I saw less of Paul because when I rode out I was usually in haste on some mission or other. I had no time for dallying on the moors or in the lanes.

Jago was amused. He called me the New Woman. Caroline, the clucking hen with her one chick. He was still making mysterious trips to London and talking vaguely about machinery, and wheels within wheels and contracts which were pending.

“Why do you bother?” I asked. “We all know there is only one reason for these mysterious trips.”

“And what is that?” he asked.

“A secret woman.”

“You’ll be surprised one day,” he retorted.

I didn’t think very much about him; but I did think a great deal about Livia.

I was getting more and more fond of Julian, who was delighted by the turn of events. He looked happier and asserted himself quite vigorously and adopted a somewhat protective attitude towards Livia. I longed for a child of my own. The nursery was big. I had daydreams of seeing it full of my own sturdy little ones. But I should need a husband. Was I going to be frustrated forever?

In spite of my desire to shut him out, Paul would creep into my thoughts. He was a sad man nowadays, but he could be so different. I often thought of him as he had been when I had first seen him on the train. Powerful. In charge, that was how I had thought of him. Master of his fate. But even then he had been worried about the estate and had been returning from Plymouth where he had possibly been to arrange a loan to bolster up the old place. But he had still had his dignity then, his honour.

That marriage had been like a net around him. I dreamed that we were free. But how could we be free? Yet in my dreams some miracle happened and he was there with me at Tressidor. The two estates were as one.

What a wild dream! But dreaming has always been a consolation when one wants to escape from reality. The loss of two people whom I had loved very dearly was too hard to bear without some solace. One had brought me Tressidor, the other Livia, it was true. That was the way one must look at life. One must remember the consolations.

Gwennie came to see me often. I wished she wouldn’t. Her inquisitive eyes seemed to probe into my mind.

“What a tragedy!” she cried. “They say the number of people who die having babies is more than you’d think. Your poor sister … and she left the little girl to your care. I said to Betty” (that was the lady’s maid with whom I understood she gossiped a great deal) “I said, ‘I reckon Miss Tressidor will be a mother to that little girl. She ought to have some of her own.’ I’ve often wondered why you haven’t married, Caroline. But then, of course, it’s a matter of finding Mr. Right. If he doesn’t come along … well, what’s a girl to do?”

Her bright eyes studied me intently. What of you and my husband? I imagined she was thinking. How far has that gone?

I wondered what she knew. It was a fact that one often betrayed one’s feelings when one was quite unaware of doing so.

Time passed quickly. Livia was growing into a person. She was walking rather than stumbling; she was beginning to talk; she used to run to me every time I went to the nursery and I was thinking about getting a pony for her when she was a little older. There was some time to go but I took her for rides on my horse round the paddock, holding her tightly while she squealed with delight.

Nanny Loman said to me one day: “That child is happier than she ever was in London. Oh, I know she was young but she wasn’t getting the attention. Her mother was ill all the time. We did what we could but there’s nothing like a mother, and you’re being that, Miss Tressidor.”

It was the highest praise I could have and for a few hours my melancholy lifted and during that time I did not think of how much I missed Cousin Mary and that I should never see Olivia again.

Within a month of our arrival Jeremy wrote that he wished to see his daughter.

I could not refuse him. I made up my mind to see as little of him as possible, but when he came I felt I wanted to taunt him. I knew it was unkind of me; I knew that I should not have revelled in revenge; but I had to do it. I had to soothe my own sorrow and I could not allow him to flaunt his role of grieving husband, devoted father and would-be friend, for those were the roles he was determined to play. He was false and I could see clearly what lay behind that facade of charm; but I wanted to trick him as he had tricked me … and Olivia.

I took him riding round the estate. I spread it out before him, as it were, in all its affluence. He could not keep the excitement out of his eyes.

“I’d no idea it was so extensive,” he said.

I thought, Then you have now, my worldly Jeremy. What plans are being formulated in that greedy little mind of yours?

I took him to call on the Landowers. Gwennie liked him for he charmed her with the utmost ease. Paul was suspicious and, of course, jealous, which did not displease me.

He stayed for a week and during that period he spent a certain amount of time in the nursery. He had brought a novel toy for Livia, a doll on a swing which could be made to rock back and forth.

I was a bit hurt to see how easily she was charmed by him, but he was playing a part for her as well as for the rest of us.

When he left he held my hands for a long time and said: “How can I thank you, Caroline, for making my little girl so happy here.”

I said: “Olivia wished it. Before she died she spoke to me. She wanted to make sure that I and no one else had the child.”

“She knew what was best. Thank you, my dear. Thank you.” It could have been very touching, but I told myself I knew him too well to believe in his gratitude.

He kissed me swiftly. “I must come again,” he said. “Soon.” And I fancied I saw the plan which was beginning to form in his mind.

He did come again before another month had passed. There were more presents for Livia. He himself took her on a horse round and round the paddock. She demanded that we both hold her—one on either side.

He looked across at me. “This is fun, Caroline,” he said.

I nodded.

He was trying to make me look at him. I knew what was in his mind.

And then the plan came to me and once it had come I could not rid myself of it.

I used to think of it at night. When the melancholy descended upon me, when I was going over and over the early days with Olivia, when I remembered that Cousin Mary was gone forever, when I thought of Paul and how everything might have been different, I brooded on what I thought of as The Plan and my spirits rose.

It was an indication of my nature, I supposed, which was not a very admirable one, that this was the only thing which could assuage my grief.

He came for Christmas, which I gave over entirely to Livia. I did not entertain. It was not expected of me as Cousin Mary had not been dead a year. I told Jeremy that he should not have come. He would find it dull in the country especially in a house which was still in mourning.

He, too, was mourning, he told me, at which I wanted to laugh aloud; but I did not. I looked suitably sad and sympathetic.

I was playing my part carefully—softening, not too quickly but gradually.

We both knelt on the floor and played games with Livia. She was delighted with him—and again I felt that twinge of jealousy. Nanny Loman said: “They always feel that for a parent. No matter how neglected they are, they seem to know their father or mother. That’s when they’re very little. After four or five it changes. Then they love those that love them.”

Miss Bell was a little abrupt with him. She blamed him for Olivia’s pregnancy, which she had maintained more than once, with pursed lips, should never have been allowed to happen.

How time was passing and how glad I was that it did so with such speed! Olivia had been dead for six months and Livia had been mine for that time.

It was during that Christmas that Jeremy made his first approach —tentatively, of course, but with a skill which I would have expected of him.

He said he thought Livia was lucky in spite of having lost her mother. She had found a new one in me … and none would have guessed she was a semi-orphan.

“When I see you with her I rejoice, Caroline.”

“I do my best to carry out my promise to Olivia and it is not difficult. I love Livia.”

“I can see you do. It warms my heart. It’s a great privilege for me to be able to come here.”

“I am sure you would rather be in London.”

“How wrong you are! It is the greatest pleasure for me to be where you are, Caroline. I often think of the fancy dress ball. Do you remember?”

“Vividly,” I said.

“Cleopatra.”

“And Rupert of the Rhine.”

He looked at me, his eyes shining, and we laughed.

He was too clever to pursue it from there but I was aware of his intentions.

He said: “I shall come again … soon, Caroline. You don’t mind, do you?”

“I understand you wish to see your daughter.”

“And … you.”

I bowed my head.

He was there again before the end of January. He was no laggard once he had made up his mind on the course to take. I had to grant him that. He wrote frequently, begging for news of Livia’s progress. He was the ideal father.

In February he was with us again, facing the rather cold train journey and some delays due to ice on the line.

“What a devoted father you are!” I said when he arrived.

“Nothing would have kept me away,” he replied.

During that visit he made more steps forward.

We were on the nursery floor fitting together some simple jigsaw of animals in which Livia indulged with great delight.