The Last of the Stanfields(97)
“I never thought of that,” I admitted. I looked at George-Harrison.
“Me neither.”
“No, but she did,” Morrison continued. “And the only logical conclusion to this discrepancy represented a grave dilemma for lovely Hanna. Because if Robert had been lying about the bike, it could only be for one reason: he had lied about his escape . . . because, in truth, it wasn’t an escape at all.”
“And she didn’t try getting to the bottom of it by asking Robert what really happened?”
“At the time, she had good reason not to question the man who was helping to save her life. But now, the truth had turned her life upside down. There was no turning back, and Hanna was never the same again.”
“But why not just come out with it and tell him?”
“Because of the ties that bind us. Because at times we need lies, or things left unsaid, to avoid facing certain earth-shattering truths. On the trip over to see Glover on his deathbed, Hanna had been struck by several bouts of nausea. While she initially thought she was unwell out of concern for Glover, it soon became clear . . . that nature had finally given her the one dream she thought would never come true.”
“But you said Hanna already had a child—my mother.”
“Not quite. I said your mother came into the picture, and my choice of words was no accident. They had adopted your mother, Sally-Anne, because Hanna was convinced she was barren. Later, she got pregnant out of the blue. Alas, any joy came hand in hand with deep sorrow. Her future child’s father was the very man responsible for her own father’s demise. Hanna had no illusions about it: to gain his freedom, Robert must have divulged the location of the hunting lodge, and Sam and the Resistance fighters had paid the ultimate price for his betrayal. One can only imagine the Cornelian dilemma in which the poor woman found herself ensnared! Yet, Hanna wasn’t about to forget two of Glover’s cardinal rules of the art world: everyone knows everything, and discretion is essential. If the truth were to come out, it would ruin more than just their marriage. It would lay waste to their reputations, tainting their name forever. Bid adieu to the thriving art gallery. No one would even think of doing business with them after such a vile scandal.
“So, Hanna placed the Hopper in a simple art portfolio that she bound with a wax seal and stored away in her husband’s safe. She told Robert that the portfolio contained a work to which she was especially attached. She made him swear on the lives of their children never to break that seal. It was a cruel and subtle breed of revenge. Every time Robert opened the safe, his eyes would drift to that portfolio, only to wonder if Hanna had discovered proof of his guilt, or if it was all in his head. Although seemingly untenable, this status quo was maintained over the next eleven years. Of course, Hanna was never again the close, loving wife she had once been. Instead, she saved all her affection for her son. Robert, meanwhile, grew to cherish his daughter most. Sally-Anne, who did not get along with her mother, returned that love unconditionally. Until one fateful day—”
“When she was twelve years old.”
“Indeed. It was around that time that she overheard a terrible quarrel between her parents. Sally-Anne learned that her father was having an affair, the first of many mistresses he would accrue over the years. In his defense, Robert was still a handsome man at the time and had long been neglected by Hanna, who was incapable of forgiving all he had done. As humans are wont to do, he sought to love and be loved. On the day in question, insults were hurled from both sides, and the fight escalated. Hanna at last revealed that Girl by the Window, the very painting he had taken from the hunting lodge in France, had been locked up for eleven years in Robert’s own safe, before also confronting him about his treachery. In the course of one evening, Sally-Anne learned her father was unfaithful and that he was not at all the hero she thought him to be. She saw him for the first time for what he truly was: a man who had done the unthinkable to save himself. Much less could have ignited the fiery rage of adolescence, and this triggered a veritable Molotov cocktail of emotion. Her fury and hatred rippled throughout the entire family.
“Hanna was the enemy for fostering the lie for the worst of reasons. Robert was pure scum, irredeemable. And she hated Edward, too, for being the loved and cherished son, while she was nothing but the black sheep who would never measure up. Hanna feared her daughter would, out of a simple thirst for vengeance, expose the family’s shame to anyone who would listen. To prevent this from happening, Hanna had Sally-Anne sent to boarding school in England, where she stayed through early adulthood.”
The professor downed the rest of his drink and carefully set the glass down on the tablecloth. “I must say this has been a particularly fine meal. I will leave you now to take care of the bill. We can do this again whenever you like; there’s a Chilean sea bass with truffle emulsion that I’d jump at the chance to try. Revisiting the Stanfield story certainly has whetted my appetite to at last complete the definitive family saga. I just hope you will keep your end of the bargain and grant me consent to publish. It was a true honor meeting the last of the Stanfields.”
With that, the professor stood, shook our hands, and left.
Back at the hotel, I lay sleeplessly in bed, consumed by the flood of revelations from dinner with the professor.
Strangely, I felt closer to my mother than ever before, closer than we had ever been when she was alive. At last, I had a real sense of what she had endured during her forced exile. To experience such abandonment twice over—first by her real parents and then by her adoptive family—was completely unfathomable. In a way, she had been telling the truth when she described herself as an orphan, or very nearly the truth. But over the course of that long, sleepless night, I understood why she never told us more, and why my father had kept silent as well. It was to protect us. Despite all of that, I still wished she had shared her secret past with us. I would like to think I would have showered her with endless love to make up for all she had missed out on in her youth. And, what now? Did I tell Maggie and Michel the truth, even if doing so would be betraying my mother’s memory?