Letter From a Stranger

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  Normality returned. The tension eased. And they all four settled down to enjoy the delicious lamb. As the dinner progressed, it was Justine who genuinely cleared the air by telling them about Daisy, and her antics, and so distracted them. The two grandmothers in particular were fascinated by her stories about the child.

  After this, Richard became the subject matter for a short while, and Justine held them spellbound as she told them about her twin’s life in the last ten years; his marriage, and his brilliant career as an architect.

  At one moment, a little later, Justine suddenly turned her head and looked at Michael.

  He became conscious of her gaze, also turned his face to look back at her.

  She smiled at him.

  He saw an odd expression in her blue eyes, one he could not quite fathom. Then he found himself smiling in return, unable to resist her. Within seconds he was more at ease with himself, and relaxed in the chair.

  It took him a little while, but eventually Michael joined in the conversation once more, and so did Justine. There was a general air of goodwill between the two of them again. Naturally the grandmothers noticed this and were relieved. For these two not to get on, if only as friends, would be a disaster, since the families were so bound together.

  After the summer pudding had been served and eaten, they went out onto the terrace and a few seconds later Zeynep brought them mint tea in glasses.

  It was Gabriele who asked Justine to tell them more about the other documentaries she had made, and Anita and Michael listened alertly to her.

  For her part, Justine was happy to discuss her work because it took her mind off Michael. From the moment she had arrived here she had been conscious of him, aware of every move he made, everything he said, the tone of his voice, the expression on his face. His presence overwhelmed her. He was larger than life. Clearly he knew it. On the other hand he had not thrown his weight around or done anything amiss. He had simply overreacted to her. As she had to him. Oh, she thought. Oh, my God! That’s what it is. Struck by lightning. Her heart trembled at the thought of him. He was tall, good looking and every inch a man. And she had fallen hard. Had he?

  NINETEEN

  ‘And that, Richard, is Gran’s story of the estrangement, and what caused it,’ Justine said, leaning back against the stack of pillows on the bed in her room at the yali.

  Thousands of miles away, her twin was sitting at his desk in the glass cube that was his studio at Indian Ridge, his feet up on the desk, the cell phone pressed to his ear. ‘So, to sum up, what you’re saying is that it was all about money. Our mother cut Gran off from us because of that!’

  ‘That’s right, and we’ve always known she was grasping,’ Justine answered. ‘She was obviously furious when she heard that Indian Ridge was in a trust for us, and not her; that she couldn’t have it, wasn’t getting it.’

  ‘Right on, Juju. And I must say, I for one am thrilled. It’s great that Gran’s done this for us, so generous of her. So, go on, tell me about Anita’s letter, why didn’t she put her address on the envelope? Forgetfulness, I suppose. Or perhaps old age.’

  ‘Neither! I think it was overload. Writing the letter several times, which she tells me she did, editing it, copying it out for the last time, and getting it to the post office. And listen, they’re not old. They’re two stylish babes in Valentinos and heels. And bright red lipstick. Fit as a fiddle, and not a sign of dotage.’

  ‘Oh, my God, are you trying to tell me we’ve got a handful on our hands?’

  ‘Not at all, just a fabulous grandmother and her special friend, who’s basically sweet, very motherly. They look marvellous, by the way, as no doubt you realize, and they’re both pretty vital, really with-it.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. So you’ve moved in?’

  ‘Tonight.’

  ‘What’s Gran’s house like?’

  ‘Charming, Richard, and decorated in her usual style. Simplicity being the keynote, with some nice antiques, beautiful fabrics, mostly of her own design, from a collection called Tulipmania. She has a little design studio attached to the yali, and she’s going to show it to me tomorrow. She was too tired tonight.’

  ‘You must be, too. It’s five here, so it must be midnight there.’

  ‘It is, yes, but I sort of got a second wind. The excitement of finding her, our reunion, and meeting Anita. It’s been busy, I can tell you,’ Justine explained. ‘The yali is smallish, but she did have rooms decorated for us, Richard. Can you believe that? Somehow she was always expecting us to suddenly appear.’ Justine paused, finished, ‘She had no idea our mother had told us she was dead.’

  There was a moment of silence, then Richard exclaimed, ‘God, that sounds awful, when you say it just like that. So blunt, cold, but that’s what her daughter told us. Gran must have been hurt and upset to hear those words. She was, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Actually, she looked shattered, as if she’d been kicked in the stomach—’

  ‘Well, she was, figuratively speaking,’ Richard asserted.

  ‘When she started to weep I went and put my arms around her, and comforted her as best as I could. She recovered – you know what she’s like, a real fighter. After that we had a lovely evening…’ Justine smothered sudden laughter, then said, ‘She had Anita’s chef make a Sunday lunch for dinner for me, for all of us. Because it was my favourite.’

  ‘That’s our granny. By the way, did you explain why I wasn’t there with you?’

  ‘Of course I did, and she understood and can’t wait to see you. With Daisy. I told her all about your little sweetie-pie.’

  ‘And she fell in love with her, right?’ Richard said, chuckling.

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘Justine, I just want to backtrack for a moment… I understood everything you’ve told me and realize that Mom still harbours her money-grabbing ways, but there’s just one thing I’m not quite getting.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You said Gran told you that our mother broke into her writing case in London ten years ago, and stole jewellery and cash, also invaded her privacy – those were your words – because our mother found documents and read them.’

  ‘What are you getting at?’

  ‘You said documents plural, but you only mentioned one document. Gran’s marriage certificate… from her marriage to Uncle Trent. So what were the other documents?’

  There was a long moment of silence, and then Justine finally said, ‘Gran only mentioned the marriage certificate.’

  ‘Are you sure she said documents plural?’

  ‘Absolutely. She definitely did. But she only discussed one. So what were the other documents? That’s what you’re wondering. Also, why was our mother so upset? After all, Trent Saunders has been dead for years.’

  ‘You’re quite right, and I believe our mother saw something lethal; something that set her off on a full-blown rampage. But Gran didn’t tell you what that document was. I think Deborah read something that shocked her. Certainly something much more important than an old marriage certificate to do with a man long dead.’

  ‘What could it have been?’ Justine asked in a puzzled voice, sitting up straighter on the bed, a worried expression on her face.

  ‘I have no idea. But I don’t think our mother would go into a rage about Indian Ridge, which she never liked.’

  Justine didn’t say anything, frowning, her puzzlement intact. ‘I find it very perplexing, Rich, now that you bring it up. And I can’t even make a guess.’

  ‘I’m surprised you didn’t notice that she only told you about the marriage certificate—’

  ‘So much was going on,’ Justine interjected. ‘I’d just found her. We had so much to discuss. I wanted to explain why we hadn’t gone looking for her, and I also wanted to know what the estrangement was about. It was quite a lot to handle. And we got sidetracked in a way, because first there was tea at Anita’s, and then the dinner, and so much happiness and chatter…’ Her voice fell away.

  Richard sa
id, ‘Why don’t you ask Gran what she meant?’

  ‘I don’t think I can,’ Justine protested. ‘I don’t want to put her through… an inquisition. My God, we haven’t seen her for ten years, Richard! I’m not going to question her.’

  ‘You’re right, don’t get excited. It was just a thought. And it doesn’t matter,’ he finished quietly, realizing his error.

  ‘No, it doesn’t,’ Justine agreed. ‘And anyway, if there’s anything more to tell, she’ll explain in the next few days. When we’re more relaxed.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  They talked a little longer about Daisy, and the weekend, and then Justine exclaimed, ‘I forgot to ask you. Have you spoken to Joanne?’

  ‘I have, yes, and she did get your message about Gran, and she was ecstatic that you found her finally. She didn’t call you back because she didn’t want to interrupt that first meeting with gran. She told me to give you her love, and she’ll call you tomorrow. As I will. Now I have to go, Juju, to see my daughter. And you do, too. Hang up, you have to go to sleep.’

  But she did not sleep.

  It evaded her.

  How could she sleep when she had so much on her mind?

  Her brain was racing, working overtime. She tried to remember her grandmother’s words exactly, replaying the conversation once again in her head. And she heard her grandmother’s voice clearly, always so precise in its diction. Documents, in the plural. Her gran had said that. Private documents. She was certain of it.

  What kind of documents had her mother read, and why had they set her off? Or was it only one that had done the trick?

  Focusing on the kind of documents people usually kept safe, Justine made a mental list: a birth certificate, a marriage certificate, a child’s birth certificate, divorce papers, a death certificate, a will. Or maybe two or three wills… Uncle Trent’s? Gran’s auntie Beryl’s? She had left a will, and had favoured her niece Gabriele. She had heard stories about Beryl’s affection for her grandmother years ago.

  Had Deborah found evidence that her mother was much richer than she had previously thought? And she could be, no doubt of that. Gran had worked hard all of her life. And was still working.

  Was her mother adopted? Could she have found this out for the first time that day, when she broke open her mother’s writing case?

  No, that was an impossibility. Gabriele Hardwicke was far too honest to have hidden such a thing from her daughter, and for decades.

  On the other hand, her mother did not look like Gabri. Not at all. Nor like Richard and her, either. She wasn’t as tall and lanky as Gran and them, nor was she a pale blonde. Deborah was shorter, curvaceous, and dark haired with grey eyes; their characters were different, as well. Deborah was bossy and slightly crazy.

  She herself had often wondered from whom her mother had inherited certain unsavoury traits, her temperamental ways, her superiority, her snobbery. Certainly not from Gabriele Hardwicke, who was the exact opposite. And her granny had a much better character than her mother, who was mean-spirited.

  She’s not a nice person, Justine suddenly thought, nor is she loving. How could she have done what she did? Why did she act the way she did, on that day so long ago now? Ten long years ago. She had issued a terrible edict and she had kept it in place. Kept Gran and them apart. Punishment for something? Was that it?

  It dawned on her then that Deborah Hardwicke Nolan clearly hated her own mother, and with such virulence she had cut her off from the rest of the family without a second thought, or any worry about the consequences.

  What document had her mother read?

  What secrets did her grandmother have?

  Because there had to be secrets, hidden things, a lethal document, as Richard had said a short while ago. And how could she find out? Only two people could tell her the truth… her mother and her grandmother, and she did not relish the thought of asking either of them, Gran especially. It would be a rotten thing to do, a terrible intrusion on a woman who had been ripped away from her grandchildren years ago, and with such cruelty it was breathtaking. She had endured enough pain and sorrow already… Justine couldn’t bear to contemplate what it had been like for her grandmother all these years.

  She thrashed around for a long time, and then finally threw off the sheet and light eiderdown, got out of bed. Her grandmother had given her a beautiful room overlooking the Bosphorus and the gardens, which were immediately below her windows. Roomy and airy without being too big, it was beautifully decorated with a few choice antiques and fabrics patterned with tulips.

  Opening the draperies, she looked down into the gardens and then across at the flowing Bosphorus, had the sudden and urgent compulsion to go outside. She needed to breathe in the night air, to feel the soothing power of nature all around her. Perhaps after that she would be able to sleep.

  Sliding her feet into a pair of mules, she left her room on silent feet.

  How beautiful the garden was at night. Bathed in moonlight, it was filled with the mixed fragrances of peonies, roses and night-blooming jasmine. Sweet and heady. There was a breeze ruffling the trees, and Justine felt immediately refreshed, her slight headache beginning to recede.

  As she walked along a pebbled path towards the sea, she suddenly understood why her grandmother lived here, in Istanbul. The climate and the beauty of nature were intoxicating, and the way of life was relaxed, unhurried; a peacefulness reigned at the two yalis. And then there was Anita, her grandmother’s friend since girlhood, her rock; they were each other’s rocks, weren’t they?

  Unexpectedly, Justine came across a garden seat, and she immediately sat down under the blue-blossomed wisteria trees, relaxing against the wrought-iron back. Staring out at the straits, she realized there was a lot of traffic on it still: two cruise ships, a couple of deluxe yachts, and one of those great cumbersome barges that transported goods to foreign places. Of course. It was a major waterway, flowing from the Mediterranean through the Dardenelle Straits into the Bosphorus and on to the Black Sea. Other places, other worlds, far-flung destinations…

  As she relaxed, she opened her mind and let Michael Dalton creep in at last. She had held him at bay since the moment she had gone to bed, and perhaps that was another reason why she had not been able to sleep. He kept intruding, slipping into her thoughts when she least expected it. He was unlike anyone she had ever met. She had been startled that he had picked up on her comments about Jean-Marc Breton, read something into them, connected her to Jean-Marc instantly. She snapped her eyes shut. That was a place she did not want to go to tonight. Or ever again. Jean-Marc was all the things she had said he was; she had portrayed him accurately. Sadly, she did not like him.

  Justine opened her eyes, and sat up straighter on the bench, tensing slightly. All of a sudden she had heard noises, footsteps crunching on the pebbled path, and she swung her head, was immediately alert. On guard.

  There was a flash of white in the moonlight. His shirt. And then Michael was a few feet away from the garden seat. His face was serious when he looked down at her and said, ‘You couldn’t sleep, could you?’

  ‘No, I couldn’t.’

  ‘Neither could I. So I thought I’d come and join you. You and I have a lot to talk about.’

  PART FOUR

  Coup de Foudre

  How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

  I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

  My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

  For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

  I love thee to the level of everyday’s

  Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.

  Elizabeth Barrett Browning,

  Sonnets from the Portuguese

  Twice or thrice had I loved thee,

  Before I knew thy face or name.

  John Donne, Air and Angels

  TWENTY

  Michael sat down next to Justine on the garden seat, laid his left arm along the back of it and crossed his legs. He did not speak and n
either did she.

  Acutely aware of him, she pushed herself into the corner of the seat, hoping he would not hear her heart thudding in her chest. He flustered her; there was no other way of describing it.

  Although Justine had no way of knowing it, Michael had a similar problem with her. He was thrown off balance when they were in close proximity. She affected him like no other woman ever had, and he was drawn to her on every level. He wondered what she thought about him. He had noticed that odd look in her eyes, the tantalizing smile when they were at the dinner table, but he hadn’t quite figured it out. Not yet.

  It was Justine who finally broke the silence, when she asked in a low voice, ‘How did you know I was sitting out here?’

  ‘I was in my bedroom, talking on the phone to my New York office. I walked over to the window and looked out. I saw you coming down the path from Gabri’s yali.’

  Justine simply nodded, made no comment.

  He went on, ‘Once I’d finished my call I decided to join you.’

  ‘You said we had a lot to talk about before you sat down.’

  ‘We do, but before we get to that, I want to apologize. I sounded kind of nasty when I made those gratuitous comments about “Proof of Life”. But honestly, I didn’t intend to sound mean, or sarcastic. The words just came out all wrong. I feel like a jerk. Will you accept my apology?’

  ‘There’s nothing to apologize for, Michael.’

  ‘I think there is, but thanks for being so nice. Can we be friends again?’

  She nodded. ‘We weren’t not friends.’

  ‘Great.’ There was a moment’s pause before he went on in a more serious tone, ‘I don’t want to be intrusive, but I would like to ask you something.’