A Tale of Two Sisters

by Merryn Allingham

  There was a tug at her elbow and she turned to see Latif’s happy face. ‘Mees Werinder. Hallo. Ismet wonder how you do?’

  She had thought Ismet himself might by now have made an appearance in the garden, but there had been no sign of him. It was disappointing. She had looked forward to seeing his handsome face, his wide smile.

  But the boy might just be her saviour. ‘Latif,’ she said, ‘I need whisky.’

  He blinked at her and she made a drinking movement with her hand. ‘Whisky.’ Then she wobbled her head as though she had already drunk a few drams. A passer-by looked at her in amazement, but Latif said, ‘Ah, whisky. Sssh!’

  ‘Yes, ssh. Can you show me?’ She knew that somewhere in this market someone would be selling illegal alcohol.

  He beckoned to her and she followed him full of hope. But when he stopped at the fruit stall where earlier she had bought the oranges, she thought he had not understood after all. She was about to try her mime again, when Latif spoke very quietly to the man behind the counter and he gestured to them to follow him. He led them to the back of the shop and parted a thick curtain of beads for them to pass through.

  ‘What you want?’ he said in English.

  ‘Whisky?’ she asked hopefully.

  He nodded and climbed on a step ladder to reach a shelf high above them. He brought down a bottle which Lydia judged was smaller than usual, but plenty for her purpose. She thought the golden-brown liquid looked like whisky, though Scotland would never own to it, but she had no way of knowing. It seemed foolhardy in the extreme for the stallholder to be making illicit alcohol when the penalties were so fearsome. But she paid the money, and crossed her fingers; the bottle had cost her almost a month’s salary. Then she hid it beneath the pile of oranges, and with smiles and bows they slipped back through the curtain and into the shop beyond.

  ‘Thank you, Latif,’ she said once they had walked a little way on. ‘Tell Ismet, it is tonight.’

  ‘It is tonight,’ he repeated slowly.

  ‘Yes, tonight. He will understand.’

  Latif gave his customary grin and, before she realised, had disappeared back into a crowd that had grown considerably since she had first arrived. It was time for her to go – she must hide the contraband. And in a few minutes, she was hurrying past the bored gaze of the guards and making for her room.

  She was lucky that Sevda arrived with a new batch of sherbet a few minutes after she had secreted the bottle amid a pile of clothes in the bottom of her wardrobe. After they had exchanged greetings and she’d related her visit to buy the oranges, she began on the speech she’d prepared on her walk back.

  ‘You were right, Sevda. About the visits I’ve made with Monsieur Boucher.’ Sevda looked concerned. ‘There’s nothing really wrong,’ she was quick to say, ‘but I think I have put him at odds with his father and I find that upsetting.’

  ‘How have you done this?’

  ‘I was in Paul’s office.’ She would say nothing of the missing bag and certainly nothing of the search she had made. ‘I was waiting for him. He had to speak to someone outside, I’m not sure who.’ She was now constructing the story as she went. ‘And Monsieur Valentin Boucher came in and was very upset with his son. Apparently, I should not have been there.’

  Sevda nodded wisely. ‘It is as I said, Miss Lydia, you are better to stay far from the Bouchers.’

  ‘You were absolutely right. You are a good friend. But I feel very bad about it. Paul has been so kind, showing me the sights of the city. Nothing has been too much trouble for him. I want to apologise, but I dare not seek him out in case I cause more trouble. If I wrote a note, do you think you could have it delivered to him personally?’

  The girl looked doubtful, but Lydia pressed her point. ‘It’s the only way I can say sorry. And if you make sure the note is put into his hands alone, no one else will know.’

  That seemed to make up Sevda’s mind. ‘I will help you. Have you the note?’

  ‘I can write it in a moment. It’s a simple apology, very short. Have an orange while you wait.’

  Sevda declined the orange, but sat patiently while Lydia wrote:

  Dear Paul

  I am so very sorry that you found yourself in trouble because of my stupidity. Do please accept my apology. I would like to make it up to you in some way, but naturally I cannot now come to your office. Could you perhaps come to me? There is a small summerhouse in the garden behind my bedroom – you must know it. I will be there after supper this evening. I would love to sit with you a while.

  My very best wishes

  Lydia

  She made sure to seal the note in an envelope she had to hand. She trusted Sevda, but an open letter was a temptation to even the most honest person. She knew the girl would find a dependable eunuch to deliver the message, as she had asked. Now all that worried her was whether Paul would come. And whether he would bring his keys with him.

  Immediately after the evening meal, Lydia excused herself, saying she had a mild headache and would go to bed early. There were murmurs of sympathy and no one seemed to find it strange that a usually healthy young woman should be ready to sleep at eight o’clock in the evening. Once back in her room, she hauled a blanket from the cupboard, folding it carefully and tying it into a large square with one of her belts. She opened the window and threw it out into the garden, narrowly missing a hellebore just coming into bloom. She was lucky tonight. The weather had turned distinctly colder of late, but today the sun had shone for hours and the evening was balmy.

  She delved back into the cupboard and rummaged in the pile of clothes for the precious bottle, then took it in one hand and two tea glasses in the other and threw them out of the window to land on the blanket. Thank goodness Charlie had taught her cricket. She was the only girl, he said, who could throw straight and true. In a second, she had climbed onto the chair, then on to the sill, teetering slightly as she found her balance, and dropped down on the other side with a soft thud.

  The intense light of sunset had disappeared and the shadows lengthened, turning the brown earth into burnt umber. Dry leaves were everywhere underfoot and she heard the rustle of lizards as they scattered at her approach. An owl hooted in the near distance. Darkness had almost fallen, but rooms other than hers looked over this garden and she knew she must take care. With some difficulty, she picked up her treasure in both arms and made for a clump of boxwood. If she moved from tree to tree, she should be sheltered from prying eyes, but it was not easy and she was breathless by the time the summerhouse came into view. She felt her mouth grow dry. Would he be there?

  Chapter Twenty Two

  The blurred outline of a figure filled the pavilion doorway and she felt a surge of relief, her limbs slackening as the tension she’d hardly known she was carrying seeped away.

  ‘Lydia! You came!’

  She stumbled to a halt and took a deep breath before she spoke. ‘Naturally I came. I sent you the note.’

  ‘I know, but I wasn’t sure you would be able to make it. It’s wonderful to see you. Let me take that – whatever it is.’ He reached out for the bundle she carried.

  ‘It’s a blanket. The seat is rough in parts. I’ve caught my dress on the wood before.’

  ‘So how did you make your escape?’

  ‘It was easy enough. I pretended a headache after supper and slipped away.’

  He spread the blanket along the wide wooden seat and waited for her to sit down. It was then she produced the bottle and glasses from behind her back.

  ‘What on earth! Alcohol?’

  ‘I’m hoping so. I bought it in the market this morning. All very secret. But I’ve no idea if it’s the real thing.’

  ‘You took a risk by bringing it into the palace. Why did you do it?’

  ‘You don’t like whisky?’ she teased.

  ‘Who doesn’t, but—’

  ‘It’s my way of saying sorry for the trouble I caused.’

  He reached out and stroked her arm. ‘It wasn’
t your fault. I should never have left you in the office. And you said you were sorry in your note. That was sufficient.’

  ‘I felt wretched about the whole business, Paul. And I wanted to do something to cheer you up. To cheer me up.’

  ‘Well, the whisky certainly should. Shall I pour?’

  ‘Please. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted it before.’

  ‘You’re in for a treat, if it’s half as good as the real thing.’

  He handed her a tea glass filled with the golden-brown liquid. At first, she sipped it gingerly, trying not to grimace.

  Paul was not so hesitant and drank deep. ‘It’s good,’ he said, sounding surprised. ‘Illegal distilling has evidently become a fine art.’

  She remembered to raise her glass then, and he followed suit. ‘To a happier week,’ she said. The toast was meaningless but safe. ‘I’m so glad you could come. I was worried you would find it too difficult – at such short notice.’

  ‘Unlike you, I couldn’t plead a headache.’

  ‘What did you plead?’

  ‘Only that I had work to do and was returning to the palace to finish it.’

  Her spirits lifted a little more. Another problem solved. If he had mentioned to his wife that he intended to work, she would expect him to take his keys. They would be on his person right now.

  ‘And Elise did not mind?’ It felt strange naming her in these circumstances.

  ‘We… we live mostly separate lives,’ he said awkwardly. ‘But I imagine you must have guessed that.’

  ‘I wasn’t sure.’ She took another sip and the liquid traced a fiery path to her stomach. A pool of warmth spread upwards and she sipped again. It no longer tasted quite as bad.

  ‘Elise is accommodating. We are good friends and I am very fond of her,’ he said. Then seeming to realise how odd this must sound, he continued, ‘I’ve known her all my life and I feel great loyalty to her, but as a wife…’ He left the sentiment unfinished. ‘It’s difficult to explain. But how about you – is there no one in your life?’ The whisky was having its mellowing effect, their conversation more personal than ever before. ‘No, I suppose not,’ he answered himself. ‘Sometimes I forget how young you are.’

  ‘It’s my family that’s most important,’ she said defensively. ‘They are dear to me.’

  ‘They must be. But do they not mind your being so many miles from home?’

  She chose her words carefully. ‘They were unhappy to see me leave, but circumstances made it necessary.’

  He looked enquiringly at her and she decided that a little confession might ease things. ‘I had to leave England. I was a criminal.’ She gave a soft laugh.

  ‘Surely not.’

  ‘Oh yes. According to English law, I was guilty of a felony. I threw a brick through the window of a Member of Parliament.’

  It was his turn to laugh then, but much louder, and she had to hush him. ‘You must be one of those’ – he struggled to find the English word – ‘one of those suffragettes.’

  ‘I was a suffragette. Now I am an English teacher.’

  ‘That is some transformation. Is it that you have you lost your interest in politics?’ A note of wariness had crept into his voice.

  ‘I’m not one little bit interested now,’ she lied. ‘It was a passing phase. I suppose I got involved out of boredom more than anything else. Life in Pimlico can be unbelievably boring. But I’m not sorry. It was fun while it lasted and I ended up at Topkapi because of it. I find Turkey far more interesting.’

  ‘And you met me, which has made it even more interesting.’ He was enjoying teasing her.

  ‘And I met you.’ She smiled at him over her glass. ‘You have been a good friend, Paul.’

  ‘I wish I could be more than a good friend.’

  He held up the bottle, offering her another whisky, and she thought that perhaps she should refuse, but she could not leave him to drink alone and allowed him to fill her glass near to the brim.

  ‘I know you wish to be more than a friend,’ she said gently. ‘And I am sorry that it cannot be.’ She put her glass down and clasped his hand. ‘I’m sorry, too, that your marriage is not what you hoped for. Did you believe yourself in love when you proposed?’

  He looked surprised at the notion. ‘Never. I knew I wasn’t in love. I always liked Elise immensely, but in a brotherly way, if you understand.’ She nodded and moved closer, feeling the hard outline of the keys he carried digging into her hip. ‘It was my father’s idea,’ he went on. ‘He has much family feeling, you know, and he saw a way of helping Elise’s parents and of binding the family together.’

  ‘It’s good that your family is close. Elise seemed very fond of her parents when she spoke of them on the train.’

  ‘She loves them dearly.’ He took a large gulp of whisky. ‘Even though they have caused her much trouble.’

  ‘Really? Are you able to talk about it?’

  He took another gulp. ‘I suppose it would not hurt. Years ago, Elise’s father made a grave mistake – a mistake that turned him into a criminal. He “borrowed” money from the company he worked for and then found he could not pay it back when the auditors announced they were calling. My father restored the money and saved him from going to gaol, but there was always some suspicion in his company and he was never promoted after that. It has meant that Elise’s parents have stayed poor. They rely on my father’s goodness to help them through.’

  She stayed silent for a while, digesting what he had told her. It was clear now why Elise was so scared of Valentin Boucher. Her father-in-law had the whip hand over her parents. If she stepped out of line, he could report her father to the police – anonymously, no doubt – and the poor man would be thrown into gaol. If Boucher had ever to explain to the police his own role in the drama, he could say he was an innocent, a concerned friend who had lent money without asking questions. That was the meaning of the threat she had overheard in the office: Your wife will suffer, too. Marrying his son to Elise had been a master stroke. It meant Boucher controlled them both since Paul would not see his wife suffer. How did Paul live with that? He was weak, she knew, and would not challenge his father. But it went much further. To live daily with the knowledge of Valentin’s true nature, he must have to pretend, construct a fantasy world for himself, see his father as a benefactor. What contortions of the mind and heart must that involve?

  Lydia drank down the rest of the glass. She needed it. The nature of this dreadful man was plainer than ever. Ismet had told her he was a murderer, had said she would find proof of the crime, but even as she’d agreed to help, she had felt the claim far-fetched. Now she confronted the reality. Valentin Boucher had sacrificed his son’s happiness, had sacrificed his niece’s, and for years had kept her parents in terrified serfdom. At least the chain of misery would stop with Elise and Paul. That was the sole comfort.

  She made sure she filled his glass again before saying, ‘I imagine your father must be sad that you have no children.’

  He didn’t answer immediately but put his arm around her and gave her a small hug, and she allowed herself to nestle against his shoulder. ‘Naturally, he is disappointed. Doesn’t everyone want a grandchild? But it is not to be.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ she dared to ask. It was a painful subject.

  ‘As sure as I can be. Elise has told me she is barren.’

  It was a horrible word and she felt like defending Elise against the men who were using her for their own purposes. Even Paul was guilty of that. He was his father’s puppet and too weak to protect his wife.

  She felt his lips brush against her hair. ‘Have you thought that it might be you?’ she said provocatively.

  A wry smile filled his face. ‘It might, but I doubt it.’ She wondered if he had fathered children that no one was aware of but thought not. He was a decent man – and a scared one.

  ‘Another drink? You must be getting cold.’ His arms tightened around her and she found that her head was swimming slightly.
/>   ‘I don’t think I should.’

  ‘They are such small glasses,’ he joked, but his voice came thickly.

  She giggled. ‘In that case…’

  They drank again, and when their glasses were once more empty, he took both of them in his hands and with great ceremony placed them carefully down on the earthen floor.

  ‘I am going to kiss you,’ he announced. ‘And this time you will let me.’

  ‘I might,’ she murmured. Distantly, she recognised there was danger here, but she was falling fast into the most delightful haze.

  He took her face in his hands and kissed her lips very gently. She rather liked it and kissed him back. That roused him to kiss her again, this time not so gently. She reached up and put her arms around his neck and in return, he pulled at the pins in her hair, then stroked the curls as they came tumbling down.

  ‘I feel giddy,’ she stammered.

  ‘Me, too. But I’m not surprised – we have emptied the bottle. We should lie down a while.’

  It sounded a good idea. She needed him to lie down, didn’t she? Lie down and sleep deeply so that she could tweak those keys from his pocket and glide through the dark to his office. She would be swift. There was only the one drawer left to search. The file would be there and she would hurry back with it to the garden and throw it through her open window. Then back to Paul and wake him. He would not even know the keys had left his pocket.

  There was little room on the wooden bench for them both and he lay close beside her, cradling her in his arms. Then he turned his head and began to kiss her beneath one ear, small delicate kisses that travelled down her neck and on towards her breasts. She knew this was the moment she should leave, but he wasn’t yet asleep, and the kisses felt good. A strange yearning deep inside made her kiss him back. He had slipped on top of her and was undoing the small pearl buttons on her dress. She thought that maybe she should help him. It was exciting and she enjoyed excitement, didn’t she? He kissed her bare skin and she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. She liked the feeling of nakedness. It was the first time in her life she had ever lain close to a naked man, and it was surprisingly pleasant.