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A radiant smile blossomed on her face. 'Oh, I'm so glad, Hugh. Papa was right, you know.'

She turned back to the stove and Marlowe sat down at the table, rage in his heart. He knew what he was doing all right. He wasn't going to throw good money away because of an old man's whim. He knew what he was doing, and yet he ground his nails into the palms of his hands in impotent rage because she believed him when he had lied to her.

8

Marlowe made the rounds of the market gardeners that afternoon and paid them off. When he drove back into the barn Maria was sitting on the table, swinging her legs and talking to Mac, who was working on the engine of one of the trucks. As Marlowe climbed down she poured coffee into a cup and offered it to him. 'You're just in time.'

He drank some of the coffee gratefully. 'That's good. It's turning pretty cold outside now.'

'How did you get on with the growers?' she asked.

He shrugged. 'No trouble there at the moment. They all got their money, so they were pretty satisfied.' He nodded towards the truck. 'I've got a hell of a load on this time. Apples and pears, some tomatoes, and quite a few plums.'

He gave her the list and she nodded in satisfaction. 'That's good. There's a steady demand for all these things in the main London markets. I checked in the morning paper.'

Marlowe turned to Mac with a grin. 'You should have no difficulty in getting rid of this lot when you get there.'

Before the Jamaican could reply Maria said quickly, 'But surely you'll go with him, Hugh? It will obviously be so much safer with two of you.'

Marlowe shook his head and clapped Mac on the shoulder. 'He doesn't need me.'

Mac grinned good naturedly. 'You'd only be in the way, man.'

'It's not fair, Hugh,' Maria stormed. 'Why should Mac have to do it on his own?' There was an expression of anger on her face. 'I think you should go with him.'

Marlowe choked back an angry retort and managed to keep his voice steady. 'Listen, angel, I don't give a damn what you think. I'm not going to London. I've got my reasons, and they aren't any of your business.'

Her face was white and two red spots flared in her cheeks. As she opened her mouth to reply he turned abruptly and walked out of the barn across the yard towards the house.

When he entered Papa Magellan's room the old man was sitting up reading a newspaper. He looked over the top of his reading-glasses and said, 'You look pretty mad, son. What's the trouble?'

Marlowe lit a cigarette and paced up and down the room. 'It's your damned daughter,' he said. 'She's getting all steamed up again because I'm sending Mac to London.'

The old man nodded. 'And being a woman she wants to know why you can't go?'

Marlowe sighed and sat down in a chair. 'Why the hell can't she take a hint, like you and Mac have done, and mind her own business?'

Magellan smiled. 'Open that cupboard, son. There's an album on the top shelf.' Marlowe did as he was asked and handed him the old-fashioned red-morocco photograph album. 'Have a look at this,' Magellan said, opening the album to a certain page.

Marlowe twisted the album round so that he could see properly. For a moment he thought he was looking at Maria. 'Is this her mother?' he asked.

Papa Magellan nodded. 'Yes, that was my Maria. As you can see they are like peas in a pod.' He smiled gently and closed the book. 'Not only in looks. I'm afraid that by nature my wife thirsted after knowledge, very much as Maria does.' He shrugged and handed the album back to Marlowe. 'It's a fault common to most women.'

Marlowe got up and put the album back on the shelf. As he was about to close the door he noticed a shotgun leaning in a corner of the cupboard, partially obscured by hanging clothes. He took it out and examined it closely. It was a double-barrelled twelve-bore, beautifully polished and engraved. He whistled softly. 'This must have cost you a pound or two.'

Papa Magellan smiled faintly. 'Yes, I like the feel of a good gun. There was a time when I was fond of an early morning tramp over the fields, and a try at a pigeon