isn’t fair!” she wailed, like a child, and ran out of the
room.
Sam stared after her, then looked at Marc, who calmly
went on peeling his apple, the rings sliding from between
his fingers in symmetrical spirals.
Silently, Sam followed Pallas out of the room. Kate felt
curious, yet nervous. She wanted to know why Pallas so
much disliked the idea of a visit from this cousin of hers,
and yet she was tensely aware of being left alone with
Marc once more.
He cut himself a slice of the apple, bit it with relish,
and then smilingly offered her half. She shook her head.
But before she could ask him about his sister’s reaction to
his news, he had said lazily, “Did you know that Spiro
Pyrakis lived near here?”
She dragged her mind back from the thoughts which
had been absorbing it.
“Spiro Pyrakis? No, I didn’t. I have all his records at
home. He’s my favourite pianist. I went to all his London
concerts last year, and I found his playing even better
than I’d dreamed. Of course, a recording is never the
same as the real thing.”
“He’s a friend of mine,” he said casually.
She stared at him, too awed to speak.
“I was talking to him on the telephone this morning,”
he said lightly. “He asked me to sail over there tomorrow.
Would you like to come?”
“I couldn’t,” she stammered, torn between delight and
awe. “He wouldn’t want to meet a stranger ...”
“I told him about you,” Marc went on, “asked if I might