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And why had she felt her here, more than, say, in Istanbul, where her ancestor was far more likely to have stepped?
Something wasn’t right, and it was troubling her, and that troubled him.
He sighed and leaned back in his chair as the ‘fasten seat belt’ light lit up again and the plane hit another patch of turbulence. It was just as well she was going. She’d been a pleasant distraction—too pleasant at times, but a distraction all the same. It would be good to concentrate on his business and his life again without having to cater to a guest’s demands.
Not that she’d demanded much. On the contrary, he’d foisted himself upon her and she’d been the one who’d had to endure his terms and conditions.
He would miss her when she was gone.
So it was just as well she was leaving.
* * *
Amber curled her legs under her in her wide seat and closed her eyes, the bumpy air only reinforcing the bumpy thoughts in her mind. She’d come here searching for a glimpse of the adventure her great-great-great-grandmother had discovered, but she’d never imagined when she’d left home that her trip here would find hard evidence of her.
Amber Braithwaite. She’d been at the Pavilion of the Moon and worn bracelets fashioned for the Sultan’s favourite. A favourite of the Sultan. How hard it must have been to settle back into life in rural Hertfordshire after such an adventure. How hard it must have been for her family to understand.
She thought about the missing pages of the diary, which looked as if they’d been torn out. Was that why someone had disposed of them? So that news of the scandalous adventures of their daughter could never be made public?
Follow your heart.
Amber settled deeper into the leather seat, those three little words playing over in her mind. She would never answer all the questions, she would never know how the Amber of long ago had come to be at the Pavilion of the Moon, but she would never regret coming to Turkey, never. No matter what happened next. Because she’d found her intrepid ancestor. Found where she’d been while she’d been lost those five long years, and where she’d loved a man who could never be hers.
Never had she felt so close to her namesake—so close they could have been sisters rather than being born generations apart.
For she too had followed her heart, and lost it.
She squeezed her eyes shut as turbulence jolted the plane and the wings bent against the bumpy clouds.
‘It’s okay,’ said Kadar, putting a hand to her arm.
And she wished it could be true.
* * *
She was leaving, right this minute packing her bags, ready for the drive to the airport and her flight home. Kadar stood at the rain-streaked windows of his apartment and looked out over the Sea of Marmara, grey under a heavy sky, the ships mere smudges of colour that failed to break up the monotony of sea and sky.
He should feel relieved.
He wanted to be relieved.
Instead he felt—uneasy.
In the days and nights they’d been together, he’d grown used to having her around.
More than that, he’d grown to like having her around.
And more and more that particular thought had found a foothold in his head.
He would miss her.
Her eyes. Her smile. The way she came apart in his arms like fireworks. And in spite of his initial mistrust of her and his doubts about her character, there were things about her that he did like. The way she wooed the hearts of the villagers. The way he’d found her peeling oranges surrounded by a mob of children.
And beyond staring at pretty jewellery behind glass, she’d done nothing that he could find her guilty of.
After all, even he had to admit, it was no crime to look.
Had she been as innocent and naive of knowing she’d been committing a crime with the coin seller as she’d made out?
Had he unfairly cast a stain upon her character all along? If she was as opportunist as he had believed, surely she would have been unable to resist the lure of some other trinkets? The Pavilion of the Moon was full of treasures, large and small. If she’d wanted some souvenirs of her time in Turkey, she’d had plenty of opportunity.
He chewed it over in his mind, trying to make sense of this woman who’d come into his life unwanted and unwilling, and was now consuming his thoughts.
Why?
Did it really matter if he’d been wrong about her? If he’d misjudged her?
No, it didn’t matter. She was going home. They’d never see each other again. If she hadn’t stolen anything, it didn’t matter the reason why. And if something was troubling her, that was her problem, not his. He’d still done the job he’d promised the polis. He’d been responsible for her. He’d ensured she would cause no more trouble while she was in the country.
