Follow a Stranger

by Charlotte Lamb

mother. Then he said, “Oh, very well!”

  Kate ran upstairs and got out her jacket, put on a pair of

  wellingtons which Marc threw at her as she passed his door,

  and which were rather big, then joined him as he came out

  of his room, in sweater and slacks, a thick waterproof in his

  hand.

  He looked at her, one brow arched. “Where is your

  raincoat?” And when she explained that she did not have

  one, he went off and came back with one of his mother’s. He

  pushed her into it as if she were a child, buttoning it

  quickly. Then he waved her down the stairs and followed.

  Mrs. Lillitos hugged them both. “Be careful, my dears,”

  she said, and shut the front door behind them.

  They took the jeep and drove through the blinding rain at

  a speed which terrified Kate. She said nothing, but sat,

  twisted into a corkscrew of fear, beside him, grinding her

  teeth and clenching her fists on the side of the door.

  They stopped, suddenly, as the jeep ran over something

  in the road.

  “We are as far as we can go,” Marc said, peering through

  the darkness and the sheeting rain. Kate could see

  practically nothing, but she followed him out of the jeep,

  carrying one of the boxes he had brought down with him.

  They stumbled over rocks for a while, then came to a

  place where the road was completely blocked, and they had

  to climb down from the road, On slippery, muddy grass,

  Kate clinging to Marc’s firm hand to guide her.

  The village of Etrusci lay at the base of a sheer cliff. The

  storm had dislodged rocks from above, sending them

  crashing down on the end of the village. Fortunately, only

  some dozen houses were involved, but the people who had

  been in them were only now being dug out of the ruins of

  their homes.

  When Kate and Marc arrived they found the local priest

  directing operations, his long black beard wagging furiously

  as he kept the men working. He turned aside to greet them,

  staring curiously at Kate, then smiling when Marc said

  something in Greek to him.

  “I’ve told him you know some nursing,” he told her. “He

  says the injured are being taken to his house. I’ll take you

  there.”

  The men were working like demons, shifting the rocks

  and fallen walls with every tool they could find, including

  their bare hands. The rain poured down on them as they

  worked, soaking through their clothes and running down

  their faces.

  The priest’s house was already full of crying women,

  white-faced terrified children and shocked old men who sat

  rocking themselves like babies in corners.

  Kate took off her raincoat, rolled up her sleeves and set

  to work. Marc left one of the first aid boxes with her, took

  the other and shot off to the site of the disaster again.

  There were already two women working with the injured,

  a small middle-aged woman with a tight mouth and

  snapping black eyes, who seemed very efficient, but whose

  curt manner distressed the children even more than they

  were already distressed. And a plump, slow woman with a

  sweet smile who moved very lazily around the crowded

  room. They looked at Kate, spoke in Greek, and then went

  on working when she answered in English, shrugging.

  Kate began to wash and bandage the arm of one weeping

  woman. She comforted her, wishing she knew some Greek,

  then moved on to a child who lay, with a blood-soaked dress,

  nearby. She found that the blood had apparently come from

  somewhere else, since the child was not hurt at all, only

  shocked into a state of complete dull disbelief. Kate stripped

  off the blood-soaked dress, washed the child gently and

  wrapped her up warmly in a blanket before giving her a

  small glass of pure glucose and water. The little girl

  coughed, made a disgusted face, but seemed less stupefied

  as the glucose took effect. Kate patted her cheek, smiled and

  went on to an old man who needed help.

  She worked for what seemed like hours until she found

  that Marc was at her side, taking her arm.

  “The doctor is here, with the Sisters from the convent at

  Epilison. They will cope from now on—come home, Kate.

  You look worn out.”

  She straightened wearily, pushing back a damp lank of

  hair from her perspiring forehead. Her back ached, her

  head was throbbing. Without a word she let him guide her

  out of the crowded house.

  The doctor turned and smiled at her, shaking his head,

  and speaking severely, but with a great warmth and

  kindness in his black eyes. The two nuns with him nodded,

  like smiling children, their pale smooth faces approving.

  Marc slid his arm around Kate, as she swayed a little.

  “The doctor says you are a silly girl, but very brave and

  very kind. You have done sterling work tonight, but now

  you must rest.”

  She managed to return the doctor’s smile, then Marc had

  lead her out of the house, and the cool freshness of the night

  hit her like wine, making her head swim.

  “Hey,” Marc caught her, as she stumbled drunkenly, “you

  aren’t going to faint, are you?”

  She laughed, her voice sounding high and unstable even

  to herself. “I feel quite drunk!” she confessed, giggling.

  “Everything is going round, like a fairground.”

  Marc supported her gently. “Can you walk to the car?

  The road is still blocked.”

  “I think so,” she said, trying to stop giggling. The road

  was awash with rain, but the purple sky was now clear and

  cloudless. To the east there were a few grey wisps of light,

  heralding the coming dawn, but the stars still flashed, far

  off, like tiny diamonds, and the moon sailed, like a slice of

  lemon, above the shadowy hills.

  They picked their way carefully back over the rocks

  which littered the road. Marc helped her into the jeep,

  climbed in and began reversing slowly, sounding his horn,

  to warn anyone coming up the road behind them. At a

  convenient widening he managed to turn the jeep and they

  drove home fast.

  Kate swayed with the movement of the jeep, her head

  feeling almost loose on her shoulders. So much had

  happened tonight and she had worked with such intent

  concentration that she had lost sight of everything else but

  the job in hand. Now the loss of a night’s sleep was catching

  up with her. Her eyes were raw and dry, as if rubbed with

  sand, and her throat hurt.

  The greyness in the sky grew as they drove. “It will be

  morning soon,” Marc murmured as they drew up outside

  the villa.

  Kate climbed out and stretched, yawning. Through the

  trellised tunnel at the side of the house she could see the

  green lawns of the garden, glistening with rain, and on a

  wild impulse she ran round into the cypress-lined garden.

  She stood, breathing in deeply, enjoying the fresh night

  scents.

  Marc came up behind her. “You
English lunatic,” he said

  softly, “come into the house. You have been up all night and

  you are asleep on your feet.”

  She laughed and turned back. “I wanted to feel ...” she

  paused, not knowing quite how to describe the feeling she

  had been possessed by at that moment.

  “Alive?” he suggested gently. “I understand. It was grim,

  wasn’t it? Nature can be very cruel.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, remembering the child in the

  bloodstained dress. She had found out later that the child

  had lost her father in the rock fall. His body had been found

  in the rains of his house. Only the arrival of her weeping,

  white-faced mother had snapped the little girl out of her

  dangerous state of suspended grief, and they had clung

  together, loudly weeping, yet comforting each other.

  Marc propelled her by the elbow into the villa. They went

  into the kitchen, which was large, beautifully equipped and

  tiled in orange and black.

  Marc made Kate sit down while he put the kettle on the

  stove. “A cup of tea is what the English love most,” he

  teased. “That will restore you!”

  She sighed longingly. “It sounds heavenly! My mouth is

  as dry as a kiln.”

  He stood over her, very tall and dark. “Pyrakis said your

  mouth was cool and sweet and inviting,” he reminded her

  softly.

  Kate was too weary to respond. She shook her head, so

  that her blonde hair fell loose from the band that had held

  it in place all evening.

  Marc knelt down beside her and took off her muddy

  wellingtons, flung them behind him carelessly, and took off

  her damp socks. He treated her, she thought, as if she were

  a small child. Then he brought her a bowl of warm water

  and some soap. “Wash your face—it will make you feel

  better,” he said, “and then soak your feet. We don’t want

  you catching a chill.”

  He stood with his back to her, making the tea with slow,

  deft movements. She carefully washed her hands and face,

  feeling relief as the sticky grime and perspiration were

  peeled off, leaving her skin cool and clean. Then she put the

  bowl on the floor and let her feet soak gratefully. They were

  sore and hot, and the water lapped round them deliciously.

  She looked down at her clothes with a grimace. Her

  white sweater was filthy. Blood stains, mud, green streaks

  of grass, made it look as though she had been in a major

  disaster. The jeans were in no better condition. One leg was

  matted with dried blood and the bottoms of both were black

  with mud from the wet roads.

  “I look a sight,” she said, yawning.

  Marc put a fragrant, steaming cup of tea in front of her.

  A slice of lemon floated on the top. She yearned foolishly for

  English tea, milky and sweet, but this was better than

  nothing. As she lifted the cup to her lips Marc muttered

  something, and she looked up, eyes enquiring.

  “The veins are standing out on your wrist like whipcord,”

  he said curtly.

  Kate looked incuriously at her wrists. He was right.

  Beneath her pale skin blue veins stood out visibly. “They

  always do when one is tired,” she pointed out. “I expect

  yours do, too.”

  He shrugged. “I am more used to late nights, perhaps.

  You must stay in bed all day tomorrow. We do not want you

  to be ill again. This has been an unfortunate holiday for

  you.”

  In more ways than one, she thought miserably. She

  drank her tea and stood up to reach the towel he had placed

  on the table for her. Marc walked to the side of her chair

  and took it from her grasp, crouched down and lifted one of

  her feet. She sat down again, suddenly, in case she fell over.

  “I’ll do that,” she said quickly.

  He took no notice of her. Gently, slowly, he wiped the foot

  dry, holding it on his knee. Then he put it down on the floor

  and took the other, and did the same.

  Kate stood up quickly, her heart quickening. She

  suddenly could not bear to be here with him any longer. It

  was too agonising to have him being so kind in that

  impersonal fashion. She did not want him to treat her as a

  child. She was a woman.

  “Good night, then,” she said brightly, edging towards the

  door.

  He smiled at her. “Sleep well. I’ll tell Sophia not to wake

  you. You can stay in bed as long as you like.”

  She nodded and opened the door.

  “Kate,” he said suddenly, moving towards her. She

  halted, looking round uneasily at something in his voice

  which she could not quite identify.

  “I haven’t thanked you yet,” he said quickly. “You worked

  like a Trojan tonight. I am very grateful to you.”

  “It was nothing,” she dismissed. “Anyone would have

  done it.”

  “Not quite,” he shook his head. “Only someone kind and

  brave. You got filthy, you are very tired and you were very

  upset by some of the things you saw. Don’t push my thanks

  away, Kate.”

  She flushed, then smiled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be

  curt.”

  “You are tired,” he nodded. “Go to bed, my ... my dear.”

  Kate looked up, smiling at him, and he slowly bent his

  head towards her. Her heart quickened into a thunder. She

  waited, lids drooping, lips slightly parted.

  Then a voice behind them said sharply, “Marc, what is

  going on here?”

  Marc straightened, stiffening, and his eyes went over

  Kate’s head to the woman standing behind her, in the open

  doorway.

  Marie-Louise repeated her question, in a high, shrill

  tone. “Why are you here, in the middle of the night, dressed

  like that? Where have you been?”

  Kate turned blindly and pushed past her without a word.

  As she fled up the stairs she heard Marie-Louise say, “You

  haven’t been making love to the little schoolteacher, have

  you, darling? You really must not flirt with people like

  that—they don’t understand your little games! They take

  them seriously and get hurt.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  She slept all the next day, dreaming constantly of Marc. She

  seemed to be fighting her way towards him, through thick

  jungle, constantly aware of snakes underfoot which

  uncurled and slid away from her, hissing, making terror

  flare inside her. She kept catching sight of him, tall, dark

  and elegant in formal clothes, with a woman on his arm.

  Jealousy and despair made her fall back, sobbing, but then

  she would hurry onwards. Always he was just out of her

  reach.

  Then, just before she woke up, she finally caught up with

  him, and he turned and looked at her with cold, indifferent

  eyes. She gave a cry of pain—and woke up, the cry still on

  her lips, to find herself in the darkened bedroom.

  She sat up and looked at the tiny jade clock which stood

  on her bedside table. It was four o’clock, she saw. She

  swung her legs o
ut of the bed and went to the window. The

  shutters swung back, letting the sunshine stream into the

  room. The light made her blink and her head throbbed. She

  sat down on the end of the bed, stretching sleepily.

  There was a knock on the door a moment later. Kate

  called, “Come in,” expecting Sophia, but it was Mrs. Lillitos

  who entered, smiling at her as she slowly limped across the

  room.

  “I was in my room when I heard your shutters open,” she

  said. “I have rung down for your breakfast, my dear.”

  Kate laughed. “Breakfast? I’m afraid I’ve slept later than

  I intended. I’m so sorry.”

  “Nonsense. You had every right to sleep after being up

  all night. I slept very late myself. I thought we might eat

  together in here.”

  Kate smiled, “That would be very pleasant.” Sophia came

  in shortly afterwards, with a large tray, and smiled warmly

  at Kate.

  “Kalimera, kyria!”

  Kate had begun to learn a little Greek from Sophia since

  her arrival, and was able to answer. “Kalimera, Sophia!”

  Mrs. Lillitos laughed. “Ah, you are learning Greek. That

  is very good.”

  “I only know a few phrases which Sophia has taught

  me—good morning, good night and so on ...”

  “One must make a start somewhere,” said Mrs. Lillitos,

  looking oddly delighted.

  Sophia laid the tray down on the long table under the

  window. She whipped off the cloth which covered it,

  revealing orange juice, toast, coffee and boiled eggs. A pot

  of English marmalade made Kate laugh. “It looks delicious,

  Sophia. Efharisto!’

  “Thank you,” Sophia emphasised, smiling, and went out.

  “We are all grateful to you for what you did last night,”

  Mrs. Lillitos explained. “Sophia has a nephew who lives in

  Etrusci. You comforted his wife while she waited to hear if

  he had survived.”

  Kate thought back to the horror of the night before. “The

  tiny, dark girl who was very pregnant? Oh, I wish I had

  known she was related to Sophia. I might have said

  something more comforting. I felt so helpless, not being able

  to speak the language. But her husband was safe, so all

  ended well.”

  Mrs. Lillitos smiled. “I think she understood your

  feelings, even if she did not know what you were saying.

  You have such very expressive eyes, Kate. They are the

  mirror to your heart.”