Follow a Stranger (8 page)

wondered if Jake had intended to get here early to help her

down, and then, hearing the car stop with a ferocious jerk,

turned her head to smile at him.

The smile froze on her face. It was not Jake, but Marc,

who had leapt out of the driving seat of the khaki jeep

drawn up far below her.

His expression as he looked up at her was grim. She

could see, even from this distance, the tight clenching of

his jaw and teeth. The flash of the hard grey eyes.

He was bitterly angry, that much was obvious.

Shock made her move too quickly. She felt her hands

slip, felt the tearing pain of the rock biting into her skin,

her feet slithering helplessly down. Panic blotted out all

thought for an instant, during which time she grasped

desperately at the rock face and spread-eagled herself

against it, toes curling into the niche they had somehow

found.

Stones rattled downwards nearby. She heard quick,

harsh breathing. Then an arm clamped round her and she

was pulled against a cool blue shirt, her face buried

against Marc’s chest.

For a second there was a silence, then he asked roughly,

“Are you badly hurt?”

Kate lifted her head, without looking up at him, and

pushed herself back a little. “No,” she whispered. “I’m so

sorry ...”

She heard his teeth snap together and felt the raging

fury inside him, although he said nothing. She felt singed

and weary. He was right to be angry with her. She had

been silly to attempt the climb.

“Do you think you can make the rest of the way with my

help?” he asked tensely.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Slowly, inch by painful inch, they descended. She felt

his arm tensed permanently to grab her if she fell again,

and dreaded the interview that must take place at the

foot.

Then, at last, they stood upright beside the jeep. Marc

opened the door without looking at her and she wearily

tumbled into the passenger seat. He slammed the door and

walked round to the other side, got in and then sat staring

at her, his arm along the seat.

“You stupid little fool!” he said harshly. “Were you mad

to attempt that climb? I thought you were out exploring

with Pallas and Sam. It was only when Jake got back that

I discovered the truth, and I tore the skin off his back for

letting you go up there alone. I drove here like a maniac,

expecting to find you in pieces at the foot, only to see you

stuck up there, like a fledgling bird.’" He glared at her

with burning ferocity. “If you weren’t in such a state

already I would gladly teach you a lesson you won’t forget!

Never try that climb again. Do you hear?”

She nodded, silenced for once.

“Show me your hands,” he commanded, after a long

pause.

Trembling, she turned them palm up, and heard his

breath drawn in explosively. “Good God!” he exclaimed.

They were scraped and bloody, one deep gash at the base

of her thumb, grass stains on the raw fingers.

“I wanted to see that Peter was comfortable,” she

muttered nervously.

“And I suppose he had you working with him up there?”

he asked tautly. “Digging and scraping like a mole all day?

Why didn’t he see you safely down to the car? He must

realise how dangerous that climb can be—or doesn’t he

care?”

“He was very busy,” she said. “If I’d asked him to come

with me he would have done, but I didn’t ask ...”

“He’s a selfish, irresponsible idiot!” Marc commented

savagely. “No decent man would let his woman make a

climb like that!”

“I’m not his woman,” she snapped back, “I’m his fiancée.

But the relationship is one of shared independence, not

slavery! He’s not a cave man, and I’m not in need of

protection.”

His grey eyes stormed at her furiously, the handsome

features suddenly rigid and dangerous. “You make love

sound like mild friendship. Is that all there is between you

two? That isn’t love as I know it!”

Something twisted inside her, she lowered her eyes. “I’m

sure it isn’t,” she said in a brittle voice.

His hands grabbed her shoulders, the curled fingers

biting into her. For a second she was frozen with panic,

then he released her with a thickly drawn breath, turned,

and started the engine.

They made the return journey in less than half the time

Jake had taken, tearing round corners and over bumps in

the road, jolting and swaying furiously. She clung to her

seat, eyes shut, aware of Marc’s anger through every

nerve in her body.

When they pulled up outside the villa Sam and Pallas,

who had been sitting on the verandah, rose nervously and

came down to meet them.

Marc ignored them both, helping Kate out of the jeep

with impersonal firmness. She shot a glance up at him

and found his face under a tight control again, but the

grey eyes met hers with the glacial expression she always

found so terrifying.

“Oh, your poor hands!” exclaimed Pallas, catching sight

of them. “What have you done to yourself?”

Marc propelled Kate towards the building, his hand

clamped on her elbow, taking no notice of his sister. He

pushed her upstairs and into the large, luxurious

bathroom.

“Sit down,” he ordered, and left her alone for a

moment, returning with a large bottle of iodine and some

plasters. He ran warm water into the bowl, immersed her

hands with the gentleness of a trained nurse, carefully

washed and dried them, then anointed the grazes with

iodine, while he put a plaster over the deeper cut.

Kate held her breath until the iodine had stopped

stinging. “Thank you,” she whispered, her blue eyes damp

with tears.

He leaned over her, very tall and overwhelming, his

eyes on her face.

“Did it hurt badly?”

She forced a wavering smile. “No, not at all.”

“You’re crying!” He somehow made that sound like an

accusation and she felt, again, anger in him.

“I got some dust in my eyes on the road,” she said

quickly.

He washed her face delicately, wiping her eyes with

wisps of cotton wool. She felt like a child again, sheltered,

cherished, vulnerable. Why was it so pleasant to have

one’s face washed for one? she thought vaguely, enjoying

the sensation.

He took her chin in his long fingers and turned her face

up to him. The savagery she had felt in him had all gone

now. A warm indulgence lay in his eyes.

“What a silly child you are,” he murmured, smiling

quizzically. “You looked like a little girl, with your eyes

screwed up tight, and your lip between your teeth. How

do your hands feel now?”

“Much better, thank you,” she said, very pink. In a

way, he was more dangerous in this mood.

He lifted them in his and then bent suddenly and

kissed them briefly. They quivered in his grip, then were

pulled away.

He straightened, still smiling. “What else does one do

with a hurt child but kiss it better?” he teased.

She turned blindly and stumbled out of the bathroom.

In a moment she was in her own room, the door safely

shut. She leaned against the door, heart pounding.

I mustn’t let him get under my skin like this, she

thought, eyes tight shut. He’s only playing some game or

other. I must keep my defences in place. I must hold on to

my love for Peter.

That evening, when she came down for dinner, she

found Marc in the lounge with a small, slender woman of

fifty or so, whose thick black hair, dark eyes and elegant

clothes had the mark of the Parisian. Marc glanced up,

smiling. “Ah, here is Miss Caulfield now, Mama.” He

stood up. “Miss Caulfield, this is my mother.”

Mrs. Lillitos smilingly held out a thin hand. “I am so

pleased to meet you. Pallas has written to me of you so

often that I feel I know you very well. But I cannot think

of you as Miss Caulfield—will you let me call you Kate?

Such a nice name. It always reminds me of Shakespeare.”

Marc broke in teasingly, “Ah, yes—Henry the Fifth!

What does he say: There is witchcraft in your lips, Kate

...” His eyes provoked her openly, and Kate knew herself

to be flushing.

His mother looked round at him, one delicate dark

brow lifted in enquiry. “Marc! You must not be so

teasing!”

He laughed. “Or did you mean Kate from
The Taming

of the Shrew,
Mama? Kate, the prettiest Kate in

Christendom, sometimes Kate the curst?”

Mrs. Lillitos clicked her tongue. “That was not very

polite, my son. I am surprised at you. Kate is covered with

embarrassment. Say you are sorry at once!”

“Ah, Mama,” he said lightly, “English girls are not

brought up like our girls, to blush at everything! If Kate is

pink it is because she wants to slap me, not because she is

shy.”

His mother looked from one to the other of them, very

slowly. A smile pulled at her lips. “Is that so?” she asked

quietly. “I see.”

“The first time we met,” he went on gaily, “she spat at

me like a cross kitten with its back arched. She almost

stepped under my car, yet she flew at me furiously for

daring to criticise her!”

Watching him from under lowered lashes, Kate

suspected his light tone hid resentment. It was the first

time had had ever referred to their first encounter.

“Perhaps you were rude to her, Marc,” his mother said

mildly. “Was he, Kate?”

Kate looked at her and was relieved to see that she

was smiling warmly. “Very rude,” she agreed, smiling

back.

“Ye gods!” he exclaimed. “I was the very model of

restraint! And when we met again she tore my character

into strips, told me how to run my life and threw me out

of her home as if I were a burglar!”

Mrs. Lillitos laughed softly. “The more I hear of her

the more I admire her! Now, Marc, go away, and let me

talk to Kate alone for a while. You are too disturbing.”

He made a violent grimace, but did not argue. When

he had gone, his mother smiled at her. “He was, even as

a boy—it was like having a hurricane permanently in

the house.”

Kate laughed. “I can imagine!”

Mrs. Lillitos leaned back. “Tell me about yourself, my

dear. Do you like teaching music?”

“I like teaching anyone as talented as Pallas,” she said

frankly. “It’s a great pleasure to feel that one is able to

help someone with her gifts.”

Mrs. Lillitos did not reply directly. After a pause she

said, “And yourself? Are you musically talented? Did you

ever want to be a professional pianist?”

“How did you know I was a pianist?” Kate asked in

surprise.

“I heard you playing to my son last night. It was very

pleasant. You must play for me again some time. Did you

enjoy exploring the island today?”

Kate blinked. “I ... I didn’t go with Pallas and Sam,”

she said slowly. “I went to the temple.”

“To Angkistri?” repeated Mrs. Lillitos. “Are you

interested in archaeology? We have a young man here

now, studying the temple.”

“He is my fiancé,” Kate explained, smiling in surprise.

Why hadn’t Marc told his mother that she and Peter were

engaged?

Mrs. Lillitos stiffened and stared at her. “Fiancé?” she

repeated. “Fiancé?”

Kate would have thought she did not know the word,

but she remembered that Mrs. Lillitos was French and

must be perfectly familiar with it.

“Didn’t Marc tell you?” she asked. “Surely Pallas must

have mentioned it to you?”

Then she saw that Mrs. Lillitos was very pale. Her frail

hand was groping for the stick which stood propped

against her chair.

Feebly she stood up, refusing Kate’s offer of help with a

silent shake of the head.

“I do not feel very hungry tonight,” she said. “I think I

will go back to my room. Will you call my son?”

Kate obeyed and Marc came in quickly, looking at his

mother with natural anxiety.

“Give me your arm, my son,” she said heavily.

He moved to her side at once and they left the room

slowly. Kate sank back into her own chair, baffled. Why

had Mrs. Lillitos suddenly altered? Was it just that she

had begun to feel ill, or had something Kate said upset

her?

Before she could think too closely about it, Pallas and