The Velvet Glove Read online

  Whether he started to follow her, or even if he called after her, she had no idea, for her head was pounding with some violent emotion she was incapable of controlling at the moment. Refik Kayaman had an office-study on the ground floor, and she made her way there on legs that trembled so much she feared they might not carry her that far.

  This seemed so much more important than her usual disagreements with Nuri, and yet she could think of no reason why it should be. It seemed a kind of climax, as if things were suddenly coming to a head, and she wished she felt more able to cope. If she had to go, if she had to leave Yarev, now was as good a time as any. That was the thought that beat relentlessly in her brain as she raised her hand to knock on the door, and it brought with it a kind of panic, for everything seemed to be going much too fast suddenly.

  'Gir!'

  Laurette opened the door cautiously in response to the invitation. It was a room she had been into no more than a couple of times in all the years she had been at Yarev, for it was her foster-father's private sanctum, and she had a moment's doubt whether or not she should have chosen to visit him there.

  But Refik Kayaman was holding out his hands to her, almost as if she was expected, his shrewd but kindly eyes taking note of her flushed cheeks and the tears that trembled on thick brown lashes. Taking her hands, he held her gently for a moment, and from his expression of mingled regret and resignation, she knew he had already delegated the blame for her tears.

  'What is it, bebek, hmrn?'

  'Could I see you for a few moments, Baba Refik?' A hard swallow was an attempt to steady her voice, though it achieved little in the way of relief. 'I—I want to tell you something I should have—' She shook her head

  and looked at him appealingly. 'If I'm not being a pest.'

  'A pest! Dear child, how often have I heard your father use that curious word to chide you!' His smile was reassuring, and already the problems that had oppressed her seemed a little less overwhelming. 'You wish to tell me what is troubling you, hmm?' He distorted his strong features into a grimace in an attempt to make her smile. 'Or is it that you have quarrelled with Nuri yet again, little one?'

  'Well—yes, I have, but that isn't really what I want to talk to you about, Baba Refik.'

  'Ah! Then sit with me and we will have çay while we talk, hmm?'

  A samovar stood on a small table and the steaming fragrance of tea was irresistible as a nerve-soother, so Laurette nodded her thanks. Sitting on an ottoman similar to the one in the salon, she chose a more conventional attitude in this instance, sitting with her feet on the floor and her hands in her lap, until a goblet of tea was pushed gently into her fingers.

  Refik Kayaman sat beside her, his dark face carefully composed so as not to show any expression but gentle enquiry, a look that was reflected in his eyes as he sipped his tea. He would not think of putting pressure on her to hurry because he had other things to do —not Baba Refik. He would listen to her patiently and tolerantly, not simply for her father's sake now, but because he had come to love her almost as much as he did his own daughters.

  Soothed in part by the tea, Laurette put down her glass carefully on the table beside her, feeling much more composed. First she would tell him about Aspendus, the rest could come later. He would find it hard to understand why she saw the need to leave Yarev before it was absolutely necessary, and she was not sure herself if she understood her reasons.

  'Baba Refik, I would have told you before if I'd known I was going, and I meant to mention it when I came back, only Ian was ill, and—'

  'Yavas, yavas, bebek! Go more slowly—you refer to the fact that your cousin took you to see wresding in the theatre at Aspendus, is that right?' His voice was quiet, soothing, and when she looked at him there was a gentle look of laughter in his eyes.

  'Nuri didn't tell you?'

  She waited anxiously for his confirmation, and when he shook his head she had no idea of the look of relief that passed across her face. 'Laurette, you must know Nuri better than that by now. I will not believe otherwise !'

  'No, of course he wouldn't tell you. But he was so—' She shrugged helplessly and once more the threat of tears brought a huskiness to her voice that she could do nothing about. 'Baba, he really believed that I'd deceived you! That I'd gone there with Ian and deliberately not told you because I knew you wouldn't like it.'

  'Oh no, little one. No, no, no, I will not believe that!'

  'But he did!' She could still look stunned at the idea of it being possible. 'I saw his face; he thought I'd been deliberately—sneaky. How could he, Baba Refik?'

  A brown hand stroked the hair from her forehead, and the old man's eyes were gently understanding. 'Perhaps because he is—confused, child. He is not as confident that he has everything perfectly in perspective and under control at the moment, and to a man like Nuri such a situation is unbearable.'

  'Nuri? Confused? I don't understand.'

  'No, bebek, I do not think you do.' He put a hand at the back of her head and drew her close enough to place a light kiss on her brow. 'It is something that will become clearer with time.' He handed her his glass goblet to be refilled from the samovar and she automatically took over the role that women commonly fulfilled in his world. 'Now we will have more çay and you will tell me what else it is that troubles you, hmm?'

  She handed him his tea, casting a curious glance from below thick brown lashes. 'If Nuri didn't tell you about my being at the wrestling, Baba Refik, who did?'

  Refik Kayaman sipped his tea slowly and smiled. 'I have friends who like to watch wrestling, bebek. You were seen by one of them and he thought it his place to inform me of the fact. He was—surprised to see you there, and I was not inclined to let him know that I had no knowledge of it, so that I am afraid he now thinks of me as rather more progressive than he had realised.'

  'Oh, Baba Refik, I'm sorry if it embarrassed you! I would have told you before I went, if I'd known, and I meant to tell you when I came back, whether Nuri believes it or not.'

  'I knew you would, child, and it is understandable that you forget in the confusion of your cousin being taken ill.' He put down his glass on the small table beside him, then looked at her searchingly for a second or two. 'This cousin, bebek, he is a man who does no like our country?'

  It was delicately worded, but Laurette could guess the meaning behind the question, and she hastily sought to deny that Ian disliked Turkey and the Turks. She firmly believed he did not—only Nuri really invoked his anger and his dislike, and that was because he considered Nuri kept far too sharp an eye on her.

  'Oh, Ian likes it here, Baba Refik, and he likes the people.'

  'But he does not perhaps approve of our customs, hmm?'

  'Not always.' She admitted it with a curious reluctance, because the next step was to suppose that he would try and influence her in to his way of thinking. 'He isn't used to us yet, but I'm trying to explain things as best I can.'

  Refik Kayaman's dark eyes searched her face slowly, with a look of infinite gentleness, then he smiled in a way that tugged at her heart-strings without her quite knowing why, until he spoke. 'He would take you away from us, little one, eh?'

  'Oh, Baba Refik, no! I promise I won't '

  She broke off nastily when she remembered that soon now she would have to go. At least away from Yarev when Halet married. Nuri had already gone into the question of proprieties, but she wondered if her foster-father had. It would be impossible for her to bring up the matter of her leaving before she needed to now, and she shook her head while Refik Kayaman watched her and sipped his tea once more.

  'When Halet and Hussein marry, of course I'll have to leave, but I'm hoping to find somewhere quite close by.'

  It was only seeing his surprise that made Laurette realise he had assumed the deduction was her own. He was half smiling and nodding his head, and she let the assumption go on for a while. 'You have the wisdom to see that such a move is inevitable, Laurette, that is well, though we shall grieve to have you l
eave us. Somewhere will be found for you, close by, as you say. Perhaps with Latife and Furedin—until you marry.'

  A swift disturbing flutter stirred in her breast and she looked at him covertly, wondering if he had already discussed the matter of a husband with Nuri. Nuri's own remarks on the subject seemed to suggest it, and she once more felt that same instinctive dislike of the idea. Her voice determinedly steady, she shook her head.

  'I've already told Nuri that I'm not interested in marriage as a solution, Baba Refik.'

  Completely taken by surprise, Refik Kayaman looked as fiercely disapproving as ever his son had, and she realised too late how wrong she had been to mention it. To her foster-father the idea of Nuri discussing her marriage plans with her was unthinkable, and she had made him angry with his son, quite unthinkingly.

  'Nuri has dared to discuss the matter with you?' He gave her no time to confirm or deny it, but went on, leaving his opinion in no doubt at all, 'He has no right to take such a matter upon himself, Laurette, and I shall let him know of my displeasure!'

  Appalled at the very idea, she shook her head urgently, her eyes wide and appealing. 'Oh no, please don't do that, Baba Refik! Don't let him know that I've told you! It wasn't at all like you think, and he really hasn't done anything wrong.'

  The old man's dark eyes regarded her for a moment, and his brows were drawn. 'He was wrong to discuss such matters with you, little one, you must know that.'

  'I know, but ' Words did not come easily, but

  she had to admit to provoking Nuri to some extent, though she doubted if his father would see it as an excuse. 'It was my fault in a way, Baba Refik. I—I made him angry and—' Shrugging helplessly, she looked at the kind but stern face appealingly. 'He'll hate it if he knows I've told you,' she pleaded. 'Please don't mention it to him, Baba Refik.'

  Slowly the dark eyes searched her face, gentling with understanding even while he still studied her. Then he smiled and slowly shook his head. 'And it would not do for Nuri to hate what you do, would it, bebek?' Gentle fingers stroked her cheek. 'Very well, I will do as you ask and not let him know how displeased I am with his behaviour, since it is so important to you.'

  'Oh, thank you!'

  It was impossible to disguise her relief, and the old man regarded her with the same knowing look while he held out his glass for more tea. 'He should see how anxiously and earnestly you appeal for him, little one! What would he have to say to that?'

  Pouring herself more tea so that a bent head could hide at least most of her face and the flush on her cheeks was not too obvious, she laughed a little wildly. 'Oh, he'd probably say I was doing it for my own ends, and in a way I suppose he's right. It's hard enough living with Nuri, without landing him in trouble with you!'

  'Oh, Laurette!' He said it softly and with a faint edge of despair on his voice, so that she hastily sipped her tea and tried not to look at him. She was not sure what lay behind that resigned, softly spoken reproach, and she was not sure she wanted to know at the moment.

  She was a bit later arriving to see Ian than she expected, and Laurette found him waiting for her impatiently, though he did his best to disguise it when she finally did arrive. He looked so well that it was hard to believe that only three days ago he had looked so ill, and she found him in the hotel gardens on a seat shaded by a magnificent plane tree.

  Like a huge green umbrella it spread above a flower bed massed with azaleas, roses and magnolias against a background of fluffy pink tamarisk, and the air that blew coolly across her forehead was scented and sweet.

  Sitting down on the garden seat beside him, she let him take her hands in his, and he leaned across and kissed her mouth, with such an air of possessiveness that it gave her a few moments' uneasiness. Then sitting back he held her hands, while his blue eyes regarded her searchingly, noting the slight suggestion of spikiness on her lashes that betrayed those few tears she had shed earlier.

  'Is something wrong, Laurette? What's been happening that I should know about?'

  'Why, nothing, of course!'

  'You've been crying.' He used the tip of one finger to stroke the spikey lashes. 'Why, Laurette?'

  'Oh, I got a little bit worked up about something, that's all. I'm not always the level headed Scots lass, you know, Ian. Sometimes I get temperamental and the fur flies!' She laughed, determined to make little of it, but Ian still held both her hands and kept her facing him on the seat. 'I'm sorry I was late, Ian, but I'm here now.'

  'Who made you late, Nuri Bey?'

  She did not like the tone of his voice, but she preferred to change the subject rather than become involved in a discussion about Nuri. 'I'd rather not talk about my family, Ian. Can't we find some other subject?'

  It looked for a while as if he might insist, but then he shrugged suddenly and apparently relinquished the idea. An arm slid about her shoulders and he pulled her close until his cheek rested against hers. 'Then let's talk about us.' His voice was soft and whispered against her ear. 'I rather want to talk about you and me, lovely cousin, and you have to humour me while I'm a sick man, don't you?'

  'You're not a sick man any longer, are you?' She managed to keep a lightness in her voice and steered him away from personal matters. In so many ways he was a stranger still, and she felt a certain detachment from him that she could not yet overcome. 'We'd better not go out anywhere, because you're not well enough for that yet, but we can walk around the gardens here and stay in the shade.'

  He leaned towards her until his mouth was close to her ear once more and this time he pressed his lips to her soft skin, his face buried in the riot of soft silky hair. 'I have to decide what I'm going to do about you, sweetheart.'

  She knew she became suddenly stiff in the circle of his arm, and he reacted by pulling her closer, pressing his mouth to the pulse that throbbed urgently and betrayed the anxious thudding of her heart. 'You don't have to decide what to do with me, Ian. Why should you?'

  'Oh, but I think I do, my lovely.' He kissed her neck once more, smiling at her in a way that made her alarmingly uneasy. 'Didn't I tell you yet—I'm planning to take you home with me when I go?'

  Her fingers dug into his arm as she pushed him away so that she could see his face, her eyes wide and slightly vague, trying to tell herself she had not heard him right. 'I can't think what gives you that idea. Ian. You know I don't want to leave here.'

  'Don't you want to go home?'

  'But I am home!' He still didn't understand that, and she wondered if he ever would.

  'Oh, Laurette—sweet little cousin! You're not Turkish, no matter how hard that black-eyed foster-brother of yours has tried to make you over. You're English, or Scottish, I don't care which you choose; but you're not Turkish and that's what concerns me! I want you away from here before you lose your identity any further. You're a Kearn, not a Kayaman, and I think you're in danger of forgetting that.'

  Something in Laurette fought hard to resist, and yet: her common sense told her that a good deal of what Ian said was true. She had become very Turkish during her time with her foster-family, but what Ian saw as a drawback, she saw as a comfort. Even in her more emotional exchanges with Nuri, there was a sense of belonging.

  The sudden lurching coldness in her heart reminded her that it was during one of those exchanges that Nuri had suggested she would no longer belong at Yarev once Halet was married, and the reminder gave her that curiously lost feeling once more, that was so frightening. Unconsciously her fingers tightened over Ian's hand and he was looking at her curiously.

  'Perhaps I could take a holiday somewhere—after Halet's married, there's a lot to do before then.'

  'Before Halet's married, Laurette.' Ian's hand on her cheek turned her to look directly at him, and she saw how serious his blue eyes looked. 'I'll be flying back to England in another couple of weeks, and I've rather banked on you coming with me when I go.'

  'Oh, but Ian, I can't!'

  She made the denial hastily and with no pretence of considering it as
a serious proposition, although obviously it was, judging by Ian's expression. The frantic beating of her heart was making her feel curiously lightheaded, and her brain simply refused to function clearly, for the idea of going back with him when he went home had not even occurred to her.

  'You're turning it down flat—just like that?'

  He sounded not only disappointed but angry, and she could imagine that somehow or other he would cast Nuri as the reason behind her refusal. She could hardly expect him to see it her way, of course, but somehow she wished it was easier to convince him that her foster-family were in no way the oppressors he saw them as.

  'I couldn't leave just before Halet's wedding, Ian, you must see that.'

  She sounded reasonable, she thought, and not in the least as if she condemned his reaction, but he was looking at her with a different look in his eyes—a hardness she had never seen there before, and it reminded her how little she knew him yet, even though he was her cousin.

  'Are you involved in the wedding too?'

  Obviously he disliked that idea as well, but she nodded, and a slight tilt to her chin defied him to find fault with her admission. 'Yes, of course I am, Halet's my sister.'

  She half expected him to denounce that illusion too, but all he did was look at her and shake his head. 'And you don't give a damn about how I feel, do you, Laurette?'

  It was a harsh and unfair verdict and she wished he had not made it. 'Ian, you know that isn't true, but—'

  Her hands fluttered in a curiously helpless gesture as she tried to explain how she felt. 'You've known me for less than five days, so it can't really be so important to you whether or not I fly back to England with you.'

  'It's important that you're my cousin, though not to you, apparently.'

  'Your second cousin.' She made the correction automatically and knew in her heart that she was simply making excuses not to go with him. 'I've known Halet for most of my life, Ian, I can't—I won't stay away for the most important day of her life.'