Gypsy in Amber by Martin Cruz Smith

Author:Martin Cruz Smith [Smith, Martin Cruz]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
ISBN: 9781471131264
Publisher: Simon & Schuster UK

In another language it would mean, ‘Where is my heart? The child is pure, pure as the sun, pure as the water, pure as the moon, pure as the purest. So tell me, how could the child steal my heart?’

There was a knock on the kitchen door, and the girl went out alone. In a line waiting for her were her brothers and cousins forming a shield. Coming across the room toward them were Kalia and his brothers and cousins. The two small armies met and engaged in a spectacular Hollywood stuntman sort of battle that Kalia’s side was ordained by custom to win. He grabbed Laza around the waist and started to drag her away. She screamed and pushed him away violently, but he refused to let go. They fell to the floor once, and when he still pulled her to the door, Laza tore at her hair with fear and scratched her face while the spectators moved out of the way of the shrill elopement. The bride made one last desperate effort to break loose, and then Kalia had forced her through the door and was dragging her down the steps to her accompaniment. At last, he threw her in the car and drove off.

Kore took a cigarette from Roman, lit it and let out a judicious blue plume of smoke. ‘Very good. She did her family honor. It’s not often you see nice kids like that, Romano.’

Roman wondered whether a marriage like this would appeal to Dany’s hysterical instincts. Kore had picked up a keg on each shoulder and danced while Roman accompanied him with claps. Dodo and his brothers joined in with a song. Vera laughed at one side, her necklace of coins slapping against her bosom. Dodo’s brothers forced toasts of beer and Tokay onto Roman. As he danced, Kore’s amulet, a seashell inscribed with stars, fell out of his shirt and danced on a chain. For a passing moment it became a devil’s head.

Roman wasn’t drunk. He was thinking more clearly than he had all day. Something in the back of his mind was eating the brandy and beer like a demon. It was evil. Its outline was large and ominous. ‘There are no hesitation wounds,’ he remembered. It was capable of bending the posts of a bed, let alone dance with kegs on its shoulders. It had killed the girl and Nanoosh, and it could have killed him too if it had wanted to. It was not an outline of Hoddinot Sloan.

For the first time he admitted to himself what he shared with Sloan. The dry, pretentious, unpleasant gajo was also in love. Why else would he save the letters and wait up for hours for a phone call from a girl he had murdered?

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