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The. next day Anarita was waiting by the car when
Megan joined her. Frank was sitting behind the
wheel, listening to Anarita's chatter. Not that it
stopped once they were in the car, for Anarita
seemed thoroughly miserable.
'I've just heard. Miss Crane, that I've got to stay
here for the hols. I'm so mad! I thought I'd .be
going to Rome this time, but my aunt is ill and none
of my other relations will have me, so my guardian
says I must stay here . . .'
Megan, twisted round in the front seat so that she
could talk to Anarita, smiled. ' Is that so terrible?'
' It certainly is. At least it will be this time.
There are only eight of us and the others are kids
no one of my own age group. Are you going to stay
for the hols. Miss Crane?'
Megan was startled. Somehow she hadn't really
worried about it, but it was a problem. If she didn't,
or couldn't, stay, where could she go? Certainly
not to Patrick's. She felt so angry with him that
she knew there was going to be a really big row.
She had done her best to help him and what had he
done in return? Made her look an absolute heel,
someone not to be trusted, someone cheap and nasty.
If it was Patrick, of course, but the more she thought
of it, the more she felt Craig was.right, for who else
could it have been? Patrick had talked of the man,
had said Georgina had to go to hospital, and he must
have known about the photographers and given-the
press her name, although she had told him that no
one must know she taught at the Lambert School.
The car was approaching town as Anarita leaned
159
over the side, pointing towards the jetty. * Look, '
Mr Parr, isn't that the schooner? I didn't know ;
they came on Saturdays.'
' They don't usually,' said Frank, swerving deftly
to avoid a herd of goats strolling across the road.
The small pastel-painted houses were coming closer
now and they could plainly see the jetty going out
into the harbour. ' There was a breakdown of some
kind, so it didn't go yesterday.' He glanced at his
watch. ' It'll probably go about four o'clock or a
little later.'
'Look, Miss Crane,' Anarita said excitedly.
' There's a baby monkey on his mother!'
' So there is,' said Megan, a little puzzled, for they
were always seeing monkeys and as a rule Anarita
ignored them. ' Got some shopping to do, Anarita?
I want some toothpaste and some air mail letter
forms.'
She should write again to her father, she knew,
though he never bothered to answer her letters. But
he would have seen the headlines in the papers and
perhaps even her photographs, and might be won-
dering what she was up to. If he cared, that was,
she thought unhappily.
Frank dropped them, as usual, just below the
noisy colourful market and Megan led the way to
the post office, Anarita following meekly by her side.
As they left the post office, they met Tracy
Thompson, the artist, in his trendy gear.
' Hi 1' he said in his friendly manner.
Anarita turned her back and strolled a few steps
away to pretend to look in a shop. Megan frowned.
Even if Anarita preferred older men, that was no
excuse to be rude.
' Hullo,' Megan said friendlily. She liked this
hippie-type artist, for he had good manners, and
she liked his long curly brown hair that was so clean
it shone in the sunlight. ' How are things?'
' Not too bad,' he told her. ' I'm pretty lazy.
160
Not used to this heat. It makes me sleepy when I
should be painting.' He glanced at Anarita's back
and looked at Megan with' a wry smile. ' Why is
she mad at me?' he asked.
Megan laughed. 'At the moment, she's mad at
everyone. I'm sorry she's like it.'
' An adolescent temperament,' Tracy said with a
grin. ' Be seeing you!' He walked away, merging
into the crowd.
Megan joined Anarita. * There's no need to be
rude,' she scolded.
_ Anarita laughed. 'You don't know that type.
Give them a smile and they're after you. I don't
like being pinched.'
' But he's not Italian.'
'It isn't only Italians who pinch,' Anarita said
with a sigh of exasperation that made Megan feel
about sixty years old.
' Let's . . .'she began, and stopped, for block-
ing their path Gaston Duval and his mother stood.
' My dear child!' Madame Duval exclaimed, hold-
ing out her hands as she looked admiringly at
Anarita. ' You remind me-of your mother. She was
a beautiful woman, too.'
Gaston's hand was under Megan's elbow. She
shivered a little and he obviously took it as encour-
agement, for his fingers tightened, digging into her
flesh.
'Let's have a cold drink,' said Anarita. 'I'm
thirsty.'
' But . . .' Megan began, then paused. Back to
normal, Craig had said, so how could she refuse to
let Anarita have cold drinks with people she had
obviously known for years? She could see no
choice, so she walked with them to the cafe, then
they sat near the road, under a green and white
sun-umbrella.
Gaston talked to Megan. ' What a tyrant, that
caan of yours is, is he not ?' he asked her. ' The way
.1 D F 161
he has no manners, at all. We had danced but once,
and . . .'
Megan drew a breath. If he was involved in the
conspiracy he had no right . . . But was he in-
volved? That was the question.
' I heard Georgina was discharged from the hos-
pital as being perfectly well,' she said, her voice
sharp.
Gaston shrugged. ' The hospital, they are per-
haps mad. Like her doctor. But who is the one
to know the pain? I say to Patrick, this is a serious
matter. Take her to the mainland. Go and find a
proper doctor.'
' I was told the doctors here were very good.'
' Good!' Gaston said scornfully. ' What is good
on this island?'
Angry, yet not wanting to make a scene .there in
public, Megan turned to Madame Duval, and found
to her amazement that Anarita and Gaston's mother
were talking in Italian.
Madame Duval, who had looked a little depressed,
Megan had thought, seemed to have changed com-
pletely. Her face had brightened, her eyes were
sparkling. She even clapped her hands, nodding
her head so that her small mountain of white hair
swayed gently. Then she seemed to remember
Megan and turned quickly.
' I'm sorry, my dear. How very rude of us, talk-
ing Italian when I know you can't speak it.' She
smiled at Anarita. ' You're just like your mother,
my dear full of bright ideas. I hope it works out.
And what did Mr Lambert say about your portrait
in the paper. Miss Crane?' Madame Duval asked,
her voice amused.
' He wasn't at all pleased,' Megan said, her voice
controlled. ' Nor was I.'
' Ah, but why? It was just a warning . . .to our
friends, perhaps?' Madame Duval chuckled happily.
' You're staying for the holidays, Anarita? I shall
162
be here. Maybe you could come to me?' She
looked enquiringly at Megan who had caught her
breath. ' What do you think. Miss Crane?' Madame
Duval continued. ' You too, for I imagine you've
got nowhere to go? That would be very nice,
wouldn't it, Gaston?'
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