Kane and Abel/Sons of Fortune

by Jeffrey Archer

  “Which one?” said Nat.

  “That when two people meet, the conversation should be equally shared, three people, thirty-three percent, four people, twenty-five percent. I talked,” she paused, “for about ninety percent of the time. I feel ashamed, because I behaved so disgracefully, I don’t know what came over me. I was just so nervous. I feel sure they already regret any suggestion of me as a daughter-in-law.”

  Nat laughed. “They adored you,” he said, “my father was mesmerized by your knowledge of computers, and my mother fascinated by the customs of Korea, though you didn’t mention what has to take place if a Korean girl takes tea with her suitor’s parents.”

  “That doesn’t apply to a first-generation American, like myself.”

  “Who wears pink lipstick and mini skirts,” said Nat, holding up a tube of pink lipstick.

  “I didn’t know you used lipstick, Nat. Another habit you picked up in Vietnam?”

  “Only on night ops, now turn over.”

  “Turn over?”

  “Yes,” said Nat firmly, “I thought Korean women were meant to be subservient, so do as you’re told and turn over.”

  Su Ling turned over, and placed her face down on the pillow. “What is your next order, Captain Cartwright?”

  “To take off your nightdress, little flower.”

  “Does this happen to all American girls on the second night?”

  “Take off your nightdress.”

  “Yes, Captain.” She slowly pulled her white silk nightdress over the top of her head, and dropped it on the floor. “What next,” she asked. “Is it now that you beat me?”

  “No, that doesn’t happen until the third date, but I am going to ask you a question.” Nat took the pink lipstick and wrote four words on her olive skin, followed by a question mark.

  “What have you written, Captain Cartwright?”

  “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

  Su Ling climbed off the bed and stared over her shoulder into the long mirror. It was some time before a smile spread across her face. She turned to find Nat lying spread-eagled on the bed, holding the lipstick high above his head. Su Ling walked slowly across, grabbed the lipstick, stared down at his broad shoulders for some time, before she wrote the words, YES I WILL.

  21

  “ANNIE’S PREGNANT.”

  “That’s wonderful news,” said Jimmy as they left the dining hall and strolled across the campus for their first lecture of the morn ing. “How many months is she?”

  “Only a couple, so now it will be your turn to give the advice.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t forget, you’re the one with all the experience. You’re a father of a six-month-old baby daughter. To start with, how can I help Annie during the next seven months?”

  “Just try to be supportive. Never forget to tell her that she looks wonderful even when she resembles a beached whale, and if she gets any crazy ideas, just play along with them.”

  “Such as?” asked Fletcher.

  “Joanna liked to eat half-pint tubs of double chocolate chip ice cream just before she went to bed each night, so I had a tub as well, and then if she woke up in the middle of the night she often asked for another one.”

  “That must have been a real sacrifice,” said Fletcher.

  “Yes it was, because it always had to be followed by a spoonful of cod liver oil.”

  Fletcher laughed. “Keep going,” he said as they approached the Andersen building.

  “Annie will start going to pre-natal classes fairly soon, and the instructors usually recommend that husbands also attend so they can appreciate what their wives are going through.”

  “I’d enjoy that,” said Fletcher, “especially if I’m going to have to eat all that ice cream.” They climbed the steps and walked through the swing doors.

  “With Annie, it may turn out to be onions or pickle,” said Jimmy.

  “Then I may not be quite as enthusiastic.”

  “And then there’s the preparation for the birth. Who’ll help Annie with this?”

  “Mom asked if she wanted Miss Nichol, my old nanny, to come out of retirement, but Annie wouldn’t hear of it. She’s determined to bring up this child without any outside assistance.”

  “Joanna would have taken advantage of Miss Nichol without a second thought, because from what I remember of that lady, she would have happily agreed to paint the nursery as well as change the diapers.”

  “We don’t have a nursery,” said Fletcher, “just a spare room.”

  “Then as of today, that becomes the nursery, and Annie will expect you to repaint it, while she goes out and buys a whole new wardrobe.”

  “She’s got more than enough clothes already,” said Fletcher.

  “No woman has more than enough clothes,” said Jimmy, “and in a couple of months’ time she won’t be able to fit into any of them, and that’s before she starts thinking about the baby’s needs.”

  “I’d better start looking for a job as a waiter or bartender right away,” said Fletcher, as they walked down the corridor.

  “But surely your father will …”

  “I don’t intend to spend my whole life sponging off my old man.”

  “If my father had that sort of money,” said Jimmy, “I wouldn’t do a day’s work.”

  “Yes, you would,” said Fletcher, “otherwise Joanna would never have agreed to marry you.”

  “I don’t think you’ll end up being a bartender, Fletcher, because after your triumph in the Kirsten case you’ll get the pick of the summer association jobs. And if there’s one thing I know about my kid sister, she won’t allow anything to get in the way of you coming out top of our year.” Jimmy paused: “Why don’t I have a word with my mother? She certainly helped Joanna with a lot of the chores without ever making it at all obvious.” He paused. “But I’d expect something in return.”

  “What do you have in mind?” asked Fletcher.

  “Well, for a start, how about your father’s money?” he said with a grin.

  Fletcher laughed. “You want my father’s money in exchange for asking your mother to help her daughter with the birth of her grandchild? You know, Jimmy, I have a feeling you’d make a very successful divorce lawyer.”

  “I’ve decided to run for president,” he said without even announcing who it was on the other end of the line.

  “That’s good news,” said Tom, “but how does Su Ling feel about it?”

  “I wouldn’t have taken the first step if she hadn’t suggested it. And she also wants to play a role in the campaign. She’s asked to be responsible for polling and anything to do with figures or statistics.”

  “Then that’s one of your problems solved,” said Tom. “Have you appointed a campaign manager?”

  “Yes, just after you returned to Yale, I settled on a guy called Joe Stein. He’s fought two campaigns in the past, and will also bring in the Jewish vote,” said Nat.

  “There’s a Jewish vote in Connecticut?” said Tom.

  “In America, there’s always a Jewish vote, and on this campus, there are four hundred and eighteen Jews, and I need the support of every one of them.”

  “So what’s your considered opinion on the future of the Golan Heights?” asked Tom.

  “I don’t even know where the Golan Heights are,” Nat replied.

  “Well you’d better find out by this time tomorrow.”

  “I wonder what Elliot’s view is on the Golan Heights?”

  “That they should always be part of Israel, and not one inch should ever be sacrificed to the Palestinians, would be my bet,” said Tom.

  “So what will be his line with the Palestinians?”

  “There are probably so few on campus, he won’t have an opinion.”

  “That would certainly make the decision easy for him.”

  “The next thing you’ll have to consider is your opening address, and where you’re going to deliver it,” said Tom.

  “I
was thinking of Russell Hall.”

  “But that only holds four hundred. Isn’t there anything bigger?”

  “Yes,” said Nat, “the Assembly Rooms hold over a thousand, but Elliot made that mistake, because when he gave his opening speech, the place looked half empty. No, I’d rather book the hall and have people sitting on the ledges, hanging from the rafters, even standing on the steps outside unable to get in, which will leave a much better impression with the voters.”

  “Then you’d better select a date and reserve the hall immediately, and at the same time get on with putting the rest of your team in place.”

  “What else should I be worrying about?” asked Nat.

  “The candidate’s bread-and-butter speech, and don’t forget to talk to every student you come across—you remember the routine, ‘Hi, my name is Nat Cartwright, and I’m running for president, and I hope I can rely on your support.’ Then listen to what they have to say, because if they believe you’re interested in their views, you have a far better chance of their support.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Be ruthless in using Su Ling, and ask her to carry out the same routine with every female student, because she’s bound to be one of the most admired women on campus after her decision to remain at the university. There aren’t many people who turn down Harvard.”

  “Don’t remind me,” said Nat. “Is that it, because you seem to have thought of just about everything?”

  “Yes, I’ll come back and help you for the last ten days of the term, but I won’t be officially part of your team.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Elliot will tell everyone your campaign is being run by an outsider and worse, a millionaire banker’s son from Yale. Try not to forget you would have won your last election if it hadn’t been for Elliot’s deceit, so be prepared for him to come up with something that might derail you.”

  “Like what?”

  “If I could work that out, I’d be Nixon’s chief of staff.”

  “How do I look?” asked Annie, propped up on the front seat of the car, clutching her seatbelt.

  “You look fantastic, honey,” said Fletcher, not even glancing across at her.

  “No I don’t, I look awful, and it’s going to be such an important occasion.”

  “It’s probably only one of his get-togethers for a dozen or so students.”

  “I doubt it,” said Annie. “It was a hand-written invitation, and even I couldn’t miss the words, ‘do try to make it, there’s someone I want you to meet.’”

  “Well we’re about to find out who that is,” said Fletcher as he parked his old Ford behind a limousine surrounded by a dozen Secret Service agents.

  “Who can that possibly be?” whispered Annie as he helped her from the car.

  “I’ve no idea, but …”

  “How nice to see you, Fletcher,” said the professor, who was standing at the front door. “Good of you to come,” he added. It would have been damn stupid of me not to, Fletcher wanted to reply. “And you too, Mrs. Davenport, of course I remember you well, because for a couple of weeks I sat just two rows behind you in court.”

  Annie smiled. “I was a little slimmer then.”

  “But no more beautiful,” said Abrahams. “May I ask when the baby is due?”

  “In ten weeks, sir.”

  “Please call me Karl,” said the professor. “It makes me feel so much younger when an undergraduate from Vassar calls me by my first name. A privilege I might add, that I shall not be extending to your husband for at least another year.” He winked as he put an arm around Annie’s shoulder. “Come on in, because there’s someone I want you both to meet.”

  Fletcher and Annie followed the professor into the living room, where they found a dozen guests already deep in conversation. It looked as if they were the last to arrive.

  “Mr. Vice-President, I should like to introduce Annie Davenport.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Vice-President.”

  “Hi, Annie,” said Spiro Agnew thrusting out his hand, “I’m told you’ve married a very bright guy.”

  Karl whispered loudly, “Try not to forget, Annie, that politicians have a tendency to exaggerate, because they are always hoping for your vote.”

  “I know, Karl, my father is a politician.”

  “Is that right?” said Agnew.

  “No, left, sir,” she replied with a smile, “he’s the majority leader in the Connecticut state senate.”

  “Are there no Republicans among us this evening?”

  “And this, Mr. Vice-President, is Annie’s husband, Fletcher Davenport.”

  “Hi, Fletcher, is your father also a Democrat?”

  “No, sir, he’s a card-carrying Republican.”

  “Great, so at least we’ve got two votes wrapped up in your household.”

  “No sir, my mother wouldn’t allow you across the threshold.”

  The vice-president burst out laughing. “I don’t know what that does for your reputation, Karl.”

  “I shall continue to remain neutral, Spiro, as I have no politics. However, may I leave Annie with you, sir, as there’s someone else I want Fletcher to meet.”

  Fletcher was puzzled as he had assumed it was the vice-president to whom the professor must have been referring in his letter, but he dutifully followed his host to join a group of men standing by a blazing fire on the far side of the room.

  “Bill, this is Fletcher Davenport, Fletcher, this is Bill Alexander of Alexander …”

  “ … Dupont and Bell,” completed Fletcher as he shook hands with the senior partner of one of New York’s most prestigious law firms.

  “I’ve been keen to make your acquaintance for some time, Fletcher,” said Bill Alexander. “You have managed something I failed to achieve in thirty years.”

  “And what was that, sir?”

  “Getting Karl to appear as second chair in one of my cases—how did you manage it?”

  Both men waited to hear his reply. “I didn’t have a lot of choice, sir. He forced himself on me in a most unprofessional manner, but then you must realize he was desperate. No one has offered him any real work since 1938.” Both men laughed.

  “But I’m bound to ask if he was worth his fee, which must have been handsome, remembering you kept that woman out of jail?”

  “It certainly was,” said Abrahams, before his young guest could reply. He placed a hand on the bookshelf behind Bill Alexander and removed a hardback copy of The Trials of Clarence Darrow. Mr. Alexander studied the book. “I have one myself, of course,” said Alexander.

  “And so did I,” said Abrahams. Fletcher looked disappointed. “But not a signed first edition with a dust jacket in perfect condition. They are indeed a collector’s item.”

  Fletcher thought about his mother, and her invaluable advice: “Try to choose something he’ll treasure, it doesn’t have to cost a lot of money.”

  Nat went around the circle of eight men and six women who made up his team, asking each of them to give a brief biography for the rest of the group. He then allocated their particular responsibilities in the run-up to the election. Nat could only admire Su Ling’s commitment, because following Tom’s offstage advice, she had selected a remarkable cross-section of students, most of whom had obviously wanted Nat to stand for some time.

  “OK, let’s start with updates,” said Nat.

  Joe Stein rose from his place. “Because the candidate has made it clear that no single contribution can exceed one dollar, I have increased the number in the fund-raising team so we can approach as many of the students as possible. That group currently meets once a week, usually on a Monday. It would be helpful if the candidate was able to address them some time.”

  “Would next Monday suit you?” asked Nat.

  “Fine by me,” said Joe. “To date, we’ve raised $307, most of which was collected after your speech at Russell Hall. Because the room was so packed many of them were convinced that they were backing the winner.”
r />   “Thanks, Joe,” said Nat. “Next: what’s the opposition up to? Tim?”

  “My name’s Tim Ulrich, and my job is to cover the opposition’s campaign, and make sure we know what they’re up to the whole time. We have at least two people taking notes whenever Elliot opens his mouth. He’s made so many promises during the past few days, that if he tried to keep them all, the university would be bankrupt by this time next year.”

  “Now how about groups. Ray?”

  “Groups fall into three categories, ethnic, religious and club, so I have three deputy leaders to cover each one. There is of course a considerable amount of overlapping, for example, Italians and Catholics.”

  “Sex?” suggested someone.

  “No,” said Ray, “we found sex to be universal, and therefore couldn’t group it, but opera, food, fashion are examples of where the overlapping came for Italians—but we’re on top of it. Mario’s even offering free coffee to those customers who promise to vote Cartwright.”

  “Be careful. Elliot will pick that up as an election expense,” said Joe. “Don’t let’s lose on a technicality.”

  “Agreed,” said Nat. “Sports?”

  Jack Roberts, the basketball captain, didn’t need to introduce himself. “Track and field is well covered by Nat’s personal involvement, especially after his victory in the final cross-country meet against Cornell. I’m covering the baseball team as well as basketball. Elliot already has football sewn up, but the surprise is women’s lacrosse—that club has over three hundred members.”

  “I’ve got a girlfriend on the second team,” said Tim.

  “I thought you were homosexual?” said Chris. Some of them laughed.

  “Who is covering the gay vote?” asked Nat.

  No one spoke. “If anyone admits to being openly gay, find a place for them on the team, and no more snide remarks.”

  Chris nodded his agreement. “Sorry, Nat.”

  “Finally, polls and statistics, Su Ling.”

  “My name is Su Ling. There are 9,628 students registered—5,517 men, 4,111 women. A very amateur poll conducted on campus last Saturday morning showed Elliot had 611 votes and Nat 541, but don’t forget Elliot’s had a head start on us, because he’s been campaigning for over a year, and his posters are already displayed everywhere. Ours will be up by Friday.”