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St. Clair?’

      ‘He didn’t tell me his Christian name, Miss St. Cloud,’ replied Rebecca, suddenly aware of the similarity between the two surnames.

      Adele sighed, shaking her head. ‘It will be Piers,’ she said, with definition. ‘I know his business takes him all over the world. It is not beyond the realms of possibility that he has business here in Suva.’ Her gaze grew speculative. ‘Why didn’t you let me know he was here?’

      Rebecca sighed. ‘You know Dr. Manson’s instructions are very explicit. You must not be disturbed—–’

      ‘Rubbish! How dare you send away a friend when he takes the trouble to come out here to see me!’

      Rebecca bit her lip. ‘I didn’t exactly send him away, Miss St. Cloud. He went of his own accord. He realised it was an inconvenient hour—–’

      Adele moved impatiently, almost upsetting her breakfast tray in the process. ‘Did he say he would come back?’

      ‘Yes,’ Rebecca nodded. ‘At least—I assumed—–’ She halted abruptly, remembering certain parts of that encounter. ‘I’m—I’m sure he will come back.’

      Adele’s face was contorted with anger. ‘Stupid girl! Can’t you do anything right? Haven’t you the sense to realise when a visitor might be admitted and when he might not? Surely it crossed your limited intelligence that Piers St. Clair was no ordinary visitor!’

      Rebecca suffered Adele’s rage in silence. Apart from the fact that to argue with her would stimulate her still further, she knew that to do so was useless. It was far better to allow her employer to rid herself of the pent-up emotions which seemed to develop so quickly these days, and afterwards go on as though nothing had happened.

      Adele finally lay back on her pillows, spent, and Rebecca came forward and poured her a cup of coffee without saying a word. Adele raised the cup to her lips and after swallowing several mouthsful, she said in quite a different tone: ‘What did you think of him anyway, Rebecca?’

      Rebecca straightened, and sighed. She had half-hoped the subject of Piers St. Clair might be put aside for the time being. But knowing Adele she guessed she intended to make the most of the incident.

      ‘He—he seemed very nice,’ she responded rather inadequately. ‘Would you like me to butter you a roll? Would you like some of this mandarin jelly?’

      Adele’s eyes flickered upward, and she studied her nurse’s face rather mockingly. ‘He’s a very rich man, Rebecca. He owns several construction companies in France and Spain.’

      ‘Indeed!’ Rebecca smiled with what she hoped was a politely interested manner. ‘Are you going to get up this morning? Shall I run your bath?’

      Adele uttered an exclamation. ‘For heaven’s sake, Rebecca, stop behaving like an automaton! I asked you what you think of St. Clair. Surely you have some opinion!’

      ‘I don’t know him well enough to form any opinion, Miss St. Cloud.’ Rebecca folded her hands with resignation.

      ‘Oh, come now, Rebecca. Surely he has not changed so much over the years. He always was a handsome devil!’

      ‘The relative attractiveness of your visitors is nothing to do with me, Miss St. Cloud,’ answered Rebecca, rather shortly. ‘Is there anything else you want at the moment, Miss St. Cloud—–’

      Adele put down her coffee cup with a clatter. ‘You’re deliberately misunderstanding me, miss! I just thought we might have a friendly chat about a man whom I once knew rather well …’ Her voice trailed away and there was a rather absent look on her face now. Then she seemed to realise she was being a little too confiding, for she thrust the tray aside, and said: ‘Of course I’m getting up this morning. I must look my best. St. Clair will call again. I’m sure of it!’

      Later in the morning, Rebecca was wheeling Adele about the spacious garden of the villa when they heard the sound of a car’s engine. Adele looked up at her nurse, and her eyes brightened considerably. ‘That is St. Clair,’ she said. ‘Come! Wheel me round to the drive. Quickly!’

      Straightening her shoulders, Rebecca complied, glancing down at her uniform to make sure it was smooth and uncreased. She wore a simple navy blue uniform dress, omitting the white cap and apron on Adele’s instructions. Her employer did not like to be continually reminded that she was an invalid.

      A dark blue convertible stood on the drive, and even as they approached a man slid out from behind the driving wheel and looked swiftly up at the windows of the villa. Then, glancing round, he saw them, and began to walk towards them. In close-fitting beige slacks and a dark brown knitted shirt, open at the throat to reveal the brown column of his throat, Piers St. Clair was every bit as arrogantly attractive as Rebecca remembered, and she was annoyed to feel her pulse quicken. He was, after all, not the first attractive man she had known.

      Adele’s manner became animated as they neared him, and holding out both hands she exclaimed: ‘Piers! Piers St. Clair! What in heaven’s name brings you to Fiji?’

      Piers St. Clair grasped her thin hands within his two strong ones and the smile he gave her was warm and enveloping. ‘It is obvious you do not consider yourself a sufficient reason, Adele,’ he murmured, his accent giving his voice a husky tenor. His eyes flickered for a moment over the slim figure who stood just behind her chair. ‘Did your efficient Nurse Lindsay tell you that I called last evening?’

      Adele nodded. ‘Of course she did. I was most annoyed that she had not bothered to tell me sooner. The doctors are fools. To be awakened one evening—such a special evening—would not have harmed me.’

      Piers straightened, releasing her hands. ‘Chérie, doctors must be obeyed or there is no point in consulting them, you would agree, Nurse Lindsay?’ He looked fully at Rebecca.

      ‘Of course.’ Rebecca’s fingers tightened on the handle of the wheelchair.

      Adele glanced round at her impatiently. ‘You would say that, naturally,’ she said shortly. Then she looked back at Piers. ‘Seriously, why are you in Fiji? Is—is everything all right at home?’

      Piers lifted his shoulders in an eloquent gesture. ‘As right as it will ever be,’ he remarked enigmatically. Then he glanced with interest round the expanse of gardens, colourful now in the blaze of the sun. ‘You have a beautiful home here, Adele. I have long been curious about it.’ He thrust his hands into his trousers’ pockets. ‘As to what brought me here—there are plans to open up a stretch of coastline in the Yasawas. A community project, with hotels, etc. I am here to take what you would call—a survey, oui?’

      ‘Ah!’ Adele nodded. ‘Are you here for long?’

      ‘Two weeks, three maybe. I am staying in Suva at the moment, but I intend to move to Lautoka when my talks with government officials are concluded.’

      Adele gestured towards the villa. ‘Come! We will go into the house. Rose will provide us with some coffee. You’ll stay to lunch, of course.’

      Piers glanced once more at Rebecca, but she did not meet his eyes, and dropping his gaze to Adele, he said: ‘I should like that very much.’

      As they moved towards the villa, he gently but firmly took the handle of the chair from Rebecca, propelling Adele himself, and she glanced round at him warmly. Rebecca had, perforce, to walk by his side, and looking at her again he said: ‘It is a beautiful morning, is it not, mademoiselle?’

      Rebecca managed a faint smile. ‘Beautiful,’ she agreed. ‘But then most mornings are beautiful in Fiji.’

      He inclined his head in agreement and went on: ‘Even so. But it puzzles me that a girl like yourself should be content with a position of this kind. My apologies to you, Adele, but you must admit it is usually older women who take up private nursing, is it not?’

      Rebecca saw Adele’s impatience rise in a flood of colour up her

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