by Defne Suman
‘Come, ladies, signore, the filling for the pies has been prepared. Bring your pans of dough over here.’
*
It was a cold and crystal-clear night in Bournabat. The Thomas-Cook mansion was lit up from top to bottom. Thanks to the generators which Edward had bought in emulation of the grand hotels on the quay, the ballroom was as bright as day, dazzling the eyes of the guests coming in from the velvet darkness of the night. Everyone was talking about the flood of light cast by the chandeliers across the ballroom. Even those guests who were accustomed to attending balls at the grand hotels could not resist praising the electric lighting at the mansion. Edward rejoiced in their compliments like a little boy, swaggering as if he had indeed accomplished a great job.
Pink, yellow and purple lanterns had been hung in all the trees between the garden gate and the mansion to light the road for the guests. A stream of carriages rolled through the heavy iron gate with its HTC monogram, all of them drawn by glossy and immaculately groomed horses. At the clean, white-gravelled entrance to the marble-columned residence, with light streaming from the windows, valets assisted the guests to alight from their carriages and ascend the stairs. The women, their bosoms revealed in low-cut gowns, their arms wrapped in furs, knew how to appear reluctant to leave their carriages and go up the marble stairs. From the opened door of the carriage, first the toe of a high-heeled slipper would appear, followed by a leg escaped from chiffon and silk, then a gloved hand adorned with a mischievously winking diamond ring. It was only when the tuxedoed gentlemen smoking their pipes beside the marble columns had turned their attention to the carriage door, held open by the valet, that the lady would display herself fully in her many-layered ball gown.
Seeing Avinash and Edith at the ballroom door, Edward came to their side in a few strides of his long legs. He wore the overly wide smile that appeared whenever he saw Avinash.
‘Welcome, my dear Edith mou. Monsieur Pillai. What an honour to see you here.’ Reaching out, he kissed Edith’s sparkling hand.
‘We’re pleased to be here, Edward. You look very handsome.’
‘It is I who should be saying that. Dear Edith, you get more beautiful as the years pass. Are you stealing the elixir of youth from witches, or what?’ He turned and flashed Avinash a theatrical smile.
Edith looked around the ballroom filled with deliciously scented women wearing gowns with colourful trains and officers with multiple epaulettes. Edward’s mother, Helene Thomas-Cook, had settled herself like a queen in an armchair on a raised platform at the furthest corner of the room. If with her hawk eyes she recognized Edith, she pretended not to have seen her. She held this spoiled daughter of the neighbours responsible for her son’s demise.
‘Joking aside, how do you like my new style? Did I tell you I just returned from America last month?’
‘You must have brought your hairstyle from there.’
With the tips of his fingers Edward touched his hair, which had been slicked back and polished with lemon-scented pomade. Leaning towards Edith, he whispered, as if imparting a secret, ‘It’s a Valentino cut.’
‘Very impressive.’
‘But see here,’ he said, waving a hand. ‘Let me show you something even more impressive.’
A girl with a tray hung around her neck containing different brands of cigarettes appeared beside them. She was wearing a black satin dress with a skirt that barely reached her knees and was clearly ashamed to be showing her bare legs. So as not to embarrass the girl even more, Avinash turned towards the dance floor, where the orchestra was situated.
Edward plucked a packet of cigarettes from the girl’s tray and offered them to his guests, grinning like a naughty child. ‘How do you like that? Mother was very resistant to my cigarette girl idea, but it’s not so bad, is it? It introduces a bit of American atmosphere to this antiquated mansion. We cut the girls’ hair too, as you can see. Would you believe it, Edith mou, there’s not a head in America now with long hair. Our girls are keeping up with the fashion, which is good. It’s better, isn’t it, Riri mou?’
The girl raised her hand self-consciously to the back of her neck, seemingly as ashamed of her exposed neck as she was of her bare legs. She was clearly keen to disappear as quickly as she could; when Edward gestured that she could go, she hurried to the stair landing where the other servants were standing.
After lighting Avinash’s cigarette, Edward pointed out two black musicians in the orchestra. ‘I met them in a speakeasy in Charleston. Next year our ships will come from Virginia, it’s all settled. These men play fantastic music – unbelievable. When you hear them, you’ll see what I mean. I put them on a ship and brought them here just for this ball. The real show will begin after Mother dear goes to bed. Wait and see.’
Edward was in fine form tonight, as he was at every ball. He wore a grey-striped suit over his white shirt and starched collar, with a silk handkerchief the same burgundy colour as his cravat in the pocket of his jacket. His copper-coloured moustache shone like a narrow bow above his thin lips and from his immaculately shaved skin rose the scent of top-quality lavender and lemon. His cheeks, which had begun to look slightly drawn, were flushed as red as apples and his small blue eyes were starting to sting and go red from all the gin cocktails he’d drunk.
‘With your permission, Edward, we will go and greet your mother,’ said Avinash.
Edith and Edward looked at each other and rolled their eyes like two disobedient children. If Edith had come there alone, she would have spent the entire night avoiding Helene Thomas-Cook, but Avinash did not appreciate the spoiled-little-girl attitude she adopted among these people in whose neighbourhood she had been born and raised. Arm in arm, they passed through the ballroom until they reached the throne on which their hostess had established herself.
Helene Thomas-Cook had been the matriarch of the family for almost thirty years. Her husband had died at a young age of a shameful illness no one wanted to mention. No doubt he’d caught it at one of the Greek taverns that Edward now frequented. Fortunately, following the birth of her youngest daughter, who was disabled, Helene had moved into a bedroom separate from that of her husband, which was why she’d lived to the age she was now. Two of her three sons had married and brought their wives to live in the mansion, but for some reason neither of the daughters-in-law had produced grandchildren. Her youngest son, Edward, who was leaning on the ladder of thirty-five, was still only interested in debauchery, sailing boat races, and socializing with every class of women in the city, from the most noble to the cheapest. All of this had turned Helene Thomas-Cook into a grumpy old woman.
Avinash bowed to their hostess and kissed her hand, its white skin speckled with brown age spots. Edith immediately understood, from the fleeting expression of disgust on her face, that she wasn’t at all pleased to have an Indian man as a guest at her ball. Although it was no longer a secret that Avinash worked for the British Empire, in the eyes of Helene Thomas-Cook he was still an Indian man and a simple gemstone merchant. Sensing that she was being observed, she turned her eyes on Edith.
Edith, biting her lip to stop herself from laughing, was about to greet the old woman with a nod of her head when a voice in her ear hissed, ‘Go and shake the hand of your hostess and thank her for inviting you to such a delightful ball.’
Edith would have recognized that cinnamon-scented breath on her neck anywhere. Without giving her a chance to speak, Juliette Lamarck caught her daughter by the arm and sashayed up to Helene Thomas-Cook as if she were presenting her twelve-year-old girl to the queen. Taking the hand which Avinash had kissed moments earlier into her own palms, Juliette spoke in exaggerated English.
‘Lady Thomas-Cook, how lovely you look, my dear. And what a splendid ball! Definitely equal in elegance and service to last year’s. In one word, it is perfect! Magnifique! As you see, Edith is also here. This year she has decided to leave aside her solitude and honour us with her presence. Furthermore, she has promised to help us with the charity event we
are planning on Sunday for the Bayrakli Orphanage. Isn’t that right, darling?’
Edith glared at her mother. Juliette was an expert at pressing people into service, giving them no choice. With a fake smile showing all her pearly teeth, Juliette turned and inclined her head towards their hostess. Edith murmured, ‘How are you, Mrs Thomas-Cook? Thank you for the invitation.’
Although her mother had released her arm, Edith still felt Juliette’s fingernails in her flesh. She hadn’t even heard of the charity event for the orphanage. It infuriated her when her mother made decisions in her name, without even asking if she was available; she acted as if Edith was either incapable of managing her own life, even though she had lived alone for years, or lived a life that was insignificant and worthless. Turning, Edith glanced over at the rooms in the back, screened off behind purple velvet curtains. It was in those dimly lit rooms that guests from London were usually invited by specially employed Levantine girls to partake of a pipe for the ‘complete oriental experience’. She decided to seek them out herself as soon as she could.
The orchestra began to play a waltz. After kissing Juliette’s hand, Avinash put his arm around Edith’s waist and led her to the dance platform, which was shining in the pool of light from three giant crystal chandeliers. Heads swivelled in their direction. Although they had been appearing at gatherings together for many years now, Edith and Avinash were still a gossip-worthy couple.
Helene Thomas-Cook smiled triumphantly from her throne. Juliette, pressing her thin lips together, took leave of her hostess and walked away. She did not get as much pleasure from this kind of society entertainment as she once did. Her elder son, Charles, had taken his family and moved to his wife’s country, Holland. Her elder daughter, Anna, thanks to the children she’d had one after the other, had turned into a brood cow. Although she lived in a residence in Boudja that was like a small palace, she looked after her children herself, like a village woman, and also took on the cooking. Edith, graced with beauty and elegance, could have been the child who stayed by her side at parties, but she veered from one scandal to another.
All at once Juliette felt very tired. She looked around for Jean-Pierre and Marie. Her younger son and his wife always took her under their wing at parties like this. Unable to spot them, she gathered up the skirts of the red silk gown she’d worn in defiance of her years and made her way over to Edward’s side. Party boy Edward would find a way to include her in a group of his guests.
Edward had loosened his collar studs. His shining eyes were following the van Dijk daughter, Anika, who had recently returned from Amsterdam where she was studying. There it was. Edward was no less mired in scandal than Edith, but people had stopped gossiping about him years ago, even though he was a grown man, and, unlike his brothers, had not even deigned to try and get involved in the family business. He loved to take young girls on his lap in the Greek taverns. He also frequented the Hiotika houses, and every time he went to the Hiotika district he brought necklaces and bracelets for a tiny little girl there with almond-shaped eyes and white skin. The girl even had crooked teeth. And yet this was not discussed at every opportunity, unlike Edith’s love life, which from the beginning had been a topic of mystified fascination.
Juliette took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, stuck a smile on her face and lifted a glass of champagne from the silver tray being proffered by a waiter wearing a red uniform with gilded epaulettes. She could still feel the hostess’s hawk-like eyes upon her. If only, at this advanced age, they could stop competing with each other over their children and instead have sincere chats befitting their status as next-door neighbours of forty years’ standing.
As soon as Helene Thomas-Cook had taken leave of her guests and retired to her rooms after the meal, Edward gave the orchestra he’d brought over from America a sign. Edith had given Avinash the slip and disappeared into one of the dimly lit back rooms. As the clock neared midnight, the orchestra really warmed up. The American girls from Paradiso began a dance the like of which no one had even seen before. Paying no attention to the bewildered crowd gathered around the dance platform, they were shaking their milk-white legs out from beneath their short skirts.
‘Is this a dance?’ Juliette muttered. ‘They’re just showing off their legs, like cheap nightclub girls in Paris.’
To one side of her was Edward, and on her other side was Avinash, busy scanning the ballroom for Edith. Edward was in high spirits. What a good idea it had been to bring the two musicians over from America. They were the only ones able to hold that rhythm. This ball would definitely be talked about for years to come.
He threw his champagne back in one gulp and shook his head. ‘I think it’s marvellous! Just look, Madame Lamarck, how freely they are enjoying themselves. I wish I knew a few steps – I’d jump in with no hesitation.’
He had begun his sentence in English, finished it in Greek. Juliette grumbled her reply in French. ‘There are no steps to learn, Edward, mon cher. You just shake your leg like a kicking horse. They must have shortened their skirts for this dance – and no hint of an underskirt. What do you say, Monsieur Pillai?’
While Avinash was thinking of an appropriate reply, the deep purple curtain behind the orchestra opened slightly and Edith appeared. Her pearl necklace was awry and she had a hand over her face as if shielding her swollen eyes from the glare of the chandeliers. She looked like a lost child. Avinash, weary of the people around him jumping from one language to another in the middle of a sentence, quickly crossed the dance platform, took her arm, and led her to the corner where her mother and Edward were.
‘Edith, are you all right, dear? Kala ise?’
Edith escaped from Avinash’s arm and stood swaying in front of Edward. Juliette was watching her daughter anxiously. She turned to Avinash as if asking him for help. She did not approve of her daughter’s scandalous relationship with this exotic spy, of course, but if one fell into the sea, one would embrace a snake. Avinash opened his arms wide in helplessness.
‘Edward,’ Edith shouted, trying to make herself heard above the orchestra, ‘where did you find such men, able to play like this? Bravo!’
Edward was drunk. Without taking his eyes off Edith’s face, he grabbed her arm. ‘Come on, Edith mou. Let’s try it!’
Edith’s face lit up like a child’s. She drank down the champagne she’d snatched from a tray as she’d passed through the room on Avinash’s arm and thrust the empty glass into Avinash’s hand.
‘Edith, darling, how many glasses have you had already?’
‘Maman, you may ask Monsieur Pillai, if you wish. Undoubtedly he, like you, has been keeping count. Edward, darling, shall we?’
‘But of course, Madame Lamarck! We are still young,’ shouted Edward with his mouth to her ear. ‘Also, it is shameful to leave these girlies alone on the platform like circus animals. As their host, it is my duty to make them feel at ease.’
Saying this, he smiled at one of the girls whose hair was cut as short as a boy’s. When the girl came over and without hesitation pulled Edward up onto the platform, Juliette breathed a sigh of relief. Meanwhile Avinash had seated Edith on one of the velvet sofas in the back. What was wrong with those children?
Ten minutes later, the dance platform was filled with young people shaking their legs like kicking horses. Edward was throwing the American girls into the air and catching them. At five minutes to midnight, without letting go of the waist of the short-haired brunette, he grabbed another glass of champagne, pointedly avoided looking over at Edith, asleep in Avinash’s arms in a dark corner, and gulped it down. Keeping time with the wild rhythm of the orchestra, the guests began counting down.
On the sofa in the corner, Avinash had his arm around Edith’s waist and was stroking her back while keeping his eye on a group of men whose faces were flushed with alcohol. The group included some of Smyrna’s top businessmen, high-ranking officers of the British army and British Consulate officials.
A group of former Ottoman offi
cers had organized an army made up of armed gangs from Asia Minor, and under the command of Colonel Ismet they were preparing for their first battle. With Venizelos’s defeat in the Greek election the previous month, plans were now in disarray. Avinash knew for a fact that in the absence of Venizelos, pawn of Lloyd George, and the architect and leader of the Greater Greece Megali Idea, Britain’s support for Greece would dwindle and perhaps one day cease altogether.
News had spread that Mustafa Kemal had come to an agreement with the Bolsheviks, who would supply him with arms. The Italians had declared that they would support Turkey in revenge for Smyrna having been given to Greece despite having been promised to them. The Allied Powers were to meet in Paris at the end of the month to re-evaluate their plans and perhaps prepare for a conference which the rival governments of Ankara and Istanbul as well as representatives from Greece would attend. The possibility of making amendments to the Treaty of Sèvres that would be beneficial to Turkey was under consideration.
When the clock struck midnight, Edward, still not letting go of the short-haired brunette he was pressing to his chest, popped the cork of a bottle of champagne with his free hand. As high-spirited shouts rose from the ballroom, the crowd clustered around him, filled their elegant glasses with bubbling champagne, lifted them in unison towards the crystal chandelier, and clinked them merrily in the air. The American girls, champagne dripping from their hair, hugged each other, screaming and laughing. The carefree crowd in the Thomas-Cook ballroom embraced one another with cheerful abandon.
Edith, stretched out on the red sofa with her head on Avinash’s knees, had dozed off. She did not hear the countdown fanfare. A slither of a moon was about to top the mountains that were visible between the purple curtains framing the windows behind them. As he ran his fingers through the curls that had escaped Edith’s undone turban and were spread over his knees, Avinash’s heart was heavy with what he knew to be true. Closing his eyes, he thought of the two armies camped on the other side of the mountains, of the soldiers who had grown up together and were now lying under the same sky, dreaming the same dream. While they lay in their tents, the people in the floodlit ballroom of the Thomas-Cook residence were embracing each other amid laughter and mad music and greeting the new year in all the different languages spoken in their paradisal city. Hronia Polla! Bonne année! Buon anno! Hayirli seneler olsun! Pari gağant yev amanor! Happy New Year!
