Letter from a Stranger (8 page)

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. Lunch time. 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 which 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 sailboats, 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 Hagia Sophia, the little Hagia Sophia, both built by your male namesake, Justinian. The Blue Mosque, the Topkapi Palace Museum, and various other 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 Market.”

“I have them on the list for Saturday,” Iffet answered, then glanced up at the waiter who came to a standstill 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 reread 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, and 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 cell, she dialed 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 cell’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 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’ll say. But it’s fantastic in so many different ways. Now, getting back to our interrupted conversation, 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 or Faraway Places. It was as if they had not existed.

She had thanked Eddie and hung up. This new information, and the fact that her grandmother was not listed in the London phone book, more or less proved that she did not live in London any longer. Perhaps she had vacated the city long ago and settled permanently. Unless she had an unlisted phone number. But Justine doubted that. Her grandmother wasn’t into the secrecy game. Unlike her mother, who was.

With her arms folded and resting on top of the railings, she stared out into the night, lost for a moment in the beauty. The sky was a lovely deep pavonian blue, the stars were coming out in a bright scattered array, and there were twinkling lights everywhere, especially on the other side of the Bosphorus. The Asian side.

How odd it is, she thought, to be here in Istanbul and straddled between Europe and Asia Minor, literally on two continents at once. What an intriguing place this was. Straightening up, she realized she was more positive than ever that her grandmother was here, somewhere in this city. She felt it in her bones.

Now she couldn’t help wondering if the search at the land registry office would produce an address for Anita? Gran? Of course it was possible that Gabriele had her own home here. She had been independent by nature, decisive, and driven, had stood on her own two feet, battling the world, making everything work for herself and for her grandchildren.

Justine smiled inwardly. She had inherited those traits from her granny, no doubt about that. In fact, her father had told her she was more like her grandmother than her mother. And it was true, thank God.

Why would her grandmother choose to live here in Istanbul? Justine was able to answer that question instantly.

Her grandmother’s lifelong friend Anita lived here, and there were several other good reasons as well. The weather was mild all year round, according to Iffet, and was certainly the perfect climate for an older woman; knowledge of Istanbul from years ago, when she was doing business; other old friends residing in the city; a lifestyle she enjoyed.

Justine went back into the room, turned on several lamps, and sat down in a chair. She closed her eyes, focusing her mind on Gran, and intensely so.

To all intents and purposes, Gabriele Hardwicke had seemingly disappeared off the face of the earth. Just as if she
had
died. Justine knew she hadn’t. She had Anita’s letter to prove it.

Certainly there was nothing remaining about her life in London. Earlier today Eddie had told her so in no uncertain terms.
Zilch
was the way he had put it. And certainly she had been surprised, even startled, when he had wondered aloud if her importing business in London had ever existed.

What if the same thing happened here? What if neither woman owned a home here? Then there would be no way to find them. She would be facing a brick wall.…

A blue-and-white-tiled wall.
Unexpectedly she was seeing this in her mind’s eye … a blue-and-white-tiled wall in her grandmother’s kitchen in New York. No,
several
walls. Tiles from Istanbul, Gran had told her. Like the blue-and-white vases, tubs, planters, and urns her father and Gran used to sell to interior designers in Manhattan. And brass objects. And carpets. Those beautiful silk-woven carpets from Istanbul. No, from Hereke, a small town located outside the city.

As all this came rushing back to her, she thought: That’s it. She snapped open her eyes and sat bolt upright. Dealers in tiles, ceramic objects, antiques, and carpets … those were the people she had to find, if it became necessary. Perhaps they would remember her grandmother, perhaps even still knew her, and therefore knew where she lived.

Justine went to the desk, began to make notes about the items which had been imported from Turkey by her father and grandmother. As she did this she felt an easing of the tension inside her, because she had thought of another way she might be able to trace Gabriele Hardwicke. She had to find her. She would not rest until she did. And she would start tomorrow.

*   *   *

At one moment, Justine roused herself from her unceasing thoughts of her grandmother and pushed herself up from the desk. She could not resist the pull of the terrace which opened off her room, and she went outside to sit under the night sky. She glanced up, marveling at that midnight blue arc above her. The stars were amazing … so many of them here in Istanbul, littering a sky which was clear, peaceful, and infinite.

Across the Bosphorus the lights of Turkey and Anatolia on the Asiatic side were pinpoints of brilliant color glittering across the countryside, turning it into a fairyland. And downstairs people were already dining at the terrace café; she could hear the sound of muffled voices and laughter against the backdrop of a tinkling piano.

She immediately recognized the song, picking up the strains of “Somewhere over the Rainbow” from one of her favorite old movies,
The Wizard of Oz
. Her grandmother had loved that movie as much as she and Richard had when they were little. And she herself had always yearned for Dorothy’s sparkling, scarlet shoes.

That’s what I need, a Wizard, she thought, and a Good Fairy and a Magic Wand. She let out a small sigh, and then it nudged its way in … that maddening thought of the estrangement. What
had
happened between her mother and Gran to cause this insane rift? She wondered then if it could possibly have anything to do with money? Her mother was a spendthrift, she knew that only too well from her childhood, her father’s angry tones echoing in her head right now, as if he were standing next to her at this very moment. “Bankrupt” was another word constantly on his lips. “You’ll bankrupt me, the way you spend,” he used to shout angrily, and there would be another row between her parents, and doors banging and raised voices for hours.