One Way or Another(29)

“That’ll be who you were,” Marco said. “Since obviously by then you too will be dead.”

Ahmet’s thick brows rose again in surprise. “Trust me, Mr. Mahoney, Marco, I will be around for a long time to remind them. Still, I would very much like to have you as my guest at Marshmallows.” He gave a small barking laugh. “‘Marshmallows’ is a pun on the fact that the house stands in the middle of some marshland. Very beautiful, as you shall see.”

Despite his initial antipathy, Marco found himself intrigued, as well as curious. There was something almost beguiling in Ghulbian’s self-deprecating demeanor, an eager friendliness, a charm about him which Marco found himself liking. To his surprise he heard himself agreeing to make the visit to Marshmallows. In fact he thought he would enjoy the experience, life with a billionaire in his secluded paradise did not sound half bad, though in fact he doubted Ghulbian would make good on his offer.





22

Back in London the following night, sitting opposite Lucy Patron in the small, intimate Italian restaurant, watching her devour a plate of spaghetti Bolognese as rapidly as any starving animal, Ahmet Ghulbian realized that in fact she probably was starving.

“Is it part of the tradition?” he asked. “That actors must starve for love of their profession?”

He saw Lucy frown and he marveled that she was actually considering what he had said. A sense of humor was definitely absent.

“Only if they have no job,” Lucy explained, twisting more pasta strands around her fork. “No job, no money. That’s the way it goes in my profession.”

In any profession, Ahmet remembered, as his own penniless past suddenly reared in the back of his mind. He had to remind himself that he was now a rich man, that he could buy everyone in this restaurant, buy the whole place in fact without so much as making a dent in his wealth.

Lucy put her knife and fork neatly in the proper five-o’clock position on her still-half-full plate. Obviously, after what Ahmet had said, she had remembered her manners, her upbringing, and that you never finished everything. Her wide blue eyes looked up at him from across the table.

“Thank you very much,” she said primly. “That was delicious.”

“Please,” Ahmet said, suddenly concerned because she was so thin and so obviously hungry. “Please, I’ll order something else. Chicken parmigiana perhaps?” He could practically see her brain ticking over as she contemplated the chicken.

In fact Lucy was wondering how she might be able to taste only a little, then ask for the rest to be boxed so she might take it home for the following night’s supper. She knew she could always ask Martha to help her out financially, and that no doubt her sister would do so immediately, but Martha would also ask questions. Martha would tell Lucy to get a proper job, she couldn’t simply do nothing and starve while hoping for a role on TV. And what’s more, Lucy knew she was right. What she really needed, she thought, attacking the spaghetti hungrily again, was a rich boyfriend.

The last two words clashed together in her mind. She stole another look at the mysterious man sitting opposite, the man in fact paying for her dinner and also right now probably saving her from starving to death. Or at least from running to New York, tail between her legs, hoping for some of her sister’s famous apple crumble, even a potato baked in its jacket, which she’d bet anything if it were Ahmet he would probably serve topped with caviar.

She smiled at the thought and Ahmet smiled back. He had very good teeth. She just wished he would take off the tinted glasses.

Always one to speak whatever was on her mind, she said, “Why do you always wear those glasses?”

Ahmet automatically put up a hand to adjust them, contemplating what to say. Certainly not the truth, which was that he rarely allowed anyone to look directly into his eyes because he was afraid they might see who he really was. This charming young woman had no idea, sitting in this civilized restaurant amid civilized people enjoying a civilized dinner, that he would kill her as easily as pouring her another glass of wine. Not yet, of course, but in due time. He contemplated how much he would enjoy that act, how he would enjoy seeing the fear in her eyes as she realized her fate, how much pleasure he would derive from seeing her naked dead body, when she would finally, completely belong to him, and only him, forever more. He had not yet answered her question.

“Why?” Lucy asked again, taking a sip of the wine he had just poured.

“My eyesight has been bad since childhood. My family was poor, and by that I mean deprived.” Ahmet waved a hand over the table, indicating the lavish food, the chicken parmigiana, the spaghetti, the delicately dressed green salad with anchovies and capers, the warm bread and the saucer of rich olive oil; the second bottle of expensive wine. “We were fortunate to eat at all. And what we ate,” he shrugged, “it’s better not to remember.”

Lucy’s shocked blue eyes stared into his. She reached out to touch his hand, full of sympathy. “How awful for you, I feel so badly now, with all my complaints. I mean, I was hungry but that’s my own fault. My sister says I should get a job, but eventually, she always comes through, helps me out. Financially, you know.”

“Tell me about your sister.” Ahmet crumbled a piece of bread in his fingers and dipped it in the olive oil. He was not hungry, he never was nowadays, that longing had dispersed over the years of being rich. When you could have anything you wanted you suddenly found you wanted nothing. It was the way of the very rich, and in another way, he almost envied Lucy, who could still feel that longing, that urge, the pleasure of a good meal. When she came to his country house he would make sure to feed her well before he sent her out alone into the marshes.