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She kissed Charles affectionately, then slipping her arm through his, made the introductions.

Charles’s entrance into the room immediately instigated a change of atmosphere. The men took to him. He was young and handsome and an aristocrat. He had flawless taste and obviously a great deal of money, but he had something else too: the ability to enjoy any
situation at any given time. The intrigue and angst that had permeated Amy’s conversation with Jarret and Fee vanished as if they had never been.

Amy tried to remain detached as she watched the four men, always keeping in mind that dark side that the visitors hid so well. Yet by the time they had all gone down in the lift to the dining-room she had been swept into their orbit and was enjoying them as she had once done in those very first days over thirty years before. In many ways the years vanished as if they had never existed. She felt young, and full of life and energy and love.

There was no question that Jarret and Fee knew how to stroke people, make themselves lovable. They were the best strokers in the business. They had the ability almost instantly to inspire some sort of devotion from everyone they met. Amy had seen captains and commanders of industry and the art world who were only too willing to cosset and coddle these toy boys. Hadn’t she done it herself, and without realising it? How many husbands had fallen in love with Jarret while their wives played a mothering role to him, with the promise of a secret sexual liaison always hovering in the back of their minds. Minor royals, aristocrats, millionairesses and women of consequence, all had been there for him.

Jarret, Fee and Tennant stroked Charles and he loved them. They stroked Amy and she forgot that they were three of nature’s tarts. Professional party-goers working the table and Claridge’s dining-room, ruthlessly
exploiting their charm to promote themselves and their careers.

Over a long and extraordinarily amusing lunch that had many of the diners looking away from their own meals and wishing they were a guest at that table, part of that scene, Amy succumbed. She fell for Jarret all over again. Only this time she was aware of who she was falling for.

At four o’clock they were the last people in the dining-room except for those few waiters who were hovering round their table in the hope that Charles would call a halt to the extravagant lunch he had provided so they might go home. But it was Tennant who came to their rescue. He looked at his watch and all but jumped out of his chair.

‘The time has just flown, Charles, I must go. I’m supposed to be leaving right this minute for the country with our hostess.’

Charles rose from his chair, as did Fee and Jarret. ‘I am off to the South of France this afternoon and so I too must leave. But it’s been great fun, and many thanks for joining me for lunch. I hope to see you all again. Amy will arrange it.’

The party left the restaurant and Charles walked with them to the lobby, offering his car to take Tennant to his destination and tea to Fee, Jarret and Amy in the lounge where a string ensemble would soon be playing. A shaking of hands and many flattering words and thanks and Charles left them there to get on with his preparations for leaving London.

Replete with too much food and wine, Jarret, Fee and Amy waited for their tea to arrive. ‘He’s wonderful. It was really nice of him to take us all on at such short notice. A lover?’ asked Jarret.

‘Yes.’

‘I think I could be jealous.’ And he took Amy’s hand in his and lowered his head to kiss it.

‘Then why aren’t you?’

‘Because you love me more than you ever have Charles.’

‘You’re always so sure of yourself, Jarret.’

‘Amy, you must keep Charles as a friend, he’s charming. Bring him to Venice,’ said Fee.

‘Oh. Am I coming to Venice, Fee?’

‘For my part, you’re welcome to come.’

‘More to the point, where shall we go now?’

‘To your house, Amy.’

‘I think not, Fee.’

‘I somehow thought you might say that, so I have arranged that we might be alone in the Belgravia house. We’ve sent Tennant off to the country with our hostess and have promised to follow later this evening. This has been charming but we
must
talk.’

‘With you guys it’s always pay the piper, isn’t it? Well, let’s go then.’

As the doorman opened the door of Amy’s car for her, she thought she had never seen such a look of envy, surprise, complete disbelief on anyone’s face as she saw on Fee’s at that moment. ‘Once you thought me not stylish enough to share your lives. Not now by the look on your face, Fee?’

‘Too stylish. I think I’ll walk and meet you at the house.’ The three of them had the good grace to laugh at themselves.

As Amy circled Belgrave Square they saw Jarret’s hostess and Tennant sneak a kiss in the back seat of her black Bentley on the other side of the square, just pulling away from the house. Amy somehow found it too embarrassing to comment on. She parked her car and together she and Jarret put the top up and locked it into place. Jarret used his key at the front door.

‘All the servants have gone to the country. We have the house to ourselves. Come to bed. I’ve been wanting you all afternoon.’

‘Fee will be here soon.’

‘No, he won’t. Two hours at least.’

‘To walk from Mayfair?’

‘You forget the window shopping. A stop to rest his feet and play the charming foreigner in some little shop, looking at something that takes his fancy and which is the last thing we need. No, two hours at the very least.’

Jarret had Fee down pat. It made Amy laugh. While he had her at her ease Jarret wrapped his arms round her and drew her to him. ‘You’ve been wonderful, a star all day. But then, you always were a star for me. Always sparkled and brought me luck, made me the happiest of men.’

His kiss was full of love and passion and Amy felt herself slip under its spell. How she had once burned for those kisses! Now they were like an old friend that had returned to nourish her. Together they walked up
the stairs to the bedroom floor. Jarret double locked the door. Who was this man who kissed her like her lover of long ago? Amy forgot to be confused about that. They slipped beneath the silken sheets and their erotic life took them over.

It was dark when they dressed and walked down the stairs to the small sitting-room where Fee was waiting for them. It was the dark that comes with late autumn when the time of day doesn’t seem quite to fit the degree of light. It was only half-past six.

‘The last train we can make to get to the country tonight is ten-thirty, Jarret.’

‘Then let’s get on with it, shall we, Fee?’ said Amy.

‘Well, that’s what I’ve been trying to do. This isn’t easy for us, to come begging a favour from someone we’ve been out of touch with for thirty years.’

‘I can appreciate that, Fee. Well, cards on the table then.’

‘That day I came looking for you at your house, it was to ask you to help me … well, us. Jarret didn’t want to be the first to approach you. You had rebuffed him before, he expected it again. It was I who insisted. The idea came to us when we saw your face on the cover of
Art News
and read the back-up story.’

Amy very nearly stamped her foot in rage, not against Fee but Anthony Kramer. Here was a perfect example of why she preferred to stay in the background of things. ‘Go on, Fee.’

‘I know my countrymen very well. This position you hold with the Kramer Foundation, you do know that
makes you a serious power broker in Turkey? You can ask any favour and it will most assuredly be granted. You can make any demand. The powers that be will do anything to keep you sweet. That will be the prime directive of any number of departments in the government, and will go right to the top. The last thing the government wants is to lose that museum, or the money for the foundation to keep it going. Turkey’s a poor country with only an ancient culture to fall back on. The new museum will change all that.

‘We’re in serious trouble in Turkey, and you, Amy, are the answer to all our problems. If you are willing to help us.’

‘And why would I do that, Fee?’

‘Because for you love is everything,’ he answered.

Jarret, who was sitting next to Amy, took her hand in his and squeezed it. Confirmation from him that he too knew that and appreciated the fact?

Amy managed to keep the emotion from her voice when she said, ‘What’s the problem, Fee?’

‘The
yalis
and all our possessions and paintings, the bulk of a lifetime’s work for both of us, have been impounded by the high court in Istanbul for nearly ten years now. Jarret and I are unable to return to Turkey. If we do we’ll be arrested and tried for fraud, and must answer to charges of the attempted murder or murder of the Contessa Armida Montevicini.’

Amy gasped. She placed her hands over her face and lowered her head. Tears welled into her eyes and a near scream of ‘No!’ escaped from the depths of her soul. Jarret
rose from the settee and walked to the fireplace and stood there. Fee went to the drinks table and poured her a glass of sherry.

‘Drink this. It might help.’

Amy was trembling so badly she had to take the glass with two hands. She drank it down in one swallow. It did help. She had gone cold and the sherry brought some warmth back to her body. Ever since that horrible morning thirty years ago when she had read that crumpled letter written in violet ink, she had feared for the Contessa Armida. But sinister death at the hands of Jarret and Fee? Not in her wildest dreams could she have imagined that.

‘I know it’s shocking to think of us having been put in this awkward position, to have such allegations made against us. Are you all right? Shall I go on?’

Of course that would be what they thought had shocked her. They did not know after all that Amy had read the letter from the Contessa, crumpled up and thrown away in a wastebasket. They had no way of knowing her anguish was not for them but for the last years of the foolish, love-besotted countess.

‘Yes.’

‘I think you know that we bought the
yalis
and all its contents from the Contessa over a period of many years. When we first met her, she was still beautiful and vivacious and had her house open to a côterie of friends from all walks of life. She ran a salon that was internationally known and famed for its wit and intelligent conversation. She had always been a well-loved and
respected character in Istanbul and I had grown up with her name as part of the aristocratic legend of my city. We were introduced to her the first few days after I brought Jarret home to Istanbul. She swept him off his feet. Even in old age she was a woman of infinite female charm and sexuality. The Contessa fell in love. She offered us rooms to live in in her
yalis
– there are, after all, forty-odd rooms in it – and we moved in. It was rent free and a wonderful place to live and work in, and she cared for us and kept us in a style that was grand and amusing. We were all very happy. She was above all a realist and when we would go off to travel or to live for a few months in Venice, she remained in the
yalis
taking care of our things and affairs.’

Jarret picked up the story from there. ‘She was outliving her money, so she cut down on her hospitality and made economies, and then finally, as she grew older, became quiet and reclusive. She had wonderful treasures that she kept selling off to keep herself. We and her precious
yalis
were her whole world. Eventually we started to buy the
yalis
, room by room, by taking on the upkeep and the taxes. We needed larger premises to exhibit our work to the dealers who by now were coming to visit us. She’d lost interest in the running of the house so we took over. She had a very happy life with us except for the few years when I was married to Savannah. We brought Savannah to Istanbul, but that didn’t work out. Too bad. They could have been very good company for one another. Then Armida was very unhappy when I met you.’

After a few moments of silence Fee continued, ‘There were ancient servants who had been with her in their youth and they and some of her friends resented the relationship we had with Armida and the fact that she was passing the house on to us room by room. Every time we took over a room we had a paper drawn up and we three signed it and had it notarised. As she became old and frail she needed less of the rooms to wander in and so we redid the servants’ quarters and made her very comfortable there. When the last of her servants died, and because we were away so much of the time, we decided she would be happier in a small farm cottage she owned on a pretty estate on one of the Princess Islands. So we fixed that up and moved all the things she loved into it. There was a woman in the village who was paid to do her meals and to see that she had everything she wanted. It was there that she died in an unusually cold winter. We were in Tibet at the time, so you see we had absolutely nothing to do with her death.

‘At the time, though we mourned her, we thought her death was a godsend. She had no quality of life left, and in her dotage she had turned against Jarret and me, the only two people who stuck by her to the end.’

Jarret walked back from the fireplace to sit next to Amy again. He told her, ‘There was no inquest. She was buried on the estate where she died by the woman who took care of her. We, of course, immediately on our return from Tibet, went to pay our respects at her graveside. Then we had everything moved from the cottage back to Istanbul and got on with our lives.’

‘You had already married your new wife then?’

‘Yes, years before, and Tennant was a young boy.’

‘You don’t know my country, Amy, they can make a mystery, a Byzantine intrigue, out of anything, even death from natural causes,’ said Fee.

‘And that’s what they did?’

‘I’ll say! Because Armida died on a remote estate on an island that has little contact with the mainland, never mind Istanbul, news of her death was not revealed until months after it happened, and then only as rumour until we returned to verify that it had taken place. Even then the news travelled slowly. This is the East after all.

‘People began to talk, and jealousy began eating away at old friends of Armida’s because now we owned and controlled one of the finest properties in Istanbul. But no one did anything about it. We never realised that for years she had been writing to friends telling them of her poverty and how she was living in penury, that she wanted to return to her house on the Bosphorus and soon we would be coming for her and taking her home. An old woman’s delusions, of course.