The Lion Rock

by Sally Wenteorth

  The photo was dated seven years ago and showed a younger Marcus without the sardonic lines around his mouth. He was smiling happily down at the girl who stood beside him; a slim, dark-haired girl who was laughing excitedly, her eyes on the camera. The caption under the picture said, 'Marcus Stone, whose latest book The Gateway to Hell has just sold a million copies, with his wife Annette at the Foyles' Literary Lunch given in his honour'.

  The world seemed to explode into a grey mist through which she had to grope her way, but somehow Cordelia found herself back in her own room, alone, and with the door locked behind her. She sat there, huddled into a chair for a long time, then numbly got up, dressed and packed her clothes.

  James Allingham was sitting at a table in his room when she knocked and went in to see him. He had several papers spread out before him, together with a map of the island. He looked up with a frown, then saw her white face and said, 'Is anything the matter?'

  'Yes. I'm leaving here,' Cordelia answered baldly.

  'Why?'

  'That doesn't matter. I'm going back to England.'

  'I'd rather you didn't. Cordelia, there's something I want to tell you. It's about why I wanted to come out here.'

  Cordelia stared at him. 'You want to tell me that now?' she demanded angrily. 'Now? After all this time? Well, I'm not interested. I'm going back to England.'

  'Please.' He looked at her in some distress. 'Has something happened between you and Marcus? I couldn't help noticing that you were—well, very friendly.'

  Cordelia nodded, unable to put it into words. 'And now I just want to get away from here.'

  'All right, but will you please stay in Sri Lanka? Just for a short time. I shall be well enough to leave here soon. There's something I have to do, something I've already put in hand, and then we'll be able to travel back together, although it will probably have to be by sea.'

  'All right,' Cordelia agreed, quite indifferent to where she went. 'I'll phone you when I find somewhere.'

  He gave her some money and she left him, cutting him short when he again tried to tell her his reasons for coming to Sri Lanka. The taxi she had ordered arrived soon after and she left without any fuss, not even looking back to see if Sugin was triumphantly watching her departure. She told the driver to take her to Negombo on the west coast, a highly popular tourist area where she could lose herself among all the other Europeans. The road was the same one that led to Colombo, and after they had been driving along it for an hour or so she recognised Marcus's car going in the other direction, back to the bungalow. He was driving fast and there was an eager, expectant look on his face.

  Cordelia leant back in her seat and he didn't see her, was too impatient to get home to look into passing cars. But what a surprise he would get when he arrived and found her gone. He would just have to make do with his native girl again until some other gullible fool came along, Cordelia thought with bitter cynicism.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Cordelia booked into one of the tourist hotels just outside Negombo without any difficulty and went straight to her room. It was much hotter here on the coast than in the hill country, but the room was air-conditioned and felt reasonably cool. She didn't bother to unpack or anything, but just lay down on the bed and gazed up at the white- painted ceiling. She must, she supposed, have been incredibly stupid, but it had honestly never occurred to her to wonder if Marcus was married. He had never spoken of a wife, of a family. Had he any children? No, if he had Sugin would have been bound to taunt her with that too.

  She'd been such a fool! But she loved him so much. The thing that hurt most of course, was that he hadn't been honest with her, hadn't told her himself that he wasn't free. She had given herself to him so eagerly, so trustingly, certain that what they had was so strong that nothing could break it, that they would be together for ever, and now she felt that her trust had been betrayed. She had taken it for granted that she and Marcus would marry, when her father was better, when they all went back to England. There hadn't been any feeling of urgency; the world was standing still for them and the 'now' was so perfect that the future was too far away to even think about. He hadn't said that they would marry in so many words, of course, but there hadn't been any need to, it had been explicit in his eyes, his touch, his lovemaking. And he had said that it would go on for ever; wasn't that the same as saying that they would spend the rest of their lives together? But he hadn't meant it, must have been lying through his teeth just to keep her sweet. Miserably Cordelia turned her head into, the pillow and wept.

  She stayed in her room all that day and most of the next, either out on the balcony or on the bed, but by the evening of the second day she began to feel giddy find realised that she would have to go down and eat. Red-clothed tables were set out on the open terrace only ten yards or so from the beach and there was a cool breeze from the sea. A trio of Latin-American singers moved among the tables, playing the guests' requests on their guitars. Cordelia was given a table to herself and ordered some food, forcing herself to eat it. The waiters, all slim and young, seeing that she was alone, tried to persuade her to go to the night club in the hotel that evening, but she just shook her head silently and they left her alone.

  After the meal she went back to her room and picked up the phone, hesitated a moment, then dialled the number for the bungalow. Marcus's voice answered and wrenched her heart so cruelly that for several moments she couldn't speak. He repeated the number and she managed to say, 'James Allingham, please.'

  'Cordelia! Cordelia, is that you?' Marcus demanded sharply.

  'I want to speak to my father.'

  'Cordelia, where are you? You must tell me!'

  With a sob, she slammed the receiver back on its rest, unable to take any more.

  She tried to phone again, an hour or so later, and this time the houseboy answered. 'Mr Allingham, please.'

  After a short wait her father came on the line. 'Hallo.'

  'It's Cordelia. I've booked into a hotel near Negombo.'

  'What's it called?'

  'Brown's Beach. But don't tell Marcus.'

  'Very well, if that's what you want. Are you all right?'

  'Yes. How are you?'

  'Oh, progressing.' But he sounded tired. 'Look,' he added rather awkwardly, 'Marcus is here. He'd like to speak to you. He wants to know why you left. It seems you didn't leave him a note or give any explanation before you went.'

  'No. I don't want to speak to him.'

  'But I really feel that you owe him that much.'

  'No! I don't owe him anything!' Cordelia retorted vehemently.

  'But he's been very kind to us. I don't have to remind you of that. Won't you at least speak to him—tell him why you left?'

  'No. I won't speak to him. But you can—but you can ask him how his wife is.' And then she put down the phone, her hands trembling so much that she almost dropped it.

  Cordelia 'spent all the long, hot days close to the hotel, only leaving it to take solitary walks along the endless golden beach, her bare feet sinking into the wet sand and making footprints that were immediately wiped away by the next wave. Most days she went out to the pool to swim and sunbathe on a lounger, her skin becoming darker as her hair bleached to a lighter shade of gold. Sometimes a man would try to pick her up, but he had only to look at the desolation in her eyes to know that it was hopeless and turn and go away.

  At the weekend she saw two faces that she knew: men from the Expatriates Club who were friends of Steve's. Cordelia managed to avoid them, but she wasn't sure whether or not they'd seen her. Not that it mattered—nothing mattered now.’

  Every day she expected the promised phone call from her father, and as the days passed and lengthened into a week she began to wonder if he was having difficulty in finishing the business he had said he had still to do here. She wished now that she had listened when he was going to tell her what it was. Often her eyes went to the phone as she wondered whether she ought to call him again, But she was afraid that Marcus might
answer and so she left it, telling herself that he must ring soon.

  Then, one evening, at about nine o'clock, there was a knock on her door. Cordelia had already been down to dinner and was sitting on the balcony, her eyes closed, listening to the sound of the waves pounding on the shore and above it the music from a band of musicians who were playing for all the people who were still eating down on the terrace. She was wearing a turquoise-blue halter-neck dress with a full soft skirt, not because she had chosen to wear it but because it was the first thing that came to hand. The knock came again and she reluctantly got up to answer it, thinking that it was the maid who came round every evening to spray the room with insecticide to kill any mosquitoes that might have got in during the day. Pulling back the bolt, she opened the door and began to say, 'Okay, you can…' then stopped dead, frozen with shock.

  Marcus stood in the doorway, a hard, set look on his face. Before she had recovered enough to move, he strode into the room so that she had to move backwards to get out of the way. Then he shut the door firmly behind him.

  'What—what do you want? We have nothing to say to each other.' Cordelia's hands were trembling and she had to ball them into tight fists in the hope that he wouldn't see.

  'On the contrary, I have a great deal to say to you,' Marcus told her grimly. 'But it will have to wait. Right now, I'm afraid I have some bad news for you.'

  'Bad news?' Cordelia saw in his face a mixture of seriousness and compassion and knew at once that her father had died. 'Oh!' For a moment she couldn't take it in, then she said on a note of protest, 'But he was getting better! He said he'd soon be well enough to go home.'

  'He was. But yesterday he wanted me to take him—he wanted to do something before he left, something that involved quite a long car ride. I didn't want him to, but he insisted. He was all right, or he seemed to be, but later on, in the evening, he had another heart attack and he died early this morning.'

  Cordelia slowly sat down on the bed. 'Did he— do what he wanted?'

  'Yes.'

  'I'm glad.'

  She sat silently for several minutes while Marcus stood watching her, then he said, 'The funeral has been arranged for tomorrow.'

  'So soon?' But then she remembered that in this hot climate funerals had to take place quickly. 'Yes, of course.' She tried to gather her wits. 'Where?'

  'In Nuwara Eliya. There's a Protestant burial ground there.' He looked at her for a moment and then round the room. 'Shall I help you to pack?'

  Cordelia stared at him stupidly. It still hadn't sunk in that her reason for staying here was gone, that she no longer had anyone to wait for. 'But you said the funeral wasn't till tomorrow.'

  'No, but I'll take you back with me now. There won't be time for you to travel out there tomorrow.' Crossing to the wardrobe, he took out one of her suitcases and put it on the other bed, began to pack some of her things into it.

  'Wait—I can do that myself.' But he insisted on helping her, and almost before she knew it, Cordelia found herself at the desk, paying her bill and checking out.

  As they drove along she realised that Marcus had hurried her deliberately, giving her no time, to think, but now she had to face the fact that she was going to be alone with him at the bungalow again, unless… She turned to him, 'Is Sugin still—with you?'

  'If you mean is she at the bungalow, then no. She's gone to live with her sister—for good.'

  'You mean she isn't coming back?'

  'No. And she never was with me—in the way that you mean,' he added tersely.

  They were both silent then for several miles until Cordelia said with difficulty, 'My father was going to tell me his reasons for coming here, but at the time I—I wasn't very interested. Did he tell you, then, what they were?'

  'Yes, he did.' Cordelia waited expectantly, but after a pause Marcus went on, 'I think perhaps it would be better if I left the explanations until tomorrow. It's a bit complicated.'

  'All right.'

  They lapsed into silence again, but it was a restless silence which lay between them like a tangible thing. They had been so close but were now so far apart, neither of them willing to speak about what had happened and release the flood of words and emotions it would bring, Now was not the time nor the place—for Cordelia there would never be one, so they both stayed silent during the long drive through the night.

  When they got to the bungalow, the houseboy opened the door as soon as the car drew up and gave her such a warm arid sympathetic greeting that for the first time she felt close to tears. He took her cases out of the car and carried them into her old room. Cordelia opened her mouth to protest, but then realised that there was no alternative. Marcus was looking at her questioningly, so she quickly turned and went into the sitting-room. He followed her and closed the door. 'Would you like a drink?'

  She shook her head and went to sit in a chair that had its back to the garden, her hands gripped together tightly in her lap. 'Is my father—is he still here?' she asked with difficulty.

  'No. His body has been taken to Nuwara Eliya. Do you want to see him before the funeral?'

  'No. Oh, no,' she said hastily, recalling how she had been taken to see her mother after she died and could never then remember her alive.

  'Very well.' Marcus poured himself a drink and sat opposite her, his face dark and shadowed, making the lines around his mouth appear deeper than they had been. 'Is there anything else you want to know?'

  'Did he—tell you where I was staying?'

  'Yes, towards the end. I'd begged him to tell me before, but he wouldn't—not until after he had the heart attack and knew he would never be going back to England. Then he told me.'

  The bitterness in his tone made her quickly glance at him, but his eyes were fixed on her so she looked away again, her heart beginning to beat faster. If he had begged her father to tell him where she was he must have wanted to see her quite badly. She swallowed and changed the subject. 'You said he told you why he came here?'

  'Yes.' Marcus looked down at the glass in his hand, swirled the liquid in it, as if he was trying to make up his mind, then he said, 'Did your mother ever tell you why she left your father?'

  Cordelia lifted her head in surprise. 'She didn't actually leave him—she just couldn't take the climate here.'

  'That may have been what you were told at the time, but—according to your father—it wasn't the real reason.'

  'What do you mean? What was the reason, then?'

  'It seems that your father had an affair with a local girl, the daughter of one of the workers on the tea plantation. It lasted for some time and was quite serious—so serious that he asked your mother for a divorce, but she wouldn't give it to him. Instead she tried to break up his affair, but when that didn't work she sent you to England and later cleared out herself. Your father admitted that the whole thing was his fault, entirely his fault, but he was infatuated with this girl. And,' Marcus went on slowly, his eyes fixed on her stunned face, 'there were two children of their— liaison.'

  'Two children?' Cordelia stood up agitatedly. 'I can't believe it! Why didn't my mother tell me?'

  'Possibly because she didn't know. I gather that the children were born after she left, but then the mother died and it was thought best for them to be brought up by her brother, who adopted them as his own.'

  'But they're still here—in Sri Lanka?'

  'Yes. Of course your father had to leave when the tea plantations were nationalised. He sent them money from time to time, but then the family moved and he lost touch with them. That's why he wanted to come back here—to find them and to make sure that their future was secure.'

  'I see.' Cordelia sat down on the edge of a chair. 'And he found them all right?'

  'Yes. He contacted people he used to know here and with their help managed to find them. Then he arranged with a solicitor to settle some money on them. That was where I took him yesterday—and to see the children.'

  'Do they know he's their father?'

  'N
o.' Marcus shook his head. 'And it was his wish that they never would.'

  'But I don't understand why he brought me here with him.'

  Marcus got up and poured himself another drink, then glanced at Cordelia a moment and filled another glass. He handed it to her and she took it automatically, looking at him enquiringly. 'The settlement was part of his will. As his next-of-kin you were bound to find out about it. Also it meant that he would have less to leave you. He wanted to explain to you about that, and I think he felt he could do that best if you were here and could see for yourself how poor the people are.'

  'Was he afraid that I'd contest it or something?'

  Shrugging, Marcus said, 'I don't know I think he just wanted everything to be in order before he died.'

  'But coming here and putting things in order killed him,' Cordelia pointed out. 'Why couldn't he have told me from the start?'

  'Maybe he was afraid that you'd react like your mother and have nothing to do with him.''

  'Was he? I'm surprised he even bothered with me when it was his other family that he loved,' she said bitterly.

  'But he loved you,' Marcus told her earnestly. 'Otherwise he would never have stayed with your mother so long. He told me that the marriage had been unhappy from the start. And, believe me, there's no point in trying to hold together a marriage that's fallen apart,' Marcus said heavily, his voice sounding strange.

  'He could have come to see me,' Cordelia said unhappily. 'He could have written.'

  'He told me that he wanted to, but your mother wouldn't let him. And then after she died your aunt just took you over, and you were so cold and distant towards him that he thought he'd lost you.' He paused, but when she didn't speak, added, 'Perhaps he hoped that you would get to know each other again while you were here.'