The Final Hour

by Taylor Caldwell

  ‘Hah! On the way again, I see. Eagle, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes. The new plant’s under way, the one financed by British capital. We expect to be in production in about five weeks or so. Cigarette?’

  Antoine accepted a cigarette, then seated himself gracefully on the broad window-sill. With his air of élégant, he smoked slowly and easily, gazing out upon the broad and brilliant expanse of bare lawns below. Christopher continued to sort out clothing. The first locusts were shrilling violently in the hot still air. ‘What this place needs,’ said Antoine, ‘is a stockade at the end of the lawns.’

  ‘Can’t you see it? There is one, down there,’ replied Christopher, with a slight smile.

  Antoine smiled also, without turning his head. ‘One never knows where the hell he is with you, Chris,’ he said.

  ‘Ah, you know me,’ said Christopher. ‘Always the well-bred reserve, the delicate reticence. What is it you want to do to me now? Or get out of me?’

  Antoine turned to him slowly. A good position, thought Christopher. His face is in shadow, the window behind him, while I’m exposed. He began to laugh. ‘Tony, sit over here where I can watch the mobile features. You know, for an understudy you aren’t very subtle. Besides, you shut off the light.’

  Antoine laughed with great enjoyment. He threw himself into a comfortable chair, where he sprawled in the most lazy of attitudes. ‘Can’t we stop being fencing master-minds and really talk?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m asking you the same question,’ replied Christopher. He waited. But Antoine did not speak. He watched his uncle, smiling broadly and darkly the while as if deeply amused. ‘If you think you can put me on the defence, child, I might remark that brighter men than you have tried it. So, go ahead,’ Christopher added.

  ‘I really came on a friendly visit, only,’ began Antoine.

  ‘Do tell!’ said Christopher, softly. ‘Well, I’m listening. What scandal do you want to talk about now? You are the damnedest gossip, you know.’

  He lifted three ties and studied them critically. ‘Help yourself to a drink,’ he suggested.

  Antoine went to the small portable bar at the end of the room and served himself a whiskey and soda. He returned to his chair, where he began to sip with enjoyment. ‘What do you think of Willkie’s chances?’ he asked.

  ‘Excellent. If you follow Henri’s advice, and don’t bring up the heavy artillery in the shape of the Big Business Boys and start shelling labour. I don’t think Willkie would appreciate that, anyway. He isn’t anti-labour. He never was. You’ll kill him off if you bring up the phalanx of the heavy boys. And another thing: shut off some of the anti-Semitism your pet organizations are beginning to drivel. That’s still an excellent way of doing Willkie in. Only last week, you remember, he said he didn’t want the support of lunatics.’

  ‘Anti-Semitism,’ observed Antoine, ‘is always a good thing to feed the troops. They love it. Give the cattle something to hate.’

  ‘You’ll find the hate coming back where you least want it,’ warned Christopher. He sat down and regarded his nephew coldly. ‘Have you observed, my precocious Machiavelli, that both candidates for the Presidency are conducting themselves like decent, civilized gentlemen, and it is only their supporters who are behaving like dogs and swine? Get some dignity and decency in our own campaign, and we’ll win. By the way, I understand Wendell refused your invitation to dinner a few days ago. That ought to be hint enough for you.’

  Antoine shrugged. He began to frown. ‘All right. All right. Incidentally, I still haven’t figured out how that Indiana clodhopper got the nomination.’

  ‘The ways of God are very mysterious,’ observed Christopher, with a bored air. ‘Another thing: that wasn’t a bright move on the part of the Guardians of America, putting out the brilliant idea that Roosevelt’s name is really Rosenfeld. Of all the damned—’

  ‘Don’t be vulgar,’ laughed Antoine. ‘I, for one, thought it clever. You overestimate the intelligence of the American mob.’

  But Christopher did not laugh. ‘I’ll make you a prophecy: if Willkie loses, it’ll be because of you bright young men. But you never learn.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘If you have anything to say, make it fast. I have only one hour and a half to catch my plane.’

  Antoine continued to sip leisurely. He swirled the yellow liquid in his glass. ‘It really isn’t important. I only wanted to say that when you come back I’m calling a meeting again. My papa-in-law, Boland, will be there, too. Incidentally, I saw him two days ago, in New York. He was asking about my own papa. I told him he is expected to join the others in the family plot momentarily.’ He looked up now, at Christopher. ‘You still haven’t an inkling about his will?’

  ‘Not the least. Armand and I were never confidential, you know. What are you worrying about?’

  ‘Nothing. Nothing. Just curiosity. I’d like to know, however, if my sister is properly protected.’

  Christopher shrugged, but made no comment.

  Antoine watched him narrowly. ‘By the way, you’ve made no decision about your tetra-ethyl lead patent for high octane gasoline?’

  ‘No,’ said Christopher, smoothly. ‘At least, I haven’t changed my mind. Henri’s watching us too closely, you know. We can’t let Germany use the patent, under present circumstances.’

  ‘But Eagle controls the Consolidated Tetra-Ethyl Corporation. You can make your own decisions, Henri or no Henri. What has he got to do with it? What’s to prevent your letting our motor corporation in Germany use the patent?’

  ‘Our motor corporation is manufacturing motors for Hitler, in case you’ve forgotten,’ said Christopher, casually. He lit a cigarette, with every suggestion of boredom.

  ‘The Consolidated Tetra-Ethyl Corporation is in partnership with I.G. Farbenindustrie, in case you’ve forgotten,’ said Antoine. ‘What more natural than that they turn the patent over for Hitler’s use? Damn it, he needs the high octane.’

  ‘There’s another thing that’s slipped your mind, Tony: Henri still has the controlling vote in Eagles. You know that; so why all this small talk?’

  Antoine put down his glass, rose and began to walk softly up and down the room. ‘I told you: I saw Mary’s father in New York, two days ago. He’d like to have that patent, or some hint of the process, anyway. Hitler’s getting impatient with us. Papa Boland’s got everything arranged for shipment of high octane gas through the Argentine; the tankers are lined up in the harbour. But it will help Hitler more if the oil can be cracked right there in Germany. I.G. Farben-industrie is all ready to start the process. You are the one that’s been holding it up, ever since Henri announced that the process was not to be given to Hitler under any circumstances.’

  ‘What can I do about it?’ asked Christopher, in a neutral tone.

  Antoine stopped abruptly before him. He said, softly: ‘You know the process. You developed it down there in Florida. It belongs to you. One of your chemists in Florida, still connected with Duval-Bonnet, can move over to Papa Boland. If you give the word.’

  Christopher was silent. He watched the cigarette smoke slowly curling through his fingers.

  ‘We can get the Army O.K.’ continued Antoine. ‘I saw Brigadier-General Henderson last week in Washington. The Army won’t stand in the way of the process being given to Germany.’

  Christopher gave no indication of the sudden sharp thrilling that ran along his nerves. He said, indifferently: ‘Isn’t Henderson one of the brightest lights behind the America Only Committee?’

  Antoine grinned. ‘Yes,’ he said. He added: ‘Incidentally, our motor company in Germany wouldn’t lose by the transaction. And Henderson has a large amount of our motor company stock in Germany.’ He laughed.

  ‘So,’ said Christopher, reflectively, ‘our noble general is quite willing that Hitler have this patent. We know one reason: the stock he has in our German company. But I think there is another, don’t you?’

  ‘What do you think?’ replied Antoine, gently.

 
; He stood before Christopher, and waited. There was a long silence. The shrilling of the locusts was more strident in the hot air. Antoine could not read Christopher’s face.

  Antoine almost whispered, his voice heavy with urgency: ‘Hitler needs that process. Immediately. For the bombing of Britain, which will break out on an unprecedented scale this fall. I hear he’s going to try to bomb her out of the war. So, the matter is extremely urgent.’

  Christopher leaned back in his chair. ‘You know,’ he said, with increasing indifference, ‘I don’t see how we can keep out of this war. We’ll be in it, eventually, in spite of all your efforts, Tony.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ Antoine was smiling. ‘That’s why it’s so important that Hitler get the patent at once. Boland can still ship oil to Hitler through the Argentine, even if we get into the war. He has cartels in South. America, as you know, and Hitler will get the oil even if the supply is shut down right here in America. Roosevelt won’t get anywhere in the Argentine with his Good-Neighbour policy, though he might be able to drag the other South American countries into an agreement with him. Remember, Franco’s agents and priests have been doing good work in the Argentine; there are picked men in the Cabinet, there. The Argentine will do business with Hitler, for us and herself, whether we are pushed into his war or not. Our agents are working with Franco’s agents right along. We’ve got the Church with us. Whatever happens, the Argentine won’t declare war against Hitler, even if we do, and the other South American nations do. So, we’ll have our listening posts there, and our outlets, and our propaganda stations, and our sanctuary for German agents.’

  Again, there was a deep silence. Christopher’s cigarette burned itself away in his fleshless fingers. His face was a parchment mask. Then he said, thoughtfully: ‘All right. I’ll let Boland have one of my men, the one best acquainted with the process.’

  He rose and went to the telephone, where he put through a long-distance call to Florida. Antoine waited, exultation dark and brilliant in his eyes. Christopher added: ‘A little change in the process, just a little, then there will be no grounds for a suit for infringement of patent.’

  After Antoine had gone, Christopher called Henri. ‘I’ll be at the airport in fifteen minutes,’ he said. ‘This is deadly important. I’ve got to see you. Drive out as fast as hell.’

  CHAPTER XLIX

  Francis Bouchard (the ‘frozen Frank,’ as his relatives called him) regarded his daughter Rosemarie in an ominous silence. Pale, blond, frigid, he seemed ageless, so brightly blue was his eye, so excellent and lean his figure. About his thin and angular mouth there were those attenuated folds of acid humour which always added a prepossessing expression to his whole gaunt face. He was an ‘Anglo-Saxon’ Bouchard, and though he was much taller in stature, more athletic than Christopher Bouchard, and was conspicuous for his big narrow hands and long narrow feet, he had a curious resemblance to Christopher, and also to his own dead brother, Peter. He was noted in the family for his wit, his fastidiousness, and a peculiar kind of integrity which had nothing at all to do with his business affairs. He had always had a pitying contempt for Peter, but also an impersonal affection. He regretted Peter’s death very much.

  He was one of Henri’s faction, for not only was he shrewd, but he also had a liking for the younger man. Determinedly detached and amiable, he kept his relationships with all the members of his family smooth and amicable, partly because he was too selfish to allow himself to be disturbed by feuds, and partly because he found his relatives entertaining. If one did not become too intimate with any of them, he would say. Besides, he believed in the possession of friends, and was very popular.

  President of the Kinsolving Arms Company, subsidiary of Bouchard & Sons, he was enormously wealthy, and at least as avaricious as other members of his family. But he never allowed his avarice to become obvious. He appeared to be very generous, easy, with an astringent kindliness which deceived practically everyone, even his wife. He was beloved both by his two daughters, Rosemarie, and Phyllis Morse, and by his wife, and he loved them all. Rosemarie, however, was his favourite.

  He sat with her alone in his own small sitting-room. Here he had always summoned his children when he had matters of importance to discuss with them, such as their delinquencies, their private troubles, and other problems. His house was grotesquely large, set in incredibly beautiful gardens. His library was famous, and he also had a fine gallery of original paintings which was the acute envy of Christopher, his particular friend.

  His children had always regarded him with the utmost respect, and Rosemarie, enraged as she was, dark and suffused with violence, could not get over the habit of a lifetime. She surged with fury; she wanted to scream deliriously. But her father sat opposite her, his long lean legs crossed, his attitude negligent and quiet, and he looked at her with the blue sparkling eyes that were like sharp fragments of bitter glass.

  ‘No!’ she said at last, beating her knees with her clenched hands. ‘No! You’ll all have to go somewhere else for your information.’

  ‘I’ve come to you, Rosy,’ said Francis. ‘Because you can give it to me. I want you to think about it. I’ve been candid with you; you can’t repeat anything of what I’ve said to you without betraying me. And I don’t think you’d ever do that, eh, Rosy?’

  He smiled slightly. She flashed her black and vivid eyes at him, her scarlet thread of a mouth open viciously. And then she was silent, breathing roughly as if her heart was pounding too strongly in her smart breast. Her throat felt thick with turbulent passion. Then she said, hoarsely: ‘Dad, I can’t tell you anything. It’s not that I particularly mind, for ethical reasons. The women of the organizations I’ve helped to organize are foul and contemptible. Maniacs, perverts, imbeciles. Yes, they’re all that. I hope that some day we’ll have an adequate way of dealing with them, either by chloroform or sterilization.’ She smiled bleakly. ‘But it does happen that I rather agree with the principles of these organizations. We need women like these to advance the principles.’

  ‘It seems to me a fine commentary on the principles of your organizations that you require insane females and potential murderesses and perverts to advance them,’ said Francis. ‘Look, my dear, perhaps I haven’t made things clear to you. I’m in with Henri. Kinsolving is a subsidiary of Bouchard & Sons. For that reason alone I would be in with Henri. But it also happens that I’m in with him for many other reasons, some of them personal.’

  ‘Not to mention the fact that your dead brother’s wife is going to present Henri with a child?’ Rosemarie smiled virulently. Her father’s eye dwindled to a brilliant pinpoint. ‘Perhaps,’ he agreed, quietly. ‘God! You women. You can’t get away from the bedroom, can you?’

  To his surprise, his tumultuous daughter was suddenly very still. She said: ‘No. We can’t.’

  Francis carefully lit a cigar with precise gestures. He tilted back his chair and regarded the ceiling, thoughtfully. ‘It always seemed a humiliating thing to me to have anything to do with women—at least, in business. In earlier days, women weren’t all mixed up with business. Now, they’re everywhere, smelling and messing up the whole place, complicating things. Daughters were manipulated, it is true, to bring about better business connections through marriage. That was all right. But now you women have run riot all through business, like a pack of mares in heat. You’re everywhere, stinking up politics, stirring up unholy messes in public life, shrilling at the top of your lungs even on Wall Street. I don’t like it. I don’t like having you sit there opposite me refusing to do something for me which is of the utmost importance to me as president of the Kinsolving Arms.’

  He went on, when Rosemarie did not answer, though she fixed her burning eyes furiously upon him.

  ‘Christopher mixed his sister into his affairs, with the nice result we have now. Annette is tangled up with Henri. Antoine manipulates Burglar Boland through his little Mary. It goes on, all the time. And you, for instance, go on inviting the dirtiest organizations to revenge y
ourself on Henri, who’s acquired another sweetheart. Pah. It smells. I could name dozens of other instances.’

  Rosemarie’s thin dark face was scarlet. Her lips hardly moved when she said: ‘He always implied that when he could he would divorce Annette, and marry me. He lied. He was always a stony liar. I loved him, Dad,’ and now her hard voice shook.

  ‘Yes,’ said Francis, thoughtfully. ‘I suppose you did. And always hoped you’d get to marry him. But there was never anyone for him but Celeste. You’ve got to remember that. My dear,’ he added, with affection, ‘all this doesn’t really matter. What does matter is that I’m part of Henri’s faction, that if he goes down, I go down, too. That’s why I’ve got to know, and completely, and accurately, the names of all the influential backers of your organizations, what their plans are, the complete lists of their memberships, and if and how they are allied with German organizations, and what German money helps support them.’

  Rosemarie’s lips twisted in a sardonic smile. ‘You’d be surprised, Dad. By the way, did Henri ask you to get this information from me?’

  ‘He did,’ acknowledged Francis, gravely. ‘In fact, when he told me you were the fine Italian hand behind these stinkers, I didn’t believe it. But he finally convinced me. He told me, of course, that Antoine is one of the guiding angels of two of the more dangerous organizations. Is that true?’

  Rosemarie’s black brows drew together, but she said nothing. However, a look of surprise flashed across her face.

  ‘Henri seems to be a little omniscent,’ she remarked, sneeringly, after a while.

  ‘Henri,’ said her father, ‘knows a great deal.’ He paused. ‘Rosemarie, my dear, let’s forget Henri. I’m asking you to do this for me. And for yourself. If you don’t, my darling, I’ll cut you off with the proverbial nickel.’ And then, though he smiled at her with the deepest understanding and affection, she saw the remorseless sharpness of his acute eye.