He took a satisfying sip, adding the warmth of tea to the pleasure of the moment, then opened the well-worn nineteenth century volume and began to read.
25
Reentry
WASHINGTON, D.C.
A sudden change in the drone of the engine ended Loni’s nap. They had begun the descent into D.C. She tucked her journal away in her carry-on and hopefully with it the memories contained in its pages.
How happy she was to be returning to the United States. As she stepped into the plane for the homeward journey, she had vowed never to return to Scotland. The cold rain and wind had been incessant. She had ruined a pair of shoes from the wet grass and puddles, and she hadn’t felt truly warm throughout the entire conference.
And the Scottish brogue! What became of the posh Queen’s English north of the border?
Gazing out the window, she viewed a gorgeous day in the eastern U.S. The clouds had dissipated somewhere over the Atlantic. As the 747 banked toward Reagan International, the sky was clear for miles.
She couldn’t help peering into the distance westward, trying to catch a glimpse of the farm country of southern Pennsylvania where she had grown up. One last fleeting glance back to a past she had left thirteen years ago . . . then a bumpy touchdown a few minutes later, and the frenetic pace of her life rushed back to engulf her like a tidal wave.
Fifteen minutes later, emerging from the jetway, she was surprised to see Hugh Norman standing there waiting for her.
“Hey, sweetie!” he said, coming toward her with a smile.
“Hugh!” exclaimed Loni. He took her in his arms and planted a kiss on her lips, then stepped back and handed her a bouquet of flowers.
“How thoughtful—thank you, Hugh,” said Loni. “What a surprise to find you here! How did you get to the gate . . . past the security checkpoint?”
“The congressman made a call,” replied Hugh. “Pulled a string or two at TSA, and here I am in my official governmental capacity to escort you through customs.”
“Wow, lucky me!”
“So how was Scotland?”
“The conference was great,” replied Loni. “The weather was awful, but I mostly kept indoors.”
“Well it’s great to have you back. I missed you!”
Loni laughed. “It’s been less than a week!”
“What can I say? A hopeless romantic, that’s me.”
They made their way through the maze of lines at customs, expedited whenever Hugh flashed his ID. Soon they were on their way into the main terminal and chatting freely.
Suddenly a familiar voice broke into their conversation.
“Loni . . . Loni!”
“Ah, surprise, surprise,” said Hugh. “The woman is everywhere!”
“Maddy!” called Loni, waving.
Maddy came hurrying toward them and, humorously given the difference in their height, embraced her affectionately.
“Did you come together?” asked Loni, stepping away and glancing back and forth between her boss and boyfriend.
“I had no idea she would be here,” Hugh said. “I took an early lunch to meet your plane and take you home.”
“And I appreciate it, Hugh—really, but—”
She turned toward Maddy with an expression that clearly shouted, Help! What should I do?
“I’m sorry, Hugh,” said Maddy, “but I really need a few hours with Loni.”
“It can’t wait till morning? She just got back—”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Come on, you two!” laughed Loni. “There’s plenty of me to go around.”
She turned toward Hugh with an apologetic expression. “Since I need to debrief Maddy,” she said, “why don’t I go back to the office with her? Then you and I can have dinner together—that is, if you’re free.”
“Sure . . . of course.”
“Come by the office at five-thirty—”
“Make that her apartment,” interposed Maddy. “You’ve had a long week, Loni,” she added. “I promise not to keep you one minute past three. Go home, take a shower and unpack, and then you and Hugh can enjoy yourselves.”
“It’s all settled then,” said Loni. “See you five-thirtyish, Hugh?”
“I suppose that will be all right. I’ll make reservations at the Capital Grill.”
Kissing Loni again, Hugh forced an obviously disappointed smile before turning for the nearest exit.
“The Capital Grill . . .” Loni repeated when the two women were alone, “I can hardly bear that place. Political types everywhere . . . egos and steaks!”
“Does Hugh know?” asked Maddy.
“I would never tell him.”
“Why not?”
“It’s his favorite place. He always sees someone he knows. It makes him feel good to mix with that crowd, so I don’t mind. And I can find a decent salad anywhere.”
“I don’t think he was particular happy to see me,” commented Maddy wryly.
“He knows the demands of my life,” rejoined Loni. “Honestly, I had no idea I would see either of you here. What an honor—a congressional aide and the renowned Madison Swift! I could easily have taken a cab.”
“No way—not when you’re returning from a conference I sent you to. Though I did so for my own selfish reasons.”
“How so?”
“To make you even more valuable to me. I just hope nobody else has their sights on your abilities.”
Loni laughed. “If you say so.”
She smiled as they walked toward the parking garage with a suitcase clattering behind each of them, struck again at what an unlikely duo they made. Loni was blond, five-foot-eleven and then some, easily over six feet in her heels. Her brunette boss, Madison Swift, might have measured five-foot-three in heels. Of course she never wore heels, or dresses either for that matter, but slacks and pantsuits only. Loni had filled out since her skinny school days. Powerful and athletic, she worked out in the gym five days a week—weights, stair-steppers, and various machines. She swam and ran regularly as well. Maddy was chunky and wouldn’t have known what to do on an elliptical or rowing machine if her life depended on it. Her only concession to exercise was a recent vow to take the stairs instead of the elevator once a week up to her office on the seventh floor of Capital Towers. By any measure they were complete opposites.
“A good trip?” asked Maddy as they walked.
“Sure, I learned a lot,” replied Loni. “Here, would you carry these?” she added, sneezing as she passed Maddy the bouquet.
“Chrysanthemums again?” said Maddy. “Didn’t you tell Hugh you were allergic?”
“Yes, but he likes them, and it’s the thought that counts.”
“Tell him again.”
“It’s not worth hurting his feelings. Besides, I’m just glad to be home! Miss me?”
“Always!” said Maddy.
“Well, it’s probably good you didn’t come along—most of the women were wearing dresses.” Maddy grinned.
“You think I’d have been out of place?”
“Just wondering what they’d think of you wearing a pantsuit.”
“England’s progressive too.”
“But this was Scotland. And aren’t you just a little concerned about what people might think?”
“I want them wondering,” said Maddy.
“Why?”
“It keeps people off guard. They’re not sure what to think. That gives me an advantage.”
“That’s weird!” Loni laughed.
“I never claimed otherwise!”
“Well, whatever else, you’re a star in the investment world.”
Maddy stuffed the bouquet into a garbage can they passed.
“Maddy, those were from Hugh!” Loni exclaimed.
“Yes, and he should have chosen something that wouldn’t make you sneeze.”
They reached Maddy’s car. Maddy opened the trunk.
“Hugh’s sweet, and he tries. I don’t mind really,” said Loni. They deposited her luggage
and climbed inside the car. “By the way,” added Loni as they inched out of the lot, “I have a bone to pick with you . . . what happened to that Indian summer you promised me?”
“I’m not sure I actually promised.”
“Maybe not. But it was freezing over there.”
“It’s a nice balmy seventy-five here.”
“Not in Scotland! And it was dark by five-thirty in the afternoon.”
“You’ll be back to normal in no time.”
“Sixty-hour weeks, is that it?”
“I’ll pump you full of strong coffee.”
“Actually, I’d kill for a cup of good coffee!”
“Oh, look,” said Maddy, glancing to the left where a mother and three girls in long dresses and white caps, their bearded father in a white shirt buttoned to the neck and round black hat, were getting into a car. “What an old-fashioned family. They must be Amish or something. I didn’t think they drove cars.”
“They’re not Amish,” said Loni, thinking how similar they looked to the family she’d seen on the Mall a few months ago.
“What are they then?”
“Probably Mennonite or maybe the Society of Friends. I’m not sure.”
“Friends? What do you mean?”
“You know, Quakers. Surely you’ve heard of them. William Penn, the settling of Pennsylvania in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries?”
“Sounds familiar, I guess. I’ve just never heard them called Friends. What are they?”
“The Pilgrims founded New England, and the Quakers founded the middle colonies—Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Maryland.”
“If you say so. What are you, a professor of religious history or something?”
“Just interested,” laughed Loni.
“So Quakers and Friends are old-fashioned . . . the long dresses and all?”
“Mostly not,” replied Loni. “Ninety-nine percent of Quakers today are so modern and liberal they’re more social and political than spiritual. But there are a few isolated Quaker communities that preserve their traditional ways and original Christian teachings.”
“Like those back there?”
“Maybe. I can’t really tell. But some of them do wear what they call plain clothes and old-fashioned hats, keep to themselves, and operate their own schools and that kind of thing.”
“Sounds pretty out of step.”
The statement sent Loni’s brain spinning. “I suppose in a way,” she answered slowly. “But they’re good people, dedicated to a way of life they treasure. It takes courage to live as they do.” Even Loni was surprised by her words.
“How do you know so much about it?” asked Maddy.
“I just do, that’s all.”
As they drove away from the airport, Maddy began reeling off the list of agenda items she had been waiting for Loni to handle.
Every trip one of them took ended this way. “Reentry” they called it.
“Everyone’s talking about the Fed meeting in two weeks,” Maddy was saying. “They’re wondering if they should move some of their assets into high-yield bonds. But I just can’t get into the weeds with a long conversation with every one of them. You’ll be able to plow through the list in a few days.”
“Do they think you’re clairvoyant . . . about the Fed, I mean?”
“Our clients think we know everything.”
Loni laughed. “Do you think it’s time we broke the bad news to them?”
“Actually,” said Maddy thoughtfully, “I do think the Fed will bump up the prime. We probably ought to email our clients—not with a prediction, but with several factors for them to consider.”
“Any word on the New York expansion?” asked Loni.
“They’ve shoved a decision on that back until after the first of the year,” Maddy answered. “It may not even happen till next spring or summer.”
“Well, whenever it does, I’m sure your promotion will be part of it.”
“Just make sure you don’t say anything like that when we get back into the building. They might not pick me.”
“Who else are they going to pick? Jones? He’s been stuck in annuities forever. Not proactive enough. He’s asked me out twice.”
“And?”
“No way. And the point is, that to head up an entire new office I see no one in the company they would want other than you.”
“They might look outside. Get a headhunter to find someone. There’s word that some of Russell’s top people want to make an upward move.”
“It’s you, Maddy,” insisted Loni. “If you want my three cents’ worth, I think the powers that be want to make you the face of the Capital Investments brand the moment they hit the Big Apple. Mark my words—they will have you in front of television cameras doing marketing infomercials by next summer. You’ll be a VP one year from now.”
“I’m glad you have such faith in my star!” said Maddy, chuckling. “And I haven’t forgotten that I promised to take you to New York with me . . . if it happens. We’ll do the Big Apple together!”
26
Bewildering Accounts
LERWICK, SHETLAND ISLANDS
David Tulloch drove into the Shetland’s chief city of Lerwick, da toon to Shetlanders. With a population of but seven thousand residents, many in the world would think themselves stretching a point even to call it a “toon” at all.
His conversation with Murdoc MacBean about the Mill’s finances had worked on his subconscious throughout the night. In spite of his optimistic words to his cousin, David’s sleep had been fitful. Along with what he considered a glitch with his own account, he was afraid that more might be involved than he had assumed.
Awake long before dawn, he took his usual morning walk about the island. Knowing that bankers and solicitors kept different hours than sheep and their shepherds, he waited for the morning’s third ferry and entered Lerwick a little before noon.
His first stop was the bank. There he succinctly laid out the problem with both accounts to the manager, a man he had not previously met by the name of Douglas Creighton.
After researching the matter on his computer, the manager looked up to where David sat waiting patiently. “It seems, Mr. Tulloch,” he said, “that it is simply a matter of the automatic deposits normally made into both accounts having been suspended back in August.”
“Right, I am aware of that,” said David slowly, “no doubt because of my great-uncle’s death. But what I am trying to understand is why. Why are funds from the accounts receivable not going into the Mill’s account? And why would my uncle’s death impact my personal trust account? I see no connection between the factory finances and the trust established by my parents.”
“I really have no information on that. All I know is that single payments have been made on the first day of each month as regular as clockwork into both accounts, going back as far as the computer records them. They were suspended at the time of your uncle’s death.”
“And you can’t tell me what the connection is?”
“I’m sorry,” replied the manager. “All I have here are account numbers. Both accounts—yours and the Mill’s—were funded monthly from a third source, another account, once monthly.”
“From the estate . . . the parent company, I assume you mean,” said David.
“I am afraid I am not at liberty to divulge that information, Mr. Tulloch. I’m sure you understand.”
“Actually, I’m not sure I do completely. However, I respect your position. How then would you suggest I pursue this and get to the bottom of it? The Mill is in dire need of operating revenue for payroll and supplies.”
Creighton thought a moment. “Perhaps you would excuse me,” he said. “Let me make a telephone call.”
David rose and left the office. Two minutes later the door reopened. The manager beckoned him inside.
“I have just spoken with Mr. Jason MacNaughton,” he said. “He authorized me to tell you that the account in question is held by their firm, MacNaughton, Dalrymple,
& MacNaughton.”
David nodded. “Of course. They represent our family’s legal interests. However, I still fail to see how the Mill’s operating account would be connected to the trust of my parents.”
“That I could not say, Mr. Tulloch. The bank handles the accounts per the instructions we are given, nothing more. I have only been in Shetland four years. I am sorry to say that I did not know either of your parents. I am unfamiliar with whatever arrangements they made. These are entirely legal matters. The bank, as I say, merely carries out predetermined instructions.”
“I understand,” said David, rising and reaching over to shake Creighton’s hand. “I appreciate your help. It appears I have some further investigation ahead of me.”
David reached the offices of MacNaughton, Dalrymple, & MacNaughton, Solicitors shortly before one o’clock. The small staff was just preparing to close up for lunch. Informed by his secretary that David Tulloch from Whales Reef was in the office, Jason MacNaughton, at forty-three the youngest member of the partnership, came out of his office to greet him. The two men had met occasionally over the past five years since the death of David’s mother.
“Hello, David,” said MacNaughton as the two shook hands. “Would you join me for lunch? I was just going out.”
“Yes, thank you—I would enjoy that,” replied David.
They left the building and walked along the sidewalk toward a nearby hotel.
“After the bank called, I was expecting you,” said MacNaughton. “You have questions about the automatic deposits?”
“That’s what brought me into the city. I knew there had been no deposits from the trust into my account recently. I was curious but not worried. I’ve had other income from my work through the summer and fall when I’m normally busiest. However, I had no idea the factory was in the same boat until yesterday when my cousin informed me of it. Just now at the bank I learned the automatic deposits into both accounts have been coming from the same source. So I am doubly confused. What does my parents’ trust have to do with the operating account of the factory? And why have deposits into both accounts been discontinued, even though income is still being received for the Mill’s sales?”
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