I had hardly been aware of him during the weeks of my misery. I had indeed been aware of no one except the baby and Helena who had been with me most of the time and had taken on a new stature in caring for me, so that she no longer seemed the helpless creature she had been.

Maud made special dishes for me.

“Come on,” she would say. “Just try a little to please me … to please us all.”

I would eat just for that reason. I drifted along not caring about anything, trying not to remember. I wanted to forget everything of the past for there had been very little of my past in which they did not figure. They had always been there … my beloved ones … they had cared for me, guided me, watched over me, given me their very special love.

I used to make up fantasies. They had been picked up at sea; a ship had taken them somewhere far away. One day they would walk in. But Jacco was dead. They had found his body. But my father and my mother … where were they? I knew in my heart that I should never see them again.

I cursed the boat. I cursed the wind … everything which had taken them from me.

Then the letter came.

It was from the lawyers who had taken over from Rolf’s father when he had died and Rolf had decided he did not wish to go into law.

They had heard the grievous news and they reminded me that on the death of my parents and my only brother, I had become the owner of the Cador estate. I was in possession of considerable property and wealth; and consequently there were many questions to be discussed. They thought it would be advisable for me to return to England at my very earliest convenience. I would have to decide what was to be done about the Australian property. My father had written to them of his wish to sell and they understood there was a prospective buyer.

They were my obedient servants, Yorke, Tamblin and Company.

I let the letter fall from my hands.

With it came certain reality. I had to come out of my fantasy world where I could delude myself into thinking this was a nightmare from which I should wake when my parents came into my room.

I had been ill; I had been in a fever; I had had hallucinations. No longer could I tell myself that.

I had to face the truth. They were gone forever. I was left desolate, alone, but a woman with responsibilities.

When Helena came in, I said to her: “We shall go home.”

She nodded. “When you are stronger. You have been very ill. Just yet the journey would be too much for you.”

“I’ve had a letter from the lawyers. I shall have to go back to Cador.”

“When you go, I shall come with you. We shan’t be parted, ever.”

“No. We have suffered … both of us. But we have to go on. So you’ll come to Cador with me?”

“I shall go where you go.”

“I don’t think I can face it yet, Helena. There are more memories there than here. It will seem that at home they are everywhere …”

“Perhaps you would rather not go to Cador?”

“Where else? London?”

She shivered.

“It would have to be Cador,” I went on. “You see, Helena, Cador is now mine. I am sure they never thought of this. My father …” My voice broke and I forced myself to go on. “He was not old … and there was Jacco and there should have been Jacco’s children … and to think of him … oh, Helena, I can’t go on.”

“Then let’s stay awhile. You can stay here as long as you like. This is your place, isn’t it, for all that it seems to belong to Greg Donnelly.”

“I just want to drift. I can’t go home yet. I’ll have to write to these lawyers. I’ll tell them I’ll come when I’m ready.”

She nodded. Then she said: “It suits us here … both of us … shut away from things that remind us and hurt us.”

“Strange,” I said, “I was so looking forward to going home.”

I felt the tears falling down my cheeks. I realized with amazement that it was the first time I had wept since it happened.

The weather was less hot now. This was winter. It seemed rather like our spring. I hardly noticed the change. I did not notice anything. It was sunrise and then it was sundown … and I went on living in limbo. I did not want to emerge. I was afraid to, for then I had to face my loss.

“Time heals,” Maud had said. I supposed the time-honoured cliché was true. It wouldn’t have lasted so long if it hadn’t been. Time did heal. It must. Did I feel any less bereaved, any less desolate than I had on the day they had brought me the news that that broken boat had been washed ashore?

I just wanted time to pass … to put as long as I could between myself and that tragedy. I only wished I could believe that in time it would be easier.

I was in my room a great deal. I had no desire to go out. I did not want to talk to anyone but Helena. I did not want to see anyone but her and the baby.

I would lie on my bed during the long afternoons, waiting for sundown and the night which followed, when I might sleep and escape into dreams where my parents would be with me. But then would come the awakening, that deadly realization that what I had thought I was experiencing was only a dream—and I was alone again.

That afternoon there was a knock on my door.

“Come in,” I said thinking it was Helena.

But it was Gregory Donnelly.

I did not feel the apprehension or annoyance which I should have before. I was just indifferent.

“I have come to talk to you,” he said. “May I come in?”

To ask permission was so different from the manner he had previously employed. But then everything had changed—even he.

I nodded wearily. He brought up a chair and sat down.

“You look better,” he said.

I did not answer.

“We’ll soon get you well. Maud says she thinks you’re picking up.”

Still I said nothing.

“I want you to know I’m going to look after you.”

I said quietly: “Thanks, but I can look after myself.”

“No,” he said softly. “You need someone. I’ll tell you what you need. You need a new life. You want to start afresh.”

“Yes,” I said. “I need a new life.”

“I can give it to you. We’ll do anything you want. We’ll go away for a while.”

“I shall go home,” I said.

“Later … yes. I’ll come with you. You’ll need someone to help you.”

“To help me?”

“A big burden has been thrust on you. You’ll need someone beside you … someone who cares for you. You need a husband. Don’t delay any longer, Annora.”

For the first time since the tragedy I smiled. He was trying to please me. He even called me by my rightful name. He was not going to run the risk of irritating me with his Annie.

I thought, He is asking me to marry him. Why? He wants the property. But I have so much now. Perhaps his ambitions have grown.

Yes, I felt a little better. I allowed my dislike of him, my distrust of him full rein. It took my thoughts from my grief to a certain extent. I let him go on.

“You’re young. You need someone … a man … to look after you. You need me.”

I said then, taunting him a little: “I don’t think you realize the extent of my responsibilities. I have estates in Cornwall …”

I saw the look in his face. He knew. Had he seen the lawyer’s letter? Or had he guessed? He knew that my father owned large properties in Cornwall and it was obvious that Jacco would be the heir. But they were gone, both of them … and I, the helpless daughter, was left.

I felt helplessness slipping away from me. I even experienced something I had never thought to feel again, pleasure in leading him on—this ambitious man who was destined for Rosa. But he would be ready to waive that proposition I was sure, this man who had proposed to me one day and that night had been most willingly entertained in the midwife’s bedroom! He was bemused by his ambitious dreams and they were robbing him of his natural shrewdness.

He went on eagerly: “We’ll go to England. We’ll live there. I can put a man in here … just as your father did. I’ll find the right person. We’ll go and live in England and you can leave all the difficult business to me. It’ll be what you want. It’s lucky that I am here.”

“There was no luck at all about our coming here,” I reminded him. “It was the most terribly unfortunate thing we ever did. If we hadn’t come they would be here today.”

“My poor little girl, I understand your grief. You have gone through so much. I know how it was with your parents and your brother. You were all so fond of each other. That was always clear and I understand. I want to make it easy for you. I’ve thought it all out. I’ve thought of nothing else since it happened. What can I do that is best for you … that’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. I would have spoken before but I felt you wanted to be on your own … to grieve. But you can’t go on grieving forever. You’ve got to begin to live again. Leave everything to me. I’ll have it arranged. Just a quiet little ceremony. Everyone will understand … a girl on her own, miles from her home …”

I sat up suddenly. I felt my nerves tingling. I was alive again. My anger had done that for me.

I said: “I am sure you have made some excellent plans.”

“You can trust me.”

“Trust you, yes … to make plans. But in no other way would I trust you. You must understand that I am not so foolish as you appear to think. I know exactly how your mind works. You see me as the heiress. Land. That is your true love, I believe, that and nothing else. Through me you see the way to your darling. You’ve heard a great deal about Cador while we’ve been here. It makes this property very small, very insignificant, yet you’ve had your sights on this one for a long time. The greater glory now lies before you. All you have to do is to marry the helpless girl. You didn’t think there would be any difficulty about that. All that charm … so you think … all that blatant masculinity … so irresistible to the poor stupid females. Please understand. Mr. Donnelly, I have no intention of marrying you. I know you asked me once before. I hoped I made myself clear then. I know that very same night you were creeping into the house to share the midwife’s bed.”