by Emma Lathen
“The poor guy was simply embarrassed because we caught him with the police at his elbow,” he said. “That’s why he went into the pompous act. He was trying to pretend that it’s business as usual.”
“Poor guy!” Kruger mimicked savagely. “None of this would have happened if he didn’t have itchy fingers.”
“Now, honey,” Audrey protested. “We agreed that this was going to be a night off. Why don’t you just forget about Tokyo for a couple of hours.”
Thatcher feared that Gene Fleming’s maladroit remark had made this impossible, but he was reckoning without Pamela Webb.
“Besides, Carl,” she said, hurling herself into the fray, “a man with presidential ambitions has to shed this sort of thing like water off a duck’s back.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I picked up a nice little item when I had lunch with one of my old buddies from Wharton. He works for Beaver, Day & Collins now.”
“So?” Kruger said impatiently.
Pamela let him simmer for a moment before continuing. “They conduct opinion polls all the time. That’s why Milo asked me when you’re going to announce that you’re running.”
“Not that old chestnut again?” He sounded bored. “Honest to God, I don’t know what’s wrong with these politicians. I’ve said flat out I’m not interested, but there’s no such thing as the plain unvarnished truth in their vocabulary.”
Clever Pamela! thought Thatcher. She had broadened Kruger’s irritation from one government official to the entire tribe.
“I thought it was the same old story too,” Pamela confessed. “But then Milo really woke me up.”
Kruger was now listening attentively. “Go on.”
“Some big shot in Washington has been ordering full-scale weekly polls about you for almost six months.”
“What!”
Kruger’s bellow came from the heart, halting them in their tracks. He was immobilized long enough for Audrey to capitalize on the news.
“Why, honey,” she cooed. “Only one little thing bothers me. When you made up your mind, why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s not a joke,” he snarled.
“Oh, no,” she said piously. “It’s the most important decision you could make.”
His mouth began to spread reluctantly.
“If you don’t behave yourself, I really will run,” he threatened. “Then where will you be?”
“No more Bergdorf’s, Audrey,” Pamela predicted gaily. “Instead you’ll have to find a disease to adopt.”
Even Don Hodiak joined in. “Not to mention beautifying America,” he reminded her.
By the time the foursome swept out to the taxi rank, they sounded as if they did not have a care in the world.
John Thatcher and Gene Fleming were not left alone very long.
“There is a restaurant in Pimlico that serves authentic English dishes,” Haru announced, joining them with her research findings. “It may be odd, but it will be good for us.”
At The Tankard, Fleming gave his order, then said:
“That was quite a reaction from Kruger, wasn’t it? Do you think he was faking?”
“Oh, I thought he was sincere,” said Thatcher.
Haru, unlike Audrey Kruger, countenanced shoptalk. But she insisted on being brought into the picture, so her husband obliged.
“. . . Then Pamela Webb told him about these polls, and he hit the roof. I wondered if he was putting on an act, but apparently John didn’t.”
Thatcher defended his position.
“Kruger is probably affronted to discover that somebody is initiating action about him without consultation. That would certainly be in character.”
Haru, who had been listening and eating with quiet contentment, spoke up.
“So Pamela Webb really stirred up a rumpus,” she remarked. “Funny, that doesn’t sound like what I’ve read about her.”
“It was partly my fault,” Fleming told her. “I set Kruger off about Tokyo, and she was just trying to distract him. But she picked a sore subject. Besides, she was probably nervous.”
“Why should she be nervous?” Haru inquired.
“Well, everybody says she’s Kruger’s mistress,” Fleming argued. “And he’s got his wife with him this time. For God’s sake, Haru, I don’t care how civilized everybody’s being—it can’t be easy, can it?”
Thatcher had no intention of discussing eternal triangles. But one aspect of Kruger’s immediate plight was irresistible.
“One can only hope that they all enjoy the ballet.”
Chapter 21
They gave every appearance of doing so during the performance at Covent Garden. Afterward, during supper at the Villa Romana, Carl Kruger joined the lively banter caused by Hodiak’s encyclopedic knowledge of every other rendition of Giselle. But Audrey was not deceived. She had seen Carl bide his time during too many weddings, funerals, and United Way dinners. He had a gift for putting his real concerns on hold during social delays.
Later that night, when she bustled in from the bathroom, she was not surprised to find him cradling the phone with a half-guilty expression.
“I’m expecting someone to call back,” he apologized. “But it shouldn’t be too late.”
“It won’t bother me,” she assured him, heading for the dressing table.
As she searched for her tweezers, Kruger stripped off his jacket and tie. When he next spoke, he was half submerged in the closet.
“I suppose you noticed Benny wasn’t with us tonight,” he said over his shoulder.
“Yes. I thought he probably had work to do.”
“Actually I got rid of him. I wanted time to cool off. Do you remember how, when Don said he wanted to go to the board, I was annoyed?”
She raised her head to watch him in the mirror.
“Of course I do. I heard all the things you said,” she replied, wishing that Carl would not always back into his late-night confidences.
“The thing is, I overflowed to Benny too. And damn if he didn’t hire some kind of detective to dig up dirt about Don. An hour before we took off from Lackawanna, he dumped a pile of garbage on my desk, as pleased as punch with himself.”
Critically examining her right eyebrow, Audrey decided to speed things up.
“I suppose you found out about Mary Ellen?”
“I thought you might know about that,” he grunted triumphantly. “If you didn’t come running to me with that tidbit, why the hell does Bennet have to? And if poor Don finds himself a playmate for an occasional weekend, that’s his business.”
Having reduced her eyebrow to perfection, Audrey said idly: “What were you supposed to do about it?”
“God knows! Bennet was even talking about getting some pictures. He had some crazy notion about smearing Don with the board—as if they give a damn about his sex life.”
Audrey could believe that her husband had been initially disgusted by Bennet Alderman’s malice, but she did not accept it as the cause of the symptoms she had observed during supper. Don Hodiak was simply serving as introduction to whatever was really nagging at Carl. Which meant that all her good work in providing an evening of relaxation had gone to waste.
“Bennet has a habit of rushing in where he has no place being,” she said deliberately.
Kruger knew that she had never liked Alderman. “I admit he needs direction, but that’s the way we work. I formulate the plans, and he implements them.”
“Is that right?” she said, crossing over to her bed.
“So this time he went off the track,” Kruger admitted. “Usually Bennet knows better than to go beyond his brief.”
She switched on the bedside lamp and began rummaging in a drawer. “If you say so. But I’ve been wondering, ever since he took me to lunch in order to suggest that I pressure you into firing Pamela.”
There was a moment of dead silence.
Then Kruger began to bluster. “Come on, honey. You know b
etter than to listen to all that talk. It’s just—”
Retrieving her reading glasses, she ignored his interjection. “I told Bennet to mind his own business. And I said that if he ever intruded in my personal affairs again, I’d make him very, very sorry. That was six months ago, and he hasn’t tried anything since.”
“The little twerp,” Kruger snarled before moving on hastily. “He wouldn’t have time to bother you if he paid more attention to his work. Take those polls, for instance. They don’t make sense.”
With all her experience, Audrey could not tell if Carl was at last coming to his real problem or simply skedaddling away from a sensitive topic.
“But you’ve had reporters ask if you were planning to run,” she reminded him. “I suppose the poll was to see what kind of popular support is out there.”
“That would explain a one-shot deal. Somebody could be deciding whether or not to approach me. But every week? That kind of tracking is way beyond the undecided stage.”
Unerringly Audrey put her finger on the sore spot. “And you never knew?”
“I didn’t, but you can bet the farm that a whole lot of other people did. That’s what really sticks in my craw. By the time Pamela is picking this up over a casual lunch, that means it’s common talk—at least in some circles. So how come Bennet wasn’t onto this?”
She sniffed. “He likes to act as if he’s an insider, but it’s a long time since he’s been in politics.”
“That’s not it,” Kruger said stubbornly. “Bennet keeps up; he has to. One of the reasons I hired him was because Lackawanna needed someone with that kind of know-how. And you should have seen him when we went to Washington. He was real buddy-buddy with everybody. Hell, even the new secretaries know who he is. I’m beginning to think Benny needs more supervision than I bargained for. He should be busy bringing me the kind of information I really need instead of trying to make a stink out of Don’s going on one of those four-city tours of the Orient.”
Audrey, who had armed herself with Walks Through Dickens’ London, laid the book aside.
“You mean that vacation they went on when they brought back all that stuff from Hong Kong?” she asked with a puzzled frown. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Oh, Bennet was hot on the fact that Don had been in Tokyo a year ago. For Chrissake, it was long before I decided to tie up with Yonezawa, and Don was only there for three days.”
“Then it’s simply ridiculous.”
“Bennet was reaching.” But now that Kruger had begun to examine Alderman’s deficiencies, he was finding them on all sides. “Bennet wasn’t worth beans while Lackawanna was getting all that bad press. He just sat around in a state of shock until the Shima business turned things around. And he sure as hell isn’t going to be able to tell me who’s behind these polls when he hasn’t even heard about them.”
It was no part of her plan to encourage unnecessary tension.
“I’m sure you’ll find out somehow,” she said soothingly.
“Of course I will. Why do you think I’m sitting up for this call? But I shouldn’t have to,” he snapped as if she were the enemy. “If my contacts are more useful than Benny’s, what good is he?”
Audrey Kruger expected to be asleep before the end of the first chapter. But she was doggedly trudging from Doughty Street to Devonshire Terrace when the phone rang an hour later. After the initial acknowledgment, Carl’s side of the conversation was easy enough to follow.
“Trowbridge?” he repeated in blank astonishment. “Are we talking about Senator Will Trowbridge?”
When Kruger went in search of his subordinate the next morning, there was no trace of his famous hot temper. Even when it developed that Bennet Alderman was spending most of the day at Lackawanna U.K., Kruger put the time to good advantage. Waking one of Lackawanna’s lawyers at home, he telephoned some drastic instructions.
“Go through Alderman’s files. All the drafts of our press releases are there. Tabulate the changes he’s made, Johnson. And I don’t just mean the technicalities. I want to see what kind of spin he put on those stories that we didn’t catch at the time.”
“It’ll be a pleasure,” said Johnson grimly.
“And fax it over here as fast as you can,” Kruger told him.
With every passing moment he was becoming colder and colder. In this mood he was a far less familiar figure, and a far more dangerous one.
Surprisingly, Bennet Alderman missed all the warning signals. When he began to report about his trip, Kruger listened attentively, made a few suggestions, and let the subject wind down to a natural conclusion. Then:
“Pamela brought me some interesting news yesterday. She picked it up from one of her old Wharton buddies. He works for Beaver, Day fir Collins. It seems they’ve been running polls on me for the last six months.”
After a fractional pause, Alderman said: “Well, I guess that proves we really have made you a household name. When they take polls on you, you’ve really arrived, Carl.”
“Sure,” said Kruger blandly. “Only I like to be the one who decides where I’m going.”
Alderman still saw no threat.
“So what’s the problem? Somebody’s impressed by your recognition value. It was bound to happen.”
“The somebody was Will Trowbridge.”
This time there was a perceptible delay.
“Will?” Alderman repeated.
“That’s right. The big gun in Washington you’re supposed to be so close to. So how come it’s Pamela who’s telling me this instead of you?”
By now Alderman had caught his breath. “Because I didn’t know, that’s why,” he said resoundingly. “You don’t think Will tells me everything, do you? He plays things pretty close to his chest.”
“Oh, yeah? Then how about that little romp in Washington? How come it was so important to see Trowbridge?”
“Will wanted to meet you. I figured we’d do him a favor and someday he’d do one for us.” Alderman shrugged. “That’s how things work.”
Kruger did not relax the pressure.
“You should have told me.”
“My God, what’s the big deal? If Will’s interested in your political potential, it’s no skin off your nose.”
“I’ll tell you what the big deal is. People who work for me don’t get their orders from Will Trowbridge.”
“Come on, Carl. All I did was take you to meet him. Maybe I should have told you—”
“That better be all,” Kruger interrupted. “I never did figure out why Lackawanna got all that bad press. It never occurred to me somebody might be trying to stop a political campaign I didn’t even know about. If your fun and games with Trowbridge practically cost us our defense contracts, I wouldn’t like that at all.”
“You can’t be serious,” Alderman protested. “Maybe I made a mistake trying to oblige Will Trowbridge. Be sore about that if you want. But it’s no reason to listen to somebody trying to spread poison about me, particularly somebody who’s always had it in for me.’’
Alderman’s fluency, usually his strongest weapon, was bouncing off his opponent.
“I admit she doesn’t like you and probably with good reason,’’ said Kruger, who had no intention of discussing Audrey. “But just to be on the safe side, I’m having Johnson double-check your press releases.”
“You can’t do that,” Alderman said involuntarily.
“Oh, no?”
Alderman’s shoulders hunched defensively. “That’s the same as throwing me to the wolves. You know damn well Johnson would like to hang me out to dry.”
“That’s tough,” Kruger retorted. “But I’m the one who makes the judgment calls. And if you’ve been pulling any tricks, you’re out on your ear. I play by straight rules.”
“Straight rules?” Alderman shot back. “What about Shima?”
“You’ve lost me,” Kruger said quietly. “What about Shima, Benny?”
Alderman was floundering. “I just meant that whe
n Shima got caught in the chopper, you were willing to finagle to put pressure on the Japanese.”
Kruger let a moment pass before he replied. Lounging against the wall, he was studying his subordinate with sleepy eyes.
“Now, that was a mistake,” he said at last. “The minute you say Shima, I start thinking about Tokyo. I had everything set for a clean, quick decision there. Then somebody had a bright idea about bribing MITI, and I leave Japan with egg on my face. I’d hate to think all that happened because you’re hooked on the idea of riding into the White House on my coattails.”
White-faced, Alderman instinctively offered other scapegoats. “That could have been anybody. It could have been your pal Arai that you’re so damned anxious to protect. Or Iwamoto, who’d do anything to keep you out. Or his good friend Don Hodiak, who tried to shaft you just last week.” The wilder Alderman became, the calmer Kruger became. “Let’s hope so. Because if you had anything to do with it, I’m not just going to throw you out, Benny,” he said pleasantly. “I’m going to have your balls.”
Chapter 22
Trade shows were no novelty to John Thatcher, and he avoided them when possible.
“But you can’t skip tonight,” Fleming said. “Not when the Japanese know you’re here.”
The Sloan did not retain Gene Fleming in order to ignore his expertise. Bowing to the inevitable, Thatcher asked:
“What’s the agenda?”
Dinner and speeches, he was told, would precede the main event.
“Then transport out to White Palace for the exhibition. And that’s where we’ll score points.”
“If we still have the strength.”
Certainly everybody breathed a sigh of relief upon arrival at White Palace. Now they could walk about and chat freely. What’s more, this was the part of the evening they had all come for.
The first order of business for Thatcher himself was to examine the scope of the competition. It went without saying that the London fraternity was out in force. But within an hour Thatcher spotted colleagues from Switzerland, West Germany, and France.
The high point of the evening, however—and the one that proved the value of Gene Fleming’s insistence—was Thatcher’s encounter with the Sloan client who had signed on during the embassy reception in Tokyo. Thatcher was able to introduce Toby Lemieux as a man who had the ideal Scandinavian shipyard in his pocket.
