Letter from a Stranger. Barbara Taylor Bradford
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or night, any time, my phone will be on.’ He shook his head, squeezed her hand. ‘I hope Gran’s all right. I can’t bear to think what the last ten years have been like for her… she must have been so hurt.’
‘And lonely,’ Justine remarked softly. ‘That’s the worst thing of all for anyone. Loneliness.’
PART TWO
The Search
To reach the port of heaven, we must sail sometimes with the wind and sometimes against it – but we must sail, and not drift, nor lie at anchor.
Oliver Wendell Holmes
SEVEN
Justine recognized Iffet Özgönül at once. It helped, of course, that the woman she zeroed in on was standing next to a tall man holding a sign with the name NOLAN printed on it in large letters.
But Justine knew it was her. She fitted Joanne’s description: slender, petite, a brunette with short curly hair and a big smile on her face. And now she was waving. Iffet had been told what to expect by Jo, no doubt about that: a lanky blonde American with long hair and blue eyes.
Waving back, then turning around, Justine beckoned to the young man carrying her two bags, and strode forward, increasing her pace. He hurried after her.
A moment later the two women were shaking hands, and Iffet was saying in perfect English, ‘Hello, hello. So pleased to meet you. And welcome to Istanbul.’
‘I’m glad I’m here, and pleased to meet you too, Ms Özgönül.’
‘Oh, please, call me Iffet, everyone does.’
‘Iffet it is, and I’m Justine, okay?’
‘Of course. And it’s a name we Turks know well. Centuries ago we had an emperor called Justinian, who built the now famous Haghia Sophia Church… But you don’t need a history lesson now. Let’s go to the car. And by the way, this is Selim, our driver.’
The tall man bowed courteously, and smiled; Justine smiled back and thrust out her hand, which he shook.
Iffet led her through Atatürk Airport and outside to the car, which turned out to be a small minibus. As the young baggage man was stowing her bags in the back, Justine glanced at Iffet and asked, ‘Are we picking up other people?’
‘Oh, no, not at all. But I always use these little buses.’ Lowering her voice, she added, ‘They’re cheaper than regular cars, and more comfortable.’ With a smile she hurried over to the baggage handler, and handed him money, thanking him.
Justine also thanked him. ‘I could have done that, Iffet,’ she murmured. ‘Look, I have the tip money right here in my pocket.’
‘Oh no, it’s fine, really. Come, let us go… isn’t it a beautiful day?’
‘It surely is,’ Justine answered, lifting her head, looking up. The sky was a perfect cerulean blue, with a few white clouds floating above in the vast sky; it was sunny and warm – perfect spring weather. She took several deep breaths, glad to be outside after the long night flight, and then bounded up the steps into the minibus.
Once they were on their way, Iffet asked her what she wanted to do that day, if anything at all, and also told her that she had booked her into the Çiragan Palace Hotel Kempinski, following Joanne’s instructions.
‘Yes, she told me she wanted me to stay there, that I would love it. As for doing something, I believe I’d like to take it easy today. I did sleep a bit on the plane, but not much. I was sort of restless, frankly. I’d prefer to do nothing.’
‘I don’t blame you, Justine. The hotel has a pool. More importantly, also a spa. A good spa. Perhaps you should indulge yourself.’ Iffet gave her a big smile, her whole face lighting up. ‘You can even have a Turkish bath, if you want. However, that might knock you out.’
Justine began to laugh. ‘Joanne’s a big fan of them, and insisted I had one at least. But not today.’
Changing the subject, Iffet now said, ‘I’m thrilled that you’re thinking of making a documentary here in Istanbul. May I ask what it’s about?’
‘I don’t really know yet,’ Justine admitted, giving her a wry smile. ‘I need to see the city, poke around, learn about the people, the life, and about Istanbul’s history, politics and religions. I do know that the latter fascinate me. I’ve done a bit of research, Iffet, and I think it’s amazing that Muslims, Jews and Christians have lived peacefully side by side in Istanbul for many centuries. What a feat that is. Unbelievable.’
‘It is, and I will be pleased to help you with your research, Justine. I am at your disposal, as is my entire office.’
‘Thank you.’
The lobby of the Çiragan Palace Hotel Kempinski was spacious and airy, with a high ceiling, handsome furnishings and enormous elegance in the grand manner.
Everyone from the doormen and bellboys to the assistant manager and the young public relations woman greeted them with courtesy and friendliness, and Justine realized that they knew Iffet well. That was the reason she was getting the royal treatment.
Within seconds of their arrival in the lobby, she and Iffet were whisked up in the lift by the public relations woman and the assistant manager. Alighting on the fifth floor, they were guided down the corridor to her room. When they were ushered inside, Justine saw at once that it faced the Bosphorus and had a magnificent view. It was large and comfortable, with a seating area in front of French doors, which opened onto a terrace furnished with chairs and a table.
‘This is great, thank you so much,’ she exclaimed to the hotel staff who had accompanied them, as she glanced around, taking everything in. Once they had explained everything, they departed, reminding her they were at her service if she needed anything.
When they were alone, Iffet said, ‘I’m happy you like the room, Justine. When I came over to inspect it this morning I was also pleased. I had requested one overlooking the Bosphorus, but they’re not always available.’
‘Thank you. And it suits my needs perfectly. I’d love to take you to lunch here, Iffet, to discuss a few things. Do you have time?’
‘I kept today open for you, and thank you. We should perhaps have lunch on the terrace, it’s a beautiful spot. Unless you prefer to be in air conditioning.’
‘No, outside. I’d just like to tidy up, if you’ll excuse me for a few minutes. But before I do that I need to do one other thing …find a telephone book.’ As she spoke, Justine glanced around the room, opened the wardrobe, then a cupboard and a chest of drawers, shaking her head, looking disappointed. ‘Not one in sight.’
‘I can get a number for you immediately.’ Iffet pulled out her mobile phone and asked, ‘What is the name of the person?’
‘Anita Lowe. And listen, I haven’t found her on any Google search, or anywhere else on the Web. But why not give the local book a shot?’
Iffet explained, ‘I shall call my office, that is the fastest way.’
Justine nodded, picked up her handbag and went into the bathroom. After washing her hands and face, she took out a hairbrush and attacked her mane of long blonde hair. Once it was sleek, no longer a tangled mess, she put on lipstick and sprayed herself with perfume.
Her mind was racing as she stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, her thoughts focused on her grandmother and Anita. She knew she wouldn’t rest until she had found them. Her appearance didn’t matter; they took precedence in her head.
Straightening her black blazer, pulling out the collar of her white shirt, she decided she at least looked tidy, if nothing else. Grabbing her bag she went back to the bedroom, ready for action, prepared for what the rest of the day held.
Iffet glanced at her when she came in, and said