Letter from a Stranger. Barbara Taylor Bradford

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