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hand. She paused, looking over his shoulder, and felt a shiver
of the nerves as she recognised the arrogant dark face he was
drawing.
“Is it like?” Sam asked without looking up.
“Very,” she said, offhandedly.
He leaned back, smiling at her so that his face was
inverted and unfamiliar.
“What did he want? Or was it just a cover for wolfish
advances? Did he offer you a pad in Monte Carlo? Or a mink
coat with diamond buttons?”'
“Fool,” she said, flushing. “He wanted you and me to visit
their home during the Easter holidays.”
“Wow!” yelled Sam, throwing up his charcoal and catching
it. “Kianthos! Sounds great.”
“I told him I couldn’t go, of course,” she said, pouring
herself some cocoa and sitting down at the table.
Sam looked at her closely. “Couldn’t? Or wouldn’t?”
“You know I’ve fixed my holiday,” she answered. “I’m
going with Peter to this Anglo-Saxon burial site.”
“Peter was round this evening,” Sam said, irrelevantly.
“He wanted to borrow some glue. He made like a gundog
after a pheasant when I mentioned Kianthos—seems there’s
an early Mycenean temple there that has never been
properly excavated. The Lillitos family own the whole island
and they won’t let strangers land.”
“Typical!” exploded Kate. “What right do they have to
prevent people from seeing a thing like that, an important
historical site ...”
“Keep your wig on,” Sam advised with kindly superiority.
“You know, I bet if you mentioned this idea of going there for
