The Tomb in Turkey

TWO

‘And there’s a ghost town,’ said Barney Willingdon.

‘A ghost town?’ echoed Carole.

‘Yes. End of the village. Some quirk of history. I don’t know all the details, but I think the people who lived there used to be Greeks.’

‘Anatolians,’ his wife Henry corrected him. She was a thin, flimsy-looking woman with ash-blonde hair. Maybe in her forties, could have been fifties. She wore black designer jeans and a white blouse with a design of violets on it. Her public-school vowels contrasted strongly with her husband’s local Sussex accent.

‘Yeah, whatever. Anyway, they was Christians in a Muslim country, and there was a kind of population exchange with some Greek Muslims coming back to Turkey and these people going back to wherever they—’

‘Anatolia,’ said Henry.

‘Right. This was in the 1920s.’

‘Nineteen twenty-three.’

‘Sure, Henry. So, anyway, all these Gr— Anatolians just upped sticks and moved out, and the town’s still there, all set on this hillside, virtually as they left it. A few of the houses have been restored – very few – but most of them have been empty all that time. Windows gone, roofs fallen in, but most of the stone walls are still standing.’

‘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.’