Authors: Nelson DeMille
“We’ve been doing that, William, but it’s not the same.”
He didn’t seem to know where to go next, so he cut to the chase and said, “I am prepared to offer you one million dollars, paid in ten equal annual installments, if you will break off this engagement and return to London—or take up legal residence anywhere out of the country.”
We looked at each other for a few seconds, then I said, “If your only objection to this marriage is any claim I may have on Susan’s money—her allowance and her current assets, and future inheritance—then that could be addressed in a prenuptial agreement.”
He didn’t reply, so I continued by asking him, “How much did I get when Susan and I divorced? I seem to recall getting nothing. So we can copy that agreement and sign it again.” I pointed out, “That would demonstrate to you, I hope, that my intentions are actually honorable.”
William realized he’d been sucked into a trap, and he was thinking hard about a way to get out of it. He really is stupid, but when it comes to money, he fires up his remaining brain cells. Finally, he said to me, “The issue is not only money, John. As I said, the issue is Susan’s happiness. We do not want to see our daughter as distraught as she was . . . well, the last time.”
That was interesting. I’d never really known what Susan was feeling after I’d left. I’d imagined two things—one, she was sad, but had bounced back and was getting on with her life; or two, she was devastated, miserable, guilt-ridden, and considered her life as over. I’m sure it had been all of that, and since we’d reunited, I had a sense of what those years had been like. And now William, her loving father, did not want to see her hurt like that again. Well, if William wasn’t such a duplicitous, manipulative, conniving dickhead, I could believe him, and I could feel some empathy for him as a father. But I wasn’t going to endow him with any feelings of paternal love, just because he claimed those feelings. Possibly, though, he was also speaking on Charlotte’s behalf, and ditsy as she was, I thought she’d probably been very saddened by her daughter’s unhappiness.
Finally, I responded, “This may come as a shock to you, William, but Susan and I had a wonderful, loving marriage, and it would have continued that way if”—I really didn’t want to get into this, but the time had come—“if she hadn’t had an affair with Frank Bellarosa, and then killed him.”
William drew a deep breath, then looked at me and said, “Charlotte and I have discussed . . . what happened, and we can only conclude that your marriage was not as wonderful as you thought it was.” He pointed out, “If it had been, then what happened would not have happened.”
I’d thought the same thing myself, obviously, but looking back on our marriage, even in the most critical light, it had been a very good marriage. Susan herself agreed with that. But even in Paradise, shit happens. Maybe ninety percent of the married people I’d known who’d had affairs were basically happy at home and stayed at home. Now and then, unfortunately, a husband or wife became obsessed with a lover and mistook that for love. And that was a recipe for emotional and marital disaster. Not to mention that sometimes people got shot.
But rather than explain all this to William, even if it was a little bit of his business, I said to him, “Susan has told me, and I’m sure told you and Charlotte at some point in the last ten years, that there was nothing fundamentally wrong between us. What happened was an aberration and not indicative of a deeper problem.” I added, “She became . . . sexually obsessed with this man.” I pointed out, “Assuming she’s learned something from that, it won’t happen again.”
William seemed uncomfortable at the thought of his daughter being sexually obsessed with a man. He might have thought she was still a virgin. He banished the image of Susan and Frank together and said to me, “I think, perhaps, you are both deluding yourselves, and trying to rewrite some history.” He informed me, “You, John, if I may be blunt, have always had a wandering eye.”
Well, fuck you, William. True, I flirt—or did—and yes, I like to look at the ladies, but I’d never once had an affair (only that fling with Jenny Alvarez) during my twenty-year marriage. But that was none of his business, so I said, to concede the point and move on, “We’ve both grown up a lot, and learned not to play with fire.”
I thought, perhaps, this had gone over his pointy head, but he understood, and this apparently gave him another thought about how to break up this engagement. He said, “I’m sure you understand that Susan has had a number of suitors over the years.”
This was an upper-class, older-generational way of telling me that Susan screwed a bunch of guys. I mean, really, William. Are you going to now make your daughter out to be a slut who I wouldn’t want to marry?
Well, yes. He said, “I’m not sure you would accept the fact that Susan has been with a number of men. That would rear its ugly head—it might come up in conversation, or she might get a letter or a phone call from a previous gentleman friend—and that would likely lead to arguments, and eventually . . . well, more unhappiness. For both of you.”
I was fairly certain that most fathers didn’t advise their prospective son-in-law to reconsider the marriage because their daughter had a sexual history that would fill a small library. But William saw this as a quick and sure way to dampen my ardor for his daughter. Then we could get back to money.
I said to him, “I appreciate your concern and your candor. But you need to understand that Susan and I know that neither of us has been a saint for the last ten years. In fact, William, I
did
have a woman in every port, and even a few inland. Not to mention on board. But my past and her past are totally irrelevant to our future.” Unless one of those assholes in Hilton Head called her. “So, we don’t need to pursue that.” I did add, “I’m frankly surprised that you would raise the subject of your daughter’s sex life with me.”
That made his face flush, and his eye twitched. He cleared his throat yet again—strep?—and said, “Well, I’m just trying to get you to take off your rose-colored glasses.”
William’s clichés were old when
he
was a kid. I replied, “I always look before I leap.”
“I hope you do. But, I sense that you are planning to go ahead with this marriage, despite my and Charlotte’s objections.”
I got silly and said, “It is my intention, Mr. Stanhope, to ask you for your daughter’s hand in marriage, and also to ask you and Mrs. Stanhope for your blessing.”
He may have remembered this from last time around, and sentimental old fool that he was, he was going to get teary-eyed and say, “I am proud and honored to call you my future son-in-law.”
Actually, he snorted.
“Sir?”
“
Blessing?
” He snorted again, and said, “We do not and never will bless this marriage.”
“Then, I suppose, a generous dowry is out of the question.”
“
Dowry?
Surely you jest.”
“Well . . . yeah.”
While we were on the subject of blessings and the sacrament of Holy Matrimony, I said to him, “I am a little annoyed with you, William, for discussing this with Father Hunnings.”
He didn’t seem surprised that I knew about that—it’s usually part of the deal that when you go to a priest with your problem about a fellow parishioner, the priest then goes to that parishioner. That’s the point.
I don’t think I’d want to be a priest—all sorts of people unburden themselves to you, and ask for advice, or guidance, or as with William, they’re trying to recruit God through you, to do some heavy lifting for them.
In any case, William had given some consideration to my statement, and said, “My going to Father Hunnings should not
annoy
you, John. You should welcome the offer of pastoral counseling.”
I replied, “You don’t want Susan and me to marry—so what type of pastoral counseling are we actually talking about?”
He explained, “The type that would make you understand that what is best for you is not necessarily best for your bride-to-be.”
“I see. Well, I think I’ve already gotten that opinion from you. So why are you involving Father Hunnings in this?”
“I hope I don’t need to explain to you that in our religion, prenuptial counseling is a condition of marriage in the church.”
“Well, there is counseling, and then there is counseling. Why do I feel that you’ve already put the fix in?”
“Are you suggesting that I’ve . . . influenced Father Hunnings—?”
“I think prejudiced him is a better word. And perhaps offered him an incentive to counsel Susan against this marriage.”
“That is an outrageous statement.”
“Nevertheless, I stand by it.”
“Then I will need to repeat your accusation to Father Hunnings.”
“You will if it’s not true, but you won’t if it is.”
He seemed to get his outrage under control and said, “This may be a moot point if we can come to an understanding about this marriage.” He reminded me, “I’ve made you an offer.”
“Which I reject.”
“All right . . .” William, of course, was not going to fold and leave. He had a few aces up his sleeve—to use a cliché—and he hadn’t even played one of them yet. Instead, he reshuffled the cards and redealt. He said, “I’m prepared to increase my offer to you. Two hundred thousand dollars now, and then ten annual payments of one hundred thousand.”
Well, front-loading a deal is very good, and usually gets the desired response. Money talks. But I love to negotiate, so I said, “It is my understanding that Susan’s annual allowance exceeds even your down payment. So what is my incentive to go back to London with just a percentage of what I would share with Susan if I stayed here?”
Well, now he had to play one ace and explain to me some facts of life in answer to my question. He leaned forward and made eye contact with me, then said slowly, so I’d understand, “John, if you and Susan marry, I can assure you that her allowance will be terminated.”
No shit? Wow. I asked him, “You would put your daughter in financial distress?”
He smiled—an evil smile—then inquired, “Are you suggesting, John, that a marriage to you is the same as being in financial distress?”
Good one, William. But I saw that coming and replied, “Well, I’d thought after our marriage, I could fulfill an old dream of becoming a professional surfer . . . but . . . well . . .”
Quite possibly he thought I was making fun of his son, so maybe I should have said, “Professional golfer.” Why did I say surfer? Freudian slip? Or did I mean to shove that up his ass?
He looked really annoyed, but did not rise to the bait, as they say, and informed me, “I think you would have to work.”
I had some information for him and said, “I have always worked, except for my sabbatical at sea. And I made quite a good living, William, here and in London. Unfortunately, my professional standing here was compromised as a result of what happened ten years ago. I take full responsibility for my actions, but I do need to remind you that your daughter was complicit in the events that led to my leaving my family firm. I have forgiven her, unconditionally, and forgiven myself while I was at it, but it will take me some time to regain my professional standing here in New York and to achieve an income that will provide your daughter with a lifestyle to which she has become accustomed.” I added, “And let me remind you, William, that it was you and Charlotte who always insisted that Susan not work, and you induced her not to work by giving her an allowance, and I’m sorry I acquiesced to that. And as a result of her being kept by you all her life, she is not presently employable in any financially rewarding job—and
you
are partly to blame for that, so
you
need to take some responsibility.”
William apparently didn’t want to be confused or influenced by inconvenient facts, so he replied simply, “I say again, if she marries you, her allowance is terminated.”
“Fine. Susan and I discussed this possibility, and it does not affect our decision to marry.”
This time he smirked, and said, “Susan may want to rethink that.”
Fuck you. I said, “
You
may want to rethink being so petty, manipulative, and spiteful.”
“I will not be spoken to in that manner.”
“William, every word of that is true.”
He looked like he was about to take his cards and leave, but he had another ace to play, and he said, “Also, if you marry, I will remove Susan as a beneficiary of my and Charlotte’s wills.”
Now we’re talking real money. I mean, both of them dying
and
leaving Susan close to fifty million were key ingredients to a blissful marriage. Especially him dying. I let him know, “If you do that, I will tie up the estate in litigation for at least ten years.” I added, “Peter may find that inconvenient.”
He was really hot now, and his face reddened again. High blood pressure?
My future father-in-law said to me, “That is the most outrageous thing you have ever said.”
“No it’s not. Come on. Think.”
“You . . .” He stood, and I waited for him to topple over, but he didn’t, so I, too, stood and said, “You’ve insulted me with your offer to buy me. I am not for sale.” I informed him, “I don’t give a damn about your money, and neither does Susan. And you don’t give a damn about your daughter. This is about me and you, and not her happiness. You know damned well that we are happy to be together again, and our children are happy for us. You, William, are very unhappy that I’m back in your life, and you’d rather lose your daughter than gain a son-in-law who doesn’t put up with your bullshit. So, sir, you’ve made your decision, and Susan and I have made ours.”
He didn’t seem to react much to my harangue—he just stood there and looked off into space. But then he turned to me and said, “We will see what Susan’s decision is.”
“Indeed, we will. But you and your wife will leave this house now and make an appointment to speak to your daughter another time.” I went to the door, opened it, and said, “Good evening.” I added, “Happy Father’s Day.”
He stepped quickly out the door, then stopped, turned, and in a quiet voice said, “Think, too, of your children.”
That was his last ace, and he’d played it, so I had to reply, “Have your trust attorney call me on that.”