Secret Harbor by Barbara Cartland Page B

aristocrat.”
    “Exactly!” he said. “The reason why Fedor has started a revolution is that he has been in Guadaloupe which is the centre of the French Revolution in the West Indies.”
    “Is that true?” Grania asked.
    “I am told that Fedor was given a commission as Commander General of the insurgents in Grenada,”
    “You mean this has been planned for some time?”
    The Comte nodded.
    “They have arms and ammunition, caps of liberty, national cockades, and a flag on which is inscribed: ‘Liberte, Egalite, ou la Mort. ’ ”
    Grania gave a little cry.
    “Do you mean the English do not know this?”
    The Comte shrugged his shoulders and she knew without his saying any more that the English in St. George’s had become complacent and too busy enjoying themselves to anticipate there might be an uprising.
    It seemed extraordinary that they should have been taken by surprise, when the Comte knew so much.
    At the same time she was well aware that in Grenada they often knew things that happened on other islands before they knew it themselves.
    As the Comte had said, the very birds carried gossip across the blue sea, and the fact that there were French under British jurisdiction and vice versa was an open invitation for the slaves who planned to rebel if the opportunity arose.
    They walked through the part of the garden which had once been cultivated and now was a riot of colour and blossom.
    There were little patches of English flowers which her mother had tried to cultivate and which in their very profusion seemed to have become part of the tropical scene.
    The house when they reached it seemed very quiet, and Grania knew at once that her father had not arrived.
    She walked in through the front door followed by the Comte, and she went straight towards the kitchen to find it was empty.
    “Abe and your man have not returned,” she said.
    “Then I suggest we sit and wait for them,” the Comte said, “and it will be cooler than anywhere else in the Drawing-Room.”
    “I wondered when I came here this morning why there were no covers on the furniture,” Grania said. “Have you sat there very often?”
    “Occasionally,” the Comte admitted. “It made me think of my home when I was a child, and also of my house in Martinique, which is very beautiful. I would like to show it to you one day.”
    “I would like that,” Grania said simply.
    Her eyes met his as she spoke, then shyly she looked away.
    “Perhaps I should offer you some of your own coffee?”
    “I want nothing,” he said, “except to talk to you. Sit down, Mademoiselle and tell me about yourself.”
    Grania laughed.
    “There is very little to tell that you do not already know, and I would rather hear about you.”
    “That would be dull for me,” the Comte said, “and as the hostess you must be generous to your guest.”
    “An uninvited guest who has made himself very much at home!”
    “That is true, but I had a feeling when I lay in bed looking at your picture that you would be as kind and welcoming as you have been.”
    “I am sure Mama would have liked you,” Grania said impulsively.
    “You could not say anything that would please me more,” the Comte answered. “I have heard about your mother and I know how understanding she was to everybody she met, and I am sure that she was very proud of her daughter.”
    “She would not be ... proud if she ... knew what Papa is ... planning for me,” Grania said in a small voice.
    “We have already agreed that you must talk to your father and make him understand what your mother would have felt had she been here,” the Comte said.
    He spoke almost severely, as if he was instructing her like a School-Master, and expecting her to obey him.
    “My father has changed ... since we have been ... away,” Grania said. “I felt when we were sailing back that he had ... something on his ... mind.”
    There was silence for a moment. Then the Comte said: “If he had stayed and attended to his