Hidden Rapture Page 5

  Vivienne didn’t make the mistake of showing too much knowledge of the language, although the damage had been done in that direction and there was nothing she could do to repair it. The worst of it was she got the impression that Trent’s thoughts were running on the same lines as her own. In between the appearance of new dishes he baited her with his granite-like humour. ‘You swim amazingly well, Vivienne—almost as though you once spent most of your time lazing-beside the water.’

  ‘I learnt most of what I know at school,’ she said above the feathering of her breath in her throat.

  ‘Of course. And that’s where you became so proficient at French.’

  ‘No.’ She smiled across at him to fox him. ‘I picked that up later.’ And carried away with the exhilaration of crossing him, she added with a lift of her chin, ‘I speak Spanish too.’

  ‘You do surprise me. Both languages widely used in Tangier.’

  The colour rushed into her face. How easily he could trip her up!

  Over the confusion inside her she commented offhandedly, ‘Some people have a knack for picking up a foreign tongue. I happen to be one of them.’

  ‘And you’re only a fanner’s daughter!’ the suave tones marvelled.

  ‘There are farmers and farmers,’ she commented smoothly.

  He took in the neat simplicity of her blouse and skirt, the gleaming, uncomplicated hair-style that needed no expensive trips to the hairdressers, and drawled, ‘That’s right, there are!’

  All through the meal Vivienne juggled with this kind of conversation.

  She felt like a mouse between the paws of a very astute and courteously smiling cat. It was hanging on to Lucy’s image that kept her own smile intact, although it wasn’t altogether for her friend’s sake that she made all the right replies. There was something about this man that brought out the fight in her and she was determined not to let Lucy down if only for that reason.

  After the dessert and coffee she would have given anything to fly with relief from the room and shut herself in upstairs, but her common sense told her to linger, and leisurely, as though she had nothing to fear in Trent’s presence, she wandered to take in the starlit panorama. The wide windows were open and above the distant roar of the traffic in the city there was the whispered heaving of the sea along the shore and close at hand the sound of night birds calling to one another across the garden. Vivienne inhaled the cool air, clutching at the peace out there and -wishing she were part of it.

  Trent strolled to her side. She was aware that he was sliding one of those capable brown hands into the inside pocket of his jacket for the gold cigarette case he carried and offering her one he asked, ‘What was your father’s reaction to your coming out here?’

  Her head lowered to the flame he held for her. Her mind spun. Lucy’s father? She doubted whether he had any knowledge of his daughter’s letter writing. Looking up, she said, idly exhaling smoke, ‘I’m old enough to please myself in these matters.’

  ‘True,’ he conceded with his tight grin and a shrug of his impeccably clad shoulders. And focussing that shrewd blue glance on her, ‘I’d say you were around Rob’s age. Am I right?’

  ‘Almost. I’m twenty-three.’ That at least was true.

  He studied her from his position beside the brocaded curtains and commented lazily, ‘Bit late by modern standards, isn’t it? I thought girls entered into the marriage market at a much earlier age these days.’

  ‘We don’t all rush out to find a man, the minute we’ve put our school books away,’ she cooed with barely disguised distaste. And giving him the same raking appraisal that he had given her, she added, ‘And what about you? You’re way past the bargaining stage for any woman. Thirty-five, I’d say … or thirty-six.’

  ‘Thirty-seven,’ he corrected easily. And pulling on his cigarette, ‘My life has been pretty full up to now, for the most part taken up with business. For this reason I’ve always kept women at a distance.’

  ‘Am I to take it there are no women gamblers?’ Vivienne feigned surprise. ‘Every Eden has its serpent,’ she mocked, tapping her cigarette on the ashtray he offered before tacking on, ‘and its innumerable Eves, no doubt?’ She didn’t know why, but the picture of svelte-clad females milling around Trent at the Casino somehow rasped on her nerves.

  ‘Enough to make life interesting,’ he drawled with an irritating self-satisfied glint. She didn’t like the trend the conversation was taking, but she was helpless to do anything about it as he eyed her with his next remark, ‘And while we’re on the subject, wouldn’t it be an idea to show Rob a little more warmth when you kiss him goodnight?’

  Vivienne was stunned by his words. She fought back the hot flush creeping up her throat and murmured a genuine excuse, ‘This is our first day. I may have been writing to him for a long time, but I hardly know him as a person.’

  ‘Funny, Rob doesn’t seem to feel that way. He’s young and emotionally bubbling over, and I get the idea that he’d like you to be the same.’

  ‘I’ll get round to it in time,’ Vivienne had recovered enough to say lightly. ‘I love Robert, but he’s a little overpowering and all for sweeping me off my feet.’

  ‘You’ll handle him.’ Trent looked from the end of his cigarette to her.

  ‘I’d say you know your way around, Vivienne.’

  ‘You could be right,’ she replied carelessly. ‘But then perhaps not as much as you. I’ve no idea what the inside of a casino looks like.’ And because she was almost at the end of her tether she pointed out smoothly, ‘And by the way, isn’t it time you were going to count up the chips?’

  He looked at his watch. ‘Thanks for reminding me,’ he said drily. And as he turned to go, ‘Don’t feel you must spend the evenings shut in your room, You’ve got the run of the house, and there are plenty of good books in the library—the first door on your left out of here.’

  ‘I’ll wander in there if I may,’ she murmured politely, going out with him. He said goodnight to her in the hall and a few minutes later she heard him leave in the big black limousine.

  In the library, though its antique elegance was soothing to the eye, she couldn’t shake off the tension which threatened to snap her in two. She thought that by losing herself in a book she would be able to unwind a little, but her mind was taut with strain and the words danced meaninglessly before her eyes. What a day it had been for her, cloaked as it were in Lucy’s personality. Going over it in her mind she felt, with some small relief, that Robert accepted her as the writer of the letters, the girl who was in love with him. But what about Trent? Had she managed to fool him just as effectively? If only she knew!

  CHAPTER THREE

  THOUGH there were times when Vivienne wanted to flee from the lie she was living, some of the strain of those first days began to diminish as she fell in with the routine at Koudia. Each evening Abdul drove Trent into the city in the big black limousine and she was left to her own devices. Through the day, most of which she spent with Robert, she grew more accustomed to her surroundings and in lighter moments discovered a little about the various members of the household.

  The magician in the kitchen, she learned, was a French chef called Maurice who lived in semi-retirement in a hotel suite in town, but spent most of his time at Koudia to oblige Trent. Every day Momeen went down to the Casbah to give his wife, who still clung to the yashmak and hoik, money to buy food for herself and the children^

  Haroun, with his big grin, was a patient, if slow, teacher and it wasn’t long before Vivienne had mastered the long and complicated greetings in Arabic.

  Her biggest worry was when she was alone with Trent and Robert.

  There was always the danger of making a reply which didn’t coincide with what the younger brother expected her to say, and Trent, she knew, missed nothing. Once a week Robert spent a day at the hospital undergoing blood tests and examinations. Vivienne passed the time on these occasions wandering on her own in the grounds.

  The tranquil beauty of the pla
ce with its palm tree corners and spreading cedars never failed to act as balm on her stretched nerves.

  At the rear of the Moorish villa she discovered the household garages. Gathering dust there was a low-slung expensive racing machine in a rich metallic wine colour. She supposed sadly that it had been Robert’s once and that his brother made no use of it for this reason. Taking advantage of the time she had to herself, she locked herself in her room and wrote long letters to Lucy giving a detailed account of all that had happened so far. These she gave to Momeen to post when he was on his way to town.

  The afternoons in the pool ought to have been the most relaxing time of day for her. Splashing about with Robert, laughing at his antics, she had only to be herself. Yet it was impossible to remain oblivious to Trent’s presence, sitting as he did at the table near the sun umbrellas, occasionally lifting his glance from his papers to follow the fun.

  She grew fond of Robert; how could she help it? Young and eager though he was, he had a gentleness that was touching. And his illness seemed to have given him a sensitivity and maturity far beyond his years. He never spoke of the awful fate that awaited him, except on one occasion when they touched on it accidentally in conversation.

  They were sitting in their favourite spot overlooking the fruit orchards one morning. Vivienne saw how the sun lit up the tall white buildings of Tangier and listening to the distant commotion in the streets she said spontaneously, ‘It’s a pity I can’t take you for a walk down there for a change of scene; I’m sure I would handle the wheelchair very well.’

  ‘Trent wouldn’t allow it,’ Robert shrugged easily. He added drily, ‘According to the doctors I stand a better chance of hanging on to the time I’ve got left if I stick to the fresh air and peace around Koudia.’

  Vivienne could have cut out her tongue, but the moment passed and soon they were talking about other things.

  The one time she dreaded most was in the evening when she was obliged to dine alone with Trent. She often tried to pluck up the courage to say that she would prefer to take the meal in her room, but she knew that Trent used the occasions to sound her out as to how the day had gone and she dared not arouse his suspicions by appearing indifferent. As they talked of Robert his manner were merely that of an affectionate older brother. It was the little things, the deep lines etched around his mouth, the premature dusting of grey at his temples, that told her of his crushing frustration and grief.

  Most of the time her fears that he would stumble on to the fact that she was an impostor were unfounded. He treated her courteously, often offering her a cigarette at the end of the meal and whiling away the time before he left for the casino by joining her at the window to contemplate the view. Only when she heard him drive away did she truly feel safe in discarding the Lucy pose.

  As Vivienne Blyth she found the evenings were long. She spent the best part of them on the balcony outside her room. And as she stood there under the star-strewn sky staring down at the blurred buildings of the old town, it seemed to her that she was living two lives, one where she gave all her time and attention to Robert, the other where she dreamed here over the view, every part of her yearning for Gary.

  At first just being here in Tangier with all its heart-shattering memories had been almost too much for her. Now she found herself brooding nightly over the familiar sights, striving to recapture in her mind some of the golden moments of that summer four years ago.

  Soon it wasn’t enough just to look at the twinkling lights of the wide avenues, to listen to the muffled cacophony of sound rising from the Medina. She wanted to become a part of the life in the city sprawling at the foot of the sloping orchards of Koudia, to feel Gary in the noisy narrow alleys of the Casbah, in the scent of charcoal burning stoves, jasmine wands sold on rickety stalls, donkeys with laden panniers and the cafe tables in the crowded Socco Chico.

  Well, why not? It came to her one evening that she was perfectly free to do as she pleased. Robert was in his own quarters with Haroun keeping a watch in case he needed anything. The rest of the house was in semi-darkness with no one to care what she did; Momeen least of all, who stayed glued to the television set in the servants’

  section.

  Her mind made up, she went in from the balcony and put on a pair of suitable shoes. The air was warm, but just in case it dropped chilly she picked up a light cardigan with her handbag. Downstairs the lights in the impressive hall with its Moorish and French decor shone to themselves. Vivienne was soon leaving them behind as she stepped quickly along the drive. She had only to follow the road through the fruit orchards. She reckoned she could be in town in about half an hour.

  It was not much after that when her footsteps were taking her along the Rue de la Casbah. But time meant nothing to her now. She was lost in the bustle of traffic and people, soaking up the well-remembered feel of the place, her blood tingling at familiar rendezvous and landmarks. Like an avid tourist she made for the street of the Great Mosque, ignoring the patter from the would-be guides, shuffling figures in dirty caftans and knitted skullcaps, pretending to know the sights. ‘ Par ici, mademoiselle,’ ‘Je vous.

  conduirai partout.’

  She had learned a long time ago how to deal with them and with a firm word she put them behind her. Along the narrow Rue des Siaghines, the Street of the Jewellers, business was being transacted in that feverish way peculiar to the East. The Indian shops glittered with exotic goods from overseas. There were watches everywhere, from wrist to elbow on the grinning pedlars, the more expensive ones winking behind plate glass in brightly lit interiors overshadowing the money-changers’ doorways and stalls adorned with cheap necklaces.

  To Vivienne the crowded thoroughfare was like a drug on her senses.

  She pushed ahead with her eyes on the faces of the passers-by, her heart knocking in the old familiar way. Suppose she was to see him!

  Suppose they were to meet again after all this time! She looked dreamily through an old crone who thrust a tray of gaudy bracelets at her. Gary always said he would never leave Tangier. It was she who had left. She had flown back to England to try and forget him. Now as she walked the streets of the town, their town, it seemed like only yesterday.

  She came to the Socco Chico, the plaza lined with cafe tables. It was as she had always remembered it, choked with people of all nationalities, the tables crowded and the air reverberating with the babble of Spanish, Arabic and French. She found a seat with the ornate grillework of a window behind her and ordered a Cinzano.

  The drink, when it arrived, tasted strange to her lips after so long, but its acid fragrance was so evocative of the past it brought a sharp sparkle of tears to her eyes. She and Gary had drunk Cinzano all the time. And now as she watched the flow of passers-by, a mixture of djeliaba- clad and Western-attired strollers, it was almost as though she had never been away.

  She had been on holiday that summer when she had first met Gary.

  She was a member of a package tour party and he played the saxophone in the hotel dance band. During one of his breaks from the stage he had asked her to dance with him and from then on things had snowballed between them. She had liked his dark, good-looking features, the way his hair grew back from his rather high forehead, giving him a learned, studious air. She soon learned that looks could be deceiving. Gary was gay and adventurous by nature. He told her he had taught himself to play the saxophone, which was why, she suspected, his renderings when he stood up to play his solos on the stage lacked any real depth or feeling. He was really only interested in paying his way in Tangier.

  When her two weeks’ holiday was up she was too wildly in love with Gary to think of leaving. Recklessly she went and got a job in one of the tourist agencies on the Rue du Statut, and a cheap room to rent, and the package tour party went back without her. She never regretted her decision to stay on. Gary was the perfect companion.

  They spent the summer lounging on the beach and, when they had time off together, visiting all the exotic places she had
only read about: Marrakesh, set so dramatically against the snow-capped Adas mountains, Rabat, with its ancient medinas, and the fabulous market places of Fez. In the evenings Gary had shown her the night life of Morocco.

  They had been true Arabian nights for Vivienne.

  Then things had started to go wrong. Gary lost his job with the hotel dance band. He became moody. He had always wanted her to live with him in the tiny apartment he rented, but some small part of her held out against that. She always had a feeling that her refusal to go the whole way in their lovemaking had something to do with the break-up. Gary had never been one to bother much about finesse. He told her one day in the street that he didn’t see much point in their going on together and after a brief farewell, though she begged him to think it over, he turned and walked away.

  As she watched him become lost in the crowd, knowing there was no point in calling him back, Vivienne had swayed at the blow. Her whole world had become Gary. She never woke in the morning without thinking first of him, never closed her eyes at night without seeing his rakish grin. How could she face life without him?

  Numbed as she was, it was some days before she could bring herself to think clearly. Then she had packed her things and taken a plane to England and oblivion. But it hadn’t been easy to forget. She closed her eyes now in the crowded plaza, knowing that if Gary were to appear in front of her at this moment the four years would dissolve and she would fall into his arms.

  She was taken for a tourist at the tables, and though there were many visitors out seeing the sights a girl on her own was not altogether usual and naturally she was pestered. ‘Would Mademoiselle care to see a most unusual performance in the Place de la Plage? I am free.

  For a small fee I would consider it a pleasure to guide you there.’

  Robed men of dubious countenance gave her their gold-toothed smiles. She decided it was time to move on. She took the route along the narrow alleyways adjoining the Rue des Siaghines, between tiny shops packed with the doubtful treasures of Africa, and then because it was growing late she turned back towards Koudia.