The Velvet Glove

by Rebecca Stratton

  Leaning back against the trunk of one of the cypresses that rose like a row of black plumes against the moonlit sky, she let the cool breeze blow across her forehead, closing her eyes for a second or two to enjoy it to the full. The garden here was very much like the one around her foster-father's home, and just as delightfully ' quiet and peaceful, even with the chatter of voices coming from the crowded salon.

  She wished she hadn't quarrelled with Nuri; but then she always regretted it, yet never managed to do anything about stopping herself before it happened. Of course Nuri was to blame for taking the initial action, but so often he was right and sensible in what he said, and that somehow made things worse. She sighed, gazing up at the moon and leaning back her head.

  Her dress was made of soft cool silk, and when she spread her arms around the trunk of the tree and let the full sleeves fall like wings on either side of her, the breeze seemed to reach her whole body with its delicious coolness. With her dress fluttering around her in the light wind, the moonlight gave her an ethereal look that was enchanting, the more so because she was unconscious of the fact.

  'Hello!'

  The voice came from some distance along the path from the house, and she dropped her arms, turning swiftly with her breath catching in her throat. Startled for a moment, her first thought was that Nuri had come in search of her and she was ready to offer the olive branch if he had. But it wasn't Nuri, and she looked rather vaguely at the man who stood on the path regarding her with interest he made little effort to disguise. It was difficult to tell in the curious, indefinite blend of moonlight and artificial light from the house, but she thought he had hair that was almost as red as her own—a fact that he touched upon without hesitation when he spoke again.

  'I spotted your red head some time ago.' He came along the path to join her, raising the glass he had in his hand in silent tribute before emptying it. 'I hope you speak English; I've been wondering all evening who you are. We redheads aren't very common around here, are we?'

  'No. No, I suppose not.'

  It was instinctive to glance over her shoulder for a sign of Nuri, although it annoyed her that she did it. I-irmly bent on following up his advantage, the man stood his empty glass down on a convenient ledge and offered a hand; his smile wide and self-confident.

  'Well, at least we speak the same language ! It seems our host didn't get around to introducing us—I'm Ian Kearn; something in the civil service!'

  For a moment the coincidence of their both having red hair as well as the same name struck Laurette as curious, and she was shaking her head as she took the proffered hand and shook it. 'How strange!' She laughed, withdrawing her hand when he seemed inclined to hold on to it for longer than was strictly necessary. 'My name is Kearn too—Laurette Kearn.'

  He noted her unusual first name and raised a brow as he thrust one hand casually into a pocket. 'Laurette? I don't think I've come across that before; it's rather pretty.'

  'My mother chose it.'

  Bright, quizzical eyes speculated for a second. 'She must have known you'd grow up to be beautiful.' He laughed, a quiet, confident sound that suggested he was used to situations like this and enjoyed them. 'I could use the old line like—what's a lovely girl like you doing in a place like this, but after what I heard inside just now, it might not be discreet and then I'll have made a bad start. I'd hate to think I'd done that.'

  Laurette was frowning, puzzled as well as trying to cope with a strangely fuzzy sensation in her head. 'I don't quite know what you heard. I—'

  Ian Kearn glanced at the bright crowded room behind him and smiled. 'I thought I heard someone say that you were one of the Kayamans, but I couldn't see it somehow, not with those looks.'

  Clear about one thing at least, she shook her head. 'Oh, but it's right in a way. You see, they are my foster-family.'

  'Really?' He was plainly curious and making no secret of it. 'I find that very intriguing, Miss Kearn. Would I be indiscreet to ask how? Unless you married into the family.' He glanced quite openly at her naked left hand. 'And you're not married, are you, Miss Kearn?'

  'Oh no, I'm not married!'

  'Good!' He grinned amiably. 'That's a step in the right direction!'

  His approach was something that Laurette had to confess she was not used to coping with. She was accustomed to admiration, open admiration in most cases, but Ian Kearn seemed so confident and sure of himself. He looked about twenty-nine or thirty years old, and was probably very successful with her own sex, even though he was in no way good-looking in the conventional sense.

  'Are you an old friend of Furedin's, Mr Kearn, or do you know any of the rest of the family as well?'

  She was seeking another subject in the hope of turning his interest, and from his smile he probably guessed it, but he was willing enough to go along with her for the moment, apparently. 'I've had brief contact with the formidable Nuri Bey, Miss Kearn, but I've never met anyone else. The charming Madame Ocak—Latife?—I met for the first time this evening, and no one even mentioned that you existed.' The way he looked at her sent a little warning shiver along her spine. 'Which was very remiss of them.'

  Her reaction was not even clear to herself in her present state, and she wished she had not had that extra drink, for she felt she needed, should have, all her wits about her in the present situation. 'Probably because I'm not a very important member,' she told him with a small and not very certain laugh. 'Being the youngest and a female as well.'

  He pulled a wry mouth, his eyes curious. 'The Turkish outlook from you? Ah, but then you said you're part of the family, didn't you?' He smiled, persuasive and encouraging. 'I'm still intrigued by that situation, Miss Kearn.'

  She had never been loth to tell anyone how good her foster-family had always been to her and she saw no reason to make an exception of Ian Kearn, even though he was a complete stranger to her. 'There's really no mystery about it. Mr Refik Kayaman and my father were very close friends, and when my father died he took me into his own family and cared for me, sent me to school. I've counted them my family ever since, and that's eight years now.'

  'I see.' It was difficult to be certain if his eyes were blue in the deceptive light, but they speculated on her reaction quite frankly. 'And does that mean that you think of me as too—bold for coming out here especially to talk to you? Does that bother you?'

  Intrigued, whatever else she felt about him, Laurette shook her head. 'I don't think so, Mr Kearn. I'm sure Latife and Furedin wouldn't have invited someone they couldn't trust to behave himself.'

  He smiled, accepting the challenge without letting it deter him in the least. 'Oh, don't worry about that, Miss Kearn, but I was thinking about what your—brother will think about me coming out to find you. I think he knew I was following you and I've half expected to find him breathing down my neck by now.'

  'Oh no, he wouldn't—' She stopped short, knowing full well that Nuri would, if he thought there was any chance at all of her not being able to cope with her redhaired compatriot, come out and look for her himself. 'I don't think he'll bother.'

  Ian Kearn eyed his empty glass as if he would like it refilled but was not prepared to leave her to achieve it. 'I saw the two of you in there earlier,' he confessed with a grin. 'You looked as if you might be having a difference of opinion. Or as if he was laying down the law.' The grin widened and became quizzical. 'I hear tell that Nuri Kayaman isn't a good man to cross.'

  She felt oddly sensitive about Nuri suddenly, and the sensation both surprised and disturbed her, so that she walked away from him for a moment, trying to bring her reactions under control. Standing in the shadow of a huge magnolia that displayed its waxy blossoms in the moonlight and filled the air with heady scent, she was aware that the redhaired man was watching her.

  Undoubtedly he was curious about Nuri, that hesitation before referring to him as her brother had brought a swift flush to her cheeks that she was at a loss to explain. He had thought Nuri was laying down the law, and she supposed he w
as right, but she wanted to let him know the reason for Nuri behaving as he had, and she wondered if he would understand.

  Turning her head towards him, she spoke over her

  shoulder. 'I don't know how well you know Turkey, Mr Kearn—'

  'Not very well yet, but I like what I've seen so far.'

  'I'm sure you'll love it. It's a beautiful country and the people are among the kindest and most hospitable in the world, but they have a very—protective attitude towards their womenfolk.'

  'So I understand.'

  She pulled a magnolia from its bush and held it in both hands, inhaling its perfume for a moment. 'I'm just trying to show you why Nuri was—as you said— laying down the law. To Nuri I'm his youngest sister und he treats me accordingly.'

  'I see!' Something in his tone suggested only partial belief in what she said, and she looked at him for a moment uncertainly. He had a rugged face rather than a handsome one, and it was certainly attractive when he smiled. 'Well, if I had a sister like you I'd keep an eye on her too!'

  Laurette walked back to join him. He intrigued her, attracted her, she was ready to admit, and she twirled the magnolia in her fingers, shaking her head. 'Unfortunately I don't take kindly to having an eye kept on me,' she confessed, then added hastily in case he suspected she was under some kind of restraint, 'though I know it's done with my best interests at heart, and I try not to object too much as a rule.'

  'But sometimes you do, like earlier?' He referred to her exchange with Nuri, obviously, and was probably making much more of it than was true.

  She looked down at the waxy white blossom in her hand and pulled a face. 'We argued over a glass of raki —silly, isn't it? But Nuri thought I'd had enough, and the trouble is that he's nearly always right; that's what I find so maddening!'

  Ian Kearn's eyes were more shrewd than she had realised and he was regarding her with a kind of narrow-eyed speculation that she found rather disturbing. 'I still can't quite get over finding a beautiful English redhead so firmly ensconced in a Turkish fam-ily.'

  'Scottish.' She made the correction as automatically as her father had done so often in her hearing. 'My parents were Scottish, Mr Kearn. Daddy came out with the army to Cyprus, and he liked it so much that when my mother died and he was left alone he came out here, with me, and took over an hotel on the island. I've spent most of my life out here.'

  'He was in the army, you say?'

  She detected something different in his voice and looked at him curiously, although she had no objection to talking about her father. 'Originally yes, he joined as a boy when his own parents died. His name was Angus Kearn and he came from somewhere in Argyllshire, although when my mother was alive we lived in Surrey -I was born there, in fact.'

  'And did he come from a little place called Ben Crochan, near Glencoe, by any chance?'

  He was looking at her with a bright gleam in his eyes, a look of expectation, she thought, and wondered at the sense of sudden excitement she felt as he waited for her to answer. Swiftly she recalled her father's voice, recounting the stories of his own childhood in Scotland, a country he had left when he was little more than a schoolboy.

  'That's right, I seem to remember it was Ben Crochan where he came from.' She looked at him, anxiously almost, yet half afraid for reasons she could not define. 'How could you know that?'

  Ian Kearn was smiling; a broad, bright smile that showed how pleased he was with whatever he had to say. 'I guessed it because that's the village my own father came from originally, although like you I was born south of the border. He had a cousin called Angus Kearn who joined the army as a boy, when his parents died. It's a heck of a coincidence, you must admit!'

  'I—I can't quite believe it.'

  His excitement almost matched her own, and he was using his hands now to emphasise his words. 'Same name, same village, same red hair, my father was a redhead as well, and the fact that his cousin Angus joined the army as a boy too. Nobody heard anything of him for years and then there was something in the paper one day, it was donkey's years ago now, but I just about remember it.'

  'He won the M.M. for gallantry, it was in all the papers! He had the cuttings, though he never would tell me about it, and it was not long after I was born.'

  'Dad claimed it was his cousin Angus, but Mum wouldn't have it, she said both Angus and Kearn were both common enough names in Scotland. Dad kept the cutting, though, I found it when we were going through his things, he was so sure it was his cousin.' He pointed to her red hair and put a hand on his own and laughed. 'This would seem to clinch it, eh?'

  Laurette wasn't quite sure what to feel apart from a kind of wild excitement at the idea of finding a cousin she had not even known existed. For so long now she had thought of herself as having no one else in the world but the Kayamans and it would take a bit of getting used to if it was true, and she saw no reason to doubt it. She looked at Ian Kearn and smiled a little vaguely, her head spinning more confusedly than ever.

  It would take time to accept a complete stranger as someone with blood ties that made him closer to her than Baba Refik and the girls, and Nuri. It wasn't easy yet to accept it, and yet she somehow knew it was true. 'I—I suppose we're second cousins, is that right?'

  Ian Kearn was still smiling, as if he had no doubts at all, and she wished she could share his obvious pleasure instead of feeling so stunned by it all. 'Oh, I think the coincidences are too much for it not to be right, don't you? There can't have been two Angus Kearns in a place as small as Ben Crochan! I went there once and it's little more than half a dozen houses and a kirk!' He took her hands and held them, then laughed suddenly and shook his head. 'I just can't get over discovering I have such a stunning cousin I'

  'It's—unexpected.' She too laughed, but it was a small breathless flutter of sound, not nearly as confident as his. 'I can't quite believe it yet.'

  His hands squeezed slightly and he smiled down at her with unmistakable meaning. 'Imagine—I can see you as often as I like, being your cousin, naturally, but you're not such a close relation that it makes—' He

  winked an eye. 'You know what I mean? Oh, I can widen your outlook, little cousin; take you around a bit and show you what the rest of the world looks like!'

  His excitement was infectious, but only to a degree. Somewhere inside her Laurette felt a curious reluctance to have her safe and comforting little world shattered by this boisterous, self-confident man. She wanted to go on seeing him, as her cousin, but he was still too strange to her to make the idea of changing her whole way of life to suit him acceptable to her.

  Maybe she had become more Turkish than she realised in the past few years since she came back from school, but she liked the pace and tempo of her present life. It was familiar and pleasant, and she was not at all sure that she wanted to fall in with Ian Kearn's plans for her as wholeheartedly as he obviously expected her to.

  It was while she was still trying to come to terms with her own uncertainty that she saw Nuri coming from the house, his purposeful stride unmistakable as he headed in their direction and his dark face shadowed and unfathomable in the gentle light. Without quite knowing why, she welcomed his appearance almost gratefully.

  Ian Kearn had seen him too, and he gave her a brief, quizzical glance before turning to look at Nuri, and she forgot for the moment that he had said they'd met before. Nuri's black eyes looked first at her, scanning her flushed face with a suggestion of suspicion.

  Heaven knew what prompted her to do what she did, she had never been so familiar with him before, but she pushed her arm under his and looked up at him with a smile that made a provocative curve of her soft mouth. He was a strong and familiar presence and for some inexplicable reason she felt she needed his familiarity.

  'You'll never guess what's happened, Nuri!' Her voice sounded light and breathless and she squeezed the arm she held, in defiance of the suddenly tensed muscles. Her tucking her arm through his would have taken him by surprise. 'I want you to meet Ian Kearn, something i
n the civil service, he says. Ian, my foster-brother, Nuri Kayaman!' Unaware of just how tightly she clung to him, she looked up at him, watching his face, waiting for his reaction. 'Nuri, would you believe that Ian is my second cousin?'

  'I believe we have met on an earlier occasion, Mr Kearn.'

  They shook hands and it all seemed so very civilised that, had she not seen the look in Nuri's eyes, she would have thought he simply accepted the fact without passing comment. But those black, glittering eyes were looking at Ian Kearn searchingly, noting the fresh open face, and the smart white dinner jacket that fitted broad muscular shoulders with almost the same perfection his own did.

  With her hand still on his arm she could feel how taut and suspicious he was of the other man, no matter how polite he was being. 'I am rather puzzled by this reference to your being related to Laurette, however. It is rather an odd claim to make, surely.'

  It was unlike him to refer to her by her first name when speaking to a stranger, and she blinked at him in surprise for a moment. 'Oh, but Mr Kearn didn't exactly make a claim, Nuri. He came out and we started talking, and then he—'

  'Lütfen, Laurette; let Mr Kearn tell me about it, I am very interested. To suddenly find that you have a cousin must be quite a shock to you, but please—tell me about it, Mr Kearn.'

  'But I can tell you just as well!'

  Nuri ignored her, though he squeezed her hand lightly against his side with the pressure of his arm, and looked at Ian Kearn as if he suspected he would find the explanation difficult. His steady, black-eyed gaze was implacable while he waited for him to begin, and Laurette could well understand the brief, reticent glance her new-found cousin gave her before he spoke.

  'I saw Miss Kearn come out here, that's how it all started, and thought I'd come out and have a word with her.'

  'I noticed that you followed her out.'

  His voice was quiet, not suggesting anything at all beyond the fact that he had seen him follow her, and Ian Kearn leaned himself casually against one of the cypresses, a hand in his pocket. 'It was the fact that we both had red hair—it's not a common sight in your country, you must admit.' He smiled at Laurette and managed to convey that the colour of her hair was not the only reason for his following her, though Nuri would know that well enough.