Authors: M. Ruth Myers
"Yes, perhaps.... Actually that part wasn't half so awful as what he did to King Tut. Felix deserved what he got." Kate shrugged. "I'll be fine. Just make sure you and Rosalie talk Mama into having that dinner party."
"Do you really think Uncle Finney will take the bait?"
"Oh, yes. He'll go for it," Kate said grimly.
***
Sam Pugh did mostly wills and agreements for buying boats, but he was the only lawyer Joe knew. He looked over the contracts and pronounced them okay, and twenty-six hours after Joe had learned Odyssey Marine Engine Co. was up for sale, Pugh witnessed as Joe signed and became the new owner.
"I'll take you down to the factory. Introduce you. Make sure you get the keys," Morris said.
His attitude toward Joe today was carefully neutral, neither cool nor cordial. He was a businessman, pragmatic though chagrined to be doing business with a man of no social standing. He reminded Joe somewhat of Kate's cousin.
They went separately to a small brick building on Central Wharf. Joe had driven by it yesterday after striking his deal. Today the magnitude of what he had done weighed on him. He should have seen what he proposed to buy — at least gone inside. Now it was too late.
To his relief the inside of the building looked no worse than other wharfside businesses he had visited. But in those he had been a customer. Here he was the owner. The reality of it started to pound at his head.
Morris introduced a florid-faced man as the manager. With a negligent order to call the men together, Morris led the way from a small anteroom into a space thirty by a hundred feet. Grimy windows and a double door at the end large enough to admit a truck all stood open. The whine of machine noise diminished and then fell still as the manager made his rounds. One by one, eight men looked up from desks or machines or assembly stands. Some let their curiosity show. Others wore poker faces.
Morris gave a nod that conveyed his separateness from the men before him. Probably didn't even know their names.
"The business has changed hands," announced Morris abruptly. "Mr. Santayna here is the new owner. I expect he'll have a few words." And with that he turned and left.
The florid-faced manager had divided his attention between the old owner and the new. A second's hesitation and he scurried after Morris.
Joe felt panic. Eight faces watched him. Somber. Wondering if jobs would be lost. Sizing him up. Some of the men had grease on their hands. One wore a coat and a tie. Next to him stood a younger man in shirtsleeves and vest.
"I don't know much about running a business," Joe said. "But I've fixed or modified a dozen of these engines. I know their flaws. I know how they can be made better. I can work a lathe. I'll count on you to teach me whatever else I need to know."
The man in the suit made a sound of disgust and walked out of the room. The younger man followed. A few of those remaining eyed each other. Rats on a ship that might sink.
"Engineers." A man with blackened nails spoke with contempt. "Didn't do nothing anyway. Carl here knows formulas good as they did." He nudged forward a man who was all a uniform washed-out tan, hair and skin, and stood straight as a piling.
Carl bobbed his head awkwardly. But with pride, Joe thought. He reckoned they were about the same age.
"What about pay we're owed?" one man asked defiantly. "Haven't got it for three weeks."
Joe cursed to himself. He'd bet the well-fed manager hadn't gone without — and wondered how many other surprises hadn't appeared on the books.
"I can't help what's past," he said firmly. "Here's what I'll do. I'll see you each get two bucks today — enough nobody goes hungry. You'll all get full pay the end of the week. I guarantee you'll get regular pay for at least three months, and I hope forever. Those of you who stick with me through the end of the year, you'll each get two percent of the profits."
He saw surprise on some of the faces. Uncertainty here and there. One man walked away. The others stayed.
***
Zenaide was surprised when the new maid showed Mr. Santayna into the parlor. She was still more taken aback to see his usual air of confidence replaced by something resembling panic.
"Mr. Santayna, what a nice surprise." She gestured proudly to the two little girls with spectacles and prominent ears who perched on footstools. "May I present Thèrese and Natalie? They've come to live with me. Girls, say hello to Mr. Santayna."
"Hel-lo,
monsieur
," lilted Thèrese, who was ten. She bobbed a curtsy. Natalie, three years younger, imitated the motion and said not a word.
They were solemn little monkeys, these two sisters. The first day with her, neither had made a peep. The next day she and Tatia had taken them to buy dresses and lingerie and the fancy dolls which they now carried everywhere. Since then they had grown quite talkative. Zenaide smiled fondly as Mr. Santayna bowed and spoke to them in their own language and the girls flashed her looks which conveyed secret delight.
"Now run along with
Tante
Tatia, and we'll have tea in a bit," she told them. "Perhaps Mr. Santayna will stay."
The girls skipped obediently out.
"War orphans," she explained. "I know I'm much too old, but the woman who was going to adopt them changed her mind — all because their eyes were weak!" Zenaide knew well enough it had been because the girls were homely, but they were sweet, and bright as buttons. "I decided Tatia and I would be better than nothing," she said. "I've made trust funds for them."
Again she noted the curious tension in the man she had come to believe as bold and fearless as her grandfather. "Sit down, Mr. Santayna. Was there something you wanted?"
"Mrs. Cole, I've gotten in over my head on something and I need your help." He sat tensely on the edge of a chair. "I've just bought a small company that makes marine engines, and I don't know the first thing about running a business. I need you to tell me how it's done — what I need to know. It's presuming on our acquaintance — but you're my only hope."
Now she was almost as speechless as Natalie.
"Mr. Santayna, I'd gladly help, but I don't know the least thing either—"
"You do! You're smart and you've heard business talked all your life, maybe been more interested in it than most women. If you'll just think on it, you know plenty. More than me anyway."
His fingers were locked together so tightly they were ready to snap. Zenaide frowned in concentration. It was flattering having someone regard her as useful instead of a nuisance.
"Well... you'll need an attorney," she said thinking aloud. "To advise you on business matters as well as to draw up papers." She brightened suddenly. "Are the motors you make strong enough to use on my pleasure boats?"
"They can be, but that's not—"
"Good. We'll discuss it later. Now. The lawyer. You see, there are places men go for lunch. You'd go with your lawyer, and you'd meet people. Let's see... you might call on the places that buy your motors, too; introduce yourself. My father thought that was important, talking to your customers.
"You'll want to put a notice in all the papers. There's a-a sort of journal for marine businesses published in Boston that I believe's important, too." She paused. "Perhaps we ought to get some paper and make a list." She rang a bell beside her chair. "It
is
handy having Harriet to fetch things," she said of the new maid. "And we've found a young man to be our chauffeur."
She frowned, increasingly puzzled. Kate had come to tea yesterday and had said not a word of this.
"I'm surprised Miss Hinshaw didn't mention that you'd bought a business."
His shoulders sagged.
"She doesn't know. And I'd be obliged if you didn't mention it."
"Ah...." Zenaide breathed.
Forty-three
Uncle Finney's office was a glossy little place whose principal purpose, Kate felt certain, was to get him out of the house. He kept infrequent hours. She had telephoned to make her appointment. Having no witnesses, they ignored courteous pretenses. He eyed her warily as she sat down before him.
"I need help," she said without preliminaries. "I'm here to offer you a deal. Mama's shop has cost a great deal more than anticipated. In order to see us through till it starts showing profit, I need to bring down a boatload of liquor. The problem is, I don't have a red cent to put into buying it. I know where to get it and how to sell it. Will you put up the money in return for half of the profits? After expenses we'd make over thirty-five hundred apiece."
His pupils flared. What she was offering was far more lucrative that the landing fees he was collecting. And she'd be taking all the risk. She could almost see the thoughts whiz through his mind. His face remained carefully bland.
"It's a fool's deal you're offering," he said. "If I put up the money, I'd want a larger percentage."
"I'm supplying the boat. And the crew. And taking the risk."
He trimmed a cigar and lighted it, taking his time.
"I'll pay the expenses from my share. Except for the cost of the liquor," Kate capitulated. He'd need to feel smug about besting her for this scheme to work.
He leaned forward, the cigar smoldering in one side of his mouth.
"If you want my help, then we make it a long-term arrangement. A trip a month, as long as the weather holds out. And to make sure you don't renege, you'll sign over the boat to me."
Kate was speechless. This was a demand she hadn't expected. Was she prepared to sacrifice the
Folly
to coax him into this plan? She had to. Like a playground bully, he would keep scheming against her and her family until she knocked him down so hard he was afraid.
"I... all right." She didn't need to pretend the catch in her voice. "I'll have Paul Garrison draw up the transfer papers. We can sign them when I get back. I'll need to leave as soon as possible in order to land in the dark of the moon."
It was working to her advantage that Uncle Finney and Aunt Helène had been away at a mineral resort for two weeks. Now she had a legitimate need to move quickly and defer signing documents. If all went the way she envisioned, they could remain unsigned. She held her breath. Her uncle leaned back, smugly satisfied that he had won.
"I expect you'll want to give me cash," she said. "So it isn't traced."
"So you can take it and claim I never gave you a penny?"
"I'm not like you."
She regretted the words as he flushed. He stood in dismissal.