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down with a grimace at her clothes. They were dry, but
needed ironing, and the salt had stiffened them so that
they crackled slightly as she moved. A pale sheen
covered them, a salt bloom which flaked away as she
brushed at it with her hands. It was lucky she had been
wearing practical denim, she thought.
She found Marc outside, walking to and fro with his
hands in his pockets. He, too, wore his own clothes
again. His white towelling shirt and blue jeans were as
crumpled as hers, but she felt a quick tug of the heart at
the sight of him. It was strange how quickly she had
grown accustomed to being with him. There was a
dangerous sweetness about being here, alone, with
Marc.
“Giorgiou came back two hours ago,” he said. “He
woke me and I sent him to fetch Jake. He only has an
old donkey which wouldn’t carry two of us, and it is too
far to walk.”
“I’ll tidy his house for him,” she said.
“There’s no need,” Marc said brusquely. “I will
compensate him for everything.”
She felt herself going hot. “Money isn’t the answer to
everything, you know!” she snapped. That unconsidered
remark of his somehow brought all her old resentment
rushing back. Last night, in their shared danger and
discomfort, she had forgotten how wide the gulf between
them was, but she remembered now.
Marc gave her a long, hard stare. “Giorgiou will be
quite satisfied,” he said harshly. “Do you think he would
like you to act as an unpaid servant in his house,
