‘I suppose,’ I said slowly, ‘you were afraid he’d walk out on you and disappear into the blue if he knew his ambition consisted
in giving you what you wanted.’
‘No, you’re going too far too fast. You’re overlooking the crucial fact that for years and years I didn’t realize Scott was
hostile to me. We’d grown very close before the war, and after the war when he came home he gave me no indication whatsoever
that his feelings for me might have changed. No, the problem as I saw it then was not that he might cut himself off from me
and disappear into the blue if he found out the truth; I just thought that if he knew he could get the bank comparatively
effortlessly he would lose interest in being a banker and turn to some other profession to prove to himself that he was a
better, smarter and wiser man than his father ever was.’
‘I think I understand. You’re saying Scott needed a struggle. He needed to punish himself by taking on some back-breaking
task—’
‘Well, I’m no expert on psychology and I didn’t put him in deep analysis, but instinct told me that he wanted to believe –
had to believe – we were engaged in some big mythological battle, and that if I was ever to get what I wanted I’d have to
play along with him. I had to let Scott jump through these self-imposed imaginary hoops – and why not? They didn’t strike
me at the time as being sinister. They were entirely compatible with my theory that he was mixed up about his father and this
was his way of sorting himself out. Let me repeat that
he never showed any sign of hostility, never. He was as efficient at deceiving me, you see, as I was at deceiving him.’
‘When did you start to see through him?’
‘1955. Up till then everything had worked out just fine, although looking back I’m surprised how effectively I succeeded in
creating this illusion that I couldn’t possibly regard Scott as my successor. There were two clues which provided a complete
give-away of the way things really were. The first was that I did take Scott into the firm. People like Emily thought it was
sheer Christian charity, but of course that was nonsense – I’d never have hired him unless I wanted him. And the second clue
was that I never fired him. Sam wanted him fired. A lot of people have wanted Scott out of the way at some time or other,
but I kept him safe and helped him through every stage of the game – until in the end, of course, I realized I’d been digging
my own grave.’
My father stopped talking. He was breathing better now and his face, although pale and drawn, was less grey. He drank some
more brandy, and around us I could hear the hum of the airport, the shuffle of people coming and going, the murmur of conversation
and the drone of the announcements from the public address system.
I said: ‘What happened in 1955?’
‘I discovered Tony Sullivan had left behind a posthumous letter.’ My father thought for a moment before adding carefully:
‘It presented Steve’s view of the past. Of course I’d raised Scott on mine.’
‘But why should Scott have rejected your view and adopted Steve’s?’
‘Tony’s letter was very convincing.’ My father paused as if to reconsider this statement but finally confirmed it by repeating:
‘Very convincing. It was biased and inaccurate, naturally, but—’
‘Was it? But Tony was always so honest! I’d have thought he would have been the last person to invent a web of lies!’
‘That’s true, and of course that’s why the letter would have influenced Scott so much. However, there are different ways of
looking at the truth, and as I’ve already said, although I admit I had a rough fight with Steve I’ve never at heart regretted
it because I’ve always considered my actions were justified.’
‘Scott believes you killed Steve.’
My father went white. ‘He told you that? But—’
‘Don’t worry, I didn’t take that too seriously. Scott’s neurotic about his father, and it’s so obvious that he’s got the past
out of proportion.’ I sighed and made an effort to turn the conversation back to the present. Steve’s death might have been
a tragedy but as far as I was concerned there was no reason why I should now dwell on all the
sordid details. I was interested in Scott, not his father. ‘When did Scott see this letter of Tony’s?’ I demanded abruptly.
‘After Tony was killed in 1944 but unfortunately I didn’t realize the letter existed till 1955. However as soon as I saw the
letter I knew Scott was certain to be hostile to me – I knew I had to fire him.’
‘But then why didn’t you? What happened?’
‘Well, you see, Vicky,’ said my father, suddenly looking very old and tired, ‘I’m not really as tough as I always want to
believe I am. In fact sometimes I’m so weak I just can’t face the truth at all. Scott wasn’t the only one here who found a
certain course of action psychologically necessary to him.’
‘In other words, you couldn’t face firing him.’
‘Oh, I faced it! I always fire partners as soon as I no longer trust them one hundred per cent – it’s a reflex action, and
so much quicker and cleaner than keeping them on and agonizing over them until they make another attempt to stab me in the
back … No, I faced firing Scott, but I convinced myself it was unnecessary. I thought I could handle him. It was probably
the worst decision I’ve ever made.’
‘But I still don’t understand why—’
‘I was going through a bad time in my private life, and I just couldn’t bear the thought that I wouldn’t have Scott around
any more. Anyway I still thought he was fond of me. I had to believe that, you see. That was
my
myth. It was necessary to me. It protected me from a reality I couldn’t bear to face.’
‘But you knew he was hostile!’
‘I knew he wanted the bank not just to straighten himself out but to avenge his father. I knew he was out for justice, but
I thought: okay, so he wants a little justice, and why not? And I figured I could still work out a solution that would keep
everyone happy. I had this idea that he could be a caretaker for the bank in between the time when I retired and the time
when my grandsons were old enough to take charge … I still didn’t really see him as hostile. Maybe a little antagonistic …
tough-minded … difficult … but not actively
hostile
. Right up to the end I believed he was fond of me in his own way despite everything—’
‘And then came the end.’
‘Yes,’ said my father. ‘Then came the end.’
‘It came a week ago, didn’t it? When he returned to the office after his vacation in the Caribbean.’
‘Yes. He tore up my myth and flung it in my face. It was as if Scott, the Scott I’d known for years, had died and someone
violent and dangerous had taken his place. It was the violence which shocked me
most. He controlled it, of course, but it was there, it was obvious, as obvious as the fact that he hated me. I can’t describe
to you how I felt then. I didn’t know how I was going to get to the end of the interview. I didn’t see how I could survive
till the end.’
‘But you did, didn’t you? You pulled yourself together, tied Scott up and prepared to airmail him to Europe!’
‘What else could I have done? I couldn’t have fired him or he’d have turned Reischman’s into a hatchet to swing in my direction.
I couldn’t have kept him in New York – I’d never have had a moment’s peace. All I could do was to try to insulate myself for
a while so that I could reorganize my defences.’
‘Daddy—’
‘Yes?’
‘Daddy, you won’t fire him, will you, as soon as you can risk doing so? I mean, despite all that’s happened, you wouldn’t
– couldn’t—’
‘I can’t fire him before 1968. There’s a written agreement.’
‘But even after 1968 – Daddy, if you care anything for Scott at all—’
‘Of course I care for him. He’ll always be my boy whatever happens. I told him so before he left.’ My father had begun to
look at me very warily. ‘I’m beginning to think you haven’t faced up to the implications of Scott’s hostility to me.’
‘Yes, I have! He may be hostile, but he’s not basically concerned with you. His main aim is to get the bank in order to “make
his father live again”, as he puts it, and so long as you give him what he wants I don’t think you’ll find him hostile. On
the contrary, I think you’ll find then that he’ll at last be able to forgive you and be reconciled.’
After a pause my father said: ‘I’m sorry, Vicky, but that’s just sheer feminine romanticism.’
‘No, it’s not! How dare you say that! What an insulting thing to say!’
‘Has it never occurred to you that he might want to wipe me out, change the bank’s name to Sullivan’s and make sure my grandsons
never cross the threshold of Willow and Wall?’
‘What an idiotic suggestion! And what a typically masculine fantasy, chock-full of power and aggression!’
‘Okay, okay,’ said my father rapidly, ‘don’t let’s get upset over this. We’ve both been doing so well. Now sweetheart, don’t
you worry about anything – I know you’re fond of Scott and this is highly disturbing for you, but just relax. I’ll work something
out here, you’ll see. Scott and I just need a little time to cool off, that’s all, but eventually we’ll establish a new
modus vivendi
, and everything’ll work out fine …
if he’s sensible. My one dread is that he’ll try using you to double-cross me—’
‘You would think that, wouldn’t you? Another fantasy!’
‘I agree he’s made no attempt to do so up till now, and I can assure you that’s been a very big relief. Naturally, as soon
as I heard he’d involved himself with you I couldn’t help thinking—’
‘Father,’ I said, ‘get this straight: when Scott first slept with me, he didn’t even know who I was.’
My father boggled. ‘What the hell do you mean?’
‘Just what I say. My God, have you still not grasped the fact that I’m not the fairytale princess of your dreams?’ I said,
in a fine rage again by this time, and it was then that we had our first honest conversation about my disastrously mismanaged
past.
[5]
‘Poor Sam,’ I said. I was calmer now, my voice remote and detached. ‘That marriage was a disaster for him, wasn’t it, as well
as for me. He was so unhappy already and I only made him unhappier. What a wasted life he had, longing for all those dreams
which never came true, but I guess he’d have been no happier with Teresa … Daddy, whatever happened to Teresa in the end?
I often wanted to ask but never quite had the nerve. I liked her when I met her at the exhibitions.’
My father looked astonished but all he said was: ‘She shacked up with some rich Mexican and went to live in Acapulco. She
now paints pictures in the style of Diego Rivera. They’re terrible. I won’t exhibit them.’ He stared gloomily at the rain
streaming down on the highway.
By this time we were travelling in his Cadillac, the new orange one, with the bodyguard sitting in the front seat beside the
chauffeur and the two aides following in a cab. My father was holding my hand and I was too light-headed to care; I had eaten
nothing all day except the olives from my martinis.
‘I’ve told you far more than I should have done,’ said my father. ‘The more I talk about it the more clearly I can see what
an unforgiveable role I played in promoting your first marriage. I should have kept my mouth shut.’
‘Daddy, you couldn’t be more wrong. Don’t you think that after fourteen years I have the right to know why Sam decided to
marry me?’
‘Yes, but you must feel so angry!’
‘On the contrary, my predominant feeling is one of huge relief. I’ve sorted it all out at last. I don’t have to feel angry
any more.’
‘I don’t think I understand. You mean—’
‘I mean now that I know that the marriage was obviously doomed from the start, I’ll find it much easier to come to terms with
its failure. I won’t have to keep agonizing over its memory and saying: “maybe if I’d done this” or “maybe if I’d done that”.
I can just say: “It would have failed anyway, no matter what I might have done,” and that’ll be that.’
‘No more guilt?’
‘No. Sadness, yes. But no guilt. I’ll be able to remember Sam now and think of the happy times. For years I’ve been trying
not to think of him because I’ve been too afraid of what I might remember.’
There was a silence as the car drove on through the rain but eventually my father said: ‘Vicky, I wish we could now discuss
you and Scott as sensibly and dispassionately as we’ve just discussed you and Sam. Tell me, what exactly did you mean just
now when you said—’
‘I don’t think you’d really like to know, Daddy,’ I said, withdrawing my hand abruptly. ‘Not really. I know we’ve just spent
some time discussing my total failure to become a replica of Aunt Emily, but nevertheless—’
‘How very glad I am now,’ said my father, ‘that you’re not a replica of Emily!’
‘But I thought that was what you always wanted!’
‘Yes, but it was all a mistake, like wishing occasionally you were a boy. I can’t think how I could have been so stupid. If
you’d been a boy, just imagine where we’d be now! You’d be bossing me around, trying to strong-arm me into an early retirement
and generally giving me hell, and I’d be white-haired, ready to sink into an early grave! Christ, I feel weak at the thought
of it! What a lucky escape I’ve had! How incredibly fortunate I’ve been!’
The car began its approach to the midtown tunnel.
‘Am I to understand,’ I said cautiously, ‘that this hymn of thanksgiving means you like me just the way I am?’
‘Yes, but the big question now is can you say as much for me? God knows what you must think of me after all this frank talking.
I guess I can’t possibly expect you to feel the same way about me any more.’
‘Maybe not, but would that be such a bad thing? Our previous relationship doesn’t strike me as being any great loss, based
as it was on illusions and platitudes.’
‘But at least you loved me!’ said my father, determined to be maudlin. If his despair hadn’t been so obviously genuine I might
have succumbed to the temptation to push this sentimentality aside with a
couple of tart comments but instead I said patiently: ‘I loved the man I thought you were just as you loved the girl you wanted
me to be. We were both of us loving people who didn’t exist, and what’s so great about that? I’d rather have a genuine relationship
with a real person, not a fantasy link with a figment of my imagination.’