I'll Take Manhattan (58 page)

“Don’t be too proud, Maxi. We’re a proud bunch, you and Toby and I—it must be Mother’s influence. I ask you, if Father had been in money trouble with a magazine he believed in, wouldn’t he have done anything, short of dishonesty, to save it? Don’t get carried away by pride, Maxi. Anyway, this is a present, not a loan. A nonreturnable
gift
. There’s nothing you can do about it except say, ‘Thank you, Justin.’ ”

“But why? I don’t understand.”

“Because this is the only way I can find to join the fight. We’re all in this together, we’re a family and we’re
doing this for the family name. I’ve got to be part of that! Zachary Amberville was my father too, Maxi. You aren’t the only who loved him, you know. If you don’t win, at least I won’t feel that I didn’t do as much as I could have.
Let me help
! It’s for all of us. Please, Maxi, take it,” he begged, showing more emotion than she had ever seen on his ironic, remote, withdrawn face.

Maxi snatched the check back, as full of expectation and excitement as if she were watching the arrival of a comet.

“Thank you, darling, darling Justin! And while you’re in this generous mood, could you possibly let me have ten dollars till payday?”

“Cutter, can’t you really go up to Canada without me?” Lily asked. “We’ve seen Leonard and Gerry Wilder for dinner at least three times since the two of you met. Isn’t that enough courtship, even for a major business transaction? Why is my presence necessary on this trip?”

“I thought you liked Gerry.”

“I do, she’s a perfectly agreeable woman, but this weekend trip with them up to look over the timberlands that the company owns—don’t you realize that it brings up difficult memories for me?”

There was a change in Cutter’s expression, below the surface of his polished and almost absolute charm, something seemed to be happening, a tightening of resolution.

“Darling, you’re being just a bit self-indulgent, changing your mind at the last minute, aren’t you? The fact that Zachary died in Canada shouldn’t make the place impossible to visit—you’ve never even been there. You still live in the house you shared with him all those years, yet that isn’t too painful for you. So why should this make any difference? You know I’ve planned this trip for weeks. Gerry is
counting on your company while Leonard and I inspect the stands of timber.”

“Oh, really,” Lily complained, “this does drag on so.”

“It’s the kind of weekend that consolidates a relationship in a way that no number of New York dinners ever can,” Cutter explained. “When the time comes, two weeks from now, to sit down and talk business at UBC, my personal relationship with Leonard will make a difference. He won’t admit it, he won’t even be aware of it, but I know it’s true. So much hinges on you. You’re the star of our little group. You
own
Amberville, I only speak for you. Be a big girl, my darling. You’re so important in the end game. Remember, no deal is consummated until the papers are signed.”

Lily sighed. She wanted to get this difficult, overdue sale over with and behind her. She was so weary of being looked at and standing in as the symbol of ownership, so tired of constantly having to watch herself in her mind’s eye, that most difficult judge of all, ever alert to the position Cutter put her in at the center of the Amberville Publications stage, always the gracious soloist. She knew that Gerry Wilder, pleasant as she was, was still slightly awed by her, as impressed as a member of a
corps de ballet
would feel about the ballerina. Still, she was accustomed to enduring that central role that once she had coveted beyond all else, and Cutter was evidently intent on her being part of this weekend.

“All right, I’ll go. Will I need a heavy coat or just lots of sweaters?”

“Bring everything you think you’ll need. We’re going in the UBC company jet so baggage is no problem.”

“Good. That’s something. I’ll just go and tell my maid what to pack.”

The interior of the UBC jet was so arranged that it didn’t look like a flying boardroom. Intimate conversations were possible at both ends of the cabin. Cutter and Leonard Wilder sat together talking while their wives chatted up front.

“This timberland, thousands of acres, was one of the
last things that my brother bought before he died,” Cutter said. “He felt that the more independent Amberville was from paper manufacturers, the better. Hell, he’d have bought a printing plant next, and then a distribution business. That might be something for UBC to consider.”

“One thing at a time,” Leonard chuckled. Now that he had every intention of buying Amberville Publications his normally brusque manner had mellowed. “Speaking of things to consider, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to
B&B
. When we first met we only talked about the established books. I didn’t give
B&B
another month’s life. Since then your offbeat experimental baby has begun to fascinate me. At first I thought it would bring down your profits; then I saw the circulation figures, and lately I’ve started to ask myself if the first thing we should do is pour money into it or, on the other hand, shut it down. Any suggestions, Cutter?”

“Leonard, I’ve been going through all of that questioning myself, multiplied by ten. I’ve been tinkering with the magazine personally, doing all the fine-tuning and I promise you I’ve managed to get it over the hump. It was a challenge I took personally. But the jury’s still out. As I do on any new project, I’ve let it go just so far and no further. It keeps our people on their toes and it’s good for the company.”

“I heard Lily’s daughter speak at the dinner for Women in Publishing and I was damned impressed. Does she come with the package?”

“Maxi’s a wonder. A chip off the old block. You’d have to cut your own deal with her, Leonard. I couldn’t speak for her … but I’m not convinced that she’s necessarily in it for the long haul. Still, who knows?”

“Won’t the start-up losses distort your profit picture?”

“Less than you’ll ever guess. I’ve been personally riding herd on Maxi and I think you’re going to be pleasantly surprised. I’m satisfied with the Amberville balance sheet. I think you will be too.”

“The figures will tell the story, won’t they?” He stretched agreeably. “Ah, it’s nice to be getting away. I’ve never been to the wilds of Canada.”

“We have flush toilets for VIPs.”

“Somehow I’d imagined you would.”

“Leonard and I never had any children,” Gerry Wilder told Lily, as she did each time they talked. “I envy you so much. And not just three children, even a granddaughter. You must be so proud.”

“I am … but recently I began to realize something. I can’t take the credit for them when they’re being wonderful and so I shouldn’t blame myself when they’re being … difficult. It’s taken years to even begin to reach that conclusion. I always thought that they had to be perfect or else it meant that I wasn’t perfect. Well, I’m not and they’re not. We’re all just human.”

Gerry Wilder tried to hide her astonishment. She’d never heard Lily talk about herself so intimately before. She seized the opportunity to delve further into the character of the woman whose manner and breeding had always caused most of the other women of New York to think of her as set apart from them.

“Are you closer to one of your children than to the others?”

Lily smiled gently at the question. Only a woman without children could imagine that such a question could be answered simply, or even at all. She said the obvious and satisfactory thing. “They’re each different and I’m close to each one in a different way.”

“It must be wonderful having a daughter,” Gerry said wistfully.

“Actually I’m more optimistic about Maxime than I’ve ever been before,” Lily said, surprised at her own words.

“Optimistic?” Gerry Wilder said, puzzled.

“Oh,” Lily laughed at her impulsive remark. “She’s had three husbands, you know. That’s a bit worrying for a mother. She seems to have finally settled down. Happily unmarried.”

“Goodness,
yes
. Leonard took me to the Women in Publishing dinner and I thought she was marvelous. So businesslike. That combination of intelligence and beauty
bowled us over. And I do adore that magazine of hers. I even go out to buy it—I can’t wait to read it at the hairdresser’s. It always makes me feel so—well, pleased with myself. I suppose she shows it to you before it comes out every month?”

“Actually she’s quite private about it. I have to go to the newsstand to get it too.”

“For heaven’s sake,” Gerry said, mystified by the world of publishing. After all, Lily Amberville owned the company. You’d think she’d get advance copies of every magazine. It sounded as if she knew as little about her own business as Gerry herself did about next season’s pilots. Leonard wouldn’t let her look at them because she couldn’t conquer her habit of comparing them to “Masterpiece Theatre.” But then she didn’t own UBC.

Soon the small jet landed on the airstrip that had been carved out of the forest. The passengers left the plane, pulling on the heavy coats they had brought along. It was windy and bright but still very chilly up in this part of Northern Ontario. A tall, obviously young man in spite of his fine red beard stood waiting for them with a new jeep. He approached the group, shyly. “Mr. Amberville?” he asked, looking questioningly at the two men.

“I’m Mr. Amberville,” Cutter answered. “You must be Bob Davies. You look like your dad.”

“Yes sir. Nice to meet you, sir.”

“This is Mrs. Amberville and our guests, Mr. and Mrs. Wilder. Bob’s just learning the ropes, Leonard. His father used to be in charge of the camp here but he retired last year, went down to Florida. Just out of college, aren’t you, Bob? How’s your dad?”

“Fine, sir. Thank you. Why don’t you all get into the jeep while I stow those bags? I don’t like to keep you waiting in this wind. It’s about a half-hour ride to the guest house.”

Leonard Wilder entered the enclosed jeep reluctantly. He wanted to drink in the sight of the dark green, towering trees that, like the sea, had the power to awe a city man. Network television had never given him such a heady sense
of being in touch with the real world, with growing things. This particular, surprising asset of Amberville Publications, he decided, was going to become his private fiefdom. The next time he flew up here it would be as host, not as a guest. He’d let Gerry redecorate the guest house, whatever shape it was in, so that she’d stop complaining about his never sharing the pilots with her. She refused to realize how lucky she was that he didn’t.

On the same Saturday that Cutter and Lily were up north, Toby and India, in New York, were getting dressed for the first night of a Broadway play that had been written by Sam Shepard, India’s costar in her last film. They had invited Angelica and Maxi to go with them but Maxi had promised to spend the evening with Julie who was kicking up an alarming fuss, digging in her heels about her growing conviction that a magazine that thought women were fine just the way they were didn’t need a fashion editor at all, but rather a resident bag lady. When they found themselves with an extra ticket, they had told Angelica that she could bring a friend so long as the girl was properly dressed for an important theatrical event that was sure to draw a crowd of the usual curious civilians as well as a covey of photographers.

Impatiently India changed her dress at the last minute. She had fallen into the trap of this particular spring and bought a number of the chintz-printed gowns that looked heavenly on the hanger and turned their wearers into walking English country sofas. “Cabbage roses on the body don’t work like cabbage roses on cushions,” India said out loud to herself, ransacking her closets, and coming up with Nile-green satin Saint-Laurent evening pajamas, sashed at the waist in the palest pink, and a brighter pink satin raincoat that went with it, that must never be worn if it looked at all like rain.

“Angelica’s friend is here, I heard the doorbell,” Toby said.

“How do I look?” India asked.

“Come closer. Yeah—like the sky in the moment between
sunset and sunrise in Norway, on Midsummer’s Night.”

“How did you know?”

“From the sound of the fabric, from the color I see out of a tiny tunnel, from the sound of your walk, from the way you smell, from the tone of your voice. By the way, when we go downstairs, try not to say the very first thing that comes into your mind about Angelica’s friend.”

“Toby, don’t be mysterious. You’ve just picked up her voice, haven’t you?”

“Right. This bat has super-sensitive hearing. Just keep your head.” He touched her lips. “Lipstick. I’m going to kiss you anyway, but I won’t smudge—I also specialize in super-sensitive, ultrasonic, laser-beam kissing.”

“Go on, smudge,” she invited. “Otherwise how will I know you’ve touched me?”

“You’ll know … you know, don’t you? Oh yes, you know. Come on now, we’ll be late.” Together they walked down to the living room where Angelica was waiting.

“Oh, what lovely cabbage roses, Angelica,” India said automatically. It was true even when spoken out of stunned surprise. On Angelica the slipcovers were like a garden just coming into bloom.

“Thank you, Godmother,” Angelica said with the utmost formality. “May I present Henry Eagleson, a friend from school. My godmother, India West, and my Uncle Toby.”

“How do you do,” the young man said.

“Basketball,” India said wildly. “You must play basketball.”

“He’s the tallest boy in the eighth grade, Godmother,” Angelica said, a note of triumph creeping into her tremulous voice.

“Center?” asked Toby.

“Yes sir. But if I stop growing I’ll have to give it up.”

“How old are you?” India finally ventured to ask.

“Fourteen, ma’am.”

“Why should you stop growing at fourteen?” Toby wondered.

“I’m over six feet three already, sir. I have to stop sometime, at least I hope so.”

“Not necessarily,” Angelica said, grasping this neutral topic with both hands. “He could keep growing until he’s twenty-one or -two, couldn’t he? What do you think, Uncle Toby?”

“Why don’t we wait and see? And why don’t you call us India and Toby, Henry?”