The Man from the 'Turkish Slave' Page 12

  He felt Tereza’s hand drop on his below the table, her fingers gripping into his flesh and he knew that she had seen it, too.

  Anita was before him now, a foot from their table, her body drawn back, her arms moving with the slow restlessness of serpents and her eyes were on him. She knew his surprise and she was enjoying it. Then she was gone from him, circling the other tables.

  ‘Peter,’ he heard Tereza’s anxious whisper and shifted his hand, holding her elbow and keeping her down. His eyes went round the platform and over the people gathered under the palms, searching for Jaeger, Assis and the Pastori brothers: if any of them saw the collar there would be hell to pay. But there was no sign of them.

  ‘I can’t see them. They must be at the jetty with the fireworks.’ It was Tereza, her thoughts racing with his.

  ‘I’ve got to get it from her before they see it.’

  He stood up, slowly, his eyes going over the heads of the people at the platform steps. Somewhere in the square were four men, four men who must not see Anita. He didn’t care how or why Anita came to be wearing the collar. He would have that out with her later. She had to be made to keep her mouth shut … Quisto would have to handle her.

  His thoughts about Anita were abruptly driven from him. Walking across the square towards the bodega, not fifty yards away, was Doctor Jaeger.

  ‘Jaeger’s coming.’ He pulled Tereza up, and moved slowly back into the shadows. ‘You’ve got to stop him. Do anything.’

  Before he had finished speaking Tereza was gone from him. He saw her go down the steps and squeeze through the people there. Anita swept by and wrinkled her face at him. The collar shone against her dark skin.

  Jaeger was under the palms. Peter saw him pause and look towards the bodega. Then Tereza’s yellow dress was obscuring the man’s black suit and he saw the quick movement of her head as she talked. Peter’s eyes went round the crowd again, noting the people at the tables, the groups in the shadows, but there was no sign of Assis or the Pastori brothers.

  Anita’s dance came to an end. She stood there flushed and pleased while the crowd shouted and clapped.

  She looked at Peter, and her eyes were laughing and full of devilry. The music broke out again and people swarmed on to the platform to dance.

  Peter was at Anita’s side. He put his arm around her and tried to take her into the bodega. But she laughed, pressed herself against him and forced him to dance. He let himself go, knowing he would have to humour her, knowing, too, that time was all against him.

  ‘You are angry, Senhor Peter?’ Anita’s warm breath fanned his cheek.

  ‘Of course not. But Anita…’ he steered her away from the square side of the platform, keeping her in the shadows; ‘… you must give me the pearls.’

  ‘Now?’ she pouted at him.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You do not think I am beautiful with them?’ she asked simply, and her hand reached up and caressed the back of his neck.

  ‘Very beautiful … Look, let’s go somewhere where I can explain—’

  ‘More beautiful than Senhorita Tereza?’

  ‘More beautiful than anyone.’ He was fighting to be patient, to handle her properly. ‘But I must have them back, Anita. Let me have them, please …’

  He raised a hand and touched the clasp; but she drew back her head and the movement brought her firm breasts hard against him. Her dark eyes were wide with triumph.

  ‘Why you worry so much about them?’ She laughed and then went on. ‘ You want them—then come and get them.’

  She twisted out of his arms and was away from him. He started after her but was held up by other dancers. From the bodega door she looked back at him and one long hand touched the pearls at her neck. Then her skirt flared around her as she turned and disappeared through the door.

  Chapter Ten

  The main room of the bodega was crowded, full of noise, and the smell of food and wine. As Peter came in José, drinking with some girls, shouted to him and thrust a glass of wine at him. Peter slipped by him, smiling and shaking his head. His eyes were on Anita who was at the far end of the room. She laughed as she saw him pick his way between the crowded tables.

  He had almost reached her when she poked the tip of her tongue impudently between her lips at him and slid along the wall and out of a side door.

  Peter cursed her silently. But he was glad she had left the bodega.

  He followed her through the door and found himself in a side street which ran from the square up the hill. A little way up the street Anita was idling along, now and again looking back over her shoulder. Peter started to run after her.

  The street was empty and its slope quite steep. Behind him there was the blaze of light and the noise of the crowd in the square. Hearing him running, Anita began to run, too. She went up the street so fast that she easily drew away from Peter. At the top of the street she stopped and gave him a wave of her hand. She disappeared along a side alley.

  When Peter arrived at the mouth of the dark alley there was no sign of her. He went along it slowly in the gloom, watching the doorways. He was growing apprehensive now and there was a sense of urgency becoming stronger in him. He had to catch her quickly; had to keep her away from the square. He realised that it would do him no good to show his anger or apprehension to Anita. If he wanted to avoid trouble he had to get the collar back and then take Anita to Tereza. Tereza’s authority would be enough to impress on Anita the importance of keeping her mouth shut … and to-morrow Quisto could handle her. He remembered now the times he had come in to find Anita poking around his room, the interest she had always shown in him … Damn the girl.

  He reached the end of the alley and found himself facing a blank wall. At that moment there came a light laugh from the street end of the alley. He turned and saw Anita standing in a patch of moonlight. She waved to him.

  ‘Anita!’ he shouted and began to pelt towards her. She must have slipped into one of the houses until he had passed.

  He swung around the corner of the street to see Anita racing upwards ahead of him. He kept after her, using in silence the angriest words he could find to ease the impatience which possessed him.

  But to Anita the whole thing was a wonderfully titillating game. She was enjoying herself more than she had done for a long time. She did not care about the pearls which she had found in Peter’s mattress. She was no longer interested in the mystery of what he and Tereza had been doing in the cannery yard. All she knew was that she had roused this Englishman and drawn him away from Tereza. She was not afraid of his anger. In fact, she looked forward to it.

  Now, knowing she had the legs of him, she deliberately led him a dance along the alleyways at the top of the town. The place was deserted and she slipped in and out of the shadows, her red shawl flaring from her shoulders, laughing and calling tauntingly to him. Behind them the fireworks streamed up into the sky from time to time and, on a light breeze which was now beginning to move in from the sea, came the occasional sound of the accordion and piano.

  They were above the houses now and he could look clear over their roofs to the square. Anita was moving up a narrow track at the bottom of a small gully that cut the cliff-top. On either side were patches and terraces of garden, fenced with reed wattles, in which grew tall maize, tomatoes and rows of vines.

  When he reached the cliff-top, it was to see Anita sprinting across the grass towards a clump of trees at the foot of the long, broken slope that led up to Pae.

  ‘Anita! Wait for me!’ he shouted appealingly, but she took no notice, except to wave a hand derisively as she disappeared into the trees. Peter stopped in his tracks. This girl was as quick as a goat and he could never run her down until she let him. He looked at the silent trees, and waited for some sign of Anita.

  If his legs wouldn’t help, he thought, he would have to use his head. He turned and started down the gully towards the town. He was no great psychologist, but if he knew anything, the moment Anita realised she was not being ch
ased she would come back. There was nothing flatter, when you are leading someone a dance, Peter reasoned, than to find you have been given up. You came back to see what had happened. He slipped behind one of the wattles at the edge of the track and crouched low, watching the crest of the cliff-top through a gap in the reeds. He looked at his watch. It was a quarter to one.

  His plan worked. It was only a few minutes before she appeared, a black silhouette against the moon-bright sky, on the cliff ridge. Peter saw her hesitating, peering down into the dark gully, and he could not help smiling grimly to himself. He watched her now. She was no fool when it came to looking after herself. She came down the gully path cautiously, her head swinging from side to side, halting again and again and sometimes remaining so still that her figure seemed to melt into the darkness leaving only two points of light, the high white comb in her hair and the pearl collar about her neck.

  When she was a few yards from him, she nearly deceived him into betraying himself. She halted and after staring into the darkness intently for a while suddenly called softly:

  ‘Senhor Peter … No good. I see you behind that fence. I don’t move.’ She giggled.

  It nearly caught him and he was on the point of moving before he realised it was a bluff. He crouched still, holding his breath, and waiting.

  She called once again. Then, after a moment or two, she started forward. He let her pass him. She was a yard beyond him when he rose and jumped at her.

  He had his arms around her, holding her to him. For a moment she struggled, laughing and then the resistance went from her. Her arms were round his neck, her warm lips upon his. He held her tightly for fear she would escape him again.

  ‘Senhor Peter…’ she looked up at him, her face close, flushed with pleasure. ‘You are not angry?’

  ‘No, Anita.’ As he spoke he raised a hand towards the collar, but she caught at his wrist and brought it down against her breast. ‘Anita … let me have it. Be a nice girl.’

  She shook her head, and when he would have moved his hand, she resisted him with her body and arms. She said, ‘You like to fight … Senhor Peter? So do I. When I like a man.’

  ‘If you like me, Anita, you must do what I tell you.’

  He smiled and ran his free hand up the length of her bare arm, but in his heart he wanted to whip her.

  ‘I do anything …’ She freed his wrist and he left his hand, warm and caressing on her breast.

  ‘I must have the collar, Anita. You see—’

  ‘A kiss, Senhor Peter.’ Her lips were half open, inviting and her body was charged with a soft compliant voluptuousness.

  He kissed her, crushing her to him and the same time he slipped his hand to the back of her neck and unfastened the collar. She let him take it. Then she drew back, sighed and raised a hand and touched his cheek.

  Again she drew his head towards her.

  ‘Look, Anita—you’ve got to come with me. There’s something you don’t understand. Tereza will explain it.’

  ‘Tereza!’

  Her eyes blazed. The relaxed body suddenly stiffened and her head came up and she bit his ear fiercely, drawing blood. He started back, grunting with pain and she twisted from him.

  ‘Tereza—always you think of her! Even when you kiss me!’ she shouted. Then she was gone, a dark shadow racing down the path towards the town.

  ‘Anita! Stop!’ Peter began to run after her, but already she was well ahead. He came out of the gully on to a small piece of waste land at the head of a curving, cobbled street that ran down to the square. A few poles with lines stretched between them stood stiff and black across the ground. It was here that the women of the town brought their washing to dry. The street was empty, a narrow chasm of houses, their gay tiles and painted fronts muted to blacks and greys under the moon. There was no sign of Anita.

  ‘Anita!’ he shouted.

  He took out his handkerchief and dabbed the blood from his ear and began to hurry down towards the square. He had to find her and get her to Tereza.

  There was less noise from the square now and the fireworks had thinned out. At the tip of the jetty which just showed beyond the last of the house roofs he saw a great red flare burst into life. Its vivid glare drove back the moonlight. Up here the walls and window panes were suddenly touched with carmine. His shadow twisted and lurched behind him as he ran and the gulls, uneasily roosted on the roof tops, stirred and a few called complainingly.

  He passed the first house which was flanked by a long wall. At the end of the wall there was a dark recess, backed by a wooden gate. As he crossed its mouth something hit him on the back of the head, just below the ear. He began to fall, but two pairs of arms reached out and caught him and he was dragged limply towards the gateway.

  As soon as Tereza had got rid of Doctor Jaeger, she went to look for Peter. There was no sign of him in the bodega.

  She walked around the square and up and down some of the streets searching for him. After an hour she was worried. She had not seen Peter, or Anita. Assis she saw once down by the jetty. Doctor Jaeger and the Pastori brothers also were missing. She became convinced that something had happened to Peter.

  Wondering if he had caught Anita and perhaps taken her up to the villa, she went up there. The house was deserted.

  She stood in the garden, undecided. A few paper lanterns still burned. The long table was a white wreck of dirty plates and dishes. From below in the square an occasional firework soared skyward and there was the thin tinkle of Grazia’s piano still. It would be some time before people went to bed; not until four or five in the morning. Then for an hour people would sleep. But the square would be crowded again at six, when the Borrisco was due to return.

  She ran into the house and stripped off her yellow silk dress and pulled on a rough skirt and blouse. She went down to the square, but there was no sign of Peter. The piano tinkled on at Commere Grazia’s and a few people, jealous of their gaiety, still danced.

  Among them was Anita. She saw that the pearl collar was no longer round the girl’s neck. She waited until Anita was alone and then went up to her where she stood in the shadows of the trellis vine.

  ‘Anita. Where’s Senhor Peter?’

  ‘Senhor Peter? Why should I know?’ Anita’s face was suddenly taut and her eyes angry.

  ‘Anita—’ Tereza caught her arm, shaking her. ‘This is serious. You will tell me when you last saw Senhor Peter.’

  ‘Find him—’ Anita jerked herself free and raced into the bodega.

  Tereza made a movement to follow. Then she gave up. Anita was jealous and she knew that, even if she could catch her, she would get nothing from her.

  She went and sat on an upturned boat below the square wall, and thought it out. She might be worried but she had a clear, logical mind and she was determined to do the right thing. She was no longer interested in the smuggling or the people who were involved in that. She just wanted to make sure that Peter came to no harm. At the thought that he might have been hurt, she burned with a strong, possessive anger.

  After a time she got up and, crossing the square, made for the church. Of all the people on the island Father Gordano was the right man.

  It took her some time to rouse anyone in the small house he occupied at the side of the church. Finally his housekeeper came to the window and leaned out.

  ‘Tereza. What is it?’

  ‘I want to speak to Father Gordano.’

  ‘But he is not here.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He said he would be back just before six for the ceremony. He has gone to Alfieri. It is happening at last. The boy came for the blessed father just after the Borrisco left.’

  Tereza thanked her and turned away.

  Alfieri was an old shepherd who lived on the far side of the island, quite close to the spot where she had saved Peter. He had been ill for weeks, slowly dying. And now Father Gordano had been called by one of the herd boys, who lived over there, to administer the last rites.

 
By the time she could reach Father Gordano it would be six and Quisto would have returned. To whom must she go now? Someone with authority, someone who would know the best thing to do? It was not going to be easy to make up her mind. Perhaps it would be wiser to wait until Quisto came. No, something had to be done now. Then she thought of Grazia, shrewd and full of commonsense. Grazia was the one. Between them they might get some sense out of Anita if she could be found. Another woman would understand and advise her.

  Tereza hurried into a side turning opposide the church to take a short cut to the bodega. As she moved down the dark, narrow street, she heard footsteps behind her. She glanced back but could see no one. The steps grew closer, hurrying after her. A swift alarm struck through her. She was being followed. She began to run, and the steps behind her broke into a faster rhythm. She sped on. Then from a doorway she had a glimpse of Assis’ face. He threw himself upon her and, as she opened her mouth to shout for help, he clapped a great hand across her lips. At the same moment, struggling and kicking, she felt someone else seize her from behind.

  Chapter Eleven

  The room came floating into Peter’s consciousness as though he were seeing it through a net curtain that billowed and swung in a draught. He was lying on a couch that seemed to dip and slant like a raft swayed by a long sea. Faces floated above the heaving water. They came and went, disembodied and restless. There was the face of Vasco Pastori, a long, scarred brown face, sucked in on itself by thin lips beneath the limp moustache; then Manöel’s, pig-dog, obese and grinning.

  The raft slewed and dipped and the black sea covered him. He groaned and tried to find the floor with his feet. Someone helped him, swivelling his legs off the couch. A firm hand pressed his head down to his knees. He was held like that for a while, and then released, his head clearing.

  He raised his eyes and the room steadied, and from a focal point, which was a bottle on a table before him, a widening aurora of clarity curled back. He saw the bottle and some glasses, and then behind them a tank, faintly lit by an overhanging electric light. Vague shapes drifted in the tank, dim papery scraps of fish and a spider-crab that stalked, hesitant and angular. Then there were more tanks, unlit, grey-green ice-blocks in the far gloom. On each end of the table before him sat Vasco and Manöel. The tank on the table between them, they sat like sculptured figures, very still, watching him. In one hand Manöel held the pearl collar. He held it but paid no attention to it, his eyes on Peter.