Lady of Fortune

by Graham Masterton

  Everybody laughed. Mariella blushed, and said, ‘Do call me Mariella, please. If you are going to compliment me to death, I might as well die hearing my name on your lips.’

  They all laughed again.

  Just at that moment, Dougal appeared from the hallway, walking awkwardly, and tugging down his white dinner-vest as he came. Effie hadn’t seen him for some weeks now, and she was appalled at how he seemed to have degenerated. He looked like a man in his middle sixties, rather than a man of fifty-two. His face was bloated with fluid, and yet wrinkled too, like the dead-man’s fingers inside a crab. He kept his right arm pressed against his side, and as he came across the room he shuffled with his right foot, and almost stumbled.

  Robert stood up for Dougal, and so did Alisdair, but there was such a difference in the way they greeted him. Alisdair – already shaken by his discovery that Kay was his daughter, and now suddenly faced with meeting a strange, sick-looking man who didn’t know that he was his father – got up clumsily, spilling some of his champagne, and looked nervously around to Effie to give him confidence.

  Robert, in contrast, rose smoothly from his chair in black-suited triumph, tall and rich and overwhelming, and Effie had never seen on anyone’s face such a smile of satisfaction and cruelty and malicious pleasure. He advanced on Dougal, and took Dougal’s hand in both of his hands, and energetically pumped at his arm. ‘Dougal … after all these years! What a reunion this is!’

  Dougal diffidently pursed his lips; trying to look Robert directly in the eye, but somehow unable to do so. He said, in a voice like scattered shreds of newspaper, ‘I’m pleased you could come. Has Mariella been looking after you all right?’

  Robert wouldn’t let Dougal free. ‘Looking after us?’ he said, loudly and heartily, continuing to jerk Dougal’s arm up and down. ‘Your lovely wife has been a paragon of hospitality; a queen!’

  ‘Well … good …’ said Dougal, and at last managed to tug his hand away. Then, softly, ‘Hallo, Effie. Thank you for coming. I’m sorry I was abrupt with you on the telephone.’

  Effie shook her head, to show that it didn’t matter.

  ‘You’d better come and say hello to Alisdair,’ said Robert. ‘My first and only boy! A Watson in the fine tradition of Watsons!’

  It was obvious to Effie that this, for Robert, was the moment of greatest relish. To introduce to Dougal his own son, without Dougal even realising it; to humiliate Dougal at last in front of his sister, and his own wife, and Alisdair; especially since Dougal was looking so broken, and so unwell; this, for Robert, was one of those moments for which he believed he had been born on earth.

  Dougal and Alisdair shook hands. Robert teemed with delight. ‘We must drink to this!’ he exclaimed. ‘We can’t let such an historic forgathering go by without a toast!’

  They all stood up now, and raised their glasses; even young Kay, who had been given a mimosa, more orange than champagne. Robert thrust his thumb into his vest-pocket, and said, ‘Here’s to Watson’s banks, on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean, and here’s to the prosperity of those who own them!’

  They said, in unison, ‘Watson’s,’ and drank. But before could sit down, Robert put his arm around Mariella’s waist, and said, ‘I want to propose one more toast. It’s said with envy, and with great respect, and with affection. Here’s to our hostess, who has made us feel so much at home here; and may I say that the flag of the United States of America ought to carry a forty-ninth star, to represent a lady who shines in every respect.’

  Effie, anxious to break the meniscus of tension of which they now all seemed to be suspended, broke out clapping. Alisdair clapped too, and so did Kay. But Dougal did nothing but cough, and pivot slowly on one leg, and make his way across to his high-backed armchair, and sit down as heavily as a sack of meal.

  Robert boomed across to him, ‘Well, my laddie, I have to say that you’re not looking your best! Is it the influenza?’

  Mariella, still holding Robert’s arm, said, ‘Dougal’s … just not too well at the moment, Robert. The doctor says he’s been overdoing his work.’

  Dougal, with an effort, raised his head. One of his eyes was very badly bloodshot. ‘I’m improving,’ he said. ‘It’s just a busy time of year for me. It hasn’t helped that Effie’s leaving us. She’s caused me a great deal of extra work.’

  ‘I don’t think we have to go through that again,’ said Effie, quietly.

  ‘It’s true, nevertheless,’ said Dougal.

  Effie said, ‘I simply have no confidence in the American stock-market, that’s all. You can call it a lack of faith if you will. But I fail to see how the United States can continue to boom when Germany is on the point of financial collapse, and the rest of Europe is suffering a terrible and continuing economic crisis. America no longer stands alone in the world. The war showed us that.’

  Robert tipped down the rest of his champagne, and looked around for more. ‘Well, now,’ he said, ‘let’s not talk trade before dinner. Mariella – why don’t you show me around this lovely house of yours? Alisdair, why don’t you sit down and get to know your uncle? I expect he’s got some grand stories to tell of life in America, haven’t you, Dougal? Well, then!’

  Effie said, ‘Kay and I will get ready for dinner. Would you like to wear your dark brown velvet dress, Kay? Or the blue?’

  Robert watched with a smile as Rousseau topped up his champagne glass. Then he took Mariella’s arm, and said, ‘Lead on, my dearie.’ Slumped in his chair, Dougal watched them with a tangled expression of resentment and jealousy as they promenaded out of the drawing-room into the hallway; and even when Effie said something to him, it was obvious that he was still listening to their echoing voices as Mariella guided Robert through to the painting-gallery, to admire their collection of Thomas Cole landscapes.

  At last, Dougal turned to Alisdair, and said, ‘You’re working at the bank in Edinburgh, then, Alisdair?’

  ‘Mostly in Edinburgh, sir. But I spend some time in London, too.’ Alisdair looked extremely pale, and Effie watched him with concern.

  ‘You’re … older than I thought you might have been,’ said Dougal. ‘I saw a photograph of you once, didn’t I, in some finance paper? Quite a few years ago, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes, sir. That was in 1919, sir, when I was eighteen years old. It was an article about important financiers at home, with their families.’

  ‘Their families,’ said Dougal, more to himself than to Alisdair. He lifted his head and stared around the huge drawing-room as if he were searching for something. ‘Well, as you can see, there are no families here. Just me, and my wife. Oh, and a great many horses. I – well, my wife mostly – breeds horses. Do you ride, Alisdair?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good. You must remind me tomorrow, and you can ride.’ Dougal lapsed into silence for a while. Effie said, ‘I think Kay and I had better go upstairs now. Alisdair – will you be all right for a while?’

  Alisdair looked distinctly unhappy about the idea of being left with Dougal, but he nodded, and said, That’s all right, Aunt Effie. You go ahead.’

  Dougal coughed, and then coughed again, and then noisily spat phlegm into his hankerchief. ‘I used to ride a good deal myself,’ he said, with a rattling sniff. ‘I used to run, too. Ever done any running, Alisdair? Real hard running? I used to run all the way up the Scott Monument. Do you think you could do that?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir. I try to keep fit.’

  ‘Hmmph,’ said Dougal. He closed his eyes. Then, after a while, he opened them again, and said, ‘What do you make of it?’

  ‘What do I make of what, sir?’

  ‘Money. Banking. What else?’

  Alisdair shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He was acutely aware that Dougal, in spite of his age and in spite of his sickness, was almost a mirror-image of him; and he was amazed that Dougal couldn’t see the resemblance too, and guess the truth. He said, ‘We’re having a very difficult time of it at the moment, sir. London banking isn’t
anything like it must have been before the war. We’ve lent a little money to Australia and Canada; and father arranged a joint loan to Peru with the Banque de Caen; but so many of our debtors default, and until there’s some kind of stability of currency …’

  ‘That’s why your father wants to do business with me,’ interrupted Dougal. ‘He knows that we American banks have a large share of the foreign-loan market. Latin America, South America, Europe. American banks lent the world 1.3 billion dollars in the last five years. Did you know that?’

  ‘I hope you’re confident you’re going to be repaid,’ said Alisdair.

  Dougal snorted. There’s a boom here in America. Given time, if we can splash enough money around the world, it’s going to spread to Europe, too. Good times are coming for everyone.’

  Alisdair finished his champagne. Dougal was watching him, without saying a word. Alisdair gave him a brief and difficult smile, but Dougal didn’t smile in return.

  Five long minutes passed. Alisdair’s mind seemed to seize up. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say: and yet Dougal kept on staring at him, sniffing intermittently, and occasionally clearing his throat.

  ‘Let me give you a word of advice,’ Dougal said at last.

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Never marry a foreigner.’

  Alisdair said, as politely as he could, ‘You did, sir. I mean, your wife’s –’

  ‘I know what you mean!’ snapped Dougal, roughly. ‘I know exactly what you mean!’

  They continued to sit together in silence until Robert and Mariella reappeared, both laughing. ‘What’s this?’ asked Robert, ‘the annual convention of Trappist monks?’

  Alisdair said angrily, ‘Excuse me,’ and went off to find the bathroom.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  All through dinner, from stuffed Little Neck clams to sweet maple-syrup ices, the difficult charades continued. As Dougal’s silent Negro footman brought them duck, and Nova Scotia salmon, and roast breasts of woodcock, Robert flirted with Mariella even more persuasively and even more relentlessly, and so openly sometimes that some of the remarks he made to her made Effie’s stomach lift like going over a humpback hill in a fast car. ‘Do you know something,’ he asked her, in his strong Edinburgh accent taking her hand in full view of everybody, ‘you have the kind of lips that are just weeping to be kissed.’

  Kay realised that there was electricity in the air: she could sense it in her mother’s voice, in the tight, over-controlled way she talked, and the way she kept trying to steer the conversation away from Mariella. She could also see that her Uncle Dougal, at the distant end of the table, was growing increasingly restless and morose, and that he was scarcely touching his dinner. Alisdair was so white in the face he looked as if he had been sick, and whenever Kay tried to smile at him, he quickly averted his eyes.

  After dinner, they sat around the drawing-room fire for a while, with champagne punch; and Effie persuaded Kay to sing The Lilies, and then skip a little Charleston to a gramophone record to Paul Whiteman’s Song of the Congo. For a half hour or so, there was something that very nearly approached a warm family atmosphere: but then Robert, who had been sitting on the arm of Mariella’s chair, leaned over, ostentatiously kissed her forehead and said, There, my dearie, you see what a talented niece you have?’

  Effie sat up straight, ‘I think it’s time we discussed a little business,’ she said, sharply. ‘I won’t have much time in the morning, and I want to get back to New York by mid-afternoon. Perhaps we can use your library, Dougal?’

  ‘Well, Effie always was a spoilsport!’ complained Robert, giving Mariella an obvious and affectionate squeeze, and standing up. ‘But, I suppose we ought to get down to the brass tacks of what we’re doing here. Alisdair – do you mind if you stay out of this, just at this stage?’

  ‘Stay out?’ But I’ve got all the figures,’ protested Alisdair. ‘Apart from that, how can you discuss the London end of things unless –’

  Robert pushed his hands into his pants pockets. ‘I just asked you to stay out, didn’t I? I asked you. Now, don’t put me in a position where I’m obliged to tell you.’

  ‘No, father,’ said Alisdair, lowering his eyes. Effie reached over and touched Alisdair’s hand, and said, ‘Don’t worry yourself. I expect we’ll have a few old times to talk about, You wouldn’t want to waste your time listening to all that old blether.’

  ‘No,’ said Alisdair, but he was clearly unappeased. He looked at Effie and Effie could plainly see on his face the one fierce sentiment: I’m a father myself, the father of your child, and yet you’re treating me like a child, too. What shall I do? Sing Dance To Your Daddy for you, and then go up to bed with a mug of warm milk?

  After Effie had kissed Kay goodnight, and Alisdair, tight-lipped, had gone off to his room to read, Effie and Dougal and Robert met together in the library, with its rows and rows of gilded and leather-bound volumes, and its deep leather-back chairs, and its dim yellow and orange shaded Tiffany lamps. Dougal had brought out a bottle of Blair Athoil whisky, and Robert was already sitting back comfortably with his legs crossed and his glass of malt resting on his paunch.

  ‘You can smoke if you wish,’ said Effie, sitting down and taking out her cigarette case.

  ‘In that case, I’d better open the window,’ said Dougal. He rang for Rousseau, and said, ‘Open the window, will you, Rousseau? And bring me some of that Turkish delight. I’ve got a sweet tooth in me tonight.’

  ‘Yes, sir, Mr Watson.’

  ‘Now then,’ said Robert, ‘perhaps we’d better get our noses to the cutler’s wheel. I’ve already explained a little of this to Effie, so I won’t go into the tedious details. But what I’m actually proposing is that Watson’s in New York and Watson’s in Edinburgh should, from this day forward, work closely together. I’m proposing that British and European investors should be able to buy Latin-American bonds and US industrial bonds through Watson’s in New York; and that US speculators should be able to venture their money into Europe and British Empire countries through Watson’s in Edinburgh. A two-way traffic, which – because we’re related, because we can trust each other – we can conduct between ourselves at extremely favourable rates of exchange, we can also do quite a lot to manipulate currencies to our own advantage, either to or fro. Dougal has already agreed that this is an excellent idea; an idea which we should have made use of years and years ago, if it hadn’t been for our ridiculous and unprofitable family quarrels. Between us, I believe we can offer investors very exciting profits; and very tempting rates; and build ourselves up into quite a formidable banking empire once again.

  ‘Sure Dougal has a great deal more to offer you than you have to offer Dougal,’ said Effie, putting away her cigarette lighter. ‘After all, Watson’s New York, even without the stake I used to have in it, is still worth five times as much as Watson’s Edinburgh. And while American banks are literally scouring the world for people to whom they can lend their money, most of your British and European investors don’t have two beans to rub together. It’s going to be a pretty one-sided affair, in your favour.’

  ‘I don’t need two beans,’ grinned Robert. ‘Jack and the Beanstalk demonstrated that. If I want the golden goose, all I need is one bean, and the right place to plant it. Watson’s New York is the right place. And my bean is that £24 million I was talking to you about … the money we made by picking up German war debts. To show you that I really mean business, I’ll commit all of that money for Dougal to lend to American investors. Dougal will pick up a healthy commission and a respectable percentage of the earnings, and Watson’s in Edinburgh, apart from the small profit it makes, will know that its money is in capable family hands.’

  Dougal said nothing. In the library lamplight, he looked slightly healthier than he had at dinner, even a little flushed, but he still had a disturbingly lop-sided appearance; a man who had been radically corroded by his own fears and by his own disappointments. It seemed extraordinary to Effie that Robert should so
blithely be talking about doing business with someone so ill – brother or not. Although Watson’s New York was one of the richest of the small private banks, in New York, richer, for example, than Hallett’s Bank, or the Bank of Columbia, this was largely due to the capable management of Dan Kress, and (in her time there) Effie herself. Several people on Wall Street had commented to Effie over the past few months how sick Dougal appeared to be, and how vague he had become. Jean Monnet, with whom Effie had become acquainted through Blair’s and through the TransAmerica corporation, had even sent Effie the name of his doctor.

  Effie said, ‘You’ve agreed to back up the promise of this loan with a bill of exchange. Before Dougal starts lending out his own money.’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  There was a silence. Effie said, ‘Well, I suppose it’s a good idea. It’s about time this family healed its differences and worked together again. What do you think, Dougal?’

  Dougal cleared his throat, and shrugged.

  ‘Well, do you want to do it or don’t you?’ Effie insisted. ‘Perhaps you’re not even in a fit state to make a coherent decision.’

  ‘I’m perfectly fit,’ said Dougal. His voice was choked and petulant. ‘I’ve been – overworking, that’s all.’

  Robert reached into his inside pocket, and produced a piece of paper, which he handed to Effie. ‘There’s your bill,’ he said. Effie opened it out, and read it, and then looked across at Dougal. ‘It seems acceptable, provided the rate of exchange doesn’t dip too sharply.’

  ‘That’s a risk we’re prepared to take, for the time being, anyway,’ said Dougal. ‘Even if there’s a dip as serious as half a per cent, I believe we’re capable of absorbing it, especially if we’ve got this kind of money to lend out.’

  ‘I think we can drink to this arrangement, then,’ said Robert, lifting his glass of Blair Atholl.