Authors: Charlotte Lamb
knew that Marc had only been reacting angrily, when he
kissed her, to what he believed to be her interference
between Pallas and Jean-Paul. The furious glitter of his
eyes had confirmed that. But she stupidly felt hurt that he
should take Marie-Louise to see Pyrakis so soon after
taking her there.
She went up to change for lunch and chose a plain green
linen dress which somehow expressed her depressed mood.
After lunch she played cards with Helene Lillitos, who
was bored. She found the other woman quite pleasant, out
of the company of Marie-Louise. Helene seemed to make an
effort to be polite to her. Kate had noticed that she always
wore black or lavender, and wondered if she were still
mourning for her husband. But Paul Lillitos had died
several years ago, so perhaps it was just that Helene knew
that the sombre colours suited her.
Occasionally, Helene’s slight French accent was tinged
with an American twang, which reminded Kate of her usual
residence in the United States.
She asked Helene where she lived when she was in
America, and Helene explained that she had two homes.
“An apartment in New York and a little place in the hills
in California. New York used to be an exciting place, but it
is becoming a nightmare. One hardly likes to go out after
dark, and never goes out alone.” She shuddered. “So many
of my friends have been mugged—you know?—robbed in the
street. It is incredible that such things happen in such a
civilised city.”
Kate asked her about California, and Helene went on to
describe her other home. “In the spring and autumn it is
beautiful, but it is too hot in summer.”
“The Americans call autumn the fall, don’t they?” Kate
asked.
Helene laughed. “Yes, the fall.”
“It is such a descriptive word,” said Kate. “It conjures up
falling leaves, the dying summer, everything.”
Helene looked at her carefully. “You like words?” Then
she smiled. “Of course, you are a schoolteacher.”
Kate flushed at the slight condescension of the words. “I
teach music, not English literature,” she said, a little more
sharply than she meant.
Helene said quickly, “I am sorry, I did not mean to offend
you.”
Kate relaxed. “I shouldn’t have snapped,” she apologised
in her turn.
Marc and Marie-Louise returned just before dinner. Kate
saw them walking up towards the villa, holding hands and
talking with animation, and she had to fight down a wild
impulse to run away.
She was sitting beside Sam on the verandah, drinking an
aperitif, and wearing her white voile dress. The weather
had been rather sultry that afternoon. When the early
morning mist lifted the sun was revealed, like a brass coin,
in the sky, and as the day wore on the heat grew more and
more oppressive.
Sophia darkly prophesied a thunderstorm that night, and
Kate was inclined to agree with her. The lowering sky, the
humidity, seemed to make one inevitable. Something of the
same atmosphere lay on her own spirits. She felt tense,
restless, nervous.
Marie-Louise gave Sam and Kate a brief, indifferent
glance as she walked past, but Marc nodded to them, his
eyes sliding over Kate without meeting hers. He was
looking rather serious, she noticed. She felt relief flood into
her when the other two vanished inside. The first encounter
had passed somehow, and now she need not dread having to
speak to him.
At dinner Jean-Paul was unceasingly attentive, talking
to her, watching her, smiling at her. She was grateful for
the shield of his presence. Behind that shield she could
build up her defences again. Marc must not be allowed to
bulldoze them down again.
She and Jean-Paul each had a need of each other, she
was under no illusions about his flattering attentions. He
wanted to heal his pride, wounded by Pallas.
The rest of the table was more divided. Pallas barely
spoke at all. Sam was absorbed by his shish-kebabs and
sweet, orange-flavoured gateau. Helene seemed distrait and
nervous, and Mrs. Lillitos was apparently quite lacking
appetite. Marc spoke anxiously as she sent away her plate,
barely touched, but she unsmilingly shook her head,
obviously telling him that she was quite well.
Kate looked back at the time before the arrival of Marie-
Louise and Helene, and wished it was back. There had been
more ease in the party then. They had been quite happy.
After dinner Marc retired to his office. His mother went
to bed, with Helene in attendance, and Kate soon' followed,
feeling very low in spirits.
She heard voices from Mrs. Lillitos’s bedroom, and
thought that it was charming to see such affection between
Helene and her mother-in-law, particularly since Paul
Lillitos had died so long ago. Would Marie-Louise get such a
warm welcome into the family? She felt somehow, that Mrs.
Lillitos did not like the other woman. She was always polite
to her, yet there was a coldness between them. Marie-
Louise was always cloyingly eager to flatter Mrs. Lillitos.
Perhaps the older woman found that distasteful. Certainly
the quiet warmth between her and Helene was based, Kate
thought, upon respect for each other.
She washed, cleaned her teeth and got undressed, then
sat, in her frilly white nightie, staring at herself in the
mirror. She was thinner, she thought. There were new
hollows in her cheeks, a blue shadow beneath her eyes. Of
course, she had been ill. Her appetite had not yet recovered
since her attack of sunburn. But that did not account for the
little droop at the corners of her mouth, or for those tell-tale
shadows in her eyes.
A soft knock on her door startled her. She slipped on her
dressing-gown and went to open the door. Her heart leapt
into her throat. She stared, blue eyes wide and frightened,
at Marc.
He was wearing an elegant dark lounge suit, formal
white shirt and dark tie. He looked more like a successful
businessman than ever tonight.
“Yes?” she asked, holding her voice steady by an effort.
He looked at her dressing-gown, which she had not
buttoned, and which showed the scanty white nylon nightie
beneath.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice deep, “I did not realise you
had gone to bed.”
She pulled the dressing-gown closer. “What did you
want?”
“To apologise,” he said abruptly. “May I come in for a
second? We need not close the door, if you are nervous about
the conventions.” Without waiting for an answer, he walked
past her into the room. Kate looked down the corridor, saw
nobody, and followed him, leaving the door ajar.
He stood by her dressing-table, looking down, his fingers
lightly touching the lids of cosmetic jars, perfume bottles,
her hairbrush. She waited, a few feet away, looking at the
back of his dark head.
Then he seemed to jerk himself together, turned and
looked at her, his face unreadable.
“I am sorry about that incident on the beach,” he said
formally. “I lost my temper.”
“You blame me for Jean-Paul,” she said quietly. “You’re
wrong. You should never have agreed to that arrangement,
you know. It’s that that has been at the bottom of the
trouble with Pallas all the time—she felt she was under
pressure, being forced to marry him.”
“Arranged marriages work very well,” he said de-
fensively, “and I am certain Pallas liked Jean-Paul very
much. I should never have sent her to school in England. It
has given her crazy ideas.”
She flushed. “Like falling in love and choosing whom one
marries?”
“Exactly so,” he retorted. “You chose whom you should
marry, and see what a mess you have made of your life!”
“You have no right to say that!” she said angrily.
“Isn’t it true?” he asked thickly. “Can you deny that Peter
Hardy is selfish and indifferent to you? All he thinks of is
his work. He doesn’t love you. He probably never has—or
only for a short while. I do not suppose he will ever fall in
love with anyone. He is too self-obsessed.”
“You mustn’t say this to me,” she said weakly, unable to
deny what had become obvious to her with every day that
passed since their first meeting. No man who loved her
could have abandoned her in a house where she would be
thrown into Marc’s company. Peter had not even noticed
that she was uneasy with Marc. If he had loved her, he
would have been aware of it.
“Your mother should have said it long ago,” Marc said
coolly. “Even Sam is aware of it. It is obvious to everyone
but you. Peter does not love you, Kate, and I do not believe
you love him.”
She felt her cheeks flame into scarlet and her eyes
seemed to lose the ability to focus. When her breathing
settled a little, she said huskily, “My feelings are my own
business. Was that all you wanted to say?” She was
suddenly terrified that he might guess her feelings for him.
He must go, she thought desperately. He must leave her
alone before she betrayed herself.
Marc thrust his hands into the pockets of his elegant
suit. “You won’t listen to common sense, then? You hand out
free advice to Pallas, to Sam, to me—why won’t you take
some back? Break off this ridiculous engagement and find
someone you can really love and who is a man, not a
dedicated boffin.”
She was so afraid that he would read her love in her eyes
that she said fiercely, “Perhaps I have—perhaps Jean-Paul
is the answer to a maiden’s prayer. Now, do you mind
going? I’m sleepy.”
Marc turned, like an automaton, his face rigid. “Very
well, good night,” he said stiffly, and then the door was shut
and Kate was alone.
She rammed her fists into her mouth, quivering with
agony. She could not possibly sleep now. She dressed again,
in jeans and sweater, and slipped out for a stroll in the
garden, but the thick heat of the air was no relief, and after
ten minutes she went back indoors, where it was cooler.
As she passed Mrs. Lillitos’s room the door opened and
Marc came out, his shoulders unusually bowed. He
straightened as they met, his eyes running over her jeans
and sweater in surprise.
“You’ve been out?” he asked sharply. “Alone?”
“I was too hot to sleep,” she said uncomfortably. He
moved closer and looked down at her, the grey
eyes narrowed. “Have you been thinking about what I
said?”
Before she could answer his mother called quickly from
within her room, and he turned back to answer her.
“Is that Kate?”
Kate looked in at the open door. “Yes, Mrs. Lillitos. I
couldn’t sleep as it was so hot.”
Mrs. Lillitos was sitting in a deep armchair with a jigsaw
puzzle on a tray in her lap.
She smiled. “Come and do this with me, then, my dear. I
cannot sleep, either. I am afraid there is going to be a
storm tonight, and I do hate them so.”
Kate went into the room. “I’m not very good at jigsaws,”
she said, “but I would like to talk to you for a while. I hate
storms, too.”
Marc had followed her in, and was standing watching
them. His mother looked at him severely.
“Go to bed, my son. You look very tired. I shall be quite all
right with Kate to keep me company. Young company
makes me cheerful, and Kate is such a pretty child.”
He nodded. “Very well, Mama. Good night.” He hesitated,
then added coolly, “Good night, Kate.”
His mother picked up a piece of blue sky. “Now, where does
this go, I wonder? All these blue pieces look the same
shape.”
Kate hunted for a moment or two, then at last managed to
fit the piece into place.
“It’s a hard puzzle,” she said. “Do you do many of them,
Mrs. Lillitos?
“It helps to pass the time. Marc is so absorbed in the
business, and Helene is always in the States. Even my
little Pallas is away at school.”
Kate felt herself flushing. Did Mrs. Lillitos know about
Jean-Paul’s change of mind? Had Marc told her that he
blamed Kate?
The older woman’s fragile hand suddenly reached out
and took hers.
“
Ma chere,”
she murmured gently, “there is no need to