Letter from a Stranger. Barbara Taylor Bradford

– 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 once, had undertaken to sponsor them. It helped that Estrelita had worked