The goddess of Mavisu

by Rebecca Stratton

  His contempt hurt more than she cared to admit and the warmth of his breath on her mouth sent a shuddering surge of excitement through her whole body, but she said nothing, not even in her own defence. She could not lie about her reaction to his kisses, but neither could she let herself be carried along on that same tide of excitement again. Sadi Selim had tried to warn her, and Clifford had made sure that she knew he was still seeing Suna Kozu, but she had refused to listen to either of them.

  She tried to turn her head away, as much afraid of her own weakness as of his strength, and put up a hand to try and free his hold on her. let me go, Kemal! ' she whispered. 'Please! '

  `Not until you tell me what I have done to deserve such treatment! ' he argued fiercely. 'Is it because you have listened too often to what Clifford Aitkin has told you?'

  It was startling to realise just how much she hated Suna Kozlu at that moment, and she almost shrank from her own violent feelings, but it was true. Suna Kozlu could get so much closer to him because she was of his race, she understood the complexities of the Turkish male so much better than Delia could.

  Clifford had suggested that Kemal felt himself entitled to more than one woman at a time, and perhaps, if he was right, Suna Kozlu could accept such a situation, but Delia's senses rebelled against

  it, however much she wanted to love Kemal. It hurt to think of him with anyone else and she simply was not capable of sharing him, even if it had been possible.

  She was unaware at first of the tears that filled her eyes and glistened on her lashes before they rolled down her cheeks. It was only when Kemal's cruel grip on her eased and he bent his head suddenly and kissed her cheeks that she realised she was crying over what seemed like an unsolvable problem.

  Kemal drew her gently into his arms, holding her close to the warm comfort of his chest. 'Delia, bebek! His voice was deep and gentle against her ear, muffled in the softness of her hair, and he kissed the smooth skin of her neck gently as he held her. 'Have I been too harsh with you?' he murmured. 'Was I too demanding for the baby that you are,

  Delia said nothing, she simply clung to him with her eyes closed, unwilling to be brought back to earth, while he pressed his lips to her neck and throat and the soft smoothness of her shoulders. If she thought about anyone but Kemal it was only to dismiss them as unimportant, and she looked up at last and put her arm around his neck while he leaned over her, his body pushing her back against the car seat.

  His mouth found hers and she closed her eyes, breathless and unresisting, when he moulded her to him as if she was no longer a separate body but part of his. She was breathing unevenly when he

  raised his head at last and looked down at her, and he smiled, brushing back the little strands of red-gold hair from her forehead with one finger.

  `I must be very gentle with you,' he whispered softly, and lightly touched her forehead with his lips. 'You are such a baby, my Delia, hmm?'

  She shook her head, her eyes bright and glowing, but he took no notice at all of her denial. He kissed her again and that was all she cared about at the moment—nothing else seemed to matter.

  The drive back to Antalya to collect Madame Renoir registered only vaguely in Delia's mind, for she could think of nothing but Kemal—Kemal and his gentleness with her. They said little as they sped back through the villages and the lush countryside, but their silence was one of contentment and Delia wondered if she had ever been happier.

  If she faced the facts, her position now was very little changed from when they set out from Mavisu, but somehow the thought of Suna Kozlu seemed less disturbing to her now and she felt much more confident of her own situation. No word of love had passed between them, it was true, but surely Kemal would not have been so gently understanding if he did not feel something for her, and her own feelings were no longer in any doubt at all.

  If Madame Renoir noticed anything different in their behaviour towards one another, she made no comment, although there was a bright glitter of speculation in her eyes when Kemal saw her into the back seat of the car, and she glanced from one to

  the other.

  She reported at length on her visit with her old friend and once, as they listened to her excited narration, Kemal turned his head briefly and caught Delia's eye, a dark glitter of amusement sparkling in his eyes. Had he been one of her own countrymen, Delia felt sure, he would have winked —as it was she found it difficult not to laugh delightedly at the intimacy his glance suggested.

  `Did you enjoy your drive, mes enfants?' she asked as they turned into the gates of Mavisu, and Delia answered unhesitatingly.

  'Oh, it's been wonderful, madame!' she told her. `The countryside is lovely and up there in the hills it was so cool, so wonderfully cool and peaceful! ' She glanced at Kemal trying to recall the strange words he had introduced her to. 'Kemal showed me where the—the country people go in the summer, I can't remember the name. A beautiful meadow on a plateau called a ' again she looked at Kemal and laughed at her own attempt at pronunciation, 'a yazla, I think it was.'

  `A yayla, bebek,' Kemal corrected her gently, and she laughed at the sheer pleasure of hearing him use the name she had once disliked so much.

  `You visited the yoriik?' Madame Renoir asked, surprisingly knowledgeable, and shook her head. `What would your uncle say, ma chère, if he knew that you had been visiting with such people, huh?'

  'I don't know,' Delia admitted with a laugh, 'but we didn't leave the car, madame, we just sat in there under some trees and watched for a while.'

  ' She put almost as much satisfaction into the single syllable as Kemal did, and when the car drew up by the steps she accepted his help as she got out, then, with a swift, sly glance at Delia, hurried on into the house and left him to render the same service for Delia in his own good time.

  Recognising it as a discreet withdrawal, Delia felt the colour in her cheeks when Kemal's strong fingers closed over her hand and straightening up she found herself in contact with that now familiar warm vibrance that made her legs suddenly weak. He did not let go her hand but raised it to his lips, twining his fingers in hers so that their palms were together.

  After a moment Delia looked up at him, her green eyes shining in a way she could do nothing about, and no longer caring if he read what was in her heart. 'Thank you for a wonderful afternoon,' she whispered, and Kemal smiled.

  `Thank you, bebek!' he said softly, and bent swiftly and kissed her mouth.

  He turned and got into the car again, taking it round to where it was garaged, while Delia turned to go into the house. It was as she turned that she saw Clifford, walking towards her, a little way along the drive and striding out in nervous, angry strides, and she hesitated whether to stay and wait for him or to go in and delay the inevitable complaint.

  Her mouth still tingled from Kemal's kiss and her hand from the strong touch of his fingers and she could not face an angry objection from Clifford at the moment, so she turned hurriedly and went into

  the house—straight up to her room. It was inevitable that Clifford, would have seen Kemal kiss her, even possible that he had seen her own unconcealed delight in his company, and she sought more to prolong her own pleasure than to snub Clifford—she would come back to earth soon enough!

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IT was after breakfast the following morning that Professor Crompton took the unprecedented step of suggesting a quiet tete-a-tete, and Delia, suspecting that it in some way concerned her outing with Kemal, agreed somewhat reluctantly. It was possible that Sadi Selim had whispered a word of warning to his old friend, but Delia was more inclined to believe that Clifford, had somehow managed to impress upon his rather unworldly mentor that situations were developing which he knew nothing about.

  Out in the gardens there was a warm wind blowing in off the sea that stirred the scented trees into gentle life and wafted their perfumes around them in heady profusion. It was a heavenly morning and Delia could think of no better way to spend it than in Kemal's company, but her uncle
had

  requested that she walk with him immediately after breakfast, and it would be not only unreasonable but difficult to refuse him.

  Overhearing the request, Kemal had given her a small quizzical smile, but there was a warm glow in his eyes that caused a curling sensation in her stomach and compensated in part for the uncertainty she felt. Clifford, she vaguely noticed as they left the house, was standing around rather aimlessly in the hall and did not even look at her.

  There had been no opportunity since their return yesterday to speak with either Kemal or Clifford alone, for conversation had been general after the evening meal and it was much too late by the time the small party broke up to do anything other than go to bed. Delia had slept well, but she thought she heard voices in her uncle's room just before she fell asleep and she had little doubt that this morning's request for a chat was in some way connected with that late-night consultation.

  `You enjoyed your drive with Kemal Bey?' Professor Crompton asked, and Delia's heart gave a wild lurch of warning as she nodded her head.

  'I enjoyed it very much,' she agreed, wary and on the defensive even before she knew what he had to say. -

  Professor Crompton rubbed an anxious hand over the back of his head, his forehead creased worriedly as he paced beside her. His thin, ascetic features suggested that he was hopelessly out of his depth and knew it, and Delia felt suddenly sorry for him. To a single man, middle-aged and unused

  to the vagaries of her sex, it must have been rather alarming for him to be suddenly made conscious of his avuncular responsibilities.

  `Clifford was speaking to me last night,' he said after an uneasy silence. 'He seemed to think I should have a word with you, Delia.'

  'I can't think why,' Delia said, and there was an edge on her voice that must have warned her uncle how she felt, for he looked even less at ease.

  'It isn't easy for me, Delia,' he told her, and once more rubbed a nervous hand over his thinning grey hair. 'With your father and mother so far away I feel—I know I have the responsibility of your wellbeing, but it isn't easy and—well, frankly, my dear, I don't know how to begin.'

  Delia shook her head to deny anyone's responsibility but her own, but she could not help feeling for her uncle in his dilemma. Clifford would have made it virtually impossible for him to ignore the matter. 'Uncle Arthur.' She put a delaying hand on his arm and came to a stop in the shade of one of the wide-spreading plane trees, perching herself on the edge of the low wall. 'I can guess why Clifford spoke to you the way he did,' she told him. 'He saw —he saw me come back with Kemal yesterday and I could tell he was angry from the look of him—that's why I didn't stop and speak to him. I didn't want to quarrel with him and he looked as if that was what he had in mind! '

  'My dear!' Her uncle frowned at her worriedly, relieved at least to have the subject raised without having to do so himself but unhappy about her air

  of defiance. 'Clifford was very upset when he saw you—kissing, or whatever it was you were doing, with Kemal Bey. Since you're going to marry him you should be more considerate of his feelings, Delia! '

  Colour flushed her cheeks warmly and she curled her hands, angry at the idea of Clifford claiming such a thing when it had no foundation in fact. 'I haven't said I'll marry Clifford!' she declared, her voice not quite steady. 'In fact, Uncle Arthur, he hasn't even asked me to marry him!'

  Professor Crompton shook his head vaguely, apparently seeing such fine points as trivialities. 'But it's understood, my dear, surely,' he argued. 'I thought it had been settled between you.'

  `Good heavens, no!' Delia looked at him dazedly. He surely must have misunderstood somewhere along the line, for Clifford would never presume so much. 'I didn't even know how Clifford felt about me until a few days ago,' she told him. 'I can't think where you got the idea from that I've promised to marry him, Uncle Arthur.'

  `Really?' He looked so completely confused that Delia once more felt sorry for him 'I must have misunderstood,' he murmured, but I'm certain that he told me there was an understanding between you.'

  `Definitely not!' Delia could be quite adamant about that and she knew that proclaiming it firmly and often was the only way to impress it upon her rather absentminded uncle! 'There's absolutely no understanding of any sort between Clifford and me,

  Uncle Arthur!

  Professor Crompton was shaking his head slowly, his hand again rubbing agitatedly over the back of his head. 'Then I fear you have failed to make the fact sufficiently clear to Clifford,' he told her. 'He must be firmly convinced that he's engaged to you to have decided to tackle Kemal Bey this morning.' He frowned worriedly and clucked his tongue. 'I do hope he won't go so far as to make our position in Sadi Selim's house 'untenable! '

  Delia heard nothing of the last sentence, his first words had so stunned her that she stared at him blankly for several seconds before she spoke. `Tackle—' Her voice cracked in her throat and she swallowed hard. 'He's—he's going to tackle Kemal about—oh no! Oh, Uncle Arthur, he can't, he mustn't ! '

  `My dear child! ' The professor patted her hand, disturbed by her agitation without being quite sure of its cause. 'Clifford thought perhaps a word of explanation about the situation between you

  `But there's nothing to explain!' Delia cried in despair. 'He has rio right to say anything to Kemal! ' She got to her feet, her heart pounding so hard that it almost deafened her. 'I must stop him! '

  'My dear, I fear you'll be too late,' Professor Crompton told her. 'Clifford was waiting in the hall to speak to Kemal Bey when we came out here.'

  'And Kemal was there too! '

  Delia sank down again on to the wall feeling utterly dejected. No wonder Clifford had not looked at her, but had hung about in the hall with that

  rather hangdog air, waiting until she had gone out of earshot before he warned Kemal that by taking her out he was stepping over the bounds of good behaviour.

  She was close to tears, although she was unsure whether they were caused by anger or self-pity. Kemal, she felt almost sure, would believe Clifford if he told him they were engaged to be married, for he had carefully probed into the question himself on occasion, having seen the way Clifford put on that proprietorial air with her.

  She should have made more earnest objections to it at the time, for Kemal would now believe that her protestations of there being nothing serious between her and Clifford had been made simply to fool him while she indulged in a little illicit romance with his more mature charms. He would be angry and unforgiving because he thought she had made a fool of him, and she could have wept openly at the thought of that.

  She sat on the wall that surrounded the flower bed, looking small and despondent among the riot of roses and lilies that scented the warm air around her, and suddenly felt lost. She looked up at her uncle, her eyes large and suspiciously bright. `Uncle Arthur,' she whispered huskily, 'what am I going to do?'

  For a moment he said nothing, but simply looked at her in that vague, helpless way. Emotional crises of any sort were not only alien to him but embarrassing, and he knew nothing of the agonies of being in love. Eventually he reached out and put an arm

  around her shoulders, hugging her close for a moment. 'I can't help, my dear,' he confessed. 'I know so little about these things.' He patted her shoulder consolingly. 'It won't be easy breaking it to Clifford that you—that you don't intend to marry him after all, but if you are determined, my dear, then it will have to be done.'

  Delia looked up at him in despair—even now she had failed to make him understand. 'I'm not concerned with Clifford,' she told him in a small flat voice. 'It's Kemal I want to convince.'

  'Kemal?' He took a moment to follow her meaning, then realised suddenly what she was implying and shook his head urgently, for the first time looking as if he was sure of his fact. 'Oh, my dear child,' he said, 'if you mean that you nurture some kind of —attraction for Kemal Selim, please put it right out of your mind! He's a man of—of sophistication, a traditionalist like his grand
father and Turkish to the core! I have no doubt that in time he will marry, but it will be someone suitable, of whom Sadi Selim approves. To expect anything more of him than a mild flirtation would, in your case, be very misguided! '

  Delia walked from the garden in a state of complete despondency, leaving her uncle to make his way down to the dig. He had probably meant to be kind, but his last words had hit her like a physical blow, even though she had had much the same suspicion in the back of her own mind ever since her first encounter with Kemal.

  She could not face working with them this morning, so she made her way back to the house, thinking that the peace and quiet of her bedroom offered a kind of sanctuary at the moment. There was no one about when she went into the house, but when she was barely half way up the stairs the salon door opened and Kemal emerged.

  Instinctively she turned when she saw him, her lips parted, ready to call out to _him, to ask him to listen to her side of the story, but one look at his face was enough to tell her that he was in no mood for reasonable explanations. He strode across the hall, sparing her no more than one long narrow-eyed look that seared her like a flame and left her too stunned to move for several seconds.

  Turning suddenly, she went on up to her room, too unhappy to care about anything at the moment except that Kemal had looked at her as if he thought her beneath contempt. It was obvious that Clifford had spared nothing in the telling of his version of their relationship and at that moment she hated Clifford more than anyone else in the world for taking things into his own hands.

  Madame Renoir would be in sympathy, she felt sure, in fact she was the one ray of hope on Delia's gloomy horizon. The little Frenchwoman had made no secret of the fact that she would like to see something develop between her nephew and Delia, but Delia had no way of knowing whether her desire was for something more permanent than the mild flirtation her uncle had seen as the only possibility.