Follow a Stranger (19 page)

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

dances now!”

Marc interrupted her abruptly, leaving Marie-Louise and

pushing Sam aside.

“No, no, we cannot have brother and sister dancing—

Sam can learn the steps from Marie-Louise.” He slid his

arm round Kate’s waist and she felt her heart squeezed

inward, as though by a giant hand.

Marie-Louise looked hard at them, her eyes brilliant

with fury. Sam stood awkwardly, trying to smile at her, but

she pushed past him, flinging a careless, “I am going to get

myself a drink ...” as though he were a little boy.

Kate looked up at Marc. Didn’t he realise how Marie-

Louise resented his dancing with her? He was gazing past

her, his jaw taut, the grey eyes hidden by drooping lids. She

could not read his expression at all.

Anyway, she thought defiantly, why should she worry

about Marie-Louise? Let Marc deal with her. She was here,

in his arms, for a brief while, and she determined to enjoy

it.

As though he read her thoughts he glanced down, the

arrogant mouth relaxed. “We dance well together, don’t

we?” he said, very softly, his arm tightening round her

waist.

She laughed, a little breathless with excitement, and a

pink flower bloomed in each cheek.

His left hand gripped hers more firmly, his thumb sliding

over the back of her hand and touching her ringless finger.

“There is a white band where your ring was,” he said

teasingly. Over dinner he had mentioned, very casually,

that Peter had already left the island.

Kate threw a glance up at him. “You know I’ve broken my

engagement, then?” she asked unsteadily.

He grinned wickedly. “I heard every word,” he admitted

shamelessly. “I was eavesdropping.”

She flushed hotly. “How could you?” she burst out. “You

shouldn’t have ...” She remembered the conversation

between herself and Peter. Marc had had no right to listen.

He pulled her nearer to him, bending his head to whisper

to her, “You took my advice, though,” he said with irritating

self-assurance. “I knew you did not love that fellow.”

Burning with humiliation, she tore herself away and ran

out of the room, through the front door and out into the

quiet garden. As she plunged beneath the cypresses she

heard him following her and turned angrily to face him,

chin tilted defiantly.

“Please leave me alone,” she said, her voice wavering.

Marc stood, facing her, very tall and dominating, his

hands in his pockets. Over the top of the hills the moon

swam, like a silver crescent, trailing misty clouds. The wind

stirred slightly in the branches of the trees. From the house

she could hear the faint sounds of sweet music and a patina

of yellow light streaked the darkness by the door.

“You don’t mean that,” Marc said, his accent sounding

foreign for once, his voice thickened and uneven.

“I do!” she flung bitterly, hating him for that moment.

She was so afraid that he had guessed her love for him that

she could almost have killed him at that moment. Her pride

fought bitterly against her love, poisoning it.

He stepped closer and looked down, eyes glittering in the

moonlight. His profile was dangerously masculine, the light

shafting on the narrow planes of his cheekbones and jaw. “If

I thought for a moment that you did—” he began slowly.

“Go away!” she whispered frantically, her hands pushing

at his chest.

But at her touch, as though a dam burst, he grabbed her

shoulders and pulled her close against him. She trembled,

feeling the hard litheness pressing against her. “No, Marc,”

she whispered in terrified appeal.

“I’ve had enough of being treated as an old-fashioned

villain,” he retorted harshly. “Like all women, you are not

honest enough to admit your own motives. You make up

fantasies and hide behind them. Well, I will not let you

fashion a fantasy about me. I’m real.” He bent her

backwards, his hands cruelly hurting her shoulders. “Look

at me, Kate!”

She nervously glanced upwards. His face was very close,

the features etched sharply in the moonlight. His mouth

had a cruel tightness below the mocking eyes. Then he

slowly lowered his mouth until it touched hers. She gasped,

trying to shrink away, and he pulled her nearer. His lips

whimpered, against hers, “You want this as much as I do—

do you think I don’t know that? You can’t hide from me for

ever, Kate. I want you ...”

Then his mouth was moving, hotly, urgently against

hers, and she felt her body melting in passionate response.

Through the rising passion and clamour of her pulses she

dimly tried to reason with herself. He had not said he loved

her. But her own desire was breaking loose from the bonds

she had placed on it, and she knew she would not be able to

resist much longer. She loved him too much.

The sudden interruption was like a douche of cold water

on inflamed nerves. From behind them came a peal of

silvery laughter, and Marc’s arms dropped from Kate, his

head jerking upwards, a blind look on his face.

Marie-Louise stood there, head to one side, an artificial

smile of false amusement painted on her red mouth.

“Cheri,
I am so sorry to spoil your fun, but there is an

urgent call for you from New York. They said it could not

wait.”

He muttered furiously beneath his breath, looked at

Kate, hesitated, then walked quickly into the house.

Marie-Louise smiled at Kate, her eyes hard and

glittering. “Marc is an exciting lover,
n’est-ce pas
? I hope

you enjoyed your little interlude him.” She held up a hand,

as Kate stirred in restless anger,
“
Mais non
, I am not

jealous,
ma petite.
There have been so many pretty little

girls! Marc likes his girls blonde, sometimes, for a change,

but he prefers brunettes. I would not want you to

misunderstand him. He is a flirt, you understand. He likes

to conquer. You say in England—he collects scalps!”

Kate was aching with bitter misery, but she managed to

hold up her head in cool scorn. “Why are you telling me all

this?”

“To save you from being hurt. I know how serious you

English girls cart be—you might think he meant his little

attentions. When I marry Marc all this will stop, of course,

but until I am ready to give up my career I do not feel I can

interfere with his pleasures. After all, he is a man! So

please enjoy yourself with him as you wish, but remember—

be prepared for dismissal when he is tired of you.”

Kate’s face was burning with humiliation now. She

laughed, fiercely. “Thank you, Mademoiselle Filbert. You

are too kind!”

“Ah, you are cross,” said Marie-Louise sweetly. “I did not

mean to hurt your feelings, or make you feel ashamed.

Believe me!”

Kate walked away, with the mocking laughter ringing in

her ears. She went to her room and sat on the bed, clutching

her head in her hands. Humiliation, pain, shame drove her

wild. She bit her inner lip until it bled, then threw herself

down on to the bed and gave herself up to a silent sobbing,

her head buried in the pillow.

Echoes kept reaching her inner ears. So many pretty

little girls, that woman had said. And Marc is a flirt, you

understand, he collects scalps. Well, she had suspected as

much from the beginning. It was only confirmation of what

she already knew. But how it hurt! She had revealed herself

to him, left herself exposed to his mockery. Now he knew

that he could have her if he wished—what next?

She must get away, she thought, her pride stung. But

how? She was forced to wait until Marc allowed her to

leave, and every moment she spent in his company was

dangerous. She never wished to see him again.

So he thought he would amuse himself with her, did he?

Play until Marie-Louise condescended to marry him? What

had she said? Be prepared for dismissal when he tires of

you? The insolence of it!

Then her blood ran hotly as she remembered the way he

had whispered that he knew she wanted his kisses. She had

noticed at the time that he had not mentioned love, only

said that he “wanted” her. Well, now she knew what he had

meant!

She had locked the door of her room. Suddenly she heard

the door knob turning. Someone knocked. She sat up,

rubbing her face.

“Who is it?” she whispered.

“Marc! Let me in!”

She stiffened. How dared he come here like this! Scarlet,

hollow-eyed, she went to the door. “Go away!” she hissed.

“Leave me alone!”

She heard him groan, “Oh, for God’s sake, not again! I

thought we had had that out!” And there was a note of

tender amusement, of indulgence, in his voice which stung

her.

“I meant it the first time,” she said, “before you forced

your disgusting attentions on me!”

There was a silence. “Kate,” he said, his voice sharp now,

“open this door!”

“I certainly will not!”

Again a pause, then he said, almost pleadingly, “Kate, I

have to fly to Athens tomorrow morning at dawn. I have to

go to the States. I won’t be back for a week at the earliest.

Let me in, please. I must see you.”

“We have nothing to say to each other. Now, go away.

You’re boring me.” She yawned, loudly, near the door.

He rattled the door again, loudly. “Kate, for God’s sake—I

need you!” His voice seemed muffled by the door, strained

and uneven.

“All I need is some sleep,” she said lightly. “Don’t you

know when you’re not wanted? Now, good night!”

The silence this time was so long that she pressed her ear

to the door, to see if he was still there, and jumped away

when she heard his breathing.

“For the last time, Kate,” he began thickly, and she cut

him short.

“Good grief, you’re worse than the Inland Revenue!

Haven’t you gone yet?”

She heard his heavy footsteps move away, then the slam

of his own door.

He had gone, and tomorrow he would not be here when

she got up. She would probably never see him again. She

sat down on her bed, looking at herself in the mirror.

Hollow-eyed, pale, her blonde hair made her look like a

negative, strangely ethereal and filled with sadness. How

long, she wondered, would this pain last?

The rest of the holiday passed, for Kate, in a dull dream.

She walked, sunbathed and talked to the others without