which she could not quite identify.
“I haven’t thanked you yet,” he said quickly. “You worked
like a Trojan tonight. I am very grateful to you.”
“It was nothing,” she dismissed. “Anyone would have
done it.”
“Not quite,” he shook his head. “Only someone kind and
brave. You got filthy, you are very tired and you were very
upset by some of the things you saw. Don’t push my thanks
away, Kate.”
She flushed, then smiled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be
curt.”
“You are tired,” he nodded. “Go to bed, my ... my dear.”
Kate looked up, smiling at him, and he slowly bent his
head towards her. Her heart quickened into a thunder. She
waited, lids drooping, lips slightly parted.
Then a voice behind them said sharply, “Marc, what is
going on here?”
Marc straightened, stiffening, and his eyes went over
Kate’s head to the woman standing behind her, in the open
doorway.
Marie-Louise repeated her question, in a high, shrill
tone. “Why are you here, in the middle of the night, dressed
like that? Where have you been?”
Kate turned blindly and pushed past her without a word.
As she fled up the stairs she heard Marie-Louise say, “You
haven’t been making love to the little schoolteacher, have
you, darling? You really must not flirt with people like
that—they don’t understand your little games! They take
them seriously and get hurt.”
CHAPTER EIGHT