At the moment when Steve escorted her into the room, there happened to be a lull in the music coming from a disco-type set-up over in the corner. They paused for a moment in the doorway, waiting for Marcus and Sugin, and all eyes seemed to turn towards them. Immediately Steve was the object of all sorts of comments, from the outrightly ribald to the plainly envious. It was obviously the sort of club where all the men knew each other so well they could be rude to one another without giving offence. Steve merely grinned goodnaturedly and led them across to an empty table. Cordelia sat down and found herself opposite Sugin, so she immediately turned and began to talk brightly to Steve.
As soon as the music started, Steve took her on the floor, introducing her to several of his friends as they danced. It turned out that many of the men she had taken to be European were in fact Australian, with one or two Americans among them. The white women were nearly all wives who had accompanied their husbands and who lived in small houses provided by the dam company, or girl-friends who were over on visits. None of the women were without a more or less permanent man, which made Cordelia the only really unattached white girl there. Steve of course made it known that he had first claim, as it were, but that didn't stop most of the other single men who hadn't got girls from coming over to be introduced. So Cordelia found herself greatly in demand and danced more or less non-stop. She was glad of it, not wanting to have to sit and look at Sugin's face all evening, a face that grew more disdainful as Cordelia let her hair down and really got into the beat. But Cordelia didn't care; she was enjoying herself despite Sugin's disapproyal and Marcus's withdrawn coolness. He was sitting back in his chair, watching her rather broodingly as he drew on his cigarette. He didn't ask her to dance, but then he didn't ask Sugin either, no one did, although some of the other Sri Lankan girls were attempting to dance Western style, even though not very successfully.
There was a contrariness about Cordelia tonight. She looked at Marcus's dark features and thought, damn him, why the hell should I care about him? The man doesn't even know his own mind! She turned a laughing face up to the man she was dancing with and let him take her back to his table afterwards to meet some of his friends. She stayed chatting to them for about ten minutes, then Steve came over to claim her.
Later, after a particularly strenuous dance, Cordelia laughingly insisted on having a rest for a while. 'I'm exhausted,' she complained. 'I don't know whether it's the height, the humidity or the heat, but it really takes it out of you, dancing here.' She took a long pull at her drink and looked at Sugin. Rather recklessly she said, 'I notice you don't dance, Sugin. Don't you know how?'
The other girl's nose curled. 'Anyone can throw themselves about like that. That is not dancing. Real dancing is very graceful and has to be learned from a small child. Each dance is traditional and the movements have to be learned. Throwing yourself about like a mad woman is not dancing.'
Marcus went to say something, but Cordelia broke in hotly, 'What you describe is professional dancing. In Britain we have a great deal of pofessional dancing—the ballet, for instance, which is far more traditional and graceful than your dancing; you have to be really good to dance in the ballet. But what I'm talking about is dancing by ordinary people for enjoyment. Do you know how to do that? Or do you only do it for money?' Cordelia added bitchily.
'Respectable girls would not dance so with a man,' Sugin retorted with equal venom.
'But we're not talking about respectable girls— we're talking about you,' Cordelia answered sweetly.
Marcus got to his feet, an angry frown between his eyes. Taking hold of Cordelia's arm, he pulled her to her feet and led her on to the dance floor. 'Why the hell are you picking on Sugin?' he demanded.
Cordelia bit her lip, realising how petty it must seem to him, but she couldn't tell him how blatantly the other girl had tried to get rid of her. 'She doesn't like me,' she answered weakly.
'So what? You have every advantage that she doesn't.'
No, not every one, Cordelia thought miserably. She has you and I don't.
'And you know she can't get up and dance,' Marcus was going on. 'It's against their custom.'
'There are other Sri Lankan girls here dancing,' Cordelia said defensively. 'And there were quite a few men in that night club in Colombo.'
'These girls are a lower class than Sugin. And even then they wouldn't do it if there were any of their own men around.'
'I'm surprised Sugin lowered herself to come here at all if she's so high class,' Cordelia couldn't resist remarking waspishly.
Marcus's frown deepened. 'She came because I asked her to.'
He didn't explain why, which left Cordelia to wonder miserably if it had been because he didn't want to be alone with her during the drive, or just because he preferred Sugin's company to hers. And neither reason was very flattering.
The dance was a slow one and seemed to go on for ages. She wished it was over. For the first time Cordelia didn't want to be near him; she knew that from his point of view she deserved his anger, and the fact that it was in some way justified didn't make her feel any better. She felt wretched and just wanted to go home. But 'home' was the bungalow where she would have to see both of them together, knowing that they were lovers. She longed suddenly to get right away, to never see Marcus again. To go back to England and forget that she'd ever met him, forget that one night when he had taken her into the garden and kissed and caressed her—that one perfect night. She quivered and gave a half-sob.
Marcus's arm tightened round her waist. 'What’s it?'
'Nothing.' She kept her head down. 'Cordelia?' When she did nothing he ordered, Cordelia, look at me.'
Slowly she raised her head, her eyes dark and vulnerable. Her lips trembled as she tried to control herself. Marcus's eyes met hers, searched her face. His lips moved and she thought he murmured something under his breath, but it was too low for her to hear. Turning her head away, she said stiltedly, 'I'm tired. Can we go home soon?'
'Yes, of course. Now, if you like.' They went back to their table and he said to the others, 'Time for us to go, I think. Thanks for a great evening, Steve.'
'But you're not going yet! It's still early. Stay for a bit longer,' Steve protested.
'The girls are tired.'
'Cordelia isn't. Look, you take Sugin home now if she wants to go and I'll drive Cordelia home later.'
'Oh, no, that's far too much trouble,' Cordelia protested quickly. 'Thanks, Steve, but I'll go home with the others.'
'It's no trouble, I can easily…'
'Steve, I'd rather,' Cordelia told him sharply, her voice rising.
Catching the slightly hysterical note, Steve looked at her face and saw the strain in it. 'Okay. I'll see you off.' He walked with them to the car, hanging back so that he and Cordelia were behind the other two. 'Can I call you in a couple of days?'
Cordelia immediately felt remorseful for having snapped at him and nodded. 'Yes, that will be fine. Thanks for tonight, Steve.' She touched his hand in farewell, but Steve caught hold of her arm so that she had to stop. Turning her round to face him, he gave her a light kiss on the mouth. 'See you, then.'
'Yes. See you.' Cordelia went over to the car. Sugin was already sitting in the front seat and Marcus was standing at the back, holding the door open for her. Cordelia didn't know whether or not he had seen Steve kiss her; it wouldn't have mattered if he had, it was only a peck, but even so she was glad of the darkness that hid the flush that came to her cheeks.
It was Sugin's turn to become animated on the way home; she talked exclusively to Marcus, of people and places that Cordelia knew nothing about, shutting her out completely. When they got to the bungalow Cordelia said a hurried goodnight and went straight to her room, turning the hand basin taps full on so that she wouldn't hear them both going into Marcus's bedroom.
James Allingham was rather surprised at her solicitousness the next day. Cordelia went to his room first thing to give him his medicines and encouraged him to let the houseb
oy dress him after breakfast so that he could go and sit on the verandah before the sun got too hot. 'You're doing fine,' she encouraged him. 'You'll soon be fit enough to take a walk in the garden.' And then, she added to herself, you'll be well enough to take a car ride to the nearest hotel. Because all she wanted now was to get away from Marcus as soon as possible.
She worked nearly all that day. Marcus was with her in the workroom for some of the time, but when her father came out on to the verandah he went to sit with him, leaving Cordelia to get on on her own. She typed very fast, wanting to get the job done with so that it wouldn't be on her conscience when she left. By the time she had finished that day the pile of beautifully clean typed manuscript had grown considerably and she was only a couple of chapters behind Marcus's written and corrected draft.
Standing up, Cordelia stretched her shoulders, her back aching. The sun had started to set and she hadn't even noticed. Marcus came in while she was putting the cover on the typewriter and looked at the pile of typed sheets. 'You've done a lot today. You've almost caught me up.' She nodded and went to turn away, but he put his hands on her shoulders. 'You don't have to work so hard, you know.'
Lightly she answered, 'I don't like to be behind. Would you excuse me?' She tried to step to one side. 'It must be time to change for dinner.'
Marcus let her pass. 'Going out with Steve tonight?'
'No.'
'You seem to get on with him all right.' Cordelia shrugged, her back to him. 'He's nice enough.'
��� 'Well, don't feel that you have to stay here and help me if he asks you out.'
Biting her lip hard, Cordelia managed, 'No, I won't. Of course not,' then quickly escaped to her own room.
Seeing to her father's medicines and general wellbeing helped to take her mind off other things, and she also went to sit with him for a while in the evening. Marcus came too and the two men again played chess. Cordelia sat in a chair with her legs curled up under her, a book in her hands, but quite often her attention drifted from the pages and she sat gazing broodingly at first Marcus, then her father. After a couple of hours, Marcus went to get some drinks and James Allingham looked at her from under drawn brows. 'Is something the matter?'
Cordelia raised her head in surprise. 'What do you mean?'
'You've been watching the pair of us instead of reading nearly all evening. If there's something on your mind you'd better tell me.'
'It's nothing really, only…' she hesitated, 'only I think it would be a good idea if we moved into a hotel as soon as you're well enough to make the journey.'
Her father frowned. 'Has Marcus said he wants us to go?' he demanded bluntly.
'Oh, no, nothing like that. It's just that—well, I think it would be a good idea, that's all,' Cordelia said lamely.
'I suppose you're bored,' he said rather peevishly. 'Well, I'm very comfortable, and I'm being looked after far better than I would be in any hotel. If you don't like it here you can always go somewhere by yourself; I'm sure Marcus wouldn't object—although I thought you were supposed to be helping him with his book. I suppose you don't like having to work, is that it?'
'Not at all,' Cordelia answered coldly. 'I offered to help him and I shall continue to do so until it's finished. I don't want to take advantage of his hospitality any longer than necessary, that's all.
‘After all,' she added tartly, 'he didn't exactly invite us here, did he?'
Whatever answer her father had been going to make was stifled as Marcus came back into the room, They started a new game, and Cordelia very soon said goodnight and went to bed.
By lunchtime the next day she had caught Marcus up on the book. He sat quietly at his desk, absorbed in his work and didn't notice that she'd stopped typing. She whiled away half an hour by giving the typewriter a much-needed clean, then went to persuade her father to join them on the verandah for lunch. She fussed around him unnecessarily, making sure that he was sitting fully in the shade, and also between Marcus and herself. He muttered once or twice about fussy women, but Cordelia noticed that he took full advantage of everything she did for him.
'After lunch she changed into her bikini and went to sunbathe in the garden again. She chose a secluded place among the spice trees where the sun beat down on a clear patch of grass and slipped out of her sundress to lie down on the big, gaily-coloured beach towel she had brought with her. For an hour or so she did her back, feeling the sun soaking into her skin, then rolled over to do her front. The sun beat down on to her and she closed her eyes against the glare, but still it seemed to scorch through her lids. Vaguely she told herself that she ought to put on some more oil now that she'd turned over, but she felt too lazy and apathetic to do so. She let her mind go blank, wandering wherever it cared to take her, not thinking of anyone in particular, although it somehow seemed always to come back to Marcus. She dozed and woke, dozed again. The next time she opened her eyes Marcus was standing over her. At first he didn't notice she was awake because his eyes were on her body, slowly travelling its length, savouring its slim, taut beauty, examining her her as he would never have done ordinarily. Then his eyes reached her face and he saw her staring back at him. Their eyes met and held for a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity. His eyes, his face, were for that moment her whole world and nothing on earth would have made her break the spell. But presently Marcus's eyebrows flickered and he dropped to his knees beside her.
'You'll burn up if you don't put some of this on,' he told her, picking up the bottle of oil, his voice harsh, unnatural. Unscrewing the bottle, he poured some of the rich amber liquid into his hand and began to rub it into her shoulders, then down her body.
Cordelia wanted to close her eyes, to let sensuality take over as she savoured each stroke of his hands, but instead she kept them open, fixed on his face. His hands moved slowly, rhythmically, around the edge of her strapless bikini top, down each bone of her ribs and the inward curve of her waist. He didn't look at her face, just watched his hands working on her body, the oil turning the light down of fine hairs on her skin into spun silk. He seemed fascinated by what he was doing, his thumbs slowly outlining her hipbones, his fingertips feathering along just under the edge of her bikini. Cordelia gasped, unable to withstand the sensations he was arousing in her any longer.
His hands stilled as he at last turned to look at her face. She gazed back at him, lips parted sensuously, the need to be loved large in her eyes.
But even though her eyes searched his face so intently, she couldn't tell his thoughts or his feelings, as always he kept them hidden behind enigmatic features. Huskily, on a note of heartfelt pleading, she said, 'Don't do this to me.'
His hands, that were still resting on her hips, moved involuntarily, tightening for a brief instant. Then he leant back on his heels and got to his feet in one swift, agile movement. 'Sorry,' he said laconically. 'But you need protection from the sun here.' Giving her a brief nod, he strode away through the trees.
Cordelia sat up and watched him go, thinking bitterly that she needed protection from him, not the sun. He had chosen to interpret her words as telling him to stop oiling her, but both of them knew that she had meant far more than that. Automatically she picked up the bottle of oil and finished off her legs, her hands unsteady. A pulse beat in her throat and she felt incredibly hot, but hot from the inside, not from the sun. Lightly she ran her hands over herself, remembering how his hands had felt, wishing now that she had let him go on, but part of her also fiercely glad that she had sent him away. She wanted now, more than ever, to get away from him. If he touched her again she didn't think that she would be able to bear it; she would do something crazy like taking the first plane back to England—or else telling Marcus that she loved him and wanted to go to bed with him. Either of which actions would lead to unbearable consequences. Which was why, when Steve phoned her an hour or so later and asked her to have dinner with him that evening, she accepted without the slightest hesitation.
They had dinner at the Hill Club
in Nuwara
Eliya, the same place that Cordelia had visited with her father just before the accident. Steve called for her at seven, looking smart and different in a suit and tie, and looked at her feminine, lacy dress in admiring approval. 'You look beautiful,' he told her a little awkwardly, as if he wasn't accustomed to paying such lavish compliments. Cordelia smiled and thanked him, able to appreciate his approbation even if it did come from the wrong man. He was rather disappointed to find that she had been there before as he had wanted to surprise her, but Cordelia was as sweet about it as she knew how and she soon had him laughing and happy again.
He was an interesting man to have a date with, he had travelled a lot and had a store of good stories and anecdotes to tell. Ordinarily she would have enjoyed being with him, but more than once she found her mind wandering back to the bungalow and its occupants. Was Marcus playing chess with her father again tonight? Or was he devoting the evening to Sugin?
'So what do you think he said?'
Steve's question brought her back with a jerk and she managed to smile and shake her head. 'I've no idea. What did he say?'
'He said he found the panties hanging on a peg in the men's changing rooms at the rugby club!'
This was obviously the punch line of a funny story, and Cordelia wished she'd heard the beginning; it sounded intriguing.
They ate a beautifully cooked and served meal in the dining-room and afterwards danced to the music of a trio of Sri Lankans who played all the old American swing and jazz numbers of the thirties and forties; Glenn Miller and other big band tunes.
Music that sounded incongruous in that place and played by those people, and a far cry from the disco at the Expatriates Club, although Cordelia enjoyed it as much, if not more, or at least would have if Marcus had been there. Vainly she tried to push him out of her mind, to concentrate on Steve— after all, he was the one who was trying to give her a good time. But however much she tried to be nice to him, her heart just wasn't in it. He tried to draw her close as they danced and she smiled and allowed him to do so, but after a few minutes she moved away again, not deliberately, just from a natural reluctance to be held so closely by a man she didn't want. He tried to encourage her to talk about herself, but she told him only a little and then changed the subject, unwilling to give anything of herself to him except her company.
The Lion Rock Page 11