“I didn’t feel like it,” she said shortly.
“Why not?”
She looked at him, her eyes squinting in the sun. “Because I was sick and nauseous all morning.”
“You better let me call Dr. Guillemin,” he said with quick concern. “I thought that bouillabaisse was a little too spicy last night.”
“It’s not the bouillabaisse.”
“What is it then?” He was puzzled.
“I think I’m pregnant,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice.
He stared at her, his dismay showing on his tanned, open face. “How could that be?”
She laughed. “Uncle Igor, for a man who used to be one of the top playboys in the world, you’re remarkably naïve. It’s really very simple. I brought everything to the Riviera with me except my B.C. pills. I forgot them.”
“France is a civilized country,” he said stiffly. “You could have gotten them here.”
“I didn’t,” she said. “So forget it.”
“Are you sure you’re pregnant?”
“I missed two periods,” she said plainly. “And I never did that before.”
“We better make sure,” he said. “I will arrange an appointment with Pierre Guillemin in Cannes this afternoon.”
“Don’t bother,” she said. “I’m leaving for the States this afternoon. Abortions are legal in New York and Max has made all the arrangements. He says I will have the best doctors.”
“Max van Ludwige?” he asked in an incredulous voice. “Was it him? But he is supposed to be so happily married. He has a daughter almost your age.”
“He is happily married,” she said. “But sometimes things like this happen. We were alone on the boat three days while we were sailing to pick up his family.”
“What happens if the doctors think it’s too late to have an abortion?”
“Then Max will get a divorce and marry me,” she said. “After I have the baby, I will give him a divorce and he will remarry his wife.”
“You sound very sure of yourself.”
“I am sure,” she said calmly. “The three of us have it all worked out.”
“Three of you?” His voice rose. “Who else is in on this?”
“Rita,” she said. Rita was Max’s wife. “The only sensible thing to do was tell her about it. Neither of us wanted to hurt her. She was very nice. She understands it was nothing but an accident. That Max really and truly loves her.”
The butler appeared with the tray and silver coffee service. “Where will you take your coffee, sir?”
Igor stared at him speechlessly. He pointed to a small table nearby. The butler placed the tray down carefully. Igor finally found his voice. “Get me a cognac, James,” he said, and then, as the butler turned away, “better make it a large one!”
Loren III looked at the tall, good-looking Dutchman. Max van Ludwige seemed to be about his own age, but his blond hair and the blue eyes in the deeply tanned face made him look much younger.
“These things are always embarrassing,” the Dutchman said in his precise English. “One never knows quite what to say.”
“I don’t know,” Loren said stiffly. “I’ve never been in a situation like this before.”
“We both regret it very much,” Van Ludwige said.
Loren was silent. “Where’s Betsy now?”
“She’ll be down in a moment,” Max said. He looked up as the butler came into the living room of the Sutton Place brownstone that his family had owned in New York for many years. “What would you like to drink?” he asked politely.
“Scotch and water,” Loren said automatically.
“I’ll have a dry martini, straight up,” Bobbie said.
Van Ludwige looked at the butler. “My usual Scotch.”
The butler nodded and left the room. An awkward silence fell over them. Van Ludwige tried to break it. He looked at Bobbie. “How long is it since I’ve seen you, Bobbie? Was it at Le Mans in ’67?”
She nodded. “I think so. You had two Porsches entered if I remember correctly.”
“That’s right,” he laughed. “But I had bad luck. Neither of them finished.” The butler returned with the drinks. After he had gone, Max held his drink in his hand. “I was sorry to hear about Lord Ayres but I am very glad that you are happy once again.” He held up his drink. “I hope it is not too late to offer my congratulations?”
“Thank you,” Bobbie said. She looked at Loren. “Today is our anniversary.”
Loren was surprised. “It is?”
“We’re married three months today,” she said.
“Let’s drink to that,” Max said. “To many more happy anniversaries.”
They sipped their drinks and the awkward silence returned. Again Max tried to make conversation. “There is a great deal of interest in Europe in your new car. It’s a turbine engine, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Loren answered.
“Do you expect to have it on the market for the coming year?”
“I don’t know,” Loren said. “We’ve been on our honeymoon the past two months. Actually I was supposed to be in Detroit yesterday for a board meeting this week to make some final decisions. But this came along and I put it off.”
Max got to his feet as Betsy came through the door. She hesitated a moment, then came toward them. “Hello, Bobbie,” she said.
Bobbie looked at her. There were circles of sleeplessness under the young girl’s eyes. Impulsively she got to her feet and kissed Betsy’s cheek. “Hello, Betsy.”
Betsy smiled, a quick smile, then turned to her father who was standing, watching them. She didn’t move. “Hello, Daddy.”
He made an awkward gesture with his hand. Then she ran into his arms. “Oh, Daddy, Daddy! I hope you’re not angry with me!”
He shook his head, kissing her. “I’m not angry with you, baby.”
“I really made a mess of things, didn’t I?”
“It will be all right,” he said. “We’ll get everything straightened out.”
She took a deep breath, regaining her self-control. “At first I was angry with him. But now I’m glad that Uncle Igor telephoned you.”
“He did right. He was concerned.”
“I know,” she said. She turned to Max. “See, I told you my father would understand.”
The Dutchman bowed stiffly. “I am most happy for your sake.”
Loren turned to face him. “Now that my daughter is here, I assume we can discuss the plans.”
“Of course,” Max said. He went to the door and closed it. “The servants have long ears.”
Loren nodded. He sat down again, Betsy next to him on the large couch. Loren picked up his drink and looked at Max expectantly.
“I’ve made arrangements to fly to Nassau with Betsy next week. Preparations have been arranged for the granting of an immediate divorce and we will be married. It’s as simple as that.”
Loren turned to his daughter. “Is that what you want?”
Betsy looked at him, then at Max, then back to her father again. “No,” she said in a firm voice.
For a moment there was a stunned silence, then they all began talking at once. “I thought—” Max said.
“What do you mean?” Loren asked.
Betsy glanced at Bobbie. A look of understanding flashed between them. She turned back to the men. “It’s a farce,” she said. “I don’t see why we have to go through with it. Max doesn’t want to marry me any more than I want to marry him. He’s just being a gentleman. I don’t see why we have to put Rita and him through all this just because I’ve been stupid enough to get pregnant.”
“What do you want to do then?” Loren asked.
“What’s wrong with just having the baby?”
Loren was suddenly angry. “I won’t have any bastards in my family!”
Betsy stared at him. “Don’t be so old-fashioned, Daddy. There are plenty of people who are having children who don’t want to be married. But this is stupid. Getting married just to have the b
aby and then getting divorced. Why can’t I just go away somewhere quietly and have the baby?”
“Because there have been enough rumors and gossip in the papers already about your being pregnant,” Loren said. “There is no quiet place for you to hide.”
“Then let the papers have it!” Betsy said. “I don’t care.”
“Betsy, listen to me,” Max said.
She turned to him. “No. I’m not going to put you through all that hassle.”
“Betsy, I want to marry you!” Max said.
Betsy stared at him. “What for? You’re not in love with me.”
“Betsy, suppose you have a son?” Max said.
“Suppose I do?” she retorted.
“Don’t you see what that would mean to my family?” he asked. “I have three daughters and no son to carry on the name. My father would be in seventh heaven.”
“That’s a great reason,” Betsy said sarcastically. “And in case I have a girl or a miscarriage, I suppose I’ll get a second chance.”
“Betsy, you’re being foolish!” Max said.
“No, she’s not being foolish,” Bobbie said suddenly. They all looked at her in surprise. She ignored the men and addressed herself to Betsy. “You’re right, and ordinarily I would agree with you and even help you do what you want. But this time you’re not being fair.”
“I am being fair,” Betsy said heatedly. “To Max and Rita. To myself.”
“But not to your child,” Bobbie said. “I don’t have to tell you that Max is a fine man, you already know that. You owe it to your child to know his father. You also owe it to your child not to deny him his heritage.”
Betsy was silent. After a moment, she spoke. “At least you’re honest,” she said. “You put it exactly where it’s at, don’t you?”
“I try,” Bobbie said. “You made a mistake.”
Betsy suddenly understood that Bobbie had known all along why she had acted as she did. Angelo. To show him that she too could do as he did; she realized now she had been stupid.
“Don’t make another mistake,” Bobbie said quietly.
“Okay, I’ll go through with it,” Betsy said quickly. Then the tears came to her eyes.
Nothing ever worked out the way you wanted it.
Chapter Sixteen
“We’re in trouble,” Angelo said. “Big trouble.”
“So what else is new?” Rourke asked.
Duncan smiled grimly. “I’ve spent forty-five years of my life in this business and I’ve always been in trouble.”
“Not like this time,” Angelo said seriously. He got to his feet and paced the long length of the living room. He stopped and looked out the windows of the Pontchartrain. Across the street the marquee of Cobo Hall advertised the coming events. The next big attraction was a convention of brassiere manufacturers. He half smiled to himself at the ridiculousness of it. Those men had to have a ball. All they had to think about was tits.
He came back to them. “I wouldn’t have brought you both in from the Coast if I weren’t concerned.”
They nodded attentively without speaking.
“Last week Bancroft told me that we were losing dealers and that we stood a good chance of blowing the dealer network if we dropped the Sundancer.” They started to break in but he held up a restraining hand. “We checked it out. It’s our friend Simpson again and the IASO. There’s been a whole campaign mounted against us, and right now they are so far in front of us, there’s nothing we can do to catch up to them.”
“What’s that guy got against us?” Duncan asked “We’ve never done anything to him.”
“I don’t know,” Angelo said. “But I’m trying to find out. His money has to come from somewhere. He hasn’t the resources to pull off a thing as large as this on his own.”
He was silent as he walked to the bar and refilled his drink. He looked at them. They nodded and he made fresh drinks for them. He brought the drinks over and dropped into a chair opposite.
“What’s going to happen?” Tony asked.
“It’s anybody’s guess,” Angelo replied. “My own feeling is that the board will cut back the Betsy program at next Friday’s meeting and vote to keep the Sundancer.”
“But I’m committed to seventy million dollars worth of materials,” Rourke said.
“I know that.” Angelo looked at him. “But a lot of that would be absorbed if they continue with the Sundancer. That’s not the point, however. You have to measure the material loss against the loss of the entire company.”
“You sound as if we’re already dead,” the Scotsman said dourly.
“Not yet,” Angelo answered. “I have several ideas. But I don’t know how practical they are.”
“Try them on us,” Rourke said.
Angelo looked at him. “What are the chances of building the Big Betsy engine in our Coast plant instead of the Betsy Minis?”
“No chance,” Rourke said flatly. “It would take us another year to retool and even then we would only have the capacity for about fifty thousand units a year at the maximum.”
“How many Minis were you planning on?”
“A hundred thousand.”
Angelo thought carefully. The Betsy Mini was their answer to the sub-compacts. The Volks, Pinto, Vega, Gremlin. It was styled simply, much like the British minis, which were so successfully copied by the Japanese Honda, but it gave greater power and better performance and was priced competitively at $1,899.
“And how many Silver Sprites?”
“Seven to ten thousand,” Rourke answered.
The Betsy Silver Sprite was the sports car of the line, much the same as the Corvette was to the Chevrolet. It was the only car of the line in which all the performance wraps were off. Everything about it was high performance. Axle, heavy-duty suspension, steering, reinforced chassis. The speedometer stopped at 220 miles per hour but in straightaway tests they had the car up to 270.
Angelo reached for a cigarette. “How soon can you get into production?”
Rourke and Duncan looked at each other. Duncan supplied the answer. “If we get the okay now, we could have cars coming off the line in November.”
Angelo looked at him. This was the beginning of July. November was five months away. “No sooner?”
Duncan shook his head. “That’s pushing it, laddie. We’ll be lucky to make it.”
Angelo was silent. That left the Betsy JetStar, the mainstay of the entire line. There were two basic models, the smaller of which corresponded to the Nova and Maverick, the other, slightly larger than the Chevelle and Torino, yet priced within the same range. It was for this car the Sundancer factory was needed. It was the only plant with the capability of turning out two hundred thousand units per year or better.
He put down his drink. “That leaves us with only one choice. To go abroad to build our engines.”
“Number One isn’t going to like it,” Duncan said. “He wanted this to be an all-American car.”
“He won’t have any choice if he wants to get the car on the market,” Angelo said. “Even he has to realize you can’t market a volume car if your dealer network falls apart.”
“It’s late in the game to set up a plant somewhere else that would have the capacity we need,” Rourke said.
“We have two shots,” said Angelo. “Matsuoka in Japan and Waggoner Fabrik in West Germany. Both of them have the industrial capacity and both have expressed interest in licensing the engine from us for their own use.”
“If we give them a license,” Duncan said, “we’re only building our own competition.”
“If we’re successful we won’t be able to hold it back,” Angelo said. “Look at what happened with the Wankel. GM here has the rights to it and Toyo Kogyo already has its version on the market.” He stubbed his cigarette out in an ashtray and lit another. “It might even work out to our advantage. If they’re eager enough we can set up joint venture companies with them.”
Rourke nodded. “That could mean a lot of money for
us.”
“Forget the money part of it,” Angelo said. “The important part of the deal is that they must guarantee to deliver a minimum of at least one hundred and fifty thousand engines to us in the next year.”
“It’s not going to be easy,” Rourke said. “Those babies are sharp traders. They’ll smell we’re in trouble.”
“It’s up to you to convince them that we’re not,” Angelo said. He got to his feet. “Tony, you take Japan, Duncan, you have the Germans.”
“Okay,” Rourke said. “When do we leave?”
“Right now,” Angelo answered.
Duncan got to his feet. “I’m getting too old to be running around like that,” he grumbled.
Angelo grinned at him. “You know you love it. All those big blond frauleins.”
“Laddie, at my age all I can do is look,” the Scotsman said. “And if I haven’t my glasses on, even that doesn’t help much.”
Angelo laughed. “You’ll make out all right.”
Duncan looked at him. “What about the Mini and the Silver Sprite? Do you want us to put them in the works?”
“Not yet,” Angelo said. “That will have to hold until after the board meeting on Friday. The decision has to come from them.”
The board room was filled with smoke and tension. John Bancroft had made his report simply and without dramatics. But the eventual result was clear to all of them. Without the full dealer network, the Betsy didn’t stand a chance.
Angelo cut into the welter of futile conversation. “We’ll deal with the problem of Simpson at a later date. That’s not the issue before us at the moment. Our problem is how do we do both, get the Betsy on the market, and, at the same time, deliver the Sundancer to the dealers so that we keep them satisfied?”
Silence fell around the table as they turned to look at him. He continued. “We all recognize that if we do not have the Sundancer plant available to us, there’s no way we can produce the Betsy JetStar in enough quantities to make the entire venture profitable as well as practical. However there are certain solutions available to us. They are being explored at this very moment.
“Tony Rourke is in Japan talking to the Matsuoka Hevay Industries and John Duncan is in West Germany speaking to Waggoner Fabrik about manufacturing JetStar engines for us. If a satisfactory agreement can be reached with them, it will be possible to produce the JetStar on the third and fourth assembly lines of the Sundancer plant. It would mean an additional investment to get these lines in operative condition again because they have not been in use for many years, but I think the investment will be reasonable in view of our over-all program.”
The Betsy (1971) Page 30
