The Dark Stranger by Sara Seale Page A

replied and held out his hands.
    Her shyness and doubts left her and she sprang across the clearing to put her own hands in his.
    “ Home? ” she repeated and saw again the vivid, penetrating blue of the gaze he bent upon her.
    “ Well, I hope it is home, ” he said with a quizzical smile. “ I ’ m sorry I couldn ’ t get to Truro to meet you . But I was kept late tonight. ”
    “ Oh, but I didn ’ t expect —” she began and his expression was a little odd.
    “ I wonder what you did expect, ” he observed. “ Are you still walking round your natural emotions with your customary caution? ”
    She laughed and all at once, she found, as of old, he was easy to talk to. She showed him the seeds Zachary had sown and the daffodils which he confirmed had been planted by his mother, and she told him that although she had been very behind in her work the last six months she had now caught up and would be promoted to the sixth form her next and last term.
    He watched her swinging on one of the broken columns of the temple. It was dusk now and in the half light she seemed timeless, ageless. Birds were still singing the last chorus of the evening and near at hand a cuckoo called once and flew away.
    “ Brownie told me, ” she said, lifting her head to listen, “ that there ’ s a place in Cornwall where the villagers once built a hedge round a cuckoo to hold fast to the spring. Isn ’ t that a charming idea? ”
    His face wore a curious expression.
    “ The cuckoo of Zen n or, ” he said slowly. “ There ’ s a lot to be said for it. Shall I wall you up in the temple, Tina, to make sure of perpetual spring? ”
    She looked down at him, a little startled. In the gathering dusk of the April evening he did not seem the same, and although he spoke lightly enough there was still the hint of a threat in his absurd question. She could imagine the dark Pentreaths with their pirate faces doing just that thing if it meant getting their own way.
    “ You ’ re cold, ” he said as he saw her shiver and told her it was time they went back to the house.
    “ Why didn ’ t you come at Christmas? ” he asked abruptly as they walked through the shrubberies.
    “ I understood it wouldn ’ t be convenient, ” she replied carefully.
    “ I see. ” He sounded cold and she said rather helplessly: “ You don ’ t. But it was your house. When Belle said—I thought —”
    “ Well, don ’ t distress yourself, ” he sounded a little impatient. “ I naturally thought at the time you found your friend ’ s house more amusing, but it ’ s of no importance. ” How bewildering he was, she thought, conscious now of tiredness after the long day. It was difficult to know whether he was Belle ’ s nice cousin offering a welcome which was as sincere as it was unexpected, or whether he was just rich Cousin Craig whose hospitality she had unwittingly offended.
    “ Dinner ’ s waiting, ” Brownie said as soon as they got in and cast a disapproving look at Tina ’ s dew-drenched shoes. “ Go and change those shoes, Tina, and be quick about it . We won ’ t wait for you. ”
    II I
    T he Easter holidays passed very quickly and Tina saw little of Craig after that first evening. He seemed to be working longer hours now and seldom got home in time for the five o ’ clock tea, and at week-ends he spent much time in his yacht. She was a Bermudian sloop of the Teal class with sleeping accommodation for two, and sometimes he would take Zachary and sometimes sail alone. Tina could picture him at the tiller with his pirate ’ s face and his black hair blowing in the wind, and often wished that she, too, might go, but he never suggested it.
    Belle, she thought, had changed. She was no longer a guest in the house and she came and went as she pleased, hiring a car from Merrynporth to take her shopping when Zachary could not drive her, and giving small bridge parties of her own when Craig was safely out of the house. Indolence had grown on her