Though Lynn and Rowley always called Mrs Jeremy Cloade "Frances," Mrs Lionel Cloade was invariably "Aunt Kathie." They were fond of her but found her rather ridiculous.

This "party," arranged ostensibly to celebrate Lynn's homecoming, was merely a family affair.

Aunt Kathie greeted her niece affectionately:

"So nice and brown you look, my dear. Egypt, I suppose. Did you read the book on the Pyramid prophecies I sent you? So interesting. Really explains everything, don't you think?"

Lynn was saved from replying by the entrance of Mrs Gordon Cloade and her brother David.

"This is my niece, Lynn Marchmont, Rosaleen."

Lynn looked at Gordon Cloade's widow with decorously veiled curiosity.

Yes, she was lovely, this girl who had married old Gordon Cloade for his money.

And it was true what Rowley had said, that she had an air of innocence. Black hair, set in loose waves, Irish blue eyes put in with the smutty finger - half-parted lips.

The rest of her was predominantly expensive. Dress, jewels, manicured hands, fur cape. Quite a good figure, but she didn't, really, know how to wear expensive clothes. Didn't wear them as Lynn Marchmont could have worn them, given half a chance! (But you never will have a chance, said a voice in her brain.)

"How do you do," said Rosaleen Cloade.

She turned hesitatingly to the man behind her.

She said: "This - this is my brother."

"How do you do," said David Hunter.

He was a thin young man with dark hair and dark eyes. His face was unhappy and defiant and slightly insolent.

Lynn saw at once why all the Cloades disliked him so much. She had met men of that stamp abroad. Men who were reckless and slightly dangerous. Men whom you couldn't depend upon. Men who made their

own laws and flouted the universe. Men who were worth their weight in gold in a push - and who drove their C.O.s to distraction out of the firing line!

Lynn said conversationally to Rosaleen:

"And how do you like living at Furrowbank?"

"I think it's a wonderful house," said Rosaleen.

David Hunter gave a faint sneering laugh.

"Poor old Gordon did himself well," he said. "No expense spared."

It was literally the truth. When Gordon had decided to settle down in Warmsley Vale - or rather had decided to spend a small portion of his busy life there, he had chosen to build. He was too much of an individualist to care for a house that was impregnated with other people's history.

He had employed a young modern architect and given him a free hand. Half Warmsley Vale thought Furrowbank a dreadful house, disliking its white squareness, it's built-in furnishing, its sliding doors, and glass tables and chairs. The only part of it they really admired wholeheartedly were the bathrooms.

There had been awe in Rosaleen's, "It's a wonderful house." David's laugh made her flush.

"You're the returned Wren, aren't you?" said David to Lynn.

"Yes."

His eyes swept over her appraisingly - and for some reason she flushed.