Treasures

by Belva Plain

“You and Connie—you’re the same. Full of energy. Full of life.”

  “Well, life’s exciting, isn’t it? I never think I’ll live long enough to see everything I want to see or do everything I want to do, especially in this business. Sometimes I think I actually feel the adrenaline pouring.” Eddy riffled through the documents that lay before him. “Let’s see, have you signed all these? Yes, you have. I’m glad you’ve finally cut your ties to that stuffy bank. Steady growth, my foot! Eight percent, and what’s left after taxes? Wait till you see your tax bill at this year’s end! You won’t recognize yourself, Richard.”

  “I was wondering whether you might do something like this for some cousins of mine. There’s one in particular in Florida. He’s got five children, and it’s a struggle. I don’t believe he’s ever invested in a limited partnership. It might be just what he needs.”

  “By all means. Call him up. Want to use the phone now? I’ll leave the room.”

  “No, no, Eddy. I’ll do it at home tonight. Come to think of it, I could get up a whole list of people, friends in Texas and people in my office too. You’d be helping them, and I guess they’d be helping you. That’s the way it works, isn’t it?”

  “The way it works.” Eddy was pleased. “And I’ll appreciate the new business very much. It’s awfully generous of you to go to so much trouble.”

  “What trouble? Anyway, people in families are supposed to do for each other, aren’t they? At least in Texas they are.”

  “In Ohio too,” Eddy said cheerfully.

  Richard stood up. “Well, it’s been a good day. I feel I’ve made a good start. Now I’m off for home.”

  “And I’m off to the country. Spending the week at the club. I give myself a week’s vacation twice a year. I need it.”

  “Great. Have fun. You deserve it.” The men shook hands, and Richard left.

  “What a decent guy,” Eddy thought. “There’s something innocent about him. You wouldn’t think he came from Houston. You’d think he came from a two-horse town like mine.”

  The club had quickly assumed the feel of home. When a young man, a not bad-looking young man, has a sense of humor, plays excellent tennis, is a good dancer, is friendly, and has some money, he can be at home anywhere, Eddy reflected as he lay alongside the pool.

  On his left the golf course, a glaze of summer green, undulated toward some distant bushy hills. On his right below the terrace stood the line of umbrella tables, brightly orange. A lively chatter surrounded him.

  “Gosh, it’s beautiful!” he exclaimed.

  His friend and favorite tennis partner answered with a deprecation.

  “You think this place is? I can show you a club that makes this look like a dump.”

  “Not possible!”

  “Oh, yes, it is. This place is vulgar, if you want to know. Nouveau riche, and it shows.”

  Eddy set his cold beer aside and came to attention. “If it’s that bad, how come you’re a member?”

  “Frankly, because they wouldn’t take me into Buttonwood. I’m nouveau riche.” Terry laughed. “And not all that ‘riche’ either.”

  Now Eddy wanted to know more. “What are the differences between the two? Give me an example.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. It’s the people, I guess, the way they look, who they are.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “My sister married a member of Buttonwood.” Terry laughed again. “She married up. I’ll tell you what, I’ll ask her to get two girls for us and invite us to their Saturday dinner dance. It’ll be a change, it’ll be fun, and you’ll see for yourself what I mean. All right with you?”

  “It’s fine with me,” said Eddy.

  Buttonwood really was different. Age and elegance, a slightly sober elegance, registered their immediate impression upon Eddy’s sharp eyes. The house had very likely been the summer mansion of some railroad, oil, or banking tycoon back in the 1890s. No contemporary decorator had had anything to do with this dark, carved paneling or these gently faded English chintzes.

  Apparently, no contemporary fashion dictator had had contact with the women either. They looked, he thought at once as he followed Terry through the crowd on the porch, they looked—well, underdressed, might one say? At his club on Saturday night the women glittered in jewels and dresses fit for an opera ball, jewels and dresses such as one saw in the Sunday papers’ society photographs.

  Terry, having found their party, was making introductions.

  “And this is my good friend, Eddy Osborne.”

  The sister was a cordial older feminine copy of Terry. Her husband, whose name Eddy had not quite caught—it sounded like “Truscott”—was thin and bald; he had a lordly manner and cold eyes. He dislikes me, Eddy thought at once. To hell with him.

  The two young ladies, Marjorie Somebody and Pamela Somebody, were both tall; they had attractive faces and straight hair fastened with barrettes. Preppie types; one saw their photographs shining in the newspapers and glossy magazines, taken at garden weddings, dog shows, and gymkhanas. One wore white linen, and the other yellow.

  Since Terry, who was after all entitled to first choice, had immediately opened conversation with the yellow one, Eddy was left with the white one.

  “I’m Pamela,” she said, giving him a quick smile, “in case you’ve gotten the names mixed, for which I wouldn’t blame you.”

  That was nice of her. He had indeed thought that the other one was Pamela.

  “You have no drink,” she said.

  Truscott—or was Truscott the last name?—overheard. “There’s not much time for drinks. You’re late as usual, Terry.”

  “I know. I’m sorry, but I come here so seldom that I forget the way.”

  Touché! There’s no love lost between those two, Eddy thought. Unexpectedly, he met Pam’s eyes. They were laughing. Old prude. Icicle. Her lips formed the words silently. He winked, she winked back, and he went in to dinner feeling rather happy.

  An older couple, almost certainly the Truscotts’ original guests before Terry had invited himself, was at the table. This other gentleman, whose name mumbled by Truscott sounded like “Ripley” or “Brearley,” was apparently a stockbroker, because Truscott and he launched at once into an informed discussion of the market. Eddy was torn between the attractions of Pamela and the attractions of that discussion. “Federal Reserve,” “gross national product,” and “earnings ratio” kept crossing the table to meet his ears.

  Finally, he had to express an opinion. There had been a moment’s pause between the two men, and he took advantage of it.

  “I couldn’t help but hear,” he said. “You’re right, there’s no doubt about hotel stocks or limited partnerships in hotels. This is the new age of travel.”

  Truscott’s cold eyes stared at Eddy’s striped tie. “It’s good to know you agree with us,” he said.

  “Are you in the market these days?” asked Ripley, or Brearley. His tone was kindly, as if, Eddy sensed, he wanted to atone for the other man’s sarcasm.

  Terry gave a boom of a laugh. “Oh, slightly, just slightly!” Shaking with his delight, he turned to his brother-in-law. “Osborne and Company? You’ve never heard of Osborne and Company?”

  “Certainly I have,” Truscott answered stiffly. “Is—”

  “He is. Vernon Edward Osborne himself.”

  Truscott flushed. “You didn’t say—”

  “I know. I introduced him as Eddy, which is what he’s called.”

  “Well, I’m certainly happy to know you,” said Truscott, recovering. “I had no idea—”

  No, Eddy said to himself. If you hadn’t assumed I was just one of Terry’s insignificant friends, you son of a bitch, you’d have looked at me very differently. But aloud, in his most gracious manner, he replied that he was happy to be here this evening and to meet Terry’s family and friends.

  Money, money, he thought as he turned back to Pamela. Eddy Osborne without it is nothing. But I knew that, didn’t I? And that’s why I le
ft Ohio.

  “What’s Osborne and Company? Is it stupid of me not to know?” asked Pamela.

  “Finance. Investments. And it’s not stupid of you. Why should you know? You probably know a hundred things that that old fossil doesn’t know.”

  “Well … horses, dogs, animals, the environment. All that stuff. That’s what I’m involved with. But he hurt you, didn’t he? You shouldn’t let people like him hurt you.”

  “Thanks. I won’t.” He looked into the clear gaze of long, almond-shaped gray eyes under a rosy-tanned low forehead. “Dogs and horses, you said? Tell me about them.”

  “Well, I love horses. I teach at a riding school—”

  “How old are you? Where do you live? Do you mind my questions?”

  “I’m twenty-two, and I live with my mother not far from here, and no, I don’t mind your questions.”

  “I’m twenty-seven, and I live and work in New York. I live alone. I’d like to get the hell out of here so we can talk, Pamela. That is, if you’d like to,” he added quickly.

  “I would, but obviously we can’t. And I’m called Pam.”

  “How about tomorrow? May I take you to dinner?” When she nodded, he gave her a pen and a scrap of paper. “Write down your phone number and some directions to your house. Six-thirty all right?”

  “Fine. And now we’d better join the general conversation,” she said very properly. “We’re being rude.”

  He understood the propriety. She had breeding and manners. The Eastern Establishment, that was the expression. She had that air. And heart too. The way she’d seen through the old snob.

  She’s something new, he thought when he left her that night.

  The back road was not far from the Sound. He had driven through here before and knew his way. The houses were far apart, most of them the bulky, brown-shingled summer “cottages,” secluded at the end of a lane and built by New York families in the early years of the century. Turning into such a lane, he passed through a tunnel of overgrown, dark shrubbery and stopped in front of a wraparound porch from which the paint was peeling. The place had seen better days.

  Pam, with a shining smile, came down the steps. Looking at her, he felt curiously lighthearted.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” he said, “because I’ve made a reservation at what I’m told is the best French restaurant within fifty miles.”

  “I’m always hungry.”

  “It certainly doesn’t show,” he answered with another quick appraisal of her body, which was lean, well curved, and taut.

  “Exercise. I’m a sports freak, but mostly, as I told you, I ride. Do you?”

  “Ride?” Eddy, having never been on a horse, hesitated. “I haven’t ridden in years, but I’ve been thinking that I’d like to start doing it again.”

  “Oh, do! It’s marvelous. There’s nothing like getting up early, while the world’s still asleep, except for yourself, the horse, and the birds. What I like best is riding along the beach.”

  She had a pleasing, animated way of speaking, so he encouraged her with his comments and questions. He had insisted upon having a very private table at a corner window overlooking the twilight garden, and there they sat undisturbed until long after black darkness fell. By that time he had learned many things, among them that she had been a debutante, that her father had died, and that her mother had given up their New York apartment to economize.

  “Mother gave a dance for me at the Pierre. She really couldn’t afford it, and I wouldn’t have cared if I hadn’t had it, but tradition means a lot to her. Our family has lots of traditions. It used to have money, too, a couple of generations ago, but somehow the money just ebbed away, got less and less. I never understand how that can happen.”

  “Oh, it happens very easily,” Eddy said. “Takes no effort at all.”

  They both laughed. “I really don’t mind,” Pam said. “I like my life here. The riding lessons pay well enough, and what can be better than getting paid for doing what you love to do?”

  “What about the winters out here?”

  “We have indoor rings when we can’t go out on the trails.”

  “And what do you do when—” He broke off. “Please excuse me. I suddenly realize I’ve been asking too many questions. It’s a failing of mine. When I meet a person I like, I always want to know everything about him right away. I’m sorry.”

  “No, please! You were asking me what I do when …?”

  “When you’re not busy around horses.”

  “Oh, I’m a volunteer. My mother calls me a professional volunteer. I work at the animal shelter, and I’m on a committee to save the wetlands, and the Sierra Club, and stuff like that. I get really enraged when I see developers tearing into this earth. They’ll rip it apart until there’ll be nothing green left. We people who live here all year round love this place. It’s not just a vacation spot to us.”

  In his daily travels between the office tower and the apartment tower, Eddy had to confess that he had been giving very little thought of late to whether the earth was green or not. He tried to think of another woman or man he had ever met who was worried about wetlands or stray animals, and could not. These must be chiefly the concerns of people who have owned land in the same place for years and cherished it, he thought. Interesting. Another world, not like any world he had ever known. And he wondered what she might be thinking about him.…

  Driving back to his club, he reviewed the evening. Should he try to see her again? It was a long way out there from his club, and he certainly had no dearth of women who were more conveniently situated. She wasn’t a tremendous beauty. As to the possibilities of sex, in spite of the fact that she obviously had a splendid body, he had a feeling that she would be rather cool in that respect. And yet there was something about her.…

  He was still in this state of mild concern when he walked into the club. There in the lobby someone hailed him.

  “Osborne?” An elderly man, one of Mr. Hartman’s friends, went up to Eddy. “I’m Julian Jasper. You’ve met me at the Hartmans’, in case you don’t remember me.”

  Eddy held out his hand. “Of course I remember you, Mr. Jasper.”

  Anyone would, anyone who was at all in the know. Having made his fortune years ago in Bolivian tin, Jasper, now retired, had become one of the city’s prominent philanthropists, with a seat on the boards of a dozen charities.

  “I’ve been wanting to talk to you. Can we sit down for a minute?”

  A request for a donation was sure to follow, but that was all right. There was enough coming in, and it was only right that some of it should go out. So Eddy waited.

  “You may have heard that I’m to be the new chairman of Mount Mercy’s board.”

  “Yes, I read about it in the Times, Mr. Jasper.”

  “Well, I have a big job ahead, Osborne. It’s an old hospital, its needs are tremendous, and I need help to meet them.”

  “I understand.” Twenty-five thousand? Eddy was thinking. Fifty?

  “The board is too old. What I mean is, most of us have been on it for years, we’ve gotten no new blood for ten years at least, and I intend to bring some in. New blood and young blood with fresh ideas. Would you be interested?”

  Eddy was unsure that he had heard correctly. “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand,” he said.

  “I’m offering you a place on Mount Mercy’s board.”

  He was flabbergasted. Membership in this most distinguished body, he who had come as a nobody to this city? Naturally, a very large donation would be expected; a hundred thousand, he quickly guessed; but it would be worth it ten times over in honor and prestige.

  “I’m overwhelmed, Mr. Jasper. Of course I accept. Who wouldn’t? Yes, I’m overwhelmed. There’s no other word for it.”

  The other was pleased. “You’ll be a great asset to us, Osborne. Hartman’s said fine things about you, and of course, I’ve heard your name mentioned most favorably on Wall Street. Yes, yes, young blood. I’d like to introduce you to th
e other members someday soon. Lunch at the Harvard Club, perhaps?”

  “Wonderful. Any day. I’m delighted, Mr. Jasper. Delighted.”

  As always, he had to keep himself from whistling all the way up to his room. Well, well, Vernon Edward Osborne, you’re moving ahead.

  Then, all of a sudden, his thoughts went back to Pam Granger, and he made a connection. He could almost hear the connection click in his head. The real reason for his hesitation about calling her again was a very simple one: He had been afraid of rejection. He had been afraid that she was, after all, too different, too far out of his reach. A strange insecurity for Eddy Osborne, who would have said that insecurity was one feeling from which he rarely suffered! But this brief encounter downstairs just now had lofted his place in the world to a new height. And he reached for the telephone.

  “Pam? I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “No, I’m reading in bed.”

  In bed. Long hair loose on the pillow. White nightgown sheer enough to see through to the rosy flesh.

  “I don’t know about you, Pam, but I had a great time tonight. Would you care to repeat it?”

  “Why, I’d love to, Eddy.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Fine. Shall I pick you up at six?”

  “I have a thought,” she said. “It’s going to be another beautiful day, so how would you like to meet me at the stables and go riding? I’m free all afternoon.”

  Whatever had he told her? He seemed to remember having given the impression that he knew all about horsemanship but had simply been away from it for a time. What a fix! He had a vague recollection of having read that one mounted on the animal’s left and rose and sank in the saddle as the creature moved. That was called “posting.” And that was all he knew.

  “Eddy? Are you there?”

  “Yes. Oh, yes. Pam, I was only thinking, my riding clothes are at home.”

  “Oh, dear!”

  He thought quickly: Buy an outfit the first thing in the morning, then wing it. You’ve always been athletic, and it can’t be that hard.

  “I’ll buy some stuff in the morning. My old stuff’s probably moth-eaten, anyway. I haven’t had it on in so long. And be prepared. I’ll be stiff as a board, I’m sure.”