The Last of the Stanfields(13)

“If that’s how relationships go, maybe I should just stay single.”

“Ah, I wasn’t aware you had a choice in the matter.”

“Touché! Thanks—only a major bitch would say something like that.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear. Anyway, on a more important note, we failed pretty miserably at getting anything out of Dad tonight, huh?”

“Well, at least we didn’t have to slave away in the kitchen. And we got some good laughs out of it. What do you think got into him tonight with the whole wedding thing? You think he’s already itching for grandkids?” I suggested.

Maggie stopped short and began to hum under her breath.

“Eenie meenie miney mo, catch a tiger by the toe. If he squeals, let him go, eenie meenie miney mo!” Maggie’s finger landed on me. “Sorry, sister. Looks like you’re stuck with it. Personally, I have zero desire to have kids.”

“With Fred or just in general?”

“At least we were able to answer the burning question of the night: Mum was as broke as ever when she got back together with Dad.”

“Maybe. But the whole night did raise a load of new questions,” I countered.

“No need to make a fuss, in any event. Mum gave Dad the push when they were young and then came back ten years later with her tail between her legs.”

“Seems to me the truth may be a bit more complicated than that.”

“Ah. Maybe you should give up traveling and devote yourself to sentimental investigative journalism.”

“Good lord, your sarcasm never fails to slay me. I’m talking about Mum and Dad here, about the over-the-top weirdness of the letter I received, all the shadowy parts of their histories. The lies they told us. You don’t have the slightest interest in learning more about your own parents? Or are you too busy thinking about yourself?”

“Well, touché right back at you, Elby. Only a real bitch would say something like that.”

“You know, we could also interpret Mum showing up penniless as actually corroborating the poison-pen’s story.”

“Sure. Because everyone who’s penniless must have walked away from some massive fortune.”

“Like you’d even know. You’ve never been penniless, thanks to our parents constantly coddling you.”

“Ah, poor Rigby. Should everybody join in, or you want to keep singing that same sad old song all by yourself? Maggie, Maggie, Maggie. Last out of the cradle, first in line for pampering, the whole family always bends over backwards just for her. You know, don’t forget who has the studio in London and who lives in the suburbs an hour away. Don’t forget who goes gallivanting across the globe and who stays behind to take care of Dad and Michel.”

“I don’t want to fight, Maggie. I just want your help in getting to the bottom of this. Whoever sent this letter did it with a purpose. Even if everything in it is completely baseless, there has to be some kind of motive behind all this. So: Who sent us the letter, and why?”

“Sent you the letter! Don’t forget, you weren’t even supposed to tell me about it to begin with.”

“Unless, maybe, just maybe, the poison-pen knows me well enough to know I’d tell you anyway. What if that’s just what he wanted?”

“Well, if that was the plan, he definitely went about it the right way. Look, enough beating around the bush. I can hear that little cry-for-help thing in your voice, so you win, I’ll help. First step: invite Dad out to lunch this week, somewhere near Chelsea. He may moan about having to go that far away, but he’ll say yes for the excuse to take the Austin out for a spin. Try to find a place with good parking, since there’s no way he’d risk leaving it on the street, which cracks me up every time, but hey, let’s focus on the task at hand. I have spare keys to his flat. As soon as the coast is clear, I’ll go in and have a look around.”

As queasy as the notion of tricking my father made me, I couldn’t think of a better idea, so I accepted my sister’s offer.

It was already late, and the station was empty, the two of us the only ones on the platform as we waited for the train. According to the departures board, a Southeastern train to Orpington was due shortly. I’d have to change at Bromley for a train to Victoria, then get the tube to South Kensington and walk another ten minutes to get home.

Maggie sighed. “You know what I’d like to do right now? Hop on that train with you. A proper sleepover at my sister’s place in London. Slip into bed with you and just chat the night away.”

“You know I’d love to, except . . . Fred will wonder where you are.”

The train roared into view at the end of the platform, brakes squealing as it came to a stop. The doors opened, but not a single passenger stepped out. When the long whistle sounded to announce departure was imminent, Maggie nudged me forward.

“Come on, Rigby! Move it or you’ll miss your train!”

After we exchanged a knowing glance, I boarded the train and disappeared into the night.



Fred was waiting for Maggie in bed, eyes glued to an old episode of Fawlty Towers. The lovers’ quarrel was no match for John Cleese, and the couple soon found themselves roaring with laughter at the endless antics of England’s reigning lord of the absurd.

“Okay, maybe you don’t want to get married, but what about moving into my place?” Fred asked.