Romantic Comedy Box Set (Helen Grey Series Books 1 & 2)

by Hodge, Sibel

  ‘This is fantastic!’ I lifted up my sunglasses to get a better look, taking in an ancient castle to the right and the flotillas, fishing boats, and luxury yachts in front, bobbing on the surface of the deep blue sea.

  Kalem pointed at the castle. ‘That’s Kyrenia Castle, another of the Crusader Castles in Cyprus. I’ll take you around there when we have more time.’

  I peered at it. ‘It looks very gothic.’

  ‘Inside they’ve got a Shipwreck Museum with the oldest shipwreck in the world in it,’ Kalem said.

  ‘What, the oldest shipwreck in a museum, or the oldest shipwreck in the sea?’ I asked, fascinated.

  Kalem smiled. ‘It’s one of the most remarkable marine finds in the world. It was a cargo ship, probably coming from one of the Greek islands, laden with large amphoras of wine. They discovered around four hundred amphoras still inside it.’

  ‘Amazing. What’s an amphora?’ I asked.

  ‘They are a type of ceramic vase with two handles that were used in ancient times to store liquids,’ Kalem said.

  ‘Was there still any wine left inside?’ Charlie asked. ‘Probably a bit off by now, though.’

  Well, this was certainly cosmopolitan. A perfect blend of old and new. The historic hulk of a castle framed the surrounding trendy bars and renovated harbour-side buildings. With the backdrop of mountains and the calm sea in front, it was, in fact, the prettiest harbour I’d ever seen.

  We lounged in some comfy chairs in one of the cafes, sipping iced coffee, as I surveyed my surroundings.

  Apart from being quaint, another thing I noticed was the lack of commercial worldwide franchises. No McDonalds or Burger Kings here. No Debenhams or John Lewis. And it was weird, but no one was rushing about. In the UK, everyone was always in a rush. Rush to work, rush home from work, rush to the gym, rush to the supermarket. Everyone worked so hard to pay the bills that life became one long stressful race to get things done. But here, it was like time had stopped. Tourists people-watched and chatted with waiters; old Cypriot men drank Turkish coffee and played backgammon, arguing over the finer points of the game or politics, as if they didn’t have a care in the world. The place had a whole vibe of relaxation about it that felt strangely hypnotizing.

  I quickly added that to my list of things to like.

  Chapter 5

  Heat invaded every pore as we arrived at the President’s Office in the capital, Nicosia.

  My heart danced to an irregular beat in my chest. I wiped my moist hands on my new dress.

  Everything will be OK. Everything will be OK, I repeated. That was going to be my new mantra of the day. And I had to believe it, because otherwise…well, otherwise the possibilities were just too scary.

  At the entrance to the white Seventies style building, there were security checks. We showed our passports and were asked to put the suitcase through an X-ray machine. Since we’d replaced the carbon sheet of paper over the money, I expected that they wouldn’t be able to detect anything, other than some very unsexy swimwear.

  Even so, I still held my breath as we both watched, fascinated, when they didn’t bat an eyelid at the X-ray image. After that, we were escorted upstairs to a large office.

  As offices go, it was pretty functional with the usual officey type of equipment. A large, official picture of the President hung on one wall, like an eerie presence, surveying his kingdom. I wondered briefly if some surveillance security officers were hiding behind it, staring out at us, like one of the two-way mirrors they have at police stations. Maybe it was a two-way President. Freaky.

  A smartly dressed woman in her early thirties sat behind the desk directly in front of us, filing her nails. She didn’t bother to look up when we entered.

  Miss Nail File’s mobile phone rang as we approached the desk. With a quick flick of her hand, she picked up the phone, nestling it in the crook of her neck, and carried on filing in the manner of someone who’s performed this task a million times before.

  We stood there waiting: me, hopping from one foot to the other, and Kalem, looking equally nervous, unsure what the usual etiquette was. I mean, it wasn’t like I popped into a president’s office every day. Did you bow? Courtesy? Do some kind of ritualistic hand shake

  Even though the air conditioning streamed out full blast, sweat pricked the hairline at the base of my neck.

  She gabbled down the phone in Turkish.

  I coughed loudly, trying to catch her attention.

  Kalem glared at me.

  Miss Nail File gave me an impatient look and held her finger up for silence. Then she went back to her phone call and started giggling girlishly.

  Oh, for God’s sake. Stop bloody arranging a night out with your boyfriend and let’s get down to business so I can get on with my wedding!

  I tapped my foot as we waited for her to finish. I thought about grabbing her phone, throwing it on the floor and jumping up and down on it, but I didn’t think that would go down too well. It might have made me feel slightly better, though.

  Finally, she put the phone and nail file down. ‘Yes?’ she asked in a bored voice.

  Before she could be distracted by anymore telephonic interruptions, I blurted out, ‘We’re here to see–’

  She cut me off. ‘Sorry, the President is very busy at the moment. Running the country and things like that,’ she said in a tone that implied we were complete idiots. ‘You need to make an appointment with his Secretary.

  ‘We already did.’ My voice jumped a couple of octaves in panic.

  She gave me a disbelieving look.

  Kalem gave her one of his best heart-stopping smiles. ‘Can you check the appointment book, please? I only made it this morning.’

  The smile didn’t seem to work on her, though. She made a big show of pulling out an appointment book from her desk draw and flicking through it with a pointy red talon at a pace that even a snail would have been proud of.

  She tapped the book. ‘No, sorry. There isn’t any appointment listed.’

  ‘But I only made it this morning,’ Kalem insisted.

  Oh, God. Oh, Goddy God. We had to see him. I felt like screaming at her. Instead, I ran a shaky hand through my hair.

  She gave us a tight smile. ‘Well, that’s the problem, you see. I’m just filling in for a colleague who’s off sick today, so it’s a bit disorganized at the moment.’

  Disorganized? How about you stop filing your nails and get organized.

  ‘I can make another appointment for you. How about…’ Pointy talon out again, she flicked a few pages in the diary. Pause. More flicking. ‘The twenty-fifth of November?’

  ‘But today’s the first of June!’ I wailed. ‘We need to see him urgently. It’s a matter of life and death!’

  She tilted her head slightly. ‘Life and death?’

  Quick! I had her attention now. I went for the kill before she slid back into bored, zombie nail-filing mode.

  ‘Yes, life and death. We have to see him or the President immediately. Otherwise I’ll…I’ll,’ well, I didn’t know what I’d do, but I was sure I’d so something. Think! Think! ‘I’ll…I’ll run around the building naked!’ I said with an angry gleam in my eye. ‘That will get his attention, surely. And if not, I’m sure the press would love it.’

  She looked me up and down. I didn’t know which she was more worried about, the threat of the press turning up and catching her filing, or the sight of me naked, but it seemed to have the desired effect anyway.

  She picked up the phone on her desk and whispered into it.

  ‘Have a seat.’ She pointed at a dark green leather sofa, situated opposite the two-way President.

  Great. Now the secret security police would have a chance to study us in all our full frontal glory.

  I sat down and smiled at the President. Nothing happened. No one came rushing out from behind it. I gave him a small wave. He didn’t wave back.

  Kalem pulled my hand down and shot me a what-the-hell-are-you-doing? look.

 
; I was just reaching the point of nervous, bubbly bowels when a door flew open behind Miss Nail File and a man walked in. He locked eyes with Kalem. Kalem locked eyes with him. And I almost threw up on the spot.

  The man who now stood in front of us, decked out in an Armani suite and smelling of expensive aftershave, was Erol Hussein, someone who Kalem and I had gone to school with in the UK. Someone who hated Kalem’s guts with a vengeance.

  Uh-oh. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse.

  ‘Well, well, well. Kalem Mustafa. What brings you here? To the President’s office, of all places?’ Erol inclined his head and raised a slight, amused smile. Then he turned to me. Same smile, same arrogant tone. ‘Helen Grey, isn’t it? I must say that you’ve changed a lot from the chubby, freckly tomboy at school.’

  Well, I hoped he’d changed a lot too. He was the school bully. Someone who’d do anything to get what he wanted. He was manipulative, cold, and determined. He had hooded dark eyes that were creepy in an axe murderer kind of way, and slicked-back black hair that was creepy in a Dracula kind of way.

  I racked my brain, trying to remember if I’d heard what happened to him after he’d left school. There was some kind of rumour…what was it? No, my brain wouldn’t work. I was too shocked. I was going into shock overload. Oh, wait a minute…something about him being the owner of a successful security business in the UK. Yes, it was coming back to me now. He’d had a business partner, but the contract they drew up between them in the early days was a bit vague. Then Erol sold it from under his partner’s nose and didn’t split the money. As Erol was Turkish Cypriot, he’d then disappeared to North Cyprus before any official enquiries could take place. And now he was here. In the President’s Office. And I was definitely going to faint. A whooshing noise pounded in my ears. Things started swimming in and out of focus.

  Erol folded his arms, waiting for an answer.

  I steadied myself on the edge of Miss Nail File’s desk, blinking to clear my eyesight.

  ‘We need to speak to you about something of national security.’ Thankfully, Kalem took over.

  ‘Well, come into my office,’ Erol said.

  I closed by gaping mouth sharpish. I think I might’ve been dribbling a bit as well, so I surreptitiously wiped the corner of my lips as I followed Kalem into the elegant room.

  ‘Tea or coffee?’ he asked after we all sat down.

  At least he was being polite. Maybe he’d turned over a new leaf. Yes, that was it. Everything would be fine. Perfectly fine.

  ‘Just water for me, please,’ I croaked.

  ‘No, thanks,’ Kalem said.

  Erol pressed an intercom on his desk and ordered a glass of water, then lounged back in his leather chair, steepling his fingers. ‘So, a matter of national security? That certainly sounds intriguing. Well, in my role as Secretary for the President, I also deal with all security matters so you’ve come to the right place.’ He eyed the suitcase that Kalem set down on the floor. ‘You’re not planning on moving in, are you?’ He chuckled at his own joke. Kalem and I didn’t share his amusement, so he carried on. ‘But what could you possibly know about national security?’

  ‘We’ve discovered a plot to assassinate Ibrahim Kaya and steal his Queen Cleopatra sculpture at the opening night of the Plaza hotel,’ I reeled off in a garbled rush.

  Erol cut his eyes from Kalem to me. He stayed silent for a while, and then: ‘Really?’ He examined me like I’d suddenly sprouted two heads. ‘Funny, you always were a drama queen at school, weren’t you? A plot, you say. Sounds very far-fetched.’

  ‘Yes, a plot to steal the sculpture and murder Ibrahim Kaya,’ Kalem repeated it in a more forceful voice so it might sink in. I could tell he was getting a bit annoyed now. Hell, so was I.

  Erol threw his head back and laughed. Well, it was more like a cackle, actually. ‘OK, let me just humour this ridiculous suggestion for a moment.’ He waved a dismissive hand like he was swatting a fly. ‘I’ve personally been in charge of all the security arrangements for the opening night. There is absolutely no possibility whatsoever that what you are trying to suggest can happen. For a start, the sculpture will be displayed in a reinforced glass case. The outside of the glass case will be covered in a shell of censored laser beams, unseen to the naked eye. If even one ray is breached by someone trying to tamper with the casing, an alarm will sound, triggering an impenetrable steel case to enclose the sculpture. But there will be no opportunity to tamper with it, anyway, because it will be surrounded by four armed and highly trained guards. ‘No. There is no way it can happen. No one can access the electronic security system that controls the case except Ibrahim Kaya and myself.’

  ‘What about the assassination?’ Kalem asked.

  Erol glared back at him. ‘Why would anyone want to assassinate Ibrahim Kaya? He is a respected businessman who employs millions of people and gives to numerous charities.’

  ‘But there were rumours about him being involved in the underworld. Maybe he’s upset a few people?’ Kalem suggested.

  ‘There are rumours about all sorts of people,’ Erol said. ‘There were rumours about me, if you remember.’

  Yes, but personally, I could believe the rumours about Erol.

  ‘And look where I am today.’ Erol smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘Anyway, Kaya will have his own personal security guards nearby. He is very security conscious. He will not make himself any kind of target.’

  I sat forward in my chair. ‘But what about the safety of the other people there? What about all the guests?’

  ‘The opening night will be full of international celebrities, politicians, and high-rollers, most of whom will probably have their own personal bodyguards. You would be a fool, Helen, if you thought any of them could be targeted.’

  Miss Nail File entered the room with a glass of water. She practically threw it at me as she rushed to get back out. Probably more urgent filing to attend to.

  Erol sat upright and began shuffling papers on his desk. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have very important work to do.’

  ‘Wait! We have evidence.’ I unzipped the suitcase and handed Erol the photo of Ibrahim Kaya, the building plans of the Plaza, the scribbled notes about the art dealer, and the itinerary. ‘When we arrived at the airport last night, there was a mix-up with my suitcase. I accidentally picked up this suitcase, and the owner of this case picked up mine. We’ve found some disturbing things inside.’

  Erol snatched them from me, studied each item briefly, then discarded them on his desk. ‘This probably belongs to one of the many journalists who will be arriving here for the press coverage. Mere background information for their story,’ he scoffed, like we should really know better.

  ‘But there are details about the sculpture on there and directions to an art dealer over the border in South Cyprus. Why would a journalist need those?’ I asked.

  Erol shrugged. ‘Maybe they’re getting some further background information on the statue. Research into its value and so forth. Nothing seems amiss to me.’ He tapped the side of his head and looked at me. ‘I think it’s that overactive imagination of yours running wild again.’

  And then a thought struck me. Had Kalem and I jumped to some irrational conclusion about the suitcase, when really it was just a simple matter of background information gathered by a journalist? Had we been overreacting?

  ‘There’s something else in the suitcase as well that you should know about.’ Kalem’s voice interrupted my doubtful thoughts, pulling out the shoulder pad and balaclava and putting them on Erol’s desk.

  Erol picked up the shoulder pad, turning it over in his hand. Then he turned his attention to the balaclava. ‘A money belt and a balaclava? Hardly evidence of an assassination.’

  ‘It’s not a money belt. It’s a shoulder pad. For a gun,’ I said, sipping the icy water that burned my parched throat.

  No, when you put it all together, our conclusion didn’t seem irrational at all. When you considered all
the evidence, the only conclusion could be the one we’d come up with. So why couldn’t Erol see it as well?

  Erol shrugged. ‘It will be hunting season in North Cyprus in a few months. Some people prefer using a shoulder pad for comfort when they’re hunting.’

  ‘But what about the balaclava? Surely, this all seems suspicious to you?’ Kalem insisted.

  ‘Not really. Hunters sometimes use balaclavas as well.’

  ‘Yes, but–’ I started, feeling my back stiffen.

  Erol’s hand shot up, silencing me. ‘Enough! I don’t want to hear any more about ridiculous death threats and robberies. The matter is under complete control.’ He paused and did the steepling thing with his fingers again, which was getting a bit annoying. ‘Actually, I’m more interested in what you two are doing in North Cyprus.’ Erol glanced between the two of us. ‘The last thing I heard, you were teaching some peculiar art subject,’ he shot narrow eyes to Kalem, ‘and you were the tea lady in a photo shop.’ He turned his attention to me.

  I took a deep breath. Right, he was really pissing me off now. Mr. Bloody High-and-Mighty President’s Secretary, who was a complete arsehole at school – and a nasty arsehole to boot – and still seemed to be a complete arsehole. This was my wedding day we were talking about. I had to get this mess sorted out before I got married on Sunday so I could get my lucky wedding dress back. And if I didn’t get it sorted out, and a crime really did happen, then it would all be my fault for not trying my hardest to warn people.

  And they had to find Ferret Face and catch him. What if he was still roaming the streets looking for us? Knowing that we knew that he knew that we knew that he knew? Regardless of the mental for and against lists I was building about whether moving here was the right thing to do, how could we even think about staying here to start a new life in paradise if Ferret Face was out there? Watching. Planning an ambush on us. Waiting to do ferrety things.