‘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 tulips randomly placed. 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 favourites, 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 multicoloured 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 life-like, 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 favourite. 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 riffled 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 towards the European side of Istanbul. He was expecting a call and had his mobile phone 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, dialled Charlie’s mobile. 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 on 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.
The game birds were guns being touted by an international arms dealer. Miraculously, they were now off the market, and had apparently been destroyed. One of his security teams had been handling the matter for a client of his. The client was worried the guns were about to wind up in the wrong hands in his own back yard. Michael never asked too many questions on a phone, but whatever it was his team had done, the armaments were destroyed. Gone for good. He would learn about the details later when he saw Henry in London.
The Russian oligarch who so worried Charlie was none of his business – or Charlie’s either. But Charlie had indicated last Friday that the man was dangerous and that he should be aware of that. Now the Russian had disappeared. Perhaps someone got to him before he could cause damage on a global scale. MI6 or the CIA? Or the FBI? Michael closed his eyes for a moment, focusing. It would be the FBI operating in New York. The CIA could only work on foreign soil, just like MI6. If it made the newspapers they would know soon enough.
He let out a long sigh, focused on Henry again. He was relieved those guns hadn’t been used to create a revolution… in a moment or two he would call his client to let him know his country was safe. For the moment.
He heard footsteps on the pebbled path, and glanced over his shoulder. His grandmother was hurrying towards him and he jumped up, looking worried. ‘Slow down,’ he said, walking to meet her. ‘I’m not going anywhere, at least not yet.’
‘I know. But I couldn’t complete my arrangements for tonight until I’d spoken to you.’
‘I’m all yours,’ he said, taking her arm, leading her back to the garden seat. Once they were sitting down, he said, ‘So tell me your problem.’
‘It’s not really a problem. I just need your advice. Do you think I should hire a band?’
Michael was momentarily taken aback. ‘How many people have you invited? Enough for a dance?’
Anita laughed, and exclaimed, ‘Don’t be so silly. I’ve got the four of us and Iffet, which makes five, and I’ve invited fifteen people, well, Gabri and I have between us. So we’re twenty.’
‘I do think a band is overdoing it,’ Michael said, laughter in his eyes. How like his grandmother it was, wanting to make a splash. ‘How about a trio?’
‘I shall just call Abdullah, that’s the man who plays the guitar so well – you’ve heard him before. He’ll come and bring two or three of his musicians. That will be nice, don’t you think?’
‘I do.’
‘You like her, don’t you?’
‘Who?’
‘Don’t say who like that, so innocently. Justine, of course.’
‘I do like her, yes, a lot, if you must know. Remember, Gabri has spoken to me about her for years, so I feel as if she’s an old friend.’ Michael smiled at her.
‘Do you think we’re a bit brainwashed? Oh well, that doesn’t matter, she is nice, and she’s very beautiful, Michael, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, if you like long lanky pale girls with silvery-blonde hair.’
‘You’re making her sound awful, like… like a ghost.’
‘I’m teasing you. Look how she just took off, came searching for Gabri… That took courage.’
‘Yes.’ Anita was silent for a moment, before saying, ‘I’m very glad she found Iffet. I don’t know what she would have done without her.’ Anita felt a little rush of guilt again about the missing address.
Michael turned his head, glanced down the path and said, ‘Here’s Justine now, coming to join us.’
He rose quickly, and went to meet her, happy she had finally appeared. Grasping hold of her hands, he smiled, pulled her closer and gave her a peck on the cheek, restraining himself. ‘It’s nice to see you this morning, and looking so fresh and rested.’
‘And you too, Michael.’ Although she was five feet nine in her stockinged feet, Michael was six foot three and she had to look up at him. This pleased her; she liked men who were taller than she was. ‘We were up late last night.’
‘None the worse for it, though. Anita’s planning a nice party for you; she’s just been telling me about it.’
‘It’s so sweet of her to do this.’
‘It’ll be a fun evening.’
The two of them walked back to the garden seat, and Justine said, ‘Good morning, Anita, and thank you for a lovely dinner last night.’
‘My pleasure, Justine, and good morning. And where’s Gabriele?’
‘In her studio looking at some caftans and tunics, and that’s why she sent me to find you. We need your opinion, Anita, and yours, too, Michael.’
Within minutes they were standing in the studio with Gabriele, who had hung four caftans on the clothes rack. She explained, ‘Justine can’t make up her mind which one she wants to wear tonight. So I suggested she bring you both to pass judgement and choose.’ Gabriele smiled at Michael, and then glanced at Anita. ‘You have a good eye – why don’t you pick one out for her?’
Anita looked pleased, and said, ‘Oh, I can tell you now. I think the pale blue would be perfect. It will match your eyes, Justine.’
‘I like the red,’ Michael said, although he didn’t care what she wore. All he wanted at this moment was to grab hold of her hand and rush her away from the grandmothers and up to his room. Bad thought, Michael, he chastised himself. He then added, ‘Although blue is Gabri’s colour, and you do look so much like her, Justine.’
‘A much younger version of me,’ Gabriele said swiftly. ‘Very much younger.’
‘Why don’t I just hold each one next to me,’ Justine suggested, and went to get the blue caftan. Slipping it off the hanger, she stood in the middle of the studio and held the caftan against her body. They all murmured their approval. She then took the red one and did the same thing, followed with the green, and finally the white. Each caftan and tunic was patterned with the tulips, and they were obviously the most expensive fabrics from Gabriele’s line.
‘The pale blue,’ Michael said at last. ‘Either the caftan or the tunic.’
Anita nodded in agreement, and so did Gabriele.
Justine smiled at them all. ‘Thank you… I always rely on family decisions,’ she said, and felt herself suddenly blushing.
TWENTY-TWO
Michael was waiting for her at the jetty as they had arranged earlier. He was already on board, standing on the deck, and Kuri was at the wheel of the motorboat.
Michael waved and smiled when he saw her, and shouted, ‘Come on down, I’ll help you onto the boat. There’s been a hell of a lot of traffic this afternoon, and the sea’s very choppy.’
‘Good thing I’m wearing flat shoes,’ Justine said and started down the steps, endeavouring to keep herself calm. As usual, the minute she set eyes on him she began to shake inside. He had a disturbing effect on her, unlike anything she had known before.
When she was halfway down, she paused for a second. It was windy. His dark hair was ruffled, his loose, navy-blue shirt blowing around him; he looked devil-may-care and impossibly handsome. She knew that whatever happened she would always have that image of him in her head. She went on down the steps, her heart clattering against her ribcage.
‘Give me your bag,’ Michael said when sh
e was standing in front of him. She did, noticing how much the boat was rocking.
‘Now give me your hands.’
She did as he told her, then took a step forward over the side, holding on to him, and came on board with a bit of a wobble, falling against him. He staggered slightly, but steadied, held her tightly against him, and kept on holding her until she laughed, relaxed in his arms and stood firmly on the deck. Only then did he release her.
‘I told you it was rough,’ he said. ‘It’s the wake every other boat creates. Now come on, let’s go sit over there.’ As he led her to a long banquette, he called out to Kuri, speaking in Turkish.
Within moments they were speeding away from the jetty, heading towards the European side of Istanbul. Before they could start talking, Michael’s cell phone began to ring, and he pulled it out of his shirt pocket, pressed it to his ear.
‘Dalton here,’ he said, then listened for a moment.
‘Well, yes, that’s all right, Aly. But I’m already on my way. So why don’t we meet as planned and spend only half an hour on the papers. I’ll study them again tonight. We can have breakfast tomorrow since that’s what you prefer.’
Michael listened again for a few minutes, said goodbye and clicked off. Putting the phone in his shirt pocket, he looked at her, and said, ‘The meeting won’t take all that long after all, as you heard.’
‘Business is business, and I don’t mind waiting for you, however long you are. I told you that yesterday,’ she responded. ‘Are you working all the time, Michael? Even at weekends?’
‘More or less, but I’m usually on the phone behind a desk, not out in the field. Today’s meeting is about security management on a large estate – several estates, in fact, and I need to explain some of the installations we’re about to do. Incidentally, just so you know, our grandmothers have an invisible electronic fence around their two yalis, so they’re very well protected.’
‘Yes, Gran mentioned that to me last night, and then again this morning when she gave me a little tour of her villa. She added that you had them put in, as if I hadn’t guessed.’
Letter From a Stranger Page 17