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escorted to their table by an obsequious head
    waiter who used her host’s name ostentatiously. Kate
    guessed that even the Black Swan was not accustomed to the
    patronage of such wealthy customers. Not many people in
    Greyford came into the supertax bracket and there were no
    local millionaires.
    She found the punctilious attentions embarrassing.
    Flushed and irritable, she avoided Marc Lillitos’s eyes. Was
    this how he was always treated? With hovering waiters;
    flattering, bowing and scraping; continual observation by the
    other guests, curious whispers at each move he made? It
    must be abominable.
    But if it was, perhaps it went some way to explaining his
    air of arrogant self-assurance. How often had someone said
    no to him? How many times had he heard angry voices? Been
    told the truth? In his way, he was as warped as Pallas had
    been, twisted out of shape by the pressures his money
    created around him.
    She was so embarrassed that she barely tasted the
    meal, but it was beautifully prepared and presented. She
    shook her head when her host asked her to choose, and
    left it all to him. He ran a quick eye over the menu and
    chose shrimp cocktail; duck, green peas, orange sauce
    and game chips followed for her by a creme caramel and
    for himself with cheese.
    She ate in almost total silence, answering only when
    he asked her a question, painfully aware of the stares of
    the other diners, and wishing herself anywhere but
    there.
    The dining-room emptied as they reached the coffee
    stage and he leaned over to offer a cigarette, which she
    refused. He asked if she would mind if he smoked. She
    said that she did not, and watched him light his cigarette
    and push the lighter back into his pocket.

    He had long, slender, shapely hands, beautifully cared
    for, and she stared at them with almost hypnotised
    awareness.
    “Now,” he said quietly, “shall we discuss my sister?”
    Kate stared and glanced up from her contemplation of
    his hands, her eyes wide. “Oh, yes ... of course.”
    His look held hers for a second, one dark brow raised
    quizzically. Then he smiled slightly. “Part of the problem
    is that I have no experience of young girls. Had she been
    a boy I might have understood her better. My mother, as
    I said, is bed-ridden for much of the time. My sister-in-
    law lives in America and only visits us occasionally.” He
    spread his hands in an expressive gesture. “So Pallas is
    very lonely when she is at home.”
    “Surely you have some young friends?” she asked,
    surprised.
    He shook his head. “I am a very busy man. My friends are
    all business acquaintances.”
    “Doesn’t Pallas have any friends of her own?” She was not
    aware of the shocked disbelief of her own voice, but he looked
    hard at her.
    “You find that strange? Yes, it is, I suppose. When she was
    small she used to play with the island children, but most of
    the girls in her age group are married now, or will be soon.
    Our girls mature early.”
    “No wonder Pallas feels cut off,” Kate said slowly. “She’s
    sent away to school while the girls she grew up with are
    regarded as adult women! When she first came to Cheddall
    she looked so sad—a young girl dressed like a middle-aged
    woman, very quiet and aloof. She was marooned on an island
    at a time when she should have been having fun with people
    of her own age.”
    “She had her music,” he protested.
    “Which you don’t take seriously!”
    He met her eyes. “She told you that?” And when Kate

    nodded, he said, “She was wrong, but that can wait. First, I
    want to know if you really like my sister, or if you are only
    sorry for her.”
    “I like her,” Kate said. “I’m sorry for her, too, but there’s
    something appealing about her. She’s so ... eager. She wants
    to be happy. It’s touching.”
    “Good, I am glad you like her. I want you and Sam to visit
    her during the Easter holiday.”
    She was shocked into an exclamation. “What?” Then,
    flushing, “I’m