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

half listening when you were discussing the barn, I think Rich has some great ideas for remodeling it.”
    “He does. But then he’s the best,” Jo responded.
    “I like Iffet before meeting her,” Justine murmured.
    “Here’re the Parisian eggs,” Pearl announced, striding into the room with a tray of plates, followed by Tita, who handed one to each of them.
    “Oh my, Parisian eggs like your grandmother used to make.… I just love them.” Joanne picked up her fork, and began to eat at once.
    How weird it is that no one has mentioned Gran for ages, Justine thought. And now, today, her name’s on everyone’s lips. Anxiety about her grandmother edged into her mind, as it had done on and off all day. Where was she? Was she well? Did she need money? What did she think of them? Her and Rich? Did she think they were in on this crazy estrangement, something promulgated by their insane mother? She hoped, no prayed, this was not the case. Her mother. Deborah Nolan really was off her rocker, wasn’t she? Two husbands since their father had died; both had divorced her, or she them, Justine wasn’t sure which. What man would put up with her antics? She was skittish, silly, shallow, a spendthrift. Talented, tortured, tricky, troubled. Justine sighed under her breath. She could easily go through the alphabet, defining her mother, who had always been the absent mother, hadn’t she?
    “Penny for your thoughts,” Richard said, sitting back in the chair, gazing at his sister, worrying about her and their grandmother.
    “Nothing much to tell you,” Justine replied. “The eggs are good.” She grinned at him.
    “And how. I’ve demolished them already. Great idea, on your part.”
    “It was Pearl, actually. By the way, I saw Carlos and Ricardo carrying some big planks of wood over to your building project this afternoon. How’s it coming along?”
    “They’re doing a great job, and it’ll be finished by the summer. But it’s really just a simple bungalow, Juju, not a stately home.”
    She began to chuckle. “ Simple? Don’t be silly, it’s beginning to look like something rather splendid, in my opinion.”
    Joanne said, “I can’t wait to see it, when am I going to get the tour?”
    “Nothing to tour, as you call it, Jo, not yet. But I’ll show you around tomorrow before tea in the gazebo.” He smiled lovingly at Joanne. “I heard all about tea from Daisy. She’s so excited you and Simon are coming.”
    “So am I, so’s he,” Jo murmured. She wanted to add that Justine and Richard were the only family they had, and that they loved them very much, that she and Simon were dependent on them in so many ways. But she refrained.
    She stole a look at Richard, surreptitiously, as she had been doing for as long as she could remember. She had loved him all of her life, had hero-worshiped him, but he had never shown much interest in her, at least not romantically. And then one day she had been swept off her feet by the sweet-talking, fast-talking, aggressive Malcolm Brandon, who had turned out to be a glib dud. And Richard had married Pamela. Who had died. And she had divorced the glib monster of Wall Street fame.
    As she sat eating cottage pie, and savoring this favorite, it suddenly struck Jo that Richard did not seem so full of grief tonight. Distracted, yes. Preoccupied, yes. And worried. He was worrying about something.
    She was suddenly absolutely certain he was not pining for Pamela at this moment. There was a difference in his demeanor; he appeared jumpy, on edge, and concern clouded those wonderfully blue eyes. He was thinking hard; she knew when he was doing that, had been aware of this even when they were kids.
    Jo let her gaze rest on Justine, thinking that she was also different tonight, had retreated into herself after her comments about Jean-Marc. And yet … well, there was something else bothering her best friend. Was it a problem with their mother?
    Deborah, the darling of every man who met her,