Letter From a Stranger

  ‘How much does Anita know?’

  ‘All of it, and she’s currently reading Fragments. I think she’s hurt inside for Gran,’ Justine said.

  ‘That’s understandable, considering their closeness, the circumstances of their lives.’ Richard pushed his sleeve up, looked at his watch. ‘It’s a few minutes to six. I can’t stand this, I’m going to call her, tell her we’re coming up.’

  ‘Yes, you’d better do that. We don’t want to surprise her. She might have a man in the room.’

  Richard threw her a pointed look, said, ‘We certainly knew about her shenanigans, even if Dad didn’t.’

  ‘Dad wasn’t dumb, Rich, he just turned a blind eye for peace and quiet. And for us. He wanted us to have a stable upbringing. No divorce, no custody fight. No ripping us away from him.’

  ‘I know. Okay, come on, let’s go to the lobby, call her suite.’ He paid the bill for their water, and they left the lounge area. Richard glanced at his twin, and suddenly laughed.

  She stared at him. ‘What’s wrong? Don’t I look all right?’

  He chuckled once more, and said, ‘You look fantastic. I love the black suit, the white blouse and pearls. Your hair tied back in a chignon. You look as if you mean business.’

  ‘I do mean business. And I’m aiming for the jugular.’

  When Deborah Nolan opened the door of her suite, Justine was surprised. Her mother looked exactly the same. She had not changed. She was still beautiful in her own way. How does she do it? Justine wondered as she followed Richard inside.

  Deborah said, ‘Well this is a nice surprise. I was beginning to think you didn’t want to see me any more. It’s been several years, kids.’

  ‘You haven’t been here,’ Justine answered. ‘And we never come to the Coast.’

  Deborah ignored this comment. ‘Would you like a drink? I’ve got a full bar here. I’m doing a lot of entertaining this week. Art dealers mainly. I’ve got this huge job in Tokyo. So what would you like, Justine? Richard?’

  ‘Water for me, please,’ Richard said.

  ‘The same,’ Justine murmured, and sat down in a chair. Her eyes followed Deborah as she moved across to the drinks table, poured the water. She was still trim. She had to be because she was short. Short, dark haired, with grey eyes. As different from the Landaus as she could be. Did that trouble her? Was she jealous of their height, their good looks, their blondeness? Joanne had once said, years ago, that she was. Maybe Jo had been right. She was one of the smart kids on the block.

  Deborah brought them their drinks, and went back for her own glass of water. ‘Got to stay trim,’ she said, eyeing Justine. ‘You look great, Justine, and you too, Richard.’

  Neither of them answered. After a moment, Deborah said, ‘Well, is this a social visit, or what? You both look pretty serious.’ She stared at them, a brow lifting quizzically.

  ‘We just wanted to see you, talk about a few things,’ Justine answered. ‘Incidentally, how was China? Your buying trip?’

  ‘It was great! I covered a lot of ground in a short time, bought loads of blue-and-white porcelain and pottery, antiques. I have a boutique in Beverly Hills. It’s called Exotic Places, Faraway Lands. And it’s going well. That’s why I went to China, to procure stock. I hope to go to India this autumn.’

  ‘I recognize those names,’ Justine remarked, staring hard at Deborah. ‘Gran used them when she had the showroom with Dad at the D & D Building on Lexington Avenue.’

  ‘Oh yes, I know. The franchises are mine now. I inherited them.’

  ‘Did you really? And talking of faraway places, I’ve just come back from Istanbul. It’s an interesting city.’

  ‘Maybe I should make a trip there. There must be loads to buy. What do you think?’

  Justine was silent for a moment. She glanced at her twin, and then at Deborah. ‘I went to Istanbul to see Anita Lowe.’

  ‘Who’s Anita Lowe?’

  ‘You know her. She was involved with Gran in the ceramic and carpet business.’

  ‘I can’t recall her.’

  ‘I went to see her because she was worried about Gran. She wrote a letter. After all, she will be eighty this month and she hasn’t been well. She’s much better now, thank God.’

  ‘Who are you talking about? Anita Lowe, I assume.’

  ‘No, Gran. Your mother. Gabriele.’

  ‘Don’t be so ridiculous. She’s dead!’ Deborah exclaimed.

  ‘No, she’s not. As a matter of fact she’s alive and well and in Connecticut at this very moment. I brought her back with me from Istanbul. She’s installed in her house, the home she loves so much. Indian Ridge. Her house, not yours.’

  Deborah was dumbfounded. She sat gaping at Justine and Richard. She was speechless. Her face was a blank. But Justine realized that those luminous grey eyes were full of cunning. She might look stupefied, but there was no doubt in Justine’s mind that Deborah was totally alert, already conniving.

  Richard said, ‘Why did you tell that awful lie? Ten years ago. It was unconscionable. Wicked! You told us Gran was dead, killed in a plane crash. We have grieved for her for years. When we found out that she was alive, that you had caused that estrangement, we realized what a terrible thing you had done. To her. To us. Isolating her from us for years. You ruined the last ten years for her. And caused us immense pain.’

  ‘This is all ridiculous!’ Deborah shot back, sitting up straighter. ‘I’m not going to listen to all this nonsense. Bullshit, that’s what this is!’

  Justine was furious but she controlled herself. Opening her bag she took out the letter from Anita, handed it to Deborah. ‘This is a copy of the letter from Anita Lowe. I opened it, because you’d always told me to open your mail. I’m glad I did. If I hadn’t opened it, we wouldn’t have known what a liar you are. Yes, a liar. And a bad woman.’

  Deborah had taken the letter, but she wasn’t reading it.

  Justine said icily, in a threatening tone, ‘Read the letter.’

  Deborah simply gaped at her.

  Justine jumped up, went and stood over her mother. ‘I said read the letter. Read it.’ Her voice was so steely, her anger so apparent, that Deborah did as she asked, read the letter, then tore it up.

  ‘The ravings of some senile old woman!’ she exclaimed, and threw the pieces of paper on the coffee table.

  Richard said angrily, ‘You’re really incredible. I think you must be off your head. Deranged. Our grandmother is alive, and you know that as well as we do. Yet you keep insisting she isn’t. There’s got to be something wrong with you. Are you mad?’

  ‘How dare you say that?’

  ‘Oh shut up, and listen!’ Justine cried, losing it for a moment. She took hold of herself and continued, ‘I went to Istanbul and I found Gran. I spent some healing time with her. And she told me everything. She told me how you broke into her writing case ten years ago, read her private documents. And that in doing so you discovered your mother was Jewish. That this sent you into a tailspin. You were hysterical because you discovered you’re Jewish. And that is when you threw her out of the family. And all because you’re anti-Semitic.’

  ‘She lied to me!’ Deborah shouted, her face turning red.

  ‘No, Gran didn’t lie to you. She never lies. But you do. We’re well aware of that. She didn’t tell you she was Jewish. Which is different from lying. And she didn’t tell you because she didn’t want to relive the pain of the past.’

  ‘She lied. I was there, not you. And stop accusing me. How dare you?’

  ‘I dare because I have the right. You broke up my family. Richard’s family. You put our grandmother at risk. She was so devastated she became ill. She could have died.’

  Deborah kept shaking her head, denying everything.

  Richard said, ‘You’re Jewish too, you know. And so are we. And why does it matter anyway?’

  ‘I am not Jewish,’ Deborah screamed. ‘I’m not!’

  ‘Yes, you are. And the reason you’re denying it is because
you’re anti-Semitic. Your father Peter Hardwicke and his mother were anti-Semites and bigots. You inherited those horrendous characteristics from them. It’s bred in the bone.’ Justine had been shouting in Deborah’s face, and now she walked away. She was shaking all over. She sat down in the chair, trying to contain her flaring emotions and especially her anger.

  Richard exclaimed, ‘You’re not only a pathological liar, you’re a cheat. We know what you did to Dad. We know about all those men. All those trips when we were growing up. You’re rotten to the core. I don’t want to see you ever again.’

  ‘Actually, you’re pure evil,’ Justine said, and stood up. ‘I have nothing more to say to you. I disown you as Richard has. I never want to set eyes on you again.’

  Richard stood up. ‘I don’t know how you can live with yourself. You killed your mother with the lies you told us, your children. You might as well have taken a gun and just shot her. Thankfully, we’ve brought her back to life.’

  In the most normal of voices, Deborah said, ‘That’s a beautiful sapphire ring, Justine. On your engagement finger. Are you engaged?’

  Justine was flabbergasted by her mother’s extraordinary behaviour. ‘Yes, I am engaged,’ she replied in a cold voice, picking up her handbag and walking to the door.

  Richard followed her, convinced Deborah was a truly disturbed person.

  Deborah rose. ‘So you’re getting married soon?’

  Without turning around, Justine said, ‘Yes I am, and he’s Jewish. Like me and you and Gran.’

  ‘And me,’ Richard added, and walked out with Justine, banging the door of the suite behind him.

  In the elevator going down to the lobby, Justine clutched her brother’s arm. ‘You don’t know how hard it was for me to keep my hands off her. I wanted to punch her in the face, and keep on punching her. I’ve never experienced anything like that in my life. I’m the least violent person, as you know.’

  ‘I wanted to hit her myself. She enraged me. There’s something wrong with her, you know.’

  ‘Yes, I believe there is.’

  When they stepped out into the lobby, Richard said, ‘Where are you going now?’

  ‘Into the bar. Michael’s waiting for me. Come on, Rich, he wants to buy us a drink. And I for one need it.’

  ‘So do I. And thank God that ordeal is over.’

  Michael stood up and waved when he saw them. They walked over and sat down at the table with him. ‘How did it go?’ he asked.

  Justine shook her head. ‘I thought I was going to beat her over the head. She infuriated me. And I’m sort of thrown by that reaction.’

  Michael put his hand on her arm, smiled at her. ‘It’s all right to feel that. We all have similar reactions in given situations that are trying. The important thing is, you didn’t do it. What do you want to drink? And you, Rich?’

  Justine said, ‘A vodka on the rocks with a piece of lime.’

  ‘I’ll have the same,’ Richard said. And went on, ‘I had the same angry feelings, Michael. And I honestly think Deborah is …sick in the head. She kept denying everything. She even denied she was Jewish.’

  ‘Of course she did.’ He beckoned to a waiter, ordered their drinks. They sat together for a while, discussing the encounter with Deborah.

  At one moment Michael looked at Justine, and frowned, ‘I know you didn’t tell Gabri that you were going to confront your mother. Do you intend to tell her now that it’s over?’

  Justine was silent. She looked thoughtful.

  Richard asked quietly, ‘What’s the point?’ He touched Justine’s arm. ‘What do you think, Juju? Shall we tell her or keep it to ourselves?’

  ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t mention it, Rich. Why tell her anything about this horrendous confrontation? She doesn’t need to know.’

  ‘Correct,’ Michael said. ‘When there is no need to know, keep a lid on it.’

  A little later they left The Carlyle Hotel. Richard took a cab home. It was a lovely evening and Michael and Justine walked down Madison Avenue. At one moment she said to Michael, ‘I needed some fresh air after that horrible experience. And I can’t believe I felt so violent.’

  ‘Forget it, darling. Forget Deborah Nolan. Think about how wonderful Gabri is now because you found her, brought her back to New York. I know she loves Istanbul, but she is also attached to Indian Ridge. You’ve made her happy, and Anita, too. And you’ve certainly made me happy, Justine.’

  For the first time that day she smiled as she looked into his face. ‘You’re such a beautiful man, a good man, a lovely man. And I’m relieved you’re mine, Michael Dalton.’

  ‘Just keep on thinking that, saying it.’ He paused, turned to her. ‘Do you think they did set us up? The grans, I mean?’

  Justine looked at him, frowning, shaking her head. ‘I just don’t know, Michael. Perhaps they did.’

  ‘Oh, what does it matter? It worked, didn’t it? We fell in love and we’re going to be together for the rest of our lives.’

  ‘You bet we are,’ she murmured, and took hold of his hand. ‘And the best is yet to come.’

  EPILOGUE

  The Litchfield Hills, Connecticut July 2004

  EPILOGUE

  It was July the Fourth and glorious. The perfect day for the perfect wedding with a perfect bride and groom. And Gabriele knew that this family photograph about to be taken was going to be perfect too.

  She stood with Justine, a beautiful bride in white satin and lace, and a handsome groom in an elegant morning suit, a white rose in his buttonhole. Next to Michael was his grandmother, Anita, his parents Cornelia and Larry, his sister Alicia. And standing on the other side were Richard, Joanne, Daisy, Simon and Iffet. Who had come all the way from Istanbul to be another bridesmaid.

  As she glanced at them all, Gabriele’s heart swelled, overflowed with so much love she thought it would burst. She had never imagined a day like this could happen in her life. A day of happiness and contentment. There were no words that could fully express the feelings she was experiencing. To say she was happy was not enough. It was something beyond that.

  Long ago she had lost her family. It had been wrenched from her by a vile regime. Ten years ago she had lost another family, this one ripped away by an angry and bigoted woman. She had believed she would never have another family ever again. But now she did. They stood here with her on this lawn at Indian Ridge, surrounded her, and she knew they loved her as much as she loved them.

  Suddenly it was over. The photographer was finished with them. At least for the moment. And in a few seconds the reception would be in full swing. Justine said, ‘Gran, always wear blue, like Irina said you should. You’re beautiful today.’

  ‘And so are you, Justine. Everything is perfect. Even the huppah is perfect, and you both looked so happy standing under it with the rabbi.’

  Michael came to her, kissed her. ‘Just think, now we really are related. I can call you Gran, can’t I?’

  She laughed. ‘Of course you can.’ And then she turned to greet everyone as they came up to her, and Anita did the same, beaming with pleasure.

  Justine took Michael’s hand in hers, smiling up at him. ‘The grans are marvellous. They’re holding court like elegant queens.’

  ‘You must tell them that, they’ll love it.’ Justine and Michael exchanged looks. Together they went over to Gabriele, drew her to one side.

  Justine said, ‘Gran, we’ve something to ask you. We thought this might be the best time.’

  ‘What is it?’ Gabriele asked, looking from one to the other, wondering if something was wrong.

  ‘We know you love Istanbul and your yali, but we hoped you would agree to spend some time at Indian Ridge. Perhaps in the summers,’ Michael suggested. ‘When it’s so hot in Istanbul.’

  She was silent for a moment. ‘I shall come every summer because this is where my family is. I lost two families in my lifetime. Now that I have my third, I think I have to be… with you.’

  ‘Third time lucky, Gran,’
Justine said, her eyes suddenly moist. ‘Indian Ridge is your sanctuary.’

  Gabriele looked from Justine to Michael, and she smiled. It was a lovely smile that filled her face with radiance. She said, ‘My family is my sanctuary…’ And she went on smiling for the rest of the day.

  BIBLIOGRAPHY

  Bassett, Richard. Hitler’s Spy Chief. London: Cassell.

  Bielenberg, Christabel. The Past Is Myself. London: Corgi.

  Cannadine, David. Blood, Toil, Tears and Sweat: The Speeches of Winston Churchill. New York: Houghton Mifflin.

  Clare, George. Berlin Days 1946–1947. London: Macmillan.

  Everett, Susan. Lost Berlin. New York: Gallery Books.

  Gilbert, Martin. Winston S. Churchill, Vol. VI, Finest Hour 1939–1941. London: Heinemann.

  Gilbert, Martin. Winston S. Churchill, Vol. VII, Road to Victory 1941–1945. London: Heinemann.

  Irving, David. Göring. London: Macmillan.

  Kaplan, Philip and Richard Collier. Their Finest Hour: The Battle of Britain Remembered. New York: Abbeville Press.

  Metternich, Tatiana. Tatiana: Five Passports in a Shifting Europe. London: Century.

  Roberts, Andrew. The Storm of War. New York: Harper.

  Ryan, Cornelius. The Last Battle. New York: Simon & Schuster.

  Shirer, William L. The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich. Beverly Hills, CA: Ballantine Books.

  Simmons, Michael. Berlin: The Dispossessed City. London: Hamish Hamilton.

  Solmssen, Arthur R. G. A Princess in Berlin. Beverly Hills, CA: Ballantine Books.

  Taylor, James and Warren Shaw. Dictionary of the Third Reich. London: Grafton Books.

  Toland, John. Adolf Hitler. New York: Doubleday.

  Vassiltchikov, Marie. Berlin Diaries 1940–1945. New York: Random House, Inc.

  Wasserstein, Bernard, Britain and the Jews of Europe 1939–1945. Oxford: Oxford University Press.