Letter from a Stranger (6 page)

“Penny for your thoughts,” Richard said, sitting back in the chair, gazing at his sister, worrying about her and their grandmother.

“Nothing much to tell you,” Justine replied. “The eggs are good.” She grinned at him.

“And how. I’ve demolished them already. Great idea, on your part.”

“It was Pearl, actually. By the way, I saw Carlos and Ricardo carrying some big planks of wood over to your building project this afternoon. How’s it coming along?”

“They’re doing a great job, and it’ll be finished by the summer. But it’s really just a simple bungalow, Juju, not a stately home.”

She began to chuckle. “
Simple?
Don’t be silly, it’s beginning to look like something rather splendid, in my opinion.”

Joanne said, “I can’t wait to see it, when am I going to get the tour?”

“Nothing to tour, as you call it, Jo, not yet. But I’ll show you around tomorrow before tea in the gazebo.” He smiled lovingly at Joanne. “I heard all about tea from Daisy. She’s so excited you and Simon are coming.”

“So am I, so’s he,” Jo murmured. She wanted to add that Justine and Richard were the only family they had, and that they loved them very much, that she and Simon were dependent on them in so many ways. But she refrained.

She stole a look at Richard, surreptitiously, as she had been doing for as long as she could remember. She had loved him all of her life, had hero-worshiped him, but he had never shown much interest in her, at least not romantically. And then one day she had been swept off her feet by the sweet-talking, fast-talking, aggressive Malcolm Brandon, who had turned out to be a glib dud. And Richard had married Pamela. Who had died. And she had divorced the glib monster of Wall Street fame.

As she sat eating cottage pie, and savoring this favorite, it suddenly struck Jo that Richard did not seem so full of grief tonight. Distracted, yes. Preoccupied, yes.
And worried.
He was worrying about something.

She was suddenly absolutely certain he was not pining for Pamela at this moment. There was a difference in his demeanor; he appeared jumpy, on edge, and concern clouded those wonderfully blue eyes. He was thinking hard; she knew when he was doing that, had been aware of this even when they were kids.

Jo let her gaze rest on Justine, thinking that she was also different tonight, had retreated into herself after her comments about Jean-Marc. And yet … well, there
was
something else bothering her best friend. Was it a problem with their mother?

Deborah, the darling of every man who met her, that’s how Jo thought of her, and had since she was old enough to think about sex. The Sexpot. That’s what some people called Deborah Nolan. The sexiest sexpot on two legs. How old was
she
now? In her fifties? Yes. Fifty-three or thereabouts. But no doubt as beautiful as ever, with her sculpted face, flowing dark hair, and liquid gray eyes. Come-to-bed eyes, that was the way Malcolm had described them, looking as if he fancied her. He fancied a lot of women and had a lot of women and that’s why they were divorced. And she was glad they were.

Clearing her throat, Joanne said, “There’s something wrong, Rich. I know there is, Juju.” She fixed her eyes on them.

They stared back at her and said nothing.

“Look, I’ve known the two of you since we were little kids, and we have a shared past. You can’t pretend with me. You’re both preoccupied and worried.”

Justine turned to her twin, her expression quizzical as she looked at him.

Richard pursed his lips, frowned. He said, “There
is
a problem, Jo, you’re correct. But I don’t want to talk about it now. Not here. Let’s finish dinner, Tita and Pearl have been working so hard in the kitchen. We can talk about it over coffee. Fair enough?”

“Yes, of course,” Jo answered, wondering what could be wrong.

Six

Tita brought coffee to the drawing room, and then disappeared.

Once they were alone, Justine took the letter out of her jacket pocket; leaning forward, she handed it to Joanne sitting on the sofa opposite them. “The reason Richard and I are upset, worried, is because of this and what it reveals.”

Taking the letter from her, Joanne began to read, and as she did she visibly stiffened. When she finally lifted her head and looked at them her eyes were full of shock. “
Why?
” she asked, her voice shaking. “Why did your mother tell you Gabriele was dead? Why did she
lie
to you?”

“We don’t know,” Richard answered quietly. “And we’ve no idea what this estrangement is about, either. We’re as mystified as you are.”

“But this is just horrible.… That’s not even a strong enough word to use … it’s
horrendous.
And just think of your poor grandmother. Oh, God, I can’t bear it. How upset she must have been all of these years. What an appalling thing … to be dismissed in that way, to be kept away from you.” Tears welled in Joanne’s light green eyes, and she blinked several times before continuing, “She must have missed you both. Longed to see you. Gabriele must have suffered in the worst way.”

“We think so, and we totally believe Anita’s letter, don’t we, Richard?” Justine looked at her brother, and he nodded.

She sighed. “Obviously Gran’s not doing too well, and we need to find her as fast as we can.”

“That’s the real reason you’re going to Istanbul, isn’t it? You genuinely believe she’s there,” Joanne now asserted, staring at Justine pointedly.

“Yes, I do.”

“We both do,” Richard interjected.

“Couldn’t she be in London, though? After all, she
is
English, and she had a house there. I know she said she was selling it years ago, but surely she took an apartment.…” Joanne’s voice trailed off when she saw the negative expression settling on Justine’s face.

Richard said slowly, thoughtfully, “I’ve read the letter several times now, and I honestly think that she is with Anita. There’s every indication of that, reading between the lines.”

“I’m going to call Eddie Grange first thing tomorrow,” Justine announced. “He was my line producer on this last documentary, and I need him to check a few things out for me.”

“Such as what?” Richard asked, glancing at her curiously.

“He can look in the London phone book, see if Gran’s listed, for one thing—”

“Why not try calling the international operator,” Richard interrupted, raising a brow. “Or the Internet, check it out that way.”

“Don’t be daft!” Justine exclaimed. “Talking to the international operator takes an hour, maybe even longer, and you always get routed through New Delhi or somewhere in India, so forget
that.
Eddie’s my best bet.” Justine grimaced, then finished, “However, I know she’s not living in London. And on second thoughts I’ll go on the Internet later.”

“How can you be so sure she’s not in London?” Joanne asked.

“Gut instinct, to be honest. But listen to me, Jo. Anita is her longest, closest friend. Anita says this in the letter, very pointedly in fact. So under these awful circumstances, when you’re missing your grandchildren, have been banished from your family, wouldn’t you want to be with your closest friend? Especially if you were getting on, and Gran will be eighty this coming June.”

“You’re right, I would want to be with my closest friend, which is you, under such circumstances. Iffet will find Anita Lowe if anyone can.”

“I hope so. And by the way, don’t go into that when you speak to her tomorrow. Just say I’m thinking of making a documentary there. I’d like to keep this situation confidential, and so would Rich.”

“I wouldn’t have said anything to Iffet, I really wouldn’t,” Joanne answered. “And anyway, you can trust me to keep your confidence. I always have.”

“I know it wasn’t necessary to say that to you, Jo, because you’re family to me, and to Rich. But I just wanted you to be clear how I am going to handle the matter when I get there. I’ll talk about business first before bringing up Anita.”

Joanne nodded, gave her a reassuring smile.

Richard said, “Can’t you go with Justine? It would make me feel better, Joanne, if you could. I’m afraid I’m stuck here for the next two weeks with my big installation at the hotel in Battery Park.”

“I’m stuck too, Richard. I just signed a contract to do the public relations on a movie being shot in Manhattan.” Frowning, she added, “I don’t think I can get out of it.”

“Nor should you even attempt to,” Justine murmured. She put her hand on Richard’s arm lovingly. “I’ll be all right, Rich, I’m thirty-two like you. A grown-up. And perfectly capable of traveling alone.”

Richard smiled, hugged her to him. She was his best friend as well as his twin, and the most important person in his life except for his little daughter. The thought of ever being without Justine terrified him.

Joanne said, “When I was working on that crazy movie over there a few years ago, Iffet was indispensable, Richard. She’ll make things easy for Justine.”

“That puts my mind at rest,” he murmured.

“So when do you plan to leave?” Joanne asked Justine.

“Next Wednesday, the day after I’ve screened the film for Miranda, and she’s signed off. Which I know she will. By the way, I checked the airlines this afternoon. There are quite a few flights from Kennedy to Istanbul. Night flights.”

“That’s correct, and it’s about ten hours to Istanbul. Make sure you book a direct nonstop flight, which is the best. You don’t want to have to change planes in a foreign city.”

“I’ll take an afternoon flight, either on Delta or Turkish Airlines. Both have direct flights.”

They went on talking about Justine’s trip for a short while longer, and then eventually Joanne stood up. “I’d better go. Thanks for dinner, the two of you. And I’m sorry.” She stared at them. “What I mean is, I’m sorry your mother did this awful thing to Gabriele, and to you, but let’s face it, this is also
wonderful
news.… Your grandmother’s alive and not dead after all, and I for one can’t wait to see her again.”

“We know you love her,” Richard said, walking out of the drawing room with his sister and Joanne.

They stood talking to her in the backyard for several minutes longer.

Justine suddenly said, “I used to think you were wary of our mother, Joanne. Perhaps even a bit frightened of her when we were growing up. Were you?”

“Wary perhaps, but not frightened,” Joanne answered, frowning to herself. “You know, I think I was actually in awe of her, and also rather intimidated.”

“That’s a funny word to use,” Richard said, scrutinizing her for a moment. “She wasn’t particularly intimidating. Know what, I always thought our mother was ditzy. A real flake.”

Joanne nodded in agreement. “She
was
those things, yes. I suppose I was intimidated by her beauty, that’s the best way of describing it. And the way she affected grown men was incredible. They were struck dumb when they set eyes on her. To be honest, I never thought she was a bad person. Nor did I think she could ever do something so … so cruel, so very mean.”

“Neither did we,” Richard said in a hollow voice.

Justine was silent.

*   *   *

Justine awakened with a start, lay there feeling disoriented. There was light in her bedroom and for a split second she thought it was morning. Then she realized that it was the moonlight filling the space with its soft silvery glow.

Throwing back the bedclothes, she slid her legs to the floor, went over to one of the windows overlooking the garden, and stared out. Riding high in a cloudless black sky was a huge full moon. It was extraordinarily bright; the light it gave off was unusually powerful, and she stood admiring it for a moment, then turned away, got back into bed.

Thoughts she had had before falling asleep came back, gave her a jolt, as they had earlier.
Did her mother know where her grandmother was living?
Obviously Justine couldn’t be sure that she did, but there was a line in Anita’s letter which suggested differently:
Get in touch with her before it’s too late,
Anita had written. Of course, Anita might have just been making an assumption. Unless she had the true facts, was aware that Deborah
could
reach out, because she knew where to contact Gabriele directly. These were some of the thoughts which had hovered at the back of her mind over dinner. She had shoved them away. Now they were back again.

There was a sudden tapping on her door; it was opened gently. “Justine. Are you asleep?”

“No, Rich,” she answered, sitting up as her brother came into the bedroom and closed the door.

“It’s okay, I’m wide awake,” she murmured. He sat down at the end of the bed; there was a puzzled expression on his face.

“What is it?” she asked, noting a flicker of concern in his eyes.

“I woke up about half an hour ago, because something was troubling me, I guess. I was remembering what Anita said in the letter to Mom. She told her to get in touch with Gran. But look, she didn’t say where, didn’t give Mom an address.”

“I was thinking exactly the same thing only a few minutes ago! It woke me up.… Well, we do have the same thoughts fairly often, don’t we?”

“Yep. So, do you think Mom has Gran’s address?”

“It’s hard to say.
Maybe.
On the other hand, Anita might be merely making an assumption that she does. Why?”

“I was wondering if we should call Mom after all? In China. Do you know the time difference?”

“Thirteen hours. They’re ahead of us. I don’t think we should call her, Rich, honestly I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s dangerous.”

“In what way?”

“In every way. First of all, she’ll go nuts if we say that we know Gran’s still alive, and that she lied to us. She’ll deny it, shout and scream. If we challenge her, explain how we found out, she’ll say the old lady who wrote the letter has dementia, doesn’t know what she’s doing or saying. You know what she’s like, and she’ll keep on denying everything, she’ll lie in her teeth. She’ll never admit Gran’s alive. And anyway—”

“But we can cope with the hysteria and the histrionics. We have in the past.”