Follow a Stranger

by Charlotte Lamb

  Kate flushed. “I’m afraid that’s almost the whole of my

  Greek vocabulary!”

  Sophia laughed. “You will learn more, yes?”

  “I hope I shall,” said Kate. “I would like to be able to

  speak Greek. I only speak French, and a little German.”

  “I speak fluent English,” Sophia said proudly. “Marc

  taught me to speak it! I was his nurse. He learnt at school,

  and I learn from him.”

  Kate stared in amazement. “His nurse? But you can’t be

  old enough!” Then she flushed. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t

  mean to be rude.”

  Sophia was not at all cross, though. She beamed, “Why

  rude? It is very big compliment. I was fourteen when I first

  come to work for the family. Marc was little baby, just

  born. I help the nurse, then nurse leave when Marc is two,

  and I carry on.” She looked wistful. “He was very pretty

  baby. When he was eight, he went away to school. I stayed

  on as maid.” She counted on her fingers, muttering under

  her breath. “You guess? I am forty-five now.”

  “You don’t look it,” Kate said sincerely. “Your

  complexion is so good!”

  Sophia smiled, very pleased, and after another moment

  or two went off, leaving Kate to change for dinner. She

  slipped into her new dressing-gown and lay down on the

  bed for a while. The flight had been more tiring than she

  had expected. Half an hour later she got up and put on a

  turquoise dress which she had bought in Greyford. Then

  she went downstairs and found Peter and Marc in a wood-

  panelled lounge, talking quietly.

  She stood by the door, watching them, feeling a surge of

  resentment against Marc Lillitos for the bored expression

  on his dark face. She forgot the number of times she had

  been irritated by Peter’s passion for the past. It never

  entered his head that not everyone shared his interest, and

  even Sam had been known to ask him to shut up about

  ancient civilisation. But now it was just another crime to

  chalk up against the name of Lillitos, and she illogically

  felt pleased to be able to do so.

  Marc turned his head and saw her. Her heart did that

  annoying backward flip which she had only begun to notice

  since meeting him. There was something about the look in

  the grey eyes which bothered her a good deal—a lazy,

  mocking intimacy, as though he not only knew and

  understood her, but could read her mind with a glance. It

  was alarming to feel so transparent.

  She came forward and Peter turned to smile at her.

  “Oh, there you are, Kate! I’ve made all the arrangements

  with Lillitos. He’s kindly offered me camping equipment—

  a tent, blankets, sleeping bag, even cooking facilities.”

  “You’re going to sleep on the site?” Kate interrupted.

  “But, Peter, this is a holiday!”

  He stared, in mild bewilderment. “Well, I couldn’t make

  the journey every day, you know, there and back. The

  temple is up there,” pointing out of the long window,

  which looked up at a green expanse of mountainous

  country, “on that hooked peak. Mr. Lillitos says you can

  see the whole of the island from the top—a good strategic

  position for a fortress. There must be more than a temple

  up there.” His face glowed passionately. “Who knows what

  I’ll find?”

  “You’re going to leave me here and spend the whole

  fortnight alone on that mountain?” she asked incred-

  ulously.

  “You’ll have Pallas and Sam to keep you company,” he

  answered vaguely. “I thought the idea was that you should

  have fun with Pallas while I work on the site? You know

  you’re never very keen on site work, Kate.”

  Angrily conscious of Marc’s amused gaze, she was

  silent, and Peter took her agreement for granted. “Well,

  I’m very grateful,” he told Marc. “I’ll be off now, then.’' He

  shook hands with him, kissed Kate absently and was gone

  before she had time to think.

  She looked at Marc coldly. He was leaning back in his

  chair, his face sardonic.

  “You do not look too happy, Miss Caulfield. Your fiancé

  will be quite safe, I promise you. My car is taking him as

  far as the road goes. We do not have too many roads on

  Kianthos. Jake will help him carry up the camping

  equipment, and see the camp set up. He has plenty of food

  with him. And the goatherds will visit the Peak once a day,

  as they always do, with their goats. If anything went

  wrong, they would let me know.”

  “Goatherds?” she asked curiously.

  “There’s a village on the other side of the peak. They

  keep goats and have some olive trees. Cheese and olives

  are the staple diet, you know. Goat’s cheese and goat’s

  milk, and fish, in season. They call the peak To Angkistri.

  It means The Hook. There is a local legend about it which I

  must tell you some time.”

  “How long have your family lived here?” she asked.

  “Off and on for generations, I believe. My great-

  grandfather was a fisherman who left the island for the

  mainland when there was bad fishing for several years. My

  grandfather was successful enough to build up a good

  business and my father bought the island thirty years ago.

  He built this house.”

  “Sophia said you learnt your English at school,” she

  said. “Was that in England?”

  He nodded. “My mother is French, but English schools

  are famous all over the world, so they decided to send me

  to England, and then to a French university.”

  She was startled. “Oh, you were at university?”

  His dark face was suddenly alight with laughter. “That

  surprises you? You thought I was illiterate, I suppose?”

  Kate flushed. “I hadn’t thought about it,” she said

  offhandedly.

  “Well, I left without taking a degree, in fact, because my

  father was ill, and I had to take over the business. Then

  he died, so I carried on. I have often regretted it, but that

  is fate!”

  She watched him curiously. His face had a fatalistic look

  as he said the last words. “Do you believe that?”

  His brows rose. “In fate? Of course.” His tone was

  suddenly brusque, as though he disliked the subject.

  “Why have you never allowed anyone to visit the temple

  before?” she asked him after a long silence.

  “My father would never have strangers on Kianthos. He

  felt that they would spoil it. There are so few roads that it

  would be impossible to bring many cars here, anyway,

  and modern tourists love to go everywhere by car. The life

  of our people would change if we allowed too many

  outsiders on to the island.”

  “It’s such a beautiful place,” she said. “Isn’t that a selfish

  attitude?”

  “The villagers all agree with me. They are happy as they

  are.”

  “Are they? Living on goat’s cheese and olives, with

  occasionally a little fish?�
�

  “Does the technological society make men any happier?”

  he countered coolly.

  “I think your attitude is too possessive,” she said.

  His eyes flashed across the room at her and she felt oddly

  breathless, as though he had touched her. “But I am

  possessive,” he said softly. “Any man worth his salt must

  be—the desire to possess is the root of love.”

  She was angrily aware of a weakness spreading through

  her body, a trembling and fluttering of the nerves. “That’s

  a very old-fashioned idea,” she said, trying to laugh, but

  too conscious of his masculine presence to be able to carry

  it off. “Nowadays we believe that to love is to be ready to

  let go. People have to be free.”

  “Hence divorce?” he said sarcastically. “And the high

  abortion rate in your country, not to mention the appalling

  tragedies of drug addiction.”

  She was grateful when, at that moment, Sam and Pallas

  came into the room. Sam was still very pale, but the blue

  line around his mouth had vanished, and some of his

  normal cheerfulness had returned.

  “I am afraid you will not meet my mother this evening,”

  Marc said to him. “She has a headache. But I hope she will

  get up for lunch tomorrow.” He looked sharply at Sam’s

  face. “You look ill. Was it a bad flight?”

  Sam grimaced. “I’m the world’s worst traveller. Don’t

  worry, though, I’ll be fine now I’m back on terra firma.”

  They dined quietly, in a very modern room with mosaic

  tiling on the floor and pleasant, yellow walls. Kate ate

  steak and salad, followed by a very sweet dessert made of

  figs and cream, after which black coffee seemed very

  appropriate.

  Sam excused himself early, pleading a headache, and

  Pallas went up to sit and talk to her mother for a while.

  Kate was intending to go to bed early, too, but Marc said

  that she would feel more like sleep when she had walked

  around the garden for a while.

  “The air is so pure here,” he said, draping her cardigan

  around her shoulders, his fingers lingering on the nape of

  her neck for a second longer than was necessary. She

  shivered at his touch, and he glanced down at her, grey

  eyes narrowed.

  They walked round the garden without talking,

  listening to the cicadas and feeling the cool dusk stealing

  over the trees and flowers. The air was, as he had said,

  fresh and sweet, with a faint scent of spring permeating it.

  One tree was covered with purple flowers which Marc said

  were called Judas flowers. High up on the hills the

  mountain furze was in golden bloom and a final shaft from

  the setting sun made the slopes glow like molten gold, then

  the light died and a purple shadow crept over them.

  She was reminded of Peter and felt a pang of disloyalty.

  He had only been gone a short time and already she was

  forgetting she was engaged to him. Marc was far too

  experienced in the small art of flirtation for her. She was

  not sure whether he was deliberately flirting with her, or if

  it was merely a reflex action, but from time to time she

  was aware that he was deliberately testing her reactions to

  him.

  Perhaps he had been piqued by her attitude from their

  first meeting? Or perhaps he liked to have a row of scalps

  dangling from his belt?

  Whatever the reason, those charming smiles, the light,

  meaning phrases and the way he touched her neck just

  now—they all added up to a flirtation. And she did not

  mean to get involved in that sort of folly.

  “I think I’ll go in now,” she said, as they approached the

  terrace again.

  “I’m not in the least tired,” he said. “Are you really

  sleepy? You don’t look it. Won’t you play for me first?

  Something quiet and gentle?”

  She played a piece of soft night music, by Mozart, and

  the insidious intricacies gradually drove out all disquieting

  thoughts from her head, and restored her sense of humour.

  I’m a fool, she thought, her fingers moving delicately

  over the keys. Peter leaves me too much alone. I’m making

  mountains out of molehills, building ridiculous fantasies.

  Marc is just being polite. I must get it into proportion.

  When she lifted her hands finally and sat back, Marc

  smiled at her. “You have a very pleasant touch.”

  “I’m a competent amateur,” she said firmly, “but thank

  you.”

  He looked at her for a long moment, his face inscrutable.

  “What a girl for laying out the facts you are,” he said at

  last. “You are unusually honest. I know many much less

  talented musicians who would claim a great deal more

  than competence.”

  She refused to be drawn, smiled and said goodnight,

  leaving him alone in the lounge.

  She was up early next morning and met Sam on the

  stairs. He looked his usual self once more, clear-eyed and

  alert. He grinned at her, “I slept like a log! How about

  you?”

  “Fine,” she admitted.

  They found themselves the first to arrive for breakfast.

  A pretty girl in a lavender overall was moving about,

  laying the table, and looked round in surprise as they

  entered the room. She smiled, though, and said good

  morning in rather thickly accented English, then pointed

  out the food, waiting over steel hotplates.

  There were scrambled eggs, bacon and sausages, but

  Kate stuck to her usual orange juice and slice of toast.

  Sam, however, greedily heaped his plate with a glorious

  mixture of everything, and grinned at her teasingly as he

  began to eat.

  “I heard you playing the piano last night,” he said,

  between mouthfuls.

  “Did it wake you? I’m sorry. Marc asked me to play

  something before I went to bed.”

  Sam shook his head. “It was quite pleasant, drifting off

  to sleep to Mozart.” He shot her an acute glance. “Don’t fall

  for Marc, will you? He’s an attractive sort of chap, but

  Pallas says he has a girlfriend. French, apparently—a

  successful model. She won’t give up her career or Pallas

  thinks they would be married by now.”

  Kate gritted her teeth and spoke very brightly. “A tough

  career girl should suit him! I hope she keeps him tied up in

  knots for years. His attitude to women is as out of date as

  crinolines.”

  Sam laughed. “You’re so right! Look, you don’t mind my

  giving you the gypsy’s warning, do you, Sis? It’s just that

  I’d hate you to get hurt.”

  “You seem to forget I’m engaged to Peter,” she said

  rather sharply.

  Sam grimaced. “Yes, but then Peter isn’t exactly a ball

  of fire in the romance stakes, is he? I mean, an Anglo-

  Saxon knee bone gives him more of a thrill than you do!”

  “Really, Sam!” she snapped angrily.

  Sam looked sheepish. “Oh, I’m sorry. It isn’t my

  business, I know, but much as I like Pet
er, he does rather

  neglect you. Girls like a bit of attention from time to time.”

  “You should write a book on the subject,” she said, “as

  you have so much valuable advice.”

  Pallas arrived while Sam was groping for a reply, and

  they dropped the subject. They talked of what they should

  do that day. The sun was already bright, but cold, and the

  sky was an unbelievable blue. The idea of a swim that

  morning was dismissed, and Sam suggested that Pallas

  show them round the island.

  “I wonder how Peter is getting on,” said Kate, sipping

  black coffee slowly.

  “Would you like to go up and see?” asked Pallas. “Jake

  will take you in the car to where the track starts. Would

  you mind walking the rest of the way, though? It is very

  tough going.”

  “Of course I don’t mind,” Kate said easily. “I’ve done

  some hill walking. We went to the Lake District several

  times for our family holidays. Do you remember, Sam?”

  “I remember you puffing and blowing when we got to

  the top,” he teased.

  Kate laughed. “Are you sure you don’t mind my going off

  alone, though? It seems very rude. Your brother asked me

  to come to keep you company, you know. Actually, I would

  like to make a tour of the island with you—I just felt

  worried about Peter ...”

  “I understand,” said Pallas, smiling at her. “I’ll have

  Sam to keep me company. Really, I don’t mind. You go,

  and put your mind at rest. I expect you would like to see

  the temple yourself. Then, when you know how Peter is

  coping, you can feel free to enjoy yourself with us.”

  Kate let out a sigh of relief. “Well, thank you, then. I’d

  like to go.”

  Pallas came round to the garage with her, to find Jake,

  and he readily agreed to drive Kate up to To Angkistri.

  They set out ten minutes later and Jake talked to her all

  the way. He had, he explained, learnt his English in

  America.

  “My name is Hector Hyakos, but in America they called

  me Jake for short. The States—a great country. Fifteen

  years I lived there. Very happy, earn lot of money. But

  then I met the boss and he says come to Kianthos, be my

  driver-mechanic-man of work. Handyman, they call it in

  the States. I figure that I never manage to save enough to

  come home on my own. So I accept.”

  “And are you glad you came?” she asked him.

  “Sure I’m glad. The boss is a great guy—generous,