The Saffron Gate

the saffron gate

LINDA HOLEMAN

Table of Contents

Title Page

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY ONE

TWENTY TWO

TWENTY THREE

TWENTY FOUR

TWENTY FIVE

TWENTY SIX

TWENTY SEVEN

TWENTY EIGHT

TWENTY NINE

THIRTY

THIRTY ONE

THIRTY TWO

THIRTY THREE

THIRTY FOUR

THIRTY FIVE

THIRTY SIX

THIRTY SEVEN

THIRTY EIGHT

THIRTY NINE

Acknowledgements

Copyright

Also by Linda Holeman

^Dedication

To my sister Shannon, who brings joy to my life.

^ONE

^{Strait of Gibraltar April 1930}

^{W
e were caught in the levanter.
I heard this word as a small knot of Spaniards huddled on the deck, pointing and shaking their heads.
Viento de levante,
one of them said loudly, then spat and said a word with such vehemence I knew it could only be a curse. He kissed the crucifix hanging about his neck.}

^{The Spaniards moved to the wall of the ferry, crouching on the balls of their feet, their backs against the building as they cupped their hands around small rolled cigarettes in an attempt to light them. The air had a sudden texture, one of moist, thickening fog. This, as well as seeing the Spaniard kiss his crucifix, seemed a troubling portent.}

^{'Excuse me,' I said to the middle-aged man standing beside me at the railing. I had heard him speaking English to one of the porters as we boarded, and knew he was, like me, an American. He looked as though he had lived a life of excess, with his rather puffy, florid cheeks and pouched eyes. We were the only two Americans on board the small ferry. 'What are they saying? What is
levante?'}

^{'Levanter,' he said, buttoning his topcoat.
'Levante,
Spanish for east.
Levanter
is to rise. It's a terrible wind blowing in from the east.'}

^{I knew of siroccos and mistrals, the winds that haunt the Mediterranean. But I had never heard of the levanter.}

^{'Damn,' the man said, and then, immediately, 'pardon me. But these things can really hold on. We may have to turn back if we can’t outrun it.'}

^{In spite of the wind I smelled his cologne, too flowery and powerful. 'Outrun it? Will it not just blow over us?'}

^{'Can't tell. Reaches its maximum intensities here, on the western side of the strait!' His hat suddenly lifted as if by unseen hands, and although he grabbed for it, it swirled briefly in front of us before disappearing into the air. 'Damn again!' he shouted, his head back as he scoured the low,
heavy
sky, then turned to me. 'You must forgive me, Mrs . . . ?'}

^{'O'Shea. Miss O'Shea,' I said. My cape billowed up and then swirled around me as though I were a whirling dervish; I clutched it against my chest with one hand while I held on to my own hat with the other. Even with a number of hatpins woven through my hair, the felt hat was lifting in an unsettling way, as if it might, at any moment, be torn from my head. I couldn't catch my breath; it was partly the wind and partly fear.}

^{'Could . . . could the boat . . . overturn?' I couldn't bear to say
sink.}

^{'I again apologise for my — manners, Miss O'Shea. Overturn?' He looked over my shoulder, towards the stern. 'Doesn't happen too often any more, ships going down in the strait. Not with the sturdy engines these ferries are equipped with now.'}

^{I nodded, although somehow his words didn't calm me as I'd hoped. I had recently sailed from the port of New York to Marseilles, and then from Marseilles to the southern tip of Spain, and hadn't encountered anything worse than a day or two of rough waves on the Atlantic. I hadn't considered that this brief stretch of sea could be the worst.}

^{'This climate is so unpredictable,' the man went on, 'and at times infuriating. Levanters usually last for three days, and if the captain makes the decision not to go ahead, we shall have to return to one of the terrible little port towns in Spain and wait until at least Saturday.'}

^{Saturday? It was Wednesday. I had already been forced to wait far too long in Marseilles. Every day that passed added a layer to the slow, yet ever-growing panic that had been building since the last time I'd seen him, seen Etienne.}

^{As the wind blew a salty spray into my face, I rubbed at my eyes with my gloved fingers, partly to clear my vision and partly to attempt to wipe away the image of my fiancé. Wherever he was now.}

^{The man added, 'You'd better get inside. This spindrift . . . you'll soon be soaked by both the sea and the very air itself. You don't want to be falling ill as you arrive in Tangier. North Africa is hot a place where one wants to be ill.' He studied me further. 'North Africa is a place where one must keeps one's wits about one at all times.'}

^{His words did little to comfort me. I thought of lying in the narrow bed in Marseilles, less than ten days ago, feverish and weak. Utterly alone.}

^{The man was still studying me. 'Miss O'Shea? Have you travelling companions?'}

^{'No,' I shouted, the wind suddenly rising to a shriek.
'No, I'm on my own.'
On my own.
Had it come out louder than I meant? 'Do you know Tangier?' I realised how ridiculous we must appear to the Spaniards as we attempted to be heard over the wind. Slightly protected by the overhang, they had managed to light their cigarettes and were smoking intently, their eyes narrowed as they watched the sky. It was obvious that a levanter was not new to them.}

^{'Yes,' the man yelled back at me, 'yes, I've been a number of times. Come now, come.' He touched the small of my back, directing me towards the door of the ferry. As we stepped inside the narrow passageway leading to the main salon, the door slammed behind us, and I realised what a relief it was to be out of the wind. I pushed back the hair stuck to my cheeks, and adjusted my cape.}

^{'Could you recommend lodging in Tangier? Just for a night or two; I need to get to Marrakesh. I'm not sure . . . I've read varying reports of the route one takes from Tangier to Marrakesh, but whatever information I could find was a little confusing.'}

^{He studied my face. 'The Hotel Continental in Tangier would be the appropriate choice, Miss O'Shea,' he said, rather slowly. 'It's the most fashionable; there are always a number of decent Americans and Brits there. Quite favoured by wealthy European travellers. It's within the old city walls, but a safe haven.'}

^{'Safe haven?' I repeated.}

^{'You'll most certainly feel a little wary in Tangier. All the narrow, twisting streets and lanes. Quite disorienting. And the people . . .' He stopped, then continued. 'But the Continental has a definite old-world colonial feel. Yes, I'd heartily recommend it. Oh,' he said, as if just remembering something important, 'and thankfully no French. If they don't have family to stay with, they congregate over at the Cap de Cherbourg or the Val Fleuri.'}

^{I didn't respond, but he went on. 'The lounge at the Continental gets quite lively most evenings. Lots of cocktails and often a sing-song. If you like that sort of thing,' he said, eyeing me further. 'It's not the place for me, but I sense it would suit your needs.'}

^{I nodded.}

^{'But you said you're going on to Marrakesh?' he asked. 'All the way across country?'}

^{Again I nodded.}

^{His eyebrows rose. 'Surely not on your own. Are you meeting friends in Tangier?'}

^{'I hope to take a train,' I said, not answering his question, but as his expression changed, I added, 'There
is
a train to Marrakesh, isn't there? I read . . .'}

^{'You don't know North Africa, I take it, Miss O'Shea.'}

^{I didn't know North Africa.}

^{It was also abundantly clear now that I hadn't really known Etienne.}

^{When I remained silent, the man continued. 'Not a journey for the faint-hearted. And especially not a journey I'd recommend for a woman on her own. Foreign women in North Africa . . .' He stopped. 'I don't recommend it at all. It's a good distance to Marrakesh. Damn country. You never know what to expect. About anything.'}

^{I swallowed. Suddenly I was too hot, the dull light in the corridor blurring into a brilliant white as the sound of the wind and the thudding engines receded.}

^{I couldn't faint. Not here.}

^{'You're not well,' the man said, his voice muffled by my light-headedness. 'Come and sit down.'}

^{I felt his hand under my elbow, pressuring me forward, and my feet moved involuntarily. With my leg as it was, walking on board a ship presented its own difficulties for me even when the sea was calm, and in this case it proved even more tricky. I kept a hand on the wall for support, and at one point I leaned against the man's solid upper arm to avoid stumbling. And then there was a firm push on my shoulders, and a hard seat beneath me. I leaned forward, my arms crossed against my stomach and my eyes closed as I breathed deeply, feeling the blood thud back into my head. When I finally sat up and opened my eyes I saw we were in the narrow, smoky salon, lined with metal chairs bolted to the floor. It was half filled with a mix of those identifiable as Spanish or African by their features and dress, as well as many more that I found impossible to name by physical description alone. The man was sitting beside me. 'Thank you. I'm feeling better.'}