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She left him with his eyes wide open and his lips apart, and as she hurried round the house towards Ben she kept saying to herself, "It's impossible, it's impossible', for she knew in this moment that she had not only ceased to love him but that she almost hated him. He must have risen early this morning, not to come to her and try to sort out the events of last night, but deliberately to cut down a hedge that he must have known would be a wanton thing to do. Ben had disobeyed his orders, so Ben must suffer. Ben, although he did not know it, was also suffering because she had disobeyed her master's orders.

When she came upon Ben he was standing at what last night had been a thick trim hedge. The main stems of the lonicera had been sawn through and pulled away. They lay in a heap at the side of the path; all that remained of the hedge now was a straggly torn mat of bush about two feet high.

"I'm sorry, Ben, oh I am." She stood by his side, but he did not reply; only his head drooped lower and he shook it slowly from side to side before turning away towards the greenhouse. When she followed him and he still wouldn't say anything to her she realised that the old man was crying. It was as she watched the tears sliding from one wrinkle to another that she knew she must go away, she must leave this house.

She said to Ben's stooped shoulders, "I'll come and see you, Ben, I'll get

you a garden of your own, I will, I promise you. "

Ben's cottage on the other side of the village had nothing more than a pocket handkerchief of a garden, and she knew how the old man would miss his work, so she was not just using soothing words but meant what she said when she made him the promise. He still gave her no answer and she turned about and went quickly towards the house. When half an hour later she came down the stairs wearing a light costume and hat and carrying a case she was confronted not only by Donald but by Mrs.

Blenkinsop, and this situation could not have made things easier for her, for, ignoring Donald and looking straight towards the older woman, she said, "I'm going to my aunt's, Mrs. Blenkinsop, she isn't very well."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, ma'am."

Grace knew that at the moment Mrs. Blenkinsop believed her, and Donald did nothing that would tend to make the situation other than a natural one, for he followed his wife out and along the side of the house to the garage. But once in its shelter his wrath burst over her, but in a controlled quiet way that would not carry beyond her ears.

"What are you playing at. Grace? Don't be silly. You can't go running off to your aunt's because we have a little misunderstanding.

Go for a drive and then come back, but don't go near your Aunt Aggie's.

I .

' "You forbid me?"

"I'm asking you not to."

"I'm going to Aunt Aggie's and I'm going to talk to her. I should have done this a long time ago. If I had I wouldn't have served my time to become a nervous wreck." She opened the door and got into the car, and from there she looked up at him.

"In a very short time I would have had a breakdown and everybody would have been sorry ... not for me, oh no, but for you. That the poor vicar should have a wife with nerves."

They were staring at each other, and she saw his eyes change colour.

She had noticed this before. It was as if he drew over them a thick veil of protection. She watched him gulp before speaking.

"Of course you're suffering from nerves, and it's because you've been acting like an hysterical girl for months." His voice became lower still.

"There are more things in marriage than silly romance, and one of them is duty. You seem to forget that you have a duty to me."

"Ask Miss Shawcross to take it over."

"Grace, how dare you! You are both uncouth and coarse."

"Yes, yes, I suppose I am. I come from that kind of stock. You have never thought much of them, I know. You don't really think much of anyone below the standard of the Tooles and Parleys, do you? The folks and the others remember? The cheque-book buyers versus those with cash."

She pressed the self-starter, and when her foot came off the accelerator and the noise in the garage subsided she heard him say,

"It's unbelievable, I can't believe it. What's changed you like this?"

"Oh, Donald!" She was talking through her teeth now.

"For God's sake don't be such a hypocrite." She leant towards him until her face was not more than a few inches from his, and actually hissed at him, "You're trying your damnedest to get confession going in the church, aren't you? Then I'd advise you to set an example and go and be your own first penitent. That should give you the answer....

What's changed me.... Huh!"

"Grace, wait; I beseech you, wait."

The car moved out of the garage; they were in the open now and there was Mrs. Blenkinsop at the kitchen

door. She smiled a farewell and Grace returned the smile, even lifted her hand in a wave, and then she was off along the drive, out of the gate and on the main road. Away, away, and she was never going to come back.

Aggie did not go out immediately to park the car but went into her office and hastily wrote a letter. Then, after she had installed the car beside her own in the converted stables at the end of the cul-de-sac, she hurried down the main road and to the pillar-box and there posted the letter. As she returned to the house she thought, "He should get that first post in the morning. Today's Wednesday; I should have word back by Friday and something should be settled at the week-end. That's if the light of day hasn't brought him cold feet ..

the young swine...."

The following morning at half past eleven no-one could have been more surprised than Aggie when, answering a ring at the front door, she was confronted by . the young swine himself.

Andrew Maclntyre had his hat in his hand, he was wearing a brown suit and thick-soled, highly polished boots.

"I got your letter." His attitude was characteristic and to the point, as was Aggie's reply, "Have you flown?"

"No I came on me bike, it's me day off."

Aggie glanced behind her. There was no sign of Grace, and she said quickly, "Come in. Go into that room." She pointed to the left.

Then, closing the front door, she glanced towards the stairs before following him.

As Aggie took her seat at her desk she said curtly, "Sit down." And when he was seated she looked at him squarely and said, "Well!" then added, "This is a nice kettle of fish. You know what you are, don't you?" She jerked her head towards him, and when he made no reply she added, "Well, what have you got to say? Nothing, I suppose."

"I've got plenty to say but I'll wait until you're finished."

Well! She said the word this time to herself as she sat up straight and scrutinised him. He certainly was no weak-kneed youth, but still he wasn't going to get it all his own way, she was going to give it to him hot and heavy, by gad she was.

"All right then. I'll have my say.

What do you mean by . by . ? " Now she was stuck for the right words. She could hardly say 'raping my niece?" nor could she say

'taking down a married woman? " Grace, by her own account, had been more than willing. But she had to say something, so she finished, 'by ruining my niece's life?"

"I haven't ruined her life; that was done the day you let her marry him."

She didn't say, "I didn't want her to marry him, I would have stopped it if I could," but snapped back at him, "Nobody could have stopped her, she was in love with him. She was potty about him."

"What did she know about it? She had been tucked away in school."

"How old are you?"

"I'm twenty-four."

She was surprised, he didn't look that old.

"Oh, and I suppose you know all about it, and would have done better than him?"

"Aye, I would that. And I would now, but it isn't always possible to do what you want." For the first time Andrew looked away from Aggie and his voice took on a softer note as he ended, "I'm sorry about what happened."

"Oh?" Aggie raised her brows.

"Are you telling me that you want to back out?"

His eyes came up swiftly to her again.

"No, I don't want to back out as you call it, but there are circum stances...." He wetted his lips.

"I've no money; at the end of the week I won't have a job I've given me notice in and I have to support my parents."

Aggie nodded her small head.

"Oh. Your prospects are very bright, aren't they? And what do you expect us to do about it ... ?" Her words were cut off by Andrew getting swiftly to his feet.

"I don't want ... us ... to do anything about it. The matter lies between her and me."

"Well, there's one thing: she's got enough money to keep you both."

Her eyes, narrowed now, were tight on him.

"Well, she won't be called upon to use it, not on me." His words and tone now caused Aggie's head to droop slightly. Then it came up with startling suddenness as she said, "You're not going to take her away then?"

"I'm not going to take her away."

Aggie was now on her feet, her head tilted to look up into his face.

"Then may I ask what you are going to do?" she demanded angrily.

"I'm going to stay where I am."

"You mean to stand there and tell me that you're going to stay ... ?"

Aggie stopped.

"Well, she won't go back. What do you say to that?"

Aggie watched the skin around his mouth pale before he said, "That will be up to her." Then, drawing in a sharp breath, he added, "Now can I see her?"

Aggie continued to look at him for a moment longer. She couldn't make him out. Things had not gone according to her plans. After the preliminaries were over and the shouting had died down she had seen him installed on a farm, a farm of his own Grace's money could run to it easily. But here he was telling her he wasn't going to leave Deckford. She did not say another word as she left him, but when she got upstairs into Grace's room the words tumbled out of her.

"He's downstairs no, not Donald, Andrew MacIntyre." She took Grace by the arm and shook her none too gently.

"I know what you've got in your mind, but let me prepare you for a disappointment: he won't leave Deckford. He's left his job, by the way why, I don't know but he won't leave the place. Again why, I don't know, but that's for you to find out."

"How did he know I was here?" Grace's voice was scarcely audible.

"I wrote last night and told him. I expected a reply some time tomorrow, but there he is, as large as life, downstairs in the office.

Go on now. But mind, things are not going to go your way, I'm warning you. "

Slowly Grace descended the stairs. She was nervous, a little afraid, a little bashful, more than a little ashamed to face this man. Andrew in the dark had been a boy matching his youth with hers, but in the daylight she knew he would be Andrew Maclntyre and another being. But all these feelings disappeared when she entered the room and, after closing the door, stood with her back to it looking across the small space towards him.

He made no move towards her but just stood, his eyes bright and dark, returning her deeply troubled stare. It was the hunger in them that reached out once more to the loneliness in herself and within a second she was in his arms, her head on his shoulder, her mouth pressed into his coat, muttering over and over again as she had done the night before last, "Oh, Andrew; oh, Andrew."

He did not attempt to kiss her, but after a moment he pressed her from him and put her into a chair beside the desk, and, drawing another one up close, he asked, "Has your aunt told you anything I've said?"

"She said you were leaving the Tooles." She did not now ask why she knew. And then she ended, with her face screwing up in some complexity, "But she said you won't leave the village. Is this true, Andrew?"

"Yes, I can't leave there."

"But why?"

"My people."

"But, Andrew, listen to me." She leant forward and gripped his hands.

"I'm not going back there. I never want to see it again, or anyone in it. You told me the other night that these things can happen. Well, I believe you, for now I know it. I want to go away with you, Andrew, and I have enough money to set us up in any kind of business, farming or anything. And if Donald won't divorce me it won't matter. If it came to the point ... Now she stopped and looked away from him towards the lace-curtained windows and she repeated, " If it came to the point I could have it annulled. "

"Oh, Grace, what have I done?" He was looking at her hands.

"I should never have let that happen the other night. I know now I shouldn't. I knew it at the time, yet I've been livin' these past months just to hold you."

"You're sorry?"

"No, no, I'm not. No, be damned, no never that. You know I'm not sorry not for myself, that is. But for you. You would, I suppose, have gone on; like my mother you would have gone on."

"I wouldn't, Andrew. I couldn't have gone on, I was heading for a breakdown. I never slept properly for months. I was ill. I know I was ill, and no matter what happens I'll never regret the other night, Andrew...." She looked up into his face.

"You mightn't know it, but you not only saved my life, you saved my sanity. If I had gone down through the wood the way I came up something would have snapped in me."

"Oh, Grace." He gently touched her face. Then his eyes dropped from hers and he shook his head slowly from one side to the other.

"What I want to do now is take you up and run with you to where nobody will ever find us. But I can't; I can't. Grace. I can't leave her."

"Her?"

"My mother."

"Your mother?" The surprise and disappointment in her voice brought him to his feet and he turned his back on her as he said, "For twenty years she has worked and slaved after my father. Her life has been sheer hell. He is crippled with arthritis, as you know. Besides that, his mind is crippled an' all. He hates people, everybody, even me.

Most of all me, I think. She won't leave him and I can't leave her.