Letter from a Stranger (21 page)

It had all happened long ago.
Still, it was not true that time healed all wounds. Some of her own wounds had still not healed, if the truth be known.

*   *   *

Justine was suddenly shivering, and Michael exclaimed, “Know what, it’s turned cold! There’s a wind blowing up, we’d better go inside.” As he said this he jumped to his feet, gave Justine his hand, and pulled her to her feet.

Placing his arm around her, holding her close, he hurried her toward the
yali.
When he saw the light shining through Gabriele’s bedroom window, he said, “Your grandma’s up, I hope she’s all right.”

“She probably went to check on me, saw I was missing, and wonders where I am.”

“Probably,” Michael answered, knowing how possessive grandmothers could be. “But she must realize you’ve not gone far. How could you?”

Within seconds they were going into the smaller
yali,
and as Justine headed for the staircase, he called, “How about a cup of hot tea? Or whatever?”

“Tea would be great,” she replied, ran up the stairs, and headed for her grandmother’s bedroom. Tapping on the door, she opened it quietly, and looked in.

Her grandmother was sitting up in bed, reading a book, and she slipped into the room, went over to the bed, smiling at Gabriele.

“I was outside talking to Michael, and we noticed your light on as we came back to the house. He’s making me a cup of tea, would you like one, Gran?”

“I would, darling, thank you.” As she spoke, Gabriele threw back the bedclothes and slid her legs to the floor. Putting on her robe, she continued, “I couldn’t sleep either. We must all be suffering from the same thing. The excitement of your sudden arrival, I’ve no doubt. There you came, floating up out of the sea like a beautiful blond mermaid. I was never so surprised, or excited, in my life.”

Justine laughed, took hold of her grandmother’s arm, and started to walk her out of the room.

“Thank you, Justine. But I can manage perfectly well,” Gabriele murmured, slipping out of her granddaughter’s grasp. “I’m not an old lady yet, and you must remember, age is just a number.”

Michael was standing at the bottom of the staircase with a grin on his face. “I put the kettle on, Gabri, and I’m all gung ho for tea. But I’m thinking of having a brandy chaser as well. What about you?”

“Why not?” she answered, and glided past him into the living room.

He smiled at Justine. “How about you?”

“I’ll have a brandy chaser, if you are,” she said, and walked on, following her grandmother.

“I’ll be in with the tea in a few minutes,” Michael said, and disappeared into the kitchen.

When Justine walked into the living room she found her grandmother poking the fire, moving the embers around before placing a small log and chips of wood on them. “That’ll be a good blaze in a jiffy, Justine. Now come and sit here with me, my dear, and get warm.”

The two of them seated themselves on a small love seat close to the fireplace and Justine remarked, “Michael told me he’s known you most of his life, so you must have been coming to Istanbul forever, Gran.”

“Over fifty years,” Gabriele answered, and started to laugh. “But it doesn’t seem like that long.… Whoever it was who first said ‘time flies’ was correct.”

“And have you always lived in this
yali
?” Justine probed.

“Yes, but it was Anita’s guest house years ago, and I used to come and stay with her and Maxwell, her first husband. Once Cornelia went off to boarding school in England, and then continued her education in America, things changed. Anita didn’t really need this little
yali
anymore, but she didn’t want to sell it either. So for a long time, Uncle Trent rented it from her, and eventually she agreed he could buy it for me. And here I still am.”

“You’ve made this room look beautiful, Gran, my bedroom too, and your own. You’re so talented.”

“I’ll show you the rest of the villa tomorrow. I don’t know what happened to the day. It’s just slipped away.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Here I am with the tea,” Michael exclaimed, bringing in a laden tray and putting it down on the coffee table near them.

“There’s a bottle of cognac over there, Justine,” her grandmother remarked, indicating a trolley in a corner.

In a few minutes the three of them were sitting near the fire, drinking the lemon tea and then sipping the brandy, enjoying the warmth from the fire and the drinks and their easy companionship.

Justine suddenly said, “I will have to go over to the Çiragan Palace to pick up the FedEx envelope from Richard.” She glanced at her grandmother. “With your picture in it.”

“I’ll take you,” Michael said.

“Oh, but Michael, no, I don’t want to be a nuisance. And—”

“I have an appointment there later,” he interjected. “At three o’clock. If you don’t mind waiting an hour for me, we can come back together. Or Kuri can take you back and return for me later.”

“I’m quite happy to wait and come back with you.”

He nodded. “Then it’s settled. Now, where shall I take you all for dinner tonight?”

“Oh, dear.” Gabriele gave him a knowing look. “I’m afraid that might create a problem. Anita’s planned a small dinner, she’s invited a few friends to meet Justine.”

Michael offered her a reassuring smile. “No problem, we’ll have a party here, and I’ll take you out to dinner before I leave.”

“Where are you going?” Justine asked, her voice rising slightly, and felt herself blushing. How stupid she was, revealing her feelings.

“To Paris to see a client,” Michael answered steadily, keeping his face neutral, not wanting her to know how pleased he was by the way she had spoken out. He knew he was right about her.

Gabriele asked, “Are you coming back to Istanbul? Or going to New York?”

“No, Gabri, not New York. But I will have to go to London at some point. I have a number of clients there I have to see.”

Justine clamped her mouth shut, said nothing.

Gabriele simply nodded and also remained silent. But she was quite positive there was a spark between these two. Perhaps more than a spark.

Twenty-one

“This is the most beautiful fabric,” Justine said, looking at a length of silk hanging on a coat rack in Gabriele’s studio located at the far end of the
yali.
It was a soft pale blue patterned with randomly placed tulips. These were a very bright snow white and had feathers and flames of the deepest burgundy. The mixture of the white and the burgundy on the petals, plus the green leaves, made the flowers stand out dramatically against the pale blue background of the silk.

“One of my favorites, too,” Gabriele said, joining her at the rack. “I love the plain tulip because it is the most beautiful and elegant of flowers, but I just can’t resist the multicolored ones.”

“Neither can I. But when did you start designing these tulip fabrics, Gran?”

“About ten years ago.” She grimaced. “I was very upset when I came back here after seeing your mother in London, and I didn’t know what to do with myself. Anita and I had been running our ceramic and carpet export business for years, and it sort of runs on its own anyway. But actually, it was Anita who asked me to paint a picture for her bedroom wall. She asked me to do a still life, a flower arrangement, and I ended up painting a vase of tulips. She loved it so much she suggested I use it as a pattern for a fabric. You see, years ago we had produced fabrics of my designs, and sold them here. I suspect she wanted me to be busy, to take my mind off your mother and the estrangement.”

“I’m sure she did, Gran, and I understand how upset you must’ve been,” Justine murmured.

“So I started designing again, using only tulips in my fabrics, and we ended up opening a new business together. To my shock it’s been extremely successful, and the fabrics now sell all over the world,” Gabriele finished.

“I bet they do! You paint tulips beautifully, Gran, they look real, so lifelike I feel as if I can reach out and pick one. And I love the name you dreamed up. Tulipmania is so unusual. It was very clever of you.”

“Not so clever really, darling,” Gabriele answered. “There was a period in the seventeenth century known as Tulipmania in Holland. The Dutch had gone crazy over the tulip for many, many years, and at one moment in time the price of bulbs skyrocketed beyond everyone’s wildest imagination. A single bulb could cost as much as a grand house on a Dutch canal. Men spent fortunes, lost fortunes, made fortunes … all because of tulips.”

“My God, how extraordinary!” Justine exclaimed, sounding genuinely surprised. “I’ve never heard anything about that period.”

“Actually, it all started here in Turkey.”

“What did?” Justine asked, turning around to look at her grandmother, who had walked over to her drawing board, and was sitting in a chair.

“The popularity of the tulip,” Gabriele answered. “It’s beloved here. And all over Asia, as a matter of fact.”

“But I thought the tulip was a Dutch flower.”

“It was taken from Istanbul to Amsterdam by the Dutch in the fifteen and sixteen hundreds, and was soon a favorite. It then went to France and England, and became the most popular of all European flowers. But as I just said, it is native to Turkey and has been growing here for centuries, long before the Dutch heard of it. If you look carefully for it, you’ll see it’s used in many Turkish designs, such as the blue-and-white Iznik tiles, vases, urns, and pots, and in local fabrics and carpets. You’ll notice the tulip partnered with the carnation, which is another popular Turkish flower. However, the tulip reigns supreme.”

“Gran, how fascinating all this is, and I hope you’ll talk about it on film, when I do my interview with you for the documentary,” Justine said, sounding excited.

“Of course I will, I’ll talk about anything you want.”

Justine smiled at her, and rifled through the other fabrics, each one even more beautiful. She thought: You won’t talk about everything though. You’re holding out about something. What that is, I don’t know, but I sense there’s a secret. A mystery.

Gabriele interrupted these thoughts when she started to talk about the dinner Anita was giving that night. “I don’t know if you have anything to wear this evening, Justine, but if not I do have several caftans made out of various fabrics, if you’d like to choose one. And also some tunics to wear over trousers.”

“I would, Gran! Brilliant idea, because I didn’t bring anything remotely appropriate for Anita’s fancy dinner, and I’m sure it will be fancy, won’t it?”

Gabriele chuckled. “You’ve picked up on her style very quickly; she loves to make a splash, have fun. It will be fancy, yes, but elegant. I think it’s going to be a buffet supper, and she’s invited some interesting people. A caftan or tunic will be ideal. Come on, let’s go upstairs and choose one. Whichever you prefer.”

“I’m so glad she’s invited Iffet,” Justine remarked as they left the studio.

*   *   *

Michael Dalton stood at the end of Anita’s garden on the edge of the Bosphorus, looking out toward the European side of Istanbul. He was expecting a phone call and had his cell in his hand, waiting for it to come through.

It was the most beautiful morning. There wasn’t a cloud in the blue sky nor a breath of wind. He caught a whiff of seaweed and salt on the air, and it brought back memories of his childhood. He glanced around. No two ways about it, the day was simply gorgeous. It boded well for his grandmother’s dinner party tonight.

His mobile rang and he answered immediately, pressing the phone to his ear. “Hello, Henry. How goes it this morning?”

“Not bad, in fact all is well in the heather.”

“Tramping some moor somewhere, are you?”

“Yes, actually, I am.”

“Any birds?”

“Not to speak of. Grouse season’s not until August, you know. And the rest have flown.”

“My birds? The ones I was promised?” Michael asked swiftly.

“That’s right. And they’ll never be seen again.”

“Oh dear. Extinction?”

“Exactly. But at least no one has to worry that they’re floating around somewhere … doing damage to somebody’s property.”

“Good to know. Thanks for calling, Henry. I’ll be seeing you in a week, maybe ten days. Will you be back from the moors?”

“Naturally. Let me know when to expect you.”

“I will. And thanks, Henry. You did good.” Michael clicked off his phone, dialed Charlie’s cell. He was in Gloucestershire, where he spent weekends at his country home near Cirencester.

Charlie answered his mobile phone after two rings. “Morning, Michael. How’s the news today?”

“Good morning, Charlie. It’s good. I spoke to our friendly gamekeeper, and apparently those birds I mentioned are no longer available.”

“What happened to them?”

“They’ve flown,” Michael answered.

“Where?”

“Into extinction, I’m told. There’s no longer a problem about the birds doing harm.”

“Thank God for that. Our mutual friend was worried about them getting into other hands. But we do have a situation of sorts.”

“Can you tell me?”

“The oligarch who sent you the cigarettes last week seems to have disappeared.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty much, Michael. Seemingly, he went off the radar on Wednesday. He was expected to attend a meeting at the Waldorf Towers in New York and never showed. Not surfaced yet.”

“There’s nothing I can do, or you either.”

“Obviously not. We’re not even involved. I just wanted you to be in the loop. He could be a problem for the world, and we must remember that, stay focused on him.”

“I appreciate the reminder. I’m coming in sometime later next week. I have to be in Paris on Wednesday to meet with a client. After that I’ll hop a plane, be around for a couple of days in your neck of the woods.”

“Great. I’ll take you to dinner at Mark’s.”

“Best place to go.… It’s quiet, and I like the food.”

“Talk to you later,” Charlie said, and hung up.

Michael slipped his phone in his pocket and walked over to the garden seat, sat down for a moment, wanting to think about the information Henry had passed to him.