The Betsy (1971) (22 page)

 Chapter Seven

He walked up the flight of stairs to his third-floor office and let himself into it through his private entrance. The room was dark in the poor gray light of the morning. He pressed a wall switch and the lamps around the room went on. He went behind his desk and pressed the intercom switch down. His secretary’s voice came from it. “Yes, Mr. Hardeman?”

“I want two canteen trucks with coffee and doughnuts down at Gate Three right away.”

“Yes, Mr. Hardeman.”

“Then I want you to get Coburn and Edgerton up here.”

“Yes, Mr. Hardeman.”

He flicked up the switch and walked from the desk to the window. In the rain the men outside the gate were still huddled together like so many animals seeking shelter. He stood there for a moment watching them, then went back to his desk and sat down.

The pain began in his temples and started to throb. He groaned to himself. That was all he needed. Another migraine headache. Doctors were all stupid. There was nothing they could do about it, he had been told. Avoid excitement and take aspirin. He pressed the intercom switch down again. “Get me three aspirin tablets and a cup of hot black coffee.”

“Immediately, Mr. Hardeman.”

He leaned back in his chair. The aspirin should help and the doctor in Switzerland had told him that the caffeine in coffee made the aspirin work faster.

The door opened and a girl came in. She carried the sterling silver tray with the cup and saucer and coffee pot to his desk. Cream and sugar were in small silver servers. Next to them was a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water. She shook three aspirin out into her hand.

He looked up at her as he took the aspirin. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Mr. Hardeman,” she answered, giving him the glass of water.

He swallowed the aspirin with a gulp of water. “What’s your name?” he asked, giving her the glass.

“Melanie Walker,” she said. She picked up the coffee pot. “Black?”

“Yes. No sugar, no cream.” He took the coffee and tasted it.

“Is it all right?”

“Fine. What happened to the girl who was here all last week?”

“Miss Harriman?”

“I never did get her name.”

“She went back to her regular job in personnel.”

“I see,” he said, taking another sip of coffee. “What department are you from?”

“Personnel,” she said.

He was silent for a moment. “Do you have a regular job there?”

“Yes, Mr. Hardeman. In the steno pool. We fill in whenever a regular girl is absent.”

“What do they pay you for that?” he asked curiously.

“Twenty-two fifty a week.”

He gave her the empty coffee cup. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Hardeman.” She picked up the tray and started for the door.

“Would you also ask Mr. Duncan to come and see me?” he called after her.

“Yes, sir.”

He watched the door close behind her. Warren had it all organized. The steno pool was a perfect nucleus for an espionage system to check on what everyone was doing.

Duncan was the first to arrive. “Sit down, Scotty,” Loren said. “I’m waiting for Coburn and Edgerton.”

Duncan took a chair just as the other two men arrived. Loren waved them to their seats, then sat looking at them silently for a moment. He opened the cigarette box on his desk and took one out and lit it. The faint sound of an ambulance siren came from outside.

The silence grew uncomfortable. The three men glanced uneasily at one another, then back at him. Loren drew on his cigarette calmly.

The siren grew louder and then stopped abruptly. Loren walked over to the window. The ambulance was parked in front of the main building entrance and two white-coated men were hurrying inside with a stretcher.

He walked back to his desk and looked at them. “Okay,” he said. “You tell me. What the hell is going on around here?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Coburn said quickly.

“Don’t give me any of your lawyer crap! You know damn well what I mean, Ted!”

They were silent.

“What the hell are you guys afraid of?” Loren asked. “You’ve all known me for years and you’ve never been afraid to open your mouths before. This isn’t a prison.”

“You don’t understand, Mr. Hardeman,” Edgerton said. He was a big man, almost as large as Loren, the last person in the world to look like the accountant he was.

“I know I don’t, Walt,” said Loren. “That’s why I asked you to come up here.”

There was a moment’s silence while they again exchanged uncomfortable looks. Finally Coburn got out of his chair. He walked around Loren’s desk and bent over the intercom. His fingers checked all the switches, making sure they were down.

“What are you worried about?” Loren asked. “No one can listen in.”

Coburn didn’t answer. Instead he bent down beside the desk and pulled the cable plug connecting the intercom to its socket from the floor. “There’s no point taking any chances,” he said, straightening up. He turned to Loren. “Now send your secretary out of the office on an errand.”

“Why?” Loren asked. “She seems like a nice girl.”

“She is a nice girl. Too nice,” Coburn said. “But she’s one of Joe Warren’s girls.”

Loren looked at him for a moment. Without a word, he went to the secretary’s door and opened it.

The girl looked up at him. “Yes, Mr. Hardeman?”

“Go down to the canteen and have some coffee. I’ll call you there when I want you back.”

She met his gaze. “I can’t do that, Mr. Hardeman. The rules are that I can’t leave the desk without relief.”

“I just changed the rules,” he said.

“But the phones? There will be no one to answer them.”

“I’ll answer them,” he said.

She sat there silently, not moving. “I’ll lose my job,” she said finally.

“You’ve already lost it,” he said. “Your only chance to get it back depends on how fast you can get your ass out of here!”

She stared at him for a moment, then picked up her purse and went out the door.

Coburn’s voice came from behind him. “Lock that door while I lock your private entrance.”

Loren locked the outside door and walked back into his own office. He walked around his desk and sat down. “Now, I want some answers and I want them fast!”

“You want it fast, Mr. Hardeman?” Coburn said. “I’ll give it to you in two words. Joe Warren. You can’t get it any faster than that.”

Loren got to his feet and walked to the window. Outside, the ambulance was still parked. The attendants came out of the building, carrying a man on the stretcher between them.

Loren gestured to the men in the room behind him. They came to the window. He pointed to the stretcher being loaded into the rear of the ambulance. “There goes your Joe Warren.”

An attendant ran around the ambulance and got in behind the wheel. The siren began again as the ambulance started for the gate.

Loren walked back to his desk and sat down. “Now maybe we can get back to the business of building automobiles,” he said.

“It’s not going to be that easy,” said Edgerton. “Between Warren and your son, they have the board of directors and the banks sewed up.”

“Leave them to me,” Loren said. “What we’re here to talk about is building a low-priced car to compete with Ford and Chevy and Walter Chrysler’s new Plymouth.”

“We haven’t got the money to retool,” Edgerton said quickly. “That will take fifteen million dollars and the banks won’t give it to us.”

“How much have we got?”

“About one and a half million in cash and another three million in receivables.”

“Could we discount the receivables?”

“For twenty percent.”

Loren turned to Duncan who had been silent until now. “Can you get a new car on the line for four million dollars?”

Duncan shook his head. “Impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible,” Loren said. “Do we still have the jigs for the Loren Two?”

Duncan nodded.

“Supposing we cut two feet out of the car by going from four doors to two? Would that be an expensive retooling job?”

Duncan was thoughtful. “It shouldn’t be. But there is another problem. We’d have to design a whole new engine for it.”

“Why?” Loren asked. “Couldn’t we make the small Sundancer ninety-horsepower fit?”

Duncan smiled suddenly. “I think we could. It would also reduce our inventory. We overproduced that engine by almost fifty thousand units last year.”

“That’s more like it,” Loren said. “You get down to your office and start on it right away. Check your costs out with Walt. I want figures in two days.” He turned to the lawyer. “Now I want some answers from you, Ted. Is there anything in the book that can keep me from doing this?”

Coburn thought for a moment. “Not if you’re not challenged.”

“And if I am?”

“There are only two people who can do it. Your son and, maybe, Warren. I’m not quite sure, but he is the executive vice-president and his powers might spill over into that area.”

“What about the board and the bank?”

“They don’t come into it until the next meeting. And that’s almost a month away. Of course, your son can call a special meeting any time.”

“I understand,” Loren said.

“Just another word,” Coburn said. “Make sure that you don’t dictate any memos on your plans. All secretaries now have to make a blind copy of everything they type. It’s Warren’s way of knowing everything that goes on.”

Loren looked at him. “Did my son know about that too?”

“I don’t know,” Coburn said carefully. “None of us can see him unless the appointment is arranged by Warren. I haven’t seen him except at board meetings for more than a year now.”

Loren turned to Edgerton. “How about you?”

“Much the same story.”

He looked at the engineer. “How about you, Scotty?”

“The last time I spoke to him was the time he told me to stop production on the Loren Two. That was three years ago.” The Scotsman’s voice was caustic.

Loren was silent for a moment, then he got to his feet. “Okay,” he said. “Go to work.”

They got to their feet and started for the door. Loren’s voice stopped them. He was smiling. “Can one of you fellows reconnect this damn thing?” he asked, pointing to the intercom. “I might have to use it for something legitimate.”

 Chapter Eight

The telephone began to ring just as she came from the kitchen after talking to the cook about the children’s lunch. She picked it up in the living room. “Hello.”

A familiar voice echoed in her ear. “Sally?”

She sank into a nearby chair. “Yes.”

“This is Loren.”

“Yes, I know,” she said. “How are you?”

“Fine,” he answered. There was an awkward pause. “I wanted to come out and see you and the children but I’ve only been back a few days and I’ve been tied up.”

“I understand,” she said.

“Is Junior home?”

“No. Isn’t he in the office?”

“No,” he answered.

“He left early as usual,” she said. “Maybe the car broke down on the road.”

“No. He was in the office.” There was the barest hesitation in his voice. “We had an argument and he left. I want to reach him. Do you have any idea where I might find him?”

“Sometimes he goes to the Athletic Club for a steam and rubdown.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll try there. Good-bye.”

“Loren!” she said quickly.

“Yes?”

“Aren’t we going to see you?” she asked. “Loren Three is a big boy already and you’ve never even seen your granddaughter.” She had just caught her tongue in time to keep herself from saying daughter.

“I’ll be out later this week,” he said. He hesitated a moment. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she said.

“If Junior should come in, tell him to call me.”

“I will,” she said.

“Good-bye.”

“Loren, I still love you,” she said quickly. But the click in the telephone told her he was off the line and hadn’t heard her. Slowly she put the phone down and sat there. She could still feel the pounding of her heart and wondered if she would ever get over the way she felt about him.

The front door burst open and Junior came rushing in. Through the archway he saw her seated in the living room and came toward her.

Still filled with her own thoughts, she spoke to him. “Your father just called. He wants you to call him.”

“He’s crazy!”

For the first time she saw how distraught he was, his face pale and ashen. “What happened?”

“He tried to kill me! Joe Warren’s in the hospital with a broken arm and possible skull fractures! He’s crazy, I tell you!”

“Why?” she asked.

“All I told him was that he couldn’t build a new car and he went crazy. He came after me. If it weren’t for poor Joe, I might have been the one in the hospital, not him.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” she said, bewildered. “There has to be a reason. He sounded perfectly calm on the phone just now.”

He stared at her. His voice changed. “Go upstairs and pack. We’re taking the children and going away for a while.”

“Calm down,” she said, rising. “Let me fix you a drink.”

“I don’t want a drink,” he said sharply. “Just do as I tell you. We’re going over the border to the summer cottage in Ontario.”

She looked at him. “I’m not dragging the children anywhere,” she said stubbornly. “Not until I know what we’re running away from.”

“You’re on his side!” he shot accusingly.

“I’m on no one’s side,” she replied. “I’ve just got two small children that I’m not going to drag around like so many pieces of baggage, that’s all.”

“I’ve turned it all over to my attorneys,” he said. “They told me to go away for a while. He can’t take the company away from me.”

“But how could he?” she asked. “It’s not your company, it’s his.”

“Don’t tell me whose company it is!” he almost shrieked. “I’m its chief executive officer.”

She didn’t speak.

“He’s going to jail!” Junior snapped. “Joe signed an assault-and-battery complaint and right now the police are on their way out there to pick him up. I signed a deposition.”

“Joe had to do something to get himself hurt,” she said. “I don’t believe your father would—”

“You don’t believe!” he almost screamed. “You’re in love with him!”

She didn’t answer.

“Listen,” he said earnestly. “All Joe did when Father came after me was to get between us. Even the gun Joe had didn’t stop him!”

“Joe had a gun?” The amazement showed in her voice.

He was suddenly silent. Then he looked at her shrewdly. “What if he did?” he asked defensively. “He was only trying to protect me.”

“Did you say that in your deposition?” she asked.

He didn’t answer.

“Is that why your attorneys want you to go away? So that you don’t have to answer questions?”

“What difference does it make?” he asked. “It’s about time someone showed my father that he can’t run the world.”

“You were willing to let that cheap thug pull a gun on your father?” Her voice filled with a strange loathing. “You’re really sick.”

“You’re jealous!” he screamed suddenly. “You were always jealous of my friendship with Joe from the moment I first met him! Because he’s a real man, that’s why.”

“He’s a cheap gangster who does nothing but terrorize and threaten people weaker than he is. And if you were a real man, you wouldn’t need friends like that!”

He started toward her, raising his hand.

“Don’t!” she said sharply, picking up the telephone. “If you’re going anywhere, you better go upstairs and pack because I’m going to call your father right now and tell him you’re here.”

He stood there for a moment as she began to dial. Then he started for the door; suddenly, he stopped, bending almost in two, clutching at his stomach. “I’m going to be sick!” he said in a small, frightened voice.

She put down the telephone and went toward him. He began to retch, dry, hard, gasping breaths. She put an arm around his shoulders and he leaned weakly against her as she steered him into the guest washroom off the foyer. He began to vomit into the toilet bowl.

“You’ve got to help me,” he said weakly, between gasps.

“I am helping you,” she said quietly. “Can’t you see that if I let you destroy your father you’re destroying yourself? If you weren’t his son, who do you think would even give a damn whether you lived or died?”

“I’ve got to get away,” he said. He began to wring his hands. “I don’t know how I’ll manage if anything happens to Joe.”

“You can go if you want to,” she said calmly. “But if you do, you’ll do it without me and the children. And when you come back, we won’t be here.”

Hardeman Manor seemed strangely dark and deserted as she drove up the long winding driveway to the front door. Even the light in the entranceway was off as she stopped the car under the stone-pillared car portals. She turned off the engine and got out.

The moonlight cast a pale shadow as she walked up the steps to the doorway. She pressed the bell. From deep within the house, she heard an answering sound. It echoed in the still night.

She waited quietly. After a moment when there was no answer, she pressed the doorbell again. Still no answer.

She pulled a cigarette from her purse and lit it. The match flared briefly in the dark, illuminating her face in the curtained glass window of the door. Then it went out, leaving only the glowing tip of the cigarette shining back at her.

She went down the steps again and looked up at the house. It was dark and quiet, not a light behind any of the front windows. Slowly she began to walk around to the side of the house, her high heels crunching and sinking into the gravel of the driveway. It was the only sound in the night.

She turned the corner of the building and saw the light glowing from a room on the second floor. She knew the room. The small sitting room next to Loren’s bedroom where he would have his morning coffee while he read the papers and the mail.

She hesitated a moment, looking up at it. The light meant that he was home, but now that she knew it there was a peculiar reluctance to see him. Then she bent down quickly, scooped up a small handful of gravel and threw it up against the window. It rattled strangely in the night and fell with scraping sounds down the sides.

A moment later, the French windows opened and he stood there, silhouetted, the light of the room against his back. He stood there silently, looking down into the night.

From her angle he looked even taller and larger than she remembered and it was a moment before she realized that he could not see her because she was standing in the shadows. She felt her heart begin to pound inside her. “Oh, God!” she thought wildly, suddenly wanting to run and hide. “What will I ever say to him?”

His voice echoed in the night. “Who is it?”

Somehow the strength in the sound of him moved her out, where the pale moonlight shone on her face. Suddenly she giggled, a feeling of light-headed ridiculousness overcame her. “Romeo, oh Romeo,” she called. “Wherefore art thou, Romeo?”

He was silent for a moment, looking at her, then he laughed. “Wait there, I’ll be right down.” He took a half step back, then vaulted over the low windowsill.

“Loren!” she screamed, as he hurtled down. He hit the ground and sank half to his knees, his hands breaking his fall. He was straightening up by the time she got to him.

He grinned at her, brushing his hands off against his trousers like a small boy. “How’s that for a Douglas Fairbanks?”

She stood very still, looking up into his face. “You’re crazy! You might have been killed!”

His eyes went from her up to the window and then back to her. A rueful tone came into his voice. “You know, you’re right.” Then he laughed again. “But it was something I wanted to do ever since I built the house and I never had the excuse.” He began to rub his hands together.

“Here, let me see.” She took his hands and looked at them. They were scratched and dirty. “You’re hurt,” she said.

“It’s nothing.” He took her by the arm and began to walk her around to the front of the house. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

“How?” she asked. “I rang the bell twice. No one answered.”

“The servants aren’t all back yet,” he said. “And the butler left after dinner.”

They walked up the steps to the front door. “Then how are we going to get in?” she asked.

“Easy,” he said. He turned the knob and the door swung open. “It isn’t locked.” He switched on the lights as they went into the house.

“Let me see your hands again,” she said.

He held them out toward her, palms up. Traces of blood seeped through the scratches.

“You better wash them right away. And put something on them so you don’t get infected.”

“Okay,” he said. “I have some peroxide in my bathroom.”

She followed him up the staircase into the bathroom. She turned the faucet on in the sink and took the soap from the tray. “Let me do that for you,” she said.

He held his hands under the water and she washed them gently. After a moment, she looked at them and, still not satisfied, cleaned them again with a washcloth. “Where’s the peroxide?”

He gestured to the medicine cabinet. She opened it and took out the bottle. “Hold your hands over the sink.”

He held out his hands and she poured the peroxide over them. He winced and pulled them away. “That burns.”

“Don’t be a baby,” she commanded. “Hold still.” She emptied the bottle and the liquid bubbled and sizzled over his hands. She took a clean hand towel from the rack and patted his hands gently dry. “Now, isn’t that better?”

He looked at her. “Yes.”

She felt the color rising in her cheeks. Her eyes fell. “I had to see you,” she said.

“Come,” he said, “let’s get a drink.”

She followed him downstairs into the library. He opened a cabinet and took out a bottle of Canadian whiskey and two glasses. “I can get ice if you like.”

She shook her head.

He poured the liquor into two small tumblers and gave one to her. “Cheers.”

She tasted her drink and the whiskey burned its way down her throat. He swallowed his and refilled his glass. “Sit down,” he said.

She sat down on the leather couch and awkwardly straightened her skirt over her knees as he pulled a chair opposite her. She looked at him. “Junior went to the cottage in Ontario,” she said.

He didn’t speak.

“I refused to go with him,” she said.

He was still silent.

“I’m leaving him,” she said.

He hesitated a moment. “What about the children?”

“I’m taking them with me.”

“Where are you going?”

She stared at him. “I never thought about that.” There was a note of surprise in her voice. “I’ll think of someplace.”

He emptied his glass and got up, walked back to the bar and refilled it. He turned and looked back at her. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“It would have happened sooner or later.”

He hesitated a moment. “I suppose so,” he said, walking back toward her. “I just didn’t want it to happen because of me.”