Hidden Rapture Page 6

  The house was unchanged when she re-entered. The lights still shone on the camel-hair chests, the wall daggers and hanging brocades in the long hall. Quickly she went up to her room and drawing the curtains across the tall windows overlooking the balcony she undressed for bed.

  Now the days were not so trying. It was true there was always a certain amount of strain walking in Lucy’s shoes where Robert was concerned, and having to sit and chat under Trent’s speculative gaze, but now she had the evenings to look forward to, and there was always a chance— oh, breathless moment—that she would run into Gary. It was no use fooling herself; she knew that now. Those long, lonely four years had done nothing to erase the memory of Gary from her mind. She used the nights to comb the city, hoping … hoping …

  Nobody noticed her going or her return. Dining with Trent in the evenings she forced herself to stifle the eager anticipation inside her, sharing a leisurely cigarette with him after the meal and striving to appear utterly cool and composed. She would allow half an hour after he had left and then start out on her own in search of Gary.

  Though their favourite haunts had been the old town, she began after a while to explore the brightly lit avenues of modern Tangier, drifting past the tourist offices with their gay postered windows inducing one to travel … travel, alongside art and camera shops, elegant restaurants and stores. Once or twice she wandered along the Boulevard Pasteur, staring into the Hotel Riadh as she went by. It was shabbier than she remembered it but still popular with visitors, for the foyer always seemed to be busy. She recognised one of the male receptionists behind the desk from her stay there four years ago, but he probably wouldn’t remember her.

  Walking along the modern routes was much more tiring, and sometimes she would sit on one of the benches in the Promenade Gardens. There was no real chance, however, to scan the faces of the passers-by coming from the Avenida de Espana, for she was invariably pestered by some shady individual spinning her an implausible tale. Also she felt closer to Gary in the narrow alleyways of the old town and the Casbah.

  She had never, as yet, been to the Casbah on her own, but one evening it occurred to her that that might be the very place where she ought to go. Within those fortress walls, with its ancient Moorish palaces, winding passageways choked with biblical characters, truly of the East, Gary had loved to roam. She could see him now, as she hurriedly slipped out of the dress she had worn for dinner, with the stubble of a beard on his chin, fingering his drink at one of the old cafe tables in his favourite haunt. He had always said laughingly that he would die in the Casbah.

  A little feverishly she donned a linen skirt and a rose-pink blouse. Its shirt collar she left open at the throat, but the long sleeves fastened snugly at the wrists and this would prove a blessing later when the night air turned chilly. Her hands trembled a little as she touched up hex make-up. She wanted to go out looking her best tonight. There was a fluttering inside her. She wondered happily if she was slightly clairvoyant and therefore sensed that something stupendous was going to happen tonight.

  She made her way downstairs with extra special care. Her cautiousness, however, was quite unnecessary. The elegant Moorish villa had that unlived-in atmosphere which it wore in-the evenings when Trent was out and Robert shut away in his own rooms.

  Vivienne could smell the departure of the limousine on the drive when she went out. Remnants of the exhaust fumes still lingered on the air, a faint acrid thread mingling with the light perfume of fruit blossoms. But the car had had a good half-hour’s start and it would take her more than that again to get down into town on foot, so she was safe until midnight or later. She had no idea what time Trent returned from the casino, but she guessed it was in the early hours of the morning.

  It took her longer than she expected to reach the Casbah. The route, through a maze of back streets, was hazy in her mind and she made several wrong turnings before arriving at the Marshan Gate. Once inside the old walls she could afford to dawdle. Though business was over for the day donkeys laden with huge bales of fresh mint for the morning market straddled the alleyways, and from the tiny shop doorways came wafts of cinnamon and cloves, paprika and thyme.

  Children, thin-limbed with eyes like glowing black buttons, darted about under her feet, and snatched playfully at her clothing, though they ought to have been in bed hours ago. She peeped into tiny barn-like rooms where she knew that during the day a dozen or more of these children would crowd cross-legged on the floor learning the Koran from some old sage. Women in black robes and yashmaks slid along the passageways and turban-wearing men with grizzly beards and gappy smiles sat on the steps of old Moorish inns solving the world’s problems, as men will.

  Here inside the true walled enclosure of the native quarter it was rather like being part of one big happy family, but as it grew late and the alleys became deserted Vivienne began to wonder if she had been wise in coming to the Casbah at night time. Several well-to-do properties bordered the area and she knew that the owners were compelled to employ watchmen, for thievery and skulduggery was rife in this network of narrow lanes. And yet, even though it was much later than she had planned to stay out, something drove her on.

  She couldn’t leave now, not without first browsing a little round the Casbah square, where most of the Moorish cafes were situated. She hadn’t seen a Western face all evening, but the square was the meeting place of all kinds of individuals, intellectuals, foreign residents in Tangier, and here more than anywhere there was the possibility of …. She quickened her steps, too tense with excitement to allow herself to think clearly. She only knew that the square was where she must go.

  Her footsteps echoed over the cobbles as she passed old palaces and crumbling historic buildings. In some places the upper storeys of the tall leaning houses jutted out overhead, shutting out all views of the velvet dark sky. It was on the corner of one of these lanes that she spotted what she had been looking for all evening: the sign which read Rue de Riad. This, she clearly recollected, was the way she and Gary used to go to the Casbah square. Her pulses suddenly began to quicken, not with fear because she had been thinking of Gary, and foolishly her heart had leapt into her throat as a figure had appeared at her side. But it was only a young Moor about sixteen years old and clearly he wanted nothing but to do a little business. He thrust a small skin drum, typical of the district, at her, and spoke in French, ‘The pretty mademoiselle is looking for a gift?’

  ‘Not now. It’s much too late.’ She answered him in English and pushed on. She knew that tourists were advised to hire an official Moorish guide when sightseeing in the Casbah, because the boys could be a nuisance. But now, at this time of night. Did they never sleep!

  This one, a felt skullcap on his black curls, his white teeth gleaming in the shadows, was persistent.

  ‘You American,’ he said in broken English. ‘You buy. Very cheap.’

  ‘I’m not American. I’m English and I’m in a hurry.’ She hoped that he would take the hint that she was not loaded with dollars.

  ‘Okay, so I tell to you the money in English,’ he quipped with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘You give me five pounds now, okay?’

  Vivienne walked on.

  ‘Three pounds. I take now. It enjoys me very much to make this gift.’

  Sidestepping the skipping figure, she could hear the sounds of the square not far away.

  ‘Fifteen dirhams …’ The youth was growing anxious. ‘Ten dirhams …’

  She would have liked to stop and tell him that she had no use for the drum, but she knew better than to become involved or this would be taken for bargaining, and they had now reached the square.

  Her first reaction as she moved out into the laraplit space where creepers and trees showed their blossom above courtyard walls was one of acute disappointment. There were not many customers seated at the cafe tables and most of these seemed to be the type who had nowhere to sleep. There was a kind of sluggish activity over near some fruit crates where preparations were being
made for the morning market, and one or two boys wheeled about dangerously on decrepit bikes, but this was not the square as she remembered it on her outings with Gary. She could see that the cafe society, the colourful types of her own kind, had left long ago.

  She looked at her watch and was horrified to discover that it was almost one o’clock. She would have to return to Koudia without delay. Without delay in this maze of streets? Impulsively she turned to the felt-capped youth who was still by her side and asked, ‘Do you know a quick way out of here? I must return to my friends.’ She had pretended she was not alone for her own protection. Even so she sensed that the youth was swift to detect the uncertainty in her, though he replied smilingly enough, ‘The Casbah is my home. Its pathways are as the veins of my hand,’ He threw the drum to one of the bike youths and said something in rapid Arabic before beckoning her to follow him.

  They crossed the square. Vivienne was conscious of the curious glances directed her way and knew that her light skirt and blouse were glaringly out of place among the djellabah-clad onlookers. She was almost relieved to be back in the dim alleys again until she noticed that there were one or two other mysterious figures flitting along in the shadows behind her. Weaving through the network of passageways, she soon realised that the bike youths were following their friend, and cheekily they came alongside her. ‘Dollares, dollares … American!’ they chanted impishly.

  She clutched her handbag tightly against her—another mistake, she realised as soon as she had done it. Why give the appearance of carrying a lot of money when all she possessed was a few dirhams?

  Her young guide grinned as the youths jostled her with exaggerated clumsiness, and she wondered what he expected to get out of it.

  Thankfully she saw the gate out into the Medina up ahead and breathed a sigh of relief.

  There was a little more life outside the archway. Cars trundled over the cobbled surfaces and some of the fondouks—the local inns—were still open. Not far away Vivienne could see the lit frontages of hotels and places of entertainment down near the sea, and as she moved towards them she had high hopes of shaking off her playful begging acquaintances. She planned to give their leader, the one who had guided her out of the Casbah, a small reward for his trouble, but it was he who, first having satisfied himself that she had indeed no friends waiting for her, took the initiative. They were passing an old domed monument of some sect or other when, with the skill and deftness of a monkey, he whipped her handbag from under her arm and tossed it to a friend. With a grin, this one, well out of her reach, proceeded to open it and rummaged with a theatrical frown inside.

  Vivienne was not unduly frightened, only angry. They could take the money if they were so intent on having it, but there were other things inside her handbag, more precious than money, reminders of Gary, little oddments she had kept.

  ‘Give that back to me at once!’ she snapped, her cheeks blazing. By this time the cash had been discovered and with sneers distorting their grins at the paltry amount now in their possession the Moorish youths were not in too good a mood. Besides, the handbag was evidence and must disappear with the money. The leader got it back and waved it tantalisingly under her nose. That would teach her to fool them into believing that she was a rich tourist.

  ‘Give it to me, do you hear!’ She snatched crossly and got only a curled smile for a reply, and snatched again only to come up against another grinning member of the gang.

  She was on the point of tears when a voice edged with steel uttering vitriolic Arabic cut sharply across the space. She was riveted by the sound. She had heard those tones somewhere before … at the airport terminal!

  The youths’ heads pivoted all in one direction, then with the stealth of night creatures they scattered and disappeared. There were people in the vicinity who carefully turned a blind eye to the incident, but it was the sight of a groomed figure striding towards her with a tall and lordly Arab one pace behind which turned Vivienne’s knees to jelly.

  Trent picked up her handbag. ‘This is yours, I believe,’ he said with dangerous calm.

  ‘Th-thank you.’ She felt as though she would shrivel under the blazing glitter in his eyes. He said something abruptly to Abdul who led the way in the gloom to where she soon saw, as Trent guided her with a vice-like grip on her elbow, the limousine was parked. It was obvious that the casino was close by and in her ignorance of its whereabouts she had run into him as he was leaving for the night.

  She cursed herself for her stupidity in not getting back to Koudia earlier. But there was nothing to be done about it now.

  They made the journey back to the villa in silence, Abdul driving on the other side of the smoked glass screen, Trent seated beside her giving the impression of a rock about to split asunder. He was the first to alight from the car on the drive, and dispensing with Abdul with a brief goodnight he led her by the wrist into the house.

  Vivienne had never known such disciplined violence in a man and felt a little afraid as she tried to shake herself free at the foot of the stairs with the plea, ‘It’s late … I’m very tired.’ She felt a pain in her manacled wrist, and the breath was whipped from her throat as he jerked her under his luminous gaze and snapped, ‘You weren’t too tired to go wandering about the Medina. We’ll talk. Now.’

  He pushed her roughly before him towards the library and her anger mounting at the treatment she swung to face him blazingly as the door closed. He was more than a match for her indignation and fury, only his was the carefully controlled kind. He lit a cigarette as though to steady something slightly unbalanced inside him and spoke with a thin smile through the smoke. ‘I always said you knew your way around, Vivienne. I’d like to bet this isn’t the first time you’ve been out on your own.’

  ‘No, it isn’t.’ She lifted her chin and flashed him a look. ‘But I didn’t know I had a keeper.’

  ‘Are you suggesting it’s I who sets a limit on your freedom?’ There was a deadly silkiness in his tones before they exploded softly into something which shook their timbre. ‘What about Rob? Doesn’t he rate a little consideration?’

  Vivienne felt a trembling inside her. She knew Trent’s feelings where his brother was concerned. She was just as saddened and stricken as he was at Robert’s declining health, but what could she do? What could either of them do? Unsteadily she retorted, ‘That’s unfair and you know it. I give all my time to Robert. What more can you expect?’

  ‘Certainly, you give him your time. But maybe that’s not quite how you planned your stay in Morocco—tied to ah invalid chair.’

  Vivienne forced herself to stay calm. What would Lucy have done in the circumstances? Dear Lucy, she would have spent the evenings lovingly stitching buttons on Robert’s shirts and finding excuses to pop up to his room with books and warm drinks. But she wasn’t Lucy. And she wasn’t in love with Robert. She was fond of him, deeply so, but for her it was Gary … Gary … Gary.

  She said levelly, ‘I don’t consider myself tied to Robert. We have tremendous fun through the day. You know yourself he needs a lot of rest.’

  ‘It would give him a kick to know that you were somewhere close by, pulling for him,’ Trent rasped with a sneer in his voice. ‘I don’t believe he has any idea that the streets of Tangier hold a bigger attraction. You must have got to know the town very well on your nightly jaunts.’

  Facing him, Vivienne replied coldly, ‘You’re wrong if you think Tangier holds any special fascination for me. I go out…’ she shrugged, ‘because it’s something to do.’

  ‘Of course,’ he nodded, with his narrow-eyed gaze. ‘You’re young and healthy and you need excitement—the kind you don’t find sitting in your room with a sick young man tucked away in some other part of the house.’

  Vivienne’s face drained of colour at the cheap significance of his remark. Her eyes flashing like molten amber, she took a step forward, but Trent was ready for her and grasped her by the shoulders as she might have struck him. In that powerful hold she could only murmu
r over her breathless anger, ‘You don’t have a very pretty mind, do you? Nor a very high opinion of me?’

  ‘We’re adults, you and I, Vivienne,’ his curled smile was full of meaning. ‘We know the ways of the world and what goes on between the people in it.’ His fingers sank into her flesh through her thin blouse. She felt nailed by his blue gaze and saw as though for the first time the fleshless brown lines of his face and the unyielding force there. For a long moment she was speechless, then struggling in his grasp she said hotly, ‘It’s all very well for you. You have the casino to go to each evening. You don’t have to stay in the house counting the hours till bedtime.’

  ‘That’s right, I don’t,’ he drawled with menacing calm. ‘But I’m Rob’s brother, not the girl he’s crazily in love with.’ His grip was suddenly bruising. ‘How do you think he would feel if anything happened to you.’

  ‘What could happen?’ She defied him with her gaze. ‘Tangier is a tourist city. It’s perfectly safe to go out for a stroll in the evening.’

  Then remembering her mishap she added with a swift lowering of her dark lashes, ‘Tonight was just an isolated incident. I was foolish enough to lose my way and asked for directions. I wasn’t too upset about it.’

  ‘Sure! You could have coped with those young thugs mauling you and trying to strip you of your belongings.’ Vivienne winced. She had seen Trent in many moods, but savage and angry like this? She felt a little dazed.

  Perhaps it was something in her half-closed eyes that made him relent and let go of her abruptly. He dragged on his cigarette for a full minute before saying brusquely and not without a trace of sarcasm, ‘All right, let’s think this thing out rationally. Maybe it is asking too much of you to sit. tight in the house every night. If it makes you happier taking a walk, okay. But you don’t go out alone. I’ll get Abdul to drive you into town, and he can escort you wherever you want to go.’