Songbirds(34)

Soon Soneeya came in, taking off her blue rubber gloves, chucking them in the bin and washing her hands thoroughly with plenty of soap. Before long, I was sitting in the living room with a cup of tea in my hand, the two women looking at me intently.

‘I’m worried about Nisha,’ I said.

At this, Soneeya nudged Binsa hard in the thigh with her fist and scrunched up her lips, saying something in Nepali. Then Soneeya got up and left the room, returning with something shiny in her hand. She offered it to me. It was a bracelet, a silver bangle with a single evil-eye charm. I held my breath and picked it up, turning it around in my hand. And there it was. The inscription of Aliki’s name, engraved on the inner side of the bracelet. We had given this bracelet to Nisha for her birthday a few years earlier. She wore it every day. The clasp was broken now.

I looked up at Soneeya and Binsa. ‘How do you have this?’ I asked, my breath quickening, panic blooming in my chest.

‘I told Binsa many times this week to ask madam to give us your phone number so we could call you, madam. We tried Nisha’s mobile and there was no answer. I didn’t ask madam because Binsa is her best maid. I am number two here. Binsa needed to ask her.’

‘Soneeya found it, madam,’ Binsa quickly broke in. ‘She was walking the dogs, to the end of the street by Maria’s. There is an old house there. No one lives there. Soneeya sometimes lets the dogs go do their business in that yard,’ she said, shooting Soneeya a reproving look. ‘And she saw something shiny by the front door. It was Nisha’s bracelet. We became worried.’

‘Very worried,’ agreed Soneeya.

‘And then Nisha didn’t answer her phone,’ Binsa said, ‘and we thought that maybe Nisha went to see her cousin, maybe she went away again. It is none of our business. This is what I said to Soneeya.’

I put the tea-cup on the coffee table. ‘The thing is,’ I said, cautiously, ‘I have no idea where Nisha is. She has simply disappeared. She left her passport and other important items. I can’t get through to her on her phone, either. Her friend Yiannis has not seen her, but several neighbours say they saw her going out on Sunday evening.’

I waited as the women looked at each other and chatted, quickly, passionately, in Nepali. Soneeya’s voice rose now and then with alarm, whereas Binsa sounded calmer.

‘Madam,’ Binsa said suddenly, ‘have you been to the police station?’

I explained to them that I had, but the police would not help; leaving out, of course, what Officer Kyprianou had said about foreign workers.

‘I came to you,’ I said, ‘because I was hoping you might know something about where she went.’

They both shook their head.

‘Did she ever mention leaving me? Maybe going over to the north to find other work?’

‘Never!’ said Soneeya, quickly. ‘Madam, Nisha would never even think of doing this. That is not Nisha.’

I nodded. I knew of course that she was right.

‘Do you know anything about Yiannis?’

The girls started speaking in Nepali again, whispering, as if there was a chance I might understand them. They were clearly in disagreement, but after some time, Soneeya turned to me.

‘Madam, Binsa is unsure about speaking to you but I think you care about Nisha. I would like to say this to you because Yiannis maybe knows something that you don’t know.’

I sat up straighter at this point and I think Binsa noticed, as she looked concerned. She mumbled a few words under her breath and Soneeya shushed her.

‘This man, Yiannis, he loves Nisha so much. He loves her, madam. I don’t know how to say this to you. He loves her from here to the moon.’ She made a huge gesture with her hands at this point, opening them wide.

‘I see,’ I said. ‘Does she love him, too?’ It seemed like a reasonable question to ask.

‘Yes, madam,’ said Soneeya. ‘If anybody knows a thing about where Nisha is, he will know. She tells him all her secrets, everything.’

I nodded, a knot forming in my stomach, like a stone. It was clear from how anxious Yiannis had been last night that he did not know a thing.

‘Madam,’ said Binsa now, interrupting my thoughts, ‘do not tell Nisha we told you this information. She will be unhappy with us. She loves her job too, madam, she never wants to lose this job with you. She worries that you will not like her being with Yiannis.’

‘I promise,’ I said. ‘I won’t say a thing.’

At that point the sound of a buzzer rang through the room.

‘Ah!’ Binsa exclaimed, jumping up and heading to the large front window. From her apron pocket she retrieved a gate remote and clicked it a few times.

‘Sir and madam are here!’ Soneeya said, beginning to gather up our tea-cups.

I heard the creak of metal gates and the soft sound of an engine, followed by the thump of car doors. Quickly, I riffled through my purse, found an old receipt and wrote my phone number on it. ‘Soneeya’ – I pressed the paper into her hand – ‘please call me if you think of anything else. Anything at all.’

Soneeya nodded and tucked the receipt into her pocket, spiriting the tea tray off into the kitchen.

Binsa opened the front door and Mr and Mrs Kostas came in. They were both wearing soft cashmere jumpers, with jeans and tennis shoes. Mrs Kostas lifted her gold-framed Armani glasses (I recognised them; I’d sold them to her), pushing them up into her hair.