It is dismissed as twee; but in its original Turkish it
is still the most common way of explaining luck, providence, fate — the roll of the dice that decides who lives and who dies.

Murat Akif Hazine, a waiter at the coffee shop opposite the British consulate general in the old heart of Istanbul, believes that kismet was at work last Thursday when one of his favourite English customers turned down an invitation to stop for his usual cup of sweet Turkish tea.

The short figure of Roger Short — he was the kind of man who used to joke about how apt his name was — hurried from the consulate that morning to have his shoes shined by a bootblack in the nearby fish market, something that he had been promising to do for days.

As Short returned at about 10.50am, Hazine hailed him. But there was no time for the usual banter. Short had an appointment in the consulate, where he was in the second year of a posting that he adored as Her Majesty's consul general.

Perhaps 10 minutes later his wife Victoria popped out of the consulate's heavy iron gates into Halambasi Street to buy some coffee.

The Shorts had been together for 32 years, spending much of that time in Turkey and neighbouring Bulgaria. They loved the ornate Istanbul consulate building, which was designed by Sir Charles Barry, architect of the houses of parliament.

It was a bit of a mess at the moment due to renovations after a fire, but Victoria Short had restored the Victorian garden — where Agatha Christie once sat and dreamt up a whodunnit — while her husband used temporary office accommodation in a lodge next to the gatehouse.

This office was in a vulnerable spot, but as the Shorts' friend, Lady Logan, wife of the former British ambassador to Turkey, said: "You get on with your life. Quite frankly, what can you do?"

So it was that, just after Victoria left on her errand, a loud boom echoed across the city. Many of those who heard it in the Tepebasi district near the consulate thought it was an earthquake. Minutes later, at 11.07am, the truth became all too horrifyingly apparent.

A green pick-up truck came careering up Yenikarsi Street, lurching from side to side, and swerved left into the consulate gates. There was an almighty bang, followed by a moment of silence — and then pandemonium.

Through the smoke, falling debris, maimed bodies and screaming survivors, it became clear that Roger Short's office had been obliterated. The two-storey building had disappeared.

His wife was still down the street, unaware that their years together, their plans for a peaceful retirement in Istanbul starting at Christmas next year, were over. He had been killed instantly, with two British members of his staff.
"If he had stayed outside with us for tea he would still be alive," said Hazine, wringing his hands outside the only superficially damaged Pano Saraphanesi coffee shop yesterday. "None of us was hurt. A few minutes later and he would have been all right. I call it kismet."

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