'No, of course not.' Laurette accepted the statement at its face value, knowing it would be a serious matter among these people, but she was still puzzled. 'But why on earth should she think I've run away? I'm very happy at home.'
'This cousin is a speaker of gossip,' Suna Melen informed her, safe in the knowledge that old Nilufer could not understand and contradict. Tt has been told that there is to be a betrothal, hanim, between the son of Refik Bey and the woman upon whom he looks as a daughter. It is from this betrothal that Nilufer says you run.'
Laurette was shaking her head slowly back and forth, too stunned for the moment to find words. Her heart was hammering against her ribs like a drum beat suddenly and she looked at her informant with wide, unbelieving eyes. She did not know what she had expected to hear when she pressed Suna Melen to tell her what the old woman had said, but certainly nothing like this.
She was the centre of all eyes, but it was Suna Melen who was their combined voice. 'It is a bad idea, hanim?'
'It's a wrong idea!' Laurette corrected her automatically. 'I can't think how on earth she got hold of such a—a silly story!'
There were all too many surprises happening lately, concerning Nuri and herself. Latife's suggestion that he was jealous of her being in the garden so long with Ian; Doctor Teoman's reference to the flattering way Nuri spoke of her, even Nuri's own unaccustomed familiarity—and now this. It was no more than servants' gossip, of course, but there were far too many misconceptions abroad, and she really ought to do something about putting a stop to them.
Suna Melen was kneeling beside her, refilling the goblet she held with steamingly fragrant tea, and looking at her curiously as she did so. 'There is no betrothal, hanim?' She sounded almost disappointed, and in other circumstances Laurette might have laughed, as she had done at Halet more than once in similar situations. Only this, somehow, was more serious and it made her strangely uneasy in this company of strangers.
'Definitely not!'
She kept a firm hold on her impulses, and held the glass goblet tightly between her hands, inhaling the fragrance of its contents and firmly suppressing the instinct she had to get up and leave. She must surely have become more Turkish than she realised over the past few years, for she managed to conceal her inner turmoil with a veneer of coolness that probably fooled at least some of her companions.
Just as the rest did, she turned her head swiftly when a man's voice called from the foot of the stairs to his wife, and Suna Melen rose hastily to her feet to answer it. Whatever news he imparted it had the women reaching to draw their veils across their faces once more, and their dark eyes above them, looked at Laurette with renewed interest. The old woman, Nilufer, muttered something behind the muffling cloth, and Suna Melen turned, her eyes too, speculative.
'Nuri Bey is here to take you back, hanim.'
Old Nilufer nodded her satisfaction when Laurette got to her feet, though much less hastily than Suna had answered her husband's call, and it was possible she suspected just how urgently Laurette's heart was beating as she stood for a moment brushing down her skirt.
She had expected Baba Refik to come, as he had promised; why did it have to be Nuri? And the way Suna Melen had worded it—Nuri Bey is here to take you back—how could she expect these women to believe anything else than that he had come in anger because she had gone off with another man? She smiled at Suna Melen and nodded, her expression giving no clue to the turmoil that was going on in her mind.
'I'll say goodbye to the ladies and join him in a few moments,' she said. 'Will you ask your husband to tell him that, please, Suna Hanim?'
The request was complied with somewhat dubiously, then Suna stood at the top of the stairs with her veil drawn across her face and her eyes watching for the man who had come to fetch their visitor. He appeared at the same moment Laurette shook hands with her hostess, a tall, commanding figure who tipped back his head to look up and hid the expression in his eyes with thick black lashes.
'Laurette?'
He waited while she came down the wooden stairs, then stood for a moment after she joined him, looking down at her. 'It was good of you to come, Nuri.' She made her voice as light and casual as she could, and he took her arm without answering, steering her across to where his car was parked in the dusty street surrounded by admiring men.
Ian was on the back seat, lying full length and with his head supported by a cushion, much more relaxed than when she had seen him last and perhaps slightly less flushed. The door was open and she got in beside him, brushing back the hair from his brow and noticing that it was much less chilled and damp.
'Ian, are you feeling better?'
'I suppose so—the doc says I am.'
He made the admission grudgingly, and she realised he was probably drowsy after some injection or other he had been given. He had opened his eyes only briefly, but managed to frown when he saw Nuri standing just behind her. She had not closed the door and she expected him to do it, squatting back on her heels when he did not and looking at him warily.
'I expected Baba Refik to come, but—'
'I was already in my car, it was the simplest thing for me to come instead.' He seemed to be waiting for her to leave Ian and ride in front with him, and she was in two minds about it. 'When you are ready we will go.'
'Yes, of course. I'll ride in the back with Ian.'
'Your cousin has been advised to lie still and full length on the seat,' Nuri told her shortly. 'It will be much simpler and more comfortable if you ride with me, Laurette.'
Ian had his eyes partly open again and he was watching her, not trying to persuade her, but watching to see what she would do, and she had the feeling somehow that the men standing around were waiting for her to decide as well. She could insist on staying with Ian, although there was not really room for her, or she could ride with Nuri up front, as he said. That, she realised, surrounded by all those dark, male faces, was what she was expected to do.
'Yes, of course,' she said. 'Then Ian can rest.'
She got out of the car and Nuri's strong fingers guided her into the front passenger seat, squeezing gently just before they released her, and when she looked up at him briefly, his black eyes had a deep dark glow in their depths that set her pulse racing.
Nuri Bey is here to take you back, was the message Suna Melen had delivered, and when she caught a glimpse of several pairs of dark eyes watching from the upper windows of the house she had just left, she had the strangest feeling that it was they who had put the right interpretation on the message after all.
CHAPTER SIX
IT went very much against the grain to leave Ian alone in his hotel bedroom, but he firmly refused to take advantage of an invitation to stay at Yarev until he was recovered. His refusal, Laurette suspected, stemmed from the fact that although Nuri had issued the invitation on behalf of his father, he left little doubt that whether he appeared inhospitable or not, he had no enthusiasm for the idea. Refik Kayaman would have been happier, if only for Laurette's sake, but he would not insist, for to pressure a man into accepting hospitality he did not wish to accept was as impolite as not to offer it at all.
In her concern for Ian it had been easy to forget the circumstances that had led to their going on that boat trip in the first place, and she had not given another thought to Nuri having seen them at the. theatre. She visited Ian at his hotel, and determinedly ignored the questioning looks of the desk clerk. Ian was her cousin and she had to stand by him, even if only for that reason.
The sickness, as Doctor Teoman had forecast, soon diminished, and by the second day Ian was talking about getting up. What would happen after that she had no clear idea, but he could hardly go out and about in the sun for a while, which was going to restrict their activities. However, that was something they could discuss this morning while they sat in the hotel gardens under the trees, which was where she had arranged to meet him.
Coming downstairs she felt quite lighthearted, a mood inspired in part by a new silk d
ress she was wear-ing, and which made her feel rather special. Its colour was the same soft bluey-green as the ocean below the cliffs in the harbour, and with her copper-red hair it was dazzlingly effective. Watching the way the skirt swished about her legs as she came downstairs, she smiled to herself a bit complacently, unaware of being watched until a voice snatched her out of her mood.
'Laurette?'
Nuri stood just outside the door of the salon, as if he had just left it, and she viewed his sudden appearance with mixed feelings. She had seen very little of him in the past couple of days, not exactly by design, although she supposed subconsciously she had tried not to see him too often. There was something about the way he watched her come down the last few stairs that brought old Nilufer's suspicions to mind, and she felt strangely uneasy with that black-eyed gaze on her.
'Will you speak with me for a few moments?'
As if she stood much chance of refusing! She pushed her hair back from her face with a vague hand and nodded as she came down into the hall. 'Yes, of course, Nuri.'
He stood holding open the door of the salon, just as he had on the last occasion when they had talked alone in the salon, she recalled, and found the recollection discomfiting. That time he had kissed her, unexpectedly and with devastating effect, and she remembered the fact with a wildly thudding heartbeat.
It was doubtful if he had anything as unexpected in mind for this interview, but she could do nothing about the curious sense of anticipation that curled in her stomach as she approached him. In fact he looked far more as if he meant to censure her for something, and she sought hastily among her recent misdemeanours for something to account for it. The angle of her chin as she passed him in the doorway was quite unconsciously challenging and she hated it because she knew her cheeks coloured furiously.
'You're going to tell me off, aren't you?'
He would dislike the direct challenge, that went without saying and she felt her pulses flutter alarmingly in response to the touch of her bare arm in brief contact with the hard vigour of him. It was a new experience, being so very aware of him as a man, and she found it very hard to cope with at the moment.
'I wish you wouldn't, Nuri. It simply means that we shall fight again, and I really don't want to fight with you.'
Close on her heels as she crossed to her favourite seat on the ottoman, he watched her tuck her legs up under her as she always did. 'I find that hard to believe,' he said, 'since you seem to go out of your way to create the situations. Sometimes I think you actually enjoy quarrelling with me.'
'Oh, but I don't!'
She looked up swiftly to deny it, and something in his manner as he stood over her, looking down from his superior height, reminded her once more of that last time they had been alone together in this room, and she shivered. He noticed, and a black brow commented, but that was all.
He did not sit beside her as she anticipated, but chose instead to occupy one of the armchairs, leaning back in it and crossing his long legs, as if he was completely relaxed, when she felt quite sure he was not. There were signs, things she recognised after long experience, that meant he was either angry or uneasy about something, and she looked at him curiously from the concealment of her lashes.
Taking out one of the long Turkish cigarettes he smoked, he lit it before he spoke again, but it was so seldom that he smoked in her company that she could not help showing her surprise. Once more he noted her reaction, and looking at the cigarette between his long fingers, he inclined his head in a curiously formal apology.
'You have no objection if I smoke?'
'No, of course not.'
His black eyes, narrowed behind the drifting smoke, were regarding her steadily. 'But of course you will be more accustomed to the habit now that you see so much more of your cousin, will you not?'
'I'm used to Ian smoking, if that's what you mean.' Her hands clenched, she looked at him and frowned. 'But if you're referring to Ian why don't you use his name, Nuri? Surely you don't dislike him that much, do you?'
It took her only a moment to recognise that she had already made what could well be the first step towards another scene with him, and she bit her lip anxiously, trying to draw back before it was too late. Another long draw at the cigarette preceded a smoke screen that all but hid his face from her, so it was difficult to judge his reaction, but his words were cool and quiet, his words startling.
'I dislike anyone who can persuade you to deceive your family, and particularly my father.'
'Oh, Nuri, that really isn't fair!'
But it was fair as far as he was concerned, she realised with dismay. All her good intentions of telling her foster-father about the unexpected visit to the theatre to see the wrestling had gone by the board in the past couple of days, and it had been left to Nuri to remind her.
To him it must look very much as if she had simply sneaked off with Ian and intended keeping quiet about it, except that Nuri had seen them and made that impossible. She scarcely expected him to believe her good intention now. What puzzled her as much as anything was her own present reaction to his reminder.
Normally she would have been angry at his bringing it to her attention, but instead she felt rather small and guilty because she had allowed her involvement with Ian to let her forget about everything else. And the persistent memory of the last time they had been alone together, and the way he had kissed her, undermined her anger in a way she found hard to understand.
'I didn't deceive anyone, Nuri—not deliberately.'
'No?'
She met his eyes for a second only, trying to discover just how implacable he was behind that concealing screen of smoke that hid his expression from her and softened the chiselled, hawk-like features. Hands open on her lap and palms upward, she spoke quietly and without anger.
'I meant to tell Baba Refik as soon as I got home, Nuri, but with Ian being taken ill and then—' She shrugged helplessly. 'It slipped my mind, that's all.' Her expression was anxious suddenly. 'You haven't told him, have you, Nuri?'
A swirling jet of smoke issued between pursed lips and he regarded her through the resultant cloud for a second. 'You have to ask me that?'
'That's right—you never told tales on us, did you?'
He could have done so many times, she thought, but she had never before stopped to reason his motive for not doing so. She had assumed in the past that it had been done with the idea of protecting her and Halet from his father's displeasure. Now it seemed possible that the reverse was possibly true—that he protected his father from the annoyance of their misdemeanours. He had a great love for his father, as well as respect.
She received no reply to her question, but the black eyes were fixed on her unwaveringly behind that smoke screen he created. 'I had not seen you capable of deliberately deceiving my father, though I know you would deceive me and take pleasure in my finding out, if you knew it would anger me.'
'Oh, no, I—'
A raised hand stilled her protest, his wide mouth distorted with a wry half-smile. 'Why deny it, bebek? You would do almost anything if you thought it would —what is it?—get a rise out of me!'
The unaccustomed slang sounded clumsy on his pedantic tongue, but she was more dismayed at his opinion of her than she would have believed possible. She sat for a moment or two with her hands in her lap, restless fingers alternately pleating and smoothing the hem of her dress and not looking at him, but very conscious of the black gaze watching her.
Her mouth looked unusually soft and vulnerable; not sulky, but reproachful, and she thought of all the times when she would have flown into a temper if he had been only half as provoking as he was being now. Why she was taking it so meekly, she had no idea, and there was a certain gleam in Nuri's black eyes that suggested he too was intrigued by the new state of affairs.
'I—I didn't realise you had quite such a low opinion of me.'
The sound of her own voice dismayed her, for it was breathless and husky, as if she was on the brink of tears, and
when she looked across at him her eyes showed the same symptoms—bright and suspiciously misty, a situation she was at a loss to account for. Crossing swords with Nuri was hardly a novel experience, but she had seldom shed tears over it, yet she felt very much as if she wanted to at this moment.
'So it was because you wanted to tell me off that you asked me to come in here!' She laughed, very unsteadily, and shook her head, resigned to the inevitable. 'I knew it had to be—how could it be anything else?'
'Laurette—'
'Oh, please don't say any more! You've achieved your object, Nuri! I'll go and see Baba Refik, duly chastened and put firmly in my place by my big brother!' She got to her feet and wished her legs felt less shaky, and her voice was more firmly confident.
'But you reminded me, Nuri, that's all. No matter what you choose to believe, I was going to tell Baba Refik all about it; he'll know that I would have told him first if I'd—‘
'You did not know you were going!' His black eyes searched over her face, seeking confirmation. 'You did not know where Ian Kearn was taking you when you left here, that is why you did not say anything!'
There was no concealing the fact that only now did he recognise the fact, and it hurt to see him admit it. He really had thought she was deceiving his father and going to places she knew he would not like her visiting. Thrusting out her chin, she looked at him from the shadow of her thick lashes, as near anger as she had yet come, yet still more hurt than angry, and puzzled by the fact.
'You really believed I'd—I'd sneaked in there without saying anything, didn't you? You actually thought I was capable of being that deceitful!'
'Laurette, please listen to me.'
He was on his feet with one large hand on her arm until she snatched it away and stood blinking at him with eyes that were now so close to tears that they looked diamond-bright in her flushed face. Turning swiftly before he had time to say anything more, she hurried across the room away from him; in search of his father. Someone who would believe and understand her —Nuri never would.
The Velvet Glove Page 10