“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.
“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 Karak?y?”
“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 Beyo?lu and took the funicular down the hill to Karak?y. 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 Beyo?lu, 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.”