'What happened to them?' I asked.

'Oh, eventually their father died.' She smiled. 'Poisoned, most people thought. And the girls went off and got married. That would have been in the early twenties.'

'Well, that fits,' Geoff conceded, 'because in 1921 the house was sold to William Randall, old Eddie's father. He managed to convince the man who owned Crofton Hall then—Pilkington, I think his name was—to sever off part of the property, so the Randalls were the first ones who owned their own land.'

'And after the Randalls, the next owner is you,' Vivien told me. 'No mention of a Mariana anywhere, was there?'

Iain shrugged. 'She might have been a servant.'

'Or somebody's wife,' Geoff suggested. 'These old records rarely mention the women of the household.'

I nodded. 'Either way, it's very interesting. I don't suppose you could make me a copy of that?'

'The history of your house? I'd be glad to.' His eyes smiled warmly into mine, and I suddenly felt as if I wasn't getting enough air. I turned away, breaking the contact, and reached for my drink.

'Would you like another one?' Vivien offered, looking at my glass.

'Oh, no thanks, I'm floating as it is.'

'I'll have another Scotch, though.' Geoff held up his empty glass hopefully, and Vivien rose smiling from the love seat.

'Well, that rather goes without saying, doesn't it? Iain? Another beer?'

'Sure, why not?' He yielded up the empty bottle. He looked nearly as tired as I felt, and I remembered that, as a farmer, he was probably up at the crack of dawn each day.

Geoff leaned back in his seat, his drink replenished, and shifted a little on the sofa to face me more fully. 'So, how are you settling in up there?'

'Quite well, thanks,' I told him. 'I've got most of the important things unpacked, and the rooms cleaned, and the rest I'm just going to leave until the mood strikes me.'

Vivien settled herself back on the love seat, curling her legs beneath her. 'I think you're wise,' she said. 'After all, the only important rooms are the kitchen and the bedroom, really.'

'And the bath,' Geoff put in.

'And my studio." I smiled. 'I've been terrible these past two weeks, I haven't worked at all. My editor would have forty fits if she found out.'

'Julia,' Vivien announced to the room in general, 'paints illustrations for children's books.'

Iain took a long drink of his ale, his gray eyes twinkling in his impassive face. 'Aye, I think I've heard something to that effect.'

'Interesting work,' was Geoff’s comment. 'It must allow you a great deal of freedom."

'It does. But I still have to keep myself to some sort of schedule, or I'd never accomplish anything. I usually work in the mornings, and take the rest of the day off.'

'What sort of book are you illustrating now?' Vivien asked. 'Another of Bridget Cooper's?'

I shook my head. 'A collection of fairy tales, actually. It's very good. A lot of the stories are from the Orient, and the translations are marvelous.'

'Do you work from your imagination alone,' she wanted to know, 'or from photographs, or what?'

'A bit of both. Sometimes I have to draw from life, depending on the look I want.'

'Then you'll be needing models,' Geoff remarked, displaying his profile with a dramatic flourish.

Iain grinned. 'Fancy yourself as Prince Charming, do

ye?;

'King,' Geoff corrected him with a look of disdain. 'Why settle for being a mere prince?'

'Prince gets the girl,' Iain pointed out, and Geoff tilted his head, considering.

'You're right. All right, then, I'll offer myself as Prince Charming. If you need me,' he said, with another heart-stopping smile.

I preferred not to make a response to that one, though I had to admit that Geoffrey de Mornay was certainly qualified to play the role of fairy-tale prince.

Our conversation ambled on comfortably for another half hour or so, by which time I was having to struggle to keep my eyes open. Opposite me, I was aware of Iain Sumner watching me with an understanding smile, his own head sinking lower against the cushions.

'If you're wanting to be Prince Charming,' he told Geoff finally, interrupting an anecdote, 'you might think to stop talking and escort the poor girl home before she falls asleep.'

Geoff looked over at me, surprised. 'Sorry,' he said. 'I forgot you spent last night partying in London. Would you like a lift home? I can fetch the car round.'

'Take my car, if you like,' Vivien suggested. 'It's parked round the side.'

The decision had apparently been made for me, and several moments later I found myself sitting beside Geoff in Vivien's well-kept Vauxhall, having taken a somewhat sleepy leave of my hostess and of Iain, who appeared to have grown roots to the deeply cushioned love seat.

The drive home took only a few minutes. As he brought the car to a halt in the gravel drive, Geoff turned to face me, and I was suddenly aware of the sheer physical impact of his nearness in the darkened interior of the car.

'What are you doing tomorrow?' he asked.

'I'm not sure. Why?'

'Thought you might like to take that tour of the Hall I promised you. Sort of a behind-the-scenes look, if you like. Much more interesting than what the tourists see.' His smile was very sexy, and very persuasive.