The Gate House

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

“I still don’t understand,” Susan said, “how you convinced him to change his mind.”

“I can be very persuasive,” I replied.

She’d been questioning me about this, on and off, since her parents left an hour ago, but mostly she was just happy and relieved that it had turned out so well. She called it a miracle, and maybe it was. Thank you, Ethel, and tell that angel at the Heavenly Bar to give you another sherry. It’s on me.

We were sitting in the shade on the patio, celebrating with a few beers, and Susan asked me, “What can I make you for lunch?” She promised, “Anything you want.”

“I was thinking of yogurt. But a pepperoni pizza wouldn’t be so bad.”

Without comment, she picked up her portable phone, called information, then co

The protocols involved in ordering a pizza seemed to be a mystery to Susan Stanhope – Sicilian or regular? – but she was making good progress. She said to the pizza man, “Hold on,” then said to me, “He wants to know if there is anything else you want on that?”

“Well, how about sausage and meatballs?”

She added that to the toppings, listened to another pizza question, then asked me, “Do you want that cut into eight slices or twelve?”

I remembered a joke that Frank had once told me and I replied, “Twelve – I’m hungry.”

She smiled, then gave our phone number and address – Stanhope Hall, Grace Lane, Lattingtown – no, there’s no house number, just look for the gatehouse – then she called the gatehouse to clear the deliveryman.

I sat with my bare feet on the table and took another swallow of beer.

Susan returned to the subject of William’s apparent capitulation and said to me, “I know my father, and I know that these are going to be tough negotiations.”

“I’m a good negotiator.” Especially when I have the other guy’s balls in my hand, and I’m squeezing. Or should I twist?

“John… do you think he was… insincere? Or that he’ll renege?”

“He will do no such thing.”

“But… I just don’t understand-”

“Susan, I believe that your father had… well, an epiphany. I think, when he was sitting alone in his car, that it just came to him that he was wrong, and maybe he was moved by the Holy Spirit. I mean, I couldn’t believe it myself when I saw him from the window, getting out of the car with this rapturous look on his face, then coming into my office, and saying, ‘John, I would like to speak to you.’”

What he actually said was, “How dare you insist that I come into your office?”

Well, I apologized to him, of course – or did I tell him to sit down, shut up, and read the letter? In any case, as he read the letter, he went from livid to pale, and it was sort of interesting to see someone’s skin color change that quickly. I wish I’d had a video camera. Also, his hands trembled. After that, the negotiations were rather easy. He did bluster now and then, saying things like, “No one will believe the ramblings of an old woman on medication,” and so forth. So I suggested we show the letter to his daughter and his wife to see what they thought, then pay a visit to Mrs. Cotter at the nursing home to see if she could clarify any of this. That shut him up, of course, but he did utter the word “Blackmail.”

I know this is blackmail, and I’m a lawyer, and this goes against all my beliefs and principles. What William had done – or what he is alleged to have done – was not only despicable, but also a crime, though unfortunately the statutes had run out on his crimes years ago. So if he was to pay for these crimes, then it would have to be in another way. The Bar Association and the courts might have another view of this, but at least Ethel would speak up for me when I stood before the Final Court.

Susan said to me, “He looked… pale. Shaken.”

“Did he? I didn’t notice.”

“And my mother seemed confused that he’d had this sudden and complete change of heart.”

“Well, she hadn’t shared his divine revelation.”

“John…?”

“Yes?”

“Did you… threaten him with something?”

“What could I threaten him with?”

“I don’t know… but-”

“Can we change the subject?” I asked, “Whose turn is it to get beer?”

She stood and went into the kitchen.

I finished my beer and thought about Ethel’s letter. She’d made her deathbed confession to me, but according to Father Hu

Susan returned with the beers and said, “John, I think you’re too modest. I think that my father’s change of heart was because of something you said, not because of some… divine message.”

I replied, modestly, “Well… I did my best, and I was persuasive, but I really think I had help from a higher source.”

She reminded me, “I told you I believe that this was our Fate, and that we have a guardian angel watching over us.”

“It seems that way.” I took a slug of beer.

She moved on to another subject and asked me, “Do you think we should get married at Saint Mark’s?”

“Why not? Father Hu

She laughed, then reminded me, “You don’t like him, and I don’t think he is particularly fond of you.”

“Really? Well, then I’ll speak to him and smooth things over.” And mention that I read Ethel’s letter, and maybe I would ask him if he had any knowledge – other than in a general sense – of the contents.

Susan said, “I’d like it if you would do that.” She added, “I’d like to get married there again.”

“No problem. And I’ll even get Father Hu

She smiled and said, “I think you’re getting all full of yourself after your success with my father.”

“I’m on a roll,” I agreed. And while I was remaking my world to suit myself, I assured her, “Not only will your parents bless our marriage, they will also pay for it.”

“All I want is their blessing.”

“I want to give them the bill. And don’t forget to e-mail them with a Save-the-Date. They’ll want to come in early to help out with the arrangements – and discuss your dowry.”

She ignored my suggestions and asked me, “John, are you willing to forgive and forget? I mean, about my parents?”

I thought about that and replied, “It’s not my nature to hold a grudge.”

Susan thought that was fu

“You know me too well.” I replied, seriously, “I can’t ever forgive or forget what they’ve put us through during our marriage, and just recently, but…” I can be magnanimous in victory, so I continued, “I will say this: If your father – and your mother, as well – is looking for forgiveness and trying to make amends, then I’m open to that, and I’m certain that your father is going to forgive me for calling him an unprincipled asshole, and so forth. But my question to you is: How do you feel about them?”

She took a deep breath, then replied, “I’m angry. And I’ve seen this very unpleasant side of them. But they are my parents, and I love them, and I will forgive them.” She added, “We would want that from our children.”

“Well, we would, but we don’t need their forgiveness for anything.”

She stayed silent a few moments, then confessed, “I did. For what I did. And they forgave me, unconditionally. Just as you have.”

I nodded and said, “Life is short.”

Maybe I could eventually forgive Charlotte and William for what they did to the Sutter family – the best revenge is living well. But I could never forgive William for what he did to those young girls, and that would stay with me, and with him, until the day we both died.