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.”
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.
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.”