by Anne Hampson
‘I expect this sort of a scene is not by any means new to you?’ Tom spoke at last, to Serra, who shook her head.
‘It’s rather like Greece, but different in many ways. Beirut’s more Oriental than Athens.’
‘Athens isn’t Oriental at all,’ said Clark. ‘I always feel I could be in any city in the world—’
‘No—oh, you couldn’t! What about the Acropolis?’
‘Take that away and you have a city—any city.’
‘Except that you can’t take it away,’ she pointed out. ‘When you think of Athens you automatically think of the Acropolis—no, you actually see it.’ Her mind naturally wandered back to that day, less than a week ago, when she had met Dirk, and there had followed the momentous happenings which had resulted in her gaining her freedom, in her being able to go out like this and enter into the fun that would automatically have been at her disposal had her mother not married a Greek. She would have been brought up in England then, and used to the Western way of life. That was now opening out to her and although she was enjoying this visit to the Lebanon she couldn’t wait to get to her mother’s country. It was a green land, her mother used to say, with wild mountain scenery in the north, originally carved out of thousands of feet of volcanic rocks—the result of great volcanoes erupting masses and masses of lava—and a soft undulating landscape in the south. And it was in the south that Serra was going to live—in the beautiful county of Dorset.
The mention of a night club by Tom brought Serra back from her fanciful flight to England and she asked which night club they were visiting. It would not be quite the thing, she decided, for her to turn up at the Caves du Roy with these three people—not when her husband was there.
‘Bacchus Caves,’ Maureen told her. ‘You’ll thoroughly enjoy the atmosphere. The owner wanted it built underground and as work progressed a Roman wall came to light. This has been incorporated, forming one of the walls of the club. The idea of having the decor done in the Roman style resulted from the finding of the wall, and so you dance between massive columns.’
‘It sounds fascinating!’ Serra was relieved to know they were not visiting the same night club as Dirk and Charles; she felt she could not really have let herself go with her husband around—even though she treated the matter of her marriage lightly, scarcely feeling married at all.
The club was in semi-darkness, and all about were ancient relics from the Roman era. On the ‘Celebrity Wall’ were the names, just discernible in the muted light, of famous people who frequented the club. A table was found for them in a dim corner; they were served with drinks and a mezi, and presently Clark and Maureen got up to dance. Tom looked at Serra. She got up, deciding not to tell him she’d had no experience of these dances. Should she find herself unable to follow him then her admission could be made. To her surprise and delight she followed him like an expert, her cup of happiness quite flowing over when on returning to their table Tom remarked on her dancing to the others, who were already sitting down.
Clark then asked Serra to dance, and after that they sat drinking and smoking while the cabaret was on the floor. Serra felt so excited she could scarcely eat anything, but she drank all that was put before her and it was only when she suddenly realized her head was spinning in the most disturbing way that she came to the conclusion that she had taken rather too much.
That proved to be an under-estimation, as she soon discovered on getting up to dance again.
‘You’re tipsy!’ Tom stopped on the edge of the floor and stared at her in some amusement. ‘Aren’t you used to it?’
‘No—no, I’m not used to having so much. I just have an ouzo now and then at home.’
‘Then why didn’t you say? Your husband’s going to be mad at you, I’m thinking.’
It was on the tip of Serra’s tongue to tell Tom that her husband would never know anything about it because he had his room and she had hers. But fortunately she was not quite so tipsy as to forget that such a statement would invite a string of questions from the astounded lips of her companion.
‘I’ll have got over it long before we return to the hotel.’
‘Better get you some black coffee.’ Tom led her back to the table. Clark and Maureen had gone wandering off outside, saying they were too warm, and so Tom and Serra were alone.
The black coffee had arrived and Serra was sipping it, and sincerely wishing she had not taken so much wine, when Tom excused himself, saying he was going to wash his hands. Serra leant back against the soft upholstery of her chair. If she weren’t so light-headed she would be feeling extraordinarily happy, she thought, taking another sip of her coffee. She would take care another time, though, for it wasn’t very nice to be told she was tipsy—Suddenly she blinked, closed her eyes and opened them again. Yes, she was actually seeing things now—for there was Dirk, accompanied by Charles and two ravishing blondes, being shown to a table not far from where Serra was sitting. ‘Oh, dear, never again,’ she decided firmly. Wine in moderation might be all right, but certainly not in the quantities in which she had been drinking it.
Slowly it began to dawn on Serra that she was not seeing things after all and she breathed a deep sigh of relief at the knowledge. Dirk was dancing with one of the blondes, who was looking up at him and fluttering her lashes. Charles was still at the table, talking in what appeared to be intimate fashion with the other girl. Suddenly Dirk stopped, right in the middle of the floor, and stared in disbelief at his wife. She smiled at him, but to her surprise received only a glower in return. Within seconds he had led his partner off the floor and was striding purposefully towards her.
‘What the devil are you doing here?’ he demanded wrathfully, and Serra blinked again.
‘Hello—y-yass ... oo!’ The words bubbled out, with a tiny explosion on the last syllable. Serra was too tipsy to remember that this greeting was never used at night. Dirk’s face was like thunder. He asked again what she was doing here.
‘Having—h-having f-fun,’ she hiccupped. ‘But wh-what are y-you doing here? You s-said you were g-going to the Caves—Caves—to the other cave!’ Again there was a final explosion. Her head! If only it would not spin sol Out of the corner of her eye she saw Charles, his face a study of disbelief, approaching her table.
‘I told you to go to bed!’ thundered her husband. ‘How did you get to this place?’
‘In a taxi—’
‘Serra, what are you doing here?’ Charles’s voice was more subdued, but stern nevertheless. Serra frowned at the two men in turn.
‘Why are you both asking me all these questions?’ she began in plaintive tones, when Dirk interrupted to say he had asked only one.
‘No, you haven’t. You’ve asked me two questions,’ she corrected her husband in plaintive tones interrupted now and then by a return of her hiccups. ‘And I’ve answered them both.’ What was the matter with Dirk? she wondered. Anyone would think she had committed some sort of crime. ‘You promised I could enjoy myself—that I could do exactly as I liked.’ She directed a glance at Charles, invoking his corroboration of this statement. He moved uneasily, taken at a disadvantage.
‘You did, Dirk,’ he ventured at last, and he also received a glowering look.
‘The girl’s drunk,’ declared Dirk, just as if he were not speaking of his wife at all.
‘That’s not a very nice word,’ Serra complained, raising a quivering hand to her head, which was beginning to ache abominably. ‘Tom was much more polite!’
‘Tom!’ Both men spoke together, though the exclamation was Dirk’s alone.
‘The nice young man who brought me. He’s staying at our hotel. I was sitting in the lounge and he came and spoke to me.’ Where was he? Serra looked around, but there was no sign of him.
‘In the lounge?’ exploded Dirk. ‘You actually got up out of bed and came down after we had gone?’
‘I wasn’t in bed. I didn’t want to go to bed so early, so I decided to sit in the lounge for a while.’
‘You
actually picked up—in the hotel lounge!’
‘Father said I picked you up,’ she reflected mechanically—and irrelevantly. ‘He said it was an English expression.’
‘You shouldn’t have come out with a strange man,’ interposed Charles. ‘Being Greek you should have known it was very wrong.’
‘I’m not Greek. Besides, you’re changing the subject. Dirk said I could please myself what I did, and so I came out—’
‘Where is this Tom?’ interrupted Dirk furiously. ‘Why isn’t he with you?’
‘He went to wash his hands.’ Serra glanced around again. ‘There was nothing wrong in my coming out with him,’ she added. The effects of the wine were inducing a belligerent attitude now and she frowned darkly at her husband. Charles intervened, trying to be helpful.
‘Dirk has every right to be cross with you, Serra, for although it might not be wrong for you to come out like this it is wrong of you to get soused—’ His voice trailed away into silence as his friend sent him a murderous look.
‘It was the wine,’ explained Serra unnecessarily, concluding that the word Charles had used had the same meaning as drunk and tipsy. ‘I liked the taste of it and took a little too much— ’
‘Get up,’ ordered her husband, his face pale with suppressed fury. ‘I said get up!’
‘I don’t think I can.’ Serra’s eyes wandered to the two blondes, sitting there, obviously endeavouring to fathom, from the distance, what this was all about. ‘Don’t leave your friends,’ Serra said obligingly. ‘I’ll be all right in a little while. Tom will get me another cup of coffee—’ She broke off, uttering a little squeal as her wrist was grasped and she was jerked to her feet.
‘Did you have a wrap?’ Dirk used soft icy tones now, but there was no doubt at all that he was in a blazing temper.
‘No—but look here—’
‘Then come on!’ Dirk shot a furious glance at Charles. ‘I’ll have to take her back to the hotel. Keep those two occupied until I return!’
Charles was clearly troubled, and reluctant to leave Serra alone with Dirk.
‘Perhaps you’d prefer me to take her back?’ he offered tentatively. ‘You could then stay with the girls.’
Dirk’s eyes were like flint.
‘I can’t walk out on Tom,’ Serra hastily put in before he could speak, and she added, ‘But I must admit I feel dreadfully ill—rather like I felt that day I met you.’
‘No, Serra!’ Charles was horrified at what might happen. ‘No, you mustn’t—not here!’
Dirk still held Serra’s wrist; he gave it a vicious jerk, just to relieve his feelings.
‘Out,’ he ordered, ‘into the fresh air!’ And as he literally dragged Serra along behind him she had no option but to obey. And by now she was feeling quite unable to argue further, not only because she too was afraid of what might happen, but also because she was feeling inordinately fearful of her husband. Through her befuddled brain she was aware of the commotion this was causing; everyone seemed to be enjoying the free entertainment, judging by their amused, interested faces.
Once outside, Serra was unceremoniously bundled into a taxi; Dirk got in beside her and rapped out an order to the driver. Charles, having followed them, was standing close to the taxi. As it drew away Dirk rasped through the window,
‘And you said I wouldn’t know I was married!’
CHAPTER THREE
As was to be expected Serra awoke the following morning with a searing pain in her head. Groaning, she sat up and reached for the water. Unrelieved by the drink, she lay down again, finding a cool place on the pillow for her head. But the throbbing was unbearable and she sat up again. Was that the time? Ten minutes past ten; everyone would have had their breakfast ... breakfast!
‘Ugh,’ she muttered, and slid out of bed. Well, at least her legs were stronger than when Dirk brought her in here last night—or rather, in the early hours of this morning. She was standing by the mirror when the door opened and her husband stormed in. So he was still in a temper. Serra could not for the life of her understand why, because he had promised not to interfere with her movements—and he really had no need to leave his girl-friend. Tom would have seen her back to the hotel, she felt sure.
‘Well, miss, are you fully recovered?’ Dirk spoke in rasping tones, which she deeply resented, full of self-pity as she was. And to call her miss like that! Her resentment grew with every second that passed.
‘I feel awful,’ she admitted in a sulky voice. ‘My head’s as big as a football.’
‘And as empty. Had you no more sense than to carry on until you reached that disgusting state?’ His dark eyes roved disdainfully over her; she reached for a negligee and put it on, a flush rising to her cheeks.
‘It came on me all of a sudden,’ she returned defensively. ‘Naturally I’d have stopped if I’d known it was going to make me feel so ill.’ Her voice broke a little and her eyes filled up. ‘You’re very unkind,’ she accused on a tiny sob.
‘Unkind! Do you realize you’ve shown me up! You were an absolute disgrace, and you’d better make up your mind to practise a little more decorum in future. I’m only thankful we weren’t at home—for my people would be thoroughly shocked were they to witness such abandoned behaviour!’
‘Are you saying I’m not good enough for your people?’ Tears hung on her lashes and her lip quivered. All fight had gone out of her because of the way he regarded her and because of his cruel insinuation. ‘You should have thought of that before you married me.’
‘I heartily agree,’ Dirk responded swiftly, and at that two great tears escaped on to her cheeks. ‘I would remind you,’ he continued icily, impervious to her tears—or so it seemed at the moment—‘that you promised to be very good and—obliging is the word I seem to remember you using.’
She nodded, suddenly encompassed in guilt.
‘Yes, I did promise to be those things.’
‘And you were exceedingly grateful that I married you.’
She nodded again, unhappily.
‘I’m still grateful—truly I am.’ Perhaps he would divorce her, she thought, and send her back to her father. Then he would marry this Clarice whom both he and Charles had mentioned. ‘I won’t do it again,’ she faltered, looking up at him appealingly. ‘You see, with your saying I could enjoy myself I took it for granted I could go out and—and be free.’ To her surprise his face softened and tiny lines of amusement appeared at the corners of his eyes.
'And is getting yourself tipsy your idea of enjoyment?’ His eyes slid over her again; she pulled the negligee together and held it so that her scanty nightdress was completely covered.
‘You know it isn’t. I feel dreadfully ill even now.’
‘I’ll get you something,’ he offered after a pause.
‘Oh, thank you, Dirk. Will it cure this headache?’
He smiled reminiscently and she somehow knew that he himself had felt like this.
‘Yes, it will cure your headache.’
‘You’re kind,’ she said, forgetting that only a moment ago she had declared him to be the very opposite.
‘Don’t be misled,’ he then warned. ‘I’m overlooking it this time because you didn’t know. But you know now—so make sure it doesn’t occur again.’
It was lunch time before she joined Dirk and Charles, for Dirk had insisted on her remaining in bed for the rest of the morning. To her surprise she was able to eat her lunch, and in fact she made up for the breakfast she had missed. Charles looked hard at her several times but made no comment on what had occurred last night, nor did he even ask if she felt better. He was clearly relieved that no serious disruption had occurred between her and Dirk as a result of what had happened.
She remembered that they should all have gone off on a sightseeing trip, but was reluctant to bring the matter up, although she would have liked to apologize for being the cause of the necessary alteration in their plans. She meant to apologize to Tom and his friends, though and she said unthinkingly
,
‘Have you seen Tom this morning?’
‘As I haven’t the faintest idea who Tom is,’ replied her husband drily, ‘I’m unable to say whether I’ve seen him or not.’
She smiled deprecatingly.
‘I forgot you hadn’t met him—and of course you wouldn’t know Clark and Maureen either.’
Both men looked interrogatingly at her.
‘And who are they?’ Dirk wanted to know.
‘The other two. Four of us went out together.’
‘Four? So you didn’t go alone with Tom?’ Charles gave a little satisfied sigh. ‘There you are, Dirk. I knew Serra wouldn’t do anything imprudent.’
‘I was imprudent,’ admitted Serra quickly, on realizing that some caustic remark was about to be uttered by Dirk.
‘Why didn’t you tell me last night that you’d gone out with these other two as well?’
‘To tell you the truth, I forgot all about them.’
‘That’s understandable, I suppose,’ her husband remarked smoothly.
Serra flushed and concentrated on peeling an apple. ‘I’ll have to apologize to them all,’ she murmured as the silence continued.
‘Yes, you should do that,’ agreed Charles, adding that they must have been exceedingly worried at discovering she had vanished into thin air, as it must have seemed.
‘No such thing,’ argued Dirk. ‘Someone would tell them what had happened.’
‘They wouldn’t know it was Serra’s husband who had taken her out of the club, though.’
Taken? Dragged, was the word Charles should have used, decided Serra, her flush spreading as she saw Dirk’s eyes light with amusement. Plainly he read her thoughts.