Letter from a Stranger (13 page)

“It might be my last resort.” Justine’s cell phone jangled, and she reached into her bag for it. “Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Joanne.”

“Jo, hello! I’m sitting here on a boat in the middle of the Bosphorus with Iffet. We’ve been cruising around the straits this afternoon.”

“I wish I’d been with you. And I could be if you need me.”

“What about the movie? Has something happened?” Justine asked, startled by Joanne’s comment, immediately concerned for her dearest friend.

“Yep, you can say that again. I quit this morning. The director was fired a few days ago. The replacement is someone I don’t like, so I just went to the producer and told him I didn’t want to be on the film. There was a bit of a wrangle, mention of lawsuits, threats from him, and all that jazz, but he finally saw reason. I cannot work with Jude Hillyer, who’s the new director. If you remember, I’ve locked horns with
him
before.”

“I do remember, Jo, and he’s renowned as a difficult guy, a temperamental tyrant. I’m sorry you had to leave, you were crazy about that script, and the cast, I do know that.”

“So do you want me to come out for a week to help you look for your grandmother? I know from your e-mail this morning that you’ve had no luck.”

“That’s great of you to volunteer, Jo, but to be honest, I really don’t think there’s anything else I can do. I am at a dead end. As I told you in the e-mail.”

“Oh, Justine, that’s
awful,
so heartbreaking for you. I know how frustrated you are. Listen, I’m happy to come for a few days.”

“I’m only going to spend another week here, doing some more research. Then I’m definitely coming back to New York. I want to make a deal for my new project with Miranda at CNI. So there’s really no point you flying all this way. But thanks for offering.”

“Just give me a yell, if you change your mind. Simon and I are going to spend Saturday at Indian Ridge with Daisy and Richard. A tea party in the
gazeboat,
as Daisy calls it, and we’re staying on for supper.”

Justine was thrilled to hear this news, and exclaimed, “Hey, that’s just wonderful! And thank you for being there for them when I’m away. I appreciate it, Jo.”

Joanne laughed. “It’s my pleasure, Justine, my very great pleasure. I think Rich needs a bit of TLC at the moment, and I aim to give it to him. Why let any old stranger sneak in there ahead of me?”

“I endorse
that
. He does need some female companionship.…” Justine paused, and then added softly, “And all sorts of other things, so do your best to give them to him.”

“Don’t you worry, I will. Can I speak to Iffet?”

“Of course. I’ll talk to you over the weekend. Here she is.”

She handed the cell phone to Iffet, and sat back, lost in sudden thoughts of Richard and Joanne.
Together.
As a couple. She had been aware of Jo’s feelings for her brother for years. The timing had been all wrong then. Now, perhaps, the timing was right. As she thought this, she crossed her fingers and said a silent prayer.

Part Three

THE REUNION

Rich the treasure,

Sweet the pleasure—

Sweet is pleasure after pain.

—John Dryden, “Alexander’s Feast”

Thirteen

The driver had turned the boat around, and now it was moving up the Bosphorus toward the Sea of Marmara, leaving Central Istanbul behind. As they went past the Çiragan Palace hotel, Justine turned to Iffet and said, “I want to invite you to dinner tonight. But not at the hotel. You must choose the restaurant, since you’re the expert.”

“No, no, that’s not necessary,” Iffet protested. “I invite you.”

Justine shook her head. “We’ll figure
that
out later, but please pick one of your favorites.”

Iffet had learned not to argue with Justine about something like this. She murmured, “I shall make a reservation,” and went to sit under the canopy. Taking her cell phone out, she dialed her office.

It struck Justine that the Bosphorus suddenly seemed busier than it had been earlier, with two ferries moving across the water; there were also several motorboats like theirs obviously set on the same course. Nuri, who was driving, slowed their speed, obviously trying to avoid the wakes left behind by the other boats immediately ahead.

It was very noisy. Seagulls wheeled and turned against the azure sky, their shrill squawking strident against the hooting of the ferries. What a cacophony of sound. It was like bedlam. Another phrase Gran used when we were being too noisy, she thought, and squeezed her eyes shut. Oh God, where was she, the elusive Gabri? Justine wondered then if her granny
was
dead, gone from this world.

Pushing that unacceptable thought away, she picked up her video camera and started to shoot the beautiful scenery, not wishing to dwell on anything depressing. Keeping busy had always been the best antidote for anything that troubled, worried, or distressed her.

Eventually the boat was turning again, still guided by Nuri, who had set his sights on the Asiatic side, just below Karaköy, where the public ferries left for Üsküdar. He obviously wanted to stay away from
that
trajectory, did not wish to become involved in heavy traffic.

As they now progressed down the Asian side of Istanbul, Justine got a wonderful series of shots, including Leander’s Tower, a white structure that stood mid-channel not far from the shoreline. All of this footage would help her to write the outline for the script, and could be part of the presentation to Miranda.

A moment later she began to zero in on several lovely villas, ancient
yalis
that had been restored. Two of them, surrounded by gardens which were lavish and beautiful, were balanced right on the edge of the Bosphorus. They reminded her of those grand houses on the canals of Venice, and they were equally as arresting and graceful in design.

Nuri had picked up speed, but unexpectedly he slowed down. She suddenly realized why. Another motorboat in front of them was drawing up to a jetty and had stopped. Three people were about to alight. It was apparent to Justine that Nuri did not want to make the sea choppier than it already was.

The people were now mounting the steps that led up to a long jetty which was attached to the gardens of the pink villa. Nuri maneuvered their boat past the jetty carefully, and Justine focused her video camera on the pink villa beyond, which was quite extraordinary.

The woodwork on the balconies was delicately carved and looked like fancy white lace set against the pink-painted wood walls. The garden was aflame with color from the blue wisteria, the red Judas trees, bright pink peonies in abundance and the many multicolored tulips blooming everywhere. What a sight it was. Picture perfect, as the saying goes, she thought.

Justine zoomed in closer, and at that moment one of the women on the jetty turned around to catch hold of her blue chiffon scarf which was blowing out behind her and about to fly away. As the woman grasped hold of it in the nick of time, she was looking in the direction of the camera. Her face was caught on film.

With a gasp, Justine stiffened, and almost dropped the camera. Captured on film was the face of her grandmother, framed by a halo of silvery-blond hair.

*   *   *

She put the camera down swiftly, her hands shaking, and started to shout at the top of her voice, “Gran! Gran! It’s me! Justine! Gran, turn around again! Gran! Gran!”

The woman had not heard her, perhaps because of the wind and the other noises carried across the water. Already Nuri had left the pink villa behind and was increasing his speed. Justine began to scream at him. “Nuri! Nuri! Stop this boat at once!”

Iffet, who was under the canopy and had been on her cell phone, jumped up, ran to Justine. “What is the matter? What is wrong?”

“I saw my grandmother! Back there at that pink villa. I have her on film. Get Nuri to turn back. Please, Iffet. He’s not paying attention to me!” Her voice broke. “
Please.
It’s Gran. I’d recognize her anywhere.”

“I believe you,” Iffet exclaimed, and hurried to the glassed-in cabin where the drivers sat together. “Please turn the boat around, Nuri,” she said in a low but firm voice. “Didn’t you hear Miss Nolan telling you to stop? To go back?”

The driver shook his head, and so did Arzu. “It’s very windy, very noisy on the water,” Nuri muttered, but he drove the boat around in a semicircle, now pointing it in the opposite direction.

“Please return to the pink villa,” Iffet said in the same low but authoritative voice.

He did as he was told.

A few minutes later they arrived at the jetty leading up to the gardens and the pink
yali
. Only the man who had been on the boat was there, speaking to the driver.

Craning her neck, Justine could just see the two women who had mounted the steps with this man. They were standing in the gardens. She saw that one of them was wearing the blue chiffon scarf that had almost blown away, and her heart lifted.

Now Justine could not contain herself. She ran to the side of the boat, and shouted, “Gran! Gran! It’s me!”

The man came forward, stood staring down at Iffet and Justine, an expression of puzzlement on his face. “Can I help you?” he asked in English.

Before Justine could say a word, Iffet explained swiftly, “My friend thinks she knows the lady in the blue scarf. In the garden over there. She would like to speak to her.”

“I
must
speak to her!” Justine cried, and before Iffet could stop her she was jumping off the boat, climbing the steps, and rushing up onto the jetty at great speed.

The man was so startled as she pushed past him and ran toward the gardens, he remained rooted to the spot. But then he immediately recovered himself, and sprinted forward after her.

Because of the sudden commotion, people running, the woman in the blue scarf and her female companion dressed in red turned around, looking toward the jetty, obviously surprised, perhaps even alarmed.

Iffet clambered up the steps and ran forward as well, following behind the man and Justine.

Justine was screaming at the top of her voice, “Gran! Gran! It’s me.”

The woman in the blue scarf heard the words, and she stepped forward, stretching out her arms when she recognized her. Tears were streaming down her face as Justine plunged headlong toward her and came to a standstill just in time. She almost knocked her grandmother over.

“Gran, it’s
you
!
Oh, Gran.
I’ve been looking all over for you.”

*   *   *

Gabriele Hardwicke was stunned, could hardly believe what was happening. Speechless, she stared up at Justine, gently touched her face. At last she spoke. “Is it really you, my little love? Is it really you?” Her voice was shaking, her blue eyes welling with tears once more.

“Yes,” Justine whispered, and wrapped her arms around her grandmother, and Gabriele did the same. They stood locked together in a tight embrace, weeping and clinging to each other.

Iffet’s eyes were full of tears, so touched was she; and she was filled with relief. Justine had found her grandmother at last; this thought thrilled her and a sudden rush of joy swept through her. Brushing her eyes with one hand, she turned to the other woman, and stretched out her hand. “I am so sorry. I am being rude, I was moved because Justine has found her grandmother. I am Iffet Özgönül. I think that you must be Anita Lowe?”

The woman in red had been crying also, and she was wiping her tears away with a lace handkerchief. She nodded finally. “I am indeed Anita Lowe, and I am so very pleased to meet you, Miss Özgönül,” she replied and shook Iffet’s hand.

“Oh, please, call me Iffet.”

“And you must call me Anita, everybody does, you know. And this is my grandson, Michael Dalton.”

The man stepped forward, and took hold of Iffet’s hand, his black eyebrows lifting quizzically, his dark eyes filled with warmth and sympathy. “Pleased to meet you, Iffet. Call me Michael, and I must say that’s the most dramatic entrance I’ve ever witnessed. It’s also the first time I’ve been almost trampled underfoot by a blonde.”

Iffet was about to apologize on Justine’s behalf, and then noticed the sudden amused look flickering on his face. He started to chuckle and so did she.

Anita said, “It might have been unorthodox, as well as dramatic, but it was a very welcome entrance, I can assure you of that. Now Michael, Iffet, let us go over to them and guide them into the house. They can’t just stand there weeping in the garden until midnight.”

The three of them walked over to Gabriele and Justine, who at last broke their embrace. Gabriele turned to Michael. “This is my long-lost granddaughter, Justine. And Justine, this is Michael Dalton, Anita’s grandson.”

The two of them shook hands, and then Anita hurried up to Justine and embraced her. Standing away from her, her dark eyes sweeping over her, she said, “Perhaps it goes without saying, but you’re a sight for sore eyes, my darling. Why did it take you so long to get here?”

Justine gaped at her, taken aback. “Because I didn’t have your address.”

Anita was equally startled. “
Oh.
Well, we’d better go inside and unravel all this, over a cup of tea.”

“Tea!” Michael exclaimed, laughter lingering in his eyes. “Under the circumstances, I think champagne might be more appropriate. This
is
a celebration, after all.”

“Quite right,” Anita answered, taking command, ushering them all across the garden. They followed her. Gabriele and Justine were holding hands tightly, as if afraid to let go of each other. And neither of them could stop smiling.

*   *   *

“We always have tea in the gold room,” Gabriele said, leading Justine across the spacious hall with several tall windows, a glittering crystal chandelier, and a highly polished parquet wood floor. “So called because of the yellowish silk curtains which look gold at this hour.”

“Is this your villa, Gran?” Justine asked, still clinging to her grandmother’s hand, constantly looking at her, hardly able to believe they were together at last, that she had actually found her.