'Why should I worry about Craig's moods - or Diane's future?' she asked herself impatiently as she went upstairs to wash and change for dinner. Craig was going to a dinner party given by one of the managers of another oil firm, and Jeanette found herself wishing she had accepted Cetin's invitation to dance with him at the Hilton. He had asked her to ring him if she changed her mind, and for a moment she felt tempted to do so. Then it occurred to her that Craig would most probably be at the Hilton, for quite often the managers held their dinner parties there. Craig disliked Cetin; also, he had advised her to have an early night and would, of course, expect her to follow that advice.
She decided against going out. For some inexplicable reason she felt reluctant to do anything of which Craig would not approve.
The following morning she was woken by the sun streaming through her window. She bathed and dressed in very brief shorts and a sun-top, and after breakfast she and the two men went into the garden, where Metat had set out the deck chairs on the lawn. Even at this early hour the sun created a quivering heat-haze over the strait, with the promise of a scorching day.
'Did you enjoy yourself yesterday?' inquired Tony, casting her an admiring glance as she sat down opposite to him.
'Yes, it was marvellous.' Her face became animated. 'Craig is so knowledgeable.'
'He's familiar with the city - he should be; he's lived here over four years, and before that he was a frequent visitor - till the death of his grandmother, that is.' Tony picked up his newspaper, but made no attempt to open it.
'You weren't disappointed with Topkapi, then? Some people consider the main building a dreary sort of place.'
'I agree that the actual building isn't attractive,' she returned. 'But the treasures inside....'
'Leave you speechless, eh?' Tony smiled. 'I went to the Palace once with Craig. Couldn't get him away from some old pots in the kitchen. Sing, or Sang—'
'Sung,' interrupted Jeanette laughingly. 'And pots! You have no soul, Tony!'
'Well, you'd find that Craig has a soul. How long did he stand there?'
'Some time - we both did; Craig seems extraordinary interested in Celadons.'
'Naturally.' Mark glanced up from his book. He has a very fine collection himself.'
'Craig—?' Jeanette's eyes widened. 'Craig collects Celadons?'
'His grandmother started him off many yean ago. I believe he has them packed away at his home in England at present - Is anything wrong?' Clearly Mark was puzzled by her expression.
'No - no, of course not.'
'You'll have to find yourself a husband with a ready-made collection...'
Craig had been joking, no doubt about that ... but what an odd thing to say. It was some considerable time before she was able to dismiss his words completely from her mind.
They spent the entire afternoon out of doors, having their meals on the patio and sunbathing in between. The air was balmy, the sun hot; they all relaxed contentedly, agreeing that they were really cut out for a life of ease, and deploring work in any form whatsoever. After dinner a cool breeze came across the strait and they were force to go indoors. Tony and Mark settled down to a game of chess; Jeanette made no attempt to read, for she knew she would not concentrate, and she just sat there reflecting on the pleasant week-end she had spent. There had come to her a profound sense of peace which she accepted without any desire to know why or how it had happened.
The following week was the most trying she had experienced since coming to Istanbul. One of the teachers was ill and her class had been divided between Jeanette and Gwen. In addition, Jeanette had a new child, an Italian boy who spoke no English. She tried various means of getting through to him and failed, with the result that he became bored and she had a serious behaviour problem on her hands. Then two other children were fretful and it soon became apparent that they were sickening for hepatitis, which was prevalent in the city.
Altogether it was one of those weeks when she felt the children had drained her both mentally and physically. By Thursday she was so fatigued that on entering the staff-room she just flopped into a chair, limp and devoid of energy.
'You look all in, Jeanette. Off colour?' Miss Vicars, the art mistress, looking thoroughly true to type with her long straight hair and thick horn-rimmed spectacles, glanced at Jeanette in some anxiety. 'I hope you're not going to have jaundice.'
'I'm just tired, that's all.' Jeanette leant further back in her chair, putting a shaky hand to her head. She felt it was too much trouble even to speak.
'This heat doesn't help,' Gwen put in. 'I feel exhausted myself.' She glanced up from her marking. 'And if things aren't bad enough I have the dismal prospect of facing two irate mothers in the morning - and I'll wager neither can speak English.'
'Why, what's happened?' Sally had made the coffee and she brought over the tray and set it on a table in the centre of the room.
'Ali's been sick over Tina's best dress, and Semra has lost her great-grandmother's locket.'
Miss Vicars threw up her hands.
'Why do mothers send their kids to school wearing their best clothes and family heirlooms? There should be a law against it! Have you had a good search for the locket?'
'The classroom's been turned inside out. We've done nothing else since lunch.'
'I shall be glad myself when this week's over,' said Sally, handing round the coffee. 'How long is it to the summer break?'
'Four weeks, one day and seventy minutes,' was Gwen's prompt reply, and even Jeanette had to laugh.
'I'm certainly ready for it,' she owned. 'I never felt tired like this at home.'
'But then you didn't teach the little ones.' Miss Vicars fitted a cigarette into a long holder. 'There's a lot to be said for teaching the older children; they're much less wearing.'
'You can say that again!' Sally grimaced. 'I seem to be spending most of my time tying shoelaces, wiping noses and trying to teach the little - angels that my name's not "Mummy".'
A few minutes before the end of afternoon school Gwen came into Jeanette's classroom.
'Are you feeling any better?' she asked, examining her friend's pallid face with concern.
'Not really.'
'Don't you want to come tonight, then?'
'Oh, yes; I shall be all right when I've had a rest.' They had all been invited to a birthday party, after which they were to go on to a night club to hear the famous folk ringer, Rubi Su, who owned the club. 'I'll lie down for a while when I get home. It doesn't start till nine, you said?'
'That's right. Don't worry about transport. If I don't pick you up myself I'll arrange for Cetin to do so.'
Despite her optimism Jeanette felt no better by eight o'clock, when it was time to get ready for the party. Her head ached and her legs felt weak as she rose from the couch where she had been lying. A bath would probably help, she decided, and was about to go upstairs when Craig appeared at the window. She crossed the room to open it for him; he had just come along to return a book of Mark's, he explained, stepping inside.
'He isn't in yet,' she told him. 'I think that both he and Tony must be detained at the university; they sometimes are.'
Craig seemed not to have heard. He was scanning her face critically.
'Are you unwell?' he asked, frowning. He sounded anxious, she thought, then dismissed the idea as absurd.
'Not really - just tired.' She managed a faint smile. 'It's been a trying week.'
'Let me look at you.' He tilted her face to examine it more closely. 'Hmm ... I see.' Jeanette formed the impression that he had made a diagnosis and was greatly relieved by it. 'You'd better go to bed, at once, and if you stay at home tomorrow and rest you should be all right.'
The authoritative manner in which he had assumed control of the situation both startled and annoyed her, and her voice held a hint of defiance when she spoke.
'I can't go to bed; I'm going out.'
'Out?' He looked amazed. 'Is it imperative that you go out?'
Angry colour rose
to her face. Why he should take it upon himself to interfere was beyond her comprehension. The fact of his being her brother's friend in no way entitled him to do so - though probably he had the presumption to think it did.
'Yes, as a matter of fact, it is.' She spoke with more control than she thought possible. 'I promised.'
'Where are you going?' he demanded in tones edged with irritation. 'It can't be that important!'
'To a party!' she flashed, on a challenging note.
There was an astounded silence before Craig said, very softly,
'You can't be serious?'
Jeanette's eyes fell before the scathing glance he gave her. He had implied that her conduct was irrational and of course he was right. She felt so weak that, had he used a little diplomacy, a little persuasion, she would willingly - even gratefully - have done as he recommended. As it was, his autocratic manner impelled her to make it quite clear that he had no control whatsoever over her actions.
'I am serious,' she said, then added sarcastically, 'I'm sorry you don't approve—'
'I absolutely for—' He broke off, obviously aware that he went too far. 'Try to use your sense,' he amended. 'You're not fit to go out, and you're well aware of it!'
She bit her lip in vexation at his reading of her thoughts, and at the same time wished fervently that he had not adopted this high-handed manner which goaded her into a resistance which was sheer folly. Argument with him was a strain; it would be much more comfortable to let him have his own way, but her pride fought against submission.
'I intend to go out,' she stated. 'If you'll excuse me, I shall have to get ready.' At the door she turned. 'Perhaps you'd rather not wait? I don't know how long—'
'I'll wait!' he snapped, and then, 'How are you getting to this place?'
There was a slight hesitation that was not lost on him before she replied,
'Someone is calling for me.' And as he made no further comment she turned and left the room, hoping it would be Gwen, and not Cetin, who came to fetch her.
Recalling that Craig had been about to use the word 'forbid', Jeanette derived extreme satisfaction from his having been forced to check himself. Used as he was to giving orders, it must be a new and galling experience for him to have his will opposed.
On returning to the sitting-room she found him standing by the window, gazing out across the strait. Tall and erect, with his profile outlined darkly in the dimmed and softened light from a single wall lamp, he presented a grim and forbidding figure. Jeanette was suddenly reminded of what Gwen had once said of him. 'I've only met Craig Fleming a couple of times, but he strikes me as being cold as the marble gods he digs up!'
He turned, his eyes flickering over her indifferently.
'Cetin called for you,' he calmly informed her. 'I sent him away.'
'You—' She stared at him incredulously. 'Wh-what did you say?'
'I think you heard me. I told him to make your apologies.'
She could hardly speak. Anger almost suffocated her and nothing would have given her greater satisfaction than to tell him exactly what she thought of him, but, as always, she had to remember that he was her brother's friend. To quarrel with him might not actually produce a rift, but it must assuredly impair the easy relationship which existed between the two men.
Her anger turned to mortification at the idea of his having defeated her, after all, but at the same time what little strength she had left seemed to desert her and she could only murmur feebly,
'You had no right to send him away....' Moving to the couch, she sat down, becoming rather frightened. Could she be sickening for some obscure eastern disease?
'If you don't go upstairs at once you'll not manage it alone,' Craig warned, her calmly. Then, with a hint of bitterness, 'I'm sure, in your present mood, you would hate the idea of my having to carry you.'
He left her then, and went in search of Mrs. Baydur. Within ten minutes Jeanette was slipping between the sheets, glad to be in bed and admitting, with a slight sense of shock, that it was most pleasant to be managed, and wishing she had followed Craig's advice in the first place. He had gone home, but after a while she heard his voice again. As he entered the room without even knocking she assumed he had inquired of the housekeeper if she were in bed.
'Sit up and drink this,' he ordered, holding out the glass. Jeanette took it, and pulled a face.
'It smells horrid - and it might not do me any good. After all, you don't know what's wrong with me.'
'Certainly I know what's wrong with you. Now drink it'
She obeyed, eyeing him questioningly.
'I thought it was the children - that they had exhausted me, but I'm so physically tired!'
'You're quite literally under the weather,' explained Craig with a faint smile. 'You've been badly affected by the odos wind.' He paused as her eyes widened in surprise. 'This wind blows up from the south and has a strange effect on some people; it makes them lethargic, saps their vitality. Certain people are more severely affected than others - it had an almost paralysing effect on my grandmother, and she was used to it. It even affects the fish,' he added, and Jeanette's eyes became suspicious. 'I'm quite serious,' he said, ignoring her glance. 'It makes them slow in movement.'
'But there's often a southerly wind,' she pointed out, 'and it's never before made me feel like this.'
'Every southerly wind is not the odos. This particular climatic phenomenon is less frequent, which is just as well,' he added, smiling down at her.
'It certainly has brought me low,' she admitted wryly. 'Does it not affect you ?'
'At times, yes. That's why I can recognize the symptoms.'
By now Jeanette was entering into that pleasant state bordering on slumber and suspected the draught given her by Craig had something to do with it. On an apologetic note she informed him that she could no longer keep her eyes open.
'Good. Now remember, rest tomorrow, otherwise there'll be no attending the Queen's Birthday celebrations for you on Saturday.'
'I'm n-not g-going....' Everyone she knew had received an invitation, but Jeanette herself had somehow been overlooked, much to her disappointment. Vaguely she knew she was telling Craig about it, and then her eyes pricked and she hovered on the very edge of sleep. From a long distance she heard him saying he was allowed to take a guest .... and after that she heard no more.
CHAPTER THREE
By the following afternoon Jeanette was already feeling better and she came downstairs to take the opportunity of a few hours in the garden with a book. But it lay unopened in her lap as she gazed dreamily across the strait. The Bosphorus, stirred by the swift Current moving from the Black Sea to the Sea of Marmara, reflected the shapes and colours of the overhanging buildings in a grotesque yet singularly fascinating manner. As usual the Bosphorus surged with life. Busy water traffic passed to and fro; the familiar kayiks, the car and passenger ferries plying between Uskuar, Istanbul and Kadiokoy. The larger vessels from distant parts of the world, the yachts and other leasure craft on their way across the Sea of Marmara to the Princes' Islands. On days like this the Asiatic shore seemed so close that the cottages, suspended on the hillsides, seemed almost to be within calling distance.
A soft peace pervaded the garden, with only the occasional insect drone to disturb the silence. The silence itself became so soothing that Jeanette drifted into the daydreams of half-sleep and back again many times. Dominating these misty visions was the image of Craig Fleming in all his changing moods — now curt and aloof, now smiling and friendly, now cold with anger and impatience.
She recalled that first month, when his avoidance of her seemed planned and deliberate. It was as though he had resolved, almost as soon as she arrived, to keep her at a distance. Since Ned's death she had been rather pampered; people had gone out of their way to be kind. Craig's attitude was new, and strangely hurtful. Moreover, it undermined her confidence so that conversation with him had become difficult. Then the sudden and surprising interest, beginning on the evenin
g he had taken the walk with her, and the subsequent sightseeing trip when constraint between them was replaced by an intimacy of which she at least had been profoundly conscious. Lastly, and most surprising of all, was the coercive, arbitrary manner of last evening. That was not the conduct of a mere acquaintance, but rather that of one whose authority had some basis, one with an established right to question her actions.
Languid with warmth and drowsiness, Jeanette closed her eyes. All very puzzling... but not really important....
She sat up with a welcoming smile as she heard footsteps on the gravel and Gwen came round the corner of the patio.
'How does the invalid feel now?' Gwen dropped to the grass beside Jeanette's chair. 'Better, I see.'
'Much, thank you. How are things at school? Did my absence cause much inconvenience?'
'The Head took your class - do her good to suffer the strain of teaching again!'
'You enjoy every minute of it!' Jeanette laughed.
'I suppose I do, but it's so tiring. It must be the heat of this place.'
'We're lucky, you know, being paid for something we love doing. Not everyone feels so happy in his job.' She picked up her book and dropped it absently on to the grass. 'I feel a fraud sitting here, just lazing about.'
'You needn't. I've been brought down like it myself. The moment Cetin mentioned it I realized I should have known. The fact was, we all thought you were sickening for hepatitis.'
Recalling the way Craig had examined her face Jeanette knew that he too had considered the possibility.
'Cetin gave you the message, then ?' Jeanette spoke in tones of faint embarrassment. "Did you make my apologies to Teresa?'
Gwen nodded.
'Cetin was most put out by the way Craig Fleming treated him.'
'Oh,' was all Jeanette could find to say as the colour rose in her cheeks.
'According to Cetin he had taken complete command of the situation — adopted a most dictatorial attitude, in fact.' Jeanette fixed her eyes with great intentness on a bush of pink oleanders splashing their colour against the green of the smooth wide lawn. It occurred to her that Craig had probably shown actual rudeness towards Cetin, considering his unconcealed dislike of the handsome young Turk. Certainly his handling of the situation must seem very odd to all who knew of it, but Jeanette could find nothing to say either in explanation or excuse. 'Craig appears to have taken a sudden interest in you,' remarked Gwen when Jeanette made no response. 'According to those who know him well he's never had much time for women.'
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