Читать книгу: «OUTLAW in the Tudor Court: Ransom Bride / The Pirate's Willing Captive», страница 3

The apology was the hardest she had ever had to make and she tasted its bitterness; she was determined to say nothing more that evening, for it would kill her to be civil to him! She could not know that the look in her eyes and the tilt of her head betrayed her, nor that he found her defiance amusing.

‘No, do not apologise, sweet Madonna,’ he murmured and the mockery in his voice stung her like the lash of a whip. ‘We should be churlish indeed not to forgive such beauty a small mistake of judgement.’

Kathryn inclined her head. Oh, he was so sure of himself, so secure in his position of power and wealth! She would like to wipe that mocking expression from his face and were she alone with him she would do it! But no, she must not let him drive her to further indiscretion. She would behave as befitted an English gentlewoman.

‘I bow to your generosity, sir.’ The look she gave him was so haughty that it would have slain any other man, but he merely smiled and turned his attention to Lord Mountfitchet.

Wine was served and there was a choice of a sweeter wine for the ladies, but Kathryn stubbornly chose the same as he and her uncle drank and nearly gagged on the dryness of it. She took one sip and set the glass down, her irritation mounting as she saw that he had noted her distaste. When they were directed outside to a small courtyard garden, where a table had been set for them, she noticed that he made a small signal to his servant, and when she looked for her wineglass her wine had been changed.

Oh, was there no ending to this torture? Kathryn asked the servant who served her from the many delicious varieties of fish, meat and rice dishes to bring her some water, refusing to be tempted by the wine, which Lady Mary had declared was delicious.

The food was wonderful too. Used to the more heavily spiced dishes her father’s cooks served at home and sickened by the awful food on board ship, she could not resist trying the delicious prawns and unusual fruits and vegetables that were served to her. After each main course a cold ice sherbet was served, which cleared the palate, and the sweet courses included a delicious sticky jelly that she simply could not resist.

‘I see you approve of one of the gifts my friend from Granada sends me from time to time,’ Lorenzo said, smiling at her. ‘You see, as his son grows to a man, his gratitude increases and he will not allow me to forget that he considers me as another son.’

Kathryn had been reaching for another piece of the sticky sweet and her hand froze in mid-air, then withdrew, her eyes darting a glare at him that would have made most men retreat in confusion. His answer was to smile so wolfishly that it sent a chill through her, the flash of white teeth sudden and menacing, as if he would devour her.

‘Please continue to enjoy them, Madonna,’ he told her. ‘It will please my friend mightily to know that his generosity is not wasted. He fears that I do not appreciate it, but now I can tell him quite truthfully that it brought me favour in your eyes.’

‘I am glad that your friend will be pleased,’ Kathryn said and defiantly took the piece of lemon-flavoured sweetmeat that she desired, biting into it with such venom that she saw his eyes flicker with laughter. He enjoyed taunting her! She could see it in his face, but there was nothing she could do, for she was at his mercy. Please God, let this meal be over soon and then, perhaps, she need not ever see him again.

‘I was thinking,’ Charles said, seemingly unaware of the duel going on between Kathryn and their host. ‘I have cudgelled my brains to think of a distinguishing mark that might help you find Richard, sir—but I cannot recall a thing.’

‘Oh, but—’ Kathryn began and then stopped as all eyes turned on her. She shook her head. ‘I cannot be sure that it would still be there.’

‘If you know of something, you should tell us, Kathryn,’ Charles said. ‘I believe you knew Richard better than anyone.’

‘Pray do give me any information you can,’ Lorenzo said and reached for his wineglass. As he did so she caught sight of a leather wristband chased with silver symbols. The wristbands were so at odds with the richness of his dress that she was mesmerised for a moment and he saw her interest. ‘You are admiring my bracelets, Kathryn?’ He pulled back his sleeves so that she could see that he wore the curious bands on each wrist. ‘The symbols may not be familiar to you, for they are in Arabic. One stands for life, the other for death.’ There was something in his eyes that made her shiver inwardly, an expression so different to any other that she had seen in him that her stomach clenched with fear. ‘It is to remind me, lest I should forget, that one is the close companion of the other.’

‘Surely…’The words died on her lips, for now she felt a sense of desolation in him and it touched her, reaching down inside her so that she shared his grief, his pain, and it almost sent her reeling into darkness. ‘They are remarkable, sir,’ she said, fighting to pull herself back from that deep pit. ‘But you asked about a distinguishing mark. There was one that Uncle Charles would not know about.’ She paused, for the memory was so strong in her mind then that it made her ache with the grief of her loss. ‘Dickon was my closest companion, my dearest friend. One day he told me that he would always love only me, even though I was but nine years to his fifteen. I said that when he grew up he would forget me, and he drew his knife. He cut my initial into his arm, just above his wrist.’ She saw Lorenzo’s eyes darken, his gaze intensifying on her face. ‘It bled a great deal and I was frightened. I gave him my kerchief to bind his wrist, but it was deep and the bleeding would not stop. My nurse bound it for him when we went home and scolded me for allowing him to hurt himself. When it began to heal, there was a livid mark in the shape of a K.’

‘You have never told me this, Kathryn,’ Charles said and frowned. ‘It might help in the search—if it still remains.’

‘It might have been obliterated by other marks,’ Lorenzo said and he looked thoughtful, serious now, all mockery gone. ‘I do not wish to distress the ladies, Lord Mountfitchet, but you must realise that the manacles galley slaves wear leave deep scars. Even if the scar that Richard inflicted on himself remained, it might not be easy to see after so many years of being chained to an oar.’

‘If he was a galley slave,’ Kathryn said. ‘He was but fifteen, sir. Might he not have been sold as a house slave?’ She had prayed so often that it might be so, otherwise there was little hope that Dickon would have survived.

‘It is possible—but if he was strong for his age he would more likely have been put to the oars. The rate of death amongst such unfortunates is high and anyone with the strength to pull an oar might be used if the Corsairs had lost some of their oarsmen.’

‘Yet that makes it all the more likely that the mark may still be there,’ Kathryn said. ‘For if he lives, it is unlikely that he was in the galleys.’

‘You speak truly, for I doubt that any man could survive ten years in the galleys,’ Lorenzo told her and the expression in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine. ‘We must hope that for at least some part of the time your cousin was more fortunate.’

Kathryn looked at him, seeing an odd expression in his eyes. What was he thinking now?

‘Would your friend in Granada help us to find Dickon?’ she asked.

‘Yes, that is possible,’ Lorenzo said. ‘I will write to him and ask if he will make inquiries, though after so long…’ His words drifted away and he lifted his shoulders in a gesture that made her want to defy him all the more.

‘You think it is impossible, don’t you?’ Kathryn saw the answer in his face. ‘But I don’t believe that Dickon is dead. I am certain he lives. I feel it in here.’ She put her hands to her breast, her face wearing an expression of such expectation, such hope, that he was moved. ‘As we journeyed here my feeling grew stronger. I believe that he is alive and may be closer than we think.’

‘All things are possible,’ Lorenzo said, for he found that he did not wish to dim the light in those beautiful eyes by telling her she was wrong. ‘My friend would tell you that it is the will of Allah, but I believe it is the will of man. If Dickon was strong enough, if he wanted to live badly enough, he would find a way to survive. And perhaps he might have been fortunate. Not all slaves are ill treated, Kathryn. Some masters are better than others.’

‘You speak as if you have some experience of these things, sir?’

Lorenzo smiled oddly. ‘Perhaps…’

Kathryn would have pressed for an answer, but he turned to Lord Mountfitchet and began to talk of Cyprus and the land most suitable for wine growing. Kathryn sat and listened, her first disgust of him waning a little as she realised that he was a man of knowledge and influence.

She could not condone what he did in the matter of the ransoms he demanded from the families of those he rescued, and yet she began to understand that it could be but a small part of his business and not the source of his vast wealth.

She could not like him, she decided, for he was too arrogant, too certain of his position, and he could not understand how she felt—how Lord Mountfitchet felt—about the loss of Dickon. But perhaps Uncle Charles was right and he would deal honestly with them.

Besides, what right had she to judge him when she did not know him?

Lorenzo turned his gaze on her again for a moment, and she felt that strange sensation that had almost made her faint when they first met. Why was it that she felt as if they had met before?

‘This is so beautiful,’ Kathryn exclaimed as they wandered about the square that was the centre of Venice. ‘Is it true that the Church of Saint Mark was built to house his body when it was brought from Alexandria?’

‘That is what I have been told,’ Lorenzo answered her though she had addressed her question to her aunt. ‘The building you see near by is the Palazzo Ducale—and over there is the Cathedral, which was first begun in the ninth century and rebuilt after a fire in the eleventh. Notice the architecture, which bears a distinctly Byzantine influence.’

‘It is very fine,’ Kathryn replied. ‘I had thought the people of Byzantium were barbarians, but it seems that they knew how to build.’

‘They knew many things,’ Lorenzo replied with a smile. ‘It was a great empire that demands our respect.’

‘You seem to know so much,’ she said, a little overcome by all the things he had told them as they explored the beautiful city of Venice and its waterways. ‘What, pray tell me, are those buildings over there?’

‘That is the Procuratie Vecchie, and used by the procurators or magistrates, from amongst whom the Doge is chosen, and is built, as you see, in the Italian style, as are many of the palaces themselves. And those columns were erected in the twelfth century. That one bears the winged lion of St Mark and the other portrays St Theodore on a crocodile.’ He looked at Kathryn, a faint smile on his lips. ‘Would you wish to visit the Bridge of Sighs—or would you prefer return to my home and take some refreshment?’

‘Tell me, why is it called the Bridge of Sighs?’

‘I imagine Signor Santorini has had enough of your questions for one day,’ Lady Mary said. ‘It was kind of him to accompany us, but perhaps like me he is ready to return home for some refreshment.’

‘Oh, forgive me,’ Kathryn said, for she was not in the least tired and might have carried on exploring for another hour or more. ‘Yes, we shall go home—at least, we shall return to your home, signor.’

‘It is also yours for the duration of your stay,’ Lorenzo said. On discovering the previous evening that the lodgings they had taken were less than they had hoped for, he had sent his servants to remove their baggage, insisting that they stay with him until they left for Cyprus. It was also his suggestion that he accompany Lady Mary and Kathryn on their tour of the city, for Lord Mountfitchet had other business and, despite Kathryn’s protests, he did not think it suitable that they should go alone. ‘And as to the matter of why the bridge has that name, it is because the palace connects to the prison and the bridge is the route by which prisoners are taken to the judgement hall.’

‘Ah, I see,’ Kathryn said and smiled. ‘I had thought it might have had a more romantic story attached to it.’

‘Perhaps a lover who had cast himself into the water after having his heart broken?’ Lorenzo laughed huskily. ‘I can see that you are a follower of the poets, Madonna. You have come to the right country, for this is a land of beauty and romance. You have only to look at our fine sculptures and paintings.’

She blushed, looking away from the mockery in his eyes, for her heart was behaving very oddly. ‘I have noticed some very fine paintings in your home, sir.’

‘Tell me, which ones do you admire?’

‘I noticed one that had wonderful colours…’ Kathryn wrinkled her brow. ‘It was in the great hall and I saw that the colours seemed to glow like jewels when the sunlight touched them. Most of the paintings I have been used to admiring were tempera, but I believe that one was done in oils, was it not?’

‘Indeed, you are right,’ he said. ‘The artist was a man called Giovanni Bellini and my father bought the painting some years ago. I have others that I have bought that you might like to see one day.’

‘Yes, I believe I should, if you have the time to spare, sir. I know you must be a very busy man and—Have a care, sir!’ Kathryn gave a little cry as she saw someone suddenly lunge at his back with what looked like a curved and deadly knife.

Lorenzo whirled round even as she spoke, catching the would-be assassin’s wrist as he raised his arm to strike. There was a sharp tussle and she heard something that sounded like a bone cracking, and then, before she knew what was happening, three men rushed up and overpowered the assassin, dragging him away with them.

‘Forgive us, Madonna,’ Lorenzo said and his face had become the customary hard mask that she found so disturbing, all trace of softness and laughter gone. ‘I believe your safety was not in doubt, but it should not have happened. My men were instructed to keep a look out for anything that might cause an unpleasant incident.’

‘What a terrible thing,’ Lady Mary said, looking distressed. ‘I trust you are not hurt, sir?’

‘I thank you for your concern,’ he said, but his eyes were on Kathryn, an odd expression in their depths. ‘Perhaps now you will understand why it would not be safe for you to wander at will in this city.’

‘But why did he attack you?’ Kathryn had been startled by the incident, but he had dealt with it so swiftly that she was not frightened, though Lady Mary looked shaken. ‘Do you have enemies, sir?’

Lorenzo frowned. ‘I believe that any man in my position must have his share of enemies, but I did not know until today that I had one prepared to attack me here in Venice.’

‘Do you know who the man was?’

‘A hired assassin,’ Lorenzo dismissed the man with a twist of his lips. ‘I dare say I know who paid him.’

‘Someone who hates you?’

‘He has cause enough,’ Lorenzo said. ‘He belongs to that fraternity you despise so much, Kathryn—a Corsair by trade and inclination. He is called the Feared One, for his cruelty exceeds that practised by most of his brethren. Even they fear and hate him, but they do not dare to betray him.’

‘Why does he hate you enough to pay someone to kill you?’

‘Because I have made it my life’s work to destroy as many of his galleys as I can.’ Lorenzo’s eyes were colder than she had ever seen them. Gazing into them, she was caught up in an emotion so strong that it robbed her of breath. ‘I have nineteen galleys at the moment—we recently lost one in a battle with Rachid—but I have ordered six more. Soon my fleet will be large enough to meet him wherever and whenever he takes to the seas—and then I shall destroy him, little by little.’

Kathryn gazed into his eyes, feeling herself drawn into a vortex that had her spinning down and down, drowning in the bottomless depths of his eyes. ‘Then I must tell you that I owe you an apology,’ she said when she could breathe again. ‘I believed that you were as guilty as those men who enslave others because you asked for a ransom for those you rescued, but if you have dedicated your life and your fortune to destroying such an evil man, then—’

‘Pray do not continue,’ Lorenzo said and she saw that his eyes had lost their haunted look and were filled with laughter. ‘You run the risk of flattering me, Madonna. Say only that you approve of what I do and I’ll not ask for more.’

‘You are mocking me,’ she said and could not quite hide her pique.

‘Indeed, it is very unkind in me,’ he said, ‘but do not grudge me the pleasure that teasing you has brought into a life that has hitherto known very little, Madonna.’

Once again she was aware of powerful emotions swirling beneath the mask he showed to the world and was silent for the moment. They had been walking as they talked, a little ahead of Lady Mary and two men who now shadowed them more closely than before, and had now reached one of the canals where Lorenzo’s gondola was waiting to convey them to his palace.

‘You are not what you seem,’ she said. ‘Will you tell me the reason you hate Rachid so much? For there must be other pirates almost as feared, and yet it is he whom you wish to destroy.’

‘That is something I have told to very few,’ Lorenzo replied. ‘One day perhaps I may tell you, Kathryn. But for the moment I think I shall keep my secret.’

Chapter Three

Here within the courtyard garden, where brightly coloured flowers spilled over from warm terracotta pots, their perfume wafting on the soft night air, Kathryn could almost believe that she was in the knot garden of her home. It was odd, but there was something English about this garden, though many of the flowers were Mediterranean. The roses were fully bloomed and scented, very similar to some that her mother had grown at home.

She thought of her father, wondering if he was missing her. But Philip might be home from college now and so he would have company, though she was sure enough of his love to know that he would think of her. She missed her family and yet she was moving in a new world that she found interesting and colourful.

Her thoughts turned to the incident in St Mark’s Square earlier that day. Had Lorenzo not acted so swiftly it might have ended very differently. It was true that she had called a warning to him, but she did not flatter herself that she had saved his life; he had acted instinctively, as if he had heard or perhaps sensed the assassin’s approach. What kind of a man was he that he needed to be so alert to danger?

He had begun to haunt her thoughts, for she had dreamt of him the previous night. He had been in danger and she had tried to reach him, but a strong wind had been blowing, carrying her further and further away. She had woken from her dream with tears on her face, though she did not understand why she wept.

Kathryn’s feelings were mixed—she did not know how she felt about Lorenzo Santorini. He was such a strange mixture, at one moment as cold as ice, his features rock hard, his mouth an unforgiving line. Yet when his eyes were bright with laughter…it was then that she had this strange feeling of having known him for ever.

What had he meant when he said he would keep his secret for the moment? That he was a man of mystery she did not doubt, but—

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of voices. Charles Mountfitchet and Lorenzo were talking together. They spoke in English as always, for Lorenzo’s grasp of the English language was much better than their grasp of Italian. He, of course, spoke several languages.

‘It may be that it would be better for you to buy land in Italy,’ Lorenzo was saying. ‘With this threat of invasion from the Turks…’

‘Do you really believe that they will try to invade the island?’

‘I cannot say, sir. I merely sought to warn you of the possibility.’

‘I doubt there is much danger for the moment,’ Charles said, for he had set his heart upon buying land in Cyprus, an island rich in sugar, fruit and fertile wine-growing soil. ‘I visited the man you told me of—poor fellow.’

‘Would he speak to you?’ Lorenzo was saying.

‘He asked if I had come to buy him,’ Charles said, sounding distressed. ‘When I told him that I was trying to find my son he wept, but would not answer me. I could not tell him that he would not be sold to another master, for it was not in my power, despite what you have told me, sir.’

‘From what you saw of him, was there anything that reminded you of your son?’

The two men had come into the courtyard now, clearly unaware that Kathryn was there, standing just behind a tall flowering bush.

‘It is impossible to tell,’ Charles said with a heavy sigh. ‘He could be Richard, but I do not recognise him.’

Kathryn moved towards them and saw the startled expression in both their faces. ‘Will you let me see him?’ she asked. ‘I would know Dickon if I saw him, I am sure of it.’

‘The scar you told us of…’ Charles shook his head sadly. ‘It would not help you to look for that, Kathryn. His wrists are so badly scarred and callused by the wearing of manacles and chains for all that time that any previous scar would have been obliterated.’

‘Oh, the poor man—’ Kathryn began but was interrupted.

‘It would not be fitting for you to see him,’ Lorenzo said. ‘It caused your uncle much grief and a woman would find it too upsetting.’

‘Have you such a low opinion of our sex, sir?’ Kathryn’s head was up, her eyes flashing with pride. Why must he always imagine that she was foolish? ‘Do you think I have not seen suffering before? My dear mother was ill some months before she died of a wasting sickness, and I have seen beggars with sores that were infected with maggots in the marketplace at home. If I saw this man, I might know if he is Dickon.’

‘Kathryn knew my son better than anyone,’ Charles said, looking at her uncertainly. ‘She is a woman of some spirit, Signor Santorini. I think—with your permission—I should like her to see him. After all, what harm can it do for her to speak with him if someone is near by?’

Lorenzo’s eyes flickered with what might have been anger, but it was controlled, not allowed to flare into life. ‘Very well, I shall arrange it for tomorrow. But I warn you, Kathryn, he has suffered things that you cannot begin to contemplate. I fear your tender heart may sway your good sense.’

‘I shall know if he is Dickon,’ Kathryn said stubbornly, though in her heart she was not sure that she would truly know. For that one moment when her senses had betrayed her, she had thought that Lorenzo himself might be her lost love, though that was impossible, of course. There was no possibility that Dickon and this cold, arrogant Venetian could be the same man. He had clearly been born to privilege and wealth and could never have suffered as this poor slave he would deny the chance of a new life.

‘Very well, you may see him tomorrow. I shall have him brought here for you.’ He inclined his head curtly, clearly not pleased to be overruled in this matter. ‘I fear I have an appointment this evening. In my absence, I beg you to make yourselves free of my home. My servants will serve you supper and care for your needs. Do not hesitate to ask for whatever you want.’

‘You are generous,’ Charles said. ‘I myself have a business meeting this evening, but Mary and Kathryn will be company for each other.’

‘Yes, of course we shall,’ Kathryn said and smiled at him. She did not look at Lorenzo, annoyed with him because he had tried to deny her the chance to identify Dickon. ‘We have many little tasks that need our attention.’

‘Then I shall wish you a pleasant evening.’ Lorenzo inclined his head, turned and left them together.

Charles looked at her for a moment in silence, then said, ‘It was a harrowing experience, my dear. Signor Santorini is probably right in thinking that it will upset you.’

‘I do not expect otherwise,’ Kathryn said. ‘Who could remain unaffected by suffering such as he describes? But it was for this that I came with you, Uncle. I can only trust my instincts. If I do not feel it is Dickon, I shall tell you.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘You said that he hardly spoke to you—do you think he might tell me more?’

‘Perhaps he does not remember,’ Charles said. ‘Signor Santorini believes that he has been a slave for many years, perhaps not always in the galleys. He might have been a house slave for a while and sent to the galleys for some misdemeanour. It is the way of things. Youths make amusing slaves for some men, but when they grow older and stronger they become too dangerous to keep in the house. I shall not tell you of the things these youths are forced to endure, for it is not fitting, but it may be that a man would prefer to forget rather than remember such abuses.’

Kathryn’s eyes were wet with tears, for she could guess what he would not say. She brushed her cheek with the back of her hand. ‘How can men be so cruel to one another?’

‘I do not know, Kathryn,’ Charles said with a deep sigh.

‘How can anyone survive such terrible things?’ Kathryn asked. ‘It seems impossible. Yet this man has done so and deserves our kindness, if no more.’

‘Yes, you are right,’ Charles said, looking thoughtful. ‘I must leave you now, Kathryn. Go into your aunt, my dear, and do not dwell on this too much. I think it unlikely the poor wretch I saw today is my son, but I should value your opinion.’

Kathryn kissed his cheek, doing as he bid her.

She spent the evening with Lady Mary, working on her sewing, for they had purchased many materials before they left England and had not had time to complete their wardrobes. One or other of the servants they had brought with them did much of the plain sewing, but they liked to finish the garments with embroidery and ribbons themselves.

Kathryn was not tired when she retired for the night. She felt a restless energy that would not let her sleep, and sat by the open window looking out over the courtyard. The sky was dark, but there were many stars, besides a crescent moon, and she found it fascinating to look at them, for it was possible to see far more here than at home where there was so often clouds to obscure them.

She became aware of someone in the sunken courtyard. A man just standing there alone, staring at the little fountain that played into a lily pool. He was so still that he might have been one of the beautiful statues that adorned his house and garden, and yet she knew him.

What was he thinking? Was he too unable to sleep? He was such a difficult man to understand, and sometimes she wanted to fly at him in a rage, though at others…she liked him. Yes, despite herself she had begun to like him.

Sighing, Kathryn turned from the window as the man moved towards the house. It was time she was in bed, even if she did not sleep, for Aunt Mary wished to go exploring again in the morning. They were to be taken in a gondola through the waterways so that they might see more of the city.

Lorenzo unbuckled his sword, dropping it on to one of the silken couches that he preferred about him, something he had learned to appreciate at the house of Ali Khayr. A wry smile touched his mouth, for his friend had tried hard to convert him to Islam, though as yet he resisted.

‘You are more at home here with us than in the Christian world,’ Ali Khayr had said to him once as they debated religion and culture. ‘And no one hates the Inquisition more than you, Lorenzo—and yet you resist the true faith.’

‘Perhaps there is good reason,’ Lorenzo said and smiled as the other raised his brow. ‘I do not believe in a god—neither yours, nor the Christian variety.’

‘And yet it was by the will of Allah that you came to me and my son was saved,’ Ali Khayr said. ‘Why do you not accept the teachings of the Prophet? It might help to heal your soul and bring you happiness.’

‘I think I am beyond redemption from your god or the god the Inquisition uses as an excuse for torture and murder.’

‘Hush, Lorenzo,’ Ali Khayr told him. ‘What a man may do in the name of religion may not be called murder, though it would not be our way. We use our slaves more kindly, and those that convert to Islam may rise to positions of importance and a life of ease.’

‘You may choose that way,’ Lorenzo said, a glint in his eyes, ‘but others of your people are less tolerant.’

‘You speak of pirates and thugs,’ Ali Khayr said with a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘There are men of all races in that fraternity, Lorenzo: Christians as well as Muslims. They say that Rachid, your enemy, was from the Western world, though I do not know if it be true.’

‘It is true,’ Lorenzo said. ‘He wears the clothes of Islam and he speaks the language like a native, but a clever man may learn many languages. I have seen him close to, though he did not look at me, for I was beneath him—a beast of labour, no more.’

‘You have good cause to hate him,’ Ali Khayr said. ‘And I do not condemn you for what you do—but I would bring ease to your soul, Lorenzo. If you put your faith in Allah, you might die a warrior’s death safe in the knowledge that you would be born again in Paradise.’

‘And what is Paradise?’ Lorenzo smiled at him. ‘You would have it a place of beautiful women, and wine such as you have never tasted? My business is fine wines and if I cared for it I could have a beautiful houri when I chose.’