He hung up. We waited. Neither of us spoke although I knew what was coming. In trying to tell him how to run his firm I had
made a huge mistake which Cornelius was quite unable to stop himself compounding. Any challenge to his authority always compelled
him to make some gesture which would unequivocally underline his power.
Scott slipped quietly into the room and closed the door. ‘Yes, sir?’
‘Sam, and I were very pleased by how hard you worked over the Hammaco bid,’ said Cornelius courteously, ‘and I think the time
has come to offer you a partnership.’
‘Cornelius!’ He smiled radiantly and his black eyes shone.
I looked away as they shook hands but finally I too had to offer my hand in friendship. ‘Congratulations, Scott!’ I said.
‘Nothing could please me more!’
‘Thank you, Sam!’ His handclasp was firm and unhurried.
Cornelius said they would discuss the details later, and after Scott had withdrawn exuberantly I sat down again without a
word. The remaining brandy in my glass tasted bitter.
‘Now Sam,’ said Cornelius mildly, ‘I’ve come to the conclusion you’re seriously overwrought so I’ve decided you need a little
extra vacation. I’ll put through a call to La Guardia Field right away and have my private plane placed at your disposal for
the weekend. Why don’t you take Teresa down to Bermuda?’
I managed to say: ‘Thanks, but we’ve got tickets for
South Pacific
tomorrow night.’
‘You have? Wonderful! That should help you forget your problems for a few hours! And talking of those problems, I think it
would be better if we didn’t discuss the future any more right now – it wouldn’t be fair to you in your present state.’
‘Neil—’
‘Oh, don’t think I don’t understand! I understand absolutely! You’re suffering from a crisis of confidence, the kind of thing
which usually overtakes men of fifty, not men in their prime like you and me, but you’ll get over it, Sam. You just need a
little time to recover from this visit to Germany, but once you’ve recovered you’ll be viewing things
from a sane rational point of view again and then you’ll see very clearly how foolish it is to talk of taking a leave of absence
in order to pander to some unfortunate obsession you have as the result of being a German-American.’
‘But—’
‘Relax! Don’t you worry about a thing, Sam! And don’t you think I won’t stand by you through this crisis – believe me, I’m
not going to let you mess up your life by doing something you’ll regret later! After all, you’re not just my partner, are
you? You’re as good as my brother, so in the circumstances I consider it my moral duty to look after you and save you from
yourself—’
‘Neil, I can’t take that moral-duty crap from you right now, I’m sorry. Just cut it out.’
Cornelius sighed. ‘I thought it was appropriate since – unless I’ve misunderstood you – you’ve just been trying to lecture
me on the subject of my moral standards. Sam, I don’t want to get too tough with you when you’re in such a low state, but
maybe I’d better tell you I’m not too interested in listening to you preach sermons. If I want to hear a sermon I’ll go to
church. “Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and unto God the things that are God’s,” said Christ, meaning churches
and banks should be kept separate, and that was damned smart advice. Now I know I’m no saint here but outside these walls
I’ve always tried my best to live a decent life, and if God’s doing any kind of accounting at all He’ll see at a glance that
my life’s like a double-entry system – and I think He’ll realize too, once He tots up the debits and credits, that there are
far worse guys than me around … Do you understand what I’m saying?’
‘I ought to. I’ve heard it often enough.’
‘Then do me a big favour, would you, and apply what I’ve just said to this business of Scott. Maybe it’s possible to criticize
me for my handling of the Sullivan affair, but if I was ever at fault I’ve made amends through Scott. I’ve brought that boy
up since he was fourteen years old. I’ve done everything I possibly could for him, and he’s a good boy, Sam. Get that into
your head and do please try not to be so neurotic about him in future. I’m proud of the way Scott’s turned out, and if you
think for one moment that he isn’t grateful to me for picking up the pieces after Steve had made such a disgusting mess of
his paternal obligations—’
The intercom buzzed and when Cornelius flicked a switch we heard his secretary say: ‘Mr Van Zale, I have your sister on the
phone and she wants to speak to Mr Keller. Is Mr Keller still in conference with you?’
Cornelius and I looked at one another, both equally surprised.
‘Yes, he is. Just a moment,’ said Cornelius abruptly, and leaning forward he handed me the receiver of the phone so that I
could take the call from Emily Sullivan.
[1]
‘I wanted to talk to you about Vicky,’ said Emily Sullivan at lunch the next day. ‘Cornelius has told me everything. He finally
broke down and confessed.’
‘He did? Uh … pardon me, Emily, but could you possibly—’
‘Elucidate? I’m referring, of course, to this thoroughly misguided suggestion that Vicky should marry you.’
Almost twenty hours had elapsed since I had received the disastrous news from the president of Hammaco, and Emily and I had
just finished lunching at my apartment. It was two o’clock on Saturday afternoon.
I had thought it odd that Emily had wanted to see me, but the idea that she might discuss some topic other than her niece
was one which I had never seriously considered, Like Alicia, Emily had always been on good terms with me but over the years
our relationship had remained formal.
Emily was forty-three and looked it. She had not kept up with feminine fashions and in consequence her clothes seemed dowdy.
She had become plump and although not plain she somehow managed to look nondescript. Twenty years ago any stranger would have
noticed the family resemblance between Emily and Cornelius, but now it was possible to look at them without realizing they
were brother and sister. Cornelius had effortlessly held on to his good looks; Emily, apparently just as effortlessly, had
let hers slip away.
Yet still there were moments when she reminded me of him, and sometimes I thought that the more dissimilar they became in
looks the more alike they became in personality. Emily, a ruthless administrator, dominated numerous civic committees in Velletria,
the wealthy Cincinnati suburb where she had grown up, and according to Cornelius her days were filled with charitable duties
which required
hard work, determination and an outstanding ability to ride roughshod over any obstacles which stood in her way.
‘As soon as Cornelius confessed his scheme to engineer a marriage between you and Vicky,’ said Emily, toying with the glass
of hock which she had hardly touched during the meal, ‘I knew it was vital that I should talk to you.’
‘But Emily,’ I said, ‘you can relax! Neil himself has assured me that he’s abandoned the idea, and even if he hadn’t I wouldn’t
go along with it. I’m very much involved with someone else.’
Emily visibly sagged in her chair with relief. ‘Thank you, Sam. That’s exactly what I wanted to find out. I wasn’t sure how
far to believe Cornelius when he said he’d given up the idea, and knowing that he’s more than capable of manipulating people
to the altar under the mistaken conviction that it’s in everyone’s best interests, I felt I couldn’t rest until I’d spoken
to you. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you of the part Cornelius played in promoting my own marriage to Steve, and what horrified
me so much about this latest matrimonial meddling of his was how easily such a marriage could happen if you were a willing
accomplice. It would only take the minimum of effort on your part to make Vicky fall in love with you.’
‘Well, I … Emily, aren’t you exaggerating a little? I’m flattered, of course, by the implied compliment, but—’
‘Come, Sam, false modesty doesn’t suit you. I don’t think Cornelius, being a man, has any idea how attractive you could be
to a young girl like Vicky if you put your mind to it. Vicky’s by no means a stupid girl but she’s very young still and her
upbringing has, to put it mildly, left a lot to be desired. She’s wide open to the attention of a smart sophisticated man
of her father’s age whose celebrated professional charm has been legendary for years.’
‘Why, Emily, how very unpleasant you make me sound!’
‘That wasn’t my intention. I was just trying to be honest, and besides, I happen to believe that fundamentally you’re a decent
man who wouldn’t want to hurt Vicky in any way. The answer to Vicky’s problem, of course, is education. There’s a long tradition
in our family that the women should be well educated, and if Vicky is taught how to think properly she’ll be able to cope
with the difficulties inherent in her position as an heiress. She must go to college. Then maturity will follow as night follows
day.’
I refrained from reminding Emily that her own studies at Wellesley had not saved her from the mistake of marrying Steve Sullivan.
‘You don’t share Alicia’s view,’ I said tentatively, ‘that education is a
waste of time for a girl whose obvious destiny in life is to be a wife and mother?’
‘Well, I’m devoted to dear Alicia,’ said Emily, finishing her hock with an effort, ‘but one really cannot expect useful comments
on the education of intelligent girls from a woman whose favourite occupation appears to be listening to soap opera on the
radio.’
‘I think Neil also has doubts about whether college is the answer to Vicky’s problems.’
‘Cornelius,’ said Emily, ‘should pause to examine his past. It was a pity
he
never went to college! If he hadn’t been so severely under-educated as the result of his asthma, perhaps
he
wouldn’t have got in such a mess when he was young! That disastrous first marriage to Vivienne, and then—’ Her lips pursed
at the memory of Cornelius’ scandalous elopement with Alicia. ‘Cornelius was never the same after Uncle Paul started paying
him all that attention,’ she said. ‘My dear mother often remarked upon it when she was alive. Cornelius changed … but he was
such a dear little boy when he was young, and so sweet-natured!’
I raised my eyebrows wryly but she wasn’t looking at me. ‘Education,’ she repeated with a severity no doubt intended to counter-balance
this unexpected display of sentiment, ‘is the answer. With a college education Vicky will be better equipped to settle down,
marry and have children, just as all women should … No, I won’t have more coffee, thank you, Sam. I must go back to Fifth
Avenue. I promised I’d take Vicky shopping this afternoon to buy clothes for Europe. The passages are booked for Wednesday
so there’s very little time.’
‘I’m glad your girls will be joining you tomorrow. Remember me to them, won’t you? I doubt if I’d recognize Lori now! Fourteen,
is she, or fifteen?’
‘Almost sixteen. And Rose is eighteen.’
‘You don’t say! Well, how time flies …’
We said goodbye with polite relief, and I was just retrieving the unfinished bottle of hock from the dining-room when the
telephone rang.
‘Sam,’ said Teresa, ‘I hate to tell you, but I’m calling with bad news …’
I thought of Cornelius saying: ‘Trouble always comes in threes.’
‘Why, what is it, honey? What’s the problem?’
‘I’ve got some kind of virus and I’m feeling like Mississippi mud. I don’t see how I can make it to
South Pacific
tonight. I’m very very sorry.’
There was a pause. I could not immediately master my disappointment but at last I said: ‘I’m sorry as well. That’s too bad.’
A picture flashed through my mind of Teresa lying on her bed, the canvasses stacked along one wall beyond the easel, the sunlight
slanting through the skylight on to her tousled hair. ‘I hope you feel better real soon,’ I said in a friendly concerned voice,
and suddenly remembered Emily referring to my ‘professional charm’ as if it were a pair of gloves which could be pulled on
and peeled off at will.
‘Well, I’ve just taken three aspirins and with any luck I’ll pass out for a few hours and wake feeling better … I’ll call
you tomorrow, honey, okay?’
‘Sure.’ I stared blankly at the forty-foot living-room designed, decorated and furnished for the man I was supposed to have
become.
‘I must see you,’ I said suddenly. ‘I must.’
‘Of course. We’ll get together just as soon as I can stand up without feeling like I’m dying. Now Sam honey, I don’t want
to hang up on you, but—’
‘I understand. You just rest up and take care of yourself and we’ll talk later.’
I hung up and sat for a long time looking at the silent phone. After I had finished the hock I threw the tickets for
South Pacific
in the trash-basket, but halfway through my next cigarette I retrieved them. The thought of all the trouble I had taken to
get those tickets made me reluctant to throw them away, and I started calling my friends to see if they had made plans for
the evening. Everyone seemed to be busy. Finally, exhausted by the effort of making polite conversation after the offer of
the tickets had been declined, I abandoned my friends and tried to think of an acquaintance who would not care if I sounded
unsociable. Immediately I remembered Scott, and decided that after my disastrous show of hostility it might well be politic
to make a friendly gesture in his direction.
‘Hullo?’ said Scott, picking up the receiver in his East Side apartment.
‘This is Sam. Could you use a couple of tickets for
South Pacific
tonight?’
‘Thanks, but Broadway musicals just aren’t my ballgame. I’m sure someone else would appreciate the show far more than I would.’
‘Can you think of anyone? I’m about to throw the tickets away.’
‘Let me see.’ Scott applied himself to the problem as if it were some difficulty which had arisen at the office. ‘Could Cornelius
go with Vicky?’ he suggested finally. ‘It might take their minds off their joint troubles for a couple of hours.’
‘I happen to know Cornelius and Alicia are going out to dinner tonight. You wouldn’t want to be noble and take Vicky yourself,
would you, Scott?’
‘I’m dining with Emily. Why don’t
you
take Vicky? Or are you the one who’s had to cancel this date?’
‘No, it was the other party who cancelled.’
‘Then there’s your answer. Take Vicky and do everyone a favour, including yourself! You don’t want to miss this show, do you?’
‘I guess not,’ I said. ‘No, I don’t. Okay, thanks for the suggestion – I’ll think about it.’
I fixed myself a highball and sat listening to my Glenn Miller tape as I considered the situation. I had nothing to lose by
following Scott’s advice. Since Vicky was due to leave for Europe within days no one could suspect me of embarking on some
sinister seduction campaign if I took her out, and unlike the various other women whom I might have asked to take Teresa’s
place, she would not expect me to go to bed with her. It would be an unemotional evening free from sexual pressure. I thought
I could just about tolerate it. It seemed the right thing to do.
Picking up the receiver I started to dial.
[3]
South Pacific
.
Rodgers and Hammerstein.
The curtain rose on Mary Martin. The curtain rose on Ezio Pinza. The curtain rose on actors dressed in American uniforms,
and suddenly I was no longer part of that packed house west of Broadway. I was three thousand miles away in the quiet peaceful
countryside near Munich, and in a terrible fusion of my conflicting nationalities the GI at my side was whistling ‘Lili Marlene’.
[4]
My German relatives were all killed in the war. In 1940 my cousin Erich, a pilot in the Luftwaffe, was shot down in the Battle
of Britain. In 1942 I heard from friends in Zürich that the family’s little house in Düsseldorf had been bombed and my aunt
was dead. In 1943 my uncle’s factory was destroyed. He was taken to hospital but did not survive. Kristina, my favourite cousin,
was the only one who lived till
the end of the war. I had no communication from her but after V-J Day I received a brief letter saying she was working in
a hospital in Munich; she had requested a transfer from the army hospital in Düsseldorf after her mother’s death, and one
of her best friends had been transferred with her. It was this friend who wrote to me three months later to say that Kristina
too was dead, killed accidentally in some shooting incident. I wrote back at once for further details but when I received
no answer I knew I would eventually have to summon the nerve to find out exactly what had happened.
It took me four years to summon that nerve. Men came home from Europe and described appalling conditions, and it was not until
1949 that I thought matters might have improved sufficiently to make a visit bearable. I flew to Europe in mid-March.
I had no trouble tracing the girl who had written to me since I had met her before the war in Düsseldorf and I was able to
contact her through her family. Having returned to Düsseldorf she had given up nursing and was working as a hostess in one
of the new night-clubs which served black-market smoked salmon at twelve dollars a head to the hoods who could afford it.
She did not want to talk to me, but I insisted that she had a drink with me at my hotel.
It took me an hour of steady questioning before she told me what had happened. There had been a party. Kristina had left late
and when she had been only halfway home she had been shot. She had walked into a trap set for a gang operating on the black
market, and the military police had opened fire without realizing she was innocent.
‘Military police?’ I repeated, to make sure I had not misunderstood.
‘Yes. They were soldiers.’ And the girl had looked me straight in the eyes and said in English: ‘Your soldiers. They were
Americans.’
I somehow got out of Düsseldorf. I went to Bonn and Cologne before I realized I had to get out of the entire Rhine valley.
I headed south, an anonymous tourist who spoke perfect German; I looked down from the hill at Nuremburg on the ghastly ruins
of the old city and I walked among the shattered streets of Munich where Kristina had spent her final days. I saw the American
soldiers in the streets but I did not speak to them and they, thinking I was German, did not speak to me, I remained alone,
locked up in the isolation of my grief, until one night at my hotel I met a foreigner whose German was as flawless as my own
and we began to drink together.
He was an Englishman.
Eventually he said: ‘You wouldn’t recognize the City of London now – and did you ever go to Coventry when you were in England
before the war?’ But when I said I could understand that he must hate the Germans he just laughed and said: ‘No, the English
hate the French. We’ve had hundreds of years of experience in perfecting that particular art, but we’re still novices at hating
the Germans.’