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  dances now!”

  Marc interrupted her abruptly, leaving Marie-Louise and

  pushing Sam aside.

  “No, no, we cannot have brother and sister dancing—

  Sam can learn the steps from Marie-Louise.” He slid his

  arm round Kate’s waist and she felt her heart squeezed

  inward, as though by a giant hand.

  Marie-Louise looked hard at them, her eyes brilliant

  with fury. Sam stood awkwardly, trying to smile at her, but

  she pushed past him, flinging a careless, “I am going to get

  myself a drink ...” as though he were a little boy.

  Kate looked up at Marc. Didn’t he realise how Marie-

  Louise resented his dancing with her? He was gazing past

  her, his jaw taut, the grey eyes hidden by drooping lids. She

  could not read his expression at all.

  Anyway, she thought defiantly, why should she worry

  about Marie-Louise? Let Marc deal with her. She was here,

  in his arms, for a brief while, and she determined to enjoy

  it.

  As though he read her thoughts he glanced down, the

  arrogant mouth relaxed. “We dance well together, don’t

  we?” he said, very softly, his arm tightening round her

  waist.

  She laughed, a little breathless with excitement, and a

  pink flower bloomed in each cheek.

  His left hand gripped hers more firmly, his thumb sliding

  over the back of her hand and touching her ringless finger.

  “There is a white band where your ring was,” he said

  teasingly. Over dinner he had mentioned, very casually,

  that Peter had already left the island.

  Kate threw a glance up at him. “You know I’ve broken my

  engagement, then?” she asked unsteadily.

  He grinned wickedly. “I heard every word,” he admitted

  shamelessly. “I was eavesdropping.”

  She flushed hotly. “How could you?” she burst out. “You

  shouldn’t have ...” She remembered the conversation

  between herself and Peter. Marc had had no right to listen.

  He pulled her nearer to him, bending his head to whisper

  to her, “You took my advice, though,” he said with irritating

  self-assurance. “I knew you did not love that fellow.”

  Burning with humiliation, she tore herself away and ran

  out of the room, through the front door and out into the

  quiet garden. As she plunged beneath the cypresses she

  heard him following her and turned angrily to face him,

  chin tilted defiantly.

  “Please leave me alone,” she said, her voice wavering.

  Marc stood, facing her, very tall and dominating, his

  hands in his pockets. Over the top of the hills the moon

  swam, like a silver crescent, trailing misty clouds. The wind

  stirred slightly in the branches of the trees. From the house

  she could hear the faint sounds of sweet music and a patina

  of yellow light streaked the darkness by the door.

  “You don’t mean that,” Marc said, his accent sounding

  foreign for once, his voice thickened and uneven.

  “I do!” she flung bitterly, hating him for that moment.

  She was so afraid that he had guessed her love for him that

  she could almost have killed him at that moment. Her pride

  fought bitterly against her love, poisoning it.

  He stepped closer and looked down, eyes glittering in the

  moonlight. His profile was dangerously masculine, the light

  shafting on the narrow planes of his cheekbones and jaw. “If

  I thought for a moment that you did—” he began slowly.

  “Go away!” she whispered frantically, her hands pushing

  at his chest.

  But at her touch, as though a dam burst, he grabbed her

  shoulders and pulled her close against him. She trembled,

  feeling the hard litheness pressing against her. “No, Marc,”

  she whispered in terrified appeal.

  “I’ve had enough of being treated as an old-fashioned

  villain,” he retorted harshly. “Like all women, you are not

  honest enough to admit your own motives. You make up

  fantasies and hide behind them. Well, I will not let you

  fashion a fantasy about me. I’m real.” He bent her

  backwards, his hands cruelly hurting her shoulders. “Look

  at me, Kate!”

  She nervously glanced upwards. His face was very close,

  the features etched sharply in the moonlight. His mouth

  had a cruel tightness below the mocking eyes. Then he

  slowly lowered his mouth until it touched hers. She gasped,

  trying to shrink away, and he pulled her nearer. His lips

  whimpered, against hers, “You want this as much as I do—

  do you think I don’t know that? You can’t hide from me for

  ever, Kate. I want you ...”

  Then his mouth was moving, hotly, urgently against

  hers, and she felt her body melting in passionate response.

  Through the rising passion and clamour of her pulses she

  dimly tried to reason with herself. He had not said he loved

  her. But her own desire was breaking loose from the bonds

  she had placed on it, and she knew she would not be able to

  resist much longer. She loved him too much.

  The sudden interruption was like a douche of cold water

  on inflamed nerves. From behind them came a peal of

  silvery laughter, and Marc’s arms dropped from Kate, his

  head jerking upwards, a blind look on his face.

  Marie-Louise stood there, head to one side, an artificial

  smile of false amusement painted on her red mouth.

  “Cheri, I am so sorry to spoil your fun, but there is an

  urgent call for you from New York. They said it could not

  wait.”

  He muttered furiously beneath his breath, looked at

  Kate, hesitated, then walked quickly into the house.

  Marie-Louise smiled at Kate, her eyes hard and

  glittering. “Marc is an exciting lover, n’est-ce pas? I hope

  you enjoyed your little interlude him.” She held up a hand,

  as Kate stirred in restless anger, “Mais non, I am not

  jealous, ma petite. There have been so many pretty little

  girls! Marc likes his girls blonde, sometimes, for a change,

  but he prefers brunettes. I would not want you to

  misunderstand him. He is a flirt, you understand. He likes

  to conquer. You say in England—he collects scalps!”

  Kate was aching with bitter misery, but she managed to

  hold up her head in cool scorn. “Why are you telling me all

  this?”

  “To save you from being hurt. I know how serious you

  English girls cart be—you might think he meant his little

  attentions. When I marry Marc all this will stop, of course,

  but until I am ready to give up my career I do not feel I can

  interfere with his pleasures. After all, he is a man! So

  please enjoy yourself with him as you wish, but remember—

  be prepared for dismissal when he is tired of you.”

  Kate’s face was burning with humiliation now. She

  laughed, fiercely. “Thank you, Mademoiselle Filbert. You

  are too kind!”

  “Ah, you are cross,” said Marie-Louise sweetly. “I did not

  mean to hurt your feelings, or make you feel ashamed.

  Believe me!”

 
; Kate walked away, with the mocking laughter ringing in

  her ears. She went to her room and sat on the bed, clutching

  her head in her hands. Humiliation, pain, shame drove her

  wild. She bit her inner lip until it bled, then threw herself

  down on to the bed and gave herself up to a silent sobbing,

  her head buried in the pillow.

  Echoes kept reaching her inner ears. So many pretty

  little girls, that woman had said. And Marc is a flirt, you

  understand, he collects scalps. Well, she had suspected as

  much from the beginning. It was only confirmation of what

  she already knew. But how it hurt! She had revealed herself

  to him, left herself exposed to his mockery. Now he knew

  that he could have her if he wished—what next?

  She must get away, she thought, her pride stung. But

  how? She was forced to wait until Marc allowed her to

  leave, and every moment she spent in his company was

  dangerous. She never wished to see him again.

  So he thought he would amuse himself with her, did he?

  Play until Marie-Louise condescended to marry him? What

  had she said? Be prepared for dismissal when he tires of

  you? The insolence of it!

  Then her blood ran hotly as she remembered the way he

  had whispered that he knew she wanted his kisses. She had

  noticed at the time that he had not mentioned love, only

  said that he “wanted” her. Well, now she knew what he had

  meant!

  She had locked the door of her room. Suddenly she heard

  the door knob turning. Someone knocked. She sat up,

  rubbing her face.

  “Who is it?” she whispered.

  “Marc! Let me in!”

  She stiffened. How dared he come here like this! Scarlet,

  hollow-eyed, she went to the door. “Go away!” she hissed.

  “Leave me alone!”

  She heard him groan, “Oh, for God’s sake, not again! I

  thought we had had that out!” And there was a note of

  tender amusement, of indulgence, in his voice which stung

  her.

  “I meant it the first time,” she said, “before you forced

  your disgusting attentions on me!”

  There was a silence. “Kate,” he said, his voice sharp now,

  “open this door!”

  “I certainly will not!”

  Again a pause, then he said, almost pleadingly, “Kate, I

  have to fly to Athens tomorrow morning at dawn. I have to

  go to the States. I won’t be back for a week at the earliest.

  Let me in, please. I must see you.”

  “We have nothing to say to each other. Now, go away.

  You’re boring me.” She yawned, loudly, near the door.

  He rattled the door again, loudly. “Kate, for God’s sake—I

  need you!” His voice seemed muffled by the door, strained

  and uneven.

  “All I need is some sleep,” she said lightly. “Don’t you

  know when you’re not wanted? Now, good night!”

  The silence this time was so long that she pressed her ear

  to the door, to see if he was still there, and jumped away

  when she heard his breathing.

  “For the last time, Kate,” he began thickly, and she cut

  him short.

  “Good grief, you’re worse than the Inland Revenue!

  Haven’t you gone yet?”

  She heard his heavy footsteps move away, then the slam

  of his own door.

  He had gone, and tomorrow he would not be here when

  she got up. She would probably never see him again. She

  sat down on her bed, looking at herself in the mirror.

  Hollow-eyed, pale, her blonde hair made her look like a

  negative, strangely ethereal and filled with sadness. How

  long, she wondered, would this pain last?

  CHAPTER NINE

  The rest of the holiday passed, for Kate, in a dull dream.

  She walked, sunbathed and talked to the others without

  ever noticing a thing around her. Pallas and Sam were

  comfortable companions at that time. They asked little of

  her, seemed hardly to notice the depression which was

  making her silent and shadoweyed.

  Jean-Paul’s grave company was equally peaceful. He

  would sit for an hour without speaking to her, his smile

  calm and reassuring when she made the effort to speak. It

  was with him that she walked over the cliffs, swam and

  played a slow game of tennis. He was, she sensed, as

  inwardly troubled as she was, and as grateful for her

  undemanding company.

  Sam did once mention Peter to her, casually, with a

  brotherly pat on the shoulder. “I can’t pretend to be sorry

  you’ve given him the air, Sis—Peter’s a decent chap, but I

  never thought he was for you. You want someone with a bit

  more zing.”

  She had smiled, briefly, without answering. Peter seemed

  like someone from the distant past now. She never thought

  of him, and Sam’s comment was an irrelevant intrusion into

  the turmoil of her emotions.

  The two Frenchwomen, Marie-Louise and Helene, grew

  bored with Kianthos once Marc had gone, and two days

  later took off in Marc’s plane, which had returned from

  ferrying him to Athens.

  Marie-Louise tried to persuade Jean-Paul to accompany

  them on her last morning on the island.

  Calmly finishing his rolls and cherry jam, her half--

  brother shook his head. “I am enjoying myself,” he said.

  His sister threw Kate a hard look. “Why do our men

  always like to play with pretty blonde dollies?” she asked

  Helene, her high voice insolent.

  Since she had spoken in rapid French, she probably

  thought Kate would not understand, but Kate’s French

  although not perfect, was quite good enough for her to

  comprehend this, and she flushed.

  Jean-Paul laid down his knife, wiping his fingers slowly

  on his napkin. “Ma chere soeur,” he said coldly, “tais-toi!”

  The sharpness of the command to shut up made Marie-

  Louise go rigid with fury, but she said nothing else, and

  when she came down with Jake, later, her cases packed to

  go, she said goodbye to Kate with forced politeness.

  Jake struggled off, laden with cases. Marie-Louise kissed

  Mrs. Lillitos, gave Jean-Paul a whispered comment about

  not forgetting that Kate was ineligible, and departed in a

  swirl of perfume.

  Helene embraced her mother-in-law more naturally. “I

  will see you again soon, Maman. I am sorry this has been

  such a short visit. Next time I will come alone.”

  Mrs. Lillitos touched her cheek gently. “You must marry

  again, my dear, and bring your new husband to see me.

  Paul would want you to be happy. No woman can go

  through life alone, you know.”

  Helene flushed and did not reply.

  Kate wished she were going with them. She was aching

  to leave the island before Marc returned.

  “Kate, my dear,” his mother said quietly, “will you help

  me back to my room?”

  Reluctantly she obeyed. She had no wish to discuss Marc

  with his mother, but she sensed that Mrs. Lillitos wished to

  talk to her about something. But, she thought hopefully,


  perhaps she is still worrying about Pallas.

  Mrs. Lillitos sat down with a sigh of relief. “Ah, that is

  much better. Kate, sit down near me. I want to talk to you.”

  Kate drew up a chair and sat down, her hands folded in

  her lap, her face under control.

  Mrs. Lillitos smiled at her, dark eyes soft. “I have grown

  very fond of you, child. You have a soothing gentle

  presence—that is why it makes me sad to see you look so

  pale and unhappy. Won’t you tell me what is wrong?”

  Kate tried to laugh. “Nothing is wrong, madame. I am

  enjoying my stay here very much. I like to see Pallas having

  fun. She ...”

  “Please!” The older woman held up a hand. “Do not try to

  throw me off the track by talking of my daughter. It is you

  for whom I am concerned. You look ill. I see that you no

  longer wear your engagement ring, for instance.” The dark

  eyes rested on her hands, then rose to search her face. “Is

  this why you are so sad? I had gathered that it was you who

  broke off the engagement and that you were relieved to do

  so. Yet you look depressed and lonely. Why is this, Kate?”

  “I ...” Kate broke off, catching her breath, then

  went on after a moment, “I expect I have not yet recovered

  from the attack of sunburn, madame. You have been so

  kind to me since I arrived. Kianthos is a lovely place. How

  could I not be happy here?”

  Mrs. Lillitos sighed. “How reticent you English are—well, if

  you will not discuss the matter with me, I cannot be ill-

  mannered and press you. But remember, Kate, I am ready

  to talk to you, to listen. And I am very fond of you.”

  Kate flushed. “Thank you, madame. I ... I am fond of you,

  too.” She stood up. “You look tired. Shall I call Sophia for

  you?”

  “No, no, I shall sleep later. But run along, by all means,

  and enjoy your last days here, child. By the way, did Marc

  tell you—we have decided to take Pallas away from

  Cheddall?”

  Kate was stunned. She halted, freezing on the spot. “No,”

  she stammered. “No, I hadn’t heard. You ... you’re not

  happy with the school? I thought ...”

  “We are very happy with the school, but Marc has

  decided that Pallas should study music in Paris. He feels

  she would prefer the Paris Conservatoire to a London

  school. She is to have special tuition until she is eighteen.”