How could she explain? She turned, noticing the anxiety in his eyes where previously there had been indifference, the strange humility which replaced his natural pride.
She shook her head, unable to find words that would not be too hurtful. She thought of her own love for Craig and her sympathy grew.
'Everything is wrong,' she murmured, almost to herself. 'Everything is upside down.'
'What...?' He seemed a little dazed, uncertain - and this was so unlike him. 'You cannot care for me?'
That should have made it easy, but the hurt in his eyes and his voice brought a lump to her throat. Again she shook her head, sadly.
'No, Qetin, I'm sorry....'
'I have been too sudden - not tactful and - and patient. Is that it? English girls - what sort of an approach do they want?' He was pleading; she had never had a harder task in her life than telling him, firmly, that she could never love him.
'You don't want to marry me because I'm Turkish—'
'That isn't it at all,' she swiftly denied. 'That wouldn't make any difference - why should it - if I cared ?'
'You like the Turks?' He appeared heartened, and hopeful.
'Of course I do. I would never stay in a country if I didn't like the people,' Certainly there was a dourness about the Turks, but only on the surface. Underneath it they were a friendly, generous race; a little too conventional perhaps, but who could say whether or not that was a fault? In any case, it was unimportant.
'Then—' He put out a hand, as if to take hers, but changed his mind. 'I believe, as I have said, that this is too sudden, too much of a surprise. Promise me, Jeanette, that you will think about it.'
Already she was shaking her head, and at last Cetin appeared to accept his fate. But he did go on to ask Jeanette to go out with him on occasions. She had never yet done so, not without the company of others. The only times she had been alone with him were on those occasions when he had brought her home in his car from some party or other entertainment.
'I don't know, Cetin, if it would be wise,' she said with honesty. 'Not with your feeling like this.'
'You think I would harm you?'
'Certainly not, but—' She broke off, shrugging. It was so difficult to put her thoughts and doubts into words.
There was a little silence before Cetin spoke again and then, with a caution that faintly amused her, while at the same time arousing all her compassion,
'Sally and Gwen are going home, to England, for the holidays, so you will not have them. Will you let me take you around, and show you some of my country?'
Her instinct, naturally, was to refuse, but even as she hesitated he went on to make a solemn promise not to mention his feelings for her, never to embarrass her in any way. His sincerity seemed apparent, and as he continued, in what she had to admit was a very plausible manner, she felt that no harm could come, from their going on a few outings together. Plainly Cetin would derive pleasure from her acceptance of his offer, and for herself... it would at least ensure that she had one or two diversions in what threatened to be a lonely and monotonous summer vacation.
'Very well, Cetin,' she smiled. 'I'll let you take me around.'
During the next couple of weeks the wound healed rapidly, and at last the bandages were completely removed. Sometimes Jeanette would feel an ache, which caused her to limp slightly, but the doctor assured her that this aching would cease altogether in about a couple of months and in consequence the limp would disappear too. Everyone agreed that she had been lucky, and although Jeanette at first felt very conscious of the scar, when-wearing her shorts or sun-suit, she felt a profound gratitude that no-more serious injury had been sustained.
The evening before her friends' departure for England Jeanette went with them and several other young people to one of the fascinating little wooden cafes along the shores of the Bosphorus. There they sat eating meze and lobster and drinking raki. Later they went on to a night-club and watched the belly-dancers; it was long past midnight when they left and Cetin took Jeanette home.
'When are we going out?' he wanted to know as he drove right up to the front door.
'Ring me, Cetin,' she said, feeling too tired to think about arrangements for an outing. 'Mark and Tony will be going off the day after tomorrow, so get in touch with me after that.'
The following day she helped her brother and Tony with their preparations; they were going in Mark's car and as they expected difficulties with accommodation in the more out-of-the way places, they were taking camping gear and cooking equipment. Jeanette had a tinge of guilt now and then when Mark, still quite unaware that she was staying at home all the time, would mention her own holiday, recommending some place or other, and telling her where to eat and what to see.
She couldn't think of telling Mark, for she was only too pleased that he had arranged this holiday. He worked so hard, putting everything into his job, and doing masses of preparation in the evenings.
But once they had gone she had the greatest difficulty in not indulging in a bout of self-pity; she felt so alone and lost. It was almost as if she had the place to herself for Mrs. Baydur and Metat kept to their own quarters in the annexe at the end of the house, and she saw them only at meal times.
Mark and Tony had been gone two days when Cetin rang; he had been on duty, much to his disappointment. He still had duties to do, but on his free days they went about, usually ending up at a night-club in the evenings. To Jeanette it was a futile round; she derived no pleasure from the visits to the places of interest, remembering always, those occasions when she had been out with Craig and recollecting that, at the time of the visit to Topkapi, she had been eagerly looking forward to further trips out with him. As for the evenings spent with Cetin, she felt that they must lead to something, for several times when he had brought her home she had sensed his desire to kiss her good night. After a week of sightseeing and night-clubs she began to wonder if she would be better to stay at home, reading her books and resting in the garden, and by the beginning of the second week she found herself searching for an excuse to refuse Cetin's next invitation.
During this time she had seen nothing of Craig, but, on talking to Murad, she learned that he was in England but would be back at the week-end. He wouldn't call, naturally, because Mark wasn't here; also he was, like her brother, under the impression that she was staying at the flat with Gwen and Sally, so there was no reason at all for his calling. However, Jeanette had reckoned without the chauffeur. Through Metat he discovered that she was still at home, and Murad passed on the information to Craig on his return. He called one afternoon; Jeanette was in the garden, sunbathing, her book beside her on the grass. Perhaps it was her imagination - because she was so sensitive about it - but Craig's eyes seemed instantly to flicker to the scar on her leg. But even as she made an instinctive movement to cover it with her hand, his gaze had already become fixed on her face.
'I'd no idea you were on your own here until Murad mentioned it.' Craig frowned at her and went on to ask why she had changed her mind about moving in with her friends for the summer. 'You told Mark that you intended doing so,' he went on, casting her a look of interrogation.
Jeanette shook her head.
'No, I didn't; he took it for granted and I merely refrained from telling him that Gwen and Sally had already arranged to spend the summer holiday in England.'
'They've gone to England?' And then, angrily, 'Why on earth didn't you tell Mark? He would never have allowed you to spend the summer all alone like this.' For a moment she wondered at his concern, but his next words provided an explanation. 'Has it occurred to you that he is going to feel very guilty about it when he discovers, on his return, that you've spent the entire vacation here on your own ?'
She glanced up quickly.
'No, I didn't really think about it.' So his concern was for his friend's feelings, and not for her at all. 'I know he wouldn't have left me, and that's why I didn't tell him. Mark needs a holiday, Craig; he works so very hard.'
&
nbsp; He said nothing for a moment, but his lips compressed. In spite of her explanation he was still annoyed with her for allowing her brother to remain in ignorance about her being alone.
'May I sit down?' he said, at the same time opening up a garden chair which lay folded on the grass.
'Of course - I'm sorry,' and then, awkwardly, 'Did you enjoy your holiday in England ?'
'I had quite a pleasant time,' he returned non-committally. 'What are you doing with yourself?' He seemed anxious now and Jeanette found herself blushing. Before she could frame a reply he added tersely, 'Rustem?'
'He kindly offered to take me around.'
'I see.' A muscle moved at the corner of his mouth; his glance flicked with contempt. 'I should have thought you'd had enough of him for a while.'
'It's helped... going about with him.' The words were out before she could check them. They revealed so much, and she felt disloyal to Cetin, especially when Craig with his quick perception asked her bluntly if she were enjoying going about with the young Turk.
'I - that is—' She looked at him helplessly. No use saying she was enjoying herself because Craig had already guessed otherwise. She supposed he must have sensed her reluctance to tell him the truth, for he spoke to her in gentler tones, though not without a tiny spark of anger.
'You idiot, Jeanette. I'm sure you could have arranged things better than this.'
'I don't see how. I couldn't let Mark miss his holiday just for me.'
'I can understand your anxiety,' he conceded, 'but I still think you could have arranged this differently. Couldn't you have gone to England with your friends?'
'I suppose I could, but when they first decided to go I didn't know that Mark would be away. Then Sally heard of a German couple who wanted a lift to Munich, so there wouldn't have been room in the car.' She looked up as Metat came out, to ask if she required anything. 'Would you like some coffee, Craig?' she asked, unaware of the plea in her voice, but fully aware of the pain she was giving herself by deliberately trying to prolong his visit.
'Thank you, Jeanette, I would.' Her eyes fluttered at the curious note in his voice as he added, after waiting for her to give instructions to Metat, 'We must do something about you,' and after a pause, 'We did say once that we'd go to Eyup. Would you still like to do that? I'll willingly take you.'
Again he was thinking of his friend. If he took an interest in her, relieved the monotony by taking her about, then Mark would not be upset when, on his return, he discovered she had been without the company of her friends. Despite this conclusion as to the reason for Craig's offer, Jeanette's pulses quickened. To accept was madness. Inevitably she would suffer for her folly, would come bitterly to regret this abandon, this deliberate suppression of the warning which, even now, was clamouring to be heard.
But she must accept.
Nevertheless, a feeling of guilt came over her as she recalled that his original plan was to spend the time, after his return from England, on the island; and while reluctant to mention the book, seeing that she had let him down so badly over it, she felt she had to ask him why he wasn't intending to work on it.
'Aren't you going to Buyuk Ada?' she added, and he merely replied, casually,
'I may go later; we'll see.'
She really ought to tell him she would be all right, and that he must go to the island and continue with his book, but for two reasons she refrained.
Firstly, knowing him so well, she suspected that, having made his decision, he would at once assume his coercive, arbitrary manner immediately any opposition or argument was put forward by her. Secondly, the prospect of being with Craig was too attractive, too alluring. Madness it might be, but she accepted his offer, at the same time thanking him for making it.
'I once said you mustn't thank me,' he reminded her gravely. 'I shall enjoy taking you out, Jeanette. I'm quite sure of that' r
Of course.... He, too, was on his own and probably welcomed the idea of having company. He must be very lonely, separated as he was from the woman he loved and wondering how long he would have to wait until she came to him.
Metat brought out the coffee; they began to drink it in companionable silence, but after a while Jeanette ventured to mention Cetin.
'What can I say to him?' She looked anxiously at Craig, who turned a steely gaze upon her.
'Are you committed in any way?'
'I did promise to let him take me out,' Jeanette murmured, averting her head.
A brief, tense silence followed.
'I take it you weren't enjoying his company overmuch?'
She did not reply to that.
'I think you misjudge him, Craig,' was all she said.
Again that metallic gaze. She began to regret having mentioned Cetin. After all, there had been no need to do so; she could have told him she didn't want to go out with him again and that would have ended the matter. Craig need not have known anything about it.
'Supposing I hadn't come along,' said Craig, eyeing her searchingly, 'would you have continued to go around with him?'
She shook her head.
'I'd practically decided to stay at home—' She smiled rather bleakly. 'I could have caught up with my reading.'
'In that case, you have only to do what you intended. Tell him you don't want to go out with him again.' He dismissed Cetin; the conversation became more casual and once again there entered into their relationship that friendliness, that deep intimacy which Jeanette had always found so disturbing. Gone altogether was the restraint, the animosity that had been present on so many occasions when they were together. This promised well for the holiday, and although she heard again that warning, she ignored it.
The present was all that mattered. The future could take care of itself. Heartache it would assuredly bring ... but why forgo the preceding pleasure?
'Will you have some more coffee?' It did not occur to her, as she once more endeavoured to keep him, that he would guess at her intention, but as she noticed the quick change in his expression she would have done anything to take back the impulsive question.
'Look, Jeanette, why not come over to my place for dinner this evening? There doesn't seem to be much sense in each of us dining alone.'
'Oh, no, Craig! You mustn't put yourself out.'
'I am not,' he said, stressing his words, 'putting myself out.'
Was it pity? she wondered, her chin lifting as she rebelled against the idea.
'If you're feeling, sorry, for me—' she began, then stopped even before he interrupted, surprising her - as once before he had surprised her on a similar occasion -by saying, roughly, and with a distinct flare to his nostrils,
'One of these days, my girl, you're going to be sorry -sorry for yourself!' And, when her only reaction was to blush, and to look at him wide-eyed, her lips faintly parted, 'I'll expect you about seven.' As he rose to go his eyes once again sought the scar on her thigh. 'That should be covered; too much sun will do more harm than good He stood looking down at her, a quizzical smile suddenly hovering on his lips. 'I expect that now I've suggested you keep it covered, you'll promptly make a firm resolution to leave it exposed.'
She laughed then, and Craig responded.
'As a matter of fact, you're wrong. I shall heed your suggestion.'
His brow came up quickly in well-feigned surprise.
'We're progressing,' was his faintly mocking rejoinder before, with a little salutatory lift of his hand, he turned abruptly and strode away.
The first hint of twilight had entered the sky when Jeanette arrived at Craig's house. She had on a plain cotton dress in a delicate shade of green, short-sleeved and trimmed with a white lace collar and cuffs which contrasted charmingly with her deeply tanned skin. Over her arm she carried a wrap, just in case the breeze came up later, when she was returning home.
Craig, immaculate in beige linen, was on the steps of the patio, waiting for her. She stopped, lifting her head to smile. She was happy, living in the present, and with no desire to dwell either
on the past or the future. Her happiness was reflected in her smile, and the faint flush that rose to her cheeks. All around the air was heady, and so still. Stars were vaguely present in the changing light, while down below the fishermen's lanterns sprang up one by one to cast their reflections into the darkening waters of the Bosphorus. Craig's gaze was inexpressive; no responsive smile of greeting touched his lips. But something in his manner caused her to stare at him, perplexed. He seemed strangely triumphant as he stood there, as if half expecting some form of surrender.
And then he sighed. But he smiled too, and extended a hand to take her wrap as she came up the steps of the patio towards him.
'I've had the table set on the verandah at the side,' he told her. 'We can. sit and look out across the strait.'
'That will be lovely.' She handed him her wrap, excitement in her veins and unattainable desires in her mind.
They went into the house; Jeanette had been there before, but she stood for a moment looking round. Magnolia walls and paintwork; a thick Turkish carpet of intricate design; white rugs and furniture in the modern style. Something missing... the Meissen group and exquisite vases - And then she saw them, the Celadons which were set out on the cabinet where the Meissen had previously stood. With a little gasp of delight she moved nearer, but did not dare to touch.
'Like them?' His smile was faintly mocking. What was he thinking? She was vividly recalling his joke about her having to find herself a husband with a ready-made collection of Celadons. 'I had these few sent out from England.'
'They're beautiful!' She almost ached to touch the bowl nearest to her and she looked up. It was an automatic gesture, rather like a child seeking permission to do something it knew very well was forbidden. Craig laughed at her expression and told her to go ahead and pick it up.
'I daren't, but I'll just touch it.'
Craig picked it up and handed it to her. She knew she was holding about a thousand pounds in her hands. A thousand pounds.... How could one value such beauty? If it were broken a thousand pounds could probably buy another - but no money in the world could replace it. When once a thing like this was broken it was lost for ever.
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