The Lion Rock

by Sally Wenteorth

Setting down her cup, Cordelia stood up and said, 'I'm afraid I'll never get a taste for this. If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go and finish that Chapter I was working on.'

  'There's no need,' Marcus assured her. 'Tomorrow will do.'

  'But I'd like to finish it.' She smiled at him and gave a brief nod to Sugin, then left them alone together. But back in the study she didn't start typing again immediately; instead she absently picked up the spray of bougainvillea that Marcus had picked for her earlier and which she had put into a little pot of water on her desk. She" looked at it absently, smoothing her finger over the soft petals, remembering how much she had enjoyed working with him, how right it had felt, and how everything had changed the minute Sugin showed up. Cordelia wasn't used to sophisticated, good- looking men of the world and she realised that she found Marcus exciting and attractive, and that he was famous too only added gilt to the gingerbread. It was a heady kind of excitement, one that she didn't have much idea how to cope with, but the presence of Sugin brought her down to earth with a thud again every time the girl made her quiet but disturbing appearance. Cordelia tried to think rationally, telling herself that Marcus was merely being kind, that he had no interest in her as a woman at all, only as someone who was in trouble and whom he had been able to help. But that, unfortunately, didn't stop her feeling attracted to him. She sighed and sternly told herself off; much better for you, my girl, if you just treat him as your host and temporary boss. Resolutely she began to type, but presently the sound of voices raised in laughter reached her through the open window; Marcus's deep and amused, Sugin's light, but to Cordelia's ears unnecessarily loud, as if the native girl wanted her to hear. Cordelia's flying fingers grew still, paused, then went on more slowly.

  A little later she heard a footstep on the verandah and turned her head to see. Marcus stood framed in the window. The sun was setting and his tall, strong body was outlined against the brilliant red and gold of the sky. He put out an arm to lean against the wooden frame and said, 'I won't be in to dinner tonight, Cordelia. The government are building a big dam in the hills and there are a lot of Europeans working on the project. They've formed an Expatriates Club and I usually go up there a couple of times a week. I could ask Sugin to stay with you if you'd rather, not be by yourself.'

  'No.' Cordelia stood up abruptly.

  'All right. Pack up Working now. It's getting dark and you'll strain your eyes.'

  He moved a few steps into the room, came close to her, but she couldn't see his face very clearly because he stood in front of the glowing sky.

  Impulsively she asked, 'Who is Sugin?' and stared up at him, waiting for an answer.

  'Sugin?' Marcus gave her one of his quick, searching looks, then said slowly, 'She came with the bungalow.'

  So what was she supposed to make of that? Before she could say anything further, he casually put a hand on her shoulder and said, 'I'm putting the car and an English-speaking driver at your disposal tomorrow. Work out tonight where you'd like him to take you. There's the ancient Buddhist city of Anuradhapura, or Sigiriya, which has the most breathtaking views if you're brave enough to climb to the top. I'll leave you out some maps so that you can study them more closely.'

  'Thank you.' Hesitatingly she added, 'Will you—be able to come with me?'

  His hand was still on her shoulder and she seemed to feel him hesitate for a second, then he removed it and shook his head. 'I'm sorry, but I want to get on with the book tomorrow.'

  'Then I'll stay and help you,' Cordelia responded instantly.

  Again he shook his head. 'Certainly not! This is supposed to be your holiday. You must go out tomorrow and perhaps help me again the day after.'

  His tone was firm, decisive, and Cordelia realised she couldn't argue against it. 'All right. Thank you.'

  'Good. I probably won't be back until pretty late tonight, so I'll see you tomorrow. Give my apologies to your father, will you?' He raised a hand in salute and left Cordelia to tidy the papers she had been working on, feeling strangely dejected at the thought of a long evening alone, but at least being alone was infinitely better than being with Sugin for several hours.

  After eating her solitary meal, she went in to see her father and found him sitting up in bed reading. There was a little more colour in his sallow cheeks and he seemed better, though still as disinclined to have her around. Cordelia wondered' rather bitterly why he had bothered to bring her to Sri Lanka at all when it was so obvious that he had no time for her. He would have done better to have paid a nurse to keep him company and look after him.

  Going into the lounge, she curled up in an armchair with the book that Marcus had lent her. It was one of his earlier books, a novel, for he wrote both with equal skill, and she was soon completely absorbed, lost to the reality of the world around her, the book holding her so that she was unaware of the passing of time. The houseboy came quietly into the room and set a drink down on the small table beside her, but Cordelia hardly noticed, although her hand went out and she absently sipped the drink. The house grew quiet as the servants went home to bed, but she went on reading, unable to put the book down.

  It was almost three in the morning before Marcus came home and, noticing the strip of light under the sitting-room door, went to investigate and found her still sitting in the pool of light thrown by a standard lamp and just a few pages of the book left to read. Cordelia wasn't aware of his arrival, and he had time to reach her side and look at the title of the book before she gave a gasp of fright as she realised that someone was there.

  'Oh, it's you! You made me jump.' 'Do you know what the time is?'

  'Why?' She glanced at her watch. 'Heavens, is it as late as that?'

  'You ought to be in bed.'

  'I only have this chapter to finish.'

  'Leave it till the morning,' he ordered.

  'Are you crazy? I wouldn't be able to sleep for wondering what happened at the end. Go away so that I can finish it in peace,' she ordered in her turn, and quite as firmly.

  Marcus chuckled, went over to the drinks cabinet and poured liquid from various bottles into a tall glass that he stirred with a long spoon. Then he sat in a chair opposite and watched her silently while Cordelia read on. At last she turned the final page, closed the book and gave a deep sigh of sheer contentment. Again becoming aware of him, Cordelia looked at Marcus with awe in her blue eyes and said almost reverently, 'That was wonderful—one of the best books I've ever read. Oh, how I wish I could write like that!'

  'Have you ever trial?'

  She shook her head. 'I know I couldn't.'

  'You don't know what you can do until you try.'

  'I know I couldn't do that. How did you start writing?' she asked curiously.

  He stood up, setting down his empty glass. 'This is no time to start going into my life story—even if I wanted to,' he remarked drily. Coming across, he put his hands on her arms and pulled her to her feet. 'Go to bed. You'll be…' He broke off as she swayed, her legs having gone numb from being tucked under her for so long. 'Careful!' He caught hold of her and held her.

  'My legs have gone to sleep.' Cordelia clung to the lapels of the light jacket he was wearing. There was the tang of tobacco and woody aftershave about his clothes. She moved to steady herself and one hand slipped inside his jacket and she could feel his heart beating under her palm. His body felt very hard, very hot. Slowly she raised her eyes and found him looking down at her, his blue-grey eyes glinting in the shadows thrown by the lamp. A queer breathless feeling filled her throat, her chest. She said, 'Marcus?' in an unsteady, strangled tone, and her arms slid up around his neck almost of their own volition. For a moment he continued to gaze down at her, then his arms tightened, pulling her roughly against him, and his lips came down to find hers, fastening on them compulsively, almost like a man who had been hungry for love for a long time. Cordelia's senses reeled, her lips parting before the importunity of his mouth. For a moment she was suspended in delight, enthralled by the warmth of his lips, but t
hen a great surge of desire filled her and she began to return his kiss, her body intimately close to his as she surrendered to his embrace.

  She didn't know how long it went on for, but it was much, much too soon when Marcus's lips left hers and he raised his head and loosened his hold. She stayed where she was with her arms around his neck, her lips parted sensuously, her eyes half closed in desire. When he didn't kiss her again she moved against him provocatively, but to her chagrin he only gave a low, amused chuckle and flicked a casual finger against her chin.

  'Come on, young lady, it's time for all good little girls to be in bed.'

  Cordelia recognised the mocking tone in his voice and knew that he wouldn't kiss her again, that there had been nothing serious in it, but she decided to tease him a little, so she kept her arms round his neck and said with a sexy pout, 'Is that a proposition, Mr Stone?'

  He laughed. 'Minx! Are you going to go to bed or �do I have to pick you up and carry you?'

  'Mmm, now there's no doubt about it; that really was a proposition.'

  'Girls who don't obey me,' he told her, 'run the risk of being put across my knee and given a spanking.'

  'Wow!' Cordelia's eyes opened very wide. 'Real he-man stuff, huh? This is getting more interesting the minute!'

  His eyes laughed down at hers in genuine amusement. Reaching up, he pulled down her arms and held her a little away from him. 'I wonder what you'd do if I really propositioned you,' he said jokingly, but with just a hint of seriousness in the question.

  Cordelia felt her chest tighten again as she remembered his kiss. 'I don't know,' she said thickly. 'Why don't you try it some time?'

  His eyes searched her face, but he was teasing again as he said lightly, 'Maybe I will—some time.'

  Quickly she looked away, then put a hand up to cover a fake yawn. 'You're right, I am tired. Goodnight, Marcus.'

  'Goodnight:'

  Crossing to the door, she paused a moment to look back at him. Their eyes met briefly, then Marcus deliberately turned to switch off the lamp.

  Cordelia undressed as quietly as she could, afraid of waking her father, whose room was nearby. Slipping into bed, she lay awake, her fair hair spread across the whiteness of the pillow. On any ordinary night she would have thought about the book she had just finished, or planned her sightseeing programme for the next day, but tonight was no ordinary night; tonight she had been kissed by Marcus Stone, and she could think of nothing else. Cordelia wasn't what might be called inexperienced; she wasn't exactly ugly and she had been kissed by many boy-friends during her twenty years, some of whom had been fairly hot stuff. But somehow they all seemed to fade into insignificance compared to what had been merely a casual kiss from Marcus. And that it had been casual on his part she was quite sure. She had let him know that she wanted to be kissed and he had obliged. It was as simple as that. End of story—except that that one kiss had been so devastating that Cordelia had wanted it to go on and on, to grow more passionate, to lead to…

  Her body grew hot all over and she pushed aside the blanket, thin though it was. If that was only a casual kiss, what would he be like when he really meant it? The thought made her gasp and she turned restlessly on the pillow. She was being a fool. He obviously had the girl Sugin to take care of all his sexual needs, although somehow Cordelia didn't think that there were any strong emotional ties involved, not on Marcus's side in any case. Sugin was clearly possessive about him and didn't like having anyone around who might be in danger of becoming a rival—she had made that very obvious with her resentment of Cordelia. But as to whether either of them were in love… Perhaps if they'd been lovers for two years their feelings for each other wouldn't be so open. It was hard to tell, and a problem Cordelia had never had to face before: Moodily she turned over and let herself remember instead the feel of his lips on hers. Her fingers gripped the pillow tightly. No one had ever kissed her like that before. No one. And she would see him tomorrow. It would soon be tomorrow.

  But the next day she hardly saw him at all. As was to be expected, she woke late and found that Marcus had already eaten and gone into his study, and as soon as she sat down at the table, his English-speaking driver came to ask her where she wanted to visit. Cordelia had completely forgotten that she was supposed to be spending the day sightseeing and would much rather have spent it Working alongside Marcus, but he had already refused her services once and she had the sense not to insist. The last thing she wanted was for him to think that she was chasing him. So she picked out two or three places at random and the driver went off to plan the route. When she had eaten, Cordelia collected her bag and camera, said goodbye to her father and hesitated outside Marcus's door, then decisively pushed it open.

  'I just looked in to say goodbye,' she said brightly, but he was sitting at his desk and hardly looked up.

  'Bye. Have a good day.'

  'No shopping or anything you want done while I have the car?'

  He looked at her then, a slightly surprised quirk in his eyebrows. 'No, nothing.'

  'Okay. See you at dinner, then.'

  But his eyes were already on his work again, and she shut the door feeling rather foolish.

  The car was air-conditioned, but it was a hot day and the roads were so bad that Cordelia told the driver to stop in Kandy so that they could go into a restaurant and have a drink. She looked across the lake to the island where the king had been entertained by his concubines and thought of all that had happened since she had last seen it; then she had been looking forward to no more than seeing, again the country of her birth, now she was to spend an indefinite time in the house of a man she found infinitely masculine and attractive and whose kisses excited her as never before. She suddenly jumped to her feet, taking her driver by surprise, eager to get the day's sightseeing over so that she could get back to the bungalow.

  The driver made a conscientious guide, helping her up the steep, rock-faced hill to the temple of Dambulla that had begun as a natural cave in the rock and been patiently extended in ancient times until now it was big enough to hold dozens of statues of Buddha, with the walls and roof covered in paintings which all had some religious significance and which the driver carefully explained, holding a torch high above his head so that she could see. After the semi-darkness of the cave it hurt her eyes to come out into the full glare of the noon sun, but there were a few trees where tame monkeys played and did tricks for the titbits of food the visitors gave them. They went down the hill more slowly and Cordelia paused to give some coins to the most badly disabled of the beggars who sat on the rock in the open sun, their hands held out like the heads of cobras, waving in front of her. There were beggars everywhere, of course, not always disabled, nearly always children or poor people who saw a tourist and thought they would try their luck. More often than not the children would ask for school pens, although they were always provided with them at school. There seemed to be far more of them than she remembered, but perhaps as a child she had just accepted them and had taken little notice. The driver told her that every so often the government rounded all the beggars up and took them off to beggar colonies. From Dambulla they drove across country to Anuradhapura, a large city built by the Buddhists in the fourth century B.C. stopping at a hotel for lunch on the way. So by the time they got there it was incredibly hot and Cordelia would have been content to drive around the city and stay in the coolness of the car, but her driver, Daya, insisted that they get out to examine every place of interest and explained everything and answered all her questions so conscientiously that she didn't have the heart to refuse. So she looked at the ruins of palaces and monasteries, at ritual baths and excavations, at huge dagobas, or temples, dome- shaped and topped by ornate steeples; she saw as overgrown ruins, ravaged by centuries of time and weather; in the process of restoration with each brick being carefully replaced; and then restored as they had been originally, painted white and glistening in the hot sun.

  Personally she preferred the mellow ruins, but 'Daya proudly i
nsisted on taking her all round the Restored temple. It was so hot that the heat rose in hazy waves off the concrete. At Buddhist shrines you have to take off your shoes and walk barefoot. Most Sri Lankans went barefoot all the time anyway, so their feet were hardened, but Cordelia found the sun-baked concrete so hot that She could hardly bear it and scuttled on tiptoe into even the smallest patch of shade whenever she could find one.

  'We go now to see the sacred bo-tree,' Daya informed her, adding encouragingly as he saw her wilting, 'You like this very much. Very holy place. All pilgrims go there.'

  Resignedly Cordelia got back into the car for another short, dusty drive and then got out again, took off her shoes and hat and listened to Daya's lecture on how the tree, that looked no different from any other as far as she could see, was an offshoot of the very tree under which Buddha achieved his enlightenment and which was over two thousand years old. Now it was housed inside a sanctuary and protected by railings topped with gold spikes. At its foot many pilgrims knelt, their heads touching the ground, while others filled little metal cups with oil and lit them, much as Roman Catholics lit candles in a church. Against one wall was a framework hung with hundreds of gaily-coloured pieces of cloth which Daya told her had been tied on to it as tokens of sacred vows that the pilgrims had made here. It was very noisy; in the distance they could hear the sound of a, service being taken over a loudspeaker, there was the sort of muttering rise and fall of voices of people praying as well as the ordinary noises of the people coming and going around them. But somehow, despite all this, and as different as it was from the reverential atmosphere of an English church, Cordelia felt that here, in this noisy little square, was the heart of a living religion, far more so than the grandly restored dagobas and their huge statues of painted Buddhas.

  Afterwards Daya drove her to the local rest- house, built by the British to house intrepid tourists of a much earlier age. Cordelia relaxed under the elegant white colonnades and watched monkeys who lived in the tree-shaded grounds as she sipped a very welcome drink in a tall, frosted glass. She wondered if her father would have brought her here and how he would have described the sites of Anuradhapura to her—not very sympathetically, she decided with a small grimace, and wasn't altogether sorry that he wasn't able to come with her. But this inevitably led her to wonder what it would have been like with Marcus with his writer's eye for detail and his alert mind that could seize on the interesting or unusual. Cordelia wished very much that he had been with her, that they had shared the day together. Sightseeing really wasn't much fun unless ' you had someone to share it with, preferably someone you cared about.