Chapter 13
A phone call from Seoirse: 'Denis,' he said, ' I'll read from my notes.
''The Department has not been able to obtain clarification from the Turkish Ministry of Foreign Affairs with regard to its position in relation to investigations into the death of Mrs. Brown. Until clarification is obtained, the Irish Government is unwilling to allow Ambassador Brown to resume his post as Irish Ambassador to Turkey.'
'What does Walter say to that, Seoirse?'
'On balance, he would prefer to go back, but he understands that we must think of the wider picture. Our reading of events is that the Ambassador of Ireland has become a pawn between two factions in Ankara. The right-wing faction has blamed a leftist terrorist group for Mrs. Brown's death. The left-wing faction has countered by making trouble for Walter. If the circumstances were normal, we would have no hesitation in permitting him to return to help with routine investigations. We might even waive the right to diplomatic immunity. Our own investigation, you will be pleased to learn, shows that there is no case for him to answer.
'Given prevailing conditions in Ankara, however, Ambassador Brown's return, will be delayed, perhaps indefinitely. There is a vacancy in Protocol. You will continue in Ankara as chargé. Rather than incur storage charges for the furnishings of the residence, it has been decided to continue to rent the building for the moment. You, as chargé, are expected to move in there, immediately, if you have not done so already, invoking the diplomatic clause in your own lease in order to break it.'
'Will there be an increase in allowances?'
'No. I raised the issue. What you save on rent is what you get. I am to remind you that we have accepted the condolences of the Turkish government and their regrets that Mrs. Brown died, a victim of terrorism. As far as we are concerned the matter rests there.
'Seoirse, the Department has no guts.'
'It will have yours if you don't heed the message.'
That is that, Millicent. I'm off the case.
Ayse took a taxi to the airport to pick up the bag this morning. I was delighted, as usual, to receive your letter, Millicent. Under other circumstances I might have been disappointed that you opt for a proper wedding, with all the trimmings, whenever I can get leave, rather than a kind of Gretna Green whirl to Ankara. However, since I'm to move into a haunted house and do all the work of an Embassy, and have no extra money, I suppose I will be glad, by lunchtime, that you are patient and prudent. I noted, with relief, your recommendation that I should not continue to detect. Otherwise, I would be quite shamefaced now in admitting that I am about to yield to departmental pressure.
I wrapped a bottle of the wine I bought in Cappadocia and went down to the residence. My original dislike of the place has been renewed by its recent history. I put the wrapped bottle down beside me and placed my elbows on the kitchen table. Pierre sat across from me and I was pleased to find that his eyes moved frequently to the bottle.
'Pierre, you warned M. d'Aubine that I was coming to ask questions about the Countess's death. Together you decided to trap me underground, to administer what is technically known as a 'frightener'.
'Pierre bowed his head in his hands. His shoulders shook.'Oh stop crying,' I said. 'I think that both M. d'Aubine and yourself have been shedding crocodile tears all along.'
That was too much for him. He threw back his head and roared, and I could see that the tears were tears of laughter and that the howls were howls of mirth.
'I knew I could rely on you to get hold of the wrong end of the stick,' he gasped.'
I want to know what is going on in Cappadocia. It may well have a bearing on the murder. It is something to do with wine. Something to do with this….'
I unwrapped the bottle.
'This wine, purchased in Göreme, and with a Cappadocian label, is the wine I was given here in the residence, as wine from the Countess's château in France.'
Pierre lifted an eyebrow, uncorked it and poured two glasses.
'Aren't you going to let it breathe?'
'A bourgeois notion, Denis.'
He sampled it and said 'mmm' judiciously.
'Denis, this is a good stout vin de table – honest, robust, just the thing to eat with your bread and cheese – but it lacks subtleties. It is not to be compared to ours, though I will admit that there are certain similarities. For you, Denis, I will open one of our remaining bottles of Château Fontenoy.'
'Don't. They belong to the Ambassador.'
'Au contraire, Denis, they belong to M. d'Aubine and when his honour is at stake, M. d'Aubine will not grudge a bottle of wine.'
Pierre uncorked a bottle of Château Fontenoy.
'Doesn't it look livelier in the glass, taste more complex, more interesting? Your bottle, Denis, will do very nicely for coq au vin. Did you buy much of it?'
I was outclassed and discomfited. What is it about the French and their wines that makes one feel at such a disadvantage? Nevertheless, the two wines still tasted to me more alike than not alike.
'You are hiding something from me – something to do with wine.'
'Only for your own good, Denis, so that you won't waste more time chasing after irrelevancies. You really are quite French in your approach, you know. Inquisitorial.'
I stopped at a café on my way up the hill and drank a syrupy cup of coffee. I needed both caffeine and calories. I have been so very careful, Millicent, never to jeopardise my career, to follow correct procedures, not to give offence by insisting on a home posting. I have even been, perhaps, more tentative than I should be, when it came to demanding leave for personal reasons. It seems utterly unfair that I should have found and recommended a house haunted by ghosts and occupied by terrorists, that I hired a driver who was on the run from the police and a local secretary whom I must now investigate. That my Ambassador is, unofficially, persona non grata must tell against me also. One is one's ambassador's keeper. I suppose that, by extension, I could be considered to be indirectly responsible for his wife too.
Though Pierre was the Countess's personal cook, I am responsible for his continued presence in the residence. I am beginning to think him a crook. I suspect that he may have bought and served local wine to guests while billing the Countess for her own wine, at inflated Turkish prices? I had a second café Türque and hoped that Dublin would never find out the full extent of our problems.