At lunch there was only one speech. It was delivered by an ageing Jew, with tired face and strained eyes behind his spectacles, and with a name so famous and so revered in science that it was capable of casting a spell on the people gathered in the room ‒ and so the lunch lacked the heartiness that had been evidenced in the bar.
He made no concessions whatever to Amtec ‒ although he was himself a notable part of the company. He ignored the women in the room, the corporation heads, Amtec Park, the shellac factory, and Burnham Falls. With his words even the glass and aluminium building vanished, and the young and the middle-aged scientists who listened to him felt again that they were dedicated men, removed from, and not even caring for the corporate benefits that surrounded them. He gave their work the importance that E. J. Harrison had failed to do, and they knew their work had to be done, whether it was in the cool, beautiful laboratories up on the hill, or in basements or garages or dirty lofts. For a few seconds he let them see the many men working through the world, struggling with the same problems as they, and they understood their fellowship with them, their eternal involvement, one with the other. He let them see that their struggle was universal, and would go on endlessly. He spoke of truth, and not of profits.
Had it been some years earlier, or the speaker less famous, or had his work not thrown so much weight with the Allies during the war, his words might almost have been taken as treasonable.
Clif found himself quite spontaneously with all the others to applaud the man who now sat quietly in his chair again, looking old and frail.
II
Clif leaned against one of the porch pillars, his hands thrust deep into his pockets; he was feeling slightly more mellow towards Amtec since lunch, and he was consciously grateful for the warmth of the sun on his aching bones. The side porch where he stood faced the parking lot of the club; people were leaving, and he was wryly amused by the elaborate courtesy observable in the ritual. No one swung wildly out of the line of cars, or laid an impatient hand on a horn. The higher echelon were permitted maximum manoeuvring space, and the younger members hung back until they were sure their pulling out would not inconvenience anyone. Clif caught a glimpse of Sally Redmond’s pointed little face as she sat beside her husband in a green Ford. She was not talking, but to Clif she had the look of someone who is holding back until they can have the freedom of privacy. He remembered she had said she liked to talk. Her husband was a dark, rather serious-looking young man, who filled and backed with extreme neatness and dexterity.
Clif was debating whether or not he would go back into the bar when Harriet’s hand fell lightly on his arm. ‘Clif!’
He turned slowly. ‘How’s my girl?’ In the sunlight her clear olive skin reminded him of an old Italian painting; she was smiling, and her eyes were alive. He patted her arm approvingly. ‘You look great ‒ just great!’
She grimaced. ‘I’ll look lots better when I get a mink stole to match all the others. You just watch, Clif! I’m going to learn all the tricks … I’ll wear a hat, and have a cocktail party once a month. You’ll be proud of me, I promise you …’
He winked at her. ‘That’s my girl! If you can’t lick ’em …’
They both laughed together, grateful for the relief of each other’s presence, and the unspoken words they shared. Steve came out of the club house as they stood there.
‘Hi there, Clif!’ He was searching for a cigarette, and eventually produced a crumpled packet, which he offered to Harriet and Clif, who both declined it. As Steve lit his own, Clif thought that after eighteen months of working for Amtec, it was remarkable that Steve still looked like a scientist.
Steve inhaled deeply, and jerked his head back. ‘Great day, isn’t it?’ It was impossible to tell precisely what he was referring to. Then he said, ‘I mean, great day for fishing, Clif.’
‘Oh, come on now, Steve … it’s been so long since you’ve been fishing you can’t tell what’s a great day, and what isn’t.’
The other nodded, treating the words more seriously than Clif had intended. ‘Perhaps you’re right … I don’t seem to have given myself a day off in about five years.’ He gestured, indicating the crowd in the parking lot. ‘Well, maybe things will be different now. Maybe that shiny hunk of laboratory on the hill will function so beautifully I’ll have time to catch up on some sleep, or read a few books … or even do nothing.’ He looked at Harriet. ‘How’d that be for a change? ‒ just do nothing.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ she said lightly. ‘You were born with a problem to solve.’
‘Well,’ Clif said, ‘any time you feel like exchanging it for a fishing-rod, give me a call. I figure the Downside lake is so overstocked with fish it must be just about solid. Hardly anyone from the seminary fishes it, you know …’ His words trailed off, because E. J. Harrison and the old man who had addressed the luncheon walked out of the club house, followed by a small, respectful group. With them were Ed Peters and his wife. Under ordinary circumstances Clif would not have stopped talking, but in Burnham Falls the chances of observing a Nobel Prize winner close at hand were remote, and Clif had a veneration for greatness, and wanted to express it. Steve’s gaze also was fixed on the slight, aged figure, and his expression, for a second, was one of hunger and near-pleading. His lips opened, but he said nothing.
A Cadillac with a uniformed chauffeur waited at the bottom of the steps. The old man shook hands politely, almost humbly, with those about him, entered the car, and waited for E. J. Harrison, whose car it was, to follow him. Harrison, in turn, shook hands all round, and at a gesture from Ed Peters, Steve and Harriet were motioned into the group, and somehow Clif also found himself shaking Harrison’s hand, and even saying something about Burnham Falls being glad to have Amtec. Harrison was smiling and slightly flushed in the face. He lingered over Laura Peters, holding her hand, and telling her that Broadway’s loss was Amtec’s gain. She made a graceful little reply, and he smiled more broadly. The last hand he held was Ed Peters’.
‘Well, Ed ‒ it’s all yours now. We expect great achievements here ‒ and you know, my boy, you can always come to E. J. to talk things over. Any time, my boy ‒ any time.’
When the Cadillac drove away there was a momentary pause in the group. They were waiting for Ed Peters to move. He was a slim dark man, of middle height, with a clever, well-controlled face. He looked first towards Clif.
‘Nice to have met you … Mr. Burrell. I’m happy you could be with us to-day.’ As Clif replied he was aware of a grudging admiration for Peters, who could remember his name without effort, and appear sincere about being glad that an old-fashioned town lawyer had come to the lunch. He watched closely as Peters took Harriet’s hand.
‘Mrs. Dexter, I’m afraid we’re going to be calling on you for a lot of things. Steve’s a very valuable man to us … but we’re going to need your help, too. So many of us are new in Burnham Falls, and we’ll need help from the ones who know the ropes. I know Laura will appreciate …’
It would have been hard not to respond to him, and Harriet smiled warmly. He nodded to the men standing about him.
‘We’ll want to get into the swing of things as quickly as possible … see you all at the Laboratories.’ He saluted them casually, then said to his wife, ‘I’ll get the car, Laura. You wait here.’
Steve also walked across the parking lot to get the Rolls, although it was usually Harriet, and not he, who drove it. The Rolls looked strange among all the new models. Peters noticed it, and began to walk towards it. The two men stood together while Peters questioned Steve about it. As Clif watched them, Peters patted the shining bonnet, and bent to look at the dashboard. It was funny to think of Joe’s old Rolls suddenly becoming a social asset. Clif turned his attention back to the two women beside him.
Seen close to, he decided that Laura Peters had more than the attributes of a beautiful woman. She really was beautiful, with the indestructible lines of a clear jaw, high cheekbones, and large, well-shaped eyes. She was speakin
g to Harriet; she had a low-pitched voice, rather husky ‒ a memorable voice, Clif thought. She carried a blond mink stole nonchalantly, gracefully; it was almost the same colour as her dress.
‘… I think I’ll like living here,’ she was saying to Harriet. ‘I’ve always wanted to live in the country ‒ ever since I was a little girl.’ Then she added, smiling, ‘After all, it’s not exactly the wilderness, is it? I mean … they don’t make it too hard for those of us who’ll be a little homesick for city lights. It’s only a two-hour drive from New York.’ She turned to Clif. ‘Mr. Burrell, I hope all the Amtec activities aren’t going to spoil your beautiful countryside for you. Mrs. Dexter says you’re a great fisherman, and you’ve always lived in Burnham Falls.’
‘I don’t think anything can happen now that will surprise me, Mrs. Peters. Burnham Falls needs Amtec here … and there are still plenty of lakes left for an old fisherman. Do you come from the East, Mrs. Peters?’
‘Yes ‒ that is ‒ no!’ She smiled. ‘Does that sound stupid? I was actually born in Los Angeles, but I’ve grown used to thinking of New York as being my home.’
She broke off, as Ed Peters’ honey-beige Cadillac halted at the steps. When you saw Laura Peters beside it you knew the car had been bought to match her hair. ‘Good-bye, Mr. Burrell. I’d like to hear something about Burnham Falls’ history sometime.’ Then to Harriet she said, ‘Ed and I are moving in over the week-end ‒ I’d like it if we could get together with you and your husband very soon.’ She waved to them briefly as she slammed the car door, and Ed Peters raised his hat to Harriet.
Clif wondered if, behind the polite and easy phrases, he hadn’t caught a tinge of desperation in her voice when she had spoken of New York as being her home; it had been there only momentarily, and he could have been mistaken. He thought of the one successful play, and the three flops, and he wondered if the move to Burnham Falls represented the end of the dream of Broadway for her. He knew it was none of his business, but still he had no conscience about questioning Harriet about Laura Peters as they stood and watched the big car move away. ‘How long have they been married?’
‘I think Steve told me it was a little over a year … she was married before, and so was Ed Peters. He has two daughters who live with them.’
‘What’s Ed Peters’ training ‒ is he a physicist?’
‘No ‒ he’s purely administrative, I think. He moves around among the Amtec subsidiaries.’
‘Oh ‒ a career boy! Is she still doing commercials for Amtec?’
‘I don’t think so ‒ though I suppose I should know. I think she did a whole series just before she married Ed Peters. Did you know she was an actress?’
‘Is or was? When do you stop being an actress?’
‘She’s been in a couple of Broadway shows. She was in a show that ran for eighteen months ‒ The Leaven. Do you remember it? ‒ about six years ago.’
‘Who was she married to before?’
Harriet looked at him, eyebrows lifted in surprise. ‘I’ve never known you to ask so many questions, Clif … She was married to Lawrence Warde. He got a Pulitzer Prize a couple of years ago.’
Clif nodded slowly. ‘And he wrote The Leaven … it fits, doesn’t it?’
‘What fits? … Honestly, Clif, I haven’t seen you so concerned about a woman since I used to bring my teenage heartbreaks to you. Come on … tell me! What has Laura Peters done to you?’
‘I can’t help wondering what the hell a woman like Laura Peters is going to do in Burnham Falls.’
Harriet broke in. ‘There’s Steve ‒ I’ve got to go now.’ On the steps she looked back, and said to him in a low voice, ‘I wouldn’t lose any sleep worrying about Laura Peters if I were you. She doesn’t look as if she suffers any hardships.’
Then she turned and hurried towards the Rolls.
The parking lot was almost empty, and Clif wanted to go back to the bar; instead he made himself go to his car and get in it. He had no inclination at all to return to any of the things that normally occupied his afternoons. There was the Williams brief to study, and the references to look out ‒ it was the only decent case that had come his way in months, and it was stupid of him to neglect it, because people heard about those things. It was subtle and insidious the way news got about a small town that a man was drinking; it wasn’t that he was seen drunk on the streets ‒ in fact, he was never drunk, completely. But people noticed small differences, and sometimes they put it down to the fact that he was growing old, or they knew about his arthritis and guessed he was in pain ‒ but mostly, it seemed, they knew he was drinking. And so he handled less law work, and he noticed, once or twice, that someone had crossed Main Street to avoid meeting him. He was not at all repentant about the amount he drank each day, and he had no intention of altering his habits.
He drove slowly along the road that skirted the golf course, and felt the sudden chill that came down when he entered the thick belt of trees near the gates of the country club. He was out in the sunlight again as he approached the main road. By an effort of will he was able to pass the old Carpenter place without thinking more than fleetingly of Harriet and Joe; he kept his eyes fixed on the daffodils, and even heard himself mutter that they were better this year than he ever remembered them. He glanced backwards over his shoulders for a last look as he rounded the bend, and then had to step on the brake hard to miss a collision with Ted Talbot’s old jeep.
Ted looked up morosely from his task of changing a flat tyre.
‘Hello there, Ted ‒ nearly ran you down! Didn’t see you!’
‘Hello, Mr. Burrell.’ He pushed his peaked cap back on his head. ‘Can’t say it’s any surprise you nearly ran me down ‒ you’re about the fiftieth car in the last twenty minutes nearly did the same thing.’ He spat disgustedly. ‘All I got from most was a blast on the horn.’
Clif nodded, and leaned farther out the window. ‘All coming from the shindig at the country club ‒ just been there myself.’
‘Yeh,’ Ted agreed. ‘I heard about it.’
‘Did …?’ Clif broke off because Chrissie Talbot suddenly came round the off-side of the jeep.
‘Hello, Chrissie.’
‘Hello …’
Ted swung round. ‘Now, Chrissie, you get back there. Don’t want you gettin’ run down.’ Then he beckoned her, and took a clean handkerchief from his pocket. ‘Come here a minute, sweetheart ‒ let Daddy wipe your nose.’
Chrissie Talbot was golden-haired and doll-like, with delicate features and limbs, and large eyes that were more green than blue, like her sister, Jeannie’s. She submitted patiently to Ted’s ministrations, but kept her gaze fixed on Clif. She knew Clif well, because in good weather she always accompanied her father on his jobs. She had come to anticipate the candy Clif gave to her every Wednesday, spring to fall, when Ted cut the front and side lawn at Clif’s house on Main Street.
Ted put the handkerchief away, and patted the child’s fluffy, pale hair.
‘I’m sorry, Chrissie,’ Clif said. ‘You caught me unawares. No candy to-day.’
The child smiled shyly, but said nothing. She rarely had much to say to anyone except her own family. She played contentedly by herself while Ted did his chores, and Clif had watched her and guessed there existed whole worlds in Chrissie’s imagination that kept her quietly absorbed. She was an even-tempered, self-contained little girl, who seemed as yet quite unspoiled by the attention she got from the families Ted worked for. She put her thumb in her mouth now, and sucked reflectively.
‘She’s growing, Ted ‒ she gets taller every time I see her.’
‘Yeh,’ Ted said fondly. ‘She’s smart, too, like Jeannie. She’ll be four on June seventeenth. Jeannie’s graduating ’bout the same time. Kids all growin’ up ‒ I tell you, I don’t know where the years are going to.’ He shook his head regretfully, but his rugged face relaxed with pride as he contemplated his two daughters.
‘Be no time at all before Chrissie’s graduating too,’ Clif acknowl
edged. Then his tone changed. ‘Hear the speeches in the square at noon, Ted?’
‘Nope! Ain’t got no time nor no inclination to listen to their speeches. Man’s got to make a livin’.’
Clif raised his eyebrows. ‘I should think Amtec could help you turn a dollar. A lot of new people and houses up in Amtec Park … you should do a bit of business up that way.’
Ted spat again with more emphasis. ‘Sons o’ bitches! ‒ they’ve called in their own contractors from Elmbury. Every house pays a flat fee ‒ gets their lawn taken care of, trees and shrubs planted ‒ the lot. They’re the same outfit got the job lookin’ after the grounds of the research place and the nursery school and the medical centre. They’ve got a load of equipment and a team of guys. Move in, do the whole place in a day ‒ move out. They’ve got a year-round contract, and every single house has signed up.’
‘That’s too bad, Ted. I thought the whole idea of the hoopla in the square this morning was to let us know that the town was going to benefit from Amtec’s coming here.’
‘Yeh, that’s what I thought too, but them sons o’ bitches didn’t give me a look in. I ain’t got no fancy equipment, and I ain’t got no team of guys …’
Clif nodded slowly. ‘How’s business been, Ted? You making out?’
Ted directed a stream of tobacco juice towards the ditch. ‘Yeh ‒ I’m makin’ out all right. They give me pretty steady work out at Downside helpin’ the regular gardeners, and they’ve been givin’ me handyman jobs during the winter. That’s when it’s tough ‒ winter. A man’s got to look out for what he can get. I’m sending Jeannie to business school at Elmbury after she graduates, and that costs money.’ Then his face relaxed again. ‘But I tell you, Mr. Burrell, that Jeannie … she’s quite a girl. Gets top marks all the time.’
Corporation Wife Page 4
