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sullen face as she took back the ball. Jean-Paul was
about to lie down again when Sam said cheerfully, “Care
to join us, Jean-Paul? Beach ball is more fun with three.”
Pallas turned away, her dark hair swinging as she
tossed her head, as though to emphasise her indifference
as to whether Jean-Paul played or not.
He hesitated, his face uncertain. Kate smiled at him,
“Yes, do play—I mustn’t because of my back. I think I’ll
go to sleep for a while.”
He stood up and slowly joined the other two. Pallas
flung the ball at him, very hard, and it hit him in the
stomach. Kate knew that Pallas had done it deliberately
and felt like shaking the girl. But Jean-Paul
straightened, looking steadily at her, and threw the ball
back without a word.
Kate pulled her straw hat over her face and let her
body relax. The sound of the sea, the balmy air, made her
drowsy. Vaguely she heard the high voices of the ball
players drifting away. The sea murmured on, gulls cried
overhead and the sun came out mildly, caressing her
skin. Behind her closed lids a warm orange flood of light
seemed to focus, spreading through her like wine. She
was lazy and content. Even the silent presence of Marc
seemed distant.
Then she heard a movement beside her. Sand
scattered over her bare legs. She opened her eyes and
saw Marc, lying on one elbow still, but casually ladling
handfuls of sand over her, like a child.
“What are you doing?” she asked resentfully, lifting
her leg so that the sand fell away.
