by Marc Levy
“Did you go?”
“Don’t make fun of me, but no. I went and hid in the broom closet for two hours. I just curled up and closed my eyes. I wanted to disappear, so I convinced myself that I was back in my bedroom in St Mawes.”
“You shouldn’t be ashamed. I wouldn’t have been any more courageous than you.”
“Yes, you would have, I’m sure of it. Anyway, when I went back to work, I was ashamed but alive. I crept around, avoiding Doctor Turner for days, but as luck would have it, I was eventually assigned to assist with an amputation he was performing. And as though that weren’t humiliating enough, we happened to be in the scrub room at the same time. While we were getting ready, I confessed how I had hid on the day of the first bombing. I thought I was making a complete fool of myself.”
“How did he react?”
“He asked me to help him with his gloves and told me it was only human to be afraid. He told me how he was often afraid before going into surgery.”
Carol pushed her empty plate across the table and started eating Alice’s untouched stew.
“But he told me that as soon as he went into the operating theatre, he left his fears behind him. I tried to sleep with him not long after that, but the fool was married and faithful to his wife. Anyway, three days later there was another raid. That time I went out into the streets with a group of doctors and nurses. I picked through the rubble, as close to the flames as I am to you now. At one point that night, I was so scared I actually pissed myself.” She paused to swallow. “But enough about me. You haven’t been the same since our trip to Brighton. Something is bothering you, I can tell. The flames are burning, you may not see them, but they’re ruining your nights. Stop hiding in that broom closet and face your fears. I was terrified those nights that I was searching for the wounded, but doing something was so much better than staying huddled up inside my own prison.”
“But what can I possibly do? I don’t know the cause.”
“Your solitude will be the end of you! You dream of a perfect love story, but you’re too afraid to let yourself go. The idea of being dependent or even attached to somebody throws you into a panic. Do I have to remind you about Anton? I don’t know whether that old woman was a charlatan or the real thing, but she told you that the man of your dreams is waiting for you. So go to Turkey for God’s sake! You’ve got savings. Borrow some money if you have to. Take that trip and go find out for yourself whether he’s waiting for you or not. Even if you don’t run into him, you’ll be free because you won’t have anything left to regret.”
“How am I supposed to get to Turkey?”
“I’m a nurse, love, not a travel agent. Speaking of which, I’d best be going. I won’t charge you for the psychotherapy, but I’ll let you pick up the bill.”
Carol got up, slipped into her coat, and kissed Alice before leaving. Alice got up and ran after her, catching her on the pavement outside.
“Do you really mean what you just said about going to Istanbul?”
“Would I have admitted to pissing myself if I didn’t? Get back inside. Do you want to catch a cold again? I can’t take care of you full time.”
Alice went back to the table and sat where Carol had been sitting. She ordered a coffee and a plate of mutton stew.
Traffic was dense, and Alice’s bus was moving at a crawl on her ride home. Horse carts, motorcycles with sidecars, delivery trucks, and motorcars all seemed to be trying to cross the junction at the same time. Daldry would have loved it, she thought. The bus pulled to a halt, and Alice’s gaze fell upon a tiny shop wedged between a grocer’s and the closed shutters of an antique dealer. The sign above the door read THOS. COOK & SON LTD. She fell into daydreaming for a moment before the bus lurched forward again.
Alice got off at the next stop and walked back up the street and entered the travel agency. A stand near the entrance was covered with colorful brochures advertising holidays in exotic places, such as France, Spain, Switzerland, Italy, Egypt, and Greece. The assistant stepped from behind the counter to greet her.
“Planning to travel, madam?”
“Not really. I’m just looking.”
“If you’re thinking about a honeymoon, I’d recommend Venice. It’s magnificent in the spring. Otherwise, there’s Spain: Madrid, Seville, the Mediterranean coast. More and more of our customers are going to Spain, and they always come back thrilled.”
“Oh, I’m not getting married,” said Alice politely.
“Nothing forbids a person from traveling alone these days. Everybody needs to take a little break now and again. For a woman, I’d advise Switzerland. Geneva and its lake are very peaceful and utterly charming.”
“Do you have anything on Turkey?” asked Alice timidly.
“Istanbul. Excellent choice. I myself have dreamed of going there one day. Hagia Sophia, the Bosporus . . . Let me see, I have the information here somewhere. Things are a bit out of order.” He rummaged through the drawers of a tall cabinet. “Here it is. This is a relatively complete little booklet. I also have a guide I can loan you if you’re interested, but you’ll have to promise to bring it back.”
“Oh, the brochure will be just fine,” said Alice, thanking him.
“Here, I’ll give you an extra one,” he said. He saw her to the door and told her to come back whenever she felt like it. Alice said goodbye and went to catch the next bus.
A wet snow began to fall. One of the bus’s windows was jammed open, and an icy wind blew through. Alice took the brochures out of her handbag and flipped through them, hoping the sight of sunny foreign landscapes and blue skies might warm her up a bit.
When she finally got home, she had to stand in the hall and sift through the contents of her handbag before she found her keys. An hour later, Daldry came home and found one of the brochures lying where it had fallen. He picked it up and smiled.
There was a knock at the door. Alice opened it to find Daldry holding a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other.
“May I?” he asked.
“Make yourself at home,” said Alice, standing aside to let him in.
Daldry sat down in front of the trunk and poured two generous glasses of wine. He handed one to Alice and they toasted.
“Are we celebrating something in particular?” Alice asked her neighbor.
“In a sense,” he said. “I just sold a painting for fifty thousand quid.”
Alice’s eyes grew wide. She put down her glass. “I had no idea your work was so valuable. Will I ever get to see some of it, or is just looking even out of my price range?”
“One day, perhaps,” said Daldry, refilling his glass.
“Well, you certainly have generous collectors.”
“That’s not a very flattering way to talk about my work.” He paused. “I haven’t sold anything at all. The fifty thousand pounds came from my father. I just got back from the reading of the will. The whole family was there this afternoon. I had no idea I meant so much to him. I expected much less, to be frank.” There was a note of sadness in his voice. “The absurd part is that I haven’t the faintest idea what to do with such a mountain of money . . . Maybe I’ll buy your flat,” he teased. “I could set up my easel under that skylight that I’ve dreamed of for so many years. Perhaps the light would allow me to finally paint something that would appeal to somebody.”
“It’s not for sale, and I’m just renting. Besides, where would I live if you were to buy my flat?”
“Or I could travel!” said Daldry.
“If that’s what you want, why not? The world must be full of inspiring intersections just waiting to be painted.”
“Why not the Bosporus?”
Alice looked at Daldry with suspicion.
“What?” he said, feigning innocence, before taking the brochure that had fallen from Alice’s handbag and putting it on the trunk. “I found this in the hall, and I doubt it belongs to the woman downstairs. It would be difficult to find a more sedentary creature. She only goes ou
t to do her Saturday shopping.”
“Well, I think we’ve had enough to drink. I haven’t inherited any money, I don’t have any travel plans, and if there’s any hope of me continuing to pay the rent, I have some work I ought to get back to.”
“I thought that one of your fragrances brought in a little money every month.”
“A little, but that won’t go on forever. Fashions change and I have to create something new, which was what I was trying to do before you came over.”
“What about the man of your dreams? He’s waiting for you! Have you forgotten about him?” Daldry pointed at the brochure.
“Yes,” said Alice sharply.
“Well, then what made you scream like that at three in the morning? You scared me so badly I almost fell out of bed.”
“I stubbed my toe on this trunk on the way to bed. I worked late and wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“You’re a terrible liar, but I can see that I’m in your way. I’ll take my leave.” He got up as though he were about to go and then turned. “Do you know the story of Adrienne Bolland?”
“I don’t know anybody by the name of Adrienne,” said Alice, growing exasperated.
“She was the first woman to attempt flying over the Andes. In an aeroplane she piloted by herself, of course.”
“That was very brave of her.”
Much to Alice’s despair, Daldry settled back into the armchair and poured himself another glass of wine.
“The reason I bring her up has more to do with an extraordinary thing that took place a few months before her flight.”
“I sense I’m about to hear about it in great detail.”
“Exactly.”
Alice rolled her eyes, but she could tell that Daldry needed company that evening. He had been so kind to her when she was sick, it was the least she could do to show a little patience and listen to what he felt he needed to tell her.
“Adrienne went to Argentina in 1920 as a representative of the French aeroplane manufacturer Caudron. She was supposed to meet potential clients and show them the planes. She only had forty hours of flying experience, but her boss, Caudron himself, drummed up a lot of publicity and turned her visit into a big event. He even spread the rumor that she was going to attempt to cross the Andes. She told him before she left that there was no way she would risk such a dangerous flight in the two smaller planes she was taking with her, but that she would consider it if he sent her a more powerful plane capable of flying at higher altitudes. So Caudron promised he would send the bigger plane. The evening she arrived in Argentina, a horde of journalists was waiting for her boat. There was a big celebration, and the next morning, she woke up to read the headline “Adrienne Bolland to Cross the Cordillera.” The very idea threw her mechanic into a panic.
“She sent a telegram to Caudron, who confirmed that it was impossible to send her the larger, more powerful plane he had promised. The French community of Buenos Aires tried to convince her to abandon the plans, telling her it was pure folly to think a woman could attempt and survive such a dangerous solo flight. Some even accused her of being a madwoman, who wanted to mar the reputation of the French nation. But she had made up her mind to go ahead with the flight, and after delivering an official announcement, she shut herself up in her hotel room and refused to communicate with the outside world. She needed all of her concentration to prepare for a flight that was starting to seem like a needlessly complicated suicide attempt.
“Not long afterwards, while her plane was being transported by rail to Mendoza, where she had decided to take off, somebody knocked on the door of her hotel room. Furious at being interrupted, Adrienne opened the door, ready to send the intruder packing. She found herself face-to-face with a shy young Brazilian woman who told Adrienne that she had a gift for seeing the future and had something very important to tell her. Adrienne reluctantly agreed to listen because she knew that such things were taken very seriously in that part of South America. The locals often consulted soothsayers to help them make important decisions. For many citizens of Buenos Aires thirty years ago, undertaking such a risky flight without consulting an oracle would have been as unheard of as going off to war without getting blessed by a priest in other cultures. I don’t know if Adrienne believed in such things, but she knew that for the locals on her team the soothsayer’s predictions would be of utmost importance, and she needed their support. She told the girl she would give her the time it took to smoke a cigarette and then lit up. The young woman told Adrienne that she would survive her dangerous journey on a single condition.”
“Which was?” Alice had started to take an interest in Daldry’s story.
“I’m getting to it! She told Adrienne that at one point on her journey, she would fly over a valley where she would see a lake the shape and color of an opened oyster—an enormous oyster stranded high in the mountains—a sight that would be hard to miss. To the left of this stretch of frozen water, clouds would cover the sky, but to the right, the sky would be clear and blue. A pilot with any sense would fly to the right, but the fortune-teller warned Adrienne that if she allowed herself to take the easy way out, she would pay for it with her life: she would run into a chain of high peaks that would be impossible to cross. When she found herself above the lake, it was essential that she fly into the clouds, no matter how dark they seemed. Of course, Adrienne thought this a very stupid idea. What pilot in her right mind would just put down her head and fly blind? The canvas wings of her plane couldn’t resist turbulent weather and would surely break in stormy conditions. She asked the young woman if she knew the area from having lived in the mountains, but the fortune-teller told her she had never been to the place and left without speaking another word.
“Adrienne left for Mendoza. In the time it took to travel over six hundred miles by train, she had completely forgotten about her fleeting encounter with the fortune-teller. She had other things to worry about. And besides, how could a girl like the fortune-teller know that aeroplanes have maximum altitudes, and that her plane would barely make it across the mountains as it was?”
Daldry paused and looked as his watch.
“I didn’t notice the time pass. I’m sorry, Alice—I’m abusing your hospitality again.”
He started to get up, but Alice pushed him back into his seat.
“Well, if you insist,” he said, happy to have drawn her in. “You wouldn’t happen to have any more of that excellent gin you served me the other night, would you?”
“You took the bottle with you.”
“Nasty habit. It was the only one?”
Alice climbed onto the bed and took a second bottle of gin from off the roof. She filled Daldry’s glass.
“Now, where was I?” he said, taking a considerable swig without grimacing. “Once she got to Mendoza, Adrienne and her mechanic, Duperrier, made their way to Los Tamarindos, where her plane was waiting. It was an inauspicious start: she was due to take off on the first of April and she had forgotten her navigation map. She took off anyway, flying in a northwesterly direction, her plane struggling to gain altitude, and the imposing, snowcapped peaks of the Andes rising up like a wall before her.
“Much later, as she was flying over a narrow valley, she noticed a lake the shape and color of an oyster passing beneath the wings of her plane. She could already feel the frostbite setting into her fingers from inside the improvised gloves she had made of newspapers lined with butter. She was underdressed and frozen to the bone in flight gear unsuited to such a high altitude. Overcome with fear, she kept her eyes glued to the horizon. To the right the valley opened up, and to the left it seemed blocked. She had to make up her mind that very moment. Something inside her pushed her to believe the fortune-teller that had come to her hotel room in Buenos Aires, and she flew into the dark clouds, climbing in altitude and trying to maintain her course. A few minutes later, the sky cleared, and she found herself face-to-face with a break in the mountains, a pass topped by a crucifix planted at over thirteen t
housand feet. To make it over the pass, she forced the plane to climb even higher, past its supposed limit, but it accepted the challenge.
“Adrienne had been in the air for over three hours when she saw a river flowing beneath her in the same direction as she was flying. Soon, she saw a plain in the distance and then a large city. It was Santiago de Chile, with its aerodrome and the brass band waiting to welcome her. She had succeeded! With her fingers stiff and her face bloody from the cold, barely able to see beyond her cheeks, which were swollen from the high altitude, she landed her plane without damage and managed to pull it up in front of the three flags that had been planted in the unlikely event of her arrival: French, Argentine, and Chilean. Everybody claimed that it was a miracle. Adrienne and her talented mechanic, Duperrier, had pulled it off.”
“Why are you telling me this story, Daldry?”
“My mouth is dry from so much talking!”
She topped up his glass of gin and watched him sip it as though it were water.
“Isn’t it obvious? Because you also happened to run into a fortune-teller, one who told you you’d find in Turkey the things you can’t find in London, that you would need to meet six people along the way. I think I’m the first of those six people. I feel as though I have a responsibility to join you on your mission. Let me be your Duperrier. Maybe I’m the talented mechanic who can help you cross the Cordillera.” Daldry was drunk and emotional. “At least let me take you to the second person who will take you to the third . . . if that’s how it works. Let me be your friend. Give me the chance to do something useful for once in my life, now that I have the means to do so.”