Letter From a Stranger

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  As children they had done everything together, had gone to the same kindergarten and high school. Later, they went to Connecticut College in New London, a choice that had been perfect for them, as it turned out.

  Joanne had asked if she could join them there, and they had been delighted when she got in. And so the childhood triumvirate had continued from their young adulthood into their college years, and afterwards.

  Justine and Richard understood each other completely and on every level, and now Richard suddenly said, ‘We’ve both clamped down on our anger, and that’s best for the moment, don’t you agree?’

  She nodded, and said in a low tone, ‘But the day of reckoning will come, you know.’

  ‘A confrontation with our mother would be an indulgence at this moment, Justine. The most important thing is to get you on your way to Turkey.’

  ‘Agreed.’ Reaching out, she put her hand on his, resting on the table. ‘I know you’re going to worry, but I’ll call you every day, I promise.’

  ‘Day or night, any time, my phone will be on.’ He shook his head, squeezed her hand. ‘I hope Gran’s all right. I can’t bear to think what the last ten years have been like for her… she must have been so hurt.’

  ‘And lonely,’ Justine remarked softly. ‘That’s the worst thing of all for anyone. Loneliness.’

  PART TWO

  The Search

  To reach the port of heaven, we must sail sometimes with the wind and sometimes against it – but we must sail, and not drift, nor lie at anchor.

  Oliver Wendell Holmes

  SEVEN

  Justine recognized Iffet Özgönül at once. It helped, of course, that the woman she zeroed in on was standing next to a tall man holding a sign with the name NOLAN printed on it in large letters.

  But Justine knew it was her. She fitted Joanne’s description: slender, petite, a brunette with short curly hair and a big smile on her face. And now she was waving. Iffet had been told what to expect by Jo, no doubt about that: a lanky blonde American with long hair and blue eyes.

  Waving back, then turning around, Justine beckoned to the young man carrying her two bags, and strode forward, increasing her pace. He hurried after her.

  A moment later the two women were shaking hands, and Iffet was saying in perfect English, ‘Hello, hello. So pleased to meet you. And welcome to Istanbul.’

  ‘I’m glad I’m here, and pleased to meet you too, Ms Özgönül.’

  ‘Oh, please, call me Iffet, everyone does.’

  ‘Iffet it is, and I’m Justine, okay?’

  ‘Of course. And it’s a name we Turks know well. Centuries ago we had an emperor called Justinian, who built the now famous Haghia Sophia Church… But you don’t need a history lesson now. Let’s go to the car. And by the way, this is Selim, our driver.’

  The tall man bowed courteously, and smiled; Justine smiled back and thrust out her hand, which he shook.

  Iffet led her through Atatürk Airport and outside to the car, which turned out to be a small minibus. As the young baggage man was stowing her bags in the back, Justine glanced at Iffet and asked, ‘Are we picking up other people?’

  ‘Oh, no, not at all. But I always use these little buses.’ Lowering her voice, she added, ‘They’re cheaper than regular cars, and more comfortable.’ With a smile she hurried over to the baggage handler, and handed him money, thanking him.

  Justine also thanked him. ‘I could have done that, Iffet,’ she murmured. ‘Look, I have the tip money right here in my pocket.’

  ‘Oh no, it’s fine, really. Come, let us go… isn’t it a beautiful day?’

  ‘It surely is,’ Justine answered, lifting her head, looking up. The sky was a perfect cerulean blue, with a few white clouds floating above in the vast sky; it was sunny and warm – perfect spring weather. She took several deep breaths, glad to be outside after the long night flight, and then bounded up the steps into the minibus.

  Once they were on their way, Iffet asked her what she wanted to do that day, if anything at all, and also told her that she had booked her into the Çiragan Palace Hotel Kempinski, following Joanne’s instructions.

  ‘Yes, she told me she wanted me to stay there, that I would love it. As for doing something, I believe I’d like to take it easy today. I did sleep a bit on the plane, but not much. I was sort of restless, frankly. I’d prefer to do nothing.’

  ‘I don’t blame you, Justine. The hotel has a pool. More importantly, also a spa. A good spa. Perhaps you should indulge yourself.’ Iffet gave her a big smile, her whole face lighting up. ‘You can even have a Turkish bath, if you want. However, that might knock you out.’

  Justine began to laugh. ‘Joanne’s a big fan of them, and insisted I had one at least. But not today.’

  Changing the subject, Iffet now said, ‘I’m thrilled that you’re thinking of making a documentary here in Istanbul. May I ask what it’s about?’

  ‘I don’t really know yet,’ Justine admitted, giving her a wry smile. ‘I need to see the city, poke around, learn about the people, the life, and about Istanbul’s history, politics and religions. I do know that the latter fascinate me. I’ve done a bit of research, Iffet, and I think it’s amazing that Muslims, Jews and Christians have lived peacefully side by side in Istanbul for many centuries. What a feat that is. Unbelievable.’

  ‘It is, and I will be pleased to help you with your research, Justine. I am at your disposal, as is my entire office.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  The lobby of the Çiragan Palace Hotel Kempinski was spacious and airy, with a high ceiling, handsome furnishings and enormous elegance in the grand manner.

  Everyone from the doormen and bellboys to the assistant manager and the young public relations woman greeted them with courtesy and friendliness, and Justine realized that they knew Iffet well. That was the reason she was getting the royal treatment.

  Within seconds of their arrival in the lobby, she and Iffet were whisked up in the lift by the public relations woman and the assistant manager. Alighting on the fifth floor, they were guided down the corridor to her room. When they were ushered inside, Justine saw at once that it faced the Bosphorus and had a magnificent view. It was large and comfortable, with a seating area in front of French doors, which opened onto a terrace furnished with chairs and a table.

  ‘This is great, thank you so much,’ she exclaimed to the hotel staff who had accompanied them, as she glanced around, taking everything in. Once they had explained everything, they departed, reminding her they were at her service if she needed anything.

  When they were alone, Iffet said, ‘I’m happy you like the room, Justine. When I came over to inspect it this morning I was also pleased. I had requested one overlooking the Bosphorus, but they’re not always available.’

  ‘Thank you. And it suits my needs perfectly. I’d love to take you to lunch here, Iffet, to discuss a few things. Do you have time?’

  ‘I kept today open for you, and thank you. We should perhaps have lunch on the terrace, it’s a beautiful spot. Unless you prefer to be in air conditioning.’

  ‘No, outside. I’d just like to tidy up, if you’ll excuse me for a few minutes. But before I do that I need to do one other thing …find a telephone book.’ As she spoke, Justine glanced around the room, opened the wardrobe, then a cupboard and a chest of drawers, shaking her head, looking disappointed. ‘Not one in sight.’

  ‘I can get a number for you immediately.’ Iffet pulled out her mobile phone and asked, ‘What is the name of the person?’

  ‘Anita Lowe. And listen, I haven’t found her on any Google search, or anywhere else on the Web. But why not give the local book a shot?’

  Iffet explained, ‘I shall call my office, that is the fastest way.’

  Justine nodded, picked up her handbag and went into the bathroom. After washing her hands and face, she took out a hairbrush and attacked her mane of long blonde hair. Once it was sleek, no longer a tangled mess, she put on lipstick and sprayed herself with perf
ume.

  Her mind was racing as she stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, her thoughts focused on her grandmother and Anita. She knew she wouldn’t rest until she had found them. Her appearance didn’t matter; they took precedence in her head.

  Straightening her black blazer, pulling out the collar of her white shirt, she decided she at least looked tidy, if nothing else. Grabbing her bag she went back to the bedroom, ready for action, prepared for what the rest of the day held.

  Iffet glanced at her when she came in, and said in a regretful voice, ‘Anita Lowe is not listed in the Istanbul phonebook.’

  ‘Oh.’ Justine pursed her lips, then she said, ‘Could you try another name, please? Gabriele Hardwicke. That’s Hardwicke with an e at the end. Again, I tried to find her number without success.’

  Once again Iffet dialled her office, passed on the name and waiting patiently. After a few seconds she shook her head. ‘No luck.’

  ‘I wonder how I’m going to find these two?’ Justine muttered, almost to herself, then forced a smile onto her face. ‘Thanks for trying, Iffet. Shall we go to lunch?’

  ‘I am ready.’

  Going down in the lift, Iffet suddenly turned to Justine and asked, ‘Do you have an address for either of the two ladies? If so, you could write a note. I can have it delivered in an hour. There is a special service I use.’

  ‘I don’t have an address for either,’ Justine replied as they stepped out into the lobby. She thought: If I had an address I’d be hightailing it over there already. Swiftly she continued, ‘I really do need to find Anita. I’m fairly certain she lives in Istanbul, and—’ Justine cut herself off abruptly, and stood stock-still in the middle of the lobby, staring at Iffet.

  Staring back, Iffet asked, ‘What is it? What is wrong?’

  ‘I’ve just thought of something. If a person owns a house in Istanbul, or an apartment, would the property have to be registered with a government agency? You know, for local taxes?’

  ‘It would, yes!’ Iffet exclaimed. ‘Ownership of property has to be registered at the deed and land office at the local municipality. Tapu ve Kadastro Dairesi, that’s the name of the land office. I must put one of my staff on this immediately. If you’ll excuse me, Justine, I must speak in Turkish to that person. It will be quicker.’

  ‘No problem.’

  Taking a few steps away from Justine, Iffet again used her phone, and within a split second was talking rapidly to someone in her office.

  ‘It is being taken care of,’ she announced a moment later, a huge smile on her face, her brown eyes sparkling. She glanced at her watch. ‘It’s twelve thirty now. Lunchtime. So I might not receive the information until tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s all right, and thank you. Come on, let’s go and have lunch.’ Together Justine and Iffet walked across the lobby, through the lounge, the indoor café and out onto the terrace.

  They were shown to a table in a corner, one that had a spectacular view of the hotel, its gardens and the swimming pool. Beyond was the Bosphorus flowing down into the Black Sea. As usual it was busy with varied traffic. Today there were sailing boats, private yachts, tourist boats and the ferries, plus a couple of cargo ships. In the distance, a huge cruise ship sat stationary on the far horizon, silhouetted against the bright blue sky like a behemoth.

  ‘What a fantastic sight this is!’ Justine said.

  ‘It is lovely. If you didn’t want to move you could stay here and keep very busy. There’s the spa, a hair salon, many shops, bars, restaurants, swimming and tennis.’

  Justine smiled. ‘But I do want to move, I want to see this city, get to know it.’

  ‘I have made a list for you.’ Iffet immediately pulled a sheet of paper out of her bag. ‘A list of churches, such as the Haghia Sophia, the little Haghia Sophia, both built by your male namesake, Justinian. The Blue Mosque, the Topkapi Museum, and various palaces. I’ll take you wherever you want to go tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m in your hands, you’re the expert, but I wouldn’t want to miss the Grand Bazaar and the Spice Bazaar.’

  ‘I have them on the list for Saturday,’ Iffet answered, then glanced up at the waiter who had appeared at the table. She ordered sparkling water and so did Justine, and both women took the menus he handed to them.

  ‘I’m not a foodie, not very adventurous when it comes to food,’ Justine explained, ‘and I see several things here that I like. A club sandwich, for one, and a number of good salads. Do you know what you want, Iffet?’

  ‘Like you, I am a simple eater. I will select one of the salads.’

  ‘And I’m going to go for the club sandwich.’ Justine beckoned to the waiter who came over and took their order, and then Justine said to Iffet, ‘Have you ever been to New York?’

  Iffet shook her head. ‘But I do know London quite well. I go there often. Do you want to travel here in Turkey? Is there anywhere special you’d like to visit?’

  ‘I’ve always wanted to go to Ephesus, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to do it this trip. Perhaps next time.’

  ‘If you make your documentary.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  The two women liked each other, had clicked immediately during the drive from Atatürk Airport, and their conversation was nonstop both before and during lunch. On the plane, Justine had re-read Joanne’s computer printouts and the travel guide she had given her, and because she was a quick study and had a retentive memory, she was able to have an intelligent discussion with Iffet. But always at the back of Justine’s mind was an image of her grandmother, and thoughts of Anita Lowe. But she knew that once she had located one or both of them she would be able to relax. For the moment she remained tense inside, anxiety ridden.

  At exactly two o’clock, Justine interrupted their conversation about the Basilica Cistern, a vast underground water system, saying to Iffet, ‘I’m sorry to cut this short for a moment, but I must call my brother. He’s expecting to hear from me about now.’

  ‘That is perfectly all right, Justine, I shall give you your privacy.’ Iffet made to stand up and leave the table.

  Justine put out a hand, touched her arm, exclaimed, ‘No, no, that’s not necessary. I’m just calling him to let him know I’ve arrived safely and am in your care.’ She shook her head, sighed lightly. ‘He worries about me a lot.’ Taking out her mobile phone, she dialled Richard’s apartment, and within a few seconds she heard his voice.

  ‘It’s me, Rich,’ she said. ‘Safe and sound in Istanbul, sitting by the Bosphorus having lunch with Iffet. It’s exactly two o’clock here, and I guess you’re having breakfast in New York.’

  ‘I am. A piece of toast and a mug of coffee standing up in the kitchen. How was the flight? How’s Istanbul? What’s the hotel like?’ he asked in a rush of questions.

  ‘The flight was great, just under ten hours, and landed on time. Istanbul is fascinating, what little I’ve seen of it. The weather is fabulous, and so is the hotel. Oh, and Iffet is lovely …a friend already.’

  ‘So you’re in safe hands all round, and I can relax.’

  ‘Of course you can. Anyway, you know very well I can take care of myself. Any news, anything special happening?’

  ‘Nothing at all. Daisy is great, work’s going good, and the first part of the installation is under way. So far without any hitches.’

  ‘Great. I obviously don’t have any news about anything. Too soon. I’ll call you tomorrow at this time, but my phone’s always on if you need me. Big hug, love you.’

  ‘Love you too, Juju. My arms around you.’

  After clicking off, Justine smiled at Iffet and confided, ‘He fusses about me, but he just can’t help himself. I guess I’m the same with him. We’re twins, and we’re almost literally joined at the hip.’

  ‘Oh, twins! I understand about twins. I have a friend who is a twin, and she and her sister are the same way.’

  ‘I can imagine. But it’s fantastic in so many different ways. Now, getting back to our interrupted convers
ation, you were telling me that the Basilica Cistern goes back to Byzantine times and was laid out under Justinian.’

  ‘It’s a cavernous vault underneath Istanbul. We can visit it if you are interested, it is open to the public.’

  ‘I’d love to see it.’ Justine opened her black leather handbag, pulled out her black Moleskine notebook. She found the page she was looking for, said, ‘I put the Basilica Cistern on my list, along with the two big bazaars.’

  ‘Good. We shall cover everything in the next few days. Perhaps this little tour of ancient places in Istanbul will produce an idea for your documentary.’

  ‘It just might,’ Justine murmured. ‘It just might.’

  EIGHT

  A voice filled the room. A man’s voice. Melodic. Slightly high pitched. Singing in a foreign language.

  Justine opened her eyes and blinked in the dim light. Struggling up into a sitting position on the bed, she listened more attentively as the voice finally trailed off, stopped. Now there was perfect stillness. No sound at all.

  Sliding off the bed, where she had been dozing, Justine went over to the seating area. The French doors were open, and she stepped out onto the terrace, looking around. Leaning against the terrace railings, she peered down into the garden below, expecting to see an orchestra, the singer preparing to sing another song. But there was no band. No musicians. No singer.

  Then, suddenly, she understood. What she had just heard was the voice of a muezzin standing at the top of a minaret, calling the faithful to prayer. Joanne had mentioned this last weekend, explained that it happened five times a day, that electronic amplification carried the muezzin’s voice around entire districts, all of which were large and heavily populated.

  The muezzin’s singing had awakened her from her languorous dozing, forced her off the bed, and she didn’t care. In fact, she was glad. She had some serious thinking to do.

  After lunch with Iffet, she had come up to her room, unpacked, put everything neatly away and called Eddie Grange in London. He had not been able to find out anything on the Internet about the two companies her grandmother had been associated with. Very simply, there was no evidence that there had been either showrooms or offices for Exotic Lands and Faraway Places. It was as if they had not existed.