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had to protect herself at that moment, against the pain of
hearing his mother telling her about his need of Marie-
Louise.
Mrs. Lillitos did not attempt to reopen the subject. She
sat down in one of the thick leather chairs, and listened to
the record Kate chose—a crashing piece of Wagner which
rode down the storm and made it seem irrelevant.
When the music ended, the storm seemed to be blowing
itself out, although rain still rattled against the shutters
and the wind blew the cypresses until their branches
scraped along the walls.
>
Kate put on another record, since Mrs. Lillitos seemed
reluctant to go to bed. This one was quieter, more conducive
to a state of drowsiness.
“Ah, Bach,” Mrs. Lillitos sighed, smiling. “Jean-Paul told
me of your fondness for him. Marc, too, loves Bach,
especially the Brandenburgs.”
Kate forced herself to smile. She wished she had not been
told that Marc loved her favourite composer. She wanted to
be able to listen to Bach in future without being reminded of
her brief, unhappy stay here on Kianthos.
They heard the record to the end and then went up to
bed. Mrs. Lillitos smiled and touched Kate’s hand, as they
said goodnight at her door.
“You have been very kind to me, petite. I have never
enjoyed a thunderstorm before!”
Kate laughed. “I’m glad you enjoyed this one— I did, too.”
They turned to part, when a loud hammering startled
them. It went on, growing in volume, and Marc’s door burst
