One Way or Another(33)

Thinking of Em, he said, “Mr. Ghulbian does not keep a dog, out here in the country?”

Mehitabel had walked back to the door. She turned and looked at him, brows arched in surprise. “Why should he?”

“This is a lonely place. Remote. A safety factor perhaps? Or companionship?”

“There are dangerous marshes all around this house, Mr. Mahoney. It’s safer here than any place with a dozen armed guards. Mr. Ghulbian cannot have a dog, because it would get lost out there in the marshlands. Everything that looks like grass is in reality water or mud. That’s why there are no trees; there is nowhere for their roots to take hold.”

“So it would be cruel of Ahmet to have a dog companion because it could drown in the marshes?”

“It has been known,” Mehitabel acknowledged. “There are no wild creatures around, no foxes, no raccoons, even very few wildfowl. The house overlooks a tidal river. Twice a day, that tide turns. One minute you are looking at a placid stretch of water, the next it’s rising up and surging toward you. It’s best to stay out of the way of our river, Mr. Mahoney. Even the wildfowl have learned not to build their nests there; too many of their young were lost in that surge of water, so brown, so deep, so … strong.” She said the last word almost in a whisper, then quickly made her exit, closing the door softly behind her.

As she did, Marco heard a cry. High-pitched, like a creature in pain.

He leapt across the room and yanked open the door, almost falling over Mehitabel, who was standing immediately outside.

“What the f*ck was that? It sounded like someone being tortured.”

“Tut, tut, tut.” Mehitabel shook her head at his language, sending her tight Medusa curls dancing. She even laughed, a sound Marco had never expected to hear from her, yet she seemed to find something amusing in what he had said.

“Good heavens, no, Mr. Mahoney. It’s only a wild bird, of course. The herons nest in our roof and they make the strangest cries. Mr. Ghulbian would like to be rid of them but they have been nesting here for centuries and I’m afraid the locals would not approve.”

“And where exactly is Mr. Ghulbian?” Marco was fed up of being left standing in the strange drawing room in this strange house on these strange green marshlands with birds screeching like Emily Bront?’s Mrs. Rochester locked in the attic. He wanted out of Wuthering Heights or Marshmallows or whatever, with its wailing birds and antique silver salvers and a woman who somehow made his skin crawl.

“Please send for the golf cart. I can’t wait any longer.”

Mehitabel put a shocked hand to her mouth. Her fingernails were long and painted crimson, her hand strong, her bare brown arms muscular. It crossed Marco’s mind that if it came to a fight she could probably take him on; this woman had more tricks up her sleeve than any pro fighter, he’d bet on that. He also wondered what kind of hold she had over Ghulbian that he kept her close to him. She probably knew all his secrets, and that man certainly had more and deeper secrets than normal people.

“But you cannot leave yet,” Mehitabel protested. “Mr. Ghulbian will be here any minute.” A helicopter clattered in the distance. “There, you see, here he is,” she said. Her dark greenish eyes met his again and Marco thought he caught a glint of triumph in them. He wondered uneasily what she was up to, and what exactly that cry was that he’d heard.

Minutes later Ahmet walked into the room, both hands outstretched, that welcoming smile on his face.

“So sorry to keep you waiting. A bit foggy out there. Often is when the tide turns; got stuck for ten minutes the other side of the river, had to wait ’til it cleared a bit.” He eyed the bottle of beer on the silver tray and added, “I’m glad to see Mehitabel took good care of you. She’s a treasure, you know. I don’t know what I’d do without her. She keeps me on track, knows where I have to be and when, and makes sure I get there. I suppose we all have someone like that, we busy men, to help us out, you know.”

Actually, Marco usually knew exactly where he was going and got there under his own steam, but he nodded and said he was glad Ghulbian was finally here. “I didn’t realize this place was so remote,” he said. “Out on the marshes.”

“But that’s exactly what I love about it.” Ghulbian went over to the sofa. “Come, sit down, why don’t you. Let’s talk about my portrait. Remember, I asked for it to be painted here? Now you see why. This is my territory. I am the only person within miles, no one else even nearby. Welcome to my world, Marco.”

He leaned forward and slapped Marco’s knee jovially, smiling as if they were two boys at a school reunion. “Now, d’you think you can see what I mean? This is where I belong, in real life as well as in my portrait.”

To his surprise, Marco did see what Ahmet meant. This strange place could only be home to a man like this. Only a house like this could contain his volatile personality, his ability to become whomever he wanted you to think he was at that moment. And right now, Ghulbian wanted Marco to believe he was a simple, honest country lover, a man who enjoyed the peace and quiet of these dangerous marshes.

“What kind of wildfowl are there around here?” he asked, taking a sip of the beer, which was perfectly chilled.

“Almost none, only the occasional heron that likes to nest on my rooftop, but I’ve pretty much put a stop to that. Nobody needs those great birds swooping around, messing all over everything. No, I like to keep my house clean, Marco. No birds, no dogs, no cats.”