Chrys found it and gave it to him and he proceeded to uncork the wine. "Make yourself comfortable," he said, "and don't flit about like a hostess listening for the doorbell. All who are coming to the party are present and correct."
She sat down at the other side of their spread, opened a napkin and took a couple of sandwiches. A glass of wine was held towards her and she took it with a murmur of thanks and was relieved that her hand didn't shake. "How chic," she said, "to be drinking wine at a picnic."
"I have the feeling that you would prefer lemon squash," he drawled. "Much less likely to go to the head. I drink to your pure blue eyes, matushka, and the way they remind me of the desert sky when the blue hour approaches. Do you drink to me?"
"Why not ?" She raised her glass. "Here's to knowing you, Anton. When I dance in a Russian ballet I shall think of you."
"I am glad to hear that you don't intend to quite forget me." He popped a savoury into his mouth and looked at her over the rim of his wine glass. "What ballet had you in mind — The Snow Princess ?"
She smiled and nibbled a pickle. "Do you go back soon to your desert house, milor? It must be a wrench for you to leave Miroslava?"
"It is," he agreed, "but I can no longer expect a woman of her years to endure the heat and often the loneliness. She is better at the castle. She has her music and her memories, and kind old Vera."
"You must at times feel lonely yourself, milor." Chrys took a quick sip of her wine. "Now that your
grandmother is no longer at Belle Tigresse."
"Do you care — really — that I might now and then be lonely in my desert house?" There was a little crack as he broke a hard-boiled egg and peeled the shell.
"I think when you are a little triste you saddle up and ride to your Jade Oasis," she said, handing him the salt for his egg.
"Taking with me my belle amie of the moment?" He shook salt on to his egg and bit it in half with a snap of his teeth.
"We were talking of loneliness —"
"Ah, so we were, little one, but it is not always a fact that a man is no longer lonely because he has with him a woman — not that I have ever taken a woman to the oasis. There are two sorts of loneliness, that of the body, and that of the soul. We are locked within the prison of ourselves — perhaps only one person alone can enter with the key to our inner mystery and all our secret agonizing. Perhaps only then does the restlessness go away like an ache that has troubled one for a long time. You must, Chrysdova, feel lonely yourself at times — and don't bother to deny it. Don't say again that your career suffices. Your trouble is that you don't trust a man to give you the same joy, the same heady sweetness that your dancing gives you. You trust in your dancing to fill your life — but what if it doesn't? What then will you have, if you let your feelings lie like frozen crocuses under that snow-cool skin of yours ?"
"It is my business what I do with my life," she rejoined. "I don't plan to have affairs just to compensate for this year when I must remain inactive as a dancer —"
"I was not talking about affairs," he cut in. "You were not made for those, but you were made lovely, and love will come to you whether you will it or not. If you give it the frozen shoulder, ma petite, it may never come again with such passion and power."
"What would you know about love, Prince Anton?" She gave him a cool look, and yet could feel her fingers gripping the hot fine sand with nervous tension.
"To you it is just another game of roulette. Tonight the girl in red, or the one in black, and when the game grows tedious you walk away and you don't even glance back to see if the girl is weeping. If I ever loved it wouldn't be your kind of love! "
"If snow ever burns and flame ever freezes," he mocked, and he reached for the wine bottle and there was a reckless look on his face as he filled his glass. "Will you join me in another glass of this provocative wine that loosens the tongue ?"
"No thanks," she said, and in that instant she made up her mind to go home. She ate her sweet, an iced pure of fruit, and she listened to the tide coming in, and the gradual quietening of other voices on the beach. She was aware, almost without looking, when Anton turned his face against his arm and closed his eyes. She waited, patiently and quietly, and then when she dared fully to look at him, she saw his dark lashes still on his cheeks, and she saw his chest rising and falling evenly in sleep. She stared for a moment at the scar that was a crescent of white against the tan of his skin. A strange little shudder ran all through her, and then she slipped to her feet and walked silently to the beach hut. Within ten minutes she was dressed and her hair was combed. She checked her purse to make sure she had money enough for the train fare to London . . . and she walked away from Anton de Casenove without looking back.
This time she would be the one to walk away . . . before he did so, and left her in tears.
CHAPTER VII
"Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife? .. . Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour and keep her . . ."
At that point in her dreaming, while Dove still seemed to stand beside her bridegroom in pale satin and lace, Chrys awoke to find herself in a cabin aboard a ship, the bedclothes half off her restless figure, while deep in the heart of the vessel the engines beat firmly and regularly.
She sat up and stared at the luminous dial of her travelling clock. It was still early morning, though a faint light was outlining the window facing her bed. She could hear the soft breathing of her cabin companion in the twin bed, and she gave a slight smile. Maud Christie was well travelled and she slept soundly, undisturbed by the motion of the ship, by the strange scents that stole into the cabin, a mixture of ozone and weathered timber and a faint whiff of coffee always on the air.
Chrys, as a dancer, had travelled to various cities by jet plane, but this was the first time she had voyaged in a cargo ship that also carried a few passengers. It was a new, exhilarating experience, and today they would arrive at Port Said, and she would have her first glimpse of a desert city, on the edge of the vast and golden sea of sands.
She took a biscuit from the tin on her bedside table and made herself comfortable against her pillows as she nibbled it. Maud Christie had been doubtful about employing her at first. She had said bluntly that she had in mind a middle-aged woman used to the job of being a companion. A young, pretty toe-dancer who would attract the men like bees to a jam pot was not her idea at all of what she required. They'd get halfway to their destination and some young man would steal her away and leave Maud stranded again.
"No, you're hopeless," she had said, waving Chrys to the door. "Go and get yourself a modelling job, young woman. It will pay better than I can, and no doubt amuse you far more."
"It would bore me to distraction," Chrys had laughed, for right away she had taken to Maud, with her
forthright air, her solid figure in a tweed suit, and her hair that was cut short but still retained some of the gold of her youth. She had a humorous mouth, and rather fine eyes, and Chrys felt certain that she would be interesting to work for, and not too bossy.
"I thought the youth of today wanted only to enjoy the glamorous side of life, with no respect for the past, and little interest in anything but the thrill of the moment. Are you telling me, young woman, that you're different from the other members of your generation?"
"We aren't all flighty," said Chrys. "Some of us have a serious side, Mrs. Christie."
"Maud, if you don't mind?" The decision was as rapid as that. "If you are going to travel to the desert with me, where the sun will darken that fine white skin of yours, and where the khamsin can spring to life within the flickering of an eyelid." Maud had jangled the blue Arabian beads that she wore with her English tweeds. "There are many discomforts in the East, to match its many delights, and there will be hell to pay, I promise you, if you let me down and prove inept, or as hungry for a man as my last fool of a companion."
"Men are my least concern." And Chrys spoke with such decision, and even a hint of scorn, that Maud studied her somewhat critically
.
"Been hurt, or let down by one of them?" she asked. Chrys shook her head and explained that her career came first.
"A bit dangerous, that." Maud pursed her lips. "Love is like the khamsin, say the Arabs, always waiting to overwhelm the unwary."
"I'm not unwary," said Chrys. "On the contrary, I'm very wary."
"Well, let us hope so." And after that Maud proceeded to tell Chrys what she would need for the journey, and here she was, with the sea voyage almost over and England left far behind, with its constant reminders that Dove was partly lost to her in the loving arms of Jeremy, that her parents were content with each other
and their garden at Westcliff, and another member of the ballet company had stepped into her shoes and would dance the roles which had been planned for her during the forthcoming season.
This trip out East was her only consolation and Chrys was determined to make the most of it.
She was up, bathed and dressed in crisp tailored blue by the time Maud Christie joined her for breakfast at the Captain's table. The sea was looking gloriously blue and unruffled, and Captain Laurent gallantly remarked that the sea was trying to compete with the colour of Mademoiselle's eyes.
Chrys smiled at the compliment, but absently, for in the distance she glimpsed like a mirage the gleaming minarets and domes of an oriental city, floating on the horizon, and making her heart beat so much faster than the admiration of any man.
"Is it real, or am I imagining it?" She pointed towards the scene, etched so clearly by the brilliant sunlight.
"One's distant glimpse of the tropics never fails to stimulate the imagination," said the Captain, and his smile was worldly and indulgent of her excitement as his Gallic eyes dwelt on her face. "I hope you will not be disappointed when you actually breathe its many aromas, mademoiselle, and discover that the sun's gauzy veil hides an ancient and sometimes raddled face."
"Don't disillusion the child before she has had a chance to see Port Said for herself," Maud chided him. "We seasoned travellers grow into cynics, but Chrys is new to the world of Eastern sunlight and mysticism. Don't listen to him, child. Frenchmen are realists about everything, including romance. They only give their hearts to a fine wine and well cooked food."
"How dare you libel the world's best lovers! " Captain Laurent looked mock-injured. "All during this all too short voyage I had hoped that I was winning the heart of this golden English flower, who this morning looks as if the waves just gave birth to her, so fresh
and new and untouched by life. You are a lucky woman, Madame Christie, to have such a companion for your travels."
"I am hoping I stay lucky," Maud retorted, wiping the marmalade from her lips. "I don't want any of you men snatching her away from me. I am a garrulous woman and I like someone to talk to in my own tongue while I pursue my own particular devil, which is the travel bug. It seems to have its roots in my feet and I can't stay in one place for long."
A few hours later Maud's feet, and that of her companion, were on shore and their baggage was being passed through the Customs office. Maud had brought cameras and a typewriter, not to mention a casket of Indian tea, a couple of well-upholstered sleeping bags, a pressure cooker and a folding bath. These were all packed in a trunk, which had to be opened for the officer's inspection, and Maud muttered to Chrys that anyone would think she was smuggling arms into the country, the fuss they were making.
"The sitt plans to camp in the desert?" exclaimed the official, in passable English. "Will that not be inconvenient for two ladies ?"
"It would be," Maud rejoined, "if we didn't have the things you are looking over as if they're machineguns ! "
The olive-faced official, in his impeccable white uniform, shook his head in the age-old puzzlement of the male Eastern intellect in conflict with the mind of the European female He relocked the trunk and chalk marked it. "Welcome to our country, to you and your daughter," he said to Maud. "May you enjoy your visit."
"Thank you, young man." She marched on airily out of the customs office, looking oddly pleased in that way of childless women that Chrys should be taken for her daughter. Porters followed them, carrying the baggage, and quite soon a horse-drawn arabeah was at the kerb and they climbed into it. It was shaded from the hot sun, and Chrys was delighted that Maud hadn't chosen
one of the more modern closed-in cabs. Chrys settled herself for the drive to the railway station, the shadows of the awning fringe dancing against her face as Maud settled up with the men who had now loaded their cases and the much-travelled trunk on to the floor of the cab.
Then they were off, clattering gaily through the narrow streets of closely built houses, their wooden balconies forming a sort of broken bridge above the heads of the people and the various vehicles that honked and clanked their way over the uneven paving stones of the roads that ran like a maze through the town.
Chrys breathed the tangy aromas that came from the hooded shops and houses, and gazed with brilliantly alive eyes at the Eastern scene. It was still the middle of the morning, so the town was clamorous. But later on, when the sun reached its zenith, the people would disappear behind closed shutters and silence would fall over Port Said. Every shadow would stand still in the blazing heat, and not a lizard or the tail of a cat would be seen.
The strangest sight of all was outside the railway station, where a band of dancers in robes and turbans were whirling to the wailing music of pipes and drums. Chrys, who was interested in all forms of dancing, was naturally intrigued and could have stayed watching for quite a while, but Maud said they would lose their train and there wouldn't be another to Beth Kezar for hours and she wanted to reach the desert town before nightfall.
"There's a small hotel there and no real need to book in advance for the one or two nights we shall be staying, but if we arrive late the chances are that we shan't find a porter to manage our baggage." Maud smiled and patted Chrys on the arm. "There will be plenty of colourful characters where we shall be going, and plenty of time for you to watch their antics."
"Coming," said Chrys, with a farewell glance at the dancers, and beyond them to the mosque with its great
studded doors and a square shaped minaret slotted with glass like a great lantern. She saw a grey Citroen car sweep into the kerb and a heavily robed figure emerged from it, sweeping past the orange-sellers and the peddlers of charms, matches and postcards with an imperious disregard for the charms that his full sleeve swept from the tray of one of the youths.
Instinctively Chrys darted forward to help the youth retrieve his wares, and she felt the fierce glance that stabbed at her from beneath the Arabian headcloth bound with an agal of golden thread. She ignored the look, knowing full well that upper class Arabs disapproved of women such as herself, who saw no harm in helping the boy to pick up the cheap little charms out of the dust. Arrogant brute!
"Here you are," she said to the boy. "That seems to be the lot."
He didn't understand her, of course, but with a quick shy smile he thrust one of the charms into her hand and obviously said in Arabic that she was to have it for helping him.
"Take it," said Maud at her elbow. "And for heaven's sake don't offer to pay for it. These people are as proud as Lucifer, and grateful as saints for a kindly helping hand. Just say to him, naharic saide."
Chrys obeyed with a smile, and tucked the charm into the pocket of her blazer.
"What do the words mean?" she asked Maud, as they entered the station, with a pair of porters in tow with their belongings.
"May your day be blessed. Lovely words, aren't they? The Arabic mode of speech really is a graceful one, although the men have such throaty voices that they appear to be growling instead of speaking almost biblical language. The East was always my husband's favourite place to visit. He brought me here as a bride." Maud laughed nostalgically. "Although at that time I thought it rather unfeeling of him to bring me to the desert on a dig when I was dreaming of a country cot-
tage and strolling hand in hand along a
flowery lane. But I soon learned to love life en grande tente, surrounded by miles of untamed desert. I enjoyed digging up relics of the past alongside Malcolm, and I missed him like the devil when he died. That's the trouble with love. It doesn't die with the people who engender it . . . it lives on. You might be wise, young Chrys, if you can avoid love. But on the other hand . . . '
The unfinished words were significant, and Chrys said prosaically, "I should like to send off a wire to my parents if possible. Just to let them know I've arrived safely at Port Said. My mother thought I was off to the wilds when I went to Russia, and this time she believes I shall disappear into the desert and be seen no more! "
"The telegraph desk is in this direction." Maud led the way through the clamour of the crowd, and when they reached the counter, she left Chrys to write her wire while she went to the news-stand to buy papers and magazines for the train journey. It wasn't until Chrys had her fair head bent over her task that she suddenly felt a hand feeling its way stealthily into her pocket. She knew that her face blanched as she realized that her pocket was being picked, and she swung round with a cry of protest which immediately caught the attention of a tall, robed figure at an adjoining counter. There was a flash of arrogant eyes within the shadow of the burnous; a glimpse of a thin dark moustache across the upper lip of the lean, foreign face. It was the same man who had knocked the charms from the peddler's tray, and Chrys wished to goodness that she had kept a tighter hold on her nerves. The pickpocket had slid away into the crowd, and all that he took with him was the cheap little charm, for obeying Maud's injunction Chrys carried her purse firmly in her hand.
"Pardon, mademoiselle!" The Arab spoke in accented French. "You have some further trouble with a youth of the town?"
She flushed vividly, for the sarcastic words implied
that she was a flirt who had been asking to be annoyed. "It is perfectly all right, m'sieur. Someone trod on my foot."
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