Happy Ever After

by Christina Jones

  ‘Excuse me,’ Kat approached a uniformed policeman and hitched up the bag‘s luggage label. ‘Can you tell me where this is, please?’

  After much gesturing, and a mixture of Turkish and English, and with the help of several passers-by, Kat headed towards another maze of narrow streets. Puffing uphill, she came to a tall white house practically covered in a riot of vibrant trailing flowers. As the perfume engulfed her, she took a deep breath and rang the bell.

  The man in jeans and T-shirt who yanked open the door could have stepped out of her wildest romantic fantasy.

  Young, tall, lean, dark, totally gorgeous - and looking pretty annoyed - he glared at her. ‘Yes?’

  Kat blinked at him. He was very rude - but at least he was English. Trying to explain things in her non-existent Turkish would have been a nightmare. ‘Oh - er - I’m looking for C Kennedy.’

  He stared at her again. ‘Are you from Bodrum?’

  Kat nodded. The rep-network must have been working overtime. ‘Have you got my -?’

  ‘You’re late,’ the man snapped. ‘Have you got your stuff?’

  Late? Stuff? ‘I’ve got the holdall - if C Kennedy’s here, I’d like…’

  ‘I didn’t expect you to be English. Come in!’

  ‘Whoa!’ Kat shook her head. ‘All I want is my bag back and - hey! What are you doing?’

  The man had hustled her into the house’s dim, cool, tiled interior. Panicking, she wriggled away from him. ‘Leave me alone! Open the door! I want to see C Kennedy and -’

  ‘I’m Cameron Kennedy,’ he sighed. ‘I hope you’ve got your costume. I’ve had a lousy day so far. I picked up the wrong bag, and no-one at the airport can trace mine. Still, at least you’re here - but I thought they’d have sent someone Turkish.’

  ‘I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about,’ Kat said, trying not to sound as scared as she felt, ‘but I’ve got your bag. And I guess you’ve got mine. So if we could just swap, I’ll catch the bus back to Bodrum and -’

  ‘What?’ Cameron blinked at her. ’You’ve got my holdall? You mean you’re not the belly dancer from the agency?’

  ‘I’m Kat Martin. I’m a hairdresser. I flew in from Luton this morning. My friend took your bag instead of mine. I’m here to give you yours and get mine back. So, if you could just…’

  ‘You star! God - I’m so sorry. I thought I’d have to abandon this assignment - which would mean I‘d probably lose my job. Let me get your bag - oh, hang on… I can hear my phone and I’m not sure where I put it…’

  ‘It’s there,’ Kat said. ‘On the table behind you.’

  ‘Cheers,’ Cameron snatched up the mobile. ‘Yes. What? You’re kidding? Hell! Right - okay - well, no, no - there’s nothing you can do - but it‘s messed me up big time.’

  Kat, hoping she was in a muddled dream and would wake up in a minute back at home, edged her way towards the door. If she could just grab the handle, as soon as the drop dead sexy but definitely mad Cameron let her have her bag back, she’d run like the wind down the hill and find a bus back to Bodrum and -

  ‘Hell!’ Cameron switched his phone off. ‘Life goes from bad to worse… no belly dancer. I’ll definitely get the sack now. Why do people always let you down?‘ He suddenly seemed to remember Kat was there. ‘Sorry again - where were we? Ah yes, your holdall. It’s through here. I’ll just go and get it.’

  As he vanished through an archway into another room, Kat gripped the door handle and didn’t move.

  ‘There,’ Cameron stomped back into the hall and handed her the bag. ’I’m sorry - I opened it before I realised it wasn’t mine but I didn’t touch anything.’

  ‘Good,’ Kat grabbed at her bag in delight. ’Now if you’d just open the door and let me get back to Bodrum.’

  Cameron suddenly smiled. It was like the sun coming out after a thunderstorm. Kat’s heart gave a little flutter. God - he was gorgeous, even if he was barking. Still, hanging around in a strange house, in a strange country, with a very strange mad-man, possibly wasn’t the best idea she‘d ever had…

  ‘Please open this door.’

  ‘I don’t suppose,’ Cameron grinned again, ‘that you can belly dance?’

  ‘Right,’ Kat rattled the door handle. ‘This is getting scary. Let me out! Now!’

  Cameron laughed. ‘Oh, I know you must think I’m completely crazy - but I promise you I’m dead normal. I can explain. Would you like a drink or something?’

  ‘I just want to go.’

  ‘Please let me explain. I’m not some deranged axe murderer, honest. I do owe you an apology or thirty. When you came to the door I thought you’d been sent from an entertainment agency in Bodrum. I’d asked them to supply a really beautiful girl for a couple of days. One who could belly dance if needed. She was going to be my honey trap.’ He grinned at her. ‘And you certainly fitted the really beautiful bit. It was an easy mistake to make. Please don’t be scared of me. Let me pour you a drink and explain.’

  I know, Kat thought wildly, I’m really, really going to regret this…

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘But only if I can use your mobile to text my friend and let her know where I am.’

  ‘Sure,’ Cameron passed her the phone. ‘When you’ve finished, come through the archway into the garden. I’ll make us something cool to drink.’

  Having texted Bex and explained she’d been delayed in swapping holdalls, and was in Ephesus, and safe, and giving her Cameron’s address - just in case she‘d got it very wrong - Kat ducked through the archway.

  ‘Wow!’ she stepped out into a tiny courtyard filled with vines and flowers, and with a white table and chairs set beside a pool with a tinkling fountain. Cameron had unpacked his holdall on the tiles, and was rooting through a mass of cameras and lenses.

  ‘Hi,’ he grinned, ‘I’ve made some lemonade, loads of ice - no drugs or poison. I’ll be with you in a sec. Sit down - and look, I’m really, really sorry for behaving like a total prat.’

  Kat sat and sipped at the tall glass of lemonade. ‘You were pretty frightening, and I’m still not sure that you’re not living in a fantasy world. Are you playing at being James Bond or something?’

  ‘Don’t laugh. I’m a PI,’ Cameron paused in fiddling with some of the camera equipment, fished in his pocket and handed her a card and a photo. ‘A private investigator. From England. I’m on a surveillance job. So far I’ve only been given boring jobs - checking on stolen cars and unpaid fines and missing dogs and stuff. This is my first proper case, following a bloke whose wife wants evidence of his cheating with a woman in his office for a divorce. I call him Fat Harry - that’s his photo - and she‘s The Floozy. If I do well on this, I’ll get some of the really meaty cases in future. It’s dead important that I don’t mess it up.’

  Kat looked at the photo of a smug plump balding man and then read the card - Jessop and King, Private Investigators, with a London address and a mobile number - then squinted at Cameron against the sun. ‘Is this for real? And even if I believe you - why are you here? Has this Fat Harry bloke brought this - er - floozy to Turkey?’

  ‘That’s what his wife is paying us to find out,’ Cameron nodded. ‘He told her he’s on a business trip to Ephesus. He flew out on his own - but we think The Floozy is joining him. He’s doing the full ancient city tour tomorrow. Told his wife he’s researching it for tourism with people being into all this religious mystery stuff after The Da Vinci Code. She doesn’t believe a word of it.’

  She‘s not the only one, Kat thought. ‘And the belly dancer?’

  ‘Ah - that was to be my secret weapon. If I discovered that he hadn’t come out here with The Floozy, his wife wanted us to plant a woman to see if he strayed. She’s pretty sure he’s a serial cheater - she just needs the proof. So, I was going to trail him tomorrow, and if he was alone, I was going to try to chat to him, and invite him back here for an evening of traditional Turkish entertainment and see what happened…’

  Kat shook her head. It was so
far-fetched it might actually be true. ‘It still sounds iffy to me. And this belly dancer? You would have told her the truth, I hope. And why did you need her today if you weren’t going to plant her until tomorrow?’

  Cameron sat opposite her and picked up his glass. ‘Yes, of course I would have told her the truth. She wouldn’t have had to do anything tacky. I booked her for both days because I was going to tail Fat Harry tonight. He’s renting a flat in this street - which is why my bosses paid for me to stay here - and I thought if I had a lady with me I wouldn’t look like a strange stalker following him round the bars or restaurants. There are two bedrooms here - I wasn’t planning on… I don’t suppose you’d be interested in - no, sorry. Forget it. Are you laughing at me?’

  ‘Yes, no - yes,’ Kat shook her head. ‘It just sounds so outrageous. And excuse my ignorance - but I don’t know anything about Ephesus. Would this Fat Harry really be here on business?’

  Cameron stretched lazily. Kat dragged her eyes away from his fabulously toned body. He grinned at her. ‘Definitely. Ephesus is one of the best preserved ancient Roman cities in the world. It’s totally mind-blowing. You’ve got to see it.’

  Visiting cultural places certainly hadn’t been top of Bex’s all-night-clubbing Turkish holiday extravaganza, but suddenly the thought of being bored to tears by ancient ruins on some mad caper in Cameron’s company sounded infinitely preferable to Kat.

  ‘Er - it sounds great. I must make sure I come back here before we go home.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ve got loads more exciting things to do in Bodrum, and no doubt a boyfriend to do them with,’ Cameron said wistfully, ’but if you’d like me to be your tour guide sometime…’

  ‘If you’re fishing,’ Kat laughed, ’I’m on holiday with my friend. Female. No boyfriend. Here or at home. You?’

  ‘I’ve never been into boyfriends,’ Cameron smiled slowly. ’But no, I’m young, free and single too.’

  They stared at one another for a moment, then Kat took a deep breath. ’I’ll pass on the belly-dancing, but I have a lot of good reasons to help anyone who’s being cheated on. If you’d really like me to play Lewis to your Inspector Morse…?’

  ‘You mean it?’ Cameron grinned at her across the table. ’You’ll do it?’

  ‘I’m still not sure that I should trust you, and I’ll probably regret it for the rest of my life, but yes. The whole idea of this holiday was to do something different - and they don’t come more different than this. Oh, I’d better text my friend again and let her know that I’m okay and I won’t be back for a while.’

  ‘I promise you won’t regret it,’ Cameron handed her his mobile again. ’Look, she’ll probably worry. Why don’t you ring her?’

  Kat shook her head. There was no way she was actually going to speak to Bex. Bex was bound to go crazy and scream about her being mad as a box of frogs and to come back to Bodrum immediately.

  ‘No,’ she said, flexing her thumbs. ‘She’ll be fine - she’s got three adoring men, a load of cocktails and a lot of clubs to get through. She won’t even miss me.’

  It was nearly midnight. Everywhere was dark and softly-scented and as warm as midsummer. Kat sat back in the tiny candle-lit restaurant and sighed happily. So far so good. Cameron had proved to be not only a perfect gentleman but also very funny. Ritchie, she’d mused as she’d showered in Cameron’s exquisite tiled bathroom, had never made her laugh. And she’d slept for an hour in the pretty second bedroom before the shower and changed into one of her own flimsy dresses, and done her hair and make-up and added long dangly ear-rings, and slowly felt the old Kat returning.

  Bex had texted back on Cameron’s phone: “Glad you’re okay. You need some fun. I’m fine. See you later – luv Bex.”

  So much, Kat thought giggling, for being worried about her. Typical Bex!

  Together, she and Cameron had spent the evening trawling the bars and cafes in Ephesus, talking and laughing, finally spotting Fat Harry having a meal. Alone.

  ‘He might be meeting her,’ Cameron had hissed. ‘We’ll grab that table over there so we can see him but he can’t see us.’

  Kat’s stomach had rumbled and they’d both laughed.

  And now, after a meal of spicy lentils and stuffed vine leaves and aubergines and rice pilaffs and a huge sticky baklava, washed down by several glasses of iced wine, Kat thought drowsily that she’d probably never move again.

  ‘That was fantastic,’ she sighed. ‘I’ve never eaten any of that before. It certainly beats burger and chips.’

  Cameron nodded. ‘But I’m beginning to think asking you to be my sidekick was a huge mistake.’

  ‘What?’ Kat sat up. ‘Why? Have I done something wrong? Fat Harry’s still over there, shovelling down his dinner. He hasn’t spotted me - us - has he?’

  ‘He hasn’t,’ Cameron said softly, ’but every other bloke in the place has. They can’t take their eyes off you. You’re so beautiful.’

  Kat was pleased that the dim flickering light of the fat red candles meant Cameron couldn’t see her blush. Ritchie had never told her she was beautiful. She shook her head. ’I’m not. That’s the wine talking…’

  ‘Believe me, it’s not and you are,’ Cameron leaned forward. ’You - oh, look!’

  Kat looked. Fat Harry was no longer alone. A slinky-looking woman with black hair and a very short red dress had slithered into the seat opposite him and he’d suddenly lost interest in his meal.

  ‘That’s The Floozy,’ Cameron said. ‘Gotcha!’

  ‘Ugh!’ Kat shuddered. ‘He’s all over her. How disgusting!’

  Cameron had produced a tiny digital camera from his pocket and was snapping away. Kat suddenly felt very sorry for Fat Harry’s wife.

  ‘There! Let’s see him talk his way out of that!’ Cameron whispered cheerfully, pushing the camera back in his pocket. ‘My boss’ll delighted.’

  ‘Poor Mrs Fat Harry won’t though,’ Kat said. ’She probably loves him.’

  ‘Not any more, from what I’ve heard,’ Cameron assured her. ’I think she’ll just be pleased to bring it all to an end. Hopefully she’ll take him for loads of money in the divorce and then meet someone nicer and live happily ever after.’

  Kat giggled. ’You old romantic, you! You mean you’re just chuffed that you haven’t blown this assignment, aren’t you?‘

  ‘No! Well, yes - a bit. But I do hope his wife finds someone else. Everyone deserves a second chance - oh, quickly! They’re leaving. Come on - let’s see where he’s taking her.’

  Leaving a heap of lira on the table, Cameron grabbed Kat’s hand and dragged her out of the restaurant into the exotically-scented darkness. Giddily, Kat was only aware of Cameron’s long fingers entwined with her own.

  Oh, dear… she thought as her stomach dissolved with ill-timed desire. I only met him today - I’m getting as bad as Bex - and holiday romances never work, do they? And…

  ‘Looks like he’s taking her back to his place,’ Cameron hissed, as they ducked and dived in and out of the tall shadowy buildings along the narrow winding streets behind Fat Harry and The Floozy. ’I’ll have to take some photos of them going into his apartment. Are you okay?’

  ‘Great,’ Kat smiled in the darkness. ’Don’t lose them, though!’

  ‘You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?’

  ‘Mmmm. Might be,’ Kat teased. ’I’ll let you know later.’

  They trailed Fat Harry and The Floozy all the way back to the street where Cameron was staying. It certainly looked as if they were heading for Fat Harry’s flat. Yes! Fumbling with his key, one arm round The Floozy’s waist, he opened the door and pulled her inside.

  Cameron let go of Kat’s hand and clicked away with the camera again. ’Great - but I need more pictures. I’m going to stake out the back of the flat, try and get a look through the window. I need more photographic proof of him being unfaithful.’

  Kat pulled a face. ’That’s a bit - well - sordid. You mean, you’ve got to take photos of the
m - er -?’

  ‘Together?’ Cameron nodded. ’Yes, sadly. Not pleasant, I agree, especially given this pair - but it’s all part of the job. Look, you don’t want to be involved in this - here’s my key. Leave the door on the latch. I won’t be long.’

  Kat took the key, feeling deflated. She could hardly say she’d hoped that she and Cameron might have had another drink or two in the courtyard and then, carried away by the warmth and the lush, perfumed, seductive Turkish darkness, they might just move their friendship on to something else entirely.

  ‘Okay,’ she whispered. ’Take care, Sherlock.’

  The morning sun and the birdsong woke her. Kat opened her eyes and blinked. Oooh. She had a slight headache from the wine and something was wrong…

  Cameron! Oh, God! She’d gone back to his flat and waited and waited, then unable to stay awake any longer, she’d staggered into the second bedroom and collapsed into bed. Great! Some partner in crime she was! Had he even got home? What if Fat Harry and The Floozy had caught him?

  Easing out of bed, the tiles deliciously cool on her feet, she pulled on a T-shirt and tiptoed into the living room.

  ‘Hi,’ Cameron grinned. ’I’ve just made some coffee - I didn’t want to wake you. I’m just sending the photos on my laptop - did you sleep okay?’

  ‘Out like a light.’

  ‘You must have been exhausted. Oh, there’s a text for you,’ Cameron passed her his phone.

  Kat grinned at Bex’s message: “Great night. Great clubs. And I think I’m in luv. Are you okay? luv Bex”

  Texting back that she was fine and would keep in touch, Kat handed the phone back to Cameron. ’Thanks - but what happened last night? You were ages…’

  ‘Yeah - sorry. They talked a bit downstairs, then went upstairs together so I climbed up the drainpipe and hung on to a tree and waited for some - er - action. But I didn’t get what I needed… Nothing happened. They just talked. Then the Floozy left and Fat Harry went to sleep with all his clothes on.’