Free Secret Harbor by Barbara Cartland Page B

information.”
    “You mean they are able to communicate with each other in a way that we have forgotten how to do?”
    “I would never underestimate their powers.”
    “That is very interesting.”
    “As you are half-Irish it should be easy for you to understand,” the Comte said.
    “Yes, of course. Papa used to tell me stories about the powers of the Irish Sorcerers and how they could foretell the future. Of course I learnt about the Leprechauns when I was very small.”
    “Just as I learnt about the spirits that inhabit the mountains and forests in Martinique,” the Comte said.
    “Why could they not warn you before the English invaded the island?” Grania asked.
    “Perhaps they tried to do so and we did not listen!” the Comte replied. “When you come to Martinique you can feel them, hear them and perhaps see them.”
    “That is something I would love to do,” Grania replied impulsively.
    “You must trust to fate,” the Comte answered, “whichas you know has already brought you out of a very difficult situation, for which I am very grateful.”
    “As I am grateful to be here,” Grania said. “When I rode through the forest I had the feeling I was escaping from a terrifying danger to something very different.”
    “What was that?”
    She drew in her breath.
    “It is what I feel when I am sitting here talking to you. I cannot ... describe it exactly ... but it makes me feel very ... happy.”
    There was a moment’s silence. Then the Comte said: “That is all I want you to feel for the moment.”
     

    Chapter four
     
    T he hours of heat passed slowly. Sometimes Grania and the Comte talked and sometimes they sat in silence as if they communicated with each other without words.
    But she was aware that his eyes were on her face and sometimes he made her feel shy in a way that was half pleasure, half a strange embarrassment that seemed to have something magical about it.
    Then there was the sound of footsteps overhead and the whistling of a man who was happy while he worked, and the Comte rose.
    “I think I should take you back to the house,” he said. “If your father is going to arrive he should be here in perhaps under an hour.”
    Grania knew that was the time it would take if her father came to her by road and not through the forest.
    She wanted to stay longer and go on talking to the Comte or even just be with him, but she could think of no viable excuse that did not sound intrusive, so reluctantly she rose from the sofa.
    She had laid her head against a soft cushion, and now she patted her hair into place feeling she must be untidy and looked around for a mirror.
    “You look lovely!” the Comte said in his deep voice, and again she blushed.
    He stood watching her before he said:
    “I have to tell you how much it has meant to me to have you here and feel for the moment we have stepped out of time and are at peace with the world, or perhaps it would be better to say at peace with ourselves, for the world outside does not matter.”
    “That is what I think,” Grania answered, but again it was hard to meet his eyes.
    Reluctantly he turned to the cabin door and opened it.
    “Come along,” he said, “we must find out if there is any sign of your father, and you must be ready to talk to him and make him see your point of view.”
    Grania did not reply.
    For the time being the Comte had given her a sense of security and as he had said, peace, and it was hard to adjust her mind to what lay ahead, or even to feel menaced by Roderick Maigrin.
    The Comte was with her, the sun was shining, the sea was vividly blue, and the palm trees were moving with an inexpressible grace in the warm wind.
    When they were on deck she smiled at one of the men who was working at the ropes and he saluted her with a gesture that was very French and smiled back.
    The Comte stopped.
    “This is Pierre, my friend and neighbour when we lived in Martinique.”
    He spoke in French and he said to his friend:
    “Let me