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while at the same time deciding that, since it looked as though she was going to have to put up with him, she might as well be nice to Beaumont. No, not Beaumont-Leon.

    He came into the kitchen just as she placed her first three carriers down on the kitchen table. `You took your time!' he opened curtly. She felt her hackles go on the incline. Be nice. Be nice. She smiled. `I met a friend. We had coffee,' she replied pleasantly, and was about to add that she'd have brunch ready in next to no time when he butted in a habit of his she had noticed and didn't very much care for.

    `You know someone here?' he questioned sharply.

    She very nearly slipped up and said of course she did, that she had spent all her childhood holidays here. In time, she remembered. `I did tell you I'd been here before,' she stated quietly.

    `With Metcalfe?"

    'Naturally. He um rented this place before.'

    `How well do you know him?' Leon Beaumont was interested in knowing.

    Oh, you'd be surprised. She toyed briefly with the idea of confessing that Johnny was her brother, her stepbrother, but only briefly. Her being here, skivvying, was her attempt to prove to Leon just how very efficient his assistant was. How, when Mrs. Lloyd could not make it, his resourceful and worthwhile assistant had speedily found a replacement to cook and clean for him. Besides, this man didn't take favours. No, she definitely could not tell him that his assistant was her brother. So, in answer to his question of how well she knew him, she had to settle for, `Very well.'

    `You and he are an item?"

    'No!' she answered, more sharply than she'd meant.

    `You've slept with him?' he questioned shortly. `Do I ask you whom you've slept with?' she retaliated. The sauce of it! `So you have?'

    A childhood memory-a sweet childhood memory of her being very upset one time. A stray cat had been run over just outside. She had been horrified and dreadfully tearful. She had been awake in the night, sobbing, and Johnny had come from his room-he'd have been about eight at the time. `Don't cry, Varnie,' he'd begged, and had climbed into her bed and cuddled her better. They had both dropped off to sleep. Who could help but love him? She smiled at the fond memory. `Yes,' she agreed, `I've slept with him.'

    `Obviously not a lasting experience,' Leon Beaumont answered with a dismissive kind of a grunt-inferring, she felt, that his assistant had dumped her when he had grown tired of her.

    `Perhaps you'll feel sweeter when you've got something in your stomach,' she said nicely...lead shot came to mind.

    He gave her a nasty look and wandered away, and in between stowing the shopping Varnie cooked him bacon, eggs and beans. In the hope that his arteries were clogging up, she added a piece of fried bread.

    The meal was almost ready when she went to lay a place in the dining room. Beaumont came out of the study and saw her with the tray in her hands. `I'll eat in the kitchen,' he decided, and he was sure he only said it to be difficult. Still, if he wanted to eat with what he thought was the hired help, who was she to say he couldn't?

    She had thought the meal would be eaten with not a word being exchanged. But, sitting at one end of the scrubbed-top kitchen table, a cloth hastily thrown over it, he at the other end, she had barely cut into her bacon when to her surprise he enquired, `Where do you come from?'

    Varnie popped a morsel of bacon in her mouth, and under cover of chewing it, and emptying her mouth before speaking, cogitated on her answer. Had Johnny, during the miles he'd driven him around the country, told him anything at all about his family? Or had Beaumont been occupied with work the whole of the time?

    `Gloucestershire.' She decided to risk it. Her brother had lived in London for some years now.

    `Where did you meet Metcalfe?' he wanted to know.

    `He stayed at a hotel I worked at one time.' And she'd thought she hated liars!

    Though of course Johnny had stayed at the hotel. But