The Scarlatti Inheritance

  Elizabeth dismissed his pouting objection. “You only supplied money? You were never involved in any violence?”

  “No! Of course not!”

  “Then who was the ship’s captain? The man who was murdered?”

  “I don’t know! Look, I told you. I admit I was down there. Some guys said I’d get a kick out of seeing how the stuff came in. But that’s all, I swear it. There was trouble. The crew started fighting and I left. I got out of there as fast as I could.”

  “There’s nothing more? That’s the extent of it?”

  “Yes. What do you want me to do? Bleed from my hands and feet?”

  “That’s not very likely.” Elizabeth walked around the desk and approached her son. “What about this marriage, Ulster? Is it, too, because you’re bored?”

  “I thought you’d approve.”

  “Approve? I wasn’t aware that my approval or disapproval concerned you.”

  “It does.”

  “I approve of the Saxon girl, but I doubt for the reasons Chancellor thinks I should. She seems to be a lovely girl from what I’ve seen of her.… I’m not at all sure I approve of you.… Do you love her?”

  Ulster Scarlett looked casually at his mother. “I think she’ll make a good wife.”

  “Since you avoid my question, do you think you’ll make a good husband?”

  “Why, Mother. I read in Vanity Fair where I was New York’s most eligible bachelor.”

  “Good husbands and eligible bachelors are often mutually exclusive.… Why do you want to be married?”

  “It’s time I should be.”

  “I’d accept that answer from your brother. Not from you.”

  Scarlett walked away from his mother to the windows. This was the moment. This was the moment he had planned, the moment he had rehearsed. He had to do it simply, say it simply. He’d pull it off and one day Elizabeth would recognize how wrong she was.

  He wasn’t stupid; he was brilliant.

  “I tried to tell Chance. I’ll try again with you. I do want to get married. I do want to get interested in something.… You asked me if I love the girl. I think I do. I think I will. What’s important to me now is that I get straightened out.” He turned from the window and faced his mother. “I’d like to learn what you built for us. I want to know what the Scarlatti family’s all about. Everyone seems to know but me. It’s a place to start, Mother.”

  “Yes, it’s a place to start. But I should caution you. When you speak of Scarlatti, don’t be under any illusions that your name guarantees you a voice in its management. You’ll have to prove your value before you receive any responsibility—or authority. In that decision, I am Scarlatti.”

  “Yes. You’ve always made that very clear.”

  Elizabeth Scarlatti circled the desk and sat down in her chair. “I’ve never been wedded to the idea that nothing changes. Everything changes. And it’s possible you have talent. You are the son of Giovanni Scarlatti and, perhaps, I was a damned fool to change the surname. It seemed right at the time. He was a genius.… Go to work, Ulster. We’ll see what happens.”

  Ulster Stewart Scarlett walked down Fifth Avenue. The sun was out and he left his topcoat open. He smiled to himself. Several passersby noticed the large, striking-looking man with the open coat in the February cold. He was arrogantly handsome, obviously successful. Some men were born to it.

  Ulster Scarlett, seeing the looks of envy from the little people, agreed with the unspoken thoughts.

  Heinrich Kroeger was on schedule.

  CHAPTER 10

  When Horace Boutier, president of Waterman Trust Company, received Chancellor’s request for an indoctrination program for his brother Ulster, Boutier knew immediately who to make responsible,

  Third vice-president Jefferson Cartwright.

  Cartwright had been called on previously for duty with Ulster Scarlett and with good reason. He was, perhaps, the only executive at Waterman Trust who did not instantly irritate Ulster Scarlett. In a large measure this was due to Cartwright’s unorthodox approach to his work. Quite unbankerlike.

  For Jefferson Cartwright, a blondish, large, aging man, was a product of the playing fields of the University of Virginia and learned early in his career that the qualities that made him famous on the gridiron—and on the campus—served him extremely well in his chosen profession.

  Briefly these were to learn the formations so thoroughly that one was always in the right position at the right time when on the field and always to press an advantage with the sheer bulk of one’s size.

  Off the field was merely an extension of the playing principles. Learn the surface formulas, wasting as little time as possible on complexities beyond one’s grasp, and, again, impress everyone with the size—and attractiveness—of one’s physical being.

  These principles—when combined with an easy, outgoing Southern charm—guaranteed Jefferson Cartwright’s sinecure at Waterman Trust. They even put his name on department letterheads.

  For although Jefferson Cartwright’s knowledge of banking hardly approached an expert vocabulary, his ability to commit adultery with some of the wealthiest women in Manhattan, Long Island, and southern Connecticut brought many excellent accounts to Waterman. Yet the bank’s directors knew that their prime social stud was rarely a threat to any relatively secure marriage. Rather, he was a temporary divertissement, a charming, quick, and complete roll in the hay for the bored.

  Most banking institutions had at least one Jefferson Cartwright on the executive payroll. However, such men often were overlooked when it came to club memberships and dinner parties.… One could never be sure.

  It was the vague sense of ostracism that made Cartwright acceptable to Ulster Scarlett. Partly because he knew why it existed and it amused him, and partly because Cartwright—outside of a few mild lectures about the state of his accounts—never tried to tell him what to do with his money.

  The bank’s directors knew this, too. It was right that someone should advise Ulster Scarlett—if only to impress Elizabeth—but as no one could change him, why waste a committed man?

  At the first session, as Cartwright called it, the banker discovered that Ulster Stewart Scarlett didn’t know the difference between a debit and an asset. So a glossary of terms was prepared to give him a basic language to work with. From there another lexicon of stock market phraseology was written for him and in time he began to master it.

  “Then, as I understand it, Mr. Cartwright, I have two separate incomes. Is that correct?”

  “Indeed it is, Mr. Scarlett. The first trust fund, which is comprised of stocks—industrial and utility—is for your annual livin’ expenses. Houses, clothes, trips abroad, purchases of any sort.… Of course, you certainly could invest this money if you wished. You have durin’ the past several years if I’m not mistaken.” Jefferson Cartwright smiled indulgently remembering a few of Ulster’s extravagant withdrawals. “However, the second fund—the open-faced bonds and debentures—is designed for expansion. For reinvestment. Even speculation. That was your father’s wish. Of course there’s a degree of flexibility.”

  “What do you mean flexibility?”

  “It’s hardly conceivable, Mr. Scarlett, but should your livin’ expenses exceed the income from the first trust we could, with your power of attorney, transfer capital from the second fund to the first. Of course, this is hardly conceivable.”

  “Of course.”

  Jefferson Cartwright laughed and gave his innocent pupil an exaggerated wink. “I have you there, haven’t I?”

  “What?”

  “It did occur once. Don’t you remember? The dirigible?… The dirigible you purchased several years ago?”

  “Oh, yes. You were upset about that.”

  “As a banker I’m responsible to the Scarlatti Industries. After all, I’m your financial adviser. I’m held accountable.… We covered the purchase from the second fund but it wasn’t proper. Not proper at all. A dirigible could hardly be called an investment.”
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  “I apologize again.”

  “Just remember, Mr. Scarlett. Your father’s wish was that the monies due from the open-faced securities were to be reinvested.”

  “How could anyone tell?”

  “Those are the releases you sign semiannually.”

  “The hundred-odd signatures I have to sit through?”

  “Yes. We convert the notes and invest the capital.”

  “In what?”

  “Those are the portfolio statements we send you. We catalog all investments. We make the selection ourselves as you have not—with your busy schedule—ever answered our letters with regard to your preferences.”

  “I never understood them.”

  “Well, now, that can be overcome, can’t it?”

  “Suppose I didn’t sign the releases?”

  “Well … in that unlikely event the securities would remain in the vaults until the end of the year.”

  “Where?”

  “The vaults. The Scarlatti vaults.”

  “I see.”

  “The releases are attached to the securities when we remove them.”

  “But no releases, no securities. No capital, no money.”

  “Exactly. They can’t be converted. The releases are just what the name implies. You release to us with your power of attorney the right to invest the capital.”

  “Suppose, for imagination’s sake, you didn’t exist. There was no Waterman Trust. No bank at all. How could those securities be turned into money?”

  “By signature again. Made payable to whomever you designated. It’s all clearly set forth on each document.”

  “I see.”

  “One day—when you’re more advanced, of course—you should see the vaults. The Scarlatti family occupies the entire east wing. The two remaining sons, yourself and Chancellor, have cubicles adjacent to each other. It’s really quite touching.”

  Ulster considered. “Yes, I’d like to see the vaults.… When I’m more advanced, of course.”

  “For God’s sake, are the Saxons preparing a wedding or a ceremonial convocation for the Archbishop of Canterbury?” Elizabeth Scarlatti had brought her oldest son to her house to discuss the various newspaper articles and the stack of invitations on her desk.

  “You can’t blame them. Ulster is hardly an ordinary catch.”

  “I’m aware of that. On the other hand the rest of New York can’t stop functioning.” Elizabeth walked to the library door and closed it. She turned and looked at her older son. “Chancellor, I want to discuss something with you. Very briefly and if you’ve got a brain in your head you won’t repeat a word of what I’m going to mention.”

  “Of course.”

  Elizabeth kept looking at her son. She thought to herself that Chancellor was really a better man than she ever gave him credit for. His problem was that his outlook was so terribly provincial and yet so totally dependent. And his perpetual vacuous look whenever they had a conference made him seem like an ass.

  A conference. Perhaps there had been too many conferences. Too few conversations. Perhaps it was her fault.

  “Chancellor, I don’t pretend to be on intimate terms with young people these days. There’s a permissiveness that was absent from my own youth and, God knows, that’s a step in the right direction, but I think it may have gone too far.”

  “I agree completely!” interrupted Chancellor Drew Scarlett with fervor. “Today it is self-indulgence and I’ll not have my children infected, let me tell you!”

  “Well, perhaps it goes deeper than righteous indignation. The young, as the times, are what we shape them to be—willingly or unknowingly.… However, this is only an introduction.” Elizabeth crossed to her desk and sat down. “I’ve been watching Janet Saxon during the past few weeks.… Watching, perhaps, is unfair. I’ve only seen her on half a dozen occasions starting with that absurd engagement party. It strikes me that she drinks quite heavily. Quite unnecessarily heavily. Yet she’s a lovely girl. An intelligent, alert girl. Am I wrong?”

  Chancellor Drew Scarlett was startled. He had never thought such a thing about Janet Saxon. It never crossed his mind. Everyone drank too much. It was all part of the self-indulgence and although he disapproved he never took it very seriously.

  “I hadn’t realized it, Mother.”

  “Then, obviously, I’m wrong and we’ll drop the subject. I really am far removed from the times.”

  Elizabeth smiled, and for the first time in a long time she gave her oldest son an affectionate kiss. Yet something was bothering Janet Saxon and Elizabeth Scarlatti knew it.

  The wedding ceremony of Janet Saxon and Ulster Stewart Scarlett was a triumph. Chancellor Drew was, naturally, his brother’s best man and following the bride’s train were Chancellor’s five children. Chancellor’s wife, Allison Demerest Scarlett, was unable to attend the wedding as she was in labor at Presbyterian Hospital.

  The fact that it was an April wedding was a source of contention between Janet Saxon and her parents. They would have preferred June or, at least May, but Janet was adamant. Her fiancé insisted that they be in Europe by the middle of April and that’s how it would be.

  Besides, she had her own very valid reason for a short engagement.

  She was pregnant.

  Janet knew her mother suspected. She also knew that her mother was delighted, even admired her for what she believed was the proper use of the ultimate feminine ploy. The prospect of this particular bridegroom entrapped, caged, irrefutably cornered, was enough for Marian Saxon to give in quickly to the April ceremony. Marian Saxon would have let her daughter be married in a synagogue on Good Friday if that ensured the Scarlatti heir.

  Ulster Scarlett took a leave of absence from his sessions at the Waterman Trust Company. It was understood that following an extended honeymoon on the Continent he would plunge back into the world of finance with increased vigor. It positively touched—and amazed—Jefferson Cartwright that Ulster took with him—“on his sacred journey of love,” as the Virginia cavalier put it—a large number of papers to study. He had gathered together literally hundreds of reports concerning the myriad interests of the Scarlatti Industries and promised Cartwright that he would master the complexities of the inexhaustible diversification by the time he returned.

  Jefferson Cartwright was so moved by Ulster’s earnestness that he presented him with a hand-tooled leather briefcase.

  The first leg of the newlyweds’ trip was marred by what appeared to be a severe case of seasickness on Janet’s part. By a mildly amused ship’s doctor, however, it was ascertained to be a miscarriage and as a result the bride spent the entire voyage to Southampton confined to her cabin.

  In England they discovered that the English aristocracy was becoming quite tolerant of their invading American counterparts. It was all a question of degree. The crude but rich colonists were ripe for the taking and taken they were. The more acceptable—and this category included Ulster Scarlett and his wife—were absorbed without question.

  Even the owners of Blenheim had to be impressed with someone who could wager the price of their best hunter on the turn of a single card. Especially when this particular gambler could tell at a glance which was the best hunter.

  At about this time—the second month of their trip—the rumors began filtering back to New York. Brought mainly by returning members in good standing of the Four Hundred. It seemed Ulster Stewart was behaving very badly. He had taken to disappearing for days at a time and on one occasion was known to have been gone for the better part of two weeks, leaving his bride in a state of embarrassed anger.

  However, even these extremes of gossip were not dwelled upon, for Ulster Stewart had done the same thing while a single man, and Janet Saxon, after all, had hooked herself Manhattan’s most eligible bachelor. She should complain! A thousand girls would have settled for the ring and the ceremony and let him do as he pleased. All those millions and some said a titled family thrown into the bargain! No one had much sympathy for Janet Saxon.


  And then the rumors took another turn.

  The Scarletts uprooted themselves from London society and began what could only be described as an insanely planned itinerary throughout the Continent. From the frozen lakes of Scandinavia to the warm shores of the Mediterranean. From the still-cold streets of Berlin to the hot pavements of Madrid. From the mountain ranges of Bavaria to the flat, dirty ghettos of Cairo. From Paris in summer to the Scottish islands in autumn. One never knew where Ulster Scarlett and his wife would be next. It didn’t make sense. There was no logic in their destinations.

  Jefferson Cartwright was more concerned than anyone else. Alarmed. He was unsure of what to do and so he decided to do nothing but send carefully worded memorandums to Chancellor Drew Scarlett.

  For Waterman Trust was sending thousands upon thousands of dollars in bank drafts to every conceivable and some inconceivable exchanges in Europe. Each letter of request from Ulster Scarlett was precisely worded and the instructions absolute. The demand for confidence, for silence, in the transactions was emphatic. The breaking of this confidence to be penalized by the immediate withdrawal of his interests from Waterman.… One-third of the Scarlett trusts. One-half of the Scarlatti inheritance.

  There was no question about it. Ulster Scarlett had benefited from his sessions at the bank. He knew exactly how to expedite his financial demands and did it in the language of the banking profession. Still, Jefferson Cartwright was uneasy. He could be subject to criticism at a later date. There still remained two-thirds of the trusts and the second half of the inheritance. He solved his insoluble dilemma by sending the following—then variations of it—to Ulster Scarlett’s brother.

  Dear Chancellor:

  Just to keep you up-to-date—as we so successfully established during your brother’s sessions here at Waterman—Ulster is transferring considerable sums to European banks to cover what must be the finest honeymoon in the history of marriage. Nothing is too good for his beautiful wife! You’ll be happy to learn that his correspondence is most businesslike.