Free The Winter Thief by Jenny White Page B

ice.
    He wasn’t sure what to tell her. In truth he knew nothing. “Do you know where he went last night?”
    Elif stood also, her slight figure in a crumpled shirt and trousers. Her feet were bare. She looked at him questioningly, not wishing to upset Feride further by asking outright.
    Kamil indicated with a shake of his head that he didn’t know, but there was a moment of understanding between them. She took a deep breath and put her arm around Feride.
    “I think he has a mistress,” Feride said, her tone brutally frank, as she pushed Elif’s arm away.
    “Nonsense, Ferosh,” Elif countered. “You’re jumping to conclusions.”
    Feride looked unconvinced, the pain evident on her face, but she grasped Elif’s outstretched hand.
    With a look, Kamil tried to communicate to Elif his gratitude that she was there to support his sister.
    “Does he often stay out late, Ferosh?” Kamil asked. “Has he stayed away all night before?”
    “He’s rarely away in the evenings without telling me where he’s going. A few times, especially in the last month, but he’s never stayed away all night without letting me know.”
    “What’s different about the past month? Did something happen? Have you had unusual visitors?” Or a fight? Kamil wondered silently.
    Feride thought, then shook her head. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Huseyin’s friends come and go, but I know most of them.”
    The servants appeared and set down two trays of hot tea, freshly baked bread and pastries, cheese, olives, and honey.
    “Business people? Tradesmen? Servants?” Kamil didn’t know what he was searching for. An alternative to death, he supposed, as an explanation for Huseyin’s absence. A business deal, a mistress.
    “I wouldn’t know. My housekeeper handles all of that.”
    They stared abstractedly at the food, but no one made a move to take anything.
    Elif spoke up. “The vintner came a few weeks ago.”
    “He comes once a month to take Huseyin’s wine order,” Feride said dismissively.
    Elif looked as if she might say something more but closed her mouth.
    “Tell me more, Elif,” Kamil coaxed.
    “They were in Huseyin’s study and…”
    “Really?” Feride exclaimed. “But he always sees tradesmen in the receiving room at the side of the house. What were they doing in his study?”
    “Huseyin was trying to convince him of something, but I didn’t hear what. I thought the man said the name Rhea. You were out, Feride, and I had come back for some painting supplies I left behind. I noticed the vintner’s carriage when I left, so I assumed it was him.” She shrugged. “But maybe it was someone else.”
    “Rhea.” Feride rose and walked to the window. She held aside the drapes and stared out into the gray shimmer of the day. “Rhea,” she repeated. “I’ll get hold of the vintner and find out what this is all about. They’re all the same, those Greeks,” she said, her voice breaking. “The women have no shame.”
    “You’re upset,” Elif responded, taking her arm. “I may have been mistaken. They might have been talking about a new type of grape.”
    Feride went to the desk in the corner of the room and picked up a piece of paper. “I sent a messenger to Doctor Moreno’s house. You remember him, don’t you, Kamil? He was a friend of Baba’s. They used to play chess together. He’s a surgeon at Yildiz Palace now. I thought he could find out whether Huseyin had been held up at the palace.” She handed Kamil a note. “Here’s his response. I know it doesn’t look good for me to be chasing my husband across the city, but I have to know.” She closed her eyes and shook with the effort of keeping her emotions under control, then opened them again. “Doctor Moreno is discreet.”
    Kamil remembered Doctor Moreno, a tall Jewish surgeon with graying locks that hung like women’s curls down either side of his face. He had long, graceful fingers that picked up a chess piece with as much delicacy as a scalpel.