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'Suit yourself,' Donner said and he and the other two men went out.

Ruth Murray reached for the brandy decanter and filled another glass. She got to her feet and crossed to the piano. 'I hear you were in the wars again this morning, Mr. Chavasse?'

'A slight misunderstanding,' Chavasse said blandly. 'Nothing more.'

She was a little tight and when she leaned on the piano and spoke to Asta her eyes were full of malice.

'Did you enjoy yourself this afternoon?'

'Tremendously,' Asta said and continued to play. 'You should have come with us, Ruth. It was quite an experience.'

'I'm sure it was.'

'Oh, yes, I learned many things.' Asta stopped playing to tick them off on her fingers. 'That you cannot stalk a stag down-wind, even at a thousand yards. That I must never hurry. Never attempt to shoot when I am out of breath. Always shoot low if the target is down-hill.'

She paused with a slight frown and Chavasse cut in, 'And never pull the trigger until you're close enough to see the ears move.'

They both burst out laughing and Ruth Murray straightened and said sourly, 'Very funny, I'm sure.'

She went out and as the door closed behind her, Chavasse said, 'I don't think she likes you very much.'

'Not just me,' Asta said. 'Everyone. You see she loves Max and he doesn't love her. It's as simple as that.' She picked up her wrap and draped it over her shoulders. 'Do you mind if we walk for a while? It's a beautiful evening.'

She slipped her arm into his and they went out through the French windows, crossed the terrace and walked through the velvet darkness towards the trees. He lit a cigarette and they leaned on the small bridge over the river.

After a while, she turned, her face a pale blur in the darkness. 'Tell me something about yourself, Paul.'

'What would you like to know?'

'Oh, the really important things. You and your family--where you come from. You're English and yet you're as French as the Pigalle on a Saturday night. Now there's a paradox if you like.'

And he wanted to tell her, that was the strangest thing of all and leaning on the wooden rail of the bridge there in the darkness, he spoke as he hadn't spoken to any other human being in years.

He told of his father killed fighting for France so long ago that it was barely a memory. Of his mother who lived in retirement on that most delightful of all the Channel Islands, Alderney, and of the family farm in Brittany that his wonderful old tyrant of a grandfather still managed so competently.

When they turned to walk back to the house, she hung on to his arm and sighed. 'Life is nothing without roots, that's true, isn't it?'

'We all need a place to rest our heads from time to time,' he said. 'A place where we can be certain of perfect understanding.'

'I wish to God there was such a place for me,' she said and there was a poignancy in her voice that went straight to his heart.

He paused, turning to look down at her and Donner walked out on to the terrace. 'Oh, there you are. Your uncle's ready to leave, Chavasse.'

His voice was calm, but he was angry and Chavasse knew it. Asta ran up the steps and placed a hand on his arm. 'You've lost money, Max. I can always tell.'

He laughed in spite of himself, tucking her arm into his, turning to go inside. 'You can read me like a book, damn you. Yes, Colonel Craig turned out to be just about the handiest man with a cue I've seen in many a long day.'

Duncan Craig already had his coat on when they went inside and stood by the fire, a drink in his hands. There was no sign of Murdoch.

'There you are, Paul. Hope you don't mind if we go now. It's been rather a heavy day and I'm not getting any younger unfortunately.'

'That's all right, uncle.' Chavasse turned to Asta and her step-father. 'Perhaps we can return the hospitality before very long.'

'We'll look forward to that,' Asta said.

Donner cut in quickly. 'Anyway, I'm sure Colonel Craig must be tired.' He took the old man's arm. 'I'll see you to your car.'

Chavasse turned at the door to wave and then he