“Take care, okay?” Valerie said.
“You too,” he replied. “I can’t wait to see your next movie. I’ll be first in line to buy a ticket.”
She spoke with affection. “Goodbye, Drew.”
His insides clenched in protest because he didn’t want to hang up. He wanted to stay on the phone with her forever, listening to the sweet sound of her voice. He choked back tears that threatened to fall and said, “Goodbye, Valerie.”
He placed the receiver in the phone cradle and stood for a moment, in shock, inert, still gripping it tightly. Then he turned and slid the door open and stepped outside into the cold, punishing rain.
CHAPTER 32
2018
“Mr.Thornby ...” His tale echoed in Gwen’s mind, and she felt dazed. It was difficult to form words as she stared across her desk at him. “I had no idea. I didn’t know you were acquainted with Valerie, let alone had such an intimate relationship with her. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
He shifted in the chair and cleared his throat. It was obvious that he needed a moment to recover from the memory of that rainy night in the telephone booth.
“It’s not something a teacher says to a student,” he finally explained. “You’re supposed to forget that we have personal lives of our own.”
He was correct about that. As a child, whenever Gwen had spotted one of her teachers in public, it was like seeing an alien from outer space.
“On top of that,” he continued, “I didn’t want to be in a position where a reporter might come to me for information about her. So I kept it secret from everyone I knew. Even my wife.”
“She still doesn’t know to this day?” Peter asked.
Mr.Thornby shook his head. “No, but it doesn’t matter, because she’s not my wife anymore. We divorced after eight years.”
Gwen felt a pang of sympathy because she knew how it felt to accept defeat in a marriage.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Peter said. “Can I ask what happened?”
“I’ve told you quite a bit already,” Mr.Thornby replied. “I’d prefer to respect my ex-wife’s privacy.”
Gwen admired his discretion, but she already knew what had happened. It was a small town and common knowledge that the music teacher’s wife had left him for another man—a science teacher at the high school in the neighboring town.
“It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” Mr.Thornby said. “After that phone call with Valerie, nothing was quite the same between Kathleen and me, and I don’t think she ever felt truly loved. We went ahead with the wedding, but I still carried a torch for Valerie. Kathleen never understood what was wrong with me. I should have told her.”
“Did you keep in touch with Valerie after that phone call?” Peter asked.
“Yes. We wrote letters a few times a year, just as friends. She shared her private thoughts with me, things she kept hidden from a world that only saw her as a public figure. She loved acting and singing and writing music, but she hated the fame. You captured that well in your book, Mr.Miller. I don’t know how you managed to get it so right when she tried so hard to keep everything private.”
“I’ll admit it was a challenge,” Peter replied. “But Gwen helped a lot, and I’m glad to hear that it rang true for you, because you probably knew the real Scarlett Fontaine better than anyone. You knew her before she was famous. When she was just Valerie.”
“I did know her well,” Mr.Thornby said. “And your book was the reason why I came to see Gwen today.” He paused. “It’s about something you got wrong.”
Gwen sat up, her back ramrod straight.
“Shoot,” Peter said. “Those are the last words a biographer ever wants to hear. But please ... I’m listening.”
“I’m listening as well.” Gwen bit her lower lip.
Mr.Thornby reached into his backpack for a stack of letters and set them on the desk. “These are for you, Gwen, for the museum’s archives. That’s all our correspondence over the years, and there are personal anecdotes about her experiences on the sets of her films and her songwriting techniques. Valuable material, I think. It also includes the last letter she wrote from Switzerland, shortly after her cancer diagnosis.” He slid the letters across the desk. “When you read that final letter, you’ll see that she asked me to come and be with her at the end of her life. So that’s what I did. I got on a plane, and we spent six months together, until she passed.”
For a split second, Gwen’s breathing was suspended. Slowly, she picked up the letters and stared at them.
“That’s what you got wrong in the book,” Mr.Thornby said. “Valerie didn’t die alone. I was with her, and I was holding her hand.” He met Gwen’s wide eyes and spoke solemnly. “It was a peaceful passing. And I promise, she knew she was loved. She knew I never stopped.”
Gwen made a sound, a small exhalation of breath that wasn’t quite a word, but it was an expression of understanding.
