by Anne Hampson
It was nothing important,’ he smiled, and opened the door of the car so that she could get in. He had given her and Gilbert a lift, there being no necessity for them to use two cars, and now he got in and, as Shara was in the back, he turned his head to look at her, the smile still hovering on his lips. If any of the tenseness remained it was now successfully hidden. ‘No, Shara, it was nothing important.’
She made no comment, but all previous misgivings flooded in as she watched his face in profile — the taut lines and out-thrust chin, the full firm mouth. He was far from her again, absorbed in thought, and he came to only when Gilbert came over to the car and, apologizing for keeping them waiting, slid into the seat beside Carl.
‘That’s all right Gilbert. I expect you were after “copy” as usual,’ he added with a touch of humour.
‘True, I was. Dick was talking about the Old City of Famagusta - while we were in the hotel, that was. And I suddenly remembered something I had omitted to ask him. He appears to be most knowledgeable on the medieval history of the island.’
‘He is; I believe he makes a special study of it. He should prove to be a great help to you.’ Carl was already driving away from the hotel, heading for the road that wound round the western spur of the mountains, after which it followed the coast all the way until the turning
- and the climb - up to Lapithos appeared. The moon was big and round, spreading its effulgence of amethyst and pearl over the landscape and villages through which they passed. The sea was dark, mysterious, scattered with slow-moving ripples that spread out towards the shore. To the right the long mountain chain of the Kyrenia Range stretched away into infinity, but in its
cosy olive-clad foothills tiny villages nestled, lights twinkling, and the campaniles of the churches gleaming white against the drowsy, indistinct backcloth of the dark but gentle massif whose outline cut, knife-edged, into a purple star-studded Cyprus sky.
On arrival at the villa Gilbert automatically made a move for the front door and as Carl helped Shara from the car he kept her hand in his.
‘Good night.’ His voice was husky but tender, his gaze soft as he looked deeply into eyes limpid and faintly pleading. She was still bewildered by his manner at the party, still affected by misgivings both inexplicable and vague. That he had had something of paramount importance to say to her had been plain; it was equally plain that in the end he had deliberately refrained from doing so. If only he would speak now, she thought, but what he did have to say was merely that he would be free on the Saturday and so perhaps they could have another day together. She turned at that, and would have asked Gilbert if he needed her, but he had overheard, and immediately said that she must have the day off. ‘I have the best secretary in the world,’ he told Carl, laughing. ‘She would work seven days a week if I let her.’
Carl’s eyes flickered; Shara knew instinctively that he was thinking of the money, and that she had no need to work at all.
‘She certainly must be a treasure,’ came the soft and totally unexpected response as Carl opened the door of the car and slid into the driver’s seat. ‘I’ll call for you about nine, then,’ he added. ‘It won’t be too early for you?’
‘Shara’s up every morning at six,’ interposed Gilbert.
‘We both are. You can’t lie in bed with all the lovely sun around.’
‘I agree; I’m up myself at that time - sometimes before.’ His eyes met those of Shara, and held them for a long moment. ‘Good night,’ he said again, and with a flick of the hand for Gilbert he let in the clutch and a moment later the car lights were picking out objects along the narrow winding lane leading from the villa to the main road which had recently been cut into the side of the mountain.
Shara stood there, watching until the lights could no longer be seen; then, turning, she joined Gilbert who was waiting at the open door, regarding her curiously from under his shaggy grey brows.
CHAPTER SEVEN
True to his word, Carl arrived at nine o’clock on the Saturday morning. Having breakfasted over an hour earlier Shara and Gilbert were on the sunlit patio discussing the trip to Famagusta and Salamis which they would be taking in about a couple of weeks’ time. Gilbert was in the middle of a sentence as the car crunched along the gravel path and his voice trailed away into silence as he noted his secretary’s reaction. No mistaking the sudden sparkle appearing in her eyes, or the almost imperceptible quiver of her lips which to Gilbert was all-revealing. He sighed, but inaudibly, and turned a smiling countenance as, having slid from the car, Carl took the patio steps two at a time, greeting Shara and Gilbert as he did so.
‘Good morning, Carl.’ Quiet the tones, and Shara lifted her face to look into the handsome features above her. Carl in turn allowed his eyes to flicker appreciatively at what he saw. The fair hair, so flattering against her suntanned skin, the almond-shaped eyes so wide and with the sort of expression that could leave him in no doubt at all as to the warmth of his welcome. His glance wandered; he noted admiringly the delicate balance between softness and poise displayed in the character lines of her face; he allowed his eyes to settle for a space on the bare brown shoulders over which very narrow straps held up the bodice of the simple cotton dress she wore, flowered and short. In her hand she idly fingered a pair of sunglasses, and on the chair beside her was a small white handbag, ready to be picked up whenever Carl decided to make a start.
‘Where are you thinking of going?’ Gilbert brought forward a chair as he spoke and, accepting the silent invitation, Carl took possession of it.
‘It’s up to Shara.’ He smiled as he spoke. She thought, ‘He smiles a little easier now, although his smiles are invariably neither warm nor cool.’
‘You choose, Carl,’ she said accommodatingly. ‘I don’t know the island very well yet. ’
‘We could go to Salamis; you’ll enjoy it—’
‘Gilbert and I are going there next - when we’ve finished writing up what we’re doing, I mean.’
‘In that case, we’ll have to think of somewhere else.’ ‘Salamis would do very well,’ intervened Gilbert thoughtfully. ‘Carl will be able to tell you all about it, and this kind of preliminary is always useful, Shara.’ ‘Very well, I’d love to go,’ she said, turning to Carl. ‘I've heard such a lot about it, and I’ve read it up, naturally.’
So it was settled that they visit the site of what was once the most important of all the city-kingdoms of Cyprus. As they drove along Carl talked about it and she listened avidly, learning that its name had derived from the island of same name in Greece, as it was the son of the king of the Greek island who founded the town, which lay on the east coast of Cyprus only a few miles from Famagusta.
‘History is always so fascinating,’ she said when at length her companion fell silent, his eyes wandering over the lush grain-swept Plain of Mesaoria through which they drove. The flowers which had abounded when Shara and her employer had driven through it, on an altogether different route, had now disappeared, and soon the corn would also go, and then the landscape would take on an almost desert aspect - waterless and uninteresting.
‘The history of these islands is particularly fascinating. Cyprus, like so many of the islands of Greece, has been invaded by numerous peoples, although the Greeks themselves made the greatest impact.’ Shara merely nodded and he continued, ‘They gave the island most of its pagan myths and legends; they it was who decided it was to be Aphrodite’s birthplace.’
‘Our own Richard the Lionheart had his short period of glory.’
Carl nodded, going on to say that it was his successor, though, whom they had to thank for the ‘Crusader castles pitched on the dizzy spines of the mountains,’ as Lawrence Durrell had described the castles of Hilarion and Buffavento. The Lusignans built many other fortresses, but some had now fallen into ruin.
‘I was about to suggest we visit one or two of the castles, but of course you will be doing them all with Gilbert.’
‘Yes, naturally we’ll be covering everything of i
nterest.’ She would have liked to suggest that she and Carl could visit the castles despite this, but she refrained, realizing that it must sound rather like asking him to go out with her. But she did remind him of something he had said earlier - that he had friends up at Bellapais and that he had promised to take her to see them.
‘I haven’t forgotten, Shara. They’re away on holiday at present. They went to Greece just over a week ago and won’t be back for another fortnight.’
The conversation lagged for a while and then Shara asked about Rian, inquiring how she spent the long summer vacation. Carl took her to the sea, he said, and sometimes they went to the Lebanon or Greece for a holiday. Shara fell silent again, feeling faintly depressed at the picture of Carl trying to keep his small daughter amused.
‘Doesn’t she have playmates - children of her own
age?’
‘There are one or two small children living close by.’ A strange and difficult pause which puzzled Shara exceedingly. And then, ‘There is a little boy at the house where she is staying at present. She gets on very well with him.’
‘So she has a playmate at present?’ For some reason Shara had the impression that Carl was glad he had to keep his eyes on the road ... so that there was no need to look at her, and reveal his expression.
‘She has, yes.’ And with an abruptness that was startling he changed the subject, his whole manner telling her that he had no intention of pursuing the present one.
With Salamis reached at last they entered the site, parked the car, and sat down on a seat and ate the sandwiches they had bought on the way. Cold cordials took the place of tea or coffee, and fruit the place of a more substantial sweet.
‘That was lovely!’ Shara leant back as Carl gathered up the cardboard cups and plates and took them over to the receptacle discreetly hidden behind some wattles, but which could not be missed as there was a notice, and an arrow, telling of its whereabouts. She glanced from his lean lithe frame to the couple just getting out of their car, which had been parked close to Carl’s. They were young, and English. The man took the girl’s hand as they strolled towards the area of the site in which the Roman baths and gymnasium and recently-excavated theatre were situated. She found herself envying them - she who had always maintained that her work provided all she required from life. Carl was returning; her eyes lighted up, as they had earlier when he came to call for her. She could not help it, even though she knew by his expression that Carl was aware of her pleasure at being with him, here in this forest plantation by the lovely turquoise sea. He strode towards her in that majestic manner she knew so well. Did he realize that he walked with the bearing of a king? she wondered. For a long moment after reaching her he stood, looking down, and then to her astonishment he reached for her hand, with a proprietorial gesture which thrilled and excited her, and drew her up beside him, tucking her arm through his as, turning, he followed in the wake of the couple in front.
The entire afternoon was idyllic. They strolled among the ruins of what had once been a great and glorious city, founded by one of the heroes of the Trojan war, although little was now left of Teucer’s work, since the city of Salamis was devastated by an earthquake, and the marble columns and the baths and other relics were all Roman. Wild flowers grew among them; fragrant wattles not only invaded the actual ruins but the surrounding country as well, their flowers appearing luminous in the bright
sunshine pouring down from a cloudless Cyprus sky.
‘This is the gymnasium.’ Carl spoke after a long but intimate silence. ‘But perhaps you know that?’
She shook her head.
‘It’s beautiful. What must it have been like at first?’ ‘In all its original glory? One has difficulty in imagining it—’ Automatically he swept a hand, taking in the vast site which was in many places still a dense jungle of acacias and giant fennel and other undergrowth. ‘There would be luxurious houses and villas, shops, and wide streets. Then there were the baths and the amphitheatre and the temples. All this, in the setting of the harbour and the sea.’
‘It’s rather sad. ... ’ She had to smile at the sudden melancholy note which had crept into her voice. ‘I’m a sentimentalist,’ she added with a hint of deprecation, her mood changing to one of amusement. ‘What is gone is gone, Gilbert always says, and there’s nothing we can do to bring it back.’
‘What is gone is gone....’ Musingly he spoke, drifting away from her into the distance of retrospection.
‘Carl,’ she said urgently, ‘please don’t dwell on the past. It wasn’t happy for me either - although you might not believe that. I’d much rather have had my - my brother than all the luxury and fuss. I did want you, Carl, terribly. But I couldn’t make you see it.’ They were standing close, at the entrance to the gymnasium, and stretching before them were the high marble columns, their Corinthian capitals outlined against a pure blue sky. ‘I did want you,’ she whispered, silently beseeching him to accept this as the truth ... and as a pointer to her feelings at the present time. Although she had no desire to convey to him the idea that she still wanted him as a brother. Far from it. But she did urgently want to convey her need of him.
He turned slowly, his face grave and also troubled. And his voice betrayed a huskiness when he spoke, as if he were labouring under some insurmountable difficulty. ‘You wanted me - really wanted a brother?’
She lowered her lashes, speaking in the same whispered tones.
‘Yes, Carl. At that time I did want to be close - just as a brother and sister should. I was five years younger, so at first I missed what was happening. But later - and I wasn’t really very old before I did begin to notice - I tried to let you see how much I was hurt by it all-’
‘Hurt?’ with a sudden sharp edge to his voice. ‘You felt pity for me? ’
Desperately she spread her hands - an involuntary and imploring gesture. Why hadn’t she been a little more guarded?
‘Carl ... don’t misunderstand me. When I say I wanted you I mean it.’
He smiled then, but faintly. His mind was still occupied by something which troubled him immensely. If only he would speak, tell her what it was that oppressed him.
‘I’m sorry, dear—’ He stopped as a small party of American tourists sauntered along and paused to admire the spectacle, and comment on it. They passed on, guide books open, cameras at the ready, and soon their voices were mere murmurings on the still balmy air. ‘You must consider me a most touchy man?’
‘I understand, fully, how you feel.’ Timidly she laid a hand upon his arm. ‘As Gilbert says, what’s gone is gone. The past - our childhood - doesn’t matter anymore. It’s the present and the future that matter.’ Surely he would see. And if he accepted that she wanted him, then perhaps he would begin to regard her in a different light.
‘You’re right,’ he said at last. ‘The past doesn’t matter anymore - but the present and the future is all-important.’ And unexpectedly he took her hand in his, pressing it affectionately, and it seemed that his anxiety had diminished in weight, that he had flung it off, partly, by a sudden decision, a resolve of some kind. Shara was perplexed, naturally, by the impression she was receiving, but the touch of his hand, the gentle curling of his fingers before they finally entwined themselves in hers, the glance he gave her, soft and tender. ... All these cast anything else into shadow, and she gave herself up to the happiness that now ran through her whole being. Her eyes glowed and her lips quivered. She knew that Carl was affected by her attitude ... she knew for, sure that he was aware of her feelings for him.
He kept her hand in his as they wandered about the vast site. They smiled as they stood and watched the Americans being snapped sitting on the steps of the theatre, against the columns and even standing by the headless figure of some massive marble god or goddess. They passed remarks to other people; they sat and stared.
‘Carl, it’s been a marvellous day!’ The exclamation came as they were leaving another site, that of the Royal Tombs, a recent excavation and
one which had brought to light some strange burial customs of the ancient inhabitants of the island, customs which had been described by Homer but were thought never to have been practised in Cyprus. In one of the Royal Tombs examples of sacrificial rites were found in the presence of slaves and babies buried with the king, and of the horses which had drawn his hearse being slain when their task was done.
‘You’ve enjoyed it?’ Indulgently and tenderly Carl looked down at Shara as he spoke, the exclamation a ‘thank you’ in itself.
‘Thoroughly. I’ve never felt quite so happy and content in all my life - not as far as I can remember.’
‘Nor have I,’ was the rather astonishing admission, and Shara was reminded once again of Gilbert’s implication that Carl’s marriage had lacked something vitally important.
The drive back to Lapithos was quiet for the most part, each being absorbed in thought. Slanting him a glance now and then Shara wondered at the expression on Carl’s face. Determination mingled with a sort of compassion -and faint regret. What was he thinking? It was almost as if there were some obstacle to his being entirely free with Shara. She gained the impression that, had he been free to demonstrate his feelings, then she would undoubtedly have been very happy indeed with the result.
Rian was home the next time Shara visited Carl’s house. The little girl came to her and, concealing her surprise at the unexpected reception by a child with whom she could not manage to get close, despite her efforts, Shara produced a swift and affectionate smile.
‘Auntie Shara! I am glad you’ve come. Papa says that we will all go to the beach together!’
‘He did?’ Her smile deepened and a warmth spread over her as Rian took hold of her hand. She had run down the path to meet her aunt and together they walked back to the patio, where Carl was sitting, perusing what appeared to be a sheaf of business papers. Some were set out on the table, a couple more on a chair beside him. He began gathering them up; Shara gave him a smile ... and then realized how stern and set his mouth was. But a smile broke eventually, and his eyes strayed to his daughter’s hand, clasped tightly in that of his aunt. ‘Rian tells me we are all going to the beach?’
