They made incredible time in Edward’s Aston Martin on the way back. The car smelled of leather, and the roar of the engine was exciting.
“Would you promise me something?” May said.
“I have to know what first, my dear. I’m a man of my word, and I don’t take promises lightly.”
“I want you to make up with her.”
“With Sally-Anne? It’s true there’s some tension there, but there’s nothing specific to reconcile.”
“No. I mean all of you, the whole Stanfield family. Sally-Anne would never take the first step, and neither would your mother. It has to be you. Help them make peace.”
Edward slowed the car and looked at May, a broad smile on his face.
“I can’t promise it will work . . . but I can promise you now that I will try. I will try my very best.”
May leaned in and kissed Edward, then pulled away, telling him to keep his eyes on the road. She rolled down the window and breathed in deeply. With her hair blowing in the wind, May closed her eyes and felt something close to happiness.
23
ELEANOR-RIGBY
October 2016, Baltimore
We parted ways out on the landing, both of us waving good night from the doorways to our own rooms. Lying on top of my bed, all I had to do was close my eyes and I could picture Maggie asking me:
All right, genius. Now what?
And since I was clueless as to the answer, I decided to call her. Dial 9, then 011, just like the lady at the front desk said—as if I had never been abroad before!
My sister picked up straightaway. “Jesus! You have any idea what time it is here?” Maggie grumbled, her voice hoarse and scratchy.
“I’m sorry if I woke you both up, but it just couldn’t wait.”
“It’s just me; Fred stayed in Primrose Hill,” she replied, with a long, drawn-out yawn. “It was crazy busy last night, and he closed too late to make his way over here.”
“Good for him, if his restaurant can drum up that kind of business.”
“Oh yeah, la-di-da. When my boyfriend’s on cloud nine because of a full house at the pub, I get to sleep alone. But when things go south and he’s down in the dumps, I get him all to myself. Who could possibly ask for anything more? Anyhow, I’m guessing you didn’t ring me at five in the morning to hear me gripe about Fred.”
There was no arguing with that logic. Despite having been woken up ridiculously early, Maggie listened intently to the latest in the family saga: the letter Michel slipped in my pocket, the picture on the wall at Sailor’s Hideaway, the woman with whom Mum had a relationship thirty-six years ago, and most of all, the encounter with George-Harrison and all that followed. The story was so riveting, Maggie didn’t interrupt, not even once.
“What does he look like, this carpenter?”
“Don’t tell me that’s the first question that comes to mind.”
“Even if it was, it shouldn’t stop you from answering it.”
I laid out a vague description of the man.
“So . . . you’re saying he’s hot. And George-Harrison is his real name?”
“Well, I didn’t make him show me his driving license or anything, but that was the name on the letter. I took him at his word.”
“So I see. Considering our mothers were so close, you really think the names are a coincidence?”
“The two of us are pretty much the same age. There could be something there, maybe.”
“I’d call it more than a maybe. She did call Mum ‘my love’ in that letter, in case you missed it. Although that could be because she had already started losing her marbles. You know, I can’t picture Mum roaring down the road on a motorcycle, not for the life of me. The same lady who put on her seat belt religiously every time she got into the Austin? Can you see her as a biker chick?”
“Honestly, that’s the last thing on my mind right now. I’m having more trouble picturing her as a thief! And I’d like to know more about what they stole, what this whole ‘tragedy’ was all about . . .”
“Well, it does seem to give the anonymous letter some credence.”
“Yeah, some parts of it are starting to make some sense. The shadowy parts of Mum’s past, her relationship with George-Harrison’s mother, the mysterious fortune she once had, but didn’t inherit, and, of course, the Independent.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s the newspaper Mum launched with her friend May—George-Harrison’s mother. Dad can fill you in on some of the details.”
“Are you sure this is our mother we’re talking about here?”
“I had the same exact reaction when I heard.”
“And this ‘precious treasure’ thing. Did this George-Harrison person have any info on that?”
“No. That was a total surprise to him. He said the letter from his mother was the first time he had ever heard of it. Apparently, there are other letters out there as well. She and Mum went back and forth for years and years.”
“And what if he’s been playing you from the start? I mean, the sequence of events that brought you two together contains a hell of a lot of coincidences. What if he’s your poison-pen?”