The Land Agent (14 page)

‘Well, your Ibrahim has outsmarted us.’ Sammy plucked a cheroot from his shirt pocket, struck a match to it but the breeze through the window blew it out.

L
EV BROUGHT FLOWERS
. Freshly cut roses courtesy of Sammy’s garden. They were in full bloom, all that Sammy could give him at this end of the season, which meant he had to tread carefully with his bouquet otherwise the petals dropped off too easily. The flowers were Mickey’s idea.

‘Not for Celia,’ Mickey had advised, ‘but for the woman of the house. Who is she staying with?’

‘The Greenspans. I think they’re British.’

‘Perfect.’

‘Why is that?’

‘Because we British like our gentility, our politeness, our protocol.’

‘So why would I bring Mrs Greenspan the flowers?’

‘As we say in English: it would be killing two birds with one stone. You have this expression in Polish?’

‘We say: cooking two meals over one fire.’

‘Two meals, two birds, two women, it is all the same.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, if you brought the flowers for Celia, this would be too obvious an expression of your affection.’

‘But I do like her.’

‘Of course you do. That is why you must give the flowers to Mrs Greenspan.’

‘I still don’t understand.’

‘If you give Mrs Greenspan the flowers, it will immediately soften her heart towards you. And there is nothing better than to soften the heart of the chaperone.’

‘It is Celia’s heart I want to soften.’

‘Celia, of course, will see the flowers on your arrival, assume they are for her, will feel flattered but will also feel that, as the object of attention, she has the upper hand. Then when you pass the bouquet to Mrs Greenspan, Celia will feel surprised, perhaps embarrassed by her initial assumption, but then impressed by your consideration for her hosts. You will therefore not only have won the good favour of this Mrs Greenspan, but also impressed Celia and gained the advantage all at the same time. In fact, three birds with one stone.’

‘You make it sound like a battle strategy.’

‘Not a battle. A war.’

And so, with petals falling all over the place in his nervous grasp, Lev used his free hand to raise the brass ring gripped by the lion’s mouth of a door-knocker, and struck three times. He was surprised when a young housemaid in full uniform answered the door. In his imagination, this was not how he had planned his entrance.

‘Yes?’ The maid looked down at his petal-covered fist and smiled.

‘I am Mr Lev Sela,’ he said, feeling the flush to his cheeks from this young woman’s attention. He wanted to turn around and flee.

‘If you are here to sell flowers, Mr Sela, then I suggest you–’

‘I am here to see Miss…’ He realized he didn’t know her family name. ‘…To see Celia.’

‘Is Miss Kahn expecting you?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Well, she is or she isn’t?’

Before he had time to answer, a large, elderly woman with a full bosom and bustle appeared behind the maid. ‘Who are you?’ she demanded.

‘I am Mr Lev Sela.’

‘And what do you want?’

‘He wants to see Miss Kahn,’ said the maid.

‘Well, what is he doing on the doorstep? Come in, come in.’

Lev stepped over the threshold. ‘These are for you, madam,’ he said, handing over his bouquet.

‘Oh,’ she said, looking down at his gift with a mixture of surprise and
disdain. ‘Don’t give them to me. Give them to Ruta. She will put them in a vase. Now what did you say your name was?’

‘Lev Sela.’

Mrs Greenspan turned to her maid. ‘Please find Miss Kahn and tell her a Mr Sela is here to see her. Then add one more for our afternoon tea. We’ll take it in the front room. And bring a broom for all these petals.’

The room was heavily curtained, filled with dark furniture, the walls hung with several paintings of landscapes that Lev assumed were representative of a longed-for English countryside. He was sunk down uncomfortably in a giant armchair of soft cushions and loose upholstery. Mrs Greenspan had taken up her position opposite in a similar chair. He wondered if she was in mourning, given her black finery, the lack of any jewellery and the scowl on her face. She tapped away with her fingers on a wooden inlay within the arm of the chair. Through the half-closed drapes, he could see the rooftops of the houses of the German colony all the way down to the sea. It would have been a magnificent view had most of it not been sealed off by the curtains. The windows were closed. The ceiling fan remained motionless. Mrs Greenspan tapped away. He wondered whether he should begin a polite conversation although he had no idea what a polite conversation should be in such circumstances. The door opened. Ruta entered with a vase filled with his much denuded roses. She was followed by Celia.

Lev was so stunned by the sight of her that he forgot to stand up. He had only ever seen her dressed in well-worn work clothes, her hair mussed up and dry. Here she stood quite beautiful in a sleeveless knee-length summer dress patterned with tiny yellow flowers, her hair all shiny dark curls, the tiredness gone from her face so that her skin glowed with a sun-kissed radiance. The sound of Mrs Greenspan noisily clearing her throat made him realize what he was supposed to do. He stood up, gently took Celia’s extended hand, the skin so cool in this hot room. He found himself snapping his feet together, bowing his head slightly, something he had seen the Polish officers do, never having done it himself until now.

Celia laughed. Not with a mocking tone, but happily as if she actually might be pleased to see him. ‘My, my, my,’ she said. ‘We have become all gentlemanly.’

‘I-I-I… It is so good… I am pleased to see you.’

‘And I am pleased to see you.’ She turned to her host. ‘That was thoughtful of Mr Sela to bring flowers.’

Mrs Greenspan reluctantly dipped her head then snapped her fingers at Ruta. ‘Tea.’

Ruta exited the room and quickly returned, rolling in a tea trolley that must have been standing outside the doorway. Mrs Greenspan ushered her guests to a large, oak dining table in the corner of the room. ‘Sit, sit,’ she instructed.

If Lev had been nervous before, he was even more anxious now by what confronted him. He had never partaken of afternoon tea before. The china cups with their delicate handles, the various silver pots, jugs and bowls, the tongs for the sugar cubes – and where to start on this three-tiered stand of cakes and sandwiches? Even though he liked his tea sweet, he decided against the perils of tackling the tongs. He waited instead until Celia had made her selection from the cake stand then followed her lead. Meanwhile, Mrs Greenspan asked him what he did for a living.

‘Ah yes, PICA,’ she said. ‘Your Anonymous Donor was here only recently.’

Lev didn’t know if she meant here in Palestine or here in this house. ‘That is correct,’ he said, immediately regretting such a banal comment.

‘Of course it is correct. Mr Greenspan had some business dealings with him. My husband is in printing. There was talk of his firm producing labels for the winery. Are you connected with such matters, Mr Sela?’

‘I am a land agent for PICA, Mrs Greenspan. That is how I met Cel… Miss Kahn.’

‘Nothing to do with labels then?’

‘No.’

‘Or the winery?’

‘No, madam.’

‘Or the glass bottle factory?’

‘Only land.’

Mrs Greenspan went quiet after that, selected a piece of apple strudel from the top tier, sipped on her tea. Celia had produced a fan from somewhere and was gently cooling herself. Lev felt the tea beginning to make him sweat. A few more minutes passed in silence but for the clinking of tea cups on saucers until Celia stood up and announced: ‘I thought Mr Sela and I might go for a walk.’

Mrs Greenspan shuddered herself into alertness. ‘I shall go and get ready then.’

‘There is no need, Mrs Greenspan. I am sure Mr Sela is quite knowledgeable about where to take a young woman for a stroll.’

‘I cannot possibly let you go unescorted with someone you hardly know. With someone I do not know at all.’

‘Mr Sela was kind enough to bring you flowers. Surely that speaks for the propriety of his nature.’

‘You are a guest in my house. I must insist on my responsibility to chaperone you.’

‘I reassure you, Mrs Greenspan, I am a modern woman quite capable of taking care of herself.’

Mrs Greenspan pushed herself up from her chair so that she stood face to face with Celia. Lev decided this was an opportune moment to tackle the tongs and sweeten his tea. Mickey was right. The matter of courting was indeed a war.

It was a war that Celia won, for within a few minutes the two of them were walking together down the garden path, the door closing perhaps a little too loudly behind them. Celia blew out a sigh.

‘Thank God for that,’ she said. ‘I thought I was going to die in there.’

‘She did seem rather overbearing.’

‘The whole place is overbearing. Did you see that furniture? And the darkened room? It is as if they are trying to shut out the outside world. Keep themselves within their little England.’

‘What is her husband like?’

‘A fussy mouse of a man. I am so glad you came to rescue me.’ She linked her arm in his. ‘Now, where shall we go?’

Lev took her down to the beach. It was a delightful time to be there, in the light breeze that always rose with the setting sun, the fishermen out on the rocks with their rods and line, the seabirds frantically searching out their night-time nests among the cliffs and the trees. They took off their shoes, the sand crunchy and warm, a salty tang in the air, their skin glowing, the pressure of her arm on his, feelings of affection unspoken, a sense of wholeness. Was this only his reality? Or did she feel the same? He looked across at her, her lips bitten into a thoughtfulness. A few grains of sand powdered her cheek, he would like to kiss them away. The fabric of her dress against the bareness of his lower arm, the sense of her body swaying beside him, he could walk on like this forever.

‘Let’s go up there,’ she said, pointing to the very same dune where he had once raced Amshel. ‘We can have a view.’

They had their own kind of race to the summit, she dragging him back whenever he moved ahead, he doing the same to her. This physical boisterousness between them getting him all worked up, making him want to do things with her he had never wanted to do with a woman before. By the time they reached the top, he was hot, breathless, his skin tingling, his senses alive to everything around him. She sat down, motioned for him to sit beside her. Which he did. He took her hand, clasped it to him, her fingers folding around his own. They stared out to sea. The sun reddening now as it slotted down towards the horizon.

‘Scotland is out there somewhere,’ she said.

‘And so is Poland.’

‘Do you miss it?’

‘Not at all.’

‘There must be something, surely?’

‘We were hated there.’

‘What about family?’

‘There’s no-one left.’

‘You are lucky to have Amshel here then.’

‘Yes. Amshel.’

‘He is doing well on the
kibbutz
.’

‘I am glad to hear that.’

‘He works hard. The members like that.’

‘He was always good with his hands.’

‘He is a good storyteller too. He makes me laugh. Which is not easy these days.’

Lev watched as a male bather swam in on the surf, scrambled to his feet, then raced along the beach. It was as if he had just witnessed the evolution from fish to man in the space of several seconds. He thought about sharing this observation with Celia, he thought about trying to make her laugh the way Amshel did. Instead, he asked: ‘Do you miss Scotland?’

‘I do.’

‘What do you miss?’

‘It’s a beautiful country. Very lush and green. Even in the city there are lots of parks.’

‘Do they hate the Jews there too?’

‘The Protestants and Catholics are so busy hating each other, there is no hatred left over for us. The Jewish community is prospering.’

‘So why did you leave?’

‘I told you once before. I wanted a new life.’

‘With Jonny?’

‘Yes, Jonny was part of my reason. But I was also attracted to the idea of communal settlements.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘Let’s just sit for a while.’

The sun melted away before their eyes, tainting the bay and the villas on the surrounding hills with a coral hue. The palm trees rustled their farewell to the day and a coolness entered the air. Lev remembered when he had been up here with Amshel, how they had called out to the camel drivers on their march up the beach. Where had they been going? Acre? Damascus? Beirut? Such exotic places. It was hard to believe this was his world now. He didn’t miss Poland at all. With its dark forests and harsh winters. He had never seen the ocean until he had set sail for Palestine. And now he had the Mediterranean Sea on his doorstep, this wonderful light that made everything shimmer with an unearthly glow. Celia sitting by his side.

‘I always feel sad when I watch a sunset,’ she said. ‘Sad but grateful.’

He didn’t know what he felt about the sunset. All he knew was that he had never felt happier.

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