Follow a Stranger Read online

  away—she might accept you as a pupil.”

  Pallas looked at Kate for a while, frowning. “No,” she said,

  at last, “I want you to teach me.”

  “Me?” Kate was absurdly touched. “My dear girl, I’m not fit

  to black Madame Liovitch’s shoes. I really think you could

  teach me rather than the other way around.”

  Pallas smiled, with sudden and surprising charm. “I’ll take

  the risk.”

  “Why?” Kate asked curiously.

  Pallas flushed. “I ... I like you. You seem honest.”

  The friendship between them grew quickly. Kate had no real

  friends on the staff, since she lived out, and Pallas found the

  other girls far too schoolgirlish for her. She asked Kate about

  her family, and was very amused by the descriptions of Sam,

  Harry and John. “Sam’s a nut case,” Kate explained.

  “What’s that?” asked Pallas, and when it was translated,

  went off into peals of laughter.

  Kate invited her to visit them and was touched by the

  eagerness of the girl’s acceptance. It occurred to her to

  wonder what the autocratic Marc Lillitos would think if he

  knew that Miss Carter was encouraging his sheltered little

  sister to visit an ordinary family. He sounded like a

  tyrannical paterfamilias, a type which she had thought

  extinct years ago.

  When Pallas appeared at the Caulfield home she was

  wearing a chic grey dress, pretty grey shoes which looked

  hand-made and very expensive, and a very smart hat on

  her black hair.

  Sam, lounging on the carpet with his head on a cushion,

  gazed at her as though at a very rare and peculiar animal.

  Kate introduced her to the assembled family, and made

  her sit down on the sofa. There was a difficult silence.

  Then the twins, rarely at a loss for long, politely offered

  her one of their awful jokes, and were pleased, if surprised,

  when she laughed. Thus encouraged, they told a succession

  of them. Pallas, conscious of Sam’s unrelenting stare,

  laughed at each with as much enjoyment.

  Mrs. Caulfield disappeared into the kitchen, and the

  twins, drawn by the sound of cakes coming out of the oven,

  drifted after her.

  “Have you any younger brothers?” Sam asked pointedly.

  Pallas looked round, as though amazed to find him

  present, “No, but I have an older brother,” she said. “I did

  have two, but one died three years ago.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Kate.

  Pallas said honestly, “I did not know him very well. He

  lived in America. His wife still does.”

  Mrs. Caulfield called Kate who, excusing herself, left the

  two young people alone.

  Pallas sat up very straight, her hands in her lap, like a

  little girl at a grown-up tea-party. Sam lay back, staring at

  the ceiling. She furtively inspected him from his red

  sweater to his purple, fringed velvet trousers, then back,

  with widened eyes, to the brown-red curls which fell to his

  shoulders in wild abandon.

  He turned his head lazily and stared back until her eyes fell

  and she flushed.

  “What’s with the gear?” he asked obscurely.

  “I’m sorry?” She jumped and looked bewildered.

  “The clothes,” he translated. “Why are you wearing that

  drag?”

  In a flash of temper she retorted, “I look no stranger than

  you do. I couldn’t make up my mind whether you were a girl

  or a boy.”

  He laughed and leapt up, in one supple movement. Bending

  over her, he kissed her mouth before she was aware of his

  intention.

  She gasped, backing away.

  “Give you three guesses,” he offered wickedly.

  Bright pink, she said crossly, “Don’t ever do that again!”

  “Go on,” teased Sam, “you know you loved it! I bet that was

  the first time you were ever kissed!”

  She bit her lip in fury. Brought up in an atmosphere of

  luxurious reverence, she was not accustomed to boys like

  Sam. She was as sheltered as a novice from a convent

  school. Sam baffled, alarmed, fascinated her.

  Over the following weeks she became a fixture in the

  Caulfield home. She and Kate shopped together and Pallas

  bought a number of new clothes, with an eye to surprising

  Sam. Jeans, bright cotton sweaters, miniskirts and flared

  trousers were added to her wardrobe week by week. The

  neat, Paris-made suits and dresses were pushed aside. She

  flowered out into vivid colours, wild designs, and heavy,

  esoteric jewellery.

  Sam whistled admiringly when she arrived one day in an

  emerald green dress made of silky clinging material, which

  ended way above her knees, revealing long brown legs. She

  looked much younger, much prettier, more alive.

  ‘You’re quite a little dolly,” he complimented her, and

  Kate, seeing her blush scarlet, suddenly wondered if she was

  wise in allowing their friendship to develop. Her family

  would undoubtedly disapprove. Yet she did not have the

  heart to cut Pallas out of the family. The girl was so clearly

  happy. The sullen look which she had always worn at first

  was never seen now. Her school work had improved

  enormously since Sam made a few pointed remarks about

  the dignity of labour. Sam worked very hard himself and

  had no time for those who shirked.

  Pallas had never enjoyed the casual, cheerful atmosphere

  of an ordinary home before, and Kate suspected that if it

  was taken away from her now, the girl would be twice as

  unhappy.

  Her interest in Sam was unfortunate, but Kate knew her

  brother too well to fear any romantic entanglement. He was

  level-headed, kind, ambitious. The glamour girls of his world

  amused him, but he would not let himself get involved

  seriously while he was still at art school, especially since he

  knew that his mother and brothers would need his economic

  support later.

  She was convinced that she was right some weeks later

  when she watched Sam and Pallas dancing to a record.

  Pallas was tense, nervous, clumsy as she tried to follow him.

  “You’re too uptight,” he complained. “You dance as if you

  had a poker stuck up your back.”

  Pallas went bright red. “You beast!” she shouted, pushing

  at his chest.

  Sam laughed and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Stop the

  fireworks! Try it again, and put some give into it this time!”

  Pallas did better this time, and Sam grinned at her,

  “You’re getting the message! That was better!”

  She beamed at him, her black hair loose and swinging. She

  was a totally different girl from the one who had first visited

  them. Today she wore bright yellow jeans, an orange sweater

  with Mickey Mouse appliqued on the front, and an Egyptian

  enamelled pendant which gave her an Oriental look.

  They danced again, not touching each other, gyrating like

  strange birds performing a ritual mating ceremony. Kate

  watched, grinning. The veneer of maturity had been stripped


  away from Pallas, leaving her a normal teenager.

  When the music ended this time, Sam hugged Pallas, in a

  friendly way. “Great, kid! You can really swing!”

  And she, flushed and excited, threw her arms around him.

  “Oh, Sam, do you think so?”

  Kate heard the door open and glanced round, casually,

  expecting to see her mother. But a tall man in the doorway,

  his gaze fixed icily on the two in the middle of the room, who

  were too absorbed in each other to have noticed him.

  Kate recognised him. It was the man under whose car she

  had almost committed suicide.

  Then Pallas glanced over Sam’s shoulder, froze, and

  dropped her arms as if they had suddenly developed

  paralysis.

  Sam turned and stared curiously at the intruder, who

  stared back, his thick black brows meeting over his nose.

  “Well, Pallas?” he asked coolly. “Aren’t you going to

  introduce me to your ... friends?” The hesitation was

  deliberate, and insulting.

  A flash of intuition told Kate who this man was before

  Pallas spoke, and she got up nervously.

  He looked round, grey eyes hard, and studied her. Forcing

  herself to look calm, she looked back, and saw a man of thirty

  or so, very self-assured, his features arrogantly good-looking,

  his clothes discreetly well cut. He was as dark as Pallas, his

  black hair thick and straight, his skin very tanned.

  Pallas came forward awkwardly, as white now as she had

  been red, and falteringly introduced Kate.

  Kate held out her hand, making herself smile, but Marc

  Lillitos took it with a firm grip, unsmilingly.

  Then he looked at Sam. Pallas mumbled Sam’s name.

  Kate was very proud of her brother as he came forward,

  suddenly dignified, and shook hands. He did not allow the

  older man to stare him out of countenance, but met his eyes

  directly and frankly.

  There was a brief silence, then Marc Lillitos said coldly,

  “Wait for me in the car, Pallas. I want to have a word with

  Miss Caulfield.”

  She stumbled out of the room with the old sullen

  uncertainty back in force. Kate felt a sting of anger against

  this man.

  Sam took Kate’s elbow. “Shall I stay, Sis?”

  She was grateful for his offer of support, but shook her

  head. “No, thank you.”

  Sam met her eyes, grimaced and left the room.

  Marc Lillitos looked at her, very slowly and carefully, as

  though inspecting a loathsome slug found in his lettuce.

  “I was surprised when I was informed that my sister was

  at your house,” he began coolly. “I was horrified when I came

  in here and saw her, looking like some hippie, apparently

  kissing your brother. Have you any explanation of why you

  have encouraged her to behave in this disgusting way, or

  must I draw my own conclusions?”

  Kate went scarlet. “Is it disgusting to dress like other

  teenagers, to learn to dance, to enjoy herself?” She found it

  hard to find the words to say what she wanted to say, under

  the steely and contemptuous gaze of this man.

  “You would like me to believe, I suppose, that her money

  had nothing to do with it?” he asked coldly.

  “Of course it didn’t! I was sorry for her!”

  His lips twitched mirthlessly. “Sorry for her? Envied her,

  you mean. Let me make some facts clear. Pallas is my ward.

  Her money is tied up in a trust. If she married without my

  consent she gets not a penny of that money. Do you

  understand?”

  A tidal wave of rage swept over her as she listened. She

  drew a deep breath and launched into a flood of angry words.

  “If you are implying that my brother might try to marry

  her for her money then let me tell you a few facts about

  him—he’s proud, hard-working and kind-hearted, and far too

  busy trying to date much sexier girls to be aware of Pallas as

  anything other than a kid sister. Like me, he was sorry for

  her, as he would be for any girl who wears square, old-

  fashioned clothes, has no fun and feels it would be better to

  be dead. You’ve stifled Pallas all her life. You buy her safe,

  dull, expensive clothes which she hates and which make her

  look ridiculous to her own generation. You shut her away in

  safe, dull, expensive schools rather than let her find out what

  life is really like. I suppose you’ll take her away from

  Cheddall now, and put her in another tidy little box where

  she’ll die from lack of air.”

  Her blue eyes shot flames at him. “Well, Mr. Lillitos, sir,

  your money doesn’t interest us.” She curtsied exaggeratedly.

  “Nothing about you interests us, Mr. Lillitos, sir. But next

  time you look at Pallas remember she’s an ordinary teenager

  of sixteen, not a nun, and think what you’re doing to her!”

  She walked to the door and held it open, glaring at Sam, who

  shot her a grin before vanishing down the hall. “Goodbye,

  Mr. Lillitos. It may sound trite, but your money is just a

  millstone round your sister’s neck. So give her a chance to

  find out what sort of human being she really is, and stop

  trying to force her into an iron mould marked Lillitos.”

  He stared in total silence, as she spat out the last words,

  then walked out of the room.

  CHAPTER TWO

  When he had gone she sat down on a chair, feeling her legs

  giving way beneath her, and tried to stop herself trembling.

  Now that her blind rage had faded, she was ashamed of

  herself. He would certainly take Pallas away from Cheddall

  after her outburst, and all the good they had tried to do

  would be undone.

  The thought of Pallas made her mouth go down at the

  corners. Poor girl. No wonder she had lacked self-confidence,

  always being reminded by Big Brother that men were only

  interested in her money, never in herself. It would sap

  anyone’s self-respect.

  Sam came in, grinning, and hugged her. “You were

  fantastic! I was proud of you! He came out of here like a jet-

  propelled rocket. I bet no one ever told him a home truth

  before in his luxury-padded life!”

  “Oh, Sam,” she wailed, “but what have I done to Pallas? If

  only I hadn’t lost my temper!”

  Sam’s face fell. “I’d forgotten that angle. You reckon he’ll

  take her away from the school?”

  “I’d gamble my year’s salary on it!”

  She did not sleep very well that night. She lay, taut and

  anxious, mentally rehearsing an apology to Marc Lillitos, but

  each time choking as she opened her mouth and saw, in her

  mind’s eye, that arrogant dark face. After all, he had insulted

  Sam! And she was not really sorry for anything she had said.

  It had all been true. She just regretted having said it so force-

  fully.

  She thumped her pillow irritably. What a pity he had come

  at that particular moment. She was certain neither Pallas

  nor Sam were emotionally involved with each other. It was

  just friendship. But to a man l
ike Marc Lillitos a friendly hug

  looked like moral depravity.

  She arrived at Cheddall very early next day, anticipating a

  summons to Miss Carter’s study. The Head would quite

  rightly feel she had behaved very stupidly in her response to

  the situation. She could have been more tactful. The trouble

  was, thought Kate wryly, that although she had blonde hair,

  she had inherited her redheaded father’s blazing temper. As

  a child she had often had lectures from him on the subject, no

  less stern because he fully understood her problem.

  “I have a temper, too, Kate,” he used to say, “but one must

  learn to control it, rather than let it control you.”

  It was odd that Sam, who had his father’s hair, had been

  by-passed by the family temper. He was a very good-natured

  boy.

  She waited all morning in suspense, but no summons

  came. Her discreet enquiries in the staff-room told her that

  Pallas was still at the school, and no one seemed aware of

  any trouble concerning her.

  Had Miss Carter persuaded her brother to leave her at

  school? Or had he changed his mind last night, after all?

  Puzzled, anxious and uneasy, Kate waited all day, but when

  she left that afternoon she had still heard nothing.

  As she turned out of the drive she heard a voice calling her

  name, and looked round in surprise.

  The sleek black car was drawn up at the kerb and Marc

  Lillitos was leaning out of the window.

  “I want a word with you,” he said brusquely. “Get in.”

  Despite all her good intentions, she stiffened resentfully.

  Who did he think he was? His tone was as arrogant as ever.

  “I’m sorry,” she said coldly, “I’m in a hurry.”

  His grey eyes were sardonic. “Then it will be quicker to go

  by car,” he pointed out, opening the passenger door for her.

  “I prefer to walk,” she said, turning away.

  The door slammed and suddenly he was beside her, taking

  her elbow in fingers which gripped painfully. “Don’t be

  ridiculous! I want to talk to you.”

  “Are you kidnapping me?” she asked, her eyes flashing.

  “Let go of my arm—you’re hurting me! How dare you? Just

  because you’re a millionaire it doesn’t give you the right to

  order me around.”

  He stared down at her, eyes amused. “What a little spitfire

  you are, aren’t you?” he murmured. “Come, must I go down