It seemed only natural to take her hand and raise it to his lips, so he did that. She seemed pleased.
"Alors, Kate!" she said. "You will take the cart and give M. Summers a ride up the hill as far as the main road, yes? It is not right he should walk so far on such a hot day!"
It wasn't all the heat of the day, he thought wryly. Solo realized he was perspiring freely as he settled beside Miss Winter in the double front seat of the cart. Employing his handkerchief, he said:
"She is quite a girl. Was that me, or is she always like that?"
"She's impulsive, but I never knew her to invite a perfect stranger to visit, like that. Just what is your game, Mr. Summers?"
"Whoa now!" he sighed. "Don't let's start that again. I already told you…"
"You've tried to tell me that you are just a casual tourist looking for the Achilleion and that you found the Argyr Palace by accident."
"And?"
"I don't believe you. For just one thing, you're carrying a camera, but you didn't attempt to take any pictures!"
"So what do you think I am?" Solo offered her the chance to talk, wondering what was in her mind. In his own was the strange awareness that this girl was every bit as lovely as the Countess and yet totally different in her presence. She exuded a pleasantly warm glow, whereas the other one tended to make a man boil. Odd stuff, chemistry!
"I think you're a fortune hunter," she said, quite positively. "Her ladyship is extremely wealthy, very beautiful, and a widow."
"And what are you?" he wondered aloud. "Part-time guard dog?"
"That's uncalled for!" she snapped. "But, if you must know, I'm safeguarding my own interests. I have a very good position here, and I intend to keep it. So, I ask you again, just what are you after, mister?"
The trundling cart came now to the large steel gates. Miss Winter got down to operate a push-button that sent them sighing wide open, then she rejoined him and the cart purred out into the road, making a left-hand turn uphill.
"Seriously," he murmured, "I've done a lot of things in my time, but marrying a woman for her money has never been on the cards for me. You said she was a widow?"
"Four times!" she said, with just a tinge of malice.
"There you are! I'm not about to become the fifth, at anything. But, and I wouldn't kid you, I am curious. You say she has money. How? Did she marry it?"
"Not all of it, no. She owns the St. Denis laboratories, in Paris. And she is a world famous cosmetic surgeon!"
"Hah!" he said, pretending surprise and enlightenment. "That's where I've heard the name before. Cosmetic surgeon? So that's where she gets the Cleopatra shape from."
"Don't be ridiculous!" Miss Winter retorted sharply. "That shape is her own. At least…"
"The whole point about cosmetic surgery," he pointed out, "is that you can't tell the difference. For all I know, you may be one of her best customers, or a sample product."
"How would you like to get off and walk?" she invited icily, and he stifled a grin at the fury in her voice.
"No offence intended, honest. Only making the point that if it is expertly done you can't tell the difference. All the same, though, I don't see how she could do surgery on herself, so I take it all back. Anyway, you're just the cook-housekeeper, nothing else, eh?"
"Absolutely nothing else. I have no connection with her business and I mind my own. I would advise you to do the same, Mr. Summers."
"Call me Nathan," he invited. "I have the feeling you don't trust me, Kate. I wish there was something I could do to convince you that I'm on the level."
She halted the cart with the main road just in front of them and turned to him, a curious expression on her face. Then she got down and waited for him to follow, so that she could point.
"You can't go wrong from here. It's that way. Mr. Summers... Nathan, there's something I can do, if you'll promise me you won't get any wrong impressions. It's the only way I know for telling a good man from a bad one. May I?"
"Go ahead." He eyed her warily. All at once she surged close and threw her long arms around his neck, capturing his mouth with hers. By the time she released him they were both breathing considerably faster.
"Did I pass the test?" he demanded, and she sighed.
"I think so. I'm not absolutely sure, but whatever you are up to, it can't be all that bad!" With that she spun round and climbed back into the cart, sending it purring away back down the little road, leaving him standing with a frown.
After awhile, he started back for the hotel, walking slowly and struggling to shuffle his ideas into some kind of rational pattern, but he hadn't quite succeeded even by the time he had reached his hotel and was sitting on his bed. He had one thing in common with Katherine Winter. He wasn't quite sure what she was up to, but he was sure it wasn't all bad. And yet she was up to something. Whoever heard of a Frenchwoman with an American cook?
For the rest of his mental ingredients he had less assurance. He stirred them and shook his head at the suspicious flavor that came off. He had confirmed, definitely, that Countess Louise was highly dangerous, but not in the way he had been led to expect. With her looks and that built-in volcanic appeal she could have charmed birds off a tree, but that she was crooked, or evil, in the Thrush sense of the word, he found hard to believe. And yet, he reminded himself, there was Stanton. She had got him, somehow. Or had she? Perhaps her function had been no more than as bait for a trap? In which case he needed to think hard about the unexpected invitation to dinner. He was still thinking it over as he used his radio to get in touch with Waverly. Number One, Section One was not pleased to hear the account.
"You have disobeyed my cautions, Mr. Solo. I went to a deal of trouble to warn you that the woman was dangerous, yet you've walked right into her coils."
"Hardly that, sir. I'm reporting from my hotel room. I'm not 'caught' in any way. And look what I've got. The lady has taken a fancy to me, invited me into her 'home."
"Walk into my parlor!"
"That's possible, of course, but I can't see why. She doesn't know who I am. In any case, if it is a trap of some kind—well—vainly is the net spread in the sight of the bird. I'm not going into this with my eyes shut, after all!"
Waverly snorted irritably. "Mr. Solo, I am aware that your attitude towards a pretty woman is that of an angler towards trout in a stream, but one of these days you are going to hook a shark. And this could be the day. I'm aware that you're forewarned, and that you are resourceful, but you should bear in mind that thin ice is not dangerous except to those who insist upon skating on it. I strongly suggest you consider evading that invitation to dinner."
"I'll see what turns up, sir," Solo said, and put his instrument away with a wiry grin. It was indicative of Waverly's state of mind that he 'suggested' rather than 'ordered'. It was a difficult situation. Solo recalled the Countess and her dazzling smile, and felt a tiny chill. But somebody had to take a chance...and when would there be a better time?
CHAPTER FOUR
DR. SUSAN HARVEY, making a bid to deal with growing frustration, took up the glass cover of a petri dish and began, quite unnecessarily, to polish it with a tissue. Tilted at the correct angle, and with the dark gloss of the laboratory bench to back it, the glass made a good mirror. She studied her reflection carefully. Objectively, putting aside silly modesty, she knew she was attractive. Her pale blonde hair, cut short and shaped to her head, gleamed silkily. She had on the minimum of effective makeup, all she needed. She had a shape, too, although the laboratory smock didn't do much for it. Still, thought irritably, I'm not a hag! So why?