Kate flushed hotly. Were they? she wondered uneasily.
And if so, had Marc read their message last night, and seen
her helpless love for him? Humiliation and shame burnt in
her chest. She made herself eat her breakfast, although it
almost choked her.
Marc tapped on the door as they finished. He was
looking alive and vital this morning, his blue sweater and
casual dark blue slacks very neat compared with the clothes
he had worn last night. He grinned at Kate. “How are you?
You look very pretty.”
She became hotly aware of the scantiness of her
nightdress and looked around for her dressing-gown.
“Come back, later, my son,” his mother said sternly.
“Kate is en deshabille, and not ready to receive male
visitors.”
“I only came to tell her that her fiancé has arrived. I sent
for him this morning.” His grey eyes danced challengingly.
“I thought she might want to see him.”
Kate felt her nerves jump, but she kept her face under
control. “Thank you,” she managed to say stiffly.
His mother went slowly to the door. “Come down when
you are ready, my dear,” she said gently. “There is no
hurry.”
The door closed and Kate was alone. Now there could be
no doubt left in her mind about Marc’s feelings towards her.
If he had cared about her at all would he have sent for
Peter? Was this his way of telling her that he was not
interested in her and that she should concentrate on her
fiancé?
Of course, he did not know, and she would never tell him,
that she had decided to break her engagement.
She had faced this decision days ago. It had been a
mistake to become engaged to Peter. It was fortunate that
she had realised it in time. It would have been a disaster if
she had married him and only then discovered their total
indifference to each other. Marc had been so right when he
said that Peter did not love her, nor she Peter. But,
believing that, why had he brought Peter here now?
A flash of intuition came to her and she bit her lip. Of
course! He was trying to protect his sister. He thought that
she was interested in Jean-Paul and he had brought Peter
here in order to put a stop to all that.
Dully, she dressed in her plain green linen dress and
went downstairs. She found the lounge empty. Sophia
bustled past and stopped to tell her that Peter was in
Marc’s office and the others all down at the beach.
The storm had again left the weather golden and sunny.
Kate stood on the verandah staring up at the bright blue
sky. It seemed cruel that the world should be in such a
holiday mood when she was so miserable and depressed. It
ought to be raining all day.
Then she laughed at herself. What a conceited, self-
obsessed thought! As if she was the only person in the
world!
Peter erupted on to the verandah beside her, his fair hair
wildly standing on end, his eyes furious.
“Kate,” he began hotly, “you must go and talk some sense
into Lillitos!”
She looked at him in startled amazement. “What?”
“He says there’s to be no expedition,” Peter shouted. “He
just said he’s changed his mind. He won’t allow anyone else
to dig up there. He doesn’t want strangers on the island.
The man’s insane. It mustn’t be allowed!”
Kate looked at him silently for a moment. He had not
seen her for over a week, she thought with wry resignation,
and in that time she had been very ill with sunburn, been
involved in a disaster, and for all he knew, was still weary.
Yet he did not even greet her. No kiss, no word of pleasure
in seeing her again. All that interested him was the temple
up there on To Angkistri.
“I can’t interfere,” she said quietly, at last. “You must
cope with it on your own, Peter.”
He glared at her. “Kate, this is vitally important. The
temple is the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to
me in my life. It shows clear signs of a number of periods, so
it’s been in continuous occupation for generations. It was
first founded in Mycenean times, but the pillars and roof
were obviously much later. Oh, Kate, for God’s sake—can’t
you see what it means?”
“Peter, I want to ask you a question,” she said clearly.
He shut his mouth on what he had been about to say.
Impatiently he waited, fidgeting.
“Do you love me?”
He gave her an incredulous look, running his fingers
through his hair. “What? My God, Kate, don’t drag in
irrelevancies at this time! I have too many important things
to think about!”
“Aren’t I important, then?” she asked.
He looked embarrassed. “Oh, I’m very fond of you, of
course, you know that! We’re engaged, aren’t we? What’s
the point of these questions, Kate?”
“Never mind your damned temple,” she snapped,
suddenly angry. “Listen to me for a moment. You don’t love
me, Peter. You are, as you said, mildly fond of me, but if I
vanished tomorrow, I doubt if you would even notice.”
“Oh, really,” he said crossly, “how like a woman to try to
put everything on a personal level! Can’t you think of
anything but yourself? This is a crisis in my life. I need your
help, and you’re trying to make me pay for it with
declarations of undying passion, I suppose.”
Kate was so angry she could hardly speak for a moment.
“I’m doing nothing of the kind! I only want a little honesty
between us. I’m trying to be honest with you.”
He looked at her, then, with more awareness. “Oh, I get
it! You want to break off our engagement? You’ve found
someone else?”
“No!” she said roughly, “I haven’t found anyone. I just ...
want to sort things out honestly.”
“You do want to end things, though?” he asked.
She hesitated. “Oh, yes,” she said on a quick breath.
“Yes, I do. I don’t love you. I’m fond of you, but I don’t really
love you.”
He shrugged. “Well, now that’s settled, can we talk about
the temple?”
She glared at him. “You don’t give a damn, do you,
Peter?” She pulled off her ring and threw it at him. He
caught it awkwardly, looked at it with amazement and
stuffed it into his pocket. “The temple—” he began, but Kate
had fled.
Peter stared after her, grimacing. “Women! Really!”
Marc came out on to the verandah, smiling gaily, and
Peter grabbed at his arm.
“Look, Lillitos, about this expedition ...”
Marc grinned at him, eyes dancing, “Try again next
year,” he said. “Perhaps I’ll change my mind again. By the
way, if you wish to leave right away, my plane is waiting on
the airfield. I have had all your gear put aboard. When you
have drawn up all your plans for the expedition, write to my
office in Athens,
to my personal secretary, Achille Danelos.
He will get in touch with you and make the necessary
arrangements. If there is an expedition, it must be a small
one, and for the summer months. Right?”
Peter let out a long relieved sigh and grinned. “Thank
you very much. I’m very grateful.”
“Jake will drive you to the airfield,” said Marc. “Off you
go.”
Peter looked a little startled. “Now? But I wanted to see
Kate ...”
“I think she has said all she wants to say,” Marc said
politely. “If you do not leave now it will soon be too dark. My
plane will take you to Athens. I have booked a flight for you
tomorrow at noon. You can pick up the ticket at the airport.
It is in your name. Goodbye.”
Stunned, Peter obediently walked towards where
Jake was waiting with the car. Suddenly he stopped,
holding out the little ring. “Will you give this to Kate
for me?” he asked Marc.
Marc looked at it, lying sparkling on his palm, and
his lip curled scornfully. “I do not think so,” he said,
with hauteur. “Keep it for your next fiancée.”
Peter reddened, looked angry, then drew himself up
and walked away. He did not dare to antagonise the
man, he thought. The expedition depended on the
whims of this rude, spoilt millionaire. And anyway,
Kate was right. They had not been suited. She had
never really been interested in his work. And if a man
what point in marrying? He looked forward to the
excitement there would be in archaeological circles
when he dropped his bombshell. And he broke into
happy whistling, forgetting Kate and everything else.
Kate wandered for a long time around the cliffs,
then turned back and found herself in myrtle grove.
She stood, breathing in the fragrance of the cooling
air. The heat of the sun was slackening and the moths
had begun to flit over the thyme, their dusty wings
glowing.
She thought back over the six years of her relation-
ship with Peter. How had she come to think herself in
love with him? She remembered how different he had
seemed, when she was a young girl, with his blond
beard and vague professor-like air. The boys she had
known then had all been crazy, half-grown lads. Peter
had seemed so mature. And from a girlish crush she
had let herself drift into a long-term relationship with
no solid base.
She knew now that she had never been in love with him.
He had never made her heart stop, as Marc did. His kiss
had never exalted and petrified her. She could not blame
Peter. It had been her own fault for allowing herself to be
fooled by such a vague response. He had been too amiable to
hurt her, and she had never seriously thought about his
feelings.
Well, they were both free now, to find real love. At least,
Peter was—she was not free. She knew that she would
never love anyone as she loved Marc.
She heard a twig crackle nearby and turned to see Jean-
Paul, looking lost and fed up, wandering towards her.
He smiled politely. “How are you today, Kate? You look
pale. Marc told us how brave and good you were last night. I
admire your courage.”
She shrugged his compliments away. “Thank you, but
really, it was only a little thing. You’re looking rather cross
yourself.”
He grimaced. “Pallas barely speaks to me. How can I woo
her when she will not let me near her?”
“She is jealous,” Kate explained, “and uncertain of
herself. After all, she isn’t seventeen yet. Give her a chance.
You’re in too much of a hurry. Wait a while.”
“Easy for you to say,” he said forcefully, “but hard for me
to follow your advice. Do you really think she is jealous?”
“I’m certain of it. She’s been very offhand with me since
you arrived.”
Jean-Paul looked delighted. “Then you think she cares
something for me, after all?”
“I’m almost sure she does. It might only be pique, of
course. But time will show you the truth.”
He took her hand, stopped and held it up to stare. “Your
ring? You have lost your engagement ring!”
“I’m no longer engaged,” she said, flushing.
He looked appalled. “Ma chere, I hope this is not my
doing! I would not have done that for the world ...”
“It has nothing to do with you. My fiancé did not even
know of your existence. It was a mutual agreement. We just
did not suit.”
He looked a little embarrassed. “I see ...”
She looked up at him and laughed. “Really, Jean-Paul,
you are quite irrelevant, I assure you. I am not in the least
attracted to you, which is what you are afraid of, I think?”
Very red, he met her teasing eyes. He laughed, a little
shamefaced and embarrassed. “Pardon! I was nervous for a
moment. The freedom of English girls astounds me. You are
so ... forthright!”
She grinned. “Well, it clears the air to know how you
stand, doesn’t it? Shall we go in to dinner?”
Dinner was, oddly, a very gay occasion at first. Marc was
in volatile spirits, keeping up a barrage of teasing humour,
his eyes constantly dancing.
But as the meal went on his mood seemed to deflate a
little. Kate, who was quietly talking to Jean-Paul most of
the time, was curiously aware that Marc’s smile came less
and less, and that he was more and more silent. She
wondered if he were feeling the effect of his very late night.
Had he slept at all since?
beneath his eyes and tension lines around his mouth
which seemed to show that he had not.
Jean-Paul poured her another glass of retsina, his
fingers touching hers as she held her glass towards him.
He smiled at her gravely and she smiled back with
warmth, liking him very much.
It was comforting to feel that she need not be
stretched nervously, on edge against the probing
intelligence Marc always aimed at her. With Jean-Paul
she could relax, be herself, unselfconscious. He was a
very quiet, steady young man, without Marc’s vitality
and tension.
She saw Pallas sullenly pushing her unfinished meal
away, pouting, her small dark face all angles and frowns.
What Pallas needed, she thought, was the sort of calm
background Jean-Paul would give her.
“Shall we dance, cherie?” Marie-Louise asked Marc,
as they drank their coffee in the lounge later. “Put some
records on and let us dance!”
Marc shrugged, “Why not?”
He crossed to the cabinet and selected some records.
As the music swirled out, sweet and soft, Marie-Louise
archly turned out most of the wall lights around the
room.
“Dancing in the dark is more romantic,” she said to Marc,
her thick lashes fluttering invitingly.
The room was shadowy now, the only lights left on
being one at each end. Marc and Jean-Paul cleared a
central space, moving the furniture back against the
walls. Then Marc turned to Marie-Louise, with a
brilliant smile, and she glided into his arms. Pallas
looked up at Sam, her face urgent.
“Shall we dance, too?”
“What? This is music for the oldies,” Sam said scornfully.
“I don’t know how to dance to it.”
Kate laughed. “Just put your arms round Pallas and let
your feet move in time to the music,” she advised, and
added teasingly, “I won’t tell your friends when we get back
home. Cross my heart!”
Sam grimaced at her. “I shall feel a fool!”
“I know how to dance to it,” Pallas said shyly. “I learnt at
my last school—the waltz, the polka and the military two-
step.”
“Good grief!” Sam shuddered. “Did they wear chastity
belts, too? What a freaky establishment!”
Kate kicked his ankle. “Dance!” she commanded. He
grinned, shrugged, and got up, giving Pallas his hand with
a grimace of resignation.
Jean-Paul had watched and listened in silence. Now he
moved nearer Kate and said steadily, “And shall we dance
now, Kate?”
She nodded and they moved off, dancing very formally.
He danced, as he did other things, with precision and care.
Neatly his feet slid from step to step. He revolved, reversed,
guided her through the dance, a slight polite smile on his
well-cut lips, but not speaking.
Kate looked up at him. “You look as if you’re hating every
minute!” she said gently.
He looked down and the gravity of his expression melted
a little. “You dance very well, au contraire,” he murmured,
smiling.
She stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear, her face
very close to his, “When you dance with Pallas tell her how
pretty she looks tonight.”
He looked puzzled. “I thought I was not to dance with
her? I thought I was to ... be indifferent?”
“Alter tactics now and then,” she advised, still
whispering. “See what a little change brings.
The record came to an end. Kate moved out of Jean-
Paul’s arms, nudging him discreetly. He turned to Pallas
and asked her to dance with him next, and she flushed and
glanced uneasily at Kate, who smiled cheerfully and took
Sam’s hand.
“Come on, brother, let me teach you how to do these oldie