The Gate House

“I know… they want me to come to Hilton Head. But…” She asked me, “What am I going to do without you?”

“You’ll do fine.” I reminded her, “I’ll be here waiting for your father.”

She took a step toward me, but I said, “Take care of this.”

She looked hurt, and she looked so lost. I wanted to take her into my arms, and I would, but not until they were gone.

She stood motionless, then nodded and left.

I stared at the door, hoping she’d turn around and come back, and we’d both go into the living room and throw the Stanhopes out of the house. Our house. I also hoped that she wouldn’t make that decision.

I felt… a lot of things. Anger, for sure. But mostly I felt that sense of loss that I remembered from ten years ago; that understanding that it was over, and worse, that it should not be this way – that there was too much love between us that was being thrown aside for reasons that might not be good enough to justify the decision to part. And I felt, too, there was something wrong here… that Susan had been right and that Fate had brought us together again. So how was this happening?

I remained standing, staring at the door.

The only comfort I could take in this was that Susan, and Edward and Carolyn, could now see William Stanhope for what he was – and that knowledge would do them more good over the years than his money. The other thing that was comforting was my sure belief that William understood that I was waiting in the wings, and that I would reappear if he didn’t follow through on his promise to at least maintain the status quo. And surely the bastard would be happy to hear that I didn’t want his money; but somewhere in his dim brain he’d eventually understand that I didn’t owe him anything either, and that I was a six-hour plane ride away, and free to return if he didn’t take care of my children.

I thought about tomorrow – about getting on the flight, alone, and returning to London. Probably, I could get my job back, if I wanted it, and Samantha, too, if I wanted her. But really what I wanted to do was to find a yacht owner who needed an experienced skipper for a long sail. That, I knew from the last time, would remove the temptation – my and Susan’s – to make a bad decision based on love.

I heard a car pulling up and looked out the window. Elizabeth’s SUV came to a stop, and she got out.

I went to the front door and opened it before she rang the bell.

She smiled and said, “Good morning.”

“Good morning. Come in.”

“Just for a moment.” She let me know, “I got your e-mail.”

We entered the house, and I showed her into the office and closed the door.

She looked around, noted Susan’s oil paintings on the wall, and commented, “Susan is very talented.”

I glanced at the paintings, and a flood of memories came back to me – twenty years of living with a woman who had been delightfully crazy, and who had become, over the last ten years, a little less crazy, though no less delightful. And now, the Susan who had just walked out of here was… well, defeated. That, more than anything else, made my heart ache.

Elizabeth asked, “John? Are you all right?”

“Yes. So how are you holding up?”

“I have good and bad moments.” She added, “I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will.” I asked her, “Would you like to sit?”

“No. I’m ru

“They can’t start without you.”

She smiled. “I’m afraid they might.” She opened her bag and took out a small, stationery-sized envelope. She said to me, “This is yours.”

I took the plain white envelope and saw that it was addressed to “Mr. John Sutter,” in Ethel’s hand. I said to Elizabeth, “Thank you.” I took it to the desk, picked up a letter opener, and said, “Let’s read it.”

“No. You read it. Mom addressed it to you.”

“Well, I know, but we agreed-”

“If there is anything in there that you want to share with me, give me a call.” She added, “I trust your judgment on this.”

“All right… but…”

“You don’t look well.”

“Father’s Day hangover.”

She smiled and said, “You should have seen me Sunday morning.”

“That was a nice gathering.”

“I’d like to have you and Susan over for di

“That would be nice.”

“Tell her I stopped by and said hello and bon voyage.”

“I will.”

“And get some caffeine and aspirin.”

“I will. Thanks.”

I walked her out to her car, and she asked me, “Is that the Stanhopes’ car?”

“It is.”

“Oh, God. I see why you’re under the weather.”

I forced a smile and said, “They’re leaving for the airport soon.”

“Let’s celebrate. See if Susan wants to come by tonight for drinks.”

“Thanks, but we need to pack. Early flight.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.” She asked, “Why are you going to Istanbul?”

“Just to get away. I spent a week there when I was sailing.”

She looked at me and said, “Maybe someday, some handsome man will ask me to sail with him around the world.”

Maybe sooner than you think. I said, “If you wish it, it will happen.”

She didn’t reply.

I said to her, “Tell Mitch I said hello.”

“Who?”

Well, that answered that question.

She gave me a peck on the cheek and said, “Send me a postcard.”

“I will. We will.”

“Bye.” She got in her BMW and drove off.

I went back in the house, into the office, and shut the door.

Well… I had too much on my mind and too much on my plate to think about Elizabeth. And, in truth, my heart was still here.

I stood at the desk and looked at the envelope on it.

The intercom buzzed, and I picked it up.

Susan said, “I’m in the kitchen. My father will not see you in the office, but he will speak to you on the phone later – or after you return to London.”

She sounded more composed now – or maybe shell-shocked. I replied, “All right.”

“He’s going out to the car so that I can spend a few minutes alone with my mother.”

“Fine.”

“Please don’t go out to speak to him.”

“I won’t.” I said to her, “I’ll see you after they leave.” I hung up.

I heard the front door open, and I saw William walking to his car.

I’m usually in control of a situation, or if I’m not, I take control. But there are times – like this time – when the best thing to do is nothing. And, really, what did I need to say to William Stanhope? I didn’t need to tell him what I thought of him – he already knew that. And I certainly wasn’t going to ask him to reconsider his demands, or try to soften his heart. So the only thing I could do now that would be positive and productive would be to go out there and smack his head against the steering wheel until the airbag popped. And I would have if he was younger.

And on top of all this, Anthony Bellarosa was still out there, though after tomorrow, when Susan and I were gone – in opposite directions – that problem would be on hold, and with luck, resolved.

I stared at William, who’d gotten in the car and started it, probably listening to the radio. I wondered how he and Charlotte were going to react when they heard about Salvatore D’Alessio’s murder, and Anthony Bellarosa being the prime suspect, and discovered that their daughter was again in the news. Well, I’m sure they’d insist that she return to Hilton Head immediately. I realized that neither one of us was coming back here to live.

I sliced open the envelope, pulled out four folded sheets of plain white stationery, and glanced at Ethel’s neat but crabbed handwriting. I read:

Dear Mr. Sutter,

I write this letter to you from what I believe is my death bed, and I write in anticipation of your return from London to settle the affairs of my estate. This letter will be given to you at the time of my death by my daughter, Elizabeth Corbet, on the condition that you do, in fact, return from London for that purpose, and, further, that you and I have spoken, in person, upon your return.