The goddess of Mavisu Page 10

  'A basic knowledge only,' Kemal confessed. 'Along this coast it is almost impossible not to acquire a certain amount of intelligence on the subject of the old gods, Delia Hanim, as you will appreciate.' -

  `Yes, yes, of course.'

  Once more his features were obscured by a cloud of smoke from pursed lips. His elbow rested on the arm of his chair and he seemed relaxed and cornpletely at ease in contrast to her own rather disordered thoughts. 'To return 'to your own connection with the goddesses,' he said, 'the Roman-Diana was reputed to have been born on the island of Delos in the Aegean, not very far from here, and

  from the island name comes your own—Delia. So you see why I refer to her as your goddess?'

  Delia nodded, but she found it .hard to concentrate on goddesses, no matter how closely connected with herself. Kemal was much too close for comfort and his quiet composure served only to remind her of his passion yesterday. It seemed incredible that he could sit there facing her and talk so calmly about the old gods, when yesterday he had kissed her in such a way that she had felt herself transported to another world.

  She licked her lips anxiously and kept her eyes on her clasped hands, conscious of him watching her through that concealing haze of cigarette smoke. 'I believe—I think I did hear that when I was little,' she told him, 'but I'd forgotten until you reminded me.'

  `Has Mr. Aitkin not reminded you?' Kemal asked softly, and Delia glanced up quickly, wondering why he should suddenly see fit to mention Clifford again.

  Shaking her head, she frowned at him curiously. `No,' she said, 'he hasn't—but there's no real reason why he should, is there?'

  Kemal's broad shoulders shrugged with deceptive carelessness as he again drew on the cigarette. `I would find the temptation to compare my—kiz to a goddess irresistible,' he confessed, and the dark eyes glittered at her from behind the smoke screen. But perhaps Mr. Aitkin prefers his goddesses of cool stone, hmm?' he suggested softly, and Delia flushed.

  `If—kiz means what I think it does,' she said huskily, `I—I'm not, whatever it is, to Clifford and you have no right to suggest I am! '

  `Ah ! ' Once again that brief, satisfied sound conveyed his meaning, and she shook her head, so uncertain that she could only gaze at him anxiously. But he does not, I think, prefer stone goddesses, eh, bebek?'

  'I don't know what he prefers! ' Delia curled her hands tightly, her heart anxiously thudding a warning that yet again she was heading for an argument with Kemal that could lead heaven knew where.

  He said nothing for a moment but regarded her steadily with those unfathomable eyes as he reached over and extinguished his cigarette. When he got up he stood for a moment looking down at her, disconcertingly close, studying her as if he only now recognised some new aspect of her. 'And you do not care?' he suggested.

  Delia could have denied it, but she did not see why she should justify herself to him. 'Not particularly! ' she said.

  Still Kemal studied her with that quiet intensity, his eyes darkly disturbing. 'You can be cruel, Delia Hanim,' he said coldly. 'I count myself fortunate not to be in the shoes of Clifford Aitkin! '

  Too stunned for the moment to say anything, even in her own defence, Delia stared at him. The frank opinion was both harsh and unexpected and for the life of her she could not see that she had said or done anything to deserve it. Perhaps she had been a little too hasty in her reply, but she had

  spoken without thinking and more to defy him than to denigrate Clifford.

  `Cruel?' She echoed the accusation while her eyes still watched him dazedly. 'How can you say that? What—what makes you say it?'

  A hint of smile touched his wide straight mouth for a moment and he regarded her steadily without speaking, then he shook his head slowly. 'You really do not know that man, do you?' he asked. 'He does not—touch you, here!' He struck his_ own broad chest with one hand and shook his head.

  Delia blinked, her brain racing. How could he claim to sympathise with Clifford when to all appearances he did not even like him? Anxiously she licked her dry lips and shook her head. 'You—you don't understand,' she said in a small husky voice. 'Clifford ' She turned sharply when the door opened and almost sighed her relief aloud when Madame Renoir walked in.

  Bright dark eyes flicked from one to the other and a raised brow questioned the reason for Delia's flushed cheeks and Kemal's position beside her. 'I did not know you were here, mon cher Kemal,' she told him, and for one insane moment Delia wondered if she was going to offer to leave again.

  Kemal inclined his head briefly, then smiled. 'I would have left a few moments ago, Tante Yvette,' he acknowledged, 'but I have plenty of time.'

  `So you came to cheer Delia, hmm?' Madame Renoir suggested blandly. 'I am sure your thoughtfulness was welcome, mon cher!'

  Kemal fixed her with, a steady unavoidable gaze

  and Delia tried hard to look away. There was a hint of challenge in the depth of his eyes that she was all too familiar with. 'I am not so sure,' he said quietly, `but I am sure you will meet with a warmer welcome, Tante Yvette! '

  `You cannot be serious!' Madame Renoir smiled at Delia. 'Tell him how wrong he is, Delia, huh?'

  Delia said nothing, but looked at him uncertainly. Yesterday someone had come into the room, and then discreetly withdrawn, while Kemal was kissing her, and she had it firmly fixed in her mind that the intruder had been Madame Renoir, a conviction that the little Frenchwoman's present attitude seemed to confirm.

  She was probably putting quite the wrong interpretation on Kemal's being with her now and it was time the matter was made clear, even though it would not be an easy subject to raise. If Madame Renoir mentioned one word to anyone else about it she dreaded to think what Clifford, Kemal or Sadi Selim would have to say.

  `I will leave you! ' She blinked hastily back to reality when Kemal broke the silence. Bobbing that polite little bow in the direction of his aunt, he squeezed her hand. 'Tante Yvette! ' Briefly his eyes held Delia's uncertain gaze, then he half smiled. `Gene gdrfilelim, bebek,' he murmured, and Delia flushed at the name he gave her.

  She watched him go with mixed feelings. His departure was certainly a relief at the moment, but Madame Renoir could prove almost as embarrassing a companion if she mentioned that scene she

  had interrupted yesterday, and Delia suspected it was in her mind to do just that. She smiled at her warily. 'You—you don't have to stay with me, of course, madame,' she ventured. 'I don't really mind being on my own, in fact I can stand a little weight on my foot now and I thought I might walk a little way in the garden later.'

  `Better that you rest it for a while longer,' Madame Renoir advised, 'I do not mind in the least talking to you, in fact I shall rather enjoy it! We will exchange confidences, eh, ma chère?'

  `You're very kind! ' Delia ignored the suggestion of a confidential chat, and hoped it would not become too confidential; she would have her say first and hope it would end there.

  Madame Renoir waved her hands to deny kindness, her bright dark eyes watching her closely as she smiled. 'You would prefer the company of Kemal, huh?' she guessed, and leaned across to pat her hand. 'It is understandable, ma Chère!'

  Delia was faced with the most difficult conversation of her life and she had little or no idea how to begin. Her heart was hammering hard in her breast and she was convinced that she would be wasting her time trying to make Madame Renoir understand her position.

  `Madame ' She hesitated, her fingers locking

  and unlocking in her lap as she looked down at them. `I—I think you might have the wrong impression, the wrong idea about—about something you might have seen.'

  Madame Renoir sighed deeply, pulling a wry-face

  to express her regret. 'So! You realised that someone came into the room, hmm? Oh, ma chère, not for anything would I have intruded into such a moment! '

  But, madame, it was nothing!'

  The little Frenchwoman looked every bit as unbelieving as Delia feared she would, then she spread her hands
in a gesture of uncertainty and looked at her for an explanation. 'I would not have called such a moment nothing,' she said, and a hint of disapproval told Delia that she must now explain fully or create another wrong impression.

  `I mean,' she explained a little breathlessly, 'that it wasn't—it wasn't what you might have thought, madame. Kemal was—that is, I made Kemal angry and he walked off and left me; we'd been arguing and I said something that angered him even more, and he walked off. Then—then I called him back and said I was sorry.'

  `And that was when he kissed you?' Madame Renoir asked, and Delia nodded. 'So he forgave you for angering him, he came back to you and kissed you like that and you say it was nothing?' She reached out and touched her cheek gently with one hand. 'No wonder he calls you bebek,' she said softly. 'You do not understand him, ma petite!'

  `I understand what you're implying, madame,' Delia told her, desperately seeking ways to convince her, 'but aren't you forgetting Suna Kozlu?'

  The Turkish girl had come into her mind unbidden, but she was as convincing an argument as any Delia could think of, and she saw Madame

  Renoir frown. `Suna Kozlu?' she asked. 'I do not understand how she can have anything to do with this matter.'

  Delia's senses struggled with so many possibilities that she felt slightly dizzy and she looked at Madame Renoir in a daze of indecision. Perhaps she had been tactless, to say the least, in mentioning Suna Kozlu, but it was too late now and she must explain. 'I—I believe Kemal Bey is—friendly with her, isn't he?' she asked. 'I mean, Cli—someone saw them together only yesterday, and then she was here, and Kemal was at her how, I thought

  'Delia! ' Madame Renoir reached for her hands and squeezed them gently, reassuringly it seemed. 'Kemal has known Suna all his life, her father is a business partner of Sadi Selim. I do not say that at one time—' Her expressive hands lent meaning to the words she left unsaid. 'But Suna Kozlu is a dedicated woman, and dedicated women do not marry men like my Kemal—such men are not amenable to a wife who wishes to—how is it you say?—wear the trousers, hmm?'

  Delia merely nodded. There seemed no point in asking what would happen if Suna Kozlu continued to seek Kemal's company as she had done of late. Probably no one would be really surprised if she found after all that marriage to Kemal Selim was more toher liking than a career, least of all Kemal.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IT was such a relief to be able to walk and, although her ankle still hurt a little, Delia revelled in being able to get about again. She could once more be useful on the dig too, for it was easy enough to stay sitting down while she made the entry of their finds. The progress that had been made in her absence amazed her and she could well understand Clifford's enthusiasm when he showed her the foundation of the temple, complete now and with the various parts of its structure laid roughly in place.

  Sitting on the canvas stool beside an assortment of archaeological debris, she took a moment to watch Clifford as he worked with her uncle on reconstructing a beautiful carved capital before matching it to one of the columns. He was really quite good-looking in a studious sort of way, his delicate, rather school boyish features belying his twenty-six years.

  There was a frown between his brows as he concentrated on his task, and Delia wondered if he really was as easily hurt as Kemal implied, by her rather off-hand manner towards him. He professed to being in love with her, but she could not help thinking that, should he ever be, pressed to choose between staying with her or going off on some archaeological expedition, he would have no hesitation in following his hobby, no matter where it led him. It was doubtful if he regarded her as cruel, as Kemal did.

  Kemal presented a different set of problems altogether, and she wished she could penetrate that cool, polite exterior and get to know the man behind it. Once or twice she had caught a glimpse of the depth of passion he was capable of, and she could still shiver at the violence of it. A man like Kemal would never be easy, for he would demand nothing less than the exclusive attention of any woman who loved him. The rewards of loving him would be great, but never something to be taken for granted, and she wondered if Suna Kozlu ever would consider it worthwhile.

  Dismissing Suna Kozlu with an impatient shake of her head, she looked across at Clifford again. She had never really thought what answer she would give Clifford if he took his declared love for her to the next logical step and asked her to marry him, but now she considered it seriously for the first time.

  Her uncle, she had no doubt, would consider it a good match and so would her parents, for they liked Clifford and approved of him. The only doubt was in her own mind and she was forced to admit not only that she was not in love with Clifford, but that she was much too close to being hopelessly in love with Kemal Selim.

  She sighed deeply as she faced the fact at last, and sat with a rather sad and unhappy face, looting across at Clifford. Maybe it would be as well if he did ask her to marry him and then perhaps she would realise just how much she had to lose if she turned him down.

  Lost in her own thoughts, she looked up swiftly,

  startled by the shrubs in front of her parting suddenly, her breath caught in her throat when Kemal stepped from the scented mass of magnolias. The bushes closed behind him and he stood for a moment looking across at her.

  He wore dark blue slacks and no jacket, and his cream shirt fitted closely across the broad golden chest showing a suggestion of dark hair where the top two buttons opened. It was a very informal mode of dress for him and Delia wondered if she had ever seen him look more breathtakingly attractive. There was a vigorous sensuality about him, a suggestion of virile force that was stunning at close quarters, and she could feel her whole being respond to him as he came the few feet across the clearing towards her.

  A hasty glance over her shoulder revealed the fact that, while her uncle was still seemingly unaware of the newcomer, Clifford had spotted him soon enough and was already straightened up and frowning across at him. 'Am I interrupting your work?' Kemal asked, and she shook her head.

  `No! No, not at all! ' Again she glanced over her shoulder, a gesture that, she realised with a start, was purely defensive. Since her talk with Madame Renoir she had not been alone with him, and to be so now made her nervously uneasy. Not that they were alone, strictly speaking, not with her uncle nearby and with Clifford's disapproving gaze on them. 'Did you want to see my uncle?' she asked, but thought she knew the answer even before he shook his head.

  'I wished to see you, bebek,' he told her, and Delia instinctively frowned over that annoying title he seemed determined to bestow on her.

  'By all means,' she said, a gleam in her eyes, 'but please don't call me that—that name, Kemal Bey '

  Bebek?' He repeated it softly and half smiled. 'You do not like it?'

  'I dislike being referred to as a baby,' Delia insisted. 'It's not only—belittling, it simply isn't true V

  Kemal looked down at her for a few seconds in silence and she thought she detected a glint of mockery in his eyes for her objection. 'Do you wish to quarrel with me again?' he asked, and Delia stared at him, stunned to realise that she had brought them very close to quarrelling simply by being hypersensitive about a nickname.

  'No, no, of course I don't.' She hastily swallowed her pride before trying to remedy the situation. 'I'm sorry,' she said, 'but—well, I just don't like being called a baby.'

  'You would prefer that I called you Delia Hanim?' Kemal suggested, and she looked up at him steadily.

  'Why not just plain Delia?' she asked, and wondered why he smiled and shook his head.

  'Because it is not possible for you to be just plain anything,' he said quietly. 'But if you prefer it I will call you Delia.'

  It was very hard to look at him suddenly without being afraid of what he might see in her eyes, so she got up from her stool and walked a few steps to

  where a feathery tamarisk stirred its pink blossoms in the gentle breeze. She could just see him from the corner of her eye and at first she c
aught her breath when she heard soft vague movements, then the pungent smell of Turkish tobacco tickled her nostrils and she realised he had lit a cigarette.

  `You—you said you'd come to see me,' she reminded him in a small breathless voice. 'What can I do for you, Kemal Bey?'

  `First, you can adopt the same informality with my name as I have with yours,' he told her, and Delia turned and looked at him for a moment.

  Then her mouth softened into a smile that was echoed mischievously by a brightness in her green eyes. 'Very well,' she agreed with deceptive coolness, 'how can I help you, Kemal?'

  He drew deeply at the long flat cigarette and the resultant cloud of blue smoke successfully concealed his features from her as he answered. `Madame my aunt is visiting an old acquaintance this afternoon,' he told her. 'I am driving her into Antalya after lunch. I shall be free for several hours after that and I have decided to drive somewhere, perhaps into the hills where it is cooler. If you would care to accompany me, Delia, I will be pleased to have your company.'

  The invitation sounded very stilted and formal after the last few minutes' conversation, but it took her so by surprise that for a moment Celia was too stunned to reply. She looked at him with wide, unbelieving eyes and shook her head slowly. `Go with you?' she asked huskily, and Kemal raised a brow.

  `You have driven alone with—your friend, have you not?' he asked, looking briefly across at Clifford. 'Is it not quite common practice in your free society for men and women to be together on such occasions?'

  Delia swallowed hard, searching those dark unfathomable eyes for some clue to his motive for suggesting such an uncharacteristic arrangement. `Yes, of course,' she agreed. 'I was—I was thinking more of your customs.'