When I Grow Rich by Joan Fleming

Author:Joan Fleming [JOAN FLEMING]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781780020082
Publisher: The Langtail Press Ltd

CHAPTER 11

Early in the morning Jenny got up and washed as well as she could in the tiny basin in about half a pint of water, which the cleaner had brought the evening before, dressed, brushed her hair, camouflaged her pretty mouth and eyes with an abstract design of lipstick and eyeblack and went purposefully downstairs to make herself tea. The kitchen appalled her; a dingy cave with blackened ceiling and creeper-covered window, it was impregnated and reeking with the strange smell of the oil which is used for the cooking stoves in Turkey, a distinctive smell which often finds its way into the food. There was nothing that looked remotely like a kettle so after a small struggle to light the stove with the aid of her lighter, she half-filled an earthenware crock with water which she put on to boil.

She had a long thoughtful look at a door leading out of the kitchen which she was sure opened into Hadji’s bedroom. A sound came through to her which she could not identify, having never heard anything like it but which she decided from the regular rhythm, was the sound of snoring. Whilst waiting for the water to boil she had a quick tour of the ground floor: beside the front door the dark salon with a strongly unused smell, the vast low, heavy divans lining the walls, the elaborate metal charcoal stove in the centre of the room; the prim Victorian dining-room with its faded Morris wallpaper, its upright chairs, the backs pierced with heart-shaped holes, the fumed oak dining-table with turned legs and white china castors. She lingered in the bird-room; the birds were awake, lively and unaccountably busy in their cages. She opened the french windows and stepped out on to the terrace. It was a beautiful morning, the sky was of palest blue but the seething navy blue Bosphorus took no hint of gentleness from the sky.

Apart from what Nuri bey had said about the Bosphorus it frightened her. The thought of all that water pouring through that narrow channel from one great inland sea to another for thousands, perhaps millions of years, was impressive enough but the whole stretch of hurrying fluid somehow lacked the peace which a large expanse of water can engender. People sit placidly watching huge rollers restlessly moving up and down the sands, others find rest for the soul by the great still lakes of Sweden, but on the shores of the most historic waterway in the world there is no peace to be had, nor comfort. Stepping carefully down the few stone stairs to the extreme edge Jenny peered into the water to see if she could see the bottom. The bank sloped down almost vertically, disappearing from sight at a distance of two feet from the edge. How deep is bottomless? she wondered. As though at a cry of alarm she whipped round suddenly. She could see no one and there had been no sound but her knees were shaking.

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