by Anne Hampson
‘I really don’t know,’ answered Carl with a questioning glance at Shara. ‘Shall we go on to the terrace?’ Gilbert had not occupied a seat, but was waiting in an attitude of indecision to see what the other two intended doing. Nodding, Shara rose from her chair. She wore a sleeveless cotton dress, informal but chic. On her wrist was the silver bracelet Gilbert had given her for her twenty-fifth birthday, and in her hair was a tiny clip she had bought in the Holy Land - a Star of Bethlehem exquisitely carved in mother-of-pearl.
‘You won’t be cold?’ A rather doubtful glance at her attire by Carl, who had also risen from his chair and was standing beside her, tall and slim and potently masculine.
‘No, I shan’t be cold.’ She shook her head as she spoke,
throwing him a smile which he appeared not to notice.
They all found a secluded corner, under the vines, and sat down on the upholstered, brightly-coloured chairs. Soft strains of bouzouki music filled the air as the musicians played a melancholy love song; it mingled with the chatter and laughter of the guests, some of whom had gone below to sit in the night-scented garden.
‘This is the life,’ commented Gilbert, stretching his long legs out in front of him. ‘I wouldn’t mind retiring here.’ His gaze wandered from the fluted cliffs on his right to the sepia foothills of the Kyrenia Mountains, darkly clothed with olives and carobs and cradling tiny villages from which spangled lights fluttered timidly, cast into insignificance by the splendour of the moonlit vault above.
‘Do writers ever retire?’ laughed Shara, her own gaze on the sea, quivering with reflected light as it spread away to become lost in the distance.
‘I don’t believe they do,’ answered Gilbert, responding to her laugh. ‘They seem to go on and on until they’re doddering, and I expect I shall do the same.’
‘It must be an interesting life, though?’ interposed Carl affably. He and Gilbert had taken to each other at once and it pleased Shara to see that a lasting friendship was likely to evolve between the two men in spite of the difference in their ages. ‘I thought your book on Ethiopia was excellent. I enjoyed it very much indeed.’
Gilbert’s eyes became reflective, while Shara’s glistened as memory brought back that most happy interlude in her life.
‘I enjoyed writing it,’ admitted Gilbert, still lost in reflection.
‘It’s a beautiful country,’ murmured Shara in a dreamy voice. ‘The people are so gentle, Carl - so very gentle. And so friendly too. They’re handsome as well, with Semitic features and such charming smiles. And the children—’ Enthusiastically she turned to her employer. ‘Aren’t the children sweet, Gilbert?’ He nodded in reply and after a small lull in the conversation Carl said,
‘I particularly liked that part where you described burial of the priests—’
‘And the tolling of the bell?’ interrupted Shara impulsively. ‘Yes, it really is beautiful. The Ringing Rock - it isn’t a bell but a certain type of rock which, when struck with another rock, rings so clearly and sweetly that you’d never believe it was anything other than a real bell. They always ring it when a priest is buried—’ She broke off, a soft flush rising, and said in deprecating tones, ‘But you read it in the book, and it was described far better than I’m describing it.’
‘Do you remember Mrs. Stromberg?’ The sudden curve of his lips and the slanting of an eyebrow betrayed Gilbert’s gathering amusement. ‘What a lady she was!’ Shara laughed.
‘No one,’ she answered ruefully, ‘could forget Mrs. Stromberg.’ She shook her head. ‘Once seen....’
‘This woman had had three husbands,’ Gilbert elucidated for Carl’s benefit, ‘all of whom were wealthy Americans. Consequently she had so much money she didn’t know what to do with it and she spent it on the oddest things, and her car had the most ridiculous gadgets. But of course it was her house that was so fantastic. She had it built on an overhanging cliff and the lounge floor was made of glass - very strong, of course. Then she had coral brought into the bay and this attracts the most
beautiful fish whose colours really are unbelievable. Now can you imagine sitting in the lounge, looking down to the sea beneath, with this coral and the continual movement of all this colour? It was about the most spectacular thing I’ve ever seen, simply because it was a combination of human design and that of nature.’
‘Did you have any language troubles?’ asked Carl, and both Gilbert and Shara shook their heads.
‘Practically everyone speaks English; it’s taught in the schools.’ Pausing for a moment Gilbert then added, ‘They have a very wise Emperor, remember.’
Carl nodded. Shara was thoughtful and after a small silence she spoke softly, to herself rather than to her companions.
‘The way they all invite you into their homes. The East can teach us so much. Why don’t we take lessons from the people?’
Looking across at her, Gilbert shook his head slowly from side to side, and it was Carl who spoke, his tones edged with a hint of contempt.
‘The West is mercenary. No one wants to learn lessons that have nothing to do with money.’ He was remote all at once and Shara frowned. This was not the first time by any means that he had drifted away from
her during the past twelve days, and she could not help wondering now, as he spoke about money, if he were thinking of his money - which was in her name and her bank. ... Something tight wedged itself in her throat. She and Carl had come close, certainly, and yet there existed a gap in their relationship which she felt would never be closed. The money had always been a burden she had no wish to shoulder and she would long since have given it away to some charity, but always she remembered that it was not hers to give away, and at the back of her mind had dwelt the hope that she and Carl would one day meet again and she could make the whole vast amount over to him. They had met, but Carl would never accept a penny of the money. Yet Shara did wonder if it were to create a barrier between her and Carl, for surely he must always be conscious of his loss on every single occasion he came into contact with her.
She thought of his daughter, so stiff and prim still, despite Shara’s efforts to reduce her to something more normal. The child was possessed of impeccable manners; her behaviour was without flaw. So unnatural, it all was, and Shara had the inexplicable conviction that if only she could succeed with the child she would then find no difficulty in broaching the subject of the money, and in suggesting she make it over to Rian. Shara had mentioned this to Gilbert, who had frowned uncomprehendingly, saying he could see no reason why Shara could not broach the matter of the money at once.
‘It’s something I can’t explain, Gilbert,’ she had said, frowning at her own inability to understand. ‘The child’s so distant that I don’t feel like her aunt at all, and this makes it impossible for me to put forward a suggestion concerning the money. You see, I’d have to occupy an intimate position before I could venture to mention the money.’
He still did not fully comprehend No matter what her relationship with the child she should be able to talk about the money to her father because, at her age, Rian would not be concerned with the transaction anyway.
‘It’s simply a matter of signing it over as a gift and Carl accepting it on behalf of his daughter.’
Shara had nodded, but reasserted her unwillingness to do anything until she attained a more intimate position with the child.
Her musings were brought to a halt as Gilbert began telling Carl more about Ethiopia-its people and its scenery.
‘It sounds a fascinating country,’ Carl said when at last Gilbert had stopped speaking. ‘I’d like to go there some time.’
Remembering that he had told her he liked travelling Shara said eagerly,
‘You must go, Carl, just for a holiday. You’ll love it.’
‘Perhaps I will, he returned, his dark face serious, his eyes unsmiling. He seemed to be drifting away again, Shara thought, and wondered what he was thinking about this time. Gilbert spoke again, and Carl was brought back.
/>
‘I suppose it’s time we started work.’
‘You begin to travel round the island then, I presume?’ Carl glanced up as a manservant appeared with a tray of drinks and stopped by their table. A negligent flick of his hand sent the man away, to Shara, who also refused another drink. Gilbert helped himself from the tray and the man moved on.
‘Yes; I think that perhaps we shall go to Paphos first.’
‘That’s a long way from here. You’ll be away for several weeks?’
‘About two, that’s all. I know it’s a large district, but we shan’t be covering every inch of ground.’
‘Do you know much about it?’ inquired Shara, and Carl shook his head.
‘I haven’t spent much time in that area,’ he admitted. ‘The Paphos District is much more than the towns of Paphos and Ktima, of course; it covers a very wide region.’ A faint smile did then touch his lips. ‘It’s known primarily for the legend of Aphrodite.’
‘The goddess who was brought by the moist breeze on the waves of the sea,’ murmured Shara, quoting Homer.
Carl glanced at her, a slanting look, half amused, half curious.
‘You sound like a romantic, Shara ... but I gathered from our previous conversation that you’re just the opposite.’
‘I’m not a romantic,’ she returned quietly, looking down at her hands.
‘Shara lives for her work,’ submitted Gilbert, and added, ‘My nephew has hopes of marrying her one day—’ He shook his grey head, smiling at his secretary, who raised her head and turned it in his direction. ‘I sometimes wonder if Colin’s wasting his time?’ It was a question, and Shara gave a slight shrug.
‘Colin knows how I feel about marriage. He doesn’t really waste time on me, Gilbert, and when the right girl comes along we shall all receive our invitations to the wedding. ’
The conversation changed after that, proceeding on casual lines until, a short while later, others came up and joined them as the whole area in the centre of the terrace was cleared for the display of Greek dancing which was to be performed by a group of men specially engaged by Linos.
Linos himself sat close to Shara, and repeatedly his head turned and a smile lit his eyes. Politely she responded, hoping her coolness would convey all that was necessary, but it appeared to pass over him unnoticed. Casually she mentioned the fact that she and her employer were leaving Lapithos very soon and would be away for at least a fortnight. Linos frowned at this news but made no comment. It was her job, Shara decided to add, on a note of deliberation.
‘We shall be away from Lapithos a great deal, I expect,’ she went on as the frown remained on Linos’s brow. ‘We have to travel round the whole island.’ Her eyes moved as she spoke; Carl was watching the dancers, but somehow she was convinced he listened to what she said. Listened without much interest, yet with a touch of amusement. Her heartstrings caught in spite of the cool assurance which she invariably maintained. It mattered not one jot to Carl that other men were interested in her. Were she to announce her engagement tomorrow he would remain totally unmoved by it. A deep sigh escaped her. Carl was her brother - only by adoption it was true, but her brother for all that. It was in this light that he regarded himself .. . and it was in this light that she must remember to regard him also.
CHAPTER FOUR
Gilbert drove the car along the road skirting the smooth aquamarine sea. To the left rose the gentle foothills of the Kyrenia Range, clothed with carob trees and olive groves, and with here and there a black-robed peasant woman tending her sheep and goats. The transient splendour of spring was fading, but asphodels still bloomed luminous on the roadside and the lovely waxlike flowers of the pomegranate smouldered in the hedgerows.
‘You’re very quiet.’ Gilbert’s kind and gentle voice cut into Shara’s thoughts and she turned her head, a swift smile rising to her lips, although the pensive expression remained in her eyes.
‘I was thinking of Carl, and of Rian.’ She had not realized how non-committal that was until Gilbert said, after a small uncertain pause,
‘Do you want to talk, Shara?’
She turned again, and stared at the road ahead. They were veering to the left now, beyond Vavilas, heading for Morphou Bay, and so the sea was being left behind.
‘You’re like a father to me,’ she murmured, and that was part answer to his question. He said,
‘Talk by all means, Shara; it helps, you know. Almost always it helps.’
‘It’s Rian, mainly,’ she began. ‘You’ve seen her, Gilbert. She’s not natural; you must have noticed this?’
He nodded gravely.
‘One couldn’t help noticing it; the child’s a little automaton and one wonders sometimes if she can feel at all.’
‘Have you given any thought to the reason?’ she asked after a small delay during which, with a dart of memory, she saw Carl frown darkly when she had daringly ruffled his daughter’s immaculate hair. That was a fortnight ago, when Carl and Rian had come to the villa for lunch. Afterwards they had all gone swimming, and Shara had enjoyed the pleasure of getting her hair wet - but not so Rian, whose father had brought her bathing- cap.
‘In view of what you have told me about Carl’s childhood,’ Gilbert was saying as he drew into the side of the road in order to allow a peasant and his heavily-laden donkey to pass, ‘I feel sure it’s a case of over-protection.’
Shara nodded in agreement.
‘That’s exactly the conclusion I reached myself.’
‘Carl’s anxious - terribly anxious, Shara - that the child shall never feel unwanted— No,’ he amended, ‘there’s more strength even than that to what Carl feels. Rian must always have with her - for every moment of her waking life - the sure knowledge that she is wanted. There’s a psychological problem there,’ Gilbert continued, increasing his speed as the road became dear once more. ‘Carl’s own release is the only answer.’
Shara glanced at him.
‘I don’t understand?’
‘Marriage should have released him from the bondage of introversion, but it’s plain that it didn’t.’ Gilbert paused a moment as if expecting his companion to speak, but Shara merely waited, puzzled, for him to continue. ‘If marriage didn’t release him, then it’s not unreasonable to conclude that the marriage lacked - for Carl - complete fulfilment.’ Thoughtful for a space, Shara frowned and said,
‘I still don’t understand?’
‘It’s quite simple; Carl has never really been wanted by anyone in the whole of his life—’
‘Oh, don’t say that!’ cried Shara in sudden distress. ‘His wife - she must have loved him!’
‘There was something, obviously. But I feel sure that could we have some way of gaining possession of the true facts we should find that whatever was between Carl and his wife in the beginning did not last.’
‘It must have done; they were married four years before Rian was born.’ Distress still edged her voice; she could not bear to think of Carl’s being unhappily married, not after the most miserable childhood through which he had passed.
‘That seems proof enough that they were not close.’
‘You mean that they - they—?’ Shara broke off, a soft flush rising. ‘I’m sure you’re wrong, Gilbert,’ she whispered then, her throat tight and hurtful because despite what she had said she did wonder if Gilbert had hit upon the truth, and so had got down to the basis of the problem concerning Rian. If Carl had been unhappy with Alison.... The tightness in Shara’s throat became even more painful and she swallowed convulsively. ‘It grieves me to think that his marriage might not have been happy.’
A sideways glance, swift and faintly puzzled, before
Gilbert gave his mind to his driving again. A vast region of orange groves was being entered and Shara mentally absorbed the scene, aware that this belonged to Carl.
‘I could be wrong in my deductions,’ Gilbert admitted, but his tone so lacked conviction that Shara knew instinctively that he was merely trying to assuage her fears. Bu
t it was too late and Shara dwelt on what he had said, hurt beyond measure that she had failed to convey to Carl that, although his parents did not want him, she herself did. In those early days hers was the desire of a sister to be close to her brother, and had she managed to get through to him things might have been very different. He might never have married Alison... Shara turned and gazed out of the side window, fearing her astute boss would in one of his swift glances surprise a look that might give away her thoughts.
‘Carl and Alison must have cared for one another at the time they decided to have Rian,’ she murmured at length, anxious to divert her mind from dwelling on a possibility which seemed conceivable one moment and quite absurd the next. Carl regarded her as a sister; she must never for one moment allow that fact to slip away into her unconsciousness. ‘You could be right in your conjecture regarding their early married life, since it does seem strange that they didn’t have a child sooner, but I’m sure you’re mistaken when you imply that the marriage was a complete failure.’
‘I’ve said that there was something right at the beginning,’ Gilbert reminded her. ‘With Carl it was a sort of grasping at something he had missed all his life - as you yourself have several times mentioned when we’ve
been discussing Carl. You suggested that when Alison came along, offering him love, he accepted it eagerly. He was a mere boy, remember, and probably not even as mature as he would have been had his life taken its normal course from childhood. What I mean is, had he been given the friendship of a father and the security of both parents’ love. He had neither, and he would be like an orphan almost. It’s feasible to assume he matured later than he otherwise would have done. It was in this state of immaturity that he was drawn to this girl, but I firmly believe that neither of them were really in love. Had the girl loved him she would, by the fact of revealing to him that he was wanted, have cured his introversion. And had he been cured, Shara, he’d not be like this with his child.’ He shrugged and a smile flickered. ‘So here we are, back at the beginning, and to your question regarding the reason for the child’s not being natural.’
