As she turned he came with her and she looked at him levelly. 'Alone, please,' she told him without anger or rudeness. 'I like walking alone.'
She walked away and Gideon stood there watching her for a long time. She went down the cliff path and heard the free shriek of the gulls on the warm air, their soaring swooping flight all round her. The sea lay glittering at her feet and the turf had a sundrenched sweetness which filled her nostrils. She lay down and breathed quietly. For some reason she had felt claustrophobic on the way back in the car. She had wanted—no, she had needed, to get away from Gideon. Something in him oppressed her. She could not put her finger on what it was—an emotion, a pressure within him of which she was ignorant but of which she could not be unaware. Although she did not know what it was, she did know she had to get away from it. It was a pressure on her, too, and the fact that she did not understand what it was made the pressure greater.
She heard a stone rattle past and the slither of feet. Gideon? She tensed, turning her head, but it was not him. It was a young man in a striped T- shirt and jeans with binoculars round his neck. The sun had caught his skin, turning him a rough pink, and his short fair hair prickled across his forehead, perspiration making it clear he had been walking for a long time.
He paused, seeing her. 'Oh!' The exclamation was surprised and not displeased. He smiled. 'Sorry if I'm disturbing you.'
'You're not.' Marina half moved to get up and he sat down beside her, his eyes on her.
'Don't go. Please. I'd hate to think I've driven you away.'
She half laughed. 'You haven't. I was just going.'
'Not yet,' he pleaded, his hand on her arm. 'Tell me, how far is it to the nearest village?'
She sat down again, her arms propping her up. 'Basslea is a short walk from here.'
He got out a map from the rucksack on his back and she pointed it out to him, their heads close together. 'Would you like a drink?' He produced a plastic bottle of orange squash from the clustered contents of the rucksack and then a small plastic mug. They each drank a little. The young man extended his hand after packing the bottle and mug away again.
'I'm Tom Hutton.'
Marina told him her name and saw his face reflect interest and surprise. 'What a gorgeous name! And apt.' He glanced at the sea and sighed. 'Are you on holiday too?'
'I live here.'
'Even more apt, then,' he agreed. 'I'm on holiday, a walking tour. I work in Birmingham all through the year and it's heavenly to get out of the place.'
'What sort of work?' she asked.
'I'm a draughtsman. It's work that needs a lot of concentration and it can be deadly dull.' He stared at her hair, blowing in the faint sea breeze. 'What fantastic hair you've got! I don't think I've ever seen hair that colour before. Is it genuine?'
Marina laughed. 'You suspect I've dyed it? No, it's mine all right. It was even lighter when I was little.'
'That must be impossible,' said Tom Hutton, fingering a strand of it. 'I can't imagine it.'
A sound behind them made them both turn. Gideon stood on the edge of the cliff with his black eyes fixed on them and a harsh frown running between his brows.
'Marina!' he spoke tersely. 'Your grandfather wants you.'
Tom's hand dropped away from her hair and she turned to smile at him. 'It was nice to meet you.'
'Maybe we'll bump into each other again,' he said with a hopeful inflection. 'I might stay in the village for a few days. I want to take a look at these birds.' He indicated his binoculars.
'You're a birdwatcher?' She laughed, sympathetically. 'Not much chance of that in Birmingham, I suppose.'
'Marina!' Gideon's voice had a biting sound. 'Are you coming?'
She rose, slightly flushed, and Tom glanced round at Gideon with a faintly irritated expression. 'Is that your father?'
Marina laughed and then stopped laughing as she felt Gideon's rage coming towards them. He had heard the question and he was not pleased.
'No,' she said, and started to walk back up the cliff. 'Goodbye, Tom.'
'See you later,' said Tom.
As she reached the cliff top Gideon's arm shot Out and jerked her on to the path. She sensed that lie was in a black temper. There was violence in him and although he did not do so she suspected i hat he would like to shake her. All the tenderness and gentleness had gone from his face. This was mother man, a cold hard man with eyes which held no warmth.
'How did you pick him up?' he demanded.