Letter from a Stranger (47 page)

Moving on, she wrote out a menu for Sunday lunch, which she would give to Pearl and Tita later. Michael’s sister, Alicia, and his parents were coming to spend the day. Naturally they wanted to meet her, and be with Cornelia’s mother, Anita. And she was itching to meet them, hoping they would like her. “Stop worrying,” Michael had said on the plane to New York. “You’re already part of the family, dopey.”

*   *   *

“I’m so happy you like the changes I’ve made,” Richard said. “This is your house, your gallery, your estate, Gran. You created it all years ago. But I would have been really upset if you’d hated the offices. I put my heart and soul into them.”

Gabriele glanced at him, exclaimed, “But I love your glass boxes, Richard. They are just
dazzling.
There’s no other word to describe them. And I think the gallery looks magnificent, the way you have opened it up is spectacular. And your rolling walls are a fabulous idea.” As she spoke Gabriele pushed one of the walls, and it rolled across the floor. She walked through the new space, smiling. “See what I mean. And the sense of spaciousness is lovely and the paintings are so well displayed.”

Richard followed her. “We have a lot of your paintings hanging on this wall, Gran. In fact, Justine’s favorite is right here.”

Gabriele hurried over. She was pleased that her grandchildren had kept her paintings on view, but thought they weren’t good enough to be on display alongside the works of some of the artists hanging here.

After a moment, she said, “My paintings aren’t that bad after all, are they, Rich? Oh, here’s the one Justine loves! She was always so taken with it. Look, Richard, that’s me, just there. And here’s Anita, next to me. We’re in the meadows of er, er, some meadows. I used an old snapshot from 1938 as my inspiration.”

Richard was staring at it. “I’ve loved it for as long as I can remember,” he told her. “I wish you’d painted more, Gran. You have such talent.”

Gabriele nodded. A rush of unexpected memories assailed her as she gazed at the painting of her and Anita … memories of Arabella, Irina, and the Schloss in the Mark Brandenburg. Of their little abode, their hole in the ground that had been their safe haven.… So many memories … so many years had flown by. Over sixty years, she thought.

Her eyes were suddenly moist. She hoped Richard hadn’t noticed. No time for tears today, she thought. She had come home to her beloved Indian Ridge … and she was going to plan a wedding.

*   *   *

Later that afternoon, Justine knocked on Richard’s bedroom door, poked her head around it. “You’re not napping, are you?”

“No, I was just sitting here thinking about our mother. I can’t wait to tell her off, but I dread seeing her.”

Justine came in, closed the door. “I know what you mean.” She sat down, held the leather notebook on her lap.

“What’s that?” he asked, having just noticed it.

“It’s for you, Rich. I want you to start reading it immediately. In fact it’s imperative that you do so.”

“Oh, why?”

“Because you have a need to know what’s in here before we take on Deborah. It’s a sort of memoir Gran wrote over the last ten years. Bits and pieces of her life, she calls it. I read it in Istanbul and it’s extraordinary.”

“Tell me about it.”

“No, I can’t. That’s not what Gran wants. She was going to leave it to us in her will, and then decided we should have access to it
now.
And she didn’t want me to tell you anything. She insists you read it for yourself.”

“Okay, I’ll do that. It doesn’t look very long.”

Justine simply nodded, went on, “Why is our mother in New York?”

“She’s doing that big decorating job in Tokyo. I guess she cut short her buying trip in China. She’s here to buy art. Important art, she said. Frankly, I’m glad she’s in Manhattan. Having to fly out to the coast to confront her would be a nuisance at this moment, what with your wedding coming up. We don’t have the time.”

“It is more convenient that she’s here. I can’t wait to give her a piece of my mind. Have you made the date with her?” Justine asked.

“I said I’d call her tomorrow. She’s staying at the Carlyle.”

“Make it for early in the week, Rich. Because Michael wants to come back out here on Thursday or Friday.” Rising, Justine walked over, handed him the notebook. “I think you’ll have a few surprises,” she said.

Fifty-three

Justine and Richard sat together in the small lounge area of the Carlyle Hotel on Madison Avenue. It was five thirty on Tuesday afternoon. They had an appointment with their mother at six, and they were both nervous about seeing her.

Justine said, “I know you’re still in a fury with her, Rich, and I don’t blame you. Anti-Semitism is vile. I think Gran is right. She said it was bred in the bone. Deborah inherited it from her father and grandmother when she was growing up in England.”

He nodded. “As I told you on Sunday night, it came as such a shock after reading
Fragments.
I was moved by Gran’s story, admiring of her and her courage, and loving her more than ever.” He paused, took a sip of water, added, “Our mother is insane. She’s always been a bit of a flake, and soft in the head.”

“I don’t know about that. Surely ‘wicked’ is a better word?” Justine replied.

“I can think of quite a few words to apply to her. Greedy for one. Selfish. Self-involved. Manipulative. A liar. A cheat. I could fill a yellow pad about her. By the way, how do you plan to handle this?”

“I don’t know, Richard. I thought we should play it by ear. I want to tell her we know what she did, the lies she told us about Gran being dead. That we’re on Gran’s side. That we don’t want
her
in our lives. Agreed?”

“Absolutely. And I’ll take your lead. As I always have.”

She glanced at her watch. “I’m glad we didn’t tell Gran she’s in Manhattan, aren’t you?”

Richard said, “Absolutely. I don’t want Gran to be exposed to her in any way. It’s the first of June today, she’s going to be eighty this month. I don’t want her to have any aggravation with Deborah. I want to make this a happy month for Gran. She certainly deserves it, considering the life she’s had. And I certainly don’t want her to be upset just before your wedding. I’m sure you agree about that.”

“I do, yes. And so does Michael. He’s still shocked about Deborah’s behavior, totally dumbfounded that she broke up our family, isolated Gran, her own mother, for God’s sake. To say he’s livid about her anti-Semitism is an understatement.”

“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 check 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 anymore. 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 gray eyes. As different from the Landaus as she could be. Did that trouble her? Was she jealous of their height, their good looks, their blondness? Joanne had once said that she was years ago. 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 fall.”

“I recognize those names,” Justine remarked, staring hard at Deborah. “Gran used them when she had the showroom with Dad at the D and 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 gray 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 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.