I felt a little embarrassed and I said quickly: "Well, now we have to concern ourselves with ... what is his name? This er—Magnus."

"Magnus Perrensen. Yes, we must give him a good welcome."

It is because I have seen him that I have to write in my journal. I want to recapture that moment when he bowed formally over my hand and his brilliantly blue eyes met mine and held them. I was immediately aware of a tremendous excitement and it has not left me since.

I cannot believe that I met him for the first time this night. I feel I have known him for a long time. I wish I had learned more about maps so that I could have taken a greater part in the conversation. No matter. I have decided to learn while he is here, for it is clear that he has a great interest in them. He glows when he speaks of them; and he has just returned from this map-making expedition to the Pacific Ocean. He talks knowledgeably about charts and islands and he makes me feel a great desire to see those places.

There is an intensity about him, a vitality; and I am sure that whatever he undertakes he will succeed in accomplishing.

He is very tall—very plainly dressed according to our standards, but then we have become a little dandified under the influence of the Prince of Wales and his cronies who I believe debate for hours on the cut of their coats and the manner in which a cravat should be worn.

Magnus Perrensen was in sober grey, his coat a slightly lighter shade than his knee breeches; his stockings were of the same grey as his coat, and his black shoes were buckled but the buckles were by no means elaborate. He was bewigged as all men are, but his wig was plain and tied at the back with a narrow black ribbon.

But it would not have mattered how he was dressed; it was his vibrant personality which one noticed.

He spoke English fluently but with the faintest of accents which I found most attractive.

My father asked him many questions about the expedition, and Magnus told us that he had been shipwrecked and thought he would never see his homeland again.

"How exciting!" I said. "You might have been drowned."

"I floated for a long time on a raft," he told me, "looking out for sharks and wondering how long I was going to last."

"And what happened?"

"I sighted land and came to an island." I don't know whether it was my imagination but I fancied there was something thrilling in his voice when he said that. As though the island meant something to him.

I said: "An island? What island was that? I'll look for it on the map."

"Sometime I'll tell you about it," he said. I was very happy because he was implying that we were going to spend time together.

"And eventually you were picked up and found your way home?"

"Yes."

"You must have lost your charts when you were shipwrecked," said my father. "What a terrible blow."

"Yes. But I shall go again."

"There are so many hazards," commented my father sadly and I guessed he was thinking of Charles. He went on: "I trust you will be comfortable with the Masters."

"I am sure I shall. Mr. Masters has so much knowledge. It is a pleasure and an honour to talk with him."

"I am sure you and he will have a great deal in common."

"And Mrs. Masters... she is so good. She tells me I am thin and she threatens to 'feed me up.'"

"She's a good soul," said my father. "I think her husband exasperates her at times because he is more interested in maps than in her cooking."

"She is a very good cook."

"And we hope to see you here ... often."

He was smiling across the table at me. "That is an invitation which I shall delight in accepting."

When he took his leave I was so excited. I wanted to go straight to my room and write in my journal. Writing it down is like reliving it all again and I have a feeling that this night is important to me. I shall want to go over and over it again and again.


May 3rd

It has been a wonderful month. During it I have spent a great deal of time in the company of Magnus Perrensen. He is at the Shop all through the day but often I take the gig into Great Stanton— Freddy with me—and we visit the Shop. Sometimes I take a luncheon basket and we all go into the country and picnic. At others I sit with him in the Shop and we eat sandwiches and drink cider while we talk. It is what I call helping Magnus Perrensen to feel at home.

He is a fascinating talker and Freddy and I listen entranced. He will take one of our maps and point out the exotic places as he talks of them. He will trace a journey over continents; but it is the sea which attracts him most.

The other day I said to him: "Show us the island on which you were shipwrecked."

He was silent for a moment and then suddenly he took my hand and pressed it. "One day," he said, "I'll tell you about it."

I was thrilled as I had been before when he mentioned the island. I knew there was something special about it and that he wanted to tell me... alone.

Freddy was there at the time. He was in a corner of the room with Masters, who was showing him one of the tools he used.

I heard Masters say: "This is a burin. Look at that sharp blade. It's made of steel. That's for cutting. Look at the handle. What does it remind you of? A mushroom? That's right. Now you hold this in the palm of your hand with your fingers curled round the mushroom. Now you press the blade into the copper. Like this. You must have even pressure."

I smiled. "He's initiating Freddy into the mysteries of map making."

"Freddy is an apt pupil."

I knew instinctively that it was impossible for him to tell me about his island here. He wanted us to be alone. Oddly enough, although I saw him frequently, we were never really alone. If I saw him at the Shop others were there. There was always Freddy to act as chaperon. And when he visited us at the house there were always several people there.

But his presence has made a great deal of difference to me. I arise every morning with a feeling of expectation. I think of him a great deal. I love the way his eyebrows turn up at the corners. There is a faint foreignness about him which I find immensely attractive. I like that very slight accent, the arrangement of words that is just a little quaint.

The fact is I am in love with Magnus Perrensen.

How does he feel about me?

He is interested, very interested. I have an idea that he is as exasperated as I am about this inability to be alone. But we shall overcome that one day.

My stepmother said a few days ago: "We must not forget your birthday. I think we should have a rather special celebration. You will be eighteen years old. I am going to speak to your father."

"I think he must know I am eighteen."

"He is a little unworldly about such matters. We should entertain more for you now."

I shrugged my shoulders. The purpose of entertaining would be to find me a husband. I did not want to search for one. In any case that, to my mind, would have been most undignified. But there is another point now. I have found the only one I could ever love and I have reason to believe that he is not indifferent to me.

However, this is to be a birthday party. My stepmother is getting out a list of guests. She is making arrangements in the kitchen.

"It is a good thing you have a May birthday," she said. "Such a lovely month! If the weather is good we can be in the garden—a sort of fete champetre."

"You will enjoy arranging that, my dear," said my father indulgently. "What a good thing you are here to do what is right for Ann Alice."

I am having a special dress for the party. The village seamstress has been called in and my stepmother has been poring over patterns. We have decided on rose-coloured silk which she says will be most becoming for me. It is off the shoulders with short sleeves which are ruched and edged with lace. There is a wide lace collar; the bodice is tight-fitting, and the skirt very full with flounces, each one edged with lace. It is most elaborate. I am delighted because when I try it on and stand very still while our little seamstress kneels at my feet and gets to work with pins and tacking thread, I am imagining I am standing before Magnus. I believe he will think me beautiful in this dress.

I am grateful to my stepmother who has done so much to create it. It is almost as though she is grateful for my interest in Freddy.

Am I growing to like her? I am not sure. When one is in love the whole world looks different, and perhaps one is inclined to like everyone.

No... not everyone.

I had a shock today and I suppose that is the reason why I am writing my diary.

I was in the garden this afternoon. The house was quiet. My father was resting as he does most afternoons since he has had what we have come to call "his turns." I am sure they have weakened him considerably although he tries to pretend they have not.

My stepmother had taken the gig into Great Stanton to do some shopping she said; and she had taken Freddy with her. She was buying some clothes for him. He had been very short of them when he had come to us.

I liked to sit in the garden. From the front of the house we look out on the Green. A pleasant view it was true with the grass before us and the old church with its spire reaching to the sky and the row of six ancient cottages. In the centre of the Green was the duck pond with the wooden seat beside it. But I liked better the view from the back. I liked our lawn beyond which was the little copse of fir trees. When I sit in the garden I usually go to the small walled-in rose garden and sit on one of the wicker seats there.

That was where I was, pretending to read but in fact thinking of

when I should next see Magnus Perrensen. I mean alone. He was dining with us tonight and that made me very happy. One always hoped there would be an opportunity to talk about the things which really mattered.

"Oh, Miss Ann Alice ... " It was one of the maids. "A gentleman has called."

I sprang up.

Magnus was in my thoughts and foolishly I thought it was he, so I did not ask his name and it was a shock when I went into the hall and saw Desmond Featherstone.

I felt that sudden shiver of apprehension which he had so often inspired in me in the past.

"Miss Ann Alice. What a pleasure."

"Oh ... Mr. Featherstone ... It is a long time since we have seen you here."

"I have missed all this ... sorely."

"So you are back again."

"For a brief visit, alas."

"You must er—come into the parlour... Perhaps you would like some refreshment."

"I have come to see you ... nothing else is important."

"Come in." I took him to the small room which led from the hall and was used as a reception room for callers. "Pray sit down."

He had put his hat on the table.

"I will go and tell them to bring something. Would you like a dish of tea?"

"It sounds ideally refreshing."

"I will go and tell them."

"Oh..." He was protesting. He no doubt wondered why I did not pull the bell rope and summon a servant. I had a good reason for not doing so and I hurried out as quickly as I could.

I sped to my father's room. By good fortune he was up and sitting in his chair half-dozing.

I said: "Papa, we have a visitor. That friend of my stepmother. I do think you should come down."

"Certainly. Certainly." A friend of my stepmother must of course be treated with respect. "Who is it?"

"It's Mr. Featherstone."

"Why yes. Of course I remember."

"He's in the parlour. Will you go down to him. I'll see about getting some tea."

He followed me down and went to the parlour. When I returned Desmond Featherstone was chatting easily with my father.

I fancied the look he gave me was reproachful.

Tea was brought. They talked of the weather and Desmond Featherstone enquired solicitously about my father's health. My father said he never felt better. I don't think that was quite true but since his marriage he had always maintained that he was very well indeed.

"It is some time since I saw you. Miss Ann Alice has grown taller I swear."

"It's her eighteenth birthday soon, you know."

"Indeed! What a matter for celebration!"

I felt irritated. I hated their talking of me as though I were not there, as though I were some infant whose growth was to be commented on.