Follow a Stranger (7 page)

was aware that he was deliberately testing her reactions to

him.

Perhaps he had been piqued by her attitude from their

first meeting? Or perhaps he liked to have a row of scalps

dangling from his belt?

Whatever the reason, those charming smiles, the light,

meaning phrases and the way he touched her neck just

now—they all added up to a flirtation. And she did not

mean to get involved in that sort of folly.

“I think I’ll go in now,” she said, as they approached the

terrace again.

“I’m not in the least tired,” he said. “Are you really

sleepy? You don’t look it. Won’t you play for me first?

Something quiet and gentle?”

She played a piece of soft night music, by Mozart, and

the insidious intricacies gradually drove out all disquieting

thoughts from her head, and restored her sense of humour.

I’m a fool, she thought, her fingers moving delicately

over the keys. Peter leaves me too much alone. I’m making

mountains out of molehills, building ridiculous fantasies.

Marc is just being polite. I must get it into proportion.

When she lifted her hands finally and sat back, Marc

smiled at her. “You have a very pleasant touch.”

“I’m a competent amateur,” she said firmly, “but thank

you.”

He looked at her for a long moment, his face inscrutable.

“What a girl for laying out the facts you are,” he said at

last. “You are unusually honest. I know many much less

talented musicians who would claim a great deal more

than competence.”

She refused to be drawn, smiled and said goodnight,

leaving him alone in the lounge.

She was up early next morning and met Sam on the

stairs. He looked his usual self once more, clear-eyed and

alert. He grinned at her, “I slept like a log! How about

you?”

“Fine,” she admitted.

They found themselves the first to arrive for breakfast.

A pretty girl in a lavender overall was moving about,

laying the table, and looked round in surprise as they

entered the room. She smiled, though, and said good

morning in rather thickly accented English, then pointed

out the food, waiting over steel hotplates.

There were scrambled eggs, bacon and sausages, but

Kate stuck to her usual orange juice and slice of toast.

Sam, however, greedily heaped his plate with a glorious

mixture of everything, and grinned at her teasingly as he

began to eat.

“I heard you playing the piano last night,” he said,

between mouthfuls.

“Did it wake you? I’m sorry. Marc asked me to play

something before I went to bed.”

Sam shook his head. “It was quite pleasant, drifting off

to sleep to Mozart.” He shot her an acute glance. “Don’t fall

for Marc, will you? He’s an attractive sort of chap, but

Pallas says he has a girlfriend. French, apparently—a

successful model. She won’t give up her career or Pallas

thinks they would be married by now.”

Kate gritted her teeth and spoke very brightly. “A tough

career girl should suit him! I hope she keeps him tied up in

knots for years. His attitude to women is as out of date as

crinolines.”

Sam laughed. “You’re so right! Look, you don’t mind my

giving you the gypsy’s warning, do you, Sis? It’s just that

I’d hate you to get hurt.”

“You seem to forget I’m engaged to Peter,” she said

rather sharply.

Sam grimaced. “Yes, but then Peter isn’t exactly a ball

of fire in the romance stakes, is he? I mean, an Anglo-

Saxon knee bone gives him more of a thrill than you do!”

“Really, Sam!” she snapped angrily.

Sam looked sheepish. “Oh, I’m sorry. It isn’t my

business, I know, but much as I like Peter, he does rather

neglect you. Girls like a bit of attention from time to time.”

“You should write a book on the subject,” she said, “as

you have so much valuable advice.”

Pallas arrived while Sam was groping for a reply, and

they dropped the subject. They talked of what they should

do that day. The sun was already bright, but cold, and the

sky was an unbelievable blue. The idea of a swim that

morning was dismissed, and Sam suggested that Pallas

show them round the island.

“I wonder how Peter is getting on,” said Kate, sipping

black coffee slowly.

“Would you like to go up and see?” asked Pallas. “Jake

will take you in the car to where the track starts. Would

you mind walking the rest of the way, though? It is very

tough going.”

“Of course I don’t mind,” Kate said easily. “I’ve done

some hill walking. We went to the Lake District several

times for our family holidays. Do you remember, Sam?”

“I remember you puffing and blowing when we got to

the top,” he teased.

Kate laughed. “Are you sure you don’t mind my going off

alone, though? It seems very rude. Your brother asked me

to come to keep you company, you know. Actually, I would

like to make a tour of the island with you—I just felt

worried about Peter ...”

“I understand,” said Pallas, smiling at her. “I’ll have

Sam to keep me company. Really, I don’t mind. You go,

and put your mind at rest. I expect you would like to see

the temple yourself. Then, when you know how Peter is

coping, you can feel free to enjoy yourself with us.”

Kate let out a sigh of relief. “Well, thank you, then. I’d

like to go.”

Pallas came round to the garage with her, to find Jake,

and he readily agreed to drive Kate up to To Angkistri.

They set out ten minutes later and Jake talked to her all

the way. He had, he explained, learnt his English in

America.

“My name is Hector Hyakos, but in America they called

me Jake for short. The States—a great country. Fifteen

years I lived there. Very happy, earn lot of money. But

then I met the boss and he says come to Kianthos, be my

driver-mechanic-man of work. Handyman, they call it in

the States. I figure that I never manage to save enough to

come home on my own. So I accept.”

“And are you glad you came?” she asked him.

“Sure I’m glad. The boss is a great guy—generous,

warm-hearted, a real Greek. And I like cars. I was always

homesick, you know? I mean, the States is great, but I’m a

Greek.” He pulled up with a jolt and she looked around her

with great interest. They were on the mountain slope now,

the track nothing but a whitened ribbon between grass and

rocks, pitted and scarred.

“This is as far as I can take you, miss. You want I

should walk up there with you? You follow this track to the

top. But it gets difficult as you get higher. You might slip,

or get dizzy.”

“No, thank you,” she smiled. “I have climbed before and

I have a good head for heights. You’d better get back—I

think Miss Pallas wants you to drive her somewhere.”

He saluted. “Okay by me. I’ll be back at four o’clock. You

got a watch, miss?”

She showed it to him and he nodded. Then he stood by

the car, watching her intently as she began the steep climb

to the top. After a while he clearly decided she was

competent enough, because she heard the sound of the

engine, and the grinding of the wheels on stones as he

turned back the way they had come.

The climb was more difficult that she had anticipated.

Several times she slipped, her hands clutching at the face,

but each time she managed to steady herself. She kept

going, breathing quickly, her hands scratched and

bleeding slightly, her knees and back aching.

When she reached the top she sat down, panting, and

stared back the way she had come. From here the climb

looked dizzyingly steep, and she wondered how she had

had the nerve to attempt it—and also how she was to get

down! Then she shrugged. Sufficient unto the day was the

evil thereof...

She found Peter lying on his face, stretched flat out, the

only part of him which moved his hand, which was

delicately scraping at the dusty covering of soil which lay

everywhere over the ruins.

He turned his head to squint at her as she approached,

and, without a sign of surprise or enquiry, said, “Careful!

I’ve begun marking out the ground plan with string. Don’t

trip over it or you’ll pull out the pegs and I’ll have it all to

do again.”

“You’ve been busy,” she commented, staring around

her.

The site was laid out on a flattish plateau, in a

vaguely rectangular shape, with three broad stone steps

running all the way around the building. The roof had

been supported by the usual pillars, some of which still

stood, in more or less battered condition, rearing up

towards the open blue sky, tapering to their plain

capitals, their stone flaking away along the sides. Blocks

of stone lay everywhere, among the wiry grass and

yellow flowers. It was touching to Kate to see how the

stone steps were hollowed out by generations of reverent

feet, although this place had been deserted for so long,

slowly crumbling under the pressures of wind and

weather.

“I only have two weeks to make this preliminary

investigation,” he pointed out. “Now you’re here, Kate,

pass me that plastic bag. I’ve found something

interesting.”

She ran and picked up the top bag from the pile laid

ready, a stone keeping them from blowing away,

returned and handed it to Peter, who gently pushed an

encrusted object inside the bag.

“That was outside the temple area proper,” he said.

“Give me my map. Over there ...” waving a vague arm.

She fetched the map and Peter carefully marked the

spot where he had found his first object.

“What do you think it is?” she asked, staring at it. “A

coin?” It was that shape.

He shrugged. “Possibly. We can’t tell until it’s

cleaned.” He grinned at her. “It’s a temptation to look for

other things, but I must get on—until a proper

accredited expedition is organised the site mustn’t be

disturbed. But as the coin was outside the temple that

won’t matter too much. Now, I want to finish my map

today. I’ll measure and you can jot down the

dimensions.”

“Have you had breakfast?” she asked resignedly.

“What?” He stared at her as if she were talking in a

foreign tongue, then blinked. “Oh, breakfast. Yes, I had a

roll when I first got up.”

“At crack of dawn, by the amount of work you’ve done,”

she scolded. “What is there for lunch? I’ll get you

something.”

He protested, but she insisted, and at last he gave in,

and sat down with her to eat the stew she heated over the

little oil-stove. Marc had sent up a number of tins, she

found, as well as eggs, cheese and bread. There was no

reason why Peter should not eat well.

After lunch they resumed work. They continued to work

for the rest of the afternoon, breaking only for a cup of

black coffee at two o’clock, and soon had the whole site

mapped out. Peter crawled around on his knees,

measuring the ground, and Kate carefully marked down

the measurements on his rough sketch map. Then they

noted down all the positions of pillars, fallen stones and

other objects, then measured the pillars, their heights,

breadths, capitals.

Kate’s shoulders and arms were aching. Her eyes kept

blurring and she was hot and weary. But Peter seemed

beyond such ordinary human weakness. Frowning,

absorbed, intent, he worked on as the sun grew warmer,

rose higher and higher, and then began to move down the

sky again.

She glanced at her watch and found, to her relief, that it

was half past three. She wanted to get back down the peak

before Jake arrived, so she said goodbye to Peter, who

answered briefly, hardly realising what she had said, she

suspected.

Kate was glad to see no sign of the car below. Taking a

deep breath, she began to lower herself, clinging to the

grassy outcrops of stone, her fingers clawing fiercely, feet

feeling for support. She had to climb down backwards. It

was impossible to walk down. She was only a short way

from the top when she heard the car engine in the

distance. It appeared to be racing along the bumpy narrow

track. Stones rattled and flew as the wheels spun. She