Sins of the Fathers

by Susan Howatch

  I paused but heard only silence. Cornelius seemed to grow a little smaller, a little older. He fidgeted with his tie again and took another pill. He was no longer looking at me.

  “Look,” I said, somehow finding a level, reasonable tone of voice, “I’m sorry. I know Sebastian put his own head in the noose and gave you no choice but to fire him, but I concede I was to blame by upsetting Sebastian in the first place. I encroached on territory which he obviously still regards as his, but Cornelius, believe me, Sebastian was the last person I ever wanted to know about the latest developments in my private life! It was all a terrible accident!”

  “I thought you didn’t have a private life.”

  “Well, no … that’s true, but—”

  “This was the exception that proves the rule? Okay, forget it. It doesn’t matter. I’m not interested in your private life.”

  “Perhaps I should take this opportunity to stress to you—”

  “Don’t bother.”

  “—that I’m not out to marry Vicky—”

  “Marry Vicky? You? Take on a divorcée with five kids? Don’t make me laugh!”

  “Well, I can see that you may now be feeling worried about Vicky, but—”

  “No, I’m not worried about Vicky,” said Cornelius unexpectedly. “Vicky’s not so dumb as people think she is. I’m worried about you.”

  “I assure you there’s no need—”

  “Don’t hand me any more of that garbage.”

  “Goddammit, I’m not interested in going to Reischman’s! I only said that because you were so hostile!”

  “But Jake’s offered you that job.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And you could make life hell for me if I now fired you.”

  “Christ almighty, Cornelius, just calm down, would you? I don’t want to make your life hell! I’m not Dracula, I’m not Frankenstein, I’m not Jack the—”

  “I know who you are,” said Cornelius.

  “Then in that case stop behaving as if I was some kind of hired assassin! Now, please—let’s try to straighten things out so that we can both stop being so upset. The situation’s simply this: I want to stay in the firm for reasons which we both know inside out. I’ve always done a good job here, and I’ll continue to do a good job if I stay—there’s no reason why you should doubt my ultimate loyalty just because Jake offers me a job, I stupidly lose my temper with you, and Sebastian throws a neurotic scene. Listen, let me make a gesture of good faith to show you how anxious I am to preserve the status quo and maintain the good relationship we’ve always had with each other; let me offer to make amends for my contribution to this disastrous scene with Sebastian. What shall I do? You tell me. Just give me the order and I’ll carry it out to the very best of my ability.”

  “Great,” said Cornelius. “Thanks. You can go to Europe and pick up the pieces Sebastian’s left behind.”

  “Sure. How soon do you want me to go?”

  “As soon as you damned well can.”

  “Okay. And when I come back—”

  “You won’t be coming back.”

  I felt as if I’d been slugged below the belt. “You mean …”

  “I mean that this is no brief two-week vacation in London. We’ll make it a four-year assignment—let’s say until the first of January 1968. That’s going to be a crucial year, because that’s when I’m sixty and that’s when I want to sew up the future by making some far-reaching decisions. You go to London, and if you care about your future, just you use those four years to convince me you still have one. That’s all I have to say.”

  I hesitated. What would Scott have done now? I didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. I knew what I had to do. There was no choice. I was being edged toward a wooden box, and the nearer I got, the more plainly I could see it was a coffin.

  “Cornelius …” I said.

  He looked at me with those empty gray eyes.

  “I’m very willing to go to London,” I said. “I’m very willing to stay there four years and do a first-class job. But I’m afraid there must be a written guarantee in the articles of partnership that I’ll be recalled here to Willow and Wall by the first of January 1968. I’m not going to have you railroad me as you railroaded my father.”

  Cornelius’ fair delicate skin now had an almost transparent sheen. He said nothing.

  “I’d rather resign,” I said, “than go off to Europe with no guarantee I’ll be recalled.”

  Another silence. At the far end of the room the digital clock flickered on in scarlet. I could see the rapid light out of the corner of my eye.

  “I won’t press you for any other guarantees about the future,” I said, “because I’m confident I can convince you I’m still the best partner you have, but this particular guarantee I must have. I’ve got to safeguard myself against this apparent—and I hope temporary—hostility of yours. I don’t want you suffering a burst of insecurity and firing me in my absence … or perhaps a touch of paranoia which persuades you to keep me in Europe after the dawn of 1968. Am I being so unreasonable? I don’t think so. Wouldn’t you want a similar guarantee if you were in my shoes?”

  “If I were in your shoes,” said Cornelius, “the one thing I’d never do is resign. That’s an empty threat if ever I heard one.”

  “Then call my bluff and try to send me to Europe without that guarantee. Naturally, I’d prefer to stay here at Van Zale’s, but please don’t make the mistake of underestimating Jake’s offer. Jake’s gone out of his way to make the proposition attractive. He’s even offered to change the firm’s name to include my own. Generous of him, wasn’t it? And of course the financial rewards would be very substantial.”

  Nothing. More scarlet flickers from the right. Shallow little breaths from Cornelius. Sweat crawling down my spine.

  “Hm,” said Cornelius at last, “well, okay … why have we worked up such an atmosphere here? What you say is reasonable enough, I guess, although as you know, I hate anyone trying to give me orders and displaying unnecessary muscle. However, we’ll overlook that, as you now seem to be making an effort to appear respectful and obliging, and I like that, that’s the sort of behavior which should be encouraged. So why don’t we have a businesslike discussion instead of an emotional exchange of melodramatic opinions? I like businesslike discussions. They’re sane, soothing, and rational. They help the participants keep a sense of proportion, and that’s what we want now, isn’t it, Scott? A sense of proportion. A preoccupation with the present, not the past or the future. The present is all we need concern ourselves with right now.”

  “I agree.”

  “Good. Now, here’s what I’m going to do: I’ll get the lawyers over and revise the articles of partnership to exclude Sebastian from the firm and give you your guarantee that you’ll be recalled no later than the first of January 1968. I’ll also guarantee that I can’t fire you during that time without the consent of every single one of our partners.”

  “Without—”

  “Be reasonable, Scott! This is where you have to make a concession! Supposing you misbehave yourself in Europe? I’ve got to have some kind of safeguard!”

  “Okay. But it’s got to be all the partners.”

  “Didn’t I just say every single one?”

  “I want this clause to spell out that I can’t be fired, even with the consent of all the partners, unless I’ve been guilty of behavior which endangers the welfare of the firm.”

  “Okay. That guards you against the fact that all the partners tend to be yes-men when I’m around. No dismissal without valid cause. … Is that all? Can we relax now? Or are you going to change your mind and go after more guarantees?”

  “No, not now that I’ve guaranteed my security until 1968. Of course I’d like more guarantees, but you needn’t worry. I won’t press you for them.”

  “Such as?”

  “I’d like a guarantee that if you decide to incorporate the firm before 1968 I’ll get the presidency of the new corporation. And I
wouldn’t mind a guarantee that if you drop dead while I’m in Europe I’ll get your share of the partnership—with the proviso, of course, that I pass control of the bank eventually to your grandsons. In other words, Cornelius, I wouldn’t mind a guarantee that I’m going to get what you’ve been promising me for a long time. I wouldn’t mind being reassured that Sebastian hasn’t scared you so shitless that you’re tempted to double-cross me at the last moment.”

  Cornelius smiled a very passable smile, neither radiant nor friendly but pleasant and amused. “It takes more than Sebastian to scare me shitless!”

  “I hope so.”

  “You can still trust me, Scott—if you can convince me I can still trust you.”

  “Just watch me in London!”

  “I’ll be watching.” He smiled at me again. I wondered what he was really thinking! I thought I’d got him, but I wasn’t sure. I knew he wanted to trust me again. If only I could find the appropriate wool, I thought he himself would reach out to pull it over his eyes, but although I was searching feverishly, the wool was proving elusive.

  “You know what really scares me, Scott?”

  At first I thought this was a rhetorical question, but then I realized he expected a reply. “I … won’t even attempt to guess,” I said uneasily, but I knew. I’d guessed. I realized exactly what was coming.

  “Then I’ll tell you,” said Cornelius. “What scares me, Scott, is the sight of you bucketing around playing your father’s ghost. Only, I’m not scared for myself, you understand, I’m scared for you. Your father made some very bad decisions, Scott. I’d hate to think of you trying to equal them.”

  There was a pause. Then I said, “That’s not very likely to happen, is it? After all, I wasn’t trained by my father. I was trained by you and Sam.”

  We looked at each other, and then suddenly Cornelius laughed. “That’s supposed to make me feel relieved?” he said, laughing again, and the wry humor which was one of the more attractive elements in his personality sparkled before me, effortlessly defusing the tension between us. “Well, why not?” He smiled, shrugged, made a small gesture of dismissal with his hands. “Hell, what are we really talking about here? Nothing’s changed, has it, except that we’ve both got rid of Sebastian, and that’s something you and I have both wanted for years. I admit I was upset at first, because this is sure to mean trouble with Alicia, but maybe it’ll be worth the trouble; maybe this whole scene this morning was a blessing in disguise.”

  “I hope so. Sure.”

  “And I admit I was a little disturbed to hear you’ve become interested in Vicky, but I guess that was just me being over-protective as usual. After all, Vicky can take care of herself now, and nothing catastrophic’s going to happen. Why should it? I’ve every confidence that you can both conduct an affair discreetly without going off the rails.”

  “That’s right. And I can promise you, Cornelius, that you won’t be disappointed.”

  “And I’m sorry about London, Scott, but from a practical point of view I do think it’s for the best. God knows what kind of mess that office is in at the moment. It’ll certainly need a man of your caliber to straighten it out.”

  “Well, you know you can rely on me to pull it together.”

  “I know I can, yes. You won’t consider it a demotion in any way, will you? I’ll authorize an upgrading of the expense account to make sure you’re really comfortable, and while we’re revising the articles of partnership I’ll increase your share of the profits to compensate you for having to leave America.”

  “That’s very generous. Thank you.”

  “Well, I want to be generous, Scott. I’ve always wanted to be generous. … You’re not really worried about those extra guarantees, are you—what happens if I drop dead before ’68, all that kind of thing?”

  This was the test. If I showed I distrusted him, he would be sure to keep right on distrusting me. I had to set his mind at rest. Grabbing the wool with relief, I prepared to pull it safely down over his eyes.

  “No, Cornelius, I’m not worried. I only brought up the subject of extra guarantees because I was feeling hurt that I was being kicked off to London, but since you’re now going to such lengths to make London attractive …” If he dropped dead, I’d still scoop the board somehow; none of the other partners had the muscle to stop me. And even if he tried to incorporate before 1968, he could hardly do it behind my back, and once I heard the news, I’d’ move immediately to safeguard my interests. Besides, he wasn’t going to incorporate before 1968. He’d cling to his power for as long as he could. “… and by the way, Cornelius,” I added as an after-thought, “you haven’t yet spelled out exactly when you want me to leave.”

  “How about a week from today?”

  “A week! So soon?”

  “Well, there’s no problem, is there? You’re just a bachelor with no ties, and a pint-sized apartment. I realize you have a … romantic interest in your life right now, but that’s nothing serious, is it? That’s just a passing diversion—on both sides! Oh, don’t think I can’t understand. I’m not such a square as everyone here seems to think I am! I mean … well, that’s the way it is, isn’t it, Scott? I’m not wrong.”

  “No, you’re not wrong. That’s the way it is.”

  That was the way it ought to be. One week. Only one week. Oh, my God …

  “Worried about something, Scott?”

  “Only about my work. There’s a lot to be done before I go.”

  “Have lunch with me today and we’ll discuss how we can best take care of it.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  “Uh … Scott …”

  “Yes?”

  “I know it’s none of my business … and of course you don’t have to tell me anything … but … well, just why in God’s name did you suddenly decide to seduce Vicky?”

  “But I didn’t seduce her,” I said. “She seduced me.”

  He gaped at me. He was flabbergasted. I had had the last word in the conversation, but he had certainly arranged matters so that he could have the last laugh. Excusing myself from his presence, I somehow found my way back to my office, and then I collapsed exhausted in the nearest chair.

  Chapter Six

  I

  WHEN I FINALLY REACHED my apartment that evening, the telephone was ringing. I was so tired I could hardly reach it. Rubbing my neck where the muscles were aching, I slumped down on the recliner and picked up the receiver.

  “Yes.”

  “Scott?”

  It was Vicky. Dimly I remembered that I had promised to phone her. I tried to picture her, but she seemed too far away for me to see her clearly. I closed my eyes in an effort to bring her back into focus.

  “Are you mad at me for being so upset this morning?” she said nervously.

  “No.”

  “Oh. I thought that maybe that was why you hadn’t called.”

  “To be honest, I hadn’t even thought about it. I’ve had a bad day at the office.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, I’ve had a bad day at home, too—could we recuperate together this evening?”

  My blurred memories sharpened abruptly at the thought of the nights we had shared.

  “Fine,” I said. “There’s nothing I’d like better than to switch off my mind, get into bed, and make love. But I’ve just got to be alone for a while first. Get into your best negligee, turn down the bed, and I’ll try to be with you around ten.”

  She hung up with a bang which jolted me out of my exhausted stupor and made me curse out loud in exasperation. I had openly displayed an attitude which women never failed to find offensive. For a moment I wished we were back on board ship where the need for sex was treated as natural and not as some obscure practice requiring the maximum camouflage.

  I called her back. She allowed the phone to ring eighteen times before she picked up the receiver.

  “Yes?” she said coldly, mirroring my own opening response in the previous conversation.

  “Look, I’m sorry I implied
you were no more than a bedroom amenity like some fully automated electric blanket. Why don’t we have a quiet dinner someplace? I can pick you up in half an hour. At least … Aren’t you having dinner with Sebastian?”

  “He canceled.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “I guess he just thought better of the idea. I was out when he called, and my housekeeper took the message.”

  “Uh-huh.” Now was definitely not the moment to explain what had happened to Sebastian, “Well, in that case—”

  “Scott, I’d love to have dinner with you, but there’s a complication. I’ve got tickets for the new play by Kevin Daly—I bought them today as a surprise for Sebastian, but since I shan’t be seeing him …” She paused, and when I said nothing, she added in a rush, “What’s the matter? Don’t you feel in the mood for the theater?”

  I wanted to tell her I felt in the mood for one thing and one thing only, but all I said was a cautious “I don’t like Kevin Daly’s plays.”

  “Don’t you?” She sounded astonished.

  There was an awkward silence. I realized I had put a foot wrong again, and again I was exasperated with myself. With a great effort I made a new attempt to please her.

  “But maybe I’ll like this latest play,” I said quickly. “It’s a comedy, isn’t it? Great! I feel in the mood for something which requires no intellectual effort. I’ll pick you up at your apartment as soon as possible—let’s say in twenty minutes’ time. We don’t want to miss more of the first act than we have to.”

  She was waiting in the lobby of her apartment building when I arrived half an hour later. She wore a white mink coat, a sky-blue dress cut too low, thin-heeled shoes stacked too high, and a careless assortment of diamonds.

  “I thought you were going to stand me up!” she said lightly. She was clutching her purse so hard that her skin was bone white around the scarlet nails. “I was just about to get mad.”

  “I’m sorry, I had trouble getting a cab.” I gave her a kiss, and knowing I should make some compliment about her appearance, I glanced again at the fur and jewelry I detested.