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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.
