Letter from a Stranger (26 page)

“I don’t think so, because they didn’t know you were going to arrive when you did, floating up out of the Bosphorus like a beautiful mermaid, to quote Gabriele.”

“But Anita had written the letter and mailed it, and obviously she expected me to show up eventually.”

“I think she expected your mother.”

“I bet you Gran didn’t, if she knew.”

“Maybe you’re right.” He laughed, amused, and went on, “No, I wasn’t set up, sweetheart. But when you almost trampled me underfoot on the jetty and I ran after you, I said to myself, she’s for me.”

“Did you really?”

“I did.”

His dark eyes were twinkling mischievously when he said, “I knew it was a
coup de foudre.
There was a moment when you stared back at me quite boldly, and then quickly looked away. And you blushed. Dead giveaway.”

She merely smiled, continued to look at him closely, studying the planes of his face, the masculine cut of his jaw, the cleft in his chin, the brows arched above his warm brown eyes which she now saw were filled with love for her.

How could this man be hers?

A week ago she hadn’t even known him. She was filled with astonishment … about Michael, about the unexpectedness of life … this most extraordinary passion he had aroused in her.… Sheer wonderment filled her with joy.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, reaching into her thoughts.

“How handsome you are, and how lucky I am, and I still keep asking myself how this gorgeous man in my bed could be mine?”

“Oh, but he is, and then some, and don’t you forget it, kid.” He grinned as he said that, then went on in a more serious tone, “In fact this man has never been anyone else’s before you.”

“But you
were
engaged.” She gave him a puzzled look, frowned.

“That’s true, and it was a commitment I took seriously, until I came to understand that the relationship didn’t work for me. I knew it would never work. There wasn’t even a relationship, if I’m being truthful, just sex. I began to understand that I was withholding part of myself from her. And I’ve got to tell you, this has become even more apparent in the last couple of days. Since I met you, actually.”

“Why is it different with me?”

“There are no barriers between us, for one thing. I can be myself, be who I am. Also, I trust you, I feel safe with you. I know that’s a funny word to use. I think what I mean is that I feel
secure
with you. Because you’re loyal, trustworthy, you’ll never betray me.”

“And I know you’ll be there for me.” Justine reached out, touched his face. “Anita said to me, ‘My boy’s true blue,’ and Gabriele said you’d never betray me, and they should know.”

“They’re a hoot, those two. I often call them the Gold Dust Twins, and it tickles them to death, makes them laugh.”

“It would, and they’re devoted to you. I want to thank you again for looking after Gran these last ten years, I know how much you did for her. I’m grateful you were here sometimes and made her feel less lonely, and that you were so caring, Michael.”

“I always will be. My God, I wouldn’t even be here on this planet if it weren’t for Aunt Gabri.”

“What do you mean?”

“She saved Anita’s life when they were young girls, around fourteen. Every single member of our family loves her for that, as well as for what she is as a human being.”

Justine was gaping at him. She said in a baffled tone, “How did she save Anita’s life? What happened?”

Michael realized his mistake at once. He had made a blunder. Obviously, Justine knew nothing about Gabriele’s terrible past, of Anita’s fractured early life either.

He noticed the avid curiosity on her face, and he said swiftly, almost dismissively, “Oh look, Justine, it’s Anita’s story.” He smiled, adopted a more casual manner, and in a lower voice, murmured, “I think you should ask Anita yourself. Anyway, she’s expecting you to interview her about her life in Istanbul later this week. For the documentary. And she’ll tell you all about it then.”

“Perhaps I’d better ask Gran.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, darling. Gabriele is shy, doesn’t ever want to talk about it, prefers not to rehash it. There’s a lot of humility in her, despite all that she is as a woman, and her success in business. She can’t stand what she calls boasters and blowhards.”

“How like Gran to be so modest,” Justine replied.

“It is, yes.” He moved closer to her, began to kiss her, and within seconds he was aroused and so was she. They began to make love again, in a quieter and more tender way, and soon they were lost to the world, enraptured with each other.

Part Five

THE MYSTERY

The Angel of Death has been abroad

Throughout the land; you may almost

Hear the beating of his wings.

—John Bright, Speech, House of Commons, 1855

Behold a pale horse; and his name that

Sat on him was Death, and Hell

Followed with him.

—The Bible: Revelation 5:1

Twenty-six

Gabriele was, by nature, an early riser, and on this bright sunny Monday morning in the middle of May she was up and about at five thirty, had eaten a small breakfast by six, and done an hour’s work in her studio by seven.

Now, as she walked along the wide path in the tulip gardens, which flowed from her property onto Anita’s, she felt suddenly uplifted by the sight.… Hundreds of brilliantly colored flowers, tall, stately, standing like proud sentinels in the sunlight, the mass of brilliant color taking her breath away.

She moved slowly, gazing at the different specimens, remembering some of their names, although not all, and at last she was standing in front of her favorite, the snow white tulip with its petals “feathered” and “flamed” in deep burgundy. Unique, utterly unique, she thought. Moving down the path, she came to a large patch of yellow flowers, their petals “feathered” in brilliant red. The “broken” tulips, as they were called, were her all-time favorites, although she loved every kind, even the plain, solid-color tulips. Standing back, continuing to gaze at them, she could not help thinking what a sight they were, something truly beautiful to feast the eyes on.

She sighed under her breath, remembering all the years she and Trent had worked on the gardens. It had been a long, tiring task, but they had enjoyed every moment of their labors; how proud Trent had been when their gardens had won acclaim from everyone who visited them.

As she continued to move around the different paths, taking the pictures she needed to create new designs for her fabric line, she was unaware that Michael was standing at the far end of the lawn, observing her.

His heart melted when he saw Gabriele in these gardens. He had watched her working on them for as long as he could remember, since his childhood, and now a rush of memories flooded him. She was part of his younger days, just as she had been part of Justine’s, and that was yet another bond between the two of them. She had influenced both of them in her own way.

Whenever he thought of Gabri, whether he was in New York or London, or anywhere else, he pictured her in these gardens, perhaps because they were such a huge part of her life.

Once, long ago, when he had congratulated her on the beautiful effects she had created with the mass of tulips, she had nodded and said in a low voice, “I have a compulsion to make beautiful things, perhaps because I’ve seen far too much ugliness and brutality in my life.”

He had made no comment at the time, but he had never forgotten her words. There had been moments when he had longed to penetrate the mystery that surrounded her, know something, however small, about her past, have her confide the secrets of her other life which were stored inside her. But he had never had the nerve to ask her anything. And whatever Anita knew was buried deep, locked up forever in his grandmother’s heart, never to be disclosed.

Michael stepped out onto the pebbled path, and the crunch of his shoes made Gabriele swing her head around.

Her face lit up when she saw him, and she could not help thinking how marvelous he looked this morning. As usual, he was dressed in a pristine white shirt, no tie, dark gray slacks, and a black blazer. It was his uniform, but he always looked so fresh and boyish in these clothes. They were casual but also businesslike to a certain extent.

Michael had the height and strong masculine build of his grandfather, Maxwell Lowe, but there was a lot of his father, Larry Dalton, in his handsome, chiseled face. And it was to his grandmother Anita that he owed his dark brown, sparkling eyes, usually full of humor and warmth, as were hers.

A moment later, Michael was hugging Gabriele, saying good morning, and then following the direction of her gaze as she moved her head slightly to stare at the gardens again. “Just doing my morning check,” she murmured, turning back to him, looking up into his face, smiling.

“They’re gorgeous, Gabri!” he exclaimed, admiration echoing in his voice. “And although I’ve said it before, I’ve got to reiterate it again, I’ve never seen tulips like this anywhere in the world.”

“I agree, they’re fantastic. But you must remember, here they are in their natural habitat.… They’re a Turkish flower, born and bred.” She broke into sudden laughter as she said this, adding, “I sound as if I’m talking about children, don’t I? However, it’s true that they do grow happily here on the shores of the Bosphorus, and actually
I
believe they flourish so well because they are Asian in origin, have grown in this area for centuries.”

“I love the pure white with the burgundy flames on the petals, they’re so unique.”

“My favorite too, and the best I’ve seen in a long time, this particular lot. Of course, it’s the luck of the draw. When you buy a bulb you’re not sure what you’re going to get.” A sudden smile illuminated her face. “And to think it’s a
virus
that causes the ‘feathering’ and the ‘flaming’ on the petals. For hundreds of years botanists and gardeners tried to discover the secret of the ‘broken’ tulip, experimented in every possible way with bulbs. Yet the truth wasn’t discovered until the late 1920s in England.”

“I remember you telling me about the virus when I was about fourteen, and I was really astonished and also fascinated. I’ll never forget how stunned I was that the virus was caused by the peach-potato aphid invading the bulbs.” Michael shook his head. “I was flabbergasted.”

“Yes, you were, especially when I told you they feed by sucking sap from plants and fruit trees, soft-bodied little insects that generally live in fruit orchards. But you didn’t come here for a refresher course on botany. I suspect you came to say good-bye.”

“I did. I’m flying to London this morning, and before I leave there’s something I want to tell you, Aunt Gabri, and also ask you.”

Linking her arm through his, she walked with him down the path. “You know you can talk to me about anything, Michael.”

He came to a sudden halt, and so did she. Turning to face her, he announced, “I’ve fallen for Justine. I feel very strongly about her.”

Gabriele stared back at him. “I’d guessed as much, Michael.”

“I’m serious about her. And she is about me.”

“You’re both in your thirties, you know what you’re doing.” An amused look settled on her face.

He smiled then, his dark eyes sparkling. “So you approve?”

“I do.”

He hugged her to him, and was about to tell her how he had made a blunder last night, but instantly changed his mind, just stood holding her for a moment longer.

Drawing apart finally, they walked together across the lawn to her terrace. Giving her a kiss on her forehead, he offered her his famously cheeky smile. “See you at the weekend.” He swung around and went toward his grandmother’s
yali
.

“Fly safely,” she called after him.

Looking over his shoulder, he blew her a kiss and pushed his way through the wisteria and Judas trees which concealed the little courtyard between the two villas.

*   *   *

Anita was sitting upstairs on the terrace which adjoined her bedroom, and she glanced at her grandson as he came outside to join her. “So there you are, darling,” she said, her love for him illuminating her face. She had been lucky with this grandson of hers. He was what Gabriele called true blue. “I was waiting for you. Do you have time for a cup of coffee?”

“I sure do, Grandma.” He sat down next to her on the sofa and she poured the coffee, handed it to him.

“There’s something I need to tell you. To warn you about, Anita,” Michael said.

Peering at him, she frowned. “You sound very grave. What’s this about, Michael?”

“I made a blunder last night, or rather in the early hours of this morning, and I’m very sorry. I told Justine her grandmother saved your life.”

“Oh Michael, no! Oh no, you didn’t!” Dismay flooded her face and she shook her head. Without meaning to, he had opened Pandora’s box.

“I did, I’m afraid. It just slipped out, and it was an error, I knew that the minute I said it. Naturally she was intrigued, curious. I brushed it off immediately, explained I couldn’t discuss it, because it was your story, not mine. I told her she should ask you. And I only did that because she announced she would talk to Gabriele about it. I had to stop
that,
Grandma.”

“You certainly did. How did you manage to do so?”

“I told her that Gabri didn’t like to discuss it, that she was not the type to sing her own praises. Justine agreed not to ask her, but for sure she’s going to ask
you.
She’ll bring it up when she does the interview for the documentary. So be prepared.”

“I see.” There was a moment’s pause, then Anita asked, “Have you told Gabri?”

“No, I haven’t. That was my intention, but I just didn’t have the heart.”

“I understand.” Anita realized that it was an unfortunate mistake on his part, but she couldn’t really blame him for a slip of the tongue. However, she was certain that Justine would be extremely probing, asking questions that were difficult to answer. She had been a journalist, was curious by nature; the instinct was, more than likely, still there.