I stammered: “Is this…real…? Is it really you, Dorabella?”

She drew back a little and looked intently at me. She was beautiful…tearful and wildly happy…contented because we were together.

“Dorabella,” I murmured.

“Yes, yes it really is. I’m back with you again—the prodigal’s returned. Oh, Vee, dearest sister, my darling twin. You will have to help me out of this one.”

I started to question. “When…? Why…? How…?”

“It’s wonderful to be back with you. I should never have left. I never will again.”

“Dorabella!” I cried. “What is this all about? What have you done? Where have you been?”

She looked at me searchingly. “You look strange, sister. I’m really here. Do you think I’m a ghost?”

“Tell me, please, what this is all about.”

“First of all, I’m here. I’m back. I’m really here and we’ve got to talk…quickly.”

“Yes, we have to talk. What are you doing here…in Mrs. Pardell’s house?”

“Come into the sitting room. You look as if you are going to pass out at any moment.”

“Dorabella, I can’t believe this.”

“I know you can’t.” She pouted slightly in a gesture I remembered so well. “I thought you’d be glad to see me.”

“Oh, Dorabella, it’s what I wanted more than anything.”

“Well then, be glad. Show me you’re glad.”

“Of course I am. But I’m bewildered.”

“Well, prepare yourself.”

“I am prepared. Tell me.”

“There are two versions.” She was rapidly becoming her old self. She grinned slightly. “One for public consumption, the other for your ears alone. Then you can advise me and tell me what I ought to do.”

“Well, get on with it.”

“We’re one person, aren’t we? No matter what happens. We have to stand together, help each other.”

“Please tell me.”

“Your version first.”

“I want the true one.”

“Very well. But you are going to be rather shocked. Perhaps you’d better have the other one first. It’s more respectable.”

“I want the true one.”

“Then it will have to be your version.”

“For Heaven’s sake, stop prevaricating!”

“Well, it was like this. I couldn’t stand it here. I had had enough. I knew it was a mistake…Dermot and me. He seemed so different once he was here. In Germany he was such fun, so gallant. You remember how he brought us out of the forest mist? Then at Tregarland’s it was all different. The old man always watching. Matilda so prim…and Gordon…I never understood him. Then there was the sea. I’d hear it at night. It was as though people were whispering, taunting. Anyway, I knew I’d made a mistake. I wanted to get away. Then I met this man…”

“What man?”

“Wait…and hear it in good time. He was painting on the cliff. You did meet him once…that Christmas at the Jermyn place. He and the German were there. He was the French one, Jacques Dubois, an artist, and I went on meeting him. He wanted me to go to Paris with him. I said, How could I? And he said it was possible. We started to make plans…half in fun at first. But I just had to get away from that place…all that spookiness going back hundreds of years.” She paused and looked pleadingly at me. “I can see you are very shocked with me. Shall I go on?”

“Don’t be silly. Of course you’ll go on.”

“All right, then. Prepare for the worst. I had to get away. I thought it would be fun to go to Paris—la vie bohème. Mimi and Rudolfo. Your tiny hand is frozen—all that. It sounded so romantic. We wondered how I could do it easily…without causing too much bother. So we worked it out. There was all that talk about the Jermyn girl who, a long time ago, walked into the sea and cursed the House of Tregarland for ever. Then there was Dermot’s first wife who died at sea, and you know how they all thought this was part of the curse. So I thought…if I could do it that way, they’d all think I was another victim of the Jermyn ghost and it wouldn’t hurt Dermot so much. So I started that bathing in the morning plan. I smuggled a few things out before. Jacques would have the car waiting nearby to take them. So when I actually went I could slip away easily.”

“You took my miniature with you.”

“I had to take that. It was like taking part of you. I couldn’t do without it. Though I did think it might be missed. But I couldn’t leave that. Jacques said I could buy what I wanted in Paris. We thought a lot about how to make it look authentic. Then we waited for the night when Dermot was away. I put my bathrobe and shoes on a rock. It was nearly midnight. The household was asleep and Jacques was waiting for me. We drove down to Portsmouth to the ferry. By the time the household was awake we were crossing the Channel.”

I stared at her in disbelief.

“You could do that! You could leave Tristan.”

“I knew you would look after him…and you’d do it better than I could. You’d promised. And Dermot…well, he would find someone else probably.”

“Dorabella! How could you!”

“I knew you’d say that. You’ve said it a hundred times in the past. You ought to have learned by now that I do things like that. You’ll always be saying it, I suppose. Well, I’ve done it again.”

“And what are you doing here?”

“As I told you, it didn’t work. I soon saw that. I was bored with all those painters. Paris was wonderful for a while. I bought some clothes and that was exciting. But I kept thinking of you and the parents and what I’d done to you all. I wanted Tristan. I just knew I’d made a big mistake.”

“And what about this…Jacques?”

“To him it was just a light-hearted affair, fun for a while. It wasn’t the life for me. Then there was this talk about war. There were some English people in Paris. They were always saying we ought to go home. And I was homesick. I didn’t want to go back to Tregarland’s and all that that meant. I wanted to see you, Daddy and Mummy, and Tristan. How is Tristan?”

“He’s well. Nanny Crabtree and I see to that.”

“I knew you would. That’s been my comfort. So I came back. I’ve been here for two weeks. When I got back I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t just turn up. I was in London for a while. Then I was afraid I’d run into Edward. Most of all I wanted to see you…and Tristan. I knew you’d work out for me what I could do and we’d decide between us.”

“I can’t believe this…even of you. And why are you here in Mrs. Pardell’s cottage?”

“I wanted to be near. You know what gossip there is here. I thought of getting in touch with you. I remembered Mrs. Pardell. She’s always hated them up at Tregarland’s, hasn’t she? She hated Dermot particularly because of her daughter Annette. I knew that you had had some contact with Mrs. Pardell and she had been quite friendly to you. She wasn’t one to mix with people, and her cottage was fairly isolated. I decided I could see what I could do through her. I waited until it was darkish and I went to her cottage.”

“Good Heavens! You must have given her a shock!”

“She wasn’t so shocked as some might have been. She doesn’t believe in ghosts. I stood at her door and I said, ‘Mrs. Pardell, you know my sister. I am Dorabella Tregarland. They think I’m dead, but I am here and alive and I am hoping you’ll help me.’ She turned rather pale and I could see the old Northern common sense and rejection of ghosts and such daft things battling away there and triumphing.

“She said, ‘Come in, then.’ And so I went in and I told her the tale I had prepared, for I guessed that if she had known I had eloped with a French artist, I should not have been allowed to darken her doors. Hence the story I had concocted. I could not be happy at Tregarland’s, I told her. There was something that frightened me about the place. I constantly thought of the first Mrs. Tregarland, her daughter, who had met her death in a strange way. In other words, I was afraid. I could see that went down well. I took to early morning bathing, I told her. It was not something I would have done normally, but when people are in the mood I was in, they do strange things. On that morning I went into the sea. I think my head struck a rock. In any case I was only half conscious and I was carried out to sea. By a very extraordinary stroke of fortune a fishing boat was nearby. I was picked up unconscious. They took me back with them to the North of England somewhere. A place near Grimsby. I was in a hospital there. I could not remember exactly where it was. They kept me there. I could not remember my name. Then gradually memory came back and I remembered that I wanted to get back to my sister. But I was afraid to go back to Tregarland’s. There was something mysterious there which I could not understand. I could not bring myself to go back…nor did I know what to do. Mrs. Pardell was sympathetic when I told her about Tregarland’s. She thought I shouldn’t go back to that place. She had a spare room, and I could use that till I made up my mind. She said, ‘You ought to find some way of letting your sister know, because she’s been real cut up about this.’ I said I wanted time to think …I couldn’t go back to that house yet…and you were there. She told me Dermot had died and how. Believe me, Violetta, I was very, very sad about that. I felt responsible. I suppose I was in a way. Mrs. Pardell understood that I wanted to wait awhile, particularly when I stressed there was something about the house which frightened me.”

“Did she believe this fantastic story?”

“Yes, why shouldn’t she?”

“Because it is so implausible. You struck your head on a rock enough to make you lose your memory, then you float gracefully out to sea and are picked up by a fishing boat? What is a fishing boat from Grimsby doing fishing off the Cornish coast? Even suppose the story about hitting your head was true, the boat which picked you up would have belonged to one of the fishermen from Poldown. He’d have said at once, ‘Here be that Mrs. Tregarland…her that went swimming in the early morning.’ And you would have been taken to West Poldown hospital and the family would have been informed without delay.”

“It was a good story. Don’t pick holes.”

“It is an impossible story. Go on, though!”

“Mrs. Pardell believed it. I told it so well. I am just giving you a brief synopsis. I gloss over the difficult parts and look vague if they ask difficult questions. Remember, I did lose my memory.”

“One of the maids saw you on the cliffs.”

“I know. But she thought I was a ghost, of course.”

“She did.”

“Well, that’s what I did. So what am I going to do now?”

“The first thing we shall do is telephone the parents. Can you imagine what they have been through, what I’ve been through?”

“I know. It was awful of me. But you see, I meant to write to you and you could all have come to Paris to see me…if I had stayed there.”

“You’ll come back to us. The sooner the better.”

“I can’t tell people I ran away…just like that…staged my disappearance. I won’t do it.”

“It will be difficult. I don’t know what the authorities will say. They made a search, you know. All along the coast. They won’t be pleased with all the trouble you’ve caused. You’ll be reprimanded rather severely, I imagine. I don’t like the true version at all. You left your husband and child of a few months to go off to Paris with an artist you scarcely knew.”

“Put like that it does seem thoughtless.”

“Thoughtless! People would call it wanton. You’d never live it down. It would be remembered for ever. Tristan would know when he grew old enough to understand. People will remember, if you don’t.”

“You haven’t changed, Violetta. Still the old crusader for the right. What shall I do?”

“We’ll have to work out a better story than yours.”

“Yes. Go on.”

“We’ll have to keep to the swimming idea…otherwise we shall be in trouble. I don’t think you should have hit your head on a rock. The sea was cold. You were exhausted. You had swum too far out. You were on the point of drowning. You were picked up by a yacht. The owner came from the North of England and had been to Spain. He was on his way home. Your experience had been such a shock that you temporarily lost your memory. You were taken to Grimsby, or wherever it was.”

“I only thought of that place because it’s biggish on the map and it was a long way off.”

“We shall have to be vague about all this.”

“But if I lost my memory…”

“There were pictures in the papers. The yacht people who were going home would have soon discovered. Then…you were in your swimming costume, so you couldn’t have come from anywhere but Cornwall. It all sounds so very implausible. The only one you told your fantastic story to was Mrs. Pardell.”