Summer on the Cape

by J. M. Bronston

  “I wasn’t ‘up to’ anything.” Allie’s response was instantly defensive. “And I certainly wasn’t snooping.” She took a deep breath, got a grip on herself, and went on a little more calmly, determined not to let Adam bully her, even if it really was good-natured bullying. “Listen, Adam. I don’t have to explain things to you. I’d taken a drive. I saw this nice old house. I was taking a look at it, and that’s all.” She took a sip of her wine, using the pause to steady herself. “I didn’t know it was his house.” She realized Adam was deflecting her from the explanation he owed her. “But that’s not the point, Adam. I’m not going to let you change the subject. I want to know what’s going on. When I go up to Cape Cod to paint seascapes, I don’t expect to be accused of spying and snooping and sneaking. I want to know what the big mystery is. Zach Eliot has something against you. He thinks you’re up to something, he’s plenty mad, and he thinks I’m mixed up in it. You owe me an explanation.”

  She’d said all she needed to. From here on the floor was Adam’s and he’d better make his explanations good.

  Adam’s eyes were sparkling. “Well done, my dear. Very energetic of you.” He signaled the waiter to refill their glasses. “And you shall have your explanation, including an explanation for Zach Eliot’s remarkable behavior toward you on that exciting morning.” He paused while the waiter poured the wine into their glasses. “But I must say, Allie, that really was a most remarkable phone call. Sanders was quite scandalized. He’s not accustomed to being roused by enraged callers at such an ungodly hour.” Adam chuckled. “I thought he was about to give me a month’s notice, and I can’t have that, you know. Good butlers are too hard to find.” Adam was obviously amused by the whole thing. He paused, pursed his lips momentarily in thought, and then he finally stopped teasing and got down to the business at hand. “All right, Allie. Here it is.

  “I know it is not your custom to follow the financial news.” She nodded her head in agreement. “That’s perfectly all right, of course. That’s what you have me for. But I do make it my business to be informed about events in the business world. I know where the big money is and I watch it as it moves around from hand to hand, from company to company, from country to country. I make it my business to understand how it moves and to catch a piece of it for myself and my clients as it goes by.” Adam’s face was entirely serious now. He was talking about the subject that, next to art and the purchase and sale of art, was dearest to him.

  “I don’t expect you to know the name, but it is possible that you have heard of the Matsuhara Group?” He raised his eyebrows questioningly. Allie shook her head. “I thought not. That’s all right. There’s no reason why you should have. The Matsuhara Group is a very significant, but very private, investment banking organization. They have their extremely quiet but active fingers in countless pies, the variety of which would no doubt astonish you. Everything from ladies’ underwear to cruise missiles.

  “You may well wonder how all this is connected to me and to you.” He smiled benignly. “All will be revealed in due course, have no fear.” He put his head back and cast his eyes upward for a moment, considering how best to continue.

  “The Matsuhara Group is currently engaged in developing a most interesting new project. It is still in its early stages, and I cannot emphasize strongly enough, Allie, that what I’m telling you now is absolutely confidential. It will involve enormous amounts of money and, if we handle it right, I am hoping it will also involve you. If it does, a small piece of that enormous amount of money will go to you and, of course, to me. In addition, it will be a wonderful feather in your career cap. It is quite a grand project, and I know it will appeal also to your patriotic spirit. It is pure Americana.”

  “Americana? The Matsuhara Group?” A brief laugh burst from Allie’s lips.

  “Of course, my dear. What could be more American? Isn’t our country the great melting pot?” He held up a restraining finger. “Don’t interrupt me.

  “Now, picture this.” Adam gestured, with his still upraised hand, as though to paint the scene he would have her imagine. His voice became evocative. “The lonely, barren stretches of an unexplored new continent. A little band of pilgrims, looking for freedom and opportunity, arrives upon a new land. They have spent fearful weeks upon a tiny vessel, profoundly uncertain of what their future might be. And what, indeed, does their future hold? Why, as history has taught us, these brave, hardy travelers are no less than the early settlers of a now mighty and proud land!

  “Now, consider this. Their journey has been dangerous, full of uncertainties. Will they survive? Will they find a safe place to build their settlement? Will their principles and their faith sustain them in the hard times ahead? We, who have come after them, are honored to know the answers, to know that their enterprise was blessed with magnificent success.

  “But they did not know. When their little vessel first arrived at the tip of what we now call Cape Cod, there were no answers. They faced an empty land, windswept, uninhabited.” He saw her correction coming and swept it aside, as though it were of no consequence. “All right, almost uninhabited. And that, my dear Allie, is the very spirit of adventure. To head out into the unknown, to cast one’s lot into that great sea of unanswered questions.” Adam paused for effect. Allie nodded her head at him to signify that she got the picture. What in the world, she wondered, was Adam getting at with this dramatic build-up? What did the Pilgrim settlers have to do with her?

  “Okay,” Adam continued. “Okay. So what more fitting monument to those noble spirits could there be than for their thankful descendants and beneficiaries to re-enact that exciting event, that event without parallel in the history of mankind? Countless Americans, the young and the old alike, could relive those exciting times. The Mayflower Adventure!

  “Think of it, Allie. First sightings, through the mists. Land ho! First encounters alongside John Alden, with Native Americans. Are they friendly? Are they hostile? Explorations, with Miles Standish and the others, for water, for land where they could plant and cultivate crops, for timber to build cabins. Authentic homes, authentic foods, cornbread baking on the hearth.”

  “Oh, my God! A theme park!” Allie’s mouth fell open. “A Mayflower theme park!”

  “You’ve got it!” Adam was delighted by her quick grasp of the whole thing. “Think of the possibilities. It ties right in with the whole area. There’ll be whale watching rides. ‘Hunt for Fresh Water’ rides. ‘Dive for Sunken Treasure’ rides. Who knows?” He paused and reflected. “There are plenty of sunken ships around there anyway. Someone might actually find something.” He smiled at the possibilities, as though that last idea had just suggested something to him. “That would be great publicity.”

  “So that’s what this is all about. You’ve got clients who are trying to develop a big Mayflower theme park on Cape Cod. That’s great. It’s a terrific idea. But how do I fit into all this?” The project was taking shape in Allie’s mind, full of interesting possibilities, but she didn’t see a place in it for her.

  “I’ll get to that. But first, let me expand the idea a little bit. There are all sorts of spinoffs. Restaurants. A library to house Mayflower archives. A Pilgrims’ museum.” Adam expressed his enthusiasm with a quiet intensity. “It’s a perfect setting. Plenty of open space and virtually no conflicting industry in the area. The place is a resort community already. The Cape’s motels and cottages and restaurants and gift shops would be delighted with the increased business. With a little investment—all right, a lot of investment—it could be made into a year-round attraction. Existing highways would need to be widened, of course. The local contractors would love it. There’d be increased local employment, and that means increased local population and that means an increased tax base, which all leads to expanded schools, medical facilities, utilities, all the services a community needs.”

  Adam paused for a moment before continuing.

  “Of course, there are obstacles. There always are. Certain key parcels o
f land still need to be acquired. And there are plenty of legal hurdles to overcome. Development permits have to be secured. Environmental impact studies. Filings with the Securities and Exchange Commission. And the financing isn’t all in place yet.”

  “Is there any local opposition? Or is the community in favor of the plan?”

  “That’s no problem.” Adam’s response was brusque, as though brushing away a minor irritation. “There’s always some local opposition. That happens with all these projects. There are always some people in the area who just don’t feel comfortable with progress. Can’t be helped. It just takes some time and some convincing to bring them around.”

  By now Allie was leaning forward, her elbows propped up on the table. Adam’s enthusiasm for the project was contagious, and she had been concentrating intently on his words.

  “It sounds fascinating, Adam. I can see it. The attendants in colonial costume. Little shops selling replicas of the ship, little John Alden and Priscilla dolls, booklets telling the story of their courtship. An infinite variety of souvenirs. Early colonial cooking utensils. Colonial foods. And of course, a really huge anniversary observance, every year at Thanksgiving. Ties right in with the holiday. Kids off from school, parents off from work. What could be better? Turkey day at Mayflower Park!” Allie’s imagination was fired by the possibilities, her lively mind already engaged in coming up with new ideas. “What name have they picked?”

  “Just a working title, so far. ‘Pilgrims’ Landing.’”

  “I really like it, Adam.” She sat back now, her arms extended out in front of her on the table. She took a deep breath. “And now, tell me how I am involved in all this.”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” Adam paused, indicating with a gesture that they should be quiet for a moment.

  The waiter had arrived with their soufflés. There was a brief flurry of presentation and the arrangement of their flatware and the removal of their wineglasses and the pouring of their coffee, while Allie and Adam chatted innocently about the weather. Finally, with a flourish, the waiter was gone and Allie and Adam returned to their real conversation.

  “You were about to tell me how I fit into this scheme.” Allie lifted a bit of feather-light, chocolate-sweetened soufflé to her lips. Unfortunately, its delicacy was entirely lost on her as she concentrated on Adam’s response.

  “Well, I had been involved in certain dealings with the Matsuhara people, and I was familiar with the details of the project. Never mind how. Let’s just say that I knew what they were trying to do. And I was casting about for some artistic tie-in that would benefit you.”

  Allie looked at him a bit archly, but she didn’t protest. She understood that ultimately, Adam’s bottom line was what benefited Adam.

  “When I saw those watercolors,” he was saying, ignoring her look, “I saw the connection right away. The Matsuhara people mean to establish an upscale tone for this project. They’re going to need all sorts of promotional material, publicizing Cape Cod and its history, its famous artists’ community. Your work will fit right in. It’s beautiful work, like everything you do, Allie, and I believe I can sell them on using practically everything you can produce. Believe me, Allie, we’ve got a winner here.”

  Allie was intrigued. As usual, her reliance on Adam had not been misplaced. No matter how much she bucked him, she knew that in the long run, it had never done her any harm to be guided by him. She saw now that his sending her to Cape Cod had been a kind of trial balloon, and it looked as though her work there might pay off, after all. Her portrait work had already earned her some nice critical acclaim and a number of good commissions. Now, to be associated with a major project like this Mayflower thing, well, that could be a really big step forward.

  In her quick mind, subject ideas were already forming. Cape Cod from the Pilgrims’ point of view. The empty, unsettled, beautiful land as seen by the approaching voyagers. She couldn’t wait to get back to those sandy stretches, to the cranberry bogs and the scrub pine. Now she was eager to return to that bare and spacious terrain, to see again the boats in the harbor and the little green-and-white towns and the beautiful old houses in the woods.

  But could she return to all that and also avoid seeing Zach?

  Inevitably, she recalled their last encounter. Why would he have thought she was spying? What was there for her to be spying on? Why was he so angry with Adam? That’s what Adam was supposed to be explaining to her.

  “Adam, what is Zach Eliot’s involvement with this project? Why is he so angry with you?”

  Adam stirred a bit of cream into his coffee.

  “I’m really not at liberty to say very much for a few more days, but I can tell you this much now. There’s a lot of money involved. And when a lot of money is at stake, people frequently do things they wouldn’t otherwise do.” Adam’s smile had an edge of cynicism that caused a chill to run along the back of Allie’s neck. “Let’s just say that Zach Eliot has an interest in certain aspects of the plan. It appears that his interests and mine are not exactly compatible.”

  “But why would he accuse me of spying, of all things?”

  “That’s not as bizarre as it may seem. You’ve heard of industrial espionage? Corporations’ efforts to learn each other’s secrets?” Allie nodded. She understood the competitive pressures that were a part of any commercial enterprise. And targeted companies went to great lengths to establish tight security around their activities. “Well, I guess Zach thought something of that sort was going on. He may be worried that he’s the target of some kind of covert investigation. I’m sure you can understand how it must have seemed to him. He knows I’m associated with the project. He knows you’re associated with me. And there he was, really early in the morning, the sun was just barely rising over the horizon, and he looked out of his window, and there you were. Allie Randall, girl private eye.” The idea apparently tickled him, and he grinned wickedly at her. “I’d have loved to have been a fly on that wall when he collared you. Allie the cat burglar. Or Peeping Tom. Or whatever it was you were up to when he caught you red-handed. That must have been a funny scene.” Adam finished the last bit of soufflé. “You should have heard him raving at me over the telephone. He was sure I’d put you up to it.”

  “What did you tell him?” Allie was not yet ready to be amused by the whole thing. Maybe in about forty years.

  “I made up something simple. I told him you were probably looking for a good spot to set up your easel. Maybe you wanted to paint an authentic old Cape Cod house. I told him you were just an innocent young artist, taking advantage of the Cape’s beautiful light and historic ambiance.” Adam brushed an invisible crumb off the tablecloth. “He told me to go suck eggs.” Adam’s face registered his amusement.

  “I wish I’d thought of something simple, like saying I was looking for a subject to paint. It never occurred to me. Maybe I wasn’t thinking clearly enough.”

  She remembered the power of Zach’s grip, dragging her roughly away from that table of photographs, through the darkened room and into the kitchen, practically throwing her into a chair. She touched the place on her arm where his hand had gripped her.

  “It’s just that he surprised me, and I panicked. And he was so angry.”

  “I can well imagine how angry he was. As I said, there’s a lot of money involved. And what could he think, finding you there on his property? But that’s all put to rest now, and we can just forget about it.” With his napkin, Adam patted the last crumb of dinner from his lips and then sat back expansively.

  “By the way, as we’re speaking of Zach Eliot,” Adam added drily, “there’s an amusing follow-up to the whole thing. Just this morning, my secretary took a call from Zach. Of all things, seems he’s interested in buying a painting you did of his boat. She set up an appointment for next Wednesday morning.” Adam’s smile was disgracefully self-satisfied. “I imagine it must have been pretty hard for Zach to make that call, after all his wild accusations at me that morning.”

>   Allie felt her heart thump. She could barely swallow.

  “Will you meet with him? Do you think you’ll sell it to him?”

  “Sure. You know, Allie,”—he was suddenly very serious—“I really don’t want to have Zach Eliot for an enemy. We’ll be happy to sell the picture to him. I’ll still be able to make a good presentation to the Matsuhara people without it.”

  Allie felt a rush of pride, knowing that Zach wanted to own her painting. She thought of Sea Smoke’s “portrait” hanging in that lovely old house. It really did belong there. She even thought of suggesting to Adam that he go easy on the price, but then she remembered the Jag in Zach’s garage and she held her tongue. Maybe Zach Eliot really could afford to buy one of her paintings. But she also wondered if Zach could afford to get tangled up in opposition to one of Adam’s schemes. She was preoccupied with these thoughts; in the last hour, her life had taken a couple of curious turns, and now she was merely toying with her dessert, not really noticing it at all.

  But Adam, on the other hand, noticed everything. He noticed that Allie was not paying attention to what she was eating. Nothing very unusual about that. She rarely paid attention to what she was eating, although the food here at the Silver Dove could generally be counted on to attract attention.

  He had also noticed that there was something unfamiliar in Zach’s voice during that odd phone call the other day. What had Allie been doing, hanging around Zach’s house? And why had Zach been so anxious to buy that picture? Adam watched Allie absentmindedly poking at her dessert.

  Interesting, he thought.

  Chapter Eight

  There are days in New York that are as bright and as blue and as crystal clear as they are anywhere in the world, and on this Wednesday morning New York was having one of those days. Allie had been cooped up all morning at the gallery, getting pictures ready for the opening that was scheduled for seven o’clock, and now she was ready for a lunch break, eager to get out into the sunshine for a while. The gallery’s director was urging her to go, go get a cup of coffee, take a walk in the park, sit in the sun.