you have commitments there,” he argued. “To your mother, for instance.”
“Mama?” she asked, puzzled.
“Yes,” he said, leaning closer, staring intently at her. “She gave you the letter from Willadene Gates, didn’t she? She expected you to deal with it. Knew she didn’t have the strength to do it herself, poor thing. Wanted to know the truth. Knew the end was near, I’ll warrant. Thought it was time to put things in your hands. Trusted you, she did.”
“She didn’t know if anything should be done,” Marie objected.
“She kept the letter, didn’t she?” he challenged. “She gave it to you, didn’t she? Read her note. She practically begs you. She thought she failed you by not following through. But that you could handle it. And so handle it you must.”
Marie felt a bit dizzied by his reasoning. “What difference does it make if Mama was Louisa Fairchild’s daughter? I mean, it can’t mean anything now that Mama’s—”
She found it hard to say the word dead.
Reynard looked both saddened and angry. “If the Fairchild woman had been kinder, Colie might not be dead. Years of poverty ground her down. But Fairchild just cast out Colie and let the fates take her. God, I’d show a dog more kindness.”
“Rennie, she probably thought that Mama was going to a good, safe home. Mama loved the Lafayettes. Didn’t you?”
“I was a mere toddler when they lost everything. I don’t remember the good times. No, I’ve no happy childhood memories. They couldn’t even afford to get my ears fixed. My life might’ve run a different course if that had happened.”
Colette would agree to this, Marie knew. Reynard said that he did poorly in school because of his tinnitus, the constant ringing in his ears. He was bright, but he knew he’d never get through college, so never tried.
Instead he’d drifted across Australia, back and forth, up and down. He’d lived that way for decades, and Colette had always feared he’d die that way, aimless, rambling and poor.
Marie looked at him in concern. He raised his chin and said, “I think you owe it to her to find out about the old Fairchild girl. And who knows? Maybe you could put things to right.”
“To right?” she repeated, frowning slightly.
“Maybe Louisa was forced to give away her baby and that’s why she’s so sour. You could bring her happiness. And find some yourself. Colette would want that for you. You know she would.
“Besides,” he added, “the old girl might settle a bit of money on you. God knows you and Colie never had help from any corner.”
“I don’t want that woman’s money,” Marie said firmly. “I can take care of myself.”
Reynard shrugged. “I wish I could say the same. If she was my gran, I’d feel her out. She might at least give me enough for better hearing aids. Why, there’s even doctors in England and America that say they can cure tinnitus.” He smiled philosophically. “But I’ve borne it this long, haven’t I? I can bear it for the few more years I’ve got.”
The few more years I’ve got. The words struck Marie hard. When she was young, she thought Colette would live forever. And Rennie, vital, mischievous, clever Rennie—why, if he could live by his wits, he’d never have to die. But he was aging. And mortal.
“It seems to me,” he said, “if she’s your gran, you might close a long, sad chapter in your family history. Bring about a sort of healing. A sort of—fairness. And forgiveness.”
Marie could say nothing.
“What do you say? Come back with me,” he urged. “It would do you good to get away for a while. You’ve worked yourself half to death with your school and your job and caring for Colie. Will you think about it at least? For me?”
Her head swam, and she felt emotionally exhausted. “I’ll think about it,” she said without conviction.
“Good girl,” he said with a disarming smile. He patted her hand. “Good girl.”
The next morning Reynard kept after her. He had an answer for her every argument. Perhaps Louisa would have helped Colette and her family—if only she’d known what had become of her daughter.
What was wrong with going to Fairchild Acres, just to see if Marie might like the old girl? “You could work there, you know. Observe her. She lost an assistant cook right before I left for here. You’d be the perfect replacement.”
“Go in as a spy?” Marie demanded, appalled. “And if I like her, pop up and say, ‘And by the way, I’m your long-lost granddaughter?’ No! It’s awful. It’d never work.”
Reynard then explained for a full hour why it would work. “Again, if you don’t like her, she never needs to know. You can leave and never look back.”
“I have to take my finals.”
“Take them early. You’ve got fine grades. Tell ’em your mother’s died and you’ve got family business to tend.”
“I have a job.”
“Colette said they think the world of you. They’d give you a leave of absence. Your apartment? Sublet it. It’s an excellent location, the uni so close.”
“I can’t.”
“You can’t not do it. It may be the chance of your lifetime.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve got to get ready for work.”
“Work, that’s all you ever do. You’ll end up like your mother. And she’d hate that.”
He made her head spin. She was glad to escape to the Scepter.
When she came home again, Reynard was watching television. He switched it off with the remote control. “Sit down with me,” he said. “I got news.”
Now what? she thought. But she sat. “Yes?”
“I phoned Mrs. Lipton,” he said with his most benevolent smile.
“And who, pray tell, is Mrs. Lipton?”
“Louisa Fairchild’s housekeeper. Lovely woman. I see her almost every day.”
“Why do you see her so often?” asked Marie. “And why’d you phone her?”
“I bring her eggs. The old girl—Miss Fairchild—likes her eggs fresh, but she won’t keep chickens. Afraid of birds. Was chased by a goose as a child.”
This was the first humanizing detail Marie had heard about the woman.
“I called Mrs. Lipton to ask if she was still in search of an assistant cook. She is.”
“Reynard…” Marie said in a warning tone.
“She’d found nobody suitable
