“Me?” I asked her, “Would we be going through this if they weren’t rich?”

She poured the gin into both glasses and replied, “If they weren’t rich, they wouldn’t be so difficult.”

“We’ll never know.”

“And please do not use the words ‘a hundred million’ again.”

“I was just trying to quantify-”

“Remember the children. I don’t care about us, but I do care about them.”

I thought a moment and said, “I don’t want our children to lose their self-respect or their souls for a pot of gold.”

“No. That’s our job.”

I asked her, “Where are Mom and Dad sleeping tonight?”

“It hasn’t come up.”

“Do they know I’m sleeping here with you?”

“Well… Dad commented on the guards in the gatehouse, but I don’t think he’s put two and two together yet.” She added, “When the time comes, we should all just say good night and not make a big thing of it.”

“All right. And what are our dinner plans?”

“Well, we all go to the funeral home, then I’ll suggest we come back here for a light supper. Unless they’d rather go to a restaurant.”

“How about that Italian restaurant in Locust Valley where we had the last supper?”

She laughed and said, “Okay, but don’t skip out on the bill this time.”

“Ah! That’s why he’s still pissed off.”

Susan poured a touch of dry vermouth in each glass, added an olive, and said, “Let’s get back so they don’t think we’re talking about them.”

“They’re talking about us.”

She put both glasses on a silver tray, handed it to me, and said, “You do the honors.”

I started for the door, then stopped and said to her, “If this doesn’t work out by Sunday, I never want to see those two again. Understand?”

“It will work. You will make it work.”

I continued on, back through the foyer and into the living room, where I said, cheerfully, “Here we go! And there’s more where that came from.”

They took their glasses, tasted their martinis, and William said, “Susan makes a perfect martini.”

“And I didn’t spill a drop,” I said proudly.

Susan raised her glass of wine and said, “Let me again say how happy I am that you’re here, where we all once lived in beautiful Stanhope Hall, and even though it’s a sad occasion, I know that Ethel is looking down on us, smiling as she sees us all together again.”

That almost brought a tear to my eye, and I said, “Hear, hear.”

We didn’t touch glasses, but we did raise them and everyone drank.

I had the feeling that William and Charlotte had spent the last five minutes congratulating each other for being such assholes, and also coordinating an attack on John.

Along those lines, William said to his daughter, “I saw Dan’s son, Bob, the other day at the club, and he passes on his regards.”

Susan replied, “That’s nice.”

“He told me again how happy you’d made his father in his last years.”

Susan did not reply.

It was Charlotte’s turn, and she said, “We all miss Dan so much. He was always the life of the party.”

William chuckled and added, “And did he ever love to golf. And he made you love the game, Susan. You were getting quite good.” He inquired, “Are you golfing here?”

“No.”

“Well, once it’s in your blood – I’ll bet Dan is up there golfing twice a day.”

Charlotte said to Susan, “You left those beautiful clubs he bought you. Would you like us to send them?”

“No, thank you.”

I wanted to snap their scrawny necks, of course, but I just sat there, listening to them updating Susan on all the news from Hilton Head, and continuing to drop Dan’s name whenever possible.

Susan should have suggested to them that I might not want to hear about her dearly departed husband, but these two were so off the chart that I suppose it didn’t matter. Also, of course, they’d be in a better mood if I ate all the shit they were shoveling.

Meanwhile, my only past sin had been not putting up with their crap, but their daughter had committed adultery and murder, and it was I who had to apologize to them for calling William an unprincipled asshole, an utterly cynical bastard, a conniving fuck, and a monumental prick. Or was it prick, then fuck? Whatever, it was all true.

Susan could sense I was simmering and about to boil over, as I’d done ten years ago in the restaurant, so she interrupted her father and said, “Edward and Carolyn will be here tomorrow night, and they’re so excited to see you.”

Charlotte said, “We’re so looking forward to seeing them.” She remembered to ask, “How are they doing?”

Do you really give a damn? I mean, I had assumed they’d already had this conversation, but I saw now that they hadn’t even asked about their only grandchildren. What swine.

Susan filled them in on Edward and Carolyn, but I could see that Grandma and Grandpa were only mildly interested, as though Susan were talking about someone else’s grandchildren.

We exhausted that topic, so William turned to me and inquired, “How about you, John? How are you doing in London?”

He really didn’t give a rat’s ass about how I was doing in London, and I recognized the question – from long experience – as a prelude to something less solicitous.

I replied, “London is fine.”

“Are you working?” he asked.

I replied, “I’ve always worked.”

He reminded me, “You took a three-year sail around the world,” then he generously conceded, “Well, I suppose that’s a lot of work.”

I wanted to invite him to take a long sail with me, but he’d figure out that he wasn’t coming back. I said, “It was challenging.”

“I’m sure it was.” He smiled and inquired, “So, did you have a woman in every port?”

I replied, “That is an improper question to ask me in front of your daughter.”

Well, that sort of stopped the show, but Susan jumped in and said, “Dad, the past is behind us.”

William, like all cowards, backed off and said, “Well, I didn’t mean to touch on a sore subject.”

Susan assured him, “It is not a sore subject. It is a closed subject.”

“Of course,” said Mr. Sensitive. Then he had the gall to ask me, “How is it that you haven’t remarried after all these years, John?”

“I dated only married women.”

William didn’t think that was so funny, but Charlotte seemed satisfied with my explanation, though she commented, “It sounds like you wasted all those years on women who were not eligible.”

Susan asked, “Can I get you both another drink?”

Mom and Dad shook their heads, and William informed us, “We limit ourselves to three martinis.”

A minute? I pointed out, “You’ve only had two.”

“We had one before you got here.”

“That doesn’t count.” I added, “I hate to drink alone.”

“Well… all right,” he acquiesced.

I stood to run off and make two more, but Sophie poked her head in and asked Susan, “Do you need anything?”

William, who treats household help like indentured servants, replied, “Two more martinis and clear some of these plates and bring fresh ones and clean napkins.” Then, to Susan, he said, “Show her how to make a martini.”

Susan stood, Sophie cleared the plates, and they left. Then Charlotte excused herself to use the facilities, and I found myself alone with William.

We looked at each other, and I could see his yellow eyes narrowing and the horns peeking through his hair. Smoke came out of his nostrils, and his orthopedic shoes split open, revealing cloven hoofs, and then he reached down the back of his pants and played with his spaded tail.

Or maybe I was imagining that. His eyes, however, did narrow.

Neither of us spoke, then finally he said to me, “This does not make us happy, John.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that. But your daughter is happy.”

“She may think she’s happy.” He let me know, “Susan was lonely after Dan died, and she became quite upset after the terrorist attacks, and for the last several months she’s been dwelling on the past.”