The Tomb in Turkey

by Simon Brett

‘Henry? I thought Henry was safely back in Chantry House in Sussex.’

  ‘No.’ And Carole proceeded to tell Jude about her sighting of Barney’s wife in Fethiye. But her description of Henry’s male companion was too vague for Jude to identify him as Fergus McNally. ‘I think all we can do,’ Carole concluded, ‘is to keep a watching brief on any of them we do meet. It won’t be for long.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ asked Jude.

  ‘Nita’s been murdered. Soon, her body’s going to be found. And even if it’s been successfully hidden away somewhere, people are pretty soon going to realize that she’s missing. Her husband, Erkan, apart from anyone else.’

  It was nearly dark when the two women got back down to the car and the camels. Carole showed only token resistance when Jude suggested they have a drink – and, come to that, eat dinner – in one of the restaurants. They chose one called Antik.

  Inside, they could have sprawled on one of the circular rug- and cushion-covered platforms, the modern equivalent of the old Turkish divan, but Carole resolutely steered them towards a four-seater table. There were quite a few people around, but more seemed to be the management’s family members than diners. In spite of the outside temperature, a wood fire burned, and in front of it knelt a couple of women in traditional patterned trousers and headscarves. They poured batter on to circular hotplates, then shaped the fluid with wooden spatulas until it crisped into pancakes.

  ‘Gözleme,’ said Carole authoritatively.

  ‘Bless you,’ said Jude, misunderstanding.

  ‘No, they’re making gözleme. “Village pancakes.” Don’t you remember? Nita told us about them when we were driving over.’

  ‘Oh, yes, they look rather good.’

  A smiling, casually dressed man in his forties wandered over to their table. Carole tried desperately to summon up some of the phrase-book sentences she had learned for ‘In The Restaurant’. Before she had time to speak, though, the man had said, ‘Good evening,’ in accented but perfect English and asked what they would like to drink.

  To Carole’s surprise, Jude asked for a large Efes beer.

  ‘Draught?’

  ‘Yes, please. We’ve just walked up to the ghost town. Hot work.’ And, indeed, Jude’s round red face gleamed with sweat.

  ‘You chose a good time to do it. In the middle of the day, too hot. So, one large beer. And for you, madam?’

  ‘A glass of white wine, please. Do you have a Chardonnay?’ asked Carole instinctively.

  ‘No, madam. We have local white wine. Very good. It’s from a Turkish grape you would not know, but it tastes very like Sauvignon Blanc.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll try that, thank you.’

  ‘Just a glass or a small carafe?’

  ‘Just a glass, thank you.’

  ‘Oh, let’s go for a large carafe,’ said Jude. ‘I’ll be moving on to the wine once I’ve finished my beer.’

  ‘But I don’t think—’

  Carole’s words seemed to be unheard. ‘Very good, a large carafe of local white wine. And will you be eating as well?’

  ‘Oh, yes, you bet,’ said Jude.

  ‘I will bring you menus. But let me say I have some very good lamb cutlets in today, if you like them, and some fresh sea bass.’

  ‘And gözleme.’ Carole, pleased to show off her Turkish, gestured towards the women at the fire.

  ‘And, of course, gözleme. These can be filled with cheese and spinach or ground beef or roasted eggplant.’ His use of the last word, instead of ‘aubergine’, demonstrated that some of his tourist customers were American as well as English.

  He barked out a command in Turkish, and a fourteen-year-old boy with short-cropped black hair who’d been squatting by the fireplace immediately brought across two menus. The likeness was so striking that he had to be the owner’s son. The menus, they found, were in Turkish, English and German, indicating the range of expected visitors.

  ‘I will get your drinks,’ said his owner, ‘and then take your order for food.’ An instruction went out to another short-haired, but slightly older son, who immediately came across with a basket of cutlery and condiments and fitted a paper tablecloth over the table’s wooden surface. He secured it under elastic strings which ran beneath the tabletop.

  By the time he had finished, his father had returned with the drinks. Both beer glass and wine carafe sparkled with condensation from the fridge.

  ‘Ooh, that looks so wonderful,’ said Jude, taking a long slurp of the pale yellow beer. ‘Aah, bliss …’

  Carole found the first sip of wine that the man had poured for her equally welcome. Again, it was a change from the buttery Chardonnay she so often drank in the Crown and Anchor. But not an unwelcome change.

  The man took their orders. Carole liked the sound of the gözleme with cheese and spinach, while Jude opted for the lamb cutlets.

  ‘Pirzola,’ said the owner. ‘Very good.’

  ‘We ought to have some starters too,’ said Jude. ‘What do you fancy, Carole?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t really know whether I actually need—’

  ‘Let’s have the cacik and some dolma.’

  ‘Very good,’ said the man. ‘And please, you are the ladies from Morning Glory – yes?’

  As they admitted they were, Carole and Jude exchanged looks. There certainly were no secrets in Kayaköy.

  After the owner was out of earshot, Carole whispered, ‘I didn’t know you spoke Turkish.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You just ordered those starters without looking at the menu.’

  ‘That hardly qualifies as “speaking Turkish”.’

  ‘So does this mean you’ve been to Turkey before?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘You didn’t ask.’

  SIXTEEN

  The beer and wine did their work, and by the time their main courses arrived Carole felt almost relaxed. She reflected that it had been quite a stressful day – a stressful few days, in fact. All the business of leaving to go on holiday, arriving in Turkey, adjusting to Morning Glory and sleeping so badly there. Then dealing with an unfamiliar car on alien roads. Add to all that the shock of finding – and then losing – Nita’s body, and it was no wonder she had felt tense.

  But she knew her improved mood was not just due to the alcohol. Gruesome though it might seem to some people, Carole was also experiencing that little frisson of excitement that always came at the beginning of a murder investigation. She looked across at Jude draining the last of the beer and knew that her friend was feeling the same.

  Her gözleme had arrived rolled into cigar shapes on a bed of salad. The way she’d fallen on the pitta bread with the starters made Carole realize how hungry she was (she’d never got round to eating her salami lunch). And she’d discovered that cacik was the Turkish version of the Greek tzatziki and dolma were stuffed vine leaves. Both delicious. Carole Seddon was beginning to think she might have underestimated the qualities of Turkish cuisine.

  There was a silence as they addressed their main courses, which was broken by the approach of Barney Willingdon. They had been aware in their peripheral vision of a white Range Rover drawing up outside Antik but hadn’t really registered it as his until Barney spoke.

  ‘Evening, ladies. I found Morning Glory all closed up, so I assumed you’d be down in one of the restaurants. And since most people have the ghost town as number one on their itinerary in Kayaköy, I reckoned here was a good place to start.’

  ‘And you won a coconut first time,’ said Jude.

  ‘Exactly.’ He waved a friendly hand to the restaurant owner. ‘Hi, Ahmet. A large Efes, please.’ But there was something different in his manner. He was presenting his ‘hail fellow, well met’ Barney Willingdon persona, but it didn’t sound as convincing as usual. He was sweating more than the warm evening justified, he kept scratching nervously at his beard, and his eyes seemed to be darting around on the lookout for someone or something. Was he worried about a
nother attack from Kemal, or another of the enemies his business practices had made? Or did his unease have something to do with the death of Nita Davies?

  ‘Are you eating too?’ asked Carole, not sure that she wanted their tête-à-tête interrupted, but at the same time aware that to make any progress in their investigation they must, at some point, talk to Barney.

  ‘No, had a late lunch. I’ll maybe grab something back at the villa. Anyway, how did you ladies spend your first full day in Kayaköy?’

  ‘We went our separate ways,’ said Jude. ‘Or, rather, I didn’t go any way at all. I just stayed and lounged by the pool until we came out here at dusk to have a look at the ghost town.’

  Jude’s brown eyes were flashing messages to Carole while she said this, and they were immediately understood. No mention of the second trip to Pinara. No mention indeed of the discovery made on the first trip to Pinara. With regard to Nita, they would wait until Barney volunteered something.

  ‘And what about you, Carole?’

  ‘I did a bit of sightseeing.’

  ‘Good. In the car?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Didn’t give you any problems, I hope?’

  ‘Worked beautifully, thank you.’

  ‘Good. So where did you go?’

  Carole eyed him shrewdly, watchful for any reaction when she said the word, ‘Pinara.’

  There was none. ‘Lovely spot,’ he said. ‘I’ve spent some very happy times there.’

  ‘Yes.’ And then Carole dared to add, ‘Nita recommended it to me.’

  ‘As I said, she knows the area like the back of her hand.’

  ‘Yes, she gave us lots of good ideas yesterday of places to go,’ said Jude.

  ‘She would.’

  ‘But we haven’t seen her today,’ Jude continued casually.

  ‘No.’ Barney looked very uncomfortable. ‘And you won’t see her for a while.’

  Carole and Jude both managed very effectively to hide their shock at his words.

  ‘Oh, why’s that?’ asked Carole.

  ‘She’s had to fly back to England,’ said Barney. ‘Her mother’s ill.’

  ‘We were right not to ask him any more,’ said Carole.

  They were sitting on the upstairs balcony of Morning Glory, which was accessible from both their bedrooms. Carole’s doors were wide open; Jude had closed hers so that the air conditioning could take some effect before she went to bed. Carole had a glass of water; Jude more white wine from the fridge.

  ‘Hm?’ Jude said.

  ‘If Barney did know about Nita’s death and was just lying to us, then we didn’t want him to know we were suspicious of him. If he didn’t know, then equally we didn’t want to raise his suspicions.’

  ‘And are we suspicious of him?’

  ‘I think we have to be. Clearly, there’s been something going on between him and Nita.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Oh, come on, Jude. Last night at that barbecue place she was clearly offering herself to him, and he was equally clearly declining the offer. You don’t have conversations like that unless there’s something going on.’

  Jude nodded. Sometimes Carole could be very perceptive. And Jude recognized that there was something within her that didn’t want to admit the relationship between Barney and Nita might still be carrying on. Though the feeling couldn’t be defined as strongly as jealousy, it still niggled at her.

  A silence lingered between them. Both sipped their drinks. Then Carole said pensively, ‘It’s so strange. What happened this morning was almost like a dream … you know, finding Nita’s body out in the wilds of Pinara … which, incidentally, certainly did happen.’ Her tone became defensive on the last few words.

  ‘I’ve never doubted it happened,’ said Jude soothingly. ‘You’re the least likely person I know to be subject to hysterical delusions.’

  Carole wasn’t quite sure whether that was a compliment or not, but she hadn’t got time to question it. ‘But as a coincidence it’s a pretty huge one, isn’t it? I mean, that I should be in Pinara …’

  ‘Who knew you were going to go there?’

  ‘Well, nobody knew for certain because, in fact, I only made up my mind this morning. But I did mention the possibility of going at that barbecue place last night.’

  ‘So Nita knew.’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t think she set up her own murder specifically so that I could discover her body,’ said Carole with an edge of sarcasm.

  ‘No, but I was thinking she might have told someone else that you might be going to Pinara.’

  ‘Like who?’

  ‘Her husband? And then, of course, that was just before Kemal came on to the scene. He might have overheard you talking about Pinara.’

  Carole sniffed. ‘Possible, I suppose, but unlikely.’ There was a silence before she continued, ‘And then, of course, there’s Barney.’

  ‘Yes.’ Jude sighed. ‘And then, of course, there’s Barney …’

  They went to bed soon after that. Carole waited until she thought Jude might be asleep and not hear before she closed all her bedroom windows and switched on the air conditioning. She didn’t want to sleep as badly as she had the previous night.

  SEVENTEEN

  The air conditioning did the trick, and Carole slept much better. When she woke at seven she almost felt too cold, but she was fully prepared to forget for the next fortnight her mother’s diktat that she ‘should never go to sleep without at least one window open’. Now she was awake, though, she switched off the air conditioning and opened up everything. Heat soon replaced the chill, and the long net curtains swayed in a light breeze. Curling round the window frames, she saw the delicate blue of the Morning Glory.

  Carole moved out on to the balcony. The sky was unbroken blue with the promise of another perfect day. As she looked down over the pool she thought she saw a sudden movement in the trees that edged the track down to the village, but it wasn’t repeated. Just a bird, probably. Or a local cat. Or the latter chasing the former.

  There was no sound from Jude’s room, and Carole had the daring thought that she might put on her costume and try the delights of the pool. Why not? She was on holiday. So she took off her nightdress and slipped on the Marks & Spencer dark-blue number, careful all the while not to see any reflections of her body in the bedroom’s generous mirrors. Then she anointed every uncovered bit of skin with the Factor Fifty before, stepping into her flip-flops and picking up a bright bathing towel, she made her way downstairs.

  Carole Seddon couldn’t begin to remember how long it was since she had last swum. There were hardy residents who regularly braved the cement-coloured waters of Fethering Beach, but she had never been of their number. She had paddled around in the shallows when she’d spent a week with her granddaughter Lily at nearby Smalting, but when had she last undergone total immersion? No, the memory had gone (though the memory remained of shivering round the municipal pool for school swimming lessons with the overpowering smell of chlorine in her nose).

  By comparison, she was surprised how pleasant the experience was in Kayaköy. Unheated but exposed daily to the Turkish sun, the water was as warm as a bath, and the setting was heavenly. Blue sky overhead, the villa swamped by the paler blue of the Morning Glory and the infinite horizon at the edge of the pool. But for the troubling consciousness of Nita Davies’s murder, everything was perfect. And to someone of Carole Seddon’s mindset even the murder was a kind of positive – a puzzle to be solved.

  Whereas Jude had spent most of the previous day just lolling in the pool, taking the occasional desultory few strokes, Carole had immediately started swimming lengths – and counting them. She even counted the number of strokes each length took and started multiplying the totals. When she had done five hundred in her earnest, childlike breaststroke she got out of the pool and reached for her towel. At that point Jude – and most other human beings, to be quite honest – would have laid down on a lounger for the sun to complete the nat
ural drying process. But Carole’s first instinct was to dry herself off with the towel – so that she didn’t drip over the inside of Morning Glory – and go straight indoors to change out of her costume.

  She was, however, prevented from achieving this by the appearance of Travers Hughes-Swann, whom she had observed from her bedroom window accosting Jude on their first afternoon at the villa. He was wearing exactly the same clothes as he had been on that occasion. The leathery skin of his chest and arms made him look like some prehistoric man excavated from a Danish bog.

  ‘You must be the missing Carole,’ he said.

  She was slightly unnerved by the promptness of his appearance. It was almost as if he’d been waiting till she got out of the pool to come and introduce himself. Surely, the movement in the trees she’d seen from her balcony hadn’t been Travers lurking, keeping Morning Glory under surveillance? It was an uncomfortable thought.

  She admitted that she was indeed Carole.

  ‘I met your friend Jude.’

  ‘Yes, she mentioned that.’

  ‘And I gather you went off yesterday to enjoy the delights of Pinara.’

  How the hell did he know that? But Carole didn’t voice the thought. Not knowing that Jude had told him, she thought it was just more evidence that there were no secrets in Kayaköy.

  ‘How did you like the place?’

  ‘Very striking.’

  ‘And what struck you in particular?’

  ‘Well, I suppose, the tombs.’

  ‘Which ones?’

  ‘The ones carved out of the sheer mountain face, the ones you can’t get to. Not the kind of sight we’re used to in England.’

  ‘No. Whereabouts is it in England you hail from? Jude didn’t say.’

  ‘Little village called Fethering. On the South Coast.’

  ‘Fethering, yes. Never been there, but I’ve seen signs for it.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Phyllis and I used to live in Southampton. Phyllis, I should have said, is “Her Indoors” – very much so, I’m afraid, these days. Bedridden.’

  Carole murmured some mumble of condolence.

  ‘So she’s “Her Indoors” and I’m “Him Outdoors”. Spend all my time gardening.’