Dear Stranger

by Anne Hampson

  Glavcos frowned at that and gave an expressive shrug of his wide shoulders.

  ‘They bring money, and here we have not very much money. Look at Bellapais - it is prosperous because Mr. Durrell wrote about it. Many tourists go there and many English people live there, so the money comes to that village.’

  ‘Akanthou can never be like Bellapais,’ commented Carl shaking his head. ‘Bellapais has more to offer; also, it’s close to Kyrenia.’

  ‘This is true - we have no abbey, and this is what the tourists like.’

  ‘Have you been to the abbey yet?’ inquired Carl of Shara, and she nodded.

  ‘Gilbert and I went up one evening, but we didn’t stay long. We shall go again, naturally.’

  ‘I have friends living near the abbey - an artist and his wife. I’ll take you to see them some time.’

  ‘There are several artists living there, I’m told?’

  ‘It’s the place for artists,’ he returned, glancing up as Maroula appeared with the tray. ‘You’ve gone to a lot of trouble,’ he said in Greek, and Maroula beamed down at him. She said it was no trouble, for they enjoyed having guests.

  ‘Aren’t you joining us?’ asked Carl, reaching for another chair. Glavcos looked curiously at him, surprised by the action. Cypriot men did not normally bother themselves about making their womenfolk comfortable

  - or even welcome, should they happen to be entertaining, as Glavcos was now doing. Maroula glanced at her son, then slowly shook her head and, smiling again, she left them. Shara’s eyes sought those of Carl. Like her, he felt the old lady should have been invited by her son to sit down, and take some refreshment with them.

  Time passed swiftly as the three chatted over their drinks, and at length Carl said it was time they were making a move.

  At Ayios Epiktitos they stopped for afternoon tea, eating outside in the garden of the cafe, just the two of them, in complete privacy. Hibiscus and bougainvillea grew by the pillars or in the hedge; pink oleanders lined the far edge of the proprietor’s land where it joined that of his neighbour. Lemon and orange trees and a few pomegranates filled the perivoli at the rear, while backing this lovely orchard a row of dark cypresses had been planted for shelter from the wind. In front of the cafe the fields stretched towards the hills and these in turn gave way to the distant peaks, with the sharp outline of the Pentadactylos cutting into the cloudless blue sky, almost two and a half thousand feet above sea level.

  ‘You know the story of the Pentadactylos?’ Carl put the question as he passed Shara the bread and butter.

  She shook her head and he continued, his eyes glimmering with amusement, ‘The legend concerns a Greek hero, Dighenis, who, chasing the Saracens, who were on the other side of the mountain which, incidentally, was growing—’

  ‘Growing?’ she echoed, looking at him as if he had made a mistake.

  ‘Growing, yes, in order to hide the Saracens from view. Dighenis pressed his hand against the peak, which was quite pliable, and so he stopped the growth, but the imprint of his five fingers remains, and so our mountain over there is called Five Fingers.’

  She laughed.

  ‘I adore all these legends, Carl. Tell me some more.’

  ‘In Paphos we have Dighenis again appearing, this time hurling a massive rock at the Saracens - and to prove the truth of this,’ he added with a hint of humour, ‘you can see this rock lying just off the coast, for it’s still there today.’

  ‘I always believed Paphos was exclusively the territory of Aphrodite?’

  ‘No such thing - although one does tend to think immediately of Aphrodite when thinking of Paphos. She was born there, from the foam - although we have a different version of her birth in the Iliad. However, as it’s far more romantic to bring her forth from the sea, this is the story that maintains its strength.’

  ‘She had Adonis for her lover, and he was killed by a boar. That’s a sad ending, but then Greek mythology abounds with sad endings.’

  ‘Adonis?’ with a quizzical lift of his brows as Carl looked at her across the table. ‘He was only one of her lovers.’

  ‘Oh,’ with some element of disappointment. ‘She had lots?’

  ‘Certainly a fair number; she also had a husband somewhere around called Hephaestos, who was the Greek god of fire. A strong brawny fellow he was, but he doesn’t appear to have been able to keep his wife in order.’

  Again Shara laughed, and would have had Carl continue his telling of these legends, but, glancing at his watch, he checked her request by saying it was high time they were getting back to Lapithos.

  Gilbert was on the patio, reading what he had written that day, but at their appearance he put down his papers on the table and said with a swift smile,

  ‘Did you have a pleasant drive?’

  ‘It was wonderful,’ enthusiastically from Shara almost before the question was asked. ‘We’ve been to Akanthou, and on our way back we stopped at Ayios Epiktitos for tea.’

  Carl glanced at her in an odd sort of way and she found herself colouring, realizing that she had become enthusiastic over what was in effect very little at all. There was nothing particularly exciting about driving thirty-five miles along the coast road and then driving back again over the same ground. She averted her head, conscious of Gilbert’s interest also, and only raised her head again when the two men fell into conversation after Carl had accepted the invitation to sit down. Excusing herself, Shara left them and went to her room, where she stood by the open window looking out, over the narrow plain to the sea, misted as it reached the horizon in one direction and the coast of Turkey in the other.

  She clasped her hands, aware of their trembling. This madness must stop, she decided, since there was no indication that Carl was interested in her as anything other than a sister. Today, when telling Glavcos of the relationship, he had portrayed no sign of hesitation, made not the faintest pause that might indicate a reluctance to describe her in this way. Yes, she must practise caution from now on, otherwise she could sustain a hurt so deep that it could mar her life for a very long time to come.

  ‘My dear Shara, how nice to see you again!’ Linos came up immediately Shara entered the small lounge where Carl’s cocktail party was being held. ‘How have you

  been spending your time? Working hard, I expect?’

  She smiled and nodded, her eyes catching those of Carl. To her surprise the lazy lack of interest portrayed on that other occasion when Linos gave her his attention was completely lacking and in its place was an expression that could only be described as harsh. Carl’s glance went from her to Linos, and there was no mistaking the frown that crossed Carl’s brow. What did it mean? Amusement had been Carl’s only emotion on the previous occasion, and that only fleetingly. He had not been interested either in Linos’s chances with Shara, or in her own reaction to his advances. But now ... he seemed actually to be scowling inwardly.

  ‘Yes.’ She replied to Linos’s question mechanically, for although she had turned from that disturbing gaze she could still see it. ‘Gilbert and I have been to Paphos.’

  ‘Ah ... home of the love goddess. How much of your book will that take up?’

  ‘Not very much; Gilbert never overdoes any particular area. He rather likes to whet a reader’s appetite, so that he will want to visit a place for himself.’

  ‘But beautiful Venus,’ he said in a tone of protest not untinged with humour, ‘she should have a paragraph all to herself. Here on this island we believe in the importance of love. Don’t you, Shara?’ he added softly.

  Her long lashes flickered; she replied guardedly, ‘I’ve never had much time to think about it, Linos. You see, I lead a very busy life.’

  He laughed, throwing back his head. Several people turned - then seemed to smile to themselves. The handsome Linos giving his attention to the English girl was certainly a matter of interest, at least to the Cypriot guests, since most of them had cherished hopes that a sister or daughter might one day find favour in his eyes.

>   However, none of these females had succeeded, but their menfolk held nothing against either him or the English girl for that. This good-humoured, philosophical approach was typical of the Cypriot, and just one small part of his charm. If he ever did get ruffled - and such would be his gesticulations and loudness of voice that a foreigner might easily believe him to be in a towering rage - it was usually for something so small as to be totally unimportant, such as the negligence of a neighbour for allowing his donkey to stray on his land, or the Keeper of the Fields for forgetting to turn on the water at the appropriate time.

  ‘No time for love!’ Linos was saying. ‘My dear Shara, how can so beautiful a girl as you say a thing like that?’ She slanted him a look of clear admonition.

  ‘I’m coming to the conclusion that you’re a flatterer, Linos.’ And she added, smiling in order to counterbalance any severity contained in her tone, ‘And your particular brand of flattery savours very much of the superficial.’ ‘No!’ he protested. He took her arm and glanced towards a secluded corner where potted palms half obscured two chairs. ‘Come with me, and I’ll soon prove my sincerity.’ Linos spoke in low vibrant tones; his dark eyes burned as they swept over her slender figure. She felt his breath on her face and drew back, twisting her arm from his grasp. He frowned at the action but said, close to her ear, ‘It’s marriage I want, Shara. From the moment I set eyes on you I wanted you for my wife. I am rich; you will not be refused anything—’

  ‘Linos,’ she interrupted, managing at last to find her voice, ‘I have no intention of getting married, either to you or anyone else. I would also point out that you scarcely know me. There is danger in offering marriage to a woman whose character might prove to be entirely different from what you assume it to be.’

  ‘Assume?’ Linos shook his head, confidently. ‘There’s no assumption, my dear. I know by looking into your eyes that you have a tender heart and an honest mind.’

  A faint smile touched her lips. For a fleeting moment her eyes strayed. Carl now had his back to her and Linos, being engaged in conversation with a young official of the American Embassy.

  ‘If you know I am honest then you will understand why I can’t marry you. Your money means nothing Linos. I don’t love you—’

  ‘You can learn to. I will teach you.’ His charming smile flashed. ‘In the East love is an art, and I believe I am not lacking in that art even though, for several years now, I have not bothered very much with women.’

  Her smile deepened. Automatically she brushed her hair from her forehead, but the half-fringe immediately sprang back into place. She decided to play lightly with him, hoping that the situation could be handled without any ill-feeling entering into their relationship. Shara had to consider her employer, and his prestige; she must guard against quarrelling with anyone belonging to the circle in which he now mixed.

  ‘You might not be lacking in the art of making love,’ she laughed, ‘but you’re certainly lacking in modesty! ’

  He shrugged, then responded to her laugh.

  ‘Cypriot men are not modest, especially when they speak of their prowess as lovers. You see, we are honest too; we know we excel at the love game.’

  Her lashes flickered; from under them her eyes sought Carl’s back. His wide shoulders were set in an arrogant line, his dark head was erect. He was immaculately dressed in dark grey mohair; a sudden flick of his hand in a demonstrative gesture revealed a snow-white cuff against a tawny wrist. Her lashes fluttered down again. Her companion was speaking, requesting her to sit in the corner with him, saying they really must talk, and firmly declaring that he could make her change her mind about marriage to him. She shook her head, and to her great relief she saw Gilbert approaching from the opposite side of the room.

  ‘May I join you?’ He glanced curiously at Linos before allowing his eyes to meet those of his secretary. She knew at once why he had come; her expression had been all too revealing apparently and so he had decided to rescue her. ‘I trust I’m not interrupting - er - confidences?’

  The lips of the dark Cypriot compressed, yet he smiled affably and shook his head. They all sat down, and with Gilbert deliberately drawing Linos into conversation Shara leant back in her chair and glanced idly around. Lights and shining glass, fabulously-decorated walls and deep red carpet; flowers and colour and soft bouzouki music. ... It was a gay gathering, with some people standing in groups and some sitting round small tables, some laughing as they indulged in light conversation, while others, voices low, appeared to be engaged in more serious topics of discussion.

  Her eyes brightened as, turning, Carl noticed her sitting there, a little apart from the two men, and made a move in her direction. He looked down at her for a space before taking the chair close by, and she saw that his eyes wore a brooding expression and he appeared to be swallowing something hard and uncomfortable in his throat. Strange misgivings assailed her, vague and indefinable, for there was something about Carl which had not been present at the beginning. It was as if he were under the influence of a nerve-twisting tension, that some new problem, or deep anxiety, had closed in upon him quite recently. His expression changed and he smiled; she felt instinctively that he was compelled by some demanding urge to thrust from him this problem, and condition his mind to the requirement of the moment, which was to chat with Shara, who after all was one of his guests.

  He hitched his chair close after sitting down, and he kept his voice low as he said,

  ‘I see Linos is still as interested in you as ever.’

  ‘He asked me to marry him,’ she returned softly.

  ‘I see. ...’ after a small pause in which he appeared to be digesting this. ‘And... your answer?’

  She had turned her head, and she now looked into his eyes. The movement in his throat recurred; he did not seem able to dislodge whatever it was that had settled there. A strange man - unfathomable. She had always admitted this, but felt that should she ever get close his character would no longer be a mystery to her.

  ‘I declined his offer,’ she replied briefly and - could it be imagination, or had Carl breathed a tiny sigh of relief?

  ‘I knew he’d propose marriage,’ Carl’s eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced past Gilbert to the handsome Linos who was at present doing the talking while Gilbert listened. ‘And I said you wouldn’t have to wait very long.’

  ‘Yes, you did.’ A pause and then, ‘I told you at that time that my job gives me all I need.’ She watched his face, breathless and almost willing him to give some small sign that he was not quite so brotherly as he appeared.

  ‘And I said that in a woman there is usually the desire

  for motherhood.’

  ‘A woman does not get married primarily for the sake of having children.’

  ‘No?’ with a sudden and unaccountable edge of bitterness to his voice. ‘Some women do,’ he added after a moment’s reflective silence. ‘Yes ... some women do.’ He was away from her, away in that familiar distance where she could not - dared not - make any attempt to reach him. Into the quietness intruded the low voices of Gilbert and Linos, but Shara was only vaguely aware of these murmuring sounds, for into her mind the question was forcing itself: had Alison married Carl merely in order to have children? If so, then much would be explained, especially the declaration by Gilbert that Carl had never been really wanted by anyone in the whole of his life. Supporting this idea was that edge of bitterness which came to Carl’s voice just now as he said that some women do get married primarily for the sake of having children. And after uttering these meaningful words he had immediately drifted away, into a mood of reflection. Presently he broke the silence, looking deeply into her eyes as if he would ascertain whether or not she answered truthfully his question,

  ‘You yourself would put love first?’

  ‘Love and desire would be on a par.’

  ‘Desire?’ sharply, his green eyes flickering with an odd expression.

  ‘Perhaps I’ve blundered there. What I meant was tha
t love and desire would be so closely connected that they would be inseparable. My love for the man would be no stronger than my desire for him.’ A pause before she added, in smiling gentle tones, ‘He-he would know, all the while, that he was wanted—’ Her lovely eyes were

  wide and appealing; her heart begged him to grasp what she was trying to convey. ‘Because I loved him I would also need him... and to be needed, Carl, is to be wanted.’ A profound silence and, then, slowly and with a distinct catch in his deep rich voice,

  ‘So the man you eventually marry will always feel... wanted....’ He spoke to himself rather than to her, yet his gaze was still fixed upon her face. A long and shuddering sigh escaped him; he appeared to be sad — dreadfully sad. Bewilderedly she held his gaze, but there was much more than bewilderment contained in her eyes and, drawing a deep breath, he glanced away, as if he would actually shirk the full acceptance of what was there for him to see. ‘My dear Shara,’ he said hoarsely at last. ‘Oh, my dear ... why—?’ He broke off as Gilbert, unaware of the tenseness of the situation, interrupted to put a casual question about the special crafts of the island.

  ‘Linos has just been telling me something about them,’ he went on, ‘and it struck me that I might give a chapter over to them.’

  With surprising composure and urbanity Carl answered Gilbert’s question, and from then on the conversation took a general turn as several other of the guests came over and joined them.

  Shara and Carl found themselves alone for a moment or two when the party broke up. Having come on to the car park along with Gilbert, they stood together when, having excused himself, Gilbert went over to have a final word with Dick. Impulsively Shara said,

  ‘You were about to say something when Gilbert interrupted. What was it, Carl?’

  Absently he leant against his car, one hand thrust into his jacket pocket; he was suddenly deep in thought and she guessed that he was in a state of indecision.