Follow a Stranger by Charlotte Lamb Read Free Book Online Page B

felt a pang of disloyalty.
    He had only been gone a short time and already she was
    forgetting she was engaged to him. Marc was far too
    experienced in the small art of flirtation for her. She was
    not sure whether he was deliberately flirting with her, or if
    it was merely a reflex action, but from time to time she
    was aware that he was deliberately testing her reactions to
    him.
    Perhaps he had been piqued by her attitude from their
    first meeting? Or perhaps he liked to have a row of scalps
    dangling from his belt?
    Whatever the reason, those charming smiles, the light,
    meaning phrases and the way he touched her neck just
    now—they all added up to a flirtation. And she did not
    mean to get involved in that sort of folly.
    “I think I’ll go in now,” she said, as they approached the
    terrace again.
    “I’m not in the least tired,” he said. “Are you really
    sleepy? You don’t look it. Won’t you play for me first?
    Something quiet and gentle?”
    She played a piece of soft night music, by Mozart, and

    the insidious intricacies gradually drove out all disquieting
    thoughts from her head, and restored her sense of humour.
    I’m a fool, she thought, her fingers moving delicately
    over the keys. Peter leaves me too much alone. I’m making
    mountains out of molehills, building ridiculous fantasies.
    Marc is just being polite. I must get it into proportion.
    When she lifted her hands finally and sat back, Marc
    smiled at her. “You have a very pleasant touch.”
    “I’m a competent amateur,” she said firmly, “but thank
    you.”
    He looked at her for a long moment, his face inscrutable.
    “What a girl for laying out the facts you are,” he said at
    last. “You are unusually honest. I know many much less
    talented musicians who would claim a great deal more
    than competence.”
    She refused to be drawn, smiled and said goodnight,
    leaving him alone in the lounge.
    She was up early next morning and met Sam on the
    stairs. He looked his usual self once more, clear-eyed and
    alert. He grinned at her, “I slept like a log! How about
    you?”
    “Fine,” she admitted.
    They found themselves the first to arrive for breakfast.
    A pretty girl in a lavender overall was moving about,
    laying the table, and looked round in surprise as they
    entered the room. She smiled, though, and said good
    morning in rather thickly accented English, then pointed
    out the food, waiting over steel hotplates.
    There were scrambled eggs, bacon and sausages, but
    Kate stuck to her usual orange juice and slice of toast.
    Sam, however, greedily heaped his plate with a glorious
    mixture of everything, and grinned at her teasingly as he
    began to eat.
    “I heard you playing the piano last night,” he said,

    between mouthfuls.
    “Did it wake you? I’m sorry. Marc asked me to play
    something before I went to bed.”
    Sam shook his head. “It was quite pleasant, drifting off
    to sleep to Mozart.” He shot her an acute glance. “Don’t fall
    for Marc, will you? He’s an attractive sort of chap, but
    Pallas says he has a girlfriend. French, apparently—a
    successful model. She won’t give up her career or Pallas
    thinks they would be married by now.”
    Kate gritted her teeth and spoke very brightly. “A tough
    career girl should suit him! I hope she keeps him tied up in
    knots for years. His attitude to women is as out of date as
    crinolines.”
    Sam laughed. “You’re so right! Look, you don’t mind my
    giving you the gypsy’s warning, do you, Sis? It’s just that
    I’d hate you to get hurt.”
    “You seem to forget I’m engaged to Peter,” she said
    rather sharply.
    Sam grimaced. “Yes, but then Peter isn’t exactly a ball
    of fire in the romance stakes, is he? I mean, an Anglo-
    Saxon knee bone gives him more of a thrill than you do!”
    “Really, Sam!” she snapped angrily.
    Sam looked sheepish. “Oh, I’m sorry. It isn’t my
    business, I know, but much as I like Peter, he does rather
    neglect you. Girls