Letter from a Stranger by Barbara Taylor Bradford Read Free Book Online

Richard took a swallow of wine. “He didn’t strike me as a man who went around pouncing on women.”
    “I didn’t say he did!” Joanne cried, and then laughed. Focusing on Justine, she changed the subject. “When are you planning to go to Istanbul?”
    “Next week, once I’ve shown the final cut to Miranda on Tuesday. I feel certain she’ll like the film, and when I get all the business with CNI out of the way, I’ll leave.”
    “So are you going to do a documentary on Istanbul?” Joanne’s auburn brow lifted questioningly.
    “I’m not sure. I have an idea I want to pursue, and if I think it’ll work, then yes, I might well be filming there later this year.”
    “So what’s the idea then?”
    “You know I’m superstitious, Jo,” she murmured, sidetracking her friend. “I never talk about an idea until I’ve developed it, and finally got it nailed.”
    “I understand. I have a great friend there, and she’ll be extremely useful. First of all, she speaks perfect English. She’s actually a professor of archaeology. However, being smart, she knew she’d never make a proper living doing that, so she started a boutique travel business. She knows a lot of people, and everything there is to know about all of the ancient sites, ruins, palaces, and the history of the country from the Byzantine period through the Ottoman Empire up to today. Ask her anything. She’ll have the answer. I’ve already sent her an e-mail explaining that I will call her tomorrow.”
    “What’s her name?” Richard asked.
    “Iffet Özgönül, and her company is called Peten … Peten Travels, actually.” Opening her handbag, Joanne took out a sheaf of papers. “Here’s some information about her, and her background, which I pulled up on my computer. And also some pages about Istanbul.”
    Justine took the papers eagerly.
    *   *   *
    Richard and Joanne started to talk about a barn on her property which she wanted to convert into a studio, and Justine buried her head in the sheaf of papers, the computer printout. It was a relief to have them.
    She had suddenly grown apprehensive when Joanne had launched into a discussion about Jean-Marc Breton and his reputation as a lady-killer. So called. Making a documentary film about a great artist, his work and his life, had been problematic enough; things had grown much more complicated and complex when he had fallen for her. She had made a decision months ago not to discuss the making of the film with anyone, and she certainly had no intention of speaking about her relationship with him.
    Brushing thoughts of the Frenchman aside, she went on reading about Iffet Özgönül, liking the sound of her. This was a person who could no doubt help her in a variety of different ways, and it was very likely that Iffet would be able to find Anita Lowe, who was the key to Gabriele’s whereabouts.
    The sudden appearance of Tita in the doorway made Justine look up, and she raised a brow. “Do you want us to come to the table?”
    “Please, now, Pearl says, for the eggs.”
    “I’m famished,” Richard announced, standing up. “Come on, Jo, and bring your drink.”
    Tita disappeared down the corridor and Richard led Joanne and his sister into the small cozy dining room next door, which had once been the breakfast room, full of sunny yellows and greens and glass furniture. Richard had redesigned it. Removing all of the glass pieces, except for two étagères on either side of the fireplace, he had used a color scheme of scarlet and black.… Scarlet on the walls, a black floor, plus mellow antiques made an enormous difference.
    “This has been a terrific transformation,” Joanne remarked, as Richard pulled out a chair for her, then went to help Justine.
    He whispered against his sister’s cheek, “Where’s the letter? I left it on my desk.”
    “I have it in my pocket,” she murmured, and then looking across at Joanne, said, “I agree with you about this room, and although I was only