by Marc Levy
“It’s impossible,” she said, her voice broken.
“Miss Pendelbury, I’m afraid everything I’ve just told you is quite official.”
“But I was already born. I must have been with them.”
The consul eyed her skeptically. “If you say so, but I’d be surprised. There’s no trace of you in the ledgers and logbooks we consulted. Perhaps your father simply didn’t mention you when he contacted our services.”
Daldry couldn’t resist interjecting. “I’d be surprised if her father bothered going to the embassy to seek protection for himself and his wife without mentioning their only child. Were children recorded in the books at all?”
“Well, of course. We are a civilized country, after all. The children were listed along with their parents.”
Daldry turned to Alice. “Perhaps your father purposefully omitted mentioning you for fear that the authorities would consider the voyage too risky for a young child.”
“I don’t think so,” said the consul. “Women and children first, you know. There is clear evidence that there were many families with small children aboard the ship. They were the priority.”
“Well, I don’t want to get carried away arguing about the hypothetical,” said Daldry. “I don’t know how to thank you, sir. The information you uncovered goes far beyond what we initially hoped for.”
Alice was not so easily placated. “And I don’t remember any of it? Not even the slightest memory?”
“I don’t mean to be indiscreet, but how old are you, Miss Pendelbury?”
“Thirty-nine. I would have been four years old on March 25, 1915.”
The consul tried to reason with her. “And five years old in the spring of 1916. You know, I feel a great deal of affection for my parents, and I’m very thankful for the upbringing and love they gave me, but I do think I would be entirely incapable of remembering anything from that early in my life.” He patted Alice’s hand. “If I can be of any further assistance, please don’t hesitate to come and see me. You know where I can be found. I’m afraid I must leave now or I’ll be late for my appointment.”
“Do you remember their address?” asked Alice.
“I wrote it down on a piece of paper, thinking you might ask.” He rummaged around in his coat pocket. “Here it is. They lived quite nearby, on Istiklal, the big avenue. It was called Pera then. They were on the third floor of the Rumelia building, just next to the famous Flower Passage.”
The consul rose to his feet and kissed Alice’s hand.
“Would you mind seeing me to the door?” he asked Daldry. “I have one or two things I’d like to speak to you about. Nothing important.”
Daldry stood and followed the consul as he put on his coat. They crossed the lobby and paused in front of the receptionist.
“While I was doing all that research for your friend, out of curiosity I also happened to look into the presence of your relative in the Foreign Office.”
“Oh?”
“It happens that the only employee we have who answers to the name of Davies is a boy who works in the post room. I think he’s most likely too young to be your uncle. Isn’t that so?”
“Yes, probably,” said Daldry, looking at his feet.
“That’s what I thought. Have a pleasant stay in Istanbul, Mr. Daldry,” said the consul before stepping into the revolving door and out into the evening.
10
Daldry returned to the bar, where Alice was waiting for him. He kept her company for half an hour, sipping his drink and watching her stare in silence at the black piano that stood in the corner of the room.
“If you like, tomorrow we could take a walk and see the building where they lived,” Daldry said.
“Why didn’t they tell me?”
“I don’t know, Alice. Maybe they wanted to protect you? They must have gone through a difficult time at the end. Maybe it was just too painful to speak of. My father was in the First World War and he never wanted to talk about it.”
“But why didn’t they declare me at the embassy?”
“Perhaps they did, and perhaps the embassy official just didn’t write it down correctly. It was a chaotic period. Some details might have slipped through the cracks.”
“That makes for a lot of ‘perhaps,’ don’t you think?”
“Yes, well, I suppose it does, but what else can I say? We weren’t there.”
“As it happens, I was there.”
“Then let’s look into it further.”
“I don’t even know where to begin.”
“We could go back to the neighborhood and ask if anybody remembers them.”
“Nearly forty years later?”
“You never know. We’ve hired the best guide in Istanbul; let’s ask him to help us.”
“You want to get Can involved?”
“Why not? He’s going to turn up at any minute, you know. After the ballet we can invite him to have dinner with us.”
“I don’t feel like going to the ballet anymore. Why don’t the two of you go without me?”
“I don’t think you should be alone this evening. You’ll just worry about far-flung possibilities and keep yourself awake all night. Come with us, and afterwards we’ll discuss the situation with Can over dinner.”
“I’m not hungry, and I know in advance that I won’t be pleasant company. I just need to be alone for a while. I need time to think.”
“Alice, I don’t mean to minimize the shock of what you’ve just heard, but none of it changes the essentials. Your parents, as it’s clear from the stories you’ve told me, loved you very much. For whatever reason, they just didn’t tell you about the time the three of you spent in Istanbul. It’s not worth putting yourself in a state. You look so shaken up that you’re even beginning to worry me.”
Alice looked up and smiled reassuringly.
“You’re right,” she said. “But I’m still quite sure I won’t be any fun this evening. Go on. Enjoy the show and have dinner with Can, just you boys. I promise I won’t stay up all night thinking. A good night’s rest, and tomorrow we can decide whether or not we really feel like playing detective.”
Can had come into the lobby and was now tapping on his watch to say that it was time to go.
“Go,” said Alice, seeing Daldry hesitate.
“Are you sure?”
Alice shooed Daldry away with a gesture. He said goodbye and then joined Can in the lobby.
“Miss Alice isn’t pairing with us?”
“No, she’s not pairing with us. But I’m sure we’ll still manage to have an unforgettable evening, just the two of us.”
Daldry fell asleep during the second act. When his snoring grew too noticeable, Can would jab him with his elbow, making Daldry jump before he dozed off again a few moments later.
After the final curtain, they left the old French theatre on Istiklal Avenue, and Can took Daldry to dinner at the Regency in Olivo Passage. The food was refined, and Daldry ate even more than usual, finally beginning to relax after the third glass of wine.
“Why did Miss Alice not accompany us this evening?” Can asked.
“Oh, I think she was a bit tired.”
“The two of you had a bickering?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“A spatting?”
“An argument? No, not this time.”
“All the better,” said Can, without really seeming convinced. Daldry topped up their glasses and told him what the consul had revealed just before Can’s arrival at the hotel.
“What an incredible story. And from the consul’s own mouth? I understand why Miss Alice is so topsy-turvy. In her place I would feel the same way. What will you do?”
“Try to see her through it, I suppose. If that’s possible.”
“In Istanbul, nothing is impossible with Can. How can we enlighten Miss Alice?”
“Well, a good start would be to find people in the neighborhood where her parents lived who still remember them.”
“This
is possible. I will find somebody who remembers.”
“Well, do your best, but don’t tell her until we’ve found something concrete. She’s sufficiently stirred up as it is.”
“Very wise. No need to be stirring.”
Daldry raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.
“May I ask you a question?” asked Can, lowering his voice.
“Ask, and we’ll see.”
“Is there something . . . picturesque between you and Miss Alice?”
“Come now. You’re not even trying!”
“Something special? In a romantic way?”
“And how would that be any of your business?”
“I have my answer. You just told me.”
“No, I haven’t just told you, Guide Know-It-All.”
“I have hit a tender spot for you to be sputtering like a chicken.”
“I’m not sputtering like a chicken for the very good reason that chickens don’t sputter.”
“Well, anyway, you answered my question.”
Daldry refilled his glass and took a long sip. Can imitated him.
“There’s nothing between Miss Alice and me, apart from a mutual understanding. A friendship.”
“It is a strange friendship where you plan to deceive her.”
“We’re doing each other a favor. She needed a change in her life, and I needed a studio with decent light. It’s a fair trade between friends.”
“It would be, if both friends were aware of the trade.”
“I can’t tell you how utterly boring I find your morality lessons.”
“You don’t find her attractive?” Can asked.
“She’s not my type of woman, and I’m not her type of man. It’s a very equitable arrangement.”
“What don’t you like about her?”
“Tell me, you wouldn’t happen to be casing out the territory for a personal campaign, would you?”
“It would be degrading to be . . . casing her territory.” Can was clearly drunk.
“How else shall I put it? Do you have a crush on Alice?”
“I have not begun my investigation. How can I already find a crush?”
“Stop playing the fool when it suits you. I’m just asking whether you’re attracted to her.”
“Well, excuse me for saying it,” said Can, “but I’m the one who asked first.”
“And I told you.”
“Absolutely not. You were avoiding to answer.”
“The thought has never even crossed my mind. How do you expect me to respond?”
“Liar.”
“Don’t take that tone with me. I’ve never lied in my life!” Daldry exclaimed.
“You lie to Alice.”
“You just gave the game away, my friend. You called her Alice.”
“What does it prove if I forgot to say ‘Miss’? Just a mistake on my part. I drank too much.”
“Just a little?”
“You should talk!”
“Fine, since we agree that we’re both drunk, what would you say to maintaining the status quo?”
Daldry ordered them a very fine and very old cognac.
“If I ever did fall in love with a woman like her, the only way I could show my feelings would be to go as far away from her as possible. To the other side of the world.”
“I don’t understand how that would show your love,” said Can.
“Because I would save her from meeting a fellow like me. I’m a loner, a bitter bachelor. I’m set in my ways and I hate it when the outside world tries to make me change. I hate noise, and she’s noisy. I hate socializing, and she’s right across the corridor. Besides, all the noble sentiments associated with love always end up threadbare and debased. In love, you have to know when to make an exit before it’s too late. For me, that means restraining myself from making any declarations to begin with.” He paused. “Why are you smiling like that?”
“Because we both agree that you’re a rather sorry fellow.”
“I’m just like my father in so many ways, even if I pretend to be everything to the contrary. I know what I’m talking about—I grew up with him, and now I have to see him in the mirror every morning.”
“Your mother was never happy with your father?”
“I’ll need another drink to answer that. That story lies at a depth that we haven’t reached.”
Three cognacs later, the restaurant was starting to close. Daldry asked Can to take him to a bar worthy of such a title, and Can suggested a place that didn’t close until very early in the morning.
They followed the rails of the tramway down the hill. Can teetered on the right rail, Daldry on the left. When a tram tried to pass, they waited until the last moment to get out of the way, in spite of the conductor’s insistent ringing of the bell.
“If you had met my mother when she was Alice’s age, you would have thought she was the happiest woman in the world. She was so good at acting that I think she missed her true calling. She could have made a lot of money on the stage. But on Saturdays she didn’t have to act. On Saturdays I think she was truly happy.”
“Why Saturdays?” Can slouched onto a bench.
“Because on Saturday, my father paid attention to her,” said Daldry, joining him. “He probably only did it so that she’d forgive him for his sins, and for ignoring her the rest of the time, but he did pay her attention.”
“His sins?”
“I’ll get to that. Why didn’t you ask, ‘Why not Sundays? Wouldn’t that be more logical?’ Well, because on Saturday, my mother was distracted enough to forget that he would be leaving soon. But when Sunday Mass was over, she grew more and more depressed as the hours wore on. Sunday evenings were horrible. When I think that he even had the nerve to take her to Mass.”
“What did he do that was so bad on Monday?”
“After washing and shaving, he put on his finest suit, tied his bow tie, polished his pocket watch, arranged his hair, perfumed himself, and called for his carriage to be prepared to take him into town. Every Monday afternoon he had a meeting with his solicitor and he slept in town because the roads were supposedly dangerous at night. He would return the following day.”
“But he was going to see his mistress?”
“No, he really did have a meeting with his solicitor. They were old friends from school. But they spent the night together, so I suppose it was more or less the same thing.”
“And your mother knew?”
“That her husband was cheating on her with a man? Yes, she knew. She knew, and the driver knew, and the chambermaids and the cook and the governess knew . . . everybody apart from me. For a long time, I thought he was seeing another woman, but I’m a bit of a fool by nature.”
“You know, in the days of the sultans . . .”
“I know what you’re going to say, and it’s very kind of you, but in England we have a king and a queen and a palace. No harem. Don’t think I’m being judgmental. It’s a question of tradition. And to tell you the truth, I couldn’t have cared less about my father’s private life; it was the suffering he caused my mother that hurt me. My father certainly wasn’t the first man on earth to sleep with someone other than his wife, but he sullied her love by doing it. When I finally got up the courage to talk to her about it, she was on the verge of tears but explained everything with a calm dignity that chilled my blood. She defended my father and explained that it was all part of the order of things, that it was necessary for him, something she had never been angry about. For somebody who was usually such a good actress, she really bungled up her lines that day.”
“But if you hate your father for what he did to your mother, why do you let yourself behave like him?”
“Well, I try not to be like him. In watching the way he made my mother suffer, I came to understand that for a man, loving a woman is taking her beauty and putting it under a glass, where she feels sheltered and cherished . . . until it wilts and fades away. Then he turns elsewhere, to other flowers. I promised myself that if
I ever came to love a woman, to love her truly, that I would leave her alone, refuse to take her and put her under glass.
“And here we are. I’ve had too much to drink and told you too much. I’m going to regret it in the morning. If you repeat a single word I’ve said, I’ll drown you in the Bosporus with my own bare hands.” He sighed. “The real question is, How on earth are we to get back to the hotel? I think I’m too drunk to walk.”
Can was no more sober than Daldry. Together they helped each other stagger up Istiklal, hanging on each other’s shoulders like two old drunks.
The next morning, Alice settled in the sitting area next to the bar while the hotel maid was tidying up her room. She was writing another letter that she probably wouldn’t send. She glanced in the mirror and saw Daldry coming down the grand staircase. He came and collapsed into an armchair next to hers.
“Long night out?” she asked, without looking up from her letter.
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, your jacket is buttoned up crooked and you missed a few patches shaving.”
“Yes, well, I had a few drinks. We missed you.”
“I don’t doubt it for a second.”
“Writing a letter?”
“To a friend in London.” She folded the paper in half and put it in her pocket.
“I’ve got a ghastly headache. Would you like to go for a walk and get some fresh air? What friend in London?”
She ignored the last question. “Yes, let’s go for a walk. I wondered what time you might resurface this morning. I’ve been up since dawn and was starting to get bored. Where should we go?”
“The Bosporus? Old habits die hard, you know.”
Along the way, Alice dawdled in front of a cobbler’s shop and watched the drive belts spin on a machine.
“Need to resole some shoes?”
“No . . . But don’t you ever come across places that make you feel peaceful inside, without entirely understanding why?”
“As a person who paints intersections, it would be difficult for me to pretend otherwise. I could watch double-decker buses drive past for an entire day. I like the sound they make when they brake and change gear, and the bell that the conductor rings before they set off.”