‘India, come,’ said Kesi, and led her to the rear of the cave. They were joined by the other women, all giggling and chattering away with an air of freedom India had not seen within the caravan.
India was a bit bemused at first, especially as they encouraged her to undress, but she soon saw the purpose as another previously unseen pool unveiled itself in the gloom. Around this pool, India could see other women combing their wet hair, having obviously bathed in the water.
‘Really?’ asked India.
‘Yes, good,’ said Kesi in her broken English, ‘no men here, water good, India swim.’
India paused, feeling a bit self-conscious, but had to admit the thought of bathing was very enticing.
‘Oh well,’ she thought, ‘when in Rome…’
She discarded her clothing and stepped into the water, ignoring the stares of the other ladies. The temperature was freezing and as she walked into the water, the floor shelved sharply before falling away completely. Suddenly she lost her footing and any thought of decorum was instantly lost as she fell ungraciously forward and splashed heavily into the water. For a second she panicked as she realised she couldn’t reach the bottom with her feet but as soon as she caught her breath, she flipped onto her back and looked over to the group of women who were laughing hysterically. For a moment she was unsure how to react but then saw the funny side and started laughing herself, realising it must have looked very funny.
‘You could have told me,’ she called, raising even more laughter as Kesi translated.
India relaxed and swam gently around the pool, enjoying the same sparkling diamond light as the rest of the cavern. It was entrancing, but all too soon the cold temperature of the water forced her to leave and as she carefully left the pool behind, Kesi gave her a clean thawb.
‘That was lovely, Kesi,’ she said. ‘Do the men come down here as well?’
‘No men,’ said Kesi, ‘holy place.’
‘Good,’ said India, ‘they would spoil it.’
‘Yes,’ said Kesi, ‘men dirty.’
‘They are,’ laughed India, sharing the joke, and borrowed a hairbrush before joining the rest of the women who were enjoying this small bit of luxury amidst their hard existence. She paused and looked around. She was deep beneath the desert, bathing in a secret pool lit by glistening walls of sparkling candlelight.
‘You couldn’t make it up,’ she thought to herself, but as she glanced down at the hairbrush in her hand, the romantic effect was shattered as she read the inscription on the handle.
Vidal Sassoon, it said.
She smiled poignantly at the implication. Abbas had been right. Even down here, in this very, very special place, the ever-creeping tendrils of the western world extended their reach.
* * *
Brandon stared up at the private yacht before him. It was at least four storeys high to the top deck with various other levels including the bridge and radar decks even higher above those. It must have been close to seventy-five metres long and the whole thing was a stunning, highly polished jet black. All the windows and portholes were tinted and the whole effect, despite its size, was an elegant, sleek, seagoing vessel that screamed luxury to anyone lucky enough to see her.
The decks were busy with teams of staff cleaning every surface or loading stores from pallets brought by busy forklift trucks on the dockside. A polished mahogany walkway, suspended from glistening chrome rails, bridged the gap between yacht and quay and Brandon followed his guide aboard, still enthralled at the opulence of this extraordinary vessel. A smart young lady met him at the top alongside an old man of West Indian descent. Both were dressed in very smart, navy blue blazers and whilst he wore white trousers, she wore a pleated white skirt. Both had gleaming brass name badges on their breast pockets and the overall effect was similar to high-class airline stewards.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Walker,’ said the blonde lady. ‘Welcome aboard the Horus. My name is Helga and I will be looking after you during this voyage. This is Basil, your room steward. If there is anything you require, please see Basil in the first instance.’
Brandon shook her hand and watched as Basil took his suitcase.
‘This is some boat you have here, Helga,’ he said.
‘It is,’ agreed Helga, ‘and later on I will be delighted to show you around, but first we should get you settled in. I will show you to your cabin, where you can freshen up.’
‘Is Mr Hundar on board?’ asked Brandon.
‘Unfortunately, no. He has been called away on urgent business. However, he sends his regards and promises he will join us as soon as possible. If you come with me, I will be only too happy to answer any questions about the ship that you may have.’
‘And the trip?’
‘I’ll leave that to Mr Hundar.’
Helga led Brandon aft and up one flight of external stairs to a wooden deck circling the central structure. A row of tinted patio doors indicated a suite of guest rooms and as they approached, Basil slid one of them open from the inside.
‘After you,’ said Helga, and followed Brandon into his room.
The room was about the same size as a standard hotel room, but much classier. All the wood was highly polished walnut and any metal trim was gleaming brass work. The carpet seemed to be inches thick and a fifty-inch plasma television hung on the wall at the foot of a king size bed. An internal door led to a personal bathroom that was clad entirely in white marble and the walls boasted several original paintings that Brandon guessed were worth a fortune in themselves.
‘A bit rough,’ he said, ‘but it’ll do.’
Helga smiled a false smile at him.
‘I’m sure you will find everything you need here, Mr Walker. If not, please dial zero on the phone to call Basil, he will see to your every need.’
Brandon glanced at the phone alongside the bed.
‘Can I get an outside line on that thing?’ he asked.
‘In certain circumstances, yes,’ she said, ‘depending on the weather and the strength of the satellite signal. If you dial nine, you will connect to the bridge, where we will attempt to connect your call. Now, there are some things I need from you before I leave. First of all, I need your passport.’
‘Why?’
‘We will be travelling in international waters and I understand that there is a distinct possibility that we may dock in a foreign port. We can make all the arrangements from the bridge which will enable quick clearance, should it be required.’
‘Also, I can’t go far without my passport,’ answered Brandon.
‘I’m not sure what you mean, Mr Walker, but I assure you it will be returned to you as soon as it is necessary. Now, the other things I need are your measurements.’
‘My measurements?’
‘That’s an awfully small suitcase, Mr Walker, and whilst I am sure you are happy to travel light, I believe you may need some extra clothes.’
‘I am fine, thank you.’
‘Mr Walker, I am about to order you some clothes whether you want them or not. Now, I can guess your size and you will have to make do, or you can tell me exactly and have comfortable clothing. Please, swallow your pride and allow me to get you some things, otherwise you could be spending a long time in what little clothing you have in your case.’
Brandon paused before answering.
‘OK,’ he said, ‘but use my credit card.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Helga. ‘Mr Hundar extends this courtesy to all his guests.’
‘OK,’ he sighed. ‘Thirty-two-inch waist, forty-inch chest.’
‘Shoe size?’
‘Eleven.’
‘Thank you. That wasn’t so hard, was it?’
‘Don’t patronise me, Helga,’ said Brandon, ‘we both know I am here in somewhat strained circumstances. Let’s just do what needs to be done and we can all go home.’
‘This is my home, Mr Walker,’ she said. ‘Now, can I suggest you take a shower and put on a pair of shorts? You are ex
pected by the pool.’
‘This yacht has a pool?’ asked Brandon.
‘Of course,’ said Helga, ‘doesn’t yours?’ With that cutting comment, she left the room by the inner door, leaving Brandon alone with Basil.
‘That’s one feisty lady,’ said Brandon.
Basil beamed a massive, toothy smile at Brandon, before answering in a perfect English accent.
‘Yes, sir, she surely is.’
‘Anyway, Basil,’ said Brandon, holding out his hand, ‘my name is Brandon Walker. Please call me Brandon.’
‘Nice to meet you, Mr Walker,’ answered the steward, ignoring the request. ‘Welcome on board.’
‘Thank you. So, Basil, where are you from?’
‘My parents were originally from Jamaica, sir. They moved to England in the fifties when I was born.’
‘How did you end up here?’
‘I attended butler school in London during the early seventies and worked my way around the great families of England. A few years ago, I heard from a friend that a vacancy had arisen with Mr Hundar and the chance to work around the Mediterranean while I still had my health was too good to miss.’
‘I suppose the money is good too, huh?’
‘Fantastic,’ said Basil, flashing that huge grin again. ‘Mr Hundar is an excellent employer.’
‘So what’s the set-up here, Basil?’
‘It varies depending on the trip,’ answered Basil, ‘but usually there are three permanent crew, the captain, Miss Ellicott and myself.’
‘Miss Ellicott?’
‘Helga, sir. She is the boat manager and lives aboard. There is nothing she doesn’t know about this ship and has the full backing of Mr Hundar.’
‘A powerful woman then?’
‘Very powerful. In addition, there are the temporary crew who join us for any voyages. They include the deck hands, waitresses and, of course, the chef and the engineer. Now, if there isn’t anything else, I will go and help chef with dinner preparations. I believe Miss Cotter is waiting for you by the pool.’
‘Miss Cotter?’
‘Mr Hundar’s personal assistant,’ said Basil. ‘She is expecting you.’
‘Cheers, Basil,’ said Brandon. ‘Catch you later.’
The steward left the room and Brandon stripped to take a shower. When he emerged, he donned a pair of crumpled shorts and the one clean polo shirt he had left before making his way through the corridors to find the pool. Within minutes he stood against a handrail overlooking a small deck at the rear of the boat. Below him, a woman in her mid-thirties lay stretched out on a cushioned sunbed, wearing a yellow bikini that showed off her figure perfectly. He walked down the steps toward the pool.
‘Miss Cotter, I presume,’ he said as he approached.
‘Mr Walker,’ she answered, ‘good to meet you at last. My name is Diane Cotter, you can call me Diane.’ She didn’t get up but held her hand out to be shaken. Brandon wasn’t sure if he should shake it or kiss it, such was the state of elegance she exuded.
‘Please make yourself comfortable,’ she said, and indicated the sunbed alongside hers. She raised her hand and a young waitress appeared from nowhere with a tray holding a misted glass of ice cold beer. ‘I took the liberty of ordering for you. Is that OK?’
‘Perfect,’ he said and took the cold glass of amber liquid from the waitress.
‘So, Diane,’ he said, ‘this is all very nice, but I would really like to know about India.’
‘The country?’ asked Diane.
‘Very smart,’ said Brandon. ‘You know who I mean. If we are to get along, please level with me. Is India on board, and if so, when can I see her?’
‘Brandon,’ sighed Diane, putting her iced water on the table beside her sunbed, ‘I am Mr Hundar’s personal assistant. Most things come through me, but not everything. My job is to make the more mundane things happen on his behalf, things such as this boat trip. In this instance, I was told you would be joining us for a cruise that he asked to be organised at short notice.’
‘How short?’
‘I was told a few days ago. We will be casting off in a few hours and Mr Hundar will be joining us tomorrow along with your friend. More than that, I do not know.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘All the captain has been told is to head into the Mediterranean and we will have the final destination within days. There is nothing you can do to change the situation, so in the meantime, can I suggest you relax and enjoy the experience, at least until your friend arrives.’
Brandon sipped his beer and contemplated asking her a whole raft of questions, but he doubted she would tell him anything that Hundar didn’t wish him to know.
‘OK,’ he said, ‘I suppose I don’t have a choice. I’ll do as you say.’
‘Brandon,’ laughed Diane, ‘Look around you. You are on one of the most luxurious yachts on the Mediterranean. Is it really that onerous a task to enjoy yourself?’
Brandon looked around at the unashamed opulence surrounding him.
‘I’ve had worse days, I suppose,’ he said, and relaxed back into his own sun lounger.
The next two hours were shared between sunbathing and taking short dips in the deck pool. During that time, Brandon took the opportunity to get to know Diane better and though he knew that India’s life was in the hands of the man Diane called boss, he found her company enchanting. As a hostess, she certainly knew how to make someone feel welcome. Finally she stood up and Brandon gazed in admiration at her stunning figure.
‘You’ll have to excuse me,’ said Diane, ‘but if you need anything, please ask Basil or any of the staff you see around the yacht. I hope you don’t mind but dinner will be served in your room tonight, but tomorrow we will be dining with Mr Hundar. It’s been a very pleasant afternoon, Brandon, but I must leave you now, I have business to attend to.’
‘See you later,’ said Brandon and sat back to finish his beer. Fifteen minutes later he returned to his cabin and found Basil hanging up a range of new clothes in the cabin wardrobe.
‘Hi Basil, are all those for me?’
‘They are, sir,’ answered Basil. ‘I think they will fit but if not, I’m quite handy with a needle and cotton.’
‘I am sure you are,’ said Brandon.
‘When you want anything cleaned, sir, just leave it in the laundry basket. It will be collected by room service each morning and returned by seven each evening.’
‘Thank you, Basil. I have to admit Mr Hundar certainly knows how to look after his guests.’
‘He certainly does, sir. I will return at seven with your evening meal. Do you have any food allergies?’
‘No, I’m fine.’
‘Then I will see you later. Have a good evening.’
As he undressed for the shower, Brandon heard the rumble of the engines engage as the yacht prepared to leave and he took a few moments to stand out on the deck as the port of Istanbul disappeared gracefully into the distance.
‘Well, Brandon Walker,’ he said to himself, ‘I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into this time, but whatever it is, at least you’re going in style.’
* * *
India spent three more days travelling with the Saljik caravan and despite the circumstances, found herself growing closer to the people she travelled with. The women welcomed her into their close-knit circles and though the men’s stares made her feel slightly uncomfortable, they treated her with respect. Finally, one morning, she stepped out of her tent to find Abbas waiting for her.
‘Good morning, Miss Summers,’ he said.
‘Good morning, Abbas.’
‘I have asked Kesi to prepare some breakfast for you. Today we will be leaving the caravan so I suggest you say your goodbyes.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘Back to civilization. Please be ready within the hour.’
‘Certainly,’ said India, and watched Abbas walk away. Forty-five minutes later she had eaten, washed, changed into a clean thawb a
nd said her goodbyes to her new friends. Abbas approached carrying a satchel containing water and dried food.
‘I thought you said we were going back to civilisation,’ she said.
‘We are,’ answered Abbas, ‘but in the desert, we take no chances. If our transport should break down, this should see us through until I can find water.’
‘What transport?’ asked India.
Abbas looked up as the sound of an engine drifted to them on the wind.
‘I think you are about to find out for yourself,’ he said, and pointed to the Cessna aircraft approaching out of the clear morning sky.
* * *
Despite her eagerness to return to civilisation, India was sad to leave the new friends she had made and as the aircraft left the rocky plateau that formed its temporary runway, she looked down at the line of women and children waving their goodbyes far below.
‘So,’ she said eventually over her headset, ‘can you tell me where we are going now?’
‘I can’t,’ said Abbas, ‘as I don’t know myself, but the pilot will.’
‘I do indeed, ma’am,’ said the pilot in an American accent, ‘and I can tell you we are on our way to Cyprus.’
‘Why on earth are we going to Cyprus?’ asked India.
‘I don’t know,’ said Abbas, ‘at this point I am just as much in the dark as you. Something must have changed.’
‘Oh well,’ she said, ‘we may as well enjoy the flight.’ She looked down at the savage landscape rolling by beneath them and the further they flew, the more she realised just how dangerous this country could be to those who didn’t understand it. Finally she put her head back in the head rest and dozed off. Soon enough, they landed in Paphos International Airport and were ushered into a private room in the terminal building. Abbas produced India’s passport and handed it over, while whispering in her ear.
‘Don’t forget, Miss Summers, Mr Walker’s life lies in your hands. One word out of place and he will have enjoyed his last day on this earth.’
‘Thanks for reminding me,’ murmured India. The threat of violence was a sharp reminder of how dangerous this man was, and after a cursory inspection by a bored official, they were led away to another part of the terminal. A few more stamps in the passports and they walked out onto a different part of the airport. In front of them was a Bell helicopter, with the pilot sat at the controls going through his pre-flight checks. He wore a padded green coverall and a flight helmet along with the seemingly obligatory Ray-Ban sunglasses.
The Treasures of Suleiman Page 17
