Cheyney Fox (43 page)

“That sounds right to me, Grant.”

Cheyney rose from her chair and they walked toward each other and touched the rims of their glasses in a mute toast. New beginnings echoed in the chime of the glass. Relief went through Cheyney. She sensed that everything was going to be all right. They smiled, and Grant led her to the gray, damask-covered Queen Anne sofa where she sat down. The large ottoman was covered in an Aubusson tapestry depicting a hunt through a wood, all dark rich grays and green leaves, and a deer in full leap. He pushed it up close to her feet and then sat down on it facing her. He smiled. A smile that felt good to her; she was able to return it.

“Now look, let’s forget about us, all the niceties we might ask about each other’s lives and how we spent them. We’re not here to catch up with each other, we are here to see whether we can put together an in-depth interview with you. A prime-time television show that will beam across the States. First of all, I must know how you feel about this, Cheyney. That’s basic.

“There are things you must be made aware of. Like, there is nothing more merciless than the eye of the media. I’m sure you’ve figured that out in the last few weeks. But still, you haven’t seen the claws on the beast yet. That’s because you have kept very silent. Not given the media anything to punch you out on. A clever move.

“My researchers have been working since Judd called me. I’ve been reading what data we could find on you. Had to decide whether you are in fact good enough material for us to work with. I believe you are. Up to a point, anyway. Whether the camera likes you is another matter. For what it’s worth, I think it will. What that means in layman’s terms is that I think you will come across very well on television.

“You must realize that the publicity machine behind my show is enormous. And we have a tremendous audience. An
interview with you will not be beamed across North America exclusively. We have contracts worldwide. You have to be happy with that. So far so good?” he asked, patting her on the knee. Not a provocative pat but one issued to comfort, put her at ease. And she was comforted by it, duly appreciative of his efforts.

“Yes, so far, I think.”

“Good. Listen, what they say about me is that Grant Madigan is a notably tough investigative journalist. It’s true enough, I am. I’m also honest, direct in my approach, I don’t cheat or manipulate the men and women I interview. I play quick and clever. I’ll know how to make you open up to me, in front of millions of people. I’ll get you to say things you have held hidden all your life. You’ll be surprised at some of the things you will defend, ignore, attack. Your life will unfold on the screen. And it may turn out to be a life you have had a distorted vision of until now. We are all guilty of living with illusions about who we are and what we are. It’s a helluva lot to take on, Cheyney. Are you up to it? Is it really what you want? This show can just as easily lose you a position in Washington as win that accolade for you. It’s a turkey shoot, kid.

“There’s more you should know about me. I don’t skirt around issues. There will be questions that you may not want to answer. Let me give you an example. I might ask, ‘Miss Fox, one of the more unpleasant accusations against you is that you have accumulated art treasures from questionable European sources just after the Second World War. Can you tell me about that?’ ”

“Grant, my conscience is clear; I don’t care what the public deduces from my life. But I can’t be certain that some of those closest to me in those days when I was married to Kurt Walbrook could survive the kind of questioning that makes exciting television. I don’t want to cause the dead who were dear to me to be implicated, even by association, in the heartless plundering of a war-ravaged Europe. And that could easily happen. It would make me cautious in my answers, unless you know how to lead the questions so that I can be open and honest and not hurt anyone.

“I know myself very well, Grant. I can give you the interview you want. But only if I am relaxed enough to follow your
leading questions with spontaneous and honest answers to whatever you throw at me. I trust you. I have always trusted you. We’re dealing here with the pride of two professionals, which makes me trust you even more. Your life’s work and mine are too important to us to give this interview anything but the best. The public can conclude what it likes. I don’t think either of us has come this far not to stay brave.

“I am not going on that box to bare my soul for vanity. I am going out there to give a picture of myself to the American people. So they know what they’re going to get as a Secretary of Arts. Because I deserve to win. I don’t see how you can take advantage of that. There’s some who will want me and others who will not. And that’s okay with me.

“I’m nervous about just one thing. I have a son, a most handsome, bright, and good boy. A remarkable son. Just like every mother’s son. The most important thing in my life. If he knew that I were here with you tonight, he would be thrilled to think we might work together. He would say, ‘Mom, let it rip, go for it, tell all, so long as you didn’t murder anyone, I can cope.’ But, Grant, I don’t want to test his stamina. And yet I know my son is right. I should let it rip. I owe it to many people to give it my best shot. A dead husband who gave me everything. A son who loves me and is proud of everything I am. Friends who have stood by me, who know my worth.”

“I hear you, Cheyney, and I like what I hear. We will have to drop everything to work within the next day or two if this is to be of any benefit to you in swinging public opinion your way. Let’s have dinner.” He looked at his watch. “I hope you don’t mind, I have asked two of my associates to join us. My first assistant and my producer. There is a great deal more to this than just sitting opposite each other, me with a fat cigar in my hand and you answering questions. I would like to bounce off them some ideas on how we can handle an interview with you. I know, for example, just from this meeting, that we cannot do it live from a studio. We will have to tape for two or three, maybe even more days, and edit. At least I think so. Have you ever been on camera?”

“No.”

“Are you going to like being on camera?”

“No, I know I will hate it. Most days of the week I’d rather
dangle from a meat hook. I’ll be very uncomfortable.”

“Well, we’ll have to work on that then. Oh, there’s the door. Think about this while I get it. Your life from
your
point of view. We’ve been treated to an awful lot about you from everyone else’s. That wall of silence you’ve put up against the media can work for you now. This can be
your
chance to tell your story the way it really is. A — forgive the cliche — success story, rags-to-riches story, a passion-for-art story. On a sophisticated level, of course. If you can tell it to me, we will know how to peel off the gloss, get under your skin and show the world who and what you really are, and what you have accomplished. Maybe even what you can do as Secretary of Art for this country.” There was another ring on the doorbell. “Think about what I’ve just said, I must get the door. A casual dinner with the three of us to see how we get on and what we can do, that’s all, and we’ll take it from there. Trust me.”

“She’s one terrific lady. She will be the best woman he will have had on the show. I had no idea she was so glamorous, and sexy. Don’t you think so, Bob?”

Bob Lewin answered, “Sexy, I’ll say. Sexy and fascinating. She has led some life. I can’t remember the last time I’ve enjoyed myself at a business dinner as I have tonight. She’s alive, this lady, and clever. More amusing than I thought she would be. She’s quite a combination: fifty percent a sophisticated European, a smidgen of New York street-fighter there, and, with all the years she lived abroad as an expatriate, she is still very apple-pie-and-ice-cream American.”

They waited for Grant to say something. He remained silent, contemplative. Bob asked, “You’re not saying much, Grant. You’re not still hesitant, are you?”

“No. Just listening to you guys only confirms to me how difficult it’s going to be to peel off those layers of chic and get down to the woman.”

“We’ll do it in the country. She’s bound to have a house in the country.”

“Let me sleep on it. We’ll talk first thing in the morning.”

Bob and Sara exchanged puzzled looks. What was his hesitation? It was too good to miss.

Chapter 38

T
aggart’s ears perked up to the sound of the Harley Davidson’s motor. Now it was idling. The motorbike and Takashi were waiting for him in the street just opposite the house. He listened to Takashi rev the motor; he could recognize the pattern of the sound, it could only be Takashi. That was the signal they used to say, “Come on, I’m waiting, we’re going to hit the road.” He had expected Takashi to have driven up from the airport in a car. Great, they would go biking. He threw his pencil down.

He raced from his desk to the window and flung it open. Takashi waved and pulled his black helmet off and beamed up at Taggart. “Come on, we’ll ride and go for lunch.” Taggart raced down the stairs four at a time and all but crash-landed into the housemaster waiting for him. “Fox, Fox, this will not do, try walking. Back in four hours, Mr. Ishiguro has assured me of that. Understood?”

“Understood, sir.”

The housemaster walked him to the bike, looking only half disapprovingly at the pair of them and the motorbike. Two of the other boys who knew Takashi from other visits to Taggart were standing and talking to him, envy oozing from their eyes. Handsome, privileged young men in their tails and stiff collars, their establishment image so incongruous with the Harley Davidson symbol of the sleek machine, the easy rider, the fast, free life of the open road. Takashi, himself an old boy of the school, was usually well received by masters and Taggart’s friends alike. The machines he rode in on evoked envy and
disdain in about equal measure. You could try too hard.

Taggart and Takashi shook hands. Takashi tossed the boy the spare helmet he had brought for him. Taggart slung a leg over the bike and sat down. He pushed the helmet down over his head. He was ready to ride pillion away from the school in search of open road. The housemaster and the boys languidly watched them disappear around a corner. They knew how little open road there was thereabouts.

Takashi found a place to stop not very far from Eton. A quiet space of green grass that undulated down to the river. The pair dismounted and gave each other a proper hug out of the sight of strangers. They collapsed onto the grass and both started talking at once. Takashi let the boy have right of way. “You go first.”

“What are you doing here, Takashi? I couldn’t believe it when I was speaking to Mom this morning and she told me you were on your way here to take me to lunch. Can you stay for cricket? And the Harley — where’d you get it? Did you just buy it? I don’t recognize it as one of yours. Did you see my housemaster’s face? For a minute I thought he was going to forbid me to ride. Listen, that squash racket’s terrific. Taka, I’m really gone on a painting I saw in the Christie’s catalogue. A Mirandi. I’d like to buy it. What do you think? Oh, before I forget, will you tell Mom I need some socks.”

“Hey, take a breath. How’s school?”

“Okay, school’s okay. I’m their great white hope this year for the cricket and rugby teams. I’m having a real good year. Hey, how come you’re here?”

“I’m Mercury, with a message from on high.”

“Mom.”

“Right.”

Takashi unbuttoned his black leather jacket to remove a letter from the inside pocket. He handed it to Taggart, while the boy was enthusing, “What a great jacket.” He touched the leather trousers and added, “Takashi, some riding gear! I haven’t seen that before.”

Takashi laughed, “And I’ve got two of these suits.”

“Greed is a dreadful sin. Not like you at all. Repent. You could save yourself if you gave one of them to me,” offered Taggart.

“Hell for leather, eh? I suppose I had better let you save me from myself. One is for you.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“No, I bought them when we were in Milan and your mother was having a splurge at Armani’s. Not a word to your mother. She says I spoil you worse than she does.”

“You do. And I for one think that’s a good thing. Thanks, Taka, you really are an improvement on an older brother. You don’t give me half the trouble a brother would.”

Takashi pointed to the leather storage bags on the motorcycle. Taggart jumped up and was pulling the leather jacket out and enthusing about it. He stripped himself of his and put it on, all in one movement. Then he went for the trousers and found a small bush to change behind. He would get back into the clothes the boys called “standard change” before heading for school again.

“How’s Mom? Is she coping all right?”

“Admirably. You’ve heard nothing here?”

“No, nothing. And so what if we do? I know it all anyway. I wish she would realize I’m no longer a baby. God, if she only knew that I’m one of the few boys in my year that’s not a virgin, maybe she’d be less worried about me.”

“Good God, Taggart, this is not the time for true confessions. She would never stop worrying about you. Or forgive Kurt and me for helping you over your first sex hurdle without her permission.” They both began to laugh. Memories were made of this.

The boy suddenly looked pensive. He said, “You know, when I see some of the other fellows’ fathers at school, I think of Papa. I miss him a lot. But I’m never sad, because we had such good times together. Mom really picked a good dad for me. Tell her not to worry about me, Takashi. I’ve got it together. That’s the way they brought me up. That’s the way I am.”

“Then I can reassure her that you are not worrying about anything?”

“Not a thing. I think about my mom and hope she’s being tough and cool about things, but that’s all. I don’t even worry about my Latin or my Greek. Well, I wouldn’t, would I? I expect the top mark of my division. I keep telling her she’ll
either win or she won’t win, but she will have given it her best shot. Just like if you’re in Field at school.”

He tore open the envelope and began reading Cheyney’s letter. Takashi sensed an unusual quiet come over the boy after he had read the letter. He watched Taggart place it in his pocket. They remounted and rode across the suburban English countryside to Le Manoir Aux Quat’ Saisons for one of Monsieur Blanc’s gourmet lunches. Kurt Walbrook had imparted to his son his appreciation of fine French cuisine. The boy had a cultivated palate, which made school meals a torture for him. A pub lunch wouldn’t do if he was out of school.

After a sumptuous lunch Takashi and Taggart lay on the grass under a spring sun. Several minutes went by and Takashi said in his usual gentle manner, “You can tell me what’s wrong, you know.”

“How do you know anything is?”

“Well, I have known you since you were a little fella, Taggart. You are not an anxious boy, but today I feel an anxiety around you. Only since your mother’s letter. So something in it has disturbed you.”

They lay there with their eyes closed and let the sun warm them. After several minutes he passed the letter over to Takashi. It was a natural thing for the boy to do. There was nothing in it that Takashi didn’t already know.

Cheyney had written Taggart that she had seen Grant Madigan. That his natural father and she were going to do a “Grant Madigan Talks To” show. She wanted Taggart to hear the news from her. She did not intend to tell Grant about his having a son; not until Taggart wanted her to, and the boy wanted to meet his father. That had always been their plan. She was still abiding by it. Nothing had changed, there was no rush for him to do anything. The letter was only to put him in the picture. If he wanted to talk to her about it, she had arranged for him to use the housemaster’s private telephone.

There were, since Kurt Walbrook’s death, only three people who knew that Grant Madigan had fathered Taggart Fox: Cheyney, Taggart, and Takashi. Now, just as when Kurt had been alive, none of them had any qualms about talking openly about Grant. Takashi could not understand why anything in the letter
about Grant and Cheyney meeting should cause Taggart to become suddenly anxious.

“Takashi, I’ve got a secret. I’ve never had a serious secret that I’ve kept all to myself before. One that I have not told to another living soul. I’ve always shared them with either you, Papa, or Mom. Most of the time all of you. Of course I’ve had children secrets, I’ve kept to myself some things I’ve done, like all boys, but …”

“Hey, Taggart, that’s okay. You’re entitled to keep your own private world, we all do. I’m just here if …”

“Takashi, I’d better tell you, I know I’ll feel better for it. It’s not causing me anxiety exactly. Its more like not knowing which piece on the chessboard to play next. I’m going to win, no matter what. It’s a matter of which move to make next. A chap does want to play the game correctly.”

Man and boy were now sitting up and facing each other. Takashi was thinking about all the little scrapes he had gotten this young man out of since he was a five-year-old. He instinctively felt this was one the boy would have to get out of himself. But he was, however, ready to listen and help if he could.

“You’re not upset about Grant and your mom meeting, are you, Taggart?”

“No, not exactly. It’s just that Mom is being so cagey about my meeting him.”

“Well, you do want to meet him, don’t you?”

“That’s the problem. I
have
met him.”

That really took Takashi by surprise. They looked at each other. Takashi could see the immediate relief in the boy’s face at having told his secret. “Maybe you had better tell me about it.”

“He doesn’t know I’m his son. I didn’t tell him. Talk about a lucky accidental meeting. When Papa died, the one thing that helped the most to take away the pain of losing him was that I knew that I still had a father. Another father. About six months after Papa’s death, I started thinking about that other father more. Well I always did think about him, but not as much. I had all kinds of fantasies about him, and how we would meet. I knew who he was, how famous he was. I’d seen pictures of him, heard a lot about what people had to say about him. So I sort of knew him.

“About a year later, when I was thirteen, during a long leave, I went to stay at my best friend Puggy’s family country house. You know his dad is a cabinet minister, and his mom writes. And his grandfather — well, you know his grandfather, the art historian. He really likes you, Taka. Puggy and I call him the English Bernard Berenson. Hem, hem! But what am I telling you all this for? You know them all anyway, from when they’ve come to stay with us at the Schloss.

“Anyway, it’s always great to go there. They’ve always got lots of famous people staying, coming and going in and out of the house. It’s fun there and always a mixed bag of interesting people. And the food’s great. I guess it was fate, or my good luck, or whatever you want to call it, because it decreed that Puggy and I should meet and pal up with — guess who? — Grant Madigan. I never knew until then that he was a great friend of Puggy’s father. Gee, Takashi, was I surprised. I sort of didn’t have a chance to get all emotional about it right then and there because there were so many people in the room. I have to admit that he was so terrific, right off the bat, so I just sort of kept studying him.

“He was more handsome than I thought he would be, more rugged, more, I don’t know, more like an old retired American football player. He was very American. And he talked American as against English. And he had so much charm and openness, and his conversation, all about world events, was tough, realistic. Shrewd newsman, journalist kind of talk. He knows everybody, been everywhere, and he spoke like he had authority, and he was interesting and worldly. It was very exciting. And he was my dad.

“I couldn’t sleep all that night. I couldn’t wait for the next day. It got even better. Puggy and I and Madigan really hit it off together. He liked us, was interested in us. What we did, how we liked school. Puggy’s dad and Grant Madigan and I, we went for a long walk across the fields and he talked about Vietnam, and how it changed a great deal of his thinking about America’s involvement there, once he had been in the thick of it. He spoke about other wars and countries. How he loves Africa, Egypt, Ethiopia, Chile, Brazil. Even Japan, would you believe it? He likes Japan. All sorts of exotic places where I’ve been. He really liked hearing what I had to say about them. It
was an experience, that first meeting with him, that I will never forget. I always thought that I was going to like him when I met him. But I wasn’t sure how much, or if I would love him. Or exactly how I was supposed to.

“He was like a character out of one of the comic strips some of the fellows at school like to read. Adventure comic strips. He’s like a soldier of fortune. I thought about Mom and what they’d been like together. I couldn’t exactly imagine it. But I guessed it must have been terrific. There was something else, the way the women reacted to him. Boy, I thought, my papa was a lady-killer. But this guy … I’m his son and one day I’m going to be a free agent and dazzle women like that. Be a lady-killer like my papa and Grant Madigan. Until I meet the great love of my life like Papa did.

“I was going to tell Mom about meeting him. But I didn’t. I don’t even know why. She was busy making the big move on New York and getting back into the commercial art world, trying to get established. And then she was getting all that publicity about her and Andy Warhol, and when I was with her in those days it was always so new and exciting, all the things we were doing. New York, getting to know it, the artists, the museums, the studios we visited. I sort of got distracted and didn’t feel like getting into a scene, where if I told Mom, she might get all emotional about it. So I sort of left it alone.

“Then, during the next two years, while Mom was shooting for the the top, I spent more time with Puggy and his family, and Grant Madigan was there a great deal because he was working on three programs that included Puggy’s dad, his granddad, and the former prime minister, Ted Heath. He was good to us, let us watch the way the programs were shot, and he seemed to take a lot of time with us. He really liked us. He took us out fishing a couple of times. Once he flew us to Scotland, another time we went to Paris with him. He couldn’t get over how well I knew Paris, or my French. Once he hugged me, and the way he looked at me, I knew a relationship was beginning to form between us. Gosh, it felt good, Takashi. Like coming home. And I was really proud of the way I was handling it. I kept thinking how proud Papa would be of me.