I laughed lightly. “Gallantry, I suppose,” I said. “The sort of thing men feel they must say to women.”

“The truth,” he insisted. “Do you know, when I was battened down in that loathsome place I could soothe my fury against fate by thinking of that bright-eyed little girl who was so earnest, so eager and who had saved my life. One never forgets someone who saved one’s life.”

“You exaggerate.”

“Indeed not.”

“I didn’t save your life. My father did what he could.”

“Because you insisted. Penfold told me everything. He came to the docks to see me off before I left.”

“I felt responsible.”

“Because you were followed to the house. Yes, you sustained me during those days. And then afterwards when I was living in my hut I would think of you. I used to say to myself, One day I am going to be free and I shall go back and find her. She will be grown up then …”

“Did you ever think of Dolly?”

“Now and then. Poor Dolly.”

“I should have thought she might have been the one in your thoughts.”

“Dolly? She was there … and she was gone. I think she felt like that of me.”

“Do you think a girl like Dolly would indulge in a light relationship, a sensation of an hour and then think no more of it? Dolly never knew a man before you, nor after you. Dolly was no light o’ love to be picked up and thrown aside.”

“It happened. She understood. She knew I was going away. It was that sort of relationship. There was never intended to be anything permanent… on either side.”

“I find that difficult to understand.”

“Of course you do. But for the child it would have been of very little moment.”

“I do not think it was for Dolly, but then of course she is a member of that sex which is born to serve the other.”

He smiled at me. “How fierce you are in defence of women. You are just as I knew you would be. But I never thought I should come back and find you … married.”

“Why not? I am not a child any more. I shall soon be twenty-one.”

“Seven years … eight years … it’s a long time out of a life. Tell me about your marriage. Are you happy?”

“I am happy.”

“But not completely so?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I sense it.”

“I could not have a kinder husband.”

“You have told me very little about him. He had an accident. That is all I know.”

“Before that accident I was engaged to marry him.”

“Were you very much in love?”

I hesitated. I did not know why I had to be entirely frank with him.

“You weren’t,” he said. “Then why did you marry him?”

“Amaryllis had become engaged, and I suppose I thought it was time I did. They all wanted me to marry Edward … his family and mine.”

“Rich, I suppose? Of good family,” he said ironically.

“Not particularly rich. Comfortable, with a business in Nottingham … good solid people, honourable. My family liked them. As a matter of fact, but for you we should never have known them.”

He looked surprised.

“It was when we went to Nottingham … when you stood on trial… that we met them. They became friendly and they bought Grasslands when Dolly died. They became our neighbours as well as friends.”

“So you became engaged because Amaryllis did?”

“It was something like that. Then there was this terrible accident. Edward was so brave … so wonderful. He wanted to free me but I wouldn’t have it. So we were married.”

“It is no life for you,” he said.

“It is the life I have chosen.”

“You were not meant to live a nun’s life. You are a vibrant person, full of life.”

“Were you meant to be treated like a slave? What do you mean when you say it is not what I was meant for? Clearly we are meant for what befalls us.”

“I could not help what happened to me. Could I have stood by and seen Leah ravished?”

“Could I stand by, having given my promise, and leave Edward because he had been crippled?”

“You do the most quixotic things. The idea of tying yourself for life because of a gesture!”

“And what of you? The idea of coming near to death and then suffering seven years of servitude … just for a young girl.”

“Would you say we were a pair of fools?”

“I can only say that what I did I had to do. And I believe the same applies to you.”

He took my hand and held it. “What a serious meeting this has been. I meant it to be so happy, so full of fun … meeting after all these years. We should be enjoying our reunion.” He filled my glass with the burgundy. He lifted his. “Come, laugh and be merry.”

I was surprised at the manner in which he could throw off his melancholy. Now he was very much like the laughing gypsy I had known long ago.

He told me about his estates in Cornwall and so vividly did he talk that I could picture the old grey stone mansion with the battlemented towers, with its long gallery—“haunted, you know. No house in Cornwall is worthy of the term ancient unless it has its ghost. We’re not far from the moors and we have the sea as well. I hope you will visit it one day.”

I let myself believe I would. He had that effect on me. He transported me into a world of make-believe. He made me feel young and carefree. I could temporarily forget that I had duties and responsibilities. I saw myself going through that house in Cornwall, marvelling in the long gallery, the solarium, the crown post, the priest’s hole, the great hall and the garden full of azaleas and rhododendrons with hydrangeas, pink, blue and white, growing in profusion.

He was a vivid talker and brought it all to life for me; moreover he made me long to be there to see it for myself.

I was brought back to reality by the realization that time was passing. My family would wonder where I was and I must go back.

Reluctantly we returned to the boat and I was a little sad as we rowed back. I had been indulging in dreams and as I came out of them I realized as never before, what a rash act it had been to marry Edward. When I looked at this man, pulling at the oars, smiling at me in a significant manner, all the melancholy I had seen in his face when he had talked of his trials disappeared. I was stirred as I never had been before. I wanted to go on being with him. I wanted to see that joy in living which he could display and which seemed particularly exciting when I heard of all he had endured during his years of servitude which would have been so hard to bear for a man of his nature.

In those moments on the river I said to myself: This must be falling in love. I had thought it would never happen to me, and now it had … too late.

We alighted from the boat and began the walk to the house. I realized it must be nearly three o’clock. I felt faintly irritated, frustrated. I had forgotten how anxious they would be about me, so completely absorbed had I been.

We came out into Piccadilly. I must have increased my pace a little, and he said: “You are anxious to get on.”

“I didn’t realize it was so late.”

“Let’s take this street. It’s a short cut.”

That was how I saw her. Recognition was instantaneous—after all she had made a great impression on me. It was the girl who had pretended to be blind.

How different she looked now! There was no doubt that she could see. She was fashionably dressed in rather a gaudy manner; her cheeks were startlingly red, the rest of her face very white; those eyes which had seemed so pathetically sightless were rimmed with kohl. She had crossed the road and gone into a building.

I said: “What place is that?”

Jake said: “It’s Frinton’s Club.”

“Frinton’s! I’ve heard of that. That was where Jonathan lost so much money. What sort of place is it?”

“It has rather a shady reputation, I believe.”

It was very strange. What was that girl doing in Frinton’s Club? Something should be done. I did not know what.

“Do you know who owns it?”

“It is said to be a Madame Delarge.”

“I’ve heard of her.”

“There are a chain of clubs like Frinton’s. I’ve heard all sorts of things go on in them. Not gambling only. They are the haunts of prostitutes and idle young men—and perhaps older ones—who have more money than sense.”

“I see.”

“There are a number of them in London. Madame Delarge is the accepted owner, but I have heard that she is just a name, and there is some big organization behind her. Frinton’s is just one of a chain of such clubs. Madame Delarge is the one behind whom the real owners cower. At least so I’ve heard.”

“Why should there be this need for anonymity?”

“It is rather an unsavoury business. It wouldn’t surprise me if the real owners are posing as pillars of society.”

I felt shaken. After my idyllic experience I had seen that young woman who for some time had haunted my dreams. To say the least, it was disconcerting.

When I told my parents I had seen the girl who had pretended to be blind and that she had gone into Frinton’s Club, my father said: “She’s obviously a loose woman. Many of them frequent those clubs. There’s nothing much we could do even if we approached the girl. It’s too long ago.”

“There is a woman who is said to own the place. A Madame Delarge.”

“Oh yes. She’s just a figurehead, I believe.”

“It was a great shock to see that girl. I should have known her anywhere although she was so dressed up and quite different. And her face …”

“Let’s hope she sticks to her trade,” said my father, “and doesn’t attempt any more to kidnap young innocent girls.”

“I think something ought to be done,” said my mother.