“Investors! Louise, you’re talking about a project that’s at least two hundred million dollars.”
“More,” said Louise.
“Richard couldn’t afford to invest in that. He couldn’t have afforded one tenth of one percent—”
“Eugene,” said Louise, interrupting him, “you know all that property I was left in Richard’s will? The apartment buildings, the portfolio, and so on?”
“You were well provided for, I think,” said the lawyer.
Louise shook her head. “None of that exists,” said Louise soberly. “Everything was sold off. Even the building the agency is in was mortgaged to the hilt. Everything was invested in this venture.”
The lawyer sat back. After a pause, he asked, “Everything?”
Louise nodded, and dropped the letter opener with a clatter. She leaned back. “If this went under, I wouldn’t have a penny.”
“But you’ve been talking as if this were a sure thing.”
“All that money Richard and I put in went for one purpose—to grease palms. Eugene, you would not believe how many influential men there are who aren’t above standing in dark alleys with their briefcases open in front of them, waiting for someone to come along and pour money in. Not to mention campaign contributions and testimonial dinners and the like. That’s how big this project is.”
The lawyer took a long breath. “Louise, are you sure you aren’t in too deep?”
“Of course I am. But I intend to come out on top—on the very top!” She leaned forward suddenly. “But I need your help, Eugene.”
“My advice? I’ll be happy to give you whatever counsel—”
“Your advice, of course,” Louise cut in. “But something more than just words.”
“Louise, all my money is tied up.”
“I’m not asking you to put anything in, Eugene. At least not personally,” she corrected herself. “I want you to invest the Hawke family trust.”
Eugene stared at her.
“I couldn’t,” he said after a moment.
“Why not? That’s exactly what Richard was planning to do. He was executor of his wife’s will, and he was going to put every penny of it in this project.”
“And it would have been wrong,” said the lawyer definitely. “It would be impossible to simply liquidate everything and turn it over to a consortium of real-estate developers. How could I explain that to Verity and Jonathan and Cassandra?”
“I would hope,” said Louise carefully, “that you would be discreet enough so that you wouldn’t have to do any explaining.”
“Impossible,” replied the lawyer. “For one thing, there wouldn’t be any return on the money for several years, not until the damn thing gets built and rents start coming in. What would happen to their monthly incomes in the meantime? When that money stopped coming in, they’d start asking questions. And I’d have to answer them.”
“That part is easy,” said Louise. “You invest everything except just enough to produce that income. Then there are no questions.” She shrugged, as if surprised the lawyer hadn’t already thought of it.
“You’ve also got to remember that Verity turns twenty-nine in less than a year. She’ll be entitled to a third of the capital then.”
“All the more reason to get this business done quickly. When the time comes, there are ways of handling Verity. You forget, she’s still married to Eric. If we need it, I can get Eric to put his signature to anything.” The lawyer sat and thought for several minutes, his face betraying both the temptation he was allowing himself to feel at the prospect of such an immense fortune, and his fears. “Even if I could invest the trust in this deal, how would I benefit?”
“We’d work out some sort of commission.”
The lawyer shook his head. “Partnership.”
Louise looked up in surprise.
“You can’t do it without me, Louise, and I’d be sticking my neck way, way out.”
“We’ll work it out,” agreed Louise. “I’m not worried about the details. There’s going to be so much money that percentages aren’t going to matter much anyway. We’ve just got to look at this from the right perspective,” she said delicately.
Eugene Strable sat silent, with his hands folded in his lap, as if waiting for her to elaborate on that perspective.
“Of course in all this,” said Louise, “I’m thinking of Richard’s children. I’m thinking only of Verity, Cassandra, and Jonathan. Verity is my daughter-in-law. I’ve seen the three of them grow up. And here’s an opportunity for me to make them very very rich. . . .”
“And not hurt yourself in the process,” commented the lawyer blandly. He glanced around the room, thinking. Louise did not disturb him. “I’d need accurate and concrete information about this business,” he said at last. “I’d need details—a lot of them—before I could even think about making a decision.”
“I’ve arranged a meeting for tomorrow morning at eleven,” Louise said quickly. “Upstairs at the agency. There’ll be three men there. The first one’s name is . . .”
Louise and Eugene Strable talked further into the evening. Louise declared that she wouldn’t let him leave until he had made some sort of promise to her, and eventually the lawyer did just that. Louise walked him down to the front hallway of the apartment house. She stood with him in the opened door of the vestibule. The damp wind blew through her hair, and she stood with her arms crossed over her breast for warmth.
“You understand, don’t you, Eugene, that Richard and I had already planned all this out before he died. It was one of the reasons we were in Atlantic City. The whole business was his idea. I’m just carrying out his last wishes.”
“Oh, yes, Louise, I understand,” Strable said. “I’ll see you in the morning at eleven.” As he turned to go down the stoop, he lifted the collar of his coat to hide the wry smile tugging at his mouth.
12
On a Saturday morning early in July, Jonathan pulled his Porsche into the horseshoe drive and angled smoothly into the space where his father used to park. Apple was beside him in the car, and in the back was a large wicker picnic basket. The owners of Menelaus Press were hosting the annual staff outing, and Cassandra had invited her brother and Apple to accompany her and Rocco to the private estate in Weston where the festivities were held each year.
Jonathan and Apple got out of the car and walked into the house. They both wore jeans and running shoes, but his starched checkered shirt was brown, and hers was red. Apple had removed her three ear hoops and replaced them with a tiny golden spur. She wore no makeup.
Inside, they found Verity lying on the living room sofa reading a magazine. The French doors were opened wide and a warm breeze blew the sheers about and played in her hair. When Jonathan and Apple spoke, Verity pulled her glasses down the bridge of her nose, and stared at them.
“Cassandra and Rocco are in the kitchen,” Verity said. “They’re dressed just like you. I feel like I’ve wandered onto the set for State Fair. How can you live in the modern world, and still look so revoltingly wholesome?”
“Verity, come with us today,” said Apple.
Verity edged her glasses back up the bridge of her nose, sank lower into the sofa, and raised the magazine to obscure her face. “Thanks anyway, but I’d rather be tied face down on a hill of red ants.”
Jonathan checked his watch. “It’s eleven-thirty. What are you doing up?”
“Don’t remind me of the time,” said Verity. “Eugene Strable came over early, pulled Father’s sailboat out right under my window, and decided to experiment with the entire repertoire of Black & Decker.”
“Eugene Strable?”
Verity closed the magazine. “Apparently Louise gave him permission. She’s going with him. Maybe she’ll drown.”
“Let’s hope,” said Jonathan. “But who gave her permission to lend out Father’s boat?”
In the kitchen they found Rocco and Cassandra. Cassandra, her hair pulled back in a demure chignon, wore a full-length b
rown muslin skirt and a white blouse with puffed short sleeves. Rocco wore bleached farmer’s overalls, a dark rust muslin shirt, and a wide-brimmed straw hat, set rakishly back on his head.
Ida was wrapping two pies in tin foil, but Apple cried, “Not yet!” She hurried over, closed her eyes, and breathed in the heady scent of apple, cinnamon, and vanilla.
“Are we about ready?” asked Cassandra. “Should we go in separate cars or take the station wagon?”
“I want to speak to Mr. Strable first,” said Jonathan quickly. “Can we wait just a few minutes?”
“Don’t be long,” said Apple. “I’m starved.”
“Jonathan,” Cassandra said, “Mr. Strable asked me if it was all right to use the boat. I said yes, since he and Father used to go out all the time together, and it’s always best that boats get some use. That was all right, wasn’t it?”
“As long as it was you and not Louise,” said Jonathan, as he went out the kitchen door. He made his way along the back of the house, to where Eugene Strable was hooking the boat to the bumper of his Cadillac.
The lawyer looked up. “Hello, Jonathan. Picnicking too?”
“Yes. We’re about to leave, but I wanted to speak to you for a minute.”
“I’m about to leave too. In fact Louise and I should have been off an hour ago, at least. She’s around somewhere.”
“This’ll only take a minute.”
“Certainly, then, what is it?”
“I wanted to ask you about a financial matter, about Mother’s trust.”
“What about it?”
“Why is it that we’re getting so little, when she left so much?”
Eugene Strable sighed. “Jonathan, this seems to me to be the worst possible time for a discussion like this. Couldn’t it wait? Why don’t you make an appointment on Monday? Then we can sit down and I can answer all your questions. I’ve been looking forward to sailing today. I don’t want to talk shop.”
“I understand,” said Jonathan, but he didn’t retreat. The lawyer regarded him with a resigned expression.
“All right, Jonathan. Let’s hear it. But if you’re going to tell me you can’t get by on your salary and thirty-six thousand dollars a year, you’re going to have a hard time convincing me.”
“I can get along on that, of course. I’d be fine on my salary alone, but I’m talking about investments.”
“Investments?”
“That’s right. I’d like to invest some money.”
“All right, then. Live on your salary, and you’ve got that thirty-six-thousand dollars a year you say you don’t need.”
“I’m talking about a lot more money than that, Mr. Strable.”
The lawyer seemed momentarily to have forgotten about the boat and his plans for sailing. He didn’t ask Jonathan how much money he wanted, however, but inquired instead, “What kind of investments are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about seed money for a high-tech business that’s about to be set up in Waltham,” said Jonathan with an excitement he could no longer repress. “This guy I went to school with at Harvard, he was first in the physics department, and he’s figured out this way to make the ultimate chip—”
“What?”
“You know, computer chips. He’s got blueprints for one with storage space for a million pieces of information on it. The biggest one now has only sixty-four thousand, so if he can manufacture his he can make a fortune. But he needs seed money, and he came to me. If I can help set him up, I’d be one of the directors of the company, and I’d also get twenty-five percent of all the profit. It’s a major opportunity, Mr. Strable.”
“The only sound investment is real estate, Jonathan. That’s what your father believed, and I believe it too.”
Jonathan sighed. “I need three hundred and fifty thousand dollars. I’d like you, as executor of Mother’s estate, to authorize it as an ‘extraordinary expense.’ ”
“That’s a third of a million dollars you’re talking about!”
“Yes,” said Jonathan. “And I intend to make it six times as much in the next three years. I’ve gone into this all in great detail with my friend.”
“I can’t let you have a third of a million dollars.”
“It’s my money. My portion of the estate alone makes that much in interest every year. If you want, I’ll speak to Verity and Cassandra about it, and get their permission. What I can do is—”
“Don’t bother,” Eugene said. “I’m not going to authorize the money.”
“Mr. Strable,” said Jonathan with barely maintained patience. “The money, ultimately, is mine. This is not an irresponsible venture. I wouldn’t be the only person putting up funds.”
Eugene shook his head, looked at Jonathan, and said, “You don’t give an old roommate a third of a million dollars because he’s got this good idea, Jonathan! If you did, you’d be coming back to me in six months, saying you have to have another hundred thousand dollars because of unforeseen expenses, and then six months later it will turn out that something was wrong with your friend’s idea and the thing doesn’t work after all, or IBM decided to go into the same business and they beat you out. And all that money would be lost. The only safe investment is real estate, Jonathan.”
“You sound just like Father. His idea of security was owning a block of Back Bay. Well, I’m not interested in that kind of security. I don’t want to snap up apartment buildings for condominium conversion. I don’t want to buy vacation houses on speculation. I’m much more interested in venture capital, and high-tech industries, and the real future of this country. I want to be part of all that, and I want to make money in it. And here’s my chance, my first real chance at that, and I want that money.” His face was set and determined. “I want your authorization, and that’s that.”
“I’m sorry, Jonathan, but you won’t get a penny beyond what you’re actually entitled to by the terms of the trust. I won’t see you squander it on some cockamamie scheme. Now go on your picnic, Jonathan, and quit wasting my sailing time.”
At the picnic, Jonathan made no attempt to disguise his anger and frustration. The four of them sat around a checkered tablecloth laid on the grass in the shade of a willow. The tree overhung a pond with geese and ducks. As Jonathan talked, they ate the chicken Ida had prepared, and drank champagne from a tin cooler. Apple crumbled bread and fed the noisy birds that gathered curiously around them.
“You wouldn’t have minded, would you, Cassandra,” said Jonathan in conclusion, “if I had taken that money out?”
“Of course not,” said Cassandra. “It seems like a lot, but the money’s there. It could even have been taken out of interest—it wouldn’t have affected capital at all.”
“That’s right,” said Jonathan, shrugging. “I wanted to prove I could make a little on my own. I wanted a chance to show that I had something going for me besides an inheritance. And Eugene Strable just screwed that.”
“Did you explain it to him like that?” asked Apple.
“He didn’t give me the chance. He was more interested in getting the boat out in the water.”
“Jonathan,” Apple said gently, “perhaps Mr. Strable is right. It sounds like a risky investment to me too. High-tech used to be a sure thing, but not any more.”
“Christ, Apple! I don’t need another lecture! Risky or not isn’t the point! It would have been a chance to do something on my own, make a few decisions that actually mattered one way or another. Sometimes I feel like I’m trapped by that damned trust fund.”
They were silent for a moment. Apple turned away from Jonathan and tossed the last of the bread to the ducks. “Poor little rich kid,” she muttered as she stood and brushed the crumbs from her hands. “I’m going for a walk around the pond,” she announced and strode off without waiting to see if anyone would join her.
Jonathan stared down at the checked tablecloth. Cassandra touched Rocco’s arm. “Go talk business for a while. I want to speak to Jonathan.” Rocco nodded, rose, and
hurried off after Apple.
Cassandra turned to her brother. “You were short with her. It wasn’t her fault.”
“I know, I know,” he said. “Strable just got on my nerves this morning. I mean it’s not as if I were irresponsible or anything. It’s not as if any of us had ever squandered any money at all.”
“Do you think Father would have let you have the money?” asked Cassandra gently.
“No,” replied Jonathan after a moment. “But he would have been wrong too.”
Cassandra pondered a few moments and then suggested: “Why don’t you get up a prospectus or whatever they call them? Do it all as businesslike as possible, and then go back to Mr. Strable. Let him have it evaluated by an investment firm. I bet if it turns out to be a good thing, he will come through with the money.”
Jonathan eyed his sister. “That’s pretty smart, you know. That’s what I should have done in the first place. I just hope I haven’t screwed everything up by going to him cold the way I did this morning.”
“I don’t think so,” said Cassandra. “If it’s a good investment, it’s a good investment.”
Jonathan still appeared troubled, and after a moment he said, “I think I may have jumped into something else a little too quickly, too.”
“What?”
“I did something a couple of weeks ago, and now I think maybe I should have come to you and Verity first.”
“Jonathan, what did you do?”
“I hired a private investigator.”
Cassandra’s brow wrinkled, but she said nothing.
“To look into Father’s death,” Jonathan explained. “He’s down in Atlantic City right now. Was that a stupid thing to do?”
“No,” said Cassandra quickly. “I told you once I thought it was a bad idea, but now I’m glad you did it. I think we should have done it sooner.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’m not sure, it’s just a feeling. Instinct.”
“Me too,” said Jonathan. “Real instinct. You know, I used to distrust instinct. I was always told to make rational decisions. I don’t think rational decisions take everything into account. Instinct is better.” He laughed. “That’s the kind of stuff I get hanging around Apple. Apple believes in instinct.”
Wicked Stepmother Page 12
