Barbara Taylor Bradford - Letter from a Stranger

‘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.’

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 once, 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.

What had made her mother tell that horrendous lie ten years ago? She had ruined Gabriele’s life, certainly caused her heartache. And she had caused them unnecessary grief. Only a monster would do something like that, something so cruel. Evil. What her mother had done was evil.

Her cell phone rang. She picked it up, put it to her ear.

‘It’s me. Jo.’

‘Hi. Where are you?’

‘I just arrived from New York. When did you get here, Juju?’

‘Early this afternoon. Any chance you can come to dinner with me and Rich? We need to pick your brains, quite aside of wanting to see you.’

‘I can. Delia will give Simon his supper. What do you want to pick my brains about?’