Follow a Stranger (16 page)

look so tragic. You are worrying about Pallas, no? Comfort

yourself. I have had a long talk with Jean-Paul today. He

told me everything.”

Kate looked up, eyes wide. “Oh!” she breathed, with

relief. Then, “You haven’t told Marc?”

“Of course not, as Jean-Paul asked me not to do so, but I

think you are both wrong. My son is quite capable of

understanding the matter, if it is explained to him carefully.

Pallas is a girl of temperament. Like a wild bird, she flies

hither and thither, struggling. She needs Jean-Paul’s

steadiness, his gravity, his French formality. He would be

the perfect mate for her.”

“But, madame—” began Kate, and the other woman

smiled and shook her head, interrupting her.

“I know, I know—Pallas must think she has chosen him

herself. I agree.”

“You do?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Lillitos smiled. “Pallas wants to be

hunted, to be caught, but only with her consent. She does

not want to be sold like a cabbage in the market place.”

Kate sighed with relief. “Exactly what I think.”

“But do you think it wise for Jean-Paul to flirt with you in

order to provoke her into an interest in him?”

asked Mrs. Lillitos seriously. “People may misunderstand.”

She carefully fitted several pieces into her puzzle, without

looking up, and added, “As Marc does.”

Kate’s fingers trembled as she tried to fit another piece

into an odd-shaped hole. Mrs. Lillitos gently took the piece

away from her.

“No,
ma chere,
not there ...”

Kate looked up and their eyes met. Mrs. Lillitos searched

the wide blue eyes thoughtfully, then Kate looked down

again. They went on doing the jigsaw puzzle in silence until

a sudden crack of thunder heralded the awaited arrival of

the storm.

Kate saw her hostess flinch. “What we need,” she said

cheerfully, “is some soft music, to drown the sound of the

storm. Have you got a radio?”

“We would waken the others,” Mrs. Lillitos said

regretfully. “But there is a record player in Marc’s office.

We could go down there, couldn’t we? And his office is so far

away from the bedrooms that we would disturb nobody.”

“Won’t he mind?” Kate asked anxiously. She did not want

to run the risk of another row with Marc tonight.

“Why should he?” asked his mother, raising one fine

eyebrow. She groped for her stick. “Give me your arm,
ma

chere,
and we will solace our souls with music.”

Kate laughed, and guided her down the stairs and along

the corridor which led to Marc’s office. She had never been

in there before and for a moment her curiosity mastered her

manners. She stared round her, taking in the long, red-

leather topped desk, the steel filing cabinets, the

bookshelves and cupboards. It was a long, wide room,

probably the biggest in the house. The windows were

covered with wooden shutters. There was discreet strip

lighting down the middle of the room, and a thick grey

carpet on the floor. Leather-backed chairs stood about the

room. Everything was very tidy, very businesslike.

Mrs. Lillitos was watching her, with a faint smile. “You

are interested in the room?”

Kate flushed. “I’m sorry, I was being curious.”

“Naturally.
Ma chere,
my son works very hard. He is at

the head of a vast modern business complex. It is not a ...

what do you say? A nine-to-five job. He works all the hours

of the day, sometimes. He gets very tired, very irritable.

Because, of course, he is only a man. And men have needs

they are sometimes too proud to reveal.”

Kate plunged across the room, desperate to change the

subject, afraid of what she might hear. “Is this the record

player?” She knew that she was behaving rudely, but she

had to protect herself at that moment, against the pain of

hearing his mother telling her about his need of Marie-

Louise.

Mrs. Lillitos did not attempt to reopen the subject. She

sat down in one of the thick leather chairs, and listened to

the record Kate chose—a crashing piece of Wagner which

rode down the storm and made it seem irrelevant.

When the music ended, the storm seemed to be blowing

itself out, although rain still rattled against the shutters

and the wind blew the cypresses until their branches

scraped along the walls.

Kate put on another record, since Mrs. Lillitos seemed

reluctant to go to bed. This one was quieter, more conducive

to a state of drowsiness.

“Ah, Bach,” Mrs. Lillitos sighed, smiling. “Jean-Paul told

me of your fondness for him. Marc, too, loves Bach,

especially the Brandenburgs.”

Kate forced herself to smile. She wished she had not been

told that Marc loved her favourite composer. She wanted to

be able to listen to Bach in future without being reminded of

her brief, unhappy stay here on Kianthos.

They heard the record to the end and then went up to

bed. Mrs. Lillitos smiled and touched Kate’s hand, as they

said goodnight at her door.

“You have been very kind to me,
petite.
I have never

enjoyed a thunderstorm before!”

Kate laughed. “I’m glad you enjoyed this one— I did, too.”

They turned to part, when a loud hammering startled

them. It went on, growing in volume, and Marc’s door burst

open and he plunged out, wearing dark red pyjamas, his

black hair on end.

“What is it?” asked his mother.

He shot her a look. “Someone on the verandah ...” He

vanished downstairs, and they more slowly followed.

“Who can it be at this hour?” Mrs. Lillitos wondered.

Behind them doors opened, but, as the banging had now

stopped, after a moment, the doors closed again.

They found Marc standing in the hall with a young man

wearing a soaking wet jacket. As they arrived he ran out

again into the rain, and Marc came towards them, frowning.

“There’s been a serious rock fall on the Etrusci road,” he

said grimly. “Alex is going to try to get across to Epilison by

boat—the telephone lines are all down here.” He turned

towards the stairs. “I’ll get over to Etrusci now,” he said.

“The worst of the fall crashed on the roofs of the side street.

There are a number of people injured, Alex doesn’t know

how badly. They are just digging them out.”

“I’ll come with you,” Kate said urgently, as he turned to

go.

He stopped and looked at her, expression inscrutable.

“You?” His mouth twisted oddly. “No, stay here. It will not

be a very pleasant sight.”

“I did a first aid course last year,” she said quickly. “I

learnt how to cope with civil disasters. I can bandage,

diagnose ... do all sorts of things.”

He grimaced, hesitating. Over her head he looked at his

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.”

She straightened wearily, pushing back a damp lank of

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,