“Suppose you told us. That would be fun, wouldn’t it? We would never tell. Nothing to worry about.”

Flora had begun to tremble.

I whispered to him: “You are upsetting her.”

“Sorry,” he murmured.

“What a beautiful day it is. Just right for sitting in the garden.”

I could see how much he had upset her and that could not be lightly set aside.

I said: “I think we should be going. I just came to see how you were,” I went on to Flora.

“Your sister will be back soon, I dare say.”

Gaston was looking at me steadily.

I repeated firmly: “Yes, I think we should go.”

Flora nodded. She looked at the doll in the pram and started to push it backwards and forwards. Then she stood up and wheeled it towards the cottage.

“Goodbye,” I said.

She did not turn but muttered: “Goodbye.”

He went with me to the gate.

“Phew,” he said as we walked away.

“She’s quite mad.”

“She’s deranged. You shouldn’t have talked about those birds.”

“She talked about them. She took me up there and showed them to me.

She didn’t seem to mind. “

“You have to be careful with people in her state.”

“She really is … far gone. Thinking that doll is a baby! It’s supposed to be Crispin, of all people! That makes it madder than ever.

There he is, strutting round, cock of the walk, and she thinks he’s a china doll! “

“She was his nurse. She is still … living in those days.”

“I pity the poor sister.”

“They are very fond of each other and Crispin is very good to them.”

“I think you are blaming me for that scene.”

“Well, it was because you talked about secrets and all that.”

“I thought that if she could unburden herself … All that talk about secrets, it struck me that that was what she had on her mind … or what was left of it.”

“I think it is better to leave her alone … to go along with her .. pretending with her that the doll is a baby. That is what her sister does, and Crispin too. They know her best. Her sister was there when she lost her senses, and Crispin … well, he has known her for a long time.”

“Knew her as his dear nanny, I suppose.”

“Not Flora. He was a baby only a few months old when she had to give up and that was when Lucy took over.”

“Extraordinary story, isn’t it? Interesting, though. All I wanted to do was cheer the old girl up a bit, now that I’m taking such an interest in everything.”

You’re thinking of staying here, then? “

That my dear Miss Frederica, is in the hands of the gods. “

I was glad when we reached The Rowans and he left me to go on to St. Aubyn’s.

Aunt Sophie said to me one morning at breakfast: “Gerry Westlake is home.”

“Who is Gerry Westlake?” I said. The name seemed vaguely familiar.

“You know the Westlakes. They have one of those houses in Cairns Lane.”

“And Gerry?”

“He’s their son. He went away years ago. Twenty no, more than that twenty-six years ago. That’s more like it. He was quite a boy then.

About seventeen or so. Went to Australia rather suddenly. Decided he wanted to emigrate. No, it wasn’t Australia. It was New Zealand. Had a friend out there by all accounts. “

“I wonder how the Merrets are getting on in Australia?”

“They’re bound to write to someone sooner or later, then it will be passed round. I dare say all will be well. They were both hard workers.”

When I reached the office, one of the first things James said was, “The Westlakes’ son is home.”

“Aunt Sophie was saying something about him. Gerry, isn’t it? Did you know him?”

“Good Heavens, no. I don’t think I was born when he went away. But lots of people in Harper’s Green remember him and they’re all talking about his return, of course. I have to go over that way to see about some repairs and I thought I’d look in on the Westlakes and meet the young man. Why don’t you come with me?”

I hesitated, knowing that people were talking about our being rather frequently together. I liked James very much, but I did not care that my name should be linked with his. I wondered if he knew of the gossip and found it disconcerting.

I said: “Is it justified?”

“But of course. It’s a good opportunity for you to meet Mrs. Westlake.

Her husband is one of the part builders we employ only part-time now he is getting on a bit. There’s always some work of that nature to be done on the estate. I’d like to hear what Gerry’s got to say. “

So I set out with James.

The Westlakes’ residence was a neat little house with a well-kept garden and we had a pleasant morning.

Mrs. Westlake brought out her elderberry wine and I met i Gerry a pleasant man with a wife and a daughter of about my age.

They told me it was their first visit to England and Gerry explained how he used to do odd jobs on the estate. It was just after his seventeenth birthday that he decided to go to New Zealand. It had been a hard decision to make, but he had felt there was more scope for him in a new country. He had a friend who’d gone out there and they had been writing to each other. It was that which had decided him.

He was frowning slightly as he looked back over the years.

“It was the right thing for you, I suppose,” I said.

“Oh yes, though it wasn’t easy at first. But young people were wanted out there and there were facilities for emigrants. I went out steerage, of course … a bit primitive, but who cares for that at seventeen. It was exciting. And there was my friend waiting for me. He was ten years older than I and in the end it worked very well.”

Old Mrs. Westlake smiled at her son.

“You were quite fond of one of the girls over here,” she said.

“It was all to the good that you went.”

“Yes said her husband.

“Poor girl. She went a bit strange after you left.”

“It wasn’t because of me, Mother!”

“Well, I reckon there was something wrong before that. You were a handsome lad though, son.”

Gerry looked uneasy.

“It was all a long time ago,” he said.

“How is … Mr. Crispin St. Aubyn?”

“I believe he is very well,” I said.

“In good health, is he?”

“I have not heard otherwise, have you, James?” I asked.

“Never,” said James.

“A fine figure of a man, I suppose?”

That is exactly how I would describe him,” said James.

“Wouldn’t you?” he asked me.

“Yes, I would,” I replied.

“Tall, upstanding, sound in every way,” murmured Gerry.

“Absolutely.”

Gerry laughed and seemed well pleased.

Mrs. Westlake senior had brought out some little cakes to go with the wine.

This is indeed a celebration,” said James.

“Well, Mr. Perrin,” said old Mr. Westlake, ‘it is not every day we have a son come home from New Zealand to see us.

That was a very interesting morning.

I was going to call on Flora and to my dismay when I was close to the cottage I met Gaston Marchmont.

“Good afternoon,” he cried gaily.

“I’ll guess where you’re going. Do you know, I thought I’d look in myself.”

“I see,” I said blankly.

“I think she likes visitors. She always seems to. I’m really sorry for the old girl.”

“I don’t think her sister wants people there.”

“Is that why you call when she’s away?

“When the cat’s away …” and so on? “

I felt irritated and just at that moment I saw Gerry Westlake coming through the gate. He, too, had been visiting the cottage. That was very odd.

“Hello,” he said.

I returned his greeting and, turning to Gaston Marchmont, went on:

“This is Mr. Gerry Westlake.”

“I know,” said Gaston.

“It must have been very pleasant to return to the old country to see your family.”

“It was,” said Gerry.

“And you will be leaving soon?” I asked.

“Tomorrow. It’s been good but all good things come to an end, alas.”

Gaston said: “I dare say you’ll be coming again soon.”

“It’s a long way and we’ve been saving up for this for years.”

“Well, good luck,” said Gaston.

“And a safe journey back,” I added.

He left us.

As soon as I saw Flora, I knew something was wrong. Her eyes looked wild, her face distorted.

“Flora!” I cried.

“What has happened?”

She stared at me blankly and shook her head from side to side.

“Tell me. Flora, what is it?”

She stared at the doll in her arms.

“It’s not … it’s not, it’s only a doll,” she murmured.

Suddenly she threw the doll from her. It lay across the pram, inanimate, smiling its china smile.

I could not believe this. Flora was coming back to reality.

Everything seemed very still around us. I was aware of Flora’s tortured face and the avid curiosity in Gaston’s.

“Why?” he said to her.

“Why has it changed?”

I laid my hand on his arm to restrain his questions. And then I saw Lucy coming into the garden.

“What’s happened? What’s happened?” she cried.

It’s only a doll,” said Flora piteously.

Lucy’s eyes were filled with fear. Her lips moved as though she were praying. She put her arm through Flora’s.

“Come along in, dear,” she said.

“It’s all right. Nothing’s changed.”

“It’s a doll,” whispered Flora.

“You’ve been dreaming,” said Lucy.

“Only a dream?” whispered Flora.

“It was only a dream.”

Lucy looked over her shoulder at us.