The rest of them parted as smoothly and instinctively as a flock of crows will suddenly break apart and scatter, each to its own destination. Edith went to “have a lie down” in her room, but only got as far as the downstairs cloakroom, where they all heard her being sick.
“I hope whatever it is isn’t catching,” Betty said.
“She was drinking gin last night,” Shirley said.
“She really shouldn’t, doesn’t have the stomach for it.”
Betty and Shirley had to cram themselves into Betty’s little Sunbeam while Ramsay, bolstered by Shirley’s faith in him, disappeared to his room to think about his novel. Writers needed to think a great deal, in fact they almost needed to do more thinking than writing.
A discarded Kitty returned to the window seat and finished the equally abandoned peach. She was hoping that the mysterious man might have returned to his watch, but the gardens were empty so she ran herself a bath and emptied an entire jar of Betty’s Mermaid bath salts into it. Afterwards, feeling rather shrivelled, she asked the cook to make her chocolat chaud （“Eh?” the disgruntled cook said） and then pilfered several large slices of ham from the larder and ate them, until she felt almost as sick as Edith.
* * *
—
When Nellie eventually returned home to Hanover Terrace from her enchantment in the park she took Kitty by surprise, appearing suddenly at the French windows. She was locked out and Kitty let her in, although it crossed her mind not to.
“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Nellie said.
“I’ve only just got up,” Kitty said reasonably.
The Dardanelles
Niven took up his usual post in the barber’s chair, where he was muffled in a steaming towel by a mournful man called Emin who seemed to carry the weight of the Ottoman Empire on his back. He was a fierce type, too, wielding his cut-throat razor with a dramatic flourish. They were in largely mute agreement over many things, particularly both Churchill and the disastrous folly of Gallipoli, but even so Niven restrained himself from voicing his thoughts on the subject as no man wants to discuss politics with someone holding an open blade in their hand.
Emin meant “trustworthy” in Turkish, he had told Niven on more than one occasion, as if he needed to prove his honourable credentials. Niven, on the other hand, liked to keep his virtues well hidden from the world. The woman, for example, spied by Betty in his car in St. James’s yesterday had indeed existed, but she was not the sort of woman that Betty presumed. Betty was both long-sighted and short-sighted at the same time—a considerable feat （or “blind as a bat,” according to Nellie）。 If she had been wearing her spectacles, she might have recognized the woman as one of the cleaners from the Amethyst. （Or perhaps not. Betty wasn’t the sort to remember cleaners.） The cleaner had broken an ankle falling down the stairs in the club and Niven had carried her all the way back up to the top—and she was the hefty sort—and then driven her to St. Thomas’s hospital, where he counted off five pound notes from his wallet and gave them to her, because he knew Nellie would give her the sack when she found out. Absenteeism was not tolerated at the Amethyst, no matter the cause. It ensured the staff stayed hale and hearty, Nellie said. “Pour encourager les autres, and so on.” Niven could have done with his mother by his side in the trenches during the war. The peace was a different matter.
“Efendim?”
“Nothing, Emin. Carry on.”
“I met a man yesterday,” Emin said casually.
“Oh?”
Emin met many men in the course of his day, he said. He heard many things, too. A man will often let fall his secrets when swaddled in the barber’s chair. Niven waited patiently for whatever was to come next.
“A man called Azzopardi. Was sitting right here where you are now.”
“Turkish?”
“Maltese. A bad man. Do you know him?”
“Never heard of him.” Emin slapped cologne on his face. “Is there something I should know?” Niven coaxed when nothing more was forthcoming from the Turk.
“He is inviting your mother to meet him tomorrow. For afternoon tea.”
Niven barked with laughter. “Afternoon tea? He certainly does sound bad, Emin.”
“She should watch her back, effendim.”
“My mother is nothing but back, Emin.”
Niven clicked his fingers and Keeper stood to attention. Emin was duly paid and tipped. So, Niven thought, Azzopardi had set the wheels in motion. The man wanted something from Nellie, but just what was unclear.