She looked up quickly as the door opened. It was her rescuer, wearing fresh clothes and with his hair rubbed until it was almost dry. She saw now that it was dark brown, shaggy and needed a cut. With him were the two dogs, who made straight for Meryl.

‘Good evening,’ she said with as much dignity as she could muster, fending off Alsatians with one hand and holding the robe with the other. ‘You know who I am, but-’

‘I’m Jarvis Larne,’ he said.

Her head whirled. ‘You? Lord Larne? You can’t be!’

It was more wishful thinking than conviction, and Meryl could have bitten off her tongue the moment the words were out. But it was too late now. The man’s sardonic face showed that he could follow her thoughts.

‘Why can’t I be? Because I don’t stand to attention for you? Just who did you think you were talking to back there? The bailiff?’

This was too close for comfort. ‘Certainly not,’ she said with dignity. ‘I never dreamed you could be Lord Larne because you’re so different to your letter.’

‘What letter?’

‘The one you wrote in answer to my advertisement.’

‘Advertisement?’

‘Oh, look! That ad was foolish, I admit, but don’t deny that you answered it. Now I’ve seen this place I can understand why.’

‘Wait a minute,’ he said, peering at her more closely. ‘Are you the woman who was looking for a fortune-hunter?’

‘Yes,’ she admitted defensively. ‘It might have been better put, but-’

‘And you think I’m the answer to your prayers?’

‘No,’ she said with spirit, ‘just the answer to my ad. My prayers are for something quite different.’

‘Then why bother with me?’

‘You wrote to me.’

‘I never wrote to you.’

She pounced on her purse, thankful that this, at least, she’d managed to save from the waves. Pulling out the letter, she thrust it at him. Watching his face as he read the contents, she saw disbelief change to outrage.