The goddess of Mavisu Page 3

  Clifford said nothing for a moment, but he puffed a thin stream of blue smoke from the pipe he held clamped between his teeth and it was obvious that she had been right to assume there was something on his mind, just as it was obvious that the presence of Madame Renoir deterred him from saying what it was.

  It took the little Frenchwoman only a moment to realise that her being there was inhibiting his explanation and she smiled and raised one brow, glancing between the two of them archly. 'I will leave you to speak with Monsieur Aitkin, ma chère,' she told Delia. 'But Kemal will be here in just a moment, so do not linger too long, hmm?'

  'Oh no, madame, of course not—I'll be ready! ' They watched her as she walked across the wide hall and passed out into the sunshine and the lush gardens at the front of the house, then Delia turned again to Clifford, one brow raised curiously. `Did you want to say something to me, Clifford?' she asked, and he took a moment to answer.

  It was obvious that he found whatever it was on his mind difficult to put into words, and she almost felt sorry for him. 'I don't quite know how to begin, Delia,' he confessed after a moment or two, and

  again he hesitated to go on.

  Delia, keeping an anxious eye open for Kemal Selim's arrival with the car, hoped Clifford was not going to take so long coming to the point that she would find herself keeping Kemal waiting. The prospect of that did not appeal to her at all, particularly since he was probably taking her merely to oblige his aunt.

  Looking at Clifford's rather dreamy features she felt a stab of impatience suddenly, then a moment later was appalled to think that she could have reacted so. 'I'm sorry, Clifford,' she told him, 'but Kemal Selim will be here at any minute with the car. Is it important? Couldn't it wait until I come back?'

  Clifford's frown deepened, she thought, and wondered if it could be simply his concern for her being in the company of strangers that was bothering him. She knew he felt something for her, although nothing had ever been said or even hinted at, but his behaviour at the moment seemed to suggest that his feelings for her went much deeper than she had realised. His right hand was clamped so tightly about the bowl of the pipe that she expected the stem to snap at any moment under the pressure.

  `Delia, don't you know how I feel? Didn't you know that I'd have taken you anywhere if only I'd known you wanted to go?' He sounded oddly breathless as the words came tumbling over one another. 'Why didn't you ask me? Why Selim? Couldn't you have mentioned that you were tired of the dig—bored with being in the same place?

  I'd have taken you willingly!'

  Delia took a moment to answer. She had not realised just how upset he was about her going with Kemal Selim and for a moment the knowledge stunned her. Obviously she had been a long way out in her understanding of his feelings.

  `But I'm not in the least tired or bored,' she denied earnestly. 'And I'd certainly no intention of —of hurting your feelings, Clifford. It was just that when the chance arose to make a change—well, I took advantage of it, that's all.'

  'Oh, Delia! ' He took one of her hands and pressed his own thin strong fingers over hers. 'Why didn't you ask me?'

  Delia considered for a moment. She could have mentioned it, but she hadn't simply because he seemed so totally committed to the work in hand and because she had not realised the possibilities until the way had been opened up for her by Madame Renoir's suggestion. She had certainly had no idea how she would be upsetting Clifford by accepting the invitation.

  'I—I didn't think about it,' she told him after a moment or two. 'I honestly didn't think about going anywhere else until Madame Renoir suggested it, Clifford, and there's no need for you to feel—slighted at all. It's only a day's shopping and a swim in the sea, that's all!'

  Clifford's grey eyes gazed at her earnestly for a moment and he said nothing, but his whole attitude spoke of a tension that concealed much stronger emotions than anything she would have suspected

  him of. 'It won't be all,' he argued with unexpected bitterness. 'There'll be other times, other outings! Madame Renoir has her own reasons for taking you on this trip! '

  He puffed out more smoke and successfully concealed the expression on his face while Delia, genuinely puzzled, frowned at him curiously. 'I don't think I understand,' she told him, and Clifford looked suddenly uneasy, as if he feared he had said too much.

  'Maybe I'm wrong,' he said slowly and with obvious reluctance, 'but the way I see it, Madame Renoir has plans for you that I definitely don't like! '

  - 'Plans?' she frowned at him still, but her heart was thudding anxiously with the first suspicions of what he meant—suspicions that took her breath away. 'I—I think you're dramatising, Clifford,' she said in a voice that was not quite steady. 'What plans can Madame Renoir have that can possibly concern me?'

  Once again Clifford took time to answer and Delia fretted with impatience. She could hear the sound of a car outside, which meant that Kemal Selim would be ready for her at any second now, and she simply could not go until she knew exactly what Clifford meant. Clifford too heard the engine stop and the slamming of a car door and he glanced hastily over his shoulder before turning back to her again.

  'I think you know what I mean, Delia,' he told her. 'Both Sadi Selim and Madame Renoir want to

  see Kemal married, and Madame at least has no doubt who she wants for the role of bride to her precious nephew!'

  `Clifford! '

  She called after him, but Clifford was already half way to the doors, stunned by his own outspokenness, and Delia stared at his departing back with wide, bright eyes.. Her heart was beating so hard that she felt breathless and it lurched crazily a second later when Kemal came in at the door. She almost felt she couldn't face him after the implications that Clifford had made, but she had little choice now that he was within touching distance, his dark eyes curious because he had heard her call out.

  The two men barely acknowledged each other's presence, Clifford striding out into the sunshine, his thin figure stiff with embarrassment, and Kemal coming across to Delia unhesitatingly in the long easy strides that always reminded her of some big, dangerous animal. He looked down at her for a moment without speaking, his brown eyes flitting swiftly over her flushed face, then he arched one brow and looked at her enquiringly.

  'Is there something wrong, hanim?' he asked coolly, and Delia shook her head.

  'No,' she denied a little breathlessly. 'No, nothing's wrong.'

  He regarded her for a moment as if he suspected she was lying, but then he inclined his head briefly and extended one hand towards the open doors. 'Then if you are ready,' he said, 'we are waiting!'

  Suddenly more nervous than she had ever been of him, Delia stood her ground, her eyes downcast, searching her brain frantically for excuses, reasons for not going. I—if you'd rather not go, Mr. Selim,' she ventured after a moment or two, 'I don't mind, honestly. I mean,' she hastened to explain, 'I know you were more or less—forced to come on this outing and if you'd rather '

  She stopped short when a hand slid beneath her elbow and strong fingers curled over and into her soft flesh, urging her across the hall and towards the doors. 'I am not forced to do anything I have no wish to do, hanim,' he informed her coolly. 'That much you should know about me, at least! '

  'I know,' Delia agreed, still trying to find reasons, `but I thought

  'Do not keep me waiting longer,' Kemal Selim said firmly, his hand under her elbow giving her no option but to go with him. 'I am not a patient man! '

  `I know that too! ' The retort was instinctive and for a moment Delia wondered if he would be angry enough to change his mind after all. Instead, when she glanced at him from the corner of her eyes, she caught a brief and quite unexpected glimpse of white teeth in the darkly tanned face and could scarcely believe he was smiling.

  `Then waste no more time, hanim!' he told her firmly, and Delia went with him meekly out into the scented spring air, her hands clutching tightly on her handbag. How on earth, she wondered, was she going to cope
with a whole day in Kemal

  Selim's company, especially now that Clifford had put such disturbing ideas into her head?

  `Antalya! ' Madame Renoir said after what seemed like a remarkably short drive, and Delia gazed around her at the delightful suburbs of the town she had heard so much about but so far had not visited until now. It had seemed like a dream city, shimmering in the bright sun or vying with the stars at night with its lights perched among the night skies above the sea—now she could see that the reality was as enchanting as the dream.

  The sunny streets were bordered with orange trees, and the purple blossom of bougainvillea grew riotously as borders and hedges, while wide shady plane trees offered less exotic but no less welcome shade. There was no shortage of water in this lush, fertile town either, its presence was both audible and visible everywhere that mountain streams surfaced in the city streets and were curbed and banked with grass and flowers and shaded by short, sturdy palm trees, as cool and beautiful as they were unexpected.

  Antalya was built around a lovely bay, shimmering clear and a jewel-bright turquoise in colour, with streams of cool mountain water rushing down from the Taurus mountains behind the town and ending their journey in a spectacular display of tumbling falls from the cliffs' edge. The rocky coastline gave rise to incredible possibilities and the builders of Antalya had taken every advantage of it. Apart from its tiny harbour which lay at the

  foot of them most of Antalya itself was perched aloft on the steep, precipitous cliffs, a narrow and staggeringly twisty road allowing access to the harbour and the quay.

  `It looks wonderful! ' said Delia, and caught a brief but meaningful exchange of glances between Kemal and his aunt.

  `Would you like to go shopping or look at Antalya?' Madame Renoir asked with a smile, and Delia had no hesitation in choosing the latter.

  `There seems so much to see,' she explained, wondering as she spoke if Madame Renoir was disappointed in her choice. 'Do you mind very much if I go sightseeing, madame?' she asked. 'It all looks so lovely and I've never really seen a Turkish town.'

  But of course not, chérie!' Madame Renoir smiled at Kemal, one brow raised in question. `You will not mind if Delia looks at the sights, will you, cher Kemal?'

  'I am yours to command,' Kemal stated quietly, and flicked only a brief glance in Delia's direction, but it was enough to set her heart beating rapidly and to bring a faint flush of colour to her cheeks. But first we must park the car,' he went on, apparently oblivious of the effect he had. 'It is not possible to see Antalya properly from a car.'

  'I'm sorry if I'm a nuisance,' Delia told him with a meekness that was not altogether assumed, and once more the dark eyes met hers for a moment before they returned to the road.

  `Turkish hospitality is a matter of pride,' Kemal said in that same quiet voice. 'Can I do less than

  follow the wishes of a guest in my grandfather's house?'

  Delia said nothing—there seemed little she could say in reply to such an 'enigmatic remark, and Madame Renoir was already pointing out one of the brightly painted horse-drawn carriages that passed by as Kemal turned into a car park. 'The pay ton is the only way to see Antalya properly,' she told Delia. 'They are very pittoresque, no?'

  'Lovely,' Delia agreed readily, and turned to look at the smart horse-drawn cab, painted bright red and gleaming with burnished brass lamps. 'Can we really go sightseeing in one of those?'

  Kemal did not reply, but lent a hand to his aunt as she got out of the car, then turning to offer Delia his help he held her gaze and his mouth smiled faintly as he looked down at her steadily for a moment. 'Since you are set on playing the tourist, hanim,' he told her quietly, 'the pay ton is the best way to travel.'

  Delia could feel the wild hammering of her heartbeat when his strong brown fingers curled over her bare arm and she hastily avoided the steady gaze of those dark eyes as she stepped out of the car and stood beside him for a moment while he locked the car door. She was so uncertain of his true feelings in the matter of his acting as her guide that she wished for a moment that she and Madame Renoir could have come alone.

  'I'm sorry if my being a—a tourist embarrasses you, Mr. Selim,' she told him in a small unsteady voice, 'but you don't have to bother if you'd rather

  not. I can go alone quite easily—or with Madame Renoir, I don't mind! '

  `Ah, but of course we will come with you, chérie Madame Renoir insisted, and she looked at her nephew with a hint of reproach in her eyes. 'Kemal is not serious about calling you the tourist, he only teases you!'

  Delia was quite sure that her own reading of the situation was the more accurate, however, and she looked up at Kemal with a bright gleam of challenge in her green eyes, her heart thudding anxiously at her ribs. 'I don't think so, madame,' she said. 'Mr. Selim hasn't a very good opinion of me, I have no illusions on that score, and since he seems to find my wanting to see the sights an embarrassment to him, I'd much rather find my own way around than be any further trouble to him ! '

  She was being quite unforgivably rude, Delia knew it, but some instinct she could not control seemed to be goading her into letting Kemal know that she was fully aware of how he felt, no matter what veneer of good manners he put on to disguise it.

  Madame Renoir looked startled and it was evident that she was unsure what to do or say next, but Kemal's reaction was quicker. He curled his strong fingers once more around Delia's arm, his palm smooth and warm against her soft skin and arousing a sensation not unlike panic in her unsteady emotions as he looked down at her.

  `You claim to know me very well, hanim,' he told her, his deep voice as steady as a rock, and

  Delia instinctively shook her head to deny it.

  'I know you don't—I know you didn't want to come at all,' she insisted a little breathlessly. 'And there's really no need for you to act as guide as well now that we're here.'

  The fingers on her arm tightened their grip until Delia felt like crying out in protest. `So you think you can dismiss me like a hamal now that I have served your purpose, hanim?' he asked in a stern cold voice, and Delia licked her lips anxiously but did not reply. 'Both you and madame, my aunt, are under my protection,' Kemal went on relentlessly, 'and whether you wish it or not I shall not allow you to walk the streets alone!'

  Delia felt herself trembling, mostly because of the firm hold on her arm and the proximity of his person. There was a stunning aura of maleness about him that seemed to touch every nerve in her body, a fierce masculine arrogance that had her senses reeling, and she could find no words, but simply nodded her head without speaking.

  'Kemal! ' Madame spoke softly and one gentle hand on his was enough to remind him that they were in a public place. After a moment he let his hand slide from Delia's arm and stood for a moment just looking down at her as if there was more, much more, that he would like to have said.

  Then he shrugged his broad shoulders resignedly. 'Iyiyim,' he murmured, and Madame Renoir made no secret of her relief.

  'Shall we go?' she suggested, and Delia too breathed an inward sigh of relief when he nodded.

  Crossing swords with Kemal Selim could be much more alarming than she had anticipated, and she would be hesitant about trying it again.

  The hooves of the ponies were a pleasant accompaniment to their ride as they clip-clopped on the road through the sunny streets, inducing an air of somnolence with their rhythm, and Delia curled her fingers into moist palms as she coped with a variety of sensations that made her head spin.

  Madame Renoir sat on one side of her in the red-painted Payton as they drove through Antalya, and Kemal sat on the other, and in the limited space available it was impossible to avoid close contact with her companions. It was this proximity in fact that was the sensation Delia found hardest of all to cope with.

  A soft fabric hood, rather like a large pram hood, sheltered them from the sun and the soft, musical sound of the cab's warning bell added to the general air of unreality so that in other circumstances Delia mi
ght have imagined she was dreaming the whole thing. But the pressure of Kemal's hard thigh against her own was real enough to be infinitely disturbing and she was all too aware of the virile, masculine nearness of him pressed close to her and making it hard for her to control her reactions.

  The smoothness of his jacket sleeve brushed her bare arm each time he moved, and there was a spicy smell of aftershave that was exotic enough to lend credence to the suggestion of Eastern male dominance. She shivered involuntarily, then hastily

  brought herself back to earth and gave her attention to her surroundings. Kemal Selim was disturbing enough without allowing such fancies to invade her thoughts.

  The driver of the Payton, perched up on his box in front of them, seemed to know exactly where they were going, so Delia assumed that the brief conversation in Turkish with Kemal before they started had given him his directions. They rode around the town with both Kemal and Madame Renoir pointing out items of interest.

  To Delia, Kemal's participation in her education came as something of a surprise, although his grandfather had promised he would prove an excellent instructor in the wonders of their country. His deep, quiet voice had the effect of making even the most mundane information sound of outstanding interest, and after a while, she noticed, Madame Renoir yielded most of the talking to him and was mainly content to sit back and enjoy the ride.

  Most intriguing to Delia were the street vendors with their amazing variety of wares for sale and she found herself trying to discover how many different ones there were. They sold everything from razor blades to brightly coloured balloons, and from cheap sun-glasses to lottery tickets, all offered with the same earnest exaggeration of worth, and none short of buyers.

  They rode around for much longer than Delia realised until Madame Renoir suggested lunch was long overdue, and a glance at her wristwatch revealed that it was much later than she realised. The