holiday,” she answered. “I’m
going with Peter to this Anglo-Saxon burial site.”
“Peter was round this evening,” Sam said, irrelevantly.
“He wanted to borrow some glue. He made like a gundog
after a pheasant when I mentioned Kianthos—seems there’s
an early Mycenean temple there that has never been
properly excavated. The Lillitos family own the whole island
and they won’t let strangers land.”
“Typical!” exploded Kate. “What right do they have to
prevent people from seeing a thing like that, an important
historical site ...”
“Keep your wig on,” Sam advised with kindly superiority.
“You know, I bet if you mentioned this idea of going there for
Easter to Peter he’d jump at it. He would really love to see
that temple.”
She drew a quick breath. He was right. Peter would
certainly want to go there.
Sam yawned. “I’m off to bed now. Goodnight, Sis.”
When he had gone Kate sat staring at the charcoal
drawing he had made. It really was very like Marc Lillitos.
Some obscure, buried instinct warned her against seeing
too much of that man. They were like people from different
planets. Their lives had touched by chance, and he had
already had a disturbing effect upon her. Her life had been
running smoothly for the past year. She had buried the
yearning for a musical career, had settled down quietly at
home, teaching and planning her life with Peter. And now, in
one day, the smooth threads of her life were tangled and
knotted.
She picked up the pad and tore the sketch off, holding it
up to the light. The arrogant face seemed to smile at her.
Angrily she crunched it into a ball and flung it across the
room, then went up to bed.
She decided, guiltily, not to mention the projected visit to
Kianthos to Peter. She had never practised deceit before,
even by omission, and it upset her. But the thought of
spending two weeks with Marc Lillitos disturbed her even
more.
She was abstracted and dreamy at school next day. Even
Pallas, during her daily singing lesson, commented upon it,
teasingly. Kate was relieved to find the girl still friendly, and
decided that perhaps Marc had not spoken to her of his idea
for the holiday, after all.
When she reached home that evening she was in a more
cheerful mood. She flung her coat over its hook and walked
into the kitchen where, to her amazement, she found Peter
and Marc Lillitos seated at the kitchen table, eating hot
buttered scones.
There was something so odd about seeing Marc in that
homely setting that her lips twitched with unguarded
amusement, and, looking back at her, his grey eyes smiled in
response. She looked away at once, thinking that it was
irritating, the way he read her mind so easily.
“Hi, Kate!” Peter leaned back, offering his cheek, and she
bent and kissed him, deliberately, on his mouth. He looked
rather surprised, but accepted it calmly.
Mrs. Caulfield was getting another batch of scones out of
the oven and Kate exchanged a wry, enquiring glance with
her, but her mother only smiled and shook her head, as
though totally at a loss to explain the presence of the two
men.
Peter took another scone, and said, through a buttery
mouthful, “I’d be eternally grateful, Lillitos. I’ve wanted to
see that temple for years. I understand some of it is still
standing in situ.”
“Yes, it is partially restored,” Marc said calmly, his gaze on
Kate’s flushed and angry face.
“I can’t wait to see it,” Peter said excitedly. “I could map
out the general area of the site, then a full team could come
in and do the serious work. I wouldn’t disturb the site at all.
Just work around, determining the limits of the building, if I
could, and estimating the size of team needed for the job.”
“Then that is settled,” Marc said, still watching Kate with
bland amusement.
“Peter!” Kate began, in a quiet voice. “We’re going to
Sussex for Easter.”
He looked vaguely at her.
Eleanor Coerr, Ronald Himler