Free Letter from a Stranger by Barbara Taylor Bradford Page A

special happening?”
    “Nothing at all. Daisy is great, work’s going good, and the first part of the installation is under way. So far without any hitches.”
    “Great. I obviously don’t have any news about anything. Too soon. I’ll call you tomorrow at this time, but my cell’s always on if you need me. Big hug, love you.”
    “Love you too, Juju. My arms around you.”
    After clicking off, Justine smiled at Iffet and confided, “He fusses about me, but he just can’t help himself. I guess I’m the same with him. We’re twins, and we’re literally joined at the hip.”
    “Oh, twins ! I understand about twins. I have a friend who is a twin, and she and her sister are the same way.”
    “I’ll say. But it’s fantastic in so many different ways. Now, getting back to our interrupted conversation, you were telling me that the Basilica Cistern goes back to Byzantine times and was laid out under Justinian.”
    “It’s a cavernous vault underneath Istanbul. We can visit it if you are interested, it is open to the public.”
    “I’d love to see it.” Justine opened her black leather handbag, pulled out her black Moleskine notebook. She found the page she was looking for, said, “I put the Basilica Cistern on my list, along with the two big bazaars.”
    “Good. We shall cover everything in the next few days. Perhaps this little tour of ancient places in Istanbul will produce an idea for your documentary.”
    “It just might,” Justine murmured. “It just might.”

 
    Eight
    A voice filled the room. A man’s voice. Melodic. Slightly high-pitched. Singing in a foreign language.
    Justine opened her eyes and blinked in the dim light. Struggling up into a sitting position on the bed, she listened more attentively as the voice finally trailed off, stopped. Now there was perfect stillness. No sound at all.
    Sliding off the bed, where she had been dozing, Justine went over to the seating area. The French doors were open, and she stepped out onto the terrace, looking around. Leaning against the terrace railings, she peered down into the garden below, expecting to see an orchestra, the singer preparing to sing another song. But there was no band. No musicians. No singer.
    Then, suddenly, she understood. What she had just heard was the voice of a muezzin standing at the top of a minaret, calling the faithful to prayer. Joanne had mentioned this last weekend, explained that it happened five times a day, that electronic amplification carried the muezzin’s voice around entire districts, all of which were large and heavily populated.
    The muezzin’s singing had awakened her from her languorous dozing, forced her off the bed, and she didn’t care. In fact, she was glad. She had some serious thinking to do.
    After lunch with Iffet, she had come up to her room, unpacked, put everything neatly away, and called Eddie Grange in London. He had not been able to find out anything on the Internet about the two companies her grandmother had been associated with. Very simply, there was no evidence that there had been either showrooms or offices for Exotic Lands or Faraway Places. It was as if they had not existed.
    She had thanked Eddie and hung up. This new information, and the fact that her grandmother was not listed in the London phone book, more or less proved that she did not live in London any longer. Perhaps she had vacated the city long ago and settled permanently. Unless she had an unlisted phone number. But Justine doubted that. Her grandmother wasn’t into the secrecy game. Unlike her mother, who was.
    With her arms folded and resting on top of the railings, she stared out into the night, lost for a moment in the beauty. The sky was a lovely deep pavonian blue, the stars were coming out in a bright scattered array, and there were twinkling lights everywhere, especially on the other side of the Bosphorus. The Asian side.
    How odd it is, she thought, to be here in Istanbul and straddled between Europe and Asia Minor,