On the Sunday evening they decided to stay at home, and Craig was Jeanette's guest for dinner. He arrived late, full of apologies but explaining that he had had to take his housekeeper to her mother's. The old woman was nearly ninety and had a serious fall.
'She'll need her daughter's care for some time, I'm afraid,' he told Jeanette.
'So you're without anyone to look after you?' He shrugged.
'I expect Murad can turn his hand to a bit of cleaning; as for the cooking... well, I'm not in very much,' he added with a smile.
She would have liked to offer her help in keeping the house tidy, but she refrained. It seemed altogether too intimate. She would also have liked to suggest his taking his meals with her, when they weren't going out, but she was not at all sure that he intended staying much longer, in Istanbul. For the last two days he had often been deeply preoccupied, and once or twice he had spoken his thoughts aloud, talking about his book, and it was not difficult to see that he was ready - even anxious -to begin working on it again.
Would he go to Buyuk Ada? she wondered with a sudden access of desolation. Under the circumstances it seemed the most sensible thing to do, for then he would have his two Turkish servants to look after him.
They were sitting on the patio, having drinks while waiting for the dinner to be served, and as she looked at his face, trying to read his thoughts, she just had to say:
'Aren't you going to work on your book, Craig? I mean, I've had the impression lately that you're keen on doing so. Also, if you were at the yali you would have someone to look after you.' She was unaware of the tremor in her voice, the hint of dejection in the droop of her shoulders.
Metat came to announce that the dinner was ready. Craig waited until he had gone- again and then said curiously,
'Do you want me to go, Jeanette?'
'No, no, I don't.' The words came swiftly, without thought She flushed and added, 'But you did want to finish the book by the end of the year - and you've neglected it because of me.'
'Haven't you enjoyed this past week ?'
'You know I have.' Her glance held gratitude -gratitude not only for the excursions, but for the memories. Naturally she could not tell him that.
'So have I.' He rose, picking up their glasses. 'The book has not, therefore, been neglected because of you.' He gazed down at her; she sensed the rebuke his silence implied and her flush deepened. She was just asking herself if she would ever understand him when he said, with that hint of asperity she had come to know so well, 'You're a strange girl, Jeanette. I find it quite impossible to fathom your way of thinking.'
They went in to dinner; the old easy manner returned and later when they again went out to the patio Jeanette felt oddly at peace, even though she was at the same time profoundly aware of Craig's nearness, of the overwhelming influence and magnetism of his presence. She leant back in her chair; the soft glow from the lanterns in the trees cast lights into her hair and her eyes. She saw Craig regarding her with a strange expression and sent him a spontaneous smile.
He caught his breath, hesitated, and then,
'I intended never to ask you again, Jeanette, but... will you come to Buyuk Ada with me? You were right when you said you thought I was keen to continue with the book, I feel somehow that it will - flow now.' Another hesitation. 'I should very much appreciate your help.'
She was no longer enveloped in peace; her heart raced madly and she found herself trembling with excitement. To be with Craig for several weeks, on a romantic island in the Sea of Marmara....
'I - Craig, I don't know...' Even as her sanity returned he was speaking again, speaking in gentle tones, persuasively and with a faint expression of urgency in his voice.
'I suppose you're thinking we could do it just as well here, but it's not so. I've tried. The environment's right, somehow, on the island.' He smiled at her then and added, 'And this is our vacation; we wouldn't be writing all the time. We could swim, and perhaps sail sometimes.'
All so attractive, all so tempting - but the image of Diane rose between them, Diane, who would soon be Craig's wife. Jeanette's mind was in a turmoil; she lived again through that painful, conversation with Mrs. Fleming, the conversation that had led to the discovery of her own feelings for Craig. Mrs. Fleming would not be pleased to know that she was at the yali with her son.
'I'll have to think.' How desperately she wanted to go! The madness took possession again. Why not? What had she to lose? Craig would welcome her help; and if she loved him, then why shouldn't she help him? And why shouldn't she seize the opportunity of haying him all to herself for a few weeks? For that was all she would have to last for the rest of her life. This thought hurt, hurt unbearably, and her eyes were bright as she looked across at him.
She put trembling hands to her temples. How could she keep her secret if they were to work and play, and live side by side. It wasn't humanly possible. After that admission her decision was easy. She knew, as she looked into his eager face, that once she refused it would be the end, the end of their friendship. She was also convinced he would go to Buyuk Ada alone.
Well, the sooner the break came the sooner the wound would begin to heal.
'I'm sorry, Craig, but I don't want to go to the island.' She didn't know what words to use, and her voice , sounded sharp, because of the dryness in her throat. She saw him stiffen. Her refusal was a blow to his pride. He regretted having asked her. She saw a pulsating movement in his temple, but it was his icy expression which held her. His voice was like flint.
'That appears to be conclusive enough. I don't think there's anything more to be said.' He stood up as he spoke, and she whispered, almost against her will,
'Are you going to the island?'
'First thing in the morning.'
And then she was alone. For a moment the garden was still and silent And then a cool, flower-scented breeze touched her burning forehead, and from afar came the clear sweet song of a nightingale. With a trembling little sob Jeanette rose to her feet and went into the house.
Craig had been gone almost a week when Cetin called. It had been a week of loneliness for Jeanette, comparable in pain and heartache to those months immediately following her fiance's death. It had been a time of conflict, too. She seemed to be torn apart, one moment wishing she could have another chance and accept Craig's offer, and the next moment knowing full well that she had acted wisely. The strain of this conflict left her weak; she had become pale and tired-looking and when Cetin appeared she felt she had neither the strength nor the inclination even to speak to him. She was angry that he should call, but she had to remember that he was a friend of Sally and Gwen, and she endeavoured to hide her feelings.
She smiled as she asked him in and invited him to sit down. He sprawled in the chair, looking up at her with narrowed eyes.
'So you're not out with him today?' His mouth was tight and his lips were curved into an almost ugly line. Jeanette wondered how she had ever come to regard him as handsome. He appeared to be under some kind of stress, seething beneath a facade of mild civility. For some quite incomprehensible reason her heart began to flutter, and it flashed through her mind that Metat was having his afternoon break and would be in a cafe somewhere with Murad, and that Mrs. Baydur was out shopping.
'No, Qetin,' she said guardedly. 'Not today.'
'Not tomorrow, either. Why has he gone to Buyuk Ada?'
She glanced down at him, startled.
'How do you know that Craig has gone to the island?'
'His yacht isn't there.'
Of course. She hadn't thought of that. Cetin was waiting for an answer to his question and she told him that Craig had decided to do some work on his book.
His manner changed; his tones were softer and faintly perceptive.
'Have you quarrelled with him?'
'No!' she returned emphatically. 'Why should vou ask that?'
He moved in his chair, sitting up straight.
'Rumour has it,' he said, 'that Craig Fleming is in lo
ve with some married woman. Her husband's gravely ill and they're just waiting for the poor devil to die.'
Jeanette flinched. How people twisted the truth! It hurt her intolerably to hear Craig spoke of like this. -
'There's more to it than most people realize, Cetin,' was all she would say.
'Perhaps,' he conceded, shrugging. 'But they will marry when this woman becomes a widow?' It was more a statement than a question; Jeanette had to agree with him, but her manner remained non-committal.
'Then you do realize that you're wasting your time in running after him ?'
'I don't run after him!' she denied, flushing hotly. Was that how it appeared? Were others thinking the same thing?
'Maybe I shouldn't have said that,' he apologized, but added, 'Nevertheless you do prefer his company to mine.' A sulky note entered his voice and again she had to pity him, wondering how deeply he cared and whether his suffering were as great as hers.
He seemed to be waiting, as if hoping she might deny the truth of his words, and when she remained silent his mouth became once more set and hard.
His attitude was difficult to read. Jeanette had not had much to do with men like Cetin; be belonged to the new Turkey, to the youth of the country. He had never displayed the rather servile manner which seemed to come naturally to the older men employed by people like Mark and Craig. There was an arrogance about Cetin which she had always disliked and yet, strangely, she could not resent.
He spoke softly, asking her how long Craig had been gone.
'I noticed last night that his yacht wasn't there,' he continued, 'but I haven't been this way for three or four days.'
'He went last Tuesday - a week tomorrow.'
'You've been on your own?' His voice was edged with bitterness. 'You could have rung me.'
'There was nothing to ring you for.' She looked at him apologetically reluctant to add to his unhappiness and yet wishing he would try to accept the situation. 'There can't be anything between you and me - please don't keep on hoping.'
'You... won't come out with me this evening? We could dine and dance. I promise I won't say a word out of place.' He was pleading, in spite of her efforts.
She shook her head in desperation, unable to cope. The strain of her own position had frayed her nerves and she felt that if Cetin persisted she would burst into tears.
'Pease go,' she begged. 'I just want to be left alone.'
'Left alone?' He stood up and came close to her, his face dark with suppressed anger. 'It's not natural for a woman to want to be alone! It's him - why didn't he leave you alone? Why did he have to come along and spoil everything? You were quite happy, going around with me—'
'No, no, I wasn't. I knew it wouldn't work, because I felt nothing for you—' She broke off, the colour leaving her face as she saw his expression. Her glance fluttered to the window. How long would it be before Mrs. Baydur returned?
'You could have cared - if he hadn't come between us?' ,
There was an evil gleam in his eyes and Jeanette took an instinctive step backwards. The action had the effect of releasing some pent-up emotion in Cetin. He seemed almost primitive, and her voice became husky with fear as she spoke.
'Cetin... neither of us is enjoying this conversation, and - and I have asked you to go. Please do so... n-now.'
He stared at her, his nostrils flared and then, before she knew what he was about to do he had seized her arm holding it in a brutal grip as he pulled her towards him.
'Let me go—'
'I want you,' he said savagely. 'You're the first woman I've ever loved - and I won't let you go!' He laughed at her struggles and then his expression became evil again as he took her face in a cruel grip, forcing her head back. She was paralysed with fear, terrified she would faint, and again she struggled desperately, trying to free herself.
His mouth was close to hers and with a shuddering moan of despair she waited to feel the savage pressure of his lips.
And then she was free. Dazed, she watched Cetin go staggering back, regaining his balance only just in time to prevent himself from crashing into the wall.
'Get out!' Craig's voice was a whip-lash and his face was white with fury. 'Get out before I throw you out I' '
Cetin straightened up, his lips drawn back into a snarl-as he made a movement as if to strike Craig. Craig's eyes were narrowed and challenging; he waited, but Cetin, thinking better of it, moved to the window through which Craig had entered.
'I'll go - but I'm not saying I won't be back.'
'You'll get more than you bargain for if you do come back.' Craig's voice was low now and even. Take my advice, Rustem, and keep away.'
'Are you going to stand guard over her all the time?' No mistaking the sneer on Cetin's lips or the arrogance of his tone.
Craig merely looked at him contemptuously, but his attitude was a threat and after a glance of hatred Cetin turned and stepped through the window. The next moment his car was roaring along the drive, lost in a cloud of dust.
Silently, Craig and Jeanette looked at one another. By what miracle he had so opportunely arrived she did not know, but it was enough that he should be here, even though his eyes smouldered and his lips were compressed into a thin, tight line.
'Thank you, Craig,' she faltered, moving with difficulty to the couch. Her legs were so weak they could scarcely support her, and her heart pounded so madly that she felt almost sick. 'Metat and Mrs. Baydur went out. ...'
Craig ignored that.
'How often has he been here during the past week?' he demanded, fully aware of her trembling, and the brightness of her eyes.
'This is the first time.'
'Has he made love to you before?'
'Certainly not!' Her cheeks flamed. 'And he wasn't doing so now!'
'Don't tell me that little scene hasn't had some sort of preliminary.' The hint of contempt in his voice brought the tears. She put her head in her hands and wept. He did not speak, but waited for the nervous tension to pass. When at last she looked up, drying her eyes, his face had a softened quality, but he still appeared more angry and impatient than she had ever seen him.
'I didn't mean to cry...' Involuntarily she pressed one tightly closed fist to her heart as if to quieten its unnatural thudding. She looked up at him gravely. 'How do you come to be here? I thought you would be staying at the yali for at least a month.'
'I'd left some important notes behind. Murad was supposed to have put them in my case and obviously forgot. I thought I could manage without them, but I was just wasting time, so I decided to come back and get them.'
That did not explain why he was here, and she looked at him questioningly. He spoke with obvious reluctance, after a long and brooding silence.
'I thought I'd come over and see how you were - knowing you're on your own.'
'That was kind of you, Craig.' She was sure he let fall a little sigh of exasperation at her words, but there was nothing in his expression to support this. 'You're returning to the island immediately ?'
'Later this evening.' The merest pause. 'And you're coming with me, whether you like it or not.'
'Oh, but I—'
'You're not staying here alone - not with Cetin in that mood.' He watched her, expecting a protest, and went on with swiftly rising anger, 'What would Mark think if I were to leave you, knowing the danger you're in ? You're going to do as I say, Jeanette, and I don't want any further argument!'
She hadn't argued, but she didn't tell him so, for she was sure he was in no mood to pay attention to unimportant statements like that.
She had to agree that it was unwise to remain here, for she was sure Cetin would return once Craig had again departed for the island. On the other hand, it was also unwise for her to stay with Craig at the yali, and although, uncomfortably aware that it was not the thing to do, she tentatively suggested she stay at Craig's house here in Ortakoy.
'Cetin wouldn't know where I was, so he couldn't annoy me.'
'Have you forgotten my housekeepe
r is away?'
'Of course she is. Yes, I'd forgotten. I can't very well stay with only Murad there.'
'And it wouldn't be quite the thing if I remained at home. In any case, I have no wish to do so. You're coming to Buyuk Ada.' He looked past her, to the clock. 'I'll stay until Metat returns and then I'll leave you to pack. Can you wait for your dinner until we arrive at the yali?'
She nodded, all resistance leaving her. It seemed she was fated to be with Craig on. the island, and she resignedly accepted her fate, too spent to enter into an argument which, in any case, would prove to be futile.
Jeanette lay on the sand, her hands propped behind her head, gazing dreamily out to sea. Craig lay on a chair beside her, his eyes closed.
It was nearly three weeks since they had left Istanbul, sailing to the island in the cool of a July evening, with the playful porpoises all around, and the dome and minarets of St. Sophia slipping away into the distance. For Jeanette it had been a time of pleasure and pain, of alternating happiness and dejection. Each morning they worked on the book; each afternoon they would go on to the beach, Craig's private little beach close to the landing-stage where his yacht was moored, and lie in the sun or swim in the warm blue waters of Marmara. Then there would be afternoon tea up at the yali or in one of the gay little cafes along the quay. Occasionally they would hire one of the two-horse buggies and make the five-mile circuit of the island, or go on a sleepy ride through the pine woods or to the top of some hill where they would loiter awhile to enjoy the superb view over to the other islands of the Princes' group.
In the evening they might be invited, by the owner of a nearby yali, to a barbecue on the beach. They would cook their food on a charcoal stove and eat it under a moonlit sky, with the tropical breeze warmed by the sea, drifting caressingly on to the shore. Craig in turn organized his own barbecue and Jeanette sent out the invitations and then helped generally to make the party a success. At other times they would dine out, in a restaurant, mingling with the tourists, and the wealthy Greek and Turkish families whose habit it was to come to the island for the whole of the summer. Or they might dine alone, with the table set out under lantern-hung trees in the beautiful garden of the yali. At all these times Jeanette took what fate had to offer and the resulting heartaches were determinedly ignored. But often she would lie awake at night, thinking of Craig, and the way he was, quite often, as attentive as a lover. And she would wonder how she could now live without him. Her mind would be tortured by the picture of Diane receiving all these attentions and more tenderly given, for, of course, she would be Craig's wife.
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