‘I’ve something to tell you, Simka.’
‘That’s obvious. Is it Count Siniutkin?’
She was puzzled; then she laughed. ‘Oh, you expect everyone to be as bad as you!’ I had taught myself to forgive her these little insults. If it suited her to see me as a rake and a charlatan and so preserve some sense of identity for herself I did not mind. ‘I believe I have some good news for you.’
I became alarmed. She was pregnant! Yet I had been careful. I racked my memory for the likely date of conception.
‘I said “good news”, Simka.’ She sat back on her heels, rubbing cream into pink breasts and belly, massaging neck and shoulders. ‘I think I have found a financier for your inventions.’
I was delighted and considerably relieved. What did I care if the financier was her lover? All I wanted from him was the chance of bringing to physical reality just one of my ideas. From that, my reputation would automatically grow. ‘Who is it? Another of your wealthy Jewish friends?’
‘I wasn’t given his name. But your guess in one respect was right. He is an acquaintance of Count Siniutkin.’
I had not seen the Count for several weeks. After being a fixture at Tokatlian’s, he had disappeared completely. There had been talk recently of Tsarist officers leaving to fight in Paraguay or in the Argentine where there were already large numbers of Russian soldiers. I had assumed him en route to South America. Leda wiped the corners of her mouth. ‘I don’t know a great deal about it, but the Count thinks it’s an excellent opportunity.’ In two weeks Siniutkin would return to Constantinople, she said. He would then be ready to negotiate on behalf of the backer. ‘He’s interested in your one-man aeroplane. Could you prepare something on paper? An estimate of production costs?’ She frowned, trying to remember what Siniutkin had told her. ‘The factory space and tools needed, what raw materials are required, and so on. He’ll understand that you won’t want to reveal details, but needs as much as possible. He’s absolutely serious. The Count assures me that he’s above all a man of his word.’
I was content with this, reflecting how in finding Esmé I had somehow rediscovered my luck. For me, she would always be associated with my one-man plane. ‘Everything’s ready. I can easily work out costs. I know people in local factories. The engine is the main outlay. It could be made cheaply in large quantities. Did the Count mention money?’
‘He said his backer was not a spendthrift but would pay fairly.’
‘It’s all I ask.’ I kissed her. ‘My darling, you have won your passport to Berlin!’
We celebrated with the remains of the vodka and with the cocaine I had brought. When I returned to Tokatlian’s rather later than normal Esmé was asleep in front of the English primer I had bought her. Her exercises, written in a surprisingly clear, rounded hand (one of the benefits of her convent) had scattered across the floor. Tenderly I picked up the pages and stacked them together. She murmured in her sleep as I lifted her and put her gently to bed. If I left Constantinople soon, I had determined I would also take the Baroness and Kitty. My chances of entering another country unnoticed in the company of an under-age girl were poor. The schools of Constantinople already supplied the brothels of Europe. Officials would make the obvious assumption. A man and woman travelling together, a little Turkish girl as the daughter’s companion, would seem perfectly respectable. Moreover I now owed the Baroness that much at least. In bed, while Esmé settled to sleep in my arms, I considered the problem.
The Baroness had complained recently that Kitty was alone for loo long; the girl knew no children of her own age. Leda feared Kitty would grow bored and begin to wander the streets. I had already thought of introducing Esmé to Kitty, since my girl also needed a respectable friend. I would refer to Esmé as one of the distant relatives I had already mentioned. I would say I had promised her dying father to care for her. Would the Baroness, out of the kindness of her heart, agree to look after Esmé? I would pay all expenses. As long as Esmé agreed to the deception, the plan could not go wrong. Esmé was used to lying as the necessary consequence of poverty. I would explain how this little deception offered her a passport to the West and, eventually, marriage to me. More to the immediate point, if Esmé had a friend to amuse her it would ease my mind. Once my aeroplanes began production I could be away for days at a time. There were two weeks in which to lay the foundations of my charade. It meant the Baroness would be seeing far more of me. I was sure she would not be displeased.
From the following day on, my schemes went forward without a hint of resistance. Believing she had won back my heart, Leda became extraordinarily happy and affectionate and within a week was discussing elaborate arrangements for our journey West. She would go first to Berlin and join me later in London. She was confident, now, of finding employment. Her main concern was Kitty. It was the moment to mention my recent meeting with my cousin from Bessarabia who had been here for some time now. He was dying of TB and was at his wit’s end, with five daughters and a niece to care for. The niece was called Esmé, a good-hearted child. She had nothing to do all day, however, and my cousin feared she could easily go to the bad. Further elaboration and the Baroness was close to tears. ‘The poor child. Have you met her? What’s she like?’ Esmé was a sweet, shy creature, a little young for her age, but without a hint of vice in her character. She was too innocent for Pera. ‘I will write to your cousin,’ said Leda. ‘Give me his address.’ The house where he boarded was unreliable, I said, so she should let me have the note and I would deliver it.
Next morning I told Esmé what she must do. The Baroness was an old friend, a kind woman, very fond of me. She had once been my paramour. Nowadays she was useful to me and I in turn wished to be of service to her. If Esmé befriended Kitty we should all benefit. Esmé thought the deception a wonderful, harmless game. She agreed at once. That evening I went back to the Baroness bearing a note exquisitely written by one of my destitute waterfront acquaintances. With dignified, old-world elegance my cousin said he would happily allow his ward to visit the Baroness; he was more than grateful for her thoughtfulness.
From then on I began to enjoy a kind of life I had never previously experienced. The child I had lusted after on the ship and the girl who was now my mistress became great friends, playing together, sharing toys, being taken to parks, museums and the more suitable cinemas by their loving guardians. Reliably, the Baroness made no displays of passion in the presence of children. Esmé and Kitty found they had much in common and the language barrier was soon crossed. All was rather comfortingly bourgeois and for me was an attractive change. Leda von Ruckstühl even met my cousin once or twice. A broken-down cavalry officer, Blagovestchenski would do anything for a rouble or two. I justified all this play-acting in the knowledge that the Baroness already characterised me as a rogue and I was not therefore doing anything she should not expect. Besides, no harm was coming of it. The arrangement was helpful to everyone. All that was necessary for me was to rent a room near the Galata Tower while continuing to keep Tokatlian’s a secret. I was pleasantly surprised at how smoothly everything settled into a pattern for us; how relaxing it was to be a conventional patriarch.
It was almost a month before Count Siniutkin contacted us. The Baroness and I arranged to meet him at a restaurant called The Olympus in the Petite Rue. A Greek bazouki orchestra was playing so loudly when we arrived that we found it impossible to talk properly until the musicians retired. The food was greasy, unremarkable, but the Count explained there were certain people he did not want to meet at present. Otherwise, with us he was warmly enthusiastic. I asked him if he had travelled far, for he had a kind of weather-beaten look to him. He said that his business had taken him a fair distance, but explained no more. He was anxious to discuss my work. ‘I will be so happy if this opportunity leads to something. From the first I’ve been amazed at the imaginative simplicity of your idea.’