Although weary, her face was set in an expression not without humour. Suleyman, consequently, smiled.
'I haven't come to beg,' he said, placing her glass carefully back in front of her, 'but if you have decided not to return to Ireland…'
Zelfa Halman leaned forward, a quizzical expression crossing her face. 'Yes?'
Suleyman sighed with what appeared to be some effort. 'Well, I would quite like to, sort of, well…'
'I'm not going to help you with this, Mehmet,' she said, just the tinge of a twinkle beginning in her eyes. 'If you want something from me, you're going to have to ask for it.'
'Well
'Yes?'
He leaned forward across the table and took one of her hands in his. She did not resist which, he thought, was a good sign.
‘Now that Cengiz Temiz has been returned to his family and-'
With, to Suleyman, quite frightening rapidity, Zelfa's expression changed and she pulled her hand roughly from his. 'If this is about that report-'
'No, no, no! No!' he said, almost desperately, 'this is about, well, it's about you and me and about how now that I, er…'
'Mehmet,' she said as she replaced her fingers slowly under his, 'if this is about your wanting to take me out for a meal accompanied by large amounts of alcohol and dancing…'
'Yes.'
She smiled, 'Well, I might think about it.'
'Oh.' As the register of his voice dropped, so did his gaze. Suleyman stared at the top of the table with deep and obvious disappointment.
Zelfa Halman viewed him wryly. What a child her dashing young prince could be at times. And how delicious it would be to string out her torture of him for just a little bit longer. But then, possibly because her name was Zelfa and not Latife, she could not allow her spite to have rein over her any longer.
'Oh, OK then, yes,' she said with a dismissive wave of one hand.
His head literally sprang up from his musings. 'You mean it?' he said, looking even more like a little boy than he had before.
She laughed. 'Yes, I mean it, I do!'
He reached over and, despite the crowds all around them, Mehmet Suleyman pulled Zelfa Halman's face towards his and kissed her hard upon the lips. When he did finally release her from his embrace he saw that she was smiling.
'So’ she said, after a somewhat breathless pause.
'To return to Cengiz Temiz…'
'Well, he's back with his family again, as I said. But he'll have to give evidence when the case comes to court,' Suleyman replied, a small frown now disrupting his previously ecstatic features. 'After all, he did technically take the Urfa baby unlawfully.'
'But then surely his lack of capacity to reason in the normal way will protect him from actual charges, won't it?' Zelfa asked.
Suleyman sighed. 'It should do, after all he didn't hurt Merih, did he? And with Sevan Avedykian on his side he shouldn't have any trouble. Although, as to whether his parents will ever let him out alone again, I think the future there may be less certain.'
Zelfa looked down at the table and murmured. 'Poor Cengiz. All he ever really wanted was a little love.' She looked up at him and smiled.
Suleyman smiled back. 'Lucky, aren't we?' he said softly.
She took one of his hands and squeezed it tight. 'Are you saying…'
'That I love you? Yes,' he said simply. 'Yes, I think I do. And you? What do you feel?'
Zelfa looked briefly at the other people around them before she said, 'Well, I think I've a lot more passion in my soul than any of this lot, don't you?'
'Yes, but that doesn't answer my question, does it, Zelfa?'
'No.'
Frowning now, he asked again, 'And you, your feelings? Well?'
She sighed and then, once again, slowly smiled. 'Oh, I love you right enough, Mehmet,' she said. 'Even though it scares me to death.'
And then, with uncharacteristic urgency, she took a handkerchief from the pocket of her dress and dabbed at the moisture that was collecting at the corners of her eyes.
Although Cohen left the confines of the Aya Triyada Kilisesi as soon as Kleopatra Polycarpou's funeral was at an end, Ikmen, who was indeed accompanied by a moodily awkward Bulent, remained behind to talk to the old woman's priest, Father Yiannis.
'Kleopatra was never an easy woman, Mr Ikmen,' the cleric said as he walked with the Turk and his son towards the front gate. 'And, in all honesty, I did know that she was having difficulties with Murad Aga prior to his disappearance all those years ago. Not, of course, that I ever imagined she might have killed him.'
'What sort of difficulties?' Ikmen said, as he lit the cigarette that was dangling from his hps.
Father Yiannis sighed. 'Well, apparently, the eunuch or so she told me, was being unfaithful to her. I know that sounds extraordinary but-
Ikmen smiled. 'Not quite as odd as you might think, Father.' And then lowering his voice in order to prevent his son from hearing, he said, 'A friend of mine who comes from an old Ottoman family assures me that some of these creatures were not unskilled, shall we say, in the bedroom.'
'Oh,' the priest reddened. 'Oh, I see, er… That would, I suppose, explain, in part-'
'Precisely.'
'Ah, well. But tragic anyway. And what with the poor man being so far from his native lands.' He sighed. 'There will not be a soul to claim his corpse now.'
Ikmen frowned. 'But I thought that Murad was Turkish. At least I always took if for granted.
'No, actually,' the priest said gravely, 'he was of your mother's race. An Albanian. When he 'left' all those years ago, I assumed it was to return to Albania.' And then he added, slightly bitterly, 'The old empire never emasculated its own, you know. Your Ottoman friend, at least, should know that.'
Ikmen shrugged. 'I guess my mother would have known him then.'
'I should imagine so,' Father Yiannis replied. 'But it was all a very long time ago now, Mr Ikmen.' Nodding in the direction of Bulent, he added, 'We must look to the future and, especially, to the young.'
Noticing that Bulent was now squinting in the harsh sunlight, Ikmen wordlessly passed his sunglasses over to his son who put them on.
'Yes, that's true, Father,' Ikmen said, smiling.
'You do know, of course, that the haman has been left to Mrs Arda?'
'Semra?' Ikmen shrugged. 'Well, that's good. Whether she sells it or gets it going again, it means that the extra money will enable that daughter of hers to leave the streets.'
The priest frowned. ‘I understand that Mina is still in your cells right now though, Mr Ikmen?'
'Yes,' Ikmen said gravely. 'We cannot overlook attempted abduction charges. I mean she did intend to keep that child even after she discovered her identity. And there are drug charges too, involving her pimp who is a foreign national. It's complicated.'
'When she is released she will however have somewhere to go, though,' the priest said.
'Which is good, yes.' Ikmen smiled.
'Yes,' Father Yiannis agreed. Then he shook hands with both Ikmen and Bulent and returned to the confines of his church. The Ikmens, for their part, walked the short distance back up onto istiklal Caddesi and then turned left.
'Do you want some tea before we go home?' Ikmen asked his son as they walked past a tram that was headed for Taksim Square.
'No, I want to get this suit off’ Bulent replied in his customary mumbling tone.
'It looks good on you. Smart,' his father observed. 'It's Orhan's.'
'Yes. But if you would like one of your own.. ‘
