The Winter Thief

81

The following day, Feride sent a message to the vintner, asking him to come by that afternoon at a time when Huseyin usually napped. While she waited for the vintner’s arrival in Huseyin’s receiving room, she ran her fingers curiously along the spines of books on the shelves and peered into the morocco leather folders of documents that covered his desk and the two side tables. She understood nothing about her husband, she realized, not what he did nor where his appetites lay, besides good wine and the occasional jest with his family. Was that her fault?

A servant announced the vintner’s arrival. Dressed in black, the man was short and plump, much like a barrel of his own wines, with red-rimmed eyes that looked as though he had been weeping. His short-cropped hair was blond mixed with white and circled his head like a halo. He stopped awkwardly just inside the door and looked down at his stockinged feet, clearly confused at being received not by the pasha but by his wife.

“My husband is traveling,” Feride explained. A thin silk veil swept across the bottom of her face but did little to hide the grim set of her mouth. “I’d like to ask you about something.”

The vintner looked surprised. “Madame, I sent this month’s supply of our best wines. If there was something wrong with it, I humbly beg your forgiveness. I will immediately replace it.”

“That’s not it.” Feride faltered. “The quality is fine.” She didn’t know how to proceed. It wouldn’t do to ask the man outright if her husband was having an affair. “I have heard of Rhea,” she said noncommittally, allowing the statement to refer to a woman or a type of grape.

“Vah,” the vintner exclaimed, falling to his knees. “You are so kind to remember my daughter.” He buried his face in his hands. “It’s been a terrible shock to our family. Our beautiful daughter.” He looked up at Feride, his anguished face streaming with tears. “So beautiful. A kind and dutiful girl. She was going to be married.”

“Married?”

“Huseyin Pasha arranged it. He has known her since she was a child when he used to visit the vineyards. He always had a space for her in his heart.” He stood and wiped his face with the back of his hand. “You are both very kind,” he mumbled.

Feride was stunned. It was worse than she had feared. Huseyin had planned to take a second wife. He must have been meeting Rhea the night he disappeared. They would have been in the restaurant together. Had she died in the fire? Seeing the grieving father, Feride didn’t feel triumphant. She grieved with him for everything she had lost, her husband, her marriage. This would be true whether Huseyin was alive or dead.

“I should tell the pasha myself about the tragedy that has befallen us,” the vintner said softly, “When will he return?”

“Not for some time. I’ll let him know. What is it you wish me to tell him?”

“That if Rhea were alive, she would thank him a thousand times for his kindness and efforts on her behalf. That I and my family are eternally in your debt.”

“What efforts?”

The vintner’s eyes appraised the servants arrayed around the room. “May I approach, chere hanoum?”

Feride wondered if he thought she would be shamed by speaking of this second marriage. She signaled her maids to withdraw to a distance, leaving them both alone at one end of the room.

The vintner knelt before her, his eyes on the carpet. “Our daughter was engaged to a friend’s son, a clever lad who would have taken over our business. More important, my daughter wanted him as her husband. But marriage was impossible as long as Rhea received unwanted attentions from a powerful man who also wished to marry her. I wouldn’t have allowed it. He appears cruel, and I feared he would use her badly. He had begun to demand her presence in compromising circumstances, and I was afraid for her, so I approached Huseyin Pasha for advice. I didn’t know where else to turn. Huseyin Pasha kindly offered to intercede so that our daughter could get married.”

At this, Feride’s breath caught, and she felt the heat rise to her face. She had been such a fool, she thought, with no concern for anything but her own pride.

“I’m sorry,” she said. It came out in a hoarse whisper.

“She was to have met the pasha at my cousin’s taverna that night to plan what to do. It was where she died, along with my cousin and his wife.” He was unable to go on. His mouth hung slightly open and his eyes stared blindly at the wall behind Feride as if at a great distance he could see his daughter there. His eyes widened. “Is the pasha also…? I thought he had been delayed.”

“He was badly injured but is recovering.”

“Praise be to God, who rewards the just and leads the innocent to paradise.”

Feride rose and softly uttered words of condolence. “May you be well. Our family is united with yours in sorrow. I’ll let the pasha know of your visit.”