Inheritance (92 page)

"I won't know until I see the wallet." He held out his hand.

"As long as you look at it here. You can't take it away."

*That's fine. By the way, if I find something, could I ask you to keep it quiet until I've made my move? In other words, no press conferences or answering questions from reporters until you hear from me. Can you do that?"

"How long will it be?"

"I don't know. I hope no more than a few days."

She nodded. "I can wait a few days."

**Thanks," he said, and, from habit, turned his back as he

Judith Michael

went through the wallet. Amid lists and notes, a picture of Laura, and live hundred dollars in cash, he found a folded paper with a list of ten- and thirteen-digit telephone numbers. New York, Colby noted; Geneva, Paris, Rome, London. He sent up a prayer. Stick with me, God. We've hung in this long; if I can hit it with one of these numbers, we're home free.

He returned everything but the folded paper to the wallet and handed it to Laura. 'Thank you. Miss Fairchild."

"You kept a piece of paper. May I see it?"

Colby gave it to her.

"You'll let me know when you've called all of them?" she asked.

"As soon as I know something," he said, taking back the paper. "You can count on me. I'll let myself out now. I appreciate your help. Paul, we'll be talking soon, right?"

"I'm sure we will," Paul said with a smile. The last thing Colby saw before he closed the door behind him was Laura Fairchild's face as she turned to Paul. Lucky guy, he thought enviously. Lucky guy.

But he didn't dwell on it. The list of numbers burned in his pocket, and he pulled it out to study it in the taxi taking him to his office. He had to wait until the next morning to begin calling, and then, for four hours, he called one after another. Rve had been disconnected, three rang steadily without an answer, four had been changed and belonged to shops in Geneva and Rome. Two responded with tape recordings giving forwarding numbers in Rome and Milan. When Colby punched die buttons on his telephone with the forwarding numbers, both resulted in error messages. Fucking Italian phone companies, he swore silently, and punched the numbers again. And again heard recorded error messages. Not possible, he thought. He might have written one incorrectly, but not two. He studied the numbers. Both began with thirty-nine and ended with ninety-three. Ah, Colby sighed. Cute. The dialing code for Italy was thirty-nine. He punched the numbers in backward, and within five minutes was speaking to the houseman for a man whose name Colby recognized: a high-living playboy who collected rare coins and beautiful women. He also was a known gambler—horse races, roulette, and poker —which was probably how he met Fairchild, Colby thought.

Inheritance

He sent up another prayer, then called Interpol in Rome.

He sat back. It would take a while for them to get back to him. He thought again of Laura Fairchild's face as she turned to Paul. Well, Paul is indeed a lucky guy, he ruminated, but isn't the luckiest fella of all Sam Colby, who's got a hell of a lot of good years ahead? Thanks to Clay Fairchild. He tipped an imaginary hat to Clay. Somehow, that kid, who'd made a habit of letting people down because he only cared about himself, had managed in the end to do one truly good deed: mail a confession, and plenty of proof, to the one person who could make the best use of it. He'd saved his sister a bunch of trouble, and he'd also given Sam Colby a ticket out of that retirement town, back to where the action was.

Probably the only good deed he'd ever done in his selfish life, but it was a doozy. He really did deserve a tip of the hat.

In the week before Clay's death, Laura had sent a letter, with her own signature, to everyone who had ever stayed in a Beacon Hill hotel, assuring them of the hotels' safety. She was beginning another when she began to receive answers to the first. Havia Guameri called. "I'd like to come back, my dear, but there's that little feeling of danger that just stops me dead in my tracks. Not about you, of course, I'm sure I can have confidence in you. But your staff does cause me a teeny bit of worry. I do sympathize; isn't it a tragedy how hard it is to get good help? The minute you can tell us you've solved it, everything will be different."

Carlos Serrano called. "Next time I am in New York, I pledge to you I will stay in your charming hotel. The hell with it. Live dangerously I say. I will tell the press, anyone, that Carlos is not afraid of a little danger!"

Don't do me any favors, Laura said to herself. But aloud, she thanked him. "We'll look forward to seeing you, Carlos."

The Laughtons did not call; they simply appeared at the Washington Beacon Hill, stayed for three days, and then left. They wrote Laura a note, teUing her the hotel was as splendid as ever, and Kelly Damton the best manager ever, but none of their friends was willing to stay in a Beacon Hill hotel until they were sure it was absolutely safe.

Nothing is absolutely safe, Laura thought, and filed the letter with the others.

Judith Michael

Britt Farley was in Europe; he cabled Laura that he would not be in the States for a long time.

Daniel Inouti did not respond. Neither did anyone else among the hundreds to whom letters had been sent.

And then Clay's death revived the interest of the newspaper reporters, who had left Laura alone for several days: almost instantly, they were telephoning again, and a few took up their old positions outside her office. Laura refused to speak to them; her secretary would only repeat the story about how Clay had been shot. One Daily News reporter knew there had been a packet for Sam Colby from Clay Fairchild, but he kept it quiet: Colby had promised him first crack at the story, and he wasn't going to let anyone else get an inkling that anything was up. The rest of the reporters wrote stories that speculated and recapped the story about Laura and the Beacon Hill hotels, but, with no new information, they finally turned to other news.

The lobby was empty of reporters the night Laura left her office to join Paul's family for dinner. At one of the widely spaced tables in the discreet elegance of Chanterelle, the two of them told Thomas and Barbara the story that everyone would soon know. "We're not sure," Paul concluded, "why it's important to have witnesses when Felix opens the safe and takes out the letter, but the likeliest reason is that it would make it impossible for Felix to deny that he had it."

Thomas Janssen frowned slightly. "Does it matter after all these years? Laura has almost everything Owen left her."

"Clay thought it was important," Laura said. "And I promised him I'd do it. I would anyway; I want the letter. Just for myself. So I have to find a way to get it out."

"We'll find a way," Paul corrected gently. He turned to his father. "Couldn't we think up a reason to hold a shareholders' meeting in New Yoric, at Felix's house? Most of us either live here now or spend a lot of time here; if we can make it sound plausible, we could have as many as twenty people there. There's always something we could discuss, isn't there? So if it turns out it's not important to have had Felix open the safe in front of us, there's been no harm done, except we've had a meeting." He smiled at Thomas. "I thought you'd take care of talking to Felix."

Inheritance

Thomas met his son's smile. "Dumping it in my lap." But then, gazing thoughtfully at his coffee cup, he said, "Cole and I have been talking about easing Felix out as president. It*s been a while since any of us has had a good feeling about what's happening to the company. We hadn't planned to move so soon, but perhaps . . ."

And so it was that Thomas Janssen called Felix and told him the family wanted a special shareholders' meeting. "We'd like it to be in New York," he said. "I know you're going to be there for a couple of weeks, and so are we, and a number of the others live diere. Far more convenient for everyone.'*

"It is not convenient," Felix said flatly. "Our annual meeting is in March; we'll wait until then."

"A number of us would rather do it now," Thomas said, his voice as unemotional as Felix's. "We're worried about the direction of the company, Felix. The New York hotel is six months behind schedule, and expenses are far greater than we were led to anticipate; business is down in some of the other hotels; and there's been some extremely unfortunate publicity. We're not satisfied, and we don't want to wait until spring to talk about it. If I didn't think it was important, I wouldn't have brought it up."

There was a long silence. "You said a number of you want a meeting. Who are they?"

"I can't speak for Aem. We'll all have a chance to speak at the meeting."

"I'll think about calling one. But it won't be in New Yoik; we have no meeting place in New York."

"We would if that hotel was finished, as it was supposed to be. I'm suggesting that we have the meeting at your house. There are only twenty-two of us; we can easily meet in your library."

"In my home? Don't be an ass." Felix let out his breath in anger. Leni was a shareholder. So was the Fairchild woman. They would not set foot in his home. 'There will be no shareholders' meetings in my home. Ever."

*Then we can rent a conference room in a hotel. Of course there are more chances of reporters hearing about it, and I don't think we want that."

"Reporters? What are you talking about?"

Judith Michael

"You've made the Salinger name rather prominent lately, Felix. They might think you're still news."

Again, Felix was silent. No one in his family, not even Asa, had mentioned his press conference and the stories that had sprung from it. In his mind, he'd called them all fools. Only fools are afraid to do what has to be done, or are embarrassed by pubUcity. But now he felt a ripple of alarm. He hadn't bothered to find out how they felt, and now, suddenly, he got the first inkling that things might be getting out of hand. How had Thomas gotten him to talk about a meeting in New York when he'd just said he wouldn't have one there?

"I'll think about calling a meeting in Boston," he said sharply. "In a month or so, if enough shareholders wish it. Until then, there is nothing more to discuss."

"I think there is," Thomas corrected. He was beginning to enjoy himself. He was so used to being the mild-mannered Salinger in-law that the chance to become actively involved in the company, against Felix's opposition, was refreshing. If Felix were more pleasant, he thought, I wouldn't be feeling so good. "We're going to have the meeting in New Yoiic, a week from tomorrow, at three o'clock in the ^emoon. I hope you'll be there. If you're not, we'll be forced to go ahead without you."

"You can't do that."

"You know we can, Felix. Asa is out of town, but he'll be back in time for the meeting and, as vice president, he can chair it."

This time Felix barely paused; he could not miss that meeting, and he knew it. "I'U be there. But not at my home. That's final. Find another place."

"I'll do my best. But if the newspapers find out we're going to talk about the possibility of changing the leadership of the company— "

"What?"

"Surely you understood what I meant when I said we were worried about the direction of the company."

Felix did not reply. Of course he had understood it, but why would he say so?

"If the press finds out about it," Thomas said, "then it becomes quite a story, at least for business editors. And since the features editors already know you give them juicy material—^"

Inheritance

"All right." He*d been right: things were getting out of hand. He had to talk to Asa. Asa is out of town. But he could be found, and he could be managed. He always could. And as long as Asa voted with him, the two of them could beat any motion with their controlling ownership of the company. He*d talk to Asa. That would take care of it. "We'll meet at my home. Once. Only once."

"We'll see you next week, then," Thomas said. The minute he hung up, he called Paul. "We'll have to make our plans. Can you have lunch with me tomonxjw? I'll have Cole join us. And then I'll call Asa. He's in hiding, afraid Felix can talk him out of whatever he decides to do. We have to keep his courage up for the next week."

"We ought to be able to do that," Paul said, and turning from the telephone, he told Laura what had been done.

She smiled and nodded, but she was distracted. Half of the thirty days she had been given were akeady gone. She had called Currier and Leni to congratulate them, and Currier had brought up the money she owed. He already had allowed her to stop her payments to him until she knew what she would do. "And that's about all I can do, Laura. I can't loan you more—^"

"I'm not asking for more, Wes."

"You may not be, but I've thought about it."

*Thank you, but that's not a solution, and we both know it."

"Have you heard anything from that investigator?*'

"No. Not yet."

Ginny talked about money, too. "I'd love to come up with another ten million, Laura, but it's like pulling the guts out of a chicken; once you've done it you can't do it again."

Laura laughed and kissed her. "I wouldn't take it if you could. Thank you, Ginny; I love you."

"What arc you going to do?"

"Meet this month's payroll; I can still do that. And then, I guess, start making telephone calls. Nothing will change until I convince some people to come back. Somebody has to be the first, and I guess ^e Laughtons weren't enough."

"Will you tell them about Clay?"

"Sam Colby asked me to keep it quiet, so I will, at least for a while. If I have to, I will."

Judith Michael

But two days later, Colby called. He reached Laura at home, before she left for work. Paul was pouring coffee, the windows were open in the sunlight, and she was skimming the newspaper when the telephone rang. She answered it absently, then sat up quickly. "What?" she asked.

"I said, I'm holding a news conference. Fd invite you, but it's me they're going to want to talk to. And it might be a little painful for you."

"No, I don't want to be there. But can you tell me about it?" Laura held the telephone away from her ear, and Paul leaned forward so they could listen to Colby together.