"She likes to be alone," I thought. Once or twice I saw Greta go out with her painting things. She went up on the hills or down to the beach.
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He smiled back.
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Mr Duncan took me to the farm and I met Dan and Stella Parks. They were very friendly.
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So I worked on the farm with Mr and Mrs Parks. They were nice people. I helped with the cows and the chickens, and went up on the hills with Mr Parks and his dog to look after the sheep.
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"You're a good gardener," he said.
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"You can work on the farm for the next three days," said Day Parks. "Mr Duncan says you're a good gardener. Are you a good farmer, too?"
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One afternoon I went out riding. Smoke was a big, lazy, friendly horse. I enjoyed riding and Smoke knew his way around the island very well. I learned new places to go to.
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I smiled at him. "I am," I said.
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Sometimes I saw Greta Ross.
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I worked in the garden for the first two days. The weather was hot and sunny. I liked working with Mr Duncan, and he was pleased with my work.
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"I've always liked gardening," I said. "But I'm studying at college to be a farmer."
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I didn't see my mother very much that first week. She worked all day and in the evenings. She wrote letters to South America, Japan, Canada and Australia. Sometimes, she worked after I was in bed.
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I rode along the cliff top and then in between some trees. When we came out of the trees, I saw the house from the other side. I tried to find the window of my room. Which one was it?
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"Who was that?" I thought. "Was it Mr Ross? And which room was it?"
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Suddenly, I saw a face at one of the windows. The face was looking at me. It was there for just a second or two, then it moved away quickly.
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"It's not?" I was surprised by this.
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"Mr Ross works hard," she told me. "He invests money in many companies and countries. But it's not his money."
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"How strange! But why does Mr Ross always look sad? And why does he never leave the island?" I asked.
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"No, it's his wife's money. And she bought the island. It's her island, her house, her farm. Everything belongs to her."
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"I don't know," said my mother. "He says he likes it here and likes working on his farm. It's strange, I know."
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Sometimes, when I finished work, I walked along the beaches or the cliffs. Or I went swimming in the sea. I liked swimming. Greta Ross often came to the beach to swim, but Mr Ross never came.
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"Stay away from the rocks, Carol," Greta Ross told me. "They're very dangerous."
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"I will," I said.
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One day, I was walking back to the house, and had my camera with me. I stopped and looked at the big house. Mr Duncan was working in the garden in front of it. At first, he didn't see me.
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Sometimes I took my camera to the beach and took photographs of some of the boats that went by. I took photographs of the birds on the cliffs.
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There were other small islands near our island, and boats with tourists stopped at them. But no boats stopped at our island. They kept away from the dangerous rocks. Tony was right. The island did not have visitors.
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"I'm going to take a photograph of the house," I thought. "The sun is in just the right place, and it will make a good picture."
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I looked at the building through my camera, and took the photograph. Mr Ross was coming out of a door. He was in my picture, too, and he looked angry.
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"Hey! What are you doing?" I said. "You'll spoil my film!"
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"What's wrong?" I asked in surprise. I gave him the camera.
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"I don't know," I said,"but there's something strange about Mr Ross."
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About a week later, I finished work early one day and came back to the house. My mother was working in her small room, next to Mr Ross's office. Mrs Duncan was in the kitchen. Greta Ross was painting in her room upstairs.
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But Mr Duncan was running across the grass. He came quickly up to me and said,"Give me your camera." He looked very worried.
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"I don't understand,'she said. "Why did he do that?"
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Later, I told my mother about Mr Duncan and the camera. "He spoiled my film," I said.
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"That's all right," I thought. "It's still a good photograph."
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"Never take photographs of Mr Ross," he said. And then he opened the back of my camera and took out the film.
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Mr Ross was watching us. He saw the camera and he saw Mr Duncan take out the film, but he said nothing. Then he turned and went back into the house.
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But he didn't stop. "Sorry," he said, and he put the film into his pocket. "But no pictures of Mr Ross. He doesn't like people to take pictures of him."
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"That room is private," she said.
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"My book isn't very interesting," I thought.
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"I think he does have secrets," I said. "There's something strange about him There's something strange about this island. Somebody isn't telling us something. Something important."
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"Where does that door go?" I thought. "I haven't seen it before." I remembered the face at the window in my first week on the island. "Perhaps it's the door to that room," I thought.
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"What are you doing?" said a voice behind me.
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I turned round quickly and saw Greta Ross. She looked angry.
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I went to my room and began reading a book. I was sitting beside the window. After half an hour, I got tired of reading. I looked out at the rain, and the grey sea and rocks between the trees.
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"Stay away from there," she told me.
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I walked along to the door and turned the handle. The door didn't move. It was locked.
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I told my mother about the locked door.
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"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't --"
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"What's behind it?" I said. "Is it a secret?"
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"I don't know," said my mother. "It doesn't matter. Mr Ross can have locked rooms if he wants them."
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I got up and went out of my room. I walked along the passage and turned a corner. Then I saw the door at the end of the passage. There was a large plant in a plant pot outside the door.
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My mother laughed. "Stop playing detective, Carol," she said.
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