Читать книгу Letter from a Stranger - Barbara Taylor Bradford - Страница 20

Istanbul. City of contrasts. European. Oriental. Exotic, Justine wrote in her Moleskine notebook, then added, a cosmopolitan city: diverse in every way… and put down the pen as her cell phone began to sing its little tune. Pushing back the chair on the terrace, she ran into the bedroom and picked it up off the bedside table. ‘Hello?’

‘It’s me, Justine,’ her brother said, sounding as if he was next door.

He had taken her by surprise, and she exclaimed, ‘Is something wrong? Why are you calling me now? It’s four o’clock in the morning in New York.’

‘I couldn’t sleep; I woke up about half an hour ago. And I felt a compulsion to call you. I suppose you’re on the way out – it’s noon there, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right, and oddly enough I’ve been wanting to speak to you too, Rich, but obviously I couldn’t, it was too early.’ She cleared her throat, went on, ‘How’s Daisy? And how’s the installation going?’

‘Daisy’s terrific, what with everyone fussing over her and all that jazz, and the installation has gone without a hitch, so far. It’ll be finished on time. I guess you’re down in the dumps?’

‘I am, yes, a bit. I arrived here a week ago yesterday and still haven’t found Gran, and it frustrates the hell out of me, Richard.’

‘I know… just as I know you’ve done everything you can. Local television interviews, stories in the newspapers: everybody in Istanbul must be aware that you’re there by now.’

‘I guess so. I did think of one thing… maybe Anita and Gran do live here but are away somewhere, and haven’t seen all the publicity about me and “Proof of Life”. That’s possible, don’t you think?’

‘Yes, it is…’ He paused, then said somewhat hesitantly, ‘Listen, Justine, I did have an idea—’

‘What?’ she asked, cutting across him, wondering what she could have missed. ‘What idea?’

‘We could call Mom. She must know where Anita Lowe lives, otherwise Anita would have written her address in the letter.’

‘I’m not going to call her. You have to do it.’

‘No, I can’t, it would be better if you called.’

‘No way. Tackling our mother on the phone won’t work. She’ll say that Anita Lowe has dementia or Alzheimer’s. We’ve discussed this before. The only way we’ll ever get the truth is to confront her in person and wrestle it out of her. You know what she’s like – you grew up with her too.’

‘Not really, if you think about it. We grew up with Dad, and Gran on the sidelines.’

‘True. Honestly, I won’t call her, Richard, and you shouldn’t either. She won’t tell us a single thing, and we’ll only alert her that we’re aware of the truth about her, what a despicable person she is.’

‘You’re correct in everything you say, but what are we going to do, Justine? We’ve reached a dead end.’

‘That’s the way it looks, and Iffet hasn’t come up with anything either, though she’s tried very hard. She had someone in her office check various organizations and clubs where foreign residents congregate for social evenings, and the British Consulate as well, but nobody seems to know them. As Eddie would say, we’ve come up with zilch.’ Justine paused, fighting back rising anxiety mingled with frustration yet again.

‘So, we’re adrift at sea in a leaky boat,’ Richard muttered. ‘About to sink.’

Justine couldn’t help laughing. ‘That was one of Gran’s favourite sayings.’

‘Along with, “There’ll be tears before midnight.” That was another favourite… warning.’

‘And “Stop crying, tears won’t get you anywhere.” Gran had a line for almost every situation, all from her auntie Beryl – at least that’s what she told me. Anyway, I did come up with one possibility and it might just work. I was waiting until a bit later to call you, to pass it by you, see whether you agree that I should do it.’

‘Tell me.’

‘I’m going to take some newspaper ads and—’

‘Ads!’ he cried, his voice rising. ‘That’ll embarrass Gran, not to mention Anita Lowe, whom we don’t even know. You can’t do that.’

‘I don’t care about embarrassing anybody right now; I care about finding these two women, in particular our grandmother. Anyway, the ads aren’t about them, but about my new documentary. It’s called “Biography of a City”, and it’s all about the history and peoples of Istanbul.’

‘When did you think this up?’ he asked, sounding puzzled.

Justine could almost see him frowning as he spoke, and she answered, ‘Since I’ve been here. And it’s all started to come together in my head in the last few days – the documentary, I mean.’

‘So what are the ads, actually?’

‘I will ask foreign, English-speaking residents to come and see me, to talk about their feelings for the city, and their views. I will also invite Istanbulites who have unique stories to tell about their lives to come along also. They will speak to my researcher.’

‘You have a researcher already?’ Surprise now echoed in his tone.

‘Yes. Iffet Özgönül.’

‘She agreed?’

‘I haven’t actually asked Iffet yet. I’m going to talk about it with her today. We’re having lunch later and doing a boat trip around the Bosphorus.’

Richard, far away in New York, remained silent.

‘I intend to mention Gran and Anita in the advertisement. And you can be really helpful if you’ll go to my apartment and take the photograph of Gran out of its frame and send it to me by Fedex today. It’s on the chest in my bedroom.’

‘Do you want the photograph to use in the ads?’ Richard asked cautiously.

‘Correct.’

‘I don’t think our grandmother will like seeing her picture in an advertisement in a newspaper, I really don’t, Justine. It’ll go against the grain.’

‘I know that as well as you do, but I’m desperate to find her. And you are too, and so I have to use any means I can. I’m hoping she’ll see her photograph and come to see me. Which is what Anita said she wanted in her letter. And if Gran doesn’t see the ad, maybe Anita will, or another friend, and they’ll tell her.’ Taking a deep breath, Justine finished. ‘Please back me up on this, Rich, it’s so important.’

‘I do back you, that goes without saying. I’ll get the photograph this morning and send it out immediately. But listen, I hope you know what you’re doing—’

‘She won’t be angry, I promise you,’ Justine interrupted.

‘I wasn’t referring to Gran. I was referring to the fact that if you publish an advertisement in a newspaper, asking for people to come and talk to you about the city they live in, thousands will show up.’

Justine laughed. ‘I doubt that: most people are very shy about such things.’

‘You’ll see,’ he warned, and then laughed with her. ‘My God, only you could think up something like this.’

‘That’s not true, you could. Very easily. You’re my twin.’

‘Do you always have to have the last word?’

‘Yes, because you had the first when you were born fifteen minutes before me. Dad told me you yelled your lungs out.’

‘I can’t remember,’ he answered, the laughter still echoing in his voice. ‘Okay, so it’s a deal. Talk to you later.’

‘I’ll send the ads for your approval, once they’re done,’ Justine said. ‘I’ll need your feedback.’

‘Keep them simple. Remember, less is more.’

For the next half-hour Justine made additional notes about Istanbul in her Moleskine, and stopped, suddenly thinking about the advert. She now realized that Richard had been right on two points. Firstly, if she invited people to come and talk to her about Istanbul, hundreds might indeed show up. Secondly, her grandmother would most likely be unhappy to see her photograph in a newspaper. So she must rethink certain things, and carefully word the advert; she must make a decision also about using the photograph of Gabriele. Maybe it was a bad idea, after all.

As soon as she saw Iffet she would offer her the job as chief researcher on the project. She hoped Iffet would accept; she believed she would. Iffet was proud of her city and would want it to be shown in the best way, in the right light.

Now her next task, which had become a daily ritual, was to send her e-mails to Daisy, Joanne and Ellen at the office. All three were done swiftly, and Justine closed down her laptop and went to get ready.

Iffet had warned her it was going to be a very warm day again, and so after she had done her hair and make-up, she chose a light cotton dress and sandals for lunch and the boat trip around the Bosphorus.

The fact that they had not found the two women nagged at her unmercifully; on the other hand, Justine now found solace and renewed hope in the idea of the advertisement for the documentary about Istanbul. Also, she was looking forward to the trip on the boat, since it would show her different aspects of this city which she was coming to know and love.

‘And if you would become the researcher on the project, I would be thrilled,’ Justine said finally, looking intently at Iffet, having told her about the idea.

‘I would be very happy,’ Iffet replied in her lovely quiet way. ‘I am flattered that you would ask me.’

‘Thank you, Iffet, thank you so much. What a relief that is; my office will put you on the payroll of the new company I’m forming for the project. You just have to let me know what your fee will be.’

Iffet simply nodded. Taking a sip of the sparkling water, she then said, ‘I believe Richard is correct. You cannot invite people to visit you here at the hotel. Hordes will come. Might I make a suggestion, Justine?’

‘Yes, go ahead.’

‘I think you should ask people to write or e-mail to my office, and we will sort them. We can select the right candidates for you to interview.’

‘That’s a fabulous idea! And who better than you to choose the people. After all, you’re an Istanbulite.’