Kane & Abel (1979) (20 page)

‘Thanks, One Tooth,’ said Stefan. ‘I’ll see if I can bring in some more of my wealthy associates in the future.’

One Tooth Joe raised a fist, cursing, as Stefan and Wladek ran back out onto the wharf.

For the next three days the two boys stole food, loaded grain and slept. By the time the Turkish ship docked on Thursday, Stefan had almost convinced Wladek that he should remain with him in Odessa. But Wladek’s fear of the Russians finding him and sending him back to the camps outweighed even the attractions of his new life with Stefan.

They stood on the quayside, watching the
Renaska
docking at Berth 17.

‘How will I get on board?’ asked Wladek.

‘Simple,’ said Stefan. ‘We join the chain gang tomorrow morning. I’ll take the place behind you, and when the coal hold is nearly full, you jump in and hide, and I’ll pick up your basket and walk down the other side.’

‘And collect my share of the money, no doubt,’ said Wladek with a grin.

‘Naturally,’ said Stefan. ‘There must be some financial reward for my superior knowledge. How else could I hope to sustain my belief in free enterprise?’

They joined the chain gang at six the next morning, and hauled coal up the gangplank and into the hold until they were both ready to drop, but it wasn’t enough. The hold was only half full by nightfall, although Wladek was blacker than he’d ever been in prison. The two boys slept soundly that night. The following morning they started again, and by mid-afternoon, when the hold was almost full, Stefan kicked Wladek’s ankle.

‘Next time, Muscovite,’ he said firmly.

When they reached the top of the gangplank, Wladek threw his load in, dropped his basket on the deck and jumped over the side of the hold.

‘Farewell, my friend,’ Stefan said, ‘and good luck with the infidel Turks.’ He grabbed Wladek’s basket and returned down the gangplank, whistling.

Wladek pressed himself into a corner of the hold as the coal continued to come pouring in. The black dust was everywhere: in his nose and mouth, lungs and eyes. With a painful effort he tried to avoid coughing for fear of being heard by one of the ship’s crew. Just as he thought he could no longer bear the dust-filled air of the hold and decided to return to Stefan and find some other way of escaping, the hatch above him slammed shut. He coughed luxuriously.

After a few moments, he felt something take a bite at his ankle. His blood went cold as he realized what it had to be; he’d had to deal with too many of the vermin in the dungeons. He threw a piece of coal at the monster and sent it scurrying away, but another one came at him, then another and another. The braver ones went for his legs. They seemed to appear from nowhere; black, large and desperately hungry. He stared down, searching for them. He clambered desperately to the top of the pile of coal and pushed open the hatch. The sunlight came flooding in, and the rats immediately disappeared into their tunnels below the coal. He started to climb out, but the ship was already well clear of the quayside. He fell back into the hold, terrified. If he was discovered, and the captain decided to return to Odessa and hand him over, it would mean a one-way journey back to Camp 201 and the White Russians. He chose to stay with the black rats. As soon as he closed the hatch the red eyes appeared again. As fast as he could throw lumps of coal at the verminous creatures, new ones would appear. Every few minutes he had to open the hatch to let some light in, for light seemed to be his only ally.

For two days and three nights Wladek waged a running battle with the rats, without ever catching a moment of sleep. When the ship finally sailed into Constantinople and a deckhand opened the hold, Wladek was black from his head to his knees with coal dust, and red from his knees to his toes with blood. The deckhand dragged him out. Wladek tried to stand up, but collapsed in a heap on the deck.

A
FTER
W
ILLIAM
read in Kane and Cabot’s quarterly trust report that Henry Osborne - ‘Henry Osborne’, he repeated the name out loud to be sure he wasn’t mistaken - was requesting $500,000 to invest in his company, he had a bad day. For the first time in his four years at St Paul’s he came second in a maths test. Matthew Lester, who beat him, asked if he was feeling well. He didn’t reply.

That evening, William telephoned Alan Lloyd at home. The chairman of Kane and Cabot was not altogether surprised to hear from him after Anne’s disclosure about his unhappy relationship with Henry.

‘William, dear boy. How are you, and how are things at St Paul’s?’

‘All’s well at this end, thank you, sir, but that’s not why I’m calling.’

‘No, I didn’t imagine it was,’ said Lloyd drily. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I’d like to see you tomorrow afternoon.’

‘On a Sunday, William?’

‘Yes, it’s the only day I can get away from school and I need to see you as soon as possible,’ he said, making the statement sound as though it were a concession on his part, before adding, ‘and under no circumstances is my mother to be informed of our meeting.’

‘Well, William—’ Lloyd began.

William’s voice grew firmer. ‘I don’t have to remind you, Mr Lloyd, that the investment of my trust money in my stepfather’s company, while not actually illegal, would undoubtedly be considered unethical.’

Lloyd was silent for a few moments, wondering if he should try to placate the boy. The boy. Had he ever been a boy?

‘Fine, William. Why don’t you join me for lunch at the Hunt Club, say one o’clock?’

‘I’ll look forward to seeing you then, sir.’ The line went dead.

At least the confrontation will be on my home ground, thought Alan Lloyd as he replaced the mouthpiece, cursing Mr Bell for inventing the damn machine.

Lloyd had chosen the Hunt Club because he did not want the meeting to be too private. The first thing William asked when he arrived was that they might play a round of golf after lunch.

‘Delighted, my boy,’ said Alan, and reserved a place on the first tee for three o’clock.

He was surprised that William did not raise the subject of Henry Osborne’s proposal during lunch. Instead, the boy talked knowledgeably about President Harding’s views on tariff reform and the incompetence of Charles G. Dawes as Director of the Budget. Alan began to wonder if William, having slept on it, had changed his mind about discussing Osborne’s proposal. Well, if that’s the way the boy wants to play it, thought Alan, that’s fine by me. He looked forward to a quiet afternoon of golf. After an agreeable lunch and the better part of a bottle of wine - William limited himself to one glass - they changed in the clubhouse and walked across to the first tee.

‘Do you still have a nine handicap, sir?’ asked William.

‘Thereabouts, my boy. Why?’

‘Will ten dollars a hole suit you?’

Alan Lloyd hesitated, remembering that golf was the one game that William enjoyed. ‘Yes, fine.’

Nothing was said on the first hole, which Alan managed to par while William made a bogey. Alan also won the second and the third quite comfortably, and began to relax, feeling rather pleased with his game. By the time they had reached the fourth tee, they were half a mile from the clubhouse. William waited until Alan was about to begin his backswing.

‘I must make it clear,’ began William, ‘that there are no circumstances under which I would allow you to loan five hundred thousand dollars of my trust money to any company or person associated with Henry Osborne.’

Lloyd hit a bad tee shot that ended up in the left-hand rough. Its only virtue was that it put him far enough away from William, who had made a safe drive right down the middle, to give him a few minutes to think about how to address both William’s remark and the ball. By the time they met on the green, Lloyd had played three more shots. He conceded the hole.

‘William, you know that, as a trustee, I only have one vote out of three, and you will also be aware that you have no authority over trust decisions until your twenty-first birthday. You must also realize that we shouldn’t be discussing this subject at all.’

‘I’m fully aware of the legal implications, sir, but as both of the other trustees are sleeping with my stepfather—’

Lloyd’s next drive landed in the lake.

‘Don’t tell me you’re the only person in Boston who doesn’t know that Millie Preston is having an affair with my stepfather?’

Lloyd conceded the hole.

William continued: ‘I want to be certain that I have your vote, and that you will do everything in your power to influence my mother against this loan, even if it means telling her the truth about my stepfather and Mrs Preston.’

William’s drive on the sixth was straight down the middle of the fairway. Alan’s was even worse than his previous one, and landed in the bunker of an adjacent hole. He shanked his next shot into a bush he had never even realized existed before, and said ‘Shit’ out loud for only the second time in forty-three years. (He had got a hiding on that occasion as well.)

‘That’s asking a little too much,’ said Alan as he joined up with William on the green.

‘It’s nothing compared with what I’d do if I couldn’t count on your support, sir.’

‘I don’t think your father would have approved of threats, William,’ said Alan as he watched William sink his putt from fourteen feet.

‘The only thing my father would not have approved of is Henry Osborne,’ retorted William. Lloyd missed his putt from two feet.

‘In any case, Mr Lloyd, you must be well aware that my father had a clause inserted in the trust deed that money invested by the trustees should always be a private matter, and the beneficiary should not be made aware that the Kane family was personally involved. It was a rule he never broke in his life as a banker. That way he could always be certain there was no conflict of interest between the bank’s investments and those of the family trust.’

‘Perhaps your mother feels that the rule can be broken for a member of the family.’

‘Henry Osborne is not a member of
my
family, and when I control the trust it will be a rule that I, like my father, will never break.’

‘You may live to regret taking such a rigid stance, William. Perhaps you should consider for a moment the consequences of your mother finding out about Mrs Preston and your stepfather.’

‘My mother has already lost five hundred thousand dollars of her own money, sir. Isn’t that enough for one husband? Why do I have to lose five hundred thousand of mine as well?’

‘We don’t know that to be the case, William. The investment may yield an excellent return; I haven’t yet had a chance to look carefully into Henry’s books.’

William winced when Lloyd called his stepfather Henry.

‘I can assure you, sir, he’s blown nearly every penny of my mother’s money. To be exact, he has thirty-three thousand four hundred and twelve dollars left in his account. I suggest you take very little notice of Osborne’s books and check a little more thoroughly into his background, past business record and associates. Not to mention the fact that he gambles - heavily.’

On the eighth tee, Alan hit his ball into the same lake on the way back. Once again he conceded the hole.

‘How did you come by this information?’ asked Alan, fairly certain it had been through Thomas Cohen’s office.

‘I prefer not to say, sir.’

Alan kept his own counsel; he might need to keep that particular ace up his sleeve to play a little later in William’s life.