A Twist in the Tale Read online

  However, they still managed to complete a large part of their program and determinedly set aside the whole of the last day of the holiday in their quest for a carpet. As they did not need Beyazik’s car to go into town, they felt confident that for that day at least they could safely avoid the Kendall-Humes.

  On the final morning they rose a little later than planned and after breakfast strolled down the tiny cobbled path together, Christopher in possession of the seventeenth edition of Carpets—Fact and Fiction, Margaret with a tape measure and five hundred pounds in travelers’ checks.

  Once the schoolmaster and his wife had reached the bazaar they began to look around a myriad of little shops, wondering where they should begin their adventure. Fez-topped men tried to entice them to enter their tiny emporiums but the Robertses spent the first hour simply taking in the atmosphere.

  “I’m ready to start the search now,” shouted Margaret above the babble of voices around her.

  “Then we’ve found you just in time,” said one voice they thought they had escaped.

  “We were just about to—”

  “Then follow me.”

  The Robertses’ hearts sank as they were led by Ray Kendall-Hume out of the bazaar and back toward the town.

  “Take my advice, Christopher, and you’ll end up with one hell of a bargain,” Kendall-Hume assured them both. “I’ve picked up some real beauties in my time from every corner of the globe at prices you wouldn’t believe. I am happy to let you take full advantage of my expertise at no extra charge.”

  “I don’t know how you could stand the noise and smell of that bazaar,” said Melody, obviously glad to be back among the familiar signs of Gucci, Lacoste and Saint Laurent.

  “We rather like…”

  “Rescued in the nick of time,” said Ray Kendall-Hume. “And the place I’m told you have to start and finish at if you want to purchase a serious carpet is Osman’s.”

  Margaret recalled the name from her carpet book: “Only to be visited if money is no object and you know exactly what you are looking for.” The vital last morning was to be wasted, she reflected as she pushed open the large glass doors of Osman’s to enter a ground-floor area the size of a tennis court. The room was covered in carpets on the floor, the walls, the windowsills, and even the tables. Anywhere a carpet could be laid out, a carpet was there to be seen. Although the Robertses realized immediately that nothing on show could possibly be in their price range, the sheer beauty of the display entranced them.

  Margaret walked slowly round the room, mentally measuring the small carpets so she could anticipate the sort of thing they might look for once they had escaped.

  A tall, elegant man, hands raised as if in prayer and dressed immaculately in a tailored worsted suit that could have been made in Savile Row, advanced to greet them.

  “Good morning, sir,” he said to Mr. Kendall-Hume, selecting the serious spender without difficulty. “Can I be of assistance?”

  “You certainly can,” replied Kendall-Hume. “I want to be shown your finest carpets, but I do not intend to pay your finest prices.”

  The dealer smiled politely and clapped his hands. Six small carpets were brought in by three assistants who rolled them out in the center of the room. Margaret fell in love with a muted green-based carpet with a pattern of tiny red squares woven around the borders. The pattern was so intricate she could not take her eyes off it. She measured the carpet out of interest: seven by three exactly.

  “You have excellent taste, madam,” said the dealer. Margaret, coloring slightly, quickly stood up, took a pace backward and hid the tape measure behind her back.

  “How do you feel about that lot, pet?” asked Kendall-Hume, sweeping a hand across the six carpets.

  “None of them are big enough,” Melody replied, giving them only a fleeting glance.

  The dealer clapped his hands a second time and the exhibits were rolled up and taken away. Four larger ones soon replaced them.

  “Would you care for some coffee?” the dealer asked Mr. Kendall-Hume as the new carpets lay unfurled at their feet.

  “Haven’t the time,” said Kendall-Hume shortly. “Here to buy a carpet. If I want a coffee, I can always go to a coffee shop,” he said with a chuckle. Melody smiled her complicity.

  “Well, I would like some coffee,” declared Margaret, determined to rebel at some point on this holiday.

  “Delighted, madam,” said the dealer, and one of the assistants disappeared to carry out her wishes while the Kendall-Humes studied the new carpets. The coffee arrived a few moments later. She thanked the young assistant and began to sip the thick black liquid slowly. Delicious, she thought, and smiled her acknowledgment to the dealer.

  “Still not large enough,” Mrs. Kendall-Hume insisted. The dealer gave a slight sigh and clapped his hands yet again. Once more the assistants began to roll up the rejected carpets. He then addressed one of his staff in Turkish. The assistant looked doubtfully at his mentor but the dealer gave a firm nod and waved him away. The assistant returned a little later with a small platoon of lesser assistants carrying two carpets, both of which when unfolded took up most of the shop floor. Margaret liked them even less than the ones she had just been shown, but as her opinion was not sought she did not offer it.

  “That’s more like it,” said Ray Kendall-Hume. “Just about the right size for the lounge, wouldn’t you say, Melody?”

  “Perfect,” his wife replied, making no attempt to measure either of the carpets.

  “I’m glad we agree,” said Ray Kendall-Hume. “But which one, my pet? The faded red and blue, or the bright yellow and orange?”

  “The yellow and orange one,” said Melody without hesitation. “I like the pattern of brightly colored birds running round the outside.” Christopher thought he saw the dealer wince.

  “So now all we have left to do is agree on a price,” said Kendall-Hume. “You’d better sit down, pet, as this may take awhile.”

  “I hope not,” said Mrs. Kendall-Hume, resolutely standing. The Robertses remained mute.

  “Unfortunately, sir,” began the dealer, “your wife has selected one of the finest carpets in our collection and so I fear there can be little room for any readjustment.”

  “How much?” said Kendall-Hume.

  “You see, sir, this carpet was woven in Demirdji, in the province of Izmir, by over a hundred seamstresses and it took them more than a year to complete.”

  “Don’t give me that baloney,” said Kendall-Hume, winking at Christopher. “Just tell me how much I’m expected to pay.”

  “I feel it my duty to point out, sir, that this carpet shouldn’t be here at all,” said the Turk plaintively. “It was originally made for an Arab prince who failed to complete the transaction when the price of oil collapsed.”

  “But he must have agreed on a price at the time?”

  “I cannot reveal the exact figure, sir. It embarrasses me to mention it.”

  “It wouldn’t embarrass me,” said Kendall-Hume. “Come on, what’s the price?” he insisted.

  “Which currency would you prefer to trade in?” the Turk asked.

  “Pounds.”

  The dealer removed a slim calculator from his jacket pocket, programmed some numbers into it, then looked unhappily toward the Kendall-Humes.

  Christopher and Margaret remained silent, like school-children fearing the headmaster might ask them a question to which they could not possibly know the answer.

  “Come on, come on, how much were you hoping to sting me for?”

  “I think you must prepare yourself for a shock, sir,” said the dealer.

  “How much?” repeated Kendall-Hume, impatiently.

  “Twenty-five thousand.”

  “Pounds?”

  “Pounds.”

  “You must be joking,” said Kendall-Hume, walking round the carpet and ending up standing next to Margaret. “You’re about to find out why I’m considered the scourge of the East Midlands car trade,” he whispered to
her. “I wouldn’t pay more than fifteen thousand for that carpet,” said Kendall-Hume turning back to face the dealer. “Even if my life depended on it.”

  “Then I fear your time has been wasted, sir,” the Turk replied. “For this is a carpet intended only for the cognoscenti. Perhaps madam might reconsider the red and blue?”

  “Certainly not,” said Kendall-Hume. “The color’s all faded. Can’t you see? You obviously left it in the window too long, and the sun has got at it. No, you’ll have to reconsider your price if you want the orange and yellow one to end up in the home of a connoisseur.”

  The dealer sighed as his fingers tapped the calculator again.

  While the transaction continued, Melody looked on vacantly, occasionally gazing out of the window toward the bay.

  “I could not drop a penny below twenty-three thousand pounds.”

  “I’d be willing to go as high as eighteen thousand,” said Kendall-Hume, “but not a penny more.”

  The Robertses watched the dealer tap the numbers into the calculator.

  “That would not even cover the cost of what I paid for it myself,” he said sadly, staring down at the little glowing figures.

  “You’re pushing me, but don’t push me too far. Nineteen thousand,” said Mr. Kendall-Hume. “That’s my final offer.”

  “Twenty thousand pounds is the lowest figure I could consider,” replied the dealer. “A giveaway price on my mother’s grave.”

  Kendall-Hume took out his wallet and placed it on the table by the side of the dealer.

  “Nineteen thousand pounds and you’ve got yourself a deal,” he said.

  “But how will I feed my children?” asked the dealer, his arms raised above his head.

  “The same way I feed mine,” said Kendall-Hume, laughing. “By making a fair profit.”

  The dealer paused as if reconsidering, then said, “I can’t do it, sir. I’m sorry. We must show you some other carpets.” The assistants came forward on cue.

  “No, that’s the one I want,” said Mrs. Kendall-Hume. “Don’t quarrel over a thousand pounds, pet.”

  “Take my word for it, madam,” the dealer said, turning toward Mrs. Kendall-Hume. “My family would starve if we only did business with customers like your husband.”

  “Okay, you get the twenty thousand, but on one condition.”

  “Condition?”

  “My receipt must show that the bill was for ten thousand pounds. Otherwise I’ll only end up paying the difference in customs duty.”

  The dealer bowed low as if to indicate he did not find the request an unusual one.

  Mr. Kendall-Hume opened his wallet and withdrew ten thousand pounds in travelers’ checks and ten thousand pounds in cash.

  “As you can see,” he said, grinning, “I came prepared.” He removed another five thousand pounds and, waving it at the dealer, added, “and I would have been willing to pay far more.”

  The dealer shrugged. “You drive a hard bargain, sir. But you will not hear me complain now the deal has been struck.”

  The vast carpet was folded, wrapped, and a receipt for ten thousand pounds made out while the travelers’ checks and cash were paid over.

  The Robertses had not uttered a word for twenty minutes. When they saw the cash change hands it crossed Margaret’s mind that it was more money than the two of them earned in a year.

  “Time to get back to the yacht,” said Kendall-Hume. “Do join us for lunch if you choose a carpet in time.”

  “Thank you,” said the Robertses in unison. They waited until the Kendall-Humes were out of sight, two assistants bearing the orange and yellow carpet in their wake, before they thanked the dealer for the coffee and in turn began to make their move toward the door.

  “What sort of carpet were you looking for?” asked the dealer.

  “I fear your prices are way beyond us,” said Christopher politely. “But thank you.”

  “Well, let me at least find out. Have you or your wife seen a carpet you liked?”

  “Yes,” replied Margaret, “the small carpet, but…”

  “Ah, yes,” said the dealer. “I remember madam’s eyes when she saw the Hereke.”

  He left them, to return a few moments later with the little soft-toned red and blue carpet with the green base that the Kendall-Humes had so firmly rejected. Not waiting for assistance he rolled it out himself for the Robertses to inspect more carefully.

  Margaret thought it looked even more magnificent the second time and feared that she could never hope to find its equal in the few hours left to them.

  “Perfect,” she admitted, quite unashamedly.

  “Then we have only the price to discuss,” said the dealer kindly. “How much were you wanting to spend, madam?”

  “We had planned to spend three hundred pounds,” said Christopher, jumping in. Margaret was unable to hide her surprise.

  “But we agreed—” she began.

  “Thank you, my dear, I think I should be left to handle this.”

  The dealer smiled and returned to the bargaining.

  “I would have to charge you six hundred pounds,” he said. “Anything less would be daylight robbery.”

  “Four hundred pounds is my final offer,” said Christopher, trying to sound in control.

  “Five hundred pounds would have to be my bottom price,” said the dealer.

  “I’ll take it!” cried Christopher.

  An assistant began waving his arms and talking to the dealer noisily in his native tongue. The owner raised a hand to dismiss the young man’s protests, while the Robertses looked on anxiously.

  “My son,” explained the dealer, “is not happy with the arrangement, but I am delighted that the little carpet will reside in the home of a couple who will so obviously appreciate its true worth.”

  “Thank you,” said Christopher quietly.

  “Will you also require a bill of a different price?”

  “No, thank you,” said Christopher, handing over ten fifty-pound notes and then waiting until the carpet was wrapped and he was presented with the correct receipt.

  As he watched the Robertses leave his shop clinging onto their purchase, the dealer smiled contentedly.

  When they arrived at the quayside, the Kendall-Humes’ boat was already halfway across the bay heading toward the quiet beach. The Robertses sighed their combined relief and returned to the bazaar for lunch.

  * * *

  It was while they were waiting for their baggage to appear on the carousel at Heathrow Airport that Christopher felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned round to face a beaming Ray Kendall-Hume.

  “I wonder if you could do me a favor, old boy?”

  “I will if I can,” said Christopher, who still had not fully recovered from their last encounter.

  “It’s simple enough,” said Kendall-Hume. “The old girl and I have brought back far too many presents and I wondered if you could take one of them through customs. Otherwise we’re likely to be held up all night.”

  Melody, standing behind an already laden trolley, smiled at them both benignly.

  “You would still have to pay any duty that was due on it,” said Christopher firmly.

  “I wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise,” said Kendall-Hume, struggling with a massive package before pushing it onto the Robertses’ trolley. Christopher wanted to protest as Kendall-Hume peeled off two thousand pounds.

  “What do we do if they claim your carpet is worth a lot more than ten thousand pounds?” asked Margaret anxiously, standing by her husband’s side.

  “Pay the difference and I’ll refund you immediately. But I assure you it’s most unlikely to arise.”

  “I hope you’re right,” said Margaret.

  “Of course I’m right,” said Kendall-Hume. “Don’t worry, I’ve done this sort of thing before. And I won’t forget your help when it comes to the next school appeal,” he added, leaving them with the huge parcel.

  Once Christopher and Margaret had located their own bags, t
hey collected the second trolley and took their place in the red “Something to Declare” queue.

  “Are you in possession of any items over five hundred pounds in value?” asked the young customs official politely.

  “Yes,” said Christopher. “We purchased two carpets when we were on holiday in Turkey.” He handed over the two bills.

  The customs official studied the receipts carefully, then asked if he might be allowed to see the carpets for himself.

  “Certainly,” said Christopher, and began the task of undoing the large package while Margaret worked on the smaller one.

  “I shall need to have these looked at by an expert,” said the official once the parcels were unwrapped. “It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.” The carpets were duly taken away.

  The “few minutes” turned out to be over fifteen and Christopher and Margaret were soon regretting their decision to assist the Kendall-Humes, whatever the needs of the school appeal. They began to fidget and indulge in irrelevant small talk that wouldn’t have fooled the most amateur of sleuths.

  At last the customs official returned.

  “I wonder if you would be kind enough to have a word with my colleague in private?” he asked.

  “Is that really necessary?” asked Christopher, reddening.

  “I’m afraid so, sir.”

  “We shouldn’t have agreed to it in the first place,” whispered Margaret. “We’ve never been in any trouble with the authorities before.”

  “Don’t fret, my dear. It will be all over in a few minutes, you’ll see,” said Christopher, not sure that he believed his own words. They followed the young man out through the back and into a small room.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” said a white-haired man with several gold rings around the cuff of his sleeve. “I am sorry to have kept you waiting but we have had your carpets looked at by our expert and he feels sure a mistake must have been made.”