Follow a Stranger (11 page)

terrain is too difficult. I would not care to try in the

dark.”

“You would try if you were alone,” she guessed.

He shrugged his shoulders. “As that situation does

not arise there is no point in discussing it. We must

stay here until dawn. Giorgiou is bound to be back

then. He is probably visiting his sister in the village.”

He threw some more wood on the fire and the flames

leapt upwards. She watched them, feeling lazy and at

ease.

“You can sleep upstairs,” Marc told her. “The bed is

only a straw mattress, but you must have some sleep.”

She looked at the wooden ladder. Yawning, she got

up and went towards it, then heard a distinct scam-

pering above her head.

Marc leapt towards her as she screamed, and she

flung herself into his outstretched arms without think-

ing, clinging to him, shuddering. “Rats! I saw one ... its

tail ...” She was almost physically sick, her teeth

chattering with repulsion and horror.

He held her tightly, one hand clenched on her

shoulder, his thumb moving over her thin-boned

shoulder blade. “You’re quite safe,” he whispered, his

mouth just above her hair.

“I hate them,” she stammered. “Horrible, creeping

things ...” burying her face in his chest with tightly shut

eyes.

“Kate, stop this,” he said, in suddenly hardened

tones, holding her away from him. “You have been brave

up till now. Stop it!”

The shock of his sudden coldness snapped her back to

self-awareness. She was scarlet at once, realising what

she was doing. “I’m sorry,” she said stiffly, and drew

away from him, her eyes on the floor.

“I am relieved to see you have some feminine re-

actions,” he said, reverting to his teasing. “For a girl

who came so calmly through a violent storm, shrugged

off the possibility of rape with the utmost scorn and has

been so level-headed and sensible all day—you amaze

me! Who would have thought you would jib at rats!”

She could not control the quick shiver which ran over

her. “I ... I don’t like them,” she said.

“Obviously,” he nodded. “But they are clever little

creatures, you know. I would have expected you to be

kinder about them, such animal lovers are the English!”

She saw that he was attempting to put things back

on a normal footing, and tried to respond. “They’re like

some men,” she said, lightly, “clever but loathsome!”

He grinned. “Present company excepted, I hope?”

Kate laughed. “Did that come too near home?”

He grimaced. “I’ll get some straw and make a bed on

the floor.”

Within ten minutes they were both lying on warm

dry straw, near the hearth, covered by a heap of thick

blankets.

The room was dark, except for the glow of the fire,

and Kate felt her eyes growing heavy. She could feel

every little movement Marc made, hear his regular

breathing. How strange, she thought sleepily, to be here

like this with him. She giggled at the thought of what

Miss Carter would say if she could see them.

“What’s funny?” Marc asked softly, turning his head

towards her.

She told him, still laughing.

“And your fiancé?” he asked. “Would he be shocked?”

He paused, then added, “Jealous, perhaps?”

“Peter? Good heavens, no, why should he be? He

trusts me.”

Marc was silent for a moment, and she thought he

had gone to sleep, but then he spoke again, making her

start, his tone sharp and unpleasant.

“Oh, he trusts you, does he? But what about me? Does

he trust me? A stranger of whom he knows nothing?”

She opened her mouth, but how could she bear to let

him know that Peter was too absorbed in his work to

care what she did?

He waited for her to answer, then said, “You have

been engaged for a long time. When do you plan to

marry?”

“Oh, some time next year,” she said vaguely. “We

haven’t actually fixed a date.”

He spoke abruptly, his voice hard. “When I get

married I shall do so with all possible speed. No long

engagement for me. I want to be certain of my girl.”

Was he thinking of his French girl-friend, the model?

“Do you hope to marry soon?” she asked.

He hesitated for several minutes before replying. “It

is in my mind,” he said slowly, at last. “But there are ...

problems.”

“Your girl-friend isn’t ready for marriage yet?” she

suggested. So he was thinking of the French girl. Kate

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

climbed 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