“Yes, I suppose he does in his way.” He rolled his eyes and stared at the ceiling, pain etched in the clenched muscles of his jaw.

“Do you think he could have stopped the kidnappers?”

“Yes, I do. If he’d let me run for cover by myself—which I could easily have done—he would have been able to catch up to them.”

“They might have killed him,” I said.

“Or he might have been able to pull her out of her abductor’s arms.”

“Do you blame him?”

“Sometimes. It’s not reasonable, I know. But then, neither is standing over one’s mother’s brutalized body.”

“Useless words, but I’m so very sorry,” I said.

“Thank you.”

We sat in awkward silence until Ali appeared carrying a great, puffed circle of bread and three dishes, one of hummus, one of something that resembled eggplant, and one brimming with tiny chopped vegetables. “For you to start. I will bring you all the best things,” he said. Two steps behind was a boy with tall glasses filled with red liquid.

“I feel as if we shouldn’t eat given the conversation we’ve been having,” I said.

“Not at all,” he said. “These things happened so long ago, there’s no freshness to the wounds. I’ve gone over it in my head countless times and blathered on about it to anyone who would listen for far too long. I’ve made my way to the position of accepting all of it.”

“That’s no small feat.”

“I thank you.” He poked at the dishes in front of us. “Now eat.”

I spooned some from each platter onto my plate, ripped off a piece from the bread, and dipped it into the vegetable mixture. Sweet tomato and onions burst into my mouth, unable to compete with the surprising combination of mint and hot pepper. I sighed, delighted.

“You like it?” Benjamin asked.

“If you want to understate my undying love for this dish, yes,” I said, taking another bite.

“Try the aubergine. It’s spectacular.”

I scooped a bit of the eggplant concoction from my plate. “Delicious,” I said. “Not a hint of bitter.”

“Ali’s got the best food in Constantinople.”

“I don’t doubt you. Forgive me, but I must return to our previous topic.”

“I understand.”

“What was your father’s reaction when you took up the pursuit of archaeology?”

“He was angry. In that quiet and infuriating way of his. No storming about or yelling from him. Just silent disapproval, all the while making it clear he would do anything he could to convince me to stop.”

“You must have been horribly frustrated.”

“He could not understand that I was doing something different from embarking on a life like the one he’d abandoned. I’m not dragging a family around with me, not recklessly off in search of adventure.”

“You view him as reckless?”

“In hindsight, yes. And he’d be the first to agree. I understand and respect the choices he made for us all. What I can’t forgive is his inability to accept the consequences of his decisions. He knew he was taking risks, but he wasn’t prepared for them. And I’m the one still suffering for it.”

“Dr. Cartwright tells me you’ve resolved to abandon archaeology.”

“You’ve spoken to him?”

“My husband and I visited the site yesterday.”

He shifted in his seat, pushing his hands down on his chair and twisting. “It was an agonizing decision, but I’m not walking away from the work, just the location. I’m going to try to find a position on the continent. Italy, perhaps. Working with Cartwright planted in me the urge to pursue things Roman.”

“Italy? Lovely. Will you be in Rome?”

“I—I don’t have any specific plans yet.”

“What inspired this decision?”

“Nothing in particular. A touch of boredom, I suppose. The desire to travel. A wish to put some distance between myself and my father.”

“Was anyone else planning to go with you?”

“Go with me?” His mouth hung open and he stared at me, then tossed his head and bit a piece of bread slathered with hummus. “Who on earth would go with me?” I could feel him tapping his foot beneath the table.

“I wouldn’t have the slightest idea, of course. Don’t fault me, though. I’m a lady and therefore more than a little prone to leaping without thought to romantic conclusions. I’d half hoped you’d tell me a story of forbidden love and a dramatic escape and a fresh start in a new land.”

“What a ridiculous thing to say.” His voice caught in his throat as he began, but in the end was full of nails. “Why would you think that?”

“I’m a newlywed, Benjamin, and as such bent on seeing those around me as happily matched as I am myself.” I wanted to give him a chance to come clean on his own.

“An astonishing position.”

“Not really,” I said. “Particularly given your colleagues were all under the impression you were getting married.”

He waited before answering, and I could see him summoning calm—blowing out a slow breath, dropping his shoulders, closing his eyes. “I—” He sighed. “I have not had good fortune in love.”

“Does she live here?”

“More or less.”

“Were you with her the night of the murder?”

“Of course not,” he said. “I was at the dig.”

“No, you weren’t.” I stopped for a moment, giving him what I hoped was a piercing look. “I’ve been to the dig, I’ve spoken to your colleagues. You had already left.”

His body was agitated, foot tapping, his hands playing with the tines of his fork. “Yes, I had left. But I hadn’t gone far. I wanted to spend a few days alone in the wilderness.”

“Where did you sleep?”

“I had my tent.”

“Did anyone see you? Can anyone vouch for you?”

“Unfortunately as I did not know my sister was being murdered, I had not arranged for a companion to provide an alibi. I needed some time to myself before setting off on the next part of my life. Particularly as it’s one that seems so impossible.”

“What is the impediment?” I asked. “Does your father not approve?”

“He certainly wouldn’t, given the opportunity to pass judgment. But the lack of his blessing would only have been one in a series of stumbling blocks.”

“Her parents?”

“They’re dead.”

“Is she attached to someone else? Married?”

“Not married, no,” he said. “But there is... an understanding.”

“Can she not break it off?” I asked. “Surely there is some way for you to be together, and she’s doing her fiancé no service by staying where she knows she cannot be happy.”

“We both know these situations are never so simple.” He pulled off another piece of bread. “And at any rate, it’s too late now.”

“Too close to the wedding?”

“Too close to everything.”


After finishing with Benjamin, I moved from one bazaar to another, meeting Colin in front of the Grand Bazaar—Kapal?çar?—at a stone entrance reminiscent of a crusader’s fortress. This was infinitely larger than the Spice Bazaar, but I couldn’t see that from the outside. It was only after stepping through the pointed archway and into the labyrinthine maze of covered streets that I was overwhelmed. The number of stalls was astonishing, and the paths through them, some wide, some narrow, seemed endless. In every direction were stacks of cloth, shawls, dried fruits, lanterns—nearly anything imaginable.

“Sir Richard knew nothing of it?” I asked as we made our way through the dense crowd walking along the expansive main street, jewelry shops on either side of us, gold chains and bracelets all but spilling from their windows.

“He was entirely ignorant of his son’s plans to leave the country,” Colin said. “Will you forgive me for changing the subject, just for a moment? I have a gift for you.”

“Of course,” I said, smiling.

He pulled his hand out from behind his back to show me a bottle of port. “Not vintage, but all I could find here on short notice.”

“Port! Oh, I do adore you!” The kiss I wanted to give him would have left no question of my burning affection for him, but the public location forced restraint. I squeezed his hand and smiled at him, leaving him in no doubt as to what would come later. “I had the most divine luncheon today with Benjamin. But don’t let me distract you from either your purpose or your own story. Finish telling me about Sir Richard.”

“Turkish delight?” A man holding a platter stepped in front of us as we turned a corner. “You try?” Colin took two pieces, handed one to me, and thanked the man before continuing on.

“You don’t feel guilty not buying any?” I asked, biting into the powdery softness.

“No, it’s not expected,” he said. “The approach seems aggressive to us, but it’s meant to suggest nothing but warm enthusiasm. And there are no hurt feelings if you don’t buy. Here—let’s go this way. I want to look at carpets.”

“Did you learn anything interesting today?” I asked.

“Fished around at the embassy—as I said, it’s clear Sir Richard had no idea his son was planning to go to France.”

“Today he told me Italy.”

“Italy? Which do you think is the lie?” he asked.

“I’ve no idea—he’s clearly hiding something. You didn’t tell Sir Richard his plans, did you?”

“No, though I hope you encouraged Benjamin to,” he said.

“I’m afraid I didn’t,” I said. “I’m less than pleased with the entire situation, and don’t see that Benjamin, who has suffered his entire life, should be forced to reveal something he’d prefer to keep private.”

“You don’t think his own father has the right to know where he plans to live?”

“No, I don’t. Benjamin’s a grown man—he deserves the freedom to make his own choices.”

“I am well aware of your passion for freedom. But you must admit, Emily, it has to have its limits.”