They were disconsolate because the singing competition would be won by creeps from Evanston, Chicago. Carlson said Chicago people always bribed judges and cops.
During snackout the Brighters announced that only competition winners could use the computers for the KV competition, which made Clint and Leeta and Carlson and Elgin and his new girlfriends Consuela and Melanaya, both from their school anyway, nearly cry. They went to Brighter Sally who said no, they should have won in the exciting activities they’d enjoyed so much on Activity Day.
That evening Carlson said fuck.
Leeta said Brighter Sally was an ungodly Sadducee and whatever happened to her after night prayers was her own fault. Melanaya and Leeta thought Clint was crying inside and voted to kill Brighter Sally with poison if they could find the right berries.
Carlson said fuck again, and told everybody he would send in anyway. They asked how could he without online computer. Carlson said because his brother in any case was twelve so could do anything he liked. He scared Brighter Sally by telling her he’d forgotten his tablets that the doctor said he had to take every night and he was going to die.
Brighter Sally got really terrified and screeched there wasn’t anything in his file but he said he was going giddy. So she let Carlson phone home but it was no good because they listened. It was agreed he’d imagined it about the tablets. He came back miserable and said shit when everybody could hear.
A boy Leeta told about Carlson’s daring attempt said he had a cell phone. He had a girlfriend in Minneapolis, seeing he was from St Paul, and phoned her every night. They bargained and he lent it. That way, Carlson got his brother by pretending when his mom answered that he was allowed to ring and say sorry, he’d made the tablets up, because he wanted to hear they were okay and his mom said “Why, Carlson, darling!” and cried. So Carlson asked his brother what Question One in the KV quiz was.
“What are the kites made of?” Carlson repeated, amazed. “Kites?”
“That’s it,” Carlson’s brother said.
Carlson, Clint and the others were out by the logging pool watching the camp Brighters put lights up over Paradise Lane. Leeta said nobody had to hear their plot or it wouldn’t count like mortal sins so they went to the jetty where there was nobody.
“He says it’s what are the kites made of,” Carlson told Clint.
They all looked at Clint. Leeta said it would be string and stuff. Melanaya said paper, everybody knew that. Consuela said it’d be a trick. She’d seen some illegals make kites with bells, real bells. Carlson said that was impossible, because the kite wouldn’t fly.
Leeta said there was only one way, that was to take a vote, so they did. Paper came out on top. Then Consuela, who was Elgin’s girlfriend together with Melanaya, said that Clint still hadn’t had a vote. He was the one who always got it right.
“Say paper, Clint,” Leeta said, who thought Melanaya was all mouth and a probable sinner.
“Say cotton, Clint,” Consuela urged, who thought Leeta shouldn’t queen it just because she was holy.
“Clint?” Carlson demanded, holding onto the cell phone. “Cotton or paper?”
“Leaves,” Clint said.
Carlson said the eff word again in everybody’s hearing but phoned his brother to e-mail leaves and sign it from Class R4 at their school. His brother said okay. Carlson said that was a million bucks in antiques down the pan because kites weren’t leaves.
Elgin said you never know, Clint might be right, right? Leeta agreed. The others disagreed on principle. In any case, Carlson said, returning the borrowed cell phone, it was one in the eye for Mrs E.F.J. Partridge and Brighter Sally. Leeta said Brighter Sally would get leprosy because leprosy happened a lot from praying.
Carlson wondered about getting the phone again next day without telling Clint, and telling his brother to cancel leaves and put paper instead, because leaves was a shit answer.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
“Beautiful rivers,” Lottie marvelled, trailing her fingers in the water despite Andy’s warning. She wondered at Emma, Bray’s wife who’d married some builder. What on earth had the woman expected? “So wide, flowing so fast.”
They had been offered a rest by Andy. Bray was visiting his firm.
“We asked for you,” he bragged, “after New York. While I was doing the NY State auctions.”
Andy Haarlsen was a tall, outgoing man of athletic build. He’d taken over his father’s firm on his thirtieth birthday.
“Never looked back,” he was fond of saying.
To judge by his staff, the triple showrooms, and the regular spot-the-hot on TV, he was in line to become the largest commodity firm in the region. He said so, anyway. Lottie believed him. Bray smiled and said little.
Andy’s wife Alee was fixing lunch in the galley. Two other friends were due to board a mile up-river.
Lottie knew what was on Bray’s mind. He’d heard from Kylee. He’d let her see them. It was in code so, she thought with a taint of bitterness, it didn’t matter whether she read them or not.
“Answers are still coming in,” he’d observed as they’d got ready to come sailing. “It’s over a hundred thousand.”
“How many unpredictables?”
His eyes had wavered. “Some,” was all he said.
Does he still not trust me? she wondered. Everything hinged on the few, oddest, answers. They were the specials, that might hold Davey’s answer, if and if and if… As Kylee bluntly put it, “If to the power of ten.” But the rough girl had been grinning as she’d said it.
“We’re near the wharf,” Andy called. “See Bernie and Margot?”
Bray, almost managing a sincere smile, went to the yacht rail to wave along with Alee and Andy. It was a really pleasant interlude. Bray due to start his Presidential Purchases from Old London Firms at six. Seven whole hours for Bray to forget his preoccupation, as if he would.
“They’re the surprise I said about,” Andy yelled, pointing to the new couple on the jetty. Anglers stirred in dismay. “They’re in television!”
Lottie’s heart turned over. She saw Bray turn and look. Bernie was fortyish, gangling, wearing an extraordinary Sixties kipper tie. Margot was bulbous in bermudas, all bright colours.
“Oh, TV!” Lottie moved along the rail to be by Bray.
“They’re fun!” Alee called, busying herself with a painter as they glided in. “They’ve got a proposal that will just make Bray’s day!”
Will it indeed, Lottie thought. There go Bray’s restful hours. The newcomers boarded, handshakes all round, jokes flying, truly delighted to meet the visitors.
Several miles up-river, moored by an eyot, the proposal was made. They’d had the picnic, been playfully disappointed when Bray eschewed the white wine.
“USA presidential purchases from London,” Margot mused. “Tall order, huh?” There were chuckles. “Think I’ll wait for the movie!”
“Bray was asked to speak on that specially,” Lottie explained quickly.
Bernie grinned, winked at Alee and Andy. Here it came.
“No such thing as a free lunch, Bray! We heard your firm is sponsoring some antiques prize linked with that kiddies’ TV show. Is that true?”
Lottie took the response on, defensively folding her skirt about her knees.
“Gilson Mather is one of the firms, yes.”
“Look.” Bernie edged forward on his chair. Margot retired to smoke a long cigarette by the stern. “How about you do a spot for us at X49Y2? You’d not starve, Bray!”
Everybody chuckled along. Lottie put away her smile after a decent interval.
“Maybe, Bernie. Except Bray’s schedule is so crowded. And he’s contracted to the BBC for guest appearances and the final tour video.”
Bernie was electrified. “They’re doing one now? Here?”
Lottie laughed. “Of course not! They’ll do a construct. That’s if Gilson Mather go with it. Would your TV station want to be involved?”
It passed off with
Lottie’s skilful promises about Bernie’s station receiving priority.
“I’ll have pencil dates by next Thursday, Bernie. Can I give you a ring?”
They settled for that. Lottie felt the arrows whistle by. She was concerned by the way she’d handled it, but what could she do? It was then that Bray quietly interrupted.
“Actually, Lottie, what the eye doesn’t see…” To her amazement, he went calmly on to suggest that he be interviewed at one of Andy’s auction venues. “As a visitor passing through, perhaps?” Bray added. “Nothing technical?”
Bernie was delighted, and phoned arrangements immediately. Lottie tried to catch Bray’s eye but he spoke with Bernie about what he’d be expected to say. It was almost bizarre.
They reached Andy’s marina in good time.
Clint’s next letter disturbed Mom. With Pop in Atlantic City she felt control slipping from her hands. That Sally girl had put a stop to Clint’s interest in that computer competition, yet her nagging concern persisted.
The competition was across TV networks. And that meant Florida. Who knew what enemies were still searching for her son, spreading their evil tentacles? She’d been right to ban Clint from the TV game. Computers were a sinister all-pervading illness. Contagion could be fatal.
She concentrated on the news, listened to broadcasts incessantly. Even Manuela noticed. The Mexican guessed that Clint was on her mind, saying how safe Clint would be in that camp.
Mom plaintively read Clint’s letter out over the phone to Hyme. Pop said the school was only doing its job.
“It might bring back memories.”
“Not on the phone,” he warned. “I’m, huh, in conference.”
“What if other kids ask Clint to stay over? What do we say?”
“We’ll have to think.” Pop promised to call in the morning and talk some more.
“They still bother you, Hyme, when you’re on furlough?” the girl asked.
He nodded for her to resume work. He wondered if the boy had become something he never really wanted. Finding Doctor to obtain a kid, then paying for Clint’s transfer into the new life had cost, yet it was investment. Expenditure was reasonable when a return was guaranteed.
Now, seeds of doubt were sprouting. Think of it another way: if he’d not invested so carefully in buying the boy, finding the one clinic that gave perfect results, he might be paying some dumb headshrinks a fortune in psychotherapy for Clodie.
He sighed, observing the girl’s head bobbing, felt the glow of pleasure, and thought how worthy investment actually was. Investment was divine, done right.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Bray found it hard speaking with Kylee. He felt he’d been away months.
This Creb seemed her good friend, but might he be a misjudgement? Bray had been lucky – Kylee, Lottie, George, Jim Stazio. He’d have been enriched meeting them any time. He could have asked others – train people, computer wizards, his few acquaintances – and been rejected, becoming defeated. He told Lottie this. She’d only answered that their virtues simply reflected him.
“Does it look bad, Kylee?” he asked, determined to keep talk anonymous against electronic ears of hacker trackers.
“The figures? You berk. I said look at your sum when the first question’s in.”
“Right.” He’d been scared to. “Are you all right?”
“Yih.” But she wasn’t. He could tell. “It’s me age.”
God, he thought, some growing problem? She’d freely admitted having sex with hash-smoking Porky. Was it the same with this Creb?
“Age, love?”
“Yih. I’m fifteen now, see.” A long pause while he got the gist. “Today.” He heard caterwauling music in the background.
“They’ve discovered you were only fourteen?”
“Yih. I’m fifteen. The firm’s rumbled. Mr Maddy’s having fucking kittens. That Catchpole cunt’s been here. I’m going back in care.”
He was a time trying to speak.
“I’ll ring them, Kylee. I’ll get my son and his wife to take you off the probation people’s hands. You can’t go back. I’ll send Lottie home to help.”
A dozen notions churned in his brain. Somebody at Gilson Mather? No.
“You haven’t said about the hunt, yer daft pillock.”
He was sweating in a bus station opposite the hotel, the noise indescribable.
“No.” Everything was coming at once. “I’d best find Geoffrey, get him to see Mr Catchpole.”
“I’m lamming off. Got a pen?”
“Lamming off?” He felt frantic. “Escaping?”
“Yih. Till yer done.” She barked a laugh. “Never thought you’d put summink else first, silly old bugger.”
“Please listen. I’ll send —”
“Shurrup. Stick to the plan.”
“What will you do? How can we stick to the scheme now?”
Passengers were arriving, a convention with fez hats, back-slapping welcomes.
He thought he heard her snuffling, maybe some suppressed chuckle. “Same as usual. Palmtops, laptops, phone.”
“But the answers.” The news left him stricken.
“You never lissen. Do usual. The fuckers know nowt.”
“Can we really keep it going?”
“Leave orf,” she said in disgust. “We’re on song, wack. Your dog is a fucking chiseller, eats any fucking thing. A frigging runt.”
“You’ve been to Buster?”
“Same contact times, tarra.”
No reminder to do his teeth, no joke ending. For a few moments he stood. She must have a way to divert the responses to her, wherever she’d decided to flit. This Creb was her Fifth Column in Mr Maddy’s firm. Where had she acquired costly computers? He hated to think.
And she’d been fourteen, until now. Fifteen. Mr Maddy was having kittens. Well he might. Could a minor, a child, patent an invention? Kylee had devised some liquid-state computer. He remembered her telling him.
Now what?
He returned to the hotel, grimly told Lottie Kylee’s news. They talked it over and decided that Geoffrey really should be asked to see what he could do. Lottie wouldn’t leave Bray. She couldn’t do what Geoffrey could, married after all and already to hand.
An hour later he remembered Kylee’s admonition, and found her arithmetic. She was confident she could cope with the answers shoaling in. Otherwise she’d have bluntly given him different orders. She stood by him. He knew that.
He wondered if she’d started to cry at one point. Unlikely.
The paper she meant was the one with her quick mathematics. He called Geoffrey. For a whole thirty minutes they spoke about Kylee. He took two more calls back. It wasn’t satisfactory, but Geoff finally agreed to do as Bray asked. Later, Bray and Lottie held hands to watch the recordings she’d made of the latest KV episode.
An hour before midnight, he got the second question to Kylee.
Things seemed to be falling apart, but only if you looked at it without optimism. That night Lottie made sure they slept together for the first time since coming to the New World. She rubbed his nape until he began to doze. Hardly the grand passion, but normality returning.
When Bray emerged onto the TV studio set Lottie almost exclaimed, though mechanically she applauded with the rest. She saw a stranger.
Bray was attired – no other word – in a sombre suit, formal as an undertaker. White shirt, navy tie, hair sleeked down, he could have been an elderly Victorian. He was welcomed by the genial talk-show host, seated himself gravely, and replied directly to each question.
Despite her shock, Lottie realised how accomplished Bray was in his subject. Where the presenter Evan Traur, a garish man with dyed grey hair, seemed to invent an attitude – “Mr Charleston, you are pretty hard on our approach to art. Is this fair?” – Bray easily segued into agreement then veered towards appreciation of American enthusiasm. His knowledge was a standby, and he had the knack of bringing every flown topic back to the art of furniture.
“I had a customer,” he said without a smile, “related to someone in the Middle East. She required a set of five Chippendale-style English oak settees, double-backed. We made them, she then declined them, on the grounds that they didn’t cost enough!”
Amid the audience laughter, Bray went on, “So we advertised them at double the price. The same lady saw the identical settees, and paid for them without demur, saying they were a great improvement! Commerce and art become confused.”
Evan Traur let the interview run over time. The studio ran a series of legends on the fade, showing where Bray was speaking in the State.
Lottie met them both afterwards. Bray looked drained. They attended the after-show cocktail party in token thanks before making their escape.
“Would you mind telling me what that was all about?” she demanded in the TV station’s coffee house.
“I’m scared, Lottie. Kylee’s numbers are there – her ratio thing – but I’m coming unglued.”
“You’re tired, that’s all.”
“No, Lottie. It’s the size of everything. Look about.” He gestured to the plate-glass window, the crowds hurrying to a cinema. “How many people’ve we met since we arrived? Thousands?”
“So?” She’d never seen him like this. It worried her.
“The country’s so huge, the people so hospitable.” He faced it. “So I’m building a fail-safe, something I said I’d never do. If the KV plan doesn’t work, then I’ll come here permanently and continue the search. I’ll bring Kylee if necessary.”
“Don’t lose heart.”
“I’m trying not to.” He tried his coffee, laid the cup down. “See? Even the bloody coffee’s perfect. What if something’s triggered in Davey’s mind and the stealers spirit him further away? I feel I’m ruining my one plan.”
“Isn’t this what you planned, though?”
“That’s the problem. Look at Kylee. She’s in trouble because I got her that job. I ought to have left well alone, let her father cope with her. Now Kylee’s on the run, our only contact by electronics she probably stole. And there’s you.”
Finding Davey Page 30
