Follow a Stranger (21 page)

to you and your family.”

After what you did for me?” Pallas made a face at her.

“You changed my whole attitude to life. Even Marc had to

agree that that was so! Now look, he is letting me study in

Paris. A year ago he wouldn’t hear of that! It is all your

doing!”

“I’m glad I helped,” said Kate. Her throat was dry. So

Marc agreed that she had changed Pallas? She could

believe that, but he had not intended to be flattering, no

doubt. He did not approve of the changes in his little sister.

It was difficult for her to say goodbye to Mrs. Lillitos.

The older woman seemed quietly disapproving, as though

Kate had hurt her in some way. Not that she said anything

to her, but there was a puzzled, sad expression in the dark

eyes as they said their farewells.

She looked down at the island as they flew far above it.

The sea ran round the shores, deep blue as the sky, with

white frothy foam topping the waves. The hills and valleys

were levelled from up here. It looked unreal, dreamlike.

That was what it was, she thought. An island of dreams.

For her they had been unhappy dreams, but they had been

beautiful, all the same.

She did not, in the long run, repent or regret anything.

She still loved Marc, even though she despised him. He was,

after all, a rich and attractive man. No doubt many women,

in the past, had been only too happy to amuse him. He could

not have realised how differently she felt. She remembered

the evening when he had taken her to the Black Swan, the

obsequious waiters, the curious stares, the whispering.

Living in that artificial atmosphere, it was not strange that

for him love should merely mean pleasure, a commodity to

be bought like any other.

At least the visit had cleared her mind, shown her the

falseness of her relationship with Peter. She might have

married him and been disastrously unhappy.

England was oddly noisy when they got to London.

Traffic deafened her. People were frighteningly busy and

bustling. Cars hooted, pavements were crowded. It was a

nightmare.

How quickly one became accustomed to the peace and

quiet of an island like Kianthos, she thought. She had lived

in an urban atmosphere for most of her life, yet after only

two weeks away, she found her eardrums banging with the

noise, her head aching, her eyes shrinking from the vivid

colours.

It was not that Greeks did not talk loudly. They did. They

shouted at each other, in the kitchen at Kianthos. She had

often heard the servants arguing, discussing, their gestures

and faces lively and dynamic.

But somehow it had all been more good-humoured, less

hurried. The pace of life was different.

Her mother embraced her warmly, held her away from

her to stare. “My goodness, you do look well!”

Kate laughed, “Do I?” She did not think that that was

true. She felt tired and mentally worn.

Then Mrs. Caulfield looked at Sam and exclaimed over

him. Brown, healthy, cheerful, Sam looked the very picture

of health.

Later, Kate explained to her mother that her engagement

was broken. Mrs. Caulfield took it calmly. She did not seem

surprised, nor did she ask questions. Kate was relieved, yet

wondered why her mother took it so well. Mrs. Caulfield

had never, by word or look, hinted that she did not

thoroughly approve of Peter. Yet she just smiled and said, “I

see, dear,” without so much as a blink of the eyes. Kate was

puzzled.

On returning to school, Kate had an interview with Miss

Carter. The Headmistress seemed quite resigned to the fact

that Pallas had left so suddenly after such a short stay at

the school.

“I think we did her good, Kate,” she said, smiling. ‘“Don’t

you think so?”

“I hope we did,” Kate agreed.

“I’m sure of it—she was very depressed and difficult

when she came here, but at the end of term I thought she

looked a changed girl, lively, cheerful, full of beans. A great

improvement, and I must congratulate you. You did what I

expected you to do. Now, did you enjoy your holiday in

Greece?”

“Very much,” Kate said politely.

After a few remarks about her own holidays in Greece in

past years, Miss Carter dismissed her, and Kate went down

to her class with a heavy heart. Now, she thought, it’s all

over. I can forget the entire episode. With Pallas gone, there

was nothing to remind her of Marc.

She met Peter in the High Street some weeks later. He was

talking abstractedly to a thin, brown-faced girl whose

untidy clothes and intense face put her in the student body.

Kate’s eyes met Peter’s, and he blinked, then smiled,

without rancour. “Hi, Kate!” he called, lifting a hand.

She smiled back but did not stop. Some other girl, she

thought, was going to have to learn that for Peter the only

thing in life was archaeology.

At least the little incident cleared her conscience. It was

obvious that Peter was not suffering at all. He seemed

perfectly normal.

The next weekend she went to the Lake District, with

one of the other teachers, to do some hill walking. The

weather was splendid, warm without being humid, and

never too hot.

The weekend was very pleasant, and, congratulating

themselves, the two decided to do it again sometime. They

met a party of fellow enthusiasts on the hills on the Sunday

and spent the day with them. All in all, Kate came home

feeling very much better.

But her mother looked up as she came into the kitchen,

still smiling, and said, “Mr. Lillitos was here yesterday,

Kate!”

Kate froze, her eyes for a second out of control, the pain

flashing into them before she had time to force a smile.

Mrs. Caulfield straightened. “Kate!” Her eyes filled with

concern. “My dear girl, whatever is it?” She frowned.

“Something he did while you were there? Kate, he didn’t

hurt you in any way, did he?”

Kate laughed, artificially. “Of course not, Mother. What

an imagination you’ve got!”

“Kate, don’t pretend with me,” her mother said, stricken.

Kate sighed. “I’m sorry, but please, don’t let’s discuss it.

What did M ... did he want?”

“He wanted to see you,” said her mother, watching her

uneasily. “He seemed angry when I told him you were away

climbing. Wanted to know who you were with—I thought it

odd, his asking in such an abrupt fashion. Kate, what’s

going on?”

“He ... I ... Oh, Mother, don’t let’s discuss it,” Kate burst

out. “Really, I’d much rather forget him.” She ran out of the

room, leaving her mother staring after her with a disturbed

expression. She wondered what had happened between her

daughter and the tall, dark Greek, to make Kate behave so

strangely.

Next morning, as Kate was leaving the house, the

telephone rang. Mrs. Caulfield hurriedly shouted after her

that she was wanted on the telephone. Kate stood,

hesitating. “Who is it?” she asked warily.

“A man with a foreign accent,” said Mrs. Caulfield. Kate

looked at the phone with loathing. “Ask who it is, and if it’s

Marc, tell him I’ve left for school.” Her mother obeyed, with

a worried look, and then said, “It’s someone called Jean-

Paul, I think.”

Kate came back. “Hallo, Jean-Paul!”

“
Bonjour,
Kate,” he said quietly. “I am ringing from

London, but I am just flying back to Paris. I have little time.

I want to ask you if you could come to Paris next week.

Pyrakis is giving a concert and I have two tickets. I would

be happy if you would come with me.”

Kate was astonished. “Well I ... thank you very much,

Jean-Paul, but I ...”

Quickly he interrupted, “I have English friends who

would be pleased to put you up for the night. They have a

large apartment and only one child, so there is a spare

bedroom you could use.”

Kate thought hurriedly. “That’s very kind of them. Are

you sure I would be no trouble?”

“They have said they would be delighted,” Jean-Paul

assured her. “They are very ordinary people, you

understand—a family, but charming and kind. Henry

Murray works with me.”

Kate said, “I didn’t even know you had a job, Jean-Paul!”

He laughed. “You thought I was a parasite?
Mais non,
I

am a worker bee, I assure you. I run one of Marc’s

companies.”

“Oh,” said Kate flatly.

Jean-Paul was silent for a second, then he said, “But you

will come, Kate? I would so like that. And Pyrakis would

like to meet you again. I saw him yesterday and he

mentioned you with great admiration.”

Kate felt herself blushing. “Well, thank you very much,

then, Jean-Paul. I would like to come.”

“You will fly? Shall I arrange your ticket?”

“No,” she said hastily, “I’ll do all that. When shall I

arrive?”

“Saturday morning, perhaps? I will meet you at Orly if

you give me the time of your flight. Drop me a postcard. I

must run now.
Au revoir, ma chere
.”

“
Au revoir,
Jean-Paul,” she said, as the phone clicked.

She turned to face her mother, still flushed. Mrs.

Caulfield looked dazed.

“What was all that about?” asked her mother.

“Someone I met in Greece, asking me to Paris for the

weekend.” Kate kissed her quickly. “Must fly or I’ll be late.”

“Kate!” her mother called after her, protesting, but she

was gone.

Mrs. Caulfield shut the door with a bang. Visits to

Greece, trips to Paris for the weekend with strange

Frenchmen! What was happening to her daughter?

When Kate got home, she asked her about Jean-Paul,

and Kate told her enough to set her mind partially at rest.

Kate could see that she was still longing to ask questions

about Marc Lillitos, but, since Kate obstinately set her face

against discussing the subject, there was little her mother

could do but accept the fact.

Kate managed to book a seat to Paris, very early on the

Saturday, and wrote to Jean-Paul’s Paris address giving the

time of arrival.

She was curious about his invitation. Why did he want to

see her again? He had no interest in her, she was sure of

that. But if so, what was his reason for inviting her?

She left for London on the Friday after school and spent

the Friday night in a small hotel near London Airport. Her

flight to Paris arrived on time and she came through

Customs, carrying her light overnight bag, to find Jean-

Paul patiently awaiting her.

He took her bag, smiling. “I am glad to see you again,

cherie
!”

She glanced at him oddly. Suddenly she had a suspicion

that he was up to something, but what?

They went directly to the apartment of his friends, to

leave her bag there, and Kate liked the friendly English

couple on sight. Henry Murray was short, sturdy with

brown eyes and a quiet smile. His wife, Clare, had a French

elegance coupled with British informality. She chattered

easily to Kate, as she showed her to her room.

“It’s nice to have someone to talk to now and then. Have

you known Jean-Paul long? I like him a lot, but he is a bit

deep, isn’t he? Doesn’t give away much. I wish you could

stay longer than one night, but I suppose you’ve got a job,

like the rest of us. Although my job is Sacha. You’ll meet

him tomorrow morning, I expect. He’s a demon—four years

old and knows everything! Of course, we christened him

Stephen, but everyone calls him Sacha, I don’t know why.

What lovely hair you’ve got. Do you mind my saying that? I

hope the bed is comfortable. I do hate a lumpy bed, don’t

you?”

Kate was kept busy just nodding or shaking her head.

She did not even try to get a word in edgeways.

After a cup of strong French coffee, Jean-Paul took her

out to lunch at an expensive and luxurious restaurant,

where she ate a shrimp omelette with green salad, and

frothy zabaglione. Afterwards they walked through the

shopping streets, Jean-Paul patiently amused as she

studied the windows with rapture. He took her on a

lightning tour, in his little red sports car, round the famous

landmarks, then drove her back to the Murray apartment

to change.

Clare Murray greeted them cheerfully, carrying a small