Road to Paradise Island

AMSTERDAM

Arriving home was rather depressing. There was no news from Philip. The house seemed very quiet. Granny M remarked on it. "It's after that house full of family," she said. "They are a very happy group. There is something about a big family. I wish we could hear from Philip and I wish your father would come home."

I went to my room and unpacked my things and as I hung them up I thought of the occasions when I had worn them, sitting down to dinner, joining in the talk at the table.

Yes, our house did seem quiet, I wished I were back there. I had never before noticed how quiet we were. When Philip had been with us it had been more lively. Now we were back to the longing for him, very conscious of the void his absence made in our lives.

We were back with memories of him, with watching every day for the news which did not come.

I wished we were still with the Billingtons. I had been foolish. I should have agreed to marry Raymond. I must love him for I missed him so much. When I was in that house I had ceased to think continually of Philip and had been able to forget him for certain periods of time. Now all the longing to see him, the anxiety, had returned.

If I had said Yes to Raymond, I should now be thinking of my coming marriage. Granny and I would have been making excited plans.

I wished it were so. I was a fool.

I went up to Ann Alice's room and sat there.

"If I had never found your journal everything would have been different," I said to Ann Alice, as though she were there. I often felt as though she were. "Philip would not have become obsessed with the need to find the island. He would still be with us, I should be getting ready for my marriage to Raymond. You have changed everything for me, Ann Alice."

How silent it was. Nothing ... but the gentle moaning of the wind rustling the leaves in the yew that was just outside the newly opened window. I could imagine I heard voices in the wind. But then I was always imaginative in this room.

Granny was right. The past was done with. It was folly to let it impinge on the present. It had been such a shock to discover that Raymond's ancestors had been involved with mine. Two of his had murdered Ann Alice, and Freddy ... little Freddy of whom there was not much written but who seemed to have been a rather charming boy... was his greatgrandfather. Raymond must have been rather like Freddy when he was a boy. Yet Freddy had been the child of murderers.

Again and again I wished I had never discovered the journal. I wished that I had never discovered the connection between our two families. There must be many things in life which it is better not to know.

I was sitting in that room close to the window thinking of Ann Alice on that night when suddenly I heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Slowly, laboriously, they were coming along the corridor.

In that moment I was Ann Alice. I sat there staring at the door. I saw the handle slowly turn. I was reliving it all again. Between me and that girl there was certainly some mystic bond.

Slowly the door opened. I was expecting him ... that evil man. I had conjured up a picture of what he looked like—rather flashily handsome with thick sensual lips and dark fierce eyes, greedy eyes, who stretched out to take what he wanted and did not care whether he crushed anyone who stood in his way.

I gave a little gasp as Granny M stepped into the room.

"Up here again!" she said. "Why, you look quite white and scared out of your wits. You're as bad as the servants with their ghosts... only they do have the sense to keep away from the place."

She came in and sat on the bed and the room immediately assumed an air of normality.

"What are you doing up here? You're always up here. For two pins I'd have it closed up again."

"I have a sort of compulsion to come," I told her. "I heard your steps on the stairs and I thought for a moment..."

"You thought I was someone returned from the dead! Really, child, you've got to stop all this. It's a parcel of nonsense. You're working up something which is just a fantasy. If it hadn't been for that storm..."

"I often say that. If it hadn't been for the storm ..."

"Well, it's no use saying that now. It happened and there is an end to it. Why do you come here? You're becoming obsessed by what you read in that journal."

"Well, you see Granny, first I found her grave... and then her journal, and now there is this discovery about Freddy's being Raymond's greatgrandfather. It's like a pattern."

"It's all very logical, my dear. We agreed on that. Little Freddy went in for map making ... naturally he would, having learned something about it in his childhood and become fascinated by it as so many do. What his parents got up to is no concern of ours. It's all long ago. People did all sorts of things then which we wouldn't do now. We met Raymond because he is in the business, and as there are not so many of us around, that's natural enough. There is nothing mystical about it at all. Get that out of your head. You've got a lot of imagination and sometimes that can be a bad thing. Stop thinking about it. It's over and done with. And when I think that you refused Raymond because of some fanciful ideas ... it just makes me wonder how I brought you up. It does really. There's Philip goes off on some wild-goose chase..."

She was silent. We looked at each other. Then I went to her and for a moment we clung together.

She extricated herself almost immediately. She never believed in giving way to emotion.

"We have had a very pleasant visit," she said, "and now we've come home and we miss it all. I shall ask Raymond to come for the weekend. No use asking the brother and father. I daresay they will be expected to go down to Buckinghamshire. But I am sure everyone will understand if I ask Raymond. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

I agreed that I would.

"You should see him more often. You should get away from all those morbid imaginings. Perhaps then you will come to your senses."

"I hope so, Granny."

"My dear child, so do I."

Raymond was at our house a good deal. Spending weekends with us had become quite a habit. He said his family would very much like it if we went to them for another visit.

Although I wanted to, I was still unsure, and I did not want to face that expectancy again until I could give a definite answer. It seemed unfair to Raymond, who was kind and understanding. Sometimes I almost said: 'Til marry you as soon as you want me to."

I could talk to him on any subject... except one, and that was my knowledge of the wickedness of his ancestors. That I could not speak of and until I did there must be a barrier between us. There were times when I thought of it in the clear light of day that it seemed quite nonsensical. I just had this horrible fear that I should look for traits of Desmond Featherstone in him... and find them. I had this uncanny feeling that Ann Alice was warning me.

It was nonsense, of course. I had just allowed myself to become obsessed by the discovery of the grave and the closed room—and the journal which had explained so much.

When I rode with Raymond, when he dined with Granny and me and some of our friends, everything seemed different. I was pleased when he excelled in discussion, when everyone said what a charming person he was, and when Benjamin Darkin and he talked together and the old man showed him such respect. Surely that was loving.

I think Granny was a little exasperated with me. A wedding prospect would have taken her mind off Philip. Marriage and, in time, babies. That was what she would have liked.

Sometimes I thought I could, and then would come those dreams... those rather fearful dreams, particularly that one which recurred, the one when I was in the room, heard the footsteps on the stairs, and the coming of Raymond who turned into Desmond Featherstone*

I seemed to hear a voice within me saying: "Not yet. Not yet." And in my more fanciful moments I imagined that it was Ann Alice who spoke to me.

October had come. It was a year since Philip had gone. Both Granny M and I were dreading the anniversary of his departure. She made sure that Raymond was with us on that day. I must say that that helped considerably.

We got through it and then it was November... dark gloomy days... the sort of days when memories came back.

We were invited to spend Christmas with the Billingtons and this we did.

We could not have had a more delightful Christmas although it was inevitable that we should think of past Christmases when Philip was with us. We neither of us mentioned him on Christmas Day. It was a sort of unspoken pact between us. As was to be expected, all the old customs were carried out. Great fires roared in the grates. There were quantities of seasonal food; and much merriment in which the whole neighbourhood seemed to join.

The younger members of the family all went riding on Boxing morning and Grace, Basil, and James followed their usual custom of losing themselves, so that Raymond and I were alone together.

I was as happy as I could be, considering my growing anxiety about Philip. Raymond understood and he talked of Philip. He did not try to soothe me. I believe he was beginning to think that some misadventure had befallen him and he wanted me to be prepared for bad news.

It was a bright day, with frost in the air—a sparkling sort of day which sets one's skin glowing. The horses were frisky and we let them gallop across a meadow, pulling up sharp as we came to the hedge.

Raymond said: "Ready for the glass of cider?"

I replied that I was. There would be the intimacy of the parlour with probably no one else there on Boxing Day. Perhaps he would ask me again. I hoped not, for although I was wavering, I was still unsure.

There was a big fire in the inn parlour and a Christmas tree set up in the window and sprigs of holly behind the pictures on the walls.

"They are determined we shan't forget it's Christmastime," said Raymond.

He ordered the cider. There was no one else in the parlour.

The host brought it. He said: "Not many people about this morning. It's the holiday. Most of them are at their own firesides."

Raymond lifted his glass and said: "To us, and in particular to you, Annalice. I hope you'll have some good news soon."

I felt sad because I knew he meant Philip.

"It is getting so long."

He nodded.

"It was a year last October. And only one letter since then. There must be something wrong. Philip would write because he would know how anxious we are."

Raymond was silent, staring into his glass.

"I wish I could go out there," I said. "To the South Pacific. I wish I could discover for myself..."

"Go out there!" He put down his glass. "You mean you ... go out there alone!"

"Why not? I do hate these stupid conventions which seem to imply that because one is female one is half-witted."

"I know what you mean, but it could be a hazardous journey."

"Others have gone. We have had our intrepid lady explorers. Some of them have gone into the most dangerous country."

"Do you really mean you would go?"

"It is an idea which has been in my mind for some time."

"Is that why you won't marry me?"

"I am not sure. It isn't that I don't love you. I do. But I'm not sure about being in love, which is a different thing I suppose. I think loving is probably better than being in love."

"It can be more permanent. Being in love is often transient, I believe. People fall in love easily, so why shouldn't they fall out with equal ease?"

"Do you love me or are you in love with me?"

"Both."

"Raymond, you are so good, and I am so foolish."

"No. You want to be sure. I understand."

"You are the most understanding person I have ever met. You understand about Philip, don't you?"

"Yes, I believe I do."

"I can't settle. I want to know. If something terrible has happened to him I want to find out about it. Then I might accept the situation and perhaps in time put it behind me. What I cannot endure is this uncertainty."

"That is very understandable."

"And you don't think I am being foolish in hating this inactivity so much that I want to go out and do something about it?"

"I think it is perfectly natural. I should feel the same."

"Oh, I do love you. You are so sensible."

"Thank you."

"I think I shall marry you ... in time. That is if you still want me to when I am ready."

"I shall be waiting."

I was so moved, I turned away.

He leaned towards me. "I think this stands between us," he said. "This fear of what has happened to your brother. If he came home you would be at peace, and if you knew the worst you would come to me for comfort."

"It may be that is so. I think of him almost all the time. Sometimes I think I shall never know. We have been so long without word. And I'll never be able to go and search for him. There is my grandmother. I couldn't leave her, could I? You see, it would mean both of us gone."

"It is a pity there were only two of you. If there had been a big family..."

"I have two brothers and one sister. Half brothers and sister, of course. They are in Holland."

"Yes, I remember. Your father married again."

"Granny M is so angry because he gave up maps and went into the export business." I couldn't help smiling. "She gets really angry, but I think what hurts her is that she has grandchildren in Holland whom she doesn't know."

"When you marry me you will have to leave her."

"Yes, but that is different. She is hoping I will marry you. She thinks that would be very cosy. We wouldn't be far off and she hopes for great-grandchildren. She seems rather stern but she does love children. She likes the thought of carrying on the family and all that."

"It's a great pity that you can't at least meet the rest of the family."

"They are in Amsterdam. My father writes now and then and that is all. He is completely absorbed in his new family as I suppose he would be. They are there and we are far away, and as I cost my mother her life when I was born he might remember me with pain. I know exactly how he feels."

"It is a mistake for families to be apart unless of course they can't get on together. But this seems to be a sort of drifting."

"That describes it exactly. There is no feud ... nothing like that, just a drifting."

"Now if these grandchildren were with your grandmother, your little jaunt might not be impossible."

"There would be great opposition but I could overcome that, if I thought there was someone there to comfort her."

"I am sure you would."

"Oh, I do wish Philip would come home."

"Let's drink to that," he said.

His eyes met mine over the glass, and I thought: Yes, I love him. Where else would I find someone who was so kind, so tender, so loving, so understanding.

What a fool I am, I thought.

And yet the cruel memories came flooding back. It was in a place rather like this that Ann Alice had first seen Desmond Featherstone. He had been seated at such a table. I remembered the description vividly.

Perhaps I would eventually subdue these memories.

I believed I would ... in time.

We were in February when Raymond made the announcement.

He was spending the weekend with us—a habit now for he always came except when he was at home in Buckinghamshire. He had just arrived and we were having tea in Granny M's small sitting room when he said: "I shall be going abroad in March. My father is going with me. We shall be on the Continent... France, Germany and Holland. It's a business trip which we make periodically."

"We shall miss you," said Granny M.

"How long will you be away?" I asked.

"About a month, I should think."

A month without him! I thought. Each day getting up, looking

for news of Philip which did not come, wondering, asking ourselves again and again why we had not heard.

We were beginning to accept the fact that something must have happened to him, but that did not make it any easier. If only we could know, I used to think. Then we might begin to grow away from it.

Now the prospect of a month without Raymond's company was rather depressing.

"Grace wants to come with us," went on Raymond.

"Grace!" cried Granny M.

"We ... the family ... believe it is good for a girl as well as boys to see something of the world. I think she is getting round my father. He is rather susceptible to Grace's wiles. He thinks though that she might have to be left alone a good deal... while we are engaged on business, and she would get rather bored. Now ... if she had someone with her... We thought if she had a companion ... and we were wondering if Annalice would care to come with us."

I stared at him. I felt suddenly happy. To get away ... to forget for a while ... to travel. I had always wanted to see something of the world, to visit those countries which had hitherto been only a blob of pale green or brown on our maps...

Then I thought of Granny M. I looked at her. Her face expressed nothing.

"It would be pleasant for Grace ... and for my father and me, of course. I think that if you agreed to go that would decide Grace's fate. She is very eager to hear your answer." He turned to Granny M. "You would miss Annalice very much, I know. My mother said, why don't you go and stay with them. She says it would be lovely for her to have you there. You know how she is with her garden and her recipes. She wants someone to talk to about them. She says none of us is interested."

There was silence. I dared not look at Granny M. I knew I was betraying my feelings.

"I doubt I could go away for a whole month," she said. "There is the business."

"We are leaving ours in the hands of managers," said Raymond. "Your Benjamin Darkin seems an absolute gem. I wish he were working for us. Sometimes I feel inclined to steal him."

Granny M said slowly: "I think it would be good for Annalice."

I went over to her and kissed her. I couldn't help it. "You are so good," I said. "So very good ..."

"Nonsense," she said. "Gadding about on the Continent. I don't know whether it's right for a young girl."

"I should be in good hands," I said.

Granny M said: "Go and sit down, Annalice. What will Raymond think of us?"

I could see that her eyes were too bright. She was afraid she would shed a tear. I wanted to say: "Shed them, Granny. I love you for shedding them."

There was something very calm about Raymond. He met every situation with a complete lack of surprise.

"My father has travelled extensively," he said, as though our emotional scene had not taken place. "He's always felt that it is a necessary part of business. Is it settled then? May I relieve Grace's anxiety? May I tell her that she is to have Annalice's company on the trip?"

"I suppose so," said Granny M. "But we've not had much time to think about it. What do you feel, Annalice?"

"If you could do without me for a month ..."

"What do you mean—do without you? I can manage on my own, I assure you."

"I know that, Granny. But I should worry about you."

"Why? I shall go to Buckinghamshire as I have been so kindly asked. I am sure I shall be very happy there ..."

Raymond said: "I am going home tomorrow to tell them the good news. You will enjoy it so much, Annalice. Why don't you both come down next weekend and we will make plans."

So we decided to do that.

I was so excited at the prospect that my fears for Philip faded into the background. They would not disappear completely but the best way of preventing perpetual preoccupation with them was for something like this to happen.

We were leaving in the middle of March and would be back in April. There were conferences between the two families and I came to the conclusion that Granny M was as excited about the coming trip as I was. She knew that it was the best way of taking us out of our despondency and with her inherent common sense she knew we were doing no good at all by giving way to that.

I was determined that something was going to be done about Philip. More and more I thought of going out to look for him. I would start in Sydney. Someone must know something. But how could I ever get there? A woman alone! Even this trip to the Continent had to be in the company of the Billingtons.

Raymond and I went riding one morning. I felt so much better since we had been making plans for the trip and that must be obvious.

I could talk to Raymond freely about what was on my mind and I said: "I wonder if I shall ever be able to go out and look for Philip."

"You don't think he's gone native, do you? Perhaps he has married out there and decided he can't come home."

"You never knew Philip. He would realize how worried we would be. Whatever he had done he would tell us... me at any rate."

"I believe you are still dreaming of going out to look for him."

"He said in his letter that there were some islands off the coast of Australia and that there was a ship that went out to them every Wednesday. He must have taken that ship. I would like to go to Australia, get on that ship and go to the islands. I have a feeling that I might discover something there."

Raymond was looking at me intently.

I said: "I believe you think I ought to go. You don't regard this as an impossible dream."

"No, I don't regard it as impossible, and I know you will never be at peace until you have discovered where your brother is and why there has been this long silence. I want you to be at peace. I don't think you will be happy until you know. I want you to be happy. I want you to marry me."

"Oh, Raymond, I can't tell you how happy you make me. Everything has been different since we met. And now this trip. I do believe you thought of the idea of taking Grace so that you could ask me."

He smiled. "You need to get away. You need to stop brooding. You can do no good by that."

"I know. But how can I stop it?"

"By breaking away from routine ... by making a new life. Whatever has happened to your brother, you cannot change it by fretting."

"That's why I can't sit at home thinking about it. You see we were such friends, closer than most brothers and sisters. It was probably due to the fact that our mother died. I never knew her, and he did. He remembered. Children of five do. And then there was the War of the Grannies. They both wanted us you see, my father's mother and my mother's mother. For some time Philip did not know what was to become of us. That has an effect. He thought he might be parted from me, and although I was too young to know of this, when he told me I felt all the horrors of it. There was a special bond between us. I know as sure as anything that if he were alive he would find some means of telling me. Yes, I must find him. I cannot settle to anything until I do."

"You'll have to go out there, I can see that."

"How?"

"As I said nothing is impossible."

"Granny ..."

"Is getting old. She is lonely. She needs her grandchildren round her. But you are not the only one."

"No. There is Philip."

"I wasn't thinking of Philip."

"What do you mean?"

"Our first call will be Holland. We shall visit Amsterdam. I am going to suggest that you write to your father and tell him of your pending visit. Tell him you will come to stay. Get to know your half brothers and sister. Perhaps you could bring them back to England. Perhaps one of the grandchildren could become the compensation your grandmother needs. Perhaps you could have your freedom that way. After all if Philip does not return, one of those boys will inherit the Manor and the business, I presume. He should know something about them."

I stared at him. "Raymond, you're devious," I said. "I would never have believed you could make such machiavellian plans."

"People do all sorts of things when they are in love," he replied.

I wrote to my father and his reply was immediate. He was delighted. His wife, Margareta, his sons Jan and Charles and his little Wilhelmina were all overjoyed at the prospect of seeing me.

I showed the letter to Granny M.

"H'm," she said, sniffing: but I believe she was pleased.

Raymond was delighted.

He said: "It might be desirable for you to spend a month with them."

"A month! But I am so looking forward to France and Germany ..."

"I thought you would want to look farther ahead than that."

I smiled at him and thought: I love you, Raymond Billington. Why do I hesitate? Perhaps when we are away...

But I went up to the room and sat there in solitude. It seemed very quiet, only the sound of the wind in the yew outside the window.

I looked at the bed, the chest of drawers in which I had found the journal... expecting, as I always did in this room, to receive some sign, perhaps to hear Ann Alice's voice coming to me over the years.

Nothing. I even found my thoughts straying to what I must pack; and I realized then that I had not had my nightmare since Raymond had suggested I should accompany him and his family on their trip to the Continent.

I was charmed by Amsterdam from the moment I saw it. I could not believe that there was another city like it in the world. I was sure of that even at this stage when I had seen few cities, and now when I have travelled farther afield, I still believe it.

There it stands on the dam or dike of the Amstel, on the arm of the Zuider Zee—divided by the river and the canals into nearly a hundred small islands connected by three hundred bridges.

My father's house was large and imposing and situated in Prinszen Gracht where, with Kaizers and Heeren Grachts, most of the big houses were. There was about it an atmosphere which was decidedly Dutch; the steps from the front door to the street went up at right angles with a railing of highly polished brass; the gables at each end of the house were highly ornamental, and inside the house there was an air of spaciousness, but what struck me most was the polished brightness of everything. Cleanliness was the most striking feature of the place. The passages were marble and the walls tiled in delicate blues and whites. I presumed these were used so that they could be easily cleaned; the doors were elaborately carved; the windows were large and at these, mirrors had been placed so that what was going on in the streets could be easily observed. The furniture was far plainer than ours at home.

It might appear that there would be a feeling of coldness or austerity in such a house. This was not so; and the warmth of my welcome was instant.

My father embraced me and within seconds I knew that I had been right to come here. I liked my stepmother immediately. She was plump with a round face and a dazzlingly clear skin and light blue bright eyes. She was a little nervous at first, which I suppose was natural. I took her hands and kissed her. She flushed a little and looked so pleased that I knew I was going to like her. For a few seconds there flashed into my mind a scene from Ann Alice's journal when she had known Lois Gilmour was to be her stepmother. How strange that we both had stepmothers! But the resemblance between Margareta and Lois Gilmour ended there. I must not think continually of what happened to Ann Alice and compare my own life with hers.

I was introduced to my half brothers and sister.

What excitement to be presented with a ready-made family. My first thought was: How foolish we were not to have met years ago! And then how grateful I was to Raymond for having suggested that we should meet.

There was Jan aged fifteen, Charles aged twelve and Wilhelmina nine.

The children clustered round me and Jan said he thought it was the most wonderful thing imaginable to have a big sister whom he had never seen before. They spoke fluent English, although a certain amount of Dutch was used in the household, so that all the children were bilingual and there was no language problem.

I liked them all very much and was thrilled to discover how pleased they were to see me. I was particularly taken by the eldest, Jan, because he reminded me of Philip. He might have been Philip at fifteen and I felt very emotional when he talked to me and called me Sister.

My father understood and I realized how deeply he regretted that Philip and I had spent our childhoods away from him.

They were very hospitable to the Billingtons and my father expressed his gratitude to them for including me in the trip to the Continent. I was to stay in the house in Prinszen Gracht, and Grace was invited to stay with me. The men would be in a nearby hotel during their stay in Amsterdam.

It was amazing how quickly we all came to know each other. Jan became my shadow. He wanted to show me everything. He came with us on our tours round the city and he thoroughly enjoyed being our guide. Proudly he showed us the landmarks of the city, taking us to the high bridge where the River Amstel enters the city, driving us through the grachts and showing us the fine houses, and taking us round the ramparts where we could see the windmills which were now used for grinding corn.

The Billingtons had arranged to stay only a week in Holland and although I longed to see other countries, I should be loth to leave my newly found family. I had several talks with Raymond about it.

He said: "You are so much at home with them. You are forging a link. If you go away now you will drift along more or less as before. You may be in communication. That much will have changed, but it is not what we had in mind."

"You think I should stay with them the whole month?"

He nodded, rather gloomily. "It seems to me that is the answer. You must make them feel that you want to be with them more than anything else. They must feel that they are indeed your family. You and Jan get on well together. There seems a very special feeling between you two. I think it would be a good idea ... if this is possible ... for you to take him back to England with you."

"Do you think they would let him go?"

"I don't know, but I don't see why not. Suppose he wants to. Why should he not visit his grandmother?" He gripped my hands. "Plans are beginning to mature. You want to set out on an adventure which means so much to you. When you have found the answer you seek, you and I will be married. But I know you well enough to understand that you will never settle to happiness until you have discovered what

happened to your brother. I could say, Marry me and I will take you out there. That would be like a bribe, and much as I am tempted to, I don't want it that way. Moreover it would be very difficult for me to leave my father and the business for so long. It would be a great burden for them. But I suppose it could be done... as most things can if one makes up one's mind to it. No, it is because I want you to marry me for the right reason ... Am I expressing myself badly?"

"No," I said. "It is very clear. You are a very rare person, Raymond."

"Does that mean you like me a little?"

"Not a little. A lot. Sometimes I think I am foolish not to jump at the chance of marrying you. Thank you ... thank you for your help. You think I might be able to persuade them to let Jan come back with me to England. You think Granny would love him. I am sure you are right about that. And in your heart you think that Philip is never coming back and that Jan is going to take his place not only with my grandmother and me, but as heir to the house and everything."

"I'm afraid I am trying to work it out too neatly and life doesn't often oblige us so precisely, but yes... I was thinking along those lines, and even if you had to abandon your dream—which, forgive me, is a little wild—of going out to search for your brother, I am sure that Jan could help you a great deal, not to forget... but to mourn your brother less."

I said: "Grace would not want to stay in Amsterdam."

"I don't know how she would feel."

"I shall envy you travelling all over Europe."

"You can't decide anything yet. Wait a few days and see how everything turns out."

I did have a talk with my father. I somehow felt he had been waiting for this.

It was after dinner one night. The children had gone to bed; Margareta was busy somewhere and I found myself alone with him.

He spoke very earnestly and was eager to explain his neglect of the past years.

"I always wanted to see you and Philip. I thought about you a great deal. But your grandmother is a somewhat formidable lady. She was furious when she knew I was going to marry again and live in Holland."

I smiled. "That was largely because you deserted maps for export."

"Margareta wanted to live in her native land with her own family. I would have had you children here. But your grandmother was fiercely against that. She said on no account were you coming here. I

had to let it go. I felt I had upset her enough without demanding that she give you up."

"You're happy, Father?"

"As near as one can be. I missed you and Philip... and now there is this trouble about him. Why did he have to go off to these far-off places? They are full of danger."

"He had to go. The urge was so strong. He couldn't resist it. He wasn't like you, Father. He loved the business of map making. It was romantic and exciting to him. I am a little like that, too."

"It's in the blood, I think. It passes over some of us. I never had it, but would you believe it, Jan has. He is always talking about maps and plying me with questions."

My heart began to beat fast. Jan interested. This seemed too good to be true.

"I like Jan very much, Father."

"Yes, I can see there is something special between you two. I'm glad. That pleases me a great deal."

"Father, would you like me to stay the whole month here with you and the family?"

"My dear Annalice, nothing would please me more. But would that not be a sacrifice for you? I gathered there was so much you were looking forward to seeing."

"It's true. But how could anything compare with discovering one's own family?"

"You are welcome, my dear. We should love to have you."

"I feel I want to get to know Jan... absolutely. I am sure Granny would love him. And he is so interested in maps you tell me. Are you going to let him take it up as a profession?"

"If he persists in his enthusiasm, of course."

"You still have Charles to follow you in the export business."

"I never believe in forcing people. It is their own choice. That is something your grandmother and I did not agree about."

"I know. She mourns Philip terribly."

"But there is hope ..."

"It seems to grow less as time passes. I was wondering... would you allow Jan to come and visit us?"

"Do you think your grandmother would want that? She was very much against the marriage."

"I know she wants it very much indeed. It might be difficult to get her to say so, but I am sure she does. / want it very much."

"Well, we could ask Jan."

"So I have your permission to do so?"

"Shouldn't you ask your grandmother first?"

I shook my head. "I know her well. If I returned home with Jan she would be delighted. She would love him on the spot. He is so like Philip ... his enthusiasms ... his ardour about map making. It would help her so much. It would help us both so much. Jan too ... Perhaps he could stay with us for a while and go to the shop and meet old Benjamin Darkin. Philip was constantly at the shop, so was I. It seems that Jan is one of us."

"Sound him out... gradually. Make sure it is what he really wants."

I did not think there was any doubt that Jan would seize the opportunity with alacrity, but I would, as my father said, approach it gradually.

When I told Raymond he was delighted.

"Fate is on our side," he said. "I have another idea. Why don't we ask Jan to be a member of our party. I am sure he would like to see something of the world. Then ... we should not have to lose your company."

"Raymond," I cried, "you have the most wonderful ideas!"

Raymond smiled modestly. "Am I moving too fast?"

"Certainly not. It is always an advantage to move fast."

"Almost always perhaps," he said with a smile.

When I asked my father about Jan's joining us, he was hesitant. He said he would talk to Margareta.

I wondered whether she would want to let her son go because I was sure she was wise enough to see the way events were moving. I suppose she knew that Jan would want to come to England. I was a little unsure of Margareta. My father I understood. He was a man devoted to his children but his greater affection was for his wife. That was how he had been with my mother and was the reason why he was able to leave his children with our grandmother. Although he loved his children and wanted the best for them, it was Margareta who had his great love. Much would depend on her.

Margareta was a home-builder, I could see that and whether she would allow her eldest son to leave home, even for a short time, was doubtful.

I believe she grappled with herself and came to the conclusion that as Jan was so set on a career with maps it was better for him to go into the family business if that were possible. And she must have decided that it would be excellent experience for him to travel a little. Permission was given and when I suggested that he should come with us on the trip his excitement was intense.

He had been sad because he had thought I was going away soon and was wondering when he would see me again—which was immensely gratifying. But to hear he was coming with us, to see the forests of Germany, the castles of the Rhine, the lakes of Switzerland and the big cities of other countries dazzled him.

He left with us. We were seen off by the whole family. "See you soon," they cried, for it was arranged that on our return journey I should spend another three days with them before leaving for England.

It was wonderful to watch Jan's excitement, to have long talks with him, to drift across lakes, to climb grassy slopes round the chalet in the Black Forest where we spent two nights.

Sitting on the hillside in the mountains, listening to the occasional tinkle of a cowbell, deeply aware of the resinous smell of the pines, I felt almost content. If only it were Philip beside me. I pulled myself up sharply and I said suddenly: "Jan, how would you like to come to England?"

"To England? Do you mean that, Annalice?"

"Yes, I do. You could come back with us. You could stay awhile and see if you liked it. I could show you the shop, as we call it. It is quite fascinating with all the maps and the printing presses. We have a wonderful man in charge called Benjamin Darkin. He is reckoned to be one of the finest cartographers in England. He would show you how maps are made. It really is fascinating."

Jan was silent. I held my breath watching him.

Then he turned to me and his eyes were blazing with excitement.

"My parents would not let me go," he said.

"I think they would."

"My father might."

"Your mother would too."

"You don't know her, Annalice."

"Yes, I do. As a matter of fact I have spoken to them. I thought I should before I spoke to you. They are agreeable. So it is up to you."

He remained silent. But I realized that the wonder of my suggestion completely bewildered him.

They were exciting days. I shall never forget the magnificence of the Swiss mountains and the beauty of the lakes, the excitement of sailing down the Rhine and looking up at the fairy-tale castles perched high above the river. We stayed in small towns in which one could expect the Pied Piper to appear at any moment; we passed through forests where characters from the stories of the Grimm brothers would have fitted so perfectly.

The men had certain business to attend to and Grace, Jan and I would go out together. We explored cathedrals, markets, narrow cobbled streets and broad highways and as I watched Jan's enthusiasm for everything I could almost believe I was young again, and this was Philip who was with me.

Once he said to me as we raced down a hill slope together and came level with each other: "The nicest thing that could ever happen to anyone is to find a grown-up sister."

"No," I retorted. "The nicest thing is to find a brother."

We laughed at each other but I was very much afraid that I would betray my emotion.

He meant so much to me, because I suppose he had come into my life at a time when I was obsessed by Philip's disappearance. I needed help at this time—and it was help which he alone could give me.

We returned to the house in Prinszen Gracht and there was great rejoicing.

"Margareta has cooked the fatted calf," said my father; and we spent the evening talking of our adventures. We sat up late and I think Father and Margareta were a little sad contemplating Jan's departure.

I said: "It is so good of you to let him come. Remember the distance between us is not so very far. It is not as though we were on the other side of the world."

Margareta said: "It is sad for us that he is going, but like little birds they must leave the nest and learn to fly on their own. And when they do it is natural that sometimes they fly far away."

"He is quite passionate in his desire to become a cartographer," I said.

My father agreed. "I recognize the passion," he said.

"Granny will love him. Believe me, she needs him. I need him. And he needs to be where he can learn what he longs to."

"You are right, of course," said my father. He looked at Margareta and she nodded, smiling rather sadly at him.

"You are so fortunate," I told them. "Being here I have felt the harmony, the happiness, in this home. You have each other, Charles and Wilhelmina. And Jan is there too... just across a little stretch of water."

"That is true," said my father. To tell the truth we have often wondered about Jan. I was going to see someone in this town about what he wants to do. He is fifteen so it is time to be thinking about that."

"And when he has a desire which is undoubtedly born in him it cannot be ignored," added Margareta.

"You want the best for him," I said.

"Yes. We must put aside our selfish feelings," Margareta said. "I have wanted to keep the children round me ... "

"Alas, time passes. Perhaps you will come and see us... all of you. Granny would be delighted. It is just a matter of breaking the ice, of forgetting these foolish differences."

"Well, it seems you have done that, Annalice," said my father.

"We must make sure that I have."

"And you are leaving tomorrow," said Margareta. "Your friends are charming people."

My father smiled and looked at her. I knew what they were thinking. They had already decided that I was going to marry Raymond.

I said nothing. But seeing their joy in each other made me wonder if I was being very foolish indeed to hold back.

I kept thinking of all Raymond had done for me. He had even brought this about. But for him I should now be at the Manor, watching for the news which never came.

Everyone thought I was lucky to be loved by Raymond Billington. Surely everyone could not be wrong.

The experiment was successful as I knew it would be. When I arrived home with my half brother, Granny was astounded and a little piqued I think because it had all been arranged without her knowledge; but her joy very soon overcame all other feelings.

In a very short time Jan had won her heart. His likeness to Philip was both saddening and heart-warming. "He is a Mallory from head to toe," she told me. "There doesn't seem to be anything Dutch about him."

I said: "You would like his mother, Granny. She is a sweet, homely and loving person."

"I can see that you have been completely bewitched by them all."

She was deeply moved and in spite of herself could not help showing it.

"You're quite audacious, Annalice," she said almost angrily. "Slyly going over there and arranging all this. I think you had it in mind right from the first."

"Well, Granny, it has always seemed a little silly to me. Family feuds always are. It is my family, don't forget ... as well as yours."

"I can see I shall have to be watchful or you will be managing us all before long."

But she was delighted; and I think she admired me for what I had done.

I said: "Let us ask them all over for Christmas. Wouldn't that be fun?"

"I'm not sure. We'll see how Jan feels about it here."

"He loves it. Benjamin says he reminds him so much of—"

"I know. I can tell. He's got it in him. Heaven knows what happened to his father."

"Jan can't get to the shop quickly enough. He is into everything. Benjamin says it is What's this? What's that? all the time."

"I know. And he is certainly fond of you. I don't think he exactly dislikes his old grandmother either."

"He told me he had always wanted to come to England and that his father had talked about us and the Manor, and he thought about England as his home."

"He is a sensible boy."

He was good for us. We had to hide our grief from him and we did not talk of Philip in his presence.

It was the beginning of May when we visited the Billingtons again. Jan went with us. He had settled in amazingly well. It was true he spoke rather nostalgically now and then of his family but when I asked if he would like to go back, he was emphatic in his assurances that he wanted to stay.

He spent most afternoons at the shop.

Granny had been in correspondence with my father and they were writing regularly to each other now. He wanted to hear about Jan's progress, and she was happy to be on friendly terms again. Jan's education had given some anxiety but Granny had engaged the curate, who was a scholar and eager to earn a little extra money, to take Jan in the mornings until other arrangements could be made and we knew how long he was going to stay with us. Granny said that if he was going to make maps his career, he could not start too early and surely the ideal opportunity was in the family business.

My father agreed with that but it was decided that, for the time being, Jan should study with the curate.

"You see," said Granny to me, "when people make arrangements so hastily, they are inclined to forget the practical details."

"Which," I reminded her, "can always be worked out later."

She nodded, looking at me with that mingling of affection and grudging admiration.

But she thought I was very foolish to continue to refuse Raymond Billington.

I still went up to the room and would sit there thinking of Ann Alice. I was almost twenty now, and I still had the uncanny feeling that our lives were linked. I could not talk to anyone about it. Granny would have thought the notion quite ridiculous and would not have hesitated to say so. Raymond might too, but he would try to understand.

It was a great pleasure to arrive at the station and be greeted by Raymond and Grace.

"We have visitors," Raymond told us. "Old friends of the family. Miss Felicity Derring and her aunt, Miss Cartwright. You'll like them."

He asked Jan how he was getting on and Jan enthusiastically told him.

"Jan's days are full," I said. "Shop in the afternoon and Mr. Gleeson the curate in the mornings."

Jan grimaced.

"A necessary evil," I reminded him.

"I'd like to be at the shop all day," he said.

"There's enthusiasm for you," I commented.

"So all goes well. I'm glad of that."

When Raymond helped me down from the carriage which had brought us from the station, he whispered: "Our little plan worked."

"You should have been a general."

"Wars are more difficult to manage than family reconciliations."

We went into the house to be greeted by the family and introduced to Miss Felicity Derring and her aunt.

Felicity was pretty—about my age, I imagined. She had soft brown hair and big brown eyes. She was small-boned and not very tall, very dainty and completely feminine. I felt quite large and a little clumsy beside her. The aunt was small too, with a rather fussy manner.

"Felicity and Miss Cartwright are very old friends of the family," said Mrs. Billington. "I've heard all about your adventures on the Continent. And this is Jan. Jan, it is good to meet you. I am so glad you came to visit us."

It was the same warm atmosphere which always made me feel cosily content.

But there was a difference this time because of the visitors, and I learned something about them at dinner.

"Is there any news about your going out to join your fiance?" asked Mrs. Billington of Felicity.

"Oh yes," replied Felicity. "I am planning to go in September. If I go early in the month I should escape the worst of the weather. It takes a long time to get there and it will be their summer by the time I do."

"How thrilling," said Grace.

"I'd love to go to Australia," added Basil. "You are lucky, Felicity."

"Oh yes, I am," she agreed, casting her eyes down.

Raymond said to me: "Felicity's fiance is in Australia and she is going out to join him."

"How exciting!" I said.

"I'm a little frightened" Felicity confessed. "The thought of all that sea which has to be crossed, and then going to a new country..."

"I shall go with you, niece," said Miss Cartwright, as though her presence would be a guarantee that all would be well. She was that sort of woman.

"One has to have a chaperone," said Grace. "Why can men go off on their own and not women?"

"Well, my dear," replied her mother, "a man can protect himself better than a woman."

"Some men are rather weak," commented Grace. "Some women are quite strong." She looked at Miss Cartwright and me.

I said: "Women in our society are treated as of secondary importance."

"Oh no," declared Raymond. "If we are oversolicitous that is because we prize you so much that we are determined that no ill shall befall you."

"I still think we are denied opportunities."

Everybody was getting interested and I could see this becoming a discussion on the rights of women in our modern society—and that was typical of dinner at the Billingtons.

I was right. It did; and the talk became lively and controversial. Granny M joined in wholeheartedly and so did I. Felicity said little. I came to the conclusion that she was rather a timid little creature.

Later I asked Raymond to tell me about her.

"It was a whirlwind courtship," he said. "William Granville came over for a few months, looking for a wife I believe, and he found Felicity. She is hardly the type to go off to the outback. It would have been different if William had been in Sydney or Melbourne or one of the towns. But I don't believe he is. I can't imagine Felicity on some vast property coping with droughts and forest fires and all the disasters one hears about."

"No. She hardly seems fitted for that. And she is going out in September?"

"So she says. Miss Cartwright will go with her. Felicity is an orphan and has been with her aunt since she lost her father some years ago. Miss Cartwright is a bit of a dragon as you have no doubt seen. It is a good thing that Felicity has her to go out with."

"I take it Miss Cartwright approves of the match."

"William Granville is a very forceful man. He's not so young. I should think he is a good fifteen years older than Felicity. He swept her off her feet, though. And I suppose it seemed very romantic. I hope

she will like it out there ... I can see that Jan is doing a good job with your grandmother."

"She is very proud of him. Benjamin is full of praise for him and you can guess how that delights her. I heard her talking about 4 my grandson' to someone the other day, and you should have heard the pride in her voice. It was a wonderful idea to bring him over."

"When you leave home she would have been so lonely. When are you going to, Annalice? My people are waiting to know. They think it is inevitable and they can't understand why we delay."

"Do they know... about Philip?"

"Of course."

"And they don't understand?"

He shook his head. "They think that I should be with you to comfort you if..."

"You say if. It seems like a certainty now. Where is he? Why do we hear nothing?"

"I don't know."

"It torments me."

"Marry me ... and I'll take you out there. I'll give up everything and we'll go together."

For a moment I was tempted. It was what I wanted. The idea of going there, to the place where Philip had gone, dazzled me.

I don't know why I hesitated. It was almost as though I could hear Ann Alice's voice saying: No. It is not the way. When the time comes for you to marry Raymond, you will know.

"Why not, Annalice?" He put his arms round me and held me close to him. It was so comforting to be held thus. I turned my face and buried it in his coat.

"We'll tell them tonight," he said.

I withdrew myself. "No, Raymond. I don't think it is the way. You can't leave your business ... just like that. I might have to stay there a long time. Think of the journey out ..."

"It could be a honeymoon."

"A honeymoon which could perhaps reveal a tragedy. I just know it is not the way."

"Think about it."

"Yes," I said. "I will think."

I don't know where I got the notion that Felicity was in love with Raymond. Was it the manner in which she looked at him? The way her voice changed when she spoke to him?

Raymond was of course a very distinguished man. Anyone would be proud of him. I realized what a fool I was to hesitate about marrying him. I did not always know why I did. It was something to do with the journal. I still kept it in a drawer at the back of my gloves and scarves, following in her footsteps. It was some impulse, some instinct, almost as though she were guiding me.

And now that same instinct would not let me say Yes to Raymond.

I thought a great deal about Felicity. I sought her company. She was not easy to talk to. She seemed to have firmly closed herself in, which could indicate that she had something she wished to hide.

I learned that her family had been friends of the Billingtons for years. Felicity's mother had died of a fever when Felicity was three years old, and Miss Cartwright, her mother's sister, had come to keep house for them. She had the care of Felicity from an early age and when her father had died had taken over completely.

Felicity, I began to believe, was rather frightened by the prospect of going overseas. She confessed to this.

"But it is so exciting," I said. "It is so romantic. A whirlwind courtship ... engagement and then going out to join your husband."

"He's not my husband yet," said Felicity, and the tone of her voice gave me a clue to her feelings.

I asked how long she had known Mr. Granville and she said only a month before they were engaged.

"Not very long," I commented.

"It all happened so quickly and it seemed right at the time."

"I think it will be most exciting."

"I'm not sure it will."

"But you'll have Miss Cartwright with you. So you'll have someone from home."

She nodded. "And you ..." she said. "I suppose you will marry Raymond."

"Oh, nothing has been settled yet."

"But he wants to and surely you ..."

"I do not think one should rush into these things."

She flushed a little and I realized the tactlessness of my remark. "... unless," I added, "one is very sure."

"Oh yes," she agreed, "unless one is sure."

There was a good deal I should like to have asked about Miss Felicity Derring, but her feelings were tightly shut away and she kept a firm hold on them, as though she were afraid for them to be known.

Raymond said to me: "I have an idea. Why should you not go out with Felicity and Miss Cartwright?" "What?" I cried.

"It's a way. They'll never agree to your going alone. You could get out to Australia. You might find out something there. Miss Cartwright will be in charge. She will stay for a while and then you and she can come back together."

"Oh Raymond," I said, "you do get the most wonderful ideas!"

"I know you will never settle until you know what happened to your brother. It is possible that you can find out something on the spot. He went to Australia. I daresay someone might have heard something of him in Sydney. You could try to contact that young man he went out with. David Gutheridge, wasn't it? He might still be around if he went on an expedition in that country. You'd be on the spot. You'd be company for Felicity too. I think she is getting a little uneasy and it would be good for her to have a friend with her. She wouldn't feel quite so lost in a new land."

"It is an amazing idea. I wonder what Felicity would say to it. She hardly knows me."

"She would love to have a friend with her. So would Miss Cartwright. She would enjoy having someone to come home with."

"As I said before, you are devious, Raymond."

"I might get out there for a spell and give you a hand with the sleuthing."

"Would you?"

"The only way we could go out together is if you married me. We could not defy the conventions all that much by going out without being married."

"I don't know what I should do without you, Raymond. When I think how everything has changed since you appeared in the conference hall, I just marvel."

"It was fate," he said, and lightly kissed my forehead.

"And what of Granny, what is she going to say to this suggestion?"

"It might not be easy to persuade her."

I laughed. "We can be sure of that."

"You must work gently towards it. She knows you well and she loves you dearly. She wants to see you happy and she knows how your brother's disappearance weighs heavily upon you. She does give you credit for being able to take care of yourself. A few hints here and there ... get her used to the idea . .. Make it seem quite natural that you should go out to Australia with Felicity. And when Miss Cartwright has seen her niece settled, you come back together. It seems perfectly plausible to me."

"It is becoming more and more reasonable," I said. "I thought it quite outrageous when you first suggested it."

"We'll work gradually towards it."

"Oh, Raymond, I do love you." "Let's change the plans then. We'll go together." I shook my head.

"When I have found the answer to Philip's disappearance I'll come back and marry you." "That's a promise," he said.