Kane & Abel (1979) (24 page)

‘But you did find enough time to have lunch and play a round of golf with William last Sunday without bothering to tell me.’

There was a momentary silence on the other end of the line.

‘Anne, I—’

‘Don’t say you didn’t have the opportunity to inform me. You came to our party on Friday evening, and could easily have mentioned it to me then. You chose not to, although you did find enough time to advise me to postpone judgement on the loan to Henry.’

‘Anne, I’m sorry. I can understand how that might look and why you’re upset, but there was a reason, believe me. May I come around and explain everything to you?’

‘No, Alan, you can’t. You’re all ganging up against my husband. None of you wants to give him the chance to prove himself. Well, I’m going to allow him that chance.’

Anne put the telephone down, pleased with herself, feeling she had been loyal to Henry in a way that fully atoned for her ever having doubted him in the first place.

Alan Lloyd rang back, but Anne instructed the maid to say she was out for the rest of the day. When Henry returned home that night, he was delighted to hear how firm Anne had been with Alan.

‘It will all turn out for the best, my darling, you’ll see. On Thursday morning I’ll be awarded the contract and you can kiss and make up with Alan; still, you’d better keep out of his way until then. If you like, we can have a celebration lunch at the Grand on Thursday, and wave at him from the other side of the room.’

Anne smiled. She couldn’t help remembering that she was meant to be seeing Glen Ricardo at twelve o’clock that day. Still, that would give her easily enough time to be at the Grand Hotel by one, when she could celebrate both triumphs.

Alan tried repeatedly to reach Anne, but the maid always had a ready excuse. As the loan document had been signed by two trustees, he could not hold up payment for more than twenty-four hours. The wording was typical of any legal agreement drawn up by Richard Kane; there were no loopholes to crawl through. When the cheque for $500,000 left the bank by special messenger on Tuesday afternoon, Alan wrote a long letter to William, explaining why he’d been left with no choice but to transfer the money, withholding only the unconfirmed findings of his departmental reports. He sent a copy of the letter to each director of the bank, conscious that although he had behaved with the utmost propriety, he had laid himself open to accusations of concealment.

William received Alan Lloyd’s letter at St Paul’s on the Thursday morning while he was having breakfast with Matthew.

Breakfast at Beacon Hill on Thursday morning was the usual eggs and bacon, hot toast, cold oatmeal and a pot of steaming coffee. Henry was simultaneously tense and jaunty, snapping at the maid, joking with a junior city official who telephoned to confirm that the name of the company that had won the hospital contract would be announced by the mayor at a press conference at ten o’clock.

Anne was almost looking forward to her last meeting with Glen Ricardo. She flicked through
Vogue,
trying not to notice that Henry’s hands were trembling as he read the pages of the
Boston Globe.

‘What are you going to do this morning?’ Henry asked, trying to make conversation.

‘Oh, nothing much before we have our celebration lunch. Do you still plan to name the children’s wing in memory of Richard?’ Anne asked.

‘Not in memory of Richard, my darling. This will be my achievement, so I shall name it in your honour. The Mrs Henry Osborne wing,’ he added grandly.

‘What a nice idea,’ Anne said, putting her magazine down and smiling at him. ‘You mustn’t let me drink too much champagne at lunch. I have an appointment with Dr MacKenzie later this afternoon, and I don’t think he’d approve if I arrived drunk only a few weeks before the baby is due. When will you know for certain that the contract is yours?’

‘I already know,’ Henry said. ‘The clerk I just spoke to was one hundred per cent confident, but it won’t be official until ten o’clock.’

‘The first thing you must do, Henry, is phone Alan and tell him the good news. I’m beginning to feel quite guilty about the way I treated him on Monday.’

‘No need for you to feel any guilt, darling. After all, he didn’t bother to keep you informed about his meeting with William.’

‘No, but he tried to explain later, Henry, and I didn’t give him the chance.’

All right, all right, anything you say. If it’ll make you happy I’ll phone him at five past ten, and then you can write and tell William I’ve made him another million.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I’d better be going. Wish me luck.’

‘I thought you didn’t need any luck,’ said Anne.

‘I don’t, I don’t, it’s just an expression. See you at the Grand at one o’clock.’ He kissed her on the forehead. ‘By tonight you’ll be able to laugh about Alan, William and contracts, and treat them all as problems of the past, believe me. Goodbye, my darling.’

An uneaten breakfast was laid out in front of Alan Lloyd. He was reading the financial pages of the
Boston Globe,
noting a small paragraph in a right-hand column reporting that at ten o’clock that morning the mayor would be announcing which company had been awarded the $5 million hospital contract.

Alan had already decided what course of action he must take if Henry failed to secure the contract and everything that William had warned him about turned out to be accurate. He would do exactly what Richard would have done in the circumstances: act only in the best interests of the bank. The latest departmental reports on Henry’s personal finances had disturbed him greatly. Osborne was indeed a heavy gambler, and no trace could be found to show that the trust’s $500,000 had been deposited with his company.

Alan sipped his orange juice, leaving the rest of his breakfast untouched. He apologized to his housekeeper and walked to the bank. It was a bright, sunny day.

‘William, do you feel up to a game of tennis this afternoon?’

Matthew waited for William to reply, but he continued to read the letter from Alan Lloyd.

‘What did you say?’

‘Are you going deaf, or already suffering from senile dementia?’ Still no reply. Matthew tried again. ‘Am I going to be allowed to beat you black and blue on the tennis court this afternoon?’

‘No, not this afternoon, Matthew. I have more important matters to attend to.’

‘Naturally, old buddy, I forgot that you’ll be off on your weekly visit to the White House to advise President Harding on the nation’s fiscal problems. Mind you, you couldn’t do any worse than that posturing fool, Charles G. Dawes.’ William didn’t respond. ‘Tell the president you’ll continue to advise him as long as he appoints Matthew Lester to be the next Attorney General.’

There was still no response from William.

‘I know the joke was pretty weak, but I thought it at least worthy of comment,’ said Matthew, looking more carefully at his silent friend. ‘It’s the eggs, isn’t it? Taste as though they’ve come out of a Russian prisoner-of-war camp.’

‘Matthew, I need your help,’ said William as he placed Alan’s letter back in its envelope.

‘You’ve had a letter from my sister, and she thinks you’re more sexy than Rudolph Valentino.’

William stood up. ‘Quit kidding, Matthew. If your father’s bank was being robbed, would you sit around making jokes about it?’

The expression on William’s face left Matthew in no doubt that he was serious. ‘No, I wouldn’t,’ he said quietly.

‘Right. Then let’s get moving, and I’ll explain everything on the way,’ said William.

‘On the way to where?’ asked Matthew innocently.

‘Boston.’

Anne left Beacon Hill a little after ten to do some shopping before going on to her meeting with Glen Ricardo.

The telephone rang as she disappeared down Chestnut Street. The maid answered it, looked out the window, but her mistress was already out of sight. If Anne had taken the call she would have learned City Hall’s decision on the hospital contract; instead she bought some silk stockings and tried out a new perfume. She arrived at Glen Ricardo’s office a little after twelve, hoping her new perfume might counter the smell of stale cigar smoke.

‘I hope I’m not late, Mr Ricardo,’ she began briskly.

‘Please have a seat, Mrs Osborne.’

Ricardo didn’t look particularly cheerful, but then he never did, thought Anne. She noticed that he was not smoking his usual cigar. He opened a smart brown file, the only new thing Anne could see in the office, and extracted some papers.

‘Let’s start with the anonymous letters, shall we, Mrs Osborne?’