`It is unlikely that we will be stopping anywhere that there are people about,' Kemal informed her coolly. 'There will be little chance of our being seen together.'
'I see ' She remembered his rendezvous with Suna Kozlu—he had not been so cautious then, and heaven knew who else besides Clifford had seen them together, but perhaps that did not bother him so much as being seen alone with a foreign girl. The force of her resentment for Suna Kozlu's privilege startled her and she made no attempt to wonder why.
Kemal was watching her with one brow arched, questioning her tone and her obvious resentment. `Is there something wrong, Delia?' he asked gently.
`Nothing,' Delia denied a little breathlessly. But you aren't always so careful not to be seen alone with a woman, are you, Kemal?'
She saw the slight tensing of his long fingers holding the cigarette, that was all, but it was enough to make her regret having raised the matter and she already deplored her impulsiveness. 'You have the
advantage of me,' he said coolly. 'Perhaps you will explain?'
`I heard ' She bit her lip anxiously and
shrugged, as if it was of little consequence. 'It's just that you've been seen talking with Miss Kozlu, quite openly,' she told him, 'that's all.'
He was far less angry than she expected, in fact beyond that slight tightening of his long fingers he betrayed more curiosity than anger and the dark eyes speculated for a second or two on the source of her information. Then briefly he glanced across at Clifford again and his mouth curled derisively. `Clifford Aitkin, am I not right?' he asked.
Delia too glanced across at Clifford and shook her head uneasily. `It doesn't matter,' she said. 'It really doesn't matter.'
Kemal took the necessary few steps that brought him close beside her, his proximity making her catch her breath, then he reached out and cupped her face in one hand, turning her to face him. 'It seems to matter to you, Delia,' he said softly.
`No, no, of course it doesn't!' she denied, and despaired of her own weakness when she trembled like a leaf at the touch of a caressing finger on her cheek.
`You will come with me?'
Her hesitation was only brief, then she looked up at him with her green eyes shining. 'I'll come,' she said, then hastily avoided the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.
`Ah ! ' Kemal said softly.
Madame Renoir made it obvious that she approved of Delia's going on with Kemal for a drive after they dropped her in Antalya. She spoke of it at lunch time and it was apparent that Clifford was prevented from voicing his objection only by his natural reticence, and possibly because he noticed that Sadi Selim too frowned briefly when it was mentioned.
All through the meal Delia bore Clifford's reproachful gaze and she escaped from the table thankfully when it was over. As she left the dining-salon Clifford was beside her, his hand under her arm and his head already bent towards her as if to impart his objections as discreetly as possible, but intent on stating them nevertheless.
He was allowed no more than a few words, however, before Sadi Selim caught up with them, politely inclining his head in apology, his fierce old eyes indicating unmistakably that he wished Clifford to be elsewhere, although he was much too courteous to make the suggestion verbal.
'You are happy to consent to this—journey with my grandson, Delia -Hanim?' he asked, and Delia hesitated before she answered.
It seemed possible that the old man was going to try and persuade her that going anywhere alone with Kemal would not only jeopardise her own reputation but incur his disfavour too, and she wondered how she could insist without doing the latter at least. 'I'm quite happy about it, Sadi Bey,' she said, and looked at him steadily despite a certain natural wariness of the fierce old man. `I—I hope
you don't disapprove.'
Sadi Selim looked at Clifford again with that unmistakable meaning in his eyes, and this time Clifford had little option but to act upon it, for the professor was already standing by the open door waiting for him to join him.
`I'll see you later, Delia,' he murmured hastily, and glanced at Sadi Selim as if he would like to have said more. Then he gripped both Delia's hands in his own and squeezed them hard. 'Be careful, 'darling,' he whispered and, before Sadi Selim's politely averted eyes, bent his head and hurriedly kissed her.
Delia flushed, not because she had been kissed, but because Clifford had seen fit to make what she saw as a gesture of defiance in front of their host. He would guess the old man knew he did not approve of her going with Kemal, and he wanted him to think there were more grounds for his objection than there was. She would tell Clifford about it at their next meeting and make it quite clear that she did not like having him lay claim to her in that way when it was bound to convey the wrong impression.
Sadi Selim remained, to all appearance, politely untouched by it, and he opened the door of the salon, then stood courteously aside for her to precede him. 'I may be permitted to speak with you for a few moments, Delia Hanim?' he asked, as if she had every right to bar him from the rooms in his own house. 'Until my grandson and Madame come for you, perhaps?'
'Oh yes, of course r Delia seated herself, at his
indication, in one of the armchairs near the windows, and the old man sat opposite her. She could not imagine what he had in mind to say or do, but from his manner he seemed neither angry nor un friendly and she looked at him briefly from below concealing lids. 'You—you don't mind?' she ventured. 'If I go for this drive,' she added hastily, and Sadi Selim spread his dark hands in a gesture of resignation.
'I have learned that one must move with the times in this age of rapid change, Delia Hanim,' he told her gravely. `To stay silent is not always to approve, but simply to yield to changes that one cannot prevent. I would only ask that you understand fully the implication of such a—venture in the minds of the traditionally-minded people of my country.'
It was a difficult moment and Delia tried hard to find an answer that would let the old man know how she appreciated his concern without giving him the impression that she meant to change her mind about going. 'I understand,' she said quietly, 'but thank you, Sadi Bey, I appreciate your concern for me.'
`You are the niece of an old friend and a guest in my house, Delia Hanim,' he murmured. 'Naturally I am concerned for you.'
If she insisted he would probably think her not only bold but uncaring about either her own position or Kemal's, but she could not give up the chance to go with Kemal, so she must do her best to make the old man understand. 'It's—it's very differ-
ent in England, Sadi Bey,' she explained after a moment or two, and the old man listened politely. `There no one would see anything wrong in my driving about with a man alone.'
The old man looked at her with his fierce dark eyes and for a moment she quaked inwardly, wondering if he would go so far as to actually forbid the outing. Suna Kozlu came uneasily into her own mind and she wondered if the Turkish girl was behind his objection.
'Kemal is Turkish and my grandson,' he reminded her, speaking in his slow pedantic English as if he chose his words with infinite care. 'He is unmarried and a man susceptible to a woman's beauty as any other. I would consider it a stain on my family's honour if you should—find yourself in a situation that is none of your choosing, Delia Hanim.' For a moment the fierceness gave way to a surprising gentleness as he looked at her, and the truth dawned on her at last—it was not so much tradition that he was concerned with but her own vulnerability where his grandson was concerned.
'I'll be perfectly safe, Sadi Bey,' she said softly. 'I know I will.'
The craggy, hawk like features gave way to a smile, albeit an anxious one. 'You are—forgive me, hanim—but a child, and I must be certain that you know what you are doing. Your uncle possibly does not see the danger, but I know my grandson and ' He spread his long dark hands helplessly. 'How can I blame him for behaving in the manner of his forebears?'
Delia would like to have leaned across and taken his hand, reassured him as she would hav
e done her father, but it would have embarrassed Sadi Selim, so she simply smiled and shook her head. 'One advantage of living in our kind of society, Sadi Bey,' she told him, 'is that we learn to cope with that sort of situation quite naturally. As for Kemal Bey, I'm simply going for a drive in the country with a friend.'
'A friend?'
The sharp dark eyes questioned her use of the word, and she was forced to recognise that to a man like Sadi Selim the idea of platonic friendship between a man and a woman was not only incomprehensible but unacceptable. 'I hope we're friends,' she said, and for a moment almost convinced herself it was true. 'As I hope you and I are friends, Sadi Selim.'
He was far too courteous to disclaim it, but inclined his head and lightly touched his forehead with his fingers. 'I am honoured, hanim,' he murmured, and looked up with a certain air of resignation when Madame Renoir became audible coming across the hall talking in rapid and excitable French to Kemal—it was too late now for anyone to do anything to stop her from going, and she got to her feet as the door opened.
Madame Renoir insisted on taking the back seat in the car while Delia rode in front with Kemal, and she kept up a bright excited chatter of conversation all the way into Antalya. The friend she was to see
was of very long standing and they had not met for some time, but, she insisted, it would have been boring for Delia to come with her, for their conversation would have meant nothing to her. Besides, she suggested as she got out of the car, it would be much more enjoyable for Delia to drive with Kemal into the mountains.
As they drove off, leaving his aunt at her friend's door, Kemal turned and smiled at her and she realised, perhaps for the first time, just how fond he was of the little Frenchwoman. It was one of the glimpses of gentleness about him that sometimes surprised her.
She had no idea where they were going, nor did she really care, for being with Kemal was all that seemed to matter at the moment and she looked around her as they sped through the changing countryside. Woods and orchards flew past, and little patches of wild flowers growing by the roadside while the inevitable streams of cool water came rushing down from the mountains on their way to the sea.
Little villages with their, buildings straggling along both sides of the road, each one set in its plot of land, backed by the hills with their dark forests of oak and cedar, gave an impression of peace and lushness. The rather untidy buildings softened by their setting of orchards and fields, the lanes occasionally blocked by flocks of goats in the care of dark-eyed children with solemn little faces. There was so much to see and she tried not to miss anything.
They had been travelling for some time, neither saying very much at all, although Kemal explained things to her readily whenever she asked about something she did not recognise. She had scarcely noticed they were climbing, but suddenly they were in the cooler air of the mountains and before them, like a picture painted in soft new colours framed in craggy rocks, was a broad green meadow lushly shaded by feathery willows and cooled by the inescapable sound of swiftly running water. Far from being deserted, as Delia would have expected, the meadow was alive with people, the green grass dotted with an assortment of tents. While she still stared at it in disbelief Kemal stopped the car, near enough to give a good view of the assembly, but far enough away to be discreet.
Delia turned and looked at him, her curiosity plain in her eyes. 'What is it?' she asked. 'Where are we?'
'A yayla,' Kemal explained. 'The summer pasture of these people. They were once yoriths, nomadic people, and these yaylas are their traditional summer retreat.' He indicated the men, women and children gathered there with what appeared to be all their worldly possessions, including their animals. 'Most of these people are settled now in permanent homes,' he told her, 'but some of them still return each year to their yayla, it is their custom.'
'It's fascinating,' Delia declared. 'They're something like our Romanys, I imagine, but they have so much—more, they look so content!'
'It is a contented life,' Kemal agreed, 'although
it can be hard, but these people ask for little except to be allowed to follow their own way of life.' She was aware, even without turning, that the dark eyes were watching her as he spoke and the realisation sent a tingle of sensation along her spine. `What more does a man need than a healthy and amenable wife, lusty sons and his own land to work?' he asked quietly.
Still Delia did not turn, but her pulses were hammering wildly at her temples as she looked out at the women of the camp, tending the wood fires, carrying water and great pots of food. Kemal, of course, would see it from the man's point of view, while she, after reflection, realised how much work would be involved in such an annual trek.
There were the children too, the sons that he set such store by, and the little girls who would probably move into the more emancipated world of modern Turkey but were just as likely to be doing as their mothers did now in a few years' time. Dark-eyed children, solemn, as all Turkish children seemed to be.
`It sounds ideal from a man's viewpoint,' she agreed, still not turning round. But I'm not sure I'd like being in the place of their womenfolk! '
The warm vibration against her own body, she realised suddenly, was Kemal's laughter and it was so unexpected that she turned swiftly in her seat and stared at him reproachfully without quite knowing why. His eyes glittered with a bright and slightly malicious amusement that challenged her to deny him the right to laugh at her.
'You see the women as—victims, Delia?' he asked softly, and shook his head without giving her time to reply. 'Did you not say yourself that they look contented?'
She was obliged to admit that, but she was still not convinced that it was not even more of a man's world among the ydriiks than in the rest of Turkey. `Maybe,' she allowed, 'but are they really as contented as they look? Do they have any say in who they marry, for instance?'
Again his eyes glittered with laughter and the strong whiteness of his teeth mocked her in that dark face. 'Are men and women any different because of more strict customs?' he asked. He looked across at the camp set amid the peaceful beauty of the mountain meadow and smiled slowly. 'Passions can run high here in these surroundings,' he told her, 'for the young people are less sternly guarded on the yayla and elopements are not unknown.'
`Elopements?' Delia stared at him, unsure whether to believe it was true or that he was making the whole thing up to convince her that it was more romantic than she thought.
'A boy will run off with the girl of his choice,' he said, 'if there is opposition to their marrying, it is not unknown, and of course after that there could be no opposition, particularly from the girl's parents. 'Kidnapping would be treated as a serious offence if the girl was unwilling, but ' his expressive shoulders conveyed it all, 'what more romantic introduction to marriage than to be carried off by the man you love?'
He was so close. That warm, vibrant body just touching her, its contact bringing a strange, breathless excitement that made her senses reel, and the arm along the back of the seat, the softness of his jacket sleeves smooth against her bare neck. To be talking about elopement and the passions of a nomadic people in such circumstances was dangerously evocative, and Delia hastily turned away again, her heart beating furiously hard.
'I—I suppose in a country with such strict codes of behaviour,' she ventured in a soft, unsteady voice, 'elopements are bound to happen.'
One long finger brushed lightly against her neck and lingered beside her cheek, and she suppressed a shiver only with difficulty. `Do elopements not happen in England also?' Kemal asked, and she nodded. 'And do you not also have parents who disapprove of their daughter's choice of a husband?'
'Yes, of course, sometimes, but they don't do much about it, usually.' She half turned her head and looked at him obliquely from the corner of her eyes. 'In England a woman's judgment is usually considered as reliable as a man's,' she said, 'so elopements are few and far between.'
His mouth curved into a half smile and he touched her ne
ck again with that long, evocative finger as he spoke. And you do not approve of them, hmm, bebek?'
'Kemal
'You do not approve of being called a baby either,' he guessed, and his laughter throbbed against her, setting her pulses racing out of control.
He put a hand under her chin, turning her round to face him, the dark, glittering eyes fixed steadily on her mouth, as if it fascinated him, and for a long moment he said nothing more, but studied her face.
The flushed cheeks and long thick lashes that half concealed her eyes, the soft, tremulous mouth with lips slightly parted as she coped with the breathtaking beat of her heart. Beyond them on the lush green yayla, the dark-skinned men and women still seemed oblivious of their presence, and yet, to Delia, she and Kemal were suddenly part of the same picture. Passions ran high on the yayla, Kemal had said, but here, in the sleek blackness of his car, passions were also running high, and she prayed for the strength to control them.
`Delia! ' His mouth was only a breath away when he turned in his seat and she would have surrendered to her own irresistible desires readily enough if Clifford's bitter and envious words had not come, unbidden, into her mind just as Kemal's mouth sought hers. Instead she turned her head quickly from him and his lips merely brushed the warm smoothness of her neck.
The words he uttered were in Turkish, but they sounded more like surprise than anger and she wondered a little dazedly if he had ever before been so abruptly repulsed. Surprise was short-lived, however, and it was anger that lent strength to the fingers that suddenly held her jaw relentlessly tight in their grip. He forced her to turn and look at him again so that briefly she met the glittering fierceness of his eyes before she closed her own.
`Why?' he demanded in a voice harsh with passion. 'I have kissed you before, kadin, and you have not turned away your head—would you have me believe you disliked the experience?'
The goddess of Mavisu Page 11
