We were summoned by a Turkish neighbour for moonlit drinks. Her name is Sofiya, a slightly batty older lady who speaks fluent English with a cut glass accent. Sofiya had been threatening us with an invitation for weeks by rapping on our window, poking her hand through the grill and startling our visitors. Our immediate neighbours, Vadim and Beril were also invited so we all scurried down the lane together. We approached an ornate set of heavy double doors and rang the bell. Sofiya flung open the doors to reveal a gorgeous candle-lit courtyard bursting with a copse of mature fruit trees – avocado, pomegranate and lemon – laid out before a pretty, white washed old Bodrum house. Liam was immediately drawn to a niche in the stone wall partially hidden by the thicket illuminated by tea lights. The recess contained a small statuette of Our Lady, a replica of the original from Meryemana (the house of the Virgin Mary, near Ephesus). Liam resisted the knee jerk urge to genuflect.
Read the whole of Old Money, No Money over at On the Ege