Kate flushed. “I’m afraid that’s almost the whole of my
Greek vocabulary!”
Sophia laughed. “You will learn more, yes?”
“I hope I shall,” said Kate. “I would like to be able to
speak Greek. I only speak French, and a little German.”
“I speak fluent English,” Sophia said proudly. “Marc
taught me to speak it! I was his nurse. He learnt at school,
and I learn from him.”
Kate stared in amazement. “His nurse? But you can’t be
old enough!” Then she flushed. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t
mean to be rude.”
Sophia was not at all cross, though. She beamed, “Why
rude? It is very big compliment. I was fourteen when I first
come to work for the family. Marc was little baby, just
born. I help the nurse, then nurse leave when Marc is two,
and I carry on.” She looked wistful. “He was very pretty
baby. When he was eight, he went away to school. I stayed
on as maid.” She counted on her fingers, muttering under
her breath. “You guess? I am forty-five now.”
“You don’t look it,” Kate said sincerely. “Your
complexion is so good!”
Sophia smiled, very pleased, and after another moment
or two went off, leaving Kate to change for dinner. She
slipped into her new dressing-gown and lay down on the
bed for a while. The flight had been more tiring than she
had expected. Half an hour later she got up and put on a
turquoise dress which she had bought in Greyford. Then
she went downstairs and found Peter and Marc in a wood-
panelled lounge, talking quietly.
She stood by the door, watching them, feeling a surge of
resentment against Marc Lillitos for the bored expression
on his dark face. She forgot the number of times she had
been irritated by Peter’s passion for the past. It never
entered his head that not everyone shared his interest, and
even Sam had been known to ask him to shut up about
ancient civilisation. But now it was just another crime to
chalk up against the name of Lillitos, and she illogically
felt pleased to be able to do so.
Marc turned his head and saw her. Her heart did that
annoying backward flip which she had only begun to notice
since meeting him. There was something about the look in
the grey eyes which bothered her a good deal—a lazy,
mocking intimacy, as though he not only knew and
understood her, but could read her mind with a glance. It
was alarming to feel so transparent.
She came forward and Peter turned to smile at her.
“Oh, there you are, Kate! I’ve made all the arrangements
with Lillitos. He’s kindly offered me camping equipment—
a tent, blankets, sleeping bag, even cooking facilities.”
“You’re going to sleep on the site?” Kate interrupted.
“But, Peter, this is a holiday!”
He stared, in mild bewilderment. “Well, I couldn’t make
the journey every day, you know, there and back. The
temple is up there,” pointing out of the long window,
which looked up at a green expanse of mountainous
country, “on that hooked peak. Mr. Lillitos says you can
see the whole of the island from the top—a good strategic
position for a fortress. There must be more than a temple
up there.” His face glowed passionately. “Who knows what
I’ll find?”
“You’re going to leave me here and spend the whole
fortnight alone on that mountain?” she asked incred-
ulously.
“You’ll have Pallas and Sam to keep you company,” he
answered vaguely. “I thought the idea was that you should
have fun with Pallas while I work on the site? You know
you’re never very keen on site work, Kate.”
Angrily conscious of Marc’s amused gaze, she was
silent, and Peter took her agreement for granted. “Well,
I’m very grateful,” he told Marc. “I’ll be off now, then.’' He
shook hands with him, kissed Kate absently and was gone
before she had time to think.
She looked at Marc coldly. He was leaning back in his
chair, his face sardonic.
“You do not look too happy, Miss Caulfield. Your fiancé
will be quite safe, I promise you. My car is taking him as
far as the road goes. We do not have too many roads on
Kianthos. Jake will help him carry up the camping
equipment, and see the camp set up. He has plenty of food
with him. And the goatherds will visit the Peak once a day,
as they always do, with their goats. If anything went
wrong, they would let me know.”
“Goatherds?” she asked curiously.
“There’s a village on the other side of the peak. They
keep goats and have some olive trees. Cheese and olives
are the staple diet, you know. Goat’s cheese and goat’s
milk, and fish, in season. They call the peak To Angkistri.
It means The Hook. There is a local legend about it which I
must tell you some time.”
“How long have your family lived here?” she asked.
“Off and on for generations, I believe. My great-
grandfather was a fisherman who left the island for the
mainland when there was bad fishing for several years. My
grandfather was successful enough to build up a good
business and my father bought the island thirty years ago.
He built this house.”
“Sophia said you learnt your English at school,” she
said. “Was that in England?”
He nodded. “My mother is French, but English schools
are famous all over the world, so they decided to send me
to England, and then to a French university.”
She was startled. “Oh, you were at university?”
His dark face was suddenly alight with laughter. “That
surprises you? You thought I was illiterate, I suppose?”
Kate flushed. “I hadn’t thought about it,” she said
offhandedly.
“Well, I left without taking a degree, in fact, because my
father was ill, and I had to take over the business. Then
he died, so I carried on. I have often regretted it, but that
is fate!”
She watched him curiously. His face had a fatalistic look
as he said the last words. “Do you believe that?”
His brows rose. “In fate? Of course.” His tone was
suddenly brusque, as though he disliked the subject.
“Why have you never allowed anyone to visit the temple
before?” she asked him after a long silence.
“My father would never have strangers on Kianthos. He
felt that they would spoil it. There are so few roads that it
would be impossible to bring many cars here, anyway,
and modern tourists love to go everywhere by car. The life
of our people would change if we allowed too many
outsiders on to the island.”
“It’s such a beautiful place,” she said. “Isn’t that a selfish
attitude?”
“The villagers all agree with me. They are happy as they
are.”
“Are they? Living on goat’s cheese and olives, with
occasionally a little fish?�
�
“Does the technological society make men any happier?”
he countered coolly.
“I think your attitude is too possessive,” she said.
His eyes flashed across the room at her and she felt oddly
breathless, as though he had touched her. “But I am
possessive,” he said softly. “Any man worth his salt must
be—the desire to possess is the root of love.”
She was angrily aware of a weakness spreading through
her body, a trembling and fluttering of the nerves. “That’s
a very old-fashioned idea,” she said, trying to laugh, but
too conscious of his masculine presence to be able to carry
it off. “Nowadays we believe that to love is to be ready to
let go. People have to be free.”
“Hence divorce?” he said sarcastically. “And the high
abortion rate in your country, not to mention the appalling
tragedies of drug addiction.”
She was grateful when, at that moment, Sam and Pallas
came into the room. Sam was still very pale, but the blue
line around his mouth had vanished, and some of his
normal cheerfulness had returned.
“I am afraid you will not meet my mother this evening,”
Marc said to him. “She has a headache. But I hope she will
get up for lunch tomorrow.” He looked sharply at Sam’s
face. “You look ill. Was it a bad flight?”
Sam grimaced. “I’m the world’s worst traveller. Don’t
worry, though, I’ll be fine now I’m back on terra firma.”
They dined quietly, in a very modern room with mosaic
tiling on the floor and pleasant, yellow walls. Kate ate
steak and salad, followed by a very sweet dessert made of
figs and cream, after which black coffee seemed very
appropriate.
Sam excused himself early, pleading a headache, and
Pallas went up to sit and talk to her mother for a while.
Kate was intending to go to bed early, too, but Marc said
that she would feel more like sleep when she had walked
around the garden for a while.
“The air is so pure here,” he said, draping her cardigan
around her shoulders, his fingers lingering on the nape of
her neck for a second longer than was necessary. She
shivered at his touch, and he glanced down at her, grey
eyes narrowed.
They walked round the garden without talking,
listening to the cicadas and feeling the cool dusk stealing
over the trees and flowers. The air was, as he had said,
fresh and sweet, with a faint scent of spring permeating it.
One tree was covered with purple flowers which Marc said
were called Judas flowers. High up on the hills the
mountain furze was in golden bloom and a final shaft from
the setting sun made the slopes glow like molten gold, then
the light died and a purple shadow crept over them.
She was reminded of Peter and felt a pang of disloyalty.
He had only been gone a short time and already she was
forgetting she was engaged to him. Marc was far too
experienced in the small art of flirtation for her. She was
not sure whether he was deliberately flirting with her, or if
it was merely a reflex action, but from time to time she
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.
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 Pet
er, 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,