The Moneychangers (30 page)

He made a forceful, self-controlled decision and thrust his g
loom away. The hell with it all, Not for F
MA, nor boards of directors, or personal ambition, would he surrender, ever, his private freedom of action and independence. Or give up Margot.

"The most important thing is," he told her, "do you want it to be the way you said just now a 'sensible conclusion'?" Margot spoke through tears. "Of course not."

"Then I don't either, Bracken. Or am I ever likely to. So let's be glad this happened, that we've proved something, and that neither of us has to prove it any more. "

This time, when he put out hi
s arms, she did not hold back.

6

"Roscoe, my boy," the Honorable Harold Austin said on the telephone, sounding pleased with himself. "I've been talking with Big George. He's invited you and me to
play golf in the Bahamas next F
riday."

Roscoe Heyward pursed his lips doubtfully. He was at home, in the study of his Shaker Heights house, on a Saturday afternoon in March. Before taking the phone call he had been examining
a portfolio of financial statement
s, with other papers spread on the floor around his leather armchair.

"I'm not certain I can get away that soon or go that far," he told the Honorable Harold. "Couldn't we try for a conference in New York?"

"Sure we could try. Except we'd be stupid, because Big George prefers Nassau; and because Big George likes
doing business on a golf course, yo
ur kind of business that he attends to personally."

It was unnecessary for either of them to identify "Big George." For that m
atter, few others in industry,
banking, or public life would have needed to.

G. G. Quartermain, board chairman and chief executi
ve of Supranational Corporation,S
uNatCo was a bravura bull of a man who possessed more power than many heads of state and exercised it like a king. His interests and influence extended worldwide, like those of the corporation whose destiny he directed. Inside SuNatCo and out he was variously admired, hated, courted, lionized, and feared.

His strength lay in his record. Eight years earlier on the basis of some previous financial wizardry G. G. Quartermain had been summoned to the rescue of Supranational, then ailing and d
ebt ridden. Between then and now
he had restored the company's fortune, enlarged it to a spectacular conglomerate, thrice split its shares and quadrupled its dividend. Shareholders, whom Big George had made wealthy, adored him; they also allowed him all the freedom of action he desired. True, a few Cassandras argued he had built an empire of cardboard. But financial statements of SuNatCo and its many subsidiaries which Roscoe Heyward had been studying when the Honorable Harold telephoned resoundingly contradicted them.

Heyward had met the SuNatCo chairman twice: once briefly in a crowd, the second occasion in a Washington, D.C., hotel suite with Harold Austin.

The Washington meeting came about when the Honora
ble Harold reported to Quarterm
ain on the subject of a mission he had carried out for Supranational. Heyward had no idea what the assignment was the other two had completed the main part of their conversation when he joined them except that in some way it involved government.

The Austin Agency handled national advertising for Hepplewhite Distillers, a large SuNatCo subsidiary, although the Honorable Harold's personal relationship with G. G. Quartermain appeared to extend beyond this.

Whatever the report was, it appeared to have put Big George in a jovial humor.
On being introduced to Heyward,
he observed, "Harold tells me he's a director of your little bank and you'd both like a spoonful of our gravy. Well, sometime soon we'll see about it."

The Supranational chieftain had then clapped Heyward across the shoulders and talked of other things.

It was his Washington conversation with G. G. Quartermain which prompted Heyward in mid-January two months ago to inform the FMA money policy committee that doing business with SuNatCo was a probability. Later, he realized he had been premature. Now it seemed the prospect was revived.

"Well
" Heyward conceded on the telephone, "perhaps I could get away next Thursday for a day or two."

"That's more like it," he heard the Honorable Harold say. "Whatever you might have planned can't be more important to the bank than this. And, oh yes, one thing I haven't mentioned Big George is sending his personal airplane for us."

Heyward brightened. "Is he now? Is it big enough for a fast trip?"

"It's a 707. I thought that would please you." Harold Austin chuckled. "So we'll fly from here Thursday at noon, have all of Friday in the Bahamas, and be back on Saturday. By the way, how do the new SuNatCo statements look?"

"I've been studying them." Heyward glanced at the mess of financial data spread around his chair. "The patient appears healthy; very healthy indeed."

"If you say so," Austin said, "that's good enough for me." As he replaced the telephone, Heyward permitted
himself a slight, sly smile. The impending trip, its purpose, and the fact of traveling to the Bahamas by private plane, would make a pleasant item to drop casually in conversation next week. Also, if anything came of it, it would enhance his own status with the board something he never lost sight of nowadays, remembering the interim nature of Jerome Patterton's appointment as FMA president.

He was pleased, too, about the scheduled return by air next Saturday. It meant he would not have to miss an appearance in his church St. Athanasius's where he was a lay re
ader and delivered the lesson, cl
early and solemnly, every Sunday.

The thought reminded him of tomorrow's reading which he had planned to go over in advance, as he usually did. Now he lifted a heavy family Bible from a bookshelf and turned to a page already flagged. The page was in Proverbs where tomorrow's reading included a verse which was a Heyward favorite: Righteousness exalteth a nation. but sin is a reproach to any people.

To Roscoe H
eyward, the Bahamas excursion w
as an education.

He was not unfamiliar with high living. Like most senior bankers, Heyward had mingled socially with customers and others who used money freely, even aggressively, in achieving princely comforts and amusements. Almost always, he envied their financial freedom. But G. G. Quartermain outdid them all.

The 707 jet
identified by a large Q on fuselage and tail, landed at the city's international airport precisely as scheduled, to the minute. It taxied to a private terminal where the Honorable Harold and Heyward left the limousine which had brought them from downtown and were whisked aboard, entering at the rear.

In a foyer like a miniature hotel lobby, a quartet greeted them a middle-aged man, graying and with the mix of authority and deference which stamped him a majordomo, and three young women. "Welcome aboard, gentlemen," the m
ajordomo said.

Heyward nodded, but scarcely noticed the man, his attention being distracted by the women breathtakingly be
autiful girls in their twenties
who were smiling agreeably. It occurred
to Roscoe Heyward that the Quar
termain organization must have assembled the most comely stewardesses from TWA, United, and American, then skimmed off these three, like cream from richest milk. One girl was honey-blonde, another a striking brunette, the third a long-haired redhead. They were long
-
legged, willowy, healthily suntanned. The tans contrasted against their stylish but abbreviated pale beige uniform

The majordomo's uniform was of the same smart material as the girls'. AU four had an embroidered Q on the left breast pocket.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Heyward," the redhead said. Her voice, pleasantly modulated, had a soft, almost seductive quality. She went on, "I'm Avr
il. If you'll come this way, I’ll
show you to your room."

As Heyward followed her, surprised at the reference to a "room," the Honorable Harold was being greeted by the blonde.

The elegant Avril preceded Heyward down a corridor extending part way along the aircraft on one side. Several doors opened from it.

Over her shoulder, she announced, "Mr. Quartermain is having a sauna and massage. He'd join you later in the
lounge." "A sauna? Aboard here
'

"Oh, yes. There's one directly behind the flight deck. A steam room, too. Mr. Ouartermain likes either a sauna or a Russian bath wherever he is, and he has his own masseur always with him." Avril flashed a dazzling smile. "Ill you'd like a bath and massage there'll be plenty of time on the flight
. I'll be glad to attend to it.
"No, thank you."

The girl stopped at a doorway. "This is your room, Mr. Heyward." As she spoke, the aircraft moved forward, beginning to taxi. At the unexpected mo
vement, Heyward stumbled. "Oops!
" Avril put out h
er arm, steadying him, and for a
moment they were close. He was conscious of long slim fingers, bronze-orange polished nails, a light firm touch and a waft of perfume.

She kept her hand on his arm. "I'd better strap you in for takeoff. The captain always goes quickly. Mr. Quartermain doesn't like lingering at airports."

He had a quick impression of a small, sumptuous parlor into which the girl led him, then he was seated on a softly comfortable settee while the fingers he had already become aware of deftly fastened a strap around his waist. Even through the strap he could feel the fingers moving. The sensation was not disagreeable.

"There!" The aircraft was taxyi
ng fast now. Avril said, "If you don't mind, I'
ll stay until we're airborne." She sat beside him on th
e settee and fastened a strap herself.

"No," Roscoe Heyward said. He felt absurdly dazed. "I don't mind at all."

Looking around, he took in more details. The parlor or cabin, such as he had seen on no aircraft before, had been designed t
o make efficient but luxurious us
e of space. Three of the walls were paneled in teak, with carved Q motifs embellished in gold leaf. The fourth wall was almost entirely mirror, ingeniously making the compartment seem larger than it was. Recessed into the wall on. his left was a compactly organized office bureau, including a telephone console and glass-shielded teletype. Nearby a small bar was stocked with an array of miniature bottles. Built into the mirror wall, which faced Heyward and Avril, was a TV screen with duplicate sets of controls, reachable from either side of the settee. A folding door behind was presumably to a bathrooms

"Would you lik
e to watch our takeoff' Avril asked. Without waiting for an answer, she touched the TV controls nearest her and a picture, clear and in color, sprang to life. Obviously a camera was in the aircraft nose and, on the screen, they could see a taxiway leading to a wide runway, the latter coming fully into view as the 707 swung onto it. With no time wasted, the aircraft moved forward, simultaneously the runway began to rush beneath
them, then the remainder of it tilted downward as the big jet angled up and they were airborne. Roscoe Heyward had a sense of soaring, not merely because of the TV image. With only sky and clouds ahead, Avril snapped it off.

"The regular TV channels are there if you need them," she informed him, then motioned to the teleprinter. "Over there you can get the Dow Jones, AP, UPI, or Telex. Just phone the flight deck and they'll feed in whichever you say."

Heyward observed cautiously, "All this is a little beyond my normal experience."

"I know. It has that effect on people sometimes, though it's surprising how quickly everyone adapts." Again the direct look and dazzling smile. "We have four of these private cabins and each one converts to a bedroom quite easily. You just push some buttons. I
’
ll show you if you like." ~ He shook his head. "It seems unnecessary now." "Whatever you wish, Mr. Heyward."

She released her seat belt and stood up. "If you want Mr. Austin, he's in the cabin immediately behind. Up forward is the main lounge you'
re invited to when you're ready,
then there's a dining room, offices, and beyond that Mr. Quartermain's private apartment."

"Thank you for the geography." Heyward removed his rimless glasses and took out a handkerchief to wipe them.

"Oh, please let me do thatl" Gently but finely Avril took the glasses from his hand, produced a square of silk and polished them. Then she replaced the glasses on his face, her fingers traveling lightly behind his ears in doing so. Heyward had a feeling he should protest, but didn't.

"My job on this trip, Mr. Heyward, is to take care of you exclusively and make sure you have everything you want."

Was it imagination, he wondered,or had the girl placed subtle emphasis on the word "everything"? He reminded himself sharply that he hoped not. If she had, the implication would be shocking.

'Tw
o other things," Avril said. Gorgeous and slender, she had moved to the doorway, preparing to leave. "If you want me for anything at all, please press button number seven on the telephone."