Follow a Stranger

her brother was feeling worse with each minute of the

journey. His freckles stood out on his nose like micro-dots

under a microscope. His mouth was thinned and taut and

his cheeks white. She hoped he would not be sick before

they reached the villa.

But at that moment the car lurched downwards again,

throwing Peter against the door. He rubbed his forehead

resentfully, then bent to pick up the vast tome he had

been reading ever since they left London. Kate watched

him crossly. He had not spoken to any of them all

morning. She knew that dreamy, abstracted expression. It

meant that he was unaware of anything around him.

Including her.

They sto

pped in a gully between dark rocky cliffs, grass

clinging perilously to little clefts, wild yellow flowers

blowing in the sea wind. The path was rough with lumps

of stone, but the car reversed slowly, wheels churning up

pebbles, and turned down a grassy track which ended on a

paved patio.

Kate got out and stood with Sam and Peter, like herded

sheep, gazing in amazement at the view spread before

them.

The Villa Lillitos was modern, but built on classical

lines, a two-storey house, with flat, wide windows, a

terrace running along the front on which stood basket

chairs and several small tables. The terrace was

supported on smooth white pillars of stone, and in the

centre of it stood a portico, beneath which Marc Lillitos

stood watching their arrival.