“She has told you she’s pregnant so you will have to marry her.”
“Father, that was unworthy of you. Florentyna has never put the slightest pressure on me from the moment we met. On the contrary.” Richard turned to his mother. “Won’t you both meet her and then you’ll understand how it came about?”
Kate was going to reply when Richard’s father shouted, “No. Never,” and turning to his wife, he asked her to leave them alone. As she left, Richard could see that she was weeping.
“Now listen to me, Richard. If you marry the Rosnovski girl I will cut you off without a penny.”
“You suffer like generations of our family, Father, from imagining money can buy everything. Your son is not for sale.”
“But you could marry Mary Bigelow—such a respectable girl, and from our own background.”
Richard laughed. “Someone as wonderful as Florentyna couldn’t be replaced by a suitable Brahmin family friend.”
“Don’t you mention our backgrounds in the same breath as that stupid Polack.”
“Father, I never thought I would have to listen to such pathetic prejudice from a normally sober person.”
William Kane took a pace toward his son. Richard never flinched. His father stopped in his tracks. “Get out,” he said. “You’re no longer a member of my family. Never…”
Richard left the room. As he walked across the hall he became aware that his mother was leaning hunched against the banister. He went to her and took her in his arms. She whispered, “I’ll always love you,” and released him when she heard her husband come into the hall.
Richard closed the front door gently behind him. He was back on Sixty-eighth Street. His only thought was how Florentyna had managed to face her own encounter. He hailed a cab and without looking back directed it to Florentyna’s apartment.
He had never felt so free in his life.
When he reached Fifty-seventh Street he asked the doorman if Florentyna had returned. She hadn’t, so he waited under the canopy, beginning to fear she might not have been able to get away. He was deep in thought and didn’t notice when another cab came to a halt at the curb and the frail figure of Florentyna stepped out. She was holding a tissue to a bleeding lip. She rushed toward him and they quickly went upstairs to the privacy of the apartment.
“I love you, Richard” were her first words.
“I love you, too,” said Richard, and took her in his arms, holding her tightly as if it would solve their problems.
Florentyna didn’t let go of Richard as he spoke.
“He threatened to cut me off without a penny if I married you,” he told her. “When will they understand we don’t care a damn about their money? I tried appealing to my mother for support, but even she couldn’t control my father’s temper. He insisted that she leave the room. I’ve never seen him treat my mother that way before. She was weeping, which only made my resolve stronger. I left him in midsentence. God knows, I hope he doesn’t take it out on Virginia and Lucy. What happened when you told your father?”
“He hit me,” said Florentyna very quietly. “For the first time in my life. I think he’ll kill you if he finds us together. Richard darling, we must get out of here before he discovers where we are, and he’s bound to try the apartment first. I’m so frightened.”
“No need for you to be frightened. We’ll leave tonight and go as far away as possible and to hell with them both.”
“How quickly can you pack?” asked Florentyna.
“I can’t,” said Richard. “I can never return home now. You pack your things and then we’ll go. I’ve got about a hundred dollars with me and my cello, which is still in the bedroom. How do you feel about marrying a hundred-dollar man?”
“As much as a salesgirl can hope for, I suppose—and to think I dreamed of being a kept woman. Next you’ll be wanting a dowry.” Florentyna rummaged in her bag. “Well, I’ve got two hundred and twelve dollars and an American Express card. You owe me fifty-six dollars, Richard Kane, but I’ll consider repayment at a dollar a year.”
“I think I like the idea of a dowry better,” said Richard.
In thirty minutes Florentyna was packed. Then she sat down at her desk, scrawled a note to her father explaining she would never be willing to see him again unless he would accept Richard. She left the envelope on the table by the side of her bed.
Richard hailed a cab. “Idlewild,” he said after placing Florentyna’s three suitcases and his cello in the trunk.
Once they had reached the airport Florentyna made a phone call. She was relieved when it was answered. When she told Richard the news, he reserved a flight.
The American Airlines Super Constellation 1049 taxied out onto the runway to start its seven-hour flight.
Richard helped Florentyna with her seat belt. She smiled at him.
“Do you know how much I love you, Mr. Kane?”
“Yes, I think so—Mrs. Kane,” he replied.
“You’ll live to regret your actions tonight.”
He didn’t reply immediately, but just sat motionless, staring in front of him. Then all he said was “You will never contact him again.”
She left the room without replying.
He sat alone in a crimson leather chair; time was suspended. He didn’t hear the phone ring several times. The butler knocked quietly on the door and entered the room.
“A Mr. Abel Rosnovski on the line, sir. Are you in?”
William Kane felt a sharp pain in the pit of his stomach. He knew he had to take the call. He rose from his chair and only by a supreme effort stopped himself from collapsing back into it. He walked over to the phone and picked it up.
“William Kane speaking.”
“This is Abel Rosnovski.”
“Indeed, and when exactly did you think of setting up your daughter with my son? At the time, no doubt, when you failed so conspicuously to cause the downfall of my bank.”
“Don’t be such a damn…” Abel checked himself before continuing. “I want this marriage stopped every bit as much as you do. I never tried to take away your son. I only learned of his existence today. I love my daughter even more than I hate you and I don’t want to lose her. Can’t we get together and work something out between us?”
“No,” said William Kane.
“What’s the good of raking over the past now, Kane? If you know where they are, perhaps we can stop them. That’s what you want too. Or are you so goddamn proud that you’ll stand by and watch your son marry my girl rather than help?”
William Kane hung up the phone and walked back to the leather chair.
The butler returned. “Dinner is served, sir.”
“No dinner, and I’m not at home.”
“Yes, sir,” said the butler, and left the room.
William Kane sat alone. No one disturbed him until eight o’clock the next morning.
Chapter
Fourteen
When flight 1049 landed at San Francisco’s International Airport, Florentyna hoped it hadn’t been too short notice. Richard had hardly placed a foot on the tarmac when he saw a massive woman charge toward them and throw her arms around Florentyna. Florentyna still couldn’t get her arms around Bella.
“You don’t give a girl much time, do you? Calling just as you’re boarding the plane.”
“I’m sorry, Bella, I didn’t know until—”
“Don’t be silly. Claude and I had been grumbling that we didn’t have anything to do this evening.”
Florentyna laughed and introduced the two of them to Richard.
“Is that all the luggage you have?” queried Bella, staring down at the three suitcases and the cello.
“We had to leave in rather a hurry,” explained Florentyna.
“Well, there’s always been a home for you here,” said Bella, immediately picking up two of the suitcases.
“Thank God for you, Bella. You haven’t changed a bit,” said Florentyna.
“I have in one respect. I’m six months pregn
ant. It’s just that I’m like a giant panda—nobody’s noticed.”
The two girls dodged in and out of the airport traffic to the parking lot with Richard carrying the cello and Claude following in their wake. During the journey into San Francisco, Bella revealed that Claude had become an associate in the law firm of Pillsbury, Madison and Sutro.
“Hasn’t he done well?” she said.
“And Bella’s the senior physical education teacher at the local high school and they haven’t lost a hockey game since she joined them,” said Claude with equal pride.
“And what do you do?” said Bella, prodding a finger into Richard’s chest. “From your luggage I can only assume that you’re an out-of-work musician.
“Not exactly,” said Richard, laughing. “I’m a would-be banker, and I shall be looking for a job tomorrow.”
“When are you getting married?”
“Not for three weeks at least,” said Florentyna. “I want to be married in a church and they’ll have to read the banns first.”
“So you’ll be living in sin,” declared Claude as he drove past the “San Francisco Welcomes Careful Drivers” sign. “Quite the modern couple. I always wanted to, but Bella wouldn’t hear of it.”
“And why did you leave New York so suddenly?” asked Bella, ignoring Claude’s comment.
Florentyna explained how she had met Richard and the historic feud that existed between their fathers. Bella and Claude listened incredulously to the story, both remaining unusually silent, until the car came to a halt.
“This is our home,” said Claude. He put the brakes on firmly and left the car in first gear.
Florentyna got out on the side of a steep hill not quite overlooking the bay.
“We go higher up the hill when Claude becomes a partner,” said Bella. “But this will have to do for now.”
“It’s fantastic,” said Florentyna as they entered the little house. She smiled when she saw hockey sticks in the umbrella stand.
“I’ll take you straight to your room so you can unpack.” Bella led her two guests up a small winding staircase to the spare room on the top floor. “It may not be the Presidential Suite at the Baron, but it’s better than joining the beatniks on the streets.”
It was some weeks before Florentyna discovered that Bella and Claude had spent the afternoon lugging their double bed up the stairs to the spare room and carrying the two singles back down so that Richard and Florentyna could spend their first night together.
It was 4 A.M. New York time when Florentyna and Richard finally climbed into bed.
“Well, now that Grace Kelly is no longer available, I suppose I’m stuck with you. Although I don’t know, I think Claude may be right. Perhaps we should live in sin.”
“If you and Claude lived together in sin, no one in San Francisco would even notice.”
“Any regrets so far?”
“Yes. I always hoped I’d end up with a man who slept on the left-hand side of the bed.”
In the morning, after a Bella-type breakfast, Florentyna and Richard scoured the papers for jobs.
“We must try and find something quickly. I don’t think our money will last for more than about a month,” said Florentyna.
“It may be easier for you. I can’t believe that many banks will offer me a job without a degree or at least a reference from my father.”
“Don’t worry,” said Florentyna, ruffling his hair. “We can beat both our fathers.”
Richard turned out to be right. It took Florentyna only three days and her prospective employers one phone call to the personnel director at Bloomingdale’s before she was offered a position at a young fashion shop called Wayout Columbus, which had advertised for a “bright sales assistant” in the Chronicle. It was only another week before the manager realized what a bargain they had picked up.
Richard, on the other hand, plodded around San Francisco from bank to bank. The personnel director always asked him to call back and when he did, there suddenly “wasn’t a position available at the present time for someone with his qualifications.” As the day of the wedding drew nearer, Richard became increasingly anxious.
“You can’t blame them,” he told Florentyna. “They all do a lot of business with my father and they won’t want to upset him.”
“Bunch of cowards. Can you think of anyone who has had a row with Lester’s Bank and therefore refuses to deal with them?”
Richard buried his head in his hands and considered the question for a few moments. “Only the Bank of America. My father had a quarrel with them once over a stop-loss guarantee which they took rather a long time to honor and it resulted in a considerable loss in interest. He swore he would never do business with them again. It’s worth a try—I’ll give them a call tomorrow.”
When the manager interviewed him the next day he asked if the reason Richard had applied to work at the Bank of America was the well-known disagreement with his father.
“Yes, sir,” replied Richard.
“Good, then we have something in common. You will start on Monday as a junior teller, and if you are indeed the son of William Kane I don’t imagine you will stay in that position for long.”
On the Saturday of their third week in San Francisco, Richard and Florentyna were married in a simple ceremony at St. Edward’s Church on California Street. Father O’Reilly—accompanied by Florentyna’s mother—flew in from Chicago to conduct the service. Claude gave the bride away and then ran around to Richard’s side to be best man while Bella was the matron of honor, gargantuan in a pink maternity smock. The six celebrated that night with a dinner at DiMaggio’s on Fisherman’s Wharf. Florentyna’s and Richard’s combined weekly salaries didn’t cover the final bill, so Zaphia came to the rescue.
“If you four want to eat out again,” added Zaphia, “just give me a call and I’ll be out on the next plane.”
Bride and groom crept into bed at one o’clock in the morning.
“I never thought I would end up married to a bank teller.”
“I never thought I would end up married to a shop assistant, but sociologically it ought to make an ideal partnership.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t end with sociology,” said Florentyna as Richard turned off the light.
Abel tried every means at his disposal to discover where Florentyna had disappeared. After days of phone calls, telegrams and even attempts to involve the police, he realized he had only one lead left open. He dialed a number in Chicago.
“Hello,” said a voice every bit as cold as William Kane’s.
“You must know why I’m calling.”
“I can guess.”
“How long have you known about Florentyna and Richard Kane?”
“About three months. Florentyna flew up to Chicago and told me all about him. Later I met Richard at the wedding. She didn’t exaggerate. He’s a rare man.”
“Do you know where they are right now?” demanded Abel.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Find out for yourself.” The line went dead. Someone else who didn’t want to help.
On the desk in front of him lay an unopened file giving details of his forthcoming trip to Europe. He flicked over the pages. Two airplane tickets, two reservations in London, Edinburgh and Cannes. Two opera tickets, two theater tickets, but now only one person was going. Florentyna would not be opening the Edinburgh Baron or the Cannes Baron.
He sank into a fitful sleep from which he didn’t want to be wakened. George found him slumped at his desk at eight o’clock the next morning.
He promised Abel that by the time he had returned from Europe, he would have located Florentyna, but Abel now realized—after reading Florentyna’s letter again and again—that even if he did, she would not agree to see him.
Chapter
Fifteen
“I would like to borrow thirty-four thousand dollars,” said Florentyna.
“What do you need the money for?” said Richard coldly.
“I want to take a lease on a building on Nob Hill to open a fashion shop.”
“What are the terms of the lease?”
“Ten years, with an option to renew.”
“What security can you offer against the loan?”
“I own three thousand shares in the Baron Group.”
“But that’s a private company,” said Richard, “and the shares are in effect worthless as they can’t be traded over the counter.”
“But the Baron Group is worth fifty million dollars of anybody’s money, and my shares represent one percent of the company.”
“How did you come into possession of these shares?”
“My father is the chairman of the company and he gave them to me on my twenty-first birthday.”
“Then why don’t you borrow the money direct from him?”
“Oh, hell,” said Florentyna. “Will they be that demanding?”
“I’m afraid so, Jessie.”
“Are all bank managers going to be as tough as you? They never treated me like this in Chicago.”
“That’s because they had the security of your father’s account. Anyone who doesn’t know you is not going to be as accommodating. A loan manager has to consider that every new transaction will not be repaid, so unless his risk is covered twice over, it’s his job that will be on the line. When you borrow money you must always look across the table and consider the other person’s point of view. Everyone who wants to borrow money is sure they are on to a winner, but the manager knows that over fifty percent of the deals put up to him will eventually fail, or at best break even. So the manager has to pick and choose carefully to be certain he can always see a way of retrieving his money. My father used to say that most financial deals saw a return of one percent for the bank, which didn’t allow you the opportunity to make a one hundred percent loss more than once every five years.”
“That all makes sense, so how do I answer ‘Why don’t you go to your father’?”