Fletcher looked down at the crowd in front of him. It was his fourth speech that day, and it wasn’t yet twelve o’clock. He missed Harry’s presence at those Sunday lunches, where ideas could be tested and found wanting. Lucy and George were happy to add their contributions, which only reminded him how indulgent Harry had been when he had come up with suggestions the senator must have heard a hundred times before, but never once hinted as much. But the next generation certainly left Fletcher in no doubt of what the Hotchkiss student body expected of their governor.
Fletcher’s fourth speech that morning didn’t differ greatly from the other three: to the Pepperidge Farm plant in Norwalk, the Wiffle Ball headquarters in Shelton and the Stanley tool-workers in New Britain. He just altered the occasional paragraph to acknowledge that the state’s economy would not be in such good shape without their particular contribution. On to lunch with the Daughters of the American Revolution, where he failed to mention his Scottish ancestry, followed by three more speeches in the afternoon, before attending a fund-raising dinner, which wouldn’t produce much more than ten thousand dollars.
Around midnight he would crawl into bed and put his arms around his sleeping wife and occasionally she would sigh. He’d. read somewhere that once, when Reagan was out on the stump, he had been found cuddling a lamppost. Fletcher had laughed at the time, but no longer.
“Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?”
Nat had to agree with his son’s assessment. Juliet was beautiful, but not the sort of girl Luke was likely to fall for. With five other females in the cast, he tried to work out which one it could possibly be. When the curtain came down for the interval, he thought that Luke had given a moving performance, and felt a glow of pride as he sat there in the audience listening to the applause. His parents had seen the play the night before, and told him that they’d felt the same pride as when he had performed Sebastian in the same hall.
Whenever Luke left the stage, Nat found his mind wandering back to the phone call he’d taken from Washington that morning. His secretary assumed it was Tom playing one of his practical jokes when he was asked if he was available to speak to the president of the United States.
Nat had found himself standing when George Bush came on the line.
The president congratulated him on Fairchild and Russell’s being voted Bank of the Year—his excuse for the call—and then added the simple message, “Many people in our party hope you will allow your name to go forward as governor. You have a lot of friends and supporters in Connecticut, Nat. Let’s hope we can meet soon.”
The whole of Hartford knew within the hour that the president had called, but then switchboard operators also have a network of their own. Nat only told Su Ling and Tom, and they didn’t seem all that surprised.
“The exchange of thy love’s faithful vow for mine.
The father’s mind switched back to the play.
Nat found that people began to stop him in the street and say, “I hope you’ll run for governor, Nat”—Mr. Cartwright—even sir. When he and Su Ling had entered the hall that evening, heads had turned and he sensed a buzz all around him. In the car on the way to Taft he didn’t ask Su Ling if he should run, simply, “Do you think I can do the job?”
“The president seemed to think so,” she replied.
When the curtain came down following the death scene, Su Ling remarked, “Have you noticed that people are staring at us?” She paused. “I suppose we’ll just have to get used to our son being a star.”
How quickly she could bring Nat back down to earth, and what a governor’s wife she would make.
The cast and the parents were invited to join the principal for supper, so Nat and Su Ling made their way over to his house.
“It’s the nurse.”
“Yes, she gave a very sensitive performance,” said Nat.
“No, you fool, the nurse must have been the one Luke’s fallen for,” said Su Ling.
“What makes you so sure of that?” asked Nat.
“Just as the curtain came down, they held hands, and I’m fairly sure that wasn’t in Shakespeare’s original stage directions,” said Su Ling.
“Well, we’re about to find out if you’re right,” said Nat as they entered the principal’s house.
They found Luke sipping a Coke in the hallway. “Hi, Dad,” he said turning to face them. “This is Kathy Marshall; she played the nurse.” Su Ling tried not to smirk. “And this is my mother. Wasn’t Kathy fantastic? But then she plans to major in drama at Sarah Lawrence.”
“Yes she was, but you weren’t bad yourself,” said Nat. “We were both very proud of you.”
“Have you seen the play before, Mr. Cartwright?” asked Kathy.
“Yes, when Su Ling and I visited Stratford. The nurse was played by Celia Johnson, but I don’t suppose you’ve even heard of her.”
“Brief Encounter,” Kathy responded immediately.
“Noël Coward,” Luke said.
“And Trevor Howard played opposite her,” said Kathy. Nat nodded at his son, who was still dressed as Romeo.
“You must be the first Romeo to have fallen for the nurse,” said Su Ling.
Kathy grinned. “It’s his Oedipus complex,” she said. “And how did Miss Johnson translate the part? When my drama teacher saw it as an undergraduate with Dame Edith Evans, she said she played the nurse like a school matron—strict and firm, but loving.”
“No,” said Su Ling, “Celia Johnson portrayed her as slightly dotty, erratic but also loving.”
“What an interesting idea. I must look up the director. Of course I would like to have played Juliet, but I’m just not good-looking enough,” she added matter-of-factly.
“But you’re beautiful,” said Luke.
“You’re hardly a reliable judge on that subject, Luke,” she said, taking his hand. “After all, you’ve been wearing glasses since the age of four.”
Nat smiled, and thought how lucky Luke was to have Kathy as a friend.
“Kathy, would you like to come and spend a few days with us during the summer vacation?” asked Nat.
“Yes, if it’s not going to cause you too much trouble, Mr. Cartwright,” Kathy replied. “Because I wouldn’t want to be in your way.”
“Be in my way?” queried Nat.
“Yes, Luke tells me that you’ll be running for governor.”
LOCAL BANKER RUNS FOR GOVERNOR ran the banner headline in the Hartford Courant. An inside page was given over to a profile of the brilliant young financier who, twenty-five years earlier, had been awarded the Medal of Honor, bringing his career up to date with the role he’d played in the merger between the small family bank of Russell’s, with its eleven local branches, and Fairchild’s with its one hundred and two establishments spread right across the state. Nat smiled when he recalled the confessional at St. Joseph’s, and the graceful way Murray Goldblatz continued to convey the impression that the original idea had been Nat’s. Nat had continued to learn from Murray, who never lowered his guard or his standards.
The Courant’s editorial suggested that Nat’s decision to run against Ralph Elliot for the Republican nomination had opened up the contest, as both were outstanding candidates at the top of their professions. The editorial did not come out in favor of either man, but promised to report fairly on the duel between the banker and the lawyer, who were known not to like each other. “Mrs. Hunter will also run,” they added in the final paragraph almost as an afterthought, which summed up the Courant’s view on her chances now that Nat had allowed his name to go forward.
Nat felt well satisfied with the press and television coverage that followed his announcement, and even more pleased by the favorable public reaction on the street. Tom had taken a two-month leave of absence from the bank to run Nat’s campaign, and Murray Goldblatz sent a substantial check for the campaign fund.
The first meeting was held at Tom’s home that evening, when Nat’s chief of staff explained to his carefully selected team what they would
be up against during the next six weeks.
Rising before the sun each morning, and collapsing in bed after midnight had few compensations, but an unexpected one for Nat was Luke’s fascination with the electoral process. He spent his vacation accompanying his father everywhere, often with Kathy by his side. Nat grew to like her more and more as each day passed.
Nat took a little time getting used to the new routine, and being reminded by Tom that you can’t bark out instructions to volunteers, and you must always thank them, however little they’ve done and however badly they’ve done it. But even with six speeches and a dozen meetings a day, the learning curve proved steep.
It quickly became clear that Elliot had been out on the stump for several weeks, hoping his early groundwork would give him an unassailable advantage. Nat soon realized that although the first caucus in Ipswich would only yield seventeen electoral votes, its importance was disproportionate to the numbers involved, as in New Hampshire at a presidential election. He visited every one of the caucus voters and never left in any doubt that Elliot had been there before him. Although his rival had already locked up several delegates, there remained a few waverers who were undecided or simply didn’t trust the man.
As the days slipped by, Nat discovered that he was always expected to be in two places at once because the primary in Chelsea was only two days after the caucus in Ipswich. Elliot was now spending most of his time in Chelsea, as he considered he’d already wrapped up the Ipswich caucus.
Nat returned to Ipswich on the night of the caucus vote, to hear the local chairman announce that Elliot had captured ten of the votes while he had secured seven. Elliot’s team, while claiming it as a clear-cut victory, were unable to hide their disappointment. As soon as he’d heard the result, Nat ran to his car and Tom had him back in Chelsea by midnight.
To his surprise, the local papers discounted the result in Ipswich, saying that Chelsea, with an electorate of over eleven thousand, would be much more of an indicator as to how the public felt about the two men rather than reading anything into the views of a handful of party apparatchiks. And Nat certainly felt more relaxed out on the streets, in the shopping malls, at the factory gates, and in the schools and clubs than he had been in smoke-filled rooms listening to people who believed it was their “God-given right” to select the candidate.
After a couple of weeks of pressing the flesh, Nat told Tom that he was very encouraged by how many voters were saying they would support him. But was Elliot receiving the same response, he wondered.
“I’ve no idea,” said Tom as they drove off to yet another meeting, “but I can tell you that we are fast running out of money. If we’re soundly beaten tomorrow, we may have to withdraw from the race, having taken part in one of the shortest campaigns in history. We could of course let the world know that Bush is backing you, because that would be sure to swing a few votes.”
“No,” said Nat firmly. “That was a private call, not an endorsement.”
“But Elliot never stops talking about his trip to the White House with his old friend George, as if it was a dinner for two.”
“And how do you feel the rest of the Republican delegation feel about that?”
“That’s far too subtle for the average voter,” suggested Tom.
“Never underestimate them,” said Nat.
Nat couldn’t recall much about the day of the Chelsea primary, except that he never stopped moving. When it was announced just after midnight that Elliot had won by 6,109 votes to 5,302 for Cartwright, Nat’s only question was, “Can we afford to go on now that Elliot has gained a twenty-seven to ten lead among the delegates?”
“The patient is still breathing,” Tom replied, “but only just, so it’s on to Hartford, and if Elliot wins that one as well, we won’t be able to stop his bandwagon rolling all over us. Just be thankful you have a day job to go back to,” he added with a smile.
Mrs. Hunter, who had only picked up two electoral college votes, conceded defeat and said she was withdrawing from the race and would be announcing in the near future which candidate she would be supporting.
Nat enjoyed returning to his hometown, where the people in the streets treated him as a friend. Tom knew how much effort had to be put into Hartford, not only because it was their last chance, but as the state capital it carried the most electoral votes, nineteen in all, with the prehistoric rule of winner takes all, so if Nat topped the poll, he would go into the lead, 29:27. If he lost, he could unpack his bags and stay at home.
During the campaign, the candidates were invited to attend several functions together, but whenever they did, they rarely acknowledged each other’s presence, and certainly never stopped for a chat.
With three days to go to the primary, a poll in the Hartford Courant put Nat two points ahead of his rival, and they reported that Mrs. Barbara Hunter was throwing her support behind Cartwright. This was exactly the boost Nat’s campaign needed. The following morning, he noticed that far more workers were with him on the street, and many more passersby came up to shake him by the hand.
He was in Robinson’s Mall when the message came through from Murray Goldblatz, “I need to see you urgently.” Murray was not a man to use the word urgent unless that was exactly what he meant. Nat left his team to go on canvassing, assuring them that he would return shortly. They didn’t see him again that day.
When Nat arrived at the bank, the receptionist told him that the chairman was in the boardroom with Mr. and Mrs. Russell. Nat walked in and took his usual place opposite Murray, but the expressions on the faces of his three colleagues didn’t harbor glad tidings. Murray came quickly to the point. “I understand that you have a town meeting tonight which both you and Elliot will be addressing?”
“Yes,” said Nat, “it’s the last major event before the vote tomorrow.”
“I have a spy in the Elliot camp,” said Murray, “and she tells me that they have a question planned for tonight that will derail your campaign, but she can’t find out what it is, and daren’t be too inquisitive, in case they become suspicious. Do you have any idea what it might be?”
“No, I don’t,” said Nat.
“Perhaps he’s found out about Julia,” said Tom quietly.
“Julia?” said Murray, sounding puzzled.
“No, not my wife,” said Tom. “The first Mrs. Kirkbridge.”
“I had no idea there was a first Mrs. Kirkbridge,” said Murray.
“No reason you should,” said Tom. “But I’ve always dreaded the thought that the truth might come out.” Murray listened attentively as Tom recalled how he’d met the woman who passed herself off as Julia Kirkbridge, and how she had signed the bank’s check and then removed all the money from her account.
“Where is that check now?” asked Murray.
“Somewhere in the bowels of City Hall, would be my guess.”
“Then we must assume that Elliot’s got his hands on it, but were you technically breaking the law?”
“No, but we didn’t keep to our written agreement with the council,” said Tom.
“And the Cedar Wood project went on to be a huge success, making everyone involved a handsome return,” added Nat.
“So,” said Murray, “we are left with a choice. You either make a clean breast of it and prepare a statement this afternoon, or wait until the bomb drops tonight and hope you have an answer to every question that’s thrown at you.”
“What do you recommend?” said Nat.
“I would do nothing. First, my informant could be wrong, and second, the Cedar Wood project may not be the curve ball, in which case you will have opened that can of worms unnecessarily.”
“But what else could it be?” said Nat.
“Rebecca?” said Tom.
“What do you mean?” asked Nat.
“That you made her pregnant and forced her to have an abortion.”
“That’s hardly a crime,” said Murray.
“Unless she tries to claim you raped her.”
&
nbsp; Nat laughed. “Elliot’s never going to raise that particular subject, because he might well have been the father himself, and abortion is not part of his holier-than-thou image.”
“Have you considered going on the attack yourself?” asked Murray.
“What do you have in mind?” asked Nat.
“Didn’t Elliot have to resign from Alexander Dupont and Bell on the same day as the senior partner because half a million went missing from a client account?”
“No, I will not stoop to his level,” said Nat. “In any case, Elliot’s involvement was never proved.”
“Oh yes, it was,” said Murray. Tom and Nat stared across at the chairman. “A friend of mine was the client in question, and phoned to warn me the moment he heard that Elliot was representing us in the takeover.”
Nat sighed. “That may well be the case, but the answer is still no.”
“Good,” said Murray, “then we’ll beat him on your terms, which means that we’ll have to spend the rest of the afternoon preparing answers to whatever you imagine might be the questions.”
At six o’clock, Nat left the bank feeling wrung out. He phoned Su Ling and told her what had happened. “Do you want me to come along tonight?” she asked.
“No, little flower, but can you keep Luke well occupied? If it’s going to be unpleasant, I’d rather he wasn’t around. You know how sensitive he can be, and he always takes it all so personally.”
“I’ll take him to a movie—there’s a French film playing at the Arcadia that he and Kathy have been pressing me to see all week.”
Nat tried not to appear nervous when he arrived at Goodwin House that night. He walked into the hotel’s main dining room to find it was packed with several hundred local businessmen chatting to each other. But who were they supporting, he wondered? He suspected many of them still hadn’t made up their minds, as the polls kept reminding them that 10 percent were still undecided. The headwaiter directed him to the top table, where he found Elliot chatting to the local party chairman. Manny Friedman swung around to welcome Nat. Elliot leaned across and made a public show of shaking hands. Nat sat down quickly and began to make notes on the back of a menu.
Kane and Abel/Sons of Fortune Page 95
