Fortune's Hand

by Belva Plain

  All this was wrong! What was she doing, even in the privacy of her mind, to make such disloyal comparisons? There was no sense in this, none at all.

  And yet she cried out, “Do you know what it is about Devlin and all those people around him that frightens me so? It’s that they’ve changed Robb. They’re changing the very way we live. That’s why he wants to move. He wants to show that he can afford a style, a house of his own he says, because our house is not his. Oh, I know that my father was cold to him. I’ve said I don’t understand how he could be like that. It was wrong, stupid and narrow-minded, but still he was a good man, my father. They could have talked things over and reached some understanding, forgiveness, something! And now he’s dead, so what is the use of keeping this resentment forever? It’s eating away at him. I feel it. I see it. I don’t want all this crazy money. I don’t like those people. I’m not paranoid, Philip, in case you’re thinking that I am. There are some very lovely people that he knows, of course there are, but the people Robb’s with, he and his foolish friend Eddy—oh, I like him well enough, too, but I don’t trust their judgment, or Robb’s either anymore. They have delusions of grandeur. And to think that it all began with the poor baby—”

  “No,” Philip said. “I don’t believe it. People are more complex than that. Penn was simply the weak spot. If it hadn’t been he, it would eventually have been something else.”

  “I don’t know about that. We were so happy together.”

  Philip put his hand over hers. Then the hand, firmly pressing, was almost immediately withdrawn. “Steady now,” he said. “This isn’t like you. You are happy together now. You will be happy. This is a temporary hurdle. You will jump over it.”

  Vividly to her mind came the memory of that day in the park so long ago when he had told her about the deaths of his wife and child, and about his work, and about his cats. She saw him reading in a little room; the cats would be sleeping in a basket; there would be music playing and records, shelved in alphabetical, neat order, Albeniz to Wagner.

  “This visit today is upsetting you, Ellen. It’s made other problems look larger than they are. You’re venting, and that’s good for you. It’s healthy. Cry. You’ll feel better.”

  She wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. You didn’t come today to hear me vent.”

  “Don’t be sorry.”

  Tears, still unshed, blurred everything, the chrome on the car and the apples in the basket. A pair of butterflies, dark brown with yellow-fringed wings, performed a frantic chase and dance through shafts of light.

  “It’s early in the season for butterflies, I think,” Philip said. He was trying to divert her, and she responded quickly.

  “Those come the soonest. They’re called ‘Mourning Cloak.’ They’re not the prettiest, are they?”

  “How do you happen to know a thing like that?”

  “Purely accidental. I was starting to illustrate a book, and I needed butterflies.”

  “Starting?”

  “I gave up.”

  “You must get back to your work, you know.”

  “I don’t have time, do I?”

  “Perhaps not now. But eventually you must do it. And sooner rather than later,” he said gravely.

  “You’re saying we can’t keep Penn much longer.”

  When he did not answer at once, she said, “I suppose this is where he will eventually live. Robb is saving up for the best.”

  “I admire Robb. Have I ever mentioned that I went to court one day when I read his name in the newspaper? He was defending a whistle-blower against one of the utility companies. It was a case of David against Goliath, and he was magnificent.”

  “Yes, I know. He’s at his best then.”

  “I saw Julie in the back row. I guessed she didn’t want her father to see her.”

  “She goes sometimes but waits till afterward to tell him. Father and daughter. They’re exceptionally close.”

  “You have many things to be thankful for, Ellen.”

  She nodded. Yes, she knew that well. And she knew, too, that Philip’s tribute to Robb was meant as a reminder or as a warning about what had been happening between her and himself; it was growing stealthily stronger each time they met, and it dared not. Let us be wise, he was saying.

  But he had also meant to give comfort, and as they walked back to the car, she looked up at him and told him so.

  “You comforted me today, and I thank you.”

  “That’s my profession,” he said, laughing lightly.

  And she too laughed lightly, as she was expected to do.

  She entered the house in a state of agitation. They had ridden home in total silence, for Philip, without asking whether she wanted him to do so, had turned on the radio. He had used music as a way of avoiding speech; that was clear. And yet, it was a relief to her because otherwise she would not have known what more to say. The subject of Penn, their sole reason for this day together, the purpose actually of all their meetings, had been exhausted.

  Sounds of piano practice came down the hall. Through the open doors she saw Julie in earnest concentration and Penn gazing at her from his seat on the floor. She waved, and ran up the stairs.

  Her distress was physical. Weak in the legs again, she sat down on the bed. With pounding head, she lay back on the pillow. In her stomach there was a quivering that she had probably not felt since final examination week in college. All her worries had collided and coalesced into one mass of confusion: Penn first, then the threat of departure from this house, and finally—what? What exactly was this feeling that had grown between Philip Lawson and herself? A meaningless attraction, it had to be. Or did it have to be? Might it even, like some green sprout, take root?

  No, that was a crazy, wild illusion. It was sophomoric, the stuff of cheap romance. We are responsible, intelligent adults.… She barely understood herself. Why, she was a mother, a wife, and Robb was the husband she loved! In spite of any difficulties—and were there not difficulties in every marriage, in every life?—she loved him.

  Nevertheless, she was afraid.

  Then she looked around the room, counting the objects in it one by one. Everything was familiar and dear, the photographs, her own watercolor of the harbor at Naples, Walt Whitman in a leather binding on her mother’s maple table, the chintz on the bed, and the old bed itself where she lay every night with Robb. Surely these objects could be picked up and put somewhere else!

  But the feel of them would not be the same. It seemed as if everything would go out of control away from here. This house held sturdy arms around her, and around them all. It was permanence. It was safety.

  When she heard the car turning into the driveway, she jumped up and smoothed the coverlet. Then she ran to the mirror, smoothing her hair and refreshing her lipstick, doing all this with an ironic awareness of her resemblance to her father; the Grants must do everything in order, presenting to the public (or to a spouse) a flawless front. Absurd! But there it was: you were what you were. And she went down to tell Robb what she had seen in Wheatley.

  “Philip says he thinks Devlin does this kind of thing for votes,” she concluded after her description. “It shows him to be a humanitarian.”

  Robb laughed. “Spoken like an innocent. A child can see that! Of course Devlin’s paving his way. It’s obvious. A very important, very lavish contributor to the party, president of one of the downstate banks, has a sister like Penn. So, connecting two and two—well, what’s the difference why he did it? The important thing is that he did it.”

  “Philip said that, too.”

  Philip again. Why don’t you bite your tongue?

  “This should remind you to be friendly the next time we happen to see Devlin.”

  “I believe I am always friendly to everyone.”

  “Just a caution. Don’t be offended. By the way, I bought a share in that piece of land by the river, a very small share, enough to entitle us to a house and three acres.”

  “Without asking me?” she c
ried. He might as well have struck her.

  “Hold on! I didn’t say I was going to build. But I’d like to, you know that.” He put up his hand as if he were controlling traffic. It was a habit recently acquired. “If you still refuse—hell, I’m not going to drag you out of here by the hair, am I?”

  “No, but I wish you would stop talking about it. I really, really, with all my heart, don’t want to leave here. I’d feel the way a tree would, if it had feelings, with its roots ripped up, lying on the ground.”

  Robb sighed. “You know, if you were an English aristocrat and this had been your family’s acreage since the fifteenth century, it would be understandable. But this is only a move from one suburban American house to another, and you are making a great big sentimental deal out of it, Ellen.”

  He spoke not unkindly—he almost never did—but rather in a new troubling manner with a cool air of authority. The confusion of emotions that she had just been fighting on the bed upstairs now surged back, and clinging to him, she pleaded, “Robb, don’t be impatient with me.”

  “No, no.” He stroked her hair. “I’m sorry, Ellen. It’s been too much for you. You’ve had a bad, bad day. I should have gone instead.”

  At the country club, walking toward the dining room, Robb whispered, “The man with the woman in the flowered dress is Harry Glover, president of the Dayforth Savings Bank. I deal with him, so that’s probably why Devlin put us at the table. Nice of him. Thoughtful. Glover’s here in town for a couple of days. He and Devlin are like two fingers on the same hand. Incidentally, you look marvelous. Aren’t you pleased you wore the necklace?”

  She was not pleased. It was far too formal for the occasion. She had tried tactfully to explain that to him, but he had looked so crestfallen at this rejection of his proud birthday present, that she had quickly changed her own expression to a willing smile.

  “Yes, it’s lovely,” she said now. “Lovely.”

  “I haven’t seen Devlin in a couple of months, so I’m not sure he knows that we’ve been at the Living Center. Probably not, so be sure to say something about it before he does.”

  “Of course.”

  Even Robb, she reflected, regardless of the self-assurance that he had acquired and the reputation he had earned, deferred to this coarse man. No doubt it had been the same under the Roman Empire.…

  “I hear,” Devlin said a bare moment after they had all been seated and introductions made, “that you’ve seen the new place up in Wheatley.”

  “I was just about to tell you,” Ellen replied. “It’s absolutely wonderful. Efficient, cheerful and—well, simply impressive. And to see your names over the entrance, your incredible gift, was most impressive of all.”

  Devlin’s smile spread across his thick cheeks. “Beautiful words from a beautiful lady.”

  “Oh, yes,” Olivia said dutifully.

  She was his echo. I wouldn’t blame the poor woman, thought Ellen, if she hated me and every other recipient of his obnoxious comments.

  Someone remarked that this was hardly the first great benefaction the Devlins had made, not only within the state, but beyond it. The nation needed more such large-hearted citizens, who understood the need of the common people.

  “Well, someday, Dick—” a man interrupted, only to be stopped by a friendly wave of Devlin’s hand.

  “Thanks, folks, thanks. But don’t rush me, please.” And he retired, basking in praise.

  At this signal, which came as the chilled lobster bisque was being served, the talk broke up into private conversations among neighbors at the table. Harry Glover, the banker, on Ellen’s right, began to confide to her.

  “You can’t imagine, unless you’re in trouble, what it is to find a lifesaver like Dick Devlin. I have a sister, sixteen, with the mind of a child—she’s the reason my wife isn’t here tonight, because there was no one else to stay with her this week—and Dick has just rescued us.”

  Ellen became all interest. “What has he done?”

  “He’s made arrangements for Susie’s permanent home in Wheatley. No matter what happens, inflation or if all the relatives die, it’s guaranteed by the board of directors. We have a legal, airtight document.”

  “That sounds incredible, too good to be real.”

  “It’s not a common arrangement, but it can be done if you know the right people. And,” Glover added, “if you can scrounge up a great big lump sum.”

  “That’s a big if,” said Ellen.

  “Very big. But being in the money business, so to speak, I’ve been able to arrange it. When you’re surrounded by millions every day, you get used to big numbers. They don’t seem so intimidating.”

  If one wanted to, one could be repelled by this sort of bragging. On the other hand, the man was obviously so filled with rejoicing over the solution to his family’s problem, that he had to tell people, even a stranger, about it.

  From across the table, Devlin spoke in a low voice. His eyes and ears apparently missed nothing. “You’re talking about Susie? I told you I don’t want this to get around. A couple of special cases don’t set any precedents. That’s common sense, Glover. Not that I mind your telling Ellen. They have a situation like Susie’s.”

  Now why should he not object to my knowing? she wondered, but for an instant only. He must have meant that a similar arrangement might be made for Penn. In the next instant her hope both rose and fell. A great big lump sum. Millions. Having no understanding of Robb’s complex investments, she knew only that the available liquid income from his fees was hardly adequate to provide lump sums and millions.

  She was engaged with these thoughts when the musicians struck up and Dick Devlin asked her to dance. He was a trifle shorter than she, so that his hot, breathy voice made its direct way to her inner ear.

  “Pretty good idea, what Glover was telling you, don’t you think? Naturally, it’s a very special favor. You might think they would want to get as many of these lump sum arrangements as possible, but actually they don’t. They’d much rather have pay-as-you-go. It leaves room to raise fees if they need to, besides avoiding a lot of arguments from people who’d think they owned the place. You people ought to look into it for your boy when the time comes. Or better still, do it now, since the time is bound to come. Or so Eddy told

  “It’s a very fine thing,” Ellen said, “except for the little matter of money.”

  “A very little matter, Ellen. That’s what banks are for. How do you suppose Glover’s done it?”

  “He’s a banker.”

  “You know better than that, Ellen. I’m telling you that it’s available for you.”

  “You’re very kind. I just don’t know what to say.”

  She would have liked to tell him not to press against her, to tell him not to keep repeating her name, and to tell him that she understood him all too well.

  “It’s so sad about your kid, Ellen. Sad that a lovely young woman like you should have a worry like that. So if I can do anything to make life easier for you, I will.”

  “You’re so kind. I don’t know what to say,” she repeated.

  His thigh was held tight against hers, and she felt a furious urge to shove him away. And yet, if he had done this for those other people, what was a dance but a small price?

  “I like you, Ellen. I admire a woman who combines so much intelligence with so much beauty. You don’t often find that. I’d like to be your friend.”

  With the innocence of a very young girl, she exclaimed, “Oh, you already are our friend!”

  “We should really have lunch one day and talk this over. I’ll be away for ten days, but when I get back, we’ll do it.”

  She did not answer, and fortunately, the music stopped.

  When the dinner was over and they were on the way home, she told Robb about the evening’s conversations. “I’m wondering how much truth there is in the whole thing, Glover’s account and Devlin’s promise.”

  “Devlin wouldn’t promise if he didn’t mean it. That’s one thi
ng about him.”

  “And the rest of it? He’s loathsome. Don’t you even mind the way he behaved to me?”

  Robb laughed. “I’d mind if he were thirty years younger and a lot better looking.”

  “What about when he invites me to lunch? What can he possibly be thinking of, knowing you as he does?”

  “To begin with, he doesn’t know me well at all. I hardly ever see him. Second, I’m sure we know what he’s thinking of. And third, he won’t call you because I shall call him first, thank him for the wonderful offer, and accept it on Penn’s behalf, if the offer is not a lot of hot air. We’ll soon find out.”

  “But where are we going to get the money?”

  “I’ll take our savings and borrow the rest from Glover’s bank. No problem at all.”

  Some weeks later, Robb faced Devlin in the latter’s office, a surprisingly small suite of rooms in an old building on the opposite side of the city.

  “All his offices, everywhere, are very modest,” Eddy, who was present, had once explained. “When people come in to do business, he doesn’t like to look super rich. It’s a good image from a political point of view, too.”

  The meeting was short. The trustees of the foundation had prepared the document, funds were to be handed over as soon as, and if, Penn was to be admitted to Wheatley, and Robb having checked with the Fowler partners for advice, had accepted it. Devlin, as a tribute to the philanthropist, had been given the honor of presenting the papers to Robb. All three men were beaming, Robb with the relief of having a great problem so unexpectedly solved, Devlin with the pride of one who had power to alter another human being’s life, and Eddy with the cheerful air of someone who delights in “setting things right.”