Jane who never enjoyed cooking—often astounded by Hannah’s undying love of it—now under the influence of a visit to the endless spice bazaars embraced the exotic culinary history of Turkey that melded the flavors of Syria, Greece, Arabia, Jewish Palestine, Persia, Armenia and most of its neighboring Bulgaria into its daily repertoire. She acquired a large selection of traditional receptacles to serve them, do honor to their ancient histories. As her collection of decorative plates, bowls and platters for simit, pilar, taramasalata, yufka, halva, baklava and that truly superlative Turkish yogurt grew, so did her historical knowledge.
Now accepted within the exclusive circle of the reigning British colony, Jane was expected and complied in attending their numerous gatherings for tea and bridge. Especially appreciated for the obvious dedication to the success of their many bazaars, her beautifully stitched handkerchiefs, tea napkins and lace doilies were prized. Courting social status Jane enjoyed being so magnanimously accepted by these ladies of the British upper class. Though at times she found their circle rather insular, even antiquated—the nonarrival of a shipment of a Fortnum & Mason chest of tea could cause vapors of alarming proportion—still by and large, these were valiant women far from country gardens, doting nannies and secured pomposity, tending to husbands in a heathen country with noteworthy fortitude. To fit, to become acceptable, Jane took note of their rigid code of expected attire by copying it—the small fashionable changes she incorporated, when noticed, were praised and quickly envied. Some ladies even had the temerity to inquire if the Italian woman in their midst, having so skillfully managed to produce her wardrobe, would consider improving the less than perfect examples of their local seamstresses’ efforts. By the end of her second year in Constantinople, Jane’s dressmaking business was flourishing. Not wishing to exchange her position of club lady for that of employee, Jane let it be known that any recompense for her sewing skills should be given to the ladies’ charitable causes.
When finally assembled, Jane’s Turkish Salon as it became known by one and all, could have done a sultan proud. A bit theatrical, though being Ottoman it couldn’t help but be—whenever Jane entertained within its draped silks and harem splendor, the ladies of the British colony sipping thick sweetened coffee from tiny gold-encrusted cups, their fingers sticky from honey-drenched baklava, being offered rose water in alabaster to rinse them in—came away from such cordial visits with nothing but praise for this most interesting American lady who not only had become proficient in that most difficult language of the new Republic of Turkey but had diligently acquired a most profound knowledge of its ancient history and tradition.
Yet aware they might be ridiculed the ladies omitted to relate their fascination with Jane’s aptitude for fortune telling. How skillful she was, when their tiny coffee cups emptied—only the thick residue remaining—she, having learned the time-honored Turkish procedure, took them, inverted them onto the saucer, turned them three times in a slow clockwise motion … then lifting them carefully could read the black shapes that had formed inside—interpret their meaning.
Without real friends or observant husband, Jane, forever seeking self-betterment, now entered that period of her life when choosing the wrong direction seemed to her the right one.
Unconditional belonging became more important than choice, to be thought of as a grand lady more important than being one. She acquired the trappings of beauty parlor hair, a perfect silver fox, shoes made to order of the finest black and white calf, an expensive milliner’s creation its small veil giving it a tantalizing slant and a lover’s interest, for having made herself a most becoming riding habit for fashionable morning canters under the watchful and appreciative gaze of a handsome riding instructor—their few encounters in the taproom were brief and wholly unemotional as to love. Not shocked at herself—more surprised—this interlude gave Jane an added dimension, an awareness of her gender, for the first time completely separate from her status as acquired wife-mother. Being a party to illicit passion was so foreign to her that at first she did not recognize it as such. Being wanted by one who yet attracts is the elixir of women. Whether consummated or merely anticipated—it is the wanting that attracts and when cloaked in romance—irresistible. For some reason she could not explain to herself she suddenly felt attractive. A most startling realization for one who knew she was plain.
Jane’s excursion into forbidden territory lasted until John’s return and then was done.
There was an aliveness about her that John had never noticed before. An awareness of herself as a female that intrigued, enticed. He wanted to touch her as though she were an unknown landscape to explore. She was his accustomed wife yet all at once had recaptured a mystery that she had never even possessed.
Jane, sensing his interest was confused by it—it disturbed her guilt—making it into a means to an end she had never expected, was uncertain if she had ever wished it at all. He made love to her that first night and she responded with abandon that captivated him beyond questioning its origin. For her it was as though she had yearned for him without her sensing its need. Now the hands that caressed her were familiar—their touch a homecoming, passion became love and with it, safety. Jane had never thought of copulation as a beginning process, the act itself as being more than just a purely physical progression to a physical climax—then when reached—an automatic retreat back into oneself, emotion untouched. That she could have been so completely wrong astounded her—that so long ago Hannah had been right did not.
As with many marriages based on logic instead of love—passion once ignited by an outsider now served to erase the years of accepted companionship, replacing it with a willingness to love, to become vulnerable to another. For Jane sex became beautiful and the man who had married her knew how to harness its beauty.