The goddess of Mavisu Page 13

  When she at last ventured from her room there

  seemed to be no one about and she went downstairs slowly. She shivered involuntarily when she considered the prospect of meeting Kemal again and being snubbed, and she hurried from the stairs to the salon where she hoped to find Madame Renoir. She did not want to see anyone else at all, especially Clifford, for she did not trust herself to be even basically civilised to Clifford in the present circumstances.

  She opened the door of the salon cautiously, then almost closed it again quickly. Madame Renoir was not there as she hoped, but Clifford stood by the open windows, his hands thrust into the pockets of the fawn slacks he wore with a blue shirt. He turned when she opened the door, swinging round quickly as if he suspected she would immediately leave again if he did not stop her.

  'Delia!' He came across the room in long jerky strides, his schoolboyish features slightly flushed and a dark look of anxiety in his grey eyes. 'Please don't go,' he begged, correctly interpreting her hasty move. 'Please, Delia! ' It was difficult not to weaken before such an appeal and she hesitated, her eyes showing signs of recent angry tears and looking dark and shadowed. 'You've seen the professor?' he asked, and she nodded jerkily.

  Holding herself stiffly, she fought with a returning anger, and curled her hands into fists at her sides. 'I don't want to talk to you, Clifford,' she said in a small, tight voice. 'I—I don't trust myself to be polite to you!'

  But what I did, I did for you, Delia! ' Clifford

  had his hands on her arms and somehow the door of the salon was closed behind her; it was almost as if she was being swept along by something she could not control. 'Delia! ' Encouraged by the fact that she had not angrily shaken him off, he drew her towards him and even attempted a smile, albeit a small and rather bitter one. 'You didn't expect me to stand by and see you hurt by that—that man, did you?' he asked.

  `If you're talking about Kemal,' Delia said huskily, 'there was little danger of my being hurt until you interfered, now ' She shrugged helplessly and Clifford bent his head earnestly as he led her, unresisting, to the centre of the room.

  `Oh, Delia darling, you know he'd have hurt you sooner or later,' Clifford insisted. 'You know it as well as you know that I love you, and I couldn't just stand by and let it happen!'

  Delia fought with a surge of emotions that was almost frightening in its intensity. Anger for his lie to her uncle, bitterness that he had probably made it impossible for her ever to get close to Kemal again, and a fierce determination to let him know how she felt about Kemal. 'I love him ' she whispered huskily, her green eyes bright and glistening as she listened to her own words. 'I didn't want rescuing, Clifford—I was happy as I was!'

  'Delia! '

  His hands on her arms tightened their grip and she was reminded suddenly of the way Kemal had gripped her so tightly just before he realised she was crying and gently kissed away her tears. The

  reminder of how happy she had been then only made her more angry with Clifford and she shook herself free of him at last. 'Leave me alone, Clifford!'

  She walked across to the open windows and looked out at the exotic, scented gardens, wondering suddenly how much longer she would be able to stay at Mavisu now that this had happened. She had grown to love the big, exotic house with its perfumed gardens above the sea, as she had grown to love the man who lived there, and neither would be easy to forget.

  `Do you think he'll ever love you?' The long silence was broken at last by Clifford's flat, resentful voice and Delia did not reply. She did not really know the answer herself, but the illusion had been sweet before Clifford shattered it. 'Delia, please! ' He came and stood behind her, although for the moment he did not touch her. 'You know nothing could have come of it,' he urged quietly and so convincingly that for a moment she almost allowed herself to admit it.

  `What—what did you tell him?' she whispered, and Clifford hesitated. Then he put his hands to either side of her neck and his fingers were caressingly gentle, as was his voice when he answered her.

  `I told him we were going to be married,' he said. 'I said that—appearances were deceptive, that you were sometimes a—a little headstrong. The surroundings here had gone to your head and

  `You had no right! ' She could imagine Kemal's opinion of her now. A flighty girl, excited by exotic

  surroundings and flattered by the attention of a more mature man, lying to him about Clifford because she knew he would never have taken her out otherwise.

  `I thought I had the right! ' Clifford argued, tight-lipped, and Delia shook her head.

  `He was so angry,' she said in a small flat voice. The hurt of being snubbed was still there and she shook her head slowly.

  `He was angry,' Clifford agreed, making no attempt to touch her again. 'He's a proud man and he disliked being told where he got off, but I told him the truth, Delia—you would have married me if Madame Renoir hadn't put other ideas into your head!'

  Delia turned, her eyes bright with unshed tears and her usually soft mouth closed in a bitter tightness that was completely unfamiliar to him. 'I wouldn't have married you, Clifford,' she told him with harsh frankness, 'because I don't love you!'

  'I see! '

  She was sorry for him suddenly. Sorry she had been so hurtfully blunt and appalled to think that she could be so bitterly cruel to anyone, let alone Clifford whom she had always liked, even more than liked at times. 'Clifford—I'm sorry! '

  She put out a hand to him, a gesture of appeal, but he shook his head slowly and one hand rubbed over the back of his head in a gesture that was familiar enough to be touching. 'I love you,' he said in a quiet, flat voice. 'I hoped that by putting Selim out of the picture I'd make you see sense and

  realise what's best for you, but you still can't see, can you, Delia?' The grey eyes had a hard glittery look that made her shiver suddenly 'Can you still think that you meant any more to Kemal Selim than a—a brief seduction? A last fling before he settles down with that Turkish girl I saw him with? You're fooling yourself, Delia, and I hate to think what you're going to do when he tells you so himself! '

  'No ! ' Her cry came from the heart, but she looked at him with the cold certainty that he was right showing starkly in her eyes, and Clifford reached for her swiftly, drawing her into his arms.

  With her head on his shoulder she cried bitterly, and Clifford held her, one hand stroking the dishevelled softness of her red-gold hair below his chin. It was soothing and comforting and, although the hurt was still there, her weeping eventually subsided and she looked up at him uncertainly.

  `Feeling better?' he asked, but Delia shook her head vaguely.

  'I—I can't blame you too much because you meant it for the best,' she whispered huskily. 'I just wish you—I wish you hadn't made Kemal believe that I lied to him.'

  `Lied to him?'

  Delia nodded. 'I told him there was nothing between us, you and me, and now he'll think I deliberately lied to him.'

  He shook his head, as if her reasoning still puzzled him. 'I couldn't let it go on any longer, darling,' he said softly, and kissed her gently. 'Now

  it's been ended and you'll see, you'll forget all about him once you get home to familiar surroundings.'

  Delia said nothing, but one thing she knew for certain. Clifford was wrong about her forgetting Kemal once she got back home. She could never forget him—whatever happened she would go on loving him, however hopeless it seemed.

  Delia did not put in an appearance at lunch time, she sent her apologies to their host and said that she had a headache and felt slightly unwell. It was a reasonable excuse and not entirely untrue, and she simply could not face the rest of the household at the moment, particularly Kemal.

  Madame Renoir, suspecting that her nephew's sudden ill temper and Delia's absence from the lunch table were somehow connected, sought her out during the early afternoon and persuaded her to join her in the salon. Delia did so willingly enough, although she was on tenterhooks for fear Kemal should come in, an
d Madame Renoir noticed it.

  `You are not truly unwell, are you, ma chère?' she asked, and Delia, curled up on one of the cushions close by, shook her head.

  `Not really,' she confessed.

  Madame Renoir reached out and lifted the unhappy face with one finger under her chin. Shaking her head, she clucked sympathetically, although there was a speculative, almost shrewd look in her dark eyes as she studied her tear-stained face. 'Kemal is so angry that his anger almost chokes

  him,' she observed quietly, 'and you, ma chère, look as if you have been weeping. I am bound to connect these two things, so I ask myself, why have these two foolish young people made each other so unhappy, huh?'

  Delia did not answer at once, and Madame Renoir did not press her to. She simply sat beside her with a hint of kindly curiosity in her dark eyes as she watched her. `I—I suppose it was bound to happen some time,' Delia ventured at last. 'Clifford simply had to say something, to make some move.'

  `Clifford?' Madame Renoir frowned at this unexpected intrusion of a third party. 'Monsieur Aitkin is concerned in this—this upset?' she asked, and Delia nodded.

  It would be a relief to talk to someone who would at least make some effort to understand how she felt, and she hugged her knees to her, resting her chin on her arms as she gazed at the sunshine outside while she unburdened. 'Clifford told Kemal that I was engaged to him,' she said.

  'To Monsieur Aitkin? Oh, mais nom!' A hand reached for hers and pressed it consolingly. But this is nonsense, ma chère, is it not?'

  Delia shook her head firmly. 'Yes, of course it is,' she said. 'I wouldn't have gone with Kemal the way I did if I was engaged to anyone, and I certainly wouldn't have let him ' She stopped hastily, but there was no need to go on—Madame Renoir was nodding her head wisely.

  `So—' she said, 'Kemal is foolish enough to

  believe what a jealous man tells him and he is angry because ' The expressive dark eyes rolled meaningfully, but Delia was already denying it, her cheeks flushed.

  `He's angry because he thinks I made a fool of him, madame,' she told her bitterly. 'I always insisted that there was nothing between me and Clifford and Kemal took my word for it. Now he's convinced that I was fooling him and he's angry because he thinks he's been taking out someone else's fiancée. I can't blame Kemal, although it hurts that—that he won't give me a chance to tell my side of it.'

  `You have tried to tell him?' Madame Renoir asked, and Delia shrugged vaguely.

  'I saw him before lunch,' she said, 'but he—he snubbed me in no uncertain way without giving me a chance to—to say anything.'

  She was close to tears again when she thought about it, and Madame Renoir nodded sympathetically. 'Stubborn creature!' she declared firmly. 'You did not lie to him and he has no right to make you unhappy like this! You should tell him so, huh?' She cocked her head to one side and listened for a moment to someone moving out in the hall. 'Maybe you have the opportunity, petite,' she told her in a stage whisper. 'I think he is coming here!'

  `Oh no, madame, please! '

  Madame Renoir got up from her chair and waved her back to her cushion. 'But, enfant, you are able to deal with Kemal I am sure of it,' she said confidently. 'Be firm, ma chère, do not let him frighten

  you, hmm?'

  Such advice was more easily given than followed, Delia thought wildly as she sat there watching while Madame Renoir spoke to Kemal as he came in, successfully distracting him for as long as it took him to see her out and to close the door behind her. He did not see Delia until he turned and began to walk across the room, and she saw him hesitate, his dark eyes looking almost jet black below drawn brows.

  For a moment she thought he was going to turn and walk out again, and she shivered at the idea of him disliking her company to that extent, but he came on after that brief hesitation. He could have ignored her, she supposed, but his upbringing would forbid such ill manners no matter what she had done, or he thought she had done.

  Inclining his head towards her in that stiff, formal little bow she was once so familiar with, he strode across to where a box of cigarettes stood on one of the small tables, and taking one he lit it with strong, steady fingers. His fierce dark features were thrown into momentary relief by the flame of the lighter and briefly his eyes turned again in her direction.

  apologise for the intrusion, hanim,' he said, and the cold formality of his voice using that very formal title again made her heart lurch sickeningly.

  She got to her feet and stood for a moment holding her trembling hands together in front of her as she followed his tall figure across the room with

  her eyes. Then, remembering Madame Renoir's admonishment not to be frightened of him, she swallowed hard on the thudding beat of her heart that threatened to make her breathless before she could say anything.

  `Kemal! ' She had to speak quickly before he walked out again, but when he turned he looked so discouraging that her courage almost failed her. `I—I want to explain,' she began huskily, and licked her suddenly dry lips anxiously. must

  `You have no need to explain,' Kemal interrupted harshly. 'Your—fiancé has explained all the facts to me, and I having nothing to say to you, hanim, except that I admire the courage of a man who is so willing to forgive you and so ready to marry you still after the lies you have told! '

  'Oh no, I haven't, please!' Delia shook her head, trying not to cry like a baby, for he too must remember what had happened the last time she had done that when they were together. 'I—I didn't lie to you, Kemal, please believe me, it's all a mistake! '

  The dark eyes stunned her with their look of contempt and she felt herself cold and empty as she looked at him hopelessly. It seemed that Clifford had been even more convincing than she feared and Kemal was ready to believe him all the way. `The mistake was mine, hanim,' he said coldly. 'I had seen Clifford Aitkin several times behave as if he had the right to kiss you. My grandfather has seen you also accepting this man's kisses without objection—am I to believe that we were both mistaken?'

  'But I told you ' Delia began.

  `That he meant nothing to you! ' Kemal finished harshly. 'And I, against the evidence of my own eyes, believed you, hanim

  'But it's true,' Delia insisted desperately. 'He wasn't—he isn't! He's a—a friend, nothing more.'

  'You still seek to justify your deceit,' Kemal told her, ruthlessly harsh. 'But a man does not speak with such frankness and authority about a woman, nor does he lay claim to her so forcefully in public unless he is very sure of his position, even in your free society! My grandfather was present when he made such a claim, hanim, he would not have been so rash had he not spoken with authority! You made a fool of me for your own purposes and I do not like it, nor do I enjoy being told in front of another that I have been seducing another man's fiancée! '

  'Kemal! '

  He inclined his head again in that chillingly formal bow and swept those glittering jet dark eyes over her in a swift survey that brought the colour to her cheeks. 'I wish you joy of your marriage, hanim!'

  It was because Sadi Selim had been there to witness his humiliation at Clifford's hands that it had affected him so deeply, Delia realised, for the old man would be appalled to think that his grandson had so far defied their customs as to behave in the way Clifford suggested. He had been disturbed at the idea of Kemal taking her out at all, unaccompanied—that she was now shown to be the fiancée

  of one of his house guests would shame him deeply.

  She could sympathise with Kemal to some extent and understand the way he felt, but her own hurt was at least equal to his, although he probably did not realise it, and he refused to hear her out. 'You must hear my side of it,' she insisted urgently as he turned away again. 'It's the least you can do, instead of condemning me out of hand!'

  For a moment she thought he might relent, it showed in a brief softening of that stern mouth, but then he shook his head firmly. 'What more can be said?' he asked quietly. 'Your uncle is as firmly convinced as you
r fiancé that this betrothal exists, so there seems little point in your continuing to deny it. It seems you are to marry Clifford Aitkin, hanim, whether you admit the fact or not at the moment ! '

  He turned swiftly and walked across the room, his dark head held arrogantly high and the lean, hard body tall and straight as a lance. He had his hand already on the door when Delia found breath enough to call out to him, and she did so from the depth of her own misery, to try and hurt him as she had been hurt.

  `Just as you'll marry Suna Kozlu, whether you want to or not?' she cried in a voice that shivered across the big room unsteadily.

  Kemal stopped in the doorway, one hand on the ornate gilt knob, and there was a tense, taut look about his broad shoulders and the set of his head. Then he turned slowly and looked at her, his eyes glittering. 'Never, hanim,' he said in a harsh flat voice. 'I do not lie about such things!'

  He was gone and the door closed firmly behind him before Delia realised that she had just learned something which yesterday would have delighted her—today it merely added to her state of confusion.

  CHAPTER NINE

  DELIA had firmly made up her mind by the time she came downstairs the following morning that she would not be able to stay on at Mavisu, no matter if her uncle and Clifford had finished their work on the dig or not. As things were her position was impossible and could only get worse as far as she could see, also she felt so weepy that she was losing patience with herself. She had been awake for hours during the night and she had given a great deal of thought to her situation both with Kemal and with Clifford, and the best solution seemed to be her early departure for home.

  Possessed of a normally healthy appetite, despite her present unhappiness, she did not see how she could go on avoiding mealtimes just because Kemal would be there too. It would be hard to ignore him, but she would endeavour to concentrate instead on talking to Madame Renoir who was, she felt, her only ally in a somewhat hostile camp.