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  As he had come in answer to Gavron’s telegram, he had not notified anyone that he would be visiting Paris.

  He dined alone thinking that tomorrow he must go round to the house and find out what was being done about Gavron’s funeral and if there was any information about his daughter’s arrival from the East.

  It was, however impossible, for him to sleep.

  He lay awake thinking of the misery of being tied to a woman he did not love.

  But knowing that, as he had given his solemn word of honour to her father before he died, he would be obliged to marry her.

  She might well be attractive and beautiful.

  At the same time the mere fact that she was his wife would imprison him in a way he had not been tied up before and it was a fate that he was determined to avoid at any cost.

  *

  Because he could not sleep, he was up earlier than he intended.

  He walked out and ordered a carriage to the house where he had left Gavron Murillo.

  But he felt again, as he entered through the front door, that he was walking into a prison from which there was no means of escape.

  He was greeted by the housekeeper and the butler who told him that Gavron’s Manager would be arriving very shortly.

  They offered Sir John coffee or champagne while he was waiting for the man and, because it was still early and, as he was never a great drinker, he asked for a small cup of coffee.

  Then he walked to the window to look out at the abundant flowers in the garden and all he could see was imprisonment for himself.

  He wanted, more than he had ever wanted anything, to escape from it all by going back to England.

  But he knew to do so would be an ungracious and most unkind action to a man who had done so much for his father and himself.

  A man who had trusted him before he died with what was his most precious possession, his daughter.

  ‘I must behave decently towards her for her father’s sake,’ Sir John told himself firmly.

  Then he turned round sharply as the door opened.

  It was an elderly man who came in.

  He had, Sir John knew, worked with Gavron for many years and he was undoubtedly the most senior of his very long and large entourage.

  The man, who was French, held out his hand.

  “It’s a great pleasure to find you here, Sir John,” he said. “You are one of the first people I would have been obliged to notify today of Monsieur Murillo’s death. But now I need your help which I am sure you will be able to give me.”

  “If I can, then of course I will,” Sir John replied.

  “I suppose that you will want my esteemed Master to have a funeral which will be worthy of his name and which those who have been helped by him will attend from all over the world.”

  “Do you think,” Sir John said after a long pause, “that is what he would have wanted?”

  The Manager looked at him sharply.

  “I think we are both aware,” he said, “that he would have disliked it. He was always against those who wished to express their gratitude for what he had done for them by giving huge parties. Or giving him presents to express the thanks that they could not put into words.”

  “That is true enough,” Sir John agreed. “He hated, as he often stated, having to express his gratitude for cups and decorations he had won which he had to accept with an enthusiasm he was far from feeling.”

  “That is exactly what I thought you would say,” the Manager replied. “Therefore, why should he not have a quiet funeral which he himself would prefer and leave the rest to the newspapers who will have a great deal to say about him anyway?”

  “That is just what I feel he would want and what I would want myself,” Sir John said. “As he has no family in France to protest, let him be taken to the grave quietly with only those like you and myself present.”

  The Manager’s eyes glistened.

  “That is what I hoped you would say. As I see it, there is only one difficulty and that is I received a telegram to say that a very close friend of his is on her way here, but I don’t expect that the ship will be arriving here for three or four days.”

  The way he spoke told Sir John that the Manager had not been told that the lady expected was Gavron’s daughter.

  He therefore said,

  “I leave it in your hands to arrange that Gavron is put to rest quietly and decently, but without the palaver and commotion that he would undoubtedly have disliked.”

  “I am delighted that you should feel like that,” the Manager said. “That is exactly what I will do. I know where Gavron would like to be buried and when his friend arrives it will be too late to make any alterations.”

  He then returned to his hotel in the knowledge that the efficiency Gavron had demanded in the last years of his life would not fail him when it became more personal.

  He knew before he left that the Manager would not tell the newspapers of Gavron’s death until everything was arranged for the funeral that would be held as quickly and as simply as possible.

  He was to be buried, Sir John learnt later, in the Catholic Church where he was accepted although he had not been a Roman Catholic in his life time.

  However, Sir John learnt later that a large donation to the Church made it easy for them to accept the body of anyone so generous.

  Back at his hotel Sir John made no effort to get in touch with the many friends he knew in Paris.

  He had, since he had become older, usually spent a few weeks in France every year. The racing interested him and he found the theatres were more amusing than those in London.

  He had also been intrigued, if that was the right word, by attractive French women who could make a man amused and delighted from the moment they met.

  They never whined or wept when he left them.

  Although he had travelled over a large part of the world, Sir John had to admit that he enjoyed being in Paris more than any other City.

  His friends, who were very numerous, were almost waiting at the door for him to visit.

  Because he thought it a mistake to tell them that he was in the City, he resented the reason for his loneliness even more than he resented why he was forced to be alone until Melita’s ship reached Port.

  Because the Manager had learnt from Gavron how to do everything, not just as well as possible but as quickly as possible, Gavron was buried quietly two days later.

  Besides his Manager and Sir John, the only other mourners present were his valet who had been with him for more than twenty years and his housekeeper who wept all through the service.

  She was so draped in black that Sir John could not help thinking that anyone who saw her would have thought that she was the widow.

  When they came back at the house, the housekeeper insisted that they all had a glass of wine which actually was waiting for them in the sitting room.

  They drank in silence until she said,

  “I was just thinkin’, Sir John, that it would be more comfortable for you if you moved in here. I understands from Monsieur that someone is arrivin’ from the East who is important to you.”

  “It’s all right,” the Manager said, “Sir John knows that it is Monsieur Murillo’s daughter who is arriving and it’s a secret until he has discussed the future with her.”

  But it was perfectly obvious that her existence had been kept a secret from the other servants and also, he was quite sure, from many of Gavron’s French friends.

  Sir John made up his mind quickly.

  “Thanks for your suggestion. It is one that I think most important at the moment as we have no wish to have anyone being too prying about the passenger ship that has not yet arrived.”

  “I felt that was what you would say,” the Manager replied. “I will send Niko, Gavron’s valet, to collect your clothes and bring them here immediately.”

  “That is very kind of you,” Sir John answered.

  Because he thought that it was a mistake to discuss the matter further, he op
ened one of the French windows and stepped out into the garden.

  Of one thing he was certain.

  No one should learn about his proposed marriage until he had had time to discuss it with Gavron’s daughter.

  The mere idea made him feel as if he had to walk into a dark cave.

  But there was nothing he could do at this moment except wonder just how his family and hers would behave when they heard of the proposed marriage.

  He had a feeling that she would never understand, although her mother had been English, what his position in England was and how important in its own way it was that he should represent his family and their interests as they expected he should.

  Also there was a great deal that was expected of the woman who was married to the Head of a Family, which was part of English history.

  ‘How could she possibly know of such things,’ he asked himself, ‘when she has spent her time in a Convent amongst foreigners?’

  It seemed that his future held numerous difficulties, which he had never contemplated being part of his life.

  ‘Supposing,’ he asked himself, ‘she is as frivolous as some of the natives are? Although her father assured me that she looks just like her mother, I cannot help expecting that she will not only look like him but will nevertheless have many of the likes and dislikes of the dark-skinned races.’

  As he walked amongst the lilies and the roses, he asked himself, for the first time, why he had been such a fool not to marry one of the attractive and charming young women whose family was the equal of his own.

  They at least would know the protocol of the social life and they would entertain in the same way that their mothers had and their grandmothers before them.

  Pleasantly conventionally and most important of all making no mistakes which were so easily made by those who were not born into the ancient families of a country, who had established through the years the right behaviour for ladies and gentlemen.

  Supposing, in spite of all that the old man had said, she was, as far as the Social Convention was concerned, nothing but a hooligan?

  How could he possibly make her acceptable to his family and, of course, and this was essential, to hers?

  Sir John had never visited an Eastern Convent or in fact any Convent.

  He had no idea whether nuns in the East behaved in the same way as he expected they behaved in France.

  He knew that there were a number of Convents in Paris, but he was quite certain that a Convent in the East would be exceedingly different from those that turned out charming and well-bred ladies who socially never put a foot wrong.

  Who were, when they were married, most excellent and alluring hostesses for every possible occasion.

  ‘Why, oh why has this happened to me?’ Sir John asked himself again and again, as he turned at the end of the garden.

  Then, as he had no wish to go back to the house, where the dark curtains were still drawn over the windows, he went down to sit by a small pool.

  It was attractively filled with water lilies.

  There was a bench in front of the pool and he sat down on it.

  Unexpectedly it was very comfortable.

  How long John sat there thinking about himself and his future he was not afterwards aware.

  He only knew that, in spite of his resolution to be sensible and accept things as they were, he went into a purgatory of his own where everything seemed so dark and menacing.

  For the first time in his life he wanted to run away from what was happening around him.

  He had no idea how long he sat there.

  Then unexpectedly he heard a soft voice saying,

  “I was told that I would find you here. I thought it would be wisest if we met each other alone.”

  Sir John, who had been staring without seeing at the water lilies, looked round.

  Then, as he saw a woman beside the bench, he rose instinctively to his feet.

  She held out her hand and said,

  “The housekeeper told me that I would find you here and that you were expecting me.”

  Sir John drew in his breath.

  “Are you Gavron Murillo’s daughter?” he asked.

  She smiled.

  Melita’s voice dropped and she answered,

  “Yes, and on his instructions I was on my way here to visit my own family in England, who I have never met. Now I am here and my father is dead.”

  “Come and sit down,” Sir John suggested, “and I will tell you about it. He has been buried when I expect you would have wanted us to wait until your arrival.”

  As he was speaking, the girl facing him then moved round so that she could sit down on the bench.

  When she had done so, he sat down beside her.

  “Tell me about Papa,” she asked.

  Just for a moment Sir John wondered if this would be a mistake and might upset her.

  Then he thought that if it had to be said, the sooner the better.

  “Your father wrote to me and asked me to come and see him immediately,” he began. “When I arrived, he told me for the first time that you existed.”

  “You mean you had no idea that he was married or had a daughter?” Melita questioned.

  Sir John nodded.

  “I always thought of him as being a bachelor and I was very surprised when he told me that he not only had a daughter but he wanted me – to marry her.”

  He had difficulty in saying the last few words, yet somehow he forced them from his lips.

  It was then that he looked critically at the girl.

  She was wearing a hat and, because he was upset, he had not actually looked closely at her until now.

  She was now sitting next to him and, almost as if she realised that he wanted to look at her, she pulled off her hat and threw it down on the grass at their feet.

  It was then that Sir John realised that Gavron had been absolutely correct in saying that she looked like an English girl.

  In fact it would be impossible for anyone to think otherwise.

  Or to believe that she had dark blood in her veins.

  Her hair was fair.

  It was the colour of the sun when it first rose in the sky.

  Her eyes were blue, rather a darker blue than most English women.

  But undoubtedly the blue that one expected of a fair-haired woman.

  Her skin too was pale and there was no suggestion of any sort that it might have been darker.

  She was completely silent as Sir John looked at her.

  Then she said,

  “Now, are you satisfied that I am not showing any of my father’s darkness?”

  For a moment Sir John was so surprised at what she had said that he could not think of an answer.

  Then she continued,

  “I know, because he told me, that my family and yours would be very shocked and horrified at the idea of me marrying a man who was as dark-skinned as Papa.”

  She paused before she added,

  “That is why before I left for England he instructed me on what I should say to my family and what he wanted you to say to yours.”

  The calm way she spoke made Sir John stare at her in surprise.

  And then he said,

  “Are you telling me that your father, when he was arranging your marriage, wanted you to keep it a secret that you were his child?”

  “Of course, that is what he wanted me to do,” she replied. “But I thought. even though they told me that he had died while you were with him, that he was explaining to you that knowing the English as well as he did, he knew that they would be shocked and horrified at you marrying a woman who was a half-caste.”

  For a moment Sir John was speechless and then he said,

  “As I understood you were on your way to meet your family, I thought that your father intended that you should tell them the truth.”

  Melita gave a little laugh.

  “You must be aware that my father knew exactly what the English, and the French for that matter, felt about
the Orient. They are prepared to abuse it, to accept what money they can squeeze from it, but have no wish to be related to them.”

  There was a pause before Sir John asked,

  “Then what would you intend to do? How can you explain your existence to your family without telling them that your mother was married to your father and that your father was, in fact, an Oriental?”

  She laughed again and it was a very pretty sound.

  “You obviously misunderstood him and so did not realise how astute Papa was, especially when it came to any situation which he knew he could not change however clever he might be.”

  “Your father was the cleverest man I ever met and the most generous,” Sir John replied. “As I expect you are aware, he saved my father from penury and made him one of the richest men in England.”

  “I knew that my father had helped him because he told me so,” Melita said. “He also explained to me years ago, in fact when I was first old enough to understand what he was saying, that any great family like yours or indeed my mother’s, would not accept me as the child of who they would call – ‘a black man’.”

  She spoke smoothly without any embarrassment.

  Staring at her Sir John said,

  “Then what do you intend to tell your family?”

  “I intend to tell them,” the girl answered, “that I am the daughter of Lady Evelyn Sternwood and that my father was an Englishman who was killed by the rebels, who were causing trouble in Thailand, shortly after I was conceived.”

  “But you still must have a name,” Sir John pointed out.

  “Of course Papa thought of that, you can be quite certain,” she replied. “He said that my father was a very charming and delightful gentleman by the name of Captain Charles Compton, who was killed in a battle.”

  “And you really believe this?” Sir John asked her.

  “I have to believe it, because it was what my father told me to believe. You know how clever he was and how successful he was in everything he ever wanted.”

  She gave a little laugh before she added,

  “I wish I had been with him when he died. He told me that he would not live long and that your family would accept me and be as proud of me as he was.”

  As she finished speaking, she then looked over her shoulder as if she was afraid that someone was listening.