“Yes. Listen, darling, since we’re talking I may as well tell you the whole story. Emily’s been … well, there’s only one word for it, I’m afraid. Emily’s been …”—her voice sank to a whisper—“jilted.”
“Jilted!”
“You remember that very nice West Point graduate she met last Christmas?”
“Oh, him. Yes, I didn’t like him at all.”
“That’s quite irrelevant, Cornelius,” said my mother crossly. “The point is that Emily did like him—very much—and we heard yesterday that he’s just got engaged to that dreadfully common girl Crystal Smith …”
I yawned while my mother droned on about the local gossip. Finally I said, “About Emily, Mama.”
“Yes, the poor girl. Of course I suggested it would be better if she got right away for a while to recover, and I thought it would be so nice for you both if she stayed with you in New York until Thanksgiving—”
“What!”
“Yes, wasn’t that a bright idea!” said my mother, pleased. “You can introduce Emily to all sorts of nice young men, no doubt, and she can avail herself of all the numerous cultural opportunities. …”
I thought of my beautiful, chaste, intellectual sister and tried to imagine her with Sam and his new girl or with me and Vivienne Coleman. Sam and I had certainly reformed, but we were still far from being monks.
“I’d love to have Emily to stay, of course,” I said carefully, “but don’t you think it would be more suitable if she went to Sylvia? I hardly think it would be right if she stayed with two bachelors.”
“My goodness, Cornelius!” said my mother in horror. “Are you trying to tell me your household is unfit for a young girl?”
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and said in my sweetest mildest voice, “Of course not, Mama. I simply thought that Sylvia, as an older woman, would be a more suitable chaperone.”
“Sylvia,” said my mother coldly, “is visiting her cousins in San Francisco. Perhaps I should accompany Emily to New York.”
The sweat broke out on my forehead. “That won’t be necessary, Mama. And I resent your implication that I can’t take care of my own sister.”
“But, Cornelius, it was you who said—”
“I feel pretty insulted,” I said. “Please tell Emily to come as soon as she can. Good night, Mama.” And hanging up the phone, I collapsed in a heap on the pillows.
It took me at least ten minutes to recover sufficiently to wonder how I was going to arrange my personal life while I was acting as a chaperon. I sighed, then told myself not to be so selfish. A few weeks of exercising fanatical discretion would be good for me and, besides, I was really very fond indeed of my sister Emily.
III
When she arrived at the end of the week I went to the station to meet her. She wore a dark-blue coat and a little cream-colored hat with matching gloves, shoes and purse. I thought she looked lovelier than ever and not in the least like a jilted heroine.
“It’s so good of you to have me, Cornelius,” she exclaimed after we had hugged each other and I was escorting her outside to the Cadillac “I simply felt I had to get away from home for a while—Mama was trying so hard to marry me off that it was becoming embarrassing. Just because I’m nearly twenty-four she thinks I’m on the shelf! Now, Cornelius dear, I want you to promise that you won’t alter your way of life in order to accommodate me, because believe me, what I need most at present is a little independence! You lead your life and I’ll lead mine. I’ll try not to get in your way and be a nuisance.”
“Emily!” My admiration for her understanding knew no bounds. I could only ask, “Why on earth are you still single? Any man who married you would be the luckiest man in the world!”
She laughed. “How nice of you to be so prejudiced! Actually there was someone once a long time ago whom I would have married, but … oh, it was hopeless! He hardly noticed me and anyway he’s married to someone else. Don’t let’s talk about that anymore, Cornelius—it’s too depressing! How’s Sam?”
“Fine.” I was amazed to think of Emily yearning for a married man and wondered who he could possibly have been.
Emily was saying she was looking forward to seeing Sam again. They had met only once, at Paul’s funeral, for although I had annually invited him to travel home with me at Thanksgiving and Christmas he had felt obliged to go to his parents in Maine, and we had never yet had the time to snatch any other vacation from work.
“Maybe you’ll marry Sam!” I said hopefully to Emily. “I’d like that.”
Unfortunately it was soon obvious that I had no talent for matchmaking. Sam, awestruck by Emily’s beauty and brains, was so shy in her presence that I was reminded of our early days at Bar Harbor when Jake had intimidated him, and although Emily, like Jake, put him at his ease I could see he was never going to fall in love with her. He liked bubbly, featherheaded girls who chattered incessantly about trivialities, not serious-minded young women whose favorite corner of New York was the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Emily was delighted to be in New York but was appalled by my house. None of my family had visited my Fifth Avenue home since Paul died; that was my mother’s way of registering her disapproval of my decision to follow in Paul’s footsteps, and although I was welcomed and cosseted whenever I returned to Velletria I was left in no doubt that my mother would never condone my life in New York by crossing my threshold.
“I’d forgotten what an awful place this is!” exclaimed Emily as we sat up exchanging news on the night of her arrival. “How Uncle Paul, who loved Europe, could have not only built this house but lived in it I just can’t imagine, but maybe he was so desperate for a European atmosphere that he was prepared to accept this horrid imitation. And I do think it’s a pity when American houses are crammed with nothing but European art treasures—they always end up looking like museums, and anyway I think most European art treasures should be in Europe where they belong. It’s such bad manners to denude a continent of its culture, don’t you think?”
I sighed. “You’re missing the whole point, Emily. This house was part of the façade which Paul presented to the public. People expected him to live in a place like this, so he did. If he had lived in a lesser house people might have thought he was less important.”
She looked at me as if I were talking Greek—modern Greek, the kind that classical scholars can’t understand.
I tried again. “It’s a power symbol,” I said. “Paul understood power. He knew that the more splash you make the less likely people are to step on you. If you’re a millionaire you’ve got to live like a millionaire to keep the power building in momentum.”
“I guess that’s what Mama must have meant,” said Emily, “when she used to mutter that Uncle Paul was betraying his class by living like a shoddy-rich arriviste. But Cornelius, I still don’t see why this ghastly place has to be a cross between the Metropolitan Museum and some overstated grand hotel. Is it really necessary to have so many footmen waiting at table and at least three housemaids gossiping in every corridor?”
I heaved another sigh. Emily was still mentally back in Velletria.
“Emily, when Sam and I first came to live here we were so darn scared of the servants that we hated to come home from work, but we knew we just had to get used to it. If I tried to behave like a simple straightforward guy from an Ohio farm, no one would have any respect for me, can’t you see?” With inspiration I saw an appropriate yardstick of comparison. “You wouldn’t tell the British royal family to cut down on the trappings of their position, would you?”
“Cornelius!” gasped Emily, at last getting the point, “are you trying to tell me you’re in the same position as the King of England?”
“No,” I said in despair, seeing she was appalled. “I have more power.”
“Cornelius!”
“I’ve had to survive, Emily!” I burst out in misery, desperate to recover her sympathetic understanding. “You don’t know what I’ve been through at the office, the
intrigues, the machinations, the power struggles and the blood baths—” I stopped. Instinct told me I was making matters worse. Finally I managed to say levelly, “There are people who don’t want me at Van Zale’s and because I’m so young nobody’s inclined to take me seriously, but so long as I’ve got the money and can live here like a king they can’t quite manage to ignore me.
She was silent. I got up and began to pace around the room. “So I live here,” I said. “I’ve now reached the stage where I hardly notice the servants. I see the butler and housekeeper regularly to give them instructions and I have an aide who checks their accounts, but otherwise they’re just part of the scenery too. I sold Paul’s Rolls-Royces because I believe one should support American industry, so now my chauffeurs drive only Cadillacs. I have another aide who deals with the begging letters, the invitations and the general correspondence. I have a valet. I have, as you’ve no doubt noticed, a bodyguard. I do see that this way of life must seem unnecessarily vulgar to you, but all I want you to understand is that I had no choice but to adopt it. It’s part of my inheritance from Paul.”
“Well, it all sounds dreadfully exhausting to me,” said Emily frankly, “but if you don’t mind it I won’t feel sorry for you. What happened to that nice bodyguard Uncle Paul had?”
“Peterson?” I said. “I fired him, naturally. He failed to protect Paul.”
“Oh, but …” She bit her lip and turned away. “You’ve changed,” she said at last.
“Yes,” I said coldly, abandoning all attempts to win her approval and trying only to conceal how hurt I was. “For the better. Money gives you the freedom to be yourself. I don’t have to sit around in Velletria any more while you and Mama debate whether Plutarch was a more reliable historian than Dio Cassius. I can just turn around and say who the hell cares.”
“Cornelius—oh, darling, I am sorry!” No one could have been more contrite. Rushing over, she hugged me so hard I started to wheeze. Hastily I put out my cigarette. “I’ve been so beastly, criticizing you—your home, your way of life. Oh, Cornelius, how could I be so mean! I’m so glad to be here and so glad to see you!”
I was happy again. Hugging her in return, I promised to take her out as soon as I arrived home from the office the following day, and during the next week I spent all my spare time escorting her to concerts, art galleries and theaters. I knew I was doing it to prove to us both that I could still be the brother she had grown up with in Ohio, but we both enjoyed ourselves and I didn’t grudge her one moment of the time I spent with her. Vivienne Coleman phoned several times, but I had my secretaries handle the calls. I thought it would do her no harm to think I had lost interest, but in fact I had long since recovered from my rage and daydreamed constantly of that tantalizing décolletage.
Meanwhile I was stealthily progressing with my investigation of the Sullivan twins. I had told Luke that the partners wanted a full report on the trust’s portfolio, with particular emphasis on the high-risk stocks, and when he promised to work on it I said, “No hurry!” to reassure him that I wasn’t breathing down his neck. While I was smoothing Luke’s feathers so carefully, Sam made a discreet inquiry about the location of the trust’s records and found out that the books were lodged at the office of Van Zale Participations. It could be argued that the logical place for the books was surely in the trust’s own office, but the investment trust was little more than an alter ego for the bank and when Steve had managed its affairs everyone had taken for granted that the books would be kept in his office. Since Luke too now had a desk at One Willow Street, it would have been natural for him to retain the books there, and their removal from the bank confirmed our suspicions that something was wrong.
“We’re on the trail,” I said pleased to Sam. “What shall I do next? Maybe I’ll call Vivienne again.”
But Greg Da Costa called first. He asked if he could meet me in a midtown speakeasy, and when I insisted that we meet at my house, Sam and I raced home to wire the library for sound.
IV
He was ten minutes late, so I kept him waiting a quarter of an hour. These little power plays may seem petty, but they are quite essential when dealing with difficult dangerous men like Da Costa, and I had already decided to show him I had to be treated with respect.
“Good evening,” I said abruptly, and without bothering with any social niceties I added, “How may I help you?”
He was disconcerted but recovered fast. “Well, it’s about a business matter—”
“Then we should have set up a meeting at the office. I dislike discussing business in my leisure hours.”
“Sure, but I didn’t want the Sullivan boys to know I was seeing you. You wouldn’t have anything to drink, by any chance, would you?”
“I never drink when I’m discussing business. What is the matter you wish to raise with me, Mr. Da Costa?”
“Maybe I should see one of the other partners,” he said, responding to my coldness with a show of hostility. I guessed it would be less than two minutes before he threw all discretion to the winds. “I chose you because you seemed a nice kid and I figured we could get along.”
In translation that meant he had decided I was a fool who would swallow any story he chose to feed me.
“Sure we can get along,” I said. “You’re here and I’m willing to do business with you. Go ahead.”
“Well … it’s about Van Zale Participations. See here, Cornelius—Jesus, does everyone really call you Cornelius?”
“Why don’t you try calling me Mr. Van Zale?”
“Sorry, no offense! It’s just such a quaint name. Where was I? Oh yeah. Well, see here, Cornelius, I’ve done a lot of things in my time, bummed around a bit, seen a lot of sights, all that kind of thing, and, hell, it’s been fun, I’ve enjoyed it, I’ve had a good life. But I’m nearer forty than thirty now and I’d kind of like to settle down. I need a little stability, a steady income, a respectable job, but of course for a man of my age with my kind of, well, varied experience, it’s not too easy to land the kind of job I figure I could handle. You understand?”
“No.”
“Well, Cornelius, it’s like this. Matt’s told me all about his job as president of Van Zale Participations and I reckon it would suit me pretty well. It’s not too strenuous, because Luke does all the hard work, and yet there’s plenty of prestige—I like the idea of being a president, being part of the financial community, you understand? After all, I am my father’s son. I’d like to feel that at last I had the chance to follow however modestly in his footsteps, and besides you are Paul’s nephew, you know what I mean? You do owe me something. Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to resurrect the family feud again, but—”
“How do you suggest I get rid of Matt Sullivan?”
“Well, Cornelius, I could tell you a thing or two about old Matt. Hell, I like Matt, he’s an old, old friend of mine from way back, but he runs with a funny kind of crowd and I just don’t think he’s the kind of guy you want to head that investment trust. Now, I really think you and I can make a deal on this. You and Steve Sullivan aren’t exactly pals, are you? Matt tells me you hate each other’s guts, and frankly my sympathies are with you—I never liked Steve either. All right, here’s the deal. You fire Matt and hire me to replace him, and I’ll give you the evidence to light a fire under Steve.”
“Forget it,” I said. “I don’t get rid of anyone until I’ve seen the evidence. Besides, I would have to consult with my partners.”
He slid his tongue around his lips. The going was so much tougher than he had anticipated.
“Maybe I could put some evidence out front,” he said at last.
“And maybe you couldn’t. I think this is just a stunt to get a soft job.”
He slid his tongue around his lips again. “Supposing I give you the combination of the safe down Willow Street where Luke keeps the books?”
“Luke will produce the books if he’s asked for them.”
“Not these books he won’t,” said G
reg Da Costa. “He keeps two sets, you know what I mean?”
I knew. One set would be for the public and the partners and the other would show what was really going on at Van Zale Participations.
“I shall have to consult with my partners,” I said for the benefit of my brand-new Dailygraph recording machine, a vast improvement on the old Vox we had used to record the mayhem of last year. “I cannot connive at any illegality.”
“Hell, who said anything about illegality! Isn’t the law so loose on Wall Street that it’s almost impossible to break it? Let’s just call the trouble mismanagement! And why tell your partners? They’ll let Steve wriggle off the hook!”
“I still find your information hard to accept. How did you find out about the books?”
“Matt told me when we were out drinking. Once he’s liquored up he couldn’t keep a secret for a million bucks, and since I had my suspicions of him anyway it wasn’t too difficult to winkle the truth out of him. Cornelius, I just know you and I can get together on this.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said. “I’ll call you later to arrange a further meeting. Good night, Mr. Da Costa.”
I walked out of the room without giving him the chance to detain me.
“You could promise him the job in exchange for the safe combination,” Sam suggested after we had listened to the recording of the conversation. “Then you could hire and fire him on the same day.”
“He’s obviously hoping to maneuver himself into a position where I can’t fire him. He knows of the illegality and once he knows I know too he’ll have me on the short end of a rope. As soon as we’ve covered up this mess—and for the bank’s sake we’ll have to cover it up—he’ll turn around, accuse me of conspiring to conceal a crime and threaten to go to the police unless I let him remain president of Van Zale Participations. I know how that gangster’s mind works, Sam. This is his new meal ticket. Damn him! What the hell are we going to do?”
“Be nice to him,” said Sam at once. “We don’t want him getting nasty and trying to peddle the facts somewhere else.”
The Rich Are Different Page 60