Her mother’s words cut through Gwen’s surface composure and landed in the dark inner hollow where her grief lived. Gwen’s grief was quiet most days, but suddenly she was back there ... in the hospital bed holding Lily, gripped by an agony no mother should ever be subjected to.
Tears stung her eyes, and she choked back the urge to cry. She didn’t have the heart for this. Not today, when she needed to focus on what was happening at the museum.
Unable to meet her mother’s gaze—because if she did, she would surely fall to pieces—Gwen reached for her phone and checked the screen for notifications. She swiped up a few times, awaiting the sweet mercy of distraction.
“I’m fine,” she finally said, her voice shaking a little. “I’m thinking about the fact that we might have a relative out there somewhere.”
Her mother understood that she needed a moment to mend and recover. Anne sat quietly, giving her that space.
Gwen set her phone down and turned her thoughts outward. “What would he or she be to us? First cousin twice removed?”
Her mother shrugged. “I have no idea.” She pondered the situation, then set down her coffee cup. “But we should probably talk about the elephant in the room.”
“Elephant?”
“Yes. Aren’t you worried about a stranger coming out of the woodwork and demanding half the family fortune?”
Gwen clenched and unclenched her left hand. “As if there isn’t more than enough to go around. The truth is I’d welcome that, because most of the time I feel guilty about getting everything after you’re gone. It’s too much for one person. And it’s a huge responsibility.”
“The museum, you mean?”
Gwen sipped her coffee. “No, not that. I love the job. I’m talking about the fortune.” She paused, having some trouble voicing the next few words. She had to take a breath first. “I don’t have any children to leave it to, so what will happen after I die? Who will look after Scarlett’s memory?”
Her mother touched her knee. “You know our lawyers have anticipated every possible scenario. It will all be taken care of.”
“Yes, but no one would care about the museum like I do,” Gwen said. “It’s personal for us because we’re family.”
“Don’t be so sure that no one else would care. Scarlett was a beloved icon. She was adored by the whole world.”
“And yet she died alone.”
Gwen promptly dropped her gaze. Again, she couldn’t look her mother in the eye, because her mother knew everything about her trauma in the delivery room and exactly why this situation was touching a nerve.
With a quick shake of her head, she checked her watch. “I need to get back to work, but first I need to ask ... are you sure there wasn’t anything else left behind when Grandma Mary passed? That Scarlett didn’t have a private diary or some letters that she hid somewhere? Do we still have any of Grandma Mary’s personal effects or anything from Scarlett’s parents?”
“There’s nothing,” her mother replied. “Scarlett’s father left everything to Mary, who left it all to your father. He knew the value of Scarlett’s personal belongings and made sure it all went to the museum.”
Gwen sighed with defeat. “Will you be sure to ask Dad about that when he comes home? Show him the picture and see if he can think of anything or if he knows of some unopened boxes somewhere. I’d want to go through them.”
“I will,” her mother replied. “Can you leave the picture with me?”
“Yes. I made that copy for you, but don’t share it with anyone. I promised Peter that I wouldn’t scoop him, and I want to keep him on our side and make sure he trusts me so that he shares what he finds.”
“Understood.”
Gwen finished her coffee, stood up, and carried the empty cup to the dishwasher. “I have to go. I don’t want to leave him to his own devices for too long.” She gathered up her bag and walked out the door.
When Gwen returned to the museum, Peter was browsing in the gift shop, talking to Nora. As soon as he spotted Gwen walking in, he setdown the souvenir glass he’d been examining and made his way toward her in the wide entrance hall. “Do you have a minute?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“Good, because I have some questions.” He gestured toward the stairs. “Could we go up to the archive room?”
“Sure. Just let me get rid of my things.” Gwen walked to her office, hung her coat on the coat-tree, and locked her purse in the desk before following Peter up the wide staircase.
“Gorgeous woodwork in this home,” he said as he ran his hand up the polished oak banister. “Scarlett was a lucky young lady, to grow up in a house like this.”
Gwen glanced at the enormous family portraits on the wall. “It depends how you definelucky. She certainly had everything in terms of material possessions and social status, but her father wasn’t exactly a warmhearted fellow.”
