Sincerely, Willis Wayde (61 page)

“Well, now, sweetness,” Willis said, “I know these activities, from my personal experience, are time-consuming and often dull, but you know how I feel about everyone in Harcourt Associates pulling his weight in the community boat, but well—” Suddenly he thought of the future, and he had to admit that this changed the present picture. “Well, sweetness, if you're awfully busy, never mind the League of Women Voters.”

“Why, darling,” Sylvia said, “this doesn't sound like you at all, but thanks for letting me off,” and she put down her liqueur glass and kissed him.

“Why, sweetness,” Willis said, and he had to laugh, “you sound like a kid excused from school.”

“If you want to know, I feel like one,” Sylvia said. “Willis, dear, isn't this a lovely room? I feel at last that it represents us, even your old Five-Foot Shelf of Books. I feel that we've finally fitted into it in a sort of permanent way.”

Willis sniffed his brandy conventionally for a moment before he answered.

“It
is
a lovely room,” he said, “and I congratulate you on the thought and taste you've put into it—not that there aren't some things about the fenestration and the paneling that we could improve if we were building it ourselves.”

“But we didn't,” Sylvia said, “and we aren't going to, so let's enjoy it the way it is.”

Willis nodded gravely.

“Honey,” he said, “just supposing—I'm only thinking out loud—but just supposing we did have a chance to build a home of our own, wouldn't you sort of enjoy it, honey?”

Sylvia sighed.

“Oh, I don't know, dear,” she said. “There would be all the details and arguing with an architect, and a new house always looks so new. No, frankly, I'm awfully glad that we don't have to build a house.”

“But, honey,” Willis said, “wouldn't you look forward to the adventure in it? The reaching out for something new? What was it Oliver Wendell Holmes said?”

“Please,” Sylvia said, and the line between her eyebrows deepened, “if you mean ‘Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,' this one is perfectly good enough, Willis.”

Willis laughed apologetically.

“I suppose the quotation does sound a little shopworn,” he said, “but you can't deny progress, sweetness. It isn't wholesome to keep standing still.”

Sylvia looked at him in a way that made him slightly uneasy, and lighted a cigarette. It was not fair, he was thinking, that she should smoke a cigarette and look doubtful just when he was about to tell her one of the most important things that had ever happened to them.

“Willis,” she said, “you aren't thinking of building a new house or anything like that, are you?”

“Well, only indirectly, dear,” Willis said, “but still that might be part of the fun if everything I've been mulling over in the last few days comes true.”

“Oh, Willis,” Sylvia said, “what under the sun are you talking about?” And instead of looking at him with pleased anticipation, she seemed almost apprehensive.

“Sweetness,” he said, “it's been a real strain on me to have waited so long before telling you what has happened, but I had to wait until we were alone because it's still very confidential. Frankly, here it is in a nutshell, and I want you to hold tight to your chair, because it's really ‘sumpin'—as they say. If things work out right, I honestly think we can start relaxing a little and take that trip abroad, honey, and all sorts of things, and build a whole new house, if we want to, and landscape it just the way we want. You're following me, aren't you?”

He had asked the question because she still looked apprehensive.

“Yes,” Sylvia said, “I follow you, but I wish you'd tell me what it's all about, Willis.”

“All right, sweetness,” Willis said. “I think that's just the fair sort of request that one partner ought to make of another, and we always have been partners, sweetness.”

“Yes, although I seem to be a pretty silent partner right now,” Sylvia said. “For goodness' sake, go on and tell me. Don't make me sit here being frightened.”

That last remark really broke the tension, and without intending to, Willis shook with convulsive laughter.

“You know, that's one of the funniest things you've ever said, honey,” he told her. “Frightened? Now hold onto your chair and listen to this. In a nutshell, sweetness, I've been offered the first vice presidency of the biggest belting company in existence, the Simcoe Company, with the assurance that I will be president inside of three years. Aside from the salary, there's a very intelligent common-stock setup going with it.” Willis had to laugh again. “And you were making uncomplimentary noises over the phone when I told you at the Carolina that old P. L. Nagel was in my sitting room. Well, that's what he was there for—and what do you think of that one, Mrs. Wayde?”

Willis stood up and paced across the Kermanshah rug, smiling at her. Sylvia had put out her cigarette. The whole thing was what the moving-picture people called a “double take.”

“But, Willis,” Sylvia began and then stopped, and she still did not seem to get it.

“Now, honey,” Willis said, “there are no ifs and buts about this. I'm not thinking out loud. This is a firm and clear-cut offer—not that I can blame you for being the least bit incredulous, considering where Simcoe stands tradewise.”

As Willis watched her, Sylvia shifted her position, and her worried look, instead of evaporating into relief, grew more pronounced.

“But, Willis,” she said, “I know your mind is very quick about these things and that mine isn't, and so I hope you won't be impatient with me. I don't see how you can leave Harcourt Associates, especially when so many people depend on you as much as they do. It doesn't seem to me exactly fair.”

It irritated Willis that Sylvia should think for an instant that he would have done something that was not fair—but then he remembered that he had not yet presented the whole picture.

“I'd rather you'd let me make my point,” he said, “before you jump to conclusions, Sylvia. You haven't heard the whole of the offer, and the best part is coming, honey.” He laughed lightly, because in a way the situation did have an element of humor, what with Sylvia's doubts and hesitations. “It just so happens,” he went on, “that Simcoe is offering to merge with Harcourt Associates, and the figure, honey—now hold onto your seat again—is in the neighborhood of twenty-five million dollars. Now how do you like that one, Mrs. Wayde? And before you answer just remember that you and I own
severial
shares in Harcourt Associates.”

Perhaps it was the sum of money that he mentioned—because large sums of money always startled Sylvia—that seemed to help Sylvia to grasp the general situation. She sat with parted lips, gazing at him.

“I've had to hold onto my chair several times before,” she said. “I do wish these things didn't come so suddenly.”

Sylvia was adopting a proper attitude. She might be a little slow on the uptake but in the final analysis he could always count on Sylvia.

“Frankly I was pretty surprised myself, sweetness,” Willis said, “so I don't blame you for one moment, honey, if it makes you kind of woozy. If you will just excuse me, honey, I think I'll take another little tetch of brandy.”

He realized the instant he said it that “tetch,” like “severial,” was P.L.'s word, not his.

“You're beginning to see, aren't you,” Willis asked her gently, “why I feel so happy about this whole picture? Not so much for myself as for you and the children, sweetness. It's mighty hard to accumulate property today with things the way they are taxwise.”

It did seem to him it was about time for Sylvia to share at least a little in his own spirit of euphoria, but then Sylvia was always slow on the uptake.

“But, Willis,” she said, “you can't sell Harcourt Associates yourself. The Harcourts and other people will have to agree to it, won't they?”

No wife, no matter how loyal and lovely she might be, ever seemed to be able to grasp the principles of corporation management—but then after all why should she?

“Right, sweetness,” Willis said. “The offer must be accepted by a majority of voting stock, and I think that's the way it will happen when the offer is presented, because in its essence it's a very generous offer.”

“I suppose it is,” Sylvia said, and she sighed and the line was deep again between her eyebrows, “but there's one thing I don't like about it, Willis, one thing that I think sounds tricky.”

Willis sat down in one of the leather armchairs and held the brandy inhaler between his hands.

“I just don't get what you mean,” he said, “by the word ‘tricky.' I don't find anything ‘tricky' in this offer—not a single nigger in the woodpile, honey.”

He realized again that he was using one of P.L.'s phrases, and the thought added to the disturbance that Sylvia's question had created.

“I know I don't understand these things,” Sylvia said, “but it does seem to me that what they want most is Harcourt Associates, and that they are offering you a position in their company so that you can help them get what they want. It seems something like a bribe, Willis.”

He wished that Sylvia had not hit upon that final word, because it sounded like an echo of his own conscience, but he knew Sylvia would be right with him as soon as she got the whole picture.

“I'm glad you brought up that point, honey,” he said, “because it was one that disturbed me very deeply first off, and in fact I went right to the mat with P.L. about it. The two offers aren't tied together in any sort of a package deal, sweetness. P.L. really wants me at Simcoe. He's reaching retirement age, you know, and he said I was the best man there is for the job. There it is in a nutshell, and I hope it makes you as proud as it makes me, Mrs. Wayde.”

He had told Sylvia everything frankly and sincerely, but the furrow between her eyebrows was still as deep as ever.

“Willis,” Sylvia said, and her lack of enthusiasm made him feel very uneasy, “did you ask Mr. Nagel whether he wants you in his company, if he can't get Harcourt Associates?”

He must have looked startled because she repeated the question almost sharply.

“Did you ask him that, Willis?”

For a moment it seemed to Willis that he was balancing on the edge of nothing. It was a question that he should have asked and he was trying to cast back into his memory for some explanation of why he had not asked it.

“No, honey,” he said, “I didn't. Very frankly the thought did not occur to me.”

“But why didn't it, Willis?” she began, but he stopped her before she could finish.

“Please,” he said, “please, sweetness. Let me go on with what I'm saying. If I had thought of the question, I wouldn't have dreamed of asking it—for a single very good reason. It would have been very insulting to P. L. Nagel, sweetness. I know he wants me, no matter what—but of course I can't go with him and leave the Harcourts in the lurch. You see my point, don't you, dear?”

He felt relaxed and happy now that Sylvia had the true picture. Anyone could see that he could not leave the Harcourts in the lurch.

“But, Willis,” Sylvia said, “I shouldn't think the Harcourts would like it, I mean the Bryson Harcourts and Bill and Bess. I mean about selling their business that's been in the family so long. You know they have a sense of obligation to everyone who works there. Of course it's old-fashioned but that's the way they feel.”

Willis examined the intricate pattern of the Kermanshah rug before he answered Sylvia. He wished she could understand that anyone in his position could not indulge in personal whims when making a decision, that he was not a free agent. Sentiment had nothing to do with business. In the last refinancing Harcourt stock had been listed on the New York Stock Exchange, so that he was responsible to hundreds of unknown investors.

“You've made a very valid point there, sweetness,” he said. “You don't have to tell me how the Harcourts feel about the Harcourt Mill. It's like a sort of an old home to me, too, honey.”

He had not expected that there would be a tremor in his voice but there was, and he paused and cleared his throat. He was thinking of faces gone forever and of the years he had spent at the Harcourt Mill. No other plant could ever be quite like it.

“But here's the point, sweetness,” he said. “We are living in a world of change, and I am as sure as I can be morally that nothing physical is going to happen to the Harcourt Mill. In the final integration with Simcoe, if I have anything to do with it, it won't even lose its name. Of course there'll be different control, but such things are inevitable, honey.”

He had given everything he had to his exposition, and at last Sylvia followed his logic.

“I see what you mean, dear,” she said, “but I do feel sorry, just in a sentimental way.”

Willis nodded slowly and he sighed.

“It might clarify both our thinking if we looked at the picture from another angle,” he said. “I always will be loyal to the Harcourt interests. They're the same as my own family, honey. But look at the present offer—twenty-five million dollars. Very frankly and without fanfare, they wouldn't be getting one fifth of that if it hadn't been for me.”

“I know you've worked day and night, dear,” Sylvia said, and she nodded her head slowly.

“And nobody knows better than you that it's been quite a strain, sweetness.” Willis spoke quickly, because he did not want Sylvia to interrupt him. “When a chance like this comes for you and me and the children, we've both of us got to take it, if it doesn't involve integrity, which this doesn't. You've got to keep on moving and growing. That's the American way, sweetness.”

Willis wondered where he had picked up that thought about the American way. Then he remembered that he had said much the same thing to Sylvia years before when they had moved into Waydeholm.