W
HEN HÜSEYIN WANDERED
down to the beach very early the following morning, he knew there was no point in unstacking the sunbeds. In spite of the news that the Turks had agreed on a ceasefire, the area in front of The Sunrise was deserted. Or almost.
There was one person in the otherwise empty landscape. It was Frau Bruchmeyer taking her usual early-morning swim. The water was particularly still and flat that day, and he could see her effortlessly lapping her way across its glassy surface.
Eventually she stood and waded the last few yards on to the beach, where she picked up her towel. It was like any other morning.
‘
Günaydın
,’ said Frau Bruchmeyer. ‘Good morning.’
Every time she greeted him, Hüseyin was touched by the fact that she had learned a little of his language.
‘
Günaydın
,’ he replied.
He sat on the sand and gazed out at the view. Close by, he knew that thousands of Turkish Cypriots were effectively trapped within the walled city. He wondered whether Ali was somewhere in that vicinity or if he had gone further afield. Everything seemed so calm, perhaps more peaceful than ever with the lack of traffic and absence of people. He lay on his back to gaze up at the sky and closed his eyes. The gentle lapping of water on the sand lulled him and he began to doze.
His slumber was short-lived. A low roaring sound stirred him, and as he opened his eyes, a huge shadow passed right overhead. The plane was low enough for him almost to see the pilot. Its markings told him that it was a Turkish fighter. Hüseyin stood up. A moment later there was a loud crack. With complete disbelief, he saw the side of a nearby hotel collapse. A sandcastle would not have crumbled so swiftly.
The ceasefire agreement had been violated after only a few hours. The Turks were still carrying out air attacks. Famagusta itself had become their target.
Savvas was in his office at the building site, calculating how much the disruption to the construction work had already cost him, when the bomb tore apart the ten-storey tower close by. It was much nearer to The New Paradise Beach than to The Sunrise, and the mighty
boom
was a thousand times louder than the most powerful lightning strike he had ever heard. When he ran outside and on to the beach, he could see the flames glowing inside the building from the ground floor to the roof. Most of the windows had been blown out in the explosion.
People had emerged from their homes and a few from cafés and shops. Like Savvas, they could not believe their eyes. This simply could not be happening.
The Turkish aircraft had passed over, but nevertheless the danger was still present, and after a few minutes everyone came to their senses. It was quite possible that the planes would return. Having scored a direct hit, they might be encouraged.
Savvas needed to get to The Sunrise. He returned to lock up his office and hastened on foot along the beach. It seemed unlikely that the Turks would drop bombs into the sea, so it felt the safest route.
Usually at this time the foyer was busy. A row of four men would be standing behind the reception desk, uniformed porters would be waiting to ferry luggage and a doorman would be alert to arrivals. Several maids would be dusting the leaves of the enormous pot plants. There would be a steady flow of people coming and going, and outside, to the right of the main entrance, the terrace bar would be full, its elegant striped awning protecting clients from the sun.
Today, there was only one person in the entire space. Costas Frangos was behind the desk, scanning the huge ledger that recorded the names of guests. He looked up to acknowledge Savvas.
‘I think we’re empty,’ he said. ‘As far as I can be sure, all the guests are gone.’
‘Were all the payments settled?’
‘Not all of them.’
‘You mean …?’
‘The only thing people were interested in was getting out of here.’
‘Didn’t you give them their bills?’
‘Kyrie Papacosta, it was chaos here. I had them all prepared, but everyone just wanted to leave.’
‘They were checking out, though, weren’t they?’
Savvas folded his arms while he waited for an answer. It was enough to express his dissatisfaction.
‘Some of them just threw their keys on to the desk and left. One of the chambermaids told me there are things left in almost every room. I am sure people will be back to collect them and pay what they owe.’
Frangos shut the ledger, hung two room keys on the hooks behind him, lifted the flap of the reception desk and came out into the foyer.
Markos appeared. He looked calm enough. For a few hours he had helped organise the departure of the guests.
‘Everyone has gone,’ stated Savvas, with utter dismay.
‘Not quite,’ said Markos. ‘Frau Bruchmeyer is still here. I’ve put her down in the nightclub. It’s below ground, so she is safe enough there.’
‘She didn’t want to leave?’
‘No. She has no intention of doing so.’
‘Well, this place was built to last,’ said Savvas proudly. ‘It’ll take more than a Turkish bomb to bring it down.’
‘I hope you’re right …’
‘My wife,’ said Savvas, as an afterthought. ‘Have you seen her?’
‘No, not today,’ Markos replied honestly.
Before leaving, Savvas had another word with Costas Frangos.
‘Can you make sure we keep a skeleton staff? I think we should assume that it will only be a matter of time before this is over – and I don’t want to find we haven’t got the manpower to reopen.’
‘But so many have gone to fight …’
Before Frangos had finished his sentence, Savvas had turned away and marched out of the hotel.
He retraced his steps along the beach to his office. The phones were not working again, so he quickly drove home so that he could tell his wife what was happening.
Inside the apartment, Aphroditi had listened to the radio and heard news of the ceasefire. The roar of the air-conditioning meant she had been oblivious to the latest developments.
In her hand was the pearl. She played with it in her fingertips and rolled it in her palm, admiring its small beauty. From time to time she glanced out of the window and observed how the buildings down the street seemed to shimmer. The afternoon heat was searing, melting the tarmac, almost bending street signs, and most people would be indoors now trying to escape it.
She looked up into the mirror and gazed at her own reflection. She had idled away almost an entire morning, and though her hair was a little ill-kempt, her eyes had been accentuated with liner.
Inside her apartment and completely buried in her own thoughts, she heard neither the rumble of low-flying aircraft passing over the building nor the sound of the front door opening and shutting. Even a man’s voice shouting out her name failed to rouse her.
It was only when she caught sight of a movement in the dressing table mirror that she turned around. Her hand closed around the pearl.
‘Aphroditi!’
‘What’s happened, Savvas?’
‘Didn’t you
hear
? Are you
deaf
?’ There was unmistakable annoyance in her husband’s voice. ‘You mean you weren’t aware of the
explosion
?’
‘No! Where? What’s happened?’
‘Turkish planes. They’re bombing Famagusta!’
Aphroditi stood up to face her husband.
‘We need to go to The Sunrise. Even if it gets hit, we’ll be safe in the basement.’
Aphroditi furtively opened a drawer to replace the pearl, then grabbed her bag and followed Savvas out.
The streets were empty of traffic, so within a few minutes they were at the hotel. Just before they went inside, they heard a series of deafening bangs. This time the target was a hotel that was being used by the National Guard to attack the old walled city, an area of Famagusta that continued to be held by the Turkish Cypriots.
‘Go downstairs,’ ordered Savvas.
The last time she had been in the Clair de Lune already seemed an age ago. There was only one thing that mattered. Would Markos be there? She went down the semi-lit staircase and opened the door. The place looked tawdry with all the lighting turned up and the purple velvet seemed sleazy rather than glamorous.
Sitting alone on a banquette by the stage was Frau Bruchmeyer. The elderly woman looked up and smiled.
‘Frau Bruchmeyer! What a lovely surprise!’ said Aphroditi.
At the same moment Markos appeared through the other door.
‘Ladies!’ he said. ‘My two favourite ladies! All to myself!’
Aphroditi sat down. Her heart was pounding. What she felt lay between pleasure and pain.
‘Markos.’ Even to say his name made her spine tingle.
‘So, what can I get you to drink? They’re on the house.’
His light-heartedness was inappropriate given the events happening beyond the walls of this room, and yet both women were delighted by it. What could any of them do? Everything going on outside was entirely out of their control.
The three of them drank whisky, clinking glasses before they took the first sip.
‘
Stin yeia sou!
’ said Markos, holding Aphroditi’s eyes with his own, before turning to Frau Bruchmeyer to do the same.
‘
Stin yeia sou!
’ he repeated.
‘I have something in my handbag,’ said Frau Bruchmeyer. ‘They might come in handy if we’re here for long.’
She produced a pack of cards, and when Markos left, the two women began to play. Time had no meaning in a room without windows. Perhaps the sun had set and risen again.
Every so often Markos returned, bringing dishes of food from the kitchen. One chef remained there on duty, obliged by the terms of his contract, which did not allow provision for an airstrike, and the fridges were still well stocked with enough fresh ingredients to feed a thousand people.
There was a sound system in the nightclub, and Markos put some records on for them. Over the next few days they worked their way through hours of jazz and blues, plenty of Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday and Ray Charles, all Clair de Lune favourites. For Frau Bruchmeyer, Markos played the complete works of Frank Sinatra.
‘If there was ever a man I would marry …’ she said, her eyes sparkling, ‘it would be old
blau ice
.’
Aphroditi giggled at the pronunciation.
‘Blue eyes,’ she repeated, in her perfect English. The whisky helped their good humour, and as the hours, and then days, went by, they felt less and less connected with the world. They were free to leave their purple prison, but there was nowhere safer to go, and nowhere else they wished to be.
Markos continually came and went from the Clair de Lune, usually taking a package from the safe. Between times, he would go home and spend time with his parents. The outskirts of town were safe enough.
The women always asked him for any news of what was happening outside, and his response remained cheerful.
‘It’s quiet at the moment, but you’re safer down here for the time being.’
When Markos was in the room with them, nothing taking place outside it really mattered to Aphroditi. He flirted with Frau Bruchmeyer in such a way that her eyes sparkled more gaily than her diamonds, but Aphroditi was sure that the smiles he gave her were different. Whenever he could, he touched her hand or arm, casually, fleetingly, but never accidentally.
Together, in this space meant for night-time, she felt the irresponsible pleasure of being removed from the world. There was nothing she could do to affect the actions of soldiers or politicians, and she believed that her moments of intimacy with Markos bound her more tightly to him than anything that had gone before.
Markos had always left before Savvas arrived at the Clair de Lune to sleep.
When he came, he immediately stretched himself out on one of the banquettes and the music had to be turned off. For several hours the women had to keep silent. Savvas’ nerves were frayed, his mood dark. During the past few days the Turks had destroyed several more hotels.
In spite of everything, Savvas wanted to believe that this was a hiatus, after which business would continue as usual. Meanwhile, he was feeling angry and frustrated that the days were passing without a solution. The current crisis
had
to be resolved by the politicians. There was too much at stake for everyone. It was July, the peak of the season, and in business terms it was a disaster that The Sunrise was empty and the opening of The New Paradise Beach might be delayed.
Its exterior was nearing completion. All the windows were now in place. They reflected the sky like a mirror, and when the sun rose, it was as if the whole building was on fire. The futuristic design was coming to life, and Savvas was confident it would take Famagusta into a new era.
The huge gleaming tower was an easy target for Turkish planes. Early one morning, they neatly dropped several bombs on to the roof. Moments later they exploded, blasting a huge space through the centre of the building and shattering every window. A fire ripped through the ruins. By the time Savvas reached the site, it looked as if both skin and flesh had been stripped off a body and only the skeleton remained, twisted and charred.
The ghostly figure of Savvas appeared back at the Clair de Lune that afternoon, his face and hair white with dust.
‘It’s a catastrophe …’ he whispered to Aphroditi. ‘Everything. Everything I’ve been working for.’
Aphroditi had never seen a man cry. Even when her brother died, her father’s tears were wept in private.
This was a different kind of grief. It was fuelled by anger.
She tried to comfort him, but the words sounded hollow.
‘We can rebuild it, Savvas …’
‘You wouldn’t say that if you had seen what’s happened up there!’ he shouted. ‘We’re finished!
Ruined!
’
W
HILE SAVVAS’ ATTENTION
was entirely focused on his own patch of the city, Markos brought news that stretched well beyond Famagusta. In Athens, the debacle caused by the Greek-backed military coup in Cyprus had triggered the collapse of the junta itself. After seven years of military dictatorship, democracy was restored. In Greece, this meant the return from exile of former prime minister Constantine Karamanlis. In Cyprus, Sampson had resigned when the Turkish army invaded, and a new president, Glafkos Clerides, was sworn in.