out with his employer a couple of times, and how she had enjoyed it.

  But having sealed her letter and got into bed, disturbed by the thought that she hated lying to her parent, Devon was brought up short to realise that she had not lied to him. She had been out with Grant a couple of times, and she had, when she thought 'about it— enjoyed those outings! She pulled the covers over her head and tried to sleep. She was, she thought, to say the least, feeling not a little confused.

  Confusion was to be hers too the following morning, when while it was still very early, something wakened her. Confusion and heart-bumping panic were immediately mingled. For, her eyes going enormous, she discovered that Grant was in her room!

  For that moment, as her throat dried and she realised that he had chosen now as the time to claim his retribution, she was too stunned to take in that he was dressed and didn't look likely to tell her to make some room for him in her single bed.

  `Don't panic,' he instructed, watching her saucer eyes and not having too much bother in reading her thoughts. `I have to go away for a few days—I thought you might want to kiss me goodbye.'

  Panic fled as she took in his business suit, but confusion stayed. Somehow it didn't seem right that he wouldn't be coming home tonight.

  `With pleasure,' she replied, doing her best with sarcasm that early in the morning.

  She struggled to sit up, then found she need not have bothered. For Grant had parked himself on the edge of her bed, and had taken hold of her. And as he covered her mouth with his own, and his body came into close contact, so as his kiss deepened and her hands came to his shoulders, she found she was being pressed back against the mattress.

  She was sure afterwards that she had not clung to him, but his lingering kiss did disturb her—she had to admit that. But suddenly Grant was breaking away, taking her hands from his shoulders and pushing them back to her.

  Then he was moving quickly to the door as though he was running late. Though he did have time to spare for one last look at her as she lay with her tousled silky blonde hair against her pillows. And he did have time for one last taunting comment.

  `Try not to miss me too much;' he mocked. Then, very definitely serious, 'And make sure you're still here when I get back on Friday.'

  CHAPTER NINE

  HAVING risen early that Wednesday that Grant went away, Devon was out of the house to post her letter before Mrs Podmore arrived. Though the daily was there when she got back, and was sympathetic when she told her that Mr Harrington had gone away on business.

  `He often does,' replied Mrs Podmore. 'What a shame he had to go while you're here, though. You'll feel lonely in this big house by yourself, I expect.'

  She hadn't been at all lonely, Devon told herself when she went to bed that night. Though it wouldn't have hurt him to put a three-minute telephone call through—even if he did know she wouldn't answer the phone. It did not occur to her that she might be thinking a shade illogically!

  Thursday seemed to be a day that went on for ever. The phone stayed quiet, the house was quiet, and it was no wonder, she thought, that she should be fed up. And as she remembered the first half of Grant's departing shot, it certainly was not that she was missing him, that she felt so out of sorts.

  She had not slept well the previous night, but as she tried to settle down to sleep that night, a thousand and one thoughts visited her, so that in actual fact, on Thursday night, she barely slept at all.

  She knew full well why Grant couldn't put himself out to pick up the phone, of course. But that her imagination should provide her with vivid pictures of some stunning, experienced female, she could do without. What did she care whom he was out with? Or who it was who kept him so fully occupied that he had forgotten completely that he

  had a less experienced female established in his home? A female whom, she thought, anger stimulating her into further sleeplessness, he had told, 'Be here when I get back.'

  Like hell she'd be there when he got back! she fumed-and was then visited by a whole jumble of thoughts that further prevented sleep. How could she leave? There was her father to think of! And oh, lord, her appointment with Mr McAllen was on Monday—it would look well if, as she had thought before, her father decided to make a quick visit to go with her!

  Two minutes after she had dropped off into an exhausted sleep, or that was the way it seemed, Devon opened her eyes and saw it was time to get up. She could have lain there a few more hours catching up on the night's sleep she had missed, but the thought of Mrs Podmore had her dragging herself wearily out of bed. Mrs Podmore was sure to think she was ill if she hadn't surfaced when she arrived, and the thought of her fussing over her was more than she could take that morning_

  But however little sleep she had managed to get in, thoughts that had kept her awake were still with her as she bathed and dressed and went downstairs.

  `Good morning, Mrs Podmore,' she greeted brightly, when on the stroke of nine she arrived.

  `Good morning, Miss Johnston,' Mrs Podmore replied, looking at her closely before she set down her basket and changed into her 'comfy' shoes. 'You look a little peaky this morning. Are you all right?'

  Feeling she must have bags under her eyes down to her knees, Devon kept a bright smile. 'I'm fine,' she said. `Fine.' And, ready to say anything to head her off, for she could see Mrs Podmore was about to suggest she went and sat down while she made her a nice cup of tea, off the top of her head she said, 'Mr Harrington comes back today.'

  Mrs Podmore smiled. 'I expect you'll be looking forward to that.' And, still smiling, 'Though I daresay Mr Harrington has phoned each evening to see if you're all right?'

  See, Devon thought, as she smiled as if to convey that Grant had never been off the phone, even Mrs Podmore thought it was natural he should exert himself to pick up the phone. Well, if he couldn't be bothered to ring, then he could go and whistle! By the very fact that he had commanded her to hand over the keys to her home, she knew he did not want her going there. Well, tough luck, she thought. Besides which, if as she suspected, her father might take it into his head to come home and God knew what she .was going to do about that—then she was just not going to let him come home to a place that looked as though it had not been lived in.

  Prefixing her statement with a phrase she was getting tired of trotting out, 'The doctor said exercise is good for me,' Devon allayed Mrs Podmore's fears, then told her, 'I thought I'd go for a walk this morning.' And, knowing she wouldn't be back before twelve, 'Though of course I shall hail a taxi if I feel in the least tired,' adding, 'I think I may stay in town for lunch.'

  Half past ten saw her in the garden shed of her home, satisfaction hers as her fingers took up the spare key to the front door.

  Mentally thumbing her nose at Grant Harrington, she was soon in the house and had all the windows open before she got down to work. First she made a fruit cake, then pastry, then she cleaned up the kitchen before she collected up the brass from every room, and then set abo
ut giving it a good polish.

  There were few fresh supplies in the house, and even though hoping she was mistaken and that this weekend would see neither hide nor hair of her father, she just

  could not bear that he should return home without so much as a crust of bread in the house.

  .Shopping took longer than she had thought. And it was four o'clock before she had everything put away and had decided she would have something to eat. A bowl of soup and some toast, plus a jam tart made from left-over pastry, sent hunger pangs away.

  Once more Devon cleaned up the kitchen, making a mental note to put the fruit cake in a tin just before she left. It should be cold by then. Just time then to flick a quick duster round the place, she thought, and while she was upstairs she had better close the windows.

  It was peculiar, she thought, as she went downstairs again, a duster pushed into the pocket of her overall as the need came to her to take her ease on the settee for a moment, that one never realised how tired one was until one sat down.

  Of course, she had barely slept last night. And she had rather used up her spare energy on rushing about a bit today. But, in a glorious feeling of elation she had not felt since that day she had come back from Sweden, she had hared around the shops, been up and down stairs numerous times today, and oh, how marvellous!—understandably weary as she felt, not so much as the tiniest niggle did she feel in her hip!

  It was ages since she had stretched out on the settee, she thought, and for the pure experience of doing so when there was absolutely no need, she raised her feet from the floor, a smile picking up the corners of her mouth as she made herself comfortable and closed her eyes.

  It had been broad daylight when she had sat down on the settee, she remembered, when something startled her awake and she opened her eyes. But it was not daylight now, and as she blinked and her eyes adjusted to electric light, she gaped to see, more furious than she had ever