Free Follow a Stranger by Charlotte Lamb Page B

“Sensitive, responsive little
    creature! Ah, if I were younger! To see that tell-tale beat
    stir at my touch!” He sighed romantically.
    Kate looked helplessly at Marc’s unresponsive back. “I
    ... I teach, Mr. Pyrakis, I’m not an artiste ...” she
    stammered, trying to withdraw her hands without
    seeming rude.
    His face relaxed and a great charm flowed out towards
    her. “A good teacher is the bounty of heaven,” he said

    gently. “I had a wonderful teacher!” He released her
    hands and waved her to a chair. Much relieved, she sank
    into it, and Marc turned round and also took a seat.
    Pyrakis glared at the door. “Where is that fellow, that
    thief, that rascal?” he bellowed in rapid Greek, and from
    somewhere in the house a loud voice replied in fierce
    tones.
    Soon the old man reappeared, carrying a little table.
    They sat around it, drinking black coffee and nibbling
    slices of honey-drenched pastry sprinkled with almonds.
    Marc mentioned Pallas and Spiro Pyrakis bared his
    teeth.
    “Has she begun to work yet, the lazy, idle girl?”
    “Miss Caulfield is her teacher. Ask her,” said Marc
    lightly, leaning back, his hands on the arms of his chair.
    Pyrakis looked at her, one thick brow raised. “What do
    you think of her?”
    “She is beyond me,” Kate confessed. “I think she has
    great promise.”
    He gestured impatiently. “Of course, but the
    temperament! She will not work. A musician needs tena-
    city, humility, stamina. Pallas lacks them all.”
    “Kate has great confidence in her!” said Marc.
    “Kate?” Pyrakis stared at her, his blue eyes caressing.
    “What a brusque name for such a feminine creature. I
    would call her ...” he paused, looking her up and down
    slowly until she was once more bright pink. “Penelope!”
    he announced in triumph. “Yes, Penelope. She has that
    gentle, stubborn look of Homer’s Penelope. Prepared to
    wait until eternity for her man. Fragile, delicate but
    unbreakable. That is what I like in some blonde
    Englishwomen—that look about the mouth that puts up
    the fence against all intruders.” He grinned wickedly, at
    Marc, his eyes acute. “You have seen it, eh? Oriste ? It is

    so inviting. How can one resist that cool, sweet mouth?
    Any more than a little boy can resist the sign which says
    no walking on the grass, eh?”
    Marc did not answer, but his face was set in rigid lines
    as he stared back at Pyrakis, and the other man lifted his
    thick black brows slowly, speaking in Greek.
    Marc reddened, but did not reply.
    Pyrakis turned back to Kate, his expression more
    serious, and said, “So you have confidence in Pallas? Does
    she yet care about her work? Does she work hard for you?
    Does she worry?”
    “I think she is so afraid to care that she pretends to be
    indifferent,” said Kate, looking at Marc. “She thinks her
    family will never let her have a career, anyway.”
    Pyrakis turned to Marc, enquiringly. “Why does she
    think that, my friend?”
    Marc shrugged. “We told her she would have to prove
    herself before we agreed. We did not say she could not
    try.”
    Pyrakis nodded and looked at Kate again. “You must
    make her work, little one. Be cruel, be ruthless, but make
    her work.” Then he stood up, flexing his fingers. “Now I
    shall play to you.”
    He walked to the great piano which dominated one side
    of the shadowy room, lifted the lid and laid his hands on
    the keys, flat, unmoving.
    She had seen this odd trick of his before, at London
    concerts. He said it was because he wanted to feel the
    piano before he began to play it, to sense the willingness
    of the keys.
    He lifted his hands again and then broke into a series
    of fast, dizzying chords which startled her and were
    totally new to her ear.

    “This is his own,” Marc whispered.
    Pyrakis played for an hour, totally absorbed, as though
    he had forgotten them, his untiring hands wrenching
    brilliant response from the piano.
    When he stopped playing and swung round to