Follow a Stranger

by Charlotte Lamb

  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, quiveri
ng 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

  look so tragic. You are worrying about Pallas, no? Comfort

  yourself. I have had a long talk with Jean-Paul today. He

  told me everything.”

  Kate looked up, eyes wide. “Oh!” she breathed, with

  relief. Then, “You haven’t told Marc?”

  “Of course not, as Jean-Paul asked me not to do so, but I

  think you are both wrong. My son is quite capable of

  understanding the matter, if it is explained to him carefully.

  Pallas is a girl of temperament. Like a wild bird, she flies

  hither and thither, struggling. She needs Jean-Paul’s

  steadiness, his gravity, his French formality. He would be

  the perfect mate for her.”

  “But, madame—” began Kate, and the other woman

  smiled and shook her head, interrupting her.

  “I know, I know—Pallas must think she has chosen him

  herself. I agree.”

  “You do?”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Lillitos smiled. “Pallas wants to be

  hunted, to be caught, but only with her consent. She does

  not want to be sold like a cabbage in the market place.”

  Kate sighed with relief. “Exactly what I think.”

  “But do you think it wise for Jean-Paul to flirt with you in

  order to provoke her into an interest in him?”

  asked Mrs. Lillitos seriously. “People may misunderstand.”

  She carefully fitted several pieces into her puzzle, without

  looking up, and added, “As Marc does.”

  Kate’s fingers trembled as she tried to fit another piece

  into an odd-shaped hole. Mrs. Lillitos gently took the piece

  away from her.

  “No, ma chere, not there ...”

  Kate looked up and their eyes met. Mrs. Lillitos searched

  the wide blue eyes thoughtfully, then Kate looked down

  again. They went on doing the jigsaw puzzle in silence until

  a sudden crack of thunder heralded the awaited arrival of

  the storm.

  Kate saw her hostess flinch. “What we need,” she said

  cheerfully, “is some soft music, to drown the sound of the

  storm. Have you got a radio?”

  “We would waken the others,” Mrs. Lillitos said

  regretfully. “But there is a record player in Marc’s office.

  We could go down there, couldn’t we? And his office is so far

  away from the bedrooms that we would disturb nobody.”

  “Won’t he mind?” Kate asked anxiously. She did not want

  to run the risk of another row with Marc tonight.

  “Why should he?” asked his mother, raising one fine

  eyebrow. She groped for her stick. “Give me your arm, ma

  chere, and we will solace our souls with music.”

  Kate laughed, and guided her down the stairs and along

  the corridor which led to Marc’s office. She had never been

  in there before and for a moment her curiosity mastered her

  manners. She stared round her, taking in the long, red-

  leather topped desk, the steel filing cabinets, the

  bookshelves and cupboards. It was a long, wide room,

  probably the biggest in the house. The windows were

  covered with wooden shutters. There was discreet strip

  lighting down the middle of the room, and a thick grey

  carpet on the floor. Leather-backed chairs stood about the

  room. Everything was very tidy, very businesslike.

  Mrs. Lillitos was watching her, with a faint smile. “You

  are interested in the room?”

  Kate flushed. “I’m sorry, I was being curious.”

  “Naturally. Ma chere, my son works very hard. He is at

  the head of a vast modern business complex. It is not a ...

  what do you say? A nine-to-five job. He works all the hours

  of the day, sometimes. He gets very tired, very irritable.

  Because, of course, he is only a man. And men have needs

  they are sometimes too proud to reveal.”

  Kate plunged across the room, desperate to change the

  subject, afraid of what she might hear. “Is this the record

  player?” She knew that she was behaving rudely, but she

  had to protect herself at that moment, against the pain of

  hearing his mother telling her about his need of Marie-

  Louise.

  Mrs. Lillitos did not attempt to reopen the subject. She

  sat down in one of the thick leather chairs, and listened to

  the record Kate chose—a crashing piece of Wagner which

  rode down the storm and made it seem irrelevant.

  When the music ended, the storm seemed to be blowing

  itself out, although rain still rattled against the shutters

  and the wind blew the cypresses until their branches

  scraped along the walls.
>
  Kate put on another record, since Mrs. Lillitos seemed

  reluctant to go to bed. This one was quieter, more conducive

  to a state of drowsiness.

  “Ah, Bach,” Mrs. Lillitos sighed, smiling. “Jean-Paul told

  me of your fondness for him. Marc, too, loves Bach,

  especially the Brandenburgs.”

  Kate forced herself to smile. She wished she had not been

  told that Marc loved her favourite composer. She wanted to

  be able to listen to Bach in future without being reminded of

  her brief, unhappy stay here on Kianthos.

  They heard the record to the end and then went up to

  bed. Mrs. Lillitos smiled and touched Kate’s hand, as they

  said goodnight at her door.

  “You have been very kind to me, petite. I have never

  enjoyed a thunderstorm before!”

  Kate laughed. “I’m glad you enjoyed this one— I did, too.”

  They turned to part, when a loud hammering startled

  them. It went on, growing in volume, and Marc’s door burst

  open and he plunged out, wearing dark red pyjamas, his

  black hair on end.

  “What is it?” asked his mother.

  He shot her a look. “Someone on the verandah ...” He

  vanished downstairs, and they more slowly followed.

  “Who can it be at this hour?” Mrs. Lillitos wondered.

  Behind them doors opened, but, as the banging had now

  stopped, after a moment, the doors closed again.

  They found Marc standing in the hall with a young man

  wearing a soaking wet jacket. As they arrived he ran out

  again into the rain, and Marc came towards them, frowning.

  “There’s been a serious rock fall on the Etrusci road,” he

  said grimly. “Alex is going to try to get across to Epilison by

  boat—the telephone lines are all down here.” He turned

  towards the stairs. “I’ll get over to Etrusci now,” he said.

  “The worst of the fall crashed on the roofs of the side street.

  There are a number of people injured, Alex doesn’t know

  how badly. They are just digging them out.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Kate said urgently, as he turned to

  go.

  He stopped and looked at her, expression inscrutable.

  “You?” His mouth twisted oddly. “No, stay here. It will not

  be a very pleasant sight.”

  “I did a first aid course last year,” she said quickly. “I

  learnt how to cope with civil disasters. I can bandage,

  diagnose ... do all sorts of things.”

  He grimaced, hesitating. Over her head he looked at his