Letter from a Stranger (4 page)

“Certainly Anita Lowe indicates that, Justine. Anyway, let’s not forget our mother was always a bit ditzy.”

Justine was taken aback. “That’s putting it mildly, don’t you think?”

“I’m being kind, I guess. She was actually a weirdo when we were growing up. Unreliable, irresponsible, a flake, and you know what else.”

Justine frowned. “I do know, but let’s not go there today, okay?” The thought that their mother might have been unfaithful to their father, a little wild, always troubled her.

“
Okay
. I know exactly how you feel about
that.
”

Justine simply nodded, thinking about their mother, and their strange childhood, and how much they had depended on their father. He had brought them up, if the truth be known. After a moment, she said, “For her to tell a lie of such magnitude, and to
us,
her children, about her
own mother
…” She paused again, sighed, and finished in a voice so low it was almost inaudible, “It was evil … Rich, such an evil thing to do.”

“Yes,” was all he said, knowing how right his sister was. After a moment, he asked, “Isn’t she in China?”

“Yes, and I know what you’re thinking. You want to confront her right now. On the phone. But the time is off, and anyway I think we should wait, confront her in person. I want to see her expression when she understands that we know
exactly
what she is, a bitch, and that we know what she did to Gran.”

“And to us. We’ve been hurt. We’ll deal with our mother when the time is right though. How are we going to find our grandmother? Shouldn’t we call our mother, demand to know?”

“No. She won’t tell us. She’ll say Gran is dead. We’ll do it through Anita Lowe. I have a feeling they live close to each other,” Justine replied.

“So you’re saying Gran is in Istanbul, not London, is that it?”

“I think she probably is, because Anita lives there obviously, and she must know Gran’s not well. And I know we have to go to Istanbul.”

“I agree. But when?”

“Immediately. She’ll be eighty in June. I don’t think we should waste any time.”

Richard stood up, and Justine turned around and also stood as Daisy came running down the gallery, calling, “Daddy! Daddy! Here I am.… I’m coming to get you, Daddy!” Tita was following hard on the child’s heels.

Justine said, “Let’s talk later. Your daughter is looking for you.”

“All right, later this evening,” he murmured.

“Listen, Rich, just one thing. Do you mind if I tell Joanne about this situation?”

“Why would you want anyone to know about this horrendous thing our mother has done?” he asked, sounding horrified.

“I don’t, and Joanne isn’t
anyone,
Rich, she’s our best friend, we grew up together. But the point is this …
she
knows Istanbul well, and has a lot of contacts there, many friends. We’re going to need help, and I think she can give us names and some good introductions.”

“Then tell her. Confidentially, though,” he answered.

Walking around the desk he swung his child into his arms as she came rushing into his office, her face full of smiles.

*   *   *

A few seconds later Richard was carrying Daisy out into the gallery, as she begged, “Swing me, Daddy, please swing me.” And he did so.

Putting her down on the floor, he wrapped his arms around her from behind and, turning slowly, he swung her around and around, her legs flying out in front of her, her happy laughter echoing in the quiet gallery.

Richard started to laugh too, and watching him Justine was pleased he was enjoying this carefree moment with his daughter. She knew how upset he was about their mother’s incredible lie, as angry as she was herself about the whole terrible matter. Still, he was sheathing it well at this moment, and for obvious reasons. He did not want Daisy to know there was anything amiss.

The thought of their mother enjoying herself in China, having a great time there, as she undoubtedly was, filled Justine with sudden fury, made her see red. Then she blinked, and turned to Tita, who was standing by her side, speaking to her.

“I’m sorry. I missed that,” Justine said. “What did you say?”

“That Richard’s a great father.”

“That he is, Tita. By the way, I’m thinking of asking Joanne to dinner. I’m assuming there’s enough food.”

“Oh yes. I made three cottage pies, and Pearl has a ham baking, and there’ll be lots of vegetables. Plenty for everyone.” She grinned. “An army.”

Justine smiled. “As usual! I’ll call Joanne now, and I’ll let you know if she’s coming later.”

“No problema,” Tita answered and went down the gallery, calling to Daisy, “See you soon, honeybunny.”

Justine continued to watch her brother, wondering if he would be able to come with her to Istanbul. He wanted to desperately, she knew that; on the other hand, he was still working on a huge architectural project. His new boutique hotel in Battery Park was almost finished, and she was aware that the final and rather complicated installations would be taking place in the next couple of weeks. She just wasn’t sure he could break free, and anyway she was not afraid to go alone. Justine was accustomed to traveling the world for her documentary filming, but Richard was overly protective of her, and he wouldn’t want her to go by herself; also, he was as anxious to find the truth as she was.

Richard finally stopped turning and put Daisy down. He held her close to his legs, stroking her hair, asking, “You’re not dizzy, are you, bunnykins?”

“No, I’m not, Dad, I’m good.”

He looked across at his sister, standing in the door of his studio, and said, “About our friend … I think I would prefer it if you just said you might be planning to shoot a documentary in Turkey, and leave it at that.”

“Agreed. It’s better to stay … cool on this matter, don’t you think?”

He nodded, and releasing Daisy, he walked over to Justine and said, sotto voce, “That letter is lethal, and our lives will never be the same again.”

“I know,” she responded, staring into those blue eyes remarkably like her own. “A lot of lives are going to be changed.”

Four

Once Richard had left with Daisy, Justine walked slowly down the gallery, dialing her closest friend, Joanne Brandon. There was no answer; she left a message and headed into her own glass studio.

Years ago, this had been her father’s office, although its design was totally different today. The huge plate-glass windows Richard had installed gave it spaciousness, wonderful clear daylight, and spectacular views of the property.

Her desk was a replica of Richard’s, also of his design, a slab of heavy glass on steel sawhorses. Hers was a bit more personalized than his, with several photographs in silver frames, mementos of some of her trips abroad, a Tiffany carriage clock Joanne had given her for her twenty-first, and a silver hunting cup filled with matching pens, another sign of Justine’s tidiness and perfectionism. Behind her, a glass console table held her computer and keyboard. She turned it on, and a few minutes later, when she glanced behind her, she saw there were no messages.

Sitting back in her chair, she let her thoughts wander, waiting for Joanne to call back. They had been friends since childhood; Joanne’s mother had owned a house lower down on Indian Ridge Hill, and they had grown up together. Joanne had inherited the house, and their friendship had continued into adulthood. Joanne’s mother had been a widow, and Justine’s father had gone out of his way to give Joanne a great deal of affection and later good advice after her mother had died.

Tony Nolan
. He had been struck down in his prime by a fatal heart attack, and he hadn’t even known he had a heart problem … twelve years ago. Justine was well aware that it was because of him that she and her twin had turned out so well. He was the one who had brought them up, given them a regime, a routine in their lives, instilling in them duty, responsibility, and a genuine work ethic.

He had shown them a great deal of love, devoted himself to them, and, as a consequence, she and Richard had turned out to be wholesome, loving, and relatively normal adults. Certainly they were well grounded.

Tony Nolan had taught them about ethics and integrity, given them a sense of honor. “Being truthful” was a phrase never far from his lips. Yes, he had been a truly good man and a wonderful father, and his values had been of sterling quality.

Quite unexpectedly, more than two decades fell away, and Justine saw him in her mind’s eye on the day Pearl, Tita, and their mother, Estrelita, had arrived at the house. He had hired Estrelita, a Chilean, to be the housekeeper at Indian Ridge, because their mother, Deborah, was always away on decorating business.

To Justine’s father’s surprise and dismay Estrelita had brought along her daughters, who had just arrived from Chile. She remembered how her father hadn’t had the heart to send the two girls back to Estrelita’s family in Chile, and so he had allowed them to stay. But he had hired an immigration lawyer at once, had undertaken to sponsor them. It helped that Estrelita had worked in New York for some years and had a green card, and matters had proceeded smoothly.

“My God, twenty-two years ago,” she muttered under her breath. She and Richard had been ten years old, Pearl eighteen, Tita sixteen.

Because their father had allowed the girls to stay, they fully understood they must help their mother in the house, and they had done so. But Pearl and Tita had longed to cook because they loved food, and it was her father who had taught them.

Justine closed her eyes, lost in sudden memories of her childhood, and saw them as they were all those years ago. She heard her father’s booming laughter, the girls giggling, and Richard joining in the banter and the fun.

She had been troubled at that time because of her mother’s continuing absences … taken away from them by her work. Suddenly Justine now understood how much she had resented that in those days.

Rousing herself from her thoughts, sitting up straighter in the desk chair, Justine opened her eyes. And yet Pearl and Tita were still there, dancing around in her head … how devoted and loyal the two of them had been and still were.

They had stayed on after Estrelita had been taken seriously ill and had died here at Indian Ridge. The old house had become their beloved home over the years, just as it was her brother’s and hers.

Pearl had been married at the local church fourteen years ago and her father had given Pearl away; Justine and Tita had been bridesmaids. Pearl had married her third cousin, Carlos Gonzales, who had come to visit Pearl and Tita from Miami, and had never left. Tony Nolan had given him a job as a gardener and carpenter; and after Carlos had married Pearl,
his
father had come from Miami to live with them, and help out at Indian Ridge. Like his son, Ricardo was a hard worker and a talented carpenter.

As she looked back, Justine realized that her mother had never really been part of their childhood at Indian Ridge, although her grandmother had. Deborah Nolan had always been aloof, remote, and had somehow managed to stand outside their joyousness over the years.… In a certain sense, she had been like a stranger looking in.

What had made her mother tell that horrendous lie ten years ago?
She had ruined Gabriele’s life, certainly caused her heartache. And she had caused them unnecessary grief. Only a monster would do something like that, something so cruel.
Evil.
What her mother had done was evil.

Her cell phone rang. She picked it up, put it to her ear.

“It’s me. Jo.”

“Hi. Where are you?”

“I just arrived from New York. When did you get here, Juju?”

“Early this afternoon. Any chance you can come to dinner with me and Rich? We need to pick your brains, quite aside of wanting to see you.”

“I can. Delia will give Simon his supper. What do you want to pick my brains about?”

“
Istanbul.
I have to go there for work. I need some introductions, your best contacts.”

“God, I wish I could come with you, but I can’t. My contacts you can have. And what time do you want me for dinner?”

“How’s seven?”

“It’s a deal.”

*   *   *

The kitchen was filled with the most delicious smells … apples redolent of cinnamon, bubbling on the stove, sweet potatoes baking, and the most predominant of all was the spicy fragrance of cloves which studded the ham in the oven. Justine felt ravenous all of a sudden, her mouth watering, and she realized she hadn’t eaten lunch.

The moment Pearl saw her hovering in the doorway she put down the wooden spoon she was holding and rushed over to her, put her arms around her and held her close to her ample body. Just as Tina was petite and slender, her older sister was well padded and motherly. And yet they looked very much alike with their dark curls, dark eyes, and permanent smiles. They both had warm and loving dispositions.

Finally releasing her, Pearl looked her over appraisingly. “Seems to me like you’ve lost weight!”

“I have, that’s true. I’ve missed your cooking, Pearl, and you, too.”

Pearl beamed at her. “Joanne coming to supper?”

“Naturally. Who’d pass up a chance to eat a meal cooked by you? You’re the best in the business.”

“Flattery, flattery.” Pearl laughed dismissively but looked pleased as she went back to the stove, stirred the apples in the pan, and turned them off. She opened the oven door, glanced at the ham, and nodded to herself, satisfied it was cooking nicely.

Justine walked across the floor and sat down at the big table. “Where’s Daisy?”

“Tita took her up to her room to clean her teeth, wash up. She’ll be down soon to have her supper at six.” As she spoke Pearl stared at the kitchen clock, saw that it was five forty-five, and hurried to the countertop under the window. She picked up a cottage pie in a glass casserole and carried the dish to the oven. “Got to get this brown,” she muttered more to herself than Justine.

“Where’s Richard, do you know?”

“He went up to his room. How about Parisian eggs to start?”