‘He never helps me!’
The little man beat his forehead with his fist.
‘Can’t you see? This is the time when we all have to work together. Or else we’ll be done for! Oh, my God, why am I surrounded by idiots?’
‘Raoul is too old. He’s past it.’
‘It’s too late to find someone else. We have to make do. We have to put aside our differences and work together. That is what the theatre is. Oh, my God, what has happened to you all when I even have to say such things! But you, you haven’t the true spirit of an actor. I found you lying in the gutter –’
‘No, you didn’t! I came along and –’
‘I gave you your chance. And how do you repay me?’
‘It’s just that you need me now that Lalagé’s gone.’
‘I was building you up. Getting you ready. I spend months training you, I teach you all I know. I get you ready so that you can do something big. And then, when you are ready, when all the world is before you, what do you do? You hang back. You make difficulties. Just when the troupe needs you most. In its hour of need! Look, all I want you to do is stand in for our best actress. That’s all! Our best! What a chance I am giving you!’
The youth hesitated.
‘Can I wear the red dress?’
‘Of course you can wear the red dress! It’s yours. Think how you will look! Wonderful! Your chance! Glittering!’
‘All right, then, but you’ll have to speak to Raoul.’
‘I have spoken to Raoul. Come on, now. We’re all waiting for you.’
‘Go on your knees!’
‘Isn’t this going on my knees? Come on. Please!’ The little man swallowed. ‘I beg of you!’
‘All right, Rudi. If you put it like that.’
The youth looked around triumphantly. Then, reluctantly, but only half reluctantly, he allowed himself to be pushed up the steps and inside.
‘Asshole!’ said one of the workmen.
‘A bloody khaval,’ said another.
‘Bloody gink!’ said a third.
The little manager rushed back out.
‘Come on, come on!’ he said. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Waiting for the police to get out. They’re everywhere this morning.’
‘They’re not on the stage, are they? Come on, get in there!’
Over lunch, down by the Galata Bridge, Felicity told him how she had got on.
She had gone down to the quay, she said, immediately after he had spoken to her. The Prince’s felucca hadn’t been there and she had had to wait some time before it drew in. Then, while the crew was polishing the brass, or, possibly, gold, she had managed to strike up a conversation with the captain.
They had talked about the felucca. It was, the captain told her, the apple of the Prince’s eye. For the moment; there was a frequent turnover in apples. He made regular use of it to go over to his estate on the other side.
‘It’s a lovely boat!’ said Felicity enthusiastically.
‘He wants to put an engine in it,’ said the captain grimly.
‘Into this beautiful felucca?’ cried Felicity, aghast, all her yachtswoman’s instincts roused.
Her concern and, as obviously soon became apparent, her nautical knowledge, struck chords in the captain’s heart. He expanded visibly. Yes, he sailed the Bosphorus and the Sea of Marmara –
‘Right up to the Dardanelles?’
To the Dardanelles, yes, and even, on occasion, into the Mediterranean. ‘To the Gates of Hell if necessary,’ he declared, fired. But that hadn’t been necessary so far.
Felicity had mentioned Cunningham’s swim.
‘That’s how it is with the rich,’ said the captain. ‘One nutty thing after another!’
Yes, he’d taken them over to the Sestos side and watched Cunningham and the porter set out.
‘Goodbye, Sinbad!’ he had called to the boatman, as the boat departed. ‘Tell us about your adventures when you get back. If you get back.’
They had waited on the point for hours. And in the middle, would you believe it, the Prince had gone to get his hair cut! Even when he got back, they had hung on there. Not until the sun was about to go down had Selim agreed to move. And then, instead of going home, as the captain had assumed, they had sailed over to the other side. The captain had thought that they were going to pick up Cunningham and the boat but no, they hadn’t gone there at all, he knew the spot, they had been there that morning to look it over. No, they had gone in further along the coast and picked someone else up, who he presumed was a friend of the Prince’s.
Had he seen the person? Well, no, it had been dark and the person had been muffled up.
Had it been a woman, asked Felicity?
Woman? No, said the captain, surprised. The suggestion, though, had put other romantic, or, possibly, less romantic ideas in his head and Felicity had been obliged to speak about her warlike military husband and beat a retreat.
The captain had later gone ashore and disappeared into the Dolmabahce Palace. The moment he had gone, the crew had abandoned its polishing and gone ashore too, to sit upon bollards in the shade and commune with the sea in the way usual among sailors. Felicity had seized the chance to return, apparently casually, and check one or two points in the captain’s story.
In particular, she had asked them about the earlier voyage, the one in the morning.
To the Dardanelles twice in one day? That was a bit much, wasn’t it?
It certainly was. True, they got paid for it, but not enough, and in their opinion there was more to life than pretty uniforms. However, the Prince had insisted on it, had, indeed, come himself, although he had stayed in the cabin – there was, as you might expect, a small but luxurious cabin on this felucca – and in the shade and not come out until they had reached the bay where they were to set the passenger down.
Just a minute: which bay was this? The one they returned to in the afternoon?
No, no, that hadn’t been a bay. Just a point, really. And it had been on the other side, the Sestos side. All rocks, and as hot as hell. And why the Prince should have chosen to tie up there and spend all afternoon . . . Not to mention going off into the desert and getting his hair cut . . .
No, no, this was on the other side, the Abidé side.
‘Where the Effendi was supposed to be swimming to,’ put in one of the other members of the crew helpfully. He had heard the Prince say that to the captain.
And, just a minute, they had put someone down there?
‘That’s right.’
One of the crew?
No, no, a passenger. They hadn’t known he had been there. He had stayed in the cabin all the time with the Prince. He had come out only when they had actually moored and they had taken him ashore in the dinghy.
Had they seen him? What sort of person was he?
‘Well . . .’
A woman?
Guffaws.
‘Listen, if it had been a woman, Selim wouldn’t have been putting her ashore, I can tell you!’
It had been a man, and obviously a friend of Selim’s. The Prince had stood there watching him land and then had carried on watching him, though binoculars, until he had disappeared into the cliffs.
And then?
Well, then they had bloody sailed home again, and the moment they got there had turned round and sailed straight back up to the Dardanelles once more, only this time with Cunningham and the crazy old boatman aboard.
Just one other thing: when they were sailing home again, at the end of it all, they had put in again, hadn’t they, and picked someone up?
They certainly had.
Had that person been the passenger they had put ashore earlier in the morning?
Yes/no/couldn’t see. It had been dark. The person had shone a lamp from the shore. They had been under lamps, too, by this time. Pitch black, it had been. They hadn’t really seen the person who had come aboard. Nor had they seen him when he had got off at Istanbul. He had left with the Prince and
they had had their heads down because the Prince had told them to get on with it and move their asses.
‘Was that what you wanted me to find out?’ finished Felicity. ‘It doesn’t sound very much –’
‘It will do fine,’ said Seymour.
Oh, said Felicity, and she had received three proposals of marriage and one which was almost certainly not for marriage.
Back at the Embassy later that afternoon, sitting in the room that had been assigned him, Seymour had been aware of a certain commotion at the end of the corridor. Some time later Ponsonby stuck his head round the door.
‘I say, old man, would you mind coming to see the Boss? He’s got a bit of a problem.’
Even before he entered the room Seymour could guess the nature of the problem.
‘I’m a British national, aren’t I?’ said Nicole. ‘He can’t do nuffink to me!’
‘Well, yes,’ said the Ambassador, ‘that’s true. Up to a point.’
Nicole regarded him suspiciously.
‘I knew there’d be a catch in it,’ she said.
‘You are obliged to co-operate.’
‘I am co-operating, aren’t I? ’E’s been round all day asking bloody questions and I answer them, don’t I? And the last time ’e came, I offered ’im a cup of tea. Isn’t that co-operating?’
‘Well, it depends how much you tell him. And how readily.’
‘I ’aven’t got anyfink else to tell ’im. ’E’s wormed it all out of me.’
‘Who is this?’ asked Seymour.
‘Mukhtar,’ said Ponsonby.
‘And what have you told him?’
‘What ’e asked me. About Babikr. That saz player. ’Ow well did ’e know Lalagé? ’Ow well did I know ’im? “Look,” I said, “I felt sorry for ’im. That’s all.” But ’e went on and on.
‘’Ad ’e been round to the flat? “Look,” I said, “we’re a troupe. Everyone comes round. Sometimes you want to get away when you’ve been rehearsing ’ard. You’re given ten minutes’ break. Well, where do you go? In ten minutes you can’t go far. And our place is ’andy. So, yes, people come round: Monique, and Raoul, and Gilbert, and even that little prick, Ahmet. And the band, too, because they rehearse with us. Farraj, and ’Ussein, and bloody ’Assan, who’s getting very fed up with all this. So, yes, Babikr, too, although not much, because ’e was so shy and didn’t get on with the others.”
‘And what was ’is relation to Lalagé? “Bloody dirt,” I says. “She looked on ’im as bloody dirt.” Brushed ’im off, ’e said? “She never brushed ’im on,” I told ’im. “Didn’t even see ’e was there.” Was ’e upset by that? Was there antagonism between them? “Upset?” I said. “Listen, ’e was upset by everything. Antagonism? Look, ’e was as quiet as a mouse. There was nuffink to ’im.”
‘But he was a member of the band, wasn’t ’e? “The band didn’t think so,” I said. But ’e worked in the theatre? “Well, of course ’e did!” So ’e would ’ave known about the dressing rooms? “What?” I said. ’E would ’ave known about the dressing rooms. Been up there, perhaps? “Listen,” I said, “the dressing rooms are for people who dress. Actors only, see. And make-up people. You don’t ’ave band going up there. Christ, it’s not a bloody thoroughfare. We undress, too, you know.”
‘All right, but ’e would ’ave known where they were, wouldn’t ’e? And – and ’e looks at me very sharp – ’e would ’ave known when she was there, wouldn’t ’e? Presumably, you’ve got a rehearsal programme?
‘“Programme?” I said. “With Rudi? You’ve got to be joking!” Yes, but ’e would be able to work it out, wouldn’t ’e? ’E would know when you were all onstage, and when she was off it? “Work it out?” I said. “Babikr? That poor bastard couldn’t work out if ’e ’ad ’is trousers on!” But ’e must ’ave known when ’e wouldn’t be playing . . .
‘And on and on. All day! It’s been bloody terrible down there today, I can tell you. ’E’s ’ad everybody in and gone round and round twice. And then ’e picked on me! And that’s what I’ve come to see you about. It’s bloody ’arassment it is. And I’m a British national, and I’ve got my rights –’
‘Yes, yes,’ said the Ambassador wearily.
‘So what are you going to do about it?’ asked Nicole suddenly.
‘Do about it?’
‘I mean, you’ve got to do somefink about it now, ’aven’t you? Now I’ve made a complaint.’
‘Well, yes. I suppose so –’
‘Otherwise your bosses back in London will be up your ass, won’t they?’
‘Well, in a manner of speaking –’
‘Is this a formal complaint?’ asked Ponsonby.
‘What?’
‘A formal complaint.’
‘Well, I suppose so.’
‘Then it has to be in writing.’
‘You’ve got the gist of it, ’aven’t you? Can’t you write it down?’
‘Has to be written. To be a formal complaint.’
‘Bastards!’ said Nicole, looking hunted.
‘Look, Miss – Miss – Nichols? – why don’t you leave it with us?’ said the Ambassador. ‘I’ll put someone on to it.’
‘You’ll bloody forget about it,’ said Nicole.
‘No, I won’t!’ said the Ambassador, injured. ‘I’ll get someone on to it right away. Tomorrow.’
‘And if you’re not satisfied,’ said Ponsonby maliciously, ‘you can always put a complaint in. In writing, of course.’
‘Bastard!’ muttered Nicole under her breath.
‘Well, thank you very much for calling, Miss Nicholas,’ said the Ambassador, holding out his hand. ‘Shall I get someone to call your carriage?’
‘Carriage?’ said Nicole.
‘I don’t think the lady came in a carriage, sir,’ said Ponsonby.
‘No? Well, look, we can’t have you walking back all that way, Miss Nicholson. Ponsonby, can you arrange something? The landau, perhaps. And, really, someone ought to go with her.’
‘Seymour, sir?’ suggested Ponsonby. ‘After all, I think he knows her.’
‘You’d ’ave sorted it out, wouldn’t you?’ said Nicole confidently. ‘If we’d been back in Whitechapel. You’d ’ave said, “Lay off, you little bastard!” and everything would ’ave been all right.’
She sat silent until they were about halfway down Pera Hill and then she said:
‘It’s ’Assan, see? I mean, ’e doesn’t like it. It’s a bit of a delicate subject. ’E doesn’t like saz players. ’E said they’re not really musicians and that they’re nutters. And ’e doesn’t like this one in particular because, well, look, it’s a bit of a delicate subject –’
‘Who is Hassan?’
‘’E plays the drums. And I’ve sort of paired up with ’im, like, and ’e doesn’t like it when I – But I’ve told ’im there was nuffink in it. All it was, I took pity on ’im, see? I felt sorry for ’im, poor lost bleeding soul. That’s all it was. Just bleeding pity. And ’e ’ad nice brown eyes.’
‘The saz player, this is?’
‘That’s right. So, anyway I took ’im back to the flat once. Well, maybe more than once. But out of pity, that’s all. That’s all it was.
‘But I made a mistake. I told that geezer about it.’
‘Mukhtar?’
‘Yes. ’Im. And then he wouldn’t leave it alone. Kept asking me ’ow many times? When? “Christ, I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t exactly keep a diary.” But if ’e’d come to the flat, ’e said, ’e must have seen Lalagé. “No,” I said, “we had this arrangement. She made herself scarce whenever I wanted to use the room. And I did the same for ’er.” Of course, she didn’t use it much. She’d got better places to go to.
‘’E said – this geezer – did she ever do a turn with ’im? “Look,” I said, ”I’ve told you. She wasn’t interested in the likes of saz players.” She’d got a bleeding Prince after ’er. She thought she was made. And ’e seemed crazy about ’er, there every night in the box, foll
owing ’er around like a little dog. She went off with ’im every night after the show.’ Ow she did it, I don’t know, I mean, we were rehearsing all day and then onstage – And then she ran off with ’im and Christ knows what she was up to. I mean, to be fair, it wasn’t all on ’is side, it was as much, at first, on ’ers.
‘I tried to damp ’er down. “That sort of man is not for you,” I said. “Oh, I don’t know,” she says. “It’s not what you think,” she says. “’E’s interested in me as an artist.” “Oh, yes,” I say. “Yes,” she says. “It’s because I’m an actress. ’E’s interested in the theatre, and –” “’E’s interested in something else,” I say. “That, too,” she says, laughing. Well, there was no reasoning with ’er. Any more than there was with ’im. She was besotted with ’im and ’im with ’er.
‘Anyway, I told the geezer all this but ’e kept coming back to the saz player. Did ’e come to the flat regularly, ’e asks? Well, fairly, I told ’im. For a bit. Not to see ’er, of course. Only ’Assan ’eard this and ’e wasn’t too pleased.
‘And did ’e bring his saz with ’im, asks the geezer? Well, I mean! I think ’e was more interested in another sort of instrument, I says cheekily. I don’t think ’e understood, though. ’Owever, ’Assan did, and ’e wasn’t too pleased at that, either.’
Nicole had to get back in time for the evening performance so Seymour took her to the theatre, leaving the landau, as Rice-Cholmondely had done, at the Galata Bridge. There was an atmosphere of tension about the theatre tonight.
‘It’s ’im,’ said Nicole. ‘’E’s got the ’ole place on the ’op.’
Mukhtar came down the steps at this point.
‘Ah, there you are!’ he said.
‘I’ve been up at the Embassy,’ said Nicole spiritedly. ‘Looking after me rights!’
Mukhtar didn’t seem quite to understand this.
‘You’d better go in,’ he said. ‘They’re waiting for you.’
Nicole scuttled in.
‘What’s all this about?’ asked Seymour.
Mukhtar looked at him as if he’d come from another planet. Then he caught himself.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘You don’t know!’
A Dead Man in Istanbul Page 14
