The Last of the Stanfields(113)
“I’m not. It’s an absolute masterpiece, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t give a damn about all that. As far as I’m concerned, adopted or not, your mother was still their daughter, and she was the rightful heiress.”
“I’m lost. So, why is that such great news?”
“Because it means you and I are not related, in any way. Which is great news for both of us, because there is no way in hell I’m letting you go back to England, unless you want to take me with you.”
I had no plans of leaving him, although I had to admit I would have gone so far as to board the plane just to make him beg me to stay.
“I know,” I replied, a slight tremble in my voice.
“Sure you do. You know everything,” he said, seeing right through me. “Except for one thing, the one mystery we may never crack: Just who is our poison-pen?”
As we climbed into the pickup, I reached into my pocket and drew out the document that Mr. Clark’s secretary had given me. My eyes immediately locked on to my own name, handwritten on the front of the envelope. The handwriting . . . full of rich curves and delicate edges, as though it had been written a century ago. No one wrote like that anymore, yet I was sure I recognized it.
Just like that, the final pieces fell into place. I began to laugh and cry at the same time. We stopped at a red light, and I handed the envelope to George-Harrison.
“Morrison was wrong! Hanna didn’t commit suicide. Her car, remember? It was her car our mothers sank off the pier, to get rid of the evidence . . .”
“You lost me.”
“The poison-pen was Hanna, and Hanna . . . is Mr. Clark’s secretary!”
40
Mr. Clark’s office, one hour earlier
“Well? Are you satisfied?” Mr. Clark asked as he walked Hanna to the front door of the bank.
“As a matter of fact, I am. My father’s painting will see the light of day once more. I have kept my promise to him, to always keep it in our family and never sell it. And, as an added bonus, I was able to stare into the faces of two of my grandchildren, however briefly. Even you have to admit: it was well worth a couple of trips to the post office, even if one of them was all the way in Canada. You know you will always have my eternal gratitude for all you’ve done.”
“And why not just reveal who you are now, Hanna?”
“After all that they have gone through to discover the truth, if they want to come back and meet me, they know where to find me.”
Hanna said goodbye and made her way toward the bus stop. Mr. Clark watched as she marched away, as dignified and graceful as ever.
EPILOGUE
On January 1, 2017, Ray Donovan started a strict diet with the aim of fitting into his dinner jacket.
On April 2, 2017, Eleanor-Rigby and George-Harrison married in Croydon. It was a beautiful ceremony. Maggie dumped Fred and went back to college, determined this time to become a lawyer, although next year she would shift gears once more to pursue a career as a veterinarian.
The night of the wedding, Vera and Michel announced that they were moving to Brighton together. Michel had read that fresh sea air was far healthier than city air for pregnant women. A logical choice.
Seated in the back row as Eleanor-Rigby and George-Harrison took their vows was Hanna Stanfield—attending incognito, more or less. During her stay in England, she also went to pay her respects at her daughter’s grave. Having now laid eyes on all her living descendants, she left with a smile on her face.
On April 20, 2017, Professor Morrison published a book titled The Last of the Stanfields, which would go on to become a smash hit . . . at least among the handful of his peers who received a copy.
Today, Eleanor-Rigby and George-Harrison live together in Magog. The house that George-Harrison built has been relocated outside the hangar.
As for May, she lived long enough to meet her first grandson. Sam is a remarkable baby boy, not least of all because he may be the only child in history to have a masterpiece by none other than Edward Hopper hanging in his bedroom.
Sometimes, just before falling asleep, he says good night to the young woman looking out the window.