Harriet nodded.

I continued, “And we are going to remarry.” I gave her more good news and said, “I’m moving back from London.”

Again she nodded, then looked at Susan as though she wanted her to confirm this nonsense.

Susan said to her, simply and plainly, “We have never stopped loving each other, and John has forgiven me.”

Harriet replied as though, somehow, she knew all of this and had rehearsed a good response. She asked, “Have you forgiven him?”

That was a loaded and snotty question, but Susan replied, “We’ve discussed all the hurt we’ve caused each other, and we’ve put it behind us and are ready to move on.”

Harriet looked at both of us, then said, “Well, children” – that’s what she called us – “I must say this is very sudden, and I’m not sure what to say.”

Come on, Harriet, just say, “Fuck you,” and get back to your friends.

Susan said to her, “I want you to be happy for us.”

Harriet sidestepped that and asked, “Have you spoken to William and Charlotte?”

Susan replied, “We wanted you to be the first to know, though we did call Edward and Carolyn, and they are delighted.”

“I’m sure they are.”

Susan continued, “We would appreciate it if you didn’t mention this to anyone until we have the chance to do that.”

Harriet nodded again, then said to Susan, “I don’t believe your parents will approve of this, Susan.”

Susan replied, “We would like their approval, but we are prepared to proceed without it.”

“Are you?”

That meant, of course, that Harriet hoped we understood that the word “approval” in this context meant money.

Susan informed Harriet, “John and I have discussed all of that.”

“All right. But I hope your remarriage does not alienate your parents from their grandchildren.”

Definition of “alienate”: to be cut out of the will; to have your allowance cut off; to have Grandpa screw around with your trust fund. And this from a woman who didn’t believe in inherited wealth, unless, of course, the dirty old robber baron money was going to her grandchildren. Harriet was a case study in contradictions and hypocrisy.

Susan replied, “I don’t see how our remarriage would affect my parents’ relationship with their adult grandchildren.”

“I hope it doesn’t.”

I get a little impatient with this kind of polite and evasive talk, so I said to my mother, “You don’t need to be happy for us, or to give us your blessing, or even come to our wedding, for that matter. But you do need to mind your own business.”

Harriet looked at me as though trying to figure out who I was or how I got there. She said to me, “John, you’re being rude.”

I continued to be rude and said, “For God’s sake, Harriet, life is too damned short for you to just stand there without a smile, or a hug, or a single nice word for us.”

Susan said softly, “John…”

I announced, “We’re leaving. Good evening, Mother.”

I walked to the door, and Harriet said, “John.”

I turned, and she came toward me, stopped, and looked up at me. We held eye contact for a moment, then she said, “I, too, would like a smile, a hug, or a nice word from you.”

Harriet is very good at going from aggressor to victim, persecutor to mommy martyr, and ice queen to huggy bear in the blink of an eye. So I responded the way I’d always done since I first figured her out when I was a child, and I gave her a big hug, and we kissed and made up until the next time she took it to the brink.

Susan was smiling, and we did a nice warm and fuzzy group squeeze. I would have given two years of my life for a triple Scotch just then, and so would Harriet.

Anyway, we held on to our smiles, and Harriet said to us, “Your news took me by surprise, and of course I’m happy for you.”

“I know you are,” said Susan. “John is the most wonderful man in the world, and the only man I’ve ever loved.”

I wasn’t too sure about that last part, and Harriet wasn’t too sure about the first part, but she said, “That’s wonderful.”

I said, “It’s wonderful to be back.”

Susan shot me an annoyed look, then said to Harriet, “We’ll let you get back to your friends.”

Harriet replied, “I suppose we’ll all be together soon at the funeral parlor.”

Susan said, “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Ethel has slipped into a coma.”

Harriet nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard.” She prognosticated, “I’m afraid the end is near.” Then she eulogized, “Ethel Allard is a great lady.”

Well, Harriet Sutter would think so.

We said good night, and Susan and I walked to the car. Susan said, “I’m glad we got that over with.”

I wasn’t sure if she meant my coming out to dinner at the club or my reunion with Lady Macbeth.

Susan had a perceptive glimpse into the future and said, “This is not going to be easy, is it?”

I used that opening to say, “I think we should move away.”

“We did that. Now we are back.” She added, “Together.”

I assured her, “It’s wonderful to be back.”

“Your mother looked well.”

“She makes her own makeup from recycled medical waste. Mostly blood and bile.”

“John.”

“Do you think we were both adopted?”

She assured me, “For all their faults, they do love us.”

“Well, you got a preview of that strange love two minutes ago. I can’t wait to see how your parents are going to top that.”

Susan thought a moment, smiled, then said, “Maybe it’s us.”

“You may be on to something.”

We got in the car and headed back to Stanhope Hall. After speaking to Felix Mancuso, I wasn’t looking forward to entering the guest cottage at night, but this was not on Susan’s mind, and she chatted about our future while I was thinking about the next ten minutes.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

It was a dark night, the moon hidden by gathering rain clouds. I’d asked Susan to drive, and as she pulled up to the closed gates of Stanhope Hall, I pressed the remote control button and the gates swung slowly inward.

We proceeded past the gatehouse, and the gates automatically closed behind us.

The three-hundred-yard driveway that led to the guest cottage was narrow, curving, dark, and lined with huge trees, but Susan always saw this as more of a challenge than a hazard, and she began picking up speed.

“Slow down.”

“John-”

“Stop!”

She hit the brakes and asked, “What-?”

I reached over and shut off the headlights, then said, “Go on. Slowly.”

She looked at me, then understood and began driving slowly up the drive, which was paved with gravel that crunched under the tires. She said, softly, “I can’t believe we have to do this.”

To lighten the moment, I joked, “Nasim does this every night.”

We continued on, and I asked for her cell phone, which she gave me, and I punched in 9-1-1, but not send.

The guest cottage came into view to our left, about a hundred yards away, and I could also see the lights from Stanhope Hall, which lay about a quarter of a mile beyond the guest cottage. If Nasim were watching through binoculars, he might think the assassins were coming for him.

As we drew closer to the cottage, I saw a few lights on inside the house and two exterior lights – one above the front door and one on a stone pillar to mark the turnoff from the driveway that led up to Stanhope Hall. Susan turned left from the main drive into the cottage driveway, and I said to her, “Turn around in the forecourt.”

As we reached the forecourt in front of the cottage, Susan swung around so the SUV pointed back to the driveway.

I gave her the cell phone and said, “I’ll check out the house, and you will stay here, ready to drive off quickly and call 9-1- 1.” I added, “And push the panic button on your key fob.”

“John, if you think there’s a danger, let’s just go to a hotel tonight.”

I replied, “I don’t think there’s a danger, but I think we should take normal precautions.”