Follow a Stranger

for me?” he asked Marc.

Marc looked at it, lying sparkling on his palm, and

his lip curled scornfully. “I do not think so,” he said,

with hauteur. “Keep it for your next fiancée.”

Peter reddened, looked angry, then drew himself up

and walked away. He did not dare to antagonise the

man, he thought. The expedition depended on the

whims of this rude, spoilt millionaire. And anyway,

Kate was right. They had not been suited. She had

never really been interested in his work. And if a man

couldn’t depend upon his wife to share his interests,

what point in marrying? He looked forward to the

excitement there would be in archaeological circles

when he dropped his bombshell. And he broke into

happy whistling, forgetting Kate and everything else.

Kate wandered for a long time around the cliffs,

then turned back and found herself in myrtle grove.

She stood, breathing in the fragrance of the cooling

air. The heat of the sun was slackening and the moths

had begun to flit over the thyme, their dusty wings

glowing.

She thought back over the six years of her relation-

ship with Peter. How had she come to think herself in

love with him? She remembered how different he had

seemed, when she was a young girl, with his blond

beard and vague professor-like air. The boys she had

known then had all been crazy, half-grown lads. Peter

had seemed so mature. And from a girlish crush she

had let herself drift into a long-term relationship with

no solid base.