Chapter Twenty-four

Robert looked out through the rain-streaked window of the black cab at the woman on the billboard who'd been waving the same wave at him for the last ten minutes. It was one of those electronically animated jobs, where the arm actually moved. She was wearing Ray-Bans and a bright pink bathing suit and in her other hand had what was probably meant to be a pina colada. She was doing her best to persuade Robert and several hundred other traffic-snarled, rain-soaked travelers that they'd be better off buying an air ticket to Florida.

It was debatable. And a harder sell than it seemed, Robert knew, because the English newspapers had been going to town on stories about British tourists in Florida being mugged, raped, and shot. As the cab crawled forward, Robert could see some wag had scrawled by the woman's feet, Don't forget your Uzi .

He realized too late that he should have taken the Underground. Every time he'd been to London in the last ten years they'd been digging up some new section of the road out to the airport and he was pretty sure they didn't just save it up for when he came. The flight to Geneva was due to leave in thirty-five minutes and at this rate he'd miss it by about two years. The cabdriver had already informed him, with something suspiciously approaching relish, that out at the airport there was a 'right peasouper'.

There was. And he didn't miss his flight; it was canceled. He sat in the business-class lounge and for a couple of hours enjoyed the camaraderie of a growing band of harassed executives, each pursuing his or her own self-important path to a coronary. He tried calling Annie but got the answering machine and he wondered where they were. He'd forgotten to ask their plans for this first Memorial Day in years they hadn't spent together.

He left a message and sang a few bars of the 'Halls of Montezuma' for Grace, something he did over breakfast on this day as a cue for groans and missiles. Then he took a final look at the notes of today's meeting (which had gone well) and the paperwork for tomorrow's (which might also if he ever got there) and then he put it all away and went for another walk around the departure area.

As he was looking idly and for no good reason at a rack of cashmere golf sweaters that he wouldn't have wished upon his worst enemy, someone said hello and he looked up and saw a man who came as close to that category as anyone he knew.

Freddie Kane was something medium-to-small in publishing, one of those people you never questioned too closely about the exact nature of their business, for fear of embarrassing not them but yourself. He compensated for whatever deficiences might lie in that murky area by making it clear that he had a personal fortune and furthermore knew every piece of gossip there was to know about anyone who was anyone in New York. By forgetting Robert's name on each of the four or five occasions they'd been introduced, Freddie had made it equally clear that he didn't count Annie Graves's husband among this number. Annie, on the other hand, he very much did. 'Hi! I thought it was you! How're you doing!' He thumped one hand on Robert's shoulder and used the other to pump his hand in a way that somehow managed to be simultaneously both violent and flaccid. Robert smiled and noted that the man had on a pair of those glasses movie stars were all now wearing in the hope that it made them look more intellectual. He'd clearly forgotten Robert's name again.

They chatted for a while over the golf sweaters, swapping information on destinations, estimated arrivals and the properties of fog. Robert was oblique and guarded about why he was in Europe, not because it was secret but because he could see how frustrated it made Freddie. And so it was perhaps revenge for this that motivated the man's closing remarks.

'I hear Annie's got herself a Gates problem,' he said.

'I'm sorry?'

Freddie put a hand to his mouth and made a face like a guilty schoolboy.

'Oops. Maybe we're not supposed to know.'

'I'm sorry Freddie, you're way ahead of me.'

'Oh, it's just a little bird told me Crawford Gates is out headhunting again. Probably not a word of truth in it.'

'How do you mean, headhunting?'

'Oh, you know how it's always been at that place, musical chairs and shoot the pianist. I just heard he was giving Annie a hard time, that's all.'

'Well, it's the first I've—'

'Just gossip. Shouldn't have mentioned it.' He gave a satisfied grin and, having fulfilled what may indeed have been the sole purpose of the encounter, said he'd better get back to the airline desk to do some more complaining.

Back in the business lounge Robert helped himself to another beer and flipped through a copy of The Economist , mulling over what Freddie had said. Although he'd played ingenuous, he'd known right away what the man was getting at. It was the second time in a week that he'd heard it.

The previous Tuesday he'd been at a reception given by one of his firm's big clients. It was the kind of do he normally made excuses to avoid but which, with Annie and Grace away, he'd actually found himself looking forward to. It was held in several sumptuous acres of office near Rockefeller Center with mountains of caviar high enough to ski on.

Whatever the latest collective noun for a gathering of lawyers was (they came up with a new and more disparaging one each week), there was certainly one of them here. There were many faces from other law firms that Robert recognized and he guessed the host's motive for inviting them all was to keep his own firm on their toes. Among the other lawyers was Don Farlow. They'd only met once before but Robert liked him and knew Annie did too and that she rated him highly.

Farlow greeted him warmly and Robert was pleased to find as they chatted that they shared not just an appetite bordering on greed for caviar, but a wholesomely cynical attitude about those who'd provided it. They staked a claim beside the nursery slopes and Farlow listened sympathetically while Robert told him how the litigation over Grace's accident was progressing - or rather not progressing, for it was getting so complicated it seemed destined to drag on for years. Then the talk moved on. Farlow asked after Annie and how things were going out west.

'Annie's sensational,' said Farlow. 'The very best. The crazy thing is, that asshole Gates knows that.'

Robert asked him what he meant and Farlow looked surprised and then embarrassed. He quickly changed the subject and the only other thing he said, as he went, was that Robert should tell Annie to come back soon. Robert had gone straight home and called Annie. She'd made light of it.

'That place is Paranoia Palace,' she said. Oh sure, Gates had been giving her a hard time, but no more than usual. 'The old bastard knows he needs me more than I need him.'

Robert had let it drop, even though he felt that her bravado seemed intended more to convince herself than him. Now if Freddie Kane knew about it, it was a safe bet that most of New York knew too or soon would. And though this wasn't Robert's world, he'd seen enough of it to know which was more important: what was said or what was true.

Date: 2015-12-17; view: 662