The second book in the Thomas Lourds series, 2010

Thanks to my excellent agent, Robert Gottlieb, at Trident Media Group, and to Libby Kellogg, who ably assists him there. Thanks also to my family and students, who are the light of my life.

Thanks are also due to the wonderful people at Penguin Books, including Alex Clarke, Anthea Townsend, Andrew Smith, Helen Eka, Nick Lowndes and Tom Chicken. I can’t thank you enough for your professionalism and enthusiasm.

Ataturk International Airport

Yesilkoy District

Istanbul, Turkey

15 March 2010

‘Professor Lourds. Professor Lourds.’

Dr Thomas Lourds heard his name being called above the cacophony of languages surrounding him. He wasn’t expecting anyone to meet him here inside the crowded passenger terminal of Istanbul ’s busy international airport. He didn’t recognize the voice, either – but he could tell it was a young woman. Thanks to years of teaching college students at Harvard, not to mention a well-earned reputation as a ladies’ man, he was rarely wrong when he gauged a woman’s age from her voice. Curious, he stepped out of the flow of pedestrian traffic rushing through the airport toward baggage and ground transportation on the lower level.

A pretty redhead waved at him from twenty feet back and fought to get through the crowd between them. A mother leading two small children glared at the young woman. Not every traveller was upset – a young man in his mid-twenties wearing a bright French football jersey studied the woman who’d jostled him in open admiration.

There was a lot to like. Tall and lean, she moved with the fluid grace of an athlete or a dancer. Lourds admired the view, too. She was dressed in hip-hugging jeans and a crop top that exposed some impressive cleavage above and a tanned midriff below. A diamond gleamed in her navel, emphasizing toned abs. Her dark red hair curled and glided across her bare, freckled shoulders. But try as he might, Lourds couldn’t remember meeting her before.

‘You are Professor Thomas Lourds, right?’ The young woman came to an abrupt stop in front of him. Her hazel eyes drank him in. ‘If you’re not, I’m gonna be really embarrassed.’

Lourds smiled a little bashfully. It was a look he could pull off when occasion called for it. He was nearly old enough to be her father, so he figured a little bashfulness on his part might quell the disparaging looks he was receiving from some of the passers-by.

‘I’m Thomas Lourds.’ He shifted his cracked leather backpack to his other shoulder and extended his hand. ‘If we’ve met, I have to apologize. Your name slips my mind.’

‘No, we haven’t met.’ She shook hands. Her grip was surprisingly firm, with soft skin toughened at the base of her fingers and the heel of her hand. The young lady must work out a lot.

‘You relieve my mind. I didn’t think I’d forget meeting such a beautiful young woman. And if I had, someone should shoot me and put me out of my misery.’

The redhead smiled at him.

Slow down, Lourds chided himself. You’ll scare her away.

But the chance meeting perked up his day considerably. He’d spent the last several hours on a British Airways plane from London. The first-class seating had been perfect – except for the septuagenarian he’d been stuck with the whole way. She’d regaled him with stories about her life and her digestive tract and he’d plied himself with wine in self-defence. He still felt some of the after-effects from the Zinfandel and fully intended to lose the card the woman had pressed into his hand at the end of the trip.

Or possibly burn it in effigy.

‘You must think I’m crazy,’ the redhead continued, ‘calling after you in an airport, but I really wanted to see you.’

Lourds released her hand and smiled. ‘How else were you going to get my attention?’

‘True. But I would have liked to be a little more subtle and not so fan-girl when I met you.’

‘Are you an admirer of the study of linguistics?’ Lourds had written a few books and several articles in that field.

‘Not exactly.’ She reached into her carry-on bag and brought out a hardback book.

Lourds recognized the lurid red and gold foil cover. It featured a languid, barely dressed male lounging in the shadows of a veiled bed. The man looked like he’d just stepped from a Calvin Klein ad. He also, Lourds had been told by women, looked like he would be everything a woman could dream of.

That cover had sold a lot of books, and Lourds had enjoyed cashing the royalty cheques. The image had also been a boon to his love life. Women loved to talk about sex with him, thanks to that cover. Lourds had pursued the subject intimately whenever the chance presented itself. And there had been a lot of chances over his career. Even before the publication of the book the redhead held.

‘Ah.’ Lourds grinned. ‘You’re a reader.’

‘I am.’ She proffered the book. ‘I saw you, and I had to try to get your autograph. I figured it was serendipity. So here I am.’

‘I’d be happy to sign your book for you.’ Lourds took the copy and rummaged in his pocket for a pen.

‘Here.’ She handed him a ballpoint.

‘I gather you enjoyed it?’

‘I did,’ she agreed. ‘But I prefer the CD. I’m on my second copy of the audio book. I wore the first one out. I love your voice. I turn out the lights and listen to it in my bedroom a lot.’ She paused, winced, and bit her lip. ‘Well, that wasn’t awkward and embarrassing, was it?’

Lourds waved the comment away. ‘The audio-book publisher insisted I read the book after she heard me deliver a presentation on the translation.’

The publisher had been young and lovely, and had taken very personal interest in seeing to it that Lourds was treated like royalty.

‘The book says everything written in there is true. Is it?’

Lourds couldn’t count the number of times he’d been asked that question. The fourth-century scroll containing the narrative that had been published as Bedroom Pursuits had made Professor Thomas Lourds a household name. It had also made him something of a white elephant and favourite bastard son at Harvard. The dean of that distinguished university still winced every time he thought of the subject matter of Lourds’ bestseller. The original document Lourds had decoded had detailed the numerous and various acts of sexual congress of its author in lurid detail. Lourds’ translation hadn’t skimped on those details. Lourds didn’t know anything about the author other than what his translation of the scroll had revealed. Given the sexual escapades the man had described himself as having, as well as the natural equipment he’d written about, Lourds figured if the man had been real he must have been a physical marvel with the stamina of a god.

‘Do you think it’s true?’ Lourds countered.

‘God, I hope so.’

‘Well, I don’t know how true the tales are. I just translated them from the original language.’

‘And performed the audio presentation.’

Lourds nodded. ‘I did. But the sound studio upgraded the quality of my voice and added background music.’

‘Kenny G, right?’

‘Someone that sounds an awful lot like him.’

‘I think you have a magnificent voice even without the background music.’ The redhead gave him a sultry smile.

‘Well… thank you,’ Lourds said.