The Eternal Wonder (27 page)

Rann felt his neck redden. “Miss Adams, I don’t know anything about the black market in Korea.”

“But you wrote of it so realistically. How could you do so if you do not know anything about it.”

“I have been asked not to discuss that.”

George Pearce cleared his throat and pinched his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger, about to speak.

“Asked by whom, Mr. Colfax?” Nancy Adams went on, hurriedly.

“One of the officers in charge.”

“In charge of what, Mr. Colfax? Were you tried for involvement in the black market?”

“No, I was cleared of any involvement.”

“But cleared by whom, Mr. Colfax, if not by trial?”

“By a group of officers in charge.”

“Not a court-martial?”

“No.”

“Just a group of officers?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Colfax, in your book there are some ranking officers involved in the black market. Couldn’t it be possible that the ones who gave you a clean bill were those you wrote about?”

“No.”

“But how do we know, Mr. Colfax, if, as you say, you don’t know? What was the name of the officer in charge?”

“He was not involved.”

“Then if you were not involved and he was not involved, why not give his name?”

“It was General Appleby.” Rann wished he hadn’t spoken the name, but the woman had made him nervous with her persistence.

George Pearce rose. “Ladies and gentlemen, I hate to break this up but I know Mr. Colfax has to dress for dinner. Thank you very much and I hope that this has been helpful.”

“Mr. Colfax, one more short question, please.” It was the first woman who had questioned him. “I think my readers would be interested in knowing what a young serviceman would choose to do on his first night out in New York after being away for so long. Do you mind?”

“Simple for me. Dinner and the theatre.”

“With anyone special?”

“Rita, Rita Benson.”

“Oh, I see.
Very
special! Thank you, Mr. Colfax.”

George Pearce and Margie seemed pleased with the afternoon and parted from Rann in the lobby and Rann took a taxi home to change for dinner.

“Why, young sir, you look so different.” Sung’s smile showed his enthusiasm. “You so all new from morning. Looks nice like, different but nice.” He took the package Rann was carrying.

“Thank you, Sung. I’ll be dressing right away and I’ll wear the jacket in that box.”

“Your mother called, young sir. She sound upset. She ask you call.”

“All right, I’ll call her now, but I’ll have to make it quick. I don’t have any time to spare. Turn the water on in the bathtub, will you, and not too hot.”

Rann sat at the desk in the library.

“How are you, Mother? Is anything wrong?” His call went through quickly.

“Oh Rann, I’m so glad you called. I don’t know if anything’s wrong or not until you tell me. There was this very insinuating article in this morning’s paper. Rann, who is Rita Benson?” His mother sounded anxious.

Rann laughed. “No one you need to worry about. She’s just a lady I met on the plane.”

“Not according to this article.”

“Mother, I can only tell you what I have been told, which is pay no attention to stuff like that you read in the papers. She is a nice lady, that’s all.”

“As long as you are sure you haven’t been added to someone’s stable, though I suppose that’s all right too, if that’s what you want.”

“I’m not in anyone’s stable and I’m not going to be. There is nothing to worry about. Now, Mother, I have to run or I’ll be late for a dinner date.”

“With her?”

“Yes, Mother,” Rann laughed again. “With Mrs. Benson.”

“Well, all right. We’ll talk again soon.”

“And I’ll see you soon, Mother, and you will enjoy Mrs. Benson when you meet her.”

Rann sat, thoughtful, for a moment after he hung up. He could not resent her concern. She was not actually prying. It was honest, natural concern. It was a comfort to him, in a way, to have her there in the background of his life, always concerned for his happiness.

“MY DEAR BOY,
YOU ARE
not late,” Rita Benson said when he telephoned her room at the St. Regis forty-five minutes later.

“And never apologize. In this world anything under a half hour is on time. Do you want to come to my suite for cocktails or, in view of the papers, shall I meet you in the lounge? I must say, however, that if this is a stable, I’m paying dearly for it.”

“I’ll meet you in the lounge, Rita,” Rann laughed. “And I’m not worried about the stable.”

“Oh dear, I must be slipping.” Rita Benson laughed too. “See you in a minute.”

Rann was glad for the new dinner jacket when Rita Benson entered the cocktail lounge a few minutes later. Every head in the room turned to her as she came to the table. She looked to be perhaps thirty-five, though Rann suspected she was nearer fifty-five. Her long gown of wine-colored silk clung to her slender frame with the easy grace of a dress made for the one who wears it. Her closely cropped hair fit smoothly to her head, framing her face dramatically and accentuating her long, graceful neck and slender shoulders.

“Rita, you’re beautiful.” Rann complimented her frankly, rising to hold her chair.

“But of course I am, dear boy. God knows I work hard enough at it. Nice of you to notice, though. But you’re the one. How handsome you look. Who cut your hair? Maybe I’ll give him a go at mine.”

They finished their cocktails quickly and moved to the dining room.

“Rann, I now want to say that your book is absolutely marvelous. I ordered it the moment I got to the hotel and was unable to put it down until I finished it, and I’ve begun it again. I’ve toyed all day with the idea of putting it on Broadway but I think perhaps the stage is not right for it. I think maybe film, though I’ve not done anything with film. We will have to talk about it when we have more time. Right now we are running late.”

She rose from the table and Rann helped her with her stole. “Add twenty percent to our check and put it on my bill, Maurice,” she said as they passed the headwaiter.

Rann could scarcely keep his mind on the play they were watching. His mind kept drifting to what Rita had said over dinner about his book. He was flattered, of course, but the idea was strange to him. He had never considered the old man’s story as anything other than a book and had barely had time to get used to it as a book.

“Did you enjoy the play?” Rita asked as he helped her into her limousine afterward.

“I did very much, though I confess I had difficulty concentrating on it after the remark you made at dinner.”

“You mean about your book? I mean it, but I’ll have to read it again and then we will talk.”

The ride to Sardi’s was short. “Mrs. Benson, Mr. Colfax,” the headwaiter announced clearly. “We’ve been expecting you. Your table is right over here. Mr. Caldwell
has already arrived.”

Emmet Caldwell’s column was syndicated in every major newspaper in the world, Rann had long known, but he was not prepared for the man he met when they arrived at the table. He was tall and outgoing, an intelligent look in his wide-set eyes, his brow a little high for him to be considered handsome. He looked like a college professor. He rose.

“Rita, it’s always a pleasure.” He extended his hand. “And you are Rann Colfax. I must say that yesterday’s news photo wouldn’t have let me know it.”

Rann shook hands. The man’s grip was strong and firm and Rann liked him. There was the air of one long accustomed to his profession in all that he did.

They settled comfortably into their chairs at the round corner table and ordered a supper of the well-known Sardi steak sandwich and a tossed green salad.

Emmet Caldwell led the conversation. “Rita, is the rumor I’ve heard true that you are considering purchasing the dramatic rights to Rann’s book?”

Rita looked thoughtful and delayed her answer until the waiter had served their drinks and left the table.

“Yes, I think you can truthfully say I am considering it. I have not decided and I am unable to do so without some very
good advice. It is an excellent book, in my opinion, a moving story, beautifully told. Whether or not it will fit on a stage and do justice to the stage and the story, I do not know. Perhaps it needs film. About that I shall have to get advice. I have an appointment with a Hal Grey on Monday morning and I have asked him to read the book before then.”

Rann knew of Hal Grey as the head of the most successful independent production company in the country and winner of many awards for documentary films.

She continued, “I think if Hal is interested then he could do the right job with the book. It is a very historical novel.”

Emmet Caldwell unobtrusively made notes in a small pocket-size notebook. “And what do you think of it, Rann?”

“I haven’t, frankly, had time to think of it.” Rann was quiet for a moment. “Margie Billows of my publisher’s office mentioned I should have an agent to handle subsidiary rights, and she has made an appointment with me to introduce me to one. If Rita is interested, however, I am sure she would do well with the material.”

Caldwell smiled. “I know Margie well, Rann, and if she is interested in you then you will do well to follow her advice. She is an old hand at this business and there is none better. George Pearce is lucky to have her. She really knows her way around.”

The conversation continued through supper and Rann enjoyed the easy exchange between Rita Benson and Emmet Caldwell. Yes, a world within a world, he thought to himself, and its discovery fascinated him.

Sung was waiting for him when he arrived home and brought a drink to him in the library.

“Sung, you must not wait up for me when I am out late,” Rann told him. “It seems I shall be late often for a while.”

After a hot shower, Rann put on fresh pajamas and lay in the huge old bed in the darkened master bedroom, the night noises of the city beneath him giving a faint background for his thoughts as he remembered the events of the day and reflected on his life that had brought him here. He could almost hear his father’s voice speaking to his mother many years ago.

“Give our boy freedom, Susan,” his father often said. “Give him freedom and he will find himself.”

Had he found himself, he thought? Was this then Rann Colfax? he wondered as sleep came to him.

The room was still darkened when Rann opened his eyes the next morning and he had to think for a moment to recall where he was. His dreams had been a mixture of Lady Mary in England and Stephanie in Paris and his mother in Ohio. How would these women react to the changes taking place in his life? The now familiar surroundings brought him back into the present. He rose and opened the draperies and the French doors leading to the terrace. The warm sunshine fell into the room. Rann put on a pair of shorts and walked out into the sun and glanced at the angle of his shadow. About ten o’clock, he judged, and time for some sun before the afternoon shadows engulfed the terrace. He settled himself comfortably on a long chair, the sun warming his lean frame.

“I got all papers like you say, young sir,” Sung told him when he brought Rann’s coffee to the terrace. It still amazed and pleased Rann the way his servant watched him and anticipated his wants. “They are on your desk when you ready. Shall I bring here?”

“No, let them wait. I’ll enjoy the sun first.”

Margie’s phone call interrupted his thoughts.

“Rann, have you read the papers yet?”

Rann confessed that he had not.

“Well, I didn’t think anyone would make his deadline for today, but one did—Nancy Adams of the
Trib
. I’m afraid she is nasty, Rann. It will sell books, which is good, but her overall tone is nasty. You must pay no attention. What are you doing for luncheon? We have an appointment with the agent at three o’clock and I thought we might have luncheon beforehand.”

Rann agreed to meet her at noon, replaced the receiver, and began sorting through the papers for the
Tribune
. The article was on the bottom of the front page.
BLACK MARKET BOY HITS BRIGHT LIGHTS
. There was a photograph of him and Rita getting out of the limousine in front of the theatre. Rann read the article in which Nancy Adams explained that he, Rann Colfax—who had made a fortune on the black market in Korea, either through personal involvement or by writing about it—had been seen in the right places last night with wealthy widow Rita Benson, living high on his profits. Rann smiled bitterly as he remembered he had been Rita’s guest for dinner and his publisher had arranged ahead of time to pay for everything else.

The closing line in the article disturbed Rann deeply: “It would seem that someone should care enough to check with General Appleby in Korea to see exactly how it is that Mr. Colfax was so easily cleared of involvement with the black market. One has only to read his book to see he obviously must have firsthand knowledge of the entire sickening operation.”

“But she had no right to say the things she said,” Rann protested to Margie as they sat over luncheon later.

“Oh, but yes she has.” Margie’s voice was gentle but firm. “That is the price we pay for freedom of the press,” she went on. “She can write anything she wishes as long as she covers herself, which she did. She said you made a fortune off the black market—either by being involved personally, or by writing about it. That’s true. You did write about it in your book, and you are making a fortune. You will make even more after her article. But
you can’t let it get to you.”

They continued the discussion throughout luncheon and later at the office of the agent.

“You are hot, Rann,” Ralph Burnett, the head of the agency, said to him. “We have plenty of clients already but we will take you on. Anything anybody wants to discuss with you about your work, refer them to us. That’s all there is to it. But you have to stay hot. If you do that, we’ll all make a bundle. After today’s article, your book will jump to number one within a week, you’ll see.”

And it did. Rann sat at his desk, the book-review section of the newspaper open before him. A long, thoughtful review of his book was on the page opposite the bestseller list. George Pearce, Margie, and Ralph Burnett should be very pleased, he thought to himself.