dances now!”
Marc interrupted her abruptly, leaving Marie-Louise and
pushing Sam aside.
“No, no, we cannot have brother and sister dancing—
Sam can learn the steps from Marie-Louise.” He slid his
arm round Kate’s waist and she felt her heart squeezed
inward, as though by a giant hand.
Marie-Louise looked hard at them, her eyes brilliant
with fury. Sam stood awkwardly, trying to smile at her, but
she pushed past him, flinging a careless, “I am going to get
myself a drink ...” as though he were a little boy.
Kate looked up at Marc. Didn’t he realise how Marie-
Louise resented his dancing with her? He was gazing past
her, his jaw taut, the grey eyes hidden by drooping lids. She
could not read his expression at all.
Anyway, she thought defiantly, why should she worry
about Marie-Louise? Let Marc deal with her. She was here,
in his arms, for a brief while, and she determined to enjoy
it.
As though he read her thoughts he glanced down, the
arrogant mouth relaxed. “We dance well together, don’t
we?” he said, very softly, his arm tightening round her
waist.
She laughed, a little breathless with excitement, and a
pink flower bloomed in each cheek.
His left hand gripped hers more firmly, his thumb sliding
over the back of her hand and touching her ringless finger.
“There is a white band where your ring was,” he said
teasingly. Over dinner he had mentioned, very casually,
that Peter had already left the island.
Kate threw a glance up at him. “You know I’ve broken my
engagement, then?” she asked unsteadily.
He grinned wickedly. “I heard every word,” he admitted
shamelessly. “I was eavesdropping.”
She flushed hotly. “How could you?” she burst out. “You
shouldn’t have ...” She remembered the conversation
between herself and Peter. Marc had had no right to listen.
He pulled her nearer to him, bending his head to whisper
to her, “You took my advice, though,” he said with irritating
self-assurance. “I knew you did not love that fellow.”
Burning with humiliation, she tore herself away and ran
out of the room, through the front door and out into the
quiet garden. As she plunged beneath the cypresses she
heard him following her and turned angrily to face him,
chin tilted defiantly.
“Please leave me alone,” she said, her voice wavering.
Marc stood, facing her, very tall and dominating, his
hands in his pockets. Over the top of the hills the moon
swam, like a silver crescent, trailing misty clouds. The wind
stirred slightly in the branches of the trees. From the house
she could hear the faint sounds of sweet music and a patina
of yellow light streaked the darkness by the door.
“You don’t mean that,” Marc said, his accent sounding
foreign for once, his voice thickened and uneven.
“I do!” she flung bitterly, hating him for that moment.
She was so afraid that he had guessed her love for him that
she could almost have killed him at that moment. Her pride
fought bitterly against her love, poisoning it.
He stepped closer and looked down, eyes glittering in the
moonlight. His profile was dangerously masculine, the light
shafting on the narrow planes of his cheekbones and jaw. “If
I thought for a moment that you did—” he began slowly.
“Go away!” she whispered frantically, her hands pushing
at his chest.
But at her touch, as though a dam burst, he grabbed her
shoulders and pulled her close against him. She trembled,
feeling the hard litheness pressing against her. “No, Marc,”
she whispered in terrified appeal.
“I’ve had enough of being treated as an old-fashioned
villain,” he retorted harshly. “Like all women, you are not
honest enough to admit your own motives. You make up
fantasies and hide behind them. Well, I will not let you
fashion a fantasy about me. I’m real.” He bent her
backwards, his hands cruelly hurting her shoulders. “Look
at me, Kate!”
She nervously glanced upwards. His face was very close,
the features etched sharply in the moonlight. His mouth
had a cruel tightness below the mocking eyes. Then he
slowly lowered his mouth until it touched hers. She gasped,
trying to shrink away, and he pulled her nearer. His lips
whimpered, against hers, “You want this as much as I do—
do you think I don’t know that? You can’t hide from me for
ever, Kate. I want you ...”
Then his mouth was moving, hotly, urgently against
hers, and she felt her body melting in passionate response.
Through the rising passion and clamour of her pulses she
dimly tried to reason with herself. He had not said he loved
her. But her own desire was breaking loose from the bonds
she had placed on it, and she knew she would not be able to
resist much longer. She loved him too much.
The sudden interruption was like a douche of cold water
on inflamed nerves. From behind them came a peal of
silvery laughter, and Marc’s arms dropped from Kate, his
head jerking upwards, a blind look on his face.
Marie-Louise stood there, head to one side, an artificial
smile of false amusement painted on her red mouth.
“Cheri, I am so sorry to spoil your fun, but there is an
urgent call for you from New York. They said it could not
wait.”
He muttered furiously beneath his breath, looked at
Kate, hesitated, then walked quickly into the house.
Marie-Louise smiled at Kate, her eyes hard and
glittering. “Marc is an exciting lover, n’est-ce pas? I hope
you enjoyed your little interlude him.” She held up a hand,
as Kate stirred in restless anger, “Mais non, I am not
jealous, ma petite. There have been so many pretty little
girls! Marc likes his girls blonde, sometimes, for a change,
but he prefers brunettes. I would not want you to
misunderstand him. He is a flirt, you understand. He likes
to conquer. You say in England—he collects scalps!”
Kate was aching with bitter misery, but she managed to
hold up her head in cool scorn. “Why are you telling me all
this?”
“To save you from being hurt. I know how serious you
English girls cart be—you might think he meant his little
attentions. When I marry Marc all this will stop, of course,
but until I am ready to give up my career I do not feel I can
interfere with his pleasures. After all, he is a man! So
please enjoy yourself with him as you wish, but remember—
be prepared for dismissal when he is tired of you.”
Kate’s face was burning with humiliation now. She
laughed, fiercely. “Thank you, Mademoiselle Filbert. You
are too kind!”
“Ah, you are cross,” said Marie-Louise sweetly. “I did not
mean to hurt your feelings, or make you feel ashamed.
Believe me!”
; Kate walked away, with the mocking laughter ringing in
her ears. She went to her room and sat on the bed, clutching
her head in her hands. Humiliation, pain, shame drove her
wild. She bit her inner lip until it bled, then threw herself
down on to the bed and gave herself up to a silent sobbing,
her head buried in the pillow.
Echoes kept reaching her inner ears. So many pretty
little girls, that woman had said. And Marc is a flirt, you
understand, he collects scalps. Well, she had suspected as
much from the beginning. It was only confirmation of what
she already knew. But how it hurt! She had revealed herself
to him, left herself exposed to his mockery. Now he knew
that he could have her if he wished—what next?
She must get away, she thought, her pride stung. But
how? She was forced to wait until Marc allowed her to
leave, and every moment she spent in his company was
dangerous. She never wished to see him again.
So he thought he would amuse himself with her, did he?
Play until Marie-Louise condescended to marry him? What
had she said? Be prepared for dismissal when he tires of
you? The insolence of it!
Then her blood ran hotly as she remembered the way he
had whispered that he knew she wanted his kisses. She had
noticed at the time that he had not mentioned love, only
said that he “wanted” her. Well, now she knew what he had
meant!
She had locked the door of her room. Suddenly she heard
the door knob turning. Someone knocked. She sat up,
rubbing her face.
“Who is it?” she whispered.
“Marc! Let me in!”
She stiffened. How dared he come here like this! Scarlet,
hollow-eyed, she went to the door. “Go away!” she hissed.
“Leave me alone!”
She heard him groan, “Oh, for God’s sake, not again! I
thought we had had that out!” And there was a note of
tender amusement, of indulgence, in his voice which stung
her.
“I meant it the first time,” she said, “before you forced
your disgusting attentions on me!”
There was a silence. “Kate,” he said, his voice sharp now,
“open this door!”
“I certainly will not!”
Again a pause, then he said, almost pleadingly, “Kate, I
have to fly to Athens tomorrow morning at dawn. I have to
go to the States. I won’t be back for a week at the earliest.
Let me in, please. I must see you.”
“We have nothing to say to each other. Now, go away.
You’re boring me.” She yawned, loudly, near the door.
He rattled the door again, loudly. “Kate, for God’s sake—I
need you!” His voice seemed muffled by the door, strained
and uneven.
“All I need is some sleep,” she said lightly. “Don’t you
know when you’re not wanted? Now, good night!”
The silence this time was so long that she pressed her ear
to the door, to see if he was still there, and jumped away
when she heard his breathing.
“For the last time, Kate,” he began thickly, and she cut
him short.
“Good grief, you’re worse than the Inland Revenue!
Haven’t you gone yet?”
She heard his heavy footsteps move away, then the slam
of his own door.
He had gone, and tomorrow he would not be here when
she got up. She would probably never see him again. She
sat down on her bed, looking at herself in the mirror.
Hollow-eyed, pale, her blonde hair made her look like a
negative, strangely ethereal and filled with sadness. How
long, she wondered, would this pain last?
CHAPTER NINE
The rest of the holiday passed, for Kate, in a dull dream.
She walked, sunbathed and talked to the others without
ever noticing a thing around her. Pallas and Sam were
comfortable companions at that time. They asked little of
her, seemed hardly to notice the depression which was
making her silent and shadoweyed.
Jean-Paul’s grave company was equally peaceful. He
would sit for an hour without speaking to her, his smile
calm and reassuring when she made the effort to speak. It
was with him that she walked over the cliffs, swam and
played a slow game of tennis. He was, she sensed, as
inwardly troubled as she was, and as grateful for her
undemanding company.
Sam did once mention Peter to her, casually, with a
brotherly pat on the shoulder. “I can’t pretend to be sorry
you’ve given him the air, Sis—Peter’s a decent chap, but I
never thought he was for you. You want someone with a bit
more zing.”
She had smiled, briefly, without answering. Peter seemed
like someone from the distant past now. She never thought
of him, and Sam’s comment was an irrelevant intrusion into
the turmoil of her emotions.
The two Frenchwomen, Marie-Louise and Helene, grew
bored with Kianthos once Marc had gone, and two days
later took off in Marc’s plane, which had returned from
ferrying him to Athens.
Marie-Louise tried to persuade Jean-Paul to accompany
them on her last morning on the island.
Calmly finishing his rolls and cherry jam, her half--
brother shook his head. “I am enjoying myself,” he said.
His sister threw Kate a hard look. “Why do our men
always like to play with pretty blonde dollies?” she asked
Helene, her high voice insolent.
Since she had spoken in rapid French, she probably
thought Kate would not understand, but Kate’s French
although not perfect, was quite good enough for her to
comprehend this, and she flushed.
Jean-Paul laid down his knife, wiping his fingers slowly
on his napkin. “Ma chere soeur,” he said coldly, “tais-toi!”
The sharpness of the command to shut up made Marie-
Louise go rigid with fury, but she said nothing else, and
when she came down with Jake, later, her cases packed to
go, she said goodbye to Kate with forced politeness.
Jake struggled off, laden with cases. Marie-Louise kissed
Mrs. Lillitos, gave Jean-Paul a whispered comment about
not forgetting that Kate was ineligible, and departed in a
swirl of perfume.
Helene embraced her mother-in-law more naturally. “I
will see you again soon, Maman. I am sorry this has been
such a short visit. Next time I will come alone.”
Mrs. Lillitos touched her cheek gently. “You must marry
again, my dear, and bring your new husband to see me.
Paul would want you to be happy. No woman can go
through life alone, you know.”
Helene flushed and did not reply.
Kate wished she were going with them. She was aching
to leave the island before Marc returned.
“Kate, my dear,” his mother said quietly, “will you help
me back to my room?”
Reluctantly she obeyed. She had no wish to discuss Marc
with his mother, but she sensed that Mrs. Lillitos wished to
talk to her about something. But, she thought hopefully,
perhaps she is still worrying about Pallas.
Mrs. Lillitos sat down with a sigh of relief. “Ah, that is
much better. Kate, sit down near me. I want to talk to you.”
Kate drew up a chair and sat down, her hands folded in
her lap, her face under control.
Mrs. Lillitos smiled at her, dark eyes soft. “I have grown
very fond of you, child. You have a soothing gentle
presence—that is why it makes me sad to see you look so
pale and unhappy. Won’t you tell me what is wrong?”
Kate tried to laugh. “Nothing is wrong, madame. I am
enjoying my stay here very much. I like to see Pallas having
fun. She ...”
“Please!” The older woman held up a hand. “Do not try to
throw me off the track by talking of my daughter. It is you
for whom I am concerned. You look ill. I see that you no
longer wear your engagement ring, for instance.” The dark
eyes rested on her hands, then rose to search her face. “Is
this why you are so sad? I had gathered that it was you who
broke off the engagement and that you were relieved to do
so. Yet you look depressed and lonely. Why is this, Kate?”
“I ...” Kate broke off, catching her breath, then
went on after a moment, “I expect I have not yet recovered
from the attack of sunburn, madame. You have been so
kind to me since I arrived. Kianthos is a lovely place. How
could I not be happy here?”
Mrs. Lillitos sighed. “How reticent you English are—well, if
you will not discuss the matter with me, I cannot be ill-
mannered and press you. But remember, Kate, I am ready
to talk to you, to listen. And I am very fond of you.”
Kate flushed. “Thank you, madame. I ... I am fond of you,
too.” She stood up. “You look tired. Shall I call Sophia for
you?”
“No, no, I shall sleep later. But run along, by all means,
and enjoy your last days here, child. By the way, did Marc
tell you—we have decided to take Pallas away from
Cheddall?”
Kate was stunned. She halted, freezing on the spot. “No,”
she stammered. “No, I hadn’t heard. You ... you’re not
happy with the school? I thought ...”
“We are very happy with the school, but Marc has
decided that Pallas should study music in Paris. He feels
she would prefer the Paris Conservatoire to a London
school. She is to have special tuition until she is eighteen.”
Follow a Stranger Page 15
