The path to the front door was covered by a thatched pergola.

Inside, on the ground floor, the walls were the same uneven stone as outside, the floors were tiled and the water views-views she loved-were seen through arched, wood-framed, floor-to-ceiling windows.

And everywhere in the living rooms lovely wood was blended with the stone and other natural elements like terracotta and pottery; there were paintings and exquisite pieces of furniture in an uncluttered, spacious interior.

The patio that led off the main lounge was tiled with grey slate and had a grapevine trained to shelter one end from the sun.

Leading off the kitchen was a small walled courtyard Rafe called the “orangery” because of the lemon, lime and orange trees in tubs. There was also a number of herbs growing in a variety of unusual containers like a pot-bellied little black stove.

Upstairs was different, more conventional. The walls were lined, plastered and painted, the floors covered with thick wall-to-wall carpet, but lovely and luxurious all the same.

Maisie came down the curved staircase with its wrought-iron bowed banister and stood in the middle of the lounge.

Rafe followed her and came to stand beside her. ‘Well?’

She turned to him and tilted her chin imperiously. ‘I’ll take it,’ she murmured grandly, then burst out laughing. ‘Oh, Rafe, it’s wonderful! Why don’t you live here?’

He grimaced. ‘It’s-somehow it’s not the kind of place you enjoy rattling around in on your own.’

‘Someone does, though, by the looks of it. It’s all spotless and the garden’s well cared-for.’

‘A cleaner comes in once a week, ditto a gardener.’

‘So whose idea was it?’

‘My mother’s.’ For a moment she thought she saw a shadow cross his eyes, but it was gone before she could be sure. ‘It was her favourite home. Right. How soon do you think you’d like to move in, ma’am?’

‘As soon as possible, Mr Sanderson. As soon as possible.’

It took a week, but before they moved to Raby Bay Maisie had to endure a rather taxing event, a meet-the-family soirée organized by Sonia but a strategy agreed upon by Rafe as well.

He said, with a wry twist of his lips, ‘Of course they’re all wildly curious, I can’t keep you under wraps from them for ever so we might as well get it over and done with.’

‘But a soirée! And how many?’ Maisie asked a little faintly. ‘Do they know I’m pregnant?’ She put her hands to her head in a gesture that was extremely expressive of dazed disbelief or as if she was contemplating being thrust into a den of lions.

Rafe grinned. ‘They’re not going to eat you. Yes, some of them can be a bit daunting but just be yourself. And, since you still don’t look pregnant at times, particularly to anyone who doesn’t know you, we may just let that bit of news filter through in due course.’

She coloured a little.

If he noticed it, he gave no sign as he went on, ‘Sonia does that kind of thing really well. In fact she’s a genius at handling parties so they go without a hitch.’

‘She might need to be,’ Maisie murmured. ‘Do you really think we need to do this?’ she asked with a frown in her eyes. ‘Because we aren’t-we don’t…’ She stopped awkwardly.

‘We don’t know each other in the biblical sense?’ he supplied a little drily. ‘I really think,’ he paused, ‘all we need to show is that we’re friends.’

‘There,’ Sonia said just before her soirée was about to get underway. ‘You look lovely.’

They were in Sonia’s bedroom at Raby Bay. Maisie stared at her image in the long mirror and conceded to herself that she was happy with the way she looked, although how she felt was another matter.

The outfit she and Sonia had chosen was black voile over a taffeta lining; a sleeveless, hip-length blouson top and a slim skirt. The silky voile was sheer from the tops of her breasts over her shoulders, and black really highlighted her glowing, smooth skin, plus the voile over a taffeta lining felt floaty and looked wonderfully dressy.

Her legs were bare and her high, slender-heeled strappy sandals were black patent with rhinestones studded on them.

She and Sonia had spent a couple of hours in Sonia’s favourite beauty salon so they were perfumed and beautifully groomed. Once again Maisie’s hair was teased out and her red curls shone. Her make-up was less than full-stage but accentuated her eyes, and her lips were painted a shimmering, deep-tawny colour.

Her fingernails, although short, as they had to be for a pianist, were beautifully manicured and painted to match her lips. So were her toes.

‘You probably wouldn’t know,’ she said as she turned to look at herself side-on, ‘that I’m pregnant.’

‘No, you wouldn’t,’ Rafe said, coming into the room. ‘You look…you both look wonderful.’

Sonia laughed. ‘If I’m any judge, your wife is going to steal the show, Rafe. OK.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Heavens above, it’s a quarter to four-only fifteen minutes! Excuse me, you two.’ And she bustled out.

Maisie hesitated. ‘You don’t look too bad yourself,’ she said, and winced inwardly because she thought he looked sensational in a light grey suit with a navy shirt and tie.

He shrugged. ‘Thanks. I’ve got something to add to your outfit.’ And he pulled a leather box from his pocket. He opened it to reveal a diamond pendant on a silver strand circular necklet.

Maisie gasped as the stone lay in his palm, reflecting fire from its facets. ‘Who-whose is that?’ she stammered.

‘It was my mother’s but-’

‘I can’t wear that-if that’s what you had in mind,’ she amended.

‘It is what I had in mind,’ he said with some irony, ‘because to those in the know, it will really set the seal on our marriage-and that’s what we want, don’t we, Maisie?’

‘Well, yes, but it must be worth a fortune and-no, no, I couldn’t accept your mother’s jewellery.’

‘It’s not precisely in the nature of a gift,’ he said. ‘You’re right, it is worth a fortune, so after this…outing it will go back to the bank.’

‘Thank heavens!’ she breathed. ‘But I still wouldn’t feel right about wearing it!’

‘Maisie,’ he eyed her with a mixture of exasperation and something she couldn’t identify, ‘trust me and just do it!’

She eyed him back with her chin tilted.

‘Please,’ he added with a sudden smile lurking at the backs of his eyes.

It undid her, that smile. It actually turned her to jelly inside, and she nodded, barely perceptibly.

‘Turn round,’ he said.

She did, slowly.

He looped the circlet around her neck and did up the catch. His fingers were warm on her skin and she closed her eyes briefly then opened them to squint down at the stone lying just below the round neckline of her dress.

Then she looked up and their gazes caught and held in the mirror and it shook her to think that they looked-what was the word?-so fit for each other, she in her beautiful outfit and perfectly groomed, he, so tall and masculine…

And she found herself holding her breath for a moment as he looked down at her, and his hands moved at his sides and she thought, she really thought he was going to put his arms around her.

It didn’t happen, and when he looked into her eyes again, his were as shuttered as she’d seen them once before, at the muster camp.

She let out a long, uneven breath and he turned away.

‘Ready?’

‘Yes.’

But she was far from ready for anything, until, as they went downstairs together, she remembered her last practical music exam for her bachelor’s degree.

She’d been so nervous she’d been convinced she would fail dismally, but at the last minute before she sat down at the piano she’d thought to herself, you can do this. Just put yourself in a bubble and don’t let anything else intrude, not moderators, not the fact that it’s a strange piano, nothing but you and your music.

And that’s what I need to do now, she thought as she reached the bottom of the staircase at her husband’s side. Take Rafe’s advice and put myself in a bubble where I can only be myself despite ubiquitous Dixons, despite being pregnant to a man who is not my husband, despite Rafe…

Sonia had a conservatory overlooking the water and there were about twenty people gathered amidst the potted plants and the cane and rattan furniture. It was an elegant, charming area and there was a piano at one end.

There was a white-coated steward serving champagne and a pretty girl dispensing canapés.

About an hour into the soirée Rafe Sanderson watched his wife from across the room, and marvelled a little.

He and Sonia had stayed close throughout the introductions to three of his aunts and their husbands, assorted cousins and their partners and several nieces and nephews.

Then Sonia had moved away to work her entertaining magic, that knack she had of getting her guests to relax so that soon the conservatory had come alive with animated conversation and laughter. And Maisie had got separated from him but she’d handled it with the poise of-of course, he thought to himself-Mairead Wallis.

‘But what brought you two together?’ he heard one of his aunts, a dragon-lady according to the younger members of the clan, ask.

‘Well, I guess you could say it was sailing,’ Maisie responded then smiled enchantingly. ‘A bit like Crown Prince Frederik of Denmark and Mary Donaldson, except that our Ship Inn was the Mary-Lue.’

His dragon aunt Nancy, he saw, looked gratified, and he had to award Maisie ten out of ten for an inspired response that not only had elements of truth in it, but also elevated this unknown girl he’d married to suitable heights.

On the other hand, she does think fast on her feet, he reflected, and found the thought niggled him.

‘So what are you?’ he heard his cousin Amelia, pure Dixon from her sculpted fair hair and grey eyes down to the pointed toes of her handmade Jimmy Choo shoes, enquire. ‘Do you have a career?’