Follow a Stranger

by Charlotte Lamb

  performed that peculiar, inexplicable flip. Climbing out with

  dignity, she said good night and then shot away as though

  the devil were after her.

  Sam was waiting up for her, a flask of cocoa on the

  kitchen table at his elbow, his sketch pad open under his

  hand. She paused, looking over his shoulder, and felt a shiver

  of the nerves as she recognised the arrogant dark face he was

  drawing.

  “Is it like?” Sam asked without looking up.

  “Very,” she said, offhandedly.

  He leaned back, smiling at her so that his face was

  inverted and unfamiliar.

  “What did he want? Or was it just a cover for wolfish

  advances? Did he offer you a pad in Monte Carlo? Or a mink

  coat with diamond buttons?”'

  “Fool,” she said, flushing. “He wanted you and me to visit

  their home during the Easter holidays.”

  “Wow!” yelled Sam, throwing up his charcoal and catching

  it. “Kianthos! Sounds great.”

  “I told him I couldn’t go, of course,” she said, pouring

  herself some cocoa and sitting down at the table.

  Sam looked at her closely. “Couldn’t? Or wouldn’t?”

  “You know I’ve fixed my holiday,” she answered. “I’m

  going with Peter to this Anglo-Saxon burial site.”

  “Peter was round this evening,” Sam said, irrelevantly.

  “He wanted to borrow some glue. He made like a gundog

  after a pheasant when I mentioned Kianthos—seems there’s

  an early Mycenean temple there that has never been

  properly excavated. The Lillitos family own the whole island

  and they won’t let strangers land.”

  “Typical!” exploded Kate. “What right do they have to

  prevent people from seeing a thing like that, an important

  historical site ...”

  “Keep your wig on,” Sam advised with kindly superiority.

  “You know, I bet if you mentioned this idea of going there for

  Easter to Peter he’d jump at it. He would really love to see

  that temple.”

  She drew a quick breath. He was right. Peter would

  certainly want to go there.

  Sam yawned. “I’m off to bed now. Goodnight, Sis.”

  When he had gone Kate sat staring at the charcoal

  drawing he had made. It really was very like Marc Lillitos.

  Some obscure, buried instinct warned her against seeing

  too much of that man. They were like people from different

  planets. Their lives had touched by chance, and he had

  already had a disturbing effect upon her. Her life had been

  running smoothly for the past year. She had buried the

  yearning for a musical career, had settled down quietly at

  home, teaching and planning her life with Peter. And now, in

  one day, the smooth threads of her life were tangled and

  knotted.

  She picked up the pad and tore the sketch off, holding it

  up to the light. The arrogant face seemed to smile at her.

  Angrily she crunched it into a ball and flung it across the

  room, then went up to bed.

  She decided, guiltily, not to mention the projected visit to

  Kianthos to Peter. She had never practised deceit before,

  even by omission, and it upset her. But the thought of

  spending two weeks with Marc Lillitos disturbed her even

  more.

  She was abstracted and dreamy at school next day. Even

  Pallas, during her daily singing lesson, commented upon it,

  teasingly. Kate was relieved to find the girl still friendly, and

  decided that perhaps Marc had not spoken to her of his idea

  for the holiday, after all.

  When she reached home that evening she was in a more

  cheerful mood. She flung her coat over its hook and walked

  into the kitchen where, to her amazement, she found Peter

  and Marc Lillitos seated at the kitchen table, eating hot

  buttered scones.

  There was something so odd about seeing Marc in that

  homely setting that her lips twitched with unguarded

  amusement, and, looking back at her, his grey eyes smiled in

  response. She looked away at once, thinking that it was

  irritating, the way he read her mind so easily.

  “Hi, Kate!” Peter leaned back, offering his cheek, and she

  bent and kissed him, deliberately, on his mouth. He looked

  rather surprised, but accepted it calmly.

  Mrs. Caulfield was getting another batch of scones out of

  the oven and Kate exchanged a wry, enquiring glance with

  her, but her mother only smiled and shook her head, as

  though totally at a loss to explain the presence of the two

  men.

  Peter took another scone, and said, through a buttery

  mouthful, “I’d be eternally grateful, Lillitos. I’ve wanted to

  see that temple for years. I understand some of it is still

  standing in situ.”

  “Yes, it is partially restored,” Marc said calmly, his gaze on

  Kate’s flushed and angry face.

  “I can’t wait to see it,” Peter said excitedly. “I could map

  out the general area of the site, then a full team could come

  in and do the serious work. I wouldn’t disturb the site at all.

  Just work around, determining the limits of the building, if I

  could, and estimating the size of team needed for the job.”

  “Then that is settled,” Marc said, still watching Kate with

  bland amusement.

  “Peter!” Kate began, in a quiet voice. “We’re going to

  Sussex for Easter.”

  He looked vaguely at her. “Oh, that doesn’t matter!

  There’ll be plenty of other workers there. But Kianthos—

  what a chance! I’ll be in on the ground floor with this one. I’ll

  get in touch with various people tonight, get them interested

  ...”

  “I think that that should wait,” said Marc firmly. “I would

  prefer you to keep the whole thing to yourself until you’ve

  seen the temple. Then we can discuss it in the light of what

  you decide should be done.”

  “Right,” said Peter amiably. “It might be better to have a

  definite plan in hand.” He jumped up, wiping his buttery

  fingers on his handkerchief. “I’ll be off now. I want to do

  some research on the temple.” He offered Marc his hand.

  “Thanks very much. I am really grateful for this chance.”

  Kate looked at him, seething, and, suddenly noticing her

  again, Peter lightly kissed her cheek. “See you, sweetie,” he

  observed vaguely. Then he was gone, banging the front door

  behind him.

  Unable to trust herself to speak, Kate went into the

  sitting-room where she flung herself down into a chair and

  brooded furiously. She might have guessed that Marc Lillitos

  would get his own way. She could cheerfully have strangled

  Peter at that moment. All he thought of was broken pots and

  ancient bones. He didn’t care that she was in emotional

  danger from this tank masquerading as a man!

  The door opened again, and the human tank came in, and

  stood, watching her.

  She glared at him. “Well, you’ve got what you wanted.

  Now go away!”

  He flipped his eyebrow. “Have I?” he retorted
mockingly.

  “Do you know what I want, I wonder?”

  She did not stop to examine this question too closely, but

  replied to it as though it were quite straightforward. “You

  wanted us to come to Kianthos. We’re coming. You always

  get what you want, I suppose?”

  He grinned, his hands in his pockets lazily. “Quite often. I

  am taking the night flight to Greece, but I will see you at

  Kianthos in two weeks. Give my regards to Sam.” He smiled

  again and left.

  Kate walked restlessly round the familiar room, feeling

  most unfamiliar to herself.

  It was ridiculous to be so nervous about a fort night’s

  holiday. She loved Peter, didn’t she? Of course she did. So

  why should she be anxious about spending time with Marc

  Lillitos?

  I’m behaving irrationally, she told herself crossly The

  truth is that I’ve been influenced by the aura of glamour

  which surrounds him. He’s rich, good-looking, charming, and

  I’ve never met anyone like him before. But those are surface

  things. Underneath I’m still the same person. I still feel as I

  always did about Peter.

  She halted, staring out of the window. A blackbird was

  singing his evening challenge from the top of the garden

  shed The lilac trees were already showing fat green buds. It

  would soon be full spring. Daffodils were breaking out of

  their sheaths into frilly yellow under the hedge and there

  was a flurry of pink blossom on the almond trees in the next

  garden.

  She looked out for a long time, her face absorbed. It was all

  very real, very beautiful, very reassuring.

  Of course I love Peter, she thought, with a surge of relief.

  She thought of him with warmth. He was a darling—absent-

  minded, thoughtless, vague—but basically kind and generous

  if only one could penetrate the mists of antiquity which filled

  his brain. He might not be dynamic or dangerously

  attractive, but he was real. She knew him, understood him

  and cared about him.

  She swung on her heel and walked out of the room,

  mentally snapping her fingers at Marc Lillitos.

  CHAPTER THREE

  As the plane landed on the small airfield at Kianthos Kate

  peered nervously out of the window, wondering if Marc

  were waiting for them, but there was no sign of him as

  they climbed down into clear, cool sunlight.

  She and Pallas had gone shopping together a few days

  before they were due to leave, and had returned laden

  with bags and parcels. Kate had felt guilty, squandering

  money on clothes for herself, but her mother had firmly

  insisted that she renew her wardrobe. “Think of yourself

  for once,” she smiled, patting Kate’s cheek. “You’ve done

  so much for us all since you started work. I don’t know

  what I would have done without you. But it’s time you had

  some really nice clothes.”

  Kate had suggested she made what she needed, as she

  normally did, but Mrs. Caulfield had shaken her head.

  “No, dear. You may never have the chance of a holiday

  like this again. Buy them.”

  Kate was a competent needlewoman, but she had to

  admit, as she gazed at diminutive bikinis and smart,

  multi-hued trousers, that she could never have produced

  anything half as professional.

  Pallas was chattering to Sam, as they walked towards

  the sleek black car which had come to meet them, and

  Kate had time to look around her.

  The airfield ran along beside the beach, the only

  flat part of the island, as far as she could see. Above it rose

  green hills and rugged crags of stone, their peaks swathed

  in a lavender mist shot through with pink.

  A man approached them, taking the bags from the

  airport manager while saluting Pallas with a grin. The

  airport manager slid away politely and began locking up

  the one building visible, a small modern pavilion built of

  wood.

  “Hallo, Jake,” Pallas greeted the newcomer. “How are

  you?”

  “Fine, Miss Pallas, just fine.” He was a rugged Greek of

  middle years, with swarthy skin and a broken nose which

  gave him a slightly pugnacious expression. Stowing their

  bags into the boot of the car, he helped Pallas into the

  back.

  All the details of the journey had been handled by the

  Lillitos family. Kate felt quite dazed as she sat back on the

  smooth upholstery of the limousine, next to Pallas, staring

  out of the window. Everything had been so trouble-free

  that she almost doubted that she had really left England.

  Money certainly oiled the wheels when one was travelling.

  “How is my mother, Jake?” Pallas asked, leaning

  forward.

  The driver turned his head to smile reassuringly at her.

  “Oh, she’s okay! Just dandy, Miss Pallas—you know she

  always gets better in the spring!”

  Pallas looked relieved and sat back with a sigh. The car

  glided along the beach, on a winding road, and mounted

  beneath dark cypress trees. Below them the airfield

  spread out like a green handkerchief beside the beach, and

  the air was filled with a fresh, salty tang.

  “Is it far to your home?” Sam asked. He was rather

  pale. Kate suspected that the flight had left him feeling a

  little sick, but he had not mentioned it.

  “A ten-minute drive,” Pallas told him. “Our house is at

  the top of a cove, but we have to go up before we can reach

  it, as the cliffs cut it off from the airfield. My brother

  intended to build a large hotel near the airfield, but he

  hasn’t got round to it yet. We don’t really want strangers

  on Kianthos at all.” She was looking rather strained

  herself, today, and Kate guessed that she was nervous

  about the family reaction when she got home.

  “Will it be just your mother and your brother who are

  at home?” she asked her.

  Pallas shrugged. “Perhaps, but then Helene might be

  there—she often comes for Easter, with some friends. Or

  Marc may have business friends of his at the villa. He

  uses it often, you see, to put them into a good mood before

  concluding a deal.”

  “Nice work if you can get it,” Sam said, a little gruffly.

  Pallas flushed and looked hurt, but Kate could see that

  her brother was feeling worse with each minute of the

  journey. His freckles stood out on his nose like micro-dots

  under a microscope. His mouth was thinned and taut and

  his cheeks white. She hoped he would not be sick before

  they reached the villa.

  But at that moment the car lurched downwards again,

  throwing Peter against the door. He rubbed his forehead

  resentfully, then bent to pick up the vast tome he had

  been reading ever since they left London. Kate watched

  him crossly. He had not spoken to any of them all

  morning. She knew that dreamy, abstracted expression. It

  meant that he was unaware of anything around him.

  Including her.

  They sto
pped in a gully between dark rocky cliffs, grass

  clinging perilously to little clefts, wild yellow flowers

  blowing in the sea wind. The path was rough with lumps

  of stone, but the car reversed slowly, wheels churning up

  pebbles, and turned down a grassy track which ended on a

  paved patio.

  Kate got out and stood with Sam and Peter, like herded

  sheep, gazing in amazement at the view spread before

  them.

  The Villa Lillitos was modern, but built on classical

  lines, a two-storey house, with flat, wide windows, a

  terrace running along the front on which stood basket

  chairs and several small tables. The terrace was

  supported on smooth white pillars of stone, and in the

  centre of it stood a portico, beneath which Marc Lillitos

  stood watching their arrival.

  It reminded Kate of a colonial American house,

  somewhere in the deep South, and the shady cypresses

  which surrounded it did nothing to dispel the illusion The

  house stood on a sloping hill, below it a rough path which

  presumably led to the sea, for she could glimpse golden

  sands and curling blue waves some way below them.

  Behind the house she could see green lawns, spring

  flowers and the nets of a tennis court.

  Before she had time to take more in, Marc was with

  them, giving a quiet order to the driver, taking Pallas’s

  elbow.

  “I am sure you would all like to rest before dinner,” he

  said, politely smiling.

  A short woman with smooth olive skin, dark hair and

  black eyes met them in the entrance hall and took charge

  of the visitors.

  Peter hung back and Kate heard him say eagerly, “How

  soon can I see the temple, do you think?”

  She did not wait to hear Marc’s reply. Cross and

  flushed, she went up behind Sam to the room prepared for

  her.

  “My name is Sophia,” said the maid politely. “Please do

  not hesitate to ask me for anything you need.” Her English

  was so good that Kate was quite taken aback. She had

  been wishing that she had had time to learn some Greek

  before her trip, but it was becoming clear that she was

  unlikely to need it. Everyone in the Lillitos household

  seemed to speak very good English.

  She hesitantly tried out one of her few hastily learnt

  phrases, “Efharisto!” which meant thank you.

  Sophia smiled, with sudden real warmth, and spoke in

  reply, in her own language.