“Well, now we are going to have another visitor.”

“Who?”

“Someone from the Outback.”

“What’s the Outback?”

“The wilds of Australia.”

“Will he be painted red and blue with feathers in his hair?”

“That’s North American Indians,” said Lucie scornfully. “He’s Australian.”

“What do you know about it?”

“More than you do.”

“No quarrelling,” I said. “You will both have to be very polite to Mr. Marner.”

“What’s he like?”

“How should I know? I haven’t seen him. He owns a goldmine.”

“He must be very rich,” said Belinda in awe. “Gold is worth a lot of money.”

“Does he go down the mine?” asked Lucie.

“I don’t know.”

“Of course he does,” said Belinda scornfully. “You have to go down to get the gold. So who will be getting it when he’s not there?”

“He will have people managing it I daresay.”

“Oh,” said Belinda, impressed.

“Tell us about Australia,” wheedled Lucie.

“I don’t remember much. I was only a baby when I left.”

They loved to hear the story, although they had heard it many times before of how my parents went out to Australia and lived in a little shack in a mining township, and how I had been born in Belinda’s father’s house which was the only place suitable for babies to be born in.

The subject of Australia was constantly referred to after that and the coming of Tom Marner brought a certain expectancy into the house.

Benedict’s description of the rough diamond conjured up an image of a rather brash character who gave little attention to dress or manners; in fact the antithesis of Oliver Gerson. I wondered what Belinda’s reaction would be. I was hoping that she would be diverted by him because she was talking of Oliver Gerson very frequently now and expecting that he would shortly be with us.

She had been so overwhelmed by the Gerson charm that I was sure she would find the Australian’s manners a great contrast; and it seemed hardly likely that the rough diamond would go out of his way to win the approval of a child.

And then he arrived. He was very tall with a skin burned to bronze by the sun; and his bright blue eyes seemed to be screwed up as though he was still protecting himself from it even in our climate. His hair was bleached to a light blond—the sun again. I think the children were a little disappointed. They had expected him to look like a miner—at least their idea of one, basing it on the tin miners they had seen in Cornwall. He was quietly dressed in a navy blue suit, the darkness of which made the effects of his outdoor life almost startling.

“This is my wife,” said Benedict.

He gripped Celeste’s hand. “I’ve heard about you. Pleased to meet you.”

“And my stepdaughter.”

My hand was shaken.

“And the rest of the family …”

The children came forward and held out their hands to be shaken.

“How’s everything going?” asked Benedict.

Tom Marner winked and put his finger against his nose. The children who were watching closely were clearly intrigued.

“You don’t look like a miner,” Belinda said boldly.

“That’s ’cos I’m got up like a sixpenny doll … just to meet you folks. You should see me on the job.” He gave Belinda a wink which made her giggle.

I could see there was an instant liking and I rejoiced. He’ll take her mind off Oliver Gerson, I thought.

And so it proved. Tom Marner was a blessing.

He was the epitome of the rough diamond. Goodness shone out of him and one was immediately aware of his sterling honesty; he was good-tempered, easily amused and had a friendly easy-going attitude towards everyone.

Mrs. Emery secretly told me that she didn’t think he was quite the sort she expected in the house but there was no doubt that he appreciated what was done for him and he had a smile for everyone.

“He don’t seem to know the difference between Miss Belinda and the servants. He called that tweeny ‘Chickabidee’ the other day, and I heard him call Miss Belinda the same.”

“The children like him,” I said. “And what is nice he has time for them.”

“Yes, he seems fond of the little ones.”

Miss Stringer had doubts as to the effect he might have on the children’s manners and their use of the English language. They were saying “Good-o” now and talking about things being “dinkum.”

I said I did not think it would do much harm.

He certainly brought a change to the household. I heard him and Benedict laughing together. Celeste found him an easy guest. He went riding with us and his expert horsemanship won Belinda’s admiration—I might say adoration. He and his horse seemed like one. “You live on horseback in the Outback,” he told them. He was skillful. He could tie amazing knots; he could make lassos. He taught them how to throw them round trees and had them practicing for hours. “It’s not trees you want to catch though,” he explained. “It’s cattle … or someone who’s come to rob the homestead.”

We were all fond of him in a very short time.

He did talk business a great deal with Benedict, just as Oliver Gerson had done, so it did seem to me like a replacement for Belinda and I really believe she accepted him as such, for I noticed she ceased to talk so often of Oliver Gerson.

It soon became obvious that Tom Marner enjoyed the company of the children. As soon as they went into the garden he would be there with them. Leah was pleased about this. She had changed since the death of her mother but I was not sure in what way it had affected her. I imagined there had never been great love between them. It was hard to think of anyone’s loving Mrs. Polhenny. In fact I had always been under the impression that Leah wanted to get away from her and I could understand that.

I wished Leah was more communicative. One could never understand what might be going on in her mind. I had tried to talk to her on one or two occasions but had never made any headway. Her devotion to the children was wonderful—particularly to Belinda. She understood Belinda’s difficult nature better than any of us. Even she seemed to blossom a little under the influence of Tom Marner and I had heard her laugh quite heartily several times and join in the merriment he seemed to generate.

Celeste seemed relaxed in his company, so it was a very pleasant visit.

Sometimes I heard his cry echoing through the house: “Cooeee” and Belinda or Lucie would answer in the same way, and ran to find him, anticipating some excitement, some story of the Outback, or the fun of riding with him.

He was a lover of nature and his admiration for his own country soon became apparent.

He used to tell them stories of how the first fleet went out to Australia. “Prisoners … all of them … who had committed some petty crime … or no crime at all.” He talked of how the convicts had suffered during the long haul across the ocean. How they had been lined up on deck when they reached that sun-drenched land, to be chosen as slaves and to work out their time of exile. He described the golden gorse and the eucalyptus trees, the colorful birds, the rosellas, the grey- and red-crested cockatoos called galahs, the kookaburra with its laughter, the one they called the laughing jackass.

We would often hear cries imitating the kookaburra. “It would be useful if the children were lost,” said Miss Stringer, “or when one wanted them to come in from the garden.”

She also approved of the history which was wrapped up in Tom Marner’s racy conversation; so even she was not averse to his presence in the house.

All this talk of Australia naturally made me think even more of Pedrek. I wondered what he was doing out there and how often he thought of me. He would be reproaching me, I knew, for doubting him. In my heart I did not … and yet there was that niggling fear.

For the rest of my life, I thought, I shall go on longing for him, believing in him … or would there always be that faint uncertainty?

But something told me that even if it were true, if I had loved him enough I should never have deserted him. Was not understanding … and forgiving … the very meaning of love? What did they say? In sickness and health. If this were a sickness, I had not been there to understand him or help him.

But he had been so horrified that I could not believe him. I did, I wanted to cry out. I did. But somewhere in my mind was that damning doubt.

How sad life was! There was Celeste who could look so sorrowful. Why could not life be simple … easy … as it seemed to be with people like Tom Marner?

I liked to be alone with my thoughts—far from happy ones, it was true. Sometimes I was on the verge of writing to Pedrek begging him to come back and let it be as it was in the past, so that we could get on with the future we had planned.

But in my heart I knew it could never be as we had planned. Always there would be the memory. I think my encounter with Jean Pascal—who mercifully had not visited his sister since—had made me more conscious of the horror of a victim in that situation. I would never forget the terror on Belinda’s face, her bewilderment, her horror.

The children’s preoccupation with Tom Marner gave me the opportunity I needed for a little solitude and I often rode out alone. I found a certain solace in the quiet of the country lanes, though Pedrek was always in my thoughts and I believed that our parting would cast a gloom over my life for ever more.

One afternoon I was on my way back to the house when I passed The Hanging Judge. I paused to look at it and remembered that occasion when Oliver Gerson had taken the children there, and how thrilled they had been to drink watered-down cider out of tankards.

As I approached two people emerged and made their way to the stables.

I stared after them. I could scarcely believe my eyes for one of them was Oliver Gerson, the other Celeste. I felt apprehensive. Celeste … meeting Oliver Gerson … secretly! It must be secret for he was not allowed into the house. What could it mean? I knew she was the sad and neglected wife … but Oliver Gerson!

I guessed it would be embarrassing to us all if they saw me so I turned abruptly and rode off in the opposite direction. For the rest of the day I wondered about what it meant.

I could see terrible trouble ahead if what I feared might be the case. Was she seeking consolation? And if she were to whom would she be more likely to turn but to a man who had great charm at his fingertips and a great deal of sympathy to offer to his enemy’s wife. They would have much in common for they would share resentment towards Benedict. Both would have considered themselves to have been badly treated by him and it was very likely that they would want their revenge.

Was it any concern of mine? I asked. My stepfather’s affairs were for him to sort out.

Yet something had happened to our relationship in the past weeks. I had a strong feeling that my mother was close to me … that she was urging me not to quarrel with him … to do all I could to help him.

Why did I get these fanciful ideas? It was due to living in a house in which it was said there was a ghost whose story had some resemblance to my mother’s.

Benedict and I were the two whom she had loved dearly and I could not get out of my mind that there must be ties which even death could not break.

It had been one of her dearest wishes that Benedict and I should be friends.

I thought a good deal about Celeste and Oliver Gerson. I had heard him attempt blackmail and I was aware that he was an unscrupulous adventurer. Would Celeste know this or would she be only aware of that overwhelming charm, which I imagined would bring some balm to a woman who thought herself to be unwanted?

I decided to talk to her.

I asked her if she would come to my room because I wanted to show her something, but when she arrived, unsuspectingly, I thought it best to come straight to the point.

“Celeste,” I said. “I know it is none of my business, but I was passing The Hanging Judge the other day …”

She was startled. She turned pale and then the color rushed into her face.

“You saw …”

“Yes. I saw you come out with Oliver Gerson.”

She did not answer.

“You know of course that Benedict has forbidden him to come to the house?”

She nodded.

I said: “Celeste, please forgive me … but …”

“I know what you are thinking. You are quite wrong. I went to see him because … well, you know he left the house in a hurry.”