Songbirds(41)

‘Of course, my love,’ she said, placing her hand on mine. ‘My daughter is no longer coming to see me – something to do with work – they had to cancel the trip. So I have all the time in the world. Go and do what you need to do and don’t worry about me.’

I thanked her by placing a kiss on her cheek, like I would have done with my own mother or grandmother, and left her sitting in the living room by the fireplace flicking through a fashion magazine.

When I arrived at the mansion, Binsa and Soneeya were both waiting for me, standing behind the bars of the huge gate, beneath the glare of the security light. The two hunting dogs were out of their cages. One had its nose pressed between the bars of the gate, sniffing the air; the other lay flat, its huge head resting on its front paws. Their sand-coloured coats were shiny, their muscles defined in the spotlight.

‘Madam,’ Soneeya said. ‘There has been another woman who vanished.’

‘What do you mean, Soneeya?’

‘Soneeya is saying there is another woman who is missing. This week, we called on a few friends to see if anyone has heard from Nisha. Our friend told us that her friend’s sister, who works in a house with a family on the other side of Nicosia, well, she vanished one day. She went out at night and never came back.’

I tried to sort this out in my head.

‘How long ago?’

‘About three week ago, madam,’ said Binsa.

‘And they’ve heard nothing from her?’

‘Nothing, madam. Not one thing,’ replied Soneeya.

This made my mouth dry. I was still hoping that, at any moment, Nisha would return, but here they were telling me a story of another maid going missing without explanation.

‘We don’t know anything about the circumstances,’ I said. ‘There could be very good reasons why your friend’s sister is missing from her place of work.’

Soneeya shook her head but said nothing.

Binsa reached into her apron pocket and took out a small scrap of paper. ‘We have a number, a person for you to call. You can go see him.’

Through the bars, I took the piece of paper from Binsa’s hand and read the details that had been hastily scribbled across it: Mr Tony The Blue Tiger, Limassol 09 ---------------

‘Who is this Mr Tony? What is the Blue Tiger?’

‘The Blue Tiger, madam, is a place I have never been. It is a lovely place, they say, where all the workers meet on Sunday and make food and dance and eat. It is Mr Tony’s restaurant the rest of the week. But Sunday he looks after all the workers. He finds them jobs. He helps them when they’re in trouble. Sometimes girls stay at his home until they find an employer who is kind. They say Mr Tony is a good man and he knows so many things. If there is a problem, every maid goes to Mr Tony.’

‘I don’t see how he will be able to help me,’ I said. ‘The Blue Tiger is in another town. What information could he possibly have about Nisha?’

However, I remembered that Nisha had recently been to Limassol. Maybe he would know her, or her cousin Chaturi?

‘He knows about the other woman who vanished. We do not have any more answer, but Mr Tony, he may have more answer.’ Soneeya’s eyes penetrated mine with urgency, as though she were about to take flight and go and find Nisha herself – if only she had had the freedom to do so.

The dogs picked up on her restlessness, for they were both pacing about behind her. With their coats golden in the lamplight, their heads bowed, muscles rippling, tails down, for a moment they looked to me like lions. Lions in captivity. Lions who had been stolen from their land.

As I turned towards home, it occurred to me to go to the late-night bar by the Green Line, Maria’s, which was located at the end of the street in the direction that Mrs Hadjikyriacou had seen Nisha heading the night she had disappeared. I wondered if someone there might know something about Nisha. I knew I was on borrowed time with Aliki home in bed, but maybe I would just stop in. Even just leave a flyer with them.

Two women were standing outside beneath a lamp-post smoking. In spite of the chilly night, they wore strappy tops and mini-skirts and were deep in conversation. I entered a place full of smoke. It reeked of beer. On a nearly empty dance floor there was a belly dancer in sequins and bright pink, rolling her stomach and tinkling bells. Men lined the bar. Waitresses in tight black clothes came and went with silver trays of dips and drinks. Candles had been lit on some of the tables, but nothing could make this bar look elegant: it was seedy and dark and it smelled of lust and greed and desperation.

I felt very out of place in my jogging bottoms, trainers and woolly cardigan whose sleeves were too long, but I was inside now, and knew it would be worth asking some questions. A few men turned with leering eyes to look at me but, to my relief, turned away again. I went to the bar and ordered a sparkling mineral water: I wanted to keep my wits about me in this place. The man beside me had a girl who barely looked eighteen sitting on his lap. As she licked his ear, he played with the strap of her pink dress and kissed her upper arm. I looked away. On my other side, a woman sat alone, smoking an e-cigarette that smelled like cherries. Her black hair reached the small of her back.

Once I paid for my drink, I asked the waitress if I could speak privately to the manager.

‘Why?’

‘I’m looking for work.’

She looked me up and down as if to say Really? and pointed to a wooden door at the back of the bar.