Follow a Stranger (15 page)

knew that Marc had only been reacting angrily, when he

kissed her, to what he believed to be her interference

between Pallas and Jean-Paul. The furious glitter of his

eyes had confirmed that. But she stupidly felt hurt that he

should take Marie-Louise to see Pyrakis so soon after

taking her there.

She went up to change for lunch and chose a plain green

linen dress which somehow expressed her depressed mood.

After lunch she played cards with Helene Lillitos, who

was bored. She found the other woman quite pleasant, out

of the company of Marie-Louise. Helene seemed to make an

effort to be polite to her. Kate had noticed that she always

wore black or lavender, and wondered if she were still

mourning for her husband. But Paul Lillitos had died

several years ago, so perhaps it was just that Helene knew

that the sombre colours suited her.

Occasionally, Helene’s slight French accent was tinged

with an American twang, which reminded Kate of her usual

residence in the United States.

She asked Helene where she lived when she was in

America, and Helene explained that she had two homes.

“An apartment in New York and a little place in the hills

in California. New York used to be an exciting place, but it

is becoming a nightmare. One hardly likes to go out after

dark, and never goes out alone.” She shuddered. “So many

of my friends have been mugged—you know?—robbed in the

street. It is incredible that such things happen in such a

civilised city.”

Kate asked her about California, and Helene went on to

describe her other home. “In the spring and autumn it is

beautiful, but it is too hot in summer.”

“The Americans call autumn the fall, don’t they?” Kate

asked.

Helene laughed. “Yes, the fall.”

“It is such a descriptive word,” said Kate. “It conjures up

falling leaves, the dying summer, everything.”

Helene looked at her carefully. “You like words?” Then

she smiled. “Of course, you are a schoolteacher.”

Kate flushed at the slight condescension of the words. “I

teach music, not English literature,” she said, a little more

sharply than she meant.

Helene said quickly, “I am sorry, I did not mean to offend

you.”

Kate relaxed. “I shouldn’t have snapped,” she apologised

in her turn.

Marc and Marie-Louise returned just before dinner. Kate

saw them walking up towards the villa, holding hands and

talking with animation, and she had to fight down a wild

impulse to run away.

She was sitting beside Sam on the verandah, drinking an

aperitif, and wearing her white voile dress. The weather

had been rather sultry that afternoon. When the early

morning mist lifted the sun was revealed, like a brass coin,

in the sky, and as the day wore on the heat grew more and

more oppressive.

Sophia darkly prophesied a thunderstorm that night, and

Kate was inclined to agree with her. The lowering sky, the

humidity, seemed to make one inevitable. Something of the

same atmosphere lay on her own spirits. She felt tense,

restless, nervous.

Marie-Louise gave Sam and Kate a brief, indifferent

glance as she walked past, but Marc nodded to them, his

eyes sliding over Kate without meeting hers. He was

looking rather serious, she noticed. She felt relief flood into

her when the other two vanished inside. The first encounter

had passed somehow, and now she need not dread having to

speak to him.

At dinner Jean-Paul was unceasingly attentive, talking

to her, watching her, smiling at her. She was grateful for

the shield of his presence. Behind that shield she could

build up her defences again. Marc must not be allowed to

bulldoze them down again.

She and Jean-Paul each had a need of each other, she

was under no illusions about his flattering attentions. He

wanted to heal his pride, wounded by Pallas.

The rest of the table was more divided. Pallas barely

spoke at all. Sam was absorbed by his shish-kebabs and

sweet, orange-flavoured gateau. Helene seemed distrait and

nervous, and Mrs. Lillitos was apparently quite lacking

appetite. Marc spoke anxiously as she sent away her plate,

barely touched, but she unsmilingly shook her head,

obviously telling him that she was quite well.

Kate looked back at the time before the arrival of Marie-

Louise and Helene, and wished it was back. There had been

more ease in the party then. They had been quite happy.

After dinner Marc retired to his office. His mother went

to bed, with Helene in attendance, and Kate soon' followed,

feeling very low in spirits.

She heard voices from Mrs. Lillitos’s bedroom, and

thought that it was charming to see such affection between

Helene and her mother-in-law, particularly since Paul

Lillitos had died so long ago. Would Marie-Louise get such a

warm welcome into the family? She felt somehow, that Mrs.

Lillitos did not like the other woman. She was always polite

to her, yet there was a coldness between them. Marie-

Louise was always cloyingly eager to flatter Mrs. Lillitos.

Perhaps the older woman found that distasteful. Certainly

the quiet warmth between her and Helene was based, Kate

thought, upon respect for each other.

She washed, cleaned her teeth and got undressed, then

sat, in her frilly white nightie, staring at herself in the

mirror. She was thinner, she thought. There were new

hollows in her cheeks, a blue shadow beneath her eyes. Of

course, she had been ill. Her appetite had not yet recovered

since her attack of sunburn. But that did not account for the

little droop at the corners of her mouth, or for those tell-tale

shadows in her eyes.

A soft knock on her door startled her. She slipped on her

dressing-gown and went to open the door. Her heart leapt

into her throat. She stared, blue eyes wide and frightened,

at Marc.

He was wearing an elegant dark lounge suit, formal

white shirt and dark tie. He looked more like a successful

businessman than ever tonight.

“Yes?” she asked, holding her voice steady by an effort.

He looked at her dressing-gown, which she had not

buttoned, and which showed the scanty white nylon nightie

beneath.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice deep, “I did not realise you

had gone to bed.”

She pulled the dressing-gown closer. “What did you

want?”

“To apologise,” he said abruptly. “May I come in for a

second? We need not close the door, if you are nervous about

the conventions.” Without waiting for an answer, he walked

past her into the room. Kate looked down the corridor, saw

nobody, and followed him, leaving the door ajar.

He stood by her dressing-table, looking down, his fingers

lightly touching the lids of cosmetic jars, perfume bottles,

her hairbrush. She waited, a few feet away, looking at the

back of his dark head.

Then he seemed to jerk himself together, turned and

looked at her, his face unreadable.

“I am sorry about that incident on the beach,” he said

formally. “I lost my temper.”

“You blame me for Jean-Paul,” she said quietly. “You’re

wrong. You should never have agreed to that arrangement,

you know. It’s that that has been at the bottom of the

trouble with Pallas all the time—she felt she was under

pressure, being forced to marry him.”

“Arranged marriages work very well,” he said de-

fensively, “and I am certain Pallas liked Jean-Paul very

much. I should never have sent her to school in England. It

has given her crazy ideas.”

She flushed. “Like falling in love and choosing whom one

marries?”

“Exactly so,” he retorted. “You chose whom you should

marry, and see what a mess you have made of your life!”

“You have no right to say that!” she said angrily.

“Isn’t it true?” he asked thickly. “Can you deny that Peter

Hardy is selfish and indifferent to you? All he thinks of is

his work. He doesn’t love you. He probably never has—or

only for a short while. I do not suppose he will ever fall in

love with anyone. He is too self-obsessed.”

“You mustn’t say this to me,” she said weakly, unable to

deny what had become obvious to her with every day that

passed since their first meeting. No man who loved her

could have abandoned her in a house where she would be

thrown into Marc’s company. Peter had not even noticed

that she was uneasy with Marc. If he had loved her, he

would have been aware of it.

“Your mother should have said it long ago,” Marc said

coolly. “Even Sam is aware of it. It is obvious to everyone

but you. Peter does not love you, Kate, and I do not believe

you love him.”

She felt her cheeks flame into scarlet and her eyes

seemed to lose the ability to focus. When her breathing

settled a little, she said huskily, “My feelings are my own

business. Was that all you wanted to say?” She was

suddenly terrified that he might guess her feelings for him.

He must go, she thought desperately. He must leave her

alone before she betrayed herself.

Marc thrust his hands into the pockets of his elegant

suit. “You won’t listen to common sense, then? You hand out

free advice to Pallas, to Sam, to me—why won’t you take

some back? Break off this ridiculous engagement and find

someone you can really love and who is a man, not a

dedicated boffin.”

She was so afraid that he would read her love in her eyes

that she said fiercely, “Perhaps I have—perhaps Jean-Paul

is the answer to a maiden’s prayer. Now, do you mind

going? I’m sleepy.”

Marc turned, like an automaton, his face rigid. “Very

well, good night,” he said stiffly, and then the door was shut

and Kate was alone.

She rammed her fists into her mouth, quivering with

agony. She could not possibly sleep now. She dressed again,

in jeans and sweater, and slipped out for a stroll in the

garden, but the thick heat of the air was no relief, and after

ten minutes she went back indoors, where it was cooler.

As she passed Mrs. Lillitos’s room the door opened and

Marc came out, his shoulders unusually bowed. He

straightened as they met, his eyes running over her jeans

and sweater in surprise.

“You’ve been out?” he asked sharply. “Alone?”

“I was too hot to sleep,” she said uncomfortably. He

moved closer and looked down at her, the grey

eyes narrowed. “Have you been thinking about what I

said?”

Before she could answer his mother called quickly from

within her room, and he turned back to answer her.

“Is that Kate?”

Kate looked in at the open door. “Yes, Mrs. Lillitos. I

couldn’t sleep as it was so hot.”

Mrs. Lillitos was sitting in a deep armchair with a jigsaw

puzzle on a tray in her lap.

She smiled. “Come and do this with me, then, my dear. I

cannot sleep, either. I am afraid there is going to be a

storm tonight, and I do hate them so.”

Kate went into the room. “I’m not very good at jigsaws,”

she said, “but I would like to talk to you for a while. I hate

storms, too.”

Marc had followed her in, and was standing watching

them. His mother looked at him severely.

“Go to bed, my son. You look very tired. I shall be quite all

right with Kate to keep me company. Young company

makes me cheerful, and Kate is such a pretty child.”

He nodded. “Very well, Mama. Good night.” He hesitated,

then added coolly, “Good night, Kate.”

His mother picked up a piece of blue sky. “Now, where does

this go, I wonder? All these blue pieces look the same

shape.”

Kate hunted for a moment or two, then at last managed to

fit the piece into place.

“It’s a hard puzzle,” she said. “Do you do many of them,

Mrs. Lillitos?

“It helps to pass the time. Marc is so absorbed in the

business, and Helene is always in the States. Even my

little Pallas is away at school.”

Kate felt herself flushing. Did Mrs. Lillitos know about

Jean-Paul’s change of mind? Had Marc told her that he

blamed Kate?

The older woman’s fragile hand suddenly reached out

and took hers.

“
Ma chere,”
she murmured gently, “there is no need to