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  At that moment Diana came dancing into Edwina's bedroom, a typical, bubbling American girl in harlequin pants and a sleeveless pink shirt that showed off her taut young breasts. "It's all fixed up," she gleefully informed Fern. "Curtis and Jeff are picking us up at eight-thirty, and as the Club Matador is a real classy place we'll be expected to be dolled up like a couple of glamour queens. I'm wearing my new white silk formal. How about you?"

  Fern, with her dimple showing deep in her cheek, replied that she couldn't run to anything as exclusive as a silk formal, but she did have a lavender chiffon that might just meet the classy demands of the Club Matador.

  "So the pair of you are going out dancing, eh?" Edwina looked pleased. Then she said to Diana: "Have I met these young men?"

  "You've met Curtis, Aunt Winna." Diana curled herself into a colourful ball on the foot of the fourposter. "He's been here to a couple of parties. He's sweet on Fern, but I think she's scared of men. She gives them all the brush-off."

  Fern picked up Edwina's tray, flushing a little as the shrewd brown eyes scanned her face. "Aren't you going to finish your glass of milk, Miss Kingdom?" she asked. "I added a little malt to make it tastier."

  "I'd like a nice long lager," Edwina drawled. "Ice-cold, but you're not going to let me have it, are you, you martinet of a girl ?" She chuckled a little to herself. "Before the pair of you go off with these young men tonight be sure to come and show your glamorous selves

  to me. The elderly like to renew themselves in the sunshine of the young, you know."

  Fern smiled at Edwina. The once-famous actress was often a tiresome patient, but she was a very understanding woman. Now and again she talked to Fern of the past, and though she had not married, Fern believed that in her heart she missed never having known that closest and warmest of relationships. Fern shied from talking about the dismal failure of her own romance with Ken McVicar, but it helped a little that Edwina guessed she had been hurt and was sympathetic.

  Later on, while Fern dressed for this date she hadn't wanted, she thought of Curtis Wayne down on the beach the other afternoon, a yachting cap pushed to the back of his blond head and his fight eyes admiring her in a frank, rather hungry way. Fern would have been a fool if she hadn't known that men found her attractive, but it gave her little pleasure to reflect on the fact. She wanted to be liked for herself, as well, not just for nature's gifts of a clean-cut body, bright hair and a soft skin, and she knew full well that Curtis wouldn't want her to talk intelligently; he wouldn't care if she was quite stupid. He just liked the look of her!

  She slipped her lavender chiffon over her head with a sigh and smoothed the delicate material down over her hips. At once the colour of the frock complemented her eyes, and after she had applied her softly coloured lipstick and fastened the clasp of a small pendant necklace, her reflection in the dressing-table mirror revealed that she was looking her prettiest. Her heart beat nervously and suddenly she wished that she had stood firm about not making up this foursome.

  She met Diana coming out of her room and they exclaimed in unison at one another's sparkling appearance. Edwina ordered them both to have a good time and not to get home late.

  "I'm sure Jeff Lane is the soul of propriety," Diana laughed.

  "Does that go for Curtis Wayne as well?" Edwina drawled, her sharp eyes dwelling on the slight frown

  that contracted Fern's forehead. She recalled that this wealthy playboy was a blond young brute with carelessly smiling eyes ... definitely not Fern's sort, which meant that she was making up this party to please young Diana. She was a little too generous-hearted for her own good, Edwina decided.

  "Fern isn't a baby, Aunt Winna," Diana said, and at that moment the front door chimes echoed through the house. Diana gave Edwina a quick hug, and when she and Fern arrived downstairs they found Jenifer pouring their escorts a couple of brandies. She was in one of her lighter moods and talking wittily of her day at the studios. Fern, watching her, thought that she was looking forward a lot to her brother's homecoming.

  Curtis, very dashing this evening in his white dinner jacket and black bow tie, remarked that they ought to be getting a move on. He adjusted Fern's white lacy stole and she heard him softly laugh at her slight withdrawal from his rather too close proximity. His laugh was rather excited, as though he liked it that she was always half on the verge of running away from him. The four of them walked out to his gleaming Cadillac convertible, and Diana had pulled Jeff Lane into the back with her before Fern could make an excuse about preferring to sit at the back. Again Curtis was quick to notice her reluctance to be near him and a couple of times he deliberately let his shoulder brush against hers as the car rounded the steep bends that led down to the glittering lights of the bay.

  "Aren't you going to wear your corsage?" he asked. "I bought violets because they're kind of haunting... like you."

  Fern could feel the smooth plastic of the little box of flowers on her lap and she told herself that Curtis was smooth, sleek, like a well-groomed cat who purred all the time with self-satisfaction. Then she bit her lip, not liking the criticism of her own thoughts. But that's how she was now, protecting herself from each new man she met by looking for his bad points and ignoring his good ones. She was frightened of exposing her heart again,

  and American men seemed so naturally equipped to bowl a girl over with their flowers and compliments.

  "I'll pin them on at the Matador," she replied. "Th-thank you for giving them to me."

  "There are a lot of things I'd like to give you," he murmured.

  She flushed at this remark and looked away from him, out across the bay where several graceful yachts rode at anchor. Curtis pointed out the Silver Moth his own yacht. "Any time you fancy a sail just let me know, Fern," he said. "The Moth is as light and swift as her name, and I'm sure you're the kind of girl who enjoys the wind in her hair and the sea spray on her cheeks."

  "The Silver Moth is a nice-looking craft," she agreed, "but I'm a working girl, Mr. Wayne. I can't take time off just to go sailing."

  "We'll see about that... and the name is Curtis!" He spoke laughingly, his eyes devouring her averted face in the bright light shafting from shop windows, theatre foyers and restaurant dining-rooms. He'd heard about the reserve of the British, and his pulses hammered when he thought of this girl without her reserve, warming to a man, yielding him her soft rose of a mouth.

  The decor of the Club Matador was carried out in a striking combination of scarlet, black and white. The resident orchestra was justifiably famous, and Curtis, obviously a regular patron here, had the complete attention of Emeterio the head waiter as he proceeded to order their meal.

  "This is real swish, real stylish, and a big improvement on the cuisine at the Anita Hill," Jeff Lane laughed, after the wine waiter had poured their white wine, a sparkling vintage Californian, and they were tucking in to deliciously flavoured mountain trout. "How do they feed you in British hospitals, Fern?" Jeff wanted to know.

  Fern wrinkled her small nose expressively.

  "Was it on account of the indifferent cuisine that you came out here and started to do private nursing?" he joked.

  Fern's lashes, so strikingly dark compared to her hair, fluttered down over her eyes, but before she could voice an appropriately light reply, Diana gaily said: "I believe our Fern is running away from some madly handsome young doctor, so be warned, Curtis. You have a rival!"

  Curtis regarded Fern over the rim of his wine glass, and when she half laughed at Diana, but wouldn't look at him, he felt a sudden rage of jealousy sweep through his body. With her silvery hair glinting beneath the lights of the club and his dark velvety violets pinned to her lavender chiffon, Fern was entrancing ... fragile as a dream. Curtis was suddenly mad about her and his rage at this other man, (oh yes, there was one, he could tell from her manner), was such that he would have liked to choke him for his power over Fern; the power that made her indifferent to himself.

  The orchestra swung into a foxtrot. Diana a
nd Jeff rose to dance. "Shall we join them?" Curtis asked, his desire to hold her in his arms plain on his face.

  Fern's throat went rather dry and she shook her head. "Let's dance later," she said.

  She bent her head over her plate and she didn't see the thwarted flush that climbed up over Curtis's throat and face.

  In keeping with its Spanish atmosphere the club's cabaret included an exciting troupe of flamenco dancers. After their act was finished Curtis would not be denied his dance with Fern, and she, not wishing to appear ungracious in front of Diana and Jeff, who remained at the table in light-hearted conversation, walked out on to the half-moon floor beside Curtis. The floor lights dimmed and he swung her close to him, breathing her delicate perfume with frank pleasure. "You're a peach, do you know that?" he whispered. "I'm beginning to be crazy about you."

  She couldn't struggle with him, here on a public dance floor, so she suffered his possessive arms around her and wondered at the cold little automaton she had turned into in the last few months. She had loved danc-

  ing at one time, and Curtis was undeniably attractive with his tanned face and well-fitting clothes. She tried to relax. She tried to enjoy his warm closeness and his expert guidance through a waltz, but she was overwhelmingly glad when the music ceased and the lights brightened. They returned to their table, where Fern was startled to find a hurriedly scribbled note from Jeff. He had been called back to the hospital by phone. He and Diana didn't wish to break up the entire party, so his cab would drop Diana off at her home.

  "You want to go home as well, don't you, Fern?" Curtis spoke in such a matter-of-fact voice that Fern's smile was the first warmly genuine one she had given him all the evening.

  "May we? I—I am rather tired." This was true, as it happened, for Edwina had been restless and in pain the previous night and Fern had spent several sleepless hours in her room.

  Curtis settled the bill and they walked out to the parking lot. It was a soft, starlit June night, with scented jasmine rustling against a wall as Curtis backed the car out of the lot on to the highway. The scent of the jasmine lingered in Fern's nostrils, though the car swooped along so swiftly that the neon lights of the town were soon diminishing multi-coloured points behind them. Fern, new to Cap Flamingo, took it for granted they were on the road that wound towards the hills where the Kingdom house was situated. When she glimpsed the sudden dark glitter of water ahead of them she realized with panic clutching at her heart that Curtis had by-passed the hill road and taken one of the ocean roads. She didn't speak until they were driving along beside a wide beach and the immeasurable stretches of the Pacific ocean. "I want to go straight home, Curtis," she said angrily. "Turn the car at once."

  His answer was to bring the Cadillac to a smooth halt. "You and I have something to discuss," he drawled. "Shall we smoke?"

  "I have nothing to discuss with you, and I shall never go out with you again!" Her face felt cold, for she was

  white with alarm as well as anger. The glow of the dashboard revealed the smile on Curtis's mouth, but it wasn't his smile alone that alarmed her, it was his eyes, wandering over her, admiring and possessive.

  She fought with him when he caught at one of her wrists. "You silly kid, I'm not going to harm you," he laughed softly. "I like you too much for that. I brought you here where it's quiet and peaceful so that we could get to know one another a bit better. Fern, honey," his voice sank a note lower and now his hand was travelling the length of her slender arm, "I'm not such a bad guy. I could be real sweet to a girl like you. You remind me of a cool, beautiful flower ... Fern ..." he caught her against his white jacket, "let me kiss you!"

  She was struggling frantically to evade his mouth when the glint of the car's ignition key caught her eye. Before Curtis even remotely guessed her intention she had grasped the key, twisted it free and hurled it over the side of the car to the shadowy sands of the adjacent beach. Curtis gave what could only be described as an injured roar, and the next moment he was plunging out of his side of the car to go in search of the key while Fern was scrambling from her side and running back along the dark road, her stole ends flying back like wings and her chiffon skirts making her look as though she skimmed through a fine mist.

  Unnerved though she was by Curtis's behaviour, her sense of humour was suddenly tickled by the situation she had created, and she broke into a smile as she visualized Curtis grovelling frantically in the dark sands for the key. He was a devil for bringing her here to this lonely spot with the obvious intention of making love to her. How dare he! Fern picked up her chiffon skirts and fled round a bend of this lonely road, with the ocean glittering cold and rather fearful on one side and scrub-tangled cliffs rearing to the sky on the other side. Fern hadn't a clue to her whereabouts, but she was too relieved at having escaped from Curtis's demanding arms to give this matter her immediate attention.

  Then, with its headlamps glaring hungrily bright as

  some night monster's eyes, a car swooped round that bend behind her. Her heart gave a frightened jerk. She was certain this must be Curtis in pursuit of her and, determined to evade him, she made a hasty dart for the cliffside of the road. Several large clods of earth had tumbled down from the cliffs, and Fern, in her flimsy dancing slippers, stumbled over one of them in her anxiety to reach the shadow of the cliffs before the car lights picked her out. She gave a little cry of distress and fell to the hard ground.

  The car's headlamps spotlighted Fern in the moment of her tumble; almost instantaneously powerful brakes were applied and the car was skidding to a halt. The driver's door swept open, long legs came striding towards Fern and then hard arms were swinging her off the ground as effortlessly as though she were a small child.

  She could only think of Curtis and she struggled blindly in the arms which she thought were his.

  "Let me go, you devil! Stop tormenting me like this !" Fern pummelled the muscular shoulders all the way to the bright headlamps of the car... and there her words petered out. The eyes that swept her from head to foot were not Curtis Wayne's!- They were not a light, hungry blue, but a deep brown flecked with little points of gold and set beneath the bold curve of bronze eyebrows. Bronze hair curled crisply all over the man's uncovered head, and Fern felt a stab of sheer surprise upon recognizing the haughty nose, strong, obstinate chin and well-cut mouth from one of the framed photographs which Edwina Kingdom kept on the mantelpiece of her bedroom. There was just one difference, the face in the photograph was handsome and unmarred. The face confronting her in this strange moment, on a lonely road, was cruelly scarred above the left eye. The jagged scar distorted the eyebrow, then receded slantways towards the man's left temple.

  "You're—why, you're Ross Kingdom!" Fern exclaimed.

  CHAPTER TWO

  GOLDEN morning sunshine spilled across Fern's bed and she awoke with a quick guilty feeling that she had overslept. A glance at her bedside clock revealed that she had, and she hastily scrambled out of bed and dived into the adjoining bathroom. She was pinning on her cap when Diana erupted into her room, bursting with the information that Ross Kingdom had arrived home from his travels the previous night.

  "I know," Fern meekly said. "I came with him."

  "You—what?" Diana gaped at her.

  "I came with him. In his car."

  "But—"

  "Curtis behaved abominably. Instead of bringing me straight home, as he promised to, he drove to some lonely beachside spot where he tried to get fresh. I ran away from him and by sheer lucky chance Mr. Kingdom came along in his car and picked me up." An irrepressible little smile trembled on Fern's mouth, for the expression was so appropriate. After picking her up, Edwina's nephew had sensibly refrained from badgering her with questions concerning her untrustworthy escort, and upon learning who she was he had put her into his car, wrapped a rug about her rather tremulous knees and brought her home. He had refused to allow Delilah to rouse the household on his account, but he had insisted upon Fern sharing the jug of hot chocolate and pla
te of chicken sandwiches which Delilah made for him.

  "My, how exciting!" Diana's eyes were bright with interest. "I haven't seen him yet, but I bet he's still as handsome as ever. I was about thirteen when he went away and he was real dreamy. I had a terrific crush on him."

  Fern thought of the jagged scar that now marred his good looks, but she refrained from mentioning the fact

  to Diana. In any case it was about time she was getting along to Edwina's room. She liked to make her patient comfortable before going down to breakfast, which she and Diana usually ate in the patio. Diana had no fixed job to go to, but being in possession of perfect teenage measurements she occasionally modelled sweaters and beach-wear for various fashion magazines. Unlike Laraine Davies, however, she was not the type to inspire original creations, which didn't really worry her, for her big ambition was to marry and have children, and she had confided to Fern that her mother had left her financially independent.

  "By the way, did you enjoy your evening with Jeff Lane?" Fern asked when they paused outside Edwina's bedroom door.

  Diana nodded. She seemed a little lost for words for a moment, then she caught at one of Fern's hands with unexpected shyness. "He's nice, isn't he?" she murmured. "I think he's the nicest boy I've ever known. He's off duty next Monday afternoon and we're driving into Santa Clara to visit with his parents. They run a fruit farm, you know."

  Fern had liked Jeff herself. There was about him, she thought, something of Diana's own uncomplicated approach to life; a youthful simplicity that was not spoiled by too much ambition. How good, how wonderful to meet a man you need never doubt, even in the most secret recesses of your heart, because all that he was or ever could be was reflected on his boyish face for all the world to see !

  Then Diana said, contritely: "I guess you had an idea Curtis would get fresh with you, and I made you come out with him. I hope you're not sore with me, Fern?"

  Fern smiled and gave the girl a hug. "Of course I'm not! The evening was worth it if you and Jeff have found you like one another. Now I've a patient to attend to. I'll see you down in the patio in about half an hour."