I’m good at covering all my bases, and my ass, and my brain works well when my life is in danger.

Anyway, I checked through almost two weeks of e-mail, most of it from clients in London who couldn’t seem to grasp the fact that I was on an extended sabbatical, which reminded me that I needed to inform my firm of my decision to resign. And I also needed to inform Samantha of my decision to resign from her.

I should phone, but it was past 11:00 P.M. in London, so maybe I should just e-mail and get that over with, but that wasn’t the right thing to do… and, I thought, maybe I should wait to see what happened in the next thirty minutes. I mean, it could get ugly, but I knew that Susan would, as she said, put her priorities in order. The problem was, she had several priorities: me, the children, and the money, and they might be mutually exclusive.

So it might have to be me who needed to put the priorities in order, and by that I meant I might bow out if it came down to John or half the hundred million. Not to mention the children’s trust funds and Susan’s allowance.

While I was thinking about being noble and selfless, I could hear the florists going in and out the front door, and Susan giving them instructions in that upper-class tone of voice that was polite but unquestionably authoritative.

How, I wondered, was this woman going to live without money? I mean, those fucking flowers cost more than most people made in a month. Not to mention the stupid froufrou hors d’oeuvres, and the caterer, and Sophie… well, why think about that now? We had more serious problems, like staying alive.

I sent a few e-mails to friends in London, but I didn’t mention anything about quitting my job, relocating to New York, marrying my ex-wife, or the Mafia trying to kill me. Some of that could get back to my firm, or to Samantha. I mean, I was ready to burn my bridges, but if I somehow found that I needed to re-cross the pond, then I’d need that bridge.

I had e-mailed my sister, Emily, who was still living on some beach in Texas with boyfriend number four or five. Emily and I are close, despite our long geographic separations for the last dozen years. I’d told her about Ethel’s passing, and then gave her the good news about Susan and me.

I pulled up her reply, which said: Wonderful. Love, Emily P.S. Wonderful. P.P.S. I’ll miss Ethel’s funeral, but I will not miss John and Susan’s wedding. Let’s speak when you get a chance.

I replied: You are wonderful. Life is wonderful. Will call you when I can. Love, John P.S. The Stanhopes will arrive momentarily. Not so wonderful. But maybe good for a few laughs.

Regarding that, the doorbell rang. I peeked out the blinds and saw next to my blue Taurus another blue Taurus that I was certain was the Stanhopes’ rental car. I had this wonderful vision of William and Charlotte driving their blue Taurus through the gates onto Grace Lane and being met by a stream of machine-gun fire.

I could hear Susan exclaim, “Welcome!”

William the Terrible said, “Damned traffic in New York – how can you live here?”

Charlotte chirped, “It’s so wonderful to see you, darling!”

And so forth.

The happy voices disappeared down the corridor, and I turned back to the keyboard and began typing an e-mail to Edward and Carolyn: Hi! Your grandparents have unfortunately arrived safely… delete that… Grandma and Grandpa have just arrived, and I’m hiding… delete… G and G just got here, and I haven’t yet said hello, so I’ll keep this short. Remember, when you get here, that your mother and I love you very much, and we love each other, and we will all try to make Grandpa and Grandma feel welcome and loved, and even Uncle Peter, that useless… delete… who may be joining us. Your mother and I will try to call you tomorrow, and let you know how things are going, or call us. Edward, if we don’t speak, have a safe flight. Carolyn, let us know what train you’re taking. Love, Dad. P.S. Your grandparents are worth a hundred million dollars dead… delete.

I read the e-mail, not sure if I should send it. I mean, Edward and Carolyn knew there would be some friction between me and their grandparents, and the children were adults, so I needed to treat them as such and give them a heads-up. My letter seemed positive, but they’d understand the subtle hint that there could be a problem when they got here. I had no idea what Susan had told them on this subject, if anything, but I needed to be proactive, so I pushed the send button and off it went into cyberspace.

To kill time, I went online and typed in in-laws, perfect murders of, and actually got a few hits.

Next I went onto a Web site that an American client had told me about, which showed aerial views of homes and commercial properties around the country. I’d actually used this site once in my work for an American client, and I’d even checked out Stanhope Hall and Alhambra a few months ago during a nostalgia attack.

Within a minute I had an aerial view of Stanhope Hall taken this past winter, which showed me just how huge the main house was. I could also see the hedge maze, the love temple, the tennis court, the plum orchard, and even the overgrown burned-out ruins of Susan’s childhood playhouse, which was about half the size of a real cottage.

I zoomed in on the gatehouse, then moved to the guest cottage and the nearby stables. Then I shifted the view toward Alhambra, and I could see the long, straight line of white pines that separated the estates, and I thought of Susan’s horseback rides from Stanhope Hall to the Alhambra villa.

This photograph, of recent vintage, did not show Bellarosa’s razed villa, of course, or the mock Roman ruins, or the reflecting pool; it showed the red-tiled roofs of the new mini-villas and their landscaping, and the roads that connected them.

I zoomed in on Anthony’s house with the big patio and the oversized pool, then I moved the view back toward the pine trees and the Stanhope estate, and the guest cottage.

On the ground, it was a circuitous route from Susan’s cottage to Anthony’s villa, but from the air, as I suspected, it was only about five or six hundred yards – a third of a mile – between the two houses.

Note to self: If I was jogging cross-country to Anthony Bellarosa’s house, I could be there in less than five minutes; and it was the same traveling time if Anthony Bellarosa was coming this way.

CHAPTER FIFTY

The intercom buzzed, and I picked up the phone and asked, “Did they faint or leave?”

“Neither. But they’re over their initial shock.”

“Are they ready for another shock when I tell them we’re not entering into a prenuptial agreement?”

“Let’s limit it to one shock a day. It’s your turn tomorrow.”

“All right. Where are you?”

“I’m in the kitchen, making them martini number two, but I’ll be in the living room in a minute.” She said, “I’ve made you a stiff drink.”

“Good. See you there.”

I walked out of the office into the foyer. I took a minute to recall twenty years of their bullshit, then I entered the living room.

William and Charlotte were sitting near the fireplace in side-by-side chairs, and Susan was sitting on a love seat across from them. Between them was a coffee table covered with plates of hors d’oeuvres, and I could see that William and Charlotte had fresh martinis in front of them, and Susan had a white wine.

I considered running toward them with my arms out, yelling, “Mom! Dad!” but instead I said simply, “Hello,” and walked toward them.

Susan stood, then William and Charlotte rose without enthusiasm.

I first kissed Susan, to piss them off, then I extended my hand to Charlotte, who gave me a wet noodle, then to William, who gave me a cold tuna. I asked, “So, did you have a good flight?”