The Scarletti Inheritance

by Ludlum, Robert

  Ulster considered. ‘Yes, I’d like to see the vaults—When I’m more advanced, of course.’

  ‘For God’s sake, are the Saxons preparing a wedding or a ceremonial convocation for the Archbishop of Canterbury?’ Elizabeth Scarlatti had brought her oldest son to her house to discuss the various newspaper articles and the stack of invitations on her desk.

  ‘You can’t blame them. Ulster is hardly an ordinary catch.’

  ‘I’m aware of that. On the other hand the rest of New York can’t stop functioning.’ Elizabeth walked to the library door and closed it. She turned and looked at her older son. ‘Chancellor, I want to discuss something with you. Very briefly and if you’ve got a brain in your head you won’t repeat a word of what I’m going to mention.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Elizabeth kept looking at her son. She thought to herself that Chancellor was really a better man than she ever gave him credit for. His problem was that his outlook was so terribly provincial and yet so totally dependent. And his perpetual vacuous look whenever they had a conference made him seem like an ass.

  A conference. Perhaps there had been too many conferences. Too few conversations. Perhaps it was her fault.

  ‘Chancellor, I don’t pretend to be on intimate terms with young people these days. There’s a permissiveness that was absent from my own youth and, God knows, that’s a step in the right direction, but I think it may have gone too far.’

  ‘I agree completely!’ interrupted Chancellor Drew Scarlett with fervor. ‘Today it is self-indulgence and I’ll not have my children infected, let me tell you!’

  ‘Well, perhaps it goes deeper than righteous indignation. The young, as the times, are what we shape them to be—willingly or unknowingly… However, this is only an introduction.’ Elizabeth crossed to her desk and sat down. ‘I’ve been watching Janet Saxon during the past few weeks—Watching, perhaps, is unfair. I’ve only seen her on half a dozen occasions starting with that absurd engagement party. It strikes me that she drinks quite heavily. Quite unnecessarily heavily. Yet she’s a lovely girl. An intelligent, alert girl. Am I wrong?’

  Chancellor Drew Scarlett was startled. He had never thought such a thing about Janet Saxon. It never crossed his mind. Everyone drank too much. It was all part of the self-indulgence and although he disapproved he never took it very seriously.

  ‘I hadn’t realized it, Mother.’

  ‘Then, obviously, I’m wrong and we’ll drop the subject. I really am far removed from the times.’

  Elizabeth smiled, and for the first time in a long time she gave her oldest son an affectionate kiss. Yet something was bothering Janet Saxon and Elizabeth Scarlatti knew it.

  The wedding ceremony of Janet Saxon and Ulster Stewart Scarlett was a triumph. Chancellor Drew was, naturally, his brother’s best man and following the bride’s train were Chancellor’s five children. Chancellor’s wife, Allison Demerest Scarlett, was unable to attend the wedding as she was in labor at Presbyterian Hospital.

  The fact that it was an April wedding was a source of contention between Janet Saxon and her parents. They would have preferred June or, at least May, but Janet was adamant. Her fiance insisted that they be in Europe by the middle of April and that’s how it would be.

  Besides, she had her own very valid reason for a short engagement.

  She was pregnant.

  Janet knew her mother suspected. She also knew that her mother was delighted, even admired her for what she believed was the proper use of the ultimate feminine ploy. The prospect of this particular bridegroom entrapped, caged, irrefutably cornered, was enough for Marian Saxon to give in quickly to the April ceremony. Marian Saxon would have let her daughter be married in a synagogue on Good Friday if that ensured the Scarlatti heir.

  Ulster Scarlett took a leave of absence from his sessions at the Waterman Trust Company. It was understood that following an extended honeymoon on the Continent he would plunge back into the world of finance with increased vigor. It positively touched—and amazed—Jefferson Cartwright that Ulster took with him—‘on his sacred journey of love,’ as the Virginia cavalier put it—a large number of papers to study. He had gathered together literally hundreds of reports concerning the myriad interests of the Scarlatti Industries and promised Cartwright that he would master the complexities of the inexhaustible diversification by the time he returned.

  Jefferson Cartwright was so moved by Ulster’s earnestness that he presented him with a hand-tooled leather briefcase.

  The first leg of the newlyweds’ trip was marred by what appeared to be a severe case of seasickness on Janet’s part. By a mildly amused ship’s doctor, however, it was ascertained to be a miscarriage and as a result the bride spent the entire voyage to Southampton confined to her cabin.

  In England they discovered that the English aristocracy was becoming quite tolerant of their invading American counterparts. It was all a question of degree. The crude but rich colonists were ripe for the taking and taken they were. The more acceptable—and this category included Ulster Scarlett and his wife—were absorbed without question.

  Even the owners of Blenheim had to be impressed with someone who could wager the price of their best hunter on the turn of a single card. Especially when this particular gambler could tell at a glance which was the best hunter.

  At about this time—the second month of their trip—the rumors began filtering back to New York. Brought mainly by returning members in good standing of the Four Hundred. It seemed Ulster Stewart was behaving very badly. He had taken to disappearing for days at a time and on one occasion was known to have been gone for the better part of two weeks, leaving his bride in a state of embarrassed anger.

  However, even these extremes of gossip were not dwelled upon, for Ulster Stewart had done the same thing while a single man, and Janet Saxon, after all, had hooked herself Manhattan’s most eligible bachelor. She should complain! A thousand girls would have settled for the ring and the ceremony and let him do as he pleased. All those millions and some said a titled family thrown into the bargain! No one had much sympathy for Janet Saxon.

  And then the rumors took another turn.

  The Scarletts uprooted themselves from London society and began what could only be described as an insanely planned itinerary throughout the Continent. From the frozen lakes of Scandinavia to the warm shores of the Mediterranean. From the still-cold streets of Berlin to the hot pavements of Madrid. From the mountain ranges of Bavaria to the flat, dirty ghettos of Cairo. From Paris in summer to the Scottish islands in autumn. One never knew where Ulster Scarlett and his wife would be next. It didn’t make sense. There was no logic in their destinations.

  Jefferson Cartwright was more concerned than anyone else. Alarmed. He was unsure of what to do and so he decided to do nothing but send carefully worded memorandums to Chancellor Drew Scarlett.

  For Waterman Trust was sending thousands upon thousands of dollars in bank drafts to every conceivable and some inconceivable exchanges in Europe. Each letter of request from Ulster Scarlett was precisely worded and the instructions absolute. The demand for confidence, for silence, in the transactions were emphatic. The breaking of this confidence to be penalized by the immediate withdrawal of his interests from Waterman… One-third of the Scarlett trusts. One-half of the Scarlatti inheritance.

  There was no question about it. Ulster Scarlett had benefited from his sessions at the bank. He knew exactly how to expedite his financial demands and did it in the language of the banking profession. Still, Jefferson Cartwright was uneasy. He could be subject to criticism at a later date. There still remained two thirds of the trusts and the second half of the inheritance. He solved his insoluble dilemma by sending the following—then variations of it—to Ulster Scarlett’s brother.

  Dear Chancellor:

  Just to keep you up-to-date—as we so successfully established during your brother’s sessions here at Waterman—Ulster is transferring considerable sums to European banks to cover what must be
the finest honeymoon in the history of marriage. Nothing is too good for his beautiful wife! You’ll be happy to learn that his correspondence is most business like.

  A number of such notes were received by Chancellor Drew, who smiled indulgently at his reformed younger brother’s devotion to his wife. And to think he was corresponding like a business man. Progress had been made.

  What Jefferson Cartwright did not explain was that Waterman Trust also received endless bills and charges validated by Ulster’s signatures from countless hotels, railroads, stores, and lending institutions throughout Europe. What disturbed Cartwright was that the flexibility he had authorized during the dirigible incident would have to be employed again.

  It was inconceivable but there it was! Ulster Scarlett’s expenses were going to exceed the income from the trust fund. In the space of several months—when one added the charges to the transferals—Ulster Stewart Scarlett was reaching the eight-hundred-thousand-dollar mark.

  Inconceivable!

  Yet there it was.

  And Waterman was subject to losing one-third of the Scarlatti interest if he divulged the information.

  In August Ulster Stewart Scarlett sent word back to his mother and brother that Janet was pregnant. They would remain in Europe for a minimum of three more months as the doctors deemed it best that she do as little traveling as possible until the baby was well along.

  Janet would remain in London, while Ulster traveled with friends to do some hunting in southern Germany.

  He’d be gone for a month. Possibly a month and a half.

  He’d cable when they decided to come home.

  In mid-December the cable arrived. Ulster and Janet would be home for the holidays. Janet was to remain fairly inactive as the pregnancy was a difficult one, but Ulster hoped Chancellor had checked on the decorators and that his brownstone on Fifty-fourth Street would be comfortable for her.

  He instructed Chancellor Drew to have someone meet a prior ship to escort a new housekeeper Ulster had found on the Continent. She had been highly recommended and Ulster wanted her to feel at home. Her name was Hannah.

  Language would be no problem.

  She spoke both English and German.

  During the remaining three months of Janet’s pregnancy Ulster resumed his sessions at Waterman Trust and his mere presence had a calming effect on Jefferson Cartwright. Although he never spent more than two hours at the bank, he seemed somewhat more subdued, less given to fits of irritation than he had been before his honeymoon.

  He even began taking work home in the handtooled leather briefcase.

  In reply to Cartwright’s confidential and offhand questions about the large sums of money forwarded by the bank to Ulster in Europe, the Scarlatti heir reminded Waterman’s third vice-president that it was he who had made it clear that nothing prohibited him from using the income from his trust fund for investments. He reiterated his request that all his European transactions remain confidential between the two of them.

  ‘Of course. I understand completely. But you must realize that in the event we transfer funds from the second trust to cover your expenses—as surely we’ll have to this year—I must record it for the Scarlatti records. We’ve paid enormous sums all over Europe on your signature.’

  ‘But you won’t have to do that for a long time, will you?’

  ‘At the end of the fiscal year, which for the Scarlatti Industries is June thirtieth. The same as the government’s.’

  ‘Well’—the handsome man sighed as he looked at the agitated Southerner—’on June thirtieth I’ll just have to stand up and face the music. It won’t be the first time my family’s been upset. I hope it’s the last.’

  As the time approached for Janet’s delivery, a constant procession of merchants passed through the doors of the Ulster Scarlett brownstone. A team of three doctors gave Janet constant attention and her own family saw her twice a day. What mattered was that the activity kept her occupied. It kept her mind off a frightening fact. A fact so personal she didn’t know how to discuss it; there was no one to whom she felt close enough.

  Her husband no longer spoke to her.

  He had left her bed in her third month of pregnancy. In the south of France, to be exact. He had refused to have intercourse on the assumption that her miscarriage had been brought on by sex. She had wanted sex. She had wanted it desperately. She had wanted his body on hers because it was the only time she felt close to him. The only time her husband appeared to her to be without guile, without deceit, without the cold manipulation in his eyes. But even this was denied her.

  Then he left their communal room, insisting upon separate rooms wherever they went.

  And now he neither answered her questions nor asked any of his own.

  He ignored her.

  He was silent.

  He was, if she wanted to be honest with herself, contemptuous of her.

  He hated her.

  Janet Saxon Scarlett. A reasonably intelligent product of Vassar. A graduate of the Pierre cotillions and a sane habitue of the hunt clubs. And always, always wondering why it was she and not someone else who enjoyed the privileges she had.

  Not that she ever disclaimed them. She didn’t. And perhaps she was entitled to them. God knew she was a ‘looker.’ Everyone had said it for as long as she could remember. But she was what her mother always complained about—an observer.

  ‘You never really enter into things, Janet! You must try to get over that!’

  But it was hard to ‘get over.’ She looked upon her life as two sides of a stereopticon—both different, yet merging into one focus. On one plate was the well-appointed young lady with impeccable credentials, enormous wealth, and an obviously assured future with some well-appointed, enormously wealthy, impeccably credentialed husband. On the other was a girl with a frown on her forehead and questioning look in her eyes.

  For this girl thought the world was larger than a confined world presented to her. Larger and far more compelling. But no one had allowed her to see that larger world.

  Except her husband.

  And the part of it he let her see—forced her to see—was terrifying.

  Which is why she drank.

  . While preparations for the birth continued, aided by a steady stream of Janet’s friends and family, a strange passivity came over Ulster Stewart Scarlett. It was discernible especially to those who observed him closely, but even to others it was apparent that he had slowed down his normally frantic pace. He was quieter, less volatile, sometimes reflective. And for a while his periods of going off by himself became more frequent. Never very long, just three or four days at a time. Many, like Chancellor Drew, attributed it to impending fatherhood.

  ‘I tell you, Mother, it’s simply wonderful. He’s a new man! And you know, I told him having children was the answer. Gives a man a purpose. You watch, when it’s all over he’ll be ready for a real man’s job!’

  ‘You have an acute ability to grasp the obvious, Chancellor. Your brother is quite convinced that he has a purpose in avoiding what you call a real man’s job. I suspect he’s bored to death by his imminent role as a father. Or he’s drinking bad whiskey.’

  ‘You’re too hard on him.’

  ‘Quite the contrary,’ interrupted Elizabeth Scarlatti. ‘I think he’s become far too hard on us.’

  Chancellor Drew looked bewildered. He changed the subject and began to read aloud a report of Scarwyck’s newest project.

  A week later a male child was born to Janet Scarlett at the French Hospital. Ten days later at the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine he was christened Andrew Roland Scarlett.

  And a day after the christening, Ulster Stewart Scarlett disappeared.

  The Scarletti Inheritance

  Chapter Eleven

  At first no one took much notice. Ulster had stayed away from home before. Although it was not the conventional behavior of a new father, Ulster hardly fit into any conventional pattern. It was presumed that the tribal rites attending th
e birth of a male child proved just too much for him and that he had taken refuge in activities best left undescribed. When after three weeks no word had been heard from him and no satisfactory explanations furnished by a variety of people, the family became concerned. On the twenty fifth day after his disappearance, Janet asked Chancellor to call the police. Instead Chancellor called Elizabeth, which was a far more positive action.

  Elizabeth carefully weighed the alternatives. Calling the police would necessitate an investigation and probably a great deal of publicity. In light of Ulster’s activities a year ago, that was undesirable. If Ulster’s absence was his own doing, such action would only serve to provoke him. Without provocation her son was unpredictable, with it he might well be impossible. She decided to hire a discreet firm of investigators, which often had been called on to examine insurance claims against the family business. The owners understood completely and put only their most efficient and trusted men on the job.

  Elizabeth gave them two weeks to unearth Ulster Stewart. Actually, she expected he’d show up by then, but if he didn’t, she would turn the matter over to the police.

  At the end of the first week, the investigators had compiled a multi page report about Ulster’s habits. The places he most frequently visited, his friends (many), his enemies (few), and in as much detail as possible, a reconstruction of his movements during the last few days before he vanished. They gave this information to Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth and Chancellor Drew studied the reports closely. They revealed nothing.

  The second week proved equally unenlightening except to fill in Ulster’s activities more minutely by the days and hours. Since his return from Europe, his daily rounds had become ritualistic. The squash courts and the steam rooms at the athletic club, the bank on lower Broadway, Waterman Trust; his cocktails on Fifty-third Street between 4:30 and 6:00 p. m. with five speakeasies sharing the five weekdays of his attendance, the nightly sorties into the entertainment world where a handful of entrepreneurs commandeered his indulgence (and financing), the almost routine early morning windups at a supper club on Fiftieth Street prior to his arrival home never later than 2:00 a. m.