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  Kate nodded. “I think that is an excellent idea. Pallas

  will be delighted. Does she know yet? She’s said nothing to

  me.”

  Mrs. Lillitos shook her head. “No, we have not told her.

  You can do that if you like. She will take the news better

  from you. She is very fond of you, too, and I think she will

  miss you.”

  “I’ll certainly miss her,” Kate admitted.

  Mrs. Lillitos smiled at her. “But perhaps, who knows, we

  will be able to see something of you from time to time?” She

  leaned back, closing her eyes. “Au revoir, Cherie.”

  Kate went downstairs, feeling stunned. If Pallas left

  Cheddall she would certainly never see Marc again. Had he

  decided on this change of plan to spite her for refusing to let

  him come to her room the night he left for Athens?

  She found Pallas and Sam playing a strenuous game of

  tennis, and watched them until Sam won. They wandered

  towards her, flushed and panting.

  “I am exhausted!” Pallas puffed, throwing herself down

  on the grass.

  Sam grinned at her. “Weakling! I could play another

  game and still win!”

  Pallas grimaced at him. “The conceit of him! Did you

  hear that, Kate? Your brother is absolutely the most

  conceited boy I ever met!” She aimed a lazy blow at his leg

  with her racquet, not intending it to land. “Take that, you

  scoundrel!”

  Sam danced out of reach nimbly. “You’re just jealous,” he

  observed loftily. “Women aren’t called the weaker sex for

  nothing.”

  Pallas howled at him, “Male chauvinist pig!”

  “Language, language!” Sam teased.

  Kate interposed lazily, “Children, children, don’t

  squabble!”

  The remark had the desired effect of silencing them both.

  She looked from one to the other of them, smiling. Their

  behaviour strongly confirmed her belief that there was no

  romantic attachment between them. Only a brother-and-

  sister relationship could explain the squabbling, the

  rudeness, the teasing. They were too casual with each other

  for anything else.

  “I just had a chat with your mother, Pallas,” she said.

  Pallas sat up, tossing back her long black hair. “Oh, yes?”

  “She tells me that she has decided to send you to Paris to

  study music.”

  “Oh?” Pallas flushed. “When I am eighteen, I suppose,

  instead of going to a London college of music?”

  Kate shook her head. “No, not when you are eighteen.

  Now. Right away.”

  Pallas stared at her, eyes wide. “You mean ... instead of

  going back to Cheddall?”

  Kate nodded. “Yes. Are you pleased?”

  Pallas gazed around, mouth open, eyes troubled. “ I ... do

  not know. I prefer to concentrate on my music, of course.

  You know I detest my other lessons. But ...” she looked at

  Kate, smiling a little, “I shall miss you, Kate.” She grinned

  at Sam. “And you, you conceited boy!”

  Sam said seriously, “I’ll miss you too, Pallas. You must

  write to us from Paris. Lucky you! Imagine ... Paris in the

  summer! A lot better than Greyford, I can tell you.”

  Pallas murmured, “Paris in the summer ...” Her eyes

  were dreamy and far away.

  Kate wondered if she were thinking about Jean-Paul. He

  lived in Paris, she remembered. Was that why Marc was

  sending his sister there? It would be just like him to have

  thought out such a devious plan.

  They went back to the house in a cheerful silence.

  Watching Sam, Kate was convinced that her news had not

  upset or worried him. He seemed sorry to be parting with

  Pallas, but not unhappy.

  Jean-Paul was sitting on the verandah. His grave

  glance rested on Pallas, slight and cool in her white tennis

  dress, her racquet swinging, her long brown legs moving

  gracefully.

  Kate saw a serious expression move over his face, then

  he smiled politely, as if at a stranger.

  “Good morning again! A good game?”

  Pallas linked her arm in Sam’s, leaning against his

  shoulder with an unusually demonstrative gesture.

  “Wonderful!” she gushed.

  Sam gave her a curious look, but said nothing.

  When they had gone in Kate looked down at Jean-Paul’s

  bent head. He was frowning slightly, his mouth drawn in

  at the edges.

  “That was for your benefit alone,” she said.

  He jumped and looked up quickly. “I beg your pardon?”

  he mumbled, flushing.

  Kate smiled at him. “You heard what I said, Jean-Paul,”

  she said dryly.

  He shrugged. “I wish I could believe you, but I am

  afraid I do not agree with your diagnosis. Pallas, it seems

  to me, is far too interested in Sam. And after all, why not?

  I like your brother, Kate. A nice boy.” He stood up, smiling

  politely at her. “As pleasant as his sister. I am very glad to

  have met you, Kate. It has made my stay here a charming

  one, after all.”

  “You make it sound so final,” Kate said, watching him.

  “Are you leaving Kianthos soon?”

  Very soon, I think. But I hope I will see you again, Kate.

  Will you give me your address? If I am in England I might

  call and see you, perhaps. Or would you object to that?”

  “No, of course not, Jean-Paul. I should like to see you

  again.” She wrote it for him on a piece of paper he found in

  his pocket. “There you are!”

  He put it carefully away. Pallas came out on to the

  verandah and looked from one to the other of them, her face

  still very flushed. Kate wondered if she imagined the hurt

  look in the other girl’s dark eyes.

  They flew back to England, as scheduled, but Pallas did not

  go with them. She was to proceed to Paris with Jean-Paul, it

  seemed. She did not seem to find the news unpleasant,

  when her mother told her about the plan, although she did

  give Kate an uncertain look. Kate deliberately avoided any

  discussion of the subject. Pallas clearly wished to mention it

  to her but Kate had decided that the less said the better.

  If Pallas ever did marry Jean-Paul, she thought, it would

  be much later than her family had at first intended. That

  the girl had great fondness for him she no longer doubted.

  She had watched her carefully and come to the conclusion

  that Pallas was attracted to him, and valued his friendship.

  She would probably learn to love him maturely as she grew

  older. But there was plenty of time for that.

  Arranged marriages might have worked well once upon a

  time, but Pallas had a more modern life in front of her. She

  would be working like a Trojan for the next five years, at

  least, and would have no time for romance. It would be

  much better to let her discover for herself whether she

  wanted to marry Jean-Paul or not.

  When they said goodbye, Pallas unexpectedly flung her

  arms around Kate. “Goodbye, Kate. Thank you.”

  Kate hugged her back. “I e
xpect I’ll see you again some

  day, Pallas. It’s been a wonderful holiday. I’m very grateful

  to you and your family.”

  After what you did for me?” Pallas made a face at her.

  “You changed my whole attitude to life. Even Marc had to

  agree that that was so! Now look, he is letting me study in

  Paris. A year ago he wouldn’t hear of that! It is all your

  doing!”

  “I’m glad I helped,” said Kate. Her throat was dry. So

  Marc agreed that she had changed Pallas? She could

  believe that, but he had not intended to be flattering, no

  doubt. He did not approve of the changes in his little sister.

  It was difficult for her to say goodbye to Mrs. Lillitos.

  The older woman seemed quietly disapproving, as though

  Kate had hurt her in some way. Not that she said anything

  to her, but there was a puzzled, sad expression in the dark

  eyes as they said their farewells.

  She looked down at the island as they flew far above it.

  The sea ran round the shores, deep blue as the sky, with

  white frothy foam topping the waves. The hills and valleys

  were levelled from up here. It looked unreal, dreamlike.

  That was what it was, she thought. An island of dreams.

  For her they had been unhappy dreams, but they had been

  beautiful, all the same.

  She did not, in the long run, repent or regret anything.

  She still loved Marc, even though she despised him. He was,

  after all, a rich and attractive man. No doubt many women,

  in the past, had been only too happy to amuse him. He could

  not have realised how differently she felt. She remembered

  the evening when he had taken her to the Black Swan, the

  obsequious waiters, the curious stares, the whispering.

  Living in that artificial atmosphere, it was not strange that

  for him love should merely mean pleasure, a commodity to

  be bought like any other.

  At least the visit had cleared her mind, shown her the

  falseness of her relationship with Peter. She might have

  married him and been disastrously unhappy.

  England was oddly noisy when they got to London.

  Traffic deafened her. People were frighteningly busy and

  bustling. Cars hooted, pavements were crowded. It was a

  nightmare.

  How quickly one became accustomed to the peace and

  quiet of an island like Kianthos, she thought. She had lived

  in an urban atmosphere for most of her life, yet after only

  two weeks away, she found her eardrums banging with the

  noise, her head aching, her eyes shrinking from the vivid

  colours.

  It was not that Greeks did not talk loudly. They did. They

  shouted at each other, in the kitchen at Kianthos. She had

  often heard the servants arguing, discussing, their gestures

  and faces lively and dynamic.

  But somehow it had all been more good-humoured, less

  hurried. The pace of life was different.

  Her mother embraced her warmly, held her away from

  her to stare. “My goodness, you do look well!”

  Kate laughed, “Do I?” She did not think that that was

  true. She felt tired and mentally worn.

  Then Mrs. Caulfield looked at Sam and exclaimed over

  him. Brown, healthy, cheerful, Sam looked the very picture

  of health.

  Later, Kate explained to her mother that her engagement

  was broken. Mrs. Caulfield took it calmly. She did not seem

  surprised, nor did she ask questions. Kate was relieved, yet

  wondered why her mother took it so well. Mrs. Caulfield

  had never, by word or look, hinted that she did not

  thoroughly approve of Peter. Yet she just smiled and said, “I

  see, dear,” without so much as a blink of the eyes. Kate was

  puzzled.

  On returning to school, Kate had an interview with Miss

  Carter. The Headmistress seemed quite resigned to the fact

  that Pallas had left so suddenly after such a short stay at

  the school.

  “I think we did her good, Kate,” she said, smiling. ‘“Don’t

  you think so?”

  “I hope we did,” Kate agreed.

  “I’m sure of it—she was very depressed and difficult

  when she came here, but at the end of term I thought she

  looked a changed girl, lively, cheerful, full of beans. A great

  improvement, and I must congratulate you. You did what I

  expected you to do. Now, did you enjoy your holiday in

  Greece?”

  “Very much,” Kate said politely.

  After a few remarks about her own holidays in Greece in

  past years, Miss Carter dismissed her, and Kate went down

  to her class with a heavy heart. Now, she thought, it’s all

  over. I can forget the entire episode. With Pallas gone, there

  was nothing to remind her of Marc.

  She met Peter in the High Street some weeks later. He was

  talking abstractedly to a thin, brown-faced girl whose

  untidy clothes and intense face put her in the student body.

  Kate’s eyes met Peter’s, and he blinked, then smiled,

  without rancour. “Hi, Kate!” he called, lifting a hand.

  She smiled back but did not stop. Some other girl, she

  thought, was going to have to learn that for Peter the only

  thing in life was archaeology.

  At least the little incident cleared her conscience. It was

  obvious that Peter was not suffering at all. He seemed

  perfectly normal.

  The next weekend she went to the Lake District, with

  one of the other teachers, to do some hill walking. The

  weather was splendid, warm without being humid, and

  never too hot.

  The weekend was very pleasant, and, congratulating

  themselves, the two decided to do it again sometime. They

  met a party of fellow enthusiasts on the hills on the Sunday

  and spent the day with them. All in all, Kate came home

  feeling very much better.

  But her mother looked up as she came into the kitchen,

  still smiling, and said, “Mr. Lillitos was here yesterday,

  Kate!”

  Kate froze, her eyes for a second out of control, the pain

  flashing into them before she had time to force a smile.

  Mrs. Caulfield straightened. “Kate!” Her eyes filled with

  concern. “My dear girl, whatever is it?” She frowned.

  “Something he did while you were there? Kate, he didn’t

  hurt you in any way, did he?”

  Kate laughed, artificially. “Of course not, Mother. What

  an imagination you’ve got!”

  “Kate, don’t pretend with me,” her mother said, stricken.

  Kate sighed. “I’m sorry, but please, don’t let’s discuss it.

  What did M ... did he want?”

  “He wanted to see you,” said her mother, watching her

  uneasily. “He seemed angry when I told him you were away

  climbing. Wanted to know who you were with—I thought it

  odd, his asking in such an abrupt fashion. Kate, what’s

  going on?”

  “He ... I ... Oh, Mother, don’t let’s discuss it,” Kate burst

  out. “Really, I’d much rather forget him.” She ran out of the

  room, leaving her mother staring after her with a disturbed

  expression. Sh
e wondered what had happened between her

  daughter and the tall, dark Greek, to make Kate behave so

  strangely.

  Next morning, as Kate was leaving the house, the

  telephone rang. Mrs. Caulfield hurriedly shouted after her

  that she was wanted on the telephone. Kate stood,

  hesitating. “Who is it?” she asked warily.

  “A man with a foreign accent,” said Mrs. Caulfield. Kate

  looked at the phone with loathing. “Ask who it is, and if it’s

  Marc, tell him I’ve left for school.” Her mother obeyed, with

  a worried look, and then said, “It’s someone called Jean-

  Paul, I think.”

  Kate came back. “Hallo, Jean-Paul!”

  “Bonjour, Kate,” he said quietly. “I am ringing from

  London, but I am just flying back to Paris. I have little time.

  I want to ask you if you could come to Paris next week.

  Pyrakis is giving a concert and I have two tickets. I would

  be happy if you would come with me.”

  Kate was astonished. “Well I ... thank you very much,

  Jean-Paul, but I ...”

  Quickly he interrupted, “I have English friends who

  would be pleased to put you up for the night. They have a

  large apartment and only one child, so there is a spare

  bedroom you could use.”

  Kate thought hurriedly. “That’s very kind of them. Are

  you sure I would be no trouble?”

  “They have said they would be delighted,” Jean-Paul

  assured her. “They are very ordinary people, you

  understand—a family, but charming and kind. Henry

  Murray works with me.”

  Kate said, “I didn’t even know you had a job, Jean-Paul!”

  He laughed. “You thought I was a parasite? Mais non, I

  am a worker bee, I assure you. I run one of Marc’s

  companies.”

  “Oh,” said Kate flatly.

  Jean-Paul was silent for a second, then he said, “But you

  will come, Kate? I would so like that. And Pyrakis would

  like to meet you again. I saw him yesterday and he

  mentioned you with great admiration.”

  Kate felt herself blushing. “Well, thank you very much,

  then, Jean-Paul. I would like to come.”

  “You will fly? Shall I arrange your ticket?”

  “No,” she said hastily, “I’ll do all that. When shall I

  arrive?”

  “Saturday morning, perhaps? I will meet you at Orly if

  you give me the time of your flight. Drop me a postcard. I

  must run now. Au revoir, ma chere.”

  “Au revoir, Jean-Paul,” she said, as the phone clicked.