"Then she's independent," Carey says with relief. "She needn't fulfil this ridiculous bargain."

I compress my lips into a firm line. "Grandfather said I was to marry Cousin Mark." 

"You're too young to think of marrying anyone," Carey says sharply. 

"I'm eighteen," I remind her, "and of course I must fulfil Grandfather's wishes." Mr. Prescott and Helen exchange glances and the solicitor raises his shoulders in a slight shrug. 

"Well, we'll have to wait for Mr. Mark Jung's instructions," he says, closing his briefcase. "It will take a little time to, of course," he glances at Helen, "you'll stay here, Miss Han, until you get your money?" 

"I'll stay with Yiseul as long as she needs me,' Carey promises. 

"Will Cousin Mark be coming soon?" I ask anxiously.

"I hope so,"Mr. Prescott says, "we need to consult him. Now, don't worry, my dear, I'm sure everything will turn out all right."

But I'm not worried at all. 

My grandfather had loved and protected me all my life, and in his infinite wisdom he had left me to Cousin Mark, knowing he will also love and protect me; it's as simple as that. 

I shake Mr. Prescott's hand, and his eyes soften, and he says, "I'll be here to look after you. Come to me in any difficulty. Remember I am one of your trustees." 

Still holding my hand, he asks me curiously, "Did your grandfather ever mention this ... er ... matrimonial project to you?" 

"Yes, several times just lately." 

Only a few evenings before his death, my grandfather had spoken to me about my future. 

"I shan't be here much longer, Yiseul," he had said, "but you need not worry about what will happen to you. I've provided for that."

I had cried out that I could not bear to contemplate a future without him and he must not talk of dying. Gently he had soothed me and gone on.

"As you know the Manor passes to the next male heir, and that is your Cousin Mark. The heir must live here, and the place needs a man to run it; I fear I've neglected it of late, but you shall not be dispossessed, I know how you love the Manor. The solution is a marriage between you and Mark. I shall write and ask him to come and stay and we can discuss it."

He had never told me much about our Korean connections, but that night he became expansive. His brother, the younger son, had gone back to Korea at the age of twenty. He had married a rich woman and they had settled down in Korea.

"Your parents were flying out to see him when they were killed,"he told me sombrely. "Up till then I had hoped for a grandson. I met my nephew, my brother's son, at the funeral. I've seen none of them since; my brother and his wife passed away several years ago, and their son died five years ago, so the heir will be the sole grandson, Mark. I don't know if there are any more of them. I believe there's a girl, but it's only Mark we're concerned with. He must be quite a bit older than you are, for his father married young, and it's time we made his acquaintance." 

But there was no time; my grandfather had waited too long. A week later he was dead. 

As I admitted my knowledge, Carey makes a movement of surprise. "You never told me, Yiseul," she says reproachfully. "Had I known, I might have been able to reason with your grandfather."

"I... I didn't want to talk about it... I couldn't bear to think of Grandfather dying, but he told me Cousin Mark would come and look after me so I wouldn't be alone. He said he could comfort me." 

Mr. Prescott patted the hand he still held. "Goodbye, my dear, I'll be seeing you again soon."

"Thank you for coming and explaining everything," I say politely. 

Carey seems convinced that if the new owner did agree to marry me, it would be only because he wants the estate; but I am not concerned at all, my cousin is a slightly younger edition of my grandfather. I know that marriage entails rather more than fatherly affection, but since Mark is apparently nearly middle-aged, he would be way past youthful advances, and be more a companion than a lover.

Even though my grandfather is not physically present, I am sure that he is with me in spirit and the thought comforts me.  The Manor has become so lonely and quiet ever since my grandfather died.

Ravenscrag Manor is a low grey stone house with a slate roof, built in a fold of the undulating countryside, where it is sheltered from the prevailing westerly winds blowing in straight from the Atlantic. On either side slopes rise from the miniature valley with farmhouses near their summits, while below the garden, a small rivulet runs along the valley floor. The tall and forbidding cliffs hang over a shaley beach, with no inviting stretch of yellow sand to attract tourists, who are deterred by warning notices of the dangers of the crumbling cliffs. 

I have my own secret path down to the inhospitable shore. Once below the grey wall of cliff, I would sit for hours watching the creaming tide slowly enfold the ragged rocks, that stretch far out into the sea. While I dream, my two dogs would hunt ecstatically and unsuccessfully for seagulls' nests. They are black labradors, called Tristan and Isolde, which have become abbreviated to Tris and Sol. I named them after one of my favourite stories, that of the ill-fated Cornish Queen, Iseult, who had loved the young knight who had brought her from Ireland as a result of drinking the love potion designed for her husband, King Mark. 

Sitting in my favourite haunt on a golden day, a gentle breeze stirring my hair, I am roused from my reverie by the sound of falling stones, followed by a frantic barking from the dogs. 

Jumping to my feet, I see that someone has been trying to climb down the cliff and has ended ignominiously in a slide of shale, while Tris and Sol, resenting this intrusion, are baying at the prostrate figure excitedly. 

My first feeling is resentment that my privacy has been invaded, then realising that if I did not intervene there might be damage done by my over-zealous defenders, I run to the rescue. 

"Tris! Sol! Sit!"