That night I sold almost the last piece of jewellery and took Esmé to the music hall. I was desperate to get a grip again on reality. When I was in her company nothing seemed of particular gravity. Mrs Cornelius would soon be in London and I could write to her there. She was in a much better position to get permission for me to enter the country. If I looked at it from certain angles, things could even seem as if they had improved for me.
On the other hand my Baroness, whom I saw the next afternoon, was growing increasingly distraught. Her anxiety made her less attractive. Rather than make love, she preferred to discuss her dilemma. She had still heard nothing from her husband’s family in Berlin. Her German hosts felt she had overstayed her welcome. Kitty needed far more attention, now that Marusya was gone. Was there some way she could earn money?
I could think of very little that was respectable. There were few openings for someone of her class. I myself was forced to disguise the way in which I earned what was after all a meagre living as a jobbing mechanic. I assured her, of course, I would continue my efforts to help her get to Italy or France. She had heard rumours that a full scale Civil War was imminent in Turkey. The nationalists grew steadily more vociferous. The Sultan’s rule was seriously threatened because he too willingly dealt with the British. The British, for their part, had made many political arrests and so increased the tension. Haidur Pasha was being reinforced. Count Siniutkin, she said, predicted more trouble soon. A large proportion of the Turkish army had refused to disband. Bashi-bazouki bandits in the hinterland terrorised villages, killing Turks, Greeks and Armenians indiscriminately. Constantinople herself might soon be attacked.
This last seemed highly unlikely. I told her the Allies could easily defend the city. The whole civilised world would lend aid, if necessary. A few brigands were no threat. Down the centuries she had held firm against entire nations of enemies. But Leda refused to be calmed. ‘It’s getting exactly like Russia. Can’t you see that, Simka? The whole horrible world’s going the same way! That’s why I worry about you. I don’t want to lose you.’
I laughed heartily. I was indestructible, I told her. Like Leonardo, I moved from city to city, always able to gauge the wind in time. Someone could be relied upon, no matter what my circumstances, to find my genius of value to them.
She was sceptical. ‘Then why are you still here?’
I had, I reminded her, my loyalties. Moreover she should take into account the murdering tendencies of the Turk. My Steam Car Company had been a mere day or two from reality when Mr Sharian was killed. ‘But I shall find another Mr Sharian.’
‘Oh, Simka, it is such a shame. You deserve better. You should not have to go cap in hand to Armenians. If I had the money you would never have to know this awful frustration. Somewhere I’ll get a job and keep us both. I am good at arithmetic. My husband always admired my accounts.’
‘You must think of yourself and Kitty first. I can always find honest employment.’
‘I have become a miserable burden to you. No wonder you see so little of me.’
‘I have distant relatives, don’t forget, in the city. One of them is thought to be dying. And my vocation, darling Leda, I have always said to be my first mistress.’
‘Mrs Cornelius went to Paris, I hear. I would not have left my own husband in such a predicament.’
I refused to listen to this petty criticism. ‘You always knew it was a marriage in name only. Mrs Cornelius had already spoken of her plans and I had insisted she go.’
She began to weep very discreetly. ‘I doubted you. I’m sorry. I will not be a check on your freedom, Simka. I’m not jealous, though I could not bear never to see you.’ Her expectations, I thought, were now even lower than the last time. She had become a realist. I felt renewed sympathy for her. ‘Actually, my darling, Mrs Cornelius begged me to go with her.’ I hoped this would make her feel better. ‘She was angry when I refused. I told her it would mean leaving you.’
The Baroness laughed and shook her head as she wiped the tears from her cheeks, ‘If only it were true.’
I was offended, but she did not seem to notice. I rose and dressed. The cheap room, which offered a special rate if you took it for a whole night, had no carpet on the wooden floor. I felt a splinter drive itself into my foot and I cursed. I pushed back one of the shutters to see while I eased the little shard free. Outside a mob was demonstrating. It was impossible to know, from the Arabic on their banners, what their grudge was. Leda pulled a dirty sheet to her shoulders. ‘Don’t be upset. You must look after yourself. I haven’t any illusions. I’m almost ten years older than you.’
I lowered my foot to the floor. Affection and understanding suddenly returned. Crossing to the bed and kissing her, I promised I would see her very soon.
By the following day, however, Esmé had become ill. A cold had become something more serious, perhaps influenza, and the doctor’s prescriptions were costly. Obsessively, I nursed my child, brought her nourishing food from the restaurant, did extra work at the docks and continued my quest for another backer. Her tiny face, in a frame of sweat-drenched blonde hair, smiled bravely back at me whenever she was awake. Again I had no time for the Baroness. The cards I had ordered were delivered: The European and Oriental Steam Automobile Company Ltd. I distributed these widely. I saw no point at that stage in alienating Turkish interests. The steam cars were for the world. Did it matter, in the long run, if the finance for their development came from the Orient or the Occident? The money was better spent on cars than on guns! I had many false hopes in that period.
Esmé grew well and was gay again. I began seeing Leda occasionally. The spring came. I took Esmé into the hills. We ate Imam-bayildi under fragrant mulberry trees while we watched goats and sheep graze. The sun was silver in a pale grey sky and the walls of the villages were washed with faint lilac, pink or yellow. Shrubs were starting to bloom. The distant sea was tranquil. Constantinople’s dignified seaside suburbs were nothing like the yellow houses of Kiev’s outskirts. The scenery was more exotic, more evidently Islamic. Yet my childhood was completely revived: that confident, egocentric childhood when I was beginning to realise my unusual capacities and give proper detail to my dreams. Esmé listened to me as Esmé always listened, and I described the glorious promise of the future. She would gasp. She would grow round-eyed. She would remark on my cleverness and anticipate a marvellous career for me, with herself as my loyal companion. Then she would indulge her own fantasies, of the kind of house we would own, when we were rich, how many servants we should have and so on. She supplied everything I had taken for granted from the first Esmé. But this Esmé I did not take for granted. I had lost one and could never bear to lose another. She had my daily attention. I made certain she was entertained, was healthy, had the food, the clothes, the toys she most desired, that our love-making was to her taste even when it was not to mine. I knew the dangers of being over-solicitous and tried to avoid them. Esmé realised how much I loved her, what she meant to me. She accepted my concern as her right, the care of a real father.