big canvas bag containing her things for the beach was tucked away out of sight in the boot of the car and she never once thought about the promised swim, there was much too much to see in Antalya itself.
They lunched in a restaurant that catered for visitors rather than one of the more national ones, possibly because Kemal was almost as traditionalist as his grandfather was at heart, and a European girl would cause less comment where visitors were customary.
The meal, however, was as Turkish as anything Delia had had at Mavisu and she made no demur when Kemal suggested items from the menu that she would like. She felt strangely content with him somehow and even one or two curious glances from other customers did little to disturb her.
There was no chance of her being mistaken for a Turkish girl with her short red-gold hair and green eyes, and Kemal was so dark that the contrast was perhaps startling to someone noticing them for the first time, but that did not worry her either. It was the first time she had really felt at ease with him and even now there was an exciting flutter of sensation in her pulses each time he looked directly at her.
A light vegetable soup was followed by the traditional sis kebab, and Delia was in the process of exploring a delicious concoction of pastry, nuts and syrup when she caught a glimpse of Madame Renoir's sudden change of expression. A plump elegant hand was laid gently on Kemal's arm and
she inclined her head very briefly in the direction of the wide open doors.
Kemal frowned, she saw that in the look she gave him from the corners of her eyes, and she was curious enough to glance swiftly but discreetly in the same direction. At first she could see nothing untoward about the several customers arriving and leaving, but then she noticed the young woman alone, and instinctively she knew that she was the reason for Madame Renoir's gently warning hand on Kemal's arm.
Obviously one of the new, rising generation of Turkish women who are gradually emerging from the restrictions of their past, the woman carried herself with an elegant grace that spoke of boundless self-confidence. She was striking-looking, even in a country of darkly striking faces, and when she saw her Delia's heart began to rap hard at her ribs for some inexplicable reason.
The newcomer came across the restaurant, defying the convention that says women do not appear unaccompanied in public places, sweeping between the small tables with an air that defied anyone to remark on her being there. She was about half way across the room when she saw Kemal, and Delia, from the shadow of her lashes, saw her hesitate.
There was no doubt who it was she recognised and a moment later she changed direction and came towards them on long elegant legs, a smile on her face that suggested the air of self-confidence had just taken a blow and Delia wondered who on earth she was.
Getting to his feet, Kemal inclined his head in that same stiff mockery of a bow that Delia was familiar with and she could not even guess what was going on behind those strong dark features. Whether the woman's arrival had disturbed him or not was impossible to tell, for even that initial frown was missing now.
'Merhaba, Kemal.' The dark eyes stayed on Kemal for several seconds before she recognised that he was in company. 'Gun aydin, madame.' She smiled at the older woman, but the smile disappeared when she looked at Delia and a small frown drew black brows together above curious eyes.
'Suna ' Kemal's voice was coolly polite and obviously much more formal than the newcomer had expected, for a faint flush coloured the smooth high cheekbones as she looked again at Delia. 'Our guest is English,' Kemal explained, 'Miss Delia Crompton! Delia Hanim, may I introduce Suna Kozlu, a very old friend.' He indicated a chair beside his aunt. 'Will you join us?'
Delia was still recovering from the fact that he had at long last used the more informal manner of address and added her christian name, something he had never done before, and she wondered why he had done so now. She glanced at Suna Kozlu's smooth handsome features and tried to guess just what that term 'old friend' had implied.
However close they might have been, Delia decided, there must have been a change of heart somewhere along the line, for Kemal's attitude
scarcely suggested anything more close than a casual acquaintance at the moment, and Suna Kozlu was shaking her head in response to the invitation to join them. 'I have little time,' she explained, but Delia suspected that her own presence had quite a lot to do with the refusal, and the glance from those dark eyes was unfriendly to say the least as the woman took her leave.
For several moments nothing was said and Delia felt the tension in the atmosphere as she quietly got on with her baklava. Looking up, she caught Madame Renoir's eye and the older woman smiled, a little ruefully, Delia thought. `Suna Kozlu is one of the new breed of Turkish women,' she said quietly. `She is to be a doctor next year and will do well, I think.'
Being unaware of whether Suna Kozlu was married or not, Delia ventured a question in that direction, first glancing at Kemal from the corners of her eyes. It's unusual to see a Turkish woman so free to go about on her own,' she said. 'Doesn't her husband mind?'
Madame Renoir said nothing but glanced swiftly at Kemal, who raised one dark brow and determinedly held Delia's gaze as he spoke. `Suna Kozlu is not prepared to sacrifice her profession for marriage,' he said in a cool flat voice. `She has no husband.'
Knowing she was treading on delicate ground, Delia nevertheless ventured further. `Couldn't she have both?' she asked, and once again met the deep
glowing darkness of Kemal's eyes as he looked at her steadily.
`There may be men prepared to accept her on those terms,' he told her quietly. 'I would not !'
CHAPTER THREE
DELIA sat with a list balanced across her knees, ostensibly recording the latest finds unearthed from the dig, but somehow her mind kept straying from the job in hand to matters much less historic and more persistent. She was seated on a small canvas stool outside the site's tent and her feet were tucked up under her as she gazed pensively across into the thick, lush vegetation that surrounded her. Lost in thought, she absently chewed the tip of her pencil, one elbow resting on her knee.
The exotic surroundings contributed nothing to a subject as mundane as making entries on a list of archaeological finds, and instead the heady scents of magnolias and roses helped to lull her into a trance-like state of being half asleep. She pondered on what it must be like to live permanently in a place like Mavisu and found such luxury hard to imagine as a permanent state of affairs.
The house itself was beautiful, but the grounds were even more exotic, the lush, beautiful gardens
that were like something out of a dream to a girl brought up among the neat sameness of an English suburb. It was not the first time Delia had speculated on the idea of staying at Mavisu for the rest of her life, and yet she could never quite see herself as the right type to fit in with such surroundings.
A petite redhead with curly hair and green eyes surely did not belong in such an exotic setting, she thought, and once again the vague image of a smooth, golden-skinned face with dark eyes intruded into her daydreams so that she shook her head impatiently to rid herself of it. Suna Kozlu would fit perfectly into such a background, but Delia disliked the idea of that more than she cared to admit.
The unexpected meeting with Suna Kozlu during her visit to Antalya with Kemal and his aunt had given rise to a great deal of thought on Delia's part, and she wondered just how close the Turkish girl's relationship was, or had been, with Kemal.
It had been obvious, to Delia at least, that Suna Kozlu felt something pretty deep for him, for it had shown quite plainly both in her manner and in those expressive dark eyes when she first saw him. But it was Kemal's feelings that puzzled Delia, for they were much less evident, and she had pondered the question ever since.
A little impatient at her own preoccupation with Kemal's affairs, she brought herself back to reality once more and glanced over her shoulder at Clifford and her uncle working on the site. She made a wry grimace of regret for her lack of inte
rest of late
and told herself that she really ought to show a more active concern for what they were doing.
According to Professor Crompton's theory, and it seemed more than likely that he was right in the light of recent events, this corner of Sadi Selim's gardens had once housed a temple to Artemis, the ancient Greek goddess of the hunt, and it was not at all difficult to imagine a goddess being worshipped in such surroundings. The setting was so right, and the idea of men worshipping a goddess appealed to her feminine vanity in her present mood.
Again she glanced over her shoulder and once more felt that irresistible restlessness, impatient because she was unsure of the reason for it. Her uncle was busy, his whole attention on what he was doing, and Delia had no doubt that he would have found her romantic vision of history amusing. He might be interested in the goddess to the exclusion of everything else at the moment, but his interest was strictly practical and left no room for the kind of romanticism that Delia had in mind.
Dragging herself back to earth yet again, she was aware that she was being watched and she looked across at Clifford toiling away beside her uncle. He straightened his back as she looked at him briefly, one hand brushing the moisture from his forehead while his grey eyes held hers steadily, curious and speculative behind their dark-rimmed spectacles.
Ever since her visit to Antalya Clifford's attitude had both puzzled her and made her uneasy, for he seemed always to be watching her in that same tense, curious way he did now. He had said little
about her outing, except to ask if she had enjoyed herself, but she felt that he still resented her going with Kemal instead of asking him to take her.
Gazing down at the list on her knees, she absently drew a question mark in one corner and tried to decide whether it mattered to her what Clifford felt. 'Delia! ' She started and looked up hastily when he spoke from right beside her, then a moment later laughed at her own nervousness.
'You startled me ! ' she told him. 'I didn't hear you!'
Clifford's grey eyes had a dark, unhappy look that caused her a momentary twinge of conscience, although she could not imagine why it should. He squatted down beside her, supporting himself with one hand on a section of broken column they had unearthed the day before, and looked at her for several seconds before he spoke again.
'You seemed to be far away,' he said, and watched her closely as he spoke. 'Are you restless again, Delia?'
Uncertain just what her mood was, Delia affected interest in her list for a few moments. 'I don't think I'm restless,' she denied, but even while she was denying it she was forced to recognise that he was right. 'You must be imagining things, Clifford!'
'I don't think so!' He spoke with more authority than Delia would have expected of him and she frowned briefly at his tone.
'I'm perfectly happy,' she insisted quietly. 'I can't think what gives you the idea I'm not.'
'Because I know you! '
His hand under her chin was unexpectedly firm and he turned her face towards him so that she could see the frown that drew his brows together and the tightness at the corners of his mouth. She thought for a moment that he was going to kiss her, for the promise of it was there in his eyes, and her instinct was to turn away her head, but then he released her and his fingers slid from her chin as he shook his head slowly—resignedly.
`You don't know me, Clifford,' she told him in the same quiet voice, despite a trembling sense of indecision that made her unsure of anything. Then she half-smiled, trying to restore normality. And I am quite happy, no matter what you think!'
Clifford said nothing for a moment, but he straightened up suddenly and shrugged his shoulders, one hand brushing back the hair from his forehead. 'It's something in your manner,' he told her after a while. 'You seem—I don't know, restless and as if you're ' He looked down at her with a hint of challenge in his grey eyes. 'You're not thinking of going off on another trip with Selim, are you, Delia?' he asked.
The question sounded so much like an accusation that she instinctively resented it and she got to her feet, her eyes searching his face for some sign of the old familiar Clifford. There had been a change lately and she was not at all sure that she liked it. His newly acquired aggressiveness could be taken for a form of flattery, she supposed, but it made her uneasy and even more uncertain of her own feelings.
'I haven't been invited out again,' she told him, `but if I am I shall go! I enjoyed myself and I see no reason to deny it ! '
`Because you went with Selim!' Clifford accused, and Delia shook her head impatiently.
`Madame Renoir's being there makes nonsense of what you're suggesting,' she told him frankly, and noticed that he was making less effort to keep his voice down now.
'I'm not suggesting anything,' Clifford denied, a bright angry gleam in his eyes. 'I just don't want you to get too involved with Selim, that's all, because I'd hate you to get hurt, Delia, and you will, believe me, you will!'
'I'm not a complete idiot!' Delia declared angrily, a bright flush in her cheeks. And you're very wide of the mark, Clifford, if you think Kemal has anything like that in mind!'.
'Kemal?' He echoed her use of Kemal's first name in a voice harsh with anger, and she curled her hands tightly as she tried to control her churning emotions.
'I refuse to argue with you!' she said in a small tight voice, and put down the half completed list on the stool behind her. 'I'm going,' she told him, and smoothed anxious hands down the brief shorts she wore with a short sleeved shirt and sandals.
'Delia?' Clifford frowned at her worriedly, sparing a brief look in the direction of her uncle. 'Where are you going?'
'It doesn't matter where I'm going,' Delia told him, her chin held at a defiant angle. 'Kemal Selim
isn't coming with me—that's all that need concern you !'
It was possibly an unkind remark to make, but her own feelings were too involved to allow her to act reasonably and she parted the mass of scented foliage in front of her, letting it close to behind her again, heedless of Clifford's anxious voice as she walked away.
`Delia, please!' She knew he would be casting anxious glances at her uncle, wondering if he dared follow instead of going back to his work, and she felt a momentary twinge of conscience, but refused to turn around and go back to him. 'Delia! '
Her head held high, Delia walked on through the dense growth of scented shrubs and trees, the waxy blossoms of magnolias brushing coolly against her flushed cheeks as she went. She had nothing on her head, for she had been in shade while she sat on the stool, and the first thing that struck her was the intense heat of the sun as she walked out on to the driveway.
It was possibly foolhardy to venture any farther dressed as she was, but her mood was not reasonable at the moment and she felt a strange mixture of anger and excitement as she walked down the driveway, not towards the house but to the gates that gave access to the hot dusty road outside.
The mingled scents and the soft sighing wind that blew off the sea below the cliffs lent a deceptive coolness to the air and all combined to add to her mood so that she was unconcerned at the moment where she went. The tall iron gates were fastened
but not locked, and she opened them and stepped outside almost without realising she was doing it.
All along by the wall that bordered the gardens the shade of overhanging plane trees made it blessedly cool, and Delia put back her head to let the warm breeze blow over her face and the flushed pinkness of her cheeks, her eyes half closed. At home, going for a walk to cool off in the circumstances would have been the natural thing to do, and she saw nothing wrong with doing so now because she did not even stop to think about it.
She presented an incongruous figure walking along the hot dusty road, her slim legs bare and tanned to a pale gold below brief blue cotton shorts, and a thin cotton shirt emphasising the slender curves above them. Cars came this way, but they were infrequent and the only foot travellers were likely to be the local village people with their donkeys or horses, the wo
menfolk clad from head to toe and for the most part discreetly veiled from strange male eyes.
Her own brief apparel would cause considerable consternation should she meet anyone, but at the moment it did not occur to her. Nothing mattered except the prospect of a change of scene. Below her, at the end of the mountain road, Antalya sat like a jewel in the sun, its small bay and turquoise blue waters shimmering like silk shot with gold.
It looked so close from where she was and she had never before realised that the town might be within walking distance, so that for a second she toyed with the idea of walking all the way down there.
The road gave a view of the sea that was indescribably beautiful, soaring high above it with a mass of lush vegetation growing right to the very edge and a cool stream some yards ahead rushing down from the mountains, ice cold and glittering like silver in the sun to cascade over the edge of the ' coral-coloured rocks into the sea.
It was breathtaking and not quite real, like most of this beautiful coast, and it worked wonders with Delia's restless spirit, but she suddenly found herself wishing she could see more of such scenes, of towns like Antalya—and Kemal Selim would make an ideal guide.
Impatiently she shrugged off the persistent image of Kemal, because always when she thought of him she recalled the tall elegance of Suna Kozlu, the Turkish girl who wanted to be a doctor even if it meant her staying single. Suna Kozlu intrigued her simply because she could not decide whether or not Kemal returned her obvious affection for him.
A wide shady plane tree spanned half the roadway at one point and offered some relief from the heat of the sun. It also offered a breathtaking view from its far side if she stood in its shade right at the edge of the cliff, and Delia paused for a moment to make the most of both its advantages. Leaning back against the tree, she curled her arms backwards around it and looked down at the sea, although her mind was not entirely on the scenery.
The goddess of Mavisu Page 4
