Istanbul Affair Read online

'I'm trying to tell you that you seem to have stopped thinking about Angeline, stopped worrying about her. All you seem to want to talk about is us, and we're not important.'

  Benedict's eyes began to darken. 'I'm as concerned about Angeline's safety as you are.'

  'Then show it,' she challenged him. 'When we first met, you kept accusing me of not caring. It seems to be the other way round now. But I suppose that's typical of men,' she added with deliberate scorn. 'They begin to get a little frustrated, and they can't think of anything else except doing something about that frustration.'

  As soon as she saw the rigid set of Benedict's face, Amy regretted that she had ever opened her mouth. This was definitely the wrong time to say that kind of thing!

  He took a couple of steps forward and, when he spoke, his voice had a very dangerous undertone.

  'Are you saying that, as far as I'm concerned, Angeline can go to hell? That all I can think about right now is finding someone to take to bed?'

  Amy stood up to him sturdily. 'I'm saying that you certainly don't seem to be giving Angeline your full attention any more.'

  For just an instant, Benedict looked angry enough to hit her. Amy actually flinched slightly, even though his hands stayed locked by his sides.

  His almost violent reaction seemed to shake him. He made a visible effort to control himself. Then he swung round, and strode quickly over to the far side of the room.

  'This whole thing is getting ridiculous and quite out of hand,' he said tersely at last, swinging back round to face her. 'I don't think it's any good for us to go on like this. And it certainly isn't helping Angeline.'

  'What do you suggest we do about it?' She was amazed that her own voice sounded so steady. Inside, she felt just about ready to fall apart!

  'The obvious solution is for you to go back to England. I'll stay here and deal with the kidnappers' demands.'

  'No!' she said at once. 'There's no way I'm going to do that.'

  'Don't you trust me to negotiate Angeline's release?'

  'So far, you've done absolutely nothing to make me believe that I can trust you.'

  His almost black gaze locked on to her over-bright eyes. Amy forced herself to stare straight back at him, even though her stomach was positively churning now.

  'What do I have to do to convince you?' he challenged her. His dark eyes glittered. 'Promise that I'll never lay another finger on you?'

  'That would certainly help.'

  'And what if I don't want to make a promise like that?' he said more softly.

  'I don't see why you shouldn't,' Amy got out in a distinctly strangled tone. 'I don't mean anything to you. And you don't feel anything for me—except, perhaps, annoyance when I argue with you and make you angry. It ought to be easy to make a promise like that.'

  Benedict kept looking at her for a very long time. Amy began to feel as if she would soon melt away completely under the intensity of that dark gaze.

  Finally, though, his eyes moved away from her. 'Yes, it should be easy to make that kind of promise,' he said in a flat tone. Then he began to move towards the door.

  'Where are you going?' asked Amy.

  'Down to Reception, to book you into a separate room.' For just an instant, his eyes swung back to her. 'That is what you want, isn't it?'

  'Yes, it's what I want,' she mumbled, and was amazed at how hard it was to get those few words out.

  Benedict left the room, slamming the door with unnecessary force behind him, and Amy sank down weakly into the nearest chair.

  What was happening? she wondered in confusion. What was going on between them? She understood why she was having problems coping with this constant closeness to Benedict, but it didn't make any sense that he should suddenly become so uptight.

  Poor Angeline, she thought with a wave of compassion and guilt. She was the one they should be thinking and worrying about, and yet she was somehow getting pushed into the background. That wasn't right, and it had to stop.

  Perhaps everything would finally be settled after they had been to the Galata Tower and met the kidnappers. Then they could all go back home, and get on with their normal lives.

  Only Amy wasn't at all sure that her life was ever going to be completely normal again.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  After a fairly unsuccessful attempt to choke down some breakfast, Amy set off for the Galata Tower with Benedict.

  As always, Benedict seemed to know exactly where he was going. That was the one advantage that Amy could think of—in fact, the only advantage—in having him around. She would have been absolutely useless at finding her own way around Istanbul. She would probably have got lost every time she set foot outside the hotel.

  They had to cross the Golden Horn at the Galata Bridge. Amy had thought that the streets of Istanbul were crowded, but the crowds milling around the ends of the bridge seemed to set new records! There were street merchants on every square inch of space, selling everything from birdsong whistles, to plastic helicopters on sticks. Fruit and vegetable stalls made a bright display, shoe-shine boys touted for customers, and other younger boys toted around ancient-looking bathroom-scales, trying to persuade people to weigh themselves for a very modest fee.

  The boats tied up all around the bridge only added to the congestion. On some of them, fish was being fried. Then it was shoved between a thick wedge of fresh, crusty bread, and sold to hungry passers-by. Ferries trundled past, on their way up and down the Bosporus, while larger cruise ships sailed by more sedately.

  Benedict hadn't spoken since leaving the hotel, and Amy didn't try to break the silence. In fact, she didn't even know if she could make herself heard above the loud chatter of voices, the shouts of the street vendors, and the general confusion.

  They joined the steady stream of people crossing to bridge. A lot were obviously tourists, but there were also porters bent nearly double under enormous loads; shrouded women obediently walking three feet behind their husbands; a group of gypsies with dark, flashing eyes and strong, aggressive faces; and even businessmen rushing across, clutching their briefcases.

  When they were halfway across, Benedict suddenly stopped. 'This is probably one of the best views in Istanbul,' he said, looking out across the Bosporus.

  Amy stared at him in amazement. 'We're not here to admire the views!' she reminded him in a sharp voice.

  'We've plenty of time. We don't have to be at the Galata Tower for almost another hour.'

  'I'd sooner arrive early than get there too late because we stopped to admire the scenery,' she said tartly.

  'Then let's keep moving,' he replied in a flat tone.

  He walked off fairly quickly. Despite everything she had said, Amy found her gaze involuntarily drifting over the views all around them before she followed him. He was right, they were impressive. She could see the walls of the Topkapi Palace, the great domes and minarets of the mosques, and the huddled buildings all around them, all massing together in an utterly distinctive skyline. Then there was the river itself, full of movement and life and colour, with boats of all shapes and sizes either churning busily through the water, or moored peacefully along the banks.

  Then she realised that Benedict was some way ahead of her, and she hurried to catch up with him before she lost him completely in the crowd.

  As they neared the far side of the bridge, Benedict pointed ahead of them.

  'That's the Galata Tower,' he said briefly.

  Amy stared in the direction in which he was pointing, and saw the Tower rising up from the mass of buildings all around it, looking like a rather fat and dumpy space rocket. Despite the heat, she gave a small shiver. One of Angeline's kidnappers was waiting for them there. Perhaps they were finally going to find out what had happened to her cousin, and how they could get her safely back again.

  The narrow, winding streets leading to the tower were congested, but the crowds seemed miraculously to part before Benedict, letting him through. Amy trotted along in his wake, wishing that today were already
over. It was a wish that she seemed to have made every day since she had been in Istanbul, but it had never been granted! In fact, the days just seemed to be getting longer and longer. There were times when she thought they would never end.

  When they reached the Tower, Benedict paid the entrance fee, and they went inside.

  'Where do we go now?' Amy asked.

  'To the top, I suppose. There's a viewing-platform up there. That seems the obvious place for a rendezvous of this kind.'

  The lift took them up to the seventh floor, then they walked up a couple of flights of stairs, and out on to the viewing-platform.

  There were a lot of people already up there, but Amy didn't notice them straight away. The view from the top was too spectacular, with Istanbul and the Bosporus spread out beneath them.

  Benedict looked at her and then gently raised one dark eyebrow. 'Weren't you the one who said that this wasn't the time to admire the scenery?' he reminded her.

  Her green gaze swivelled away from the fascinating, exotic scene below. 'Then what are we meant to do?' she asked edgily.

  'I've no idea,' he admitted. 'Wait here, I suppose, and hope someone contacts us.'

  'Can't you come up with a more positive suggestion than that?' she said rather scathingly.

  When he answered, his own tone was much sharper. 'If I could think of one single thing we could do to help Angeline, then I'd do it.'

  'I know,' she muttered. 'Sorry; I just feel jumpy. I hate all this hanging around, not being able to do anything, and all the time feeling so—so—'

  'Impotent?' he offered, when she couldn't find quite the right word.

  Amy gave a faint, wry smile. 'That wasn't quite the word I was going to use. And I shouldn't think that's something that you ever feel!'

  His own mouth curled into a very brief smile. 'Up until now, it's never been a problem,' he agreed. Then he looked around and frowned, the brief lightening of his mood already over. 'How long do they expect us to wait here?'

  'It's only just eleven o'clock,' Amy pointed out. More people were coming out on to the viewing-platform, and she eyed them nervously. Any one of them could be one of the kidnappers. None of them came anywhere near them, though. They went straight over to admire the views and take photographs.

  They stayed at the top of the Tower for over an hour. At one point, the platform became really crowded, with people jostling past them and almost pushing them aside in their eagerness to gaze at the view. Then the congestion eased off a little as it drew nearer to lunchtime, and many of the sightseers went off in search of something to eat.

  'No one's going to come, are they?' Amy said at last, with a despondent sigh. 'They're just playing games with us. Perhaps they don't intend to let Angeline go at all,' she added, a note of panic entering her voice as she realised just what that would mean to her cousin.

  'I'm beginning to think that someone could certainly be playing games with us,' Benedict agreed in an unexpectedly grim voice. 'But on the other hand, perhaps this was simply some kind of test. They might have been checking that we were willing to turn up at the right place at the right time. Once they're satisfied they can trust us, they'll set up a genuine meeting.'

  'What do we do now?' she asked in a forlorn voice.

  'Go back to the hotel, I suppose, and wait for them to make contact again.' Then Benedict looked at her rather sharply. 'You're not crying, are you?'

  'Of course not,' she said fiercely. 'My eyes are watering a little, that's all. It's probably the bright sunshine. I'll put on my sunglasses.'

  She fumbled around in her bag for the glasses. Instead, though, she found a folded sheet of paper that she certainly hadn't put there.

  Slowly, she brought it out and stared at it. 'This isn't mine,' she said rather shakily. 'Someone must have slipped it into my bag.'

  Benedict took it from her, opened it out, and let his dark gaze skim over it.

  'What does it say?'

  'They want five thousand pounds, as a down-payment,' Benedict replied in a grim voice. 'We're to leave it under the bench in the north corner of the gardens of the Topkapi Palace, wrapped in an old newspaper.'

  Amy swallowed. 'When do we have to deliver it?'

  'Tomorrow morning, at eleven o'clock.'

  'And when we've given them the money, how long will it be before they free Angeline?'

  'They're not going to free her yet. This is simply a down-payment,' Benedict reminded her. 'They want a sign of good faith from us—an assurance that we're willing to pay whatever they demand in return for Angeline's safe return.'

  'Then they're going to be disappointed. I don't even have five thousand, let alone the big sum that they're obviously going to ask for before they finally let Angeline go.'

  'How much can you raise?' Benedict asked her.

  'No more than a couple of thousand. I've already told you, I can't touch the investments my uncle left me. And even if I could somehow convince the trustees of the estate that this is a real emergency, and they agreed to let me sell the shares, it would probably take weeks before all the legal formalities were completed and I could actually get my hands on the cash. And I don't think the kidnappers would be willing to wait that long,' she finished rather despairingly.

  'No, I don't think that they would,' he agreed. 'So you'd better let me pay the ransom demands.'

  'Can you afford to do that?'

  'If I couldn't, I wouldn't have offered,' Benedict replied drily.

  'No, I suppose not,' she muttered. Then her mouth set into a more determined line. 'But I can't let you pay. Angeline's my cousin, and my problem. I'll somehow find a way to raise the money.'

  'How?' he asked calmly.

  'I don't know!' Then, with an effort, she got control of herself again. 'I'll probably be able to borrow it. I can use my uncle's investments as collateral. Then there's the shop and all the stock. That's worth quite a lot.'

  'You don't know yet how much the kidnappers are eventually going to ask for,' Benedict pointed out. 'This five thousand is only a first demand. The final amount they ask for is certainly going to be very much more.'

  'It doesn't matter how much they ask for. I'll find it!' she said stormily.

  'You're not going to be able to come up with five thousand by eleven o'clock tomorrow morning.'

  She turned away from him so that he couldn't see the tears of frustration welling up in her eyes. He was absolutely right, of course. She couldn't come up with that amount at such short notice. She wasn't even sure that she could raise it if they gave her a couple of weeks.

  Benedict caught hold of her arm and swung her back to face him. 'Let me pay the money,' he repeated. 'I can easily get hold of that amount.'

  'No,' she repeated with fierce stubbornness.

  'You don't really have any choice,' he pointed out.

  She knew that. And she hated it.

  Benedict looked at her through narrowed eyes. 'Why are you behaving like this?'

  She gazed straight back at him, her green eyes over-bright and angry.

  'Because I'm sick of all of this. I just want to hand over the money, get Angeline back, and then get away from here! But instead we've got to play more games, wait for more phone-calls and letters—it just goes on and on, and I've had enough. I hate all this intrigue. I like things to be open and straightforward. And I hate the thought of that man—that kidnapper-coming so close to me. He must have brushed right up against me to put that note in my bag. I didn't notice him, but he was right there beside me! Perhaps he even touched me.' She shivered violently. 'I want this to be over!' she finished on a fierce note.

  Benedict's own gaze remained level. 'This is only going to be over if we go along with the kidnappers' demands, and do exactly as they say. We also need to keep our heads. It isn't going to help anyone if we start getting hysterical.'

  'You mean, if I start getting hysterical,' Amy muttered in a tense voice. 'Nothing gets to you, does it? Always so calm, always so in control. You function like a rob
ot—and you've probably got the same total lack of feelings!'

  She had no idea why she was saying all these things and reacting like this. She supposed the tension inside of her had just boiled up to the point where it had to explode in some way. And the thought of that kidnapper coming so close to her really had spooked her.

  They were still standing on the viewing-platform of the Galata Tower, and their raised voices had begun to attract attention.

  'Let's get out of here,' Benedict muttered, seizing hold of her arm and propelling her towards the door.

  'Let go of me!' she hissed at him. 'I don't want you touching me.'

  His fingers released her immediately. At the time, a black expression crossed his face. Amy saw it, and knew that she was pushing him too far. She couldn't seem to help it, though. Or stop it.

  They went down in the lift in silence, glaring hostilely at each other. Then they were back out in the hot, crowded, noisy streets.

  'Where are you going?' Amy demanded, as Benedict began to stride off.

  'To the bank,' he informed her curtly. 'I have to make the arrangements to draw out the money to pay the ransom.'

  That brought her back to some kind of reality. 'The ransom,' she echoed slowly. It reminded her that, although she wasn't enjoying life in the least at the moment, her cousin was very much worse off. Angeline had lost her freedom, and was probably living in constant terror.

  A great wave of shame swept through Amy. Why on earth was she indulging in petty bouts of temper, when she ought to be concentrating on raising the money that would buy Angeline's freedom? Feeling thoroughly disgusted with herself, she hurried after Benedict, determined not to give him any more trouble.

  He was some time at the bank, making the necessary financial arrangements. When he finally came out again, he looked thoughtful. The kidnappers asked to be paid in pounds,' he remarked. 'Not Turkish lira.'

  Amy frowned. 'Is that significant?'

  Benedict shrugged. 'I don't really know. But it's certainly interesting.'

  She was about to retort that she didn't find any of this particularly interesting. At the last moment, though, she remembered her resolution not to cause more trouble, and held her tongue.