The Prodigal Daughter

by Jeffrey Archer

  “I’m listening,” said Henry, still not looking up from his glass.

  “I want to lay my hands on a substantial shareholding in Kane’s Boston bank.”

  “You won’t find that easy,” said Henry. “Most of the stock is held in a family trust and cannot be sold without his personal concurrence.”

  “You seem very well informed,” said Abel.

  “Common knowledge,” said Henry.

  Abel didn’t believe him. “Well, let’s start by finding out the name of every shareholder in Kane and Cabot and see if any of them are interested in parting with their stock at a price considerably above par.”

  Abel watched Henry’s eyes light up as he began to contemplate how much might be in this transaction for him if he could make a deal with both sides.

  “If he ever found out he’d play very rough,” said Henry.

  “He’s not going to find out,” said Abel. “And even if he did, we’d be at least two moves ahead of him. Do you think you are capable of doing the job?”

  “I can try. What did you have in mind?”

  Abel realized that Henry was trying to find out what payment he might expect, but he hadn’t finished yet. “I want a written report the first day of every month showing Kane’s shareholdings in any company, his business commitments and all details you can obtain of his private life. I want everything you come up with, however trivial it may seem.”

  “I repeat, that won’t be easy,” said Henry.

  “Will a thousand dollars a month make the task easier?”

  “Fifteen hundred certainly would,” replied Henry.

  “A thousand dollars a month for the first six months. If you prove yourself, I’ll raise the figure to fifteen hundred.”

  “It’s a deal,” said Henry.

  “Good,” said Abel as he took his billfold from his inside pocket and extracted a check already made out to cash for one thousand dollars.

  Henry studied the check. “You were pretty confident I would fall into line, weren’t you?”

  “No, not altogether,” said Abel as he removed a second check from his billfold and showed it to Henry. It was made out for fifteen hundred dollars. “If you come up with some winners in the first six months, you’ll only have lost three thousand overall.”

  Both men laughed.

  “Now to a more pleasant subject,” said Abel. “Are we going to win?”

  “The Cubs?”

  “No, the election.”

  “Sure, Landon is in for a whipping. The Kansas Sunflower can’t hope to beat FDR,” said Henry. “As the President reminded us, that particular flower is yellow, has a black heart, is useful as parrot food and always dies before November.”

  Abel laughed again. “And how about you personally?”

  “No worries. The seat has always been safe for the Democrats. The difficult thing was winning the nomination, not the election.”

  “I look forward to your being a congressman, Henry.”

  “I’m sure you do, Abel. And I look forward to serving you as well as my other constituents.”

  Abel looked at him quizzically. “Considerably better, I should hope,” he commented as a sirloin steak that almost covered the plate was placed in front of him while another glass was filled with a Côte de Beaune 1929. The rest of the lunch was spent discussing Gabby Hartnett’s injury problems, Jesse Owens’s four gold medals at the Berlin Olympics and the possibility that Hitler would invade Poland.

  “Never,” said Henry, and started to reminisce about the courage of the Poles at Mons in the Great War.

  Abel didn’t comment on the fact that no Polish regiment had seen action at Mons.

  At two thirty-seven, Abel was back at his desk considering the problems of the Presidential Suite and the eight thousand fresh rolls.

  He did not arrive home from the Baron that night until nine o’clock, only to find Florentyna already asleep. But she woke immediately as her father entered the nursery and smiled up at him.

  “Presidunk, Presidunk, Presidunk.”

  Abel smiled. “Not me. You perhaps, but not me.” He picked up his daughter and kissed her on the cheek and sat with her while she repeated her one-word vocabulary over and over again.

  Chapter

  Three

  In November 1936, Henry Osborne was elected to the United States House of Representatives for the Ninth District of Illinois. His majority was slightly smaller than his predecessor’s, a fact that could be attributed only to his laziness because Roosevelt had carried every state except Vermont and Maine, and in Congress the Republicans were down to 17 senators and 103 representatives. But all that Abel cared about was that his man had a seat in the House, and he immediately offered him the chairmanship of the Planning Committee of the Baron Group. Henry gratefully accepted.

  Abel channeled all his energy into building more and more hotels—with the help of Congressman Osborne, who seemed able to fix building permits wherever the Baron next desired. The cash Henry required for these favors was always paid in used bills. Abel had no idea what Henry did with the money, but it was evident that some of it had to be falling into the right hands, and he had no wish to know the details.

  Despite his deteriorating relationship with Zaphia, Abel still wanted a son and began to despair when his wife failed to conceive. He initially blamed Zaphia, who longed for a second child, and eventually she nagged him into seeing a doctor. Finally Abel agreed and was humiliated to learn that he had a low sperm count: the doctor attributed this to early malnutrition and told him that it was most unlikely he would ever father again. From that moment the subject was closed and Abel lavished all his affection and hopes on Florentyna, who grew like a weed. The only thing in Abel’s life that grew faster was the Baron Group. He built a new hotel in the North, and another in the South, while modernizing and streamlining the older hotels already in the Group.

  At the age of four, Florentyna attended her first nursery school. She insisted that Abel and Franklin D. Roosevelt accompany her on the opening day. Most of the other girls were chaperoned by women who Abel was surprised to discover were not always their mothers but often nannies and, in one case, as he was gently corrected, a governess. That night he told Zaphia that he wanted someone similarly qualified to take charge of Florentyna.

  “What for?” asked Zaphia sharply.

  “So that no one in that school starts life with an advantage over our daughter.”

  “I think it’s a stupid waste of money. What would such a person be able to do for her that I can’t?”

  Abel didn’t reply, but the next morning he placed advertisements in the Chicago Tribune, The New York Times and the London Times, seeking applicants for the post of governess, stating clearly the terms offered. Hundreds of replies came in from all over the country from highly qualified women who wanted to work for the chairman of the Baron Group. Letters arrived from Radcliffe, Vassar and Smith; there was even one from the Federal Reformatory for Women. But it was the reply from a lady who had obviously never heard of the Chicago Baron that intrigued him most.

  The Old Rectory

  Much Hadham

  Hertfordshire

  12 September 1938

  Dear Sir,

  In reply to your advertisement in the personal column on the front page of today’s issue of The Times, I should like to be considered for the post of governess to your daughter.

  I am thirty-two years of age, being the sixth daughter of the Very Rev. L. H. Tredgold and a spinster of the parish of Much Hadham in Hertfordshire. I am at present teaching in the local grammar school and assisting my father in his work as Rural Dean.

  I was educated at Cheltenham Ladies College, where I read Latin, Greek, French and English for my higher matriculation, before taking up a closed scholarship to Newnham College, Cambridge. At the University, I sat my finals, gaining first class awards in all three parts of the Modern Language tripos. I do not hold a Bachelor of Arts degree from the University, as their statutes preclude
such awards for women.

  I am available for interview at any time and I would welcome the opportunity to work in the New World.

  I look forward to your reply, while remaining your obedient servant,

  W. Tredgold

  Abel found it hard to accept that there was such an institution as Cheltenham Ladies College or indeed such a place as Much Hadham, and he was certainly suspicious of claims of first-class awards without degrees.

  He asked his secretary to place a call to Washington. When he was finally put through to the person he wished to speak to, he read the letter aloud.

  The voice from Washington confirmed that every claim in the letter could be accurate; there was no reason to doubt its credibility.

  “Are you sure there really is an establishment called Cheltenham Ladies College?” Abel insisted.

  “Most certainly I am, Mr. Rosnovski—I was educated there myself,” replied the British ambassador’s secretary.

  That night Abel read the letter over again, this time to Zaphia.

  “What do you think?” he asked, although he had already made up his mind.

  “I don’t like the sound of her,” said Zaphia, not looking up from the magazine she was reading. “If we must have someone, why can’t she be an American?”

  “Think of the advantages Florentyna would have if she were tutored by an English governess,” Abel paused. “She’d even be company for you.”

  This time Zaphia did look up from her magazine. “Why? Are you hoping she’ll educate me as well?”

  Abel didn’t reply.

  The following morning he sent a cable to Much Hadham offering Miss Tredgold the position of governess.

  Three weeks later when Abel went to pick up the lady from the Twentieth Century Limited at the La Salle Street Station, he knew immediately he had made the right decision. As she stood alone on the platform, three suitcases of differing sizes and vintages by her side, she could not have been anyone but Miss Tredgold. She was tall, thin and slightly imperious, and the bun that crowned her head gave her fully two inches in height over her employer. Zaphia, however, treated Miss Tredgold as an intruder who had come to undermine her maternal position, and when she accompanied her to her daughter’s room, Florentyna was nowhere to be seen. Two eyes peered suspiciously up from under the bed. Miss Tredgold spotted the girl first and fell on her knees.

  “I am afraid I won’t be able to help you very much if you remain there, child. I’m far too big to live under a bed.”

  Florentyna burst out laughing and crawled out.

  “What a funny voice you have,” she said. “Where do you come from?”

  “England,” said Miss Tredgold, taking a seat beside her on the bed.

  “Where’s that?”

  “About a week away.”

  “Yes, but how far?”

  “That would depend on how you traveled during the week. How many ways could I have traveled such a long distance? Can you think of three?”

  Florentyna concentrated. “From my house I’d take a bicycle and when I’d reached the end of America, I’d take a…”

  Neither of them noticed that Zaphia had left the room.

  It was only a few days before Florentyna turned Miss Tredgold into the brother and sister she could never have.

  Florentyna would spend hours just listening to her new companion, and Abel watched with pride as the middle-aged spinster—he could never think of her as thirty-two, his own age—taught his four-year-old daughter subjects that ranged over areas he would have liked to know more about himself.

  Abel asked George one morning if he could name Henry VIII’s six wives—if he couldn’t, it might be wise for them to acquire two more governesses from Cheltenham Ladies College before Florentyna ended up knowing more than they did. Zaphia did not want to know about Henry VIII or his wives, and she still felt that Florentyna should be brought up according to the simple Polish traditions that had been her own education, but she had long since given up trying to convince Abel on that subject. Zaphia carried out a routine that made it possible for her to avoid the new governess most of the day.

  Miss Tredgold’s daily routine, on the other hand, owed as much to the discipline of a Grenadier Guard officer as to the teachings of Maria Montessori. Florentyna rose at seven o’clock and with a straight spine that never touched the back of her chair received instruction in table manners and posture until she had left the breakfast room. Between seven-thirty and seven forty-five Miss Tredgold would pick out two or three items from the Chicago Tribune, read and discuss them with her and then question her on them an hour later. Florentyna took an immediate interest in what the President was doing, perhaps because he seemed to be named after her bear. Miss Tredgold found she had to use a considerable amount of her spare time diligently learning the strange American system of government to be certain no question that her ward might ask would go unanswered.

  From nine to twelve, Florentyna and FDR attended nursery school, where they indulged in the more normal pursuits of her contemporaries. When Miss Tredgold came to pick her up each afternoon it was easy to discern whether Florentyna had selected the clay, the scissors and paste or the finger painting that day. At the end of every play school session she was taken straight home for a bath and a change of clothes with a “Tut, tut” and an occasional “I just don’t know.”

  In the afternoon, Miss Tredgold and Florentyna would set off on some expedition the governess had carefully planned that morning without Florentyna’s knowledge—although this didn’t stop Florentyna from always trying to find out beforehand what Miss Tredgold had arranged.

  “What are we going to do today?” or “Where are we going?” Florentyna would demand.

  “Be patient, child.”

  “Can we still do it if it rains?”

  “Only time will tell. But if we can’t, be assured I shall have a contingency plan.”

  “What’s a ’tingency plan?” asked Florentyna, puzzled.

  “Something you need when everything else you have planned is no longer possible,” Miss Tredgold explained.

  Among such afternoon expeditions were walks around the park, visits to the zoo, even an occasional ride on the top of a trolley car, which Florentyna considered a great treat. Miss Tredgold also used the time to give her charge the first introduction to a few words of French, and she was pleasantly surprised to find that her ward showed a natural aptitude for languages. Once they had returned home, there would be half an hour with Mama before dinner, followed by another bath before Florentyna was tucked into bed by seven o’clock. Miss Tredgold would read a few lines from the Bible or Mark Twain—not that the Americans seemed to know the difference, Miss Tredgold said in a moment of what she imagined was frivolity—and having turned the nursery light out, she sat with her charge and FDR until they had both fallen asleep.

  This routine was slavishly adhered to and broken only on rare occasions such as birthdays or national holidays, when Miss Tredgold allowed Florentyna to accompany her to the United Artists Theater to see films such as Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs but not before Miss Tredgold had been to the show the previous week in order to ascertain that it was suitable for her ward. Walt Disney met with Miss Tredgold’s approval, as did Laurence Olivier, playing Heathcliff pursued by Merle Oberon, whom she went to watch three Thursdays running on her afternoon off at a cost of twenty cents a showing. She was able to convince herself it was worth sixty cents; after all, Wuthering Heights was a classic.

  Miss Tredgold never stopped Florentyna from asking questions about the Nazis, the New Deal and even a home run, although sometimes she obviously didn’t understand the answers. The young girl soon discovered that her mother was not always able to satisfy her curiosity, and on several occasions Miss Tredgold, in order not to render an inaccurate answer, had to disappear into her room and consult the Encyclopaedia Britannica.

  At the age of five Florentyna attended kindergarten at the Girls Latin School of Chicago, where within a week
she was moved up a grade because she was so far ahead of her contemporaries. In her world everything looked wonderful. She had Mama and Papa, Miss Tredgold and Franklin D. Roosevelt, and as far as her horizon could reach, nothing seemed to be unattainable.

  Only the “best families,” as Abel described them, sent their children to the Latin School, and it came as something of a shock to Miss Tredgold that when she asked some of Florentyna’s friends back for tea, the invitations were politely declined. Florentyna’s best friends, Mary Gill and Susie Jacobson, came regularly; but some of the parents of the other girls would make excuses for not accepting, and Miss Tredgold soon came to realize that although the Chicago Baron might well have broken the chains of poverty he was still unable to break into some of the better drawing rooms in Chicago. Zaphia did not help, making little effort to get to know the other parents, let alone join any of their charity committees, hospital boards or the clubs to which so many of them seemed to belong.

  Miss Tredgold did the best she could to help, but as she was only a servant in the eyes of most of the parents, it was not easy for her. She prayed that Florentyna would never learn of these prejudices—but it was not to be.

  Florentyna sailed through the first grade, more than holding her own academically with the group, and only her size reminded everyone that she was a year younger.

  Abel was too busy building up his own empire to give much thought to his social standing or any problems Miss Tredgold might be facing. The Group was showing steady progress, with Abel looking well set by 1938 to be on target to repay the loan to his backer. In fact, Abel was predicting profits of $250,000 for the year, despite his massive building program.

  His real worries were not in the nursery or the hotels, but over four thousand miles away in his beloved homeland. His worst fears were realized when on September 1, 1939, Hitler marched into Poland, and Britain declared war on Germany two days later. With the outbreak of another war he seriously considered leaving control of the Baron Group to George—who was turning out to be a trusty lieutenant—while he sailed off to London to join the Polish regiment in exile. George and Zaphia managed to talk him out of the idea, so he concentrated instead on raising cash and sending the money to the British Red Cross, while lobbying Democratic politicians to join the war alongside the British. FDR needs all the friends he can get, Florentyna heard her father declare one morning.