by Anne Hampson
She spread her hands.
‘But what shall I find to do?’ she queried, then asked what he intended doing.
‘I shall be working - getting the next chapter planned out. Why don’t you just relax? Do a spot of swimming and then lie in the sun. It won’t do you any harm, dear.’
As it happened, Carl dropped in just as Shara was getting in the car to drive down to the beach, and his eyes widened in surprise.
‘Shara’s earned herself a day off,’ explained Gilbert with a smile. ‘She’s off to take advantage of this lovely warm sea of yours.’
Having telephoned the previous day to inquire how Gilbert was, and having been assured he was quite fit once more, Carl nevertheless subjected him to a critical examination. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, Carl then turned his attention to Shara, whose beach coat was wide open, revealing her scantily-clad golden brown body. A profound moment ensued; Shara forgot all about Gilbert, for it seemed that there was no one in all the world except Carl and herself as, wordlessly, they gazed into each other’s eyes. Carl was the first to break the silence. He said,
‘I feel like a swim myself. Can I come with you?’
An eager smile fluttered; she was suddenly plunged into enchanting confusion as excitement overrode the calm which she almost invariably managed to assume.
‘Of course, Carl,’ she answered, all of a rush. ‘I - I wasn’t really looking forward to - to being on my own.’ Aware of what she had said, after Gilbert had been so kind as to give her the day off, she glanced apologetically at him. But his gaze was elsewhere ... on Carl, where it remained fixed before, with a slow and almost imperceptible movement, his head came round and he was interestedly surveying his secretary, taking in the soft rosy tint that had embellished her cheeks, and the bright and happy glow that had entered her eyes. Fleetingly a frown appeared between his shaggy eyebrows, and then it was gone, and he smiled one of his most charming smiles, which embraced them both.
‘Perhaps you’ll come back with Shara and have lunch with us,’ he suggested. ‘Unless of course you have something more important to do?’
‘I’d be delighted to lunch with you. Thank you for the invitation, Gilbert.’ He looked at Shara. ‘You’ll have to drive me to my place, so I can pick up my bathing trunks.’
About an hour later they were in the sea at Acapulco Beach, to where they had driven from Lapithos, Shara at the wheel of her employer’s car. She and Carl had spoken little on the fifteen-mile journey, yet the very silence was in some strange way intimate and as there seemed no need to break it neither of them attempted to do so. Only when they reached the beach and had parked the car under a shelter of canes and vines did Carl say, taking hold of a rug and towels which Shara brought from the back seat,
‘I didn’t expect to have this pleasure, when I called at your place this morning. I fully intended staying ten minutes or so and then leaving you both to get on with your work.’ He had called only to give them invitations to a cocktail party he was giving for some business associates at the Hilton in Nicosia. This was being held the following Friday evening and would be a formal affair, Carl said. ‘You appear to have the ideal boss, Shara; you’re exceptionally fortunate.’
‘I know.’ She closed the car door and they strolled away, towards the almost deserted beach and the tempting blue sea fringing it. After being in the water for about half an hour they came out and lay on the sands, drying their brown bodies in the sun. Behind them the rolling limestone foothills of the Kyrenia Mountains rose, olive-clothed, towards the knife-edged peaks, silhouetted against a celestial blue sky, faintly spangled here and there by lacy drifts of cirrus cloud, luminous with light stolen from the sun. Patches of colour still embellished the hills for the spring glory of blossom and berry had not quite come to an end.
‘Would you care for some refreshment?’ Carl’s deep rich voice intruded into the silence and Shara swung on to her side and looked at him. His eyes, narrowed against the sun, were regarding her with a strange expression and she felt the hint of a blush touch her cheeks, reflecting the warmth spreading through her whole being. Dangerous to feel like this ... far too dangerous. More and more deeply was she becoming enmeshed in the net of her own emotions. She was not even trying to regain her freedom, she knew; she was just resignedly allowing herself to become trapped- aware of the risk, and making no effort to avert the probable consequences of that risk.
‘I wouldn’t mind a drink of lemonade or something.’ Carl eased himself to a sitting position, preparing to rise to his feet.
‘Shall we go over to the cafe - or would you like me to bring it here?’
‘We’ll go over to the cafe. The shade will be welcome.’ They sat under a canopy of vines, at a small table for two set on a high verandah supported by stilts going right into the sand.
‘Are you sure that’s all you want?’ asked Carl when her drink was brought by the smiling Cypriot proprietor of the cafe. ‘Don’t you fancy something to eat?’
She shook her head.
‘No, thanks, Carl. It’ll spoil my lunch.’ Her eyes wandered to the sea, smooth as a pond and shading in several indescribable colours from deep aquamarine to vivid indigo as it spread from shore to horizon. ‘Not a
ripple-----’ The words were murmured to herself as she
continued to gaze seawards. ‘I’ve never seen water so smooth as it is here.’
‘It certainly is lovely,’ he agreed, his gaze on her profile becoming so concentrated as the moments passed that she could not help but become aware of his interest. ‘I lived in Greece for a long while, as you know, and I liked it immensely, but once I’d been here I knew that this was where I must settle. I expect the decision was partly owing to my being a native of Cyprus once.’
‘But that was before you could remember?’
‘Yes, it was. Nevertheless, I had a feeling of coming home immediately I stepped foot on the shores of this island.’
She said nothing for a space, her thoughts way back in England. She supposed Carl would never return, since all his memories of that country must be unpleasant ones.
‘What made you settle in Lapithos?’ she asked at length, and Carl said it was pure chance, as on arrival he had no idea where he and Alison would settle.
‘I did in fact take a flat in Nicosia, but after a while I began to travel around a bit and on seeing Lapithos I instantly became interested in buying a house there. The first one was a tiny place - just one up and one down—’ ‘One! Really?’
He nodded, a reminiscent expression in his eyes.
‘Such a quaint little place it was. I think you’d have loved it. It was built right into the hillside and although you had to go upstairs to bed, both rooms opened out on to ground level.’
She frowned, puzzled as she tried to picture such a house.
‘I can’t quite visualize it,’ she said apologetically at last, and one of Carl’s rare smiles broke.
‘The hill was so steep that the upstairs room was also on ground level.’ He paused, saw she now understood and went on, ‘The lower room had been a blacksmith’s shop, while the upper room had been a baker’s. So there was a downstairs door to our living-room and also a ground-level door to our bedroom - although I had a spiral staircase fixed, so that we didn’t have to go outside, and round to the back of the house, in order to go to bed, as the previous tenants had done. They had eight children, incidentally.’
‘Eight - in a house with one up and one down! Where did they all sleep?’ She was thinking more of Alison than this family of whom Carl spoke — Alison who had shared with Carl this quaint little house, built into the hillside ... a house which sounded so attractive to Shara that she knew she would have loved occupying it.
‘They used both rooms, of course. But in summer it’s possible to sleep outside, on the balcony. Our upstairs room had a large balcony and I myself used to sleep out there for the whole of the summer—’ He stopped and glanced away, aware of what he had said. But it was not ma
ny seconds before he recovered, saying in casual tones that he liked to see the sun come up in the morning, and liked looking at the stars at night. ‘Have you ever done that, Shara - lain outside, under the stars, I mean?’
She shook her head rather abstractedly, as she was thinking of Gilbert’s words that Carl had never felt wanted in the whole of his life. Was that the reason he slept outside - because he had not felt wanted? What of Alison, the young wife? Perhaps she also had felt she was not wanted. ‘I should feel that way,’ Shara whispered to herself, ‘if my husband left me and slept outside.’ Aloud she said, aware that Carl was awaiting an answer to his question,
‘No - but it must be wonderful because the nights here are so warm and balmy.’ But then she added ruefully, ‘It wouldn’t do for me, though, as the mosquitoes would have a marvellous feast.’
‘They trouble you? ’
‘Not here - yet, but they will in another couple of weeks when they become more numerous. I always have a rough time when I’m in warm countries during the hot season.’
‘It’s because you keep going back to England. If you remained in a hot country you’d become immune to them.”
‘You mean, they wouldn’t bite me?’
‘That’s right. They don’t bite the natives.’
‘Someone told me that one of the best things the British did in Cyprus was to get rid of the mosquitoes, but they haven’t got rid of them. ’
‘The malaria-carrying ones they have.’ Carl nodded his head. ‘Yes, they finished those off. These are a nuisance, but harmless; they’re little different from yours at home.
‘More numerous, though.’
‘Perhaps.’ A small pause and then, ‘If you should find they’re prevalent in your garden then all you have to do is let the Muktar know and he’ll arrange for the place to be sprayed.’
‘He will? That’s something to know. It means that if they’ve found a place to breed then we’ll be able to kill them all off?’
Carl merely nodded and asked if she required another drink. Shara declined and they went back to the sands where they sat for a while, talking, before going in for another swim.
‘This is a lazy sort of life,’ murmured Shara contentedly when at last they decided it was time to be returning to the villa for lunch. She had been sitting alone for a while, having come from the water before Carl, who had swum a long way out - so far that she could hardly see him. When eventually he joined her she noted his relaxed countenance, and the awareness in the eyes that normally held little or no expression. For the first time she saw him as a happy man, a contented man ... and something leapt within her heart and she knew without a trace of doubt that it was hope.
‘Yes, it certainly is,’ agreed Carl, smiling down at her as he rubbed himself dry with one of the towels. ‘I feel as if I’m on holiday.’
‘So do I.’ For a moment she thought of Rian, and once again words of inquiry rose to her lips. But she refrained from questioning him about this friend; had he wanted to tell her about the woman then he would have done so. Obviously she was not a close friend, otherwise she must have been mentioned before now. Strange, mused Shara, but she could not imagine his having a woman friend, close or otherwise. Men friends, yes - and he appeared to have several - but not women.
‘Are you quite dry?’ Picking up the other towel, he held it out to her. She was dry, but she took the towel and rubbed the sand from her arms and legs. Carl was holding her beach wrap and she slipped into it, alive to the touch of his hands on her shoulders as, quite unnecessarily, he helped to put the wrap into place. He was behind her and above her; she quivered at his nearness, longing to lean back her head and find that it had come to rest against his shoulder. ‘I’d like to drive you,’ he said in quiet and almost gentle tones, ‘but as it’s Gilbert’s car I won’t offer.’
He turned her round as he spoke, and as she looked up into his dark face she wondered if he were aware of her heightened emotions and the rapid unnatural beating of her heart. Madness! She who had always confidently assumed a cool exterior, a poise that suited her position as private secretary to one of the most successful of travel authors. Dignity had been acquired over the first few months and this had long since become a permanent part of her make-up. Where was it now? Submerged by excitement and hope and yearning. ... Yes, she who had always assumed the cool exterior, was now overwhelmed by the power and magnetic force of this man who was her brother by adoption.
‘He wouldn’t mind, Carl.’ How did she manage to keep her voice so steady! ‘If you prefer to drive . . .? I know men usually do,’ she added, unconsciously tilting her head to one side in an enchanting gesture of naivete. Carl’s mouth seemed to move with an odd, almost imperceptible tremor and a muscle rioted in his throat. She stared, wonderingly, searching for words to end this profound and disturbing silence, but it was Carl who eventually spoke, to say, still in those quiet gentle tones,
‘Very well, my dear, I’ll drive,’ and he paused then and it was with a sudden smile that he added, ‘Would you care to drive with me this afternoon? We could go in my car; I’ll take you further along this coast in the direction of the Kaipas, and we can stop somewhere for tea. Will Gilbert mind, do you think?’
‘Gilbert will be only too happy for me to have a change,’ she replied, and this time her voice was very far from steady.
CHAPTER SIX
HAVING driven over thirty miles along the coast road Carl slowed down, asking Shara if she would like to visit the village of Akanthou. She nodded, not caring very much where they went so long as she were sitting here in the car with him, driving through breathtaking scenery of mountain and sea, of rolling foothills bordering a narrow coastal plain brilliantly coloured by the flowers in the hedgerows and the wheat and barley in the fields.
‘There’s no through road in Akanthou,’ Carl told her as he took the right turn leading into the village. ‘Mount Olympus rising to the north makes it impossible to have a road.’
And there really was something strange about the village, a sort of ‘forgottenness’ which was inordinately attractive. Carl stopped the car on a piece of spare ground and they both got out. Not a soul anywhere at first; they might have been the sole occupants of a deserted village.
‘How still... and peaceful.’ She was whispering and a touch of amusement brought a curve to her companion’s mouth. ‘Carl, 'It’s terribly attractive— Oh, here’s someone!’
The man smiled and said in English,
‘Welcome to our village. Can I offer you some refreshment?’ He was brown and stocky with jet black curly hair and very dark eyes. There was a flash of gold as he smiled again, spreading a hand to indicate a high wrought-iron arch through which he was inviting them to enter the courtyard of his home.
‘Thank you very much.’ Carl and Shara spoke together, then Carl continued, ‘We would like a long cool drink, if
you have one?’
‘I have many drinks to choose from.’ He followed as they walked towards the arch. ‘My mother — she makes a very excellent sherbet from the pomegranates—’ He looked at Shara. ‘You haven’t had this drink, madam?’
‘I have, yes, and I liked it very much.’
‘You are on holiday?’ The man’s eyes now moved to Carl; obviously he was trying to discover why a Cypriot was out with an English girl. ‘You are both on holiday? You are - are his woman?’
‘The lady is my sister,’ replied Carl, plainly amused, both by the question and by its effect on Shara, whose colour had risen at the way in which the query was phrased.
‘Your sister?’ with some considerable astonishment. ‘But the lady is English, while you are a Cypriot.’
‘That is correct.’ Curt the tones, but after a moment Carl took pity on the man, who was agape with curiosity. It was always like this when a stranger entered a Cypriot village; the relating of a whole life story was expected. ‘My parents adopted Shara when she was a baby.’ No hint of resentment in Carl’s voice. On the contrary, it was edged
with good-humour and it would almost seem that, for the present at least, what happened in his childhood was forgotten. ‘They lived in England, you see, and were friends of her father.’
‘Yes ... this is good, that they take this baby and care for her.’ He looked towards another arch - a stone one this time - as a black-robed old lady came from the dimness of the room beyond. She smiled a toothless smile of welcome, and murmured something in Greek.
‘Once more we are welcomed,’ translated Carl, automatically putting an arm around Shara’s shoulders as he urged her towards the chair by which their host was standing. She took possession of the chair and Carl turned to the woman, and began chatting to her in Greek. Her son spoke eventually and she disappeared into the house.
‘My mother speaks no English, as you have gathered.’ He spoke to Shara, at the same time drawing up a chair for Carl. ‘She will bring the drinks in a few minutes.’ He sat down after Carl had done so, and his eyes began an exploration of Shara’s body. She smiled to herself, yet at the same time remembered that never did Carl allow his eyes to roam like this when in women’s company. Just the reverse in fact, as he never appeared to have much interest in women at all. ‘You live in Cyprus?’ asked the man, immediately going on to tell them his name was Glavcos, and that of his mother, Maroula. ‘Many Cypriot women are called Maroula,’ he went on to add, perhaps for Shara’s benefit alone. ‘It means Mary in your country.’
Carl answered his question, telling him that while he himself lived on the island Shara was here working.
‘Her employer writes travel books,’ Carl added.
‘He is writing about Cyprus?’
‘That’s right,’ smiled Shara. ‘We’re here for about a year.’
‘Perhaps he will write about our village and then we shall get many tourists.’
‘You don’t want tourists,’ she protested, glancing round at the vista of fields and hills and quaint cubic houses across the road, their walls brilliant white and their patios brimming with flowers and sheltering vines. No sound from any of them as they drowsed in the hot afternoon sun, their shutters closed against both light and heat. ‘It’s so lovely and peaceful; tourists would spoil it completely. ’
