‘Comes from a vineyard planted by Attaturk himself,’ he told me proudly. That must have been in the 1920s. ‘Drink.’
I drank. Old Attaturk could make a fair old bottle of wine. All I could do now was wait, so I might as well enjoy it. I was sure that if I tried to leave I should feel the rough side of my silent companion’s mighty hands.
When the mechanic returned he was in his Sunday best, and called for another bottle of wine. I had just discovered that Turkish wines are one of the hidden treasures of the world, so I didn’t complain.
‘The Lebanese says you are indeed one of Mr Tobin’s friends and maybe even one of ours as well.’
‘That is less certain. I hardly know you—’
‘And you English never kiss on a first date.’ He suddenly giggled. It was an odd girlish sound. ‘I’m sorry. Pat taught me that joke.’
‘You have news?’
‘Three days ago he came here and asked to borrow a car. We gave him a small Fiat from the war. They call them Topolinos.’
‘Don’t worry about what they call them. Where did he go?’
‘I don’t know. He went to the food shop run by the Englishwoman married to Hayri . . . bought enough supplies for an expedition.’
‘To where?’
‘I don’t know. It’s all I can tell you. I am still waiting for my car.’
‘Thank you for your help.’ I stood up. ‘I have used too much of your time already.’
‘Sit down, Mr Bassett. We have opened the bottle. It would be impolite to leave before it was empty.’
I did what I was told. So would you. The mechanic had an undefined authority that I wasn’t prepared to challenge. I held out my hand, and he shook it.
‘I’m Charlie,’ I told him. ‘What do they call you?’
He smiled, and for the first time looked truly dangerous.
‘Now, Mr Bassett,’ he said, ‘why on earth should I tell you that?’
A proper hero in a proper book would tell you how he rushed home, jumped in his car and set off at once in pursuit. But not me. I was too drunk by the time I got back to Yassine’s place to do anything except sleep it off. My new pals must have seen me back; I doubt I could have found the way on my own.
I remember opening my eyes in the late afternoon sometime. Steve was looking down at me. Concerned. She said, ‘I’m dancing tonight. Will you wake up in time to watch me?’ She didn’t seem all that mad at the state I was in.
‘Course I will, pet. Just a bit tired.’
‘And the rest.’
I shut my eyes again. Love me or leave me. She left me of course.
I was awake, cleaned up and sober again by the time she danced. David Yassine sat with me. He told me, ‘I was wrong. She can dance. She could give the girls at the Kettle a run for their money. I am very pleased with her.’
‘Where do you find your dancers, David?’
‘Here and there, old friend, here and there.’
‘Where did you find Stephanie?’
‘There. Didn’t she tell you?’
‘No.’
‘Ask her.’
At the end of her set Steve collapsed on the ground with a dramatic clash of cymbals. Then the stringed instrument pedalled a couple of bars into the darkness, fading away like smoke. Polite applause. She came over to sit with us, and the barman brought her lemonade without being asked. I could smell her perfume evaporating on her body. She was taking deep breaths.
‘Tell me,’ I asked her. ‘What were you doing when you met David?’
‘Sitting in a window in Amsterdam,’ she flashed back without hesitation. ‘He said I could do better than that. How about you?’
‘Someone asked me if I’d ever seen a belly dancer, and took me into his club.’
‘You sleep with the dancer?’
‘It was the quickest way of learning enough Arabic to get by.’
‘Excuses, excuses! Does that mean we start square?’
‘Yes, of course it does. Is that OK with you?’
‘It helps. Give me a cigarette, one of you.’
Yassine was distracted by a new dancer advancing to the small stage. She was a recent addition to his stable. She oozed sexual invitation, but looked young – on the cusp of womanhood – and that left me a trifle uneasy. When the lights went down for her our table was in darkness. Steve leaned over, and touched my arm. I asked, ‘What?’
‘I just wanted you to know how happy I am. If my life was always like this I’d want to live for ever.’ She squeezed my hand. I suppose I felt something similar, but it was never the sort of thing I could say. I smiled across at her in the half-light. She added, ‘But that doesn’t mean I’ve made up my mind about anything.’
My dad once told me there’s always a bloody but.
When she left us to go and get changed I tugged Yassine’s sleeve to get his attention. He didn’t take his eyes off the dancer.
‘You were wrong, David. The man shot this afternoon wasn’t killed. He was just winged. I think it was that Jerry who taught us how to play spoof.’
‘I was wrong then, but now I’m right – you slept through the update, Charlie. He died of shock in the ambulance, and they didn’t bring him back. The UN is furious and is threatening to pull out . . . The Governor’s calling a special parliament tomorrow. Apparently the poor young man survived three years in a concentration camp, only to be murdered in our dirty little backwater, by silly little schoolboys who can’t tell the difference between a German and an Englishman. They’ve already arrested the shooters – they are both thirteen.’
‘And they will become
