The List (44 page)

LaRochette's face flushed, but the man maintained firm control of his voice. “I understand your feelings. However, what you see here was not built with money distributed from the List. I earned it myself through hard work and fortunate business activities. I don't mean to boast, but the LaRochette family has not relied upon the money from the List for personal use since the 1880s—over one hundred years. We direct all distributions into worthy causes for those less fortunate.”

The wind out of his sails, Renny said, “I apologize. I had no idea.”

“Apology accepted. Just remember that $1 million is a lot of money.”

Renny glanced at Roget for support, but only received a shrug and negative shake of the head. “Is there anything I could say to change your mind?”

“I always try to keep an open mind, but I've given this a lot of thought.”

LaRochette drained his coffee cup, and Renny knew the discussion was over.

“Robert and I are going into Georgetown to meet with a business group that owns a couple of restaurants in the area. Have you eaten at the Portside in Charleston?”

Renny remembered the place: large, upscale, good location, popular with tourists. “Yes, a time or two.”

“We're negotiating a contract to buy it together with the Inlet Waterway, a local restaurant where I eat every Tuesday when I'm in town. I've spent so much money there, I decided it made sense to buy it and pay myself.” LaRochette chuckled. “Would you like to come along for the ride?”

“No, thanks.” Renny had no interest in LaRochette's personal business ventures. “I have an errand to run before tonight's meeting.”

“You're welcome to stay here as long as you like,” LaRochette replied. “Is there anything you need?”

“No. Thanks for your hospitality.”

LaRochette and Roget left the kitchen. Renny poured another glass of orange juice and watched sand swirling in the stiff early morning breeze along the beach. He didn't have any errands to run, but he knew LaRochette's invitation was only a courtesy. Now, he had the rest of the day to occupy. He stared, unthinking, out the window for several minutes, then went upstairs and packed his bags.

Downstairs, he stopped at the library entrance. One of the pocket doors was slightly open. Peering through the crack, he scanned the room. It was empty. Walking quickly to the front door, he opened it and looked outside. The silver Mercedes he'd seen the night before was gone.

Treading softly back to the library, he took his bag inside and closed the door. He wanted to see the List. Glancing from side to side to make sure he was alone, he tried to open the front of the secretary. It was locked. Frustrated, he pulled harder, but nothing moved. He started to pick up his suitcase and leave, but the urge to see the List held him. Where was the key? There was a bookcase next to the secretary. Scanning the topics of the volumes, his eye fell on
War and Peace
. The thick book was turned upside down, and when he pulled it out to flip it over, a key fell out on the floor. Voilà! Picking it up, he compared it with the keyhole in the secretary, and in a second he opened the lid.

It was there. He sat on a small brocade-covered chair and examined it with new respect. He read again the words of the original signers and placed his hand on the faded ink. The first meeting would have been a momentous event. The Rice Planter's Inn. Horses and carriages drawn up in front. Daguerreotype images flashed through his mind of men with stern faces, made more solemn by difficulties modern Americans would find unthinkable. What was the discussion that first night? Impassioned speeches by men in peril of financial ruin and death. Men determined to protect their families.

Renny sat bolt upright in the chair. What if Jo's suspicions and his own uneasiness about the List were totally wrong? What if the List's power for good was the same as the touches he'd had from God?

As he flipped through the pages, Renny realized that he wanted the book. It wasn't enough to see it at LaRochette's whim or become custodian “after a proper period of preparation.” He wanted it now—to read and handle it whenever he desired. LaRochette's insistence that he bring it to Georgetown made sense. The old man appreciated the book. Renny's father knew its significance. Renny wanted it. He closed the leather cover. Why not take it now? After all, his father had been custodian, and Renny had as much or more right to than anyone else. Alone, he could experiment and develop the power that flowed from it, a power LaRochette said could be used for good.

What good had come to Jo as a result of the previous night? He had a sudden urge to call her and find out. If she had received a blessing, would she reconsider her opinion about his continued involvement with the group?

LaRochette had failed the test. A million dollars. Ridiculous. The old man's parsimony negated his self-serving statements about unity. Layne was the man of the hour. If he agreed to let Renny become custodian, the die was cast. Renny put the List back in the secretary and returned the key to its place under Tolstoy's monumental work. The List would be his soon enough, without the need to sneak it out like a thief.

Slipping out of the library, he quietly shut the doors and left.

The driveway gate opened automatically as his car approached. He turned north toward Pawley's Island and dialed Jo's number from the car phone. There was no answer, and he decided not to leave a message. Finding a deserted spot on the south end of Pawley's, he put on his running shoes and ran on the beach, his face to the wind.

Reaching the place where he and Jo had sat against the log and talked, he stopped, took off his shoes and socks, and waded in the surf. He missed her terribly. Today the waves contained no laughter, and the sandpipers were pitiful companions. Without her presence, the beach was sand, sea, and sun, inanimate objects without the spark of life she ignited wherever she went. Feeling melancholy, he reminded himself that he would see her soon. Then he would have the resources to give her everything she wanted and to surprise her with things she had yet to imagine.

Renting a beach chair and an umbrella, he set them up along a wide section of the strand and lay down in the shade for a nap. Fanned by the breeze, he soon drifted off and descended into a dream. He was in an art gallery, but the pictures were unidentifiable blurs. Frustrated, he began searching for a place to buy a guide to the paintings on display. He came around a corner and saw an exquisite painting of Jo's face framed in gold. While he was staring at the picture and wondering who had painted such a close likeness, a wisp of smoke came up from a corner of the picture, and in a few seconds, to his horror, the image was destroyed in flames. Worried that the gallery would blame him, he ran out as fast as he could. He woke up sweating more from the dream than the heat of the sun. The picture of Jo's face in the frame looked similar to the mental image he'd seen the night before. Unable to go back to sleep, he went for a swim in the surf.

After rinsing off the sand and salt water with a hose next to a beach walkway, he spent the rest of the afternoon walking and wandering through the business section of the island. He went into some shops but bought nothing. Time crawled by, and he decided to drive to Georgetown and register at the inn. He hoped to see Layne privately before the meeting.

On his way into Georgetown, Renny passed a sign on Front Street for the Inlet Waterway Restaurant. Turning around, he drove a couple hundred yards to a dead end. The restaurant faced the street with its back to the river. Painted white with ornate ironwork on the windows, it had a decidedly French look. Just the type of place that would strike LaRochette's fancy.

It was only a few blocks to the Rice Planter's Inn. The familiar desk clerk was on duty. He greeted Renny somberly, “Good afternoon, sir.”

“Good afternoon. I'm J. F. Jacobson. There should be a room reserved in my name for the night.”

The clerk went down his list, came to the bottom, and started over. “Ah yes, here it is. Room 6. It's upstairs—”

“Yes, I've stayed there before,” Renny interrupted, wanting to get upstairs.

“Here is your key.” The clerk cleared his throat. “Is Mrs. Jacobson with you this trip?”

Renny couldn't help smiling. “No, but she'll certainly be with me the next time I come. By the way, has Mr. Layne arrived?”

The clerk looked puzzled, consulted his paperwork, and shook his head. “No, not yet, but he'll be in room 8, next door to you.”

“Thanks.”

Renny settled into his room and lay down on the bed in an attempt to relax. He dozed slightly, but he came awake with a start when he heard a door open and close. He looked out in the hall, but no one was there. He hesitated, then decided to see if Layne had checked in. Knocking softly on Layne's door, he waited and knocked again.

Layne opened the door a crack, and when he saw it was Renny, quickly motioned for him to come inside. “What do you want?” he said sharply.

“I just wanted to make sure everything was set for tonight.”

“Of course, of course. Sorry I spoke to you abruptly. I'm nervous about the meeting.”

“I talked to LaRochette last night—” Renny began.

“You did what? You idiot!” Layne interrupted.

“No, no. He had asked me to do some research about offshore banking. I didn't mention talking to you or even seeing you.”

“All right. Sorry again. Did he say anything I should know?”

“He talked to me about unity, etcetera, but it sounded like a stock speech he gives to all the freshmen. Roget was there, too.”

“See, I told you they were comrades.”

“You were right—the French connection, so to speak. Anyway, this morning at breakfast I asked LaRochette his opinion about the amount of the distribution. Guess what he said?”

Layne looked at Renny coldly. “Don't play games, just tell me.”

Embarrassed by Layne's rebuke, Renny said, “One million.”

Renny thought Layne was going to have a fit. “See,” he sputtered, “it's always like that. Well, tonight should take care of his stingy ways. I'll try to let the others know before the meeting. That should fortify their resolve for change.”

“How will I know when to make the motion?”

“Keep your eye on me. At the appropriate time I'll look at you and tap my glass three times. Make the motion, and we'll go from there.”

Layne opened the door and almost pushed Renny into the hall.

“One other thing,” Renny whispered hurriedly.

“What?”

“I want to be custodian of the List, like my father.”

“Sure, sure. Just do as you're told.”

“Without waiting.”

“Yes,” Layne hissed. “We can't be seen talking like this.”

He shut the door in Renny's face.

Renny went back to his room. He didn't like the man, but an alliance with Thomas Layne V was the only logical solution. LaRochette was nobler, but his views were ridiculously conservative, and he was unwilling to release the money. Renny knew what he would do. He had to go for the money and the List.

25

All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players.

A
S
Y
OU
L
IKE
I
T
,
ACT 2, SCENE 7

A
s he straightened his red-and-gold silk tie, Renny practiced making the motion nominating Thomas Layne as president of the List. He wanted a calm and confident tone of voice—not belligerent but firm and sure. When he had achieved the desired effect, he programmed it into his memory and put on his jacket.

Downstairs, the doorman outside the dining room greeted him by name, “Good evening, Mr. Jacobson.”

The drinks were already flowing for Roget and Smithfield. LaRochette, a glass of wine in his hand, waved Renny over.

“Good evening, my boy. I hope you had a pleasant day.”

“A little slow. I drove up to Pawley's Island.”

“Yes, what do they call it? Shabbily elegant.”

“Yes, that's it. On my way into town this afternoon I drove by the Inlet Waterway. Nice-looking place.”

“I'm glad you approve. Robert and I made great progress today in our negotiations with the sellers. Excuse me. Harry!” LaRochette called to Smithfield, who dutifully responded, and the two men began a private conversation. Renny slid back to a spot near the door.

He missed Jo, wished she were with him, then quickly decided this was not the place for her. He also missed Gus Eicholtz. The big-voiced man would have lightened the atmosphere with his boisterous laugh and spontaneous outbursts.

Layne, Weiss, and Flournoy had not yet arrived. Roget and Smithfield were drinking martinis as fast as they could refill their glasses. At this rate, they would spend the evening under the table. Renny poured a mineral water. He wanted all his wits about him this evening. He was nibbling from the hors d'oeuvre table when Layne, Weiss, and Flournoy made a grand entrance. Layne waved to LaRochette, grabbed the older man's hand, and gave him a hearty hello. Renny was mystified. In a few minutes, LaRochette would have ample reason to say, “Et tu, Brute,” but for now Caesar remained unsuspecting of the conspirator's plot.