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recalled that he was also a would-be author with his way to make. He looked up at her consideringly.
    'Got any family?'
    'Parents. My home's in Manchester.' He made a grimace.
    'Oh, it doesn't rain all the time and it has access to some beautiful country. But my people aren't enterprising. They go to Blackpool for what we call Wakes Week. Dad's a warehouseman and thinks only of watching football. Mum's a housewife and houseproud. She even whitens the window sills and doorstep ... ours is a terrace house in Newton Heath ... one in a row.'
    She became silent, seeing in her mind's eye the rows of smoke-grimed houses back-to-back from which she had so thankfully escaped to the glitter of the Cote d'Azur, unaware that she had betrayed in tabloid form the bleak existence that had been hers before she came there. Chris glanced at her pensive face and ejaculated:
    'Poor kid!'
    'Oh, there were compensations. There are good theatres in Manchester, I went to plays whenever I could afford a gallery seat, and a marvellous library. I read a lot.'
    'Naturally, if you've a literary bent.'
    'But I wasn't living,' she complained.
    'No boy-friends?'
    She shrugged. 'I'm not glamorous enough to attract anyone worth having.'
    'And the Riviera has been a disappointment in that respect?'
    She laughed. 'You've seen Mrs Cullingford's circle.'
    'A collection of tame cats, and mangy at that.'
    'That's what I call them, the tabbies.' She smiled at him shyly. 'You're so different.'
    'I'm glad you except me.' He threw a pebble into the sea. 'I'm not a failure, you know.'
    'You told me you'd had some luck, but as I said you shouldn't be so extravagant until you're established.'
    Chris grinned. 'Practical, aren't you? It used to be a rule in China that the husband turned over his money to his wife to administer. You would dole out my spending money to me each week while you built up a savings account.'
    'I would that.' Clare found she was pleased by this Unking of himself with her, although it was only in fun. She picked up a handful of pebbles and let them dribble from her fingers as she asked with studied indifference: 'Have you a wife?'»
    'God forbid!' he exclaimed fervently. 'And the sort of girls I meet are spenders, not savers.'
    'So I should imagine,' she said drily. 'If you prefer the glamorous types, you have to pay for them.'
    'You know nothing about my preferences,' he returned.
    Clare thought she did; he had practically admitted he consorted with sophisticated women. She picked up another handful of pebbles, but before they started to drop from her fingers, his hand closed over hers.
    'Stop that! It's distracting, and I've a proposition to put to you.'
    Clare caught her breath, staring dumbly at the brown fingers closed over hers. Had she been too frank about her needs? Men, she believed naively, were ready to take any girl who made herself available and he might have construed her remarks as an invitation. Chris seemed to read her thought, for his mouth curved sardonically.
    'It's nothing to raise your blood pressure, it's not amorous,' he told her. 'I merely wondered if you'd like to change your employer.'
    'It depends upon the employer,' she told him, becoming very cool and distant to disguise a faint disappointment. 'Are you suggesting another author?'
    'Yes, since you're familiar with that sort of work.'
    'I don't know,' she ruminated. 'Mrs Cullingford is fairly easy-going, and she does allow me time to go out and also to write my book.'
    'She wouldn't if she knew what you were doing,' he teased her. 'But wouldn't you prefer to work for a man? Most women do.'
    She stared at his smooth unrevealing face and saw a spark of mischief in his eyes. In the bright sunlight they shone gold. His hair was not black as it had appeared indoors, but a dark brown, and though he was richly tanned by the sun, there were indications that his skin was naturally fair. His brow was prominent over his eye sockets, which with his slightly beaky nose gave him a