Belshazzar's Daughter (8 page)

‘Well, I was just, er, you know, passing, and … er, it’s very hot and I thought, um … Well, it’s, er …’

‘You come to spy on me.’ It was direct rather than

cruel. A statement made between friends rather than lovers.

Consequently it wounded him heavily.

‘Er … No! No!’

She walked over to the shop window and started switching off the display lights. The warm glow of precious metal dimmed as the life-giving illumination was withdrawn. She didn’t take her eyes from his face for a second.

“I have other things I must do.’

Robert remained silent, nervously holding his peace, his mind concentrating fully upon blocking out what the ‘other things’ to which she was referring might be.

‘I am busy. I will see you Thursday.’

She turned and slid one graceful hand into a drawer beneath the counter. There was the sound of keys jangling impatiently in her hands. Keys to the front door of the shop, his cue to leave. His dismissal until his appointed time returned once again. Bitterness rose in his throat, the taste of jealousy and suspicion. Emotions he knew could only be expressed at his peril.

“I saw you in Balat yesterday.’ His voice had an edge. The running, frightened figure thrust itself through the alleyways of his mind once more. Her face was blank, haughty and without movement. Suddenly, he felt foolish.

The jangling stopped. She fisted her hand firmly around the keys and looked down at the Rolex upon her slim, tanned wrist. Robert hadn’t seen that watch before. It wasn’t one of his gifts. But then neither was the solitaire diamond that hung around her neck. He didn’t know where that came from either. Other things! The expression on her face had still not moved a millimetre.

“i am here yesterday, all day.’

‘Mmm.’

It was a weak and bad-tempered little reply on his part.

It reflected how he felt. Diminished.

‘You don’t believe?’

“I don’t know. I thought I saw you—’

‘You thought!’ Her lips pulled back over her teeth in an ugly sneer. She might just as well have slapped him.

Believe or not; it wasn’t really the issue any more, not for Robert. He had upset her. He looked into her face. It quivered just a fraction, but the sneer remained static. He knew that look; he’d seen it before. It usually came just before she told him to get out of her life. She did that occasionally. Numerous and very elaborate presents had to follow in order to avert disaster now. Robert, not for the first time, wondered whether his bank account could bear it.

‘You think you see me in Balat yesterday?’

“I thought …’ His voice died in his throat. ‘He thought’, what the hell did that mean? What the fuck was the value of his thoughts anyway? His spirit seemed to die in his breast, turn its back, surrender.

But unbelievably she turned her most beautiful smile full beam upon his face. The sudden change of expression robbed him of his breath.

‘OK,’ she said brightly. ‘One quick drink. You tell me about it.’

He coughed. ‘Right.’ His voice sounded husky, nervous, smoke-dried.

She turned the rest of the shop lights off and locked the display cabinets. As they went through the front door, he turned and stole a furtive glance at her again. Her face was anxious and there were lines, deep and hard, from the corners of her mouth down to her chin.

The Sultan Pub, a peculiar mock-Tudor establishment opposite the Blue Mosque, was a strangely ideal place for a quiet talk. Its clientele, almost without exception Western European youth in transit, did not tend to linger. One or two stomach-churning local whiskies and then out was the usual form. The internal decor was pure Hollywood Salzburg: beams, cowbells, Alpine horns and pictures of blonde girls with plaits. Cool mountain streams and snow figured quite heavily too. The Southern Europeans’ insatiable hunger for the cold.

Robert and Natalia sat down at the table affording the best view of the famous mosque and were quickly joined by the teenage waiter.

After they had ordered their drinks they sat in silence for a while. Robert, at least, was not anxious to open conversation. The drinks arrived quickly and he took a generous gulp from his glass. Natalia, her glass untouched, gazed blankly out of the window, her eyes riveted to the graceful dome of the mosque.

‘I’m not accusing you of anything, you know.’

She didn’t answer; she didn’t react in any way. Self conscious, he took her hand. The waiter slouching arrogantly against the bar saw their hands join and smirked.

‘I’m just confused, that’s all. I was on my way home yesterday afternoon, not feeling a hundred per cent, and suddenly there you are. I go to say “hello”, greet you, and you’re gone!’

‘Was not me.’ Her tone was flat, matter of fact. Her earlier smile had disappeared long ago. It irked him. Of course it had been her! Who else had a face like that?

‘Look, I know what I saw, Natalia. I’m not asking you to explain yourself. I just don’t like mysteries. Whatever you were there for is your own business, I just …’ He paused. What he had to say was difficult. He couldn’t accuse her of lying, but he was finding her denial very hard to reconcile with his own experience. Whatever that was. ‘Look, it doesn’t matter why you were there, I just want to know if you were there. I need to know whether I was seeing things or not. It’s important - for me.’

She started to sip her drink. Her face was grave, but still - defiantly, he felt - unmoved.

He tried a slightly different tack. “I was afraid, when you didn’t acknowledge me, that perhaps I had upset or offended you in some way.’ He pressed her hand gently in his. ‘You know how I feel about you. I couldn’t bear it if something that I did wrong came between us.’

“I not you property.’

Her stilted pronunciation irritated him. He had an urge to correct her. It was not the first time. Her foreign ‘otherness’

frequently grated. She could use it as a weapon, an excuse not to understand or be properly understood.

His voice had hardened. ‘It’s important.’ He paused.

‘Look, I’m not saying for a second that you were involved, but there was a murder in Balat yesterday.’ She put her glass back down upon the table with a thud. “I have, because I was in the area at the time, already been interviewed by the police.’

He tried to look into her face, but she dropped her eyes.

‘Police?’

‘Yes.’

Her features had shifted position slightly, thin lines surrounded her mouth once more, the same lines that had

marred her face earlier when they left the shop.

‘The police came to the school this morning. They

interviewed all of us. The scene of the murder’s only a few streets away. As it happened, I was in the area at about the right time. I gave them a statement.’

She looked up, her eyelids snapping apart to reveal wide, deeply searching eyes. Her pale face, he fancied, was a shade whiter.

‘What do you say in the statement?’

He lit a cigarette. ‘That I was in the area near to where the murder was committed at four-thirty yesterday and that I saw and heard nothing unusual. I saw a woman—’

She jumped. ‘The one you think was me?’

He paused. Now she was scared. He’d only seen her like this once before. In Balat. That same face. He shuddered. It was almost tempting to string her along, let her believe he’d told the police, see how she would react. But Robert knew that was not in his temperament. That was her trick.

‘No, I didn’t tell them about … you.’ Her face relaxed, just a fraction, but enough for him to notice. “I couldn’t be a hundred per cent certain it was you and if it wasn’t, I didn’t want to make unnecessary trouble. The woman I told them about was standing in a doorway, she was old, I doubt very much whether she could harm anybody.’

“I could not hurt people!’ She folded both her hands around his and gripped tightly. “I not there, Robert!’

She wanted him to believe her, which was precisely why he couldn’t. He felt a sudden need to draw his hand away from her. He pulled his arm back sharply and her hands fell apart and rested limply on the top of the table. For the first time in their relationship he felt as if he was in control. He smelt her fear. It was an intoxicating experience.

“I want to believe you, Natalia, but, quite frankly, it’s difficult. I can’t very well call my own eyes liars.’ He paused. That had been a stupid thing to say and she, as well as he, must know it. But he had to go on. “I know we’ve been seeing each other for some time, but I still don’t really know you. I don’t even know where you live, for God’s sake!’

She looked down at the table again. Her hands, resting on the white linen cloth, trembled very slightly. It was mention of the police that had first rattled her. Right up until then she had been her usual cool, haughty self. Of course she had been in Balat! He had seen her. Her repeated denials were ridiculous! Was what she had been doing there so terrible?

He couldn’t believe it. If she had been unfaithful, he would forgive her - probably - she knew that. And why was she so alarmed by police involvement in a crime that had nothing to do with either of them? Or did it?

He looked at her sad, down-turned face, her soft rounded shoulders. Oh God, but of course, that touch! The thin, wasted bone that had slipped through his fingers like an oiled fish. It didn’t make any sense. And why on earth would a beautiful young girl like Natalia murder some penniless old alkie? Robert inwardly chided himself. Now he really was wandering into the realms of fantasy!

She raised her head, and, to his surprise, she smiled.

‘Look, Robert, I tell you the truth about Balat, I not there, but …’ She shrugged helplessly, a little nervous laugh accompanying the gesture. “I understand what you say. We very close now and you know little of my life.

Perhaps time to change that. You maybe come to my

home, meet my family …’

Her words caught him off guard. An invitation to her |

home was the last thing he had expected. It was quite obviously a ploy to distract him from the issue. Christ, it must have been her! And yet an invitation to her home …

Greed, the kind of selfish, thoughtless longing that makes all lovers occasionally act against their better judgement, possessed him. Ever since he had realised that he was in love with Natalia, Robert had harboured secret and long-term ambitions for this relationship. The failure of his previous marriage had all but destroyed any confidence he may have had with women. To a certain extent Natalia, simply by not leaving him, had given him back some of that confidence.

Although educated, Robert was simplistic in his thinking when it came to his personal life. He didn’t want to be single any more. And if Natalia wasn’t the right woman, then who was? There was nobody else! Meeting her family was surely a significant step! So she’d slipped from grace a little in Balat? A tawdry but probably, to her, exciting liaison with one of the local toughs. It had to be that! Was he going to let something like that, a minor indiscretion, come between them? And yet if this assumption were correct, why was she so afraid of the police? He looked at her perfect, smiling face. He couldn’t think why. There were lots of seemingly irrational things he didn’t understand about Turkey and the Turks. Perhaps it was one of those? Perhaps … ?

Although still tense, he smiled back. ‘When?’

‘Tomorrow evening, for a meal?’

It seemed pointless to deny himself such an opportunity.

For what tangible reason would he? ‘Yes.’ He felt good again. ‘What time?’

She spread a paper napkin out in front of her and took a pen from the pocket of her blouse. ‘At about seven?’

‘Fine.’

She wrote slowly and carefully on the thin tissue paper.

When she had finished she handed it to him. ‘My address.’

He looked at the words on the paper. So she lived in Beyoglu, the old diplomatic quarter, near Istiklal Caddesi, the Oxford Street of the East. Number 12, Karadeniz Sokak.

She finished her drink and rose from her seat. She looked around - nervously, he thought.

“i must go now, Robert. I have things I must do.’

He was slightly disappointed, jealous even. ‘Things to do’

again! But he hid his feelings behind a smile.

She bent towards him as she passed and brushed her lips lightly against his cheek. Even after a year the merest touch of that thick, fleshy mouth excited him. It had explored every part of his body, kissed, nibbled, sucked. He raised his arm up to her as she passed and gently stroked her side with the back of his hand. ‘See you tomorrow.’

He heard the heels of her shoes click-click against the cheap linoleum floor, then the loud clunk as she stepped down on to the pavement outside. He turned to look after her, but she had disappeared into the thick rush-hour crowds on the street. Robert picked up his drink and sipped thoughtfully. The strange events of the previous day had unexpectedly played into his hands. He smiled.

Balat and its ghosts, the police, his own anxiety: he could file all these things away now. He was one step closer to possessing her. It was all that really mattered.

He paid for the drinks and left. On his way to the bus stop he bought an evening paper. He noted with interest that the Balat murder had graduated to front-page news.

The article even mentioned the strange policeman who had interviewed him, ikmen, a very high roller by the tone of the article. Robert laughed inwardly at this piece of hype and continued on his way. It was only when he reached the bus stop and read the article properly that an element of unease resurfaced in his mind. Until the murderer was caught it would be difficult to get away from the subject of Balat and the events of the previous afternoon. It made him feel like there was a loose end somewhere in his life, dragging behind him, waiting to be tied.

The following morning dawned bright, clear and, as far as ikmen was concerned, much more promising than its predecessor. As he left his apartment for Balat he actually had a smile on his face, although this had all but disappeared by the time he had negotiated the rush-hour traffic. And when he discovered that it was impossible to park anywhere within three blocks of his destination, his customary gloom returned with a vengeance. He met Suleyman, who had already been into the station to pick up messages, on the corner of the Rabbi’s street.