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is in London.’
    ‘And when will he return?’
    The man spread his hands and shrugged his well-tailored shoulders. Then he said, ‘If you leave your phone number, I will get him to call you when he comes back.’
    ‘I don’t have a phone,’ said James crossly. ‘In fact, that is one of my many complaints. Does Mustafa own this place?’
    ‘Yes.’
    James’s lip curled with distaste. ‘Then he is no longer the Mustafa I knew.’
    ‘If I may show you out . . .’ said the man politely. His eyes looked amused, amused at their outrage.
    ‘Probably drugs as well as being a Natasha pasha,’ said James as they got back into his rented car.
    ‘What’s a Natasha pasha?’
    ‘Brothel-keeper.’
    ‘I don’t know what took you so long to complain,’ said Agatha. ‘Let’s find the tourist office and put in a complaint.’
    ‘It wouldn’t do us any good. I think I should cut my losses and find somewhere else. The manager at the Onar Village Hotel, Stefan, has been letting me use the telephone and fax. I’ll call there and see if he knows of any place I can move to.’
    At James’s suggestion, before they went back, they went into the old part of Nicosia, wandered around the covered market, Agatha being restrained by James from haggling for a brass pepper mill. Unlike mainland Turkey, you were expected to pay the marked price. Then they went to the Saray Hotel for lunch. The centre of Nicosia was a pleasant, friendly place with a lot of interesting old buildings and shops. Agatha would have been happy to spend the day there, exploring, but James was determined to set out back to the Onar Village Hotel and see if he could find somewhere else to live.
    ‘Why not just return with me to Carsely?’ asked Agatha as he drove out of Nicosia.
    ‘I’m not yet ready for that,’ he said and then drove on in silence.
    At the Onar Village Hotel, the manager, Stefan, told them that the hotel housekeeper was leaving for Australia and would perhaps rent them her home. It was out at Alsancak, next to the Altinkaya fish restaurant.
    They drove there to meet the housekeeper and her friendly family. It was a large villa near the beach and seemed to have every home comfort. To Agatha’s dismay, she heard James say he would take it for three months, perhaps longer.
    The door opened and Bilal of the laundry came in with his English wife. ‘These are my friends,’ said the housekeeper. ‘They will look after you.’
    Bilal smiled. ‘So you found Mr Lacey,’ he said to Agatha.
    James looked sharply at Agatha. ‘We’ve met before,’ muttered Agatha, who somehow had no wish to tell James how she had run after him.
    James agreed to move in the following day.
    ‘What about Mrs Raisin?’ asked Bilal, his eyes bright and mischievous. ‘Loads of room here. No need to go on paying a hotel bill.’
    Jackie, Bilal’s wife, a woman in her forties with intelligent eyes and a rosy tan that Agatha envied, said, ‘Yes, why don’t you move in as well, Mrs Raisin?’
    ‘I suppose so,’ said James grudgingly. ‘Mrs Raisin is only here on a short holiday.’
    Agatha knew in that moment that if she said yes, she would stay, James would hate it, would think she was crowding him.
    ‘Thank you,’ she said brightly. ‘I’ll check out of the hotel tomorrow.’
    James gave a little sigh but settled down to arrange the rent and ask about local shops.
    Agatha went upstairs. There was a big bedroom with a double bed. French windows opened up on to an upstairs terrace. Next to it was a single bedroom. Then, through a narrow bathroom and down wooden steps, there was another bedroom with a view of the sea and a single bed under the window.
    She would take this, she decided, and give James the double bedroom.
    She went back downstairs by a back stair which led off her new room. There was a summer living-room which looked out on to a terrace and garden, and a winter living-room where the negotiations were taking place. The kitchen was vast. Looking