Run Before the Wind

by Stuart Woods

  I leaned toward Jane and whispered, “You didn’t tell me it was ‘Lady’ Jane.”

  “I’m sorry,” she laughed, “I thought you knew. My father is the Duke of Kensington. Our family name is Berkeley.”

  “Oh,” I said. The Duke of Kensington was a cousin of the Queen and owned the Berkeley Estate, a substantial chunk of central London. He was said to be the largest property holder in Britain, after the Duke of Westminster with his Grosvenor Estate.

  She laughed again. “I think I’m rather glad you didn’t know.”

  16

  WE WERE MET in the Connaught Grill with what I I thought might be more than the usual deference and seated at a large, round table in as discreet a corner as could be managed in such a small room. There were place cards; Thrasher was very organized in even small things.

  “I’ve taken the liberty of ordering for all of us,” he said, sliding a chair under my mother. “I hope you don’t mind.” No one minded. He had also ordered champagne with which to begin our meal. I was soon flying, surprising myself with how impressed I was with Jane Berkeley’s family credentials. I was unaccustomed to girls of such dazzling station, of such great beauty. I had a brief fantasy of having married into one of England’s wealthiest families; of this being my dinner party instead of Thrasher’s. Ireland and Connie Lydon seemed very far away. My mother was seated next to Thrasher and was apparently having fantasies of her own; I had never seen her so completely taken with anyone. Thrasher exuded charm without gushing it; he dominated the table effortlessly, attracting everyone to him, even my father, who, as a politician, was a professional skeptic. Genevieve Wheatley, who had been very quiet over her drink in the bar, became expansive, perhaps under the influence of the champagne, and talked quickly in heavily French-accented but syntactically perfect English. She seemed happy to talk about anything, like someone who had not had much conversation for a long time.

  The round table brought us all close together, and my recollection is of a pastiche of conversation—some of it between two of us, some directed to everyone by everybody.

  My father: “Mrs. Wheatley, I’m very sorry about your husband’s death; I was an admirer of his, as was almost everyone.”

  “Not entirely everyone, Governor, or he would be dining with us tonight.” This with a rather sad irony.

  “Quite right. I am very happy you could be with us this evening after what I’m sure has been a difficult time.”

  “Oh, yes, I suppose, but perhaps no more so than that experienced by any widow. My seclusion was quite voluntary; I needed the time to discharge the bitterness. Some people do this by making themselves busy; others by withdrawing and thinking. I discovered that I belong to the latter group.”

  Derek Thrasher: “Governor, what brings you to London? Business?”

  “Yes, an old friend going back to my war years here asked me to handle the purchase of some land in Georgia for him. The seller agreed to close here.”

  “Then I’m sure you’ve become acquainted with our rather unsympathetic exchange control regulations. Investment abroad is not easy these days.”

  “Fortunately, we were able to convince the Bank of England that the movement of capital was in their best interests.”

  “Were you, indeed? With such persuasiveness at your disposal, perhaps you should be representing me.”

  My father laughed. “Mr. Thrasher …”

  “Derek, please.”

  “And I’m Billy. Derek, if half what I’ve read about you in the last few weeks is true, then you need no help at all in moving capital, certainly not that of a country lawyer.”

  Thrasher chuckled. “Country lawyer indeed! Yes, yes. Tell me, Billy, what are your political plans? Have you an eye on Senator Russell’s seat? He’s getting on a bit, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he is, but if anyone can live forever, it’s Dick Russell, and no one will take his seat as long as he wants it.”

  Lady Jane Berkeley: “Will, you seem to be doing exactly what you want to do. I admire that so. I want to see this boat you’re building—Christ, I want to sail on it. Will you take me?”

  “The boat won’t be finished until next spring. Do I have to wait that long to see you in Ireland?”

  “I’m leaving for Paris tomorrow. My father has arranged for me to spend a year in a merchant bank there. Why don’t you come to Paris instead?”

  “I don’t know, why don’t I?”

  My mother: “Derek, did you really meet with Howard Hughes in Nassau?”

  He laughed. “Everyone knows that Howard Hughes sees no one, Patricia. Tell me, if you could ask one question about Mr. Hughes and have it answered, what would you want to know?

  “Does he really have a long beard and long nails?”

  “That’s two questions.”

  “Long nails, then?”

  “Yes. What will you be doing with your time in London?”

  “A bit of shopping. We’ll see some friends.”

  “I’d be very pleased if you’d let me send my car and driver for you.”

  “Oh, we couldn’t put you to that bother.”

  “No bother at all; I’ll be away, and your time here will be much more pleasant if you don’t have to chase taxicabs in the rain.”

  “That’s very kind of you. I hope we’ll be able to repay your kindness in the States one day soon.”

  Thrasher smiled. “You never know. If I’m within hailing distance of Georgia, I shall certainly take you up on that.”

  We got through four courses and as many wines, and when we were on coffee, one of the men who had preceded Thrasher into the bar came and whispered something to him. Thrasher nodded, looked at his wristwatch, and said something back. During this brief exchange his smooth good looks took on a quality of weariness and age that surprised me but was quickly gone. When the party had wound down and we stood to go, Thrasher turned to Jane. “I’m sure you and Will are not ready to call it an evening. Why don’t you take him to Annabel’s?” She looked at me inquiringly.

  “Sure,” I said.

  Thrasher shook hands with my parents and me. “I hope you’ll forgive us if we part here. It might be better for all if Genevieve and I leave separately.”

  “Of course,” my father said, clearly puzzled.

  Thrasher took me briefly aside. “Will, I’m so very glad to have seen you and to have met your parents. Please tell Mark I’m very pleased with his progress, and I’ll let him know where to send his next report and how to receive funds. I may be a bit difficult to reach for a while.”

  My parents, Jane and I walked into the corridor leading to the hotel lobby, and Derek Thrasher and Genevieve Wheatley walked toward the kitchen door. Jane and I said good night to my parents, and they boarded the elevator. As Jane and I left the Connaught, a bored-looking man holding a camera glanced at us, turned away, then quickly turned back and snapped a picture of us. We made off toward Berkeley Square.

  “I see now why Derek left the other way,” I said.

  “Perhaps we should have, as well,” Jane replied ruefully. “I hope you don’t mind having your picture in the papers.”

  “I’ve never had cause to give the problem any thought. I’m sure they’ll crop me out, anyway. You’re the one who must mind.”

  “Not really,” she laughed, taking my arm. “I suppose I’m the family trendy and jet-setter. It’s a dirty job, but somebody’s got to do it.”

  We left Mount Street and walked along the west side of Berkeley Square. It was wet but not raining; the square was deserted, but there were a lot of cars parked where we were walking. “What’s Annabel’s?” I asked.

  “This is Annabel’s,” Jane laughed, suddenly propelling me under an awning and down a flight of stairs. We were met inside by a man in a tuxedo who looked at me blankly, then recognized Jane.

  “Good evening, Lady Jane,” he said, smiling broadly. “It is very nice to have you with us.”

  “Thank you, Henry, this is Mr. Lee, of whom you’ll see more,
I’m sure.”

  “Good evening, sir,” the man said smoothly.

  Jane signed a book, and we proceeded into a comfortable bar, filled with soft couches and interesting pictures. We got a brandy and settled down to let our huge dinner digest. “Derek likes you very much, you know,” Jane said, sipping her drink.

  “He’s certainly been very nice to me and my parents.”

  “It’s more than that,” she said, pulling her knees up onto the sofa and facing me. “What you did in Cowes saved him from a very considerable embarrassment.”

  “Surely nobody could have seriously blamed him if his boat broke its mooring and scraped a bit of paint off the Royal Yacht.”

  “Not if he were an ordinary person, no. But he’s not, and you must understand his relationship with the press in this country. They’re dying to write about him, and there’s nothing to write, because he’s so clever at avoiding them. They would have leapt upon this opportunity; I can promise you the incident would have made the front page of at least three national newspapers. A combination of Derek Thrasher and Royalty would have been irresistible. Derek wouldn’t have liked that. I think he secretly hopes for a knighthood one day, and a highly publicized incident of that sort would not have helped. So, you see, you’ve been very helpful to him, and he won’t forget it.”

  “I think it’s my father he’s interested in, not me.”

  “No, you misunderstand him. Of course, he’s aware that your father might become … very important in American politics; he’s not a fool. But Derek doesn’t choose friends for what they can do for him.”

  “Nonsense, every successful businessman chooses at least some of his friends that way. It’s just part of doing business.”

  “If he were interested in your father for business or political reasons, he would see that someone else made the contact and became friendly with him. Your father would probably never even know of Derek’s interest. Most of the business that Derek does is done through intermediaries. He says that his own success is primarily due to his ability to delegate authority. He is an extraordinary judge of people. He will hire someone, always after a thorough check, but often after only the briefest of personal meetings, and give him an absolutely staggering job to do—with complete authority to do it.”

  “Don’t they botch it up now and then?”

  “Almost never. It’s as if they’re in business for themselves. Your friend Mark is a good example, though a very small one by Thrasher standards. Do you think Derek judged him well?”

  I nodded. “Absolutely. He will build Derek the best possible boat.”

  “And in so doing, achieve his own dream of doing this single-handed transatlantic race.”

  “Winning it, if I know Mark.”

  “No doubt. And Derek backed him after he’d been turned down by more than a dozen potential sponsors.”

  I looked at her curiously. “And how do you know so much about Derek’s business methods?”

  She laughed. “It’s typical of Derek not to tell you anything about me. I’ve been his personal assistant for the past three years.” She stood and took my hand. “Come on, let’s dance.” She towed me into another room, this one dark, lit only by a lamp on each table, and then on to a small dance floor. The music was too loud to talk over, so we gave ourselves to dancing.

  Very early in the morning I was awakened, in the most pleasant possible way, by cool lips on my thigh. I lay as still as I could under the circumstances while the lips wandered, then settled in one place. Their work quickly successful, the rest of her took full advantage of me, then we lay, damp and panting in each other’s arms while the room grew steadily lighter through cracks in the heavy curtains. I could see more of the room than I had the night before. It was attractively but impersonally decorated. She hadn’t spent much time here, she said, as she had led me into the little mews house behind Berkeley Square.

  She had led in more ways than one. If I had been somewhat smugly pleased with myself for so quickly and unaccustomedly seducing such a beautiful girl, it now occurred to me that I was, very probably, the seducee. It was certainly an interesting experience. I had had a pang or two about Connie; I had felt curiously unfaithful for someone who had made no commitments, but, in the circumstances …

  “You have a very muscular body,” she said, and I could feel much of it blush. “Englishmen are all so bloody reedy, except for the rugger players, and they’re so bloody awful.”

  I snuck a glance at the clock on the bedside table. “God, I’m having breakfast with my parents in half an hour,” I said and struggled to get my feet on the floor. I still felt weak and light-headed from our lovemaking and its extended climax. I got up and began to locate items of clothing.

  She laughed at me and got out of bed. I hadn’t seen her naked the night before; we were in bed almost as soon as we were inside. She was slender; her breasts were small but very pretty, and her dark, red hair nearly reached them. She found her purse and took a card and a pen from it, scrawling something on the card. “This is the office number in Paris. The number here is the printed one.” She handed me the card. “Will you come and see me soon?”

  “I’ll find a way,” I said, taking the card and putting my arms around her.

  “I told you an awful lot last night, you know. The champagne, no doubt. I don’t think Derek would mind.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t be giving any interviews to Time.”

  I jogged the few hundred yards to the Connaught, startling the hall porter as I dashed into the lift. I had just time to shower, shave, and change, and to reach the dining room looking appropriately freshly scrubbed.

  17

  MY FATHER already had a table in the handsome dining room with its polished paneling. “Your mother is sleeping late,” he said, offering me a menu. “I’m the one with the early appointment. Besides,” he grinned, “we all drank a lot of wine last night. I wish I could sleep in. Try the kippers.”

  The thought of fish for breakfast did not appeal to me, but I took his suggestion. They were delicious. “They’re Manx kippers,” he said, “from the Isle of Man. No artificial coloring, no preservatives.”

  I had the feeling we were about to have a talk about something. They didn’t come often, these talks; he was away a lot when I was growing up and busy when he was home, and they always made me uncomfortable. “What did you think of Derek Thrasher?” I asked. He seemed to be having trouble getting started.

  “Interesting fellow.”

  “Just interesting? Do you think you might represent him in the States?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “I think he might have been serious last night.”

  “I think so, too, but Mr. Thrasher might turn into very heavy baggage in a political campaign. He understands that. I think it’s unlikely he’ll approach me further with the idea.”

  “Is there any indication that he isn’t an honest, upright businessman?” I was a little annoyed at the implied criticism of my new, independently found friend.

  “Not really, but it’s very difficult for any man to do business on the scale that he apparently does without cutting a lot of corners. Men like Thrasher buy politicians as a normal business expense.”

  “A politician can’t be bought unless he’s for sale.”

  “It’s not the reality, but the perception. If I represented him, many people would quickly assume he was backing me financially. And if something went wrong for him, if he were only perceived to be dealing illegally or unethically—even in something I had nothing to do with—well, I’d hate to be in the position of proving I was innocent of involvement.”

  “I see your point. Does that mean that you don’t want me to associate with him? Might that rub off on you?”

  “It might, but you’re old enough to decide who your friends are. He’s a very discreet, even secretive person, so you’re not likely to get your picture in the paper with him.”

  “I’m not so sure.” I told him about the
night before.

  “I thought it might be something like that when he left through the kitchen. But you’ll notice that he avoided the situation, and in any case, it was probably Mrs. Wheatley the photographer was onto. She was much more likely to be recognized than Thrasher. You and Lady Jane seem to be getting along well together.”

  I reddened. “I only met her yesterday.”

  “It seemed to me at dinner that you had made great strides in your relationship,” he said drily. “You know who she is?” I nodded. “I didn’t until last night, though.” “Will you be seeing her again?”

  “She’s off to Paris for a year, leaving today, and that might be a good excuse for a trip to Paris. Her father is apparently getting her ready for the family business, and he has installed her in a bank over there to learn the ropes. She’s been working for Derek for the past three years, it turns out. Been very close to him, learned a lot.”

  “Sounds like a bright young woman, as well as a pretty one. Just how close to Thrasher?”

  “Personal assistant.” Then I caught his meaning.

  “He introduced the two of you?”

  Now my ears were turning red. “Yes, at lunch yesterday.”

  “He arrange the dinner date?”

  I didn’t answer him.

  “You mustn’t take my cynicism too seriously.”

  “Then you shouldn’t make it so obvious.” I think that was the closest thing to a rebuke I had ever handed to my father.

  He paused. “I just want to give you the benefit of some experience in these things.”

  “What things?”

  “Men like Thrasher always want something. Their minds are so constantly engaged in gaining an advantage that I think it becomes impossible for them to have normal friendships the way other people do. They choose their friends, even their acquaintances from among people they think will be of use to them.”