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love affair,
her determination to become an actress against family opposition
—something Merlyn could sympathise with— her
success in that profession, her marriage to Brandon Carmichael. She had
spared Rand nothing in the telling of the latter, had written of his
feelings of inadequacy against his wife's obviously wealthy background
when his childhood had been spent in an orphanage, his wealth fought
for with a ruthlessness that swept many weaker men behind him. That he
loved Suzie before everything else in his life had been obvious, as had
Suzie's love for him. They had been the golden couple, extremely happy
together, Suzie's illness and the battle she had fought to overcome it
almost killing Rand too.
    It was a battle Merlyn wasn't sure he had yet managed to
win.
    She envied Suzie Forrester for having known a love like
that, had given up any idea of finding such a love herself after the
disillusionment of loving unwisely, her dream of having a husband and a
houseful of children becoming exactly that. Against her will she was
becoming as much of a career-woman as her mother was.
    On that depressing thought she took herself up to bed.
    It was a strange house, a strange bed, the rain sounding
very threatening against the window of her bedroom, and she wasn't sure
of her host's frame of mind either, but after the long and tiring day
she had had, Merlyn fell asleep almost as soon as her head sank into
the downy softness of the pillow.
    She woke up just as suddenly!
    She had heard a loud crash, instantly fearing that it had
something to do with the storm still raging outside. Perhaps one of the
towering pine trees that surrounded three sides of the house had come
crashing down on top of it; the wind howling against the window sounded
gale-force. She had to go and make sure Rand was all right!
    His bedroom door still stood open, the room empty,
although the tangle of bedclothes showed that Rand had occupied the bed
at least part of the night even if he weren't there now. Maybe he had
gone downstairs to investigate the sound of that crashing noise?
    She heard another crash, the sound of broken glass
accompanying it, and it was coming from downstairs. God, the house was
being crushed beneath those monstrous trees! As she rushed down the
stairs to find Rand, she became aware of a strange sound coming from
the direction of the lounge, like an animal whimpering in pain. She
hadn't realised Rand possessed a cat or dog, maybe—
    Her hand froze in the action of switching on the light as
she realised those mournful groans weren't coming from an animal at
all, that it was Rand making those muffled sobbing sounds as he knelt
in all his naked glory in front of the fire still burning in the
hearth, his face buried in his hands. On the carpet in front of him lay
a broken picture frame, only 'Darling, I—' left of the
inscription on the half-burned photograph of Suzie Forrester, that and
the smile that had to be just for Rand.
    Merlyn didn't know whether to go or stay, knew that she
was intruding on this man's personal grief. The smashed frame and burnt
photograph couldn't have been an accident, not when that same
photograph had been standing on Rand's bedside table earlier. He had to
have brought it downstairs with him.
    Then she saw what had caused the first sound of crashing
glass, a brandy bottle lying in several pieces in the hearth, and from
the lack of brandy with it she guessed the bottle had been empty before
it was thrown. But why had Rand got himself so drunk that in his rage
he had destroyed the photograph of his wife? Whatever his reason, she
knew he would deeply resent her intrusion, and she was turning to leave
when she realised that the heart-breaking sobbing had stopped. Her
lashes slowly raised as she looked up to find that silver gaze fixed on
her.
    A sob caught in her own throat for the ravages this man's
grief had made on his face, his eyes dull with his private pain, tears
still dampening the soft dark lashes, lines