The Last of the Stanfields(37)

May sighed. “Did it even occur to you how many years of scraping and saving it would take for me to get to see Pinter onstage? I can’t even afford the nosebleeds.”

“I’m telling you: it’s a rotten idea. Even the name of the play is no mistake, I guarantee.”

“You don’t have to be so dramatic about it. It’s one night.”

“Don’t underestimate my brother. He’ll play you. It’s his very favorite pastime, and he’s a master at it. He takes down way bigger game without breaking a sweat, so if you want to keep a shred of your dignity, stay the hell away from him.”

“Dignity? Who said anything about dignity?” May replied, giving Sally-Anne a nice little elbow to the ribs.



The next day, May luxuriated in the bath before her date with Edward. Sally-Anne entered and sat down on the edge of the bathtub, a cigarette between her lips. She stared wordlessly at May, and the silence felt interminable.

“Don’t start with the looks again!” May said. “I’ll come home right after the curtain call. I promise.”

“We’ll see about that. But you can’t say I didn’t warn you. Just don’t forget: not a word to Edward about the paper.”

“Oh, I know. My shin got that memo yesterday. What exactly went down between you two? You never talk about him. I almost forgot you even had a brother. I don’t understand why you—”

“Because they’re all complete frauds, every last one of them. The glory of the Stanfields . . . is nothing but a tall tale. It’s all smoke and mirrors. My mother is like a queen reigning over an empire of lies, with my father as her spineless stooge.”

“Don’t you think that’s going a little overboard? Your dad is a war hero.”

“I don’t remember ever telling you that.”

“You didn’t. Someone else did.”

“Who?”

“I heard it around. People talk.” May hesitated a moment, then sighed and gave in. “Fine. You really want to know? After we . . . became intimate, I did some research on you here and there. Don’t be mad. It is our job, after all! Comes with the territory, right? You could even think of it as a compliment; it shows just how interested I was in you. In any event, I never heard one bad thing about your parents, least of all your father. The man is widely admired. He’s a perfect success story.”

“He’s not who you think he is. And that success was my mother’s, not his. She paid dearly for it, more than you could know.”

“What does that mean?”

“Sorry, darlin’. We may be ‘intimate,’ but we’re not quite there yet,” said Sally-Anne, closing the lid on the conversation.

May sat up in the bathtub and took Sally-Anne’s hand, gradually guiding it to her bare breasts. She titled her head upwards and kissed her passionately.

“You’re trying to tell me that’s not intimate enough for you?”

But Sally-Anne pushed her away softly. “Brother and sister in the same night? Wouldn’t that be a little uncouth, my sweet May?”

With that, Sally-Anne walked out of the bathroom, grabbed her jacket, and left the loft.

Sally-Anne, May would learn, had been right about everything.



It was an exquisite night, in which everything unfolded magically. The play exceeded all expectations: an astounding tour de force with remarkable performances. Far from a vaudeville piece charting the escapades of a couple in an extramarital affair, the play revolved around the importance of what was left unsaid. The subject matter hit rather close to home for May, who couldn’t help but think of the double life she had been leading for the past few months. In their love triangle, the secret lover was clearly Keith. In that case, who exactly was the betrayed, Sally-Anne or May?

All at once, May was filled with a sudden, desperate urge for something normal. It was like a breath of fresh air to spend the evening with a man who made proper conversation without swearing like a sailor, and wore an actual suit instead of work clothes. Just one night in classier company, away from the rough cast of characters running rampant through her life.

Her friends would always ask to bum cigarettes, while tonight it was Edward who offered her one from his own pack. Silly as it seemed, even the fact that he used a proper lighter—and an expensive one at that—left an impression on May. Edward lit her cigarette like a proper gentleman, leaning in close with the flame. He politely asked where she’d like to go for dinner, treating her with respect instead of making the decision for her. Ironically enough, May ended up choosing Sailor’s Hideaway. A fitting choice, as despite Edward’s charm, Sally-Anne was still very much on May’s mind, and in her heart.

With unfinished wood floors, tables, and chairs, and waitstaff wearing fishmongers’ aprons, Sailor’s Hideaway was obviously nothing like the restaurants Edward frequented. He put up with all of it, to the great delight of his date. When May saw that Edward ate his oysters with a fork, she opened another and brought it up to his lips.

“Smell that, take it in,” she said with a smile. “You’ve got to relish the taste, right in the salt water itself. It’s amazing, you’ll see.”

Edward did as she asked, savoring the flavor. “Okay, you’re right, I have to admit. It’s better that way.”