In any case, the landlord at the inn was much too obliging not to provide something for a guest.

Charlotte felt inclined to shake her head over that ridiculous explanation, and at the same time her curiosity was aroused, and she wished she knew the answer. But one man’s poison was another man’s meat. Only a few days ago she and Hannah had been discussing the starting of a nursing-home, and now here they were with their first patient! He was a patient they were hardly likely to have for long, for the doctor was almost certain to whisk him off to the local hospital after he had seen him that morning, and that would be the end of an unusual episode.

Goodbye to Richard Tremarth… Possibly an agreement with his agents to sell to him, and then back to normal again. Very likely back to London and the old routine.

But when the doctor called he was not so optimistic about the idea of removing his patient. The hospital was fairly full, and their beds were precious. Richard Tremarth seemed to be doing reasonably well where he was, although he was undoubtedly slightly concussed and in addition to a strapped-up arm an ankle was injured and had to be dealt with. The doctor was satisfied as a result of his examination that no other serious damage had resulted from the accident – which was a miracle – and all the patient really needed was rest and attention. He was certainly somewhat astonished when he heard that his patient had selected a moment when his nurse was temporarily absent to walk upstairs and install himself in Charlotte’s room, but apart from raised eyebrows he said nothing.

It was Charlotte who offered the explanation about Hannah being temporarily absent, and she could tell by the faintest flicker of amusement in Richard’s eyes that he understood she was defending her friend. He said nothing, however – perhaps because her own eyes were quite definitely appealing to him – and afterwards Hannah thanked her in gruff tones.

“You shouldn’t have done it, you know,” she said. “Your precious Richard is perfectly well aware that I fell asleep on duty, and one day when he feels like it he may tell Dr. Mackay. Not that I care,” she added, with an air of bravado. “I’ve no intention of returning to nursing, so it doesn’t worry me.”

But Charlotte had already observed how eager she was to please Dr. Mackay, whose red hair positively quivered like a flaming torch in the morning sunlight that filled the sick-room, and she was quite sure she would blench most unhappily if he rebuked her. She smiled a little to herself, wondering why human beings went out of their way to deceive themselves.

But they had a problem on their hands which prevented her thinking about very much else just then, and that was to ensure that the patient didn’t have a serious relapse as a result of being cared for by them. It was obvious Dr. Mackay thought Hannah was quite capable of taking charge of the nursing, but he did offer to send a night nurse along as soon as he could find one who was free.

“It isn’t easy nowadays, however,” he explained, “and this is an out-of-the way place. In London it would be different, of course…

He turned to the patient.

“You’ve no objection to being looked after here by Miss Woodford and Miss Cootes?” he asked.

Richard, who was still extremely drowsy and difficult to rouse, smiled faintly.

“You’d better put the question to Miss Woodford and Miss Cootes,” he suggested. “They are the ones who are going to be burdened with me, and I should hardly think they want me here.”

But Charlotte assured him earnestly that, since the doctor didn’t seem to think it would be a good thing to move him, they were quite in agreement that he should remain where he was.

“In your bed?” he asked, looking straight up at her and proving, by the slight quirk at one comer of his mouth, that he was not actually suffering from amnesia, and he knew perfectly well what was going on around him.

“There are lots of rooms in the house,” she replied, automatically smoothing the top of his sheet, “and I can choose another for myself.” “How long can I stay here?”

“As long as it’s necessary.”

He smiled in a curiously contented manner, and turned his face to the wall.

“In that case I shall probably become a permanent invalid,” he murmured drowsily.

For the remainder of that day he slept under the influence of the drugs that had been administered to him, and required little or no attention from his nurses. Hannah took up her station beside his bed, and arranged with Charlotte to have a sleep during the evening so that she could take over during the night, and she made it perfectly clear that Charlotte was to have little to do with the actual nursing of the patient, not so much because she was untrained but because the circumstances were slightly peculiar. After all, as she pointed out to her friend, Richard Tremarth was virtually a stranger to her… and the fact that she had known him when she was five years old didn’t add a touch of conventionality to her performing services for him that an unmarried girl wouldn’t normally perform for a little-known man of Tremarth’s years.

“You mean wash him and that sort of thing?” Charlotte asked, and Hannah nodded.

“It’s different for me,” she explained.

Charlotte agreed… and wondered afterwards what would have happened if Hannah had been without any sort of training and the same set of circumstances had occurred.

When Tremarth really came to himself it was she, Charlotte, however, who was on hand to watch him frowning perplexedly round the room that was filled with the light of sunset. He lay listening for a few minutes to the monotonous surging of the sea, and for a while he watched the reflected light of the sea on the white-painted ceiling as if it fascinated him; and then he turned his dark head swiftly in Charlotte’s direction and asked her in quite a strong voice:

“What time is it?”

“It’s about half-past eight.”

“In the evening?”

“Yes.”

His grey eyes were frankly puzzled as they gazed at her.

“Why am I here? And where exactly am I?”

“This is Tremarth… Tremarth House. Don’t you remember? You had an accident – in your car. It overturned on the road the night before last.”

His grey eyes grew so dark they appeared almost black for several seconds, and then the pupils became distended and she could have inserted a finger in the deep cleft between his brows.

“I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything…He looked very white in the warm light that filled the room, and because it appeared to be worrying him she went across to the windows and drew the curtains.

She bent over him very gently.

“But surely you remember Tremarth? It’s your favourite house! ”

“No.” He winced this time as he shook his head.

“You don’t remember that you wanted to buy it?”

“No.”

“You have no recollection at all of the accident?”

“None whatsoever.”

Charlotte hesitated, standing there beside his bed – that was in actual fact her bed. Her instincts warned her that she should refrain from questioning him and run along the corridor to Hannah’s room and waken her. Hannah might know how to deal with this situation, but she did not.

And to complicate everything a violent curiosity was stirring in her. It was almost a ‘must’ that she find out something.

“But you do know me?” she asked him softly. “You’ve very good reason to remember me, because you were annoyed with me on the night of the accident – ”

He stared straight up into her eyes.

“You’ve got red hair,” he murmured almost absent-mindedly, “and I suppose it’s very pretty hair. It appears to curl naturally.”

“It does curl naturally,” she agreed.

“You’re very pleasant to look at altogether, but I haven’t the foggiest idea who you are. Ought I to know you very well?”

“I’m Charlotte Woodford,” she said distinctly.

He closed his eyes.

“Sorry, Charlotte, but if you said you were Florence Nightingale I’d have to believe you! To the best of my knowledge I’ve never met Charlotte Woodford.”

Charlotte went downstairs and sought out Hannah with a very grave look on her face. Hannah was not so immediately alarmed as Charlotte was, and said she had heard of cases of this kind before. It was nothing to be really startled about that Richard Tremarth, having survived an appalling accident, should have forgotten who he was. It was simply a form of amnesia resulting from delayed concussion. He had probably received a blow on the head that was much worse than any of them had imagined, and he would probably be foggy about everything around him for a while at least.

Nevertheless, she wasted little time in telephoning the doctor, and the latter said he would be with them in about half an hour. He too took the news quite calmly, saying reassuringly that it was the sort of thing that often happened.

Charlotte, however, was seriously troubled. As she pointed out to Hannah he appeared to have forgotten everything… and that in a matter of hours.

“Only this morning he knew me perfectly well,” she said. “He walked up the stairs under his own steam, recognised that the room we entered was my room, and was concerned because he felt he had no right to turn me out of it. Of course I told him it didn’t matter about it being my room, and he looked so relieved at the prospect of getting into bed. I’m sure he was normal at that time.”

“But since then he has had a long sleep.” Hannah went upstairs alone to see the invalid, and Charlotte had no opportunity to find out what transpired at the interview because the doctor arrived before she left the room again and he suggested, quite kindly, to Charlotte that it might be a good thing if she remained downstairs while he conducted a fresh examination of the patient.