Forty minutes later he was surprised to see Nathalie. She walked with her head down, arms swinging purposefully. When she looked up and saw him she broke into a shuffling jog.
‘I’m sorry,’ she apologized. ‘Have you seen him? I’m glad you’re still here.’
Slightly out of breath she held her hand to her chest. Eyes now dark. ‘He’s supposed to go with Martin. They’re supposed to be working together this afternoon. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘I haven’t seen him.’
‘Before. When you came back. Where was he?’ Frustrated, Nathalie stood with one hand at her brow. ‘Where did you see him?’
‘At one of the tea houses in the market. I think he walked up to the fort.’
‘You don’t understand. Today is important. It’s very strange for him not to be here. Martin can’t work without him. Today is important.’
Ford agreed. She was right. He didn’t understand.
‘He’s angry with Martin,’ she said, and he took this as an apology. ‘He’s upset with me. I think he’s hiding. It’s all my fault.’ She asked if he would show her the tea house and Ford said that the bus was coming shortly, but it was in the main square, where he’d bought his shirts, where they’d met, by the barber.
‘You have some time.’ Nathalie checked her watch. ‘The bus won’t leave until three.’
Crows circled the promontory and rose on the wind channelled up the rock’s steep side. Nathalie shielded her eyes as she walked, worried and angry, increasingly certain that they would not find him. ‘This is impossible,’ she muttered to herself. ‘It’s all so stupid. I don’t know why they’re like this with each other. I don’t know why he can’t speak with me?’
They walked together about the small market square, then returned to the larger square, making a figure eight, Ford conscious of the time, then agreed to search separately. He would take the old town and check the market, Nathalie the cafés and businesses lining the new square.
He returned to the barber shop and the hammam, the café beside it busy now, and expected to see Eric sat among the men, sulking and hurt. If he saw him he wouldn’t approach. The boy knows everything, he could be with the police right now.
Twenty minutes later he rejoined Nathalie at the kiosk, privately relieved to see her alone.
‘Nothing? No sign. I’ve looked everywhere. I don’t believe this. He can’t be here. I’ve looked everywhere. Nothing. You know, this happens all the time with Martin. Every time he makes a problem. It has to be complicated.’
As the passengers gathered for the Ankara coach, Nathalie hurried to the kiosk. Perhaps he would show himself now? ‘It’s so stupid,’ she said, looking without hope at the other passengers. ‘He must have gone.’ Convinced that Eric had quit the project, she couldn’t understand why he would take the money but leave his clothes, his bag. She looked resentfully toward the Maison du Rève, then curled her hair behind her ear and said that she was sorry that Ford had become part of this. ‘It’s so stupid. Every day is like this. Can you imagine? Eric is a boy, he’s just a boy, and Martin has no idea what he does, the effect he has. It is so stupid. And now he has taken the money.’
Without the money the project could not continue.
A man in a blue uniform asked for tickets. The passengers grouped about him. Too many, Ford thought, for the one coach, and in this he was right. The man handed out numbered notes which were soon gone. Too late to take one, Ford realized he would not make the coach.
‘It’s too many.’ The man removed himself from the arguments sprouting about him. When Ford followed after him and asked about the bus the man shrugged, pushed through to the office, and returned with a new set of numbers for the next coach, due to leave at 23:00.
How typical was this? Ford took a ticket. 32.
Nathalie leaned forward to say goodbye but hesitated, slowly understanding what was happening. ‘You can’t go?’ Relief and hope grew in her smile as she asked him to help. ‘I shouldn’t ask. I know. It’s not your problem. But he likes you. Eric is fond of you, and if he won’t speak to me, it’s possible he will show himself to you. We could go to Birsim and see if he’s there. I promise we’ll be back in time for your coach.’
Ford wanted to be gone, for christsakes. He didn’t want to find Eric for many obvious reasons. The boy knew who he was, surely, he’d stolen his money and traveller’s cheques, and insulted him in some way he still couldn’t fathom. To add to this both Eric and Nathalie knew that he was heading to Ankara — the police could discover his destination without trouble.
Compliant, Ford returned to the kiosk and asked the attendant if he could change his ticket. The attendant shrugged, confirmed the time of the later coach, and said if he wanted to leave for somewhere else he would need to buy another ticket. Ford collected his bag, smiled through the glass at Nathalie, and signalled that he would only be a moment.
‘I still have a seat for the eleven o’clock coach?’ The man closed his eyes while he nodded. Ford wanted to be clear about his options.
‘I’ve spoken with Martin.’ Nathalie held up her phone. ‘Eric hasn’t come back. He isn’t at the hotel. I just don’t know where he is.’
As they returned to the Maison du Rève, Nathalie said that it was kind of him to help. Ford insisted it wasn’t any trouble. The late bus meant that he would arrive in the early morning rather than in the middle of the night. He didn’t mind at all.
He waited at the door to the courtyard and felt immeasurable relief that Eric had still not appeared. Neither Eric nor the police.
* * *
Nathalie talked with Martin in their room, Ford sat outside and drank the last of the whisky, lightly sweating, his back to the town, the sky beginning to darken. He needed to leave. Make some excuse and get away from Narapi. The boy was still in town, had to be, so if he could persuade Martin and Nathalie to go to Birsim he would be safe.
Martin remained silent as Nathalie repeated the afternoon’s events. Stern, arms crossed, Martin asked if Eric had said anything about leaving.
Ford emptied his glass, sucked air through his teeth. ‘He didn’t say much. He was angry with you but we didn’t talk about that.’
‘So what did you speak about?’ Martin stood in front of Ford, impatient, suspicious.
‘He talked about going to Malta. He was looking forward to it.’
Nathalie shook her head. ‘No, no.’ She spoke in French. ‘This doesn’t make sense. I spoke with him yesterday and he said that he didn’t want to go. Just yesterday. This was the whole point of him coming here, he didn’t want to go. He had no interest at all in going to Malta.’
Martin repeated his question. ‘Did Eric say anything about leaving?’
‘Not in so many words.’
Martin and Nathalie exchanged glances. Nathalie sat beside Ford. She felt sick, she said. ‘Perhaps he’s right. Perhaps he intends to go to Malta early. It’s strange, but maybe it’s possible.’ He would have to change his ticket. The only place close by where he could change his flight was in Birsim. She turned to Ford. ‘This must be what he’s doing.’ They should go to Birsim. Could Mehmet get a van?
Martin shook his head, stern and unmovable, he didn’t want Mehmet to have anything to do with this. Eric had already caused enough trouble. He would take the bus tomorrow morning and search for Eric himself. As far as he was concerned the boy was finished. He could take his money, they would manage some other way.