Page 26 of The Stipulation
Gavin clears his throat softly. “Sorry, Miss Button, what was that?”
“I’ll do it. I’ll undertake the restoration work, and I’ll fulfill the stipulations of the will.”
Gavin tries to keep his expression neutral, but the small smile he gives me seems approving. “Very well. I will arrange everything for you to begin immediately.”
I take one last long look at the Vermeer, letting the light from the perfectly set bulbs fall across the face of the old woman on the screen. Her eyes seem to glitter. A thrill surges through me, a mix of fear, exhilaration, and anticipation. This is madness. It’s chaos. But it’s also exactly the life I’ve always dreamed of in its purest, most artistic form.
For now, I decide I will step into this new-old world. And I will see what it can give me, one painting and one discovery at a time.
My lips curve as I smile at the wrinkled woman.You will be splendid again.
Chapter
Twelve
JO
Gavin’s expression is friendly, but his voice is crisp and professional as he hands me a small thumb drive, the metal glinting in the soft light of the vault.
“This is what your father wanted you to have once you agreed to the stipulations. I suggest you review it alone.”
I take it, feeling its cold weight in the palm of my hand. I curl my fingers around it as though closing it off from the world and about what it may contain. My mind is already buzzing with curiosity, anticipation… and trepidation.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
Gavin straightens, nods once, then turns to leave. “I’ll leave you to it, Miss Button. The door will lock automatically when you leave, and I’ll get someone to set it up to recognize you later this evening. If you need anything in the meantime, you know where to find me.”
I watch him go, and the sudden quiet of the vault feels overwhelming and yet welcoming. This is my space now. Just meand the paintings. The faint hum of the climate control system is the only sound until I begin to walk towards the area that will be my workstation. I set the thumb drive carefully on the desk beside the brand-new laptop that has already been set up for me. The machine is sleek, ready, and no doubt state-of-the-art.
I sit down, and my fingers hover over the USB port, hesitating. There’s a strange mixture of fear twisting in my stomach. I want to know what’s on the drive. I need to know. And yet, at the same time, I almost dread finding out what it contains. What illusions is it going to shatter? Already, I have found out that my mother lied to me my whole life? What else is there?
I take a deep breath and slide the drive into the slot. I run my fingers over the control pad, and the laptop hums to life. The desktop screen flashes on, and a video begins playing automatically. My father appears on the screen, seated in a richly appointed study, dressed impeccably, but looking softer than I remember him to look in the pictures I have seen in various business journals and tabloids over the years. His bright blue, almost violet eyes, so like mine, meet the camera, and I feel an odd jolt, as though he’s looking directly at me. For a moment, I feel like if I reached out and touched him, he would feel it, and I have to make a conscious effort to stop my hand from rising up from the arm of my chair.
“Hello, Jo,” he begins, his voice calm and his words deliberate. “If you’re watching this, then you’ve already discovered certain truths about your existence. I made this video because I wanted to tell you, in my own words, about how you came to be, and why I was not allowed to be a part of your life until now.”
I bite my lip, gripping the edge of the desk. My pulse is racing. He continues, and his words unfold a story I had never expected to hear from his side.
“Your mother and I met when she was very young. She was sixteen, though she told me she was nineteen. I believed her. I had no reason not to. I was thirty-two at the time. It was a brief relationship. There was affection, a certain spark, but I confess I did not love her. I loved the idea of having a child, though. I had never been able to father a child before. And when I learned she was carrying you, I was overjoyed. Absolutely overjoyed. I cannot tell you, Jo, how much you were wanted. All my dreams came true that night when Tracey told me she was pregnant. I figured my deep love for you, unborn as you were, would be enough, that I could learn to love Tracey.”
I feel a strange ache in my chest. Joy. Relief. My father didn’t choose to abandon me. And yet there is also a bitter feeling — why had I been kept away from this man all of my life?
I think of all of the different excuses my mum used over the years – he was a one-night stand, and she doesn’t even remember his name. A lie. He left, and she had no way of contacting him. Another lie. He was abusive. Looks like that is another lie. Lies. Lies. Lies. It’s all she’s ever told me. And now maybe I will finally get the truth, because my father has no reason to lie at this point. It’s not like he has to answer to me.
“Your mother, though,” he says, his voice catching slightly. “Well, she saw things differently. She realized quickly that I did not love her. Only the child she carried in her belly. And in her own way, she decided to punish me. If she could not have my love, she would ensure I could not have you. She threatened me. She told me, if I ever attempted to be in your life, she would ruin me. She would make the world believe I was a predator, a criminal. A pedophile who had raped her. I had no choice but to withdraw, as painful as that was. If she ruined my reputation, that was one thing, something I would have lived with to have you in my life, but what court would allow a man accused of such a thing to be a father anyway? And I figured if I left, when youwere old enough, I could explain. If you thought I was some sort of pervert, you might never hear me out.”
My hands are shaking violently with shock, and I have to press them to my lap, gripping them together so tightly that my knuckles turn white.
“I wasn’t allowed to be in your life,” he continues. “But I watched you grow up. Every step of the way. I even had men watching you and protecting you when you were out late at night. From afar, I followed your life quietly. I was proud of you. Every step you took, every achievement, every moment of your growth … I cherished it, even without you knowing. You were my daughter. My only daughter. The love of my life. And in my heart, I celebrated you in every way I could, even if I had been forced to do it anonymously.”
I reach out, pause the video, and squeeze my eyes shut. My mind is spinning. It all makes sense now. That time I was drunk, and that guy who stepped out of nowhere and beat off the man who had tried to accost me. That feeling all my life of being followed, but I just brushed it away as me being fanciful or downright silly.Of course, no one is following you.
The betrayal, the secrets, the lies my mother told - all of it washes over me in one tidal wave. My chest feels tight, and small, hot trickles of tears slip down my cheeks. My father loved me. My father really loved me. He came in spirit to all my plays. I wipe the tears away, but they keep coming, and I let them, letting them drip off my chin and onto my hands in my lap.
A grand anger is filling my heart. My mother had kept my poor father away from me for all of those years. She knew how much I longed for a father, and never once did she think her petty revenge was less important than my happiness. For twenty-six years, she had shaped my life with her mean vengeance, keeping me from my father. I wonder if she everbelieved she was doing the right thing by me, or if she began to believe her own lies.
Still… It hardly matters now. It doesn’t change the consequences … the loss of years wondering why I wasn’t enough for my father to want me in his life, the loss of knowing him, the lost opportunities to grow up with some sense of who I really was. The pain is sharp, almost physical, but I need to let it bleed and feel it for a moment so I can let it go. While I don’t think I’m ready to let go of the resentment towards my mum, I have to let go of this pain and loss inside me, or else it will tear me apart. I take in deep breaths and blow them out slowly, and I start to feel a tiny bit better.
I sniffle and open my eyes, staring at the screen. My father’s gaze feels gentle, and I manage a half-smile. I hit play, and the video goes on.
