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  been suddenly, violently sick, and when she came back

  from her desperate race to the bathroom, she had found

  him gone, and Sophia waiting with cool water and

  gentle, soothing hands.

  Her eyes closed. She preferred to forget what had

  happened yesterday. It had been a traumatic experience.

  The next few days were quiet and peaceful. Pallas and

  Sam came in every morning. Sometimes they played

  cards with her, or just sat and talked. Sometimes she

  slept for most of the day. The burning sensation had

  lessened gradually. Her skin was now merely hot and

  dry. In places it was beginning to peel, and she watched

  it discontentedly. She was going to look a sight when it

  flaked off on her back. She would not be able to wear her

  bikini for the rest of the holiday.

  On the Friday morning the doctor said she could now

  get up. “But,” he warned sternly, “no more sunbathing.

  No exertion.”

  She promised eagerly. “It’s been such a waste of a

  holiday,” she said to Sam.

  He was looking pleasantly tanned, his freckles

  merging with his healthy brown skin.

  He gave her his hand. “Come on,” he said, “I’ll help

  you downstairs.”

  “I’m not an invalid,” she protested.

  Sam grinned at her. “You’ve been acting the part jolly

  well, then!”

  To give herself confidence Kate had put on one of her

  new dresses, a cool white voile, very feminine and

  delicate, with a full skirt which reached half-way down

  her calf, soft frills which left her throat bare, and tight-

  fitting sleeves.

  She met Mrs. Lillitos as she and Sam were going

  down, and the older woman smiled delightedly.

  “My dear child, how enchanting you look! A vision

  from the past. But you need a hat.” She smiled. “I have

  just the hat you need, ma chere.” She walked stiffly

  back to her room, leaning on her cane, and returned in a

  short time with a large picture hat of white straw,

  trimmed with one very floppy pink rose.

  Kate stood still while Mrs. Lillitos adjusted it. Sam

  watched, smiling.

  “Great, kid,” he enthused. “You look ...” he hesitated,

  lost for words.

  “Beautiful?” Mrs. Lillitos suggested teasingly.

  Sam grinned. “You took the word out of my mouth,

  Mrs. Lillitos.”

  “And it covers up my sunburn,” Kate told them

  confidentially. “My back and arms are still very un-

  sightly. I wanted to hide them.”

  They sat on the verandah, out of the treacherous sun,

  until lunchtime. There was no sign of Marc, and Kate did

  not dare to ask after him, but she gathered later that he

  had been engrossed in business during her illness, and

  had rarely emerged from his office, which was at the far

  side of the house.

  They were about to move in for lunch when Marc came

  out on to the verandah. He stopped dead, catching sight

  of Kate, and stared at her in silence for a moment, then

  said politely, “You look much better. How do you feel?”

  She murmured a vague reply. Sam and Pallas dis-

  creetly wandered into the house, leaving them alone.

  Kate stood up, feeling ridiculously overdressed. Marc

  was wearing a light blue shirt and casual grey slacks.

  “I went up to the temple and told your fiancé about

  your illness,” he said abruptly.

  “That was very kind of you,” she said stiffly.

  “He would have come down to see you, but he had to

  finish his survey, and as sunburn is hardly a dangerous

  illness ...”

  “I see his point,” she said, quickly breaking in. “Of

  course he wouldn’t come until he had finished.”

  Marc’s lip curled. “You don’t mind?” he asked. “You

  lack the usual feminine vanity, then. Doesn’t it worry

  you that he couldn’t care less whether you are ill or not?”

  “You don’t understand Peter,” she said hurriedly. During

  her illness she had had plenty of time in which to think

  about herself, and she had come to a decision about

  Peter. She had made up her mind to

  ask him if he would release her from their engagement.

  But she had no intention of letting Marc Lillitos know

  that. She did not want to discuss the subject with him.

  Marc was watching her, with narrowed eyes. “Do you

  understand Peter Hardy?” he asked her coolly. “Do you

  realise what a selfish, irresponsible, coldblooded fish he

  really is?”

  She flushed and walked past him without answering.

  She was still engaged to Peter. She would not be disloyal

  to him now.

  That afternoon, the other visitors arrived, and Marc

  drove down to the airfield to meet them.

  Pallas was sulky as she sat with her mother and Sam,

  waiting for the black car to return. Mrs. Lillitos kept a

  stern eye upon her and checked an attempt she made to

  escape with Sam to play tennis, while Kate sat back,

  watching, wondering why Pallas was in such a strange

  mood.

  The visitors arrived, talking in French which sounded

  like machine guns rattling away, and Kate hoped that

  they spoke some English, or the rest of the holiday was

  going to become a nightmare.

  Marc came in, ushering two women before him,

  smiling down at one with great charm and courtesy.

  She looked round and gave a little cry, “Madam!”

  Mrs. Lillitos held out her arms, and the other woman

  hugged her warmly. “Ma belle Helene,” murmured Mrs.

  Lillitos, smiling.

  She was a tall, slender woman, with deep brown hair,

  brown eyes and a look of quiet sophistication. Her coat

  and dress were cut very plainly, but with exquisite taste,

  in a striking violet. They looked superb on her.

  Mrs. Lillitos looked past her to the other woman,

  standing beside Marc, one hand clinging to his sleeve,

  smiling up at him from wide brown eyes fringed by very

  thick black lashes. Her eyes were too heavily made up,

  giving her the appearance of a panda, with her thick

  white skin and black hair. She wore a figure-hugging

  black suit, very demure and yet very sexy. There was no

  blouse beneath it and the deep v-lapels revealed the

  white curve of her breasts and her slim white throat.

  She was whispering to Marc and he bent his head,

  seeming amused, his eyes flickering over her apprais-

  ingly.

  “Marie-Louise, ma chere,” said Mrs. Lillitos firmly,

  and the other woman turned and walked over to her,

  still holding Marc’s arm.

  Kate stared at her. Was this, then, the French model

  with whom Marc was in love? She could not understand

  why he felt uncertain of her. She seemed madly in love

  with him, if one judged by her practised arch looks, her

  smiles and her air of possession.

  She was very attractive, Kate had to admit. The silky

  dark hair was sleek and straight, drawn back from her

  face in a chignon.
Her mouth was painted glistening red,

  her chiselled cheeks almost classically perfect. Yet there

  was a falseness, a coldness about her which made Kate

  dislike her.

  Mrs. Lillitos introduced Sam and Kate to them, and

  Marie-Louise stared at her with insolence.

  “A schoolteacher?” she repeated, then laughed, look-

  ing at Marc. She turned her head aside and whispered to

  him. Kate caught the words, “How irritating for you to

  have to put up with them, mon cher.”

  Marc did not reply. A man had come up the steps into

  the house and stood, watching them all with a smile. He

  was tall, dark and about twenty-four, with curly hair,

  pleasant brown eyes and a relaxed air.

  “Jean-Paul,” said Marc, “come and meet my sister’s

  friends.”

  Pallas sat like a frozen statue, staring at her feet. The

  newcomer glanced at her, then at her brother, his brown

  eyes enquiring.

  Marc said Kate and Sam’s names. “This is Jean-Paul

  Filbert,” he told them, “a cousin of ours.”

  He smiled at them, but his eyes rested longest on

  Sam, with curiosity and intentness. Sam was rather red,

  Kate saw. She wondered, suddenly, if this could be the

  man Pallas had told her about—the man Marc intended

  her to marry when she left college. Surely not? she

  thought. He’s much older than Pallas. But she knew

  that, even these days, arranged marriages were common

  enough in Greece. And families always liked to keep

  their money in safe hands.

  “Marc darling,” drawled Marie-Louise, “give me a

  cigarette. I’ve run out.”

  He brought out his cigarette case and held it out to

  her. She took one and put it into her bright red mouth.

  Marc flicked open his cigarette lighter and held it to her

  cigarette, bending down. She took his hand in hers and

  held it steady, gazing up at him with provocative eyes.

  “Thanks, angel,” she murmured, leaning back. Marc

  straightened. “Now you must excuse me. I am expecting

  a phone call from New York.”

  “Angel, you’ll kill yourself,” complained Marie-Louise.

  “Work and no play, you know. You don’t want to be a dull

  boy, do you?” Her lashes flickered teasingly. “Why don’t

  you relax and enjoy life?”

  “I cannot afford to,” he said, lifting his shoulders in a

  shrug. “Money, like children, needs constant attention.”

  “But so do I, my darling,” she said, opening her eyes

  wide. “I am going to compete like mad, Marc. Business

  must be prepared for a battle.”

  “With me as the prize?” he asked lightly, grinning.

  “Of course!” she said softly, “and a very valuable one. I

  will not share your attention with anything, especially

  not a telephone!”

  Marc laughed. As he walked towards the door he

  passed Kate. Their eyes met. Hers were deliberately

  blank. He gave her a mocking, derisive flicker of a smile.

  She understood what he meant without needing it put

  into words. That is how a feminine woman behaves, he

  was telling her. That is how a man wants his woman—

  flirtatious, flattering, attentive.

  Mrs. Lillitos rose soon after Marc had gone, and said

  that she was going to her room to rest.

  “I will come with you, Maman,” said Helene, slipping

  an arm around her. “We have so much to talk about, you

  and I.”

  Marie-Louise yawned. “I might as well have a nap

  myself. If Marc is going to be boring, I might as well not

  have come.”

  Sam and Pallas stood up, too, as Mrs. Lillitos walked

  slowly out of the room. Pallas said, “A game of tennis,

  Sam?” and Sam nodded.

  Kate was taken back to find herself thus left alone

  with Jean-Paul.

  “You are also going to sleep?” he asked her, as she rose

  instinctively.

  She shook her head, smiling. “I think I’ll take a stroll

  in the garden. I’ve been ill for a few days and I need the

  fresh air ”

  “May I come, too?” he asked, head to one side,

  scrutinising her.

  “Why not?” she returned politely, and they went out

  into the garden.

  They walked beneath an arched trellis, hanging with

  vines, out on to the lawn. The cypress trees and flower

  beds gave a quiet grace to the little garden, which was

  framed in a close-set hedge.

  “Tell me about yourself,” said Jean-Paul. “A

  schoolteacher, Marc said—how did you come to meet

  him?”

  “I teach Pallas,” she explained. “I teach music at her

  school, Cheddall.”

  He shot her a sidelong look. “Ah, yes, Pallas. And do

  you get on with her?”

  “Very well,” Kate said. “That’s why I am here.”

  “And ... the young man? He is your brother? Is that

  why he is here? Because of Pallas?”

  “They’re friends,” she said carefully.

  Jean-Paul lit a cigarette, after offering them to her.

  For a while he smoked in silence. Then he said, “Pallas

  thinks herself in love with him, perhaps?” His tone was

  diffident, almost embarrassed.

  She shrugged. “I really couldn’t say. I don’t have her

  confidence in this matter.”

  He looked sharply at her. Kate met his gaze directly

  and frankly.

  He sighed. “I see. But perhaps you have your

  brother’s?”

  “No,” said Kate firmly, “I’ve never discussed her with

  Sam. After all, it’s a very private subject.”

  He laughed incredulously. “Love is never private,

  Miss Caulfield. It is, above all else, a family matter. That

  is why, as soon as I knew I loved Pallas, I spoke to her

  brother upon the subject.”

  She came to a halt and stared at him, with total

  disbelief. “You love Pallas? But she’s only sixteen; years

  younger than you. Almost a child, still.”

  “She will be seventeen in two months,” he said. “My

  mother was married when she was sixteen. I was born

  when she was seventeen.”

  “You are Marie-Louise’s brother, though, aren’t you?”

  she asked, puzzled. She had been sure Marie-Louise was

  older than him.

  “I am her half-brother,” he said. “My mother was

  Greek, a Lillitos. Her mother was French. Marie-Louise

  is five years older than me.”

  “Oh.” Kate considered the information for a moment,

  then went back to Pallas. “Does Pallas know you love

  her?”

  “She knows I wish to marry her,” he said quietly. “I

  have not, of course, approached her alone. It would not

  be fitting.”

  Kate almost reeled with hilarious incredulity. “I can’t

  believe it!” she exclaimed. “You talk like a Victorian

  novel!”

  He flushed. “You are laughing at me,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t help it. No wonder Pallas was

  so awkward when you arrived!”

  He was silent for a moment. Then he said, �
�You think

  she does not like me? Finds me unattractive?”

  She looked at him, embarrassed, and saw the hurt

  look in his brown eyes., “Look,” she said frankly, “Pallas

  is a modern girl. She doesn’t want to be married off like

  a prize cow. She wants to ...” she gestured vaguely, “live

  her own life.”

  “And I am not part of the life she wants?” he asked

  quietly.

  “How do I know? How does she know, when she’s

  never given the chance to choose freely? Perhaps you

  may be the man for her. But if you marry her against

  her will you’ll never know if you are.”

  “I see,” he said slowly. “You think I should back out

  now? Tell Marc I have changed my mind?”

  “I shouldn’t really advise you,” she said. “You may

  think me prejudiced on my brother’s behalf. To be

  honest, I don’t believe that he and Pallas are in love. I

  don’t believe they will ever be in love. But I think that if

  Pallas feels under pressure from you and Marc, she may

  convince herself she does love Sam, and that will be a

  disaster for everybody, including my brother, because I

  think Sam is the wrong man for Pallas. They’re good

  friends, but they are too far apart for anything more

  intimate.”

  “O wise young judge,” he said gently, taking her hand

  between both his and kissing it. “Thank you. I will speak

  to Marc tonight.”

  “And make sure he passes the word to Pallas,” she

  said. “Insist on that being done immediately. Marc is

  capable of playing it by ear, and that might push Pallas

  too far.”

  He nodded. “I will be firm with him. And I am grateful

  to you for your advice. Several things Marc had said to

  me in his letters had made me suspicious of some other

  intervention. I was not surprised to see a young man

  here.”

  “Marc didn’t tell you?”

  “He never mentioned Sam to me,” he said. Then, by

  common consent, they dropped the subject, and walked

  round, talking of the weather, Kate’s sunburn, the world

  situation and other very natural subjects.

  Dinner that evening was a far more lively occasion.

  The two new arrivals, Helene and Marie-Louise, talked

  to Marc throughout the meal, ignoring everybody else.

  Pallas and Sam ate silently, and Jean-Paul devoted

  himself to Kate.

  Their frank discussion had left them on a compara-

  tively intimate level of friendship. He had discovered a