Mirrors of the Sea

by Sally Wentworth

  'The first time?' Alys asked hollowly.

  Gail's lashes flickered for a moment, then she said, 'Well, of course. You don't think it ended there, do you? Not with a man like Titus. And boy is he some man.'

  'You mean that—you and he...?'

  'Of course,' Gail said on an impatient note. 'And let me tell you, Alys, that a shipboard romance is everything it's cracked up to be. Titus is a fantastic lover. It was out of this world! And he's very experienced. I don't know where he learned to please a woman like that, but he ‑' Gail broke off to give a surprised laugh. 'Why, Alys! You're blushing! I didn't think women did that any more.' She gave Alys a look of growing amazement. 'Good heavens! You're not still a virgin, are you?'

  Angry at the other girl's question, Alys said shortly, 'Have you ever thought of minding your own business, Gail? And I really don't want to know about—about your cheap little affair!' And she quickly turned to hurry after her group, the colour soon leaving her cheeks as she became very pale.

  She caught them up, gave Aunt Lou a painful travesty of a smile, and stood to listen to the guide. But it was impossible to concentrate now. The thought of Titus actually making love to Gail tore her apart inside, making her feel almost physically ill. The fear that Titus had found someone new since she'd left him had often crossed her mind, of course, but it was one of the things she had managed to bury away, something else she hadn't faced. Probably because it was too enormous an affront to her own memories, which were becoming ever more precious when they were all she had left. But now she had no choice but to face up to it, now that Gail had thrown the details of his infidelity in her face!

  Infidelity? Alys took the word from her mind and looked at it. Was that really what she thought—that Titus had been unfaithful to her? In a way she supposed it was, because she had certainly felt fully committed to him, as committed as any marriage vows would have made her. But if she'd been married to him would she have walked out on Titus quite so readily? And would he have dared, then, to bring his ex-lover and her son to their home? The group moved on and Alys with them, but her thoughts were a couple of thousand years away from the others. She had wanted to be married to him, and would have been if Camilla hadn't come along. But would it really have made any difference? Wouldn't she have been just as angry, just as devastated? It crossed Alys's mind for the first time that her walking out on Titus could have been a sort of challenge, a cry for reassurance, saying, 'Come and get me, marry me, prove to me that you love me.'

  And what had Titus's message been when he had made love to Gail? Because he must have known that Gail wasn't the type to keep something like that to herself, that she had chosen Alys as a confidante and would be sure to pass on the triumphant news that she had made yet another conquest. The thought of Titus being just another name to add to Gail's list made Alys cringe in a kind of shame. Perhaps that was what Titus intended; perhaps he had taken this way to show her just how little he cared about her now. Was he, then, going to flaunt Gail in front of her face to add to his revenge? In which case he would be using Gail for his own ends, which would hardly be fair. Although, remembering what a wonderful lover Titus had been, Alys strongly suspected that Gail wouldn't care even if she found out; in fact, if her confidences today had been anything to go by, Gail was loving every minute.

  The group left the market-place and walked up a hill towards the stadium, the sun hotter now so that they moved more slowly. Alys tried to push the picture of Titus and Gail together out of her mind, but found that she couldn't. Even when she'd seen them kissing she hadn't really believed that it had been anything other than an attempt to make her jealous, had in fact been secretly pleased because she thought it meant that Titus still cared. Well, now she knew. All he'd wanted to do was hurt. Which must mean that he really hated her. Had leaving him in the circumstances, then, been such a terrible thing to do? she wondered miserably. He certainly seemed to think so, although she had been sure enough in her own mind that it was the only course open to her.

  They walked round the stadium with the guide and started a further climb to the theatre but Alys was so rapt in her own thoughts that she didn't notice that Aunt Lou had stopped until she called after her. Turning, Alys saw that her aunt was standing with two other elderly ladies, the pair that they usually played bridge with.

  'Alys, dear, we've decided to give the theatre a miss. It's so very hot. We thought we'd go back to where the coach is and get a drink. But you go on and we'll see you back there.'

  But Alys walked to join them. 'No, I'll come with you; I'm beginning to think when you've seen one set of ruins you've seen them all.'

  That made the three women laugh, but they chided her on her lack of enthusiasm. 'You wait till you see Ephesus,' they told her.

  They took their time walking back and arrived at the coaches as the first groups were completing their tour. 'Look, there's some shade under this tree. Why don't you sit here while I get the drinks?' Alys offered.

  They accepted willingly enough and Alys went over to a drink-seller's stall set under a big umbrella at the far side of the car park. The man took four bottles from what looked like a refrigerator on wheels and Alys held them to her chest, cold against the heat of her body, as she fished in her bag for the money to pay.

  'Want some help?'

  She turned her head, saw Titus, and dropped one of the bottles. It hit a stone in the ground, smashed, and sent a spray of glass and cold Coke over her legs.

  'Oh!' Alys looked down helplessly, for once completely lost about what to do.

  The stall-holder gave her a filthy look and came round with a bucket to put the broken glass in. Titus took the bottles from her and put them back on the stall, then picked up the man's chair and told her to sit on it.

  She tried to turn away. 'No, I must go ‑'

  'Do as you're told,' he commanded. 'You might have cut your legs.' And he pushed her into the chair.

  Taking out a handkerchief, he mopped up the liquid that was trailing down on to her feet, his touch gentle. 'You're in luck,' he said after a couple of minutes. 'Just one small scratch and that hasn't bled.'

  Alys was silent, looking down at him intently, her heart pounding, still sick inside. When she didn't speak, Titus glanced up at her face, and became still.

  'Are you all right, Alys?'

  She gripped the edge of the chair, her face working as she tried desperately to control herself, but then burst out, 'Do you really hate me so much?'

  His eyes narrowed. 'Hate you? What makes you say that?'

  'Was leaving you such a terrible thing to do?' Her voice grew bitter. 'You were much older than me, Titus; you should have known how I would react, that I wouldn't know how to handle it. She should have—have dealt with it without involving me.'

  He still had his hand on her ankle and it tightened as he said curtly, 'You would rather I had gone on keeping my son a secret from you for the rest of your life?'

  'You'd managed pretty well up to then,' Alys shot back. But then she bit her lip and shook her head. 'No. You had to tell me. I know that. But do you have to be this—this cruel to me just because you didn't like the way I reacted?'

  'What do you mean?'

  'She told me, Titus. Gail told me!'

  A wary look came into his face. 'What did Gail tell you?'

  'That you were lovers, of course. That you went to bed together that night I—I saw you together.'

  'She—had no right to tell you that,' Titus said slowly, watching her intently.

  'Didn't she?' Alys said bitterly. 'Isn't that what you wanted?'

  'Why should I want it?'

  'To hurt me, of course. You knew she'd tell me, and you—you just wanted to turn the knife.'

  'And does it hurt?'

  'Yes, of course it damn well hurts!' Alys's voice shook. 'I didn't know you hated me so much. That you could be so cruel.'

  'And wasn't what you did to me cruel?' Titus demanded, his voice suddenly harsh and strange.

  '
How could it possibly be? You were the one who ‑' Alys suddenly broke off and got hurriedly to her feet as she saw the cruise director walking over to them.

  'Everything all right?' he enquired.

  'Thank you, yes. I stupidly dropped a bottle and Dr Irvine kindly lent his handkerchief to mop me up,' Alys said hastily. Somehow she managed to look at Titus and nod. 'Thank you for your help.'

  She bought a replacement bottle while Titus gave the poor stall-holder his chair back, then headed quickly back to her aunt and the other ladies, gripping the bottles tightly, trying not to let the liquid spill because her hands were shaking so much.

  'I'm afraid we'll have to drink out of the bottles,' she apologised. 'There weren't any cups or straws.'

  'Well, I don't expect it will kill us,' one said tolerantly, but Aunt Lou handed round tissues and insisted that they wipe the neck of the bottles carefully before they drank from them.

  Alys sat down beside them in the shade and watched as Titus carried half a dozen drinks over to some of his group, Gail stepping forward to greet him and putting a possessive arm through his as they stood together, a little apart from the others, their heads close. She couldn't have said more plainly, 'Look what I've landed,' if she'd stood in the middle of them all and shouted it out loud, Alys thought wretchedly. It must have been perfectly obvious to all the passengers that they were now lovers. As she watched, Titus turned to look in her direction and then Gail lifted her head and looked, too. Alys could only think that Titus must be telling Gail about her, about their affair, and Alys's humiliation was complete.

  At last they were able to board the coaches and leave. Looking back at the ruins, Alys decided she never wanted to hear the name of Perge again, and was heartily glad to go. But the town had been only their first call and there was another place to visit before they could go back to the ship. It was only a few miles to their next stop at Aspendos, but the bus had no air-conditioning and many of the women were fanning themselves, so it was a relief when the coach stopped outside a building in the middle of nowhere, its front looking rather like an old, high warehouse.

  As luck had it they were in the last coach that day, the one that Jack Reed, as the tour doctor, always travelled in. He helped Aunt Lou down the high step of the coach and smiled a little as he put out a hand for Alys but she jumped lightly down. They went through the entrance of the building, their eyes blinking in the shade, and then Alys realised that she'd been entirely wrong about one set of ruins being much like another as she stepped out into an almost perfect Roman theatre. The tiers of seats stretched high above them in a huge semicircle, and above the seats there was a complete arched colonnade where the Roman traders had stood to sell their wares. Souvenirs and drinks, perhaps, just like any modern-day event. Alys turned to look at the stage behind her and caught her breath at the stone-columned walls with ornate doors and windows for the players to go in and out, at the niches for busts and statues. It was the most perfect ancient theatre she'd ever seen.

  There were other people there today, too: ordinary tourists, and an orderly crowd of little Turkish schoolgirls in neat dark uniforms, their blouses and socks glowingly white, like soap-powder adverts. For a while all the passengers wandered around, exploring. Alys, wanting to be by herself, climbed to the top to look at the arched colonnade, but Aunt Lou didn't attempt it, so Alys sat right at the back, alone, when the passengers all gathered together again on the shady side of the theatre, sitting on the stone seats, waiting for a promised talk.

  She hadn't realised that the speaker was to be Titus. He walked out into the sunlight to stand in front of them, in the exact centre of the orchestra, the circular area between the seats and the stage building, where players had first stood nearly two thousand years ago. A shaft of sunlight came through one of the windows, shining down on to the exact spot where he stood, bathing him in gold. Anyone else would have looked small and lonely standing there, but his tall figure and his presence filled the stage and brought everyone quickly to silence.

  First Titus told them the history of the building, speaking almost normally, hardly having to raise his voice for them to hear because the acoustics were so perfect. He told the story well, holding his audience, and not only the passengers from the ship but other tourists who were sitting on the stepped seats to listen. And all the little schoolgirls, although they probably couldn't understand a word, had sat down on the other side of the theatre and were waiting politely for him to finish.

  Titus came to the end of the talk and Alys expected him to walk away, but instead he gave them all a strange, almost ironical smile and said, 'Perhaps you would like to hear a piece of poetry, much as the Romans must have done—but this was written several hundred years later.' And he began, his voice vibrant, to quote:

  'Let me not to the marriage of true minds

  Admit impediments. Love is not love

  Which alters when it alteration finds

  Or bends with the remover to remove:

  O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,

  That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;

  It is the star to every wandering bark,

  Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

  Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

  Within his bending sickle's compass come;

  Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

  But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

  If this be error, and upon me prov'd,

  I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.'

  Titus's voice lifted to the heights of the theatre and died away. For a moment there was silence as each person took the words into himself, then a spontaneous burst of very genuine applause filled the theatre. The children, seeing that he was at an end, clapped too, and everyone laughed to lighten the atmosphere and remarked on how well behaved they'd been. People got to their feet and walked down the rows of steps. A few stood in the centre and did their own recitations, but stopped after a few lines, feeling self-conscious and inadequate after Titus. After giving a brief bow, he had walked away while the applause was still going on, not once looking up towards where Alys sat.

  Around her people descended but Alys sat on. She was staring at the spot where Titus had stood, her ears still full of his words. He hadn't looked at her while he'd been speaking, had kept his eyes on the lower tiers of his audience, but the sonnet that had once been Shakespeare's had been meant only for her; Alys knew that with absolute certainty. And each word, each sentence of condemnation, had pierced her heart. She sat very still, as set and cold as the stone of the theatre, her hands gripping the edge of the seat as if to let go would be to die. So that was what he had expected of her—a love that would never bend or waver, a love that would last to eternity. And she had failed him at the first obstacle to be thrown in their path. Titus had had a dream, too, and she had killed it for him. Today he had told her so, let her see how it had hurt, how her leaving him had left him disillusioned and bitter. For there had been bitterness in his voice, not obvious perhaps to others, but quite clear to Alys's ears.

  And her heart, too, was full of bitterness—at her own stupidity, at the anger and folly of youth, which had made her leave him but had confidently expected him to do what she wanted and come after her—what she had been too proud to do. She should have trusted him, believed him, known that he was only doing what he was honour bound to do to help his son.

  A great anguish filled Alys's heart, lacerated it, a despair so deep that she was beyond tears. She had asked Titus why he hated her so much and now he had told her. She had lost him, perhaps from the very moment that she had walked out. Now his love for her was as dead as the dust of this dry country, buried too deep for him to do anything but despise her.

  So it was over—for Titus. But Alys knew now that for her the real hurting had only just begun.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  'Alys? Alys, your aunt is worried about you. Are you feeling unwell?'

  It wasn'
t until Jack Reed put his hand on her shoulder and gave her a gentle shake that Alys became aware of him standing over her, his face concerned.

  'What?' She frowned and shook her head dazedly, like someone coming round from a faint. 'No. No, I'm all right.'

  'You're in the sun here, Alys; let's move down into the shade.'

  She got to her feet obediently, but suddenly everything swayed around her and she had to grab Jack's arm. Immediately he put it round her, steadying her against him. They stood still for a minute while Alys took several deep breaths, trying to control her senses.

  'OK now?' She nodded. 'Good, then we'll go down the steps nice and easy, one at a time.'

  She had been up very high and it was an awfully long way down. Her legs seemed to have lost all their strength and poor Jack had to help her, much as she often helped Aunt Louise. When they got to the bottom she said, 'I'm terribly sorry. The—the heat must have got to me.'

  He gave her a shrewd look. 'You look more as if you've had a nasty shock. But you really ought to wear a hat, you know.'

  'I've got one; I must have left it on the coach. I'm fine now, really. Thank you for your help.' But she spoke stiltedly and her face was very pale.

  The cruise director came back into the theatre. 'Oh, there you are! The coach is waiting.' He gave Alys a look which clearly said, Not you again! but had to ask politely, 'Aren't you feeling well, Miss—er ‑?'

  'An attack of vertigo,' Jack put in smoothly. 'She had to wait to be rescued. But she's fine now, aren't you, Miss Curtis?' And he emphasised her surname to put the cruise director in his place.

  Alys nodded and managed a smile. 'Yes, fine. Sorry to keep the coach waiting.'

  They hurried outside and Alys repeated her apology to the waiting passengers before sitting down next to Louise. The older woman gave her a brief but searching look, then took her hand and held it comfortingly as the coach pulled away and headed back for the ship. Aunt Lou was tactfully silent, not having to ask Alys what was the matter because she had already guessed; apart from Alys, she was the only person who knew exactly why Titus had quoted that particular piece of poetry and for whom it was intended.