Barbara Taylor Bradford - Letter from a Stranger

‘I’m thrilled. How come you changed your mind? You were so adamant when I was in London two weeks ago.’

‘I know I was, and I did mean it. But I got talked out of it by our Scottish friend. He made good sense.’

Michael beckoned to a waiter, ordered English breakfast tea, one with milk, the other with lemon, and, once alone again with Charlie he added, ‘I’m glad Alistair did a number on you. I can’t tell you how essential you are to us. But then you know that.’

‘I do, I suppose. Which is why I changed my mind. Got to do one’s duty, protect the lands of the free and the brave.’

Michael leaned across the table. ‘I’m glad I didn’t bring a farewell gift for you.’

‘Yes, it would have been a waste of money.’ Charlie placed a cigarette lighter on the table and a packet of cigarettes. ‘I know you like a smoke now and again – have one of mine, Michael. It’s your favourite brand.’

‘Thanks, I will.’ Michael took out a cigarette, put it in his mouth and brought the lighter to it. ‘It’s in the packet, correct?’

‘You’ve got it right.’

After taking several puffs of the cigarette, Michael stuck it in the ashtray to burn away, picked up the packet of cigarettes and put it in his jacket. He then pushed the lighter across to Charlie, who slipped it in his trouser pocket.

‘I’ve got bad news, I’m afraid,’ Michael now announced, focusing all of his attention on the Englishman. ‘Those birds we spoke about when I was in London, I’m afraid they may be delivered to someone else.’

‘The pheasants?’ Charlie raised a brow. ‘Damn and blast, and we were promised that wouldn’t happen.’

‘C’est la vie,’ Michael murmured, as he grimaced and shook his head. ‘Some people are untrustworthy.’

‘Any chance of a diversion?’ Charlie asked.

‘I’m working on it. That, or perhaps extinction. I do believe those pheasants in particular have to be off the market… permanently.’ When Charlie didn’t respond, Michael exclaimed, ‘If you can tear your eyes away from the blonde, I have a bit more news for you.’

‘Oh, sorry. I couldn’t help admiring her when she stood up. Quite the leggy colt, isn’t she?’

Michael simply smiled, and said sotto voce, ‘Stay close to our contact, make sure he understands we’re now all behind him.’

‘I will.’

The waiter arrived with the large pot of tea, and Charlie turned to Michael. ‘Will you be coming to London in early June? If so, I’d like you to be my guest at Wimbledon.’

‘No, I don’t think I will be there then,’ Michael answered, ‘but thanks for the invitation.’

The two men walked through the gardens of the hotel, heading in the direction of the marble Çiragan Palace, a rococo building which had been in ruins for years until it became part of the new hotel. Now it had sumptuous suites, private rooms for special events, and a traditional Turkish restaurant, yet it had not lost any of its nineteenth-century charm.

Michael Dalton and Charles Gordon had been associates and friends for many years. Michael knew that underneath that English ‘old school tie’ exterior Charles presented to the world was a man of integrity, steely determination and dependability. He ran the bank his grandfather had started in 1903, and which his father had brought to prominence; Charles, a financial genius, had only made it more prosperous than ever over the last twenty-five years. He was now fifty-nine, but looked so much younger.

The bank was a client of Dalton Incorporated, and Michael’s company handled all security matters for the bank and its top-level personnel. Charles and Michael had developed a special relationship over the last seven years, and exchanged a great deal of vital information about many other things, not always to do with the bank. Rather, these matters related to events that affected and often changed international politics. And so affected the financial world.

Now that they were entirely alone in the gardens, Michael turned to Charles, ‘Have you just given me some names?’

‘Yes, of three men. You’ll find a little strip of paper underneath the cigarettes. They could become dangerous men. Although not everyone knows that. You must keep them in your sights at all times.’

‘Enough said.’ Michael immediately changed the subject, and asked, ‘How long are you staying in Istanbul?’

‘Five days, I’m here with my wife and two of our kids, Randolph and Agnes. I think you’ve met them. It’s a nice weekend break for me, and gives me a chance to spend time with the family. I’m glad our trips coincided. How long are you staying?’

‘I’m not sure. I’m here to see several top clients, so probably a week, then I have to go back to Paris for a few days. I just took on a new client there, who’s become extremely security conscious of late.’

‘A lot of people have since nine/eleven, and I can’t say I blame them. It’s a dangerous world.’ Charlie grimaced, added, ‘Why am I telling you that? If anyone knows what it’s like out there, it’s you.’

‘A powder keg.’ Michael shook his head. ‘The world will never be the same again. And it’s changing every day. And so fast it’s hard for the average person to keep up. We just have to live life as normally as we possibly can.’

Charles Gordon made no comment, and the two men walked on in silence for a short while, as always at ease with each other. When they reached the old palace they turned around and walked back the way they had come, each lost in his own thoughts.

At one moment Charles said, ‘I was pleased when I learned you were staying in the same hotel, Michael. It turned out to be convenient.’

‘Yes, it did. And I’ll be in and out, around, if you need me for anything.’

‘I hope to God I won’t,’ Charles exclaimed.

‘So do I,’ Michael answered.

Once he was back in his suite, Michael took the cigarettes out of the packet, then shook it until a small slip of paper finally fell out. When he read the names Charles had written on it he was truly startled, and instantly understood why Charles Gordon had preferred to pass these names to him in this way, rather than say them out loud.

He tore the paper into small pieces, did the same with the packet and the cigarettes, and went and flushed everything down the toilet.

Returning to the sitting room, he opened the French doors and stepped out onto the terrace. How beautiful the Bosphorus looked at this hour. The sun was setting and the deep blue waters of the straits rippled with rafts of crimson, pink and gold, and the sky was aflame along the rim of the far horizon. He loved it here at this time of day. They had a name for it in the movie business. The Magic Hour they called it, and indeed it was exactly that. The world was a beautiful place. What a pity it was full of madness.

Taking off his blazer, he put it on the back of the chair and sat down, thinking about the clients he had to see here. But soon his thoughts drifted, and he focused on the words he had said to Charles a short while before. He had called the world a powder keg, and it was the truth. Anything could happen, anywhere, at any time.

As a historian he knew that the history of the world was actually a history of wars. Endless wars since the beginning of time. He was convinced that fighting was genetic, a compulsion man could not resist. There would always be wars because man had no choice. Making war was hardwired into the human mind. And whatever reason was given, it was to gain one thing, and one thing only. Power. He sighed under his breath. All he could do was what he was doing, and hope that sanity would prevail.

That expression immediately reminded him of Vanessa, his former fiancée, and the last conversation they had had four months ago. She had told him she hoped sanity would prevail and that he would sell his company, take the money he was being offered and run. With her by his side. He had known at this particular moment that she could not, would not change. She loathed what he did for a living, and wanted him to lead an entirely different life. In fact, she wanted to change him completely. Remake him into someone else.