They charged, they retreated, they stamped the ground in unison. No one spoke to his neighbour, there was no drunken jollity, I was like an outsider at some religious ceremony of which he couldnt interpret the symbols. Even my driver left me to put his arm round another mans shoulder, and I drank more beer to drown my sense of being excluded. I was drunk, I knew that, for drunken tears stood in my eyes, and I wanted to throw my beer glass on the floor and join the dancing. But I was excluded, as I had always been excluded. Tooley had joined her young friends and Miss Keene had departed to cousins in Kofiefontein, leaving her tatting on a chair under the Van de Velde. I would always be protected, as I had been when a cashier, by a hygienic plastic screen. Even the breath of the dancers didnt reach me as they circled my table. My aunt was probably talking about things which mattered to her with General Abdul. She had greeted her adopted son in Milan more freely than she had ever greeted me. She had said good-bye to Wordsworth in Paris with blown kisses and tears in her eyes. She had a world of her own to which I would never be admitted, and I would have done better, I told myself, if I had stayed with my dahlias and the ashes of my mother who was not if my aunt were to be believed my real one. So I sat in the West Berlin Hotel shedding beery tears of self-pity and envying the men who danced with their arms round strangers shoulders. Take me away, I said to the driver when he returned, finish your beer but take me away.
You are not pleased? he asked as we drove uphill towards the Pera Palace.
Im tired, thats all. I want to go to bed.
Two police cars blocked our way outside the Pera Palace. An elderly man who carried a walking stick crooked over his left arm was reaching with a stiff right leg towards the ground as we drew up. My driver told me in a tone of awe, That is Colonel Hakim. The colonel wore a very English suit of grey flannel with chalk stripes, and he had a small grey moustache. He looked like any veteran member of the Army and Navy alighting at his club.
Very important man, my driver told me. Very fair to Greeks.
I went past the colonel into the hotel. The receptionist was standing in the entrance presumably to welcome him; I was of so little importance that he wouldnt shift to let me by. I had to walk round him and he didnt answer my good night. A lift took me up to the fifth floor. When I saw a light under my aunts door, I tapped and went in. She was sitting upright in bed wearing a bed-jacket and she was reading a paperback with a lurid cover. Ive been seeing Istanbul, I told her.
So have I. The curtains were drawn back and the lights of the city lay below us. She put her book down. The jacket showed a naked young woman lying in bed with a knife in her back, regarded by a man with a cruel face in a red fez. The title was Turkish Delight. I have been absorbing local atmosphere, she said.
Is the man in the fez the murderer?
No, hes the policeman. A very unpleasant type called Colonel Hakim.
How very odd because
The murder takes place in this very Pera Palace, but there are a good many details wrong, as you might expect from a novelist. The girl is loved by a British secret agent, a tough sentimental man called Amis, and they have dinner together on her last night at Abdullahs you remember we had lunch there ourselves. They have a love scene too in Santa Sophia, and there is an attempt on Amiss life at the Blue Mosque. We might almost have been doing a literary pilgrimage.
Hardly literary, I said.
Oh, youre your fathers son. He tried to make me read Walter Scott, especially Rob Roy, but I much prefer this. It moves a great deal quicker and there are fewer descriptions.
Did Amis murder her?
Of course not, but he is suspected by Colonel Hakim, who has very cruel methods of interrogation, my aunt said with relish[158].
The telephone rang. I answered it.
Perhaps its General Abdul at last, she said, though it seems a little late for him to ring.
This is the reception speaking. Is Miss Bertram there?
Yes, what is it?
I am sorry to disturb her, but Colonel Hakim wishes to see her.
At this hour? Quite impossible. Why?[159]
He is on the way up now. He rang off.
Colonel Hakim is on the way to see you, I said.
Colonel Hakim?
The real Colonel Hakim. Hes a police officer too.
A police officer? Aunt Augusta said. Again? I begin to think I am back in the old days. With Mr. Visconti. Henry, will you open my suitcase? The green one. Youll find a light coat there. Fawn with a fur collar.
Yes, Aunt Augusta, I have it here.
Under the coat in a cardboard box you will find a candle a decorated candle.
Yes, I see the box.
Take out the candle, but be careful because its rather heavy. Put it on my bedside table and light it. Candlelight is better for my complexion.
It was extraordinarily heavy, and I nearly dropped it. It probably had some kind of lead weight at the bottom, I thought, to hold it steady. A big brick of scarlet wax which stood a foot high, it was decorated on all four sides with scrolls and coats of arms. A great deal of artistry had gone into moulding the wax, which would melt away only too quickly. I lit the wick. Now turn out the light, my aunt said, adjusting her bed-jacket and puffing up her pillow. There was a knock on the door and Colonel Hakim came in.