salad.
Suddenly Justine stiffened. There was her own face. On the screen. And an announcer’s voice saying, ‘Famed documentary filmmaker Justine Nolan takes you into the private realm of the world’s greatest living artist, Jean-Marc Breton. Her filmed biography of the master, “Proof of Life”, will air on this network in September as a CNI documentary special.’
Images of Jean-Marc Breton – his homes in Provence and Spain and some of his paintings – flashed across the screen and then were gone. And so was her face. The news continued to roll. Business as usual.
Justine was taken aback. She now realized what Miranda Evans had meant when she had said, immediately after the screening, ‘We’ve got to maximize this, Justine. It’s a brilliant film, and it’s going to be a worldwide hit. I’m going to make sure of that. I’ll prepare a campaign immediately, do some promos.’
Miranda had said this on Tuesday. Today was Thursday. So Miranda had done the work yesterday, splicing a few key frames together, writing a couple of lines to go with them, and having Eric Froman, of the golden voice, do a voice-over. Just a few good words had been enough to accompany those vivid visuals. And voilà! Here was a promo on air tonight. Miranda Evans was moving swiftly, working well ahead of time. She was obviously convinced she really did have a potential hit on her hands. But then Miranda has always promoted her, backed her with a network right from the beginning.
Wow, oh wow! Justine was pleased, and went to find her cell phone, punched in Richard’s number, needing to share this with her brother.
When he answered, she said, ‘Rich, it’s me. Is this a bad time? Or can you talk?’
‘Hi. And it’s okay, I’m in my office. What’s happening?’
‘Well, listen to this! Miranda’s worked wonders already. I’ve just seen the first promo for “Proof of Life” on CNI. Imagine that. I saw it by accident, and obviously she had the promo made yesterday when I was flying here. I must admit, it took me by surprise.’
‘Hey, that’s great. I’ll keep a look out for it tonight. And she is a fast worker. How was your day?’
‘A bit disappointing, in one sense. Anita and Gran are not in the Istanbul phonebook. But I guess we knew that. Iffet is checking with the land registry office, to see if they’re listed there. They would be if they own homes here. Eddie hasn’t been able to find any trace of those companies Gran was involved with. You know, Exotic Lands and Faraway Places. As he put it, “there’s zilch in London”. He even suggested they might not have existed.’
‘He’s wrong. Gran talked about them to us, and she didn’t invent such things. She probably closed them down many years ago, and he hasn’t gone back far enough. Let’s hope Iffet finds something positive.’
‘I came up with a couple of other ideas. I thought Iffet could take me to see some dealers in carpets and ceramics. If I’m lucky we’ll find somebody who knew Gran, and knows where she lives today.’
‘Brilliant idea. I know you’re on the right track, so just keep going. Call me tomorrow. I will have to run now, Juju, I’ve got a meeting starting in a few minutes.’
‘It’s ten o’clock at night here, so I’m going to bed soon. I’ll call you tomorrow.’
They both clicked off, and Justine sat back, cut into a piece of cheese and placed it on a cracker. She had a brainwave. Interviews, she thought. I can do some interviews about “Proof of Life”. Explain I’m here to do research, may make a documentary about Istanbul. Television, newspapers.
She jumped up, went to get her notebook, looked at the list of names Joanne had given her, contacts in the media here. A brainwave indeed. If she couldn’t find Anita and Gran she would have them find her. The media was the key. I’ve got to put my face in front of Gran, she added to herself. It’s the only way.
NINE
They were in the middle of the teeming city in the heat. It was unusually warm for May, according to Iffet, and Justine was relieved she had chosen to wear white-cotton trousers, a white-cotton shirt with a turquoise vest top underneath, and very comfortable shoes.
For the moment the two women were cooling off in the leafy gardens in Sultanahmet Square. Having started out early on this Friday morning, they had already been to Topkapi Palace, once the resident of the Ottoman sultans, in the adjoining district. When they had first arrived in this square, they had visited the Blue Mosque and then the Haghia Sophia Church, which faced each other across the gardens.
Justine had been impressed by both of these ancient monuments. The Blue Mosque, famous for its Ottoman architecture, had six minarets, a number of golden domes with spires and 250 windows. Once inside, she had been captivated by the blue-and-white ancient Iznik tiles lining the walls. Immediately they had reminded her of the blue-and-white reproductions which her father and grandmother had sold at their showroom in Manhattan.
Justine knew from Iffet that the Haghia Sophia Church was one of the world’s greatest architectural achievements. It had been built by the Emperor Justinian in the Byzantine period. The enormous edifice seemed more like a cathedral to her.
Now turning to Iffet, Justine said, ‘Thank you for showing me these extraordinary places. I’ve really enjoyed our morning of sightseeing, but I’d like to take a rest now, wouldn’t you?’
‘I would. I think touring these two religious places, plus the Topkapi Palace, is enough to take in on one morning.’
‘I wouldn’t mind going to the Spice Market later. But shall we go somewhere for lunch first?’
Iffet nodded, pulled out her mobile phone, and dialled. A moment later she was asking Selim, the driver, to come and pick them up. After listening to him for a few seconds, she clicked off, and said, ‘We must walk down here, Justine, towards the Bazaar Quarter. It will be easier for him. It’s all to do with parking.’
‘This restaurant is an old favourite – of mine and everyone else’s,’ Iffet explained. ‘But it is quite hard to find if you don’t know where to look.’ Her brown eyes danced. ‘But here we are,’ she added, walking past the main entrance to the Spice Market, and leading Justine towards a steep flight of stone stairs. ‘It’s called Pandeli’s, and it’s on the first floor.’
Iffet climbed quite swiftly; Justine followed on a little more slowly, telling herself she needed to get back to the gym. Immediately.
As they went inside the restaurant, Justine said in a low but excited voice, ‘Well, this was certainly worth the climb, Iffet.’
‘I know,’ she answered with a laugh.
The two women were greeted warmly by a waiter and led to a table near a window. They both ordered sparkling water, and took the menus offered. Justine, glancing around, exclaimed, ‘The aqua-coloured tiles are gorgeous and the domes architecturally stunning. What a lovely place.’
‘It’s popular with the discerning locals, and the food is delicious,’ Iffet said. ‘I hope you will try the börek, they are renowned here, Justine. Little pastry triangles with cheese and herb filling, and once they are fried they swell up and turn brown.’
‘I’m going to try them. Actually, I’m quite hungry, I didn’t eat much last night, and I never really have a proper breakfast.’ She picked up the menu and scanned it,
