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Apart from the child, Gerald had the house to himself; they had all gone to church, and even if Yvonne had not been sick he knew that he couldn't have sat through an hour of waffling feeling as he did. He was ready to explode. He looked to where his small daughter lay asleep now, curled up in the depths of the couch. She had a clarty thousand and no more to look forward to. That was eating him as much as the fact that unless he had a windfall of some kind or another he would remain a working partner in Livsey's for the rest of his days.

And for that stuck-up cow to keep it to herself and she supposed to be ill, in the middle of a breakdown. She couldn't possibly have been as bad as she made out otherwise she would have blurted out the whole business among some of the other stuff she had spewed up. Enough to put you to shame, some of the things she had said, and it took something to make him blush, by God it did. She was a deep one, was his mother-in-law . But he just couldn't get over it . her broke. He swung round and looked at the room. Keeping up all this bloody pomp and her broke, it didn't make sense. And then the Christmas boxes.

Twenty-five pound cheques to each of them, even the children. It didn't seem much when you reckoned it up, a hundred and twenty-five pounds, but a hundred and twenty-five pounds was a hundred and twenty-five pounds when you were broke . I Broke, be damned . I her broke likely meant she had a bare three thousand a year to survive on.

He must have a drink. Softly he walked past the couch and out of the room, and when he entered the dining-room he made straight for the cabinet standing in the corner. Opening its doors wide, he ran his finger along the line of bottles on the top shelf before selecting the brandy. And all this liquor. What did she keep this stuff for?

Supposedly for her uncle and relations. That was my eye. She likely tippled on the quiet;

there was no-one to check on her most of the time. Would you buy this amount of stuff if you were near penniless? He threw off a good measure of brandy, then as he stood savouring its warming effect he looked down at the empty glass and said aloud, "She's lying." His hand went out to the bottle again, and he was in the act of pouring himself out another brandy when the front-door bell rang.

Who the hell could this be? Not Maclntyre already? He hoped not. He didn't want to be stuck with him until the others came back.

When he opened the front door he saw standing there a man of medium height, dressed in a greatcoat and holding a hat in one hand and a small case in the other.

"Yes?" His enquiry was not convivial.

"I'm Aster."

"Aster ... Oh, good lord ... come in, come in." He closed the door behind the man.

"You weren't expected until one o'clock. Come by special train or something?"

The man was looking slowly around the hall, and he' said with a laugh,

"No, hardly that, but a friend of mine was driving this way and offered me a lift ... I took a taxi from yon side of the village."

"A taxi? You were lucky. It's a wonder they came up this way with the snow lying.... Here, let me have your things. I'm the only one in, everybody's at church. I'm Spencer, Beatrice's husband. You might have found an empty house, only my little girl was sick excitement, you know. Up half the night waiting for her stocking ... I bet you could do with a drink."

For the moment Gerald had pushed aside his own concerns. He was playing the host in a way he would never have done had Grace been in the house.

He led the way across the hall.

"In here ... now, what'll you have . ? Let's see." He stood in front of the cabinet, again a door in each hand.

"We run to whisky, gin, rum, cherry brandy, brandy plain.

Advocat. "

"Oh, a whisky please, neat."

"A whisky neat. A whisky it'll be."

"What a remarkable place."

"Eh? Oh this ... the house ... yes. And you've seen nothing yet."

"Jane didn't tell me. I expected a vicarage ... you know, the usual kind."

"Well, this is the vicarage, or was when the Reverend was alive.

Anyway, it was used as such, but the real vicarage is at the other side of the village, near the garage . Oh, it's a long story. Jane will tell you some time, I suppose. Well, drink up. Cheers! "

"Cheers."

"Sit yourself down."

"Thanks."

Gerald took up his stand on the hearth rug and from his advantageous position he summed up the visitor. Well, all he could say was: he certainly wasn't much to look at. To hear Jane ramping on he had expected a six- footer at least and all that went with it. The fellow was no more than five foot five, tubby in fact, and looked his age. He might have the advantage on top . well, he needed it some place.

But now it was up to him, he supposed, to keep the ball rolling until the others came in.

During this process and the next half-hour the man learned a great deal about Gerald, and, becoming a little tired of the theme, he skilfully turned the conversation to the house and garden again.

"You have some very fine trees here." He stood up and went to the window.

"The willows are magnificent.... Ah-h! That's a lovely sight, isn't it?" He pointed to where a large willow, its lower branches borne down with snow, stood in the middle of the wide stretch of white sun-gleaming lawn.

"Oh, that's nothing." Gerald came to his side.

"Wait until you see those at the back."

"It's a wonderful place ... wonderful."

Gerald made no answer to this, for the remark dragged his mind back to his own affairs. Aye, it was wonderful, he'd say it was wonderful, and according to her it was for the market. He wished they were back; he must tell Beatrice about the way things had gone and damn all promises to the contrary. This fellow, he was finding, was heavy going. Had nothing to say except enthuse about the place. He was turning from the window when his companion's exclamation of "Good gracious!" brought him round again and he looked to where he was pointing to the path circling the lawn.

"That man ... why, I know him ... don't tell me he lives here."

"Maclntyre ... ? No ... well, not in this house. He lives over on the fells. He does the odd jobs, part time, mostly at nights and week-ends. He's a farmworker really."

"Really ... I Well, how strange."

"Why, is he a friend of yours?" Gerald's eyes narrowed.

"No, no, I wouldn't say that. We've only met twice and then just for a few minutes each time. But he's the kind of man whom you couldn't forget in a hurry ... he's got a white tuft of hair here, hasn't he?"

He pointed high up on his temple.

"Yes ... yes, he has."

"That's him."

They both watched Andrew follow the path that led towards the side of the house and the front door.

"Where'd you meet him ... he hardly ever leaves these parts, except occasionally to visit an aunt in Devon."

"It was there we met ... Devon."

"This last week?"

"No, some months ago around Easter, to be correct. That was the second time. The first time was about two years ago. I lost my way when I was on a walking tour and came across him. I was making for Buckfast Abbey and got lost in a wood. You can, you know," he smiled.

"I was thinking I was there for ever when I came on a clearing and a cottage. There was a field beyond. It was in the field I first saw him It was most arresting, he was coming down the slope with his wife.

It was rather a steep gradient and I think she must have slipped, for he pulled her up into his arms and swung round and ran with her down the remainder of the hill to the gate. I remember envying him his colossal strength . it was rather a beautiful sight, if you know what I mean, a man running down a hill with a woman in his arms. You don't often come across it in real life, you've got to go to the films to see anything like that these days, and then it's usually done by a stand-in Hercules. "

"He was with his wife?" Gerald's voice was low and his eyes were wide and he nodded his head slowly as he spoke.

"Yes. I didn't make my presence known for a moment or so, I didn't want to break in on the scene and ... well ... embarrass them, but even when I did show myself, and with quite a bit of preliminary noise, I remember I nearly scared the wits out of them, at least her, for she dashed into the house. It left me a bit mystified until he explained.

She had seemingly been very ill and was still convalescent, and as they rarely saw anyone in that isolated part my presence had evidently startled her."

"Yes ... yes, it would, I can see that." Gerald was still nodding his head. Well, could you beat it? Maclntyre with a wife a woman would be more correct, and tucked away in a nice secluded sppt right in the heart of a wood. Well again, what d'you know? His mother-in-law's family retainer, who would be lonely on Christmas Day so must join the family circle, and while he was eating his Christmas pudding no doubt his mind would be in the woods . with the little woman. There was a loud snigger inside him. He couldn't wait to see Andrew's face when he was confronted with this fellow. It was a small world, wasn't it?

Coincidences were funny things, upsetting things. He was going to enjoy himself today, mainly, he realised, not because Andrew's face was going to be red, but because of the disillusionment that was awaiting his mother-in-law when she learnt of the double life of her perfect odd-job man.

"I found him a most interesting man. He had a wide knowledge of trees.

He walked with me and put me on the road to the Abbey. I remember wishing it had been longer. Then this Easter I went that way again and there they were as before. She's very shy, isn't she? Has she quite recovered? "

Gerald was saved from making a reply to this question by the sound of laughing voices entering the hall. The churchgoers were back and Andrew would come in with them oh he couldn't wait for this so for answer he said, "Here they come, come on and show yourself." He put his arm round the other man's shoulders and pressed him forward, and so it was almost side by side they entered the hall.

There before them was gathered the family. Beatrice was in the act of peeping into the drawing-room, Stephen was pulling off his muffler and coat, Jane had her back to them. She was in the fore-lobby gathering some late mail from the wire cage, but standing together like the central figures in a picture were Grace and Andrew. They had been joined in gentle laughter a moment before they looked towards Gerald and the man at his side. When the man came swiftly forward with outstretched hand Grace, with mouth agape as if she were being confronted by the Devil, shrank closer to Andrew. And then with a desperate movement she turned her face and body towards him as if seeking shelter from the advancing guest.

The man was shaking Andrew's stiff hand, and his now hesitant and perplexed tone pounded through Grace's head as he said, "Well, isn't this the most unusual thing, I never thought we ... we should meet again, not in this part of the country, anyway."

There was a pause in the pounding, and when the voice came at her averted face saying quietly, "I hope I find you better," she knew with a great surge of relief that she was to be freed of this excruciating moment and that she was about to faint. As she clutched at Andrew and felt his arms supporting her, she heard Jane's voice crying, "George!

George! Oh, Mammy! "

Whenever Grace looked back to the incidents that occurred in the early years of her marriage her mind always picked on the first night Donald and she spent together. She could see herself sitting bolt upright in the bed waiting for him, her heart pounding so hard that she felt its jerking ever behind her eyes. They were spending the night in an hotel in Dover before crossing by car ferry the following day to make their way through France to Rome, where they would stay for the next two weeks.

The bulbs in the bedroom were shaded to the extent of making the lighting appear dim, and she had sat peering through it towards the dressing-room door. The dressing-room had come as a pleasant surprise to her. When Donald had spoken of the booking he had referred to it as the room, not rooms, but it was so like him to be considerate of her feelings on this night.

When the intervening door opened and he entered the room in his dressing-gown, she was torn for the moment between two ways of greeting him, one with lowered head and the other with arms eagerly outstretched. She chose the latter, and when he was sitting on the bedside close beside her he took her face between his large hands, his fingers pressing her temples, and he stared into her misted eyes for some time before gently kissing her. And then he began to talk. With his voice soft and sometimes hesitant, he asked her: Did she know that love was God conceived . God distributed . given by Him to His creatures for the sole purpose of creating souls? Did she know that?

Did she know that it was a most precious thing, a thing to be cherished, never to be squandered, as precious as the chalice holding the holy wine, to be sipped at, never to be gulped . did she know that? Consciously she knew none of these things, she was only aware of being lulled, almost hypnotised, by the magic of his voice.

She only knew that he was wonderful, so kind, so understanding.

It was some months before she realised that the sub stance of his talk on their wedding night was the foundation on which their marriage was laid.

When finally he stretched his long length down beside her, there was a change in her feelings for which she could not account, for his tenderness proved to be enough for her. She did not miss the consummation of the marriage until, waking the next morning, she thought with a guilty start. Oh, I must have fallen asleep, and when she saw him lying looking at her, seeming even to be drinking her into himself, she wondered why she, of all people in the world, should have been selected for such happiness, and how could there be anyone so blind as not to see the wonder and goodness of her Donald. This thought took her mind to her Aunt Aggie. Aunt Aggie didn't like Donald, never had from the day he came to commiserate with her on the tragic death of her parents in the car crash. He was too smooth, too good-looking, too much of a la-de-da, Aunt Aggie had stated openly.