away—she might accept you as a pupil.”
Pallas looked at Kate for a while, frowning. “No,” she said,
at last, “I want you to teach me.”
“Me?” Kate was absurdly touched. “My dear girl, I’m not fit
to black Madame Liovitch’s shoes. I really think you could
teach me rather than the other way around.”
Pallas smiled, with sudden and surprising charm. “I’ll take
the risk.”
“Why?” Kate asked curiously.
Pallas flushed. “I ... I like you. You seem honest.”
The friendship between them grew quickly. Kate had no real
friends on the staff, since she lived out, and Pallas found the
other girls far too schoolgirlish for her. She asked Kate about
her family, and was very amused by the descriptions of Sam,
Harry and John. “Sam’s a nut case,” Kate explained.
“What’s that?” asked Pallas, and when it was translated,
went off into peals of laughter.
Kate invited her to visit them and was touched by the
eagerness of the girl’s acceptance. It occurred to her to
wonder what the autocratic Marc Lillitos would think if he
knew that Miss Carter was encouraging his sheltered little
sister to visit an ordinary family. He sounded like a
tyrannical paterfamilias, a type which she had thought
extinct years ago.
When Pallas appeared at the Caulfield home she was
wearing a chic grey dress, pretty grey shoes which looked
hand-made and very expensive, and a very smart hat on
her black hair.
Sam, lounging on the carpet with his head on a cushion,
gazed at her as though at a very rare and peculiar animal.
Kate introduced her to the assembled family, and made
her sit down on the sofa. There was a difficult silence.
Then the twins, rarely at a loss for long, politely offered
her one of their awful jokes, and were pleased, if surprised,
when she laughed. Thus encouraged, they told a succession
of them. Pallas, conscious of Sam’s unrelenting stare,
laughed at each with as much enjoyment.
Mrs. Caulfield disappeared into the kitchen, and the
twins, drawn by the sound of cakes coming out of the oven,
drifted after her.
“Have you any younger brothers?” Sam asked pointedly.
Pallas looked round, as though amazed to find him
present, “No, but I have an older brother,” she said. “I did
have two, but one died three years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” said Kate.
Pallas said honestly, “I did not know him very well. He
lived in America. His wife still does.”
Mrs. Caulfield called Kate who, excusing herself, left the
two young people alone.
Pallas sat up very straight, her hands in her lap, like a
little girl at a grown-up tea-party. Sam lay back, staring at
the ceiling. She furtively inspected him from his red
sweater to his purple, fringed velvet trousers, then back,
with widened eyes, to the brown-red curls which fell to his
shoulders in wild abandon.
He turned his head lazily and stared back until her eyes fell
and she flushed.
“What’s with the gear?” he asked obscurely.
“I’m sorry?” She jumped and looked bewildered.
“The clothes,” he translated. “Why are you wearing that
drag?”
In a flash of temper she retorted, “I look no stranger than
you do. I couldn’t make up my mind whether you were a girl
or a boy.”
He laughed and leapt up, in one supple movement. Bending
over her, he kissed her mouth before she was aware of his
intention.
She gasped, backing away.
“Give you three guesses,” he offered wickedly.
Bright pink, she said crossly, “Don’t ever do that again!”
“Go on,” teased Sam, “you know you loved it! I bet that was
the first time you were ever kissed!”
She bit her lip in fury. Brought up in an atmosphere of
luxurious reverence, she was not accustomed to boys like
Sam. She was as sheltered as a novice from a convent
school. Sam baffled, alarmed, fascinated her.
Over the following weeks she became a fixture in the
Caulfield home. She and Kate shopped together and Pallas
bought a number of new clothes, with an eye to surprising
Sam. Jeans, bright cotton sweaters, miniskirts and flared
trousers were added to her wardrobe week by week. The
neat, Paris-made suits and dresses were pushed aside. She
flowered out into vivid colours, wild designs, and heavy,
esoteric jewellery.
Sam whistled admiringly when she arrived one day in an
emerald green dress made of silky clinging material, which
ended way above her knees, revealing long brown legs. She
looked much younger, much prettier, more alive.
‘You’re quite a little dolly,” he complimented her, and
Kate, seeing her blush scarlet, suddenly wondered if she was
wise in allowing their friendship to develop. Her family
would undoubtedly disapprove. Yet she did not have the
heart to cut Pallas out of the family. The girl was so clearly
happy. The sullen look which she had always worn at first
was never seen now. Her school work had improved
enormously since Sam made a few pointed remarks about
the dignity of labour. Sam worked very hard himself and
had no time for those who shirked.
Pallas had never enjoyed the casual, cheerful atmosphere
of an ordinary home before, and Kate suspected that if it
was taken away from her now, the girl would be twice as
unhappy.
Her interest in Sam was unfortunate, but Kate knew her
brother too well to fear any romantic entanglement. He was
level-headed, kind, ambitious. The glamour girls of his world
amused him, but he would not let himself get involved
seriously while he was still at art school, especially since he
knew that his mother and brothers would need his economic
support later.
She was convinced that she was right some weeks later
when she watched Sam and Pallas dancing to a record.
Pallas was tense, nervous, clumsy as she tried to follow him.
“You’re too uptight,” he complained. “You dance as if you
had a poker stuck up your back.”
Pallas went bright red. “You beast!” she shouted, pushing
at his chest.
Sam laughed and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Stop the
fireworks! Try it again, and put some give into it this time!”
Pallas did better this time, and Sam grinned at her,
“You’re getting the message! That was better!”
She beamed at him, her black hair loose and swinging. She
was a totally different girl from the one who had first visited
them. Today she wore bright yellow jeans, an orange sweater
with Mickey Mouse appliqued on the front, and an Egyptian
enamelled pendant which gave her an Oriental look.
They danced again, not touching each other, gyrating like
strange birds performing a ritual mating ceremony. Kate
watched, grinning. The veneer of maturity had been stripped
away from Pallas, leaving her a normal teenager.
When the music ended this time, Sam hugged Pallas, in a
friendly way. “Great, kid! You can really swing!”
And she, flushed and excited, threw her arms around him.
“Oh, Sam, do you think so?”
Kate heard the door open and glanced round, casually,
expecting to see her mother. But a tall man in the doorway,
his gaze fixed icily on the two in the middle of the room, who
were too absorbed in each other to have noticed him.
Kate recognised him. It was the man under whose car she
had almost committed suicide.
Then Pallas glanced over Sam’s shoulder, froze, and
dropped her arms as if they had suddenly developed
paralysis.
Sam turned and stared curiously at the intruder, who
stared back, his thick black brows meeting over his nose.
“Well, Pallas?” he asked coolly. “Aren’t you going to
introduce me to your ... friends?” The hesitation was
deliberate, and insulting.
A flash of intuition told Kate who this man was before
Pallas spoke, and she got up nervously.
He looked round, grey eyes hard, and studied her. Forcing
herself to look calm, she looked back, and saw a man of thirty
or so, very self-assured, his features arrogantly good-looking,
his clothes discreetly well cut. He was as dark as Pallas, his
black hair thick and straight, his skin very tanned.
Pallas came forward awkwardly, as white now as she had
been red, and falteringly introduced Kate.
Kate held out her hand, making herself smile, but Marc
Lillitos took it with a firm grip, unsmilingly.
Then he looked at Sam. Pallas mumbled Sam’s name.
Kate was very proud of her brother as he came forward,
suddenly dignified, and shook hands. He did not allow the
older man to stare him out of countenance, but met his eyes
directly and frankly.
There was a brief silence, then Marc Lillitos said coldly,
“Wait for me in the car, Pallas. I want to have a word with
Miss Caulfield.”
She stumbled out of the room with the old sullen
uncertainty back in force. Kate felt a sting of anger against
this man.
Sam took Kate’s elbow. “Shall I stay, Sis?”
She was grateful for his offer of support, but shook her
head. “No, thank you.”
Sam met her eyes, grimaced and left the room.
Marc Lillitos looked at her, very slowly and carefully, as
though inspecting a loathsome slug found in his lettuce.
“I was surprised when I was informed that my sister was
at your house,” he began coolly. “I was horrified when I came
in here and saw her, looking like some hippie, apparently
kissing your brother. Have you any explanation of why you
have encouraged her to behave in this disgusting way, or
must I draw my own conclusions?”
Kate went scarlet. “Is it disgusting to dress like other
teenagers, to learn to dance, to enjoy herself?” She found it
hard to find the words to say what she wanted to say, under
the steely and contemptuous gaze of this man.
“You would like me to believe, I suppose, that her money
had nothing to do with it?” he asked coldly.
“Of course it didn’t! I was sorry for her!”
His lips twitched mirthlessly. “Sorry for her? Envied her,
you mean. Let me make some facts clear. Pallas is my ward.
Her money is tied up in a trust. If she married without my
consent she gets not a penny of that money. Do you
understand?”
A tidal wave of rage swept over her as she listened. She
drew a deep breath and launched into a flood of angry words.
“If you are implying that my brother might try to marry
her for her money then let me tell you a few facts about
him—he’s proud, hard-working and kind-hearted, and far too
busy trying to date much sexier girls to be aware of Pallas as
anything other than a kid sister. Like me, he was sorry for
her, as he would be for any girl who wears square, old-
fashioned clothes, has no fun and feels it would be better to
be dead. You’ve stifled Pallas all her life. You buy her safe,
dull, expensive clothes which she hates and which make her
look ridiculous to her own generation. You shut her away in
safe, dull, expensive schools rather than let her find out what
life is really like. I suppose you’ll take her away from
Cheddall now, and put her in another tidy little box where
she’ll die from lack of air.”
Her blue eyes shot flames at him. “Well, Mr. Lillitos, sir,
your money doesn’t interest us.” She curtsied exaggeratedly.
“Nothing about you interests us, Mr. Lillitos, sir. But next
time you look at Pallas remember she’s an ordinary teenager
of sixteen, not a nun, and think what you’re doing to her!”
She walked to the door and held it open, glaring at Sam, who
shot her a grin before vanishing down the hall. “Goodbye,
Mr. Lillitos. It may sound trite, but your money is just a
millstone round your sister’s neck. So give her a chance to
find out what sort of human being she really is, and stop
trying to force her into an iron mould marked Lillitos.”
He stared in total silence, as she spat out the last words,
then walked out of the room.
CHAPTER TWO
When he had gone she sat down on a chair, feeling her legs
giving way beneath her, and tried to stop herself trembling.
Now that her blind rage had faded, she was ashamed of
herself. He would certainly take Pallas away from Cheddall
after her outburst, and all the good they had tried to do
would be undone.
The thought of Pallas made her mouth go down at the
corners. Poor girl. No wonder she had lacked self-confidence,
always being reminded by Big Brother that men were only
interested in her money, never in herself. It would sap
anyone’s self-respect.
Sam came in, grinning, and hugged her. “You were
fantastic! I was proud of you! He came out of here like a jet-
propelled rocket. I bet no one ever told him a home truth
before in his luxury-padded life!”
“Oh, Sam,” she wailed, “but what have I done to Pallas? If
only I hadn’t lost my temper!”
Sam’s face fell. “I’d forgotten that angle. You reckon he’ll
take her away from the school?”
“I’d gamble my year’s salary on it!”
She did not sleep very well that night. She lay, taut and
anxious, mentally rehearsing an apology to Marc Lillitos, but
each time choking as she opened her mouth and saw, in her
mind’s eye, that arrogant dark face. After all, he had insulted
Sam! And she was not really sorry for anything she had said.
It had all been true. She just regretted having said it so force-
fully.
She thumped her pillow irritably. What a pity he had come
at that particular moment. She was certain neither Pallas
nor Sam were emotionally involved with each other. It was
just friendship. But to a man l
ike Marc Lillitos a friendly hug
looked like moral depravity.
She arrived at Cheddall very early next day, anticipating a
summons to Miss Carter’s study. The Head would quite
rightly feel she had behaved very stupidly in her response to
the situation. She could have been more tactful. The trouble
was, thought Kate wryly, that although she had blonde hair,
she had inherited her redheaded father’s blazing temper. As
a child she had often had lectures from him on the subject, no
less stern because he fully understood her problem.
“I have a temper, too, Kate,” he used to say, “but one must
learn to control it, rather than let it control you.”
It was odd that Sam, who had his father’s hair, had been
by-passed by the family temper. He was a very good-natured
boy.
She waited all morning in suspense, but no summons
came. Her discreet enquiries in the staff-room told her that
Pallas was still at the school, and no one seemed aware of
any trouble concerning her.
Had Miss Carter persuaded her brother to leave her at
school? Or had he changed his mind last night, after all?
Puzzled, anxious and uneasy, Kate waited all day, but when
she left that afternoon she had still heard nothing.
As she turned out of the drive she heard a voice calling her
name, and looked round in surprise.
The sleek black car was drawn up at the kerb and Marc
Lillitos was leaning out of the window.
“I want a word with you,” he said brusquely. “Get in.”
Despite all her good intentions, she stiffened resentfully.
Who did he think he was? His tone was as arrogant as ever.
“I’m sorry,” she said coldly, “I’m in a hurry.”
His grey eyes were sardonic. “Then it will be quicker to go
by car,” he pointed out, opening the passenger door for her.
“I prefer to walk,” she said, turning away.
The door slammed and suddenly he was beside her, taking
her elbow in fingers which gripped painfully. “Don’t be
ridiculous! I want to talk to you.”
“Are you kidnapping me?” she asked, her eyes flashing.
“Let go of my arm—you’re hurting me! How dare you? Just
because you’re a millionaire it doesn’t give you the right to
order me around.”
He stared down at her, eyes amused. “What a little spitfire
you are, aren’t you?” he murmured. “Come, must I go down
Follow a Stranger Page 2
