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had gone, Charlotte carried the tray to the bedside table, and sitting down exam ined its contents. The meal provided was a mixture of English and continental dishes, there being cereal, and bacon and eggs, as weir as warm croissants with honey. She chose to sample the croissants, her still-uneasy stomach rejecting the grilled food, but she was hungry and she enjoyed what she had.       
    Since awakening, she had firmly refused to consider why Alex had chosen to stay away from her the night before, but now, with breakfast over and the day stretching emptily ahead of her, her curiosity could no longer be denied. Getting up from her bed, she walked across to the windows and thrust ing them open gazed out with troubled eyes.
    It was a beautiful morning, the air still deliciously fresh and cool. Even so, the distant headland was already shrouded in mist heralding another hot day. The sky was the palest of blues, shading to turquoise as sea and sky melted into one another. The water in the bay looked green and inviting, and even as she watched a small craft with white sails drifted out from the shelter of the cliffs. It was a narrow-hulled racing vessel, the kind of single-handed craft her father had been sailing the day he met his death. A lump came into her throat. She must never forget that tragedy, or her husband's part in it.
    She straightened away from the windows. That was her husband out there, she was sure of it, and if it was there was no reason why she should not do a little exploring on her own. She hesitated a few moments over the tray, but then decided to leave it where it was. She did not wish to alert Maria and the others to her movements.
    Leaving her bedroom, she walked along to the wide main hall. The double doors at the front of the building stood open this morning, and beyond the terrace, a path led towards the cliffs. Feeling rather like a convict who is suddenly presented with a means of escape and doesn't quite know what to do with it, she left the villa, and walked across the grassy cliff top to its edge. Looking down, she realized it would be possible to climb down to the cove, but not wanting to indulge in such childish antics, she looked round for the path. Sure enough, it sloped away to her right, winding in and out of the outcrops of rock that provided a natural protection against sliding feet.
    The sails of the yacht were some distance out in the bay now, nearing the break in the headland, and she wondered with a reluctant sense of anxiety whether Alex intended negotiating the channel. Then she determinedly thrust her misgivings aside. What did it matter to her what he did? Or whether he was endangering his life? He meant nothing to her, no more than she did to him.
    The wedge heels of her sandals sliding a little on the dusty surface of the path, Charlotte slowly began the descent into the cove, keeping a wary eye on the yacht. If Alex should decide to turn back, she should have plenty of time to reach the house before he landed.
    Once on the fine sandy beach, she looked about her with interest. The rocky backcloth of the cliff was honeycombed with caves, some of which disappeared under the water at the point where the beach dwindled into a rocky promontory, A boathouse, set on stilts, was built at the far end of the beach, and a wooden jetty ran out from it into deeper water. - From the beach, it was also possible to see another cove further round the headland, where a cluster of cottages, gleaming whitely in the sun, signified a small village. A few boats were drawn up between the rocks, and some children were playing in the water. But there was no means of access from here. To reach the village on foot, one would have to climb the cliff again and cross a stretch of headland.
    Kicking off her sandals, Charlotte walked to the water's edge and allowed the tiny waves to curl about her toes. The water was like silk, soft and warm, and grains of sand tickled her feet. She bent to roll back the