He finished his mouthful of su b?re?i. “I’ve gotten to know Istanbul fairly well,” he said. “Plenty of history there.”
She swallowed the last mouthful of soup. “I really need to get a good recipe for that soup,” she said. “But you haven’t been to Troy?”
“No.”
“It’s just a few hours from Istanbul,” she said, her tone making the statement an interrogative.
The ancient site of Troy was close enough for a day trip, as close as his fears. “I’ve read The Iliad so many times I’m not sure I want to replace that with the reality of an archaeological dig,” he admitted.
Her gaze sharpened. For a moment he thought she was going to call him on his bullshit, but instead she said, “Grannie really wants to go to Troy. Is this going to be a problem? Because I can hire another driver or guide.”
“No,” he said firmly. “I’m good.”
“I started the book last night,” she said. “That’s why I was late coming down.”
His eyebrow ghosted up just a millimeter or two.
She pulled the book out of her shoulder bag and showed him the sheet of hotel stationery she was using as a bookmark. “‘Now’s the time for killing! Later, at leisure, strip the corpses up and down the plain!’ I’ve watched Jack play Call of Duty, but this is something else entirely.”
“It’s personal,” he said. “It’s intensely personal. It begins over a woman and ends over a best friend.”
“I couldn’t put it down,” she said quietly.
He wasn’t sure what to make of the look in her eye. The only thing he knew for sure was that, based on the shadows under them, she’d fall asleep in the Land Rover, probably ten minutes out of Konya.
“Ready?” he said with a look at his watch. The Babes were already packing up.
Rose knocked back the rest of her coffee. “Let’s go.”
The GPS navigated them right to the museum, where a few cars and smaller tour buses were lining up in the parking lot. The wind caught Rose’s door when she opened it, rocking the Land Rover. Keenan helped the Babes from the backseat, then closed and locked the car. They paused in the middle of the parking lot to lean back and peer up at the turquoise spire brilliant against the dark gray sky and the hewn blocks that comprised the walls. A smaller minaret perched delicately between the domes of the main building. Hardy evergreen trees stood fast against the desert wind.
Grannie peered over her shoulder at Rose, then pointed up. The wind carried her words, but her body language and excited smile came through loud and clear.
“I’m so glad I’m here to see this,” Rose said. Her elastic couldn’t keep her hair confined, and strands of it blew across her cheek and clung to her mouth. She tugged them free, then gave Keenan a sweet smile. “So glad.”
“Me too. We’d better catch up with them.”
They cleared the main gate and walked into the walled compound. Using the research he’d gathered before driving to Ankara he gave a quick talk on the building’s history and architecture. He looked at his watch. “Will two hours be enough?”
Grannie pointed at the gift shop. “Let’s meet there in ninety minutes,” she said. “If we need more time, we’ll decide then.”
Keenan set the timer on his watch, and the group drifted apart. Rose strolled across the marble-paved courtyard beside her grandmother to the museum entrance, an arch set into the ornate dark wood decorating the mausoleum’s main floor and the roof jutting over the entrance. A small crowd milled around while covering their shoes with incongruous blue surgical booties to protect the fine carpets inside, and show respect for the poet’s final resting place. Rose tugged the booties over her boots, then shot Keenan a smile as Grannie used her shoulder for balance to cover her Converse sneakers. They disappeared into the crowd. Keenan followed them at a discreet distance to give them privacy but also keep an eye on them.
For Jack. He told himself he was doing this because Jack asked him to, not because he couldn’t stop watching Rose. Her hair was uncovered. Some Turkish women wore the hijab; whether to cover your hair or not was a hot topic among women in Turkey, with modern women often opting not to cover their hair in daily life, while more ardent Muslims and older women chose to wear the hijab.