The court date had long since been postponed, and in the four months since Johnny had disappeared, Nick Burnham had lost thirty pounds. A fleet of investigators and bodyguards had combed the States, ventured into Canada, and looked everywhere. But the boy was simply nowhere. For once Hillary had really outsmarted him. He only hoped the child was safe. And then, miraculously, and out of nowhere, Nick got a call on August 18. A child who looked much like John had been spotted in South Carolina, near an antiquated, once-fashionable watering hole. He was with his parents though, and his mother was blond. Nick had chartered a plane and flown down himself with three bodyguards, and a dozen others met him there, and there they were—Johnny, Philip Markham, and Hillary, with dyed blond hair. They had rented a little antebellum house, and were living there with two black maids and an ancient butler. Markham had sworn to his mother that the scandal would end, and he thought it would, but the kidnapping had only made things worse. She was terrified now that her son would go to jail. It was she who was financing their secret lair until the fuss died down. But she wanted them to return the boy. And finally, in desperation and out of decency to Nick, it turned out that it was Mrs. Markham who had called him.
When Markham first heard the megaphones as the bodyguards surrounded the place, his first inclination was to run. But it was much too late. He was faced by two men with guns pointed at him.
“Oh, for chrissake …” He tried to bluff his way out. “Take the kid.” The two men did, but Nick advanced on Philip with a murderous look in his eyes.
“If you ever come near us again, you son of a bitch, I'll kill you myself. Do you understand?” He grabbed his throat, and the armed guards watched as Hillary ran up to Nick and Philip and yanked hard on Nick's arms.
“For God's sake, let him go.”
“God has nothing to do with this.” And then he turned to Hillary and struck her hard across the face with the back of his hand. Philip grabbed him then and punched him in the jaw. There was a grinding sound in Nick's head and he lurched toward the ground, but he stood up again and punched Markham back as Hillary screamed.
“Stop … stop!” But Nick was already out of control and he grabbed Markham's head and slammed it into the ground, and then he stood up and left him there, bleeding profusely from a cut over his eye and groaning softly in the dirt. Hillary flew at Nick then and scratched his face, but he pushed her away from him and walked steadily toward his son.
“Come on, tiger. Let's go home.” The jaw ached horribly but he felt no pain when he took Johnny's hand and walked him to a waiting car as the bodyguards covered them. But there was no fight here. There was only Hillary, and Markham, lying on the ground, and two black maids watching from the front porch of the little house. And Nick pulled his son close to him in the car, and then without shame he kissed the boy's face and let the tears come. It had been four months as close to hell as he had been, and he hoped to never come that close again.
“Oh, Dad.” Johnny held him tight. He had just turned ten, and he looked as though he'd grown a foot. “I wanted to let you know that I was all right, but they wouldn't let me call you.”
“Did they hurt you, son?” Nick wiped his eyes, but Johnny shook his head.
“No. They were all right. Mom said that Mr. Markham wanted to be my father now. But when his mother came to visit us, she said he had to give me back, or at least let you know that I was okay.” And then suddenly Nick knew how he'd gotten the call. He vowed to thank her himself when they got back. “She said that she'd never give him any money, ever again, and that he'd probably wind up in jail.” But Nick already knew that wasn't true. He wished it were. “She was always very nice to me, and asked how I was. But Mom says she's an old bitch.” The guards and Nick smiled. Johnny had a lot to say on the way home, but all that Nick could glean was that the plan had got out of hand, and they'd had no idea what to do with him once they'd kidnapped him. “Will we still have to go to court against Mom?”
“As soon as we can.” He looked crestfallen at that bit of news, but safe at home in his own bed that night, John held his father's hand and smiled. And Nick sat watching over him until he fell asleep, and then he walked slowly to his own room, wondering when it would all end.
But at least the next day in San Francisco Liane read the good news, JOHNNY BURNHAM FOUND. And a week after that the court date was set again. The trial was to begin on the first of October, and when it did, it was eclipsed in the news by the conferences in Moscow between Averell Harriman, Lord Beaverbrook, and Molotov, Stalin's foreign minister. They resulted in a signed protocol that the United States and Britain would send supplies to Russia, and Harriman had made a Lend-Lease agreement with the Soviets for up to a billion dollars worth of aid. Stalin had wanted the United States to enter the war, but on Roosevelt's instructions, Harriman had refused. Russia had to be satisfied with supplies and arms, and they were. And by the time the news of that had died down a little bit, Liane read that the Burnham-Markham trial in New York was in full swing.
illary walked into court in a dark-gray suit, a white hat, her hair its natural color once again, in the company of both senior partners of the law firm representing her. And as she sat down in a chair between them, she looked extremely demure. And on his side of the court, Nick sat with Ben Greer, who had to remind him not to look so ferocious as he frowned in Hillary's direction.
The issue was set before the court—the matter of the custody of their ten-year-old son, John—and each side was given a chance to explain. Ben Greer depicted an image of Hillary as a woman who had never wanted a child, had rarely seen her son, went on extended trips without taking him along, and was allegedly promiscuous in the extreme while married to Nick Burnham.
Messrs. Fulton and Matthews, on the other hand, explained that she had a passion for her son, and had been rendered hysterical and distraught at her husband's refusal to let her take her child with her when she left him. Mr. Markham was depicted as a man who adored children and wished to assist his wife now in providing a home for Johnny. But, they continued—Nick Burnham was so consumed with jealousy and was such a violent man that he had threatened his wife and had done everything to undermine her relationship with the boy, all because he couldn't bear the feet that his wife had wanted to divorce him. The story went on and on. The issue of the kidnapping was one they handled with great care. Totally destroyed by the loss of her child, and helpless in the face of Nick's threats, Hillary had taken John, hoping to wait until they would all go to court. And then the matter had got out of hand. She was too afraid of Nick to return … she was afraid that Nick might hurt the child. … As Nick sat in court and listened to the yarn they spun, it was all he could do not to stand up and scream. And worse yet, he recognized how respectable a troop they were. Fulton and Matthews were the best, and although Ben Greer was good, Nick was beginning to fear that he was no match for them.
The trial was due to go on for two or three weeks, and Johnny himself was to be a key witness at the end. But in the third week of the trial he came down with the mumps, and the judge granted a continuance. The trial was due to resume on November 14. And in the end Nick and his attorney felt that the interruption did them good. It allowed them time to regroup and dig up additional witnesses, although Nick was disappointed at how few would testify. People didn't want to get involved. No one knew for sure … it had been a while … even Mrs. Markham wouldn't testify for him. She had done what she could in letting him know where the child was, the rest was up to him. In her eyes the damage had already been done. His name and theirs had been dragged through the papers for too long, and she didn't thank him any more than she thanked her son for that. Who got the boy now was of no importance to her, and she wished them all in hell. All that Nick could get was a handful of maids who had hated Hillary, but had never seen her actually neglect the child, they said. At the end of the second day back in court Nick threw up his hands when the Markhams left and he and Ben Greer went to confer.
“Jesus Christ,
why is she doing this, Ben? She doesn't even want the child.”
“She can't back down now. She's gone too far. Most court proceedings are that way. By the time you reach the end, no one wants to be there. But the machinery of justice is difficult to turn back.”
In desperation the next day, he tried to buy her off, and for a brief moment he thought the battle was won. He saw the glimmer of interest in Markham's eye as they met in the halls of the court, but there was no interest in Hillary's eyes. And when Nick had walked away in despair, Philip grabbed her arm.
“Why the hell did you turn him down? How do you think we're going to live for the next few years? You can't get your hands on your trust, and you know what my mother said.”
“I don't give a damn. I wouldn't take a dime from him.”
“You fool.” He grabbed her arm again and she shook him off.
“To hell with you both. I want my son.”
“Why? You don't even like kids.”
“He's mine.” Like a fur coat or a jewel or a war trophy she didn't want but would reclaim. “Why should I give anything to Nick?”
“Take the money, for chrissake.”
“I don't need the money.” She stared at him in icy hauteur.
“Oh, yes, you do. We both need it.”
“Your mother will come around.” It was a possibility he was counting on too. But if she didn't, there was a struggle ahead he wasn't looking forward to. He might even have to go to work, something he didn't intend to do. And he knew Hillary never would. But she had thought of something that had escaped him. “Haven't you ever heard of child support?” She smiled sweetly up at him. “Nick is going to want to make sure Johnny has everything he wants. And so will we. Voilà.” She curtsied to him and he grinned.
“You're awfully smart for a pretty girl.” He kissed her on the cheek and they walked back into court, and the battle raged on. The judge had estimated that they would be finished by Thanksgiving Day, and Nick tensed at the thought. What if he lost? What would he do? It was inconceivable to think of a life without his son. He dared not even think of that. And then suddenly they'd reached the end, and the attorneys were making their closing statements. Johnny had already taken the stand, but he sounded childlike and confused, torn between both his parents, a father he adored, and a mother who sobbed loudly in open court, and whom he clearly felt sorry for.
The judge had explained to all of them that normally he took a week or two to make up his mind, but given the tension that had already existed in both households for almost a year, the publicity in national press, the strain on the child, he was going to try to reach a decision more speedily this time. They would be notified when to convene again, and in the meantime everyone was to go home and wait. And when Nick left the courtroom that day, flashbulbs went off in his face, and as usual the press appeared. “What'd they say, Nick? … Where's the kid? … Who wins? … Do you think she'll kidnap him again? …” They were used to it by now, almost, and that day, when she left the court, Hillary stood on the front steps of the courthouse with Philip and gave them a charming smile. And as Nick climbed into his limousine he leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. He'd gained back some of the weight he'd lost while Johnny was gone, but at forty, he felt twice his age.
He looked over at Greer, poring over some notes next to him, and he shook his head. “You know, sometimes I think this thing will never end.”
“It will.” Greer looked up at him. “It will.”
“But how?”
“That we don't know. We have to wait for the judge to decide that.”
Nick sighed. “Do you have any idea what it's like to have all that you hold most dear, in other people's hands?”
Greer slowly shook his head. “No, I don't. But I know what you're going through, and I'm sorry as hell.” He looked at him for a moment not as an attorney, but a friend. “I hope to hell you win, Nick.”
“So do I. And if I don't? Can I appeal?”
“You can. But it would take a long time. My advice to you would be to wait. Give her six months with the boy and she'll come running back to you with him. I've been watching her all this week, and she's everything you said she was. Tough, cold, shrewd. She doesn't care about him. You started something and she's going to get you back, where it hurts most.”
“She has.”
“But she won't. She'll give the boy back, mark my words. All she wants right now is to win. Publicly. So she looks like a good mother. America, motherhood, and apple pie, you know about that stuff.”
Nick smiled for the first time in a week. “I didn't think she did. She's more interested in sable and Van Cleef.”
Greer smiled too. “Not in court. She's a smart one, and her attorneys have been very good.”
Nick looked at the man who had become his friend. “So have you.” And then with a lump in his throat, “Win or lose, Ben, you've been great. I know you've done your best.”
“That doesn't mean a damn unless we win.”
“We have to.”
Greer nodded, and both men fell silent as they watched the winter sky as the limousine glided swiftly uptown.
The next week was agony for them all as they waited for the call from the judge. Nick paced his room night and day, went to the office, ran home, tried to spend each spare moment with his son, and Greer felt like an expectant father. He had never cared so much about a case as he had come to care about this one in the past year. And in the Markham apartment, Hillary was as nervous as a cat. She wanted to go out and play, and for once Philip exerted some influence on her and insisted she stay home.
“How do you think it'll look if some gossip columnist sees you at El Morocco?”
“What am I supposed to be doing? Sitting here building a hobbyhorse for my son?”
“Don't be so smart. Sit tight. It's almost over.” He didn't want to aggravate his mother. She was beginning to feel sorry for him, and one slip could spoil everything. He almost had to sit on Hillary, but she didn't go out. It made her very hard to live with, but Philip insisted. He played backgammon with her for hours, and bought her gallons of champagne to keep her happy, which only made him hope more ardently that his mother would relent soon. Hillary was an expensive woman to support, and his tastes weren't simple either. They had a great deal in common, as his mother pointed out whenever she could, in an unpleasant tone. Not that either of them cared. And once they had the Markham funds, or Johnny's child support, they would be happy again. Philip was just playing it safe, he told his wife as he carried her to their enormous bed. He had just pulled off her clothes and thrown them on the floor when they heard the phone ring.
It was the firm of Fulton and Matthews. Court was to convene at two. The judge had reached a decision at last.
“Hallelujah!” she told Philip with a grin as she stood naked beside the bed. “Tonight I'm free!” And not a word about Johnny was said as Philip pulled her roughly into bed and spread her legs with his own.
he judge walked somberly into the courtroom, his robes flowing, his face set. The bailiff made the necessary announcement. All rose and then sat down again. And in his seat, Nicholas sat waiting with bated breath. Johnny was waiting at home for the news, Nick hadn't wanted to expose him to the tension here, and the corridors outside were already thick with reporters. Like vultures, they had sensed meat, and someone from the courthouse had tipped them off. The parties involved in the case had been barely able to fight their way in.
“Mr. Burnham,” the judge began, “would you be good enough to approach the bench?” Nick looked at Ben, surprised, he had not been prepared for this, nor was Ben, it was a departure from the usual proceedings. And then the judge turned to Hillary and asked her to do the same.
They both got up and walked toward the bench and one could have heard the proverbial pin drop, and then the judge looked at them both. He was an old man with wise eyes, and he looked as though he had given the matter a great deal of thought. It had been a bitch of a case, and a to
ugh decision to make, although to Nick the right solution to it all was clear.
“I would like to tell you both,” the judge began, “that my heart aches for you both. And I have been given the ungrateful task of Solomon. Who does one give a child to? Does one cut him in half? In truth, in a situation like this, whatever one does injures the child. Divorce is a very ugly thing. And whatever decision I make, I hurt the child and I hurt one of you. It is a source of great sorrow to me that you couldn't work your problems out, for the sake of the child.” He looked at them both and then went on. Nick could feel his palms sweating and his back was damp, and he could see by the way Hillary stood that she was nervous too. Neither of them had anticipated this speech and it only made matters worse. “In any case, you did not work your problems out. You are already divorced. Remarried, in your case”—he glanced at Hillary—”and because of that”—he glanced at Nick, who was in no way prepared for what came next—“I feel that the child will have a more stable home with you, Mrs. Markham. I award the child to you.” He looked down at Hillary with a fatherly smile, he had been completely taken in. And suddenly Nick realized what had been said and he exploded into life, forgetting where he was.
He turned to the judge and almost screamed.
“But he held a gun to my son's head! That's the man you're giving him to!”
“I'm giving the child to your wife. And it was an empty gun, Mr. Burnham, as I recall. Your wife knew that. And … The voice droned on as Nick felt faint. He wondered if he was having a heart attack or only dying of grief. “… you will be able to visit the boy. You may submit a visitation schedule to the court, or arrange it among yourselves, as you prefer. You will turn the child over to Mrs. Markham by six o'clock today. And in light of your income, sir, the court has set the sum of two thousand dollars a month as child support, which we do not feel will be a hardship for you.” Hillary had won all around and she beamed as she ran back and hugged Philip and both of her attorneys before the judge was through, and Nick stared at him and shook his head as the judge stood up and the bailiff called out “Court is adjourned!”
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