The Aviary Gate (36 page)

‘Baklava,' he said, watching her mouth, ‘I'd give anything to see you eat baklava again.'

Their food came but Elizabeth did not eat much. Not because she was not hungry, but because she did not want him to guess at her discomposure. She had brushed aside his reference to the baklava as best she could, pretended not to have heard him properly, not to have understood the inference. But now she was afraid to betray herself in other ways. She had suddenly become clumsy. She knew that each time she lifted her fork her hands shook; knew that if she lifted her glass, the water would spill. So he had recognised her, all along. And, of course, somewhere in the back of her mind she had always known that.

Although, on the surface, their conversation continued as before, the whole tenor of the afternoon had changed. The ease that had been between them was gone. Instead it was as if the very air between them, each individual molecule, had become charged. With what? Elizabeth could not – dared not – put a name to it.

I am not ready for this, she kept saying to herself. She knew that he found her suddenly wary; and without apologising treated her with a kind of immaculate but tender courtesy.

‘You're cold, Elizabeth.'

‘I'm fine.' But she knew that she was shivering.

‘I'll get you a glass of wine.'

‘No, really …'

‘Yes. I think you should drink it.'

He made a signal and the wine was brought instantly.

She saw him watching her mouth again as she held the glass up to her lips. He makes me feel like a queen and at the same time something quite … other, she thought. With a conscious effort she managed to stop herself shivering. When he leant across the table and touched her mouth it was all she could do to stop herself flinching away, as if he had tried to hit her.

‘A hair,' she felt his fingers brush against her lips, ‘a hair in your mouth, that's all.'

Her skin felt warm where he had touched her.

‘Elizabeth …' he began.

‘I don't … I can't …' she started to say.

Suddenly his phone rang. They looked at it for a moment, the BlackBerry lying on the table between them.

‘What d'you think?' he said. ‘Shall I answer it or not?'

Elizabeth passed her hand over the side of her face. ‘Perhaps you'd better.'

He pushed the button. ‘
Evet
?' She heard him speak in Turkish. And then in English. ‘Oh yes, of course, just a minute.'

It was a moment before she realised that he was holding the phone out to her.

‘It's for you …' His eyes danced at her.

‘For me?' Elizabeth took the phone from him. ‘Hello … oh yes,
hello
! Still in Istanbul, yes. But how …? Oh, I see. How good of you … really? But that's fantastic news … I'll have a look at it straight away. Yes, thank you so much.'

When she rang off they looked at one another.

‘Let me guess …?'

They were both laughing now.

‘Haddba gave her the number.'

‘Who was it? Your friend, Eve?'

‘No. My supervisor, back in Oxford, Dr Alis. When she couldn't get me on my mobile she rang the guest house and Haddba gave her yours.'

When Elizabeth handed him back the phone he caught hold of her hand and held it. And this time she did not try to draw away.

‘Did she have some news for you?'

‘Yes.' She lowered her eyes to where he was holding her wrist. ‘Some very good news. She thinks she's managed to trace the portrait of Paul Pindar. Do you remember I told you that I found it reproduced in a book?'

‘Yes, I remember.'

With her eyes still lowered Elizabeth turned her hand slowly until her palm was uppermost between his fingers.

‘The reproduction was so bad that I couldn't see any of the details.'

She watched as he drew his thumb over the delicate skin of her wrist.

‘But maybe now …' Her voice trailed off. ‘Anyway it's all in an email.'

‘Do you want to use this?' He indicated his BlackBerry.

‘No,' she shook her head slowly, ‘it can wait.'

A silence fell between them. She looked up and found him smiling at her, and suddenly they were in clear waters again.

‘Well, aren't you going to say something?' he said.

Perhaps it was the wine that made her bold. She leant towards him. ‘You've been seducing me,' she said.

‘Really?' He picked up both her hands between his, slowly kissed her wrists, then the palms of her hands. ‘And I thought it was the other way around.'

It was barely light when Paul set off for his audience with the Valide.

Word had been sent by palace officials that a boat from the Valide Sultan's own household would attend him, but when it came – a small caique rowed by just six slaves – it proved to be not big enough, after all, to take the retinue Paul had so painstakingly assembled. He climbed into the waiting boat on his own, watched in silence by the liveried forms of the other embassy men – the Reverend May, Mr Sharp and Mr Lambeth, John Sanderson's apprentice John Hanger, and Ned Hall the coachman – who then turned and made their way back up towards the Vines of Pera.

The oarsmen rowed silently, not across the Golden Horn to the palace, as Paul had expected, but in the opposite direction altogether, up the Bosphorous, and after only half an hour the boat had left the seven hills of the city behind. Travelling swiftly in the direction of the current they made their way first along the European shore of the waterway. Opposite them, on the eastern shore, Paul could just see the roofs and minarets of Üsküdar, the village where the Sultan bought and sold his horses. There were many houses and mansions here, their gardens and orchards fanning out along the waterfront. The Valide, Paul knew, owned several summer palaces here, so perhaps that was where they were headed, but the little caique showed no sign of crossing the Bosphorous at this point, and neither the boat's captain nor his escort, one of the palace eunuchs, responded to his questions.

Soon they were out of sight of human habitation. After another half hour of silent rowing, the caique at last crossed over to the Asian shore, making its way in the shadow of the woods.

The water here was flat and green, its surface glassy. When Paul trailed his hand over the side it smelt of river water. The trees – chestnut, almond and ash – were tinged with the faintest tarnished gold. A colony of herons, hunched and grey like old men, clustered together in an umbrella pine; and once a flock of cormorants flashed past them, flying low over the water. Paul could see the occasional house on wooden stilts overhanging the water; a few men fished from the rocks. But for the most part a cool and eerie silence permeated the forests.

He shivered. Although it was still early in September and the days were generally warm, a sable-lined cloak had been provided for him along with a supply of cherries and pomegranates in a small basket lined with an embroidered linen cloth. He drew the cloak up over his shoulders.

‘How much further?'

The eunuch mute made an incoherent noise in his throat, and then jerked his chin. Paul turned to look. They had reached a small inlet. And there, as if gliding towards them between the trees, a small rose-red building came slowly into view.

Alighting from the caique, Paul was greeted by two more eunuchs who escorted him into a formal garden which gave out directly over the water's edge. Marble channels running with water led through rows of orange and lemon trees; umbrella pines and plane trees made shady pools over the rose beds. There were fountains and a fish pond in which several fat carp floated lazily.

At the very centre of the garden, in the shade of a Judas tree, was a pavilion. Paul had often seen these little pleasure houses – not unlike the newly fashionable banqueting houses in England – but instead of being made from tiles, this one was constructed entirely of glass. Examining it, Paul saw that whoever sat inside the kiosk would be able to see the entire garden, but would not be seen by anyone.

He waited, but nothing happened, and no one came. He was entirely alone in the garden. The two eunuchs were nowhere to be seen. Then, out of the corner of one eye, he became aware of a small movement – a shimmer of something green – but when he turned there was nothing there, and he was alone as before.

Except he was not alone. Coming up the path towards him was a large cat: a white cat, with burning eyes, one green and one blue.

‘Hello, puss.'

When Paul leant down to stroke the animal it wrapped its body disdainfully around his legs and stalked on past him. He watched the cat pick its way down to the water's edge, where it sat down with its back to him, staring sphinx-like into the middle distance. ‘You like my cat, Paul Pindar Aga?' A voice –
that
voice – beautiful beyond dreams, was speaking to him from inside the glass pavilion.

Paul resisted the urge to spin round. Instead, he removed his hat and stood quite still, his head bowed to his chest.

‘Ah, very good, Englishman.' Her laugh was just as he remembered it. ‘
Va bene
. But it is quite all right. You may turn around now.'

When Paul turned round he found that she was indeed sitting inside the pavilion, although how she had got there without him seeing her he could not tell. A close-woven screen had been let down across the doorway, hiding her from view.

‘Come, do not be afraid. You may approach. As you can see, we're quite alone.'

With his eyes still fixed on the ground, Paul walked slowly towards the pavilion.

‘So, we meet again, Paul Pindar Aga.' There was a pause. ‘I am sorry that there was no room for your colleagues on board my little boat, but it is better this way, I'm sure you'll agree.'

‘You do me a great honour, Your Majesty.'

Paul bowed low to the shadow behind the screen.

‘Yes?' She sounded amused. ‘But I'm sure your ambassador was hoping for … how shall I put it? A little more ceremony, perhaps.'

‘My ambassador is aware only of the very great honour you do us,' Paul answered her. ‘He asks me to tell you that he – indeed, each one of us – wishes to serve you in any way that we can.'

‘Well spoken, Paul Pindar Aga! Business first, why not? It does you great credit. We all know you wish to renew the Capitulations – and between ourselves, I don't think you will have too much trouble there, for all de Brèves's generosity to the Grand Vizier. Trade is good for us all, I've told him so myself: our great city has always depended on it. Besides, France and Venice can't expect to keep the rest of you trading under their flag for ever now can they? I hear the
Dutch particularly wish to trade under English protection these days,' she added. ‘But all that is really of minor importance. The fact is, we are to be allies now, isn't that so? Your marvellous ship … how do you call it?'

‘The
Hector
, madam.'

‘Ah, yes, the
Hector
…' another pause, ‘the
Hector
… now that was a good idea,' she went on, musingly. ‘This marvellous ship is the talk of the city, they tell me. Only a very powerful monarch, the people say, could have sent such a vessel. And by happy chance we find we have a common enemy: Spain. We shall be very useful to one another, don't you think? Even the Spanish would be hard pressed to take on us both.'

‘Friendship with your great empire is our Queen's dearest wish.'

‘Courteously said, Paul Pindar Aga.'

Paul bowed low again, and as he did so he became aware of a small white foot, its instep high and smooth, peeping from the bottom of the latticed screen. He looked away quickly.

‘But the fact is I didn't really bring you here to talk about all that,' Safiye said. ‘Tell me, do you know where you are?'

‘At your summer palace, madam?' Paul replied.

The jewelled toes of the little foot curled with amusement.

‘This little place my summer palace? Look around you, Paul Pindar; surely you don't really think that?'

Paul looked and saw that the little wooden building he had seen on his arrival was really no more than a gate house. Although he had not realised it at first, he was in a simple pleasure garden, clearly designed to be as far removed from the formality and etiquette of the court as possible.

‘Madam, there is no palace here, it is true,' he said at last, ‘but this garden – I've never seen one like it. A garden most fit for a queen.'

‘No, not a queen, Paul Pindar,' the Valide replied. ‘A garden for the Haseki, for the Sultan's favourite. The old Sultan, my master the Sultan Murad, gave this garden to me as a gift, many years ago. We used to come here together, to walk by the water and to watch the boats. In the summer, when the nights were warm, it was his favourite place to watch the moon rise. He would have them string lights from the branches of the trees, so that they reflected like stars in the water.'

In the distance, at the garden's edge, the Bosphorous danced with sunlight. Paul could see the white cat sniffing speculatively at the water in one of the pools. Beneath the surface the golden carp, unaware of its presence, swam.

‘All my life – that is to say, since my master moved his household back here from Manisa;' she went on, ‘all that time I have watched the merchant ships sailing to and fro along these waters. I used to wonder if any of them were going back to my country, a dangerous thought for a slave to have.' The beautiful voice caressed his ear. ‘And then later, much later, certain things happened. For a time I lost the favour of the Sultan, and this place became my refuge. A place, the only place, where I could sometimes be alone. Until the old Valide Nurbanu stopped it.' Safiye gave a sad sigh. ‘It was unseemly, she said, that I – the Sultan's Haseki – should come here unaccompanied. I must have servants, handmaids, companions. I was forbidden to come here without them.'