Bryant & May - London's Glory: (Short Stories) (Bryant & May Collection) (21 page)

‘I told you it would do you a world of good to get away from work for a few days.’ May had already changed into beachwear, and now took note of his partner’s attire. ‘What – what on earth are you wearing?’

Bryant looked down. ‘This? I didn’t have any beachwear so Alma ran it up for me from old Windsor Safari Park souvenir tea towels.’ He was in bright yellow shorts and a matching baggy shirt covered in lions, tigers and baboons. ‘How do I look?’

‘Like the circle of life just stopped. Come on, let’s get a drink.’

Up on deck were two more guests: an ovoid Englishwoman in an iron-grey hair-helmet and a long, pleated Laura Ashley skirt; and a slender, wet-looking young man with a prominent Adam’s apple, wearing what looked to be a very hot woollen blazer and baggy black shorts.

‘This is Jane Beaumont,’ said Yosun Kahraman. ‘Mrs Beaumont is an antiques dealer.’

The Englishwoman stiffly proffered a hand. ‘Yosun and her husband have kindly offered to take me down to Yali to examine an Ottoman tapestry,’ she explained.

‘And this is the Reverend Charles Parsley. He’s visiting the Christian mission at Yali.’

The vicar finished vigorously cleaning his wire-framed spectacles and shook hands with the detectives, burbling greetings. Everyone seated themselves around the deck’s great dining table as champagne was popped and the yacht cast off.

‘We’re a motley mix, I must say.’ Bryant scrunched up his eyes and blasted himself in the face with mosquito spray. ‘You can’t complain about my shorts after seeing the vicar’s knobbly white knees. Of course we only have Kahraman’s word for it that he’s a man of the cloth. I didn’t see a dog collar.’

‘Arthur, you might try keeping your voice down. It’s too hot on deck to dress formally,’ said May from across the hall. ‘The chef’s preparing freshly caught octopus for dinner.’

‘We’ve almost got a full Cluedo set. All we need to do now is find someone hanging from the yard-arm. But who would it be, eh? The millionaire industrialist? His actress wife? The dazzling daughter? The dry-as-dust antiques dealer? Or the bony bible-basher?’

‘You’re forgetting the staff,’ said May. ‘I didn’t catch the captain’s name, but I think the chef was called Raci, and then there’s Ymir.’

‘What, the butler did it? That idea was old a century ago. Seriously, though, I wonder why we’ve been asked.’

‘I told you, he’s grateful for the service we provided.’

‘You honestly believe that?’ Bryant shook his head. ‘No, there’s a hidden agenda at work here. We’re the odd ones out. The vicar was very kind to Nevriye, Demir’s daughter, when she was living in London. Demir is an old friend of the tapestry dealer Mrs Beaumont is visiting; he asked Demir if he wouldn’t mind bringing his client down. The rest are family – and then there’s us.’

‘Wait, how did you find out all that?’ May asked.

‘We’re on a boat,’ said Bryant as if it was obvious. ‘My hearing aid flattens out all sound, so I can hear several conversations at once. Mrs Beaumont is broke. She needs to get her hands on the tapestry because she has a buyer lined up in London. The vicar is probably on the scrounge for a donation to his mission. If Demir Kahraman had simply wanted to thank us he could have sent us a hamper or something. Instead he gets to put up a couple of old farts—’

‘Speak for yourself!’

‘—on his nice boat for a week. And I don’t trust that Ymir, either; he’s got the build of a bodyguard.’ Bryant packed away his mosquito spray. ‘Right, let’s go up to dinner. The last thing I ate was an easyJet sandwich. It was so bland I ate part of the cardboard wrapper without noticing.’

With the setting of the sun, the sea had deepened to sumptuous, glowing shades of emerald. A few other yachts were moored nearby, dotting the edges of the lush coastline. No lights showed in the hills and cliffs. The night was so still that the stars were reflected in the ocean. It was impossible not to relax in such an atmosphere of placidity.

The chef prepared dinner on a wood-fired barbecue clipped to the side of the yacht’s railing. On the table were courgette flowers stuffed with minted halloumi, pilafs and koftas, dolmades, baked sardines, tabbouleh, hummus and chicken skewers. The centrepiece was a grilled octopus, its tentacles separated.

Bryant whistled. ‘It looks like everybody gets a leg.’

Demir Kahraman was the perfect host, making sure that his wife and daughter were split among the other guests around the table. Nevriye and Yosun were natural conversationalists, and May loved being seated between two such charming women.

Alcohol loosened everyone’s tongues. The Rev. Charles Parsley had already caught the sun and was turning blotchy. He was the only one the mosquitos seemed to bother with, and irritably batted them away from his face.

‘This isn’t your natural habitat, then?’ Bryant ventured.

The reverend brushed at his right ear, distracted. ‘What? No, not at all. I have a parish in Winchester. But we’re required to visit outposts from time to time. I’ll only be staying for a few weeks.’ He looked as if he was already thinking about his trip home.

Mrs Beaumont seemed on edge and uncomfortable. ‘We’re making a stop tomorrow morning, is that correct?’ she asked the captain.

‘That’s so, madam. We always stop there.’

‘It’s a funny little place,’ said Yosun Kahraman, ‘so small that it has no name. We’ll be making several stops over the next few days. It’s easier to collect mail and fresh vegetables from these little landing points than in Bodrum.’

As his partner joked easily with the ladies, Bryant narrowed his eyes and studied the group. The guests helped themselves to food and wine, and the atmosphere grew more relaxed. There was so little breeze that the candles on the table burned in perfect unflickering teardrops.

But Bryant was puzzled. There was a tension at work he could not see, only sense. Something felt out of kilter. Occasionally he caught what he thought was a strange look, a covert glance, a quickly changed expression – and then it was gone.

The chef served pastries, and a tray of after-dinner liqueurs appeared. Nevriye played the guitar, singing sweetly and softly. Demir talked admiringly of his wife’s recent appearance in a Turkish romantic comedy, then moved on to discussing the worsening political situation in his homeland. He talked about the difficulty of doing business in a country of increasingly authoritarian excesses, and seemed genuinely worried until his daughter stroked his shoulder, calming him.

As the others prepared for bed, Bryant and May sat at the bow drinking thick Turkish coffee. ‘You know why I think we’ve been invited?’ said Bryant. ‘To keep an eye on things. Yes, Mr Kahraman wanted to thank us, but we’re his insurance.’

‘Insurance against what?’ asked May.

‘Not what, whom,’ Bryant replied, rising unsteadily. ‘Well, they’re safely off to bed and so am I. I just hope I’m wrong.’

The next two days passed in a haze of sun, swimming and seafood as the Kahramans’ yacht docked at tiny coastal towns and deserted beaches along the rocky coast. At one stop the ladies went ashore to look at fabrics and jewellery while the men found a blue and white bar overlooking the sea. Ymir collected mail for his boss. Bryant bought a wholly preposterous hat. May tanned and read a week-old copy of
The Times
. The Reverend Parsley flapped a handkerchief around his scarlet face and complained about being hot, as if it was the last thing he had expected from a country like Turkey. Demir Kahraman strode along the jetty barking into his phone. The ladies arrived laden with bags and ordered lemonades.

Nevriye tipped back her chair and dozed. Her mother read mail, started a book and slowly fell asleep. Mrs Beaumont wrote letters home and stared out to sea, lost in thought. Bryant marvelled at the effect of the sun on everyone. He did not fall asleep.

Ymir arrived with the tender and they headed back to the boat for lunch. The chef had laid out a dazzling meze with a whole glazed salmon as its centrepiece. The desserts were just being cleared away when Yosun Kahraman clutched her forehead and called her daughter over.

‘I’ll take Mum down to her cabin,’ said Nevriye, ‘she’s not feeling well.’

‘It’s probably just the heat,’ said Mrs Kahraman as she was helped to her feet. ‘I’ll be fine after a nap.’

The captain turned on the air conditioning below deck, and the yacht drifted in the hazy heat of the afternoon.

An hour later, Demir Kahraman went to check on his wife, and found her seriously ill.

His initial shock was followed by an urgent demand to fetch a doctor, who arrived by tender and diagnosed a very bad case of food poisoning. Mrs Kahraman would have to be taken to hospital at once. Luckily there was a well-equipped clinic just over the next hill.

Demir went with his wife. When he returned two hours later, he was able to announce that his beloved Yosun’s condition was serious but stable. She would have to stay in hospital until the cause of the illness could be ascertained and reversed. Demir summoned the chef and asked him to explain himself. Raci described the ingredients of the lunchtime feast in great detail, and insisted that there was nothing unusual in any of the dishes. ‘Besides, you all ate everything that Mrs Kahraman ate,’ he pointed out with great indignation.

‘Then why is my wife now in a hospital bed?’ shouted Demir.

‘I say, look here, making accusations won’t solve anything,’ said Parsley. As the recriminations continued, the detectives shot each other a look and slipped below deck to Mrs Kahraman’s cabin.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ asked May as his partner began ransacking drawers.

‘I’m taking a quick shufti,’ said Bryant. ‘Have a look around for pills or anything else she could have swallowed.’

‘The doctor said food poisoning.’ May snatched a bottle of aspirin out of his partner’s hand and set it down.

‘Poison is poison. It just means she ingested something,’ Bryant insisted. ‘What are these?’ He opened a packet of pills and pulled out several silver foil sheets so that May could inspect them.

‘They’re statins, for high cholesterol. Tamper-proof packs. Put them back.’

‘You heard the chef. She ate the same as everyone else. Now, either she took something that acted in combination with her food, or she was fed something separate and harmful, either knowingly or unknowingly.’

‘Are you suggesting that someone on this boat deliberately set out to poison her?’ asked May. ‘Because that would be the most preposterous—’

But Bryant wasn’t listening. ‘They went ashore and separated. We need to question everyone.’

‘You can’t do that, Arthur! We’re guests on a yacht, not working out of King’s Cross. If we do we’ll upset Demir.’

‘And if we don’t his wife could die,’ said Bryant.

They started with Raci the chef, who enumerated every ingredient in his cooking and presented every unwashed wine glass for inspection.

‘She drank some iced water,’ May pointed out. ‘Is it possible she contracted a bug that way?’

‘All of our ice is made with bottled water,’ the chef explained, ‘but in general Turkish tap water is fine to drink – it just doesn’t taste very nice.’

The captain and Ymir also tried to help as best they could, but no new light was shed on how Yosun Kahraman had become so seriously ill.

The Reverend Charles Parsley was uninterested in the whole affair. Several times he mentioned that he urgently needed to reach his mission and would probably have to take a taxi now, which would prove ruinously expensive. He was obviously regretting having persuaded Demir to take him along the coast. As for Demir’s wife, it was a terrible shame, of course, but he would pray for her recovery.

Jane Beaumont was more solicitous, in her unyielding county way. She had been seated opposite Yosun during her meal and had not seen her eat or drink anything unusual.

‘What about on your shopping expedition?’ asked Bryant.

‘Ymir went to collect mail from the post office, Mrs Kahraman and I went to look at cushions and some supposedly antique brassware that turned out to be nothing of the sort, and her daughter went to a T-shirt shop. Then we met up again and all came back on board.’

‘And lunch was called when?’

‘About half an hour after that.’

‘Hghm,’ Bryant grunted.

May knew that sound and it worried him. It meant that his partner had just stored some information away, but he could not imagine what it was.

Nevriye and her father sat together. ‘I know it seems rather impertinent to ask questions while you’re worrying about Mrs Kahraman,’ May began, ‘but the more you can tell us about your wife, the more we may be able to help her. She’s a highly respected actress, which means that certain obsessive fans may regard her as public property. Has she ever had any trouble from them?’

Demir looked at his daughter, who shook her head. ‘No, we don’t think so. She adores her fans. She always says she couldn’t live without them. Nobody has any reason to hate her, nobody in the world. This has to be an accident or a terrible mistake.’

‘And in your business, have you any enemies?’

‘I export furniture, Mr May,’ said Demir. ‘It is not the kind of profession that makes enemies of people.’

In the evening, the family headed to Yosun Kahraman’s bedside and spoke to the doctor. They returned with heavy hearts. Mrs Kahraman’s condition had worsened. The doctor warned that if he could not find out the cause of her ailment he would not be able to treat her properly.

Once again the detectives sat on the deck after everyone else had gone to bed, and discussed the problem. ‘Well, it looks like you were wrong,’ said May. ‘Ymir isn’t here as a bodyguard, and we weren’t invited in a professional capacity. You don’t suppose this has anything to do with the daughter, do you? After all, we did get her boyfriend jailed.’

‘The dealer in fake Anatolian kilims?’ Bryant considered the point. ‘I wonder if he’s out of Wandsworth yet.’

‘It would help if I could get a Wi-Fi signal,’ said May, checking his phone for the zillionth time.

‘If it was the boyfriend, surely he’d have gone after Nevriye?’ said Bryant. ‘After all, it was she who came to us for help and told us of her suspicions. He must know that.’