“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.”
“All very poetic, what you just said.”
“Are you poking fun at me?”
“Just a little bit.”
“I suppose you think this shop is a much more romantic subject.”
“Well, there is a certain poetry in the way he uses his hands. And I’ve always loved the smell at the cobbler’s—leather, glue, wax . . .”
“That’s just because you like shoes. I’m more of a bakery man myself, but I don’t think I have to explain.”
A short while later they were walking along the water. Daldry sat down on a bench.
“What are you looking at?” asked Alice.
“That old woman near the railing talking to the man with the terrier. It’s fascinating.”
“She likes animals. What’s so fascinating about that?”
“Keep watching; you’ll see what I mean.”
After exchanging a few words with the terrier’s owner, the old woman went over to another dog. She knelt and caressed its muzzle.
“You see?”
“She’s patting another dog?”
“She’s not interested in the dogs; she’s interested in the leash.”
“The leash?”
“The leash that attaches the dog to its owner—the fellow fishing. The leash is what allows her to have a little conversation. She’s probably dying of loneliness, but she’s come up with a way of getting a few words out of complete strangers. I’ll bet she comes here every day for a little dose of humanity.”
This time, Daldry seemed to be right. When the old lady didn’t manage to get the attention of the dog’s owner, she walked a little farther down the waterfront and took some crumbs from her pocket, throwing them to the pigeons. Soon she was chatting with another fisherman.
“A sad, solitary existence, don’t you think?” asked Daldry.
Alice turned and looked him in the eye. “Why did you come all this way? Why did you come on this trip with me?”
Alice had caught Daldry off guard. “You know why . . . We made a deal. I’m helping you find the love of your life, or at least putting you on the right track. While you’re on the trail, I’ll paint under your skylight.”
“Is that really why?”
Daldry gazed out over the water and seemed to contemplate the minaret on the Asian side of the Bosporus.
“You remember the café at the end of our street?” asked Daldry.
“Yes, of course. The one where we had breakfast together.”
“I used to go there every day and sit at the same table with my newspaper. One day, when the article I was reading was particularly boring, I looked up, saw myself in the mirror, and suddenly realized how the years had been dragging on. I needed a change of scenery too. But I’ve started to miss London these past few days. Nothing’s perfect.”
“You’re thinking about going home?”
“You were thinking about it yourself, not so long ago.”
“Not anymore.”
“The fortune-teller’s predictions are starting to seem more plausible. You have a reason to stay now. But I’ve accomplished my mission. I think the consul was the second person in the chain of six, perhaps even the third, if we consider Can the second.”
“You’re going to abandon me?”
“That’s what we agreed to, isn’t it? Oh, don’t worry, I’ll pay for your hotel room and Can’s services for three more months. He’s very devoted. I’ll also leave him a generous advance on his expenses. I’ll open an account for you in the Banca di Roma—the branch is right on Istiklal and they’re used to receiving foreign clients.”
“You expect me to stay in Istanbul three months longer?”
“You still have a long way to go if you want to get to the end of your journey, Alice. Besides, you don’t want to miss springtime in Turkey. Think of all the flowers you’ll be able to use in your perfumes . . . Think of our business venture.”
“When did you decide it was time for you to leave?”
“When I woke up this morning.”
“And what if I asked you to stay, just a little while longer?”
“You don’t even have to ask. The next flight for London doesn’t leave until Saturday. We still have a few days ahead of us.” Alice’s face fell. “Oh, come now. Don’t be like that . . . My mother’s health isn’t very good, I can’t stay away for too long.”
Daldry got up and walked over to the crash barrier, where the old woman they had watched earlier was sidling up to a large white dog.
“Be careful,” he said to her. “That one looks like a biter.”
Can arrived at the hotel in time for tea. He looked very pleased with himself.
“I have fascinating news to deliver you,” he said as he joined Alice and Daldry in the bar.
Alice put her cup on the table and gave Can her full attention.
“In a building near to the one where your father and mother lived, I met an old man who knew them. He invited us to come see him.”
“When?” asked Alice, turning to Daldry to see his expression.
“Now.”
11
Mr. Zemirli’s apartment occupied the third floor of a reasonably well-to-do building on Istiklal Avenue. His door opened onto a hall whose walls were lined with countless stacks of old books.
Ogüz Zemirli wore flannel trousers, a white shirt, a silk dressing gown, and two pairs of glasses. One of them remained fixed to his forehead as if by magic, and the other rested on the tip of his nose. He alternated between them depending on what he needed to see. His face was closely shaven, apart from a few gray hairs on the tip of his chin that seemed to have escaped the barber’s attention.
He led his guests into a sitting room furnished with a mix of French and Ottoman furniture and disappeared into the kitchen, returning in the company of a curvaceous woman. She served them glasses of mint tea and Turkish pastries. Mr. Zemirli thanked her and she went back into the kitchen.
“She is my cook,” he said in an accented English. “Her cakes are delicious. Please help yourselves.”
Daldry didn’t have to be asked twice.
“So, you are the little girl of C?mert Eczaci . . .”
“No, sir, my father was named Pendelbury.” Alice glanced at Daldry in disappointment.
“Pendelbury? I don’t think he told me . . . Maybe my memory isn’t as good as it once was.”
Daldry wondered for a moment if their host still had all his wits about him. He mentally cursed Can for bringing them into a stranger’s home and getting Alice’s hopes up.
“In the neighborhood we never called him Pendelbury, especially back then. We called him C?mert Eczaci.”
Can interjected. “It means ‘generous pharmacist.’” Alice’s heart started beating faster with Can’s explanation.
“He was indeed your father?” Mr. Zemirli asked.
“It’s quite possible. My father was both generous and a pharmacist.”
“I remember him well. Your mother too, a woman of character. They worked together at the university.” Mr. Zemirli got up from his chair, not without some difficulty. “Follow me,” he instructed, going over to the window and pointing out an apartment on the second floor of the building across the street from his. “They lived there.”
“The consul said that they lived on the third floor.”