“Have you had luncheon?” asked my grandmother.

“I have indeed.”

“Then come in. Would you like some wine … or a little coffee?”

“Some coffee please. That would be nice.”

When we were in the drawing room I went to the bell pull and very soon Madge appeared. I noticed Jean Pascal’s eyes on her, assessing her; and I remembered that old habit of his. Girls like Madge were always aware of masculine attention. She bridled a little and said demurely: “Yes, Ma’am?”

“Will you bring some coffee please, Madge?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” With a little bob she disappeared.

Jean Pascal said: “I expect you have guessed why I am here? It concerns High Tor, of course.”

“You know we are interested.”

“Yes. May I say that I was most … interested to hear that you were interested.”

“It’s no secret. Rebecca and Pedrek Cartwright are thinking of buying a house.”

He raised his eyebrows and my grandmother went on: “They will be married in a year or so.”

“May I offer my congratulations?” He looked at me as though the prospect of my marriage was a mild source of amusement.

“You may,” I said, “and thank you for them.”

“It is unexpected news.”

“It was not all that unexpected to us,” said my grandmother. “Pedrek and Rebecca have been good friends for years.”

He nodded. “The Stennings will be leaving shortly,” he said.

“Are you staying there … at High Tor?”

He smiled. “Yes. There is plenty of room. It is not a small house, you know. And we have business to discuss. Some furniture belongs to my family … but most of it in the house is theirs.”

The coffee had come. I noticed his renewed interest in Madge and I thought to myself: It is a habit with him. He assesses all females. How different he was from Pedrek. When Jean Pascal married, his wife would be wondering all the time if he was unfaithful.

Over coffee we discussed the house.

He said: “My family are a little uncertain at the moment. They are leaving Chislehurst.”

“Oh,” I said blankly. “Did they plan to come back to Cornwall?”

He paused. I had betrayed my eagerness to possess the house. Mr. Pencarron would say that was a foolish thing to do before a prospective seller.

He smiled at me and went on: “No. They will not come back here. The Empress kept a little court at Chislehurst of which my family were a part as they were of the Imperial Court before the débâcle. She has suffered much in exile … the loss of her husband and now after the death of her son in the Zulu war she finds it difficult to be happy there and wants to move. She is to go to Farnborough and my parents will give up their place in Chislehurst and go with her.”

“So … not to Cornwall,” I murmured.

“No … no. That would be too far away. They will go to Farnborough.”

“The point is,” said my grandmother, “what of High Tor?”

He smiled at us blandly. “Yes … I am sure they will sell.”

My grandmother and I exchanged glances of triumph.

“When will it be on the market?”

“If you are interested, you shall have the opportunity to buy before we put it there.”

“Thank you,” said my grandmother. “That’s what we hoped.”

“Well, are we not friends?”

“I am sure my husband and the Pencarrons will want to look at the place.”

“But naturally. Perhaps when the Stennings have left we can start to talk business.”

“Excellent,” said my grandmother. “More coffee?”

“Please, yes. It is delicious.”

I went over and took his cup. He smiled up at me and there was something secretive in his eyes.

“And when is the wedding to be?”

“Oh, not yet … not for some time yet. Mr. Cartwright is at college and will be there for another year or so.”

“And when he emerges … that will be the happy day?”

“Oh yes …”

“It is a pleasure for me to think that my old home will be yours.”

When he had taken his leave my grandmother looked at me with shining eyes.

“I don’t think there will be any difficulty,” she said. “Your grandfather and I want to give you the house as a wedding present, but there will be some argument for I happen to know the Pencarrons want to do the same.”

“How lucky we are! We do realize it, Granny. How many people about to get married have such lovely generous grandparents arguing over who is going to give them the most wonderful house in the world?”

“We are all so happy,” she said. “Because we are going to have you close to us for the rest of our lives.”

There was no talk of anything but the house. On the following Saturday Jean Pascal was invited to lunch. The Stennings were also invited. They talked a great deal about their imminent departure. Pedrek, with his grandparents, was present.

“I hope you will find the perfect place in Dorchester,” said my grandmother to the Stennings. “I hear it is a beautiful town.”

“We shall not be far from the sea, as we have been here. And we have been so happy in Cornwall, haven’t we, Philip?”

Mr. Stenning agreed that they had.

Pedrek and I exchanged glances throughout the meal. Marriage seemed so much closer now that we had a home in view.

After luncheon, when we were taking coffee in the drawing room, Jean Pascal talked to Pedrek and me.

“It’s not easy to assess a house when people are living in it. As soon as the Stennings leave you must come over.”

“Which pieces of furniture belong to your family?” I asked.

“Some rather heavy stuff. There is a fine old four poster bed which my parents would have liked to move, but it is rather ancient and they were not sure how it would stand up to the journey, so they left it. There are one or two heavy cabinets. Not a great deal. You must come over and see it. When they have gone we’ll make an appointment;”

“That will be wonderful.”

When our guests had gone we were still discussing the house. It had been agreed that the grandparents would buy it between them and it should be a joint present from the four of them.

I said: “We are so lucky.”

“Nothing but what you deserve, my dear,” said Mr. Pencarron. “Mind you … it’s got to be right. I’m still suspicious of these old places. There are some who think that a ghost or two make up for a leaking roof and crumbling walls. That’s not my idea.”

“There may be some repairs needed,” said my grandfather.

“We’ll get someone down to look at it.”

“As soon as the Stennings have left we can give the place a real overhaul,” said my grandmother.

In the middle of the following week, I left the house in the afternoon to take a short ride. As I rode out of the stables I met Jean Pascal.

“Hello,” he said. “I know you often take a solitary ride at this time and I hoped I’d meet you.”

“Why … has something happened?” I asked in alarm.

“Only this pleasant encounter.”

“I thought perhaps you had come over with some news.”

“Actually I came over in the hope of seeing you.”

“Because …”

“Because it seemed a good idea. Look. You are going for a ride. Why don’t I accompany you? We could talk as we go.”

“Then there is something. Is it about the house?”

“There is a lot to talk about on the subject, is there not? But there are other things.”

“Such as …?”

“General conversation. I always think it is amusing to let that take its own course.”

“How do you mean?”

“Let it flow … let it come naturally.”

“Where shall we go?”

“Not to High Tor. I believe you go there frequently. I mean you ride close by. Mrs. Stenning says she sees you.”

I felt a little uncomfortable that my naïve excitement about the house had been noticed.

“I am hoping, of course, that everything will go through satisfactorily,” I said.

“I should feel the same myself. It will be your new home.”

“Mr. Pencarron wants to have a surveyor to look at it. I hope you won’t mind.”

“No … no. I admire him. It is a wise thing to do. Who knows: the old mansion might be ready to crumble about your ears?”

“Oh, I don’t think that.”

“Nor do I. But Mr. Pencarron is a business man. He does not go out and say, ‘This is a pretty house. I will buy it for my grandson and his wife-to-be.’ That I admire. He is a realist.”

“And that is a quality you admire very much.”

“It is wisdom. Romance, oh, that is beautiful, but the wise man, the realist, he says it is beautiful while it lasts … whereas a house must endure … it must not be blown away by the first strong wind.”

“I’m glad you don’t mind Mr. Pencarron taking advice. I thought you might be offended.”

“Certainly not. I understand. There is much I understand.”

“I am sure you are very wise.”

I spurred up my horse and we cantered across a field. We looked down at the sea.

“Do you ever feel nostalgic for France?” I asked.

He lifted his shoulders. “I visit now and then. It is enough. If we could go back to the Old France … perhaps I would be there. But not this time … the communards … Gambetta with his Republicans … they have destroyed the old France. But you do not want to hear of our politics … our mismanagements. I have made this my home now … and so have others. That is France for us. These matters are a bore. I will not speak of them.”

“I find them interesting … as I do our own politics. When I am in London …”

“Oh yes, you are at the heart of politics. In the house of your stepfather and my sister. But you will have to renounce all that. You are going to live the life of a lady of the manor. It is what you have chosen. I want to talk to you. Let us find a cosy inn. We can give the horses a rest and talk over a tankard of cider. How is that?”

“Yes, please let us do that. I am sure you have a lot to tell me about High Tor.”

The inn he chose was the one where, not so long ago, Pedrek and I had been. There was the King’s head with the dark sensuous face of the Merry Monarch depicted on the sign over the door.

“I believe the cider in here is of a particularly good vintage.”

We seated ourselves in the inn parlor with the horse brasses and the leaded windows and cider was brought to us by a buxom girl who claimed Jean Pascal’s attention for a few fleeting moments.

“Ha!” he said. “The old English inn … a feature of the countryside.”

“And a very pleasant one.”

“I agree!” He lifted his tankard. “Like so much in this country … its women for one thing and chief among them Miss Rebecca Mandeville.”

“Thank you,” I said coolly. “The Stennings are going at the end of the week, are they not?”

He smiled at me. “High Tor occupies your mind to the exclusion of everything else.”

“I admit it.”

“You see life at the moment in the glow of romance.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know what it is like to be young … and in love. And you are both young and in love with the fortunate Pedrek.”

“I think we are both fortunate.”

“I think he is.”

There was a warm glow in his eyes. I thought: He cannot resist flirting with any woman … even one who, he knows, is on the point of marriage. It is all part of the way in which he looks at women. I supposed I should be amused and I was, to a certain extent, because we were in an inn parlor with mine host and hostess bustling about in the next room. It would have been different had I been alone with him. I felt safe.

He put his tankard on the table and leaned towards me.

“Tell me,” he said. “Have you ever had a lover before the worthy Pedrek?”

I flushed hotly. “What do you mean?”

He spread his hands and lifted his shoulders. Like most of his countrymen and women—I had noticed it in his sister Celeste—he used his hands a great deal in conversation.

“I mean … is this Pedrek the first?” He laughed suddenly. “And now you are going to say I am impertinent.”

“You read my thoughts,” I said. I had risen from my chair and he put out a hand and detained me.

“Do please sit down. You are very young, Mademoiselle Rebecca, and for that reason you close your eyes to much which goes on in the world. It is not a good thing to close one’s eyes. If one is going to live well and wisely … to have a good marriage and understand what it is all about … one must be wise in the ways of the world.”

“I thought we were going to talk about the house. Really, I don’t want to …”