“I don’t know what to say,” said Clint. “It’s all a blank to me. I know I was to meet someone that night. I remember fallin’ into the wet cement. I wanted you to kill our child? I can’t believe that. Did it live? Am I a father?”
“You’re much more than that, Clinton. George is your grandson.”
“Really?” Clint turned towards George Danton. He smiled, a big dumb smile. “Good to meet you, Boy.”
Mrs D repeated Clint’s words for Danton Jnr. “Papa.” George Danton nodded. “My father, your son, he’s a Clinton too. He’s still alive. I’m sure he’d be pleased to meet you,” George said.
“I have a son, a grandson.” Clint shook his head. “Why would I ever have wanted otherwise?”
“You were a gangster, my love,” said Marie-Claire. “Worked for the Mob. No life was beneath you in getting your way.”
“Sur
