Letter From a Stranger

  ‘I’m almost there,’ Richard said.

  ‘I’m glad. Where are you?’

  ‘What is it? You sound odd.’

  ‘I’m fine. Where are you?’

  ‘Just leaving New Preston. Why?’

  ‘I want you to do me a favour.’

  ‘Of course, what is it?’

  ‘I want you to drive right up here to the gallery, where I’m waiting for you.’

  ‘I’ll come up after I’ve said hello to Daisy.’

  ‘Please don’t do that, Rich! You must come here immediately! Something’s happened, and—’

  ‘What? Tell me what’s wrong!’

  ‘I can’t on the phone. Please, Rich, just come here first. Please.’

  ‘All right. See you shortly.’

  Impatient, anxious for her brother to arrive, Justine stood up and headed in the direction of his glass-windowed studio. She would wait for him there. As she approached the glass cube, another painting caught her eye, and she went over to look at it, stared for a long moment. It was of her and her brother and had been painted by a famous portraitist in New York when they were about four.

  The woman had captured them very well. How alike they looked with their fair hair and dimples and the same light blue eyes. Yes, definitely twins, she muttered under her breath. And emotionally co-dependent.

  Their father had commissioned the painting, and he had always loved it. But not their mother. In fact, she was very much against it right from the beginning, before it had even been painted.

  Now it struck her quite forcibly that her mother’s reaction had been odd, and she couldn’t help wondering why. What on earth had she had against it? No answer to that conundrum, she thought. But Deborah Nolan had been an odd bird then, just as she was an odd bird now… scatter-brained, a flake – and sometimes downright irresponsible. And a liar, she added to herself.

  Sighing under her breath, turning away from the portrait, she went into Richard’s studio and glanced around. As usual it was sparkling clean, thanks to Tita and Pearl and their dedication to Indian Ridge.

  Suddenly she heard the crunch of tyres on the gravel. Not wanting to wait for him, she hurried out of the studio, almost running through the gallery to the front door.

  A second later Richard was alighting from the car, striding towards her, a worried expression in his eyes, his face tight with anxiety.

  ‘I know something’s wrong,’ he said, mounting the steps. ‘So come on, tell me. And how bad is it?’

  She ran into his arms, hugged him tight, and then, as they moved away from the door and went inside, she answered, ‘Really, really bad. But part of the problem is good. Wonderful.’

  She closed the door behind them, took hold of his arm and led him down the gallery. ‘Let’s go to your studio, I want you to read a letter I found today. But I must warn you, Rich. It’s going to shock you.’

  THREE

  The moment they entered Richard’s glass-enclosed studio, Justine sat down in one of the small modern chairs and indicated that her twin should take the other one.

  He shook his head, went over to the empty drawing table and leaned against it, his tall, lean frame looking lankier than ever. It struck her that he had lost weight.

  ‘I don’t want to sit,’ he explained, his eyes not leaving her face. ‘I think best standing up.’

  ‘I knew you were going to say that.’

  ‘You always know what I’m going to say, just as I know what’s going to come out of your mouth… but not today, I don’t think.’ A brow lifted quizzically, and he continued to stare at her.

  Justine nodded, put her hand in her jacket pocket and took out the envelope, handed the letter to him. ‘I’d better give you this.’

  Richard looked down at it, his brow lifting again. ‘It’s addressed to Mom—’

  She cut him off. ‘And be glad she isn’t here, didn’t get to open it, and that I did! Otherwise we might never have known the truth.’

  His blue eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean, Juju? What is this all about?’

  ‘Gran. I have to tell you something…’ She cut herself off and took a deep breath. ‘The letter says Gran is still alive, Richard.’

  ‘What?’ He was flabbergasted by her words and he shook his head vehemently. ‘That can’t be…’ His voice trailed off; he was so shocked he was unable to finish his sentence.

  ‘It’s true,’ she answered, trying to keep her voice steady.

  Richard pulled the letter out of the envelope and began to read it avidly. When he came to the end, he went over to the empty chair and sat down, looking as if he’d just been punched hard in the stomach.

  Justine saw how truly stunned he was, as she herself had been earlier. All of the colour had drained from his face, and he was immobile in the chair. It was obvious to her that he was shaken to the very core of himself. And why wouldn’t he be? The news was incredible.

  ‘It’s hard to come to grips with it, Rich, I know that, and I—’

  ‘Do you believe it?’ he interrupted sharply, then looked down at the letter he was still clutching, bafflement on his face.

  ‘I do, yes. It has the absolute ring of truth to it, and why would this woman write such a letter if Gran wasn’t alive? That doesn’t make any sense,’ Justine pointed out.

  ‘I wonder why she didn’t write to Mom before?’ He gazed at Justine, puzzlement still flickering in his eyes.

  ‘I’ve no idea. But I do think something important has happened recently, which made Anita Lowe put pen to paper. Finally. She does say that Gran seems more unhappy – “morose” was her word – and look, Gran might even have been taken ill. Or maybe, in her desperation, Gran asked Anita to write.’ Leaning forward, Justine stared into her twin’s face. Her own was very serious and her eyes were troubled.

  ‘You could be right,’ Richard muttered. ‘In fact, I’m sure you are.’

  ‘We have to find Gran as quickly as possible,’ Justine announced.

  ‘Yes, I agree.’ He rose, walked over to his desk, a huge slab of thick glass balanced on top of two steel sawhorses. Sitting down behind it, he was thoughtful for a few seconds, staring out of one of the windows at the trees.

  He finally brought his gaze back to his sister. ‘She lied. Our mother lied to us ten years ago. What a rotten thing to do. Telling us Gran had died. It was wicked, cruel. I remember very well how upset we both were, how we grieved for her.’ He snapped his eyes shut for a moment, and when he opened them he finished in an angry voice, ‘It’s the most unconscionable thing I’ve ever heard of, and it is unforgivable.’

  Justine was silent. He had voiced everything she had thought earlier; but then they were like two halves of one person and had been since the day of their birth. There was only fifteen minutes’ difference between them; Richard had always teased her that he was the eldest, having been born first.

  She said, ‘God knows what happened between Gran and our mother to cause this… estrangement. But to carry it on for ten years seems outrageous. Really ridiculous to me. It’s all our mother’s doing, obviously.’

  ‘Certainly Anita Lowe indicates that, Justine. Anyway, let’s not forget our mother was always a bit ditzy.’

  Justine was taken aback. ‘That’s putting it mildly, don’t you think?’

  ‘I’m being kind, I guess. She was actually a weirdo when we were growing up. Unreliable, irresponsible, a flake, and you know what else.’

  Justine frowned. ‘I do know, but let’s not go there today, okay?’ The thought that their mother might have been a little wild and unfaithful to their father always troubled her.

  ‘Okay. I know exactly how you feel about that.’

  Justine simply nodded, thinking about their mother, and their strange childhood, and how much they had depended on their father. He had brought them up, if the truth be known. After a moment, she said, ‘For her to tell a lie of such magnitude, and to us, her children, about her own mother…’ She paused again, sighed, and finished in a voi
ce so low it was almost inaudible, ‘It was evil, Rich; such an evil thing to do.’

  ‘Yes,’ was all he said, knowing how right his sister was. After a moment, he asked, ‘Isn’t she in China?’

  ‘Yes, and I know what you’re thinking. You want to confront her right now. On the phone. But the time is off, and anyway I think we should wait, confront her in person. I want to see her expression when she understands that we know exactly what she is – a bitch – and that we know what she did to Gran.’

  ‘And to us. We’ve been hurt. We’ll deal with our mother when the time is right though. How are we going to find our grandmother? Shouldn’t we call our mother, demand to know?’

  ‘No. She won’t tell us. She’ll say Gran is dead. We’ll do it through Anita Lowe. I have a feeling they live close to each other,’ Justine replied.

  ‘So you’re saying Gran is in Istanbul, not London, is that it?’

  ‘I think she probably is, because Anta lives there obviously, and she must know Gran’s not well. We have to go to Istanbul.’

  ‘I agree. But when?’

  ‘Immediately. She’ll be eighty in June. I don’t think we should waste any time.’

  Richard stood up, and Justine turned around and also stood as Daisy came running down the gallery, calling, ‘Daddy! Daddy! Here I am… I’m coming to get you, Daddy!’ Tita was following hard on the child’s heels.

  Justine said, ‘Let’s talk later. Your daughter is looking for you.’

  ‘All right, later this evening,’ he murmured.

  ‘Listen, Rich, just one thing. Do you mind if I tell Joanne about this situation?’

  ‘Why would you want anyone to know about this horrendous thing our mother has done?’ he asked, sounding horrified.

  ‘I don’t, and Joanne isn’t anyone, Rich, she’s our best friend, we grew up together. But the point is this… She knows Istanbul well, and has a lot of contacts there, many friends. We’re going to need help, and I think she can give us names and some good introductions.’

  ‘Then tell her. Confidentially, though,’ he answered.

  Walking around the desk he swung his child into his arms as she came rushing into his office, her face full of smiles.

  A few seconds later Richard was carrying Daisy out into the gallery, as she begged, ‘Swing me, Daddy, please swing me.’ And he did so.

  Putting her down on the floor, he wrapped his arms around her from behind and, turning slowly, he swung her around and around, her legs flying out in front of her, her happy laughter echoing in the quiet gallery.

  Richard started to laugh too, and watching him Justine was pleased he was enjoying this carefree moment with his daughter. She knew how upset he was about their mother’s incredible lie, as angry as she was herself about the whole terrible matter. Still, he was sheathing it well at this moment, and for obvious reasons. He did not want Daisy to know there was anything amiss.

  The thought of their mother enjoying herself in China, having a great time there, as she undoubtedly was, filled Justine with sudden fury, made her see red. Then she blinked, and turned to Tita, who was standing by her side, speaking to her.

  ‘I’m sorry. I missed that,’ Justine said. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘That Richard’s a great father.’

  ‘That he is, Tita. By the way, I’m thinking of asking Joanne to dinner. I’m assuming there’s enough food.’

  ‘Oh yes. I made three cottage pies, and Pearl has a ham baking, and there’ll be lots of vegetables. Plenty for everyone.’ She grinned. ‘An army.’

  Justine smiled. ‘As usual! I’ll call Joanne now, and I’ll let you know if she’s coming later.’

  ‘No problema,’ Tita answered, and went down the gallery, calling to Daisy, ‘See you soon, Honeybunny.’

  Justine continued to watch her brother, wondering if he would be able to come with her to Istanbul. He wanted to desperately, she knew that; on the other hand, he was still working on a huge architectural project. His new boutique hotel in Battery Park was almost finished, and she was aware that the final and rather complicated installations would be taking place in the next couple of weeks. She just wasn’t sure he could break free – and anyway, she was not afraid to go alone. Justine was accustomed to travelling the world for her documentary filming, but Richard was overly protective of her, and he wouldn’t want her to go by herself; also, he was as anxious to find the truth as she was.

  Richard finally stopped turning and put Daisy down. He held her close to his legs, stroking her hair, asking, ‘You’re not dizzy are you, Bunnykins?’

  ‘No, I’m not, Dad, I’m good.’

  He looked across at his sister, standing in the door of his studio, and said, ‘About our friend… I think I would prefer it if you just said you might be planning to shoot a documentary in Turkey, and leave it at that.’

  ‘Agreed. It’s better to stay… cool on this matter, don’t you think?’

  He nodded and, releasing Daisy, he walked over to Justine and said, sotto voce, ‘That letter is lethal, and our lives will never be the same again.’

  ‘I know,’ she responded, staring into those blue eyes remarkably like her own. ‘A lot of lives are going to be changed.’

  FOUR

  Once Richard had left with Daisy, Justine walked slowly down the gallery, dialling her closest friend, Joanne Brandon. There was no answer; she left a message and headed into her own glass studio.

  Years ago, this had been her father’s office, although its design was totally different today. The huge plate-glass windows Richard had installed gave it spaciousness, wonderful clear daylight and spectacular views of the property.

  Her desk was a replica of Richard’s, also of his design, a slab of heavy glass on steel sawhorses. Hers was a bit more cluttered than his, with several photographs in silver frames, mementos of some of her trips abroad, a Tiffany carriage clock Joanne had given her for her twenty-first, and a silver hunting cup filled with matching pens, another sign of Justine’s tidiness and perfectionism. Behind her, a glass console table held her computer and keypad. She turned it on, and a few minutes later, when she glanced behind her, she saw there were no messages.

  Sitting back in her chair, she let her thoughts wander, waiting for Joanne to call back. They had been friends since childhood; Joanne’s mother had owned a house lower down on Indian Ridge Hill, and they had grown up together. Joanne had inherited the house, and their friendship had continued into adulthood. Joanne’s mother had been a widow, and Justine’s father had gone out of his way to give Joanne a great deal of affection and later good advice after her mother had died.

  Tony Nolan. He had been struck down in his prime by a fatal heart attack, and he hadn’t even known he had a heart problem …twelve years ago. Justine was well aware that it was because of him that she and her twin had turned out so well. He was the one who had brought them up, given them a regime, a routine in their lives, instilling in them duty, responsibility and a genuine work ethic.

  He had shown them a great deal of love, devoted himself to them, and, as a consequence, she and Richard had turned out to be wholesome, loving and relatively normal adults. Certainly they were well grounded.

  Tony Nolan had taught them about ethics and integrity, given them a sense of honour. Being truthful was a phrase never far from his lips. Yes, he had been a truly good man and a wonderful father, and his values had been of sterling quality.

  Quite unexpectedly, more than two decades fell away, and Justine saw him in her mind’s eye on the day Pearl, Tita and their mother Estrelita had arrived at the house. He had hired Estrelita, a Chilean, to be the housekeeper at Indian Ridge, because their mother was always away on decorating business.

  To her father’s surprise and dismay, Estrelita had brought along her daughters, who had just arrived from Chile. She remembered how her father hadn’t had the heart to send the two girls back to Estrelita’s family in Chile, and so he had allowed them to stay. But he had hired an immigration lawyer at on
ce, had undertaken to sponsor them. It helped that Estrelita had worked in New York for some years and had a green card, and matters had proceeded smoothly.

  My God, twenty-two years ago, she muttered under her breath. She and Richard had been ten years old, Pearl eighteen, Tita sixteen.

  Because their father had allowed the girls to stay, they fully understood they must help their mother in the house, and they had done so. But Pearl and Tita had longed to cook because they loved food, and it was her father who had taught them.

  Justine closed her eyes, lost in sudden memories of her childhood, and saw them as they were all those years ago. She heard her father’s booming laughter, the girls giggling and Richard joining in the banter and the fun.

  She had been troubled at that time because of her mother’s continuing absences – taken away from them by her work. Suddenly Justine now understood how much she had resented that in those days.

  Rousing herself from her thoughts, sitting up straighter in the desk chair, Justine opened her eyes. And yet Pearl and Tita were still there, dancing around in her head. How devoted and loyal the two of them had been and still were.

  They had stayed on after Estrelita had been taken seriously ill and had died here at Indian Ridge. The old house had become their beloved home over the years, just as it was her brother’s and hers.

  Pearl had been married at the local church fourteen years ago and her father had given Pearl away; she and Tita had been bridesmaids. Pearl had married her third cousin, Carlos Gonzales, who had come to visit Pearl and Tita from Miami and had never left. Tony Nolan had given him a job as a gardener and carpenter; and after Carlos had married Pearl, his father had come from Miami to live with them, and help out at Indian Ridge. Like his son, Ricardo was a hard worker and a talented carpenter.

  As she looked back, Justine realized that her mother had never really been part of their childhood at Indian Ridge, although her grandmother had. Deborah Nolan had always been aloof, remote, and had somehow managed to stand outside their joyousness over the years. In a certain sense, she had been like a stranger looking in.