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Kate flushed hotly. Were they? she wondered uneasily.

  And if so, had Marc read their message last night, and seen

  her helpless love for him? Humiliation and shame burnt in

  her chest. She made herself eat her breakfast, although it

  almost choked her.

  Marc tapped on the door as they finished. He was

  looking alive and vital this morning, his blue sweater and

  casual dark blue slacks very neat compared with the clothes

  he had worn last night. He grinned at Kate. “How are you?

  You look very pretty.”

  She became hotly aware of the scantiness of her

  nightdress and looked around for her dressing-gown.

  “Come back, later, my son,” his mother said sternly.

  “Kate is en deshabille, and not ready to receive male

  visitors.”

  “I only came to tell her that her fiancé has arrived. I sent

  for him this morning.” His grey eyes danced challengingly.

  “I thought she might want to see him.”

  Kate felt her nerves jump, but she kept her face under

  control. “Thank you,” she managed to say stiffly.

  His mother went slowly to the door. “Come down when

  you are ready, my dear,” she said gently. “There is no

  hurry.”

  The door closed and Kate was alone. Now there could be

  no doubt left in her mind about Marc’s feelings towards her.

  If he had cared about her at all would he have sent for

  Peter? Was this his way of telling her that he was not

  interested in her and that she should concentrate on her

  fiancé?

  Of course, he did not know, and she would never tell him,

  that she had decided to break her engagement.

  She had faced this decision days ago. It had been a

  mistake to become engaged to Peter. It was fortunate that

  she had realised it in time. It would have been a disaster if

  she had married him and only then discovered their total

  indifference to each other. Marc had been so right when he

  said that Peter did not love her, nor she Peter. But,

  believing that, why had he brought Peter here now?

  A flash of intuition came to her and she bit her lip. Of

  course! He was trying to protect his sister. He thought that

  she was interested in Jean-Paul and he had brought Peter

  here in order to put a stop to all that.

  Dully, she dressed in her plain green linen dress and

  went downstairs. She found the lounge empty. Sophia

  bustled past and stopped to tell her that Peter was in

  Marc’s office and the others all down at the beach.

  The storm had again left the weather golden and sunny.

  Kate stood on the verandah staring up at the bright blue

  sky. It seemed cruel that the world should be in such a

  holiday mood when she was so miserable and depressed. It

  ought to be raining all day.

  Then she laughed at herself. What a conceited, self-

  obsessed thought! As if she was the only person in the

  world!

  Peter erupted on to the verandah beside her, his fair hair

  wildly standing on end, his eyes furious.

  “Kate,” he began hotly, “you must go and talk some sense

  into Lillitos!”

  She looked at him in startled amazement. “What?”

  “He says there’s to be no expedition,” Peter shouted. “He

  just said he’s changed his mind. He won’t allow anyone else

  to dig up there. He doesn’t want strangers on the island.

  The man’s insane. It mustn’t be allowed!”

  Kate looked at him silently for a moment. He had not

  seen her for over a week, she thought with wry resignation,

  and in that time she had been very ill with sunburn, been

  involved in a disaster, and for all he knew, was still weary.

  Yet he did not even greet her. No kiss, no word of pleasure

  in seeing her again. All that interested him was the temple

  up there on To Angkistri.

  “I can’t interfere,” she said quietly, at last. “You must

  cope with it on your own, Peter.”

  He glared at her. “Kate, this is vitally important. The

  temple is the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to

  me in my life. It shows clear signs of a number of periods, so

  it’s been in continuous occupation for generations. It was

  first founded in Mycenean times, but the pillars and roof

  were obviously much later. Oh, Kate, for God’s sake—can’t

  you see what it means?”

  “Peter, I want to ask you a question,” she said clearly.

  He shut his mouth on what he had been about to say.

  Impatiently he waited, fidgeting.

  “Do you love me?”

  He gave her an incredulous look, running his fingers

  through his hair. “What? My God, Kate, don’t drag in

  irrelevancies at this time! I have too many important things

  to think about!”

  “Aren’t I important, then?” she asked.

  He looked embarrassed. “Oh, I’m very fond of you, of

  course, you know that! We’re engaged, aren’t we? What’s

  the point of these questions, Kate?”

  “Never mind your damned temple,” she snapped,

  suddenly angry. “Listen to me for a moment. You don’t love

  me, Peter. You are, as you said, mildly fond of me, but if I

  vanished tomorrow, I doubt if you would even notice.”

  “Oh, really,” he said crossly, “how like a woman to try to

  put everything on a personal level! Can’t you think of

  anything but yourself? This is a crisis in my life. I need your

  help, and you’re trying to make me pay for it with

  declarations of undying passion, I suppose.”

  Kate was so angry she could hardly speak for a moment.

  “I’m doing nothing of the kind! I only want a little honesty

  between us. I’m trying to be honest with you.”

  He looked at her, then, with more awareness. “Oh, I get

  it! You want to break off our engagement? You’ve found

  someone else?”

  “No!” she said roughly, “I haven’t found anyone. I just ...

  want to sort things out honestly.”

  “You do want to end things, though?” he asked.

  She hesitated. “Oh, yes,” she said on a quick breath.

  “Yes, I do. I don’t love you. I’m fond of you, but I don’t really

  love you.”

  He shrugged. “Well, now that’s settled, can we talk about

  the temple?”

  She glared at him. “You don’t give a damn, do you,

  Peter?” She pulled off her ring and threw it at him. He

  caught it awkwardly, looked at it with amazement and

  stuffed it into his pocket. “The temple—” he began, but Kate

  had fled.

  Peter stared after her, grimacing. “Women! Really!”

  Marc came out on to the verandah, smiling gaily, and

  Peter grabbed at his arm.

  “Look, Lillitos, about this expedition ...”

  Marc grinned at him, eyes dancing, “Try again next

  year,” he said. “Perhaps I’ll change my mind again. By the

  way, if you wish to leave right away, my plane is waiting on

  the airfield. I have had all your gear put aboard. When you

  have drawn up all your plans for the expedition, write to my

  office in Athens,
to my personal secretary, Achille Danelos.

  He will get in touch with you and make the necessary

  arrangements. If there is an expedition, it must be a small

  one, and for the summer months. Right?”

  Peter let out a long relieved sigh and grinned. “Thank

  you very much. I’m very grateful.”

  “Jake will drive you to the airfield,” said Marc. “Off you

  go.”

  Peter looked a little startled. “Now? But I wanted to see

  Kate ...”

  “I think she has said all she wants to say,” Marc said

  politely. “If you do not leave now it will soon be too dark. My

  plane will take you to Athens. I have booked a flight for you

  tomorrow at noon. You can pick up the ticket at the airport.

  It is in your name. Goodbye.”

  Stunned, Peter obediently walked towards where

  Jake was waiting with the car. Suddenly he stopped,

  holding out the little ring. “Will you give this to Kate

  for me?” he asked Marc.

  Marc looked at it, lying sparkling on his palm, and

  his lip curled scornfully. “I do not think so,” he said,

  with hauteur. “Keep it for your next fiancée.”

  Peter reddened, looked angry, then drew himself up

  and walked away. He did not dare to antagonise the

  man, he thought. The expedition depended on the

  whims of this rude, spoilt millionaire. And anyway,

  Kate was right. They had not been suited. She had

  never really been interested in his work. And if a man

  couldn’t depend upon his wife to share his interests,

  what point in marrying? He looked forward to the

  excitement there would be in archaeological circles

  when he dropped his bombshell. And he broke into

  happy whistling, forgetting Kate and everything else.

  Kate wandered for a long time around the cliffs,

  then turned back and found herself in myrtle grove.

  She stood, breathing in the fragrance of the cooling

  air. The heat of the sun was slackening and the moths

  had begun to flit over the thyme, their dusty wings

  glowing.

  She thought back over the six years of her relation-

  ship with Peter. How had she come to think herself in

  love with him? She remembered how different he had

  seemed, when she was a young girl, with his blond

  beard and vague professor-like air. The boys she had

  known then had all been crazy, half-grown lads. Peter

  had seemed so mature. And from a girlish crush she

  had let herself drift into a long-term relationship with

  no solid base.

  She knew now that she had never been in love with him.

  He had never made her heart stop, as Marc did. His kiss

  had never exalted and petrified her. She could not blame

  Peter. It had been her own fault for allowing herself to be

  fooled by such a vague response. He had been too amiable to

  hurt her, and she had never seriously thought about his

  feelings.

  Well, they were both free now, to find real love. At least,

  Peter was—she was not free. She knew that she would

  never love anyone as she loved Marc.

  She heard a twig crackle nearby and turned to see Jean-

  Paul, looking lost and fed up, wandering towards her.

  He smiled politely. “How are you today, Kate? You look

  pale. Marc told us how brave and good you were last night. I

  admire your courage.”

  She shrugged his compliments away. “Thank you, but

  really, it was only a little thing. You’re looking rather cross

  yourself.”

  He grimaced. “Pallas barely speaks to me. How can I woo

  her when she will not let me near her?”

  “She is jealous,” Kate explained, “and uncertain of

  herself. After all, she isn’t seventeen yet. Give her a chance.

  You’re in too much of a hurry. Wait a while.”

  “Easy for you to say,” he said forcefully, “but hard for me

  to follow your advice. Do you really think she is jealous?”

  “I’m certain of it. She’s been very offhand with me since

  you arrived.”

  Jean-Paul looked delighted. “Then you think she cares

  something for me, after all?”

  “I’m almost sure she does. It might only be pique, of

  course. But time will show you the truth.”

  He took her hand, stopped and held it up to stare. “Your

  ring? You have lost your engagement ring!”

  “I’m no longer engaged,” she said, flushing.

  He looked appalled. “Ma chere, I hope this is not my

  doing! I would not have done that for the world ...”

  “It has nothing to do with you. My fiancé did not even

  know of your existence. It was a mutual agreement. We just

  did not suit.”

  He looked a little embarrassed. “I see ...”

  She looked up at him and laughed. “Really, Jean-Paul,

  you are quite irrelevant, I assure you. I am not in the least

  attracted to you, which is what you are afraid of, I think?”

  Very red, he met her teasing eyes. He laughed, a little

  shamefaced and embarrassed. “Pardon! I was nervous for a

  moment. The freedom of English girls astounds me. You are

  so ... forthright!”

  She grinned. “Well, it clears the air to know how you

  stand, doesn’t it? Shall we go in to dinner?”

  Dinner was, oddly, a very gay occasion at first. Marc was

  in volatile spirits, keeping up a barrage of teasing humour,

  his eyes constantly dancing.

  But as the meal went on his mood seemed to deflate a

  little. Kate, who was quietly talking to Jean-Paul most of

  the time, was curiously aware that Marc’s smile came less

  and less, and that he was more and more silent. She

  wondered if he were feeling the effect of his very late night.

  Had he slept at all since?

  When she glanced furtively at him she saw shadows

  beneath his eyes and tension lines around his mouth

  which seemed to show that he had not.

  Jean-Paul poured her another glass of retsina, his

  fingers touching hers as she held her glass towards him.

  He smiled at her gravely and she smiled back with

  warmth, liking him very much.

  It was comforting to feel that she need not be

  stretched nervously, on edge against the probing

  intelligence Marc always aimed at her. With Jean-Paul

  she could relax, be herself, unselfconscious. He was a

  very quiet, steady young man, without Marc’s vitality

  and tension.

  She saw Pallas sullenly pushing her unfinished meal

  away, pouting, her small dark face all angles and frowns.

  What Pallas needed, she thought, was the sort of calm

  background Jean-Paul would give her.

  “Shall we dance, cherie?” Marie-Louise asked Marc,

  as they drank their coffee in the lounge later. “Put some

  records on and let us dance!”

  Marc shrugged, “Why not?”

  He crossed to the cabinet and selected some records.

  As the music swirled out, sweet and soft, Marie-Louise

  archly turned out most of the wall lights around the

  room.

  “Dancing in the dark is more romantic,” she said to Marc,
r />   her thick lashes fluttering invitingly.

  The room was shadowy now, the only lights left on

  being one at each end. Marc and Jean-Paul cleared a

  central space, moving the furniture back against the

  walls. Then Marc turned to Marie-Louise, with a

  brilliant smile, and she glided into his arms. Pallas

  looked up at Sam, her face urgent.

  “Shall we dance, too?”

  “What? This is music for the oldies,” Sam said scornfully.

  “I don’t know how to dance to it.”

  Kate laughed. “Just put your arms round Pallas and let

  your feet move in time to the music,” she advised, and

  added teasingly, “I won’t tell your friends when we get back

  home. Cross my heart!”

  Sam grimaced at her. “I shall feel a fool!”

  “I know how to dance to it,” Pallas said shyly. “I learnt at

  my last school—the waltz, the polka and the military two-

  step.”

  “Good grief!” Sam shuddered. “Did they wear chastity

  belts, too? What a freaky establishment!”

  Kate kicked his ankle. “Dance!” she commanded. He

  grinned, shrugged, and got up, giving Pallas his hand with

  a grimace of resignation.

  Jean-Paul had watched and listened in silence. Now he

  moved nearer Kate and said steadily, “And shall we dance

  now, Kate?”

  She nodded and they moved off, dancing very formally.

  He danced, as he did other things, with precision and care.

  Neatly his feet slid from step to step. He revolved, reversed,

  guided her through the dance, a slight polite smile on his

  well-cut lips, but not speaking.

  Kate looked up at him. “You look as if you’re hating every

  minute!” she said gently.

  He looked down and the gravity of his expression melted

  a little. “You dance very well, au contraire,” he murmured,

  smiling.

  She stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear, her face

  very close to his, “When you dance with Pallas tell her how

  pretty she looks tonight.”

  He looked puzzled. “I thought I was not to dance with

  her? I thought I was to ... be indifferent?”

  “Alter tactics now and then,” she advised, still

  whispering. “See what a little change brings.

  The record came to an end. Kate moved out of Jean-

  Paul’s arms, nudging him discreetly. He turned to Pallas

  and asked her to dance with him next, and she flushed and

  glanced uneasily at Kate, who smiled cheerfully and took

  Sam’s hand.

  “Come on, brother, let me teach you how to do these oldie