Letter from a Stranger

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 that 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-worshipped 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 Jo had divorced the glib monster of Wall Street fame.

As she sat eating cottage pie and savouring this favourite, 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 demeanour; he appeared jumpy, on edge, and worry 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 grey 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 so she visibly stiffened. Finally, when she 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 phonebook, 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 else 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 most longstanding, 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, under such circumstances I would want to be with my closest friend, which is you… 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 travelling 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 non-stop 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 saw her to the door, but stood talking to her on the step 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 that 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 merely be 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.’

‘This situation is different, because I sense there’s something rather big, important behind the estrangement, and I think Mom’s the guilty one. Gran’s innocent of wrongdoing, of that I am really, really certain. Our grandmother always had her feet on the ground; she was extremely well mannered, even tempered, level headed, practical, and a very nice woman. I often wondered where Mom got her temperamental nature from – or rather, from whom. Listen to me, Rich, the thing is this… I believe it would be dangerous to let our mother know we know what she did, how she’s kept Gran away from us all these years. If she knows where Gran is, and also Anita, then who knows what could happen? She might go and see them, scare the wits out of them by harassing them.’

‘I don’t think she’d do them any physical harm,’ Richard protested, then frowned, ‘Is that what you’re getting at?’

‘No, I’m not. I agree, I don’t think she’d attack them physically. Verbally, yes. And that kind of abuse can be very disturbing to anyone, most especially two old ladies. And what if one of them had a heart attack or a stroke because our mother scared them?’

‘Yes, I see what you mean: she can be very voluble. And vicious. She’s got a nasty tongue.’

‘Only too true. She’s a loose cannon, in my opinion. Capable of anything. So no, I don’t want to phone her and ask her where Gran lives. I’ll find Anita, and she’ll take me to her. Don’t forget, I was a journalist before I became a filmmaker, and I know how to track someone down.’

‘And there’s Iffet. Jo thinks she’s going to be of great help to you.’

‘She probably is.’ Justine glanced at the clock. ‘My God, it’s almost two o’clock! Hey, Rich, I can call Eddie in London, get him to flip through the phonebook.’ She reached for the phone on the bedside table, and Richard grimaced. ‘Don’t call him at this hour, for heaven’s sake. It’s only seven o’clock in London.’

‘Knowing Ed, he’ll be up.’

‘But won’t he think it strange that you’re calling him in the middle of the night here?’

‘I guess so.’ Putting the receiver back in the cradle, she said, ‘I’ll give him a shout later. In the meantime, I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea… or hot milk. Something. And guess what, I’m hungry.’

‘So am I. So it’s settled then, we’re going to leave it alone. By that I mean we’re not going to call our mother in China? Or wherever the hell she might be?’

‘Correct. I’m going to find Gran, and it’s not going to take me as long as you think. I’ve a good feeling about this friend of Joanne’s, and I trust my own instincts. Gran’s in Istanbul. And a good-looking English woman, with a hint of regality, is more than likely part of local society, moving in the right circles.’

‘You’re right. Let’s go down to the kitchen. I’d love a mug of hot tea and some cake or cookies.’

Justine leapt out of bed, threw on her robe, and she and her twin went down the stairs to the kitchen. As she put the kettle on, Richard opened the refrigerator door but, finding nothing he wanted to eat, he went into the pantry. ‘Oh, my God, there’s a coconut cake in here,’ he exclaimed, carrying out the cake stand with a glass dome.

Justine stared at him. ‘If you touch that cake you’re in real trouble! Pearl will have your guts for garters!’

‘That’s one of Dad’s expressions!’

‘Borrowed from our grandmother. And I believe Pearl made the cake for the tea party in the gazebo tomorrow.’

‘Whoops. I’ll go and put it back.’ A moment later he emerged from the walk-in pantry with a glass biscuit jar. ‘What do you think? Will Pearl get mad if I have a couple of these cookies?’

‘I think you’re on safe ground.’

The fire had burned low, but there were a few glowing embers left, and so there was a warm and cosy feeling in the kitchen. Richard and Justine sat at the big square table, sipping their mugs of tea and munching on the cookies.

Neither of them spoke for a while, but their frequent and sometimes long silences were never awkward. Rather, they were comforting. It had always been like this since they were born. They were totally at ease with each other, and on the same wavelength. Very often they had the same thought simultaneously, and said what the other was thinking. Twinship. That was the way Richard described it, much to Justine’s glee.

As children they had done everything together, had gone to the same kindergarten and high school. Later, they went to Connecticut College in New London, a choice that had been perfect for them, as it turned out.

Joanne had asked if she could join them there, and they had been delighted when she got in. And so the childhood triumvirate had continued from their young adulthood into their college years, and afterwards.

Justine and Richard understood each other completely and on every level, and now Richard suddenly said, ‘We’ve both clamped down on our anger, and that’s best for the moment, don’t you agree?’

She nodded, and said in a low tone, ‘But the day of reckoning will come, you know.’

‘A confrontation with our mother would be an indulgence at this moment, Justine. The most important thing is to get you on your way to Turkey.’

‘Agreed.’ Reaching out, she put her hand on his, resting on the table. ‘I know you’re going to worry, but I’ll call you every day, I promise.’

‘Day or night, any time, my phone will be on.’ He shook his head, squeezed her hand. ‘I hope Gran’s all right. I can’t bear to think what the last ten years have been like for her… she must have been so hurt.’

‘And lonely,’ Justine remarked softly. ‘That’s the worst thing of all for anyone. Loneliness.’

PART TWO

The Search

To reach the port of heaven, we must sail sometimes with the wind and sometimes against it – but we must sail, and not drift, nor lie at anchor.

Oliver Wendell Holmes

SEVEN

Justine recognized Iffet Özgönül at once. It helped, of course, that the woman she zeroed in on was standing next to a tall man holding a sign with the name NOLAN printed on it in large letters.

But Justine knew it was her. She fitted Joanne’s description: slender, petite, a brunette with short curly hair and a big smile on her face. And now she was waving. Iffet had been told what to expect by Jo, no doubt about that: a lanky blonde American with long hair and blue eyes.

Waving back, then turning around, Justine beckoned to the young man carrying her two bags, and strode forward, increasing her pace. He hurried after her.

A moment later the two women were shaking hands, and Iffet was saying in perfect English, ‘Hello, hello. So pleased to meet you. And welcome to Istanbul.’

‘I’m glad I’m here, and pleased to meet you too, Ms Özgönül.’

‘Oh, please, call me Iffet, everyone does.’

‘Iffet it is, and I’m Justine, okay?’

‘Of course. And it’s a name we Turks know well. Centuries ago we had an emperor called Justinian, who built the now famous Haghia Sophia Church… But you don’t need a history lesson now. Let’s go to the car. And by the way, this is Selim, our driver.’

The tall man bowed courteously, and smiled; Justine smiled back and thrust out her hand, which he shook.

Iffet led her through Atatürk Airport and outside to the car, which turned out to be a small minibus. As the young baggage man was stowing her bags in the back, Justine glanced at Iffet and asked, ‘Are we picking up other people?’

‘Oh, no, not at all. But I always use these little buses.’ Lowering her voice, she added, ‘They’re cheaper than regular cars, and more comfortable.’ With a smile she hurried over to the baggage handler, and handed him money, thanking him.

Justine also thanked him. ‘I could have done that, Iffet,’ she murmured. ‘Look, I have the tip money right here in my pocket.’

‘Oh no, it’s fine, really. Come, let us go… isn’t it a beautiful day?’

‘It surely is,’ Justine answered, lifting her head, looking up. The sky was a perfect cerulean blue, with a few white clouds floating above in the vast sky; it was sunny and warm – perfect spring weather. She took several deep breaths, glad to be outside after the long night flight, and then bounded up the steps into the minibus.

Once they were on their way, Iffet asked her what she wanted to do that day, if anything at all, and also told her that she had booked her into the Çiragan Palace Hotel Kempinski, following Joanne’s instructions.

‘Yes, she told me she wanted me to stay there, that I would love it. As for doing something, I believe I’d like to take it easy today. I did sleep a bit on the plane, but not much. I was sort of restless, frankly. I’d prefer to do nothing.’

‘I don’t blame you, Justine. The hotel has a pool. More importantly, also a spa. A good spa. Perhaps you should indulge yourself.’ Iffet gave her a big smile, her whole face lighting up. ‘You can even have a Turkish bath, if you want. However, that might knock you out.’

Justine began to laugh. ‘Joanne’s a big fan of them, and insisted I had one at least. But not today.’

Changing the subject, Iffet now said, ‘I’m thrilled that you’re thinking of making a documentary here in Istanbul. May I ask what it’s about?’

‘I don’t really know yet,’ Justine admitted, giving her a wry smile. ‘I need to see the city, poke around, learn about the people, the life, and about Istanbul’s history, politics and religions. I do know that the latter fascinate me. I’ve done a bit of research, Iffet, and I think it’s amazing that Muslims, Jews and Christians have lived peacefully side by side in Istanbul for many centuries. What a feat that is. Unbelievable.’

‘It is, and I will be pleased to help you with your research, Justine. I am at your disposal, as is my entire office.’

‘Thank you.’

The lobby of the Çiragan Palace Hotel Kempinski was spacious and airy, with a high ceiling, handsome furnishings and enormous elegance in the grand manner.

Everyone from the doormen and bellboys to the assistant manager and the young public relations woman greeted them with courtesy and friendliness, and Justine realized that they knew Iffet well. That was the reason she was getting the royal treatment.

Within seconds of their arrival in the lobby, she and Iffet were whisked up in the lift by the public relations woman and the assistant manager. Alighting on the fifth floor, they were guided down the corridor to her room. When they were ushered inside, Justine saw at once that it faced the Bosphorus and had a magnificent view. It was large and comfortable, with a seating area in front of French doors, which opened onto a terrace furnished with chairs and a table.