survey, and as sunburn is hardly a dangerous
illness ...”
“I see his point,” she said, quickly breaking in. “Of
course he wouldn’t come until he had finished.”
Marc’s lip curled. “You don’t mind?” he asked. “You
lack the usual feminine vanity, then. Doesn’t it worry
you that he couldn’t care less whether you are ill or not?”
“You don’t understand Peter,” she said hurriedly. During
her illness she had had plenty of time in which to think
about herself, and she had come to a decision about
Peter. She had made up her mind to
ask him if he would release her from their engagement.
But she had no intention of letting Marc Lillitos know
that. She did not want to discuss the subject with him.
Marc was watching her, with narrowed eyes. “Do you
understand Peter Hardy?” he asked her coolly. “Do you
realise what a selfish, irresponsible, coldblooded fish he
really is?”
She flushed and walked past him without answering.
She was still engaged to Peter. She would not be disloyal
to him now.
That afternoon, the other visitors arrived, and Marc
drove down to the airfield to meet them.
Pallas was sulky as she sat with her mother and Sam,
waiting for the black car to return. Mrs. Lillitos kept a
stern eye upon her and checked an attempt she made to
escape with Sam to play tennis, while Kate sat back,
watching, wondering why Pallas was in such a strange
mood.
The visitors arrived, talking in French which sounded
like machine guns rattling away, and Kate hoped that
they spoke some English, or the rest of the holiday was
going to become a nightmare.
Marc came in, ushering two women before him,
smiling down at one with great charm and courtesy.
She looked round and gave a little cry, “Madam!”
Mrs. Lillitos held out her arms, and the other woman
hugged her warmly. “ Ma belle Helene,” murmured Mrs.
Lillitos, smiling.
She was a tall, slender woman, with deep brown hair,
brown eyes and a look of quiet sophistication. Her coat
and dress were cut very plainly, but with exquisite taste,
in a striking violet. They looked superb on her.
Mrs. Lillitos looked past her to the other woman,
standing beside Marc, one hand clinging to his sleeve,
smiling up at him from wide brown eyes fringed by very
thick black lashes. Her eyes were too heavily made up,
giving her the appearance of a panda, with her thick
white skin and black hair. She wore a figure-hugging
black suit, very demure and yet very sexy. There was no
blouse beneath it and the deep v-lapels revealed the
white curve of her breasts and her slim white throat.
She was whispering to Marc and he bent his head,
seeming amused, his eyes flickering over her apprais-
ingly.
“Marie-Louise, ma chere ,” said Mrs. Lillitos firmly,
and the other woman turned and walked over to her,
still holding Marc’s arm.
Kate stared at her. Was this, then, the French model
with whom Marc was in love? She could not understand
why he felt uncertain of her. She seemed madly in love
with him, if one judged by her practised arch looks, her
smiles and her air of possession.
She was very attractive, Kate had to admit. The silky
dark hair was sleek and straight, drawn back from her
face in a chignon. Her mouth was painted glistening red,
her chiselled cheeks almost classically perfect. Yet there
was a falseness, a coldness about her which made Kate
dislike her.
Mrs. Lillitos introduced Sam and Kate to them, and
Marie-Louise stared at her with insolence.
“A schoolteacher?” she repeated, then laughed, look-
ing at Marc. She turned her head aside and whispered to
him. Kate caught the words, “How irritating for you to
have to put up with them, mon cher .”
Marc did not reply. A man had come up the steps into
the house and stood, watching them all with a smile. He
was tall, dark and about twenty-four, with curly hair,
pleasant brown eyes and a relaxed air.
“Jean-Paul,” said Marc, “come and meet my
illness ...”
“I see his point,” she said, quickly breaking in. “Of
course he wouldn’t come until he had finished.”
Marc’s lip curled. “You don’t mind?” he asked. “You
lack the usual feminine vanity, then. Doesn’t it worry
you that he couldn’t care less whether you are ill or not?”
“You don’t understand Peter,” she said hurriedly. During
her illness she had had plenty of time in which to think
about herself, and she had come to a decision about
Peter. She had made up her mind to
ask him if he would release her from their engagement.
But she had no intention of letting Marc Lillitos know
that. She did not want to discuss the subject with him.
Marc was watching her, with narrowed eyes. “Do you
understand Peter Hardy?” he asked her coolly. “Do you
realise what a selfish, irresponsible, coldblooded fish he
really is?”
She flushed and walked past him without answering.
She was still engaged to Peter. She would not be disloyal
to him now.
That afternoon, the other visitors arrived, and Marc
drove down to the airfield to meet them.
Pallas was sulky as she sat with her mother and Sam,
waiting for the black car to return. Mrs. Lillitos kept a
stern eye upon her and checked an attempt she made to
escape with Sam to play tennis, while Kate sat back,
watching, wondering why Pallas was in such a strange
mood.
The visitors arrived, talking in French which sounded
like machine guns rattling away, and Kate hoped that
they spoke some English, or the rest of the holiday was
going to become a nightmare.
Marc came in, ushering two women before him,
smiling down at one with great charm and courtesy.
She looked round and gave a little cry, “Madam!”
Mrs. Lillitos held out her arms, and the other woman
hugged her warmly. “ Ma belle Helene,” murmured Mrs.
Lillitos, smiling.
She was a tall, slender woman, with deep brown hair,
brown eyes and a look of quiet sophistication. Her coat
and dress were cut very plainly, but with exquisite taste,
in a striking violet. They looked superb on her.
Mrs. Lillitos looked past her to the other woman,
standing beside Marc, one hand clinging to his sleeve,
smiling up at him from wide brown eyes fringed by very
thick black lashes. Her eyes were too heavily made up,
giving her the appearance of a panda, with her thick
white skin and black hair. She wore a figure-hugging
black suit, very demure and yet very sexy. There was no
blouse beneath it and the deep v-lapels revealed the
white curve of her breasts and her slim white throat.
She was whispering to Marc and he bent his head,
seeming amused, his eyes flickering over her apprais-
ingly.
“Marie-Louise, ma chere ,” said Mrs. Lillitos firmly,
and the other woman turned and walked over to her,
still holding Marc’s arm.
Kate stared at her. Was this, then, the French model
with whom Marc was in love? She could not understand
why he felt uncertain of her. She seemed madly in love
with him, if one judged by her practised arch looks, her
smiles and her air of possession.
She was very attractive, Kate had to admit. The silky
dark hair was sleek and straight, drawn back from her
face in a chignon. Her mouth was painted glistening red,
her chiselled cheeks almost classically perfect. Yet there
was a falseness, a coldness about her which made Kate
dislike her.
Mrs. Lillitos introduced Sam and Kate to them, and
Marie-Louise stared at her with insolence.
“A schoolteacher?” she repeated, then laughed, look-
ing at Marc. She turned her head aside and whispered to
him. Kate caught the words, “How irritating for you to
have to put up with them, mon cher .”
Marc did not reply. A man had come up the steps into
the house and stood, watching them all with a smile. He
was tall, dark and about twenty-four, with curly hair,
pleasant brown eyes and a relaxed air.
“Jean-Paul,” said Marc, “come and meet my
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