Follow a Stranger

green lawns of the garden, glistening with rain, and on a

wild impulse she ran round into the cypress-lined garden.

She stood, breathing in deeply, enjoying the fresh night

scents.

Marc came up behind her. “You

English lunatic,” he said

softly, “come into the house. You have been up all night and

you are asleep on your feet.”

She laughed and turned back. “I wanted to feel ...” she

paused, not knowing quite how to describe the feeling she

had been possessed by at that moment.

“Alive?” he suggested gently. “I understand. It was grim,

wasn’t it? Nature can be very cruel.”

“Yes,” she whispered, remembering the child in the

bloodstained dress. She had found out later that the child

had lost her father in the rock fall. His body had been found

in the rains of his house. Only the arrival of her weeping,

white-faced mother had snapped the little girl out of her

dangerous state of suspended grief, and they had clung

together, loudly weeping, yet comforting each other.

Marc propelled her by the elbow into the villa. They went

into the kitchen, which was large, beautifully equipped and

tiled in orange and black.

Marc made Kate sit down while he put the kettle on the

stove. “A cup of tea is what the English love most,” he

teased. “That will restore you!”

She sighed longingly. “It sounds heavenly! My mouth is

as dry as a kiln.”

He stood over her, very tall and dark. “Pyrakis said your

mouth was cool and sweet and inviting,” he reminded her