A Dead Man in Athens (15 page)

‘Ah, but his intentions are honourable,’ said the senior servant. ‘He has spoken to her uncle. I would not let Orhan Eser treat her thus otherwise.’

‘Spoken to the uncle?’ said another servant, amazed.

‘So he told me.’

‘Well, I would never have thought that! With one so young.’

‘Perhaps he is planning ahead,’ said someone.

‘Or perhaps he just likes them young,’ said another grimly.

‘More biddable, certainly. But – surely she is not ready yet?’

‘I would have thought not. But perhaps our eyes do not see.’

‘It is not her doing,’ said someone else, ‘but her uncle’s.’

‘Well, it would be a good match for her.’

‘But not for him. A man like Orhan Eser? So high and mighty? You would have thought he would have aimed higher.’

‘And a Turk, too.’

‘Orhan Eser likes Vlachs,’ said Seymour. ‘Or so I have heard.’

‘Well, yes, but –’

‘Orhan Eser is too grand for her,’ said one of the servants. ‘It will come to nothing.’

‘What is he playing at?’ asked someone.

‘What is that foolish old man playing at!’ said someone else indignantly. ‘Sell off his niece . . .’

‘His head has been turned!’

‘Yes, but don’t tell me that Orhan Eser’s head has been turned! It’s screwed on much too tight.’

‘Well, be that as it may, they’ve come to an agreement. Orhan Eser and the old man.’

‘Yes, but what agreement?’

Seymour finished his tea and left the kitchen. On his way out, he saw Talal, the eunuch, and on an impulse went up to him.

‘Talal, a word in your ear. If I may.’

‘Of course, Effendi.’

Seymour took him aside.

‘Talal,’ he said gravely, ‘things are amiss around here.

’ ‘They certainly are, Effendi. I reel.’

‘I am not surprised, Talal. There are things which will have to be looked into. And who knows what may come out when they are?’

‘Effendi, in all this I am guiltless!’

‘Talal, I believe you. Yet there are those who would raise a questioning eye.’

‘Let them look in other places.’

‘Talal, you have hit upon it! There are other places which should be looked at.’

‘The harem!’ said Talal grimly.

‘The kitchen!’ said Seymour.

‘Kitchen?’

‘At any rate, other servants, too. Besides those in the harem.’

‘Effendi, you speak truly. Very truly.’

‘And the gaze should not stop with the low and humble. It should take in the mighty.’

‘It should, Effendi. These are words of wisdom, indeed.’

‘Talal, I would not ordinarily talk with you on such matters. For I know that you are loyal, discreet and true.’

‘All these, Effendi, I am.’

‘And it is not right for a man to come in and ask questions about others who are near to the one who is asked. Nevertheless, these are bad times.’

‘Oh, they are, Effendi! They are.’

‘Something must be done about the things that are amiss.’

‘Effendi, you speak truly.’

‘And I wondered if I could call on you?’

‘Effendi, you can. Especially if it’s a question of looking at others.’

‘For you see all, Talal. In your position you see all.’

‘Well, I do, Effendi.’

‘The man I wish to ask about is Orhan Eser.’

‘A man cleverer than he is just, Effendi.’

‘Ah, you think so, too?’

‘I know, Effendi. From bitter experience.’

‘So I suspected. For people have told me that his favour falls on some and not on others.’

‘And they have told you truly, Effendi.’

‘On the Vlachs, for instance.’

‘So people say.’

‘But you have not observed it?’

‘It is mostly outside the harem, Effendi. In the kitchen, I have heard, and with the cleaners.’

‘But is not the Lady Irina a Vlach?’

‘She is, Effendi.’

‘I wondered if he had spoken with her?’

‘He should not have done, Effendi. For he is outside the harem and she is in. And he is a male.’

‘But things are amiss, Talal, and I wondered if he had?’

The eunuch was silent. Seymour guessed what he was thinking.

‘I am not criticizing you, Talal. But sometimes it is hard to resist the command of one who is higher. Your words will go no further than my ears, Talal.’

‘He
has
spoken with her. But . . .’

‘Yes, Talal?’

‘Not recently, Effendi. At one time he spoke with her a lot. It should not have been so, I know, Effendi, but, as you say, it is hard to resist the command of those who are higher than you are. And he has the ear of Abd-es-Salaam.’

‘But he has not spoken to her so much recently?’

‘No, Effendi. And – these words are for you alone – we have become concerned. For while he was talking to the Lady Irina we were comfortable, thinking that it meant that she was the one who was likely to catch the Sultan’s favour and become first wife. But now he has stopped speaking to her. Now he speaks to Samira.’

Seymour, too, would like to speak to Samira; but first he would have to speak to Irina, and he wanted to speak to her not in anyone else’s presence. That would be difficult, however possible it seemed to have been for Orhan Eser. And then he remembered something.

It was lunchtime and he caught Chloe as she came out of the kitchen carrying a great pile of dishes.

‘Chloe! A word!’

‘Effendi?’

‘Chloe,’ he said, ‘you once told me that the Lady Irina had spoken to your uncle. How did she manage that?’

‘There is a way –’ began Chloe, but stopped.

‘I would like to speak to her. In a way that no one would hear. It is important.’

‘I would have to ask her.’

‘Could you do that? Soon? As soon as you can?’

‘I will try when I take the dishes. It depends on the eunuchs and whether they will let me in.’

‘I will wait,’ said Seymour.

Lunch had come and gone and everyone in the house was now at their siesta. The kitchen servants were either outside sprawled against the wall in the shade or had found some nook within the kitchen. Chloe came out of a door and took him by the hand.

‘There is a grating in the wall,’ she whispered. ‘Come, I will show you.’

She took him into a small, disused scullery from which a door opened into the garden. The kitchen servants were round the corner and there was no one in sight. Chloe led him along the outside of the house to where a small grating had been set at knee level in the bricks.

‘It is for air. The Lady Irina will be here tonight. At midnight. But she may be late because she will have to wait until everyone is asleep. Come into the courtyard and go to the right. I will be waiting.’

Seymour bent and looked at the grating. He tried it with his hand. It was firmly fixed.

‘It is for air only,’ whispered Chloe. ‘But you can talk through it.’

Aphrodite joined him in the square for a cup of coffee on her way back from classes. It had almost become a custom now, one which he hoped was not confirming the expectation of others. This afternoon, though, she seemed cast down, depressed.

‘Bad day?’ he said sympathetically.

She shrugged.

‘Something go wrong in the lab?’

She shrugged again.

‘It’s not that,’ she said.

‘What is it, then?’

‘It’s this business of Stevens. And Andreas’s connection with it.’

‘I wouldn’t worry too much. It’s awful when it happens, but he’ll get over it.’

‘No, no, it’s – Popadopoulos came round again this morning, just before I left. Again! But this time he didn’t want to talk to Andreas, he wanted to talk to my mother. And he just stayed there! I could see she didn’t like it, so I stayed too. It made me late.’

‘What was he talking to her about?’

‘At first it was about Andreas. What a fine young man he was! How proud she must be, with him going to university! How were his studies going? Well, she shouldn’t worry too much, a doctor’s training was a long one and there was plenty of time for it all to come right.

‘And then he asked her about the flying. What did she think of that? And, of course, she told him. Well, he said, mothers always feel like that. Young men always want to do exciting things, and mothers always have to watch them! But didn’t she feel a thrill of pride at her son being one of the Bl´eriot pilots? All of Athens felt pride. That we, the Greeks, a poor, ordinary country, should have flying machines? More flying machines than Britain or Germany? And brave, talented young men who flew them? Come on, he said, confess: doesn’t it give you a thrill of pride to see your son up there?’

‘“No,” she said.

‘That was because she wasn’t seeing it with her son’s eyes. To him it was all magical. And, indeed, it was magical. For the first time in history – if it was the first time and the story of Daedalus was just a myth – man had risen off the earth. Wasn’t that magical? And wasn’t it right that it should be the Greeks who were setting the pace? Because Daedalus was
their
myth, flying, in a way, belonged to them.

‘It
was
magical. He himself, Popadopoulos, felt it. When he had seen the machines close up! Had she been over there to see them? On the ground? Close up? Seen them as Andreas saw them? As something wonderful and exciting and strange and new?’

‘And had she?’ asked Seymour.

‘Of course she had! Andreas pestered her until she agreed to go over there with him. They spent a morning there. He showed her everything, the Bl´eriots, the one he flew. He even wanted her to get into the cockpit and see how it felt for herself. I think he would have taken her for a flight if she had agreed. She laughed, though, and said that sort of thing was all very well, but it was not for her.

‘Popadopoulos laughed, too, when she told him, and said it wasn’t for him, either! But it was right for Andreas to want to share it with her. It was important to him and good that he wanted her to share it. He, Popadopoulos, approved of that. That sort of thing kept families together, he said, and there wasn’t enough of that these days.

‘It was all so sympathetic and understanding. Kind, even. But –’

She broke off.

‘But what?

‘It made me uneasy. I felt he was up to something. I could see my mother felt that, too. And it made her uneasy.’

Chapter Thirteen

The wind had blown in the night and when Seymour went out everything was powdered with dust. The carriages were white as if with snow and the taste of grit hung in the air. Under foot the road was covered with a fresh layer of sand. It was like, he thought again, walking in the desert. The image shifted and became clearer. It was like walking in Istanbul. Athens and Istanbul, at times, were not far apart.

The sky this morning was clouded over with a dull haze from all the dust particles in the air: but, surprisingly, he heard the sound of flying machines. They were up early, flying over the city in close formation: one – two – three of them, all of them up there together at the same time in a show of bravado. They disappeared towards the mountains.

Seymour walked on towards the Sultan’s residence, up the drive and past the three sets of guards. On either side of the drive the pines were powdered white, like Christmas trees half emerging through the snow.

In the courtyard, unusually, a dozen carriages were drawn up, their drivers chatting idly. Inside the house, however, the cavasses were hurtling around. They hardly had time to look at Seymour when he went in. He stood for a moment just inside the door and while he was waiting there Orhan Eser went past.

‘What’s up?’ asked Seymour.

Orhan Eser pulled a face.

‘The Sultan is sick again!’ he said, and rolled his eyes.

He went on up the corridor. Seymour followed and saw a group of doctors waiting outside the Sultan’s apartments. They, too, were chatting casually.

Seymour saw Dr Metaxas and went up to him.

‘Again?’ he said.

Dr Metaxas shrugged.

‘Again!’ he said.

The door opened and two frock-coated figures came out. Two other frock-coated figures went in. Apparently they were seeing the Sultan in turns.

‘What’s the point?’ asked Seymour.

‘None. But he likes to have second, third and fourth opinions and, since he’s paying, we are happy to provide them.’

‘Anything different?’ someone asked one of the doctors who had just come out.

The doctor shrugged.

‘Not as far as I can see,’ he said.

They all seemed relieved, amused, even. No one seemed to be taking the Sultan’s plight very seriously.

‘Stomach pains again?’

‘So he says. Poisoned, of course!’

They all laughed.

‘I’m fed up with this nonsense,’ said Dr Metaxas. ‘This time I’m going to say it’s just wind.’

‘Why don’t you tell him it’s gastro-enteritis?’ asked one of the doctors. ‘It sounds more impressive. And serious. Then we can go on coming.’

‘I don’t
want
to go on coming,’ said Dr Metaxas. ‘It’s a ridiculous waste of time!’

‘Tell him it’s just wind and that will certainly be an end of
your
coming,’ said someone.

‘None of us will be coming,’ said someone else, ‘soon.

’ ‘Why is that?’ asked Seymour.

They looked at each other.

‘It’s just that – well, no one’s interested any longer. It doesn’t matter any more, now that the war has actually started.’

‘The war has started?’

‘Yes. The soldiers marched off this morning.’

‘But they’ve marched off before!’

‘It’s serious this time.’

‘Don’t they need an excuse? I mean, wasn’t that the point of everyone being worried about the Sultan?’

‘They’ve decided they don’t need one. Or perhaps they’ve found another one. Whatever it is, no one’s interested in the Sultan any more.’

‘So they won’t be interested in
us
,’ said one of the doctors.

‘Will he go on paying, do you think?’ asked someone.

‘Wouldn’t have thought so.’

‘Then I won’t be interested in
him
!’ declared another doctor, to general nods.

Abd-es-Salaam, grim-faced, came through the door.

‘How is he?’ asked Seymour.

‘That’s not the point,’ said the Acting-Vizier. ‘The point is, they are removing the guards!’

‘Are the guards necessary?’ asked Orhan Eser, who was standing waiting for him.

‘Ours are!’ said Abd-es-Salaam. ‘Doubly necessary now that they’re removing the others. This is the moment for someone to strike.’

Orhan Eser shrugged dismissively.

A little later Seymour saw him standing with the Acting-Vizier outside the open front door of the house, looking up into the sky.

‘They’re flying again,’ he said.

‘Does that mean that the fighting has started?’ asked Seymour.

‘Possibly.’

‘How will that affect you?’ asked Seymour.

Orhan Eser looked at Abd-es-Salaam.

‘That depends,’ he said.

‘I shall have to clarify the Sultan’s position,’ said the Acting-Vizier. ‘In the new circumstances.’

He turned and went back inside the house.

‘What about you?’ Seymour said to Orhan Eser. ‘Will you go back to Istanbul?’

‘I hope so,’ said Orhan Eser. ‘I am a soldier, not . . .’ He hesitated. ‘Whatever this is,’ he said, and went after Abd-es-Salaam.

Seymour went out into the courtyard and chatted to the guards. After a while the doctors started coming out and getting into their carriages. Dr Metaxas was the last. He came out some time after the others, so much so that Seymour thought he had missed him. At last, though, he came down the steps.

‘I have been talking to Orhan Eser,’ he said. ‘“Maybe it’s our last chance,” I said, “because I won’t be coming again.” “And if you did,” he said, “you probably wouldn’t find me. Because I’m going back to Istanbul.” “Job done?” I said. He shrugged. “Who knows?” he said. “At any rate, my part of it is done. Goodness knows what they’ll do with the old Sultan now. He’ll have to leave Greece, that’s clear. But he can hardly go back to Salonica just now, with the Greeks marching on it.”

‘“And what about you?” I said. “What are you going to do now?” “Oh, I’ll go back to being a soldier,” he said. “I hope they’ll give me something to do with transport again. It’s simpler, mucking about with carts and cars. I’ve been away from that sort of thing too long.” And then he said something that surprised me. He said, “I’m glad we’ve met. Just now when the war is starting, because it reminds me of that time when we worked together up in the mountains. And that’s a good thing to remember when you’re just going to fight somebody. That it’s possible to work together. Because that means that maybe one day you will.”

‘I thought that was good, you know? It made me glad that I’d talked to him. We shook hands. “Take care of yourself,” he said, “and don’t let them drag you back in. I can’t help it because I’m a soldier. But you don’t have to be.”’

They walked back up the drive together and when they got to the end Dr Metaxas suggested they walk a bit further and have a drink in Constitution Square.

‘It will give you a chance to meet Aphrodite,’ he said slyly. ‘She’s coming home early and it is too much to be hoped for that her mother will not send her to fetch me.’

Seymour had been thinking about Aphrodite ever since his conversation with Farquhar. The end of the case meant the end of his being out here and the end of his . . . whatever it was, with Aphrodite. And that meant he had to face it. Or – and this was more likely, he realized with a flash of self-insight, find out a way of
not
facing it.

Of course, that meant facing up to the family, too.

‘You know,’ he said, ‘things are coming to an end for me, too, out here.’

Dr Metaxas nodded. ‘The Sultan?’

‘They’ve lost interest. And I know what happened, anyway.’

‘The cat?’

‘I know who killed it.’

Dr Metaxas nodded again.

‘Then things are at an end for you,’ he said, ‘out here.’

The wind was still stirring the dust and there were not many people sitting at the tables in the square. Mostly they were inside the large caf´es around its edges. A few carriages were moving but most were stationary, the horses standing with their heads down, the drivers huddled inside their cabs. The only people about were the small bootblacks who rushed on them indomitably to feather the dust from their boots.

‘English?’ one of them said to Seymour.

‘That’s right.’

The boy looked up at the sky.

‘No sun,’ he said. ‘Like England.’

‘Like England,’ Seymour agreed, reaching into his pocket for a few drachmas.

‘The soldiers have gone?’ he asked.

‘Gone this morning. Halfway to Salonica by now.’

‘Halfway back, too,’ said another of the boys cynically.

Dr Metaxas led the way to one of the caf´es and they went inside. The warmth and the noise and the tobacco smoke hit Seymour like a blow. He would have preferred, despite the cold, to sit outside but Dr Metaxas shrugged it all off and found a table. They obviously knew him for they at once put an ouzo before him. Since Seymour was with him, they put one for Seymour, too, and, this morning Seymour was glad of it. Fortunately they brought coffee, too.

Everyone was talking about the war.

‘It’s started, then.’

‘The sooner it gets started, the sooner it’ll get finished,’ seemed to be the general attitude.

Dr Metaxas listened sceptically.

The door opened and Aphrodite came in.

‘Found you!’ she pounced.

‘All right,’ said Dr Metaxas resignedly. ‘I’ll come quietly. But not for a minute,’ he added.

‘Very well,’ said Aphrodite, sitting down. ‘You can finish your drink.’

‘Can I finish mine, Aphrodite?’ asked someone at the next table, who evidently knew them.

‘No!’ said Aphrodite, laughing. ‘Give it to me!’

The man slipped it across to her good-naturedly and called for another one. He raised it:

‘To victory!’ he said.

‘Or defeat!’ said Dr Metaxas, raising his glass, too.

‘Why defeat?’ asked someone at the next table.

‘Because that will see the end of Venizelos and his daft ideas,’ said Dr Metaxas.

‘Say what you like about Venizelos,’ said someone, ‘but –’

And the arguments, as usual roared away.

‘I think I’ve found someone,’ Aphrodite said to Seymour.

‘Found –?’ said Dr Metaxas.

‘A home for a little girl.’

‘Finding homes for people?’ asked Dr Metaxas, amazed. ‘Are you into that, now?’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Seymour. ‘Blame me. I asked Aphrodite if she knew anyone –’

‘It’s a little girl,’ said Aphrodite, ‘and she works in the Sultan’s kitchen.’

‘She’s a Vlach,’ said Seymour, ‘and I thought –’

‘It’s not right for a young girl to be so close to a harem!’ said Aphrodite. ‘Who knows what pressure may be put on her?’

‘Actually,’ said Seymour, ‘there’s been a development.

’ He told them about Orhan Eser.

‘Orhan Eser?’ said Dr Metaxas, surprised. ‘But he’s already married! He told me so himself. Just this morning.’

‘He’s a Muslim,’ said Seymour.

‘But that – that makes it worse!’ cried Aphrodite. ‘A second wife! And at that age! We’ve got to do something,’ she said to her father.

‘Got to?’ said Dr Metaxas.

‘Got to,’ said Aphrodite firmly. ‘Can we sit by and let this sort of thing happen in Athens?’

‘It happens all the time in Athens,’ said Dr Metaxas.

‘Well, I’m against it,’ said Aphrodite. ‘I’m against arranged marriages and all that goes with it. Marrying off young girls, girls barely more than children, before they’ve

– It’s backward. It harks back to Ottoman days. It’s a practice we should get rid of! And here’s a chance for us to do something.’

‘She’s a Vlach,’ said Seymour, ‘and so is her uncle. That’s why I thought –’

‘He should be ashamed of himself!’ said Aphrodite indignantly.

‘Of course, it’s none of my business really –’ said Seymour.

‘What would Mother say?’ demanded Aphrodite.

‘Well –’

‘I know what she would say. She would say: Vlach or Ottoman, we cannot allow this sort of thing to happen!

’ ‘She probably would,’ agreed Dr Metaxas. He looked at Seymour. ‘You may not have noticed, but there’s a considerable resemblance between my wife and her daughter. Both are impetuous and inclined to rush wildly in when their feelings are engaged. Over the years I have had some success in getting my wife to moderate her feelings; but with Aphrodite . . .!’ He shook his head.

‘Father, you know you don’t agree with these practices. They belong to the past and the sooner they’re in the past, the better!’

‘Yes, yes.’

‘You surely don’t think we should do nothing!’

Dr Metaxas held up a hand. ‘What I think doesn’t matter, since you say you’ve found somebody.’

‘Eva, I thought.’

‘I’m not sure about that. Perhaps you should speak to your mother.’ He stopped. ‘On second thoughts, perhaps you should not. Not just at the moment!’ He looked at Seymour. ‘She is not herself. This business of Andreas. And the war. It takes her back – back to bad days.’

‘Please forget all about it,’ said Seymour. ‘I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Not to you, at this time, at any rate.

’ ‘No, no –’

‘It’s just that, as she is a Vlach –’

‘Quite right. We should do something about it. She would want us to. It’s just that –’

‘Forget I spoke.’

‘She is not herself. These things, coming together and now the little girl. The harem. I fear it would take her back. You think those things are past,’ he said bitterly, ‘but they’re never past. Suddenly something happens and they come back on you.’

He got up and went out, leaving his drink upon the table.

‘A bit late to be visiting, isn’t it, sir?’ said the petty officer at the gates. It was the only challenge he had received in his progression up the drive. The other guards appeared to have been withdrawn.

‘Someone is expecting me,’ said Seymour.

There had been a lot of to-ing and fro-ing that day, what with the Sultan’s illness, and the petty officer thought that this was more of the same. Besides, he had got used to Seymour now and Seymour was, after all, an Englishman, which, among so many dubious foreigners, was in itself a guarantee of respectability. He waved him on through.

The courtyard was dark, and there appeared to be no lights on in the house. He went up to it and bore right as Chloe had directed him. And almost at once she was there, putting her hand on his arm and guiding him round the outside of the house. It was pitch-dark and without her aid he wouldn’t have managed. Even when they reached the grille she had to guide his hand so that he would feel it.