The Strange Journey of Alice Pendelbury

by Marc Levy

  “Oh dear, I fear the worst.”

  “What if we left this party?”

  “I have nothing against that—quite to the contrary—but where would we go?”

  “We could take a walk in the city.”

  “Dressed like this?”

  “Yes. Why not?” she asked.

  “Well, if it makes you happy, why not?”

  Daldry collected his coat from the cloakroom while Alice waited for him at the top of the steps outside.

  “Do you want to see the intersection I was telling you about?” she asked.

  “It probably isn’t as interesting at night. Why don’t we walk to the funicular and take it to the Bosporus near Karaköy?”

  “I had no idea you knew the city so well.”

  “I don’t, but I’ve spent a lot of time in my room over the past two days, and I don’t have much to read apart from the guidebook I found on my bedside table.”

  They walked through the streets of Beyoğlu and took the funicular down the hill to Karaköy. As they left the station, Alice hurried to sit on the stone parapets.

  “Let’s forget about the walk and go to a café. You can drink as much as you like. I think I can see one from here.”

  “Your feet hurt?”

  “These shoes may look pretty, but they’re torture to wear.”

  “Well, lean on me for now. We’ll take a taxi back later.”

  The cozy atmosphere inside the café was a dramatic contrast to the grand consulate ballroom. The clientele played cards, laughed, sang, and toasted to friendship, to the health of those seated around them, to the end of the day, or to the promise of a more profitable tomorrow. Others toasted to the particularly mild winter, and to the Bosporus, which had kept the city alive for centuries. Some of the regulars complained about the ferryboats that docked for too long, how expensive life had become, the packs of stray dogs, or that another konak had burned and that the old ways were going up in smoke thanks to ruthless property speculators. Then they toasted yet again, to brotherhood, to the Grand Bazaar, and to the tourists, who had started to return.

  When Alice and Daldry walked in, the men turned from their card games to gawk for a moment at the foreigners in their evening wear. Daldry paid them no heed, chose a table with a commanding view, and ordered two rakis.

  “Everybody is staring,” whispered Alice.

  “Everybody is staring at you, my dear. Just ignore them and drink up.”

  She gingerly sipped the raki and began to daydream out loud. “Do you think my parents used to walk in these streets?”

  “Who knows? It’s possible, I suppose. Maybe we’ll know something tomorrow.”

  “I like to imagine the two of them visiting Istanbul, and that I’m following in their footsteps. Maybe they liked the view up in Beyoğlu, or wandered around in the little streets of Pera, or walked along the Bosporus. I know it’s silly, but just imagining them here makes me miss them.”

  “There’s nothing silly about it. If you don’t mind my confiding in you, I must say that I actually miss my father too, if only for not being able to blame him anymore for all the things that go wrong in my life.” He paused a moment, mulling over how to phrase his next question. “I never dared ask, but how did they . . .”

  “It was a Saturday night in May 1941. The tenth of May. Back then, I lived in a studio flat just upstairs from my parents, and every Friday night I came downstairs and ate dinner with them. I was talking with my father in the sitting room. My mother was in bed with a cold. The air-raid sirens started going off and my father told me to go down into the shelter. He said he was going to help my mother get dressed and that they’d be right behind me. I wanted to help him, but he pushed me out of the door and told me to reserve a place in the shelter, where my mother would be comfortable if the alert dragged on through the night. So I obeyed. The first bomb hit when I was crossing the street, and the blast was so hard that it threw me to the ground and knocked the wind out of me. When I came to, I turned and saw our building was on fire. I had intended to go see my mother in her room after dinner but then decided not to, for fear of disturbing her. I never saw either of them again. I couldn’t even bury them. When the firemen had put out the fire, I walked through the ashes, but nothing was left. Nothing from the lifetime we had spent together, not a single object from my childhood.

  “After that, I left London to live with my aunt on the Isle of Wight and stayed there until the end of the war. Even once the war was over, it took me almost two years to be able to go back to London. I lived like a hermit on that island. I knew every little cove, beach, and hill. Finally, my aunt told me I needed to face my past, for my own good. She forced me to go back to the city and visit my old friends. They were all I had left in the world, apart from her. A new building had been put up on the spot where my parents and I used to live, and it was as though the whole awful event had never taken place. It seemed erased from existence, just like my parents themselves. The people who live there now probably have no idea what stood there before. Life just continued without them.”

  “I’m sorry,” murmured Daldry.

  “What about you? What did you do during the war?”

  “I worked in army administration. Supposedly I wasn’t considered fit enough for the front because of a childhood case of TB that had left me with lung damage. It made me furious, of course, and I suspect my father used his influence to arrange it all. But I fought tooth and nail to get transferred into active duty, and I finally managed to get put on an intelligence team in mid-forty-four.”

  “So you got your wish in the end,” said Alice.

  “No. It was always just office jobs. Nothing very glorious, I’m afraid. But let’s not ruin the evening by talking about the war. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  “I’m the one who started asking personal questions. But yes. Let’s talk about something more cheerful. What was her name then?”

  “Who’s that?”

  “The girl who left you and made you suffer so.”

  “That’s your idea of cheerful?”

  “Why so cagey? Was she much younger? Go on, tell me—blonde, redhead, or brunette?”

  “She was green, from head to foot, with huge bulging eyes and immense hairy feet. Which is why I’d rather just forget about her. If you ask any more questions, I’m ordering myself another.”

  “Go on, and order two. We’ll drink to her health.”

  It had got very late and the café was closing, but there were no taxis or dolmu to be found.

  “Let me think,” said Daldry. “There must be some solution.”

  The lights in the café went out behind them.

  “I could walk home on my hands, but it might ruin my dress,” said Alice, attempting to do a cartwheel. Daldry caught her just before she fell.

  “My goodness. You’re completely drunk.”

  “Don’t exaggerate. I’m just a little tipsy. Blowing things out of proportion . . .”

  “Did you hear yourself just now? I don’t even recognize your voice. You sound like a fishwife after a long day.”

  “It’s an honorable line of work, hawking fish.” Alice did her best to put on a cockney accent and pretended to weigh invisible fish. “Two ’errings, a skate, an’ a dozen oysters! There you are, guv’nor. Barely keeps me in knickers, but you’re a nice chap, and it’s time to close up.”

  “You’re completely soused.”

  “Not at all. And with all you’ve had to drink since we arrived, you’re in no position to judge.” Alice turned in panic. “Where are you?”

  “Next to you. The other side!”

  She flailed and pivoted. “Ah, there you are. Shall we walk along the river?” She clutched a lamppost.

  “It’s more of a strait, really.”

  “Oh, that’s fine. My feet hurt anyway. What time is it?”

  “Past midnight, Cinderella, but I’m afraid our carriage is missing, and you’ve turned into a pumpkin instead.”<
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  “I don’t want to go to the hotel yet. I want to go back and dance at the consulate. What pumpkin?”

  “I see how it is. Desperate times call for desperate measures, as they say.” Daldry threw her over his shoulder like a well-dressed but unruly sack of potatoes.

  “What are you doing?” squealed Alice, giggling and squirming.

  “I’m taking you back to the hotel.”

  “Will you present me, enveloped, to the concierge?” she asked, imitating Can’s accent.

  “If you like,” said Daldry, rolling his eyes.

  “But I don’t want to be left with the concierge, okay? You promise?”

  “Yes. Now if you wouldn’t mind hushing up until we get there.”

  “There’s a strand of blonde hair on the back of your jacket. Now how did that get there? Oh. I think I lost my hat.”

  Daldry turned to see the hat roll down the street and into the gutter.

  “I’m afraid we’ll have to write that one off,” he grumbled.

  When they got to the steepest part of the hill, he made Alice stagger beside him, keeping her upright by holding one of her arms over his shoulders. Her warm breath tickled his ear and neck, but there was nothing he could do about it.

  The receptionist couldn’t hide his astonishment to see them arrive in such a disheveled condition.

  “Miss Pendelbury is extremely tired,” said Daldry, with all the dignity he could muster. “If I might have my key and hers as well . . .”

  The concierge offered his assistance, but Daldry refused.

  He took Alice upstairs, laid her across her bed, took off her shoes, and covered her with a blanket.

  He drew the curtains and watched her sleep for a moment before turning out the light and leaving.

  He walked with his father and told him about his ambitions for the future. He wanted to do a large painting of the wheat fields that surrounded the family estate. His father thought it was a wonderful idea and offered to have the tractor pulled up so it could be featured in the picture. His father was proud of the tractor, a Ferguson that he had purchased new and which had just arrived from America by boat. Daldry imagined the wheat waving in the wind in a huge golden mass in the lower half of the canvas, with a wash of different blues across the sky. But his father seemed so happy at the idea that his new tractor might have pride of place . . . Perhaps he could just make it a red mark ridden by a black speck to represent the farmer driving it.

  A wheat field with a tractor in it under the sky. It really was a beautiful idea after all. His father smiled and waved. His face appeared in the clouds, and a bell began to ring incessantly.

  The telephone woke Daldry from his dream, pulling him out of the English countryside and into the pale light of day in his hotel room.

  “For the love of God,” he groaned, sitting up in bed and leaning over to pick up the receiver.

  “Daldry speaking.”

  “Were you asleep?”

  “Not unless this is also part of the nightmare.”

  “Did I wake you? I’m sorry,” said Alice.

  “Don’t be. I was just about to paint something that would have made me the landscape master of the second half of the twentieth century. It’s better that I woke up before things went too far and broke my heart. What time is it?”

  “Nearly noon. I just woke up too. Did we really come home that late?”

  “Are you telling me that you don’t remember?”

  “I’m afraid not. What would you say to having lunch by the port before our appointment at the consulate?”

  “Some fresh air would probably do me good, yes. What’s the weather like? I haven’t even opened the curtains.”

  “It’s a glorious day. The city is positively shining,” said Alice. “Get ready, and I’ll meet you down in the lobby.”

  “In the bar. I need a coffee.”

  As he came down the stairs into the lobby, Daldry saw Can waiting with his arms folded across his chest. He had been watching Daldry.

  “Been here long?” Daldry asked.

  “Since eight in this morning, Your Excellency.”

  “I’m dreadfully sorry. I wasn’t aware that we had an appointment.”

  “It’s being normal that I come to my work in the morning. Your Excellency hired me as a guide.”

  “Are you going to keep up the ‘Excellency’ bit for much longer? It’s rather annoying.”

  “As long as I am angry with you. I made another appointment with a perfume maker, but now it’s too late. It’s already past noon.”

  “Let me have some coffee and we can fight about it afterwards,” said Daldry, leaving Can to stew in his own juices.

  “Your Excellency has any other particular desirements for the rest of his day?” called Can to Daldry’s back.

  “That you leave me in peace.”

  Daldry took a seat at the bar and watched Can agitatedly pacing up and down the lobby. He got up and went back to talk to him.

  “Listen, I didn’t mean to be disagreeable just now. I’ll make it up to you and just give you the rest of the day off. Paid, of course. Besides, Miss Alice and I are only going to lunch and then we have a meeting at the consulate. Why don’t you come back tomorrow at a more civilized hour, say, around ten? We can go see the other perfume maker then.”

  Can agreed to this and left. Daldry went back to the bar. Alice came down and met him a good fifteen minutes later.

  “I’m sorry to have taken so long. I was just looking for my hat.”

  “Did you find it?”

  Alice bluffed. “Yes, of course. It was on the shelf in the wardrobe, right where it ought to be.”

  “Really. So, are you still up for lunch on the harbor?”

  “Change of plans, I’m afraid. We don’t have time for a coffee. Can is waiting for us in the lobby; he’s set up a tour of the Grand Bazaar. Isn’t that adorable?”

  “I don’t know if that’s the word I’d use.”

  “I can’t tell you how excited I am. I’ve dreamed about this for so long. Hurry up. We’ll wait for you outside.”

  Daldry clenched his teeth as Alice walked away. “If we’re lucky, I’ll find a quiet little spot where I can strangle our guide.”

  They stepped out of the tram, and Can led them toward the northern side of the Bayezid Mosque. On the other side of the square, they walked down a narrow street cluttered with the stands of second-hand booksellers and engravers’ shops and into the bazaar. Nearly an hour passed as they browsed. Daldry remained silent, while the radiant Alice listened attentively to Can’s explanations and anecdotes.

  “This is the biggest and oldest covered market in the world,” Can said with pride. “‘Bazaar’ is a word that comes from Arabic. We used to be calling this bedesten, because bedes means wool in Arabic, and here was where we were selling wool.”

  “And I’m the sheep following my shepherd,” grumbled Daldry.

  “Did you say something, Your Excellency?” asked Can, turning around.

  “Just drinking in your words.”

  “The old bedesten is at the heart of the Grand Bazaar, but today this is where they are selling old firearms, bronzes, and some very exceptional porcelains. It used to be made entirely of wood, but sadly it burned in the early eighteenth century. This is like a city with one gigantic roof. It is covered by enormous domes. You can find anything here—jewelry, furs, rugs, art. There are many counterfakes, but also some very magnificent pieces for an expert’s eye who can undiscover them in the middle of—”

  “This enormous, chaotic rubbish heap,” muttered Daldry.

  “What’s the matter with you?” asked Alice. “This is a fascinating place. You’re in a terrible mood, aren’t you?”

  “I’m just hungry, that’s all.”

  “You would need at least two days to explore all of the streets in the Bazaar,” continued Can, mercilessly ignoring Daldry. “But to help you spend a few hours in leisure, you must know that the Bazaar is divided into neighbo
rhoods, magnificently kept, as you can see. Each neighborhood is home to different items. We can even enjoy a meal in an excellent place because we are now in an area where we will find the only foods susceptible to please Your Excellency.”

  Alice whispered in Daldry’s ear, “Strange how he’s started calling you that. Although ‘Excellency’ suits you somehow, when you think about it.”

  “Not really, but if the two of you are having fun, I certainly don’t want to ruin it for you.”

  “Did something happen? You seem to be getting on like oil and water.”

  “Nothing at all.” Daldry pouted.

  “You really are impossible. Can is such a devoted guide. If you’re as hungry as that, let’s find something to eat. I’ll give up my walk through the Bazaar if it means you’ll stop behaving like a child.”

  Daldry shrugged and walked ahead of Alice and Can.

  Alice stopped in front of a store selling musical instruments. An old brass trumpet had caught her eye. She asked the shopkeeper if she could have a closer look at it.

  “Armstrong has the same model,” said the salesman. “This one is unique. I don’t know how to play, but a friend tried it and wanted to buy it. It’s an exceptional deal.”

  Can looked at the trumpet and leaned over to whisper. “This is junk. If you are looking to buy a beautiful trumpet, I know where to go. Put it down and come with me.”

  Daldry rolled his eyes in exasperation as he watched Alice follow Can.

  Can took her to another shop selling musical instruments in a neighboring street. He asked the salesman to show his friend the best of his wares, not just the most expensive. In the meantime, Alice had already found a trumpet to her liking in a display case.

  “Is this a real Selmer?” she asked, once it was out of the case and in her hands.

  “Entirely authentic. Try it if you don’t believe me,” said the salesman. Alice looked over the instrument carefully. “Sterling silver and four pistons. It must be completely out of my price range.”

  “That’s not how you should negotiate prices in the Bazaar, miss,” said the salesman, chuckling at Alice’s innocence. “I also have a Vincent Bach I can show you. The Stradivarius of trumpets. The only one you will find in Turkey.”