by Marc Levy
“We’ll take your friend to the doorway of the hotel and then I will go to the consulate to procure your invitations. I will present them, enveloped, to the concierge,” he said as they drove.
“In an envelope,” whispered Alice discreetly.
“Ah, yes. I had a feeling my phrase was deformed, but I was not certain in what way. Thank you for rectifying me.”
Daldry had dozed off. He barely opened an eye when Alice and the doorman helped him back to his room and laid him out across his bed. He came back to life later in the day and called Alice’s room. When she didn’t respond, he called reception and learned that she had gone out. Embarrassed by his behavior, he slipped an apologetic note under her door asking if she would mind dining without him that evening.
Alice took advantage of her afternoon alone to walk through the Beyoğlu neighborhood. The hotel concierge had recommended visiting the Galata Tower and showed her how to get there, tracing the route on a map. On the way back she wandered down the broad thoroughfare of Istiklal and bought a few souvenirs for her friends. When she was finally too chilled by the cold, she took refuge in a little restaurant and had a bite to eat.
She returned to her room in the early evening and sat at the little desk to write a letter.
Dear Anton,
This morning I met a man who makes perfume like I do, but who is considerably more talented. I’ll try to tell you about his thoroughly original creations when I’m home again, but they’ll be difficult to explain. If you had been with me in the old perfume maker’s drafty workshop this morning, you would understand why I’d feel guilty if I ever complained about the cold in my flat ever again.
When I went up the hill to Cihangir, where he lives, I discovered another side of the city, one very different from the view outside my hotel-room window. In the city center, the buildings are more or less the same as those that have been built in London since the war, but elsewhere there are much poorer, more authentic neighborhoods. Today in the narrow streets of Cihangir I saw children running barefoot in the cold, and later was also very moved by the weather-beaten faces of the street peddlers, standing in the rain along the shores of the Bosporus. The old women hawk their goods, working the crowds of locals waiting for the steamboat ferries.
As strange as it sounds, I feel deeply attached to these strange foreign places and people, to the troubling solitude of the old city squares and run-down churches, to the narrow passages whose worn stone steps lead up and down the hills. In spite of the melancholy atmosphere, the dust, and the filth, the cafés and restaurants are full of life. Istanbul is a beautiful city, a great city. Its people are generous and welcoming, and I love it for its nostalgia here, its crumbling grandeur.
This afternoon when I was walking near the Galata Tower, I saw a sleepy little cemetery behind an iron gate, right in the middle of the city. When I looked at those crooked gravestones, I felt I belonged here. With each passing hour an overwhelming love for the city grows inside me.
Excuse me for writing these scattered thoughts—I know this can’t make much sense to you, but I can close my eyes and hear your trumpet echoing through the streets of Istanbul, coming all the way from some pub in faraway London. I’d like to have some news from Sam, Eddy, and Carol. I miss the four of you, and I hope you miss me too.
Warmest regards, from a room overlooking the roofs of a city I’m certain you’d adore.
Alice
8
At ten in the morning, somebody knocked on Alice’s door. In spite of her shouting that she was in the bath, the knocking continued. But by the time she’d got out of the water and slipped into a bathrobe, it had stopped. A maid had let herself in, left some parcels on the bed, and slipped out. Alice opened the boxes to discover an evening gown carefully wrapped in tissue paper, a matching jacket, a pair of heels, and an adorable hat made out of felt. A note written in Daldry’s handwriting was pinned to the lid of the hatbox.
See you this evening. I’ll meet you in the lobby at six.
Alice stared in wonder at the beautiful clothes before slipping out of the bathrobe. She couldn’t resist trying them on. It was as though they had come from heaven; she felt like she was in a dream.
The dress was carefully draped and fitted at the waist, then blossomed into a full skirt that fell below the calf. Since the war and all its restrictions, Alice had never seen so much fabric go into a single garment. She spun around and watched the skirt billow and float, whisking away the years of sacrifice and rations in a twirl of rustling silk. No more narrow skirts and meager, unlined jackets. The dress bared her shoulders, and defined her figure. The cut of the skirt added mystery and length to her legs, and its curves improved upon her narrow hips.
She sat on the bed to put on the shoes. When she stood again, she felt as though she towered over the room. She slipped on the long jacket, adjusted the hat, and then opened the wardrobe door to look in the mirror. She couldn’t believe her eyes.
She carefully hung everything in the closet for later in the evening. The concierge called and said that a driver had arrived to take her to the salon.
“I’m sorry, you must have the wrong room,” she said. “I didn’t make any appointment.”
“Miss Pendelbury, it says here that you’re awaited at Chez Guido in twenty minutes. When you are done there, we’ll send somebody to come and get you. Have an excellent day, madam.”
The concierge hung up, and Alice stood with the receiver in her hand, stunned at the way her day had begun.
After the assistants had shampooed her hair and given her a manicure, Alice was presented to Guido, whose real name was Onur. He had taken classes and picked up his Italian nom de guerre at a beauty school in Rome. Guido/Onur explained that a man had come to the salon earlier in the morning and had given him instructions to put her hair in a clean chignon that would “hold up under a hat.”
The appointment lasted about an hour, after which the driver came to take Alice back to the hotel. When she walked into the lobby, the concierge told her that Daldry was waiting for her in the bar.
She went in and found him sipping what looked to be a lemonade and reading a newspaper.
“Ravishing,” he said, rising to his feet.
“I don’t know what to say. I feel like I stepped into a fairy tale.”
“I’m glad to hear it. You need to make a good impression this evening. There’s an ambassador to seduce, and I don’t think I’m the man for the job.”
“I don’t know how you managed, but everything fits perfectly.”
“I’m a painter. Proportions are an important part of what I do.”
“Well, you made an excellent choice. I’ve never worn anything so beautiful. I’ll be very careful with everything. You rented it, I assume.”
“It’s a French model called the ‘New Look.’ They might not be much at the art of war, but I have to admit that the French have an undeniable genius for dressing women and fine cuisine.”
“Well, I hope you’ll like the look of the ‘New Look.’”
“I’m sure I will. And I like your hair that way too. It shows off your neck. Quite charming.”
“The neck or the hair?”
Daldry handed Alice a menu. “You should eat something. Party buffets are always a battle scene, and I’m afraid you won’t be in combat gear.”
Alice ordered some tea and finger sandwiches.
After taking tea, she retired to her room, where she opened the wardrobe and stretched out on the bed to admire the gown a second time.
A torrential rain began to pelt down outside. and she went to the window to look. The Bosporus had cloaked itself in a gray mist, and the ferries blew their foghorns as they chugged back and forth across the strait. In the street below, the people of Istanbul hurried to take refuge under streetcar shelters and awnings, while umbrellas tangled and butted against one another on the crowded pavement. Alice knew she was still part of the churning city that passed beneath the window, but for tonight, from beh
ind the walls of her luxurious hotel and in the company of the beautiful gown, she felt as though she had been transported to another world altogether. She knew it was a privileged, ephemeral place. She would rub shoulders with its inhabitants for just one evening, and her ignorance of its customs made her all the more impatient to dive in and discover them.
Alice had called for the maid to come and zip her up. Hat in place, she left her room. When Daldry looked up and saw her in the elevator descending toward the lobby, his delight was even greater than he had anticipated. He offered his arm.
“Normally, I hate making formal compliments, but tonight I’m willing to break a rule. You look—”
“Très ‘New Look,’ don’t you think?”
“That’s one way of putting it. A car is waiting for us outside. We’re in luck; the rain seems to have stopped.”
They arrived just two minutes later because the consulate gate was more or less across the avenue from the hotel.
“I know the taxi was ridiculous, but you can’t just walk up to this kind of place,” he explained.
He went around the car to let Alice out but found that a valet had beaten him to it. As they walked up the grand steps, Alice was worried she might trip and stumble in her high heels. Daldry handed the invitations to the doorman, left his coat in the cloakroom, and accompanied Alice into the large reception hall that had been converted into a ballroom.
As they entered, many of the male guests turned to look. Some of them even halted their conversations. The women carefully inspected Alice from head to toe. The combination of her sleek hair, jacket, dress, and shoes made her seem the very image of modernity. The ambassador’s wife smiled warmly, and Daldry went over to introduce himself.
He bowed, kissed her hand, and presented Alice, according to the protocol he had carefully studied in preparation for their evening. The ambassador’s wife asked them what brought them so far from home.
“Perfume, Your Excellency,” said Daldry. “Alice is one of England’s most talented noses. Her creations are found in the best shops in Kensington.”
“How fascinating,” exclaimed the ambassador’s wife. “I’ll be sure to look for them when we’ve returned to London.”
Daldry insisted she allow him to have some of Alice’s perfumes sent directly.
“What an inspiration you are,” she said, turning to Alice. “A professional and innovative woman with the courage to work in a business dominated by men. If you stay in Turkey long enough, you must come and visit us in Ankara.” She added in a stage whisper, “I’m bored to death there.” She blushed at her own unexpected honesty. “I would have liked to introduce you to my husband, but he’s deep in conversation and I fear it may drag on. I’m pleased to have made your acquaintance.”
The ambassador’s wife slipped into the crowd to greet other guests, but everybody had noticed the attention she had given Alice, who now felt as though everybody was staring at her even more than when she had entered. It made her uncomfortable.
“I can’t believe I let her go,” said Daldry. “We were almost there. I should have kept talking to her.”
Alice watched the ambassador’s wife chatting with a group of guests. She left Daldry’s side and crossed the room, doing her best to adopt a confident stride in the unfamiliar shoes.
She joined the circle that had surrounded the ambassadress and interrupted the conversation.
“I’m sorry, madam, I know it’s unorthodox, but I absolutely must speak with you in private, just for a moment.”
Daldry was dumbstruck to see Alice behaving so boldly.
“She is something else, is she not?” whispered Can.
Daldry jumped.
“Goodness, you startled me. I didn’t even see you there.”
“I know. I do this on purpose. So, are you satisfied with your good guide? The reception is of great exception, don’t you think?”
“This sort of party bores me to tears, actually.”
“Because you are not interested in other people,” observed Can.
“I hired you as tour guide, not a spiritual guide.”
“Must not a guide have a spirit?”
“Don’t taunt me. I promised Alice I wouldn’t drink tonight.”
Can took the hint and disappeared as discreetly as he had arrived.
Daldry planted himself near the buffet, in a spot that was close enough to where Alice and the ambassador’s wife were standing for him to catch the gist of their conversation.
“I’m terribly sorry to hear that you lost your parents in the war . . . Of course I understand your desire to know more about their origins . . . I’ll call the consular services first thing in the morning and ask that they go through the files for you . . . When exactly do you think they might have come to Istanbul?”
“I don’t really know, but probably before I was born. My parents didn’t have anybody they could leave me with, apart from my aunt perhaps, but she would have told me about it if they had done so. I suppose they might have gone on a sort of honeymoon in 1909 or 1910. After that, Mother wouldn’t have been in a condition to travel.”
“I can’t imagine that the research will be very complicated—that is, unless the fall of the Ottoman Empire and two World Wars have caused the papers to go missing. You know, my mother always said, ‘When you already have a no, my girl, you might as well try getting a yes.’ Let’s be efficient and bother the consul about it now. I’ll introduce you, and in exchange you must give me the name of your dressmaker.”
“I think the label said Christian Dior, madam.”
The ambassador’s wife made a note to remember the name and took Alice by the hand to present her to the consul. She explained Alice’s request, adding that it was a special favor for her new friend. The consul promised to receive Alice at the end of the afternoon the following day.
“Very well,” said the ambassador’s wife. “Now that you’re in capable hands, I’m afraid I must return to my guests.”
Alice bowed in thanks and left the ambassadress to her socializing.
“So?” asked Daldry, coming over to Alice.
“We have a meeting with the consul tomorrow at teatime.”
“It’s rather discouraging to see you succeed where I fail, but I suppose it’s the results that count. Are you happy?”
“Yes, very. I still don’t know how to thank you for everything you’ve done.”
“You might begin by lifting your ban and allowing me to have a drink. Just one, I promise.”
“I have your word?”
“My gentleman’s honor,” said Daldry, already on his way to the bar.
He came back with a glass of champagne, which he handed to Alice, and a tumbler filled with whisky.
“You call that one drink?” asked Alice.
“Do you see a second?”
The orchestra started playing a waltz, and Alice’s eyes instantly lit up. She left her glass on the tray of a passing waiter and turned to Daldry.
“Would you dance with me? You can hardly refuse when I’m wearing a gown like this.”
“It’s just that . . .” Daldry glanced wistfully at his glass.
“Me or the whisky. Make up your mind.”
Daldry sighed, put down his drink, and led Alice out onto the dance floor.
“You dance well,” she observed after a moment.
“My mother taught me. She loved dancing, but my father didn’t, so I was her partner.”
“Well, she was an excellent teacher.”
“I think that may be the first time you’ve given me a compliment.”
“If you’d like a second: you’re very handsome in a dinner jacket.”
“You know, it’s funny. The last time I wore it, I was at a very boring party in London where I ran into an old girlfriend who told me that black tie was so becoming on me she hadn’t recognized me at first. I remember thinking that it didn’t say much for her opinion of my everyday appearance.”
“Have you already had
somebody special in your life, Daldry? I mean, not just a run-of-the-mill girlfriend, but someone you really cared about?”
“Yes, but I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Why not? We’re friends, aren’t we? You can confide in me.”
“It’s a bit early in the friendship for that sort of confidence. Besides, I’m not really the hero of the story.”
“Oh dear. Does that mean she left you? Was it very difficult?”
“I don’t know. Yes, I suppose it was.”
“Do you still think of her?”
“Occasionally.”
“Why aren’t you together anymore?”
“Because we were never really together to begin with. It’s a long story. One which, as I recall, I said I didn’t feel like telling.”
“Hmm, I don’t remember that,” said Alice, quickening her step.
“That’s because you never listen. If we go any faster, I’m going to start stepping on your feet.”
“I’ve never been dancing in such a beautiful dress, in such a grand and beautiful room, or to such a good orchestra. Please let’s keep spinning as fast as possible.”
Daldry smiled and acquiesced.
“You’re a funny woman.”
“And you’re a funny fellow. You know, yesterday, when I was walking around town while you were sobering up, I came across a little intersection that I think you’d just love. As I was crossing, I could imagine you painting it all. There was a wagon being drawn by two magnificent horses, a place where two tram tracks crossed, about a dozen taxis, an old American car from before the war, people on foot all over the place, and a man pushing a wheelbarrow. You would have been in heaven.”
“You thought of me at an intersection? It’s lovely to think that crossroads are inspiring you now as well.”
The waltz ended, and the crowd of dancing guests applauded the orchestra. Daldry returned to the bar.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “The other glass didn’t count. I hardly had time to get my lips wet . . .” Alice frowned. “Fine. A promise is a promise.”
“I have a better idea,” said Alice.