The Tomb in Turkey

by Simon Brett

  ‘Sounds like a good place to wander round,’ said Jude.

  ‘You’d love it, darling. Fabulous place, Kayaköy.’

  ‘That’s the name of the village?’

  ‘Right, Carole. I got half a dozen villas out there, but the one’d be perfect for you two is called Morning Glory. Set up a bit on the hills, lovely view over the valley … infinity pool, all mod cons. You’d love it, Jude.’

  ‘Sounds great.’

  ‘But how would one deal with, sort of … everyday things?’

  ‘Sorry, Carole? Wodja mean?’

  ‘Well, neither of us speaks any Turkish or—’

  ‘No worries. Most of the locals speak English. Certainly all the ones involved in the tourist business, and in Kayaköy most of them are.’

  This prompted a new suspicion in Carole. ‘So is it very touristy?’

  ‘No, that’s the beauty of the place. Near some very touristy places … Ölüdeniz, Hisarönü … but Kayaköy itself is remarkably unspoilt.’

  ‘It does sound blissful,’ said Jude.

  They were in the Willingdons’ sitting room, drinking an absolutely delicious New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc, whose bottle lolled in an ice bucket with another unopened by its side. The evening was warm enough for the French windows to be open, showing perfect lawns rolling down to the edge of the woodland. The room’s interior was beautifully designed with what Carole thought was a surprising degree of taste. The inherent prejudices which the words ‘property developer’ brought to her mind included lots of onyx and swirly carpets. And when they’d been greeted at the door by Barney Willingdon he had reinforced that expectation. A large man, full of restless energy, he had longish hair and a trim beard beginning to give way to grey. He wore a tailored leather jacket above designer jeans, and his body seemed to taper down to surprisingly small loafers with leather tassels on them. His size and rough vowels were at odds with the elegance of his surroundings. Carole suspected that Henry Willingdon had had more input into the decor of Chantry House than her husband.

  Jude, too, was making observations about the environment in which they found themselves, but hers were more personal. And, of course, she knew a little more than Carole about the Willingdons from the healing sessions she had given to Henry. She knew that theirs was a second marriage for Barney and that he was some twelve years older than his new wife. The lack of photographs in the sitting room reinforced Jude’s impression that both marriages had been childless. And the peremptory way in which she had corrected her husband suggested that, in spite of her pale wispiness, Henry was at least an equal partner in the relationship. And possibly even the dominant one.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Barney, ‘if you have any problems out at Morning Glory, I have an extensive network of people on the ground out there who can sort everything. Plumbing, electrics, problems with the pool or the car, leaking roof … there’s a list of phone numbers in the villa that will instantly summon up the best in the business. I’ve worked out there so much, I know everyone.’

  ‘Or their cousin,’ said Henry.

  ‘Yes.’ Her husband grinned. ‘They’re all cousins out there. Someone can’t fix something – no worries, he’ll have a cousin who can. They’re a really friendly lot.’

  Henry seemed about to say something which might have qualified this statement, but a look from Barney stopped her.

  ‘And they will be able to tell us about the best places to go out for the odd day?’ asked Jude. ‘Best beaches, archaeological sites, what-have-you …?’

  ‘We can get that information from guidebooks,’ said Carole, forgetting that she hadn’t yet committed herself to going to Kayaköy. ‘Or online.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Barney, ‘but much better if you get it from people who’re based there. They really know the area. Anyway, the person you want to talk to about that stuff is an Englishwoman called Nita Davies. She’s a great friend of ours.’

  ‘A great friend of yours,’ Henry interposed pointedly.

  ‘Whatever.’ Barney went on: ‘Nita’s married to a Turk, guy called Erkan. But in fact she still uses her maiden name professionally … which is just as well because her married surname is totally unpronounceable. So she’s still Nita Davies. Actually, he might be useful to you, Erkan. He runs a diving school, so if you were to fancy a bit of the old scuba …?’

  ‘I don’t think I probably will,’ said Jude.

  ‘I’m certain that I won’t,’ said Carole.

  ‘Up to you. Anyway, Nita still works as a rep for one of the travel companies. Forget which one, she keeps changing jobs. But she knows the area inside out.’

  ‘Does she act as a rep for your villa company?’ asked Carole.

  ‘No, I’ve got a manager out there who looks after all the villas. And since all the booking’s done online these days, we don’t need an office here in the UK. So, like I say, you’ll have plenty of English speakers in Kayaköy to look after you. And you’ll have the use of a car, obviously.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Sure thing, Jude. Henry and I’re out in Kayaköy so often we—’

  ‘You’re out in Kayaköy so often,’ his wife once again interposed.

  ‘Yeah. So we’ve got a car out there permanently. Fiat it is.’

  ‘But what about insurance?’ It was Carole who asked the question. Jude would never have thought of it.

  ‘All sorted. I just need to let them know your details and you can drive wherever you want.’

  ‘That’s great,’ said Jude.

  ‘So it’s really just a matter of the dates.’ Barney Willingdon reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and produced a state-of-the-art smartphone. ‘As I said, it’ll have to be before the beginning of July.’ He reached the diary. ‘So when do you fancy? And for how long?’

  This wasn’t something the two women had discussed. Carole had been so tentative about the whole project that they hadn’t got down to such basic details. So Jude gave the dates that would be ideal for her. Two weeks, and leaving in twelve days’ time, assuming she could arrange the flights.

  ‘Should be all right this early in the season,’ said Barney. ‘And if you do have any problems, I’ll put you in touch with Nita. She’s got contacts with the airlines. She can fix anything.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Henry agreed without great warmth. ‘She’s a real Mrs Fix-It, our Nita.’

  Barney flashed a look of exasperation at his wife before moving on. ‘Actually, you may well see us out there too.’

  ‘Oh, you’ll be in Kayaköy?’ asked Jude.

  ‘Maybe. There’s another couple of villas I’m building outside Ölüdeniz, and the contractors there could do with a kick up the arse, so yes, we may be there.’

  ‘But it’s not very likely,’ said Henry. ‘We haven’t firmed up our plans yet. Not for both of us going, anyway.’

  Barney Willingdon’s expression suggested that this was a subject they’d argued about before. And would argue about again when they were on their own. ‘Look,’ he said to his guests, ‘you check out the flights and get back to me. As I say, anytime you like before the beginning of July.’

  ‘Well, it’s very generous of you, Barney,’ said Jude. ‘Are you sure I can’t contribute something towards—?’

  He raised both hands to stop her in mid-flow. ‘Absolutely not. I won’t hear of it. The villa’s there, it’s not costing me anything for you to use it. And after everything you’ve done for Henry …’

  What did she do for Henry? Carole wondered. She wondered also about the chances of Jude ever telling her. She wasn’t optimistic. Her neighbour could sometimes be very old-fashioned about client confidentiality … just as if she were a proper doctor.

  As the Renault drove away from Chantry House, Jude, buoyed up by the interest Carole had shown in the practical details of the villa, asked, ‘Will those dates be all right for you?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Carole rather sniffily, ‘I haven’t decided whether I’m going to come yet.’

  THREE />
  ‘So how’s Gaby?’

  ‘Pretty good, actually. The morning sickness seems to have stopped, and she’s entering the blooming phase of pregnancy.’

  ‘Oh.’ When she’d been expecting the baby who became the man at the other end of the phone, Carole hadn’t had a ‘blooming’ phase – at least, not that she could recollect. But then she hadn’t much liked any aspect of carrying Stephen. ‘And has Lily taken on board that she’s going to have a new brother or sister?’

  ‘Well, we’ve told her enough times, but whether she’s taken it on board is another matter. Her main preoccupation seems to be playing with princess dolls.’

  ‘Very right and proper for a child of her age,’ said the fond grandmother (who was far from ‘right on’ when it came to gender politics). ‘Stephen …’

  ‘Yes, Mother?’

  Carole still wished her son would relax enough to call her ‘Mummy’. Or even ‘Mum’, though that, of course, was rather vulgar. ‘I wondered how you’d react if I were to go away for a while …?’

  ‘Go away? Where to?’

  ‘I’ve been offered a chance of a week or a fortnight’s holiday in Turkey.’

  ‘Well, that sounds wonderful. Who’re you going with?’

  ‘If I go, it’ll be with Jude. You know Jude?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Your neighbour, the hippy-dippy healer. Well, it sounds a jolly good idea to me.’

  ‘But you’re sure you won’t need me around?’ The question was almost plaintive.

  ‘What for?’ The question wasn’t the most tactful that Stephen Seddon had ever posed.

  ‘Well, you know, if Gaby needs help with Lily like she did earlier in the pregnancy, or if she—’

  ‘No, no, Gaby’s as fit as a fiddle now. No problems with Lily. And if there are any, Gaby’s got a network of local friends who can help out. No, you go to Turkey. Have a great time. When are you off?’

  ‘Oh, I haven’t definitely decided I’m going yet.’

  When she finished the phone call, Carole felt a little bereft. She didn’t realize the delight that grown-up children who have their own children feel when a parent makes their own holiday arrangements. It removes both a level of anxiety and a level of guilt. It’s another year that they don’t have the feeling they should be including the grandparent in their own holiday plans.

  ‘I’m really not sure, Jude.’

  ‘Well, I’m afraid I need a decision pretty quickly. The flights need booking.’

  ‘Yes, I can see that. It’s just that … well, we’ve never been on holiday together, have we?’

  ‘No, but we’ve done lots of other things together, so it’s no big deal. And from the sound of the villa, it’s big enough for us not to live in each other’s pockets. Some days we can do stuff together, other days we can be on our own.’

  ‘Yes …’

  The monosyllable was so unconvinced that Jude asked, ‘What’re you really worried about?’

  ‘Oh, I’m not worried,’ Carole lied. (She was always worried.) ‘It’s just it’s a very long time since I’ve been on a holiday … and I’ve never been on this kind of Mediterranean holiday … and, well, you say we could do “stuff” together. What kind of stuff?’

  ‘Whatever we wanted to do.’

  ‘So what might you want to do?’

  ‘On holiday?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re asking me what my idea of a holiday is?’

  ‘I suppose I am.’

  ‘Well, my idea – or my ideal – would be lolling about by the pool on a lounger, reading some kind of trashy novel, taking the occasional splash in the pool, going out for lots of nice meals, sitting out after dark with a nice drink … That’d do me.’

  ‘Hm. That sounds very … laid-back.’ Carole had difficulty speaking the alien expression.

  ‘Well, that’s what I need. For the first few days, anyway. I may be up for the odd excursion later into the holiday.’

  ‘Hm.’

  ‘Why, Carole? What’s your idea of a holiday?’

  ‘I don’t really know,’ she was forced to admit.

  ‘Look, it doesn’t matter. Going on holiday isn’t like taking an exam. Nobody has any expectations of what you do. It’s just an opportunity to relax.’

  Carole’s expression suggested she found this concept as alien as being ‘laid-back’.

  There was a silence. They were drinking coffee in the amiable chaos of Jude’s sitting room. The May mini heatwave was continuing, but there was enough breeze to set the bamboo wind-chimes hanging at the windows tinkling. When she had first entered Woodside Cottage, Carole had found the sound irritating, yet another example of her neighbour’s New Age flakiness. Now she found the chimes rather soothing.

  ‘Sorry to nag,’ said Jude, ‘but I’m afraid I do need a decision from you.’

  ‘Of course, yes. I can see that.’

  ‘Well …?’

  ‘It’s difficult …’ Carole began.

  ‘It is not at all difficult. Or if there is a difficulty it can only be a practical one. Have you got other commitments you can’t postpone for the time we’re proposing to be away? Is it that you can’t afford it?’

  ‘Good heavens no,’ replied Carole, rather affronted. Her money management was very precise; she even managed to save quite a substantial amount of her generous Home Office pension. She would never even contemplate doing something she couldn’t afford and was appalled that Jude thought she might.

  ‘Well then, I must have a decision from you. I need to book the flights.’

  ‘And are you thinking of one week or two?’

  ‘Oh, it has to be two weeks. Go for one week, you spend the first half untwitching and the second half twitching up again.’

  ‘I think I could only manage a week,’ said Carole before hastily adding: ‘That is, if I were to go.’

  ‘Well, that’d be fine. You could come back at the end of the first week, and I could stay on for another.’

  ‘On your own?’

  ‘Yes, of course on my own.’

  ‘But would you feel safe?’

  ‘I would feel perfectly safe. It’s Turkey we’re talking about, not Syria.’

  ‘But Turkey’s a Muslim country …’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And Muslims aren’t very friendly towards women.’

  ‘Carole, where on earth did you get that from?’

  ‘I read the papers. I watch television.’

  Jude always found it strange that for someone whose daily paper was The Times, Carole could sometimes be so Daily Mail in her views. ‘Turkey,’ said Jude patiently, ‘is an extremely civilized country. I’d feel safer there than I would in Brighton.’

  ‘Hm,’ said Carole. ‘Have you checked out availability of flights?’

  ‘No, I haven’t,’ said Jude, in a tone which was as near as she ever got to exasperation. ‘Because I don’t know whether I’m booking one flight or two, do I?’

  ‘I’ve done some research.’

  ‘On flights?’

  ‘Yes. Online, of course,’ said Carole. ‘You’d be amazed the number of offers there are … if you shop around.’

  Jude, a creature of impulse to whom the concept of ‘shopping around’ was anathema, just said, ‘And?’

  ‘Well, there are quite a lot of flights to Dalaman this time of year …’

  ‘Good. I thought there would be.’

  ‘… but a lot of them go from Heathrow or Luton or Stansted, which is rather out of the way for us.’

  ‘We really need to fly from Gatwick.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. Well, there is availability.’

  ‘For the dates we want?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve checked out both the one week and two week options.’

  ‘Where did you check them out?’

  ‘On a price comparison website.’

  ‘Oh.’ Jude would never have bothered to do that. She’d have just gone for the first option that presented itself. Sh
e wasn’t very good at the minutiae of budgeting. She understood the meaning of the word ‘budget’, but not its practical application.

  ‘There’s quite a big difference between the most expensive and the cheapest.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Over a hundred pounds.’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘But I’ve managed to get a very good deal.’ And Carole told Jude the price. Which was a very good deal indeed.

  ‘And we can get that deal on the dates we want?’

  ‘Yes, there is availability. And I’ve put a hold on the flights through an agent.’

  ‘For the one week or the two?’

  ‘Both. I have to give the agent confirmation by the end of tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, that’s brilliant, Carole. I’m rubbish at doing stuff like that. Thank you so much.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I quite enjoy doing “stuff like that”.’

  ‘And I also meant to say thank you for deciding that you are joining me in Turkey.’

  ‘Oh, I haven’t decided whether I’m going to come yet,’ said Carole.

  ‘On your own then?’ asked Ted Crisp. ‘No Carole?’

  It was half-past five. Jude had felt like a change of scene, and the Crown and Anchor, Fethering’s only pub, fitted the bill perfectly.

  ‘No,’ she replied, ‘and it’s actually quite a relief. Carole is being at her most Carole at the moment, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘I certainly do,’ said the landlord. He was a large, scruffy man with matted beard and hair. It was warm enough for him to be wearing his summer uniform of faded blue T-shirt and jeans (as opposed to his winter uniform of faded blue sweatshirt and jeans). ‘Large Chilean Chardonnay, is it?’ he asked, reaching to the fridge for the bottle.

  ‘Do you know, I think I’ll have something different.’

  ‘Blimey O’Reilly,’ said Ted. ‘What’s up? The Pope’s a Catholic, bears, er, do their business in the woods, and Carole and Jude always drink Chilean Chardonnay. It’s one of the immutable rules of life.’

  ‘Maybe, but it’s just that I had some New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc a couple of days ago and it was really nice. So I thought I might have a change.’