by Marc Levy
“We’re going to break our necks,” said Alice, grabbing Daldry by the sleeve. “What in God’s name is the hurry?”
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise. Come on, we’re almost there.”
The doorman greeted them and took their luggage.
Alice admired the heavy crystal chandelier hanging high above the reception area. Daldry had reserved two rooms and received the keys from the man behind the front desk once he had filled in the hotel register. Daldry looked at the clock above the counter and his face dropped.
“There we are. It’s too late.”
“If you say so,” said Alice.
“But maybe they won’t notice anything if we keep our coats on.”
Daldry led her out of the hotel and they ran across the street. Before them was a magnificent Renaissance Revival opera house, its cornices flanked by two massive equestrian bronzes that reared as though ready to gallop off into the heavens. Men in tuxedos and women in evening gowns were hurrying up the steps. Daldry took Alice by the arm and they joined the elegant crowd.
“Don’t tell me that we’re going to the opera,” Alice whispered in Daldry’s ear.
“We are. I had the idea and the travel agency in London took care of getting us the tickets. They ought to be waiting under our names at the counter. A night in Vienna wouldn’t be complete without an evening at the opera.”
“But not in the dress that I’ve been wearing since this morning. It’s all wrinkled from traveling. I look like a homeless woman compared to everyone else.”
“Why do you think I was losing my mind when we were stuck in that taxi? Evening wear is required here. Just follow me and stay buttoned up. We’ll take off our coats when the house lights go down. And don’t answer back! I’d do anything for Mozart.”
Alice was so delighted to be going to the opera for the first time in her life that she heeded Daldry’s orders without batting an eye. They wove their way through the crowd of operagoers, trying to avoid the vigilant eyes of the doorman, ushers, and program vendors who roamed the vast lobby. The woman behind the ticket counter adjusted her glasses when Daldry told her his name. She paused before taking a long wooden ruler and sliding it down a list in the register that was open before her.
“Mr. and Mrs. Ethan Daldry, from London,” she said with a thick Austrian accent as she handed him their tickets.
A bell began to ring, announcing that the opera would begin soon. Alice would have liked to linger and admire the opulent surroundings, the grand staircase, the chandeliers and gilded decorations, but Daldry didn’t let her dawdle. He pulled her along, trying to keep both of them well hidden inside the crowd flowing toward the ticket-takers. When their turn came, Daldry held his breath. The ticket-taker asked them to check their coats in the cloakroom, but Daldry pretended not to understand. Behind them, the other operagoers started to grow impatient, and the ticket-taker rolled his eyes, ripped their tickets, and let them pass. Before entering the hall, the usherette who came to seat them took one look at Alice’s coat and told her to check it in. Alice blushed and Daldry pretended to be offended, but the usher had him figured out. She stood her ground and asked him in flawless English to please comply by the rules. The dress code was strict. Evening wear only.
“Since you speak English, miss, perhaps we can come to an agreement. Our plane just landed a short while ago and an unfortunate accident on your city’s icy roads made us late. We simply didn’t have time to change.”
“That’s ‘madam’ to you,” corrected the usherette, “and whatever your reasons may be, men must be in black tie, and women must wear a long evening gown.”
“What on earth does it matter? We’re not the ones on stage.”
“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t make the rules, but it is my job to see that they are followed. Now, if you don’ t mind, I have other people to seat. Kindly return to the ticket counter and your seats will be reimbursed.”
“Come now.” Daldry had lost his patience. “Every rule has an exception, and your silly requirements must surely have theirs. We’re only here in Vienna for one evening, and I’m simply asking you to look the other way and let us enjoy ourselves.”
The usherette fixed Daldry with such a withering gaze.
Alice begged him not to make a scene. “Come on,” she said. “It’s all right. It was a marvelous idea, a wonderful surprise, but it’s just not happening tonight. Let’s go and have dinner. We’re both exhausted, and we probably wouldn’t have been able to stay awake for an entire opera anyway.” Daldry shot one last look of disgust at the usherette, ripped up their tickets, and stormed off, leading Alice down the stairs, through the lobby, and out onto the street.
“What a load of rubbish. It’s music, not a fashion show.”
“It’s a question of tradition. We have to respect that,” Alice said, trying to reason with him.
“The tradition is a load of rubbish.”
Alice tried to calm him down. “You know, when you’re angry, I can imagine how you must have looked when you were a little boy. I bet you threw dreadful temper tantrums.”
“I was a very peaceful and easygoing child.”
“I don’t believe you for a minute.”
As they began to look for a restaurant, they walked around the opera house and soon found themselves in the street that ran behind it.
“That ridiculous woman made us miss Don Giovanni. I’ll never forgive her. And after the travel agent went to so much trouble to get us those tickets.”
Alice watched a stagehand leave the theater’s nondescript stage door. It had not entirely closed behind him.
“How far are you willing to go for your precious Don Giovanni?”
“Didn’t I say I would do anything for Mozart?”
“Well, let’s go then.”
She opened the service door that had been left ajar. They stepped inside and tiptoed down a hallway that was bathed in a faint red glow.
“Where are you taking me?” asked Daldry.
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” said Alice under her breath. “But I think we’re going in the right direction.”
They followed the sound of the music until they came to an ironwork staircase that spiraled up to a catwalk suspended in the air high above them.
“What if somebody finds us?” he asked.
“We’ll tell them we got lost looking for the toilets. Now stop asking questions and come on.”
They climbed the stairs, and as they got higher, the singers’ voices seemed to become clearer. When they finally came to the catwalk, they could see that it was suspended from the ceiling by a series of steel cables.
“Isn’t this dangerous?” he asked her.
“Probably. We’re very high up. But look down there—isn’t it incredible?”
They crept out to the middle of the catwalk. Daldry mustered the courage to look down and realized that he was directly over the stage. They could see the top of Don Giovanni’s hat. It was impossible to tell what the scenery looked like to the audience, but Alice and Daldry still had exceptional seats at one of the world’s finest opera houses.
Alice sat down and leaned over the railing, swinging her feet to the beat of the music. Daldry sat next to her, transfixed by the drama unfolding on the stage below.
They stayed like that until Zerlina’s scream of distress stirred Daldry from his state of near hypnosis. He whispered to Alice that the first act would soon be over.
Alice rose to her feet in silence. “It’s probably better if we slip out before intermission,” she said. “We don’t want the stagehands to find us when the lights go up.”
It was difficult for Daldry to tear himself away, but they crept back down the stairs as quietly as possible. They crossed paths with an electrician, but he paid them no attention. Soon they were slipping out of the stage door and back onto the street.
“What a night!” shouted Daldry ecstatically once they were out in the cool night air. “I’d love to go back and tell
that bitch of an usherette how great the first act was.”
“Listen to you!”
Daldry ignored Alice’s disapproval and announced he was hungry. Their little escapade had sharpened his appetite. He eyed a tavern across the street before looking at Alice and realizing she was worn out.
“How does a quick dinner back at the hotel sound?”
He didn’t have to ask twice.
When they finished their meal, they agreed to meet in the lobby at nine the following morning, said good night, and retired to their rooms, which were across the corridor from each other. It was as though they were back home in London.
Alice sat at the little desk, found some stationery, and started a letter to Carol. She described the day’s events and wrote about the feeling of leaving England behind, ending with the night at the opera. She finished, read the letter to herself, then folded it in half and threw it in the wastepaper basket.
Alice and Daldry met the following morning and took a taxi back to the airport, which was visible in the distance long before they arrived.
“I can already see our plane,” said Daldry. “The forecast is good, so we ought to leave on time.”
He tried to make small talk to fill the silence that had reigned since they left the hotel.
Alice didn’t say a word for the rest of the trip. As soon as the plane took off, her eyelids drooped and she dozed off. A patch of turbulence jostled her head onto Daldry’s shoulder, and he froze, not knowing how to react. When the stewardess passed, he turned down his meal tray so as not to wake Alice. Deep in sleep, she gradually relaxed, slumping across Daldry with one of her hands on his chest. She seemed to call out to somebody in her sleep, but nothing she said was intelligible. Her body pressed up against his. Daldry coughed nervously, but nothing woke her. About an hour before they were scheduled to land, she opened her eyes and Daldry immediately closed his, pretending to have dozed off as well. She was mortified to realize that she had more or less been sleeping in Daldry’s arms and prayed he wouldn’t wake up, righting herself as delicately as she could.
As soon as she was sitting up, Daldry simulated a yawn and shook his left arm. It had fallen asleep under Alice’s weight. He asked for the time.
“I think we’re arriving soon.”
“It feels like we just left,” lied Daldry as he tried to massage some life back into his left hand.
“Oh, look,” cried Alice, her face glued to the window. “So much water.”
“I suppose it must be the Black Sea, although from here I can only see your hair.”
Alice leaned back to share the view.
They soon landed. As she stepped out of the plane, Alice thought of her friends back in London. She had only been gone for two days, yet it felt like weeks. She realized how far away she was from her flat and felt a pinch in her heart as she came to the bottom of the stairs and set foot on Turkish soil.
Daldry collected their bags. At passport control, the Turkish official asked them about the reason for their visit. Daldry told the officer they were in Istanbul to find Alice’s future husband.
“Your fiancé is Turkish?” he asked, taking a second glance at Alice’s passport.
“To tell the truth, we’re not entirely sure yet,” Alice admitted. “He may be, but the only thing we’re relatively certain of is that he lives in Turkey.”
The officer looked suspicious.
“You come to Turkey to marry a man you don’t know?” he asked Alice directly. Before she could reply, Daldry confirmed that this was indeed the case.
“You don’t have good husbands in England?”
“Yes, probably,” said Daldry. “But none that are good enough for Miss Pendelbury.”
“And you, sir? Have you also come to find a wife in our country?”
“Heavens, no. I’m just her chaperone.”
“Please wait here.” Daldry’s explanation had perplexed the officer, who went to a glassed-in office behind his counter to discuss the situation with his supervisor.
“Did you really have to tell that ridiculous story?” hissed Alice under her breath.
“What do you expect me to say? That’s the reason for our trip, isn’t it? I hate lying to the authorities.”
“It didn’t bother you when we needed our passports.”
“Well, at home, yes, but here we’re in foreign territory. I’m expected to behave like a gentleman.”
“Your joking around is going to get us in trouble. I can just feel it.”
“Don’t be silly. It always pays to tell the truth. You’ll see.”
From where they stood, they could see the supervisor shrug and hand their passports back to the officer, who came back to see them.
“Everything is in order,” he said. “Have a pleasant stay in Turkey, and all our best wishes for your happy marriage. May God see that you marry an honest man.”
Alice forced a polite smile and put her freshly stamped passport back in her bag.
“I hate to be the one to say, ‘I told you so,’ but . . .” Daldry said as they walked out of the airport.
“I still say you could have just told him that we were on holiday.”
“I don’t think they would have liked that. We have different surnames on our passports.”
“You’re impossible, Daldry,” said Alice as she climbed into yet another taxi.
“What do you think he looks like?” Daldry asked as he got in next to her.
“Who?”
“The mysterious man we’ve come all this way to meet.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I came here to make a new perfume.”
“And now you’re in a bad mood.”
“I’m in a perfectly good mood, I just don’t appreciate being passed off as some sort of mail-order bride.”
“Well, at least my story distracted him from your monstrous passport photo.”
Alice jabbed him with her elbow and turned away to look out of the window.
“And you say I’m a grump,” he teased. “You must have been a pretty difficult child yourself.”
“Perhaps, but at least I have the good manners to admit as much.”
The journey through the sprawling outskirts of Istanbul distracted them from their banter. As they neared the Golden Horn, they gazed down the narrow streets, where the wooden houses rose in colorful, staggered levels. Streetcars and taxis did battle in the main avenue, and the city teemed with activity.
“It’s strange,” said Alice, “but even though we’re far from London, this all somehow feels very familiar.”
“It’s probably just my company.”
Their cabdriver pulled up to the curb on a broad avenue. They were in front of the Pera Palas Hotel, a grand, Western-style stone edifice that dominated Meşrutiyet Street in the Tepebaşi neighborhood. They were in the heart of the European quarter. Six domes lined with glass tiles formed the ceiling of the grand lobby. The hotel’s decor was an eclectic mix of English wood paneling and Byzantine mosaics.
“Agatha Christie was a frequent guest here,” Daldry told Alice.
“First the Sacher and now this? We could have stayed in a small family-run hotel, you know.”
“The exchange rate is in our favor,” retorted Daldry. “And I’m afraid if I’m going to waste my inheritance in a reasonable amount of time, it means I have to take drastic measures.”
“I stand corrected,” said Alice. “I think that your temper has probably only got worse with age.”
“Revenge is a dish best served cold, and believe me, I intend to present my childhood with a heaping platter of it. But enough about me, let’s go and get changed. Shall we meet in the bar in an hour?”
About an hour later, Daldry wandered into the hotel bar and met a Turkish guide named Can, who was sitting alone on one of the four barstools, his gaze idly wandering over the empty room. He looked to be about thirty, perhaps a year or two older. He was well dressed in a pair of dark trousers and a white silk shirt worn under a waistcoat and an eleg
antly cut jacket. His eyes were a sandy-gold color that glinted from behind the round lenses of his wire-framed glasses.
Daldry took a seat on the stool next to him and ordered a raki. Can smiled at him and asked in surprisingly good English if he’d had a pleasant journey.
“Yes, it was quick and comfortable, thank you.”
“Welcome to Istanbul.”
“How did you know that I was English and that I had just arrived?”
“Because you dress like an Englishman and because you weren’t here yesterday,” said Can.
“It’s a beautiful hotel.”
“I don’t live here. My home is on Beyoğlu hill. But I often come here in the evening.”
“For business or for pleasure?” asked Daldry.
“How about you? What brings you to Istanbul?”
“I’m not quite sure yet. It’s a long story. Let’s say I’m here for research.”
“I’m sure you will find whatever you are seeking. Our city has many richnesses: leather, rubber, cotton, wool, silk, oils, fisheries. Perhaps if you tell me what you are seeking, I can touch you with the local merchants.”
Daldry did his best to keep a straight face.
“Oh, that’s not why I’m here. I don’t know the first thing about running a business. I’m a painter.”
“You are an artist?” asked Can, clearly excited by the idea.
“I don’t know if I’d go that far. Let’s just say I can use a paintbrush.”
“What do you paint?”
“Oh, crossroads, mostly.” Can looked perplexed, so Daldry explained himself further. “Intersections, if you prefer.”
“No, I don’t prefer. But I can show you our amazing crossroads in Istanbul, if it pleases you. I know crossroads for people, carts, trams, automobiles, dolmu . . . Whatever you are seeking.”
“Yes, well, why not? But I’m not really here for that either.”
“Well then?”
“Well then, like I said, it’s a long story. What about you? What do you do for a living?”