wondered what she looked like. Very beautiful, suavely
dressed and sophisticated, she decided. With hard eyes.
He seemed to be choosing his words very carefully.
“There is someone else,” he said. “I have a rival!”
She heard the roughness of his tone, and felt a knife
twist in her heart. He was jealous of this girl. He must
love her very much to reveal his pain to a comparative
stranger like this. She forced herself to continue to talk,
although she was feeling dull and miserable.
“I’m surprised you allow that,” she said teasingly.
“I would have expected you to sweep him away.”
“Oh, I would like to,” he said harshly. “But I am not sure
of her ...”
“You’re not sure you love her?” she asked in-
voluntarily.
“Oh, I love her,” he said, in a deep shaken voice,
“more than I thought possible. But it is she who ...” he
paused, taking a deep breath.
“Who can’t make up her mind?” she suggested
brightly. “I’m sorry.” A thought struck her. “She won’t
mind about us, will she? About us being here, like this,
alone?”
He laughed bitterly. “I wish I could believe she did
mind. But she would be totally indifferent.” He paused,
then added contemptuously, “As indifferent as your
Peter.”
Kate flushed and did not answer. They said nothing
more, and she gradually fell asleep.
When she woke she found the fire out, the room cold
but filled with cool grey light. Marc had gone, but her
clothes, now bone dry, were laid out for her on the little
table.
She dressed quickly, shivering a little, and looked
down with a grimace at her clothes. They were dry, but
needed ironing, and the salt had stiffened them so that
they crackled slightly as she moved. A pale sheen
covered them, a salt bloom which flaked away as she
brushed at it with her hands. It was lucky she had been
wearing practical denim, she thought.
She found Marc outside, walking to and fro with his
hands in his pockets. He, too, wore his own clothes
again. His white towelling shirt and blue jeans were as
crumpled as hers, but she felt a quick tug of the heart at
the sight of him. It was strange how quickly she had
grown accustomed to being with him. There was a
dangerous sweetness about being here, alone, with
Marc.
“Giorgiou came back two hours ago,” he said. “He
woke me and I sent him to fetch Jake. He only has an
old donkey which wouldn’t carry two of us, and it is too
far to walk.”
“I’ll tidy his house for him,” she said.
“There’s no need,” Marc said brusquely. “I will
compensate him for everything.”
She felt herself going hot. “Money isn’t the answer to
everything, you know!” she snapped. That unconsidered
remark of his somehow brought all her old resentment
rushing back. Last night, in their shared danger and
discomfort, she had forgotten how wide the gulf between
them was, but she remembered now.
Marc gave her a long, hard stare. “Giorgiou will be
quite satisfied,” he said harshly. “Do you think he would
like you to act as an unpaid servant in his house,
sweeping and washing? He would be embarrassed and
bewildered.”
“Who do you think does all the housework in my
home? We have no servants. We do it ourselves.” She
turned towards the house, but he caught her wrist.
She looked down at his long brown hand meaningly.
“Let me go!”
His eyes were savagely angry. “You are not going to
do any housework while you are on Kianthos! I will not
allow it!”
“You? What gives you the right to order me about?”
she gasped furiously. “You live in a private dream of
your own, but I live in the real world, and a little
sweeping and washing up will do me no harm at all.”
“It will do me harm,” he said forcefully. “You are my
guest. I will lose face with my own people if they think I
have guests who work like domestic servants.”
Kate was almost in tears, yet could not help laughing
wildly. “I can’t believe it! What a Victorian attitude!
You’ve got to be joking!”
The blare of the car horn made them both jump. Marc
dropped her wrist with a contemptuous glare. “There’s
Jake,” he said, and she wondered if she was wrong in
fancying there was a note of relief in his voice.
She looked at the little hut, hesitantly. Marc saw her
glance and took her by the elbow, propelling her towards
the waiting jeep.
“There isn’t time now, anyway,” he said, with
satisfaction.
“I ought to kick your ankle for that!” she hissed, as
they marched towards the jeep.
He laughed, with one of his bewildering changes of
mood. “Try it, my girl, and see what happens!” He
looked down at her. “Your jeans have shrunk a little. I’ll
get you some new ones. The sea-water always ruins
cloth.”
She flushed. “There’s no need, thank you. Denim is
meant to stand up to salt water.”
“What a proud, stubborn creature you are!” he
murmured. “I am responsible for ruining them, re-
member? It was my yacht that you were on when you
fell in the sea ...”
“I’m responsible for myself,” she retorted, “and they’ll
be fine when they have been washed.”
Jake greeted them with a broad grin, which dis-
appeared when Marc curtly told him to get a move on
back to the villa. “I’ve some business calls coming
through.”
The journey passed in total silence. Marc stared out of
the window, his profile rigid. She glanced at him under
her lashes, wondering what he was thinking about. He
looked angry.
She was angry with him. His automatic gesture of
money had offended her. Did he think he could buy
everything? They had come through threatened death,
spent the night alone, eaten a scratch meal, cooked by
both of them in harmony, and yet now he spoilt it all by
offering to buy her new clothes. It seemed to be an
attempt to reduce her to a lower level once more—to
make her a subordinate, an employee, one of his small
responsibilities.
It stung badly. All right, she thought, he’s a million-
aire and I’m just a schoolteacher whose salary wouldn’t
keep him in shoe leather! But I won’t stand for a
situation in which he is King Cophetua and I’m just the
beggarmaid.
She brooded all the way back to the villa, ignoring the
rugged scenery through which they passed, the tangled
glory of yellow furze, the grey rock and tumbling green
slopes. The cool mists rolled away and the sky grew
bright, burning blue.
“Going to be a great day,” Jake said hopefully as they
climb
ed out of the jeep.
Marc ignored him, but Kate gave him a warm smile.
“A lovely morning,” she agreed.
Jake shot a wary glance at Marc’s back, then winked.
Kate followed Marc up the steps on to the verandah.
As he held open the door for her to pass into the house,
she looked up with a deliberately cool expression and
said, “By the way, we never did fix how much we were to
pay you for our holiday. You’ll let us know, won’t you?”
His face looked first amazed, then black with rage.
She felt her nerves leap at the look he gave her. “You
little ...” he began violently, grabbing hold of her
shoulders and shaking her.
“Marc! My son, what are you doing? Have you taken
leave of your senses, to shake a young girl like that?”
Marc’s hands dropped from Kate like stones, and he
turned to confront his mother stiffly.
She stared from one to the other of them, frowning,
very pale and fragile in a black satin housecoat.
“Well?” she demanded. “What is the matter? Will
neither of you tell me?”
“I’m sorry. Mrs. Lillitos,” Kate said quietly. “It was
my fault, I’m afraid. Marc offended me and I insulted
him to ... to get my own back.” The words sounded
childish and stupid as she said them, and she flushed
hotly.
His mother threw up a protesting hand. “I am at a
loss for words! But I am too relieved to see you both to
be angry. Come, my son, kiss me!”
Marc obeyed, and she clung to him.
“I hope you were not too anxious, Mama,” he said
gently. “We were quite safe once we reached land, but I
had no means of letting you know.”
Sam tumbled down the stairs, dressed in a sweater
and jeans. “Glad to see you, Sis,” he muttered, hugging
her clumsily. “We began to think you were in Davy
Jones’s locker.” Then he threw a nervous look at Mrs.
Lillitos and bit his lip.
She held out a hand to Kate. “My dear, I hope your
holiday has not been totally ruined by such an
unpleasant accident. I am so sorry this happened.”
Kate smiled, shaking her head. “I’m pretty tough,
Mrs. Lillitos. I was frightened at the time, but I’m fine
now.”
“But there is a bruise on your forehead. How did that
happen? It looks very painful.”
“I’ll ring the doctor,” Marc said brusquely.
“There’s no need,” Kate protested.
He turned on her, his dark face savage. “You’ll see
him! Even if you pay him yourself!”
There was an astounded silence as he slammed out of
the room. Kate forced a laugh, conscious of her burning
cheeks.
“I’m afraid he’s cross this morning. The boat is a total
write-off, you know.” She looked at his mother
nervously.
Mrs. Lillitos watched her thoughtfully. “Don’t worry
about it, my dear. Marc is a man of great depths of
emotion. He is quickly angry, quickly calm. Next time
you see him he will be his usual self, I’m sure.”
Kate doubted that. After what she had said to him,
Marc would dislike her intensely. His expression had
been dangerously violent when he turned on her just
now. She had had the impression that he could almost
have killed her.
She went to her room, meeting Pallas on the way, had
a short chat with her, and then, with relief, had a long,
hot bath. She lay soaking in the water, thinking back
over the events of the last few hours. She must try to
keep her temper. Marc couldn’t help treating everything
as a commodity to be paid for, could he? It was the way
he had grown up, in a mercenary world.
I must see Peter again, she thought. Already the day
she had spent with him seemed an eternity ago, as
though she had travelled hundreds of miles and changed
totally in the meantime.
She must reassure herself. She got out of the bath,
dripping wet, and stared at herself in the full length
mirror on the wall. She even looked different. She could
not be sure what it was, but her eyes had a new
expression. They were more alive, more secretive, as
though concealing something, even from herself. That
look of youth was beginning to go. Her mouth had an
adult bitterness in its curves.
She shivered, and began to dry herself vigorously.
Slipping into her new dressing-gown, she padded
towards her own room, and met Marc coming out of his.
He still wore his jeans and sailing shirt. They looked at
each other in silence for a moment.
“I’ve rung the doctor,” he said curtly. “He’ll be here in
four hours. He has to come over from Epilison and this
is not his usual day for visiting Kianthos.”
Kate shrugged, “There’s no hurry.” She went past
him, in a cloud of perfumed talcum, and he caught her
arm.
“Kate,” he said huskily, “why do you fight me all the
time?”
She couldn’t look up at him. She was too painfully
aware of him, big and dark and dominating, standing
very close to her. He waited for a moment, then dropped
her arm and stalked away down the stairs.
He did not appear at lunch, nor did his mother, who
was recovering from the shock of believing them both
drowned yesterday. Sam, Pallas and Kate lunched
quietly together. Then the doctor arrived, examined her
and pronounced her perfectly fit, but slightly shocked.
He spoke little English, but Pallas translated for him,
while also acting as chaperone.
Kate spent the afternoon on the stone patio, with
Sam and Pallas, lying on well-sprung canvas loungers
enjoying the sunshine.
The storm seemed to have blown quite away, leaving
the island calm and peaceful. Out of the wind the air
was warm and still. The sun seemed almost hot on her
bare back and legs.
She wore her new bikini, two delicate scraps of black
cotton which emphasised her slender waist. Sam rubbed
sun lotion into her skin, offering to perform the same
task for Pallas.
“My complexion is intended for this climate,” she
claimed triumphantly. “The sun is kind to me. I never
use those things.”
Kate was very tired this afternoon. Her experiences
of yesterday had left her weary, and she drifted into
sleep as she lay on the lounger. She did not hear Sam
and Pallas get up and go off to play tennis, and they,
considering her, decided it would be kinder to leave her.
She slept on for several hours, her skin beginning to
redden as the sun poured down upon it, then woke with
a stifled cry of pain as a hand touched her red shoulder.
Marc was crouching beside her, his face set grimly.
“Now look at you!” he said furiously. “You have given
yourself sunburn! I can’t take my eyes off you for five
&
nbsp; seconds without you getting into some scrape or other!”
She turned and sat upright, wincing at the agony of
her reddened back and shoulders. It felt as though red-
hot needles were stinging along her skin. Her head
swam dizzyingly. She looked at Marc, her eyes filling
with tears.
“Oh, good God!” he groaned, and the next minute had
picked her up into his arms and was carrying her, like a
child, into the house.
CHAPTER SIX
The doctor was back next day and tut-tutted over her,
waving his small hands and talking rapidly in Greek to
Pallas.
“He says you have been very silly,” Pallas translated,
smiling sympathetically.
Kate had had a bad night. She had tossed restlessly,
her whole body apparently on fire. “I didn’t realise the
sun was so hot,” she said wearily, on the point of tears
again. She could not understand why she felt so
emotionally disturbed. The slightest thing made her
burst out crying.
The doctor bent over, shaking his head and spoke
again.
Pallas translated again. “He says that the sun was
unusually hot yesterday, but you should never go to
sleep in the sun at any time. And he says,” she paused,
listening, “he says that the lotion should help, but the
pain will be bad for another day or two. And you are to
stay in bed and do absolutely nothing until he comes
again. It is an illness which makes you depressed, like
influenza, so try not to cry.”
Kate looked up at the doctor and smiled faintly.
“Thank him for me,” she told Pallas.
The doctor nodded, as Pallas spoke and smiled back.
Then he left, and Pallas tucked her up again, gently.
“Would you like to sleep now, or shall I stay and talk?”
“I think I’ll try to sleep,” Kate said. “This lotion has
made me more comfortable. I didn’t sleep at all last
night.”
“Poor Kate,” sympathised Pallas.
When she had gone Kate lay, in the semi-darkness of
her room, gazing at the white shutters which Pallas had
closed. Faint beams of light struggled through them and
lay in bars across the floor. Her headache was better
now, but her eyes felt hot and dry, and she was grateful
for the cool shadows around her.
Marc had carried her up here yesterday and laid her
gently on the bed. Through the hazy mist of pain she had
stared up at him, wondering why he looked so savagely
angry. She couldn’t help getting sunburn. Then she had