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sex, I would say.”
He grimaced. “I see,” he said on a strange note. “It is
just as well you have so much ... what did you call it?
Common sense. Rather uncommon, I would have said.
But I would hate to be stuck here with a female who
expected rape at any minute.”
“What we both need is food,” she said lightly. “I
wonder where the goatherd keeps it?”
Marc opened a drawer and produced a flat loaf of
dark bread, sugar, a tin of anchovies and some goat’s
cheese in a yellow dish.
“Giorgiou always keeps his food there,” he ex-
plained, “and there is coffee here ...” producing a
wooden tub. While Kate sliced the bread on the small,
home-made table, he ground the coffee and opened the
anchovies.
She toasted the bread, spread it with cheese and
anchovies and held it in front of the fire until the
anchovies curled slightly, and the cheese bubbled.
They ate the meal by the fire, sitting on low stools.
The black coffee was hot and sweet. It ran through her
like fire, making her sleepy and content.
“Are we going to try to get back to the villa tonight?”
she asked.
Marc shook his head. “We wouldn’t make it. The
terrain is too difficult. I would not care to try in the
dark.”
“You would try if you were alone,” she guessed.
He shrugged his shoulders. “As that situation does
not arise there is no point in discussing it. We must
