“You didn’t mention this when you came in,” said Su Ling.
“The thought of Julia coming to dinner drove it out of my mind,” said Nat, “but I did discuss the deal with Luke.”
“And what was his considered opinion?” asked Tom.
“He thought that a dollar was far too much to pay for a bank.”
“A dollar?” echoed Julia.
“Yes, Bennett’s have been declaring a loss for the past five years and, if you exclude the banking premises, their long-term debt is no longer covered by their assets, so Luke may prove to be right if I can’t turn it around in time.”
“How old is Luke?” asked Julia.
“Two, but he already has a proper grasp of financial matters.”
Julia laughed. “So tell me more about the bank, Nat.”
“It’s only the beginning,” he explained as he poured the champagne, “I still have my eye on Morgan’s.”
“And how much is that going to cost you?” asked Su Ling.
“Around three hundred million at today’s prices, but by the time I’m ready to make a bid, it could be over a billion.”
“I can’t think in those sort of sums,” said Julia, “it’s way out of my league.”
“Now that’s not true, Julia,” said Tom. “Don’t forget I’ve studied your company’s accounts, and unlike Bennett’s, you’ve made a profit for the past five years.”
“Yes, but only just over a million,” said Julia, giving him that smile again.
“Excuse me,” said Su Ling, “while I check on dinner.”
Nat smiled at his wife and then glanced at Tom’s guest. He already had the feeling that Julia just might make it to a second date. “What do you do, Julia?” asked Nat.
“What do you think I do?” was thrown back with the same flirtatious smile.
“I’d say you were a model, possibly an actress.”
“Not bad. I used to be a model when I was younger, but for the past six years I’ve been involved in real estate.”
Su Ling reappeared. “If you’d like to come through, dinner is just about ready.”
“Real estate,” said Nat as he accompanied his guest into the dining room, “I would never have guessed.”
“But it’s true,” said Tom. “And Julia wants us to handle her account. There’s a site she’s looking at in Hartford, and she will be depositing five hundred thousand dollars with the bank, in case she needs to move quickly.”
“Why did you select us?” asked Nat, as his wife placed a bowl of lobster bisque in front of her.
“Because my late husband dealt with Mr. Russell over the Robinson Mall site. Although we were the underbidders on that occasion and failed to secure the deal, Mr. Russell didn’t charge us,” said Julia. “Not even a fee.”
“That sounds like my father,” said Tom.
“So my late husband said that if we were ever to look at anything else in this area, we should only bank with Russell’s.”
“Things have changed since then,” said Nat, “Mr. Russell has retired and …”
“But his son is still there, as chairman.”
“And he has me breathing down his neck to make sure people like you are charged when we give them a professional service. Though you’ll be interested to know that the mall has been a great success, showing an excellent return for its investors. So what brings you to Hartford?”
“I read that there are plans to build a second mall on the other side of the city.”
“That’s right. The council is putting the land up for sale with a development permit.”
“What sort of figure are they looking for?” asked Julia as she sipped her soup.
“Around three million is the word on the street, but I think it’s likely to end up nearer three point three to three point five after the success of the Robinson’s site.”
“Three point five is our upper limit,” said Julia. “My company is by nature cautious, and in any case, there’s always another deal around the corner.”
“Perhaps we could interest you in some of the other properties we represent,” said Nat.
“No, thank you,” said Julia. “My firm specializes in malls, and one of the many things my husband taught me was never to stray away from your field of expertise.”
“Wise man, your late husband.”
“He was,” said Julia. “But I think that’s enough business for one night, so once my money has been deposited, perhaps the bank would be willing to represent me at the auction? However, I require complete discretion, I don’t want anyone else to know who you’re bidding for. Something else my husband taught me.” She turned her attention to the hostess. “Can I help you with the next course?”
“No, thank you,” said Su Ling, “Nat’s hopeless, but is just about capable of carrying four plates into the kitchen, and when he remembers, pouring the occasional glass of wine.”
“So how did you two meet?” asked Nat while, prompted by Su Ling’s comment, he began to refill the glasses.
“You wouldn’t believe it,” said Tom, “but we met on a building site.”
“I’m sure there has to be a more romantic explanation.”
“When I was checking over the council land last Sunday, I came across Julia out jogging.”
“I thought you were insistent about discretion,” said Nat smiling.
“Not many people seeing a woman jogging over a building site on a Sunday morning think she wants to buy it.”
“In fact,” said Tom, “it wasn’t until I’d taken her out for dinner at the Cascade that I discovered what Julia was really up to.”
“Corporate real estate must be a tough world for a woman?” said Nat.
“Yes, it is,” said Julia, “but I didn’t choose it, it chose me. You see, when I left college in Minnesota, I did some modeling for a short time, before I met my husband. It was his idea that I should look at sites whenever I went out jogging, and then report back to him. Within a year I knew exactly what he was looking for and within two, I had a place on the board.”
“So you now run the company.”
“No,” said Julia, “I leave that to my chairman and chief executive officer, but I remain the majority shareholder.”
“So you decided to stay involved after your husband’s death?”
“Yes, that was his idea, he knew he only had a couple of years to live, and as we didn’t have any children he decided to teach me everything about the business. I think even he was surprised by how willing a pupil I turned out to be.”
Nat began to clear away the plates.
“Anyone for crème brûlée?” asked Su Ling.
“I couldn’t eat another mouthful; that lamb was so tender,” said Julia. “But don’t let that stop you,” she added, patting Tom’s stomach.
Nat glanced across at Tom, and thought he’d never seen him looking so content. He suspected that Julia might even come to dinner a third time.
“Is that really the time?” asked Julia, looking down at her watch. “It’s been a wonderful evening, Su Ling, but please forgive me, I have a board meeting at ten tomorrow morning, so I ought to be leaving.”
“Yes, of course,” said Su Ling, rising from her place.
Tom leaped up from his chair and accompanied Julia out into the hall, before helping her on with her coat. He kissed Su Ling on the cheek, thanking her for a wonderful evening.
“I’m only sorry that Julia has to rush back to New York. Let’s make it my place next time.”
Nat glanced across at Su Ling and smiled, but she didn’t respond.
Nat found himself chuckling as he closed the front door. “Some woman that,” he said when he joined his wife in the kitchen and grabbed a drying-up cloth.
“She’s a phony,” said Su Ling.
“What do you mean?” asked Nat.
“Exactly what I said, she’s a phony—phony accent, phony clothes, and her phony story was altogether too neat and tidy. Don’t do any business with her.”
&
nbsp; “What can go wrong if she deposits five hundred thousand with the bank?”
“I’d be willing to bet a month’s salary that the five hundred thousand never turns up.”
Although Su Ling didn’t raise the subject again that night, when Nat arrived at his office the following morning, he asked his secretary to dig up all the financial details she could find on Kirkbridge & Company of New York. She was back an hour later with a copy of their annual report, and latest financial statement. Nat checked carefully through the report and his eye finally settled on the bottom line. They had made a profit of just over a million the previous year, and all the figures tallied with those Julia had talked about over dinner. He then checked the board of directors. Mrs. Julia Kirkbridge was listed as a director, below the chairman and chief executive. But because of Su Ling’s apprehension, he decided to take the inquiry one step further. He dialed the telephone number of their office in New York, without going through his secretary.
“Kirkbridge and Company, how can I help you?” said a voice.
“Good morning, would it be possible to speak to Mrs. Kirkbridge?”
“No, I’m afraid not, sir, she’s in a board meeting,” Nat glanced at his watch and smiled, it was ten twenty-five, “but if you leave your number, I’ll ask her to call you back just as soon as she’s free.”
“No, that won’t be necessary,” said Nat. As he put the phone down it rang again immediately. “It’s Jeb in new accounts, Mr. Cartwright, I thought you would want to know that we have just received a wire transfer from Chase for the sum of five hundred thousand, to be credited to the account of a Mrs. Julia Kirkbridge.”
Nat couldn’t resist calling Su Ling to tell her the news.
“She’s still a phony,” his wife repeated.
31
“HEADS OR TAILS?” asked the moderator.
“Tails,” said Barbara Hunter.
“Tails it is,” said the moderator. He looked across at Mrs. Hunter and nodded. Fletcher couldn’t complain, because he would have called heads—he always did—so he only wondered what decision she would make. Would she speak first, because that would determine at the end of the evening that Fletcher spoke last? If, on the other hand …
“I’ll speak first,” she said.
Fletcher suppressed a smile. The tossing of the coin had proved irrelevant; if he’d won, he would have elected to speak second.
The moderator took his seat behind the desk on the center of the stage. Mrs. Hunter sat on his right, and Fletcher on his left, reflecting the ideology of their two parties. But selecting where they should sit had been the least of their problems. For the past ten days there had been arguments about where the debate should be held, what time it should begin, who the moderator should be, and even the height of the lecterns from which they would speak, because Barbara Hunter was five foot seven, and Fletcher six foot one. In the end, it was agreed there should be two lecterns of different heights, one on either side of the stage.
The moderator acceptable to both was chairman of the journalism department at UConn’s Hartford campus. He rose from his place.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Frank McKenzie, and I will be moderator for this evening’s debate. The format calls on Mrs. Hunter to begin with a six-minute opening statement, followed by Mr. Davenport. I feel I should warn both candidates that I will ring this bell,” he picked up a small bell by his side and rang it firmly, which caused some laughter in the audience and helped break the tension, “at five minutes to warn you both that you have sixty seconds left to speak. I will then ring it again after six minutes when you must deliver your final sentence. Following their opening statements, both candidates will then answer questions from a selected panel for forty minutes. Finally, Mrs. Hunter, followed by Mr. Davenport, will each make their closing remarks for three minutes. I now call upon Mrs. Hunter to open proceedings.”
Barbara Hunter rose from her place and walked slowly over to her lectern on the right-hand side of the stage. She had calculated that since ninety percent of the audience would be watching the debate on television, she would address the largest number of potential voters if she spoke first, especially as a World Series game was due to be aired at eight thirty, when the majority of viewers would automatically switch channels. Since both of them would have made their opening remarks by that time, Fletcher felt it wasn’t that significant. But he also wanted to speak second so that he could pick up on some of the points Mrs. Hunter made during her statement, and if at the end of the evening, he had the last word, perhaps it might be the only thing the audience would remember.
Fletcher listened attentively to a predictable and well-rehearsed opening from Mrs. Hunter. She held the lectern firmly as she spoke. “I was born in Hartford. I married a Hartford man, my children were born at St. Patrick’s Hospital and all of them still live in the state capital, so I feel I am well qualified to represent the people of this great city.” The first burst of applause flooded up from the floor. Fletcher checked the packed audience carefully, and noted that about half of them were joining in, while the other half remained silent.
Among Jimmy’s responsibilities for the evening was the allocation of seats. It had been agreed that both parties would be given three hundred tickets each, with four hundred left over for the general public. Jimmy and a small band of helpers had spent hours urging their supporters to apply for the remaining four hundred, but Jimmy realized that the Republicans would be just as assiduous carrying out the same exercise, so it was always going to end up around fifty–fifty. Fletcher wondered how many genuinely neutral people there were sitting in the auditorium.
“Don’t worry about the hall,” Harry had told him, “the real audience will be watching you on television and they’re the ones you need to influence. Stare into the middle of the camera lens, and look sincere,” he added with a grin.
Fletcher made notes as Mrs. Hunter outlined her program, and although the contents were sensible and worthy, she had the sort of delivery that allowed the mind to wander. When the moderator rang the bell at five minutes. Mrs. Hunter was only about halfway through her speech and even paused while she turned a couple of pages. Fletcher was surprised that such a seasoned campaigner hadn’t calculated that the occasional burst of applause would cut into her time. Fletcher’s opening remarks were timed at just over five minutes. “Better to finish a few seconds early than have to rush toward the end,” Harry had warned him again and again. Mrs. Hunter’s peroration closed a few seconds after the second bell had rung, making it sound as if she had been cut short. Nevertheless, she still received rapturous applause from half of the audience, and courteous acknowledgment from the remainder.
“I’ll now ask Mr. Davenport to make his opening statement.”
Fletcher slowly approached the lectern on his side of the stage, feeling like a man just a few paces away from the gallows. He was somewhat relieved by the warm reception he received. He placed his five-page, double-spaced, large-type script on the lectern and checked the opening sentence, though in truth he had been over the speech so many times he virtually knew it by heart. He looked down at the audience and smiled, aware that the moderator wouldn’t start the clock until he’d delivered his first word.
“I think I’ve made one big mistake in my life,” he began. “I wasn’t born in Hartford.” The ripple of laughter helped him, “But I made up for it. I fell in love with a Hartford girl when I was only fourteen.” Laughter and applause followed. Fletcher relaxed for the first time and delivered the rest of his opening remarks with a confidence that he hoped belied his youth. When the bell for five minutes rang, he was just about to begin his peroration. He completed it with twenty seconds to spare, making the final bell redundant. The applause he received was far greater than he had been greeted with when he first approached the lectern, but then the opening statement was no more than the end of the first round.
He glanced down at Harry and Jimmy, who were seated in the second row. Their sm
iles suggested he had survived the opening skirmish.
“The time has now come for the question session,” said the moderator, “which will last for forty minutes. The candidates are to give brief responses. I’ll start with Charles Lockhart of the Hartford Courant.”
“Does either candidate believe the educational grants system should be reformed?” asked the local editor crisply.
Fletcher was well prepared for this question, as it had come up again and again at local meetings, and was regularly the subject of editorials in Mr. Lockhart’s paper. He was invited to respond as Hunter had spoken first.
“There should never be any discrimination that makes it harder for someone from a poor background to attend college. It is not enough to believe in equality, we must also insist on equality of opportunity.” This was greeted with a sprinkling of applause and Fletcher smiled down at the audience.
“Fine words,” responded Mrs. Hunter, cutting into the applause, “but you out there will also expect fine deeds. I’ve sat on school boards so you don’t have to lecture me on discrimination, Mr. Davenport, and if I am fortunate enough to be elected senator, I will back legislation that supports the claims of all men,” she paused, “and women, to equal opportunities.” She stood back from the lectern while her supporters began cheering. She turned her gaze on Fletcher. “Perhaps someone who has had the privilege of being educated at Hotchkiss and Yale might not be able to fully grasp that.”
Damn, thought Fletcher, I forgot to tell them that Annie sat on a school board, and they had just enrolled Lucy in Hartford Elementary, a local public school. When there had only been twelve in the audience, he had remembered every time.
Questions on local taxes, hospital staffing, public transportation and crime predictably followed. Fletcher recovered from the opening salvo and began to feel that the session would end in a draw, until the moderator called for the last question.
“Do the candidates consider themselves truly independent, or will their policies be dictated by the party machine, and their vote in the Senate dependent on the views of retired politicians?” The questioner was Jill Bernard, weekend anchor of a local radio talk show, which seemed to have Barbara Hunter on every other day.
Kane and Abel/Sons of Fortune Page 83
