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Authors: Charlotte Lamb
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hand. “I am so
pleased to meet you. Pallas has written to me of you so
often that I feel I know you very well. But I cannot think
of you as Miss Caulfield—will you let me call you Kate?
Such a nice name. It always reminds me of Shakespeare.”
Marc broke in teasingly, “Ah, yes—Henry the Fifth!
What does he say: There is witchcraft in your lips, Kate
...” His eyes provoked her openly, and Kate knew herself
to be flushing.
His mother looked round at him, one delicate dark
brow lifted in enquiry. “Marc! You must not be so
teasing!”
He laughed. “Or did you mean Kate from The Taming
of the Shrew, Mama? Kate, the prettiest Kate in
Christendom, sometimes Kate the curst?”
Mrs. Lillitos clicked her tongue. “That was not very
polite, my son. I am surprised at you. Kate is covered with
embarrassment. Say you are sorry at once!”
“Ah, Mama,” he said lightly, “English girls are not
brought up like our girls, to blush at everything! If Kate is
pink it is because she wants to slap me, not because she is
shy.”
His mother looked from one to the other of them, very
slowly. A smile pulled at her lips. “Is that so?” she asked
quietly. “I see.”
“The first time we met,” he went on gaily, “she spat at
me like a cross kitten with its back arched. She almost
stepped under my car, yet she flew at me furiously for
daring to criticise her!”
Watching him from under lowered lashes, Kate
suspected his light tone hid resentment. It was the first
time had had ever referred to their first encounter.
“Perhaps you were rude to her, Marc,” his mother said
mildly. “Was he, Kate?”
Kate looked at her and was relieved to see that she
was smiling warmly. “Very rude,” she agreed, smiling
back.
“Ye gods!” he exclaimed. “I was the very model of
restraint! And when we met again she tore my character
into strips, told me how to run my life and threw me out
of her home as if I were a burglar!”
Mrs. Lillitos laughed softly. “The more I hear of her
the more I admire her! Now, Marc, go away, and let me
talk to Kate alone for a while. You are too disturbing.”
He made a violent grimace, but did not argue. When
he had gone, his mother smiled at her. “He was, even as
a boy—it was like having a hurricane permanently in
the house.”
Kate laughed. “I can imagine!”
Mrs. Lillitos leaned back. “Tell me about yourself, my
dear. Do you like teaching music?”
“I like teaching anyone as talented as Pallas,” she said
frankly. “It’s a great pleasure to feel that one is able to
help someone with her gifts.”
Mrs. Lillitos did not reply directly. After a pause she
said, “And yourself? Are you musically talented? Did you
ever want to be a professional pianist?”
“How did you know I was a pianist?” Kate asked in
surprise.
“I heard you playing to my son last night. It was very
pleasant. You must play for me again some time. Did you
enjoy exploring the island today?”
Kate blinked. “I ... I didn’t go with Pallas and Sam,”
she said slowly. “I went to the temple.”
“To Angkistri?” repeated Mrs. Lillitos. “Are you
interested in archaeology? We have a young man here
now, studying the temple.”
“He is my fiancé,” Kate explained, smiling in surprise.
Why hadn’t Marc told his mother that she and Peter were
engaged?
Mrs. Lillitos stiffened and stared at her. “Fiancé?” she
repeated. “Fiancé?”
Kate would have thought she did not know the word,
but she remembered that Mrs. Lillitos was French and
must be perfectly familiar with it.
“Didn’t Marc tell you?” she asked. “Surely Pallas must
have mentioned it to you?”
Then she saw that Mrs. Lillitos was very pale. Her frail
hand was groping for the stick which stood propped
against her chair.
Feebly she stood up, refusing Kate’s offer of help with a
silent shake of the head.
“I do not feel very hungry tonight,” she said. “I think
pleased to meet you. Pallas has written to me of you so
often that I feel I know you very well. But I cannot think
of you as Miss Caulfield—will you let me call you Kate?
Such a nice name. It always reminds me of Shakespeare.”
Marc broke in teasingly, “Ah, yes—Henry the Fifth!
What does he say: There is witchcraft in your lips, Kate
...” His eyes provoked her openly, and Kate knew herself
to be flushing.
His mother looked round at him, one delicate dark
brow lifted in enquiry. “Marc! You must not be so
teasing!”
He laughed. “Or did you mean Kate from The Taming
of the Shrew, Mama? Kate, the prettiest Kate in
Christendom, sometimes Kate the curst?”
Mrs. Lillitos clicked her tongue. “That was not very
polite, my son. I am surprised at you. Kate is covered with
embarrassment. Say you are sorry at once!”
“Ah, Mama,” he said lightly, “English girls are not
brought up like our girls, to blush at everything! If Kate is
pink it is because she wants to slap me, not because she is
shy.”
His mother looked from one to the other of them, very
slowly. A smile pulled at her lips. “Is that so?” she asked
quietly. “I see.”
“The first time we met,” he went on gaily, “she spat at
me like a cross kitten with its back arched. She almost
stepped under my car, yet she flew at me furiously for
daring to criticise her!”
Watching him from under lowered lashes, Kate
suspected his light tone hid resentment. It was the first
time had had ever referred to their first encounter.
“Perhaps you were rude to her, Marc,” his mother said
mildly. “Was he, Kate?”
Kate looked at her and was relieved to see that she
was smiling warmly. “Very rude,” she agreed, smiling
back.
“Ye gods!” he exclaimed. “I was the very model of
restraint! And when we met again she tore my character
into strips, told me how to run my life and threw me out
of her home as if I were a burglar!”
Mrs. Lillitos laughed softly. “The more I hear of her
the more I admire her! Now, Marc, go away, and let me
talk to Kate alone for a while. You are too disturbing.”
He made a violent grimace, but did not argue. When
he had gone, his mother smiled at her. “He was, even as
a boy—it was like having a hurricane permanently in
the house.”
Kate laughed. “I can imagine!”
Mrs. Lillitos leaned back. “Tell me about yourself, my
dear. Do you like teaching music?”
“I like teaching anyone as talented as Pallas,” she said
frankly. “It’s a great pleasure to feel that one is able to
help someone with her gifts.”
Mrs. Lillitos did not reply directly. After a pause she
said, “And yourself? Are you musically talented? Did you
ever want to be a professional pianist?”
“How did you know I was a pianist?” Kate asked in
surprise.
“I heard you playing to my son last night. It was very
pleasant. You must play for me again some time. Did you
enjoy exploring the island today?”
Kate blinked. “I ... I didn’t go with Pallas and Sam,”
she said slowly. “I went to the temple.”
“To Angkistri?” repeated Mrs. Lillitos. “Are you
interested in archaeology? We have a young man here
now, studying the temple.”
“He is my fiancé,” Kate explained, smiling in surprise.
Why hadn’t Marc told his mother that she and Peter were
engaged?
Mrs. Lillitos stiffened and stared at her. “Fiancé?” she
repeated. “Fiancé?”
Kate would have thought she did not know the word,
but she remembered that Mrs. Lillitos was French and
must be perfectly familiar with it.
“Didn’t Marc tell you?” she asked. “Surely Pallas must
have mentioned it to you?”
Then she saw that Mrs. Lillitos was very pale. Her frail
hand was groping for the stick which stood propped
against her chair.
Feebly she stood up, refusing Kate’s offer of help with a
silent shake of the head.
“I do not feel very hungry tonight,” she said. “I think
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