TWELVE
Several hours later, Justine and Iffet boarded the sleek white motorboat anchored at the Çiragan Palace jetty, and went to sit in the glassed-in area behind the two men in charge of the boat. It was a sunny afternoon, extremely warm, and this part of the deck was cool and comfortable; there was a small table on which stood water, bottled drinks and a bucket of ice.
Once they were on their way, moving down the straits towards the Bosphorus Bridge, Justine went to stand in the open area of the boat. She was armed with her video camera and started shooting at once. As they sped under it she was amazed at the size of the suspension bridge. What a magnificent piece of engineering it was.
Iffet came to join her, explaining, ‘We are going to the edge of the Black Sea. We’ll turn and come back up on the Asian side. And we can do the trip again if you wish. For extra pictures.’
‘That’s a great idea, Iffet, and thanks for suggesting this. It’s giving me a wholly different perspective.’ Turning to look at her, Justine said, ‘I’ve been thinking of bringing Eddie Grange in from London for a few days. He works as the line producer on the documentaries I make in Europe. I’d like him to get a feel of Istanbul, because I’m hoping he’ll sign on for this new documentary.’
Iffet nodded, then asked, ‘What is a line producer?’
‘Exactly what it says: a producer who is on the line every day; in other words on the set, and actually overseeing the shooting of the movie by the director. I’m the executive producer, which means I’m in charge of everything and everyone. I’m on the set every day too, of course, but only for a few hours. I have to attend to the business end.’
‘In other words, you’re the boss.’
Justine grimaced, half laughed, murmured, ‘You’ve got it.’
She started filming once more, and Iffet remained at her side, also enjoying being on the boat.
They were moving along up the other side now, passing many mosques, villas, museums, ancient buildings and parks, which were all visible because they were built on the shoreline. Iffet began to talk about the Asiatic side of Istanbul, pointing out monuments, famous landmarks and restaurants noted for their good food; she also gave her the history of this part of the city and Turkey in general. Justine was once again impressed with her knowledge, which was exceptional, and covered everything from archaeology to ancient and modern history, and many local traditions.
When they had come full circle around the Bosphorus, Justine said, ‘Can you ask the driver to take us back to Central Istanbul, Iffet, please? I’d like to get some more shots of the skyline.’
‘Yes, I will,’ Iffet replied, then added, ‘but he does speak English.’
‘Sorry.’ Justine followed her into the covered area of the boat, where she poured herself a glass of water, feeling rather foolish. Of course he spoke English. What an idiot she was. Tourism was big business here, and there were lots of American and English visitors, as well as people from all over the rest of the world.
Once they were stationary in the middle of the water, facing Central Istanbul, Justine started to film. She wanted to capture the city from various angles, and she moved around a lot.
After a while she stopped shooting and went over to the rail, looking across at the skyline. What she saw took her breath away again: domes of churches, synagogues and mosques huddled together; the spires of minarets standing tall and slender; gold glittering on the tops of spires and domes of these religious places. Grand old palaces, stately and elegant; modern hotels, apartment buildings, and museums. Beyond were crowded streets and narrow alleyways, the hans, chic shops, offices, restaurants and cafés; the Grand Bazaar and the Spice Market. Boutiques for fashionable clothes and jewellery were everywhere, along with stalls selling vegetables and fruits, fried fish and other local delicacies, Turkish Delight and Baklava. And mingled amongst them were the homes of Istanbulites. Over eight million people lived and worked here on the European side. There it was in all its glory – a great metropolis teeming with people of all kinds, from all walks of life.
A thought struck her and it made her stiffen, frightened her. How would she ever find her grandmother in there? Central Istanbul was overwhelming. I’m on a wild goose chase, she thought, and a sense of failure trickled through her. A sadness enveloped her as she walked back to the covered area, sat down, sighing under her breath. Damn, damn, damn. A needle in a haystack. That’s what I’m looking for.
Waiting for her to say something, watching her intently, Iffet finally reached out and touched her arm. ‘What is it, Justine? You look so pensive…’ She let her voice fade away, conscious always of everyone’s privacy; never wishing to pry, be invasive or intrude.
‘I’ll never find her,’ Justine said at last, her voice full of anguish. ‘Just looking out at that city over there makes me shrivel inside. It’s not just a city, it’s an overwhelming metropolis and of a kind I’ve never seen before. Foreign to me in a hundred ways, yet oddly familiar in others… and, oh, how it defeats me. Gran is lost to me. I believe that now. She could be in a hospital or an old people’s home. And then again she might not live here at all. It’s been a waste of my time, this trip. Finding her is an impossibility.’
‘Oh, Justine, do not say that! Do not give up hope.’ Leaning forward Iffet said enthusiastically, ‘I think the idea for the documentary is brilliant. And so is the idea of taking an advertisement.’
Justine lifted her head and looked at her new friend and suddenly felt ashamed of herself. She exclaimed tersely, ‘Here I go again, moaning and whining, and feeling sorry for myself. I owe you an apology, Iffet. I’ve been extremely selfish since I arrived here a week ago. And you’ve been just wonderful, putting up with me the way you have, and doing all you could to help. I’ve been so self-absorbed about finding my grandmother, I haven’t given a thought to you, and that’s not right when you’ve been so very, very gracious.’
‘You haven’t been self-absorbed. You’ve thought about Daisy and worried about Richard, and his state of mind, the loss of his wife, and you have had a brilliant idea. To do a biography of a city. Such a splendid idea, I believe. So please do not apologize to me. It is not necessary. You are not leaving yet, Justine. You said you were going to get your line producer to fly over from London… Eddie. You said you wanted him to see the city. The other day you called it a city of a thousand and one dreams. I did think this was another good title, if I might say so. Please, do not lose hope – not yet. And remember the advert. That could bring results.’
Justine stared at her, thinking how extraordinary this young woman was, and she said swiftly, ‘Iffet, you’re such a blessing. You do cheer me up.’
‘I am glad. Let us go around the Bosphorus one more time. Another full circle. We will float down the Asian side, and you will take more photographs… such a different side of the city, very unique, so ancient.’
‘All right, let’s do it. I might as well get as much stuff as I possibly can.’
Iffet went over to Arzu and Nuri, the drivers, who were standing chatting to each other at the front of the motorboat. After giving them instructions, she returned to the canopied area where Justine was. Iffet sat down next to her. She asked, ‘What is it? You are concerned. Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine, thanks, Iffet. I was just thinking about an idea Richard and I discussed before I left New York. It’s something I could do to find Gran, but I’m reluctant.’
‘What could you do?’ Iffet looked at her closely, intrigued.
‘Hire a private detective. From an agency. Richard and I had thought of doing it, but changed our minds.’ Justine turned to face Iffet. ‘Now I’m not so sure we were right.’
‘You said your grandmother is almost eighty. How old is Anita? The same age?’
‘I should think so, since they apparently grew up together. They’re probably both very frail now, perhaps not well even – in fact they could be ill.’
‘I understand your reluctance to engage an investigator. How
ever, I could find you the right person. Someone discreet. If you decide it is necessary.’
‘It might be my last resort.’ Justine’s cell phone jangled, and she reached into her bag for it. ‘Hello?’
‘Hi, it’s Joanne.’
‘Jo, hello! I’m sitting here on a boat in the middle of the Bosphorus with Iffet. We’ve been cruising around the straits this afternoon.’
‘I wish I’d been with you. And I could be if you need me.’
‘What about the movie? Has something happened?’ Justine asked, startled by Joanne’s comment, immediately concerned for her dearest friend.
‘Yep, you can say that again. I quit this morning. The director was fired a few days ago. The replacement is someone I don’t like, so I just went to the producer and told him I didn’t want to be on the film. There was a bit of a wrangle, mention of lawsuits, threats from him, and all that jazz, but he finally saw reason. I cannot work with Jude Hillyer, who’s the new director. If you remember, I’ve locked horns with him before.’
‘I do remember, Jo, and he’s renowned as a difficult guy, a temperamental tyrant. I’m sorry you had to leave, you were crazy about that script, and the cast, I do know that.’
‘So do you want me to come out for a week to help you look for your grandmother? I know from your e-mail this morning that you’ve had no luck.’
‘That’s great of you to volunteer, Jo, but to be honest, I really don’t think there’s anything else I can do. I am at a dead end. As I told you in the e-mail.’
‘Oh, Justine that’s awful, so heartbreaking for you. I know how frustrated you are. Listen, I’m happy to come for a few days.’
‘I’m only going to spend another week here, doing some more research. Then I’m definitely coming back to New York. I want to make a deal for my new project with Miranda at CNI. So there’s really no point you flying all this way. But thanks for offering.’
‘Just give me a yell if you change your mind. Simon and I are going to spend Saturday at Indian Ridge with Daisy and Richard. A tea party in the gazeboat, as Daisy calls it, and we’re staying on for supper.’
Justine was thrilled to hear this news, and exclaimed, ‘Hey, that’s just wonderful! And thank you for being there for them when I’m away. I appreciate it, Jo.’
Joanne laughed. ‘It’s my pleasure, Justine, my very great pleasure. I think Rich needs a bit of TLC at the moment, and I aim to give it to him. Why let any old stranger sneak in there ahead of me?’
‘I endorse that. He does need some female companionship …’ Justine paused, and then added softly, ‘And all sorts of other things, so do your best to give them to him.’
‘Don’t you worry, I will. Can I speak to Iffet?’
‘Of course. I’ll talk to you over the weekend. Here she is.’
She handed the cell phone to Iffet, and sat back, lost in sudden thoughts of Richard and Joanne. Together. As a couple. She had been aware of Jo’s feelings for her brother for years. The timing had been all wrong then. Now, perhaps, the timing was right. As she thought this, she crossed her fingers and said a silent prayer.
PART THREE
The Reunion
Rich the treasure,
Sweet the pleasure;
Sweet is pleasure after pain.
John Dryden, Alexander’s Feast
THIRTEEN
The driver had turned the boat around, and now it was moving up the Bosphorus towards the Sea of Marmara, leaving Central Istanbul behind. As they went past the Çiragan Palace Hotel, Justine turned to Iffet and said, ‘I want to invite you to dinner tonight. But not at the hotel. You must choose the restaurant, since you’re the expert.’
‘No, no, that’s not necessary,’ Iffet protested. ‘I invite you.’
Justine shook her head. ‘We’ll figure that out later, but please pick one of your favourites.’
Iffet had learned not to argue with Justine about something like this. She murmured, ‘I shall make a reservation,’ and went to sit under the canopy. Taking her cell phone out, she dialled her office.
It struck Justine that the Bosphorus suddenly seemed busier than it had been earlier, with two ferries moving across the water; there were also several motorboats like theirs obviously set on the same course. Nuri, who was driving, slowed their speed, obviously trying to avoid the wakes left behind by the other boats immediately ahead.
It was very noisy. Seagulls wheeled and turned against the azure sky, their shrill squawking strident against the hooting of the ferries. What a cacophony of sound. It was like bedlam. Another phrase Gran used when we were being too noisy, she thought, and squeezed her eyes shut. Oh God, where was she, the elusive Gabri? Justine wondered then if her granny was dead, gone from this world.
Pushing that unacceptable thought away, she picked up her video camera and started to shoot the beautiful scenery, not wishing to dwell on anything depressing. Keeping busy had always been the best antidote for anything that troubled, worried or distressed her.
Eventually the boat was turning again, still guided by Nuri, who had set his sights on the Asiatic side, just below Karaköy, where the public ferries left for Üsküdar. He obviously wanted to stay away from that trajectory; did not wish to become involved in heavy traffic.
As they now progressed down the Asian side of Istanbul, Justine got a wonderful series of shots, including Leander’s Tower, a white structure that stood mid-channel not far from the shoreline. All of this footage would help her to write the outline for the script, and could be part of the presentation to Miranda.
A moment later she began to zero in on several lovely villas, ancient yalis that had been restored. Two of them, surrounded by gardens that were lavish and beautiful, were balanced right on the edge of the Bosphorus. They reminded her of those grand houses on the canals of Venice, and they were equally as arresting and graceful in design.
Nuri had picked up speed, but unexpectedly he slowed down. She suddenly realized why. Another motorboat in front of them was drawing up to a jetty and had stopped. Three people were about to alight. It was apparent to Justine that Nuri did not want to make the sea choppier than it already was.
The people were now mounting the steps that led up to a long jetty which was attached to the gardens of the pink villa. Nuri manoeuvred their boat past the jetty carefully, and she focused her video camera on the pink villa beyond, which was quite extraordinary.
The woodwork on the balconies was delicately carved and looked like fancy white lace set against the pink-painted wood walls. The garden was aflame with colour from the blue wisteria, the red Judas trees, bright pink peonies in abundance and the many multi-coloured tulips blooming everywhere. What a sight it was. Picture perfect, as the saying goes, she thought.
Justine zoomed in closer, and at that moment one of the women on the jetty turned around to catch hold of her blue chiffon scarf, which was blowing out behind her and about to fly away. As the woman grasped hold of it in the nick of time, she was looking in the direction of the camera. Her face was caught on film.
With a gasp, Justine stiffened, and almost dropped the camera. Captured on film was the face of her grandmother, framed by a halo of silvery-blonde hair.
She put the camera down swiftly, her hands shaking, and started to shout at the top of her voice, ‘Gran! Gran! It’s me! Justine! Gran, turn around again! Gran! Gran!’
The woman had not heard her, perhaps because of the wind and the other noises carried across the water. Already Nuri had left the pink villa behind and was increasing his speed. Justine began to scream at him. ‘Nuri! Nuri! Stop this boat at once!’
Iffet, who was under the canopy and had been on her cell phone, jumped up, ran to Justine. ‘What is the matter? What is wrong?’
‘I saw my grandmother! Back there at that pink villa. I have her on film. Get Nuri to turn back. Please, Iffet. He’s not paying attention to me!’ Her voice broke. ‘Please. It’s Gran. I’d recognize her anywhere.’
‘I believe you,’ Iffet exclai
med, and hurried to the glassed-in cabin where the drivers sat together. ‘Please turn the boat around, Nuri,’ she said in a low but firm voice. ‘Didn’t you hear Miss Nolan telling you to stop? To go back?’
The driver shook his head, and so did Arzu. ‘It’s very windy, very noisy on the water,’ Nuri muttered, but he drove the boat around in a semi-circle, now pointing it in the opposite direction.
‘Please return to the pink villa,’ Iffet said in the same low but authoritative voice.
He did as he was told.
A few minutes later they arrived at the jetty leading up to the gardens and the pink yali. Only the man who had been on the boat was there, speaking to the driver.
Craning her neck, Justine could just see the two women who had mounted the steps with this man. They were standing in the gardens. One of them was wearing the blue chiffon scarf that had almost blown away, and her heart lifted.
Now Justine could not contain herself. She ran to the side of the boat, and shouted, ‘Gran! Gran! It’s me!’
The man came forward, stood staring down at Iffet and Justine, an expression of puzzlement on his face. ‘Can I help you?’ he asked in English.
Before Justine could say a word, Iffet explained swiftly, ‘My friend thinks she knows the lady in the blue scarf. In the garden over there. She would like to speak to her.’
‘I must speak to her!’ Justine cried, and before Iffet could stop her she was jumping off the boat, climbing the steps, and rushing up onto the jetty at great speed.
The man was so startled as she pushed past him and ran towards the gardens, he remained rooted to the spot. But then he immediately recovered himself, and sprinted forward after her.
Because of the sudden commotion, people running, the woman in the blue scarf and her female companion dressed in red turned around, looking towards the jetty, obviously surprised, perhaps even alarmed.
Letter From a Stranger Page 10