Follow a Stranger

sullen face as she took back the ball. Jean-Paul was

about to lie down again when Sam said cheerfully, “Care

to join us, Jean-Paul? Beach ball is more fun with three.”

Pallas turned away, her dark hair swinging as she

tossed her head, as though to emphasise her indifference

as to whether Jean-Paul played or not.

He hesitated, his face uncertain. Kate smiled at him,

“Yes, do play—I mustn’t because of my back. I think I’ll

go to sleep for a while.”

He stood up and slowly joined the other two. Pallas

flung the ball at him, very hard, and it hit him in the

stomach. Kate knew that Pallas had done it deliberately

and felt like shaking the girl. But Jean-Paul

straightened, looking steadily at her, and threw the ball

back without a word.

Kate pulled her straw hat over her face and let her

body relax. The sound of the sea, the balmy air, made her

drowsy. Vaguely she heard the high voices of the ball

players drifting away. The sea murmured on, gulls cried

overhead and the sun came out mildly, caressing her

skin. Behind her closed lids a warm orange flood of light

seemed to focus, spreading through her like wine. She

was lazy and content. Even the silent presence of Marc

seemed distant.

Then she heard a movement beside her. Sand

scattered over her bare legs. She opened her eyes and

saw Marc, lying on one elbow still, but casually ladling

handfuls of sand over her, like a child.

“What are you doing?” she asked resentfully, lifting

her leg so that the sand fell away.