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which seemed to show that he had not.
Jean-Paul poured her another glass of retsina, his
fingers touching hers as she held her glass towards him.
He smiled at her gravely and she smiled back with
warmth, liking him very much.
It was comforting to feel that she need not be
stretched nervously, on edge against the probing
intelligence Marc always aimed at her. With Jean-Paul
she could relax, be herself, unselfconscious. He was a
very quiet, steady young man, without Marc’s vitality
and tension.
She saw Pallas sullenly pushing her unfinished meal
away, pouting, her small dark face all angles and frowns.
What Pallas needed, she thought, was the sort of calm
background Jean-Paul would give her.
“Shall we dance, cherie?” Marie-Louise asked Marc,
as they drank their coffee in the lounge later. “Put some
records on and let us dance!”
Marc shrugged, “Why not?”
He crossed to the cabinet and selected some records.
As the music swirled out, sweet and soft, Marie-Louise
archly turned out most of the wall lights around the
room.
“Dancing in the dark is more romantic,” she said to Marc,
r /> her thick lashes fluttering invitingly.
The room was shadowy now, the only lights left on
being one at each end. Marc and Jean-Paul cleared a
central space, moving the furniture back against the
walls. Then Marc turned to Marie-Louise, with a
brilliant smile, and she glided into his arms. Pallas
