Follow a Stranger

He left Kate seated on the sofa, her head back against

the fat striped cushions. She ran her fingers wearily

through her hair. It was very untidy. Their long drive, in

the open-topped sports car, had whipped her blonde hair

into a positive birds’ nest and she had not yet had time to

comb it.

She sipped her chocolate and choked on it as she heard

the voice of the new arrival behind her. Spinning round,

with a scarlet face and wide, panic-stricken eyes, she

faced Marc.

He was grim and furious, his eyes sparking at her.

“Quite a surprise,” he drawled, jamming his hands into

his pockets. “Who would have expected to see you here at

this hour?”

“Let me explain, Marc,” stammered Jean-Paul, very

red.

Marc raised a lazy, sardonic eyebrow. “Do, by all

means. I am in the mood for fairy tales.”

Jean-Paul looked aghast. “No, no, you misunderstand!

It looks odd, I suppose, but truly ...”

“Looks odd?” Marc bit off his words with a fierce snap

of his white teeth. “You’re damned right it looks odd! Let

me guess—Kate got locked out and had to beg a night’s

lodging here? Or she couldn’t find a hotel in Paris ready

to take her?” He laughed unpleasantly. “Or would it be

more accurate to guess that this ...” he gestured around

him, “is the hotel at which she is staying?”

“I am staying at the apartment of Henry Murray,”

Kate intervened in a clear, cold voice. Her own anger had

got the better of her now. How dared Marc burst in here