Unknown by Unknown Page B

everything was over there. Their harbour was full of pleasure boats, children’s pedallos and speedboats and, farther out in the bay itself, the white-hulled caique which made day trips to the larger bays in the west and along the northern shoreline. It was all so lavish and sophisticated and well-adjusted, with never a thing out of place, and beach-boys springing into action as soon as a guest appeared to find a suitable sun-bed for them under a natural tree or to adjust an umbrella to the right angle against the sun.
    Well, she hadn’t wanted that, and certainly they would never achieve such perfection, but there was no reason to bring it nearer by selling some of the precious land between. It was her protection, she thought; the privacy they advertised.
    Her eyes swept round their own tiny bay, along the curve of the sand and out towards the miniature lighthouse which Andreas had helped to build so long ago. He had gone out there along the mole the other day, standing to look back at the villa, and now someone else was standing there, a child in a pink sun-dress with a straw hat on her head who seemed to be revelling in her isolation on the very edge of the harbour wall. She seemed too young to be out there alone and Anna moved quickly down the beach towards her.
    Crossing the sand, she looked around for someone who might be with their unexpected visitor, but only her own guests were settled on the sun-loungers achieving a desired tan or reading undisturbed under the umbrellas which she had bought recently to adorn the beach.
    When she approached the miniature lighthouse the girl had turned her back, gazing down at the waves as they lapped gently against the breakwater. She was older than she had looked from the terrace—perhaps six or seven years of age—and there was something almost forlorn about the droop of her shoulders as she contemplated the sea.
    ‘It’s very calm today,’ Anna observed conversationally, ‘even out there beyond the breakwater.’
    The child turned immediately, studying her with large, sombre eyes. ‘I like it when it makes waves against the rocks,’ she said. ‘Are you someone from the little hotel?’ Anna nodded, hoping that her visitor would move back from the very edge of the mole. ‘I’m Anna Rossides,’ she introduced herself. ‘I live there and the hotel belongs to my mother. It was once our home.’
    ‘I like it better than the Crescent Beach,’ her visitor told her. ‘It is more like a house and it has a real garden. I like it here very much.’ She turned back to the miniature lighthouse. ‘It isn’t a real lighthouse, is it?’ she asked. ‘Not like the big ones along the coast. Was it one you made?’
    Anna hesitated. ‘It was built when we finished the breakwater—by someone I used to know,’ she explained. ‘We needed a light out here when it was dark in the winter and—he thought it would be in keeping with everything else. We built it together '
    ‘Do you have to light it every night?’
    ‘No. We switch it on from the house. It’s most convenient.’
    The dark eyes continued to search her face, eyes that seemed curiously familiar all of a sudden.
    ‘I’m not supposed to be here,’ her visitor announced, ‘but I didn’t want to play tennis any more. The coach is very strict and I’m expected to learn quickly, but I would rather swim when it’s so hot.'
    ‘George is a very good coach. He is very patient,’ Anna said.
    ‘And I am too impatient. Mama is always saying so.’
    ‘You need to have patience to learn,’ Anna pointed out, ‘and it’s lots of fun.’
    ‘Do you play tennis at the Crescent Beach?’ was the next question.
    ‘Not very often,’ Anna had to admit. ‘I was once a member of the club but I gave it up.’
    ‘Would you like to live in a big hotel—all the time, I mean?’ The dark eyes were fiercely penetrating. ‘I hate it! Everybody wants to know who you are and what you are doing when they don’t really