'No, you're right, I haven't.' Cordelia smiled at him, her heart oddly comforted.
'And none of them—but none of them, can compare to a certain blonde English girl I know.' And he kissed her right there in front of everyone, then grinned and pulled her into the pool for another swim.
That night Steve asked her to sleep with him. Not that he just came out with it like that, he used a far more subtle approach.
'How about going to Adam's Peak to watch the dawn rise?'
'I don't know. It might be fun,' Cordelia replied without a great deal of enthusiasm. 'You don't mean now?'
'No. Some other time. It's too late now. You have to get to the rest-house halfway up the hill in the early evening, eat and spend part of the night there, and then climb to the top of the hill just before dawn. There are guides with torches to light the way for you.'
'Why can't you just drive up there and then climb the hill?'
'The road is too dangerous at night, there are lots of hairpin bends. You have to get there in daylight.' He had stopped the car at the side of the road while they watched hundreds of tiny fireflies, and now he put his arm round her and kissed her. 'We could really make it a night to remember,' he murmured, his mouth against her neck.
Cordelia sighed and moved away. 'I don't know. I'll think about it.'
He tried to persuade her, but Cordelia wouldn't commit herself either way, and eventually he restarted the car and drove on through the darkness, the coconut oil lamps lit the houses they passed casting a mellowing glow in the warm night. Cordelia gazed out of the window unseeingly, wondering why life always turned out to be such a mess. If it had been Marcus who had made that suggestion to her she would have been ecstatically happy, but with Steve—somehow it could only be sordid.
First the bad news, then the good news: unfortunately Steve had to work the next day and Cordelia was dreading having to spend the day working in the same room as Marcus, but when she eventually summoned up enough courage to go out on to the verandah the next morning, she found him dressed in a suit and on the point of leaving.
'I have some business in Colombo to attend to,' he told her, setting down his coffee cup. 'But I'll be back in time to take you and Sugin to Kandy.'
'Are there any more chapters of the book ready that I can work on?' Cordelia asked, carefully avoiding looking directly at him.
To her surprise, he said, 'It's finished. I've started typing it from where you left off.' He paused, then added, 'I thought you might not want to spend any more time on it.'
Lifting her head, she looked at him steadily. 'I said I'd finish it for you and I meant it.'
Marcus seemed about to say something, then changed his mind and nodded. 'See you later, then.'
He must have worked very hard while she'd been out with Steve, Cordelia decided when she went into his study and saw the amount he'd got through. If she didn't know better she could have believed that he had devoted all his time to it, all day and far into the night. She got to work at once and found some comfort in the familiarity of it, the need to concentrate to the exclusion of all else.
By working solidly all day, she finished several chapters and left only a small pile to do—perhaps a morning's work.
They weren't having dinner at the bungalow that evening, there wouldn't be time before they left for Kandy, so at four Cordelia joined her 'father on the verandah for half an hour before going in to change. He seemed much better, able to walk around the garden a little, and spend as long as he liked outside, but his old restlessness seemed to have returned with his strength. Now he wanted to be completely fit again and was impatient with his own weakness.
At length Cordelia left him and went in to change. She put on a cream silk, sleeveless blouse and a matching straight linen skirt, with high-heeled sandals that looked good now that her legs were so beautifully brown. Even if I get nothing else out of this trip, at least I got a tan, she thought cynically as she checked her appearance in the full-length mirror in her room. She put on a minimum of make-up, just eye-shadows and lightener, mascara and a touch of lipstick, she really didn't need much when she was so brown, but her hair she washed and tonged into soft, loose -waves around her head.
Marcus must have come home while she was changing, because Steve arrived about ten minutes before he put in an appearance. Steve was in his usual lightweight slacks and a casual shirt, but when Marcus joined them in the sitting-room where they were having a drink while they waited, he was wearing a collarless, short-sleeved White shirt and a native sarong covering his legs and tied in a knot at his waist Cordelia choked over her drink and Steve burst out laughing.
'You're not actually going to wear that thing?' he exclaimed.
'Why not?' Marcus answered, quite unperturbed. 'The hotel where the dancing takes place isn't air-conditioned and with all those people there it's going to be damned hot, I can tell you. And these sarongs are very practical in this climate. Why do you think the natives in most hot countries of the world wear them?'
'But don't you feel uncomfortable in it?'
'No. As a matter of fact it's a lot more comfortable and cooler than trousers. You ought to try it,' he added with a grin.
'No, thanks,' Steve said firmly. 'I just hope for your sake it doesn't fall down. The native boys up at the dam site seem to spend half their time refolding the things and doing them up again when they come loose.'
Marcus laughed. 'I assure you I won't embarrass you.'
'Hey,' said Steve, going across to him. 'There's something I always wanted to know. Somebody told me that these sarongs are like kilts and they don't wear anything underneath. Now, is that true?'
'Wouldn't you like to know?' Marcus taunted him. 'The only way you're going to find out is if you get one for yourself. Then I'll tell you.'
The two men continued to rib one another for a few minutes and then Sugin made her entrance. She didn't simply walk in, but came to the French doors from the garden and stood in the doorway, the setting sun behind her, wearing a beautiful golden sari with a little matching blouse which left her midriff bare. Her face was heavily made up, ready for her performance, a great many bracelets jangled on her wrists and she wore large earrings with green stones.
There was the hush she'd wanted as she posed in the doorway, and then she stepped into the room as Marcus moved to welcome her. He complimented Sugin on her appearance and Steve followed suit, then the Sri Lankan girl turned to Cordelia with a scarcely-concealed sneer, as if she expected the other girl to stay silent, but Cordelia, too, said, 'You look very—exotic. Very Eastern,' which Sugin didn't quite know how to take.
Marcus gave a thin-lipped smile as he watched the two of them. Coming across to take her empty glass, he said to Cordelia, 'And you look very Western,' which she didn't know how to take, either. Then he grinned at Steve. 'It seems we have the best of both worlds tonight.'
During the drive to Kandy, Cordelia sat in the back with Steve, and as soon as they got to the hotel where the display was to be held, Sugin disappeared round the back to change into her first costume. Cordelia had expected something rather grander than the big third-floor room with rows of old, hard wooden chairs set out in front of a stage that didn't have any curtains, the lighting coming from a row of primitive-looking electric lamps strung along the front. Tacked on the wall at the back of the stage was a big Sri Lankan flag with its angry, symbolic lion, but apart from this the stage had no other furniture.
A slim, very neatly dressed youth showed them to the seats that had been reserved for them in the front row. There were already quite a few people there, nearly all tourists, being escorted to their seats by couriers from the various package holiday companies, many of them complaining because they wouldn't be able to get a good view or didn't have a clear field of vision for their cameras. The performance was about a quarter of an hour late in starting and by then the room was very hot, even though all the windows were open. Cordelia wished she had brought a fan like some of the other women, but had
to make do with the programme she had been handed as she came in and which listed the first item as 'Bolowing of the Conchshell: tradtional welcome and drum orchstra (By man).' And she could only hope that the music would be better than the spelling.
The first men came on in traditional dress, the notes of the drums differing because of the skins with which they were made; there was little tune to it and it was very repetitive, so that after a while it jarred on your ears. Sugin made her first appearance in a dance entitled 'Pooja Dance: Dance paying homage to the Buddha Doities and Guru (Dancing teecher) (By Girls).' There were three dancers, and Sugin was the middle one. They were all three equally graceful, beautiful and well rehearsed; Cordelia could well understand that they had to be taught the dances from an early age, for each movement of the body, of hands and of feet, was to a set pattern. It was interesting, it was very watchable, but to Cordelia it was too stylised, it lacked life and spontaneity, there was no emotion in it; the girls seemed to know the movements so well that they performed them automatically, their minds on other things, their eyes on the audience, gauging its reaction.
There were fourteen dances on the programme and by halfway through nearly everyone in the place was oozing with perspiration and longing for a drink, but all there was to be had was warm coke which you bought beforehand and which had to be drunk straight out of the bottle, without even a straw. Cordelia looked at the rust marks on the neck of her bottle and handed it to Steve, who took it gratefully. Marcus gave him an 'I told you so grin; he was still cool in his loose clothing.
The programme was a long one, it lasted Over two ours without a break, the hard wooden chairs growing harder by the minute. Cordelia shifted ' uncomfortably, hot and sticky, the discordant banging of the drums and the wail of the flutes crating on her nerves and giving her a headache. She longed for it to end, and even more for a long, cold drink. When it did at last finish with what was scribed as a 'Group Dance: performed by men and girls', the three of them, of one accord, headed for the bar on the ground floor of the hotel where there were at least a couple of electric fans to cool the place down. A youth in the doorway tried to take her programme back, but Cordelia hung on to it: its bad spelling and funny English had been the only highlight in the whole evening so far.
Steve bought her a cocktail with an arrack base; Cordelia downed it almost in one go. 'I needed that!' she declared fervently. Marcus and Steve both laughed at her vehemence. Looking up, she caught Marcus's eye and her heart jumped crazily, then began beating very fast. 'Do you think I could have another one of those?' she asked unsteadily. Sugin kept them waiting for nearly half an hour and during that time Cordelia had two more cocktails, the drinks acting on her empty stomach and going straight to her head. They ate in a nearby restaurant and had a fish curry, which was so hot that they needed several bottles of the local beer to cool it down.
'Here, sprinkle some shredded coconut on it,' Steve advised her. 'That's what the natives use to take the sting out of it.'
Cordelia looked round at the tables where parties of Sri Lankan's were scooping their food up with their fingers, never having learnt to use knives and forks. She pushed her plate away. 'Thanks, but I can't manage any more; my mouth is on fire as it is!'
Sugin looked at her contemptuously. 'Your Western food is tasteless; you should use spices in your cooking.'
'If you've been brought up on curries like these, I'm not surprised that you find our food tasteless. I doubt whether you have any palate left at all. But then,' Cordelia added, 'we don't usually have to disguise the taste of rotten fish or meat.'
Steve had been about to eat a lump of fish, but now he paused, then lowered his fork and pushed his plate away. 'I don't think I want any more either.' Then he looked at Cordelia and they both burst out laughing.
They began to tell each other about all the worst foods they had ever tasted, vying with one another to find the most terrible. It was wicked to do so while the other two were still eating, but Cordelia didn't care; she felt in a reckless, frivolous mood and didn't much care what she said or did. They laughed uproariously over frogs' legs and sheep's eyeballs, and Steve knew of some really yeuky dishes which were so improbable that she accused him of making them up. By the time they left the restaurant she was giggling helplessly and in no mood to go tamely back to the bungalow.
'Let's go on somewhere,' she demanded. 'Surely there must be a night club or something here.' 'I do not wish to go to a night club,' Sugin said petulantly. 'I wish to go home. I am very tired after my performance.'
'We're all going back,' Marcus said grimly. 'Come on, the ear's…'
'I said I'm not going.' Cordelia glared at him, rocking a little unsteadily but supported by Steve's arm.
'And just how do you expect to get back home late at night?' Marcus demanded, his eyes darkening with anger.
'We'll take a taxi—that's if we bother to come back tonight at all,' Cordelia replied shortly, her chin coming up in defiance.
Marcus took a furious step towards her. 'You don't know what you're saying. You've had too much to drink.'
'So what? What the hell has it got to do with you how much I drink?' she shouted, both of them now oblivious of the others.
'You'll do as you're damn well told!' Marcus reached out and grabbed her wrist, began to pull her towards the car.
'Hey, now wait a minute!' Steve put an arm round her waist and pulled the other way, so that she felt like a rope in a tug-of-war.
Marcus turned on Steve with a snarl that stopped him in his tracks. 'You keep out of this!' Then he glared at Cordelia. 'Are you coming, or do I have to pick you up and carry you?'
Ordinarily Cordelia would have thought before she spoke, would have hesitated before such anger, but now she was much too furious herself to care. 'No, I'm not!' she yelled at him. 'I'm going with Steve.' With a jerk she pulled her wrist free of his hand, then pointed derisively at his sarong.
'You've really gone native, haven't you? Well, why don't you just—just run along with your little native girl and leave me alone?'
Marcus's face, twisted with rage and for a frightened second she shrank away from him as it looked as if he was going to do as he threatened, but then he swore savagely, turned on his heel and strode towards the car, Sugin hastily trotting after him with such a punch-drunk look on her face that it was almost funny.
Steve was equally astounded. 'What the hell was all that about?' he demanded as they watched the car pull away much too fast.
'I—I don't really know,' Cordelia muttered hollowly. She felt suddenly flat and exhausted, as if her blood had stopped flowing.
'I didn't know that you and Marcus were on the sort of terms where you could—well, that you disliked each other.'
'What? Oh, yes, we do. We—we can't stand one another,' Cordelia told him brokenly, her eyes still following the car out of sight.
Steve gave her a strange sort of look, as if he was seeing her for the first time all over again. 'We'd better go and find that night club.'
CHAPTER SEVEN
But they didn't find a night club. Instead they ended up at a hotel where several of the men Cordelia had met at the Expatriates Club were staying while on leave from the site. They were greeted uproariously and Cordelia found herself squashed on to a bench and a glass of beer put in her hand. The men had already had quite a lot to drink and were noisily and happily swapping experiences, telling jokes and singing. Some of the jokes would have made Cordelia's hair curl if they hadn't told her to cover her ears before the particularly rude ones. She sank with relief into the atmosphere, losing herself in it and glad to be just one of the boys for a while.
They broke up about three in the morning and Steve borrowed one of the men's cars to take her home. She was so tired that she staggered when she tried to walk and he had to help her out to it, and as soon as he got in beside her, her head slumped on to his shoulder and she fell asleep.
'Wake up, Cordelia, you're home.'
She sat up slowly an
d rubbed her stiff neck. Bright moonlight shone into the car. 'We're there already?'
'Yes. You all right?'
'Mm.' She yawned, but the sleep had done her good. 'Thanks for bringing me home. Shall I see you tomorrow?'
Steve gripped the steering wheel and said harshly, 'Is there any point?'
His tone made her look at him quickly. Her row with Marcus must have been very revealing, and Steve was no fool. Biting her lip, Cordelia looked away. 'No. I'm sorry.'
There was a minute's heavy silence before he said, 'Well, some you win, some you lose. But I would like to have won with you.' Leaning closer, he kissed her on the mouth. 'You'd better go in; I still have to drive back to the site.'
'I'm sorry, Steve,' she said again, but he merely gave a crooked kind of grin and reached past her to open the door.
Cordelia watched him go and then tried the front door. She wouldn't have been surprised to be locked out, but the door opened easily and quietly when she turned the handle.
Marcus was waiting for her in the sitting-room. He was sitting in an armchair, smoking a cigarette by the light of a single lamp, the ashtray beside him containing a small pile of cigarette ends. There was no newspaper or book in his hands to while away the time; he'd just been sitting there— waiting.
When Cordelia saw him she was immediately on the defensive. 'You don't have to say anything,' she said as he got to his feet. 'I'll leave here in the morning.'
'And go where?' Marcus bit out. 'Up to the site to live with Steve?'
'Where I'm going and who with is none of your damn business!'
A savage light came into his eyes as his temper exploded. He lunged forward, grabbing her arms and yanking her roughly towards him. 'Well, I'm about to make it my damn business!' And then he kissed her in a blaze of anger, hurting her deliberately, making her feel his strength.
'Let me go! You pig, let me go!' Cordelia twisted her head aside and tried to claw at him with her nails, but he pulled her arms behind her back and held her wrists imprisoned with one hand, using other to grab a handful of her hair. Shaking with rage, he bent her against his braced body and forced her head back. Cordelia's mouth was open with the pain of his hold and her eyes blazed at him furiously. She hated him then, as she'd never in her life hated any man, and she began to struggle wildly, closing her mouth against him when he again tried to kiss her, her head jerking in a futile attempt to get free. His grip on her hair tightened so that she gasped in pain against his mouth, but still she kicked and writhed, even though she knew it was hopeless.
The Lion Rock Page 13
