“What happened after the attack?”
“I was shipped back to England, where I stayed with a less than congenial aunt. My father had lost his own parents years before, and there wasn’t anyone else to care for me. I understand why he did it—it was crucial that he try to find Ceyden, and he insisted I be packed off to somewhere safe. But even after five years, when it was clear there was no hope, he didn’t come for me. I went to school, and then to Cambridge, and by the time I was done found I had little use for him.”
“Did he ever go to England?”
“He visited me twice. Sent letters once a week and always gave me a generous allowance. We never had any arguments up to that point, but then we didn’t have any real conversation, either.”
“And he continued in diplomatic service?”
“Yes. I’ve tried to never fault him for any of this. He lost my mother in the most brutal way possible and failed to stop Ceyden’s kidnappers. I can sympathize with his desire to keep me away from harm. But what little boy wouldn’t prefer that his father provide the protection himself?”
“He loves you very much.”
“Yes, I suppose he does in his way.” He rolled his eyes and stared at the ceiling, pain etched in the clenched muscles of his jaw.
“Do you think he could have stopped the kidnappers?”
“Yes, I do. If he’d let me run for cover by myself—which I could easily have done—he would have been able to catch up to them.”
“They might have killed him,” I said.
“Or he might have been able to pull her out of her abductor’s arms.”
“Do you blame him?”
“Sometimes. It’s not reasonable, I know. But then, neither is standing over one’s mother’s brutalized body.”
“Useless words, but I’m so very sorry,” I said.
“Thank you.”
We sat in awkward silence until Ali appeared carrying a great, puffed circle of bread and three dishes, one of hummus, one of something that resembled eggplant, and one brimming with tiny chopped vegetables. “For you to start. I will bring you all the best things,” he said. Two steps behind was a boy with tall glasses filled with red liquid.
“I feel as if we shouldn’t eat given the conversation we’ve been having,” I said.
“Not at all,” he said. “These things happened so long ago, there’s no freshness to the wounds. I’ve gone over it in my head countless times and blathered on about it to anyone who would listen for far too long. I’ve made my way to the position of accepting all of it.”
“That’s no small feat.”
“I thank you.” He poked at the dishes in front of us. “Now eat.”
I spooned some from each platter onto my plate, ripped off a piece from the bread, and dipped it into the vegetable mixture. Sweet tomato and onions burst into my mouth, unable to compete with the surprising combination of mint and hot pepper. I sighed, delighted.
“You like it?” Benjamin asked.
“If you want to understate my undying love for this dish, yes,” I said, taking another bite.
“Try the aubergine. It’s spectacular.”
I scooped a bit of the eggplant concoction from my plate. “Delicious,” I said. “Not a hint of bitter.”
“Ali’s got the best food in Constantinople.”
“I don’t doubt you. Forgive me, but I must return to our previous topic.”
“I understand.”
“What was your father’s reaction when you took up the pursuit of archaeology?”
“He was angry. In that quiet and infuriating way of his. No storming about or yelling from him. Just silent disapproval, all the while making it clear he would do anything he could to convince me to stop.”
“You must have been horribly frustrated.”
“He could not understand that I was doing something different from embarking on a life like the one he’d abandoned. I’m not dragging a family around with me, not recklessly off in search of adventure.”
“You view him as reckless?”
“In hindsight, yes. And he’d be the first to agree. I understand and respect the choices he made for us all. What I can’t forgive is his inability to accept the consequences of his decisions. He knew he was taking risks, but he wasn’t prepared for them. And I’m the one still suffering for it.”
“Dr. Cartwright tells me you’ve resolved to abandon archaeology.”
“You’ve spoken to him?”
“My husband and I visited the site yesterday.”
He shifted in his seat, pushing his hands down on his chair and twisting. “It was an agonizing decision, but I’m not walking away from the work, just the location. I’m going to try to find a position on the continent. Italy, perhaps. Working with Cartwright planted in me the urge to pursue things Roman.”
“Italy? Lovely. Will you be in Rome?”
“I—I don’t have any specific plans yet.”
“What inspired this decision?”
“Nothing in particular. A touch of boredom, I suppose. The desire to travel. A wish to put some distance between myself and my father.”
“Was anyone else planning to go with you?”
“Go with me?” His mouth hung open and he stared at me, then tossed his head and bit a piece of bread slathered with hummus. “Who on earth would go with me?” I could feel him tapping his foot beneath the table.
“I wouldn’t have the slightest idea, of course. Don’t fault me, though. I’m a lady and therefore more than a little prone to leaping without thought to romantic conclusions. I’d half hoped you’d tell me a story of forbidden love and a dramatic escape and a fresh start in a new land.”
“What a ridiculous thing to say.” His voice caught in his throat as he began, but in the end was full of nails. “Why would you think that?”
“I’m a newlywed, Benjamin, and as such bent on seeing those around me as happily matched as I am myself.” I wanted to give him a chance to come clean on his own.
“An astonishing position.”
“Not really,” I said. “Particularly given your colleagues were all under the impression you were getting married.”
He waited before answering, and I could see him summoning calm—blowing out a slow breath, dropping his shoulders, closing his eyes. “I—” He sighed. “I have not had good fortune in love.”
“Does she live here?”
“More or less.”
“Were you with her the night of the murder?”
“Of course not,” he said. “I was at the dig.”
“No, you weren’t.” I stopped for a moment, giving him what I hoped was a piercing look. “I’ve been to the dig, I’ve spoken to your colleagues. You had already left.”
His body was agitated, foot tapping, his hands playing with the tines of his fork. “Yes, I had left. But I hadn’t gone far. I wanted to spend a few days alone in the wilderness.”
“Where did you sleep?”
“I had my tent.”
“Did anyone see you? Can anyone vouch for you?”
“Unfortunately as I did not know my sister was being murdered, I had not arranged for a companion to provide an alibi. I needed some time to myself before setting off on the next part of my life. Particularly as it’s one that seems so impossible.”
“What is the impediment?” I asked. “Does your father not approve?”
“He certainly wouldn’t, given the opportunity to pass judgment. But the lack of his blessing would only have
