Letter from a Stranger (14 page)

“No, it belongs to Anita.” Gabriele smiled, her face lighting up. “I live next door. I’ll show you my little
yali
later, darling.”

“Can we sit over there near the windows?” Justine now asked, looking toward the many windows in a bay which were draped with the yellow-gold taffeta curtains. “I must call Richard. I can’t delay telling him the news.”

“Of course we can. And you must call him immediately. Put his mind at rest.”

The two of them walked across a beautiful Turkish carpet, sat down together on a sofa, and Justine dialed Richard’s cell phone. As she waited for it to ring through she realized she could hardly breathe, she was so excited. “It’s me, Rich,” she said as evenly as she possibly could when he answered.

“Hi, Justine, I’m afraid I’m in a meeting and I—”

“I don’t care! You’ve got to listen for a minute. Someone wants to speak to you. Please get up, walk outside into the corridor. If you’re in your own office.”

“I am. Okay, I’m going out into the hallway now. Who wants to talk to me? What’s this all about?”

“I’ll tell you the minute you’re in the hall.”

“I’m there now. Who wants to talk to me?”

“Gran.”

“What?”
he shouted, his amazement echoing down the line.

Justine handed the cell phone to her grandmother, and Gabriele said, “Hello, Rich.” Her voice was trembling.

“Oh, my God!
Gran!
I can’t believe it!” Richard’s voice was shaking uncontrollably, and he began to cry, trying to push the tears back without much success. “What happened? How did Justine find you? We thought we were at a dead end, that you’d disappeared forever. Tell me! Tell me!”

Gabriele was also in tears. She wiped her eyes with her fingertips, and said, “It was a fluke. An accident actually. One of those strange things that sometimes happens in life, and when you least expect it.”

Pulling a handkerchief out of her jacket pocket, Gabriele blew her nose, and attempted to calm herself. She continued, “It’s wonderful to hear your voice, darling. I hope to see you soon, Richard.”

“I’ll be there as quickly as possible. Oh, and Gran, I’ve got a little girl. Daisy. She’s five. You’re a great-grandmother now. Didn’t Justine tell you?”

“She only just found me about ten minutes ago,” Gabriele said, suddenly laughing through her tears, and handed the cell back to Justine.

“Hey, Rich, it’s me. Can you listen? Or do you have to go back to the meeting?”

“To hell with the meeting. They’ll just have to wait. Go on, tell me how you found Gran.”

“I’ll make it quick now. We can talk later. Iffet and I were cruising the Bosphorus this afternoon. I was using my video camera, getting shots of the Asian shoreline of Istanbul for the documentary. Our boat slowed down near a beautiful villa, because three people were getting off a motorboat in front of us. I was intrigued by the beauty of the villa and was zeroing in on it, when one of the women standing on the jetty turned around to catch hold of her scarf. And it was Gran. Her face was there, right before my eyes on my video camera. Then our boat suddenly sped ahead, and so we had to turn around, go back. I just barged up the steps onto the jetty and ignored a man trying to talk to me. I just ran, Rich, screaming Gran’s name at the top of my voice. And she heard me, saw me. A minute later we were in each other’s arms.”

“Oh, my God, it
was
a fluke! Like Gran just said!” Richard exclaimed, his voice still high-pitched. “If you hadn’t had the video camera, you might not have seen her, and if you hadn’t been passing the villa at that
precise
moment you would have missed her altogether.
Qué será será,
Justine.”

“
What will be will be.
Always our grandmother’s motto when we were kids. And it
was
meant to be that I found her. I genuinely believed she was here. Until I became so discouraged these past few days.”

“Thank God you did believe it, and persisted, that’s all I can say. I gotta get back to the meeting. I’ll call later. You’ll be with Gran, I guess.”

“Where else?” She clicked off, and saw that Gabriele was weeping and wiping her eyes, and Justine moved closer and put her arms around her. “We’ve so much to talk about, Grandma, and I’ve got all the time in the world.”

“No, you don’t, actually,” Gabriele responded swiftly. “I think tea has arrived and
pink
champagne. We mustn’t keep Anita waiting.” Suddenly she began to laugh, her happiness at being with Justine reflected on her face. “I’m afraid afternoon tea is a ritual with Anita. You’ll think you’re at the Ritz, she puts on quite a show.”

Justine couldn’t help laughing, catching the hint of acerbity in her grandmother’s voice. This was the root of her sense of humor and an English trait. How she had missed it, missed laughing with her grandmother about life, people and their many foibles.

Jumping up from the sofa, Justine offered Gabriele her hand.

Gabriele looked at her askance, exclaimed, “What do you think? That I’m an old lady? Don’t be so silly, Justine. I’m perfectly capable of getting up by myself.”

“Oh, sorry, Gran.” She eyed Gabriele and said with real sincerity, “You do look wonderful. I must admit. Positively blooming. And so does Anita.”

“Oh, you must tell her that!”

Fourteen

Justine, who had been frustrated all week, felt frustrated once again. But only momentarily. She instantly pushed this feeling away.

What she wanted to do was get her grandmother alone, to talk to her, explain, question, and discuss the horrendous estrangement that had kept them apart. Decisive by nature, and with a penetrating mind, Justine needed to make decisions at once, get to the bottom of things immediately, and move on. That won’t happen today, she thought as she settled back in her chair, glanced across at her grandmother and smiled.

Gabriele smiled back but remained silent.

Justine knew that Gran was also bursting with questions, needed to talk to her about intimate matters, private family things. Taking a deep breath, she told herself to keep calm.
They would talk later.
She would make sure of that.

Anita said, “Ah, here come Zeynep and Mehmet.” As she spoke a young woman came through the door pushing a double-tier tea cart, and behind her walked the cook, dressed in his white chef’s coat and wearing his white toque, that culinary mark of distinction. He was also pushing a tea cart, a wide smile flashing on his expressive face.

“Madame,” he said to Anita, inclining his head, “shall I serve the champagne first?”

“Oh yes, I think so, Mehmet. We’ll all have a glass, won’t we?”

Mehmet popped the cork with something of a flourish, poured the champagne into tall crystal flutes. Zeynep carried the tray of flutes around, smiling politely as she moved through the little group seated in a circle around a large coffee table of Turkish design in front of the fireplace.

“Thank you, Zeynep, Mehmet. We can manage by ourselves, I think,” Anita said with a warm smile.

“Please ring if you need anything else, Madame,” Mehmet murmured, and he and the young woman left together, closing the door behind them.

Gabriele said, “Mehmet’s treats are very special, Iffet. And Justine, I know you’ll like them. He does some of his own tasty bites as well as the usual English afternoon tea sandwiches and scones.”

Raising his glass, Michael announced, “I think a toast is in order. Congratulations, Gabri, on being reunited with your granddaughter at last. And my compliments to you, Justine, for being such a clever sleuth. And cheers, everyone!”

Justine murmured, “Not much of a sleuth, Michael. Finding Gran was a fluke.”

“Not really,” Anita murmured. “Because I wrote the letter.”

“Yes, you did, but you didn’t give an address. We didn’t know where to find you.”

Michael and Gabriele both seemed startled, and exchanged knowing glances, then Michael took a swig of his champagne. Shaking his head, looking puzzled, he then turned to Justine. “But you came to Istanbul anyway. That was very courageous of you.”

“Thanks, but it wasn’t really…” She let her voice trail off under his penetrating stare, and she realized for the first time that he was very good-looking. She had been far too preoccupied with her grandmother to notice how stunning Michael Dalton was. She turned her head, avoiding his eyes.

Anita said, “I must have forgotten to write the return address on the envelope, which I always do. I can only think it was because I had written and edited that particular letter several times. I must have forgotten in my haste. Anyway, your mother has my address, and Gabriele’s as well. Why didn’t she give them to you?”

Justine glanced at her grandmother, instantly noticed the flash of apprehension in Gabriele’s eyes. She cleared her throat, then said swiftly, “Let me explain what actually happened, Anita. My mother spends most of her time in California these days. She has a lot of clients in Beverly Hills, where she now lives. When your letter arrived at Indian Ridge she was away. I was in New York and so was Richard. We were both busy with work projects and we didn’t go up there for a whole month. So your letter went unread until I opened it. My mother had already gone to China for six weeks. She is on a trip around that country, buying objects for her interior design business. So I opened the letter, read it, showed it to Richard, and left immediately. I’d tried to Google your number, or thought you just might be in the local phone book. But Iffet checked, and neither of you are listed.”

“That’s quite true, we’re not,” Anita murmured with a small, rueful smile. “I’m listed under the name Bentley, because after Maxwell died, that’s my first husband, Maxwell Lowe, a lovely man.…” She sighed. “I eventually remarried some years later. My second husband was Frank Bentley. But he too died, only two years after we married. Shame. And Gabri is listed under her professional name, aren’t you, darling?”

“Yes,” Gabriele replied, and said to Justine, “I use the name Gabriele Trent, and I’ll explain about that later. I have a design studio at my
yali,
where I create fabrics, a line called Tulipmania. And that’s why you couldn’t find me in the telephone book either,” she finished, looking across at Iffet, smiling.

Iffet volunteered, “I did check the land registry office as well.”

“You would find us only under Bentley and Trent there,” Anita explained, nodding her dark head. A bright smile unexpectedly washed over her face. “But it worked out all right in the end, didn’t it? Now, Iffet, Justine, and Michael, go and help yourself to the tea sandwiches. There’s smoked salmon, egg salad, cucumber, and various other things, and scones with strawberry jam and clotted cream. I always serve English breakfast tea.”

“I would like a cup of tea, Anita, thank you.” Iffet smiled at her hostess and rose, walked over to the tea cart near the fireplace.

Michael also stood up. “Can I pour you a cup of tea, Gabriele? And you too, Grandma?”

“That would be lovely,” Gabriele answered, and Anita simply nodded.

Justine jumped up and went to join Iffet at the tea cart; a moment later Michael was standing next to her. “I’ll pour their cups of tea if you’ll hand the sandwiches around,” he said. “I know how they like it.”

Justine turned to face him. “You must have known my grandmother a long time.”

“All my life, well, most of it. My mother married an American, Lawrence Dalton, and I was born and brought up in New York. But naturally my mother came to Istanbul to see her mother every year, and Dad and I came too. After my sister was born she came along as well. And Gabriele was often here at her
yali
next door. Our two grandmothers are joined at the hip.”

Michael began pouring the cups of tea, and Justine picked up two plates of tea sandwiches and carried them over to her grandmother and Anita, offering them.

Gabriele smiled up at her, her eyes overflowing with love. “I need to know all about my great-granddaughter. Justine, did you bring photographs of her?”

“Yes, but they’re at the hotel. The Çiragan Palace.”

“I’d like you to come and stay with me at my
yali,
” Gabriele said. “Will you do that, darling?”

“Where else would I want to be, Gran?”

Fifteen

The afternoon tea party was a jolly event, and everyone was happy to be there together, thrilled about the reunion of Justine and her grandmother.

Gabriele herself was ecstatic, could hardly believe that Justine was sitting next to her on the sofa, at times squeezing her hand or hugging her tightly. It was also gratifying to Gabri that her granddaughter had remained very much the unspoiled, loving person she had been growing up.

At thirty-two she was warm, charming, and charismatic, her personality outgoing, her manner easy and unassuming. These traits aside, she had become a lovely woman with her long blond hair, sculpted features, and wide-set blue eyes. Tall and willowy like my mother, Gabriele thought, and my grandmother. Of our ilk, no doubt about that.

Her mind jumped to her daughter, Deborah, most definitely a Hardwicke, with her late father’s dark good looks.
Deborah.
Lost to her for so long. Not for just the past ten years but since her childhood, since Peter Hardwicke made her his own, put his imprint on her, as his arrogant mother had. He had turned her into a bigot even as a child. She had become a silly snob with grand ideas about herself and who she was. They had influenced her far too much, and in a certain sense they had ruined her life, inculcating in her expectations that were dangerous … far-fetched and beyond her reach, in fact. She was inclined to look down on everyone, full of class distinctions.

“Penny for your thoughts, Gran,” Justine said, looking at Gabriele, searching her face.

“Not really worth a penny. But you are invaluable, I’m so proud of you, Justine, the way you’ve turned out.”

“You might not be quite so proud if you knew what I’d been about to do,” Justine shot back with a grin.

Gabriele was sitting in front of a tall window and a shaft of sunlight turned her silver-gilt hair to gold, and in this light her eyes looked as blue as they had when she was a young woman.