Lady of Fortune (53 page)

She also realised, as she sat in her room alone, that it was time for her to leave Britain. She would never be able to defeat Robert at his own game, even if she really wanted to. And there was nothing socially for her here, not unless she wanted to spend the rest of her life emptily laughing at Chelsea parties, and appearing in funny tartan bonnets at Highland games. There was another compelling reason, too. Karl's death had made her understand that she needed love, as much as she needed her career, and the finest and most eligible of Britain's bachelors were at war. As a banker, she could understand with dreadful clarity how much money this conflict was costing the Allies. As a woman, she knew how drastically it was cutting a swathe through an entire generation of young men. She wept for them now: if she had known that by 1918 more than eight and a half million young men would be dead, 908,000 of them British, she probably would have stopped weeping. There are some tragedies far too great for tears.

She came downstairs. Alisdair had finished his breakfast now, and was sitting in the living-room, by the newly-made fire, drinking coffee and reading
Punch
. Effie stood by the door, and said, ‘You will have to go back to school.'

He put down his magazine and stared at her. ‘It's almost the end of term. Do I really have to? I want to be with you.'

Effie said, as gently as she could, ‘What happened last night, Alisdair … well, you mustn't ever think that I regret it, because I don't. When two people are thrown together by fate, and by desire, nothing can come out of it but good … no matter what they did. But, I think you know as well as I do that it can't go on. I can't be your lover, any more than you
can be mine. You must go back to school and finish your education. There are young men dying in Flanders so that you can do precisely that. You mustn't let them down.'

Alisdair glanced at his copy of Punch. On the page he had been reading was a cartoon of two dazed soldies, one German and one British, both reeling from a nearby shell-blast. ‘
Kamerad
!' the German was crying, throwing up his arms in surrender. That's funny,' said the Tommy, ‘I was just trying to think of the same word myself.'

Robert came home at a few minutes after eleven. He was dressed in a tight double-breasted grey suit, and two-tone black and white shoes. He gave his hat to Rosie and tossed his gloves into it.

‘Effie!' he exclaimed, walking into the living-room. ‘This is a surprise. I thought you were going to stay in London to do your Christmas shopping.'

‘I felt like coming home.'

‘Well, that's good. You know there's always a place set for you.'

‘I own a third of this house, Robert, so of course there is.'

Robert went to the drinks table, and poured himself a large malt whisky. ‘You don't have to be prickly about it,' he said, with an exaggeratedly affable smile.

‘Alisdair tells me you've been seeing a young lady.'

‘Well, that's right. As a matter of fact, I'm thinking of asking her to marry me. Marion Hetherington, of the Dundee Hetheringtons. Wealthy people; and a good connection for the bank.'

‘That's good. I'd hate to think of you marrying for anything but profit.'

Robert stared at her. ‘I don't think I care for the tone of that remark.'

‘You can care for it, or not care for it, as much as you wish,' Effie retorted.

Robert swallowed whisky, paced up and down, and then said, ‘What's the matter with you, Effie? You never approve of
anything
I do. I've built this bank up into an international concern that's pulling in twenty times the profits that father ever dreamed of. You're enjoying the benefits, just as much as I, and even Dougal's getting his share, although God knows why
that
should have to be.'

‘I know about the San
José de Mayo
,' said Effie.

Robert, about to sip his whisky, lowered his glass and peered at her carefully. He looked like a man who badly needed eyeglasses; and yet there was something about his myopia which suggested an ability to be able to divine souls, as well as faces. He said, in a voice so quiet that it was scarcely audible, ‘The San
José de Mayo?
'

‘I've informed the Admiralty. The British Navy will probably catch up with it before the Germans.'

‘I see,' said Robert, quietly. Even if she admired nothing else about him, Effie had to admire his self-control. ‘You realise you might be altering the entire course of the war in Europe? There are £9,780,000 worth of gold bars on board the San
José de Mayo
.'

‘You want the Germans to win?'

Robert shook his head. ‘I simply want to see an equably-balanced Europe in which Watson's Bank can expect to make a reasonable profit. This war was caused by Germany's understandable need to consolidate her Empire. Germans are not so different from Englishmen. At least they're not darkies. And if they can achieve through war a certain amount of economic stability, that means that Britain and Germany can stand side by side as the political and financial masters of Europe. Our royal families are closely related; our finance systems are intertwined; what better arrangement could there be?'

Effie said, ‘Robert, thousands of Englishmen have died trying to prevent this happening. How can you even
talk
of supporting Germany – They're our enemies!'

Robert blew out his cheeks. ‘Effie, that's nonsense! They're not our enemies now and they never have been. I get regular letters from Hermann Krauss at the Deutsche Bank, and from Uwe Feldman at the Diskonto. Whatever the politicians say about the war, whatever the war appears to be on the surface, hundreds of yards of territory gained in one big push, hundreds of yards lost in another great defensive, the simple fact remains that we are both on the same side. Political relationships between countries exist on multifarious levels: the level of territory, the level of international influence, the level of race and culture, the level of religious belief, and the level of finance. By far the most important of these levels is finance. The human being exists principally for gain, and everything else is subordinate; whether it's art
or religious worship or what-you-will. Therefore, Britain and Germany can go to war on one level, or even two levels – territory, perhaps, and race – but that does not necessarily mean that they are fighting each other on the question of religion or the question of money. Hermann Krauss and I are the best of friends. Can any military battle alter that? Should it?'

Effie was silent for almost a minute. Then she said to Robert, ‘You and I should have been born on different planets.'

‘I think we should,' agreed Robert. ‘Are you pulling my leg about the San
José de Mayo?
'

Effie shook her head. ‘I called Lieutenant-Commander Horace Dawes, and Sir Godfrey Lelew.'

‘God damn you,' said Robert, showing his bitterness at last. ‘That could break us, the loss of that gold.'

‘I would rather be broke than branded a traitor to my country.'

‘Oh, for God's sake,' snapped Robert. ‘Don't you have any sophistication at all? We're not the only bank which is doing it. And who the hell told you about the San José de Mayo? It wasn't that idiot Cockburn, was it?'

‘No.'

Robert was rapidly reaching boiling-point. He kept furiously rubbing at his neck, and stalking backwards and forwards, until in the end he strode up to a small side-table, arranged with Dresden ornaments and a small jewelled carriage-clock by Carl Fabergé, and he swept everything off it with his arm, so that plates and statuettes and clock all smashed on the parquet floor.

Effie said quietly, ‘Before you go completely berserk, Robert, and decide to murder me, as well as smash everything of value in the house, you should know that I have already asked Rosie to pack my trunks; and that I have sent McVitie to book me a ticket on the Milwaukee, which leaves Liverpool on Wednesday night for New York.'

Robert stared at her. ‘You're sailing to New York? I thought all passenger services were suspended.'

‘The Milwaukee is an American cargo-ship. She'll be sailing under escort.'

‘You could be torpedoed.'

‘By your friends from Frankfurt and Dresden? On what
level? Financial, territorial, or religious? Or perhaps it's my race they object to?'

‘
Effie
,' warned Robert.

‘I'm leaving Britain, Robert,' said Effie, ‘and I'm leaving you. I'm taking £100,000 of my own money, in cash, and I've already called Mr Kerr at the bank this morning and asked him to transfer three-quarters of a million pounds of my personal assets into a suspense account where you won't be able to lay your hands on them. You will continue to need my approval for major alterations in bank policy, and I will send you my address as soon as I am settled in New York. If there is anything else you require, you'll have to wait for it.'

Robert said nothing, but went to the telephone and picked it up. ‘Get me Uruguay Shipping at Southampton,' he snapped. Then, ‘I don't know! Find the number yourself.'

He watched Effie with eyes as unsympathetic as a child's marbles as he waited to be put through. Then he said, ‘Uruguay Shipping? Is that Seíor Carrasco? He's out? Well, tell him Mr Robert Watson called him. Tell him the ship is not to sail under any circumstances. That's all. The San José de Mayo is not to sail. I don't care. I'm not interested. I'm paying for this voyage and those are my instructions. If that ship moves one tenth of an inch away from that dock I'll flay your skin off and hang it out to dry. Do you understand me? Good.'

He waited for two or three minutes more. Then he said, to Effie, ‘Why don't you get yourself off to New York? You've done quite enough damage in Edinburgh for one person's lifetime.'

Effie turned towards the doorway. Alisdair was standing there, his face questioning and pale. Effie looked back towards Robert and said, ‘Yes. I shall.'

Dougal met her at the pier, accompanied by a very pretty young American girl with curly brunette hair, a fluffy blue fox coat, and a frantically modern cloche hat with a feather in it. Dougal looked so much heavier and older: he was nearly
forty now, and his curly blond hair had grown thinner and greyer. His muscle had run to fat, and there were indelible purple circles under his eyes. He wore a perfectly-cut vicuna coat, though, and he smelled of brandy and La Chasse cologne, $25 an ounce. There was no doubt that he was wealthy.

He took her hand. ‘Come this way,' he said, in a marked American accent. ‘There's a limousine waiting outside.'

Effie said, ‘I feel as if I'm dreaming.'

‘You and me both,' said Dougal. ‘So don't let's say anything. Let's just get into the car, and get back to my house, and have lunch, and see where we go from there. By the way, this is May, my assistant and stenographer and life-preserver.'

‘I'm pleased to meet you,' said Effie, surprised by Dougal's democracy.

‘Well, mutual,' said May, raising her thin-plucked eyebrows. ‘You're even better-looking than Dougal, and that's saying something.'

As they came out of the pier entrance on to the crowded street, they were met by a bracing New York wind, and by a spotless white Peerless automobile, driven by a Negro chauffeur in a white uniform with gold buttons and a white cap. The chauffeur opened the door for them and tipped his cap to Effie as she climbed in. ‘Welcome to the United States of America, Miss Watson,' he said.

‘This is Nat,' said Dougal. ‘The only chauffeur who can drive safely and play chess in his head at the same time.'

‘You used to play chess at home,' Effie smiled, as she settled down in her seat.

‘I still keep it up,' Dougal told her. ‘Nat – King's pawn to Bishop's four.'

‘Yes, sir, Mr Watson,' said Nat, engaging the Peerless' gears, sticking out his arm, and pulling out into the downtown traffic. ‘Bishop's four to Knight's two.'

Queen's rook to Bishop's three, and checkmate,' said Dougal.

Nat laughed, ‘You got me again, Mr Watson.'

They were waved across Bowling Green by a policeman who obviously recognised the car, because he saluted to Dougal as they swept past him. ‘I see you're famous,' Effie remarked.

Dougal smiled. ‘I should be. They print my picture in the business columns three times a day. On Wall Street, they call me the Tartan Tycoon. Look over there; that's Broad Street. That's where our offices are.'

‘You sound so American,' Effie told him, holding his arm.

‘The Americans all think I sound like a Scotsman. They keep asking me how I manage to survive without my regular haggis. I think I've been given twenty-five copies of the collected poems, of Robbies. Burns since I've been here. They make me recite
Comin' Thro The Rye
after every dinner-party. They'll adore you.'

‘It's your
accent
,' smiled May. ‘I could sit and listen to it all day long.'

Effie was amazed at how busy the streets were. The sidewalks were crowded with bustling people, and the avenues were teeming with automobiles of all shapes and colours, trucks, trolley-cars, and motorcycles. The morning was particularly sharp and clear: one of those New York mornings when everything is bright and the wind is as keen as a hatful of razors.

‘That's the Woolworth Building,' said Dougal, as they passed Barclay Street. ‘You'll have to crane your neck up to see it. The tallest building in the world! Seven hundred and twenty-nine feet tall – the “Cathedral of Commerce.”'

Effie stared up in amazement at the huge cliff of the Woolworth Building's façade. Above the façade, there were Gothic ledges and ramparts, and up above these ledges soared a tower that reached so high into the sky that it made Effie giddy to look up at it.