Rated R: Sexual Situations

My Darling Love

Chapter 28 – An Affair to Remember

"A mistress is simply something between a mister and a mattress."

- Jim Backus

It was by far the most posh hotel in London, and only the wealthiest stayed there. So it was no surprise to find Mr. Peter Darling checked in. What was surprising to find was George with his pants off when Grandpa Joe came knocking at Mr. Peter Darling's room.

Now Grandpa Joe was a man of sixty-five, and he had seen many things in his day, but he would have bet his life and his savings that the one scene that he would never witness would be that of his son-in-law and another woman in the interrupted throes of passion. Especially since he had only reprimanded not only his grandchildren but also himself for thinking thus the day before.

And there was George, getting dressed quickly upon hearing Grandpa Joe's voice, and the young lady answering the door in nothing more than a silky see-through sheath. "I was just wondering, is Peter around? We are old friends," was all Grandpa Joe got out before looking past the pretty young thing, not more than twenty, and seeing his son-in-law dart up from the bed to the chair to hastily put on his trousers that Mary had just ironed the night before.

"No, he is out with my aunt. Would you like to leave a note for him? He will be back later in the day," she offered, giving George's father-in-law a lurid smile, licking her lips.

"No, that's fine. Sorry to disturb you and your... gentleman friend."

If George had not been a man of forty-two, who worked so his wife didn't have to, put food on the table for everyone in his home, clothed them, and gave them all an allowance, Grandpa Joe would have dragged George home by his ear. But George was that man. So therefore, Grandpa Joe said nothing and turned and left without demanding an explanation.

When Grandpa Joe returned home, and Mary inquired after his morning walk, Grandpa Joe took one in the gut and said blandly, "Went to the park, the barber and stopped by at that hotel. You were right, Mary Elizabeth, just that business associate from the bank that George was to meet for dinner."

Minutes later, George met Grandpa Joe on the porch, and without Mary ever knowing he came home, Grandpa Joe dismissed George to his day of work with, "As long as the dragon does not make its presence known in the castle again, George the Queen will never know."

George nodded his head. If he was ashamed of his actions, it did not show in his face. As he straightened his hair and suit coat, Grandpa Joe offered, "Just be careful in that way, George, don't want any unexpected additions that will cause a scandal, lest the Queen be made to throw herself from a window. Give your brother Peter and his wife my best regards."

George tipped his hat and made his way to work, Grandpa Joe watching after him as he went, "I would like you to meet my daughter, Mary Elizabeth Fisher, and her children Gwendolyn Fisher, John Fisher and Michael Fisher... Ah George, so easily misled to the dark side...God help you find your way to the light," Grandpa Joe muttered to himself as he puffed on his pipe.

He did not call George "son," and he never would again, not until he was one his deathbed, and that was many years away.

Mary went about her usual day, and put the letter so far out of her mind that she didn't even ask George if he was in trouble for missing his business dinner. When Mary gave chase to George later in the evening after the house was asleep, he declined with, "I have an early morning, Mary, and I'm really not in the mood. We were only together in that way yesterday. Doing it twice took a lot out of me."

It seemed he'd been having many early mornings lately, but Mary did not notice. Fortunately for him -- or so he thought -- she was under the illusion that she still was the only one. Therefore, when he took to bed that night and rolled on his side under the covers, Mary got up and went downstairs.

She sat on the sofa gazing out the front window until dawn still clutching the envelope in her hand. Her father could not sleep either and went downstairs to fetch himself a warmed glass of milk. "Is there something you want to tell me, Mary Elizabeth?" he asked, before he ascended to his room.

"No, Father, is there something you want to tell me?"

He shook his head and said nothing. It didn't matter, for Mary never looked at him. As he climbed the stairs he whispered, "Lucky for George you are just like your mother, Mary Elizabeth, just like your mother, God rest her blessed soul."

Unluckily for George, Margaret Davis and Aunt Millicent had been granted a reprieve from Grandpa Joe. With Margaret away at boarding school, Millicent now took up residence in the Darling house, unwilling to be home alone. It was Millicent that smelled the strange perfume upon George's shirt when she helped Mary with the laundry, "Change your scent, Mary?" she asked, and Mary, after taking a whiff and responded, "I think whatever it was you bathed in is rubbing off on the clothes," causing her aunt to turn her nose and waltz from the house.

Aunt Millicent also noticed George's name on the jeweler's log when she went to have one of her many pieces repaired. Mary never wore any ring other than her wedding band, so a cocktail ring of emerald and gold with diamond baguettes was understandably not her style. She held her tongue, thinking perhaps it was gift for Wendy, only until the florist she frequented for her front foyer's arrangements showed several orders for a Mr. George Darling, none of which were to be sent to Mary.

Aunt Millicent jotted down the address and name and forwarded it to Grandpa Joe, who replied, "Yes, I am aware of such things." Aunt Millicent was shocked by his statement, and even more appalled when a stylish restaurant in central London, known to be frequented by clandestine lovers, had George's name reserving a table nearest the fountain inside for the same time, every Tuesday evening. Coincidentally, on the same exact afternoon Aunt Millicent dined there and inspected the log's future reservations, all listing the same for Mr. G. Darling, George informed his family that he had agreed to work late at the Bank on Tuesdays to train a new employee who was to be his assistant.

The last confirmation Aunt Millicent required before she could be assured without question George was in fact having an affair was to hear it in gossip. And so, as she drank tea at a corner café with her closest and dearest friends, she finally got what she was waiting for. A very attractive, young and most inappropriately dressed female with long blond hair styled provocatively took the table next to where the ladies sat. In her company was an older woman dressed just as unsuitably. As they chatted away in French, unconcerned for the proper society ladies sitting next to them, the gossip began. "That young lady sitting behind you, Millicent, the one dressed in a gown that cuts too low on the neckline to be worn for afternoon tea..."

Aunt Millicent turned her head subtly and glanced at the woman, and then looked forward with a nod and whispered "She must be French. My niece said, when she visited Paris, all the wealthy women dressed that way, as tasteless as it is."

"I hope you are not speaking of your niece, Mary Elizabeth, for I heard from my cousin, you know, the one that owns that dress shop nearest Main Street. She told me that she saw that very woman and your brother's son-in-law in there together. When they were not cuddling together in the fitting room, he was spending all sorts of money on that thing, buying her whatever she fancied and such..." She spoke quickly, furtively, lowering her voice and dipping her head in when repeating the juiciest parts like, "My sister had to go into the fitting room herself and demand they leave. She told me that he had his pants down and she was...well I can't say what they were doing you know what I mean. I asked Francine and Eleanor, you know they know all about who is committing adultery, if they heard anything and they told me..." the most scandalous parts were only repeated ear to mouth, so Millicent slid to the edge of her seat to hear, "that it is in fact your niece's husband and she heard that his brother has been known to throw these unmentionable parties where couples do the most unspeakable things with one another. According to her, poor Mary Elizabeth's husband is quite the bounder, two women and another man at the same time, swapping...you know what I mean."

Aunt Millicent's eyes bulged out of her head, and she peered back over her shoulder to see the blonde and the older woman giggling like schoolgirls, smiling playfully at the waiter who was serving them.

Aunt Millicent's cohort gained her attention, "They meet, he and his mistress, privately, you know what I mean, in the mornings mostly, and every single day for his lunch I've been told."

Those experienced in gossip and hearsay get into the habit of "knowing what I mean." They hear the same stories over and over again, so they substitute the parts everyone does when having an affair with that statement, and only fill in the details of dates and locations, which change from person to person. Aunt Millicent listened avidly, and at the parts where she would have normally spiced things up, telling of the florist and the jeweler and the perfume on his shirt, she remained silent. Instead of a smile she wore a frown, for despite everything she held against George, even those things made up, she too never thought it possible, and truth be told, it broke her heart to hear another call him a foul.

Aunt Millicent did not tell Mary what she heard or found out for herself. Mary dressed simply, and wore no expensive jewels; she never ate in a posh restaurant in central London. She never attended unmentionable parties or did anything unthinkable. She was a sweet God-fearing woman who adored her husband, loved her children, and made a good wife and mother, the finest in all of London, if not the world. Feeling her niece's fate would be same as Grandpa Joe predicted should she be made aware, she scoffed at her friends with, "Well, my only niece is Mary Elizabeth, and her husband George Darling would never do such heinous things. And you should be ashamed for repeating those untruths." The young blonde, hearing her lover's name, turned her head to catch Aunt Millicent's evil eye.

So it was Wendy Darling finally turned eighteen. George and Mary planned a huge party for her in June, when the weather would be more cooperative, her coming-out banquet at a lavish restaurant. For now, she would have to settle for a family dinner and homemade cake. George missed dinner, as it was Tuesday and he was stuck at the office again. He arrived home just in time to see his eldest child blow out her birthday candles and open her gifts.

The celebration continued as her girlfriends from school came over with treats for the guest of honor. The house was abuzz with activity and happiness. It is always at these times that, for two people in love, the world where they live should be full of only the greatest joys. Unfortunately, when living in that light of contentment, the darkness seems to creep in the easiest.

George's first mistake was not canceling his lover's meeting on his eldest child's birthday. So he left work early, and then stayed late with his mistress. The second error was leaving the receipts for his accounts with the florist, restaurant and hotel in his suit pocket. A third was not even throwing them away at all, but instead saving them for his bookkeeping purposes. But the fourth and most fatal mistake was leaving the evidence in a pile of clothes on the floor in his bedroom while bathing in the middle of the evening while the house below was full of guests.

"Is the water running?" Grandpa Joe asked Mary without thinking. He quickly countered, to save his son-in-law, with, "Ah, George is just taking a bath. It's very hot in the bank, was just there myself today. Probably thinks he smells of something unpleasant from sweating all day hard at work."

His words reached Mary too late, not that she was listening, and she ascended the stairs to their room. In that pile of clothing, she found the receipts, which she stared at blankly. She picked up a sweater vest that did not match the pants that he'd picked out to wear that evening, replacing it in his wardrobe, reaching for another. A box out of place, with the lid not properly fastened, fell on her and covered her in more proof of payments then her mind could manage. With guests downstairs, George in the bath and Grandpa Joe waiting restlessly on the stairs looking up, Mary gathered everything together and went into the nursery. She sorted the vouchers into piles of who and where they were from, and then took pen in hand and added up the numbers. When she was finished with all of the totals, she sat with eyes wide open to the window on John's bed. Mary suddenly felt as thought she had a cold rock in the pit of her stomach, as if she would never want to eat again. It was a awesome hurt, an agonizing misery, Mary wouldn't wish on anyone, not even her enemies that had now increased in number to include her own husband.

George bathed as quickly as he could knowing it would be considered suspicious behavior, but he had to. He reeked of French perfume, and his body smelled of the young lady he had been inside of an hour before arriving home. He entered the bedchamber in a rush and dressed without ever noticing the straightening Mary had done. He raced down the stairs to his father-in-law, who looked up the stairs from where George had just come from and shook his head. "Mary knows, George," was all Grandpa Joe could manage from behind his pipe.

"Knows what?" George acted as guiltless and dim to what his father-in-law meant as he could.

Grandpa Joe took George and wrapped his arm over his shoulder and whispered in his ear, "Don't be a coward now, George. It must have required a lot of courage to take another lover, borrow some of that courage now, and go tell your wife that what she's been suspecting from your behavior all along is, in fact, quite true."

George slowly turned from Grandpa Joe and took each step one at a time trying to gather the guts to face the Queen, who was sure to have magically transformed into the wicked witch by now.

Mary Elizabeth Darling was no witch. In fact, she was still as beautiful as the day they first met, and she still sat on the bed, gazing out the window, when he stood in the doorway. She had endured enough, and now either her marriage or his affair would end by Mary's own measures. She didn't want his reasons, at least not yet, for quite frankly, she didn't care. Mary was quite pale, and she forced her voice not to tremble. Mary spoke first and last, her words the only ones in this situation that mattered. She was calm and collected, and informed George, "I am taking Wendy, John and Michael away this summer. We will sail to America and stay with the family of Wendy's friend from school. I'm leaving you here with Nana and Grandpa Joe and to whatever it is that has cost you... well, George, more money than you've spent on me in the entire time I've been your wife. You sold my diamond necklace and never made any attempt to replace it, scoffing at the foolish decoration that kept us from having other more practical luxuries, although I have seen none thus far. And here I have proof of a rather outrageously expensive necklace, earrings, a ring, a party dress complete with shoes and handbag, none in my size, several floral bouquets, countless dinners and lunches."

Mary batted at the papers neatly arranged on the bed, knocking them to the floor. "I must ask you, George, who received the benefits of your hard days of work, if not your wife and children? No -- on second thought, don't tell me. I'm sure when I see a young lady dressed to the hilt in jewels and a lace dress, eating at one of these restaurants holding a bouquet of flowers and your hand from across the table, I'll know."

She rose from the bed and George met her in the doorway and attempted to touch her. "Don't touch me," she whispered as she waited for him to move out of her way, he did and she returned to the party. Grandpa Joe was still waiting at the bottom of the stairs, and, when he attempted to speak, she told him what she'd told George in the nursery. He too had nothing to say, and when he tried to embrace his daughter, again she repeated her sentiment.

George looked at Mary's arithmetic, for the first time in her life, she correctly added and balanced the totals. Something in this case, for an expense he had never done. That is why those pieces of papers with numbers listing his disgraces and lies were hidden in a box and not written in his journal. George simply didn't want to know how much money, not to mention time he had invested in the other woman.

The trip to America they'd discussed (and decided would cost too much) was now given to Wendy as a gift, the "best birthday present ever!" The children, all now young adults, hugged their mother, the heroine, and although she embraced them in return, her face held an uncharacteristic expression of someone in pain.

The party went on uninterrupted, without Mary, who went to the cemetery to leave flowers on her mother's grave. Grandpa Joe followed some distance behind her, to make sure she was safe and would not do something rash, as her mother before her had done. She didn't, only kneeling down on the ground and saying a prayer for her mother and to God to watch over her and the children in their journey.

Grandpa Joe wanted to say a prayer for his wife also, and knelt down beside his daughter. They walked home together without speaking and Mary went to bed, locking George out of their room. Grandpa Joe said another prayer for his son-in-law before retiring himself.

The middle of May could not come quickly enough for all those involved. Wendy didn't even mind her extravagant coming-out party being disregarded to prepare for the adventure upon which her brothers and mother were about to embark. The children packed their suitcases and trunks without taking notice of their mother's quiet and aloof disposition.

Mary spoke to no one and only responded when directly addressed, and was the first to retire to bed at night, as soon as the dinner dishes were washed and put away. She still performed her household duties, which made things less obvious for those watching. She cooked the meals, still serving George first at supper, and cleaned the house from top to bottom. Mary even continued to perform her wifely duties to George, although that was by no means the same. She would lie underneath him, unresponsive and stare at the ceiling tiles above. No matter what he did to please her, she remained silent and would not look at him. If he tried for a kiss, she would turn her head. The moment it was over she would bathe. He would stand by the door to the bathroom and listen to her hack and vomit into the toilet, leaving no doubt in his mind that she was sickened by his very being. George would not allow her to banish him from his own bed; therefore, Mary slept on the sofa. The children never noticed that either, for Mary was awake and in the kitchen beginning her day before they arose.

The day of their departure arrived, and in the late spring's sun, it was first seen how Mary's skin had faded from fair to a pale ash. She had dark circles under her eyes, and, as the coachmen helped her up into the carriage, she shielded her face from the sunlight that poured down from the heavens.

"Mary, are you sure you feel well enough to go on the ship? You are dreadfully pale, and the sea is unforgiving to those who are ill," Aunt Millicent said, climbing in after her; for she had casually invited herself along, seeing as Margaret was still amiss.

Wendy too gave voice to her concern, not that her mother might be sick, but that they would be unable to go. Mary assured them with, "I'm fine," and they were off.

"It will be a very long summer without them," Grandpa Joe said to George waving good-bye to their family gone, rounding the corner in the carriage. Grandpa Joe went back up into the house, leaving George in the middle of the road. Mary had not even acknowledged him when she was leaving. She awoke in the morning, dressed and went straight down to the car. It was to be long summer without her indeed.

Her name was Vivian, and her last name was of little importance. Her aunt was Peter of the Past's wife, Eve, and she first met George when he and Mary traveled to Paris on holiday. Nothing transpired between them while they were there, for at the time she was a young girl of sixteen. Now that she was older, and the flirtation they shared in Paris more genuine, she had become his mistress. Quite by accident -- or so thought George -- Peter had sent his brother a telegram at the bank, knowing Mary had bad memories of him and his wife. "I know you wrote that we should keep our distance, dear brother, but it is the New Year, and perhaps we can make peace in our differences and reconcile. After all dearest brother, we are family..." He asked George to dinner, and, without his wife, George went and was reintroduced to the young attractive blonde who was different from Mary in every way.

Their first interlude took place that same night. It's bizarre what enough wine and dancing with a flirtatiously uninhibited young lady wearing a dress that left little to the imagination can do to happily married man. She flattered his strong build and handsome face, stealing a kiss on his cheek and then his neck.

"Would you mind walking me back to the hotel, Mr. Darling? I'm afraid to walk alone unescorted." George was a gentleman, a drunk one at that, and he obliged. It was to the hotel, and then to the lobby, and soon enough he was in her room between her legs having at her quickly. His altered perception from the liquor made his completion swift, and still she was thrilled. She stroked his ego with, "It is as if your body is perfectly fitted to mine, you just touched me in all the right places! Can we do it again? For I will not be able to sleep tonight or any other with the itch that you have gently bequeathed upon me that needs to be scratched. Scratch it again, George...please."

Her voice was exotic to his ears, a heavy French accent that purred as the words rolled from her tongue. Just as Mary had feared in Paris, he liked it. She was not better than Mary, only different in bed, but he wanted to be with her in that way again just the same, for she tempted him, "You must teach me how to be a better lover, George, you are so exceptional in your endowment with women."

Vivian knew of his marriage and knew of his intentions towards his wife and children. "I don't mind sharing, I know you have more than enough to go around," she told him that night and so their affair began.

Men in unbridled passion are blind, deaf and stupid. George was blind of the fact that what he was doing with Vivian he had done with Mary on their holiday. Only worse. The George Darling of London disappeared from the face of the earth, and quite possibly the entire universe that night and was replaced with the George Darling of Paris. And in only a week, all the memories of his duties as a husband and father, and responsibility of home and work were lost. He had sex in hotels and ate at expensive restaurants, scoffing at the expense of buying jewelry he would normally call unnecessary; his mistress received gifts, leaving his wife home alone undecorated.

He was deaf to the gossip spread about him, knowing no one would dare say a word to his wife. His reasoning was the same as the excuses given by Peter, "George, all gentlemen engage in activities such as these outside their marriage."

And he was stupid to think Mary, his partner in life would never find out. She, too, had smelled the perfume on his clothes many times before, and had prayed to God to make it stop. But God is a man, and this proved it, because He turned a deaf ear to her appeals and the situations of George with other women continued.

By other women, George also had Peter's wife. "Something different this time, something new I know you never tried," Peter told him as they both had at the other's lovers, all four together in the same room. "Mary would never do this for you George, now tell that was not loads of fun!"

It was mildly enjoyable at the time, but all too soon the George of London, rescued from his hiatus elsewhere, returned. Once he took a moment to glance around at his unfamiliar surroundings, he was the one ready throw himself out the window.

Vivian grew jealous that everyday he went home to his wife. She would stop at nothing to continue the affair full speed ahead. And now the old George, the one Mary had married, begged forgiveness every Sunday in church, not just for his adultery, but also for the one sin which, when God Himself heard it on His throne in heaven, caused Him to wince. "I love you..." George only said it to Vivian once in the heat of passion, but once was enough for her to remember and remind him of.

"Well, George," the priest told him every single Sunday, "I don't know what to say, except recite the rosary four times and prepare to burn in hell fire on Satan's lap while your wife watches from God's bosom. And George, end it now."

Try as he might, George couldn't, because there was something he needed from Vivian which Mary would not give, her undivided attention. That was until the night of Michael's redemption. While Grandpa Joe told the story of George and Mary, he stayed in his room and cried like a newborn baby. Not for his hand that was broken and swollen, not for his son that he almost lost. But for the grief and agony Mary endured, hearing it recounted. He knew this affair would not only be the death of his marriage, but the death of his wife, his darling love. His own suspicions were confirmed when in the morning John gave him the letter from his lover. He read it and raced from the house, leaving Mary without even a kiss for the corner of her mouth to assist her through the day.

There, in Vivian's hotel room, she told George, she had not received her monthlies and was now "weeks late, I'm too afraid to count back." The doctor who treated her for measles when she was a child had told her then she could never have babies, so she and George never used any precautions. Vivian had no other symptoms of pregnancy, only her missed monthlies.

"The only thing you can do is wait and go see a doctor," George told her with a troubled expression. "I wouldn't worry," he told her, for he was going to do the worrying for both of them.

"False alarm," Peter told George that afternoon when they met for lunch. "It was the dandiest thing, an hour after you left, she started having her flow." Peter could see his brother's mood did not lighten at the good news, and was rather alarmingly pleased when George informed him, "My father-in-law knows now, he caught me with Vivian this morning."

Peter gave his little brother a raised brow, "Will he tell our dearest Mary?"

George shrugged his shoulders, "No, but she will never forgive me, Peter, if she finds out. I must end this, now."

Peter leaned back in his chair and stuck out his lower lip, "Oh, George, don't be a fraidy cat, we are just starting to have a good time. And who cares if Mary finds out? Do you really think she would say anything about it? No, of course she wouldn't, not after the way she's been treating you these past few years, spending all her time with the children, not even giving you the time of day. She deserves it." It was easy for Peter to say and difficult for George to look past.

Vivian's monthly was a tad bid heavier than normal, and she was in excruciating pain. The doctor at the private clinic Mrs. Peter Darling took her to, told her, "I'm sorry you lost the baby, but don't worry, no reason someone as young and fresh as you can't have another." George never knew that, but just the same, for that reason and his own, he declined her intimately from then on, even though she guaranteed him it was not needed.

The Good George, also known as the George of London was back, and he knew there was to be an accountability and consequence. George never cared much for fun and games and so he moved swiftly for an abrupt ending, but to no avail. He too now prayed to God for it to end. Maybe God was a woman, for she turned deaf ear George's prayers and told him to lie in the bed he made. In fact, at night while he knelt by his bedside looking up at the ceiling, his was certain he could see Her, sitting on that throne in heaven with Her arms crossed, casting Her eyes away from him, shaking Her head at his stupidity.

Vivian quickly became a liability to his lifestyle, as his sense of hearing returned and he caught wind of the rumors circulating. They were far worse than he ever imagined, especially when his co-workers asked to be invited to one of his brother's many unmentionable parties for which he was famous.

George had two affairs to end, one with his brother and one with his mistress. His mistress came first. George met Vivian for the very last time on his daughter's birthday and ended it once and for all.

But not before bringing her flowers to soften the blow and dining at her favorite restaurant.

She accepted his rejection with tears and seduced him as he consoled her. "There will never be another man as good as you George, please stay, please save me." As her Auntie Eve once transformed into a an evil character from a fairytale who tempted Prince Charming with the forbidden fruit, Vivian now smiled her little victory as George dressed, late for Wendy's birthday dinner. "You will be back, for I am the one who loves you. Once your wife finds out what we've been doing, she will run away with your children and leave you alone in your house forever. Send me word when she does George, for I will be waiting..."

George's brother was next, and far more challenging to conquer. The day after Mrs. George Darling confronted her husband with her awareness of his infidelity, George ran straight to his older brother for aid. "Mary found out Peter, and she is absolutely devastated. I have irrevocably broken her heart and destroyed my entire marriage and all the years of trust I have built being her husband and father to her children. She is taking my children to America she's leaving me. Help me, Peter, help me make things right." George was the one irretrievably crushed, and he sat on the floor of his brother's hotel room with his head in his hands weeping like a little boy.

He looked up to see his brother staring off ahead, sitting on his chair as if it were the throne of Satan, with mild grin of satisfaction. "If you are asking my advice, George, I say divorce Mary, let her keep your children and the house and her father, and you move in with me and my wife back in Paris. You can have Vivian -- she seems quite fond of you, but if you are tired of her, there are many other attractive young things that I'm sure will be just as willing to be her replacement. Start over. Forget that witch you are married to, wasting all your years away. You should have never married her to begin with, if you ask me, a woman who will lie down for you and get herself in the wrong way, should have been your first hint. But alas, you are just the victim; a man who was getting it wet in a woman for the first time, thinking it was love or something better. No, maybe I'm wrong, maybe it was this time you were thinking it was something better. Either way George, you've lost Mary forever. Shame."

Peter rose from his chair and patted his brother on the back, giving him an evil smile. All this time, he was the wicked witch who coaxed the innocent boy to "come and nibble on my gingerbread house." George was now in a cage, and Peter was just fattening him up with the affair and the fancy lifestyle, all in preparation for the oven George was to be put into to. Peter had used his brother and niece in an elaborate plan to steal what was most precious from him, yet again.

George rose and his eyes met Peter's, realization dawning in his voice. "You want Mary. You've always wanted Mary. From the day you first saw her at the party, to our wedding day, as she lay dying giving my son life, and far beyond that. This was what all of this was about. And this whole time, all you wanted was Mary. You didn't want your brother, you wanted his wife, my Mary." George spoke his revelation aloud as it had now become clear in his mind.

"She's not really your Mary anymore, is she George?" Peter shoved his brother aside with his shoulder strolled triumphantly to the door of his room. He opened it and extended his arm, showing his gullible little baby brother the exit. "My offer still stands, brother, you have a home in Paris anytime you like."

George grabbed his coat and stalked from the room only to meet his brother's arm blocking his exit. "Don't worry George, a woman like Mary will never die old, alone and unloved."