'G' day,' he said, his mouth opening in a grin.

  'Good afternoon,' I said.

  He scrambled to his feet and opened a dirty handkerchief he had filled with winkles.

  'You eat winkles?' he said.

  I did not want to hurt his feelings. 'Thank you,' I said.

  He emptied about a dozen winkles into my hand, and I put them in die two pockets of my skirt. 'They'm all right with bread-an'-butter,' he said,

  'you must boil 'em first.'

  'Yes, all right,' I said.

  He stood there grinning at me. 'Seen the steamer?' he said.

  'Yes,' I said, 'she's gone ashore, hasn't she?'

  'Eh?' he said.

  'She's run aground,' I repeated. 'I expect she's got a hole in her bottom.'

  His face went blank and foolish. 'Aye,' he said, 'she's down there all right. She'll not come back again.'

  'Perhaps the tugs will get her off when the tide makes,' I said.

  He did not answer. He was staring out towards the stranded ship. I could see her broadside on from here, the red underwater section showing against the black of the top-sides, and the single funnel leaning rakishly towards the cliffs beyond. The crew were still leaning over her side feeding the gulls and staring into the water. The rowing-boats were pulling back to Kerrith.

  'She's a Dutchman, ain't she?' said Ben.

  'I don't know,' I said. 'German or Dutch.'

  'She'll break up there where she's to,' he said.

  'I'm afraid so,' I said.

  He grinned again, and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

  'She'll break up bit by bit,' he said, 'she'll not sink like a stone like the little 'un.' He chuckled to himself, picking his nose. I did not say anything. 'The fishes have eaten her up by now, haven't they?' he said.

  'Who?' I said.

  He jerked his thumb towards the sea. 'Her,' he said, 'the other one.'

  'Fishes don't eat steamers, Ben,' I said.

  'Eh?' he said. He stared at me, foolish and blank once more.

  'I must go home now,' I said; 'good afternoon.'

  I left him and walked towards the path through the woods. I did not look at the cottage. I was aware of it on my right hand; grey and quiet. I went straight to the path and up through the trees. I paused to rest half-way and looking through the trees I could still see the stranded ship leaning towards the shore. The pleasure boats had all gone. Even the crew had disappeared below. The ridges of cloud covered the whole sky. A little wind sprang from nowhere and blew into my face. A leaf fell onto my hand from the tree above. I shivered for no reason. Then the wind went again, it was hot and sultry as before. The ship looked desolate there upon her side, with no one on her decks, and her thin black funnel pointing to the shore. The sea was so calm that when it broke upon the shingle in the cove it was like a whisper, hushed and still. I turned once more to the steep path through the woods, my legs reluctant, my head heavy, a strange sense of foreboding in my heart.

  The house looked very peaceful as I came upon it from the woods and crossed the lawns. It seemed sheltered and protected, more beautiful than I had ever seen it. Standing there, looking down upon it from the banks, I realized, perhaps for the first time, with a funny feeling of bewilderment and pride that it was my home, I belonged there, and Manderley belonged to me. The trees and the grass and the flower tubs on the terrace were reflected in the mullioned windows. A thin column of smoke rose in the air from one of the chimneys. The new-cut grass on the lawn smelt sweet as hay. A blackbird was

  singing on the chestnut tree. A yellow butterfly winged his foolish way before me to the terrace.

  I went into the hall and through to the dining-room. My place was still laid, but Maxim's had been cleared away. The cold meat and salad awaited me on the sideboard. I hesitated, and then rang the dining-room bell.

  Robert came in from behind the screen.

  'Has Mr de Winter been in?' I said. 'Yes, Madam,' said Robert; 'he came in just after two, and had a quick lunch, and then went out again. He asked for you and Frith said he thought you must have gone down to see the ship.'

  'Did he say when he would be back again?' I asked. 'No, Madam.'

  'Perhaps he went to the beach another way,' I said; 'I may have missed him.'

  'Yes, Madam,' said Robert.

  I looked at the cold meat and the salad. I felt empty but not hungry.

  I did not want cold meat now. 'Will you be taking lunch?' said Robert.

  'No,' I said. 'No, you might bring me some tea, Robert, in the library.

  Nothing like cakes or scones. Just tea and bread-and-butter.' 'Yes, Madam.'

  I went and sat on the window-seat in the library. It seemed funny without Jasper. He must have gone with Maxim. The old dog lay asleep in her basket.

  I picked up The Times and turned the pages without reading it. It was queer this feeling of marking time, like sitting in a waiting-room at a dentist's. I knew I should never settle to my knitting or to a book.

  I was waiting for something to happen, something unforeseen. The horror of my morning and the stranded ship and not having any lunch had all combined to give birth to a latent sense of excitement at the back of my mind that I did not understand. It was as though I had entered into a new phase of my life and nothing would be quite the same again. The girl who had dressed for the fancy dress ball the night before had been left behind. It had all happened a very long time ago. This self who sat on the window-seat was new, was different ... Robert brought in my tea, and I ate my bread-and-butter hungrily. He had brought scones as well, and some sandwiches, and an angel cake. He must have thought it derogatory to bring bread-and-butter alone, nor was it Manderley routine. I was glad of the scones and the angel cake. I remembered I had only had cold tea at half past eleven, and no breakfast. Just after I had drunk my third cup Robert came in again.

  'Mr de Winter is not back yet is he, Madam?' he said.

  'No,' I said. 'Why? Does someone want him?'

  'Yes, Madam,' said Robert, 'it's Captain Searle, the harbour-master of Kerrith, on the telephone. He wants to know if he can come up and see Mr de Winter personally.'

  'I don't know what to say,' I said. 'He may not be back for ages.'

  'No, Madam.'

  'You'd better tell him to ring again at five o'clock,' I said. Robert went out of the room and came back again in a few minutes.

  'Captain Searle would like to see you, if it would be convenient, Madam,'

  said Robert. 'He says the matter is rather urgent. He tried to get Mr Crawley, but there was no reply.'

  'Yes, of course I must see him if it's urgent,' I said. 'Tell him to come along at once if he likes. Has he got a car?'

  'Yes, I believe so, Madam.'

  Robert went out of the room. I wondered what I should say to Captain Searle.

  His business must be something to do with the stranded ship. I could not understand what concern it was of Maxim's. It would have been different if the ship had gone ashore in the cove. That was Manderley property.

  They might have to ask Maxim's permission to blast away rocks or whatever it was that was done to move a ship. But the open bay and the ledge of rock under the water did not belong to Maxim. Captain Searle would waste his time talking to me about it all.

  He must have got into his car right away after talking to Robert because in less than quarter of an hour he was shown into the room.

  He was still in his uniform as I had seen him through the glasses in the early afternoon. I got up from the window-seat and shook hands with him.

  'I'm sorry my husband isn't back

  yet, Captain Searle,' I said; 'he must have gone down to the cliffs again, and he went into Kerrith before that. I haven't seen him all day.'

  'Yes, I heard he'd been to Kerrith but I missed him there,' said the harbour-master. 'He must have walked back across the cliffs when I was in my boat. And I can't get hold of Mr Crawley either.'

  'I'm afraid the ship has disorganized everybody,' I said. 'I was out on the cliffs and went without my lunch, and I know Mr Crawley was there earlier on. What will happen to her? Will tugs get her off, do you think?'

  Captain Searle made a great circle with his hands. "There's a hole that deep in her bottom,' he said, 'she'll not see Hamburg again. Never mind the ship. Her owner and Lloyd's agent will settle that between them. No, Mrs de Winter, it's not the ship that's brought me here. Indirectly of course she's the cause of my coming. The fact is, I've got some news for Mr de Winter, and I hardly know how to break it to him.' He looked at me very straight with his bright blue eyes.

  'What sort of news, Captain Searle?'

  He brought a large white handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose.

  'Well, Mrs de Winter, it's not very pleasant for me to tell you either.

  The last thing I want to do is to cause distress or pain to you and your husband. We' re all very fond of Mr de Winter in Kerrith, you know, and the family has always done a lot of good. It's hard on him and hard on you that we can't let the past lie quiet. But I don't see how we can under the circumstances.' He paused, and put his handkerchief back in his pocket.

  He lowered his voice, although we were alone in the room.

  'We sent the diver down to inspect the ship's bottom,' he said, 'and while he was down there he made a discovery. It appears he found the hole in the ship's bottom and was working round to the other side to see what further damage there was when he came across the hull of a little sailing boat, lying on her side, quite intact and not broken up at all. He's a local man, of course, and he recognized the boat at once. It was the little boat belonging to the late Mrs de Winter.'

  My first feeling was one of thankfulness that Maxim was not there to hear. This fresh blow coming swiftly upon my masquerade of the night before was ironic, and rather horrible. 'I'm so sorry,' I said slowly,

  'it's not the sort of thing one expected would happen. Is it necessary to tell Mr de Winter? Couldn't the boat be left there, as it is? It's not doing any harm, is it?'

  'It would be left, Mrs de Winter, in the ordinary way. I'm the last man in the world to want to disturb it. And I'd give anything, as I said before, to spare Mr de Winter's feelings. But that wasn't all, Mrs de Winter.

  My man poked round the little boat and he made another, more important discovery. The cabin door was tightly closed, it was not stove in, and the portlights were closed too. He broke one of the ports with a stone from the sea bed, and looked into the cabin. It was full of water, the sea must have come through some hole in the bottom, there seemed no damage elsewhere. And then he got the fright of his life, Mrs de Winter.'

  Captain Searle paused, he looked over his shoulder as though one of the servants might hear him. 'There was a body in there, lying on the cabin floor,' he said quietly. 'It was dissolved of course, there was no flesh on it. But it was a body all right. He saw the head and the limbs. He came up to the surface then and reported it direct to me. And now you understand, Mrs de Winter, why I've got to see your husband.'

  I stared at him, bewildered at first, then shocked, then rather sick.

  'She was supposed to be sailing alone?' I whispered, 'there must have been someone with her then, all the time, and no one ever knew?'

  'It looks like it,' said the harbour-master.

  'Who could it have been?' I said. 'Surely relatives would know if anyone had been missing? There was so much about it at the time, it was all in the papers. Why should one of them be in the cabin and Mrs de Winter herself be picked up many miles away, months afterwards?'

  Captain Searle shook his head. 'I can't tell any more than you,' he said.

  'All we know is that the body is there, and it has got to be reported.

  There'll be publicity, I'm afraid, Mrs de

  Winter. I don't know how we're going to avoid it. It's very hard on you and Mr de Winter. Here you are, settled down quietly, wanting to be happy, and this has to happen.'

  I knew now the reason for my sense of foreboding. It was not the stranded ship that was sinister, nor the crying gulls, nor the thin black funnel pointing to the shore. It was the stillness of the black water, and the unknown things that lay beneath. It was the diver going down into those cool quiet depths and stumbling upon Rebecca's boat, and Rebecca's dead companion. He had touched the boat, had looked into the cabin, and all the while I sat on the cliffs and had not known.

  'If only we did not have to tell him,' I said. 'If only we could keep the whole thing from him.'

  'You know I would if it were possible, Mrs de Winter,' said the harbour-master, 'but my personal feelings have to go, in a matter like this. I've got to do my duty. I've got to report that body.' He broke off short as the door opened, and Maxim came into the room.

  'Hullo,' he said, 'what's happening? I didn't know you were here, Captain Searle? Is anything the matter?'

  I could not stand it any longer. I went out of the room like the coward I was and shut the door behind me. I had not even glanced at Maxim's face.

  I had the vague impression that he looked tired, untidy, hatless.

  I went and stood in the hall by the front door. Jasper was drinking noisily from his bowl. He wagged his tail when he saw me and went on drinking.

  Then he loped towards me, and stood up, pawing at my dress. I kissed the top of his head and went and sat on the terrace. The moment of crisis had come, and I must face it. My old fears, my diffidence, my shyness, my hopeless sense of inferiority, must be conquered now and thrust aside.

  If I failed now I should fail for ever. There would never be another chance.

  I prayed for courage in a blind despairing way, and dug my nails into my hands. I sat there for five minutes staring at the green lawns and the flower tubs on the terrace. I heard the sound of a car starting up in the drive. It must be Captain Searle. He had broken his news to Maxim and had gone. I got up from the terrace and went slowly through the hall to the library. I kept turning over in my pockets the winkles that Ben had given me. I clutched them tight in my hands.

  Maxim was standing by the window. His back was turned to me. I waited by the door. Still he did not turn round. I took my hands out of my pockets and went and stood beside him. I reached out for his hand and laid it against my cheek. He did not say anything. He went on standing there.

  'I'm so sorry,' I whispered, 'so terribly, terribly sorry.' He did not answer. His hand was icy cold. I kissed the back of it, and then the fingers, one by one. 'I don't want you to bear this alone,' I said. 'I want to share it with you. I've grown up, Maxim, in twenty-four hours. I'll never be a child again.'

  He put his arm round me and pulled me to him very close. My reserve was broken, and my shyness too. I stood there with my face against his shoulder.

  'You've forgiven me, haven't you?' I said.

  He spoke to me at last. 'Forgiven you?' he said. 'What have I got to forgive you for?'

  'Last night,' I said; 'you thought I did it on purpose.'

  'Ah, that,' he said. 'I'd forgotten. I was angry with you, wasn't I?'

  'Yes,' I said.

  He did not say any more. He went on holding me close to his shoulder.

  'Maxim,' I said, 'can't we start all over again? Can't we begin from today, and face things together? I don't want you to love me, I won't ask impossible things. I'll be your friend and your companion, a sort of boy.

  I don't ever want more than that.'

  He took my face between his hands and looked at me. For the first time I saw how thin his face was, how lined and drawn. And there were great shadows beneath his eyes.

  'How much do you love me?' he said.

  I could not answer. I could only stare back at him, at his dark tortured eyes, and his pale drawn face.

  'It's too late, my darling, too late,' he said. 'We've lost our little chance of happiness.'

  'No, Maxim. No,' I said.

  'Yes,' he said. 'It's all over now. The thing has happened.'

  'What thing?' I said.

  'The thing I've always foreseen. The thing I've dreamt about, day after day, night after night. We're not meant for happiness, you and I.' He sat down on the window-seat, and I knelt in front of him, my hands on his shoulders.

  'What are you trying to tell me?' I said.

  He put his hands over mine and looked into my face. 'Rebecca has won,'

  he said.

  I stared at him, my heart beating strangely, my hands suddenly cold beneath his hands.

  'Her shadow between us all the time,' he said. 'Her damned shadow keeping us from one another. How could I hold you like this, my darling, my little love, with the fear always in my heart that this would happen? I remembered her eyes as she looked at me before she died. I remembered that slow treacherous smile. She knew this would happen even then. She knew she would win in the end.'

  'Maxim,' I whispered, 'what are you saying, what are you trying to tell me?'

  'Her boat,' he said, 'they've found it. The diver found it this afternoon.'

  'Yes,' I said. 'I know. Captain Searle came to tell me. You are thinking about the body, aren't you, the body the diver found in the cabin?'

  'Yes,' he said.

  'It means she was not alone,' I said. 'It means there was somebody sailing with Rebecca at the time. And you have to find out who it was. That's it, isn't it, Maxim?'

  'No,' he said. 'No, you don't understand.'

  'I want to share this with you, darling,' I said. 'I want to help you.'

  "There was no one with Rebecca, she was alone,' he said.

  I knelt there watching his face, watching his eyes.

  'It's Rebecca's body lying there on the cabin floor,' he said.

  'No,' I said. 'No.'

  "The woman buried in the crypt is not Rebecca,' he said. 'It's the body of some unknown woman, unclaimed, belonging nowhere. There never was an accident. Rebecca was not

  drowned at all. I killed her. I shot Rebecca in the cottage in the cove.

  I carried her body to the cabin, and took the boat out that night and sunk it there, where they found it today. It's Rebecca who's lying dead there on the cabin floor. Will you look into my eyes and tell me that you love me now?'