Fortune's Hand

  “How does this feel to you?” he asked her one morning.

  “Natural and good. Sometimes rather shocking, too. I don’t easily recognize myself.”

  “A truthful answer. But now that you have the certificate in the drawer and the ring on your finger, you’re feeling more natural and less shocked.” He smiled. “Isn’t that it?”

  “Of course, being me. May I tell you something?”

  “Darling Ellen, you may tell me anything you want.”

  She paused for a moment, warming both hands around the coffee cup. The quiver of leaves high in the beech tree aroused a memory of the yard back at home, the original home. Something must have happened in sight of that tree, some words or event so deeply buried as to be now forgotten except for their sting, and she said soberly, “Even if I had never known you, I don’t believe I would have had any choice. I know I said that if it hadn’t been for his women, I would have stayed. But I think now that in the end, I would have had to go. The way things turned out between Robb and me—well, I think of it as a long slide downhill. You go faster and faster and can’t stop until you bump into something hard at the bottom. Something hard, like a stone wall.”

  She stood up and went to the rose bed, where the fall blooms were still in flower. There she knelt and looked up toward the sky.

  “What on earth are you doing?” called Philip.

  “Come look. See where that branch is outlined against the blue, the absolute, dark rose against that absolute blue?”

  “Yes, it’s a marvelous contrast.”

  “Once when I was a child and very short, I’m sure, I remember standing in our yard and seeing just this, roses and sky. Do you know what I thought then? That I would always, no matter how long I lived, remember it. And I have remembered it, as you see. I shall remember this day, too, Philip. I know I will.”

  He was smiling at her happiness when the telephone rang on the porch and she ran to answer it.

  “Mom,” Julie said, “such a strange thing happened. I met Eddy Morse on the street last night. He was terribly upset. He didn’t want—he was embarrassed to ask you because of Philip, but he wondered whether you had any money to lend Dad. He says Dad needs help badly.”

  “What money? What does he mean?”

  “He means an awful lot. Millions, the way he talked. I had no idea Dad was in trouble, in debt. Did you?”

  “Well, yes, he had mentioned something a while back, but when things happened between us—” Hesitating to say more, she stopped; yet she knew that she must learn to speak openly to Julie. And she went on, “After we separated, I naturally didn’t hear any details, although he did tell me once he was worried.”

  “The way Eddy speaks, it sounded like disaster. Oh, poor Dad! Poor Dad!”

  “Maybe it’s not so bad. Eddy always exaggerates.”

  “No, he was very specific. There’s some deal that that man Devlin is in, with some East Asian billionaire. It’s too complicated for me, but also quite plausible, I should think.”

  With half a mind, Ellen listened to the complicated story. The other half of her mind was filled with lamentation: Oh, it’s not that I’m so smart about things like this. I know very well I’m not, but I had an instinct.

  “Eddy knows I don’t have money like that,” she said. “If I could help, I honestly would, Julie, but it’s absurd to think I could. What I have from your grandparents would be worth pennies. I’m sorry.”

  After a few minutes more, she went outside to Philip. There was a sad weight in her chest as she related Julie’s message. And suddenly, she thought of something.

  “What if I were to go to Devlin and ask him to include Robb? What would it cost him? Next to nothing.”

  “You’d go up to the lion’s mouth?”

  “Don’t joke. I’m serious. You can’t throw all those years away without caring or giving a damn.”

  “You can’t, but people do every day.”

  If he were not in need, about to lose everything as Julie said, I would not attempt to help him. I would remember all the bad, sad things and would be free to ignore him. But she could almost hear her father’s voice, the stern, sometimes harsh voice of Wilson Grant, admonishing: You don’t desert a man when he’s down no matter what he’s done. You can let him know what you think of him, but you don’t desert him.

  So she stood in Richard Devlin’s office and made her plea. He had not invited her to sit down. From behind his littered desk, he examined her as he had done before in a livelier time and place.

  When she had finished, he asked her why she was interested in Robb’s affairs. “I understand that you’re remarried,” he said.

  “That’s true, but that has nothing to do with this.”

  “No? Interesting. Very interesting. Yes, MacDaniel’s a nice enough guy, I recall. I never knew him very well. But ‘nice’ has no connection with business. That’s just common sense, isn’t it?”

  This was hard to gainsay, yet she persisted. “Do you remember when you wanted Robb to buy that house because his name would attract other buyers to the development? Well, he’s the same man now, with the same good name.”

  “We’re talking about money, not names.”

  “Well, money, then. You have these people taking over—surely Robb’s fraction would make no difference. He made an investment along with the rest of you. If you would help him out, he would pay you back steadily out of his earnings at law. True, it would take time, but of course he would pay with interest—”

  “My answer is still no.” As if he had pasted it there, the sardonic smile never left Devlin’s face. “Whatever made you think it wouldn’t be?”

  “Frankly,” she said, “because of the Richard and Olivia Devlin Living Center. I hoped that a man who can do that can perhaps help a good person who needs it badly.”

  Devlin stood up. The strange smile was still there, framing his square, yellow teeth. “Damned if there’s another woman in the world like you. For sheer gumption, I take my hat off to you, a woman who with a snap of her fingers could have any man she wants.”

  And again he examined Ellen from her shoes to her face, which was flushed and warm; it was as if her clothing had suddenly become transparent and she was exposed to him.

  His fingers drummed on the desk. He sighed, and speaking slowly, with ponderous emphasis, said, “If you had been, or would be, a little more friendly to me, I would perhaps reconsider. Actually, I think I might do you the favor you want.”

  She looked back at him without replying, allowing her eyes to speak for her.

  Robb, you never belonged among these people.

  Then she walked out.

  Hunched on the sofa in a quilted bathrobe, Julie was shivering.

  “A glass of wine would warm you up better than that cup of tea,” Andrew said.

  “No, I need to think clearly. The damn landlord should put the heat on.”

  “What, in September?”

  “Well, it’s damp. It’s been raining all day.”

  “It’s your nerves, Julie.”

  That was true. She had been bickering with him for the last half hour. She ought not to take out her distress on him, and she apologized.

  “I’m sorry, Andy. I just don’t know what to think. I’m trying. I told you my mother tried, too. I know some people go bankrupt and still walk around with their heads high, but my father’s not one of them. I can’t begin to tell you how sad this is.”

  “I think I can put myself in his place, and I’m sorry. You know I like your father. I admire him.”

  “And now there’s this other crazy thing that Mom just told me. Dad’s old friend Eddy—Uncle Eddy, I call him—says he heard there are going to be names in the papers, names of people who owe the Danforth Bank. Do you mean to tell me that every time a person owes money to a bank or to a department store or anybody, it gets into the newspaper?”

  “No, of course not. But this is more complicated. When a bank’s being investigated—”


  “Yes, I can understand the East Asian billionaire, the Devlin people, all that clandestine, backdoor business, but—”

  “There are circumstances,” Andrew said, interrupting.

  His voice was exceptionally gentle. She had a sense that he had something to tell her and was reluctant to do it.

  “You sound vague,” she said.

  “All right, I might as well say it. In fact, that’s why I came over as late as this tonight. It’s already in the paper, Julie. Well, more or less, anyway. Here’s tomorrow morning’s edition, out at midnight.”

  Julie bent toward the lamp and scanned the front-page column under the name of Rufus Max. Toward the end, she read: “On the long list of loans under investigation, is the name of a well-known, younger lawyer in this city, a partner in one of the state’s oldest, most prestigious firms. Respected for his eloquence in the courtroom and his sympathy toward human-rights causes, some of which have attracted national attention, he faces bankruptcy, chiefly through his indebtedness to the Danforth Bank.”

  “ ‘Respected’!” she cried. “So this is what Rufus Max does to a ‘respected’ man! Of all the cheap, lying frauds! This is nothing but what my grandfather called ‘yellow journalism’! How dare he!” She was quivering. Her words sputtered. “How dare he do this to a good man! He’s not clean enough to shine my father’s shoes!”

  Andrew sighed. “I know how you feel. But at least no name was given.”

  She responded scornfully. “Did he need to give a name? As if Robb MacDaniel isn’t instantly recognizable in that description! Max ought to be sued for defamation of character.”

  “It’s not that simple, Julie,” Andrew said gently. “Max is very careful about what he writes. He never has been sued.”

  Julie stared at him. “You don’t mean to say you approve of this?”

  “It’s not a question of anybody’s approval. A bank is being investigated. It’s a question of simple facts, facts that break your heart, I know. I’m pretty upset myself.”

  “Was it necessary? Necessary to humble a man because of some bad investments?”

  “Max is an investigative reporter. That’s his job. Anyway, Julie, your father’s not been accused of anything.”

  “You’re making awfully light of it.”

  “It’s the bank that’s in trouble, not your father. Think of it that way. I’m sure your father will. I’m sure he won’t be nearly as upset as you are.”

  “You’re not really saying I’ve no right to be upset, are you?”

  “No, I’m just trying to put it into perspective.”

  She had, of a sudden, a dreadful thought. “Did you know this was going to be printed?”

  “Yes.”

  “You did? And you didn’t do anything about it?”

  “Julie, what could I do?”

  “For God’s sake, you could have told him what harm he was doing.”

  “I can’t ‘tell’ him anything. He’s my boss.”

  “So you just sat there, kept your mouth closed, and let him destroy a good man’s career.”

  “This won’t destroy his career, I tell you. He will survive this very well. You underestimate him.”

  “Easy for you to say.” She began to cry. “Hasn’t he had enough? With the divorce, and the house going, and Penn, and—and now this.”

  “Julie dear, please try—” He knelt to put his arms around her.

  “Don’t touch me!” She thrust him away. “You knew about it, and you didn’t even try to stop it. Don’t tell me you couldn’t have. I don’t believe it.”

  “Julie, be reasonable. I told you I only work for him. I’m nobody.”

  “I don’t believe that, either. If you admired my father as much as you say you do, if you loved me, you could have spoken up and taken the consequences. You could always get another job somewhere else. It’s a matter of principle. I can tell you this, my father would have quit if he had been in your place. That’s what loyalty is. Don’t tell me you love me.”

  “Julie, I do love you. Please.”

  “No! No!”

  He was treating this too casually. He wouldn’t be doing it if Robb were his father! She had read those “investigations.” Your entire life was spread out for scandal seekers to read. Even an innocent life like Dad’s. And he so proud. She knew that about him. Touchy-proud, he was. And those people, the Fowler partners and Mr. Harte, all so correct, untouchable, like Grandpa Wilson Grant. God only knows what they will do.

  She stood up to face Andrew with her fury. “I’ll never forgive you for this, Andrew. For standing by and watching Robb MacDaniel being dragged down into the mud. Ruined! No matter what you say, ruined. No, I’ll never forgive you.”

  “Julie, you’re not making any sense. You’re being terribly unjust. ‘You’ll never forgive me.’ What kind of talk is that?”

  He seemed now to be thinking that it was his turn to be angry, as if he were the injured one. His flush and his bold eyes enraged her. Her own crazy tears and her runny nose enraged her.

  “Get out, Andrew. I see you plainly now. So get out. Forget you ever knew me.”

  “Do you mean that, Julie?”

  “As much as I ever meant anything in all my life.”

  He gave her a long look. Then he took his umbrella and went out, closing the door firmly behind him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  1997

  Yesterday seemed already to have happened a long time ago. Yet in another way, Robb felt that he would always repeat and relive it.

  First there had been the shock of Rufus Max’s article. Of course that young fellow of Julie’s—poor little Julie—could not have prevented it! And he had tried to explain that to her when, in tears at a little past dawn, she had telephoned him.

  It had been still but a little past dawn when he had appeared at the office, surprising the men who were mopping the lobby floor. He hardly knew why he had gone there so early; it had just seemed the natural thing to do.

  But after sitting there awhile, he decided that probably he had made a mistake, that he was not, after all, quite ready for any true conversation. The partners would be at the long table in the conference room with the elder Fowler in his place at its head. He himself would be telling them that in all decency he should resign, and they in all decency would be telling him that he should not, that he need not, and that he was making a mountain, if not out of a molehill exactly, at most out of a hill.

  And so he had simply written a letter and put it on the senior Fowler’s desk. Then he had removed his photograph of Ellen with Julie and Penn, a baby in arms, taken a long look around his handsome room, and gone down to his car.

  After that he had not known what to do with the rest of the day. He had known only that he did not feel like talking to anyone. So he had driven out into the country with a sandwich lunch and a paperback book, then sat down near a lake to eat and read. In the evening he had gone to a movie; he had never been much of a moviegoer, but somehow the darkness and anonymity had suited his mood. It had ended the day.

  His first thought now on waking was that he had no place to which he must go. His second thought was that this was the first such morning in his entire life, for even as a child, he had been tied to the schedules of school or chores. He lay there looking at the ceiling over which the barely risen sun had drawn pale finger-shapes of light. After a while, the entire ceiling would be white, cold white, he thought, cold as the silence in the house.

  Having made no conscious decision to rise, he found himself on his feet getting into his clothes. Through force of habit, he had laid them out the night before: dark suit, newly pressed; white shirt and proper regimental-striped tie; black shoes, newly polished; keys, wallet, and change in his pockets.

  He went down the slippery stairs holding to the banister because of a slight vertigo. Already, since he had told the cleaning woman not to come anymore, the kitchen had taken on the look of neglect.

  “Frankly, I can’t afford to keep y
ou,” he had told her, and when she had stared at him with disbelief and mistrust, he had repeated, “No, really. I’m sorry because you’ve been so thoughtful and I wish I didn’t have to say it, but it’s true.”

  When he had made a cup of instant coffee and heated a roll, he sat down at the table. The newspaper was undoubtedly lying at the foot of the driveway, but on this day he had no desire to fetch it, and that was another first for a man who had scarcely been able to start the day without the news and the editorial pages. So he stirred some milk into the coffee and stared at the moving leaves beyond the window, at the wilting violets on the sill, and at the cat’s bowl still standing in the corner, although the cat had long been gone. “Lulubelle,” it said in blue letters on the rim. For some reason it brought tears to his eyes.

  After a while he got up and began to walk aimlessly through the enormous rooms. Once, in his mind’s eye, in that early euphoria at being the proprietor of all this splendor, he had seen and heard them filled with the warmth of motion and many voices. Now the rich furnishings stood unused as if on display, or sale.

  “No doubt they soon will be,” he said aloud.

  And the silence surged back. It was unbearable. Vertigo threatened again. The air was heavy, and despite their size, the rooms closed in.

  He opened the door to go outside into the cool early morning. From the front steps, the entire spread of his grounds lay in an arc. There was the vacant stable where Julie’s beloved horses had stood with their noses buried in oats. There was the garage where the imported family sedan still stood beside the clumsy sports vehicle that he had bought; why, in this climate where it almost never snowed? Why? Because everybody had one. Over on his right was the British walled garden that he had fancied. No longer tended by an expert gardener, it was a wilderness of weeds; the espaliered fruit trees, now overgrown, dangled away from the walls.

  No doubt somebody, someday, would set all these things to rights. Eventually, the whole area would be developed and the house, one of many, would be sold, perhaps for an exorbitant price or on the other hand, the bank, to get rid of it, would almost give it away. It made no difference to him. He would have to get out of it by the end of this month. So men come and go, but the river remains, serene and silver.