by Andrea Barry
"But my aunt is expecting me to arrive today," Patricia said, genuinely worried.
"No need to fret. You'll be able to send a telegram right away. You can even telephone. Believe me, the airline officials will take very good care of us. A stop-over like this is not unusual."
Patricia found these predictions to be true. An airline official boarded the plane immediately upon landing and escorted the in-transit passengers to a comfortable, glassed-in lounge where refreshments were served while each person was given a chance to send a message if he or she so wished. She wrote out a radiogram to her aunt, advising her of the delay, and handed it to the official in charge. Then, sitting back with a sigh, she looked about the attractive lounge which faced the modern terminal. She could see some of the deplaning passengers being met by their families. A beautiful young woman, accompanied by two small children, rushed to embrace a tall, handsome dark-haired man. It was Armand de Vincent.
Patricia was grateful that his back was turned so he could not see her. She felt herself first go pale and then flush red with an inexplicable anger. Here was the man who had pursued her—a man who would have seduced her had she given him the slightest opportunity to do so. Here was the international playboy whose affair with French movie actress Brigitte Duval was a known fact, being greeted by a beautiful wife and children!
A typical way for a decadent French aristocrat to behave, thought Patricia. But why should I care? He means nothing to me, she whispered to herself, almost aloud. Thank heaven he was now out of her hair for good. What a fool she was to have found him appealing!
But still, she could not find him repulsive, even as she watched him in animated conversation with the lovely woman, obviously his wife, whom he must have betrayed time and time again, in the disgusting tradition of "cherchez la femme."
Suddenly, Patricia saw him point to the lounge where she sat with the other in-transit passengers, and the little family moved in her direction. Now she could see his wife smiling at her, as they all came through the glass door and stepped inside the lounge.
"There you are, Patrice." Armand de Vincent called to her, as though chasing a girl were the most natural of acts, even in the company of his wife and children.
Patricia could hardly believe what was happening. Surely his wife didn't condone his amorous affairs! she thought as panic overtook her.
The airline official approached and greeted Armand. "How very nice to see you, Monsieur le Comte! I was just going to relay your message to Miss Wells and inform her that instead of staying at the hotel, she was invited to stay overnight in your villa as a guest of you and Madame la Comtesse."
Before Patricia could compose herself, the lovely dark-haired girl extended her hand in a friendly greeting. "I am Marinette," she said. "And this is Claudine and Pierre."
The children rushed to shake Patricia's hand.
"I am sure Armand told you about the children," Marinette continued, leaving Patricia speechless.
"No," Armand cut in. "Actually I didn't have a chance to tell Patrice much about the family. She decided she would rather sleep than talk to me during the flight."
Enough is enough, Patricia decided. This farce has to end. What am I doing talking to these people? She put on the best smile she could muster under the circumstances.
"I'm happy to have met you, Madame," she said. "But I have to go now. My hotel arrangements are being taken care of and I believe the other passengers are waiting for me." She turned to join the small group from the plane, getting ready to leave the lounge.
"Oh, but my dear." Patricia could see disappointment in the eyes of the Countess, whom she couldn't help but like. "My brother and I would consider it such a pleasure if you were our guest until it is time for you to catch the Nairobi plane tomorrow."
"Your brother?" Patricia looked around to see if another man had joined them. Astonished, she realized that the lovely couple she was talking to was indeed not husband and wife, but brother and sister. She noticed a smile on Armand's lips, as he waited to hear what she would answer. The cad! He, no doubt, knew all along that Patricia had thought this lady was his wife.
A small hand reached for her own, as little Claudine looked up at her. "Oh, Mademoiselle, please come to our house," she said in perfect English, her eyes glowing. "I will let you ride my own horse."
"Yes, yes," the little boy chimed in. "Please, Mademoiselle. You can ride my horse too. It is a bigger horse."
"Children, you must let Mademoiselle Wells make her own decision," interrupted their mother. "Though we hope it will be in our favor," she added with a smile.
Patricia turned to the young mother, who seemed no more than a few years older than herself. Her large dark eyes were warm and sincere. She could tell Marinette's feelings would be hurt were she to refuse her hospitality.
"I'd love to be your guest, Madame," she said, making it very plain that the offer she was accepting was that of the Countess and not her brother.
"Good, good!" The two children danced with delight.
"We shall do our best to make your stay in Abidjan a pleasure," said Marinette, as she led the way to a car waiting just outside the terminal gates.
Patricia would have guessed who the car belonged to without much effort. It was a white Rolls Royce, similar to the one Armand drove in New York. This one, however, was attended by a uniformed chauffeur, who seated the family on the soft leather-upholstered seats. Patricia sat in the middle, Armand on her left, Marinette on her right, the children occupying two small jump seats.
"Would you like to see a bit of Abidjan on the way to the house?" asked Marinette. "That is, if you aren't too tired?"
"Oh, I'd love it," Patricia replied. She felt quite rested having had a good night's sleep on the plane. She instantly liked her hostess. Any suggestion she might make, Patricia felt, would be a pleasant one.
"Shall we stop at the market in Treichville?" asked the children, almost in unison. It was obviously a place they liked.
"An excellent idea," said their mother.
Chapter Four
The car sped down a highway edged with royal palms, toward gleaming skyscrapers rising against a blue sky under a hot white sun. Patricia was amazed to find herself in a modern city. Somehow she hadn't pictured one in the western part of tropical Africa.
"Abidjan is a mixture of the old and the new," Armand said, interrupting her thought. He explained the various sights as they drove along, pointing out little islands in the blue lagoon whose shining waters seemed to follow the road.
Patricia realized to her surprise that she was enjoying Armand's presence, even though he was as dangerously close to her now as he had been on the plane, when she felt compelled to escape him. He had frightened her then, but now he seemed a different person. He was no longer the aggressive, sexual male she had met earlier, who never stopped teasing and goading her. Here, in the company of his family, he was thoughtful and considerate.
"Soon we'll enter the old Arab part of the city," he went on. "That is where we'll find the Treichville market. Many tourists come just to shop at this famous native market."
They drove over a narrow cobblestone street and then the car came to a stop on a shady square surrounded by hundreds of colorful stalls that extended as far as the eye could see. The chauffeur got out and came around to open the back door.
"Wait for us here, Gaston, please," Armand directed. Then he took Patricia's arm and led her into the exotic domain of the bustling market. Marinette and the children followed close behind them.
The streets were crowded with colorfully dressed hawkers praising their wares in vibrant singsong voices. Intriguing smells and sounds filled the air. Armand and Patricia stopped to admire handmade leather purses and belts displayed on mats spread on the ground, not far from baskets of all shapes and sizes. They continued on to fragrant fruitstands, where papayas, mangos, and oranges were placed in bunches on large wooden tables covered with bright cloths. Flowers were everywhere.
Patri
cia relaxed on Armand's arm, forgetting completely that the protective man guiding her along the narrow passageways was the same person who had caused her so much inner turmoil. She felt comfortable in his care, totally fascinated by him, as he kept explaining the exotic scenes that were unfolding in front of them.
"Here is where some of the most beautiful batik fabrics are made into clothes," Armand was saying as he put his arm around Patricia to protect her from a merchant laden with huge baskets walking toward them.
They mounted narrow steps to an area where dazzling cloths hung all around, some even draped over tall tree branches.
"The fabrics come from all over the country," Armand explained. "Come," he suggested. "We shall watch the makers of kaftans."
They stepped onto a platform where sewing machines purred. Tailors and seamstresses were busy stitching shirts and kaftans. Patricia was sure many would be sold in elegant boutiques in New York and Paris.
Next they followed a narrow alley which housed jewelry stalls. Artisans, young and old, their heads wrapped in multicolor turbans, were hammering and welding to create all manner of jewelry out of copper, silver, and gold. Some were studded with precious stones.
Marinette waved a hello to a man who was working with golden wires.
"This is Bedou." She introduced the artist to Patricia, and the man bowed his head low in greeting. "Bedou made my bracelet. It was a present from Armand." Marinette smiled prettily.
"It is really exquisite," Patricia exclaimed, fingering the bangle of mixed golden and silver wires, intricately worked into a braid. "I have never seen one like it."
"You girls go on now," Armand said suddenly. "I have an errand to do. I'll meet you a little later."
Patricia wondered what Armand would be doing. She found the market fascinating, but felt most men would not. However, she realized Armand was not like most men. His interests were varied, and certainly she could sense that he liked many of the things she herself cared for.
Claudine and Pierre kissed Armand on the cheek. "A bientot." They waved gaily, as they now ran ahead of the two women.
Patricia wondered why their father was absent.
"Armand is so good with the children, isn't he?" Marinette commented. As though sensing Patricia's thought she continued, "My husband died of an illness just a little over a year ago." Patricia heard the sadness in Marinette's voice. But the girl brightened again when she spoke of her brother. "Armand was living in Paris at the time, and he simply returned here to Abidjan, without a thought for his own needs, so he could be with us. This has been a blessing for the children. He is so kind and understanding with them."
"Really?" was all that Patricia could say. She had not looked upon Armand de Vincent as much of a family man. Not until now, at least.
"Of course," his sister continued, "in his heart of hearts Armand would like to see me married again. And to tell you the truth—" she stopped as though about to divulge a secret. "Well… I'm thinking of it. I'm seeing a man who has asked me to marry him, but my wish now is to see Armand married." Marinette went on. "I know he will be a wonderful husband and father, provided he finds the right girl…" Her voice trailed off, then continued, "Armand is a very serious man, a man with high ideals."
This was hard for Patricia to believe. What she had heard of Armand de Vincent and seen with her own eyes, was a far cry from the way his sister described him. Was it possible Armand wasn't as bad as he seemed?
Patricia had no time to ponder Armand's positive qualities. The women had now entered an area where, under bright tents, soothsayers were selling amulets and love potions. Patricia caught sight of an old man squatting on the ground. Then he threw a bundle of sun-bleached bones onto a bright red mat. As he did so, he closed his eyes, and a small boy, who stopped beside him, began to beat a strange rhythm on a small drum. He stopped when the old man opened his eyes and peered at the scattered bones. Suddenly he raised a bony finger and called to her.
"Come here, Mademoiselle. My bones tell me many good things for you."
"He's a fortune-teller," Claudine whispered. "He looks at the bones and he tells the future."
"There is much love for you, Mademoiselle." The old man shook his long white beard as he spoke. "Soon, Mademoiselle, love comes to you. I see that you came to my country from across the waters, from far away. Here in Africa there is much good for you."
Patricia was intrigued, but she became embarrassed. She could feel herself blush, even though she knew no one with any sense took this kind of fortune-telling for anything more than entertainment. Fortune-tellers always said love was nearby.
Armand now appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and Patricia jumped. He was gazing at her intensely, his violet-blue eyes piercing hers, his lips in a half-smile. Patricia was sure he enjoyed her embarrassment. Yet, Armand said nothing and only fished some coins out of his pocket, handing them to the old man.
It was Marinette who broke the old man's spell. "Come, come, everyone. We must get home. Patricia has had a long plane ride and she deserves to rest."
No one mentioned the fortuneteller as the car drove away from the market in the old quarter of the city and sped down a palm-lined highway.
"You will find that Ivory Coast is a strange mixture of ancient and new ways," Armand explained. "What you just saw in the market of Treichville is a way of life that has existed for thousands of years—the bartering of goods brought from various parts of the country, the colorful attire of the people, the fortune-tellers…"
Patricia was thankful that he did not elaborate on the fortune-teller. It was obvious he respected her feelings and did not wish to embarrass her further. Perhaps he was nice, after all. She Would give him the benefit of the doubt for now.
"Yes," Armand continued. "We have the ancient side of life here, but, on the other hand, we have such achievements as the port of Abidjan." He pointed to the lagoon, where, as the road veered, Patricia could see what looked like a hundred tall ships flying the colors of many nations, docked in the busy port.
"The Ebrie Lagoon," Armand said, "is connected to the sea by a canal that is a mile and a half long."
"The canal is called Vridi," interjected his nephew with pride. "And it took fourteen years to build. We sail down the canal a lot with Uncle Armand. Would you like to sail with us one day, Mademoiselle?"
Patricia was sure she would. To her, the picturesque city of Abidjan seemed an African Venice. Spread over many islands and peninsulas the many-fingered lagoon gave the impression of floating.
It was past noon when the car began climbing a steep hill. A large house stood on top of the lush, green mountain, commanding a view of the countryside and the sea. A circular driveway, shaded by flaming, royal poincianas, led to wide front steps of white marble. Its roof supported by graceful columns, the stone house rose three stories high. Its large plate glass windows, encircled in intricate woodwork, were painted white.
It was one of the most beautiful houses Patricia had ever seen. A tasteful blending of traditional and modern, it had a sunny quality that remained as she followed the de Vincent family inside the large foyer, whose ceiling held a skylight. Two curving staircases encircled the foyer, leading to a gallery whose walls were hung with paintings. Large, carved wooden doors led off the gallery to the other rooms.
"Are you tired, Patricia?" asked her hostess. "Would you like to take a nap now? We would like to show you as much of Abidjan as we can during your short stay with us, but perhaps you should rest first…"
"Oh, no." Patricia shook her head. "That isn't necessary. I feel very energetic."
"Good! Let's have some lunch then, after we've all freshened up," said Marinette.
The two children took Patricia upstairs, where she found everything she could possibly need in a beautifully furnished room that overlooked the lagoon. A maid unpacked her clothes, hanging them neatly in a rosewood armoire.
Patricia brushed her teeth and took a quick shower, deciding she would bathe later. She made her way
back downstairs, and walked through tall French doors that led to an air-conditioned glassed-in terrace, where a dining table was set with hand-embroidered place mats and silver cutlery.
Marinette and Armand were already waiting. They took the seats at the ends of the table, inviting Patricia to sit between them, with the children across from her.
"Would you care for an aperitif?" Armand asked.
"I would prefer something without alcohol," Patricia said. "I seldom drink anything more than an occasional glass of wine with dinner."
She was served a delicious juice made from local fruit. Luncheon consisted of a light soufflé of seafood and spinach. A salad was next, then a chocolate mousse. Patricia enjoyed the food. She felt very much at home with Marinette and the children, and so far, she could not fault Armand. Ever since she stepped on African soil, he had been the perfect gentleman and host.
Throughout the meal he remained in the background, saying little, leaving his sister and the children in an animated conversation with their guest. But even so, Patricia was acutely aware of his magnetic presence. His eyes followed her every move. She even felt his gaze on her finger tips, as she reached for a scented fingerbowl. She felt that he was caressing her with his eyes, and this caused her to shiver imperceptibly with a strange pleasure. She made herself turn away from his probing eyes as she felt herself blush.
"Is this your first visit to Africa, Mademoiselle?" little Claudine asked.
"Yes, it is." Patricia smiled at the little girl.
"And you may call me by my first name," she added.
"All right, Patricia." Claudine was pleased. "Tell me, do you like Africa?"
"Oh, yes! Even though I've been here only a few hours, I like Abidjan very much."
"You must not leave tomorrow. We will show you a lot of the country, won't we, Uncle Armand?"
"I think that's a wonderful suggestion, Claudine." Armand's eyes sparkled brightly, tugging at Patricia's heart.