Sins of the Fathers

by Susan Howatch

  He hung up. We waited. Neither of us spoke, although I knew what was coming. In trying to tell him how to run his firm, I had made a huge mistake, which Cornelius was quite unable to stop himself compounding. Any challenge to his authority always compelled him to make some gesture, which would unequivocally underline his power.

  Scott slipped quietly into the room and closed the door. “Yes, sir?”

  “Sam and I were very pleased by how hard you worked over the Hammaco bid,” said Cornelius courteously, “and I think the time has come to offer you a partnership.”

  “Cornelius!” He smiled radiantly and his black eyes shone.

  I looked away as they shook hands, but finally I too had to offer my hand in friendship. “Congratulations, Scott!” I said. “Nothing could please me more!”

  “Thank you, Sam!” His handclasp was firm and unhurried.

  Cornelius said they would discuss the details later, and after Scott had withdrawn exuberantly I sat down again without a word. The remaining brandy in my glass tasted bitter.

  “Now, Sam,” said Cornelius mildly, “I’ve come to the conclusion you’re seriously overwrought, so I’ve decided you need a little extra vacation. I’ll put through a call to La Guardia field right away and have my private plane placed at your disposal for the weekend. Why don’t you take Teresa down to Bermuda?”

  I managed to say, “Thanks, but we’ve got tickets for South Pacific tomorrow night.”

  “You have? Wonderful! That should help you forget your problems for a few hours! And talking of those problems, I think it would be better if we didn’t discuss the future any more right now—it wouldn’t be fair to you in your present state.”

  “Neil—”

  “Oh, don’t think I don’t understand! I understand absolutely! You’re suffering from a crisis of confidence, the kind of thing which usually overtakes men of fifty, not men in their prime like you and me, but you’ll get over it, Sam. You just need a little time to recover from this visit to Germany, but once you’ve recovered, you’ll be viewing things from a sane, rational point of view again and then you’ll see very clearly how foolish it is to talk of taking a leave of absence in order to pander to some unfortunate obsession you have as the result of being a German-American.”

  “But—”

  “Relax! Don’t you worry about a thing, Sam! And don’t you think I won’t stand by you through this crisis. Believe me, I’m not going to let you mess up your life by doing something you’ll regret later! After all, you’re not just my partner, are you? You’re as good as my brother, so in the circumstances I consider it my moral duty to look after you and save you from yourself—”

  “Neil, I can’t take that moral-duty crap from you right now, I’m sorry. Just cut it out.”

  Cornelius sighed. “I thought it was appropriate, since—unless I’ve misunderstood you—you’ve just been trying to lecture me on the subject of my moral standards. Sam, I don’t want to get too tough with you when you’re in such a low state, but maybe I’d better tell you I’m not too interested in listening to you preach sermons. If I want to hear a sermon, I’ll go to church. ‘Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and unto God the things that are God’s,’ said Christ, meaning churches and banks should be kept separate, and that was damned smart advice. Now, I know I’m no saint here, but outside these walls I’ve always tried my best to live a decent life, and if God’s doing any kind of accounting at all, he’ll see at a glance that my life’s like a double-entry system—and I think he’ll realize too, once he tots up the debits and credits, that there are far worse guys than me around. … Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “I ought to. I’ve heard it often enough.”

  “Then do me a big favor, would you, and apply what I’ve just said to this business of Scott. Maybe it’s possible to criticize me for my handling of the Sullivan affair, but if I was ever at fault, I’ve made amends through Scott. I’ve brought that boy up since he was fourteen years old. I’ve done everything I possibly could for him, and he’s a good boy, Sam. Get that into your head, and do please try not to be so neurotic about him in future. I’m proud of the way Scott’s turned out, and if you think for one moment that he isn’t grateful to me for picking up the pieces after Steve had made such a disgusting mess of his paternal obligations—”

  The intercom buzzed, and when Cornelius flicked a switch we heard his secretary say, “Mr. Van Zale, I have your sister on the phone, and she wants to speak to Mr. Keller. Is Mr. Keller still in conference with you?”

  Cornelius and I looked at each other, both equally surprised.

  “Yes, he is. Just a moment,” said Cornelius abruptly, and leaning forward, he handed me the receiver of the phone so that I could take the call from Emily Sullivan.

  Chapter Five

  I

  “I WANTED TO TALK to you about Vicky,” said Emily Sullivan at lunch the next day. “Cornelius has told me everything. He finally broke down and confessed.”

  “He did? Uh … pardon me, Emily, but could you possibly …?”

  “Elucidate? I’m referring, of course, to this thoroughly misguided suggestion that Vicky should marry you.”

  Almost twenty hours had elapsed since I had received the disastrous news from the president of Hammaco, and Emily and I had just finished lunching at my apartment. It was two o’clock on Saturday afternoon.

  I had thought it odd that Emily had wanted to see me, but the idea that she might discuss some topic other than her niece was one I had never seriously considered. Like Alicia, Emily had always been on good terms with me, but over the years our relationship had remained formal.

  Emily was forty-three and looked it. She had not kept up with feminine fashions, and in consequence her clothes seemed dowdy. She had become plump, and although not plain, she somehow managed to look nondescript. Twenty years ago any stranger would have noticed the family resemblance between Emily and Cornelius, but now it was possible to look at them without realizing they were brother and sister. Cornelius had effortlessly held on to his good looks; Emily, apparently just as effortlessly, had let hers slip away.

  Yet still there were moments when she reminded me of him, and sometimes I thought that the more dissimilar they became in looks, the more alike they became in personality. Emily, a ruthless administrator, dominated numerous civic committees in Velletria, the wealthy Cincinnati suburb where she had grown up, and according to Cornelius her days were filled with charitable duties which required hard work, determination, and an outstanding ability to ride roughshod over any obstacles which stood in her way.

  “As soon as Cornelius confessed his scheme to engineer a marriage between you and Vicky,” said Emily, toying with the glass of hock which she had hardly touched during the meal, “I knew it was vital that I should talk to you.”

  “But, Emily,” I said, “you can relax! Neil himself has assured me that he’s abandoned the idea, and even if he hadn’t, I wouldn’t go along with it. I’m very much involved with someone else.”

  Emily visibly sagged in her chair with relief. “Thank you, Sam. That’s exactly what I wanted to find out. I wasn’t sure how far to believe Cornelius when he said he’d given up the idea, and knowing that he’s more than capable of manipulating people to the altar under the mistaken conviction that it’s in everyone’s best interests, I felt I couldn’t rest until I’d spoken to you. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you of the part Cornelius played in promoting my own marriage to Steve, and what horrified me so much about this latest matrimonial meddling of his was how easily such a marriage could happen if you were a willing accomplice. It would only take the minimum of effort on your part to make Vicky fall in love with you.”

  “Well, I … Emily, aren’t you exaggerating a little? I’m flattered, of course, by the implied compliment, but—”

  “Come, Sam, false modesty doesn’t suit you. I don’t think Cornelius, being a man, has any idea how attractive you could be to a young girl like Vicky
if you put your mind to it. Vicky’s by no means a stupid girl, but she’s very young still, and her upbringing has, to put it mildly, left a lot to be desired. She’s wide open to the attentions of a smart sophisticated man of her father’s age whose celebrated professional charm has been legendary for years.”

  “Why, Emily, how very unpleasant you make me sound!”

  “That wasn’t my intention. I was just trying to be honest, and besides, I happen to believe that fundamentally you’re a decent man who wouldn’t want to hurt Vicky in any way. The answer to Vicky’s problem, of course, is education. There’s a long tradition in our family that the women should be well-educated, and if Vicky is taught how to think properly, she’ll be able to cope with the difficulties inherent in her position as an heiress. She must go to college. Then maturity will follow, as night follows day.”

  I refrained from reminding Emily that her own studies at Wellesley had not saved her from the mistake of marrying Steve Sullivan.

  “You don’t share Alicia’s view,” I said tentatively, “that education is a waste of time for a girl whose obvious destiny in life is to be a wife and mother?”

  “Well, I’m devoted to dear Alicia,” said Emily, finishing her hock with an effort, “but one really cannot expect useful comments on the education of intelligent girls from a woman whose favorite occupation appears to be listening to soap operas on the radio.”

  “I think Neil also has doubts about whether college is the answer to Vicky’s problems.”

  “Cornelius,” said Emily, “should, pause to examine his past. It was a pity he never went to college! If he hadn’t been so severely undereducated as the result of his asthma, perhaps he wouldn’t have got in such a mess when he was young! That disastrous first marriage to Vivienne, and then …” Her lips pursed at the memory of Cornelius’ scandalous elopement with Alicia. “Cornelius was never the same after Uncle Paul started paying him all that attention,” she said. “My dear mother often remarked upon it when she was alive. Cornelius changed … but he was such a dear little boy when he was young, and so sweet-natured!”

  I raised my eyebrows wryly, but she wasn’t looking at me. “Education,” she repeated with a severity no doubt intended to counterbalance this unexpected display of sentiment, “is the answer. With a college education, Vicky will be better equipped to settle down, marry, and have children, just as all women should. … No, I won’t have more coffee, thank you, Sam. I must go back to Fifth Avenue. I promised I’d take Vicky shopping this afternoon to buy clothes for Europe. The passages are booked for Wednesday, so there’s very little time.”

  “I’m glad your girls will be joining you tomorrow. Remember me to them, won’t you? I doubt if I’d recognize Lori now! Fourteen, is she, or fifteen?”

  “Almost sixteen. And Rose is eighteen.”

  “You don’t say! Well, how time flies. …”

  We said good-bye with polite relief, and I was just retrieving the unfinished bottle of hock from the dining room when the telephone rang.

  “Sam,” said Teresa, “I hate to tell you, but I’m calling with bad news. …”

  II

  I thought of Cornelius saying: “Trouble always comes in threes.”

  “Why, what is it, honey? What’s the problem?”

  “I’ve got some kind of virus and I’m feeling like Mississippi mud. I don’t see how I can make it to South Pacific tonight. I’m very, very sorry.”

  There was a pause. I could not immediately master my disappointment, but at last I said, “I’m sorry as well. That’s too bad.” A picture flashed through my mind of Teresa lying on her bed, the canvases stacked along one wall beyond the easel, the sunlight slanting through the skylight onto her tousled hair. “I hope you feel better real soon,” I said in a friendly, concerned voice, and suddenly remembered Emily referring to my “professional charm” as if it were a pair of gloves that could be pulled on and peeled off at will.

  “Well, I’ve just taken three aspirin, and with any luck I’ll pass out for a few hours and wake feeling better. … I’ll call you tomorrow, honey, okay?”

  “Sure.” I stared blankly at the forty-foot living room designed, decorated, and furnished for the man I was supposed to have become.

  “I must see you,” I said suddenly. “I must.”

  “Of course. We’ll get together just as soon as I can stand up without feeling like I’m dying. Now, Sam honey, I don’t want to hang up on you, but …”

  “I understand. You just rest up and take care of yourself, and we’ll talk later.”

  I hung up and sat for a long time looking at the silent phone. After I had finished the wine I threw the tickets for South Pacific in the trash basket, but halfway through my next cigarette I retrieved them. The thought of all the trouble I had taken to get those tickets made me reluctant to throw them away, and I started calling my friends to see if they had made plans for the evening. Everyone seemed to be busy. Finally, exhausted by the effort of making polite conversation after the offer of the tickets had been declined, I abandoned my friends and tried to think of an acquaintance who would not care if I sounded unsociable. Immediately I remembered Scott, and decided that after my disastrous show of hostility it might well be politic to make a friendly gesture in his direction.

  “Hello?” said Scott, picking up the receiver in his East Side apartment.

  “This is Sam. Could you use a couple of tickets for South Pacific tonight?”

  “Thanks, but Broadway musicals just aren’t my ball game. I’m sure someone else would appreciate the show far more than I would.”

  “Can you think of anyone? I’m about to throw the tickets away.”

  “Let me see.” Scott applied himself to the problem as if it were some difficulty that had arisen at the office. “Could Cornelius go with Vicky?” he suggested finally. “It might take their minds off their joint troubles for a couple of hours.”

  “I happen to know Cornelius and Alicia are going out to dinner tonight. You wouldn’t want to be noble and take Vicky yourself, would you, Scott?”

  “I’m dining with Emily. Why don’t you take Vicky? Or are you the one who’s had to cancel this date?”

  “No, it was the other party who canceled.”

  “Then there’s your answer. Take Vicky and do everyone a favor, including yourself! You don’t want to miss this show, do you?”

  “I guess not,” I said. “No, I don’t.” Okay, thanks for the suggestion—I’ll think about it.”

  I fixed myself a highball and sat listening to my Glenn Miller tape as I considered the situation. I had nothing to lose by following Scott’s advice. Since Vicky was due to leave for Europe within days, no one could suspect me of embarking on some sinister seduction campaign if I took her out, and unlike the various other women whom I might have asked to take Teresa’s place, she would not expect me to go to bed with her. It would be an unemotional evening free from sexual pressure. I thought I could just about tolerate it. It seemed the right thing to do.

  Picking up the receiver, I started to dial.

  III

  South Pacific.

  Rodgers and Hammerstein.

  The curtain rose on Mary Martin. The curtain rose on Ezio Pinza. The curtain rose on actors dressed in American uniforms, and suddenly I was no longer part of that packed house west of Broadway. I was three thousand miles away in the quiet peaceful countryside near Munich, and in a terrible fusion of my conflicting nationalities, the G.I. at my side was whistling “Lili Marlene.”

  IV

  My German relatives were all killed in the war. In 1940 my cousin Erich, a pilot in the Luftwaffe, was shot down in the Battle of Britain. In 1942 I heard from friends in Zurich that my family’s little house in Düsseldorf had been bombed and my aunt was dead. In 1943 my uncle’s factory was destroyed. He was taken to a hospital but did not survive. Kristina, my favorite cousin, was the only one who lived till the end of the war. I had no communication from her, but after V-J Day I received a brief let
ter saying she was working in a hospital in Munich; she had requested a transfer from the army hospital in Düsseldorf after her mother’s death, and one of her best friends had been transferred with her. It was this friend who wrote to me three months later to say that Kristina too was dead, killed accidentally in some shooting incident. I wrote back at once for further details, but when I received no answer I knew I would eventually have to summon the nerve to find out exactly what had happened.

  It took me four years to summon that nerve. Men came home from Europe and described appalling conditions, and it was not until 1949 that I thought matters might have improved sufficiently to make a visit bearable. I flew to Europe in mid-March.

  I had no trouble tracing the girl who had written to me, since I had met her before the war in Düsseldorf and I was able to contact her through her family. Having returned to Düsseldorf, she had given up nursing and was working as a hostess in one of the new nightclubs which served black-market smoked salmon at twelve dollars a head to the hoods who could afford it. She did not want to talk to me, but I insisted that she have a drink with me at my hotel.

  It took me an hour of steady questioning before she told me what had happened. There had been a party. Kristina had left late, and when she was only halfway home she had been shot. She had walked into a trap set for a gang operating on the black market, and the military police had opened fire without realizing she was innocent.

  “Military police?” I repeated, to make sure I had not misunderstood.

  “Yes. They were soldiers.” And the girl had looked me straight in the eyes and said in English, “Your soldiers. They were Americans.”

  I somehow got out of Düsseldorf. I went to Bonn and Cologne before I realized I had to get out of the entire Rhine valley. I headed south, an anonymous tourist who spoke perfect German; I looked down from the hill at Nuremberg on the ghastly ruins of the old city, and I walked among the shattered streets of Munich where Kristina had spent her final days. I saw the American soldiers in the streets but I did not speak to them, and they, thinking I was German, did not speak to me. I remained alone, locked up in the isolation of my grief, until one night at my hotel I met a foreigner whose German was as flawless as my own, and we began to drink together.